The last train home

Marcus checked his watch for the third time. 11:47 PM. The platform was empty except for a crumpled newspaper rolling in the wind and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. The last train to Ashford was supposed to arrive thirteen minutes ago. He shifted the weight of his duffel bag from one shoulder to the other and stared down the dark tunnel, willing the headlights to appear. Everything he owned was in that bag. Everything that mattered, anyway. A change of clothes, his mother's silver locket, and a letter he had written but never sent. Three years. That is how long he had lived in this city, and now he was leaving the same way he arrived — alone, at night, with nowhere in particular to be. A voice crackled over the loudspeaker. "Attention passengers. The 11:34 service to Ashford has been delayed. We apologize for the inconvenience." Marcus laughed quietly. Of course it was delayed. The universe had a sense of humor like that. He sat down on the cold metal bench and ...