Nothing Above, Nothing Within

Following a recent breakup, a college student suffers strange isolation in the subway.

The screech of subway train brakes woke me only a split second before my head met the window, allowing me to fully enjoy the pain of impact. Could be worse. At least the safety glass was stronger than my skull.

As I tried to rub the pain away from my throbbing head, the intercom dinged on. “End of the line,” the prerecorded voice said, followed by incomprehensible fuzz.

Oops. Missed my stop.

I wiped my face. The skin around my eyes burned, still a bit wet from tears. For a moment I’d forgotten.

The train doors slid with a creak and whoosh. Time to go. But as much as I wanted to get up and leave—as much as I knew I was supposed to—my body refused.

Slouching back in the seat, I closed my eyes, willing the door slide shut again so the train would turn around and take me home. Would be several hours riding the rest of the line, but I didn’t know where I was, and I was in no mood for an adventure to get home.

Several minutes passed in silence, and I opened my eyes. The doors hadn’t shut, like they were waiting for someone to leave. That was when I noticed the car was empty.

With a heavy sigh, I forced myself up and went for the door to the next car. No one there, either. I walked back to the other side, faster now, a strange tingling at my spine. Again, an empty car beyond.

“They probably left already,” I said to myself. I dropped back into my seat, resolute to outwait the doors, willing them to close with as dirty a stare as I could make. But they were stronger, and won the fight.

The platform was as empty as the train. All of the electric signs were off. How late was it? I checked my phone. No signal, battery low, nearing three in the morning. But the subway here operated 24/7. I remembered the culture shock when Julie had told me that.

*

“How is that strange?” Julie said. We were sat in Central Park, watching kids throw their frisbees and couples walk their dogs, one bright spring afternoon. “People need to get places.”

“The Underground closes in the dead of the night. Why would anyone travel at three in the morning? Besides, they need time for upkeep.”

“Ah, clean subways. What a dream.” She laughed, then turned serious. “You’re right, though. Would be a lot safer if they didn’t let us wander down there so late. But all those people crossing boroughs for a late drink or a party, or even work—they need a way home.”

“Yeah. I suppose the problems are a lot more complicated than that, though. Even if they closed, you’d still have a lot of the same problems down there. The lighting’s bad, the platforms are cramped, there’s too many people. The trains are old, the tracks are old, the structure is old. So many problems.”

Julie shrugged. That was her usual response when anything got complicated.

Except when she decided to end our relationship.

*

I snapped myself back to the present and looked around for any sign to tell me where I was. The train remained motionless. A few crackled, faded blocks of blue paint on the wall might have provided a clue, but none of the lettering was legible. As I passed up and down, I took a peek into the train’s front car. No driver? This was weird.

One sign did have clear lettering: the exit sign over the stairs. I knew it was dangerous to end up on some random street at this hour, but I saw no other choice.

As I passed under a train ticker, I swear it flashed words. I rubbed my eyes again—they still burned—and kept going. So tired. The stairs were like a mountain, each step a struggle. My mind kept drifting to Julie, her smile, her anger, her back as she walked away. I wondered if I would see her in class tomorrow. I wondered if I’d see class tomorrow.

A shadow scurried down the steps, then was gone. Rats? Probably. Not a great sign for where I’d end up, but I pressed on. I thought a few times on my climb that I was headed out into the dark of night, but as I neared the top, I realized It was another platform, dimmer than below.

Not a soul stirred on the platform. Not even the sound of a distant car, or activity on the street. The faded light was oppressive, like it was struggling to fight against the darkness that belonged here. Even stranger, there were no stairs up. At least, not on this side.

The brightest light in the area came from a staircase on the other side of the platform, across a pair of tracks, an exit sign flickering in bright red neon near it. I looked down one tunnel, then down the other. Was I crazy enough to do this?

I looked back the way I’d come. Once again, I had no other choice. I took a final peek each way, then, bracing myself against the floor, awkwardly dropped myself into the pit of the nearest track. Something jostled and fell from my pocket, and I instinctively grabbed for it, failing to grab my phone before it cracked against a sleeper and slid under the metal rail.

Swearing under my breath, I bent over to grab it, but my jacket sleeve caught on the rail. Looking closer, I couldn’t even see how it had gotten tangled.

Then I heard the blare of a train horn and the chug-chug-screech of it heading straight for me from the nearby tunnel. Panicking, I yanked at my sleeve, trying to grab my phone at the same time. Stupid. Leave the phone. Hell, leave the jacket. Get out of there.

As the train arrived, I managed to launch myself back onto the platform, leaving the jacket behind to get plastered against a headlight. The cars blew past, probably shattering my phone in the process.

The sudden light and loudness disappeared as quickly as it had arrived and I was suddenly very tired against as I struggled for breath. I could feel blood trickling down my arm where I’d scraped against the side of the platform in my struggle, and holding my right hand up, I noticed a nail was gone, my middle fingertip a red, bloody stub.

Giving in to exhaustion, I passed out.

*

“Sir,” a strange voice said.

I shot awake. The train car. Was that—a dream?

The lady had a suit, a loosely fit tie, and a conductor’s hat. She looked like she was done with the world, or at least with her day. “I’m sorry,” she said in a sweet voice defying her exasperated stare. “This is the last stop. You will need to depart.”

I cleared my throat and sat up. My eyes were still sore, and my head throbbing ever so slightly. I couldn’t remember if there was any drinking between Julie walking out and my getting here. Probably, if I was heading home.

“Right,” I said. “I’ll do that.”

She smiled, nodded, and stepped back to let me out of the seat.

As soon as I got to my feet, she gasped. “Are you okay?”

She nodded toward my arm, where blood was soaking through my jacket sleeve. “Huh,” I said. “I think so.”

“Better get that bandaged up.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Trembling, I held up my right hand.

It was missing a nail—on the middle finger.