Dust collecting on the smooth, wooden floor planks seemed to be deeper than he remembered. Even in the quiet stillness of an empty lobby he could hear the hustle and bustle of travelers waiting for the 9:29. Many were waiting to depart on a trip to someplace else, while others waited anxiously, as he did, for the return of a loved one. She’d be on that train, he was certain of it. He never tired of waiting for her. There was something about his persistence and patience that gave him a sense of strength; an endurance that belied the number of times he waited there for the arrival of the love of his life.

Fingers fished an old watch out of the tiny pocket on his vest; the gold cover popped open to confirm another twenty minutes or so of his seemingly endless vigil remained. The first train of the day would be on time, it always was. Long strides carried him outside onto the platform adjacent to the iron rails that would deliver her to him. A late October sun was only inches above partially denuded maple trees. Every breath of the autumn breeze brought another shower of golden leaves to the ground. Several floated onto the station platform to join others already dancing with the wind around feet of long benches along the brick wall. Easing onto his familiar bench, he settled in to wait for his beloved Elizabeth.

He loved this time of morning. The amber glow of the advancing sun gave the colors of fall an even richer hue than nature’s palette intended. It seemed like he had relived this same scenario hundreds of times over. Leaves that danced under foot were tireless. The breeze that choreographed their movement was never ending. He shook off the puzzling redundancy of his simple act of waiting and relaxed, watching the sun slowly creep farther from the naked, upper branches of the tallest maples. The routine continued, as he folded his arms across his chest; sleep claimed him like it always did, pulling his chin to his chest, pacing slow even breaths, wrapping him in the inevitable repetition of peaceful repose.

Tall doors at the front of the station swung open slowly, straining against dry hinges with a grating screech. The sound rudely jarred him awake. He stood and turned, straining to see through a dusty window into the lobby. It was empty. A bold sunbeam angled downward through a lazy swirl of dust disturbed by the opening of the heavy oak doors. He could not believe it. It was still morning. He usually came awake to find morning had passed into afternoon. A lump of disappointment welled in his throat, prompted by what was the normal outcome – his beloved once again would not arrive on the 9:29 as expected.

He shook his head in disbelief. Tears collected in the corners of tired eyes until their weight forced them out onto weathered cheeks. He began to cry the lonely cry of frustration he’d felt so many times before. The sense of loss pressed his shoulders down into broken submission, as he called out softly for his Elizabeth. He sat back down, dropping his face into his hands and sobbed in silence.

The tall woman who strode through the tall doors stopped and cocked her head. "Did you hear something?"

Her real estate agent stopped and listened for whatever her friend heard. "Probably just a rat or a stray cat; they’ve run of the place these days."

A puzzled look remained in place on her friend’s face. "No. It didn’t sound like that. It was more of a moan or a cry, or something."

The agent shrugged and shook her head, stepping farther into the station lobby; still listening. Deep shadows slowly lightened, as her eyes adjusted to the dim, musty interior. She stooped low to look under the double rows of wooden seats near the rear doors for the resident, stray tomcat that was the probable source of what her friend heard.

"It was probably that old Tom I’ve seen running around. He’s acting stationmaster I think. He’s kind of a spooky cat; stays pretty much to himself. I suspect he doesn’t relish the thought of anyone infringing on his turf," explained the agent.

The tall woman joined her agent friend in the lobby looking around the deserted room. "I can't believe I've never come down here. My mom used to tell me stories about how her best friend’s grandfather died of a broken heart down here."

The agent looked at her nodded. "Yeah, I’ve heard that one too. This place has been vacant forever, and it has a few ghost stories to tell."

"I’ll bet. I heard it was her grandmother who died in a train wreck north of here, and he was waiting to meet her. I wasn't even born yet. It's such a sad love story, but...” She paused in her recollection to sweep her eyes around the room once more. “...this place...you know...this place is perfect."

She stepped lively around the lobby talking excitedly, envisioning where the coffee bar should be and where shelves for books and CDs would go. "I've wanted a bookstore like this of my own for so long. This will be perfect and the ghosts are welcome to stay...even Blytheville Tom."

He suddenly lifted his head out of his hands, eyes swollen with dust-dry tears. There were voices coming from inside. Quickly, he stood and leaned closer to the window, cupping his hands on either side of his face. Pressed against the glass, he peered into the lobby. The woman in the yellow jacket was back. This time she had another woman with her. He strained to see through the dusty glass. Their conversation was muffled, and he could not understand what they talked about. The taller woman was obviously excited about something, walking around gesturing in an animated one-sided conversation while the woman in yellow stood and watched.

"Oh, that's so wonderful. I'm happy for you. You know, I almost sold this place a couple of years ago to a gentleman who wanted to convert it into a restaurant, but he changed his mind at the last minute. I guess it was destiny that you were the one to come down here and fall in love with the place."

There was something about the tall, slender woman that he couldn’t. She looked very familiar, but he was almost certain he didn’t know her. He rubbed the dusty haze on the windowpane trying to improve his view. Standing next to the woman in the yellow jacket was a striking figure who in some unexplainable way looked like his Elizabeth.

The resemblance was striking and a strong surge of anticipation clutched his throat, constricting his breathing. A deeply held breath nearly burst from his chest, as he gasped. Both mind and heart urged him to run to her and sweep her into his arms and hold her tightly. He’d ached for so long to feel the warmth of her body and feel her come alive as he held her. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he held her close like that. She was here at last – here to reclaim him – here to release him. He struggled to move his feet, but they were held fast like two tree stumps, deeply rooted, refusing to budge. He looked back through the window and watched as the two women walked farther into the lobby. Drawing a breath, he tried to call to her. A raspy voice slightly above that of a whisper escaped from his lips.

"There it is again," the tall woman exclaimed, "didn’t you hear that?"

"No, I’m sorry," answered the agent. "What’d you hear?"

"I’m not sure," she said, "but it sounded like someone calling my name. No one ever calls me that ‘cept my mom, and then only when I'm in really big trouble."

They approached the rear of the station lobby and pushed open the double doors that led outside onto the platform. Both women stepped through just as his feet broke free. He turned toward them with a smile spreading broadly across his tear-stained face. With a half-dozen, quick steps he stood in front of the taller woman – the woman he was certain was his Elizabeth, and gathered her into his arms; his voiced locked in his throat amidst silent sobs of joy. The strength of his hug closed on nothingness, and he stumbled right through her.

The tall woman clutched her chest with both hands and screamed. "Oh my God!" She shuffled sideways with a couple quick awkward steps and dropped to the platform, landing on her knees. A look of bewilderment punctuated wide open eyes and mouth, breath frozen in her throat.

"What the..." stammered the agent, "Liz, are you OK?"

"Oh, God! Ohhh myyy," she moaned, rocking back onto her haunches in a sitting position. A look of total confusion flooded her face as she gasped; a crimson flush crept up her neck and onto her cheeks.

The agent knelt down to help her regain her feet. Liz panted short shallow breaths, as she struggled to stand. Staggering backward on weakened legs, she lost her balance once again, falling hard against the wall, pulling the agent down with her.

She struggled to speak; "Something...something just...touched me...and..."

"Touched you?" The agent questioned in dismay, whirling around to look for whomever - whatever.

"Yes," she burst out. "There was...I felt something inside. I don’t know what...I mean I... I've never felt anything like...My God, look at me."

Her nipples were fully erect, protruding through her sweater. Her face was flushed and speckled with signs of perspiration. Reaching with her right hand, she felt lower on her body in response to a familiar throbbing sensation between her legs. The sensation surged like a wave rising in her center. Contractions began to quiver as though she was going to explode into a raging orgasm. The shock of unexplained sensations rocked her sense of logic. Her mouth opened and closed in wordless desperation as her head swiveled around looking for an answer, looking for a source of this incredible rush of arousal.

"My God," she exclaimed, "I’m so aroused. I’m...I’m soaking wet."

Her hands were still in her crotch holding herself tightly. "It's like...oh Jesus...I'm...I'm going to..."

A wrenching orgasm swelled to its limit, erupting inside of her. Liz was delirious. Her voice trailed off, and her eyes rolled up into half-closed lids. She trembled violently before losing consciousness and tumbling forward into the agent’s arms causing both women to collapse in a heap on the floor.

He staggered and turned around slowly, realizing his arms were empty and watched the bewildered women. Shock and confusion mixed with the sharp edge of terror cut deeply into him. The razor-edge of a reality he’d been ignoring for so many days, so many months, so many years, crashed down upon him without mercy. Deep within the confusion of what just happened, there was something that completed him. He was drawn to this stranger as though she was his Elizabeth. Even as his arms closed around her he felt the connection – the connection he so patiently waited for all these years. A warm sense of calm washed over him, yet there was more – there was a persistent panic that staggered him, pulled at him.

Turning away from the two fallen women he stumbled drunkenly with a private mixture of completion and the ultimate horror of his reality. Losing his own sense of balance, he began to fall, drifting in slow motion, headfirst toward the heavy wooden door frame. His body twisted as he reached to catch himself, causing him to roll to the side, arms flailing to break his fall. Pitching forward in a futile attempt to stand, one arm disappeared into the rough brick exterior of the station while the other found no resistance when his fingers closed around the tarnished brass knob on the heavy door.

The surprise of not being supported by the wall caused his entire body to heave, tumbling through the wall like it was thin air and into the lobby. The mid-morning shadows swallowed him whole, and the thick layer of dust on the floor lay undisturbed, oblivious to his passing.

 * * *

 Paramedics treated Liz for shock, checked her vital signs, and wrapped her in a thermal blanket in an effort to retain body heat. They worked quickly and efficiently and strapped her limp body onto a stretcher. The agent looked on, still trying to figure out what had happened to her unconscious friend.

The senior paramedic turned to the agent. “Are you sure you are OK, ma’am?"

"Yes," she replied, smoothing her yellow blazer, "I’m…I’m alright."

"Well, this one’s out cold," he said, motioning toward her friend. "We’ve got to get her back to the hospital right away. Are you sure you feel well enough to drive by yourself?"

"Yes," she said, "yes, I can drive. Go. Please go with her now. I’ll follow you downtown in a couple of minutes. I just have to catch my breath."

The shrill of the siren diminished as the departing ambulance sped out of sight. The agent sat down on the long bench along the wall of the station still completely befuddled by the events of the last few moments. Silently, she questioned what had just happened. She could not begin to explain the source of the sensations her friend described. There was no logical explanation for any of it.

A cold chill rushed through her as her thoughts flashed back to stories she’d heard about this old station. It had been abandoned for nearly sixty years. She wondered if there was a connection to that train wreck in the early '40s that killed 23 people on its way to tiny Blytheville Station. Rumors of ghosts of those who died always gave her a shiver when she came into the station. Those thoughts prompted the decision it was time to leave. Looking around anxiously she stood, hiking the strap on her handbag a little higher onto her shoulder. She tried to dismiss a growing sense of fear that crept into her and ignored the instinctual reflex to flee.

She turned hastily and with short quick steps walked through the doorway back into the lobby. As she turned to pull the doors closed, something on the floor reflected the morning sun, catching her eye. Kneeling, she looked closer. It appeared to be a round, flat disk. She picked it up and quickly realized it was a pocket watch. Turning it over in her hand she noticed an inscription. Walking over toward the light coming in through the window to get a better look, she read: “Forever my love” Elizabeth.

A short breath wedged sideways in her throat. She flipped it over and thumbed the stem button and the gold cover popped open. The crystal was fogged inside and scratched, but was still intact. Instinctively, she held it close to her ear to hear if it was ticking. The watch was silent. Upon closer examination she saw the hands were frozen on 9:29.