The Train (6 page)

    Her nerves began to sing out an alarm as her right arm followed the motion of her left, sliding along her right side until she touched solid wood. Again, too close… no more room than a few inches on either side.

    Not enough space… too narrow… something solid over her head and on both sides of her, keeping her in…Not enough room… not enough space… not enough air…

    Hannah's breathing began to quicken, coming in shallow little gasps.

    Easy, easy, she warned herself. Don't panic. Do not panic. Take it easy. Find out where you are, that's the first thing.

    What was this place? Why was she lying down? Had she fainted? No, she never fainted. Sometimes, when claustrophobia hit her in an elevator, she hyperventilated, but she never fainted.

    Her head throbbed. She remembered, then, being struck on the back of her skull. Whoever had done that had put her in this… this place. Why? And how could she get out when the top wouldn't budge?

    Her hands moved more quickly now, seeking, searching for the key to freedom, a way out so that she could begin to breathe normally again. So small, this place… so small, so narrow, so dark. Hannah knew in her heart that it would only be seconds before she panicked in earnest. It wasn't as if she could help it. It wasn't something she chose to do, breathing erratically in small, confined spaces. She always tried to fight it, but it was no use. And now her breathing was already out of control, and unless she found an escape soon, her heart and lungs would begin to careen around in her chest on a wild rampageIf she only knew where she was, maybe she could find a way out.

    Forcing herself to take a few slow, deep breaths,she slid down an the silky fabric underneath her, until her feet touched another solid surface. Then, pushing against that "wall" with her sneakered feet, she slid her body back up, arms at her sides, until the top of her head gently bumped into more solid wood.

    She did this twice, sliding to one end of the darkness, then back up to the other end, her hands exploring the smooth wooden sides as she went, until she had a clear picture of the dimensions encasing her in wood.

    And that picture, when it was complete in her mind, caused her breath to catch in her throat. Her chest began rising and falling far too rapidly as Hannah realized that she was lying in a long, narrow, wooden box with an unyielding wooden roof. No windows, no doors, not nearly enough space or air. Where was the way out? Her hands continued to flutter about, touching… exploring… sliding along the slippery folds of the melted-butter fabric under and around her.

    It felt like… it felt like.., satin.

    Hannah's breathing quickened. She scrambled upward, slamming the top of her head against the heavy wooden cover. She cried out in pain. A lid… the wooden cover over her head was a… lid. She was in a long, narrow wooden box with a lid, and she was lying on… folds of… satin…

    Her eyes, in the darkness, widened and her mouth opened. No… nononononono…

    Her grandmother's funeral zoomed, unbidden, into her mind - Nanny lying there in that long, narrow, wooden box, the curved lid raised so that everyone could see her artificially made-up face, lying there, unmoving, on folds of rippled… white… satinOh, God, no… No!

    Hannah opened her mouth and screamed and screamed and screamed…

    Her head tossed crazily from side to side. Her fingernails began clawing and scratching and tearing at the solid wood surrounding her. Finding no escape, her screams escalated to high, thin, keening wails… the wild cries of a newly caged animal.

    Her legs thrashed frantically, slamming repeatedly against the lid of her prison. Her hands dug and clawed, searching for a way out. Her breathing became so shallow and rapid, there was no air left for screaming, and her wailing descended into a guttural, pained moan.

    Hannah fought to remain conscious. But she was hyperventilating, and purple and red dots danced before her eyes.

    When she heard voices, she thought she was hallucinating. Using what little strength she had left, she lifted her legs and slammed her feet against the lid hard, once, twice, three times.

    Then, telling herself the voices weren't real, Hannah gave up the fight and passed out, sliding down along the white satin with a sob and letting the blackness swallow her up.

    

    

    

    When Hannah struggled back to consciousness, it took her some moments to realize she was free. Out of the horrible box - free! Someone was holding her… Mack… Mack was holding her in his arms, her face against the softness of his flannel shirt.

    Hannah's eyes struggled to focus. Slowly, the milky cloudiness disappeared as realization dawned. As it did, the sensation of being trapped in the long, narrow wooden box returned in vivid detail. Hannah began shaking violently. Covering her eyes with both hands, she began to moan.

    "It's okay, Hannah, it's okay," Mack murmured. "You're out of there now, you're safe, it's okay." None of which did any good. Hannah continued to writhe and moan.

    Lewis arrived with Ms. Quick in tow, followed closely by the conductor. Their faces registered hope that Lewis's jumbled story involved only a cruel prank, a joke.That hope vanished when they saw the state Hannah was in.

    "Goodness!" the teacher cried, hurrying to Mack's side. "Look at her! This is not funny!" She fixed a steely gaze on Mack. "What's been going on in here?"

    "Someone shut her in there," Mack said, pointing to the haw-closed coffin. "We'd been hunting all over the train for her. This was the only place left to look, and Kerry thought she heard something when we first came in here. It stopped right away. Hannah must have passed out. But we had to check it out."

    Ms. Quick paled. "Hannah was in there?"

    Mack nodded grimly. "And she's claustrophobic. That's why she's so out of control. She needs a doctor." He looked at Lewis. "Did you find one?"

    "Aren't any," the conductor offered, his eyes on Hannah, whose moans had dwindled into a soft, anguished sobbing. "Only doctor on board left with that other girl. We have a first-aid kit, but," he shook his head ruefully, "I don't think there's anything in there for this kind of thing. Girl needs a sedative. Calm her down. She's in a bad way."

    "You would be, too," Kerry spoke up, "if you'd been trapped in someone's coffin."

    The conductor nodded. "Might be I could find a tranquilizer, something like that, on board. Passengers might have something. Want me to ask?"

    "No," Hannah whispered, lifting her head and surprising all of them. "I don't want any pills." Thin streaks of watery mascara veined her bloodless skin and her eyes were red and swollen. But her breathing was steadier and she tried to sit up in Mack's arms. "Someone hit me on the head. When I woke up…" she shuddered, "I was.., in there."

    She stopped to take a deep breath. "Whoever did it is probably still on the train. If he.., if he comes back, I don't want to be asleep from some pill." She made no attempt to leave Mack's arms. "I want to be able to defend myself," she added in the same hoarse whisper.

    "You won't have to," Mack said. His voice was full of determination. "I'll be here."

    "Someone struck you?" Ms. Quick asked in a shocked voice. "Then this wasn't just a stupid joke?"

    "If it was a joke," Lewis said, "it's not funny. Not funny at all."

    "It wasn't a joke," Hannah said softly. "I was waiting for Kerry in the corridor and someone grabbed me from behind and dragged me in here. Then something slammed against the back of my head. The next thing I knew, I was…" she swallowed hard and continued in barely a whisper, "in there."

    "Did you see who it was?" Lewis wanted to know.

    "No, I didn't see anything," Hannah said. "I told you, he came from behind. Can I go back to my compartment now, please? I need to… I need to wash my face. I… I need to… sit down or something."

    "I'll take you," Mack said. "Come on." But before they left the baggage car, he turned to Ms. Quick and asked, "So what are we going to do about this? Hannah could have died in that…" - he couldn't bring himself to say coffin - "… ire there. We have to do something."

    The teacher nodded. But it was clear that she was at a loss, still shocked by what had happened to Hannah.

    "Serious business," the conductor said glumly. "That detective is meeting us in Denver, first thing tomorrow morning. Have to leave it to him to find out what's going on."

    "I guess we'll have to." Mack's arm around Hannah's shoulders tightened. "We'll look out for each other until the guy gets here."

    "You're sure this wasn't a crazy kind of stunt?" the conductor pressed. "Bunch of kids on a train trip, high spirits, that kind of thing?"

    The teenagers shook their heads vigorously. "No joke," Lewis said, "absolutely."

    The conductor nodded, and left the car, shaking his head as he went.

    Ms. Quick was shaking her head, too, and her expression clearly said, How did I get myself into this? But she was concerned for Hannah, too, and followed closely behind Mack as he led Hannah from the car.

    Hannah's mind whirled in confusion. She had been in a coffin. Frog's coffin. But there was something very, very wrong with that, something more than the awful horror of her imprisonment. There shouldn't have been room for her in that awful box.Coffins weren't made for two people. Only one person… one body.

    What had happened to the body that was supposed to be in the coffin? Where had it been while she was struggling so hard to get out?

    Where was Frog?

    

    

    

    "You need a doctor," Ms. Quick told Hannah, as she and Mack helped her to one of the seats. "Your color is very bad."

    "I'll see a doctor in Denver in the morning," Hannah said, closing her eyes again. "But not tonight. I just want to sleep. I'm so tired."

    "Hannah," Kerry said suddenly, "your hands…"

    They all looked at Hannah's hands. Every nail was torn, many of her fingers were bloody, the knuckles scraped raw.

    Kerry ran to the sink and quickly wet a washcloth with cool water. Returning to Hannah, she knelt and carefully, gingerly, began wiping the wounded hands clean. Each time Hannah winced in pain, Kerry did the same. "I'm sorry." She said it several times. "I'm really sorry it hurts."

    But when she had finished, Hannah's hands felt better, and she said so with gratitude in her voice.

    "I hate to leave you," the teacher said. "You will lock your door?"

    "We'll be fine," Hannah assured her. "All I want to do is sleep. Kerry, you're staying, right?"

    Kerry nodded. "I wouldn't leave you here alone, Hannah."

    The boys offered to stay, too, but Ms. Quick nixed that idea. They left reluctantly, especially Mack. Hannah promised him she would sleep, but he still looked worried as he stepped out into the corridor.

    "Close your eyes," Kerry commanded gently as she released the upper bunk and climbed into it. "You don't want that doctor in Denver finding you a total wreck and shipping you back homelike Lolly, do you?"

    Hannah wasn't sure. In spite of her uncertainty about the safety of rail travel, she had looked forward to this end-of-the-summer excursion with her friends. She had been especially excited about seeing San Francisco. But now it looked like train travel could be dangerous in more ways than one. And where did you run to on a train when you were in trouble? There wasn't any place to go! You were trapped…

    When Hannah was twelve, her family had moved from the small town in Idaho where she was born to the suburbs where they now lived. To her dismay, she'd suddenly found herself traveling to and from school on a big yellow bus. She was the only "new kid" in the area that year, and still had braces and wore glasses. She'd been teased unmercifully, made the butt of everyone's jokes for weeks until she was no longer so "new" and they'd accepted her.But while it lasted, the worst part of all that misery had been the fact that there was no way to escape. There was no place to run to on a school bus, no place to hide. She'd had to sit there and take it, fighting tears of loneliness and pain until suddenly, for no apparent reason that she could see, it ended and she became one of them.

    What she felt now, huddled on her bed shrouded in the blanket, was that same sense of trapped animal fear. If she continued with the trip as planned, how could she feel safe again? Where could she hide? Where could she run to if she was attacked again?

    Only a lunatic would jump from a speeding train.

    Maybe she should give up now, while she was still in one piece, and go back home. I never thought I would envy Lolly Slocum, she thought, but I do now. I want to be safe, too.

    But… something in Hannah bridled at the idea of some hateful, crazy person she didn't even know driving her away from the tour, scaring her away from her friends and her trip. That wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

    She had her friends around her, and Ms. Quick and Mr. Dobbs, and soon the detective would arrive.

    She was staying on the train. She would be very, very careful, but she was staying. For now, anyway.

    Exhausted, aware that the door was locked and Kerry was close by, Hannah fell asleep.

    When she awoke the following morning, the first thing she heard was the whisper of the train wheels: Go-back, go-back, go-back.

    No, she thought clearly. No, I won't go back. Not yet, anyway.

    On the bunk above, Kerry hadn't stirred. It was too early to get up.

    I should go back to sleep, Hannah thought. I'm still tired. And I want that doctor to think I'm in good shape so he won't send me back home.