ee. A Footprint of Time Travel.

I am Trainman.

Journal: The virtual present.

                I heard talking. Lots of conversations. Questions. Alarms. Someone ordering others to move along. Move out of the way. There was commotion outside my door. Lots of commotion. The train was not moving. I got up and stuffed miscellaneous belongings into my duffle bag and secured my laptop in its case across my shoulder. I was ready to depart from this… cabin fever. I was done with the train. Sliding my door all the way open I saw an officer in uniform. Then two. And other officials in plain clothes. All focus was on Darby’s quarters. I couldn’t get a good look in there, because I was being politely escorted down the aisle by a police officer. He asked me, “Do you have everything with you, Sir?”

                I replied, “Yes. I do. I’m ready to get off this train. What’s happening?”

                “There’s been an accident. The gentlemen over there will ask you for a statement, and then you’re at liberty to do as he suggests.”

                Without knowledge of what had just transpired, I wasn’t clear on any “statement” I was supposed to make. As it turns out, the detective who took my statement was really just interested in my travels. My name. Why I was on this train. And where I might be found for the next thirty days. There would be a follow up visit from some department of the Long Beach Law Enforcement regime with me regarding any insight I might share about the disappearance of a man named, Darby Jones. It’s as if I was under investigation and the interrogation was to clip my wings and shorten my vacation. A missing person? What do I know?

                After about thirty minutes, they released me. I exited the train. Immediately, I saw cameras. News reporters. And when they saw me, I walked the other way… No interest in that kind of publicity. There were several policemen and a few detectives or officials collected around the side of the train I’d just exited, along with more cameras and news people. They were all focused on a compartment of the car where Darby had resided. Perhaps where he exited the train. There was a missing door, or access panel of some kind that was directly within the quarters where Darby had his intimate interview with Kathy. Do they think he fell out of the train from that access breach? Or did they remove it for some other reason?

                I had planned to catch a helicopter ride to Catalina Island. I had reservations for a nice suite on the island with a bedroom, bathroom, and living area right near the ocean where I could relax for a good two-week vacation. I had no interest in being holed up in some dingy motel near the train station. I never revealed my destination to the detective when he interrogated me. That’s what it felt like. An interrogation. So I just told him I would be staying in Long Beach. At some local motel. They have my cell number. They can find me.

                By the time I’d recovered my things, exited the train, eluded the media, recovered my equilibrium and collected my composure I missed the last departure for the helicopter ride to Catalina Island. I had no choice but to find a dingy motel for the night.

                I was on the verge of breaking a great story for the Paranormal Magazine. It was on my mind. I couldn’t rid myself of it. I wanted to finish it. But with all the commotion and drama of the day, I’d be unable to devote any focus on that subject. I decided a quiet night in a motel might not be so bad. So I checked in to a nearby motel and sat down on the bed. I opened my laptop and began typing a short note. A reminder of where to begin.

                “His name is not Darby Jones. It is… Oil Rag. Darby isn’t missing. It’s an exit from this time zone. No... An exit from this time era. Oil Rag just traveled back in time. I know it. He exited a body known as Darby Jones. I know it.”

                Why did he exit the twenty-first century? To meet with Enoch... To meet with me.

By, Trainman.