44. Sophie

44

SOPHIE

T he train jerks hard—nothing like the steady sway I’ve grown used to. This feels wrong. The sudden shift sends a jolt through my whole body, the kind that makes my stomach drop, like I’m falling. My fingers scramble to grip the seat, but the whole car shakes, tilting to one side. The growl of the engine vibrates through my bones, low and violent, filling my ears, and the air in the car turns thick, suffocating.

I barely have time to process it when the train jerks again, even harder this time. The metal screeches like it’s being torn apart. My feet slip beneath me, and I crash into the seat in front of me, feeling the rough, jagged edge of the fabric scrape against my cheek. My pulse beats fiercely in my ears, the noise drowning out everything else.

At least until Dad’s voice cuts through the chaos, booming from the front of the car, sharp and commanding. “Hold on!”

I can barely react before it happens again. The floor tilts beneath me, too fast, like the whole damn train is tipping over. I grab at the back of the seat, but it doesn’t help. The world outside the windows is a blur of dark trees and a black sky, speeding by so fast it makes my head spin. I can’t focus on anything. I’m still stuck on how we got here.

One minute, we’re on a boat, talking about Hayley causing a scene, then we’re driving through the night in some black SUV, my parents acting like they were on a weekend getaway, ignoring everything. The next moment, we were on a chartered flight—a quiet, cramped plane, headed to God knows where. Dad said it was a surprise, and in a way, I guess it was, because now, this. The train. Speeding through the dark like we’re in some bad dream, all by ourselves.

Mom and Dad gave me the rundown, which basically felt like a nightmare—having to sit there and listen to them spill their guts when all I really care about is that Dad is alive. I’m used to the lies when it comes to my family; not much surprises me anymore. But that didn’t stop them from droning on and on about it, and I felt terrible for Malik. What an introduction to my family that was. He doesn’t seem overly upset, though; afterward, he commented he felt like he just got a minor in marital counseling. I couldn’t help but agree. It’s all so dramatic…

Three years ago, Mom was kidnapped by some psychopath named J.C. Warren. Hayley and I remember bits of it, but not much, because Mom’s gone a lot with her job anyway, and my parents kept the details about the abduction to themselves. Apparently, Warren was obsessed with her, they met on a flight or something and then he became a regular client. Dad tells it differently. He says Warren went after Mom because Dad was interfering in his business dealings. I just remember hushed whispers behind closed doors and getting to take this really fun vacation after Mom got back. Until it wasn’t fun, and we got the news that Dad had been on a golf excursion when the van he was riding in was shot up and set on fire.

Well, it turns out, Mom had ordered a hit on him because J.C. Warren fed her a bunch of lies—lies which she believed. And so, for the past three years, Dad has been hiding out, plotting his revenge, until he decided that revenge was maybe not the route he wanted to take. Time will tell, he says.

I try to make sense of it, but it’s all happening too fast, and like Malik said, it’ll make you crazy it you let it.

I’m still trying to get my bearings when Malik grabs my arm, his face wide-eyed in panic. “What the hell?—”

Before he can finish, there’s a sound—a crash, sharp and deafening—that rips through everything. It’s the kind of noise that makes my blood run cold, like it’s coming from everywhere at once.

The lights flicker above us, and then they go out completely. For a moment, everything is just...darkness.

I hear Mom say to Dad, “What the fuck?”

He responds, “This wasn’t supposed to happen yet.”

“What wasn’t supposed to happen, Michael?”

I see Dad’s phone light up. “The derailment. We were supposed to have disembarked first.”

“Derailment?” Mom demands. “Are you seriously looking at a map right now?”

“This is not good,” Dad snaps into the darkness. I should be surprised they’re arguing at a time like this, but I’m not. Dad’s voice is closer now, but he turns to Mom when he speaks again. “Of course I’m looking at a map. Do you really think I’d derail a train with my entire family on it?”

Mom says, “No one else knows we’re here.”

“The people who matter know. The people you’re running from know, I can assure you of that.”

I can’t breathe. My chest tightens. I try to stand, but the floor is uneven beneath me, shifting with every movement. The air is thick, too hot now, almost like it’s pressing in from all sides. I hear the scream of metal twisting, groaning under pressure, and the whole train seems to lurch violently again. I grab Malik’s hand, my fingers digging into his skin.

“Malik,” I say, my voice shaking. “I think we are going to die.”

I hear him inhale, his breath unsteady, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything.

“Just in case it’s not clear,” I tell him. “I wasn’t sleeping with people for money.”

He looks over at me. “I know.”

“I was killing them.”

“Yes,” he says. “I can see that now.”

“But I did—I do care about you.”

“I know.”

I squeeze his hand. “Are your parents going to miss you?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t think so.”

“Seriously?” I shift in my seat. “Why not?”

“Let’s just say they are not good people.”

“They can’t be worse than my parents.”

He snorts. “They can. They are.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Sophie. You were the first good thing to happen to me in a long time.”

“Wow.” My brows raise, and I’m thinking I really hope we live through this, or at least long enough for me to get the full story. “Worse than my family? That’s really saying something.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to talk.”

And so we don’t. For several long moments, there’s nothing but the rumbling sound of the train—and something else, something worse, starting to fill the air. It smells wrong—like smoke, thick and pungent.

“Fire,” he says, the word coming out too slowly, like he’s still trying to process it. “The train’s on fire.”

I don’t have time to think about that. There’s a terrible sound, like glass breaking, and then the train lurches again, a violent twist that sends me sprawling. I feel the heat before I even see the smoke, and when I look down, the floor is already starting to glow, faint orange flickers creeping in from under the door.

“Get up!” Malik pulls me to my feet, dragging me toward the emergency exit. I’m not sure how he’s managing to move so fast, but his grip is firm, his hands urgent.

I don’t have time to question it. There’s no time to think. My legs are shaky beneath me as we stumble toward the door. The air is thick, too thick. My lungs are filling with smoke. I’m suffocating, and I know—we are probably not going to make it out of here alive.

He reaches for the door, pulling it open. The rush of air hits me, frigid, but carrying the sharp, acrid scent of smoke.

“Jump,” he orders.

“Jump?” I echo.

“Yes, jump,” he says, already making his way to the edge of the wreckage, his face set. “We’re not waiting for the cops or the cleanup crew to show up. We’re getting out of here. Now.”

“It’s a long way down.”

“Being burned alive is not a good way to die,” he says, and then he turns to face me with a rare seriousness in his eyes. “Don’t think, just do.”

I look down and then back at him. “You’re right. We have no choice.”

He nods, and for once, I see him take a deep breath, bracing for what comes next. He thinks I’m going to hesitate. My heart is beating in my throat, but I’m not.

We take a step toward the edge, and without a second thought, we jump.

The ground rushes up to meet me faster than I expect, and everything is a blur—my body hitting the earth with a thud that knocks the breath out of me. I scramble to my feet, gasping for air, my legs shaking.

The train is behind us, a looming dark figure in the distance. The fire is real now, the smoke rising in thick, black plumes, and the sound of the roaring flames fills the night.

Malik’s standing with his hands on his hips, looking back at the burning train. He doesn’t say anything, but his face is tight, his jaw clenched. He’s breathing hard, eyes scanning the smoke-filled air like he’s waiting for something else to happen.

But there’s nothing else. Not yet.

“Come on,” he says finally, his voice low, urgent. “We can’t stay here.”

I don’t argue. I nod and follow him, my feet moving on their own, pushing me forward. We don’t stop.

But then, we do.