Well he figured it had to be, why else would he be on a deserted train station in the middle of the night. He sat himself down on the dilapidated wooden bench. There was nothing to say just where he was or when for that matter, but by the looks of things this line had been decommissioned long ago. All the station buildings were in darkness and there was a rusted padlock on the door of the ticket office.
The tap of her shoes could be heard long before he saw her, or maybe it was the noise of her ornate cane on the cracked flagstones, whichever it was it was an eerie sound echoing through the emptiness. She was tall, dressed to the nines and sporting a feather in the lapel of her tailored jacket. He half hoped she would have the good grace to keep her distance, but no such luck. She did however sit a respectable distance from him on the other end of the bench, but even so her perfume was overpowering. A spicy mix of jasmine and honeysuckle, with an undercurrent of cloves, which made his head hurt.
He tried hard not to look in her direction but failed miserably. It was obvious that she was conscious of the attention but held her gaze past him towards what he could only presume was the direction the train would be coming. She constantly tapped her cane not in frustration, but more out of habit.
“Have you the time?” She asked.
He didn’t have, he’d not carried a pocket-watch since becoming involved with The Emporium, there was just no need of one as he never had any control as to what would happen next. Well he presumed that was the reason, but … what did he know. Life now just kind of swept him along on what seemed a predestined plan to which he had no control.
He smiled and shook his head. She sighed.
“It’s late.” She spoke softly. “It’s always late and there is never anything to be done about it.”
“Late?” he asked. “Late for what?”
“Always has been and always will be.” She said ignoring the question.
She frowned.
“Why are you here? Why now? Why today of all days?”
Thrumps had no idea.
“Is today special?” he asked tentatively. She nodded.
“It’s the day of the crash.” She shook her head. “If it hadn’t of been late it never would have happened.” Taking a lace handkerchief from her bag she dabbed at the corner of her eye, feigning tears.
“Are you here to stop it this time?”
Thrumps shook his head. “I don’t expect so.”
“Pity,” she said stuffing the hankie into her pocket.
The sudden noise of the steam engine startled them both.
“All aboard,” the conductor shouted, the platform suddenly alive with a throng of people all jostling each other in a frenzy to get into the right carriages.
“Shall I help you miss,” a very young porter enquired. She declined.
“I know the way,” she said to no one in particular. Thrumps got to his feet but as she swept past to board, she shouted back to him, “Not you.”
As the porter slammed the carriage door shut, she lowered the window.
“This is not where you get off.”
It was a statement that warranted no reply, but one that sent a shiver through Thrumps like a ghost stomping all over a grave. He idly wondered if it was his or someone else’s.
With no purpose in mind, he started walking towards the station gate. In the distance the neon sign above The Emporium was a welcome sight, and confirmed this must be a dream, or something like it anyway.
As the train pulled away, he turned to wave to her, but all the carriages were empty.