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The Midnight Train

When Your Past Returns

By Brent DanielsPublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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The cigarette I was lighting almost fell from my lips when I caught a glimpse of the man standing a hundred feet away from me on the train platform. Turning my head to get a better look, the man was suddenly gone. After a minute or so he reappeared, only this time he was to my right and a few feet closer. I shook my head to clear my thoughts because there was no way this was the same man from 5 years ago. I had been working a lot lately, and fatigue was as good of an excuse as any other.

My mental acuity had to be sharp. My profession demanded nothing less than perfection. The cigarettes were my only real vice. I ate healthily, had regular checkups, and hit the gym no less than four days a week. I was a finely tuned machine, and my clients paid a premium for that. Therefore, the disappearing and reappearing man was so disconcerting. I had a job to complete tonight, and it had to be completed without fail. Wait, there he was again.

My day, as it were, began earlier at around four that afternoon. I met my client for an early dinner and final instructions. I was to catch the midnight train into the city and get off at the 54th street station. Once disembarking I was to make the three-block walk to the address in question and complete the job. The first portion of my pay had already been wired to an offshore account, and the remainder would be wired upon proof that the task had been completed. I had no worries, I had done virtually hundreds of these jobs. It was easy money, almost boring.

There he was again, only closer. That’s it, I was going to end this foolishness right now. I couldn’t have some idiot throwing off my game. I turned quickly and stepped the fifty feet toward the man. My hand was already under my coat and caressing the cold steel of the 9mm Glock 19 tucked into a quick draw shoulder holster. The holster had been tailor-made for maximum concealment. If you were casually observing, you would never know I had it was strapped to me. It had set me back a pretty penny and I was proud of it.

As I closed in on the man, I almost froze in my tracks because if this wasn’t the man, he was a dead ringer for him. My fingers squeezed tighter on the grip as I slightly pulled the pistol from the holster while keeping it concealed under my coat. The man adjusted his tie, straightened his suit coat, and turned toward me flashing a toothy grin.

“Hey there, Ronnie. How’ve you been?” said the man.

“Jesus, there ain’t no way.”

“Surprised to see me I suppose?” said the man, folding and tucking a newspaper under his arm.

“Jessie Van Dewald?”

“Ah, so you do remember me. Splendid.”

“It can’t be you. I mean five years ago…”

“You killed me. Yes, that is quite true, and I assure you I am still quite dead,” chuckled Van Dewald.

I looked around and caught my reflection in the mirror, but no Van Dewald. People began to stare strangely at me. I guess I knew why. If I saw some nut job talking to something that wasn’t there I would stare too.

“I guess I don’t understand,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper.

“You, uh, going on a job tonight?”

“No, just headed into the city to meet a friend,” I said, pushing the pistol back into the holster, withdrawing my hand, and smoothing my coat.

“Some friend. It’s damn near midnight… and freezing.”

“Are you a, uh, you know.”

“Ghost, spirit, ghoul? Yes, all of those,” he said, laughing uproariously.

“I have been working too much,” I said.

“Hmm, possibly. Let me ask you something. How much did you get for, you know, to off me?”

“A hundred thousand.”

Van Dewald whistled and shook his head. “She wanted me dead pretty badly I guess.”

“I guess,” I agreed.

“So, it was Marnie that did it.”

“I thought you knew.”

“I had my suspicions, now I know. Why do you do it?”

“My profession? I’m good at it, and the money is good I suppose.”

Now, the crowd around me was thinning and moving away from me. I almost had to laugh at the absurdity of it. I knew any minute I would wake up and this will have been a bad dream. I knew one thing, when I did wake up, I was canceling all my appointments for the next six months and taking a long cruise.

“Just so you know, this isn’t a dream,” said Van Dewald, chuckling. “I wonder when they write the story what the headline will be?”

“The story? The story of what?”

“Of this.”

Van Dewald shoved me hard and the only thing I could think at that moment is that ghosts aren’t supposed to be able to touch you. As I slipped and lost my balance, I was falling right into the path of the midnight train. The last thing I heard was a woman’s scream as the train took me out.

Van Dewald stood back and watched the chaos as the crowd made a push to see the gore. The train had locked down into emergency stop and had derailed. Van Dewald disappeared into the steam of the tunnel as the scene devolved into chaos.

fiction
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About the Creator

Brent Daniels

Writing, for me, is a creative outlet. Fiction is my first love, specifically short stories. However, I have tried my hand at most genres. I hope you enjoy my writing as much as I enjoy creating it.

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