3AM Read online

  3am

  by Amy Cross

  Copyright Amy Cross, All Rights Reserved

  Published by ACBT Books

  First published: November 2014

  This edition first published: April 2016

  http://amycrossbooks.wordpress.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. If you enjoy it and wish to share it with others, please consider buying them their own copy. Feedback is always welcome. The author reserves all rights in respect of this work.

  Prologue

  Five years ago

  “I'm awake!” Stephen muttered as he opened his eyes. Glancing around the train's cold cab for a moment, he felt dazed. “I'm awake, I swear,” he said again, as much to persuade himself as anyone else. “I...”

  Sitting in the train's main control seat, Bob couldn't help but smile.

  “I was resting my eyes,” Stephen told him, a little defensively. He began to straighten his uniform.

  “Sure you were,” Bob said. “You were snoring too. I've never met anyone who snores while they're awake. You wanna get that looked at.”

  “What's wrong?” Stephen asked, peering out the window at the train tracks ahead. Lit up by the train's front lights, the tracks stretched ahead like two silver lines reaching into the darkness, but the train itself was moving barely above walking pace. He turned to look at the control console, and saw that they were going at just three miles per hour. “Why aren't we at full speed?”

  “Got a call through a couple of minutes ago,” Bob told him. “Someone reported seeing a trespassing individual on the tracks in this area, so all train traffic's on a go-slow. That's why I gave you a kick, I need you to keep your eyes peeled. If you see some wanker running around, let me know and we'll go rugby-tackle the bastard.”

  Rubbing his eyes, Stephen looked out the side window and watched for a moment as the train rolled past a signal tower. The whole scene seemed strangely surreal, and he still wasn't quite feeling fully awake. A little further back from the tracks, bare trees were lit silver by the train's electric side lights, and the city lights were barely visible. The night sky above looked heavy and starless.

  “How long do we have to do this for?” he asked finally.

  “Another hundred clicks.”

  “A hundred?” He tried to mentally calculate how late they'd be to the depot, and consequently how late he'd be getting home to his wife and their warm bed.

  “Those are the rules,” Bob said with a sigh. “Typical, isn't it? Some batty old dear thinks she spotted something running around on the tracks, she phones it in and causes a panic, and now everyone else's night gets screwed up.” He checked his watch. “It's almost three, we'll be lucky if we get to the depot by sunrise. You picked a fine night to ride shotgun.” He stared ahead for a moment, watching the tracks as the train inched forward so painfully slowly. “If you ask me, we should just go at normal speed. If some nutter wants to throw themselves under the wheels, let 'em.”

  “You can't really mean that,” Stephen muttered, turning to him.

  “We live in a dark and cold world,” Bob continued, “and if someone wants out, who are we to stand in their way? We'd be doing 'em a service. Besides, it wouldn't be that bad, and at least it'd be quick. Plus, you know, any driver who hits someone on the tracks gets time off, so there's that too.” He paused for a moment. “I hit one once. It was a few years back, right before Christmas. Train was packed full of last-minute shoppers, all I could think about was getting home to Christmas Eve telly, and then suddenly... Blam!”

  Stephen stared at him. “Blam?”

  “Jam on the windshield,” Bob said with a grin, his right cheek twitching a little at the memory. “That's what happens when you hit someone at speed, they don't go under the train so much as explode all over the front. It's the most goddamn disgusting thing you could ever see, bits of red gunk all over the place, but I got three months off with full pay. If it happens two more times, I get to retire on a full pension so...” He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, as if he was positively salivating at the prospect, although the twitch on his right cheek returned for a moment. “Bring 'em on, I say. Let us provide an extra service while we're shuffling empty carriages around on the night-shift.”

  “It must be so horrible out there,” Stephen replied, turning back to look out at the trees that lined the track. “Shivering in the cold, waiting for a train to come so you can jump out and...” He paused for a moment, watching the darkness for any hint of an intruder. “They might be hiding out there right now, waiting for us.”

  “And cursing us for going at stopping speed,” Bob added.

  “Do you really think there's someone out here tonight?” Stephen asked, turning to look out the window on the other side. The train was still inching forward, but he was becoming increasingly aware that someone could easily sneak out of the darkness and settle on the tracks, and even at low speed the train's wheels would be deadly.

  “Buggered if I know,” Bob told him. “Nine times out of ten these things are a false alarm. The person who thought they saw someone got it wrong, or the wannabe jumper decides they've caused enough trouble for the night and they slink off home, or the whole thing's just a big wind-up. But that one time out of ten...” His right cheek twitched again. “I had to go to a shrink when I hit that person before, that was the worst thing. Some doc in a tweed jacket kept trying to get me to talk about my feelings.” He paused, his cheek twitching yet again. “He wanted me to dig deep and express my emotions, and all that bullshit. I told him I was fine, but he wouldn't believe me. I told him it's just a hazard of the job, you know? I mean, what do you expect, driving the night-shift on this stretch? It's not known as Suicide Alley for nothing.”

  “Suicide Alley?”

  Another twitch.

  “Favored spot of the jumpers. 'Cause of the high-speed airport express traffic, if you ask me. I mean, most suicidal types don't really wanna kill themselves, they just wanna get some attention, but for the ones who really and truly wanna end it all... Well, there's not much fucking about out here, is there? Just make sure no-one spots you and then stand in the middle of the trucks and... Bob's your uncle, you're splatted to kingdom come.” He glanced over at Stephen and smiled as he saw the pale, almost nauseous expression on the younger man's face. “Course, then there's the ghosts.”

  Stephen turned to him.

  “Must've been twenty people died on this stretch of track over the past decade,” Bob continued. “I dunno if you believe in all that supernatural malarkey, but if you do...”

  Stephen stared at him for a moment, before turning to look back out at the darkness ahead. The train was still trundling forward at a pitiful three miles an hour, and they were well short of the point where they'd be allowed to resume normal speed again. The night seemed to be stretching out to eternity.

  “Well,” Bob continued with a glint in his eye, “do you believe in that stuff?”

  He waited for a reply.

  “It's a simple question, mate. Yay or nay?”

  “I don't really know if...” Stephen began to say, before swallowing hard. “I mean, um, I don't think...”

  Before he could finish, the train jolted a little, as if it had crunched over something on the tracks.

  His expression suddenly becoming more urgent, Bob hit the emergency stop button, bringing them to a grinding halt, and the two men sat in silence for a moment, each waiting for the other to speak. They both knew that the crunch had been something solid, something more than just a gathering of leaves and mulch, but neither of them wanted to be the one who made the first move.

  “What... What do you think that was?” Stephen asked eventually.

  “Probably nothing,” Bob replied, his cheek twitching a couple of times.
r />   Again, silence fell between them for a few seconds, before Bob reached down into his bag and pulled out a torch, which he thrust into Stephen's hands. On the older man's face, there was an expression of resigned expectation.

  Silence.

  “Out you get, then,” Bob said finally.

  “Why me?”

  “When there's a possible strike, it's the conductor's job to go and look under the train.”

  “I'm not the conductor, I'm just -”

  “Well I'm the fucking driver,” Bob replied, interrupting him, “so it sure as hell isn't my bloody job, is it?” He paused, suddenly seeming more agitated than before. As his cheek twitched, he reached up and touched the side of his face, as if to keep it still. “Jesus Christ, how long have you been working at the depot?”

  “Since August.”

  “So you're greener than green. You don't know all the rules, mate. In this situation, it's your job, you're the, what do they call it again... You're the de facto conductor. I'll call the station and get 'em to hold all other traffic through the area until you're done.”

  “But -”

  “What's wrong? Scared?”

  “No, it's just...” Stephen paused, looking down at the torch in his hands. “Don't... Don't you want to do it?”

  “Do I want to do it?”

  “I mean -”

  “It'll be good for you,” Bob continued, interrupting him. “Toughen you up a bit. Anyway, it's probably nothing, probably just a rabbit or something. Mate of mine hit a pheasant once. I mean, fuck, a pheasant, in the middle of London!”

  “Yeah,” Stephen replied, getting to his feet and heading to the door at the rear of the cab. “You're right, it's probably a rabbit.”

  “Felt a bit big for a rabbit, though,” Bob added. “You can normally hit something small like that and not even notice.”

  “So what do I do?” Stephen asked as he opened the door. Sitting on the floor, he dangled his legs out as a cold wind blew into the cabin.

  “What do you think? Get out there, turn the torch on and take a look under the train. See what we hit.”

  “And then?”

  “And then come and tell me,” he added with a sigh, grabbing his mobile phone and bringing up a number before hitting the call button. “Jesus Christ, do you need everything explained to you, kid? I'm not asking you to go poking anything with a stick. If there's someone under the wheels, make a quick visual confirmation and then get back here. Yes or no, that's all that's needed.”

  “But...”

  “Are you gonna do it or not?” Bob asked, clearly annoyed.

  “Of course,” Stephen muttered, looking down at the gravel. The last thing he wanted was for word to get out that he was scared.

  “Don't forget your jacket,” Bob said, tossing a high-visibility vest at him. “Oh, and if it is a rabbit or something like that, try to scoop up the bits, yeah? A bit of rabbit might cook up nice.”

  Stephen smiled nervously, unsure whether that last comment was a joke or not.

  “Yeah, hi,” Bob continued, as someone answered his call, “this is engine 512 on route 91, we've stopped to investigate a possible strike at click 18.” He listened for a moment, before turning to Stephen and gesturing for him to get out. “Yeah, my colleague's just getting out now to take a look. If he ever gets his arse moving, anyway.”

  After slipping his arms into the orange vest, Stephen whispered a silent prayer before jumping down. He almost slipped on the loose gravel that ran along the side of the track, and as he steadied himself he managed to drop the torch. Fumbling around for a moment, he quickly found it again and switched it on, although he had the lamp pointed straight at his face as he did so; the light almost blinded him, and as he swung it away he had to blink a few times to clear the spots from his vision.

  “You see anything?” Bob called out from up in the cab.

  Swinging the torch back along the side of the train's eight carriages, Stephen looked for anything out of the ordinary.

  “No,” he called back. “Should I... Should I go and look some more?”

  “Of course you should bloody go and look some more,” came the reply. “Go on, see what's down there. Check all the way to the last carriage. We'll get it in the neck if we arrive at the depot and the engineers find bits of some suicidal asshole wedged in the wheels.”

  Swallowing hard, Stephen made his way along the side of the front carriage, while shining the torch down at the train's thick metal wheels and looking for any hint of an object on the track. The night air was bitterly cold and his high-vis vest offered little warmth, flapping in the wind and leaving him shivering, while the only other sound to be heard was from his feet as he made his way across the gravel. With every step, he was convinced he was going to spot a horrifically mangled human corpse caught in the metal beneath the train, and this constant fear was tempered only by the equally-constant sense of relief as each step revealed nothing of the sort. Still, even the thought of finding a dead rabbit was enough to fill him with dread.

  He wasn't good with blood.

  “Anything?” Bob shouted from the front of the train.

  “Not so far!”

  “Keep looking!”

  “Keep looking,” Stephen muttered, starting to feel a little annoyed by Bob's approach. “Sure, I'll keep looking, and you keep spouting bullshit while you sit on your fat ass and -”

  Suddenly he stopped as the beam from the torch picked up something ahead. There was a shape, formless and indistinct, lodged under the wheels at the head of the second commuter carriage just a few meters further along. The beam of light had only caught the very edge of the shape, and although he knew he should go closer and take a look, Stephen found that he was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle even as he felt his heart pounding in his chest. Something was definitely under the train.

  There was something on the actual rail, too, like a dark patch of liquid.

  Blood.

  “Oh fuck,” he whispered. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh...”

  He stared for a moment, before realizing that while he was under no obligation to take a close look, he had to at least be certain that it was a person, and not a dog or some wild animal. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and shone the torch directly under the train.

  “It's not a person,” he whispered to himself, “it's can't be. Dear God, I swear I'll never smoke another cigarette in my life if you just make it so this isn't -”

  And that's when he saw her.

  A girl.

  Or at least the shape of a girl, mangled and smeared.

  With shaking hands, Stephen couldn't even hold the torch steady, but finally he was able to make out the basics:

  She looked young, maybe in her early twenties, with a head of messy, tangled hair, but the most striking part of her appearance was her eyes; lined with thick black eyeliner, they were staring straight at Stephen from under the train. The rest of her body seemed to be caught up in the wheels and the braking system, partially smeared against the metal, but her head and eyes were trained resolutely on him, as if she'd been waiting for him to arrive.

  Turning away, Stephen tried to stay calm.

  “Oh God,” he whispered, “oh God, oh...”

  He took a deep breath, trying to quell the sense of nausea in his belly.

  Looking toward the front of the train, he imagined Bob waiting for him.

  Forcing himself to turn back and look at the girl again, he shone the torch toward her face.

  She was still staring at him, but this time - after a moment - she blinked.

  “Fuck!” he said, taking a step back.

  She blinked again.

  “Are...” Stephen paused, his trembling hand barely able to keep the torch shining on the girl's face, while avoiding her crumpled and bloodied body. “Are you...”

  He waited. The only sound he could hear was his own heart, pounding in his ears.

  “Are you...”

  He waited again.


  The girl blinked.

  “Can you...” she began to say suddenly, her voice sounding thin and fragile. “Help... me...”

  “Help you?”

  “Help me,” the girl replied. “I think he... I think he's coming... He's after me...”

  “But,” Stephen said, trying to fight the urge to turn and run, “I guess... Who are...”

  He paused, unable to stop staring at her.

  “Are you... okay?” he asked finally.

  She stared at him.

  “He's coming back,” she replied. “I can feel it.”

  “Who?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to make sure there was no-one else nearby. “Did someone chase you down here?”

  “I thought I'd got rid of him forever,” she continued, “but now I can tell he's coming back. He's just on the other side, waiting to come through.”

  “The other side of what? The fence?”

  He shone the torch at the fence, but he couldn't see anyone on the other side.

  “He's coming,” the girl whispered.

  He turned to her.

  “He's coming,” she said again, with fear in her eyes. “He's...”

  Aiming the torch at her body, he saw to his horror that the train's wheels seemed to have sliced straight through her chest, while her left arm and both her legs had been broken and mangled until they poked out through the darkness at unnatural angles. Part of her left side and hip seemed to have been drawn up into the braking system and crushed between its thick metal sections. It was as if, while the train had been dawdling along, the girl had simply slipped under the wheels and allowed them to chew through her body.

  “I tried,” she continued, with a hint of fear in her voice. “I swear, I tried to get rid of him...”

  “Rid of who?”

  “I'm cold,” she continued. “It's so cold out here. I can't remember the last time I wasn't cold.”

  “Is this...” He took a deep breath, trying to quell the growing sense of nausea that was rising through his belly. “Is this a...”