Jubilee Line

Any sound of the trains hurtling through the station of the London Underground was drowned out by the pop music playing through my large, over-the-ear headphones. My hand held loosely onto the railing of the escalator as I felt it sliding beneath my palm while my other hand held my phone as I used my thumb to scroll through aesthetic Pinterest images and fall-themed craft ideas. I could feel the metal grate at the bottom of the escalator under the soles of my Converse as I let the momentum of the movement push me forward, wedging my shoes up before I took the step off onto the slightly wet concrete from this morning’s rain. As I looked at the ground, I could see puddles of water from where it had seeped through the cracks and was dragged down by other passengers, although I saw no distinct footprints.  I glanced up from my phone screen, looking up to the sign above my head as I made the decision of which direction I would go in today.

I had spent my life taking the underground around the city. It didn’t matter where we moved or where we went, I always found myself in the underground. It had almost become a  place of familiarity and comfort, but the usual crowded nature of the stations and train cars had prevented any feeling of safety. Some days, like today, the only thing I wanted to do was go somewhere new. Take a different path, a different station to an unfamiliar area of the city. Anywhere that wasn’t home. I knew I should probably feel more guilty than I did. I knew my mother would be at home. I wondered if she worried anymore, or if this had simply become part of the routine. She knew I would come home eventually. Was it really so wrong of me to see what my life could have been? Watching people in the underground, on the sidewalks, in the parks, and the happiness and joy they had in their lives. Something my parents had always tried to give me, though it always seemed just out of reach. Especially since my dad’s passing.

The station was eerily quiet as I stood on the empty train platform. It was 3 pm on a Tuesday during August. There should have been more people around, but there wasn’t. I lifted my lavender headphones from my head, carefully moving it around the messy bun of curly brown hair that was held to the back of my head by a claw clip. I felt my messenger bag wearing heavy on my shoulder as I listened to the sound of a gentle wind brushing through the underground station. The whirring of tires came closer and closer until the light of the train came into view. I stepped up to the large barriers that had been installed on the edge of the platform to prevent the growth of suicide via train, at least that’s the common belief. The Jubilee Line was the first to have these barriers installed, and this would be my first time taking the line since they have been put in place. The large glass panels took up the entire space from the ground to the ceiling to make sure nothing, or no one, could get onto the tracks. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me curious. I figured if people were determined enough, they could still find a way around the barriers. Or they would just pick a different train to jump in front of. How long would it take before every station and every line had these barriers?

As the train rolled into the station, I saw the empty cars passing by. It was the only time I had ever seen the tube completely empty. The doors to the train opened, followed by those of the barriers. The masculine voice overhead spoke the words”mind the gap”as I stepped across onto the train. There was no one else onboard, and I could have any seat that I wanted, but I instead opted to stand near the doors. I never liked sitting on the plush seats of public transport. I didn’t trust it. I had no way of knowing how clean or dirty they really were and would usually opt to stand even with seats available. I had ridden the tube enough in my life that I no longer needed to hold onto the bar anymore, but just in case, I always kept a small container of strawberry-scented hand sanitizer clipped to the strap of my messenger bag with a carabiner.

The automated voice spoke over the speaker once more, directing its passengers to stand clear of the closing doors; however, there was no one else around to heed the message. I felt my body jerk, butterflies in my stomach as the train began its motion, away from the lights of the station and into the dark tunnel beyond that left me feeling a little nauseated. I reached for my phone again, realizing I had left my music unpaused. I opened Spotify to go back to the songs that I missed in my playlist rotation. I pulled my headphones back around the claw clip, letting the bridge rest atop my head as I could begin to hear the music once more. I watched out of the windows on the doors across from where I was standing. I could feel the rumbling and shaking of the train beneath my feet as I almost convinced myself that it was moving faster than normal. I watched as the walls grew brighter as a station came into view, but the train didn’t even make an effort to slow down. I could see a few scattered figures waiting at the station. Each of them having no defining features, looking almost translucent where they stood.

I watched the station roll by, looking just like the one I had left before, the only difference, besides the figures, was the station name on the sign. I grew concerned, especially as another station passed, and then another, and another. Some of them had the figures, others looked deserted. No attempts were made by the train to stop, but from what I could tell from the window, none of the figures that were present seemed to be interested in boarding this train. Each station passed was the same. The same harsh lighting, the same gray benches along the wall, and the same glass barriers that enclosed the tracks. It got to a point where I didn’t even see a station name on the wall anymore. Just the station symbol that was blank in the middle. The tube sped through station after station until the walls went dark and I didn’t see any more. The wheels screeched along the track, or maybe it was the brakes attempting to engage, I wasn’t quite sure. Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t even recall if I had seen a driver in the train when it had first arrived at the Baker Street station where I had gotten on.

I heard loud static through the train’s speaker system, causing me to move the right side of my headphones off of my ear. I looked up as the lights in the car flickered as I pulled my hands into the sleeves of my hoodie.  The automated voice returned over the speakers, but this time it seemed like a hushed whisper, fighting to be heard over the static. The sounds grew louder and more overwhelming as I moved the headphone back over my ear. I held both sides close to my head, trying to block out the noise with my music. The screaming of the brakes became louder as the train began to make an abrupt stop. I threw out my right arm as I tried to grasp the bar with my sleeve, but my hand slid across the metal as the sudden stop sent me crashing to the ground. I grabbed at the ground in a desperate attempt to stop myself as I skidded across the floor of the tube car until my back hit the siding.  I reached out to grab anything that I could hold on to, but the lights had gone out, leaving me drowning in the darkness.

The first light to reappear as the train’s pace slowed, this time more gradually than it had been before, filtered in through from the windows instead of from the light sockets. I reached out to the nearest bar, and I wrapped my fingers tightly around the cold metal. The natural light was overpowered by another approaching light that held a bright white tone in comparison to the pale glow of the moon. As I pulled myself to my feet, I glanced out of the window, and it was only then that I processed that the line was no longer underground. Out of the window I caught glimpse of a lone station with nothing but darkness surrounding it. I reached for my headphones, assuming them to be around my neck, but when I reached for them, they were gone.

I quickly glanced around, spotting them broken on the ground of the train car. I let out a sigh as I reached down and picked them up. I inspected where they had snapped on the bridge, only barely holding itself together. I felt a small mix of fear and guilt as I recalled how long my mother spent saving up to be able to afford them for me. I knew I would not be able to get another pair anytime soon. We didn’t have the money for that, but part of me didn’t know how I would survive without them. I figured it would be an issue for me to deal with later. Maybe when I got home I could try to fix them. I shook my head before shoving them into my messenger bag. I took a step closer to the door of the train as it came to a complete stop. This station had no barriers like those back in London, but it was clear I wasn’t in London anymore. As the door slid open, the automated voice returned as if there was nothing out of the ordinary here.

“Mind the gap.” It was no surprise as to what the voice would say, but it sounded clearer than it had ever sounded before. I stepped down from the train, instantly feeling the cold night air rush around me as I pulled my arms into the sleeves of my hoodie. The automatic doors slid shut behind me after I stepped off, but the train didn’t move. The station was only illuminated by a single fluorescent light bulb that flickered occasionally, and upon the bench beneath the bulb sat a young boy. If I had to guess, he was probably around eight or so, maybe five or six years younger than I was. He had smooth blond hair as he stared down at his kicking feet over the edge of the bench, too short to reach the ground.

“Come, sit for a while,” he said eventually. His voice was sweet and held a welcoming tone that compelled me to step toward him, albeit cautiously. I caught a slight glimpse of his face as he finally looked up at me. His rounded features were soft and non-threatening as his blue eyes stared up at me as I walked closer and took a seat on the bench next to him. I pulled my arms further into the warmth of the hoodie as I could feel the goosebumps rising on my skin.

“How do you do it?” I asked. My voice was coarser than I remembered it being, although I couldn’t quite remember the last time I talked to a person. I glanced at the gray t-shirt he wore, unsure how he didn’t seem bothered by the chilly night air that enveloped the station. His lips pursed, revealing his dimples as he raised his shoulders into a shrug.

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” he replied as he turned his attention back to his  swinging legs over the brown bench. I put one of my hands down on the bench next to me, feeling the texture of the wooden seat beneath me as I ran my fingers over the boards of the smooth bench. I scratched my fingernail against the wood, both repulsed and mesmerized by the feeling under my nail, but unable to stop myself as my focus narrowed in on the methodical scraping. We were silent for a long time as the breeze blew through the station, the distant sounds of the rustling leaves of trees that were hidden by the consuming darkness beyond the platform.

“How long have you been here?” I spoke at last, this time expecting the hoarse sound that escaped my throat. I watched his head twist to the side. A thoughtful expression spread across his face before he repeated the same pursed lips and shoulder shrug as before.

“Lost track,” he said straightforwardly with a monotonous tone, almost devoid of any emotion. Every part of him seemed to lose its appearance of humanity, as if he was flickering in and out with the lone lightbulb above his head. I looked out across the track into the darkness beyond. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or if it was really there, but I could just barely see the dark forms of stalking creatures waiting just beyond the sight of the light.

“What do we do now?”

“We wait.”

“For what?” I asked as I could feel myself slowly becoming numb to the wind and the cold as I began to lose the warmth and feeling in my fingers first. I slid one hand from inside of my sleeve, placing my cold fingers to the back of my neck, expecting it to have its normal warmth, but was instead met with the same coldness that bit at my fingertips.

“I don’t know.”

*

Susan was humming as she moved around the kitchen, her hair held up out of her face with her satin bonnet. Her hands moved swiftly across the smoother countertops with the rag under her hand, as she listened to the drone of the tv in the other room. She had the news channel turned on simply for background noise as she didn’t like it when her townhouse apartment was silent with the exception of the occasional loud arguing of her neighbors that drifted through the walls.

Once the countertop was clean enough for her liking, she turned to throw the dirty rag into the hamper that sat just inside the kitchen doorway. She stepped closer, her slippers sliding easily across the tile of her kitchen floor as the sound of the tv became louder as she moved closer toward the archway that led to the front room. Her attention was quickly caught by the sound of a knock on her front door. She turned down the sound on the television before moving to open the door. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the two police officers standing at her door.

“Whatever you think I did this time, I didn’t do it,” Susan said, a hint of hostility in her voice. “I’ve paid all my bills this time. My car is already compounded. I’ll pay the parking tickets when I can.”

“Ma’am, none of that is why we are here,” one of the officers said. “Are you Mrs. Thompson?”

“What does it matter if I am or not?”

“Ma’am, we’re here about your daughter,” the second officer said cautiously.

“She’s not here. Who called you? They usually send child services, not police officers.”

“Mrs. Thompson, no one called us,” the second officer spoke again. “May we come in?”

“Not without a warrant,” Susan replied, which was met with a sigh from the first officer.

“I want to start by saying that we are deeply sorry for your loss,” the first officer said.

“My husband died years ago.”

“We aren’t talking about your husband,” the second officer said before taking a deep breath, being met with a nod from the other officer. “Your daughter was found and identified two hours ago.”

“Oh my god.” Susan felt as if her heart was going to stop. Her legs felt weak as she leaned against the doorframe as her gaze became distant, trailing to the ground.

“She was found on the tracks in the underground. Not a pretty sight.” The officer received a look from his colleague for the last comment.

“She was on the Jubilee Line. Baker Street. We aren’t sure how she got past the barriers, but we are continuing to investigate, and we–” Susan tuned them out. The officer’s voice droned on as the tears began to well up in her eyes, a heavy weight felt in her chest. It didn’t feel real. She told herself she would go back inside, cook some chicken broth, and in a matter of hours her daughter would return home again. The feeling of numbness creeping in as she finally let the tears begin to flow. A gut-wrenching scream escaping her throat that echoed through the neighborhood, immediately stopping the officers from talking as they gave her looks of pity.

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Braxtyn Rapp is a junior at Ohio Northern University studying Creative Writing. They are a member of the Honors Program at ONU, a member of Sigma Tau Delta, the International English Honor Society, and also serve as Creative Nonfiction Editor for ONU’s literary magazine, Polaris.