end of the line

We've been on the train for longer than it should be possible now.

It happened slowly at first. The distance between stations just seemed impossibly long, even though they shouldn't be more than a mile or so apart. It just kept getting longer and the tunnel kept going on. But it wasn't our stop, so we kept on.

Then the stations started changing. She told me she thought maybe we'd got on the wrong train, but I shook my head. This was the only train we could have got on. Except it didn't go to any of these stations, and there's no way it could have. "We're probably just remembering wrong," I said, and she nodded. I didn't believe it, either, but it had been a long day. I'd been wrong before.

Then the station names started getting unfamiliar. She said we should get off. "No. No, we can't get off. I'm sure it's just a mechanical error." And she nodded. A mechanical error, right. It would have helped if anyone else in the train looked worried or confused, but if they were it was just the normal level of people on a train.

Now it's been thirty minutes since the last stop. There's a few other passengers in the car but they're just staring at the ads or listening to music. And I tell her, "Next stop. Next stop we'll find out where the hell we are."

She doesn't say what I know she's thinking. She doesn't ask when the next stop will be. We're almost there. We have to be. Right?

The train lurches around another corner and there's still no station in sight. She pulls away when I take her hand.