Twenty-one and Counting

Rachel Bradshaw is your average woman. She's got a job, kids, a husband -a white-picket-fence kind of life, until she finds herself in the subway station. But she's not alone.

Rachel Bradshaw glances at her watch for the umpteenth time as she rushes down the stairs and into the subway terminal. To her surprise, she finds terminal empty, even though the train should be arriving any second. The fluorescent lights overhead cast an odd glow over Rachel, making her skin seem paler and illuminating the empty station with a strange sort of brightness.

 

After nearly ten minutes of standing and waiting for the train, which obviously wasn't coming any time soon, Rachel takes a seat on an empty bench. What is taking the subway so long? Rachel is growing more impatient with each minute that passes.

 

She checks her watch yet again. 6:00P.M. It should be here by now, but the tracks remain as empty as they were fifteen minutes ago. Rachel sighs, standing up to leave. At this rate, it will be quicker for Rachel to take her chances on hailing a cab that for her to wait for God knows how long for the six o'clock train that Rachel might have missed.

 

"Twenty-one, twenty-one, twenty-one," a woman rocks back and forth on a bench, knees hugged tightly to her chest. Rachel just stares at the woman as she wonders how she could have missed her.

 

Her long, brown hair cascades in gentle waves down to the small of her back. The woman's dark eyes seem to follow Rachel wherever she goes. Her raspy voice just keeps repeating 'twenty-one', each time with a short break between every three annunciations of the word.

 

She must be crazy. Rachel wants to simply keep walking, but she knows there is something wrong. She eventually decides to see if this lady needs help, her caring nature prevailing over logic.

 

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks, stepping closer to the woman. She just stares at Rachel with those wild eyes. Suddenly, a loud roar envelops the station.

 

"Finally," Rachel sighs, relieved to be on the way home, and away from the woman, who is starting to freak her out. As Rachel draws closer to the edge, the woman runs at her with surprising speed. She gives Rachel a forceful shove, knocking her off-balance.

 

Rachel flies in front of the moving train and smashes into the front of it. The woman smiles. It's not a normal smile; it's a crazy one, yet one that's filled to the brim with pride.

 

Blood spatters out from beneath the train. The warm liquid clings to her face and torso. She licks her lips, relishing the metallic taste that fills her mouth. She returns to her bench, reciting, "Twenty-two, twenty-two, twenty-two."