Durance in Black Lace

With a scarcely perceptible jolt, the Twentieth Century Limited came to life, left Grand Central Station and began its sixteen-hour journey to Chicago. In one of the streamliner’s private compartments, a man and a woman stood in each other’s arms, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes.

The woman was tiny, hardly five feet in height, quite pretty, and almost boyishly slim. Her green eyes sparkled brightly; her short blonde hair was curled into tight ringlets. The man was of medium height, stocky and muscular, gray of eye and black of hair. They were both in their early twenties.

The woman wore a dress the color of pearls, embroidered with tiny yellow flowers. Her just-removed cloche hat and high-heeled shoes were also of pearl. The man was attired in a blue pinstripe suit with white shirt and dark blue tie hand painted with yellow flowers. His straw hat had been casually tossed upon the double berth.

“How’s this for a honeymoon suite, Mrs. Sinclair?” Mr. Sinclair asked.

“Best thing since sliced bread, Mr. Sinclair!” answered Mrs. Sinclair.

Mr. Sinclair clumsily drew his wife of nearly three hours deeper into his arms, self-consciously aware that his movements felt uncertain and awkward, even more aware that his beloved bride was so wooden in his arms that he felt as though he were embracing a department store window dummy. He was also embarrassed by his cock, which was growing harder by the second; he hoped that his wife wouldn’t notice.

Mrs. Sinclair, stiffly attempting to snuggle deeper into Mr. Sinclair’s arms, was aware of her heart beating in mortal terror, of an unfamiliar hardness growing in her husband’s trousers, and of a remarkable feeling of hunger between her legs. She felt her body growing more rigid with each passing moment.

The young newlyweds stared into each other’s eyes, doubt and fear in their minds, each desperately hoping that the other knew what to do next.

There was a heavy thumping on the door, followed seconds later by a knock.

The two sprang apart, flushing furiously, appalled and embarrassed at having been caught while…while doing nothing at all.

#

Several minutes before, in the companionway outside the Sinclair’s compartment, another man and woman stood together. The man was blonde, tall and lean, in his late thirties, with grey eyes and a rugged, handsome face bronzed by outdoor life. He wore a dark grey tweed suit, impeccably tailored to his physique. He also wore a battered old cowboy hat, worn well back on his head.

The woman was small and slim and beautiful, in her early thirties, and dressed in black from head to toe. Long auburn hair fell in waves down her back. Her garments were stylish, expensive, and in quiet but excellent taste. A hint of black lace and the delicate curve of her breasts were revealed by her dress. Behind the black veil of her hat her eyes were large, dark and hypnotically lovely.

A conductor eased his way past them, walking with easy grace against the swaying of the car. He thought to himself as he passed that they were quite the most attractive couple he’d ever seen. It never occurred to him that they were both dead.

“The bad part of being a ghost, Mia,” said the man, “is that I can’t touch anything but me.” In demonstration, he adjusted his necktie imperceptibly, then tried and failed to touch Mia’s face. Instead of touching her, his hand passed directly through her. He shuddered.

“Gives me the willies whenever I do that.”

The woman smiled up at him.

“Well, then, Luke…don’t do that!” She reached out a gloved hand and stroked his cheek gently. “I told you, love…it takes a little while before you get the hang of being a ghost. You only died two weeks ago. In a few days…you’ll be able to touch anything you want!” She leered up at him and softly rubbed his cock through his trousers.

“Anything…”

Luke Jones, a dead cowboy star, grinned down at his phantom lover, before her death a nationally-renowned poet known as Lady M.

“And I’m looking forward to it. But, hell, Cary Grant never had this problem.”

Mia looked puzzled.

“Cary Grant?”

“Movie actor. He was a ghost in ‘Topper’ last year. Good movie.”

Mia smiled at her lover.

“Luke, I died in 1926. I’ve been trapped on this train for twelve years. I’ve been able to read newspapers and books and magazines. In fact, I’ve got a small library of books that I’ve stolen squirreled away, here and there on the train. I’ve read Thorne Smith and enjoyed him. But…no movies! Not one.”

Luke looked serious.

“No more movies. Damn. I hadn’t thought of that. I see…I saw a couple of movies a week, too. Oh, well. I suppose being dead and trapped forever on this train means a few sacrifices have to be made!”

Mia chuckled, the soft music of her laugh tainted with a trace of bitterness, and a shade of sadness, not seen by Luke, passed quickly across her lovely face. She had resolved never to tell Luke of the terrible, endless two weeks following his death, two weeks in which she had been certain that she had killed her true love for nothing, two weeks in which she had become convinced that she had talked him into surrendering his life to no purpose, two weeks in which she had believed utterly that her solitary imprisonment on this train would last forever, two weeks in which she had dwelt in a cloud of misery and self-hatred. But this morning, Luke had simply awakened with her on the train, sitting in the bar car…and that fortnight of pain had receded like a tide into the mists of memory.

She brightened.

“But, my love, sex is not one of our sacrifices!” She gestured toward the Sinclair’s door. “Behind that door are a couple of pretty young honeymooners. All we have to do is go inside, slide into their bodies, and then we can fuck our…their brains out, all the way to Chicago!”

Luke grinned, stepped forward…and paused.

“Mia…you’re sure it will do them no harm?”

Mia laughed, a deep and hearty sound.

“It’ll do them good. You saw them in the bar car, Luke. They’re on their honeymoon and they’re walking around like they’ve got sticks up their asses. We’ll loosen them up; show them what a honeymoon is for!”

Luke settled his hat low over his eyes, strode toward the door, and dramatically said, “Okay, boys, over the top!”

He walked headlong into the door and stopped, confused.

Mia took him by the arm, steadied him, and knocked on the door. Luke looked down at her, a dazed look on his face.

“I can’t walk through walls, either?”

Mia giggled. The door opened, and Mr. Sinclair stood there, gaping at them. He had the look of a condemned man unexpectedly reprieved by a last minute call from the governor.

“Hi!” Mr. Sinclair said, stepping aside for them, a drowning man clutching at straws, eager to welcome his rescuers. “Please come in!”

Mia and Luke glanced at each other. Evidently, Mr. Sinclair didn’t recognize them as the couple who had spooked the honeymooners from the bar car with their frank sexual talk. Mia shrugged slightly and entered. Luke followed.

Mrs. Sinclair seemed just as delighted to have strangers intrude on her honeymoon. Mia thought that the two were charmingly nervous; Luke thought that they were just plain nuts.

Not wasting time on small talk, Mia simply walked directly into Mr. Sinclair’s body and melted into him. And she was gone.

Luke stared; Mrs. Sinclair goggled. But Luke had been expecting something of the sort, so he was still able to act. He walked directly into Mrs. Sinclair and discovered that he, too, simply melted into her.

And now, in the train compartment, there were only Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. They looked at one another hesitantly. Mr. Sinclair reached a hand out toward his wife.

“Luke? Are you in there?”

Mrs. Sinclair nodded.

“Yeah, Mia, I am. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Mr. Sinclair grinned. “So, Luke, how does it feel to be a woman?”

“Ummmm…I’m short! And I don’t think I can walk in these heels.”

Mr. Sinclair’s grin grew wider, the hungry smile of a wolf regarding its prey.

“Good.”

Mr. Sinclair took one stride toward Mrs. Sinclair, grabbed her arms with his large hands and drew her to him. He kissed her hard and long and felt her slender body go warm and limp in his arms. Mr. Sinclair picked up Mrs. Sinclair and tossed her onto the berth. He hopped upon the berth and knelt astride her, straddling her body with his knees, pinning her arms to her sides.

“Once in a while,” Mr. Sinclair said, “just for kicks, I do love being the boy!”

Mrs. Sinclair squirming impotently beneath him, Mr. Sinclair began tearing at her dress, splitting seams, popping buttons, ripping her clothes from her body. Within seconds, the dress was in tatters, the silken lingerie reduced to rags. Mrs. Sinclair stared up at Mr. Sinclair, a look of utter shock on her pretty face. Mr. Sinclair stepped off the berth, pulled his own clothing off. In seconds, he was naked and once more kneeling astride the woman. His cock was large and hard and ready.

Mr. Sinclair thrust himself into Mrs. Sinclair, taking her virginity with a vigor that made her gasp first with pain, then with passion. She tried and failed to speak, began moaning softly, and then loudly. Soon her moans filled the small compartment and spilled over into the corridor outside, to the amused grins of two passing advertising executives on their way to the smoking car. They paused to listen for a few moments, until chased away by the conductor…who then indulged in a spot of eavesdropping himself!

Sweat beading on his strong young body, Mr. Sinclair thrust his hips endlessly, ramming his hard cock home within his bride’s pussy, grinning at the look of stunned awe and delight on her face. Mrs. Sinclair persisted in trying to speak while he was fucking her, but failed to utter one intelligible word. Clearly, her passions had so overwhelmed her that she was unable to realize that she was no longer capable of enough thought for speech. She simply kept her hands clenched upon his muscular shoulders, digging in with her sharp nails, clawing and scraping the man who was taking her, the man who was ravishing her, trying to pull him deeper within her, trying to draw him inside her entirely.

Finally, Mrs. Sinclair reached her point of no return, shook her head violently, repeatedly from side to side, opened her mouth to its fullest and threw her head back as a scream forced its way from her throat, a scream heard two cars away, even above the moaning of the train whistle.

Mrs. Sinclair’s hips bucked upward, carrying Mr. Sinclair well up into the air. Her body rose and rose, until she touched the bed only with her head and her heels…and then she collapsed, a marionette whose strings have been cut. She lay absolutely still upon the bed, the only movement of her body the rapid rising and falling of her chest, as her lungs fought for air.

Mr. Sinclair lay atop Mrs. Sinclair, utterly spent, having come and come hard when Mrs. Sinclair had borne him upward. He too lay gasping, lacking even the strength to move off of Mrs. Sinclair’s limp and helpless body. Finally, he rolled to one side, pillowed his head with his left arm, and looked at Mrs. Sinclair.

“So, Luke, how does it feel to be a woman?”

Mrs. Sinclair was silent for a long time, and then spoke in a very faint, hoarse voice.

“God almighty, Mia…that was…it was…I always thought…God almighty!”

Mia, within the body of Mr. Sinclair, rolled over onto her back and laughed heartily. Luke, within the body of Mrs. Sinclair, found the strength to move and wrapped himself about Mia’s body. The two lay intertwined, listening to the clickety-clack of the rails, cradled within the gentle motion of the train. They slept.

Later, after full night had fallen and a porter had knocked incessantly for ten minutes, trying and failing to summon them to dinner, the two lovers awakened. Luke, in the body of Mrs. Sinclair, awakened first, rose slowly from the railroad berth, and walked uncertainly to the small washstand. She bent over and washed her face. A deep voice came from behind her.

“You were right, Luke. That girl does have a cute little ass.”

Luke straightened, dried Mrs. Sinclair’s face, then felt behind and explored the young woman’s ass. Mr. Sinclair lay upon the berth, propped up on one elbow, feeling his cock harden and grow erect as he watched his recently-virginal young bride fondle her own ass. She was clearly becoming aroused from the sensation. She moved her left hand to her pussy, and began fondling herself there, too.

“Hey, girl, cut that out! Your body belongs to me; I’m the only one allowed to enjoy it!”

Mrs. Sinclair stuck out her tongue at Mr. Sinclair, and spoke in a parody of a bratty teenager’s voice.
“Oh, yeah? Well, why don’t you come over here and do something about it?”

Mr. Sinclair sprang from the berth, took one long stride, and caught the small, naked woman up in his arms. He half-dragged, half-carried her to the berth, easily ignoring her squirming attempts to get away. He sat down upon the berth and draped Mrs. Sinclair across his thighs, leaving her perky little ass the highest point on her naked body. He pinned her body down with his powerful left arm.

Mrs. Sinclair, too late realizing what was about to happen, began to protest.

“Hey, Mia, wait a…”

The first blow of Mr. Sinclair’s powerful right hand landed with a hard splat upon Mrs. Sinclair’s defenseless ass. Mrs. Sinclair yelped in astonishment and pain. The second and harder blow arrived right behind the first, and was quickly followed by the third, which was harder still.

Mrs. Sinclair’s yelps of pain soon melted into groans of pleasure, sounds coming from deep within her tiny body. She stopped trying to squirm away from the spanking, but instead arched her body, trying to raise herself higher, trying to receive harder blows, trying to present her ass more enticingly to her captor. She swayed her ass slowly from side to side, presenting a picture of seductive, submissive docility to her tormentor.

Mr. Sinclair landed one hard blow after another upon his bride’s round little ass, feeling his cock grow harder with each blow, feeling wetness from his bride’s pussy dripping onto his thighs. He kept spanking her, and the Twentieth Century Limited rolled along into the night.

Finally, Mrs. Sinclair’s body stopped arching, her swaying and squirming ceased, and she lay across Mr. Sinclair’s lap, warm and limp and completely docile, utterly accepting the pleasure of her pain, cresting on the wave of her submission. Mr. Sinclair, realizing that he had taken his bride to the limit, stopped spanking and stood Mrs. Sinclair upon her feet. He sat upon the berth’s edge, looking up at her.

Mrs. Sinclair tottered a little, then looked hungrily down at her husband. She leapt atop him, knocking him flat upon the berth. She then twirled about, grabbed his hard cock in both hands, and took his massive cock into her pretty little mouth.

Mr. Sinclair lay upon his back, his wife’s dripping pussy only inches from his face. He grabbed Mrs. Sinclair’s thighs and adjusted her position until her pussy was directly above his mouth. Mrs. Sinclair, realizing what he was doing, allowed him to easily guide and manipulate her body until she was just where he wanted her. And soon, Mr. Sinclair’s tongue was hungrily licking away at Mrs. Sinclair’s hot, eager pussy. His face was soon drenched and dripping. Mrs. Sinclair, on the other hand, swallowed every drop.

All through the night and for much of the next morning, all the passers-by in the corridor outside the compartment either paused to listen or hurried past in an embarrassed silence, astonished by the moans and groans and cries of pleasure coming from within. For the two honeymooners, the outside world had entirely ceased to matter.

#

At two minutes before nine the next morning, the Twentieth Century Limited drew to a halt inside the Grand Central Station on LaSalle Street in Chicago, Illinois. Most of the passengers were already crowding the aisles, eager to depart. Two of the most impatient were the young honeymooners, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. That surprised the conductor, as honeymooners usually were the last to depart, sometimes having to be dragged bodily from their berths.

Privately, the conductor had hoped that might be the case on this trip; that little blonde girl was a honey! Still, at least he was getting a good last look at her pretty little ass. Must’ve been one hell of a night, he thought; the little blonde rubbed her ass every time she thought no one was looking.

Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair were standing nearest the doors, desperately eager to get off the train. Their wedding night had been…prodigious. They were both a little fuzzy about the details, but one thing they agreed on: the Hayes Office would not have approved; no movie would ever be made about the Sinclair honeymoon!

Mrs. Sinclair edged closer to the train door, moving slightly in front of her husband, and got his undivided attention by slipping her hand inside his trousers and giving his cock and balls a quick and affectionate fondle. She pulled her hand out just as the train doors opened, looked up at her bridegroom, winked, and kissed her fingertips. Mr. Sinclair looked mildly scandalized.

“Behave yourself.” he whispered.

Mrs. Sinclair winked and shook her head mischievously.

“Make me!”

She looked about, made sure that people were close enough to overhear, then spoke to her husband in a firm, clear voice.

“Let’s get to the hotel, darling. I want you to rip my clothes off, spank me until I beg, and then fuck me in the ass --again!”

With that, she took her husband by the arm and they exited the train and strolled down the platform, leaving open mouths and staring eyes in their wake.

Behind the crowd waiting to exit the train, Mia giggled and clutched Luke’s arm.

“See? It was good for them, too, sweetheart!”

“And it was good for us, Mia.”

Luke swept Mia up in his powerful arms and kissed her passionately. Their embrace was so intense, so deep, that they stood in the space between cars as still as statues, while the other passengers filed past. Soon, however, all the passengers were gone, and Mia and Luke were alone, looking out the doorway at the station platform.

“Three feet away,” Mia commented, a tone of loss in her voice, “and it might be a million miles…or a million years.”

Luke looked at the platform doubtfully.

“You’re sure we can’t leave? Have you tried recently?”

Mia shook her head.

“I can’t try any more. It hurts…it hurts too much when I…when I can’t leave.”

Luke hugged Mia tight, pressed her head to his chest with his hand.

“It’s all right, Mia. You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to be strong by yourself anymore. I’ll be strong for both of us for a while.”

Luke felt Mia’s body slowly relax in his arms, felt her arms tighten around him. He reached out his left hand toward the empty doorway. Nothing there. He reached a bit further, and felt...something.

Whatever it was, it was soft and warm…and completely invisible. He pushed on it, and it gave a little, and then it gave not at all. He pushed harder, still to no effect. He considered.

Luke released Mia from his arms for a moment, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. He braced himself, used both hands, and shoved with all his force on the emptiness of the doorway. Useless. He turned around and faced Mia.

Mia smiled a little bleakly.

“I always thought,” she said, “that it felt like warm skin covering solid steel. If that makes any sense.”

“As much as anything else. In Astounding Stories, Doc Smith called that sort of thing a ‘wall-shield’.”

Luke grinned and took Mia once more into his arms.

“And why a dead movie cowboy is quoting space operas to the ghost of a beautiful poet, I do not know!”

He kissed her again.

“Say, Mia, how long do we have until we vanish, anyway?”

Mia held Luke tight.

“Only until the last passenger leaves the train. Then, we go to sleep and wake up again, back in New York, as soon as the first passenger sets foot on the train.”

“Hmmm…in that case…”

He kissed her once more.

They vanished.

#

It was eleven months later. More specifically, it was the third of August, 1939, at a little before six in the evening. Mia and Luke were seated in armchairs in the observation car, waiting for the train to pull out of New York’s Grand Central.

Mia was curled up in her chair, legs folded beneath her, a large book in her lap, one of many books she had stolen from passengers in the thirteen years she had been haunting the Twentieth Century Limited and squirreled away in various hiding places. This particular one was a large sketchbook which she used for writing her poetry. Mia was staring vacantly up at the streamliner’s ceiling, trying to think of the proper words and appropriate cadence for the feelings she wished to express. Her fingers were idly toying with a pin she wore on her black dress, a souvenir of the New York World’s Fair which Luke had stolen for her a few months back. It was the first gift Mia had ever received from Luke, the first gift she had received from anyone since the day of her death in the autumn of 1926.

Luke was sprawled in a chair, one leg draped over the chair’s arm, his cowboy hat tilted far back on his head, reading a pulp magazine called Doc Savage. This month’s adventure was entitled “The Crimson Serpent”, and featured a cover with two men being slowly crushed to death by the inward-moving walls of a room. Luke was hopelessly addicted to the adventures of Doc Savage, The Shadow, The Spider, G-8, The Phantom Detective and all the other monthly heroes, and stole copies of the magazines from unsuspecting passengers whenever possible.

The steward, a tall slim black man with graying hair, approached with a silver tray and placed two Gibsons, a pack of Camels, matches, and a fresh ashtray on the small table between the two chairs. Mia and Luke both thanked the man, Luke a trifle nervously, not yet having gotten used to not being able to pay for anything. The steward wished them a pleasant evening, then left. Luke’s eyes followed the man’s retreating form with amused interest.

“You’ve trained the staff well, Mia,” he commented.

Mia’s dark eyes looked up, bright even behind her veil.

“They know that I’m a…” she paused. “They know that we are ghosts. They just don’t know what to do with me,” she said. “Some are scared to death of me. A very few flirt with me. Some ignore me. And some, like Roger,” she gestured at the steward, now standing at the bar, discussing baseball with the bartender, “treat me just like any other passenger on the train.”

Luke’s interest was piqued. He settled deeper in his armchair, set the pulp magazine aside, and took a sip of his drink. He stared at the pearl onion floating in the Gibson.

“Even though you can’t pay them. Or tip them.”

Mia nodded. Luke got a mischievous look on his face.

“Any of the flirters ever get anywhere?”

Mia hesitated a moment, then shrugged.

“A few. Now and again.” She gestured toward the steward at the bar. “Roger, for one. He was a damn fine lover until he got married. But…he’s a one-woman man!” She shrugged again, then reached out and took Luke by the hand. “I was utterly alone for twelve years, Luke, until you…” her voice broke, “until you gave up…gave up your life to be with me.” She dropped her eyes, not looking at him. “So, once in a while…yes. When the loneliness was too much,” she looked Luke dead in the eye, “I gave them everything they wanted.”

Luke squeezed Mia’s hand, then reached out and clasped her slender, gloved hand in both of his. He held her hand tightly while he looked straight into her dark eyes and smiled warmly.

“Good,” he said. “The idea of you being so alone for so long…” he shook his head, “…it just cuts me in half.”

Mia rose gracefully from her chair and sat down in Luke’s lap. She took his head in her hands, stared for a long while into his eyes, and kissed him deeply. Then, she slumped down, pressed her cheek against his, and curled up like a little girl. Luke put his arms about her and held his love tightly. As always, he luxuriated in the heat of Mia’s body; he had long since ceased to wonder why a ghost’s body should feel as warm and as soft as a live woman’s.

Mia began to cry softly in Luke’s arms. He held her still more tightly, rocked her gently back and forth. He knew why she was crying; it had been happening more and more often as the months had passed. The mere mention of her twelve years on the train before Luke’s arrival could occasionally cause this flood of emotions.

Luke understood completely. He felt trapped on this train, too, and he’d been riding it less than a year, spending all that time in Mia’s wonderful presence. Mia had been imprisoned on the Twentieth Century Limited since 1926. Thirteen long years. Almost all that time utterly alone.

Even a luxurious prison was still a prison, Luke thought. The same view from the same windows, each and every trip. The same food, whenever Mia chose to eat. And anyone who came into her life at the beginning of the sixteen-hour journey would be gone at the end of those selfsame sixteen hours. Luke would sometimes find Mia sitting at a window, staring at a station platform, tears in her eyes. He knew that she would give anything to simply step on that platform, even if only for a moment.

Mia’s sobs faded away and she curled herself up even smaller, feeling safe in Luke’s strong arms. The train chose that moment to leave the station and Mia rocked gently back and forth, her body submitting completely both to the easy motion of the train, and to the gentle strength of Luke Jones.

Soon, Mia heard many voices and realized that the observation car was filling up with passengers. She uncurled a little and whispered in Luke’s ear.

“I don’t feel like a lot of people right now. Let’s find someplace quiet. Okay?”

Luke nodded and stood up, lifting Mia as easily as though she weighed nothing at all. Lying cradled in Luke’s arms in the middle of the now crowded observation car, Mia stared at her lover in puzzlement.

“Are you going to put me down?”

Luke grinned and shook his head.

Mia smiled softly, put her arms about his neck, rested her head against his shoulder, and let her body go limp and relaxed in Luke’s arms. To the amusement and delight, astonishment and outrage of the other passengers, the tall man in the cowboy hat carried the beautiful woman in black from the observation car and down the corridor. He soon found an unoccupied private compartment and claimed it for the two of them.

“Squatter’s rights!” he proclaimed, as he entered the small compartment and lay Mia gently down upon the berth. “I hereby claim this land for the King of Spain!”

Mia grinned at him as she watched him kneel on the floor beside the berth.

“The King of Spain lost his job a couple of years ago, Luke. Even I heard about that! Don’t movie cowboys ever read a newspaper?”

Luke got a little embarrassed, grew red in the face. Mia’s smile grew gentle, and she softly stroked his cheek with her sable-gloved hand.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Ummmm…it’s not that,” Luke said, wondering what to say next. Somehow, he’d never quite mentioned to Mia his quitting the movie business to join the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, to fight alongside the Loyalists in the Spanish Civil War. It always seemed somehow like…bragging or something. Besides, the things he’d experienced in Spain weren’t anything he wanted to talk to Mia about.

“Well, Luke, what is it?” Mia asked patiently.

“It’s this,” Luke said. He twined his hands into Mia’s thick auburn curls, pulled her face to his, and kissed her. For a long time, there was no sound in the compartment except soft breathing and the clickety-clack of the train’s wheels. At last, the two lovers separated. Mia smiled at Luke.

“I thought it might be that,” she said. She started unbuttoning her dress.

#

Two hours later, the Twentieth Century Limited was slowing, rolling into the station in Albany, New York. Luke was doing up the last buttons on Mia’s dress. They’d decided to eat this trip, and the last seating was soon after the Twentieth Century Limited departed Albany at 8:43 p.m. The two had originally met in that dining car, and every meal they took there seemed an anniversary, an occasion. They left the vacant compartment and strolled down the narrow corridor.

They began to run into people crowding into the space between the cars, getting ready to exit the train. Another mass of people jammed the doorway leading to the next car, and Mia and Luke found themselves trapped between the two cars, between the two groups. Mia looked up at Luke, grinned, and spoke loud enough to be heard over the hubbub.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I never have any trouble getting a table!”

Luke grinned back.

“I can believe that!”

A fat man wearing a vested suit and a banker’s Homburg hat yanked the train door open and peered out at the platform, which was still (apparently) rolling slowly past the open doorway. A porter began pushing his way toward the door to shut it until the train stopped moving.

And then the train lurched, throwing everyone off balance. Mia grabbed a handrail and righted herself. Luke twisted, regained his footing…and then the fat man in the Homburg grabbed at his arm for support, lost his own balance, and pulled the two of the them down the steps, through the open doorway, and out onto the platform.

Luke hit the concrete clumsily and hard, and lay there for a moment, stunned and in pain. He felt strong hands on his arms, assisting him to his feet. He found himself looking up into the eyes of a large man with a sober, puritanical face. The man had his huge hand on Luke’s shoulder, steadying him. The large man’s voice boomed at Luke.

“Holy cow! You took quite a spill, pal! You okay?”

Luke nodded.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…”

Luke’s voice trailed off. He suddenly realized that he was standing on the station platform. He was not on the train. He whirled about and stared at the doorway in the side of the train.

Mia was staring down at him, a look of utter horror on her face. She was pushing with all her might against…nothing at all.

Luke looked around. He was standing on the platform in Albany. For the first time in nearly a year, he was not on the train! But Mia was.

Luke strode toward the train. Mia’s hands were pressing hard against where the door would have been, had it been closed. Her body was rigid, straining with the effort of pushing against the barrier holding her captive. Luke reached his hands toward Mia. He was terrified that his hands, too, might strike that invisible wall. He reached out.

Luke’s shaking hands touched Mia’s and clasped them tightly. He pulled her gently toward him…and her hands stopped precisely where the door would have been.

Luke looked up at Mia’s face. She was saying something; her face was only inches away from his, their hands were touching, but he could hear no sound from her. She was trying to let go of his hands. Luke held her hands tighter than ever. Behind him, he could hear the conductor yelling “Boooaaarrrrd!” The train was leaving.

Luke climbed the steps and boarded the train. As soon as he was on board, he could hear Mia’s voice once more, telling him to go, to escape while he could. He took her tightly in his arms and threw himself toward the platform.

Luke’s body went through the doorway, but Mia’s did not. Wherever her tightly-held body hit the invisible barrier, Luke’s passage through the doorway stopped. He tried several more times, then gave up. The train was gathering speed, leaving the station. A goggle-eyed, open-mouthed conductor stood behind them, clearly wanting to close the door.

Luke supported Mia up the steps and into the corridor. The bar car was nearby, he realized. He led Mia there, helped her into a seat, then went behind the bar and got a bottle of Scotch and two glasses, paying no attention whatsoever to the bartender. He collapsed into a seat, poured drinks for each of them, and took his in one gulp. He stared at Mia. She was gazing blankly at the floor, a look of bleak despair on her beautiful face.

“Why didn’t you go?” she asked Luke, in a voice entirely without tone, entirely without spirit.

Luke was utterly at a loss. He’d never seen Mia like this; he’d never seen any woman like this. It reminded him of the trenches in the Great War; shell shock victims sometimes acted this way. He’d never figured out what to do then, either. He stared at Mia and spoke from the heart.

“Mia, I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

She looked at him through her veil, her dark eyes sad and full of tears.

“Luke, you could have escaped this hell.”

“If this is hell, so be it. I won’t leave. Not without you.”

Mia continued to look at him, her face beyond sadness, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice low and despairing.

“You gave up your life for me; you gave up everything for me. And what did I do? I trapped you on this god damn hell train forever.”

Luke looked Mia dead in the eye and spoke quietly, in a voice so soft that Mia could only just hear his words.

“’Wheresoever she was, there was Eden.’”

Mia’s face took on a startled look.

“Mark Twain,” she said. “The Diary of Adam and Eve. Adam said those words at Eve’s grave.”

Luke nodded.

“You read it to me for my Christmas present.”

Mia stared at Luke in wonder.

“And you remembered the words, Luke, after all this time?”

“I love you, Mia.”

Mia tried to speak, but could not find words. She stared at Luke, a growing hope in her eyes, a prayer on her lips.

“I love you, Mia. Only you. No one before you, no one after you. Only you. Always.”

Mia reached out and took Luke’s hands in hers.

“I love you, Luke. Always.”

They sat in silence for a long while. Finally, Mia spoke once more.

“Luke…would you find me an empty compartment? I…I need to be alone for a while. Please?”

Luke squeezed her hands tightly.

“Okay.” He paused. “You’ll be all right?”

She nodded, her eyes dark and enigmatic behind her veil.

“I have to think. About a lot of things. Please?”

“Sure thing, Mia.” He rose from the table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Those few minutes later, Luke returned to the bar car and the table was empty. He looked about quickly, a panicky look on his face. Then, he felt a hand on his arm, turned, and saw Mia standing before him. She held up her large sketchbook.

“I had to find my poetry book,” she said. “My thoughts are better when I write them as poems.”

Luke started breathing again. He took Mia by the arm and led her from the bar car.

“Right this way, Mia. I’ve reserved the most exclusive, the most elegant compartment on the entire train for you.”

Mia smiled. Only a small, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Thank you, Luke.”

Luke led Mia to a compartment near the end of the train. He stood in the center of the small room and looked at her, a concerned look on his face.

“You’ll be all right?” he asked.

Mia nodded.

“I’ll be fine. Would you…would you come back for me about dawn?”

“I’ll be here. Until then, Mia, I’ll be back in the observation car. It’s just one car back. If you need me…”

Mia smiled and touched Luke’s face gently with her gloved hand.

“You’ll be the first one I call!”

Luke left, closing the door quietly behind him. He walked down the corridor to the observation car, where he sat and quietly stared out a window at the darkness for the remainder of the night.

In her compartment, Mia sat down upon the berth and opened up her book of poetry. From inside the front cover, she took a piece of railroad stationary. The paper was worn and frayed, as though from much handling. Mia sat and read the words on the paper.

As Mia sat alone in the compartment, the Twentieth Century Limited sped through the quiet night, its lonely whistle the only sound in the world.

#

At the end of an eternity, dawn arrived. Luke had been standing outside the door of Mia’s compartment for the better part of an hour, waiting. The instant he saw the sun begin to break the horizon, he strode to the door and knocked twice.

The door opened instantly and Luke began breathing once more.

Mia stood in the doorway, smiling nervously. Even through the veil, Luke saw that her eyes were red and bloodshot from a night of tears. She took Luke by the hand, led him inside the compartment, and guided him to the berth, where she sat him down and then sat down beside him. She handed him a worn piece of paper.

Luke looked at the paper. It had a poem written upon it, a poem in Mia’s elegant hand.

Mia said, “Please read this, Luke.”

Luke obeyed and read the poem aloud.

“Day fades to sable,
the gloom of eventide falls.
I am alone eternally, ever and always,
and I welcome sweet death.”

After reading the poem, Luke sat in silence for a moment, a moment in which thoughts whirled and fought through his head like the fabric-winged airplanes of the Great War. He could sense Mia’s eyes upon his face, eyes which painfully awaited his response.

Luke turned toward Mia, put his arms about her, and pulled her toward him, hugging her tight. He felt her head rest upon his shoulder, felt her arms fold about him with a grip of steel. They sat in silence, arms wrapped around one another, while outside the compartment, the morning sun brought life to the world.

Finally, Luke found the courage to speak.

“You killed yourself?”

He felt Mia’s head, still buried in his shoulder, nod softly.

“Why?”

Mia’s voice came to him, soft and clear.

“I was so alone. My husband died. He was so young…and then one day, he…died. He was simply and suddenly gone…like somebody had turned out the lights. My poetry helped for a time, but…after a while, nothing helped. And when I was on this train, I just…I just gave up. I killed myself.”

Her arms squeezed Luke still tighter. She began to cry softly.

“Oh God, Luke, I’m so sorry!”

Luke rocked Mia in his arms until the sobs subsided.

“And you believe that’s the reason you can’t get off the train?”

He felt Mia nod once more.

“But you’re not alone any more, Mia. You have me. And I have you. You are not alone. And you never will be alone again.”

“But…”

He shushed her.

“Mia…I told you when we first met that I don’t believe in love at first sight. I don’t believe in destiny, or fate, or things that are meant to be. And I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Mia sighed softly into Luke’s chest.

“And I was wrong, Mia. I fell in love with you the first instant I looked at you. And I believe that I was sent here, that I am here for a reason.”

Mia moved away from Luke a little so that she could see his face.

“What reason?”

Luke stroked her cheek with the back of his strong hand.

“I’m here for you, sweetheart. I was sent here to help you, to rescue you, to save you. I was sent here to get you off this train. And I will. You’re leaving this train, Mia…tomorrow.”

“But…how?”

“You leave that to me.”

Luke looked at Mia’s suicide note, folded it, and put it in his pocket. Mia’s eyes followed the note.

“Why did you keep this?”

She shrugged.

“I stole it off the coroner when they took my body away.” She looked somewhat abashed. “I like to have copies of all my poems.”

Luke took the note out, read it once more. Mia glanced at his eyes, then quickly looked away.

“It’s not my best work,” she said, defensively.

Luke looked at her and smiled gently. He reached out, took both her hands in his.

“You truly are a writer, Mia,” he said. “Not many people get embarrassed because their suicide note is badly written.”

Mia’s dark eyes flashed behind her veil.

“I didn’t say it was badly written! I said…”

Luke interrupted her with a soft kiss. And then, with another kiss. And still another. With each kiss, Mia came closer into his arms, her body warm and compliant. Luke began to kiss her jaw, the side of her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat. He moved down her body, began kissing the gentle curve of her breasts. Mia tried to speak once more.

“I didn’t say it…that it was badly written…but…my best work is more...ummmm…”

Mia pulled Luke’s head up to hers and kissed him passionately on the mouth. She pulled at her gloves, trying to take them off. Luke began to unbutton Mia’s dress with one hand, while he held her body still and close with the other. They continued to kiss.

Her gloves off and dropped forgotten to the floor, Mia fumbled with Luke’s clothing, began pulling at it, tugging at it, tearing at it. Their self-control fading away like the morning dew, the two lovers stood as one, and quickly undressed each other. Soon, they stood nude in the compartment, the early morning light gleaming on their bodies.

Luke bent over and began nuzzling Mia’s breasts and nipples with his teeth. He smiled when he heard her moan, and grimaced when he felt her sharp nails scrape along his back, as she attempted to pull him closer to her.

Mia reached down, took Luke’s hard, erect cock in both her hands, and guided it inside her. In unison, they groaned with pleasure as they felt Luke’s cock slide smoothly and easily into Mia’s hot, wet pussy.

Luke felt Mia clamp down upon his cock, welcoming it, holding it in place, pinioning it within her body. Mia felt Luke’s cock filling her, expanding her, stretching her, giving her life, giving her strength, giving her love.
Mia and Luke held each other tightly, Luke’s arms clasping Mia’s slim body to his inseparably, Mia running her sharp nails up and down Luke’s back, clawing him, scraping him, marking him as hers. They stared deeply into one another’s eyes, breathing deeply, breathing as one, all thoughts gone, all needs gone, all the world gone save each other and their love.

Suddenly, Luke came within Mia, his hips bucking against hers, his arms squeezing her body until she gasped for breath. Mia came, too, then, her body thrashing wildly, harsh animal cries coming from her throat, her claw like nails tearing at Luke’s skin.

Mia put her head back and screamed, a cry of conquest, a cry of exultation, a cry of joy. Luke held her in place as her body flailed about, utterly out of control, seeking release, seeking freedom, seeking mastery.

And then, Mia’s body collapsed in Luke’s arms, went entirely limp. Luke held her slight weight with ease, lifted her, and set her down gently upon the railroad berth. Mia’s eyes were closed, her breathing deep and easy. Luke lay down beside his love, wrapped his body about hers, and went limp.

The lovers slept.

And soon, the train arrived in Chicago, the passengers departed, and Mia and Luke vanished as though they had never been.

#

It was the next evening; a quarter before six, and the Twentieth Century Limited was prancing at the traces, getting ready to depart Grand Central Station. Mia and Luke were standing in the areaway between two cars, looking out at the platform, crowded with boarding passengers. Mia’s gloved hands were empty; she was nervously touching the World’s Fair pin Luke had given her as a gift. She had come to think of it as a good luck talisman. Luke was calm; he held Mia’s large poetry book in his powerful hands.

“It’s time to go, Mia,” said Luke.

Mia looked at Luke through the black veil of her hat. She hoped that he couldn’t see how frightened she was.

“What if it doesn’t work, Luke?”

“It will. And if it doesn’t, we try something else. That’s how Grant took Vicksburg, that’s how I’ll get you off this train. Tear up your poem.”

Luke handed Mia a tattered slip of paper, her suicide note.

She looked at it; read the poem silently to herself, then tore the paper up, firmly and deliberately. She let the pieces fall to the floor and looked up at Luke.

Luke took Mia’s poetry book and tossed it casually through the open doorway, onto the station platform, where it landed with a soft thwack. Mia looked sadly at the book of her poems, her feelings and thoughts recorded through thirteen years of durance vile on board this train, her essence, her heart, her self. She tore her eyes away from the book and looked at Luke.

Luke looked tall, strong and confident, able to beat the world. Inwardly, he was quaking, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He adjusted his cowboy hat for the twentieth time since they had awakened. He held himself strong, for Mia’s sake.

“Mia,” he said, “that book is part of you. You are part of that book. That book just left the train…and so can you. Go down the steps, and pick it up. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Mia went completely rigid with fear, knowing this would fail. It was as if it already had, as if it were already an unpleasant memory, part of a nightmarish past. She was utterly unable to move, to think, to feel.

Mia drew a deep breath, then another, and a third. She lifted one foot, took a step toward the stairs, and then…without hesitation or pause, she simply walked down the steps, and stepped onto the platform. She walked over to her poetry book, picked it up, dusted it off, and cradled it in her arms.

A pair of powerful arms grabbed Mia from behind, lifted her clear off the ground, and spun her about. A loud voice shouted in her ear, “Yeeeee-hah! Ride ‘em, cowboy!”

Mia burst out laughing as she saw the platform, crowded with passengers, spin about her. She let her body go utterly limp as Luke, laughing like a madman, whirled her about. She thrilled in the sensation of her body’s absolute helplessness; she felt every trace of tension and worry fade away entirely.

Luke set her down, took her in his arms, and embraced her. He felt her arms go about him, felt her poetry book pinned between their two bodies, he heard train passengers commenting and laughing at their behavior, felt Mia’s soft lips upon his. Luke held his love in his arms, and they stood together there for an eternity.

Mia twisted her head about and looked at the train. The passengers were now all on board, the doors were closing. The train was about to depart. And she was not on board! She put her head back upon Luke’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

Mia felt overwhelmed with relief. She felt her eyes fill with tears of joy. Her chest felt so tight she felt as though she might explode. And then her body burst into helpless sobs, and she hung limply in Luke’s arms as her emotions engulfed her. Luke held her tight, determined to never let her go. Slowly and majestically, the Twentieth Century Limited pulled away from the platform and into the darkness of the tunnel.

Luke watched the train vanish and grinned wryly.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “you’re missing your train.”

Mia kept her eyes shut and thought about the past thirteen years. Thirteen years of captivity in motion, thirteen years of too many crowds and too few friends, thirteen years of confinement and isolation, thirteen years of fear and despair and loneliness, thirteen years without love. She thought.

“No, I’m not, Luke,” Mia said. “I’m not missing it at all.”

Mia looked about the brightly lit empty platform and thought about the magnificent city above and all about them, all the people, all the excitement, all the adventures, all the joy, just waiting for the two of them.

Mia put her arms about Luke’s neck, pulled his face down to hers, and they kissed, and kissed again. And then once more.

And then, arm in arm, they headed toward the terminal, and toward the city, and toward all the days to come.

THE END

©2003 David Gustafson