Neon Black

4: A child sleeps. A tiger feeds.

My mind starts running through every detail from before, is it really my seat? Did I miss someone? But I remember, there was no one. I remember when I got off the seat and walked down here there was no one. Then the train stopped. And then he was here.

I want the train to hurry up, to start moving. The air feels charged with electricity. I can see an emergency intercom by the door. I could just move a few steps closer, just in case. But as I start to move I freeze. I can see him, his face, in the reflection of the window. He's wearing dark glasses so I can't make out his features but when I moved I swear he shifted. Sensing me maybe. I take another step and I see him turn his head slightly, as if listening behind him. I pause and hold my breath.

"Hello?"

His voice is shaky, like he's an old man. I don't reply but instead try to mentally will the train to start moving. He turns his head forward again, away from me. Maybe deciding he's alone. There's a pause and then -

"Young miss. Could you ... can you help me for a moment?"

His voice innocent like a kindly confused grandpa. Or an old man that has lost his way. But then why hasn't he looked at me? And how does he know I'm a girl?

He turns his head toward me. Shifting in his seat.

"Please, it'll just take a moment."

He obviously knows I'm here. I can't just say nothing.

"What's the problem?" I ask, projecting my voice.

"Oh it's my legs you see. They're not good and with the weather you see they've seized up a touch." His arm now resting on on the top of the chair, helping him turn toward me. "I just need some help to get to the doors."

I don't know what to say back. Something feels off, and I'm certain he wasn't here before.

"Please miss. I'm a bit embarrassed about it. But, without some help I'll probably miss the stop. I can give you money or something?" And he does sound embarrassed, and sad and I feel terrible for not helping.

"Yeah, of course I'll help." I say, as I see him struggle to stand. "Just wait there I'm coming."

I start to walk to him, but as I get closer I become even more certain he's exactly where I was. The seat right across from mine, if he'd been there before we would have been looking right at each other. And as I see his face, he looks as old as he sounds, but he doesn't look embarrassed or ashamed. Just calm. Very calm. Waiting. I stop again, unsure.

"Yes, thank you miss. Yes for helping an old man. I'll give you a gift. Something special you see."

I walk closer. Watching him.

"I don't need anything. I'm happy to help." I say.

"Oh but you must have one. It's an old man's pride you see. I'd feel too bad, because of my legs you know."

I can see he has a walking cane, and he's dressed in one of those thick wool suit jackets and vest. God he probably just came from the doctors or something, and here I am treating him as if he's that creep Michael. He was probably there, back on the platform near the hospital but I was too caught up in myself to notice.

He stands up, as if he can walk, as if he's going to move toward me. Then stumbles and falls forward, catching himself on the chair.

But everything within me screams that it isn't right. It was too perfect. Like it looked exactly how it should. Exactly how a person with trouble walking would stumble.

"Oh, these bad legs of mine you see." But as he said that I get this feeling he's lying. Something within me says with complete certainty that he is lying.

"Come come. Please girl. Just to the door."

I can see he's getting frustrated. And I feel bad. What type of person am I? That he'd need help and I could leave him like this. That I'd be so paranoid and jumpy. That I'd let a guy like that Michael freak me out so much I won't help someone in need. So as he steps toward me I reach out with my arms to steady him. I'm doing the right thing, I think. Everything is fine.

But the moment my hand touches his jacket, he snaps his arms out fast and grabs me. I feel him, pulling me against him, one arm wrapped around my body. His grip is strong, very strong as he squeezes me in a bear hug. I go to scream, to shout out for help. But the moment I make a noise it's cut off as his other hand grabs my throat. Squeezing it. Not strangling me but enough that I can't move and can't speak. All the air in my lungs has rushed out and I can't breathe. I feel my chest burning. I feel like I'm choking. He's put his head right next to mine, his stubble rough against my face. As he speaks he sounds different, it is raspy and strong. Not the voice of a kind old man.

"I'm truly, very sorry about this. But it can't be helped."

I try to scratch or push him off but he's immovable, like a stone statue.

"This will hurt." He whispers into my ear. And as he says that the words keep repeating. Like an echo, far away, blending together then separating. Then close and getting louder. My head feels like it's being squeezed tight, in a vice but on the inside, like someone has reached into my head. I still can't breath and lights start swimming in front of my eyes, like I'm going to pass out. The whisper has become a roar, my head a searing beacon of pain. Is this it? I struggle to think. Is this how I die?

Then suddenly I feel myself hit the floor, all the pressure is gone and the pain starts to recede, like a tide going back into the ocean. The only reminder a burning, stinging feeling in my eyes. I open them to look for him. But he's gone. Silence and a faint ringing spreads throughout the carriage, then the train starts moving again. I push myself backwards still looking around for him. But there is no one there. I feel tender and sore across my ribs and my neck. I force myself to blink through the pain in my eyes to make sure. But I'm alone.

Alive, and alone.