Part 1

The traveller has never seen such an unnerving smile before.

"Your ticket, sir?"

The inspector bends forward, pushing the smile beneath his neatly trimmed sideburns to its limits.

They stand in a dusty hallway, the walls composed of bricks stacked onto each other in ways that shouldn't be possible. In between the cracks, the traveller is able to see something vibrating in the darkness behind the wall.

Unsatisfied with the lack of response, the inspector bows even deeper, nearly letting the scarlet cap slide off his head.

"Sir?"

The traveller's blue and grey eyes stare back at the inspector, blank, unsure.

"My ticket? I'm sorry, I don't think I have a ticket on me."

The inspector folds his hands in front of him and straightens his back. His grin grows even wider, the tips breaking off the edge of his face.

"Of course you do, Sir. We all have a ticket here. Please check your pockets."

The traveller looks down, eyeing the teal suit perfectly draped over his shoulders with suspicion. It is the kind once worn in the Parisian salons of old. He sniffs, the faint odour of freshly cut grass glazed with dew catching him by surprise. His hands drop into his pockets, pulling them inside out, showing them empty.

"I'm afraid I really don't have a ticket."

The inspector manages to keep his iron grip on his grin, though something in his face, behind his face, changes, as if his teeth are desperately trying to break free.

"I see," he says, stepping back. With a flourish, he takes a telephone off the wall behind him. He speaks, the words mixing with omnipresent noise until they reach the traveller, unintelligible. The telephone is put back on the wall with a nod.

"Please step back and remain there for a moment."

He pushes the traveller against the wall, his movements gentle yet forceful, before stepping back to his original position. Another person steps in front of the traveller, handing a slip of paper to the inspector, who takes the slip into his hands and closes his eyes. Without a word, he hands it back to them, gesturing them to a set of doors on his right.

After taking a moment to ground himself, the traveller looks around, noticing only now the grand red doors the person in front of him just left through. The golden lines decorating them are drawn with extreme precision. The rest of the hall is gloomy, illuminated only by a faint lanternlight casting shadows on the uneven brickwork. The pleasant smell of freshly cut grass has all but disappeared, a musky smell roaming around in its stead. An endless queue of people stretches out into the darkness on his right, the dimly lit room leaving them all without a face.

The sound of footsteps approaching draws his attention towards the far end of the queue. The steps are rhythmic, aligned with perfection, unnatural. A slither of panic rushes through the traveller's face. His pupils shrink, turning his focus inwards. There, the words of the inspector echo through his head.

We all have a ticket here.

He checks his coat for more pockets, sliding his hands over his waistcoat and pants, finding none. His fingers tense, their motions rigid. The footsteps grow louder, their ticking melodic, like the seconds passing on an old clock. He looks to his right, squinting to make sense of the approaching figures. He then checks the outside of his coat, his back, and even behind his ears. His fingers stop when they touch the hard fabric of the top hat resting on red curls. With a frown he takes the hat and holds it out in front of him. With a sigh of relief, he grabs the ticket stuck between the hat and the band wrapped around it. He turns it around, inspecting it. The Readsbury Railway Express is printed on it with a fine red lettering. A date is printed on the bottom left, while the bottom right says Wildhoeve, followed by a string of numbers and letters.

The drumming of footsteps puts the urgency back in his eyes. He steps forward, cutting the queue.

"Sir? I had only misplaced my ticket."

The inspector turns his heartless eyes back to the traveller. He opens his hand and holds it out in front of him.

"Of course."

The traveller places the slip of paper in the inspector"s hand and watches him crumple it in his fist. Only a moment later does he hand it back to the traveller.

"If you could."

He gestures to the red door, which swings open as soon as the traveller touches his ticket. The traveller is pushed through and into the main hall. The slip in his hand now has a time, 14;32, and platform nineteen written on it. He glances back, finding the door closed already. Nothing suggests that he has just come from a crowded, musky hallway.

His eyes grow wide, even forcing his lips into an awe-filled smile. The hallway in front of him is massive. Circular walls are decorated with fresco"s, their dreamlike scenes interrupted only by the occasional pillar. His gaze is glued to the fountain in the centre of the room. A stone siren floats graciously, a stream of water flowing from the orb in her hand. Before he knows it, he stands in front of her, having only faint memories of walking there. Up close, the shapes are much clearer, the siren lifelike. Her gaze is cast upwards towards the dark ceiling, the stone eyes full of life. What he mistook for an orb, however, turns out to be a skull, the water flowing from its opened mouth.

The space opens up behind the fountain. A dozen stairways crawl up against the walls, leading out of the entrance hall. Behind them, some twenty platforms lie, each filled with a mass of featureless figures. The trains waiting there are old, the long barrels followed by high-class carriages, each lined with the same golden lining as the door the traveller has just passed through. Steam erupts from each train, rising high into the sky, creating a cushion of low hanging clouds. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling pierce through the smoke, their pale light painting stars.

The enormity of the room dawns on the traveller, who takes a step back. He looks back towards the door, retracing his steps in his mind, all the way back to his encounter with the inspector. But before that, his memory is as foggy as the clouds hanging above him.

Something shoves him out of the way. It"s a passerby wearing a winter coat. They mumble a complaint, words filled with emotion instead of structure, and move back into the crowd filling the station.

The traveller looks around, mesmerised by the mass of blue, grey and brown coats. Their steps are filled with intent, their featureless faced fixed on their destination. Hoping to find answers, he steps into the stream of passersby. Like a creak breaking on a rock, they move out of his way, silent. Surrounded by a flurry of passing figures, the air becomes heavy, pulling on his lungs.

"I shouldn"t be here."

He takes off his hat. His hands are shaking, bony fingers cramped around the rim.

"Where am I? How did I—"

Clouded eyes look around, rapid, panicked. Drips of sweat bounce off his forehead. His chest heaves, his head barely raising out above the sea of coats. As if the station itself wishes to spit him out, the air around him seems to freeze.

He steps forward, tapping on the shoulder of a passerby. They ignore him, vanishing into the crowd. The traveller pushes himself further into the stream, looking the next passerby straight in the face. But before he can make eye-contact, the passerby has already moved on. With a frustrated grown he pushes the edges of the rim of his hat to each other until they snap, ripping the fabric. His legs surrender, sending him into a crouch. His heart pulses along to the drum of the steps, turning his breaths into a pleading song.

Two hands grab his coat by the collar and pull him up, making him gasp for air. He turns around to see a young woman, her blonde ponytail hidden in a coat three sizes too large.

"Come on, you don't want to make a scene, not here," she says, dashing out of the stream of passersby and into the next. Moments later she appears at the outer wall, standing on the marble baseboard running along it. She waves, hurrying him on.

For a moment, the air seems light, and without much thought he pushes into the steams. Even though the traveller does not walk with the same practised steps as his guide, he still manages to reach the wall. The woman swings around the pillar and opens the hatch behind it. Without a word she slips in, leaving it open. The traveller looks around. The faceless mass ignores him, still following their erratic paths to the trains. But something burns in the masses. A flash of orange catches his attention, though it quickly disappears again. He shivers, eyes burning into his back from somewhere out of this realm. With one last glance at the crowd, he follows the woman into the hatch.

He makes his way down the manhole, each step of the ladder gently pressed before being subjected to his full weight. He is not quite sure how long it takes him to reach the bottom, but he sure is thankful that he does.

The room below the ladder is dark, sewer pipes leading into the darkness much like the trains and the queue of passersby. The woman drops her coat on a makeshift bed, revealing a simple dress and long silken gloves. A violin case lies on the crate to it, a desk stands opposite. Piles of sheet music cover every inch, folding over each other in an ocean of black and white.

"You gave me quite the scare," she says, grinning as she lets herself fall onto the bed. "It"s dangerous to hold up the others."

"Who are you?" he asks, blunt.

"Me? I'm Kira, though I find it much more interesting to know who you are, actually."

The traveller shuffles around. He can feel a name, or perhaps a void where there once was a name clearly, but it is out of reach.

"You don't know? That's a first."

She eyes the traveller curiously, playfully swinging her legs over the rim of her bed.

"I assume you have a lot of questions, if you can't even remember that."

She waits for the traveller to nod, looking for a glimmer in his eyes, a spark of the past.

"Then I won't tread around it any longer."

She averts her gaze, fumbling with her dress.

"I truly am sorry, but you're dead."

The traveller doesn't move. He stares at Kira, his gaze blank.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not, I— I was hoping it was a dream. Is it?"

Kira bites her lip, considering her options. She picks up a screw from the floor and hurls it at the traveller. It scratches his palm causing him to flinch as pain, real tangible pain, spreads through his arm and blood drips from his hand. The two stand in silence for a moment.

"If I'm not dreaming," the traveller says, breaking the silence. "then what is this place?

"The station to get to the next. Everyone boards here, sooner or later."

The traveller clamps his fists, hoping to stem the slight bleeding. The words have calmed him, confirming his fears, the expected fears.

"But if everyone boards, why did you drag me down here? What is this room anyway?"

Kira shrugs.

"You seemed lost."

The traveller looks up. Something calls to him, perhaps the rhythm of the footsteps pulsing through the brick and pipes.

"It isn't strange that you were confused. It"s a lot, dying."

The traveller chuckles, holding onto his soft smile with all his might.

"It must have been."

He takes a deep breath, taking the crooked hat off his head and straightening it.

"I tried to ask the other" people for help, but they all ignored me. Can they not understand me?"

"They can but. . . They"re spirits, you know. Panic, fear, distress, all those are things that they would rather get away from now. And you weren"t exactly a beacon of serenity up there."

The traveller runs a hand through his hair, pulling back the strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. Down here, he can hear the mechanical heart of the station beating. The sound of metal cogs pressured against each other, each movement followed by a hiss of steam.

"So now what happens?"

"You go up and board your train. You do have a ticket, right?"

The traveller takes the slip out of his pocket and shows it to Kira.

"Platform nineteen it is," she says, getting off the bed and putting on her coat. She pulls a thin mirror out from between the pipes. She tucks her ponytail beneath the coat, letting her fringe cover her eyes.

"I'll come along. can't have you break down twice. She won't like that."

The traveller frowns when he stares in the mirror, his own reflection invisible.

"She?"

Kira takes a blue cap from the hook and puts it on her head.

"The Conductor. Showed up a while ago, wandering around for no reason. But now she manages, well, everything really. I can't imagine what would happen if she got her hands on you. Better keep out of sight."

She hops past the traveller and pulls herself up the ladder.

"Tick tock," she says, tapping her watch-less wrist, and grins at the sheepish traveller.

Part Two

The traveller waits for Kira to makes her way up the ladder. He eyes linger on the room around him, feeling the warm steam from the pipes on his cheek. He pulls himself up and away from the putrid smell. Kira waits for him at the top, nearly indistinguishable from the other travellers. He closes the hatch and takes a deep breath.

Kira gives him a reassuring smile and dashes into the masses. The traveller groans, mumbling a curse before going after her. He manages the constant stream of passersby with more ease, his full focus dedicated to staying upright.

The air is lighter where Kira has pierced the stream, giving the traveller a path to follow. The density of the crowd grows thinner once they crawl up the stairs and reach the platforms, allowing the two to walk side-by-side without much effort.

They pass the various platforms, the stream thinning at each one. The passersby are calmer here, their paths less sporadic. Some stand in pairs, having silent conversations, pointing and exchanging. Human, almost.

"What's up with the different platforms?" the traveller says as they pass platform twelve.

"The different platforms?"

"Why are there so many? Wouldn"t a longer train be easier?"

Kira halts her step, looking at the elaborate art-nouveau sign depicting the number twelve.

"I don't know. 've always thought there were so many platforms because there are so many types of people, too."

They continue to walk, halting again at platform nineteen. The number stares down at the traveller, hiding something behind its innocent demeanour. It"s only a number, it should only be a number, but the traveller can't shake the sense of dread out of his bones. He looks up, realising only now that platform nineteen is the last one. A brick wall greets him on the other side, only adding to the discomfort.

"Well, That's that, then," Kira says. She steps to the side, allowing the traveller to see the train for himself. The first carriage has a balcony at the rear and is followed by a chain of identical carriages extending out into the darkness, one after another, until the lanternlight is no longer strong enough to illuminate them. Beyond that he can barely discern a green locomotive, revealed by puffs of smoke. The passersby here move leisurely, talking to each other or sitting patiently on the benches placed at the side.

Something urges the traveller to look back, the higher platform allowing him to look down on all the other ones and the mess of muted colours streaming over them. A shiver rushes through him. In the distance, near the first few platforms, a bright speckle of orange stands out from the dark swatches of green and grey. Even though he cannot identify what it is, one thing is for certain. It is watching him. He looks back at Kira, who is still waiting for him, and back at the crowd, the orange gone.

"You there? That train can and will depart without you."

"Right," he says, passing past Kira and onto the platform.

"This is where I'll leave you," she says, standing behind the golden line drawn on the floor separating the walkway from the platform. "You can take it from here, right?"

The traveller nods.

"Thank you."

"Anytime," Kira says, giving a quick wink before trotting without a second glance. The traveller stutters, surprised at how quickly she has vanished. Without someone to converse with, the beating in his chest quells the peaceful air again. He puts his hand on his chest, startled by how fast his heart slams against it, as if it"s trying to break free.

He walks past the train, the green and gold a distraction, alluring. He reached for one the handle of one of the doors, perhaps the afterlife would be more peaceful away from the station, away from"

A porter appears next to him. How, the traveller is not sure. They bow and open the door in front of him with a flourish. In between the porter"s glove and their sleeve, he could see a sliver of their arm. Shadows seep out of it, drifting towards the ground before vanishing mid-air. He looks up at the porter"s face but finds it empty. Their face isn't hidden like the passersby. Instead, the same swirling shadows that leaked from their glove make up their face. They gesture towards the door, their movements mirrored in the blindingly clean window. The traveller squints, still without a reflection.

What is visible, however, is a face. A face the traveller has so far only been able to observe from a distance: the face of what he can only assume is the Conductor. Her ginger curls are tied back underneath an olive-coloured cap. Her jaw is sharp, her cheekbones accented. A checkered blouse is tucked away neatly in brown high-waisted pants. Her eyes burn onto the traveller. When they lock with his, she steps onto platform nineteen, sending a shockwave through the platform. The ground vibrates, screaming out. Without a second look, the traveller pulls himself into the train. He shuts the door behind him and leans against it, breathing heavily. His hand brushes his own cheekbones, lost in thought.

The train is even more stunning on the inside than on the outside. Red velvet carpets coat the dark oak flooring. Golden lines crawl over them, painting hypnotising geometrical patterns. The doors to the compartments feature the same golden designs, the lines all pointing towards the "The Readsbury Railway Express" lettering on the windows.

The traveller turns right and strolls past the compartments, away from the walkway between the platforms, away from her. A high-pitched whistle startles him. Right after, the sound of doors closing at the exact same moment rushes through the air. He buries his head in his hands, sighing.

Most compartments are filled with passersby, leaving no place for him. After passing through a dozen carriages, he finds a compartment with only a single passerby sitting inside, their back resting against the lofty cushions. The traveller takes a deep breath, remembering Kira"s words, and tries to calm his body, at least on the inside.

He opens the door without a sound. The passerby turns their head to the traveller standing in the doorframe. Their hat is pushed down, shadows covering their face. The traveller takes a seat opposite.

They sit in silence for a moment, inspecting each other.

"I'm sorry, but I have to be sure," he says, the words coming out broken, frail.

"You are human, right? Like me?"

The passerby does not respond. They sit motionless, their shoulders slowly going up and down.

"Can you understand me?"

They tip their hat forward slightly. Every motion that the passerby does is done slowly, with utmost care.

"I feel like something has gone wrong, but I can't figure out what. Everyone else is draped in shadows. I don't remember how I died. And I see everyone talking constantly, but the words I hear don't make any sense."

The traveller rummages through his pockets, looking for anything to help him communicate. He frowns when he feels a stiff piece of paper tucked away in his breast pocket. He pulls it out, nearly tearing it apart with rushed movements. The picture is a blurred polaroid. It pictures a blonde girl and a ginger boy standing on a stage of some sort, holding bouquets of flowers. He squints, unable to see their faces. He turns it around, finding the words you've always known, just listen scribbled on the back in handwriting unknown to him.

The passerby bends forward slightly and extends their arm. Their hand is draped in shadow, obscuring any human flesh beneath it, if there is any to begin with. They nod again, pointing towards the picture.

"You want the picture? I don't remember when this was taken."

He waits for the passerby to respond, but when the hand remains out, he places the photograph in the passerby"s hand gently, unsure whether it would fall straight through. The passerby grabs it with both hands and presses it against their chest. They take a deep breath, resonating with their whole body. As their body expands to take in the air, the photograph is pulled through their chest and vanishes.

They bend forward again, careful not to startle the traveller, and place a hand on the traveller's chest. He flinches, but calms when he realises the passerby"s hand is warm, the heat comforting. They sit together, sharing this moment in silence, one a warming body, the other a warming heart.

The passerby pulls back and rests against the couch again, though the warmth lingers on. They raise their hand and point towards the corner of the compartment closest to the platform. The traveller turns his head, hoping to find something he hadn"t seen before, but the compartment is still the same as before. The passerby points again, more urgently.

"Outside? The platforms? I don't understand."

The pointing hand reaches for the handle, extending their arm by a metre, and opens the door. It retracts to a normal length and points towards the platforms one last time, before their hand returns to a relaxed position on their legs.

"You're telling me to get off the train?"

The train shakes briefly before it begins to move. The passerby nods deeply. They say something, the noise as distorted as with the other passersby, but it manages to say exactly what is needed to be said. The traveller shoots off the couch. He turns to the passerby, who remains seated.

"Thank you. I hope you will find your peace."

He rushes to the outside door and slams the handle. The door remains closed, unimpressed. He pulls on it again, his whole body used in the motion, but the train has no intention of letting him go. The traveller nearly falls over when the train accelerates, the lanterns outside passing by quicker and quicker. He could not see where the platform ended before, but he does know that he has no time to waste.

He begins to run towards the end of the train, checking each door, futile. Clouded eyes look around, his veins pulsing. Then it hits him; the balcony at the end of the train must have a door leading out. His hurried steps turn into a run as he makes his way for the end of the train. The final carriage does not have compartments, the dozen of passersby instead seated on benches at the side. They all turn to the traveller as he stumbles through the gangway. He ignores them, dashing to the final door at the opposite side of the carriage. To his relief, it opens, and before he knows it, he finds himself standing on the balcony of the final carriage.

The platform stretches out next to him, the well-lit station already hundreds of metres away. He bends over the fence and finds not tracks speeding away underneath the train, but a thousand stars sparkling underneath the wheels of the carriage. As if in an infinite pit, the stars light up the dark. He takes a deep breath and climbs over the fence, nearly slipping off. Only his toes are tucked away safely between the fence and the balcony. He shivers, trying to overpower the alluring lights, the way they invite him in. He bites his lip before jumping towards the stone platform. As he lets go, the train speeds away from him, and for a moment he hangs still in the air. Beneath him are the endless possibilities, an infinite abyss of dreams and light. He closes his eyes and pushes forward, barrelling through the air and towards the platform. He groans in pain as he rolls across the pavement, slowing to a halt with wrists clad in blood. He looks up to see the train speeding away into the darkness, the green light attached to the balcony the last thing he sees before that, too, is swallowed. On the other end of the platforms however, the Conductor stands leaning against the archway.

Part Three

The platform behind the traveller is shrouded in a black mist. He can see the stone platform extend further behind the mist, but he is not sure if he would ever be able to return if he chooses that path. On the tracks at the other side at platform eighteen stands another train waiting for departure.

The Conductor herself hasn't moved an inch. From here, her hair glows bright orange in the lanternlight, a beacon. He slumps to his feet and straightens his back. Muscles protest and bones crack, but his body seems relatively unharmed. His sleeves have protected his arms from injury, at the cost of their own life. He tears off one of the frayed pieces of fabric and rinses his hands, revealing scratches in his skin. He frowns when he sees the wounds underneath his tattered sleeves. Narrow cuts crawl up his skin, even at places where his sleeve took the hit.

He looks around one more time. Behind him lies only a dark mist, on his right the brick wall of the back of the station, and on his left a train he cannot jump through. He sighs and eyes the Conductor waiting for him at the other end.

"Then we will meet at last."

His first steps take the most effort, costing him minutes of concentrating on his breathing before he can take it. Every next step is easier, yet still straining. He puts his hand on his chest. The warmth in his heart remains, powering him through, but his lungs cry out in pain. The air has become ever denser, too heavy to breathe. With each step he has to take a large breath, overexerting himself. After what feels like a thousand steps, he is able to inspect the Conductor more clearly than he could until now. Her eyes are blue, troubled with grey clouds and surrounded by freckles. Her lips are pursed, though not in an unfriendly way. She leans against the arch, relaxed, juxtaposed to her threatening aura. The green hat he thought to have been a Conductor's cap is in fact a worn-down beret. As soon as she is within earshot he speaks, eager to lead the conversation and find a way past her. If only he could get to Kira, perhaps they could figure out a way out together.

"You are the Conductor?" he manages, pleased with how sturdy his voice feels.

The Conductor grins, folding her arms.

"That's right. And I've been looking for you for a long time."

Closer to the station, the bustling heart of the station makes itself heard again; a percussion of footsteps and clicking doors overlaid on a baseline of distorted murmur.

"A long time?"

"You shouldn"t be here," she says, her voice sharp.

The traveller takes another step towards her, eyeing her reaction. Despite her relaxed position, both her feet and planted firmly on the ground, ready to move. And even though the traveller stands tall biting through the pain, his fingers are trembling, his throat dry.

"You fear me," she says, a hint of regret tucked away in the sound of her voice. The traveller does not reply. He knows he is afraid, but is unsure whether admitting it will make the situation any better.

"Come with me, I'll make everything go away."

She extends her hand to him. A glimmer of hope catches the traveller's attention. He remembers how Kira did not step onto the platform, and how when the Conductor did, the ground began to shake.

"If That's the best thing to do, I'll come with you."

He takes the Conductor's hand, waiting for their fingers to touch before he grabs her wrist tightly and pulls her over the line. She trips and falls onto the platform next to him, and the world begins to shake. The lanterns of platform nineteen flash wildly, followed by the stone tiles shaking, sprinkling dust down towards the stars. The traveller leaps onto the walkway in between the platforms where the ground is still silent. The Conductor gets back on her knees, vibrating along to the pavement. But before she can regain her footing, the traveller dashes towards the heart of the station.

A loud cracking noise startles him and makes him look back. Tiles begin to drop down into the abyss, a few at a time, until another crack causes the platform to snap. The tiles all vanish together, taking the lanterns and the Conductor with them. After a few seconds of deafening noise, platform nineteen has gone, and the station turns back to its usual self. The traveller shakes his head, panting heavily. The passersby next to him peer out into darkness, stunned.

The traveller takes one moment before jogging back towards the main hall, the sensation of eyes burning into his back far from gone. He finds his way back without much trouble, opening the hatch with pulsing arms. A billow of steam greets him as he vanishes into the hatch and glides down towards Kira.

Down below, Kira is lying in her bed. She is sleeping, peaceful, the only movement that of her fringe moving in the currents of steam. She coughs, eyes closed yet strained. The traveller walks up to her and pokes her shoulder. She shakes her head, groaning, but opens her eyes.

"You— You should have been on a train by now," she says, her voice fragile. The traveller stands sheepishly next to the bed.

"It didn't feel right, I—"

He gets cut off by another loud cough. Kira pulls herself up against the frame, pushing away the traveller's hand when he tries to help and pulling the blanket over herself.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

Kira grins, biting her lip.

"Just a cold."

She eyes the traveller with narrow eyes. Her gaze stops when it reaches his bloody arms.

"I could ask you the same. What did you do?"

The traveller looks at his tattered sleeves, numb to the pain.

"I boarded the train like you said. But when I actually got there, I couldn"t shake the feeling that I didn't belong on there. So I jumped off."

He touches his cheek with his fingers.

"Why am I the only one with a face? Or why are you, me, the Conductor and that creep at the entrance the only ones with a face?"

Kira straightens her back, alert.

"You don't see their faces? Of the other souls?"

The traveller's eyes widen.

"No," he says, puzzled. "They all still have their human face?"

"Yeah, they do."

The traveller sits down on the bed, missing Kira"s legs by an inch.

"When I boarded, one of the passengers there pointed back to the platform, as if they knew too that I don't belong here."

Kira coughs again. She swipes the sweat off her forehead with her glove.

"And the Conductor? If you don't belong here, she would have found you by now."

"I ran into her at the platform but managed to pull her onto it, which caused it to collapse. I think she fell down."

"You touched her? And you didn't—"

"Didn't what?"

Kira shakes her head. Her skin is soaked in sweat, veins pulsing to the tune of her heart.

"How did you get here," she mutters to herself. Something changes in her eyes, a new spark awakening.

"I'm not dead, am I?" the traveller says, looking down to the pile of clothes huddled next to the bed.

"I don't think so. Or not dead completely, at least."

"Then how did I get here?"

Kira anchors her gaze on the traveller, hoping to see something beneath his ragged coat.

"I don't have those answers for you. And the last time when I thought I did, I was wrong. Most people don't come here, you know, they are brought here. But you somehow brought yourself here. If you just stop thinking for a moment and just" feel, maybe you can remember. Though I suspect you've never been very good at that."

The traveller clamps the edge of the bed, tense. Thoughts spiral through his mind, latched onto vague memories and emotions with nothing tying them down. The swirling conscious overwhelms him, fogging his vision and pulling on his lungs.

"It"s all a mess," he says, cramped.

"It is, isn't it," Kira says, her voice weakening with each sentence.

The traveller stands up, looking back at Kira. She is shrivelled up in her blanket, seemingly smaller than before. Even though she is smiling, her smile is hollow, forced.

"There is only one person who will know how you got here. And how to get out."

The traveller thinks back to platform nineteen, and how it simply cracked and vanished.

"I killed her."

"You can't kill her, dummy," Kira says, letting go of a short giggle instantly swallowed by a loud cough. "That's not how it works. She"ll be there, waiting for you."

The traveller's hand wanders to his arm, lost in thought.

"She wants to destroy me, doesn't she?"

"Maybe. But I think she is scared too, you know. Now come on, go meet her before this place collapse onto itself and you doom the rest of the world to endless wandering."

"How motivating," he says, walking over to the ladder and turning back to Kira one more time.

"You're not alone," Kira says. "You will have to take some steps by yourself, especially these final steps, but you're not alone."

She hums a short melody, letting the room echo her notes. The music nestles in the traveller's mind, turning from a simple melody into something else, linking his memories and bringing them together.

"That's Ravel," he says, confused. "Pavane for une infante d"funte,"

"Some things you can't forget," Kira says, gesturing him to climb up the staircase.

"You didn't even tell me how you got here."

"That's for when we meet next time."

She lies down on the bed again, tucked away. The traveller nods and begins his climb upwards, fuelled on by the sound of creaking pipes in the distance.

"Come home," Kira says, though the traveller is far too occupied to pay it much mind.

Part Four

The station hall is quiet. Although passersby still crowd the room, they move silently, without conversation. The traveller walks past them with relative ease, used to their movements by now. He walks past the fountain and towards the platforms. With every few strides he casts a glance back.

The platforms remain intact. Passersby still board the trains, and the lanterns shine their usual dull light. He counts the platform out loud, trying to focus his attention on the numbers, away from his confrontation. But as he counts, he realises that the further he gets, the darker the platforms become. Some lanterns flicker, or their light doesn't reach much further than a couple metres. When he passes platform eleven, he notices how a crowd of passersby is gathered at the end, all peeking towards where platform nineteen used to be.

The passersby part for him when he arrives, allowing him to move right to the edge. They gather around, murmuring their silent whispers. The traveller lets out an exhausted gasp as he sees what is left of platform nineteen. The sign has broken, leaving nothing but the bottom of the number one. The platform leads into the dark, where stars have molten into each other. They sing together in a distorted harmony, circling through rings of light and illuminating the dull bricks that make up the station. Together they form a gate, leading into a darkness much darker than that of the distant platforms.

The traveller turns to the other passersby, whose shrouded faces are all turned to the gate in excited murmurs. They nod to the traveller. Another passerby walks up and faces him. They are tall, wearing a coat much older and more worn-down than the other passersby"s. They nod, taking off their hat and revealing that their whole head is shrouded in shadow. The passerby is much taller than the traveller, towering out over everyone there. They hand the hat to the traveller, bowing.

"For me?"

They answer in distorted noise, but it is clear to the traveller that there was no ill intent. He lets out a chuckle as he realises that he has lost his hat somewhere in the station. He puts on the new hat and looks around. The others have gathered around in a circle, all looking at him. They take of their hats and hold them to their chest. They extend their hands and put them on the traveller's coat, much like the passerby in the train did. Warmth spreads through him, breaking down frozen threads and melting towering walls. He relaxes, muscles for once not crying out in pain.

They retract, and the passersby clear the way to the swirling gateway. The tall passerby nods again, instilling strength, or perhaps companionship. The traveller walks over towards the edge and takes in the gate. It"s small, barely reaching as high as the traveller. With one last glance, and one last breath, he ducks and steps into the gateway. He puts one hand on his chest, keeping the warmth given to him safely stored in his chest. He holds his hat with his other hand, making sure to keep it close. He hums the melody of Ravel"s piece, and passes through the gate on his own, though far from alone.

The traveller blinks, fog clouding his vision. He rubs his eyes, pushing the clouds away one by one until the scene becomes clear. He is standing in a classroom, tables filled with paper and books in an unsurmountable mess. The Conductor sits at the table near the window, her back to the traveller. Her body is pulsing. Black rifts run over her body, glimmering with the light of the stars, ripping her apart.

"Just" run. Hide," she says. Her voice is cramped, distorted much like the passersby, although still comprehensible.

The traveller does not move. He leans against the table and steadies his breathing. The air here is lighter than in the station, the lighting natural as opposed to the gloomy lanternlight.

"You cannot destroy me," she says, turning around and revealing another rift on her face covering one of her eyes. Her other eye is bright red, and bleeding.

"You cannot destroy me, without destroying yourself."

In here, the Conductor seems small, humbled by the low walls and constraining ceiling.

"Then why did you bring me here," the traveller asks, taking one step towards the Conductor.

"Bring you here?" she says, laughing. "You are the one who brought me here."

She gets up out of her chair, taking two steps towards the traveller.

"You don't listen to anyone, do you? Not even to your own heart."

The traveller takes a step back, cautious. With each step the Conductor takes towards him, the sunlight flickers. Behind her, lines are drawn on the chalkboard. They swivel over it, random paths describing everything and nothing. If there are letters hidden in the mess, the traveller does not see them.

"So what do you want, then? To destroy me?" the traveller asks.

The Conductor snickers. She walks up to the traveller until they are separated by only a single stride.

"I want" to live," she says. Her voice is fragile now, soft. The traveller balls his fists. A thousand thoughts rummage through his mind, too many to make sense of any of them. Something inside him tells him to fight, to pull her away and drag her through the gate breaking through the bookcases on their right. Here in the sunlight, he realises how tired he has become. His suit smells of steam and sweat. The passersby back at the station were scared, their station collapsing. He nods, eyeing the Conductor, seeing the fear hidden away in her eye.

"Come on then. Destroy me."

He takes off his hat and lays it down at the table on his left. His coat is draped over the seat, revealing bloodstained arms. The Conductor breathes loudly, her shoulders moving up and down with each breath, like a wild animal made from a patchwork of skin and void. Her breaths grow faster until she cannot hold them any longer. She jumps to the traveller, landing on him and throwing him down onto the floor. Tables and chairs are pushed aside as her hands lock around his neck, pressing tightly. She bends down, two sets of clouded blue eyes meeting properly for the first time. The sound of the rifts burning through her is deafening, like an electric pulse electrifying the air. The traveller does not move. He only stares back at her. A tear drips from her eye and lands onto the traveller, burning into his skin. His lungs hunger for air in a futile attempt to expand but they are pushed back by the Conductor's legs. His body pushes him to act, but his gaze remains locked with the Conductor.

More tears land on his cheeks. The Conductor screams, trying to dig her nails into his neck but she doesn't puncture his skin. Memories flicker, pushed into his mind by the Conductor's nails. Overwhelmed, he screams, digging his own nails into the uneven woodwork of the floor. He sees himself at school, in the woods, watching others play football. The memories flash past in rapid succession, burning themselves back into his consciousness. He can see himself growing up, moving into his own place, alone. Slowly, he watches himself dissolve, breaking apart from within as he watches his memories from the outside. His arms grow numb, his screams faint. The memories become grey, dissolving too.

A melody plays in his mind. Ravel. As a response, other memories come to haunt him. He is young again, attending his first cello lesson. He plays a piece for the other students, the cello balanced awkwardly between his legs. The other students clap, a blond girl claps. She jumps up, hugging" the Conductor.

Clouded eyes widen. He sees himself practising until deep into the night, the Conductor's fingers sore the following morning. He stands at the stairs leading to a stage, the Conductor wearing a sleek tuxedo, Kira walking up to him, taking her hand, winking at him, pulling her up to the stage"

The classroom flashes back into place, blinding him. The pressure on his neck fades as the Conductor's cries take over her body. He gently pulls off her fingers from his neck, a tear running down his cheek. She doesn't fight back, allowing the traveller to push her off him.

"You didn't fight back," the Conductor says. She doesn't look up, instead pulling up her knees and leaning against a flipped chair.

"You didn't destroy me," the traveller says. He leans against the leg of the table, pulling up his knees.

"I really wanted to," the Conductor says. "I thought I wanted to."

The room around them begins to shake. The gateway to the station on their right begins to shrink.

"We don't have much time," she adds, shooting a quick glance at the gate. "If you go now, you can still board a train like you wanted. You can leave me behind for good."

The traveller doesn't move.

"I don't know why I feared you so much," he says.

The Conductor chuckles, wiping the tears off her cheek.

"You've been scaring me, too," she says, a faint smile on her lips. "If you want answers, you should hurry up."

She glances towards the gate, which has shrunk to the size of a small window. The classroom shakes again, accented by the occasional falling brick and breaking lamp.

"I only have one question."

The Conductor looks up to the traveller for the first time since their encounter. The rifts ripping through her have calmed, showing the sparkling stars puncturing the void.

"What's our name, truly?" he says. "I don't remember what name we had before I got here, but I want to know what it is. The proper one."

"Lola," she says.

The traveller gets up and peaks at the gateway. The bricks falling next to him don't seem to spook him. Tables snap in two and the chalkboard falls to the floor but the traveller remains standing.

"What happens if I don't go back to the station?"

The Conductor looks up to the traveller with clear eyes.

"I can stay here with you, if you'd like," he adds.

She nods, clearing the space next to her, pushing away chunks of the ceiling and brushing away the dust. He takes a seat next to her and wraps his tattered coat around them.

"You sure?" she asks.

"Surer than I've been in a long time."

The conductor closes her eyes, taking a breath, peaceful. The ceiling breaks open, the darkness above it rushing in.

"If you make it," she says, suddenly small and fragile underneath the coat. "Please don't forget me."

The traveller shakes his head, wiping the tears off his face.

"We're together now."

He squeezes her hand for the last time before the floor underneath them breaks with the sound of a thousand trees breaking their spine as the world turns black.