Graham Thomas

Night-time within the embrace of the Exxon Valdez. The woman is sleeping with her head on my lap, the bustle of her dress a maroon waterfall. Her lace collar is undone, exposing her neck. Clear sign she is comfortable. No rings on fingers. Loose ringlets in hair. Slender neck. Old and young.

Woke up a few minutes ago to sound of scraping. Sitting up on bench, huddled in coat (cushion provided no dream). Scraping was soft. Almost a slide. A note under my door! I am staring at it. Still folded under doorframe. Peeking through the edge. Paisley is fast asleep.

Door slid open effortlessly. On rails. Odd. No handle, just on rails. Only one bench inside, facing sliding door. Nobody sitting on it. Window above it. Maroon-coloured blind drawn. Picture of a tree on blind – very fine embroidery, like the ivy on the hem of sister’s dress.

Dog is sitting by the door licking the black paint. Coating appears to be wet. First thought was that it was wet paint. But no, it is water. Tasted it. Salt water. Resist licking door. Tell dog to stop. Dog shakes head. Can hear bullet rattling around in dog’s skull. Cannot remember dog’s name.

Left Mr H_ sleeping on his front. Can’t hear his breathing from the corridor. Soundproofed carriage? Doesn’t seem likely as I can see through the edges of the doorframe. The light from the room seeps under the crack below the door. Sound must only exist within its own borders.

Number on the carriage has fallen off. Unvarnished outline of ‘1’ remains. Going in to investigate. If I don’t come back then Lucy, the dream was true. I’m sorry. Brekker if you read this, follow the clues, and maybe you will have more success. Get to Lucy! Save her!