The station is empty when I arrive. Too empty for this hour, and too quiet for a place where people are always supposed to be going somewhere. The station building stands across from me.
A small old structure of pale stone, with windows no one has replaced in years. The kiosk beside it is closed, its roller shutter down, a faded poster behind it. Next to that, the ticket machine. It is new, and looks slightly out of place because of it.
Above the platform, the digital display flickers once, then holds still.
No further connections...
I read it twice, as though the sentence might feel different the second time. It doesn't. The last bus left long ago, the taxi rank empty. Only wind, pushing paper across the ground and knocking against the bins so they rattle softly.
I sit down on one of the wooden benches. It is worn smooth, the wood cold beneath my fingers. A track in front of me. Another behind me. I sit between them, facing the station building, as though I have placed myself here on purpose.
Only now do I notice that I have nothing with me.
No wallet, no keys. Only a few coins, loose in my coat pocket.
BRACKENFOLD, reads the dark blue sign in white lettering. Hanging from chains, it sways slightly in the cool wind. The same sign is mounted again on the station building. It looks as though someone needs to hold the name in place, in case it blows away.
My legs are trembling. From the cold, but from exhaustion too. Autumn has come far enough to make itself known.
I think of Rose, of her face. Of the way she used to laugh. For her, the world was always larger than it really is.
And I remember the moment when everything stopped making sense.
Perhaps I should go home.
Perhaps I should wait until it gets light again.
Perhaps I should simply do nothing at all.
The wind drops. The silence thickens.
I close my eyes for a moment, just briefly. When I open them again, a warm hand rests on my shoulder.
"You shouldn't sleep here," says a woman's voice, quietly.
Standing before me is a stout woman in a dark uniform. A peaked cap sits low on her face. Her eyes are kind and look at me with something close to tenderness.
Behind her—
For a second I hold my breath.
At the platform stands a train.
A steam locomotive, as though from another age.
The metal gleams, as if there is gold beneath it.
I am certain it was not there a moment ago. And no train is running today, not any more.
I glance at the display. It stays dark.
"The last train leaves soon," the woman says.
"I need to get to the city," I reply.
My voice sounds brittle. "I need to find Rose. My daughter."
I hesitate. "She's got lost."
I can hear myself how hopeless that sounds.
She smiles at me with compassion. "Get on board."
"I don't have any money."
"You won't need any."
I shake my head. "Is this a special train? It looks so different."
The woman tilts her head slightly.
"It takes people where they need to be."
I don't know why I believe her. Perhaps because nothing else remains.
The carriage is warm, almost too warm, despite the cool of the night. The scent of cocoa hangs in the air.
When she hands me a cup, my hands are trembling. The first sip tastes of long ago. Of kitchens and of my mother's warmth.
"You can lie down," she says. "The journey takes a while."
I follow her through the narrow corridor. The train is empty, at least as far as I can tell.
She leads me to a sleeping compartment and opens the door to a cabin with a single bed.
"I'll wake you," she says.
Then she closes the door. The train begins to move.
I hear the rhythmic beat of the wheels.
It sounds like a heartbeat.
I think, before sleep takes me, that I have never seen a train that runs so quietly.
I fall asleep.
When I wake, it is light.
Sunlight falls through the window. Outside, everything is green.
I look out over meadows, flowers, and dragonflies that seem to hang motionless in the air.
The train stops and I step off.
On the platform, a woman is waiting.
She looks like the conductor. Perhaps they are sisters.
The woman wears a dress patterned with violet flowers and a white ruffled apron.
"Welcome," she says, smiling. "I'm Eira."
"Where am I?" I ask.
"In a place where many come to search."