The train began moving again.
Not with the familiar sound Kino had heard when they first left the station. This time, the iron wheels groaned beneath the floor as if something had awakened after a very long sleep.
The lights overhead flickered three times.
Then they came on.
Kino turned toward the window. Outside, there was no longer complete darkness. Small lights raced backward, forming long lines behind the glass. But there were no houses, platforms, or power poles.
Only fog.
“Where is this train going?” Arlan asked.
No one answered.
Abim was still lying on the floor. Mario pressed a strip torn from his jacket against the wound at Abim’s side. The bleeding had not stopped, but at least it was slowing.
Gama stood by the door, gripping the metal chair he had used as a weapon. Since Sean had stopped his fist, he had not looked directly at the spirit again.
Sean stood at the end of the carriage.
Silent.
His face had returned to the young man they once knew. No cracked skin, black eyes, or impossible smile. That was what frightened Kino most.
A figure that looked human was always easier to trust.
“Sean,” Jidan called.
Sean turned slowly.
“Where are we being taken?”
“To where everything began.”
“The accident site?”
Sean gave a thin smile. “You are not ready to see it.”
Gama suddenly charged.
The metal chair rose over his head and swung toward Sean.
CRACK!
The chair struck the carriage wall. Sean was no longer there.
Gama recoiled. “Bastard!”
Sean’s voice came from behind him.
“Four years ago, you moved just as quickly.”
Gama turned. Sean stood inches from his face.
“The difference,” Sean continued, “is that you didn’t hit a wall back then.”
Gama stumbled backward, his breath breaking.
Kino saw his hands trembling. Not from fear of an attack, but because the words had struck something he had buried.
“Are you going to kill us?” Kino asked.
Sean looked at him. “If I wanted to, you would already be dead.”
“Then why take us there?”
“Because your memories always have an exit.”
Kino did not understand.
Sean pointed toward the connecting door. “You can run from ghosts. You can run from the police. You can run from the victims’ families. But you cannot run from the place where you left someone behind.”
The train suddenly braked.
Everyone was thrown forward.
Mario nearly fell on Abim. Arlan struck the wall. Gama lost his grip, and the chair slid down the corridor.
A platform appeared outside the window.
Its sign carried only two words:
RETURN STATION.
The train doors opened by themselves.
Cold air rushed in. Kino stood closest to the opening. He could see an empty, wet platform lit by trembling yellow lamps.
An old-fashioned railway officer stood at the far end.
His head was bowed.
“No one gets off,” Jidan said quickly.
“Why?” Arlan turned.
“Because this station doesn’t exist.”
The officer slowly raised his head.
Kino saw his face.
It was Sean’s face.
But the Sean standing inside the carriage was still behind them.
Kino turned.
Sean stared at him without expression.
“Then,” Sean said, “why do they always get off?”
Footsteps sounded outside.
One.
Two.
Three.
The uniformed figure approached the door. Each step made no sound, but its reflection appeared in the glass as dozens of people walking together.
Naren raised a hand. “Close the door, damn it!”
Arlan pulled the door lever, but it would not move.
“It’s jammed!”
Mario tried to help. “Pull together!”
The three of them pulled with all their strength.
The door stayed open.
The officer now stood in front of them.
“Tick—et,” he said.
His voice sounded like a recording played from a damaged cassette.
“Your tickets.”
No one moved.
The officer tilted his head. “You boarded. You must get off.”
Sean walked closer.
“Don’t answer him,” Jidan said.
“He is not part of this,” Sean replied.
“Part of what?”
Sean did not answer.
The officer held out his hand to Kino.
“The first to get off is the first to remember.”
Kino stared at the pale palm. In it lay a yellowed train ticket. The passenger name read:
KINO.
The date was four years ago.
Kino’s stomach twisted.
“I didn’t board four years ago,” he said.
The officer smiled.
“Everyone says that.”
The officer’s hand shot forward and clamped around Kino’s wrist.
Kino screamed and pulled back. Sean appeared between them and pressed one hand against the officer’s chest.
The officer was pushed out of the train.
Before falling, however, its head turned toward Kino.
“Don’t forget who sent that message,” it whispered.
The train doors slammed shut.
The station disappeared.
The train plunged back into the fog.
Kino still gripped his wrist. Pale fingerprints were beginning to appear on his skin.
“What message?” Jidan asked.
Kino did not answer immediately.
A new notification appeared on his phone.
Unknown number.
One sentence:
I WAS STILL ALIVE WHEN YOU LEFT ME.
Kino looked at Mario.
Mario read the message over Kino’s shoulder. His face instantly lost all color.
“Who received it?” Gama asked.
Kino said nothing. He handed the phone to Jidan.
Jidan read it, then looked at Mario.
“Mar,” he said softly. “You said Sean died immediately.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Mario rubbed his face. His hands were still covered in Abim’s blood.
“I didn’t know.”
A voice came through the speaker.
Crackle.
Then someone’s breathing.
It was not Sean’s voice.
“Kino,” the voice said. “Do you still have the recording?”
Kino froze.
“What?”
“Sean’s last message.”
Jidan stood. “Who is that?”
The voice gave a small laugh.
“You still have it, don’t you, Kin? The file you received that night.”
Kino felt all the blood drain from his body.
He had received an audio file four years earlier. It had come from Sean’s number, minutes before the accident. Kino had never opened it. He had been afraid. After everyone called Sean a liar and a troublemaker, Kino deleted the message.
At least, he thought he had.
Kino’s phone vibrated.
A file appeared on the screen.
File name:
SEAN_LAST_MESSAGE.m4a
“Don’t open it,” Mario said.
Kino looked at him. “Why?”
Mario did not answer.
Jidan stepped closer. “Open it.”
“Ji—”
“Open it, Kino.”
Kino tapped the screen.
At first there was only scraping and the roar of train wheels. Then Sean’s voice appeared, distant and broken.
“Kin… if you’re hearing this, it means they already—”
The voice stopped.
A door slammed.
Then Sean spoke again, closer this time.
“Don’t trust Naren.”
Naren stepped back. “What? I didn’t do anything!”
The recording continued.
“He started everything. He—”
A heavy impact cut him off.
Then another voice appeared.
Gama’s voice.
“You think you can still threaten us after all this?”
Gama covered his own mouth.
“Turn it off,” Mario whispered.
Kino did not move.
In the recording, Sean begged.
“Gama, wait. I only want them to know the truth.”
“No one wants to listen.”
“I haven’t finished talking.”
“You’ve ruined everyone’s life!”
Footsteps followed. Fast. Panicked.
Then Naren’s voice.
“Gama, don’t push him there!”
Everyone stared at Naren.
Naren went pale. “That isn’t my voice.”
On the recording, Sean screamed.
“Don’t—!”
A body struck something.
Then silence.
A few seconds later, Sean’s voice returned, very small.
“I’m still alive…”
Kino covered his mouth.
“I’m still alive… please…”
Footsteps approached.
Someone came closer.
Sean began to cry. “Please help me.”
Then Mario’s voice.
“Sean?”
Mario lowered his head inside the carriage.
On the recording, Sean exhaled in relief.
“Mar… help—”
Mario’s voice cut him off.
“Jidan is ahead. I have to find him.”
“Mario, don’t go.”
“I’ll come back.”
“Don’t leave me.”
Mario’s footsteps retreated.
“Mario!”
The recording ended.
No one spoke.
Even the sound of the wheels seemed to vanish.
Abim opened his eyes. Sweat covered his face.
“He was still alive,” he said.
Mario knelt on the floor.
“I know.”
Jidan stared at him with naked fury. “You knew?”
“I remembered everything.”
“No. You’ve known all along.”
Mario raised his face. “I was afraid.”
“Sean was afraid too!”
Jidan kicked the nearby chair. “He begged for help, and you left!”
“I thought you were in danger!”
“I never asked you to save me!”
Their argument silenced everyone.
Kino watched Gama and Naren.
Gama still stared at the floor. Naren kept shaking his head, as if that could change the recording.
“I didn’t mean to,” Gama said.
Abim forced himself upright. “But you still pushed him.”
“I didn’t know he would fall!”
“You knew he was hurt.”
Gama had no answer.
Kino’s phone vibrated again.
A new message appeared.
NOW PLAY THE PART YOU DELETED.
Kino stared at the screen.
“I never deleted another part,” he said.
Sean stood at the end of the carriage, but his gaze was fixed on the floor.
“Open the hidden storage,” he said.
Kino tapped through several menus. Among the old files was one unnamed file. It was small. Its creation date matched the night of the accident.
He opened it.
This time there was no train noise.
Only someone’s breathing as they ran.
Then Naren whispered:
“If he talks, we’re all finished.”
Kino dropped the phone.
Naren stared at him.
“Kin…”
A knock came from beneath the floor.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Everyone froze.
The knocking came again, louder.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Abim looked down. “Is someone under us?”
Sean turned toward Naren.
“Not someone,” he said.
The carriage floor cracked.
From the narrow gap, another voice whispered in Sean’s voice:
“Naren… open the door.”
Naren screamed.
The lights went out.
And from beneath the train, something began scratching the floor with long fingernails.