Chapter 6 The Weight of Water

"An impossible choice is simply two paths that both walk straight through your deepest fear."

The storm screamed around them, wild and alive, as if the whole sky wanted to rip the train apart. Evan’s fingers tightened on Cass’s shoulder, steady and firm, keeping her grounded on the thin metal walkway between the cars. Rain hit them in sharp, cold sheets. Their lantern shook in Cass’s hand, its small circle of light fighting the dark.

Willow Lane’s old town clock began to strike 11:55 PM.

Five short minutes.

The sound carried through the wind like a warning.

“We don’t have time, Cass!” Evan shouted. His voice broke against the storm. “Forget the coupling. The water’s rising too fast. The trestle’s next. We need to decide.”

Cass drew in a sharp breath that tasted like salt and fear. She forced her mind to focus the way her father had taught her years ago in the lighthouse to look, measure, and decide. Her hair stuck to her face. Her hands were freezing. And her heart was racing.

“If we stay in the train,” she shouted back, “we’re safe from the wind, yes. But if the trestle collapses, we go straight down. We won’t even have time to run.”

Evan nodded grimly. “And walking?”

“If we walk,” Cass said. “We’re exposed to everything. Wind. Flying debris. Rising water. But at least we’re not waiting to fall. We’re moving. Moving has a chance.”

She didn’t want to walk. Away from the train meant away from safety, away from everything she hoped would take her home quietly.

But she wasn’t a child anymore.

Safety was a lie.

Movement was survival.

“We should walk,” she repeated, louder.

Evan looked at the risen river rushing under the tracks. The dark water churned like it was alive, like it wanted to pull him under again. But Cass’s voice brought him back.

“Okay,” he said, voice almost steady. “We walk. But we go out the far door. The side away from the water.”

They forced their way back into the passenger car. The sudden quiet was strange, it felt like stepping into another world. The air was warmer, the space still, but it felt too small now. Too temporary.

“Hold on,” Evan said, stopping her before she reached the exit. He pulled a long strip of fabric from the inside of his denim jacket and started tying one end around his wrist.

Cass blinked at him. “You’re tying yourself up now?”

“You’ll thank me,” he said. “This wind can yank a person straight off their feet. When we tie ourselves together. If one falls, the other feels it.”

He held out his hand.

Cass lifted hers.

He tied the fabric around her wrist gently, almost carefully, his hands surprisingly warm. The contact sent a soft jolt through her chest. She glanced at him, but he didn’t look at her, he focused on the knot like it were a life-or-death task.

Maybe it was.

For a terrifying second, Cass realized that if she lost him tonight, she might never forgive the sea or herself.

“If I fall,” she whispered, “you pull me up.”

“If I fall,” he replied, “you drag me toward the lighthouse. I’m not dying before at least one person claps for a finished song.”

Cass laughed, a sharp, nervous sound. “Fine. But don’t expect me to carry you.”

“Fair enough.”

He picked up his guitar case, the weight solid against his back, and pushed open the emergency door.

The storm exploded into the car.

Cold wind slammed into them so hard that Cass gasped. Rain flew sideways. The lantern flickered violently.

“Go!” Evan shouted.

Cass stepped onto the platform, pressing her body to the brick wall to keep balance. The platform was slippery but slightly raised. Better than the tracks. Better than the river.

Evan followed and shut the door behind them, sealing the train away.

Now they were outside.

On their own.

Three miles from town.

“The station house!” Evan shouted, pointing at the dark shape twenty yards ahead. “Shelter first!”

They pushed forward, leaning into the wind. Each step felt like walking through deep water. The road ahead was almost invisible, swallowed by rain and shadows.

Cass kept the lantern low, lighting their path. Its glow bounced off puddles and wet stone. Her heart hammered. Her mind raced.

This was the worst night of her life.

But she wasn’t alone.

Then...

CRACK.

A sound tore through the storm, sharp, brutal, final.

Cass spun around, catching her breath.

The first passenger car of the train was tilting.

Only a little.

But enough to see the shift.

Enough to know something underneath had broken.

“The trestle!” she screamed.

“Run!”

They sprinted, feet splashing, wind pulling at their clothes like hands trying to drag them back. Evan reached the heavy station door first and grabbed the padlock.

“It’s locked!” he yelled, his voice raw. “Cass, it won’t open!”

Cass shone the lantern closer. The lock was old, rusted, and thick. The building had been shut for years. No workers. No staff.

“Keep trying!” she said, pushing rain out of her eyes.

Evan yanked. Pulled. Slammed his shoulder into the door.

It didn’t move.

“We can’t stay,” he panted. “The dockyard warehouse is a quarter mile...”

GONG.

The first strike of midnight rolled through the storm.

GONG.

The sound felt enormous, deep enough to shake the ground.

GONG.

High tide.

The Midnight Tide.

The sound didn’t just mark the hour. It claimed it.

Cass felt something shift inside her chest... a strange, cold instinct she couldn’t name.

She lifted the lantern automatically.

That’s when she saw it.

A faint glow.

Inside the station house.

Behind the old, dirty window.

Not the lighthouse beam.

Not the train light.

Not their lantern.

A soft, steady shine.

“Evan,” she whispered, grabbing his arm, “someone’s inside.”

Evan pushed hair from his face and squinted through the rain. “A conductor? A worker? Someone trapped?”

She shook her head instantly. “No. This station hasn’t been staffed in almost ten years. No trains stop here except emergency ones. Nobody should be inside.”

The light flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then vanished.

Gone.

The window went black.

Evan swallowed hard. “So… who would be here at midnight?”

Cass didn’t answer immediately. She listened to the wind. The water. Her own heartbeat.

People used the abandoned station sometimes but never good people. Never the kind who wanted help.

“The only ones who come here at midnight,” she said softly, “are the ones who don’t want to be found.”

Evan stared at her.

She stared at the window.

A moment of thick, heavy silence passed between them, broken only by the storm.

The danger outside was real.

The river was rising.

The trestle was failing.

The storm was violent.

But the danger inside?

The danger inside was a different kind of threat.

Quiet.

Unseen.

Patient.

Cass stepped backward without realizing it.

Evan followed her movement. “Cass…?”

She lifted the lantern again.

And this time, the window didn’t glow.

But something inside... something darker... shifted.

A shadow moved behind the glass.

Just one.

Soft.

Slow.

Human.

Cass froze.

“Evan…”

“I see it,” he whispered.

The shadow stopped.

And then...

Faint but real...

A hand pressed against the inside of the window.

Not waving.

Not asking for help.

Just watching them.

Not curious. Not confused. But expectant.

Cass felt her throat close.

Evan took a shaky breath.

Outside the building, the storm roared.

Behind them, the train tilted farther.

But the real danger…

The one that felt colder than the river…

Was standing silently just behind the glass, waiting for them to come closer.