13
CASSANDRA
Everything was wrong.
The full reality of the situation began sinking in shortly after I sat down. What the hell was I doing? I’d left my apartment intending to walk around the city and now I was on a damn Amtrak train leaving it.
Was there an emergency cord I could pull to bring it to a stop? We were moving slowly through the city; I bet I could jump off if I wanted. A few bruised shins to avoid embarrassment.
Okay, stop it Cassie. You were panicking. I looked around the passenger car to make sure nobody else noticed; the old man across the aisle from me caught my eye and smiled. I made myself smile back, and that imbued me with a little more confidence.
Alright, let’s take stock of the situation. I was on a train heading south. My ticket was for Joliet, which was only an hour outside the city. Worst case scenario: I could take an Uber back from there. I’d be home with enough time to take a nap before dinner. Yeah. No sweat.
But now that I was here I felt like myself again, and the thought of returning to migraines and aching joints made me want to stay.
Was that really thanks to Orlando?
I decided I needed to talk to him. To let him explain himself, and maybe find out what was going on. Some part of me still doubted he could give a reasonable explanation for all of this, but I didn’t exactly have any other options.
Shit. Even just thinking of Orlando made me calmer.
I couldn’t just walk right up to him and say hello, I realized. How could I possibly explain that I’d gotten on the same train as him? That I’d been out for a stroll, and just so happened to walk into the train station, and coincidentally saw him getting on the train, so in a spur-of-the-moment decision bought a ticket to Joliet for no reason? That was unbelievable. If roles were reversed and a man gave me that excuse I’d think he was a stalker.
But did it even matter if what I said was believable?
Orlando had told me several unbelievable things. Jeweled totems that infused their holders with magical powers. Dragons searching for them, both Orlando and his friends.
And the transformation I’d seen on the roof. Orlando’s body distorting impossibly, wings emerging from his back and feathers as dark as midnight.
Yeah, compared to that my train excuse didn’t seem so crazy after all.
“Excuse me,” someone in the aisle said. One of the musicians I’d seen at the entrance dragged a huge box of equipment down the aisle, so wide that it scraped against the seats. He looked embarrassed at inconveniencing everyone, and the old man across the aisle hopped up—with surprising spryness for someone who looked to be in his 90s--and opened the door to the next car for him.
The musician shoved the container ahead of him without thanking the old man. I heard the conductor in the next car arguing with him before the door closed.
Orlando was that way. Two cars ahead, sitting in the observation car. But when I tried to make myself get up, it was like invisible vines held me to my seat. Why was I so nervous? It’d been decades since I felt this way about talking to a guy. I went on escort dates with strangers, for Pete’s sake. If that wasn’t nerve-wracking, then why was this?
Because you have feelings for Orlando.
I rejected the thought immediately. I’d just met him. We’d spent a total of 20 minutes together. He’d done something strange and impossible without warning me first.
But I couldn’t ignore the feeling in my gut, and the reality that I’d gotten on a train in order to follow him.
I started bargaining with myself in that special human way. Just go talk to him; rip the band-aid off. The worst he could do is reject me. And at least then I would know.
Oh God, what if he did reject me? It was doubtful, since he’d come to see me yesterday with flowers, but he was the one getting on a train and leaving the city without warning.
Wait a minute. Stop it, Cassie! Why wasn’t I angry with him anymore? He was the one who possibly drugged me. He was the one who stalked me to your office, risking both of my careers at once. He was the one who should be begging me to talk. To explain himself.
Be angry!
My little pep talk worked, but the anger that filled me was more muted than before. I was ready to let him explain himself. And being on a train was the best place, because it meant neither of us could run away until we figured it out.
I turned to the man across the aisle. “Tell me not to be nervous.”
He blinked at me and frowned, which made his entire face scrunch with a thousand wrinkles. “Oh my dear. Someone as beautiful as you should never be nervous!”
His comment pulled a smile onto my face against my will. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“Going somewhere special?” he asked.
I rose from my seat. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
I opened the door to the next car and passed through the connecting tube. The train lurched strangely, which made the wheels groan with stress for a moment, but then it was back to normal. I passed through the second passenger car on nervous feet, my anxiety growing with each step. I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I could feel myself growing closer. Like a marble rolling into a groove.
I reached the door to the observation car, took a deep breath, and passed through.
There were more people in here now, all with heads tilted up to look through the glass windows at the city fading behind us. But as I moved through the car I realized Orlando wasn’t sitting there anymore; the booth was occupied by a young couple holding hands.
But I could still feel him nearby.
Halfway through the observation car were stairs that wound down to the first level. Down there was a small concession stand for drinks and snacks, and four more booths with tables. The man behind the concession stand smiled at me, but I told him I didn’t want anything and went back upstairs.
Forward I went to the end of the observation car, swaying as I walked through the connector to the next car.
It was fancier than the other cars, with drapes pulled back on the windows and booths with clean white tablecloths and thin vases with flowers. The dining car. A waitress moved down the aisle with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other, and stopped at a booth at the far end.
A booth with a gorgeous black man seated, with his hands clasped on the table in front of him and a warm smile on his face.
He saw me, and the smile widened.
All my worries disappeared. There he was. He didn’t even appear surprised to see me. He gestured at the seat across from him, inviting me to join him.
I glided down the aisle on weightless legs. The waitress with the bottle of wine stopped at his table and began removing the foil around the cork, and I heard her ask if he would be dining alone.
“No,” Orlando said in a deep voice. “My date is right there.”
Why hadn’t I listened to him earlier? It was relieving to finally give in and talk to him. With both their eyes on me I felt like a bride on her wedding day, nervous and embarrassed and excited all at once. This felt like a dream.
Until it became a nightmare.