Train Guys

Short story time

Train Guys

The Red Line and its anomalous ability to erode social norms

1,500 words

Her iPod had come to the end of its playlist, and the guy sitting next to her was trying to catch her attention. If she took out the iPod to pick another album, it would give him an opening, so she kept her silent headphones firmly in place, and her eyes firmly on her reading.

He tried to read over her shoulder, taking up a bit too much room with his overly puffy coat as he leaned into her space, trying to figure out what held her attention over him and then use it to strike up a conversation. Luckily, log-log graphs and phrases like “artificial singularity” and “theory of the universal wave function” didn't leave a great deal of fodder for flirting if he did manage to get a good look.

Usually when she was in this situation (because it happened with regularity. Train guys are like that) it went something like this:

“What's that you're reading?”

“A paper on high-energy experimental observations of the multiverse.”

“...Oh.”  And then the conversation was over. He'd scoot away uncomfortably and she would go back to her reading. 

Saying, “It's a paper about proving the existence of what most people call 'alternate realities,'” would launch a conversation, and she didn't have the energy to defend her lab group against eye rolling and “Seriously? Do you use tax payer money for that?” Nor did she have the energy to deal with some guy who would enthusiastically tell her that he'd seen all of Sliders or ask her about his evil, goateed doppelgänger.

Not on the train. Different rules existed on the train.

The wheels shrieked as they dove from elevated into the subway. A flash of white light—a spark against the tracks—lit the dark tunnel like lightning.

As they slowed at Clark and Division, the guy next to her shifted to gather his things, even though all he had with him was his massive coat, which rustled as he moved. He hesitated, almost ready to spit out everything he'd bottled up for four stops, ready to use his last ten second on the train to ask for her number or tell her she had a nice rack or gesture at her paper and say, “So. You must be smart or something.” 

The train came to a halt and he sighed, stood, and exited the train.

She risked a glance to check that he was actually leaving and her gaze caught on a man next to the door in the priority seating. He must be on his way to a wedding or convention or something, decked out in a fancy jacket and voluminous tie. He had multiple watch chains attached to a button on his vest, and a handful of bronze devices poked out of his breast pocket. A compass? A laser pointer? An X-acto knife? Who knew? He might be handsome if not for the yellow tinted lights that made everyone on the train look sickly, and the way his hair stood on end like lightning had recently struck him or he never washed his hair. It didn't go with his fancy outfit.

He blinked at her several times in rapid succession as if clearing his eyes, and she realized she should not make eye contact with crazies on the train. She dropped back to her reading a second too late to miss the way his face lit up.

Aww, jezze.

There was a shuffle in front of her, a movement in her peripheral vision as he switched seats to sit in front of her, twisting to face her. She forced her eyes to keep moving over her reading. She was reading and she had on headphones. Surely he wouldn't talk to her. Surely.

“Elizabeth?”

She snapped up, forgetting to pretend she was deaf to the world, her defenses slamming into place as her shoulders tensed.

His smile broadened and he seemed to sag with relief, running a hand through his hair. “God! I'm so glad to see you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do I...know you?”

He blinked again. “It's me. Nick.”

Yeah. That didn't help.

He frowned at her blank stare, then leaned forward as much as he could given his position. His eyes scanned her face. “You are Elizabeth Connelly, right?”

Something cold seized her chest. “Templeton,” she corrected.

His eyebrows rose. “Your mother's maiden name?”

“How...”

“Huh.” He sat back to look at her from a different angle. Something in his expression changed. “Interesting.”

“My name is interesting?”

He waved that off. “Your name is delightful. Sorry, I mistook you for someone else. You look remarkably like my lab manager.”

“Your lab manager?”

“Yes. For my lab. I'm a mad scientist.” He grinned.

She gave him a blank stare. She should get off at the next stop and walk.

“Anyway,” he said. “My mistake. You're clearly not her.”

“Clearly.”

He laughed. “You're a lot like her though. Deadpan. Dry.”

“Imagine that. I'm a lot like a woman you made up with my name and my job.”

“Now, we already established it's not exactly your name. And you're a lab manager too? Amazing. What are you working on?”

“High-energy experimental observations of the multiverse.”

Instead of the usual response, he said, “Huh. Just observations?” 

She gawked, but he was too deep in thought to notice.  “And you work in multiverse research and you seriously don't recognize me?”

“Should I?”

“I don't know. I kind of want to find out, but then I kind of don't, you know? What if I turn out to be someone really boring? I probably am if the field hasn't progressed past observation. Not to brag or anything.”

She bristled even though she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Where are we?” He looked around at the ceiling, out the windows at the darkness flashing as they passed service lights, but not at the map over the door.

“Chicago and State.”

“Really? Fascinating!” He looked out the window again with renewed interest. He reminded her a bit of a golden retriever, only she was less tempted to scruff up his hair and make kissy noises at him. He gave up making anything of the dark tunnel and turned back to her with shining puppy eyes.

What even?

“So you think I'm crazy,” he said.

“Pretty much.”

“My Elizabeth thinks I'm crazy too.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I guess I should introduce myself, since we don't exactly know each other.”

“That's not necessary.”

He grinned and held out his hand anyway. “Nick Carmichael. And I've decided to trust you.”

“...Okay?”

“Yeah. I clearly didn't think this through. Elizabeth—Dr. Connelly—she made me swear not rush into anything. That I'd run all sorts of stability tests and send some mice or something first. But then she left for the day, and I got caught up in the excitement, and...well...here I am.” He flashed his hands in a ta-dah gesture, then dropped them. “It never occurred to me how I'd get back. And now I find out you haven't built your own version of the machine. I wasn't expecting that.”

“Who would?”

“I got ahead of myself again. That's why I have Elizabeth around. Voice of reason kind of thing. That's why I'm so glad I've found you.”

“Uh huh.”

“You can help me get back to my universe.” He gave her his excited-hopeful-puppy look.

She stared at him, the train squealing as they both rocked back and forth with the motion of the car.

“Sam put you up to this, didn't he?”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Guy from another universe shows up on the train. Sure. Right. Tell him to get a life.”

“...And by Sam, you mean Dr. Petrakis?”

“Oh, you know him? Is he pain in the ass in your universe too?”

He frowned. “You don't believe me.”

“Whaaat? Nooooooo. I believe you completely.”

His frown deepened. “Is there some way I could convince you?”

“You could tell me about the exciting, subtle differences between our universes. Or all the creepy, personal things you know about my alter ego because you two are so close. How did you even manage to get on my train, anyway?”

His puppy look had disappeared, replaced with a seriousness that fit neither his hair nor his outfit. “You're not going to help me.”

She snorted.

He swallowed then clenched his jaw. “I...”

She stood, keeping her balance as the train sighed into the Jackson station even as she slipped her papers in her bag and pulled the strap over her shoulder.

“Elizabeth...”

The train stopped and she was off in three strides, heading past the subway performer and towards the escalator to the surface. The chime of the doors closing echoed behind her as she pulled out her iPod and picked a new album.