Chapter Text
The people taking the tram line number 10 at 4:47 PM on workdays were always the same. Except for the ones who joined randomly, of course. And for the rare occasion when someone didn’t come when they should. So, maybe not always the same, but they were a curious and comforting certainty in Rhys’ life. They always took the same seats, always acted the same. He loved it, relished in it, even though he felt a little weird for knowing so much about those strangers who shared a tramcar with him. Even the people who joined randomly, took random seats, had order. They usually hung about the door, or sat in the most comfortable spots that were left free by Rhys’ group. That’s what he’s calling it now? His group? Yeah, why not…
So, first of all, there was Rhys. Obviously. He lived near the first stop of the tram, so he got on first, along with Hat Grandpa. More on him later.
Rhys worked at Atlas, in an office building near the city centre, so he got off the tram after roughly forty minutes of the ride. He always sat in the first car and always on the raised platform, near the driver, facing the rest of the car. While most people didn’t enjoy staring at other tram goers, he preferred it to staring at the driver’s hairy arm. He also liked to see, and while being seen was a huge drawback of that position, he was lucky that most people looked anywhere but at other passengers, anyway.
The Hat Grandpa sat in the seat closest to the middle door of the tramcar, and he always wore a hat. Different one for any weather. Rhys’ favourite was a beautiful ushanka, made out of real leather and wool. The Hat Grandpa wore it in winter. It looked at least forty, if not more years old, but it was well kept. He got out at the fourth stop and headed to the Olympics Pub. Why that one, out of all the pubs in the city, and not one that he didn’t need to take a tram to get to, Rhys learned one day when the tram was late. He asked the old man what was special about the pub that he visited daily, and the man answered that he and his husband got married there, sixty-three years ago. Since his husband passed away, he decided to revisit the place every day. He claimed that it hadn’t changed a single bit, and that Rhys should have a beer there one day.
On the second stop, three days a week, the Edgy Student got on. He always sat in the back of the car, headphones on his ears, blasting loud music. His tall frame was hunched over as he stared at the screen of his phone, humming along to what he listened to. His clothes looked like what one might find when looking up edgy teenager in image search. He got out on the sixth stop, heading towards a shop that sold electric music instruments like bass guitars and keyboards. Once, when the tram got stuck in bad weather conditions, and the Edgy Student walked to the front of the car to snap at the driver what was the problem, he tried to flirt with Rhys, which was weird, because the guy was at least five years younger. Rhys pretended he didn’t hear it back then, instead opting for spacing out creepily.
At the third stop, Tired Mom with a stroller joined every other Monday. She didn’t sit down, but the stroller blocked off two seats in the middle of the car. It started when the child was a new-born, and now it was almost a year and a half old. It was amazing to Rhys to watch a strange kid grow up before his eyes. He was just sad that the mom was always so tired. Previously, he hoped she got enough support and just hated Mondays. One day, when he didn’t exit at his usual stop, needing to get to a different Atlas office building than the one where he worked, Rhys learned the true reason why Tired Mom looked so crushed during those rides. She exited a couple stops after his usual stop and headed to a physical therapy clinic that focused on young children with special needs. Rhys donated to that clinic, not knowing what to do to otherwise help, and feeling guilty for even learning the truth indirectly like this. Surely, the Tired Mom didn’t need more people pitying her.
Another person who joined at the third stop was The Drunk, but only on Mondays and Fridays. For someone who was never, ever sober, he was precise like clockwork. He exited two stops later, heading to a certain store where he bought another beer. He always sat in the back of the car, and never caused any problems, except for swaying from side to side and looking like he might topple over at any moment. He wasn’t loud, rude or anything, just a happy drunk. Sometimes, he smiled at Rhys and pretended to tip his invisible hat. Rhys learned to smile back, though it took him months to do so for the first time. When he did, The Drunk grinned widely, like Rhys just told him that he won the lottery. He then saluted the younger man and headed to his usual seat.
Then on the fourth stop, it was the Edgy Businessman. He always wore a suit, a peacoat with his lapels rolled up, obscuring his face, a black hat and sunglasses. Rhys also sometimes dubbed him Mr Anonymous. That man usually spent the whole ride working on his phone or reading through some documents, which he carried plenty of in his messenger bag. He never made eye contact with anybody, resisted small chat, and when he wasn’t working, he was looking out of the window or leaning against it, sleeping. He worked for Hyperion, the company name appearing on his stuff more than once, but he didn’t get out at any of the offices. Rhys suspected Edgy Businessman was picking up his child or children from Rich People Day Care. The man got off after Rhys, somewhere in the city centre. And he was obviously rich, judged by his clothes and everything. It didn’t make sense that he was taking the tram. He obviously hated it, sitting at the front and pretending he was alone there.
Nobody ever got on the tram at the fifth stop. And if they did, they were someone random, taking up a random seat. If that could be called random, though. Was it really a random seat if the empty seats were always the same, predetermined by the people not taking them? Huh. Random thought.
On the sixth stop, every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, The Watchman always jogged to catch the tram, and he always succeeded. What was strange was that he never, ever arrived on time. Rhys always saw him sprinting towards the door. He would then fall into his seat – opposite the door – and wheeze loudly, catching his breath. Then he would glance at his wristwatch every fifteen seconds until he got off the tram three stops later. If some poor soul stood close enough, or Rhys made eye contact for more than a couple seconds, the Watchman would start dramatically sighing and muttering that he would be late. Rhys found it endearing, in a way. The man was middle-aged, balding, and while mumbling he looked like a cartoon character, kind off. He shook his head every time another minute passed, as if his wristwatch was laughing in his face. Rhys was certain the man had a kind soul, just very tardy.
The seventh stop brought them to the historical industrial district. Most buildings were either empty or repurposed, the old plants shut down before Rhys was even born. The tram announcement system always mentioned that many of the buildings were cultural heritage. Sometimes, Edgy Businessman would scoff at that.
On this stop, tourists often got on, taking up whatever seats they wanted and disturbing the system. Sometimes, some bold soul would even try to chat with him, which Rhys would very gingerly try to put an end to. There weren’t any regulars who would get on the tram at that stop; no people that he could focus on instead of the flood of unfamiliar faces.
Before the eight stop, there was a short tunnel. It led underneath a road and a part of a building. Before driving through the tunnel, the driver would turn on the lights inside of the tramcar, but Rhys would only notice that after they flickered off upon leaving the tunnel. He thought it was strange that his brain didn’t register lights going on in plain daylight but noticed them going off. Human brains worked in strange ways.
This is where it happened. It was a normal day, a Thursday. The sun was just hidden behind some sparse clouds, giving the people a break from its bright shine and turning the world dark for a few minutes. The wind was a little stronger than it had been in summer. Generally, there was nothing remarkable about the day, except for a strange driver at the front of the tram, their arm thin and smooth. The usual people got in on the tram. Rhys felt like he recognised one of the random people, a redhead girl. Maybe he should try to trace her pattern, just for fun? It wouldn’t be bad to have someone new join his group.
Rhys was still looking at the girl, trying to remember when had he seen her before, when the tram entered the tunnel. Like in slow motion, he could see and feel darkness swallowing them all. The light that was the end of the tunnel quickly disappeared from his vision, leaving only the darkened tramcar and a hushed murmur, people surprised at the change, probably asking themselves whether it always was like that, or something was different today. It was such a minor change, and it was gone in a few seconds, that most people soon brushed it off. But not Rhys.
When the tram was bathed in dimmed sunlight again, Rhys felt like they had travelled through a magic portal. Like they emerged different people, in a different world. Suddenly, nobody could be trusted. The faces of the regulars morphed right in front of him, changing into shadow monsters, danger, danger, danger.
And through the icy cold claws that were reaching him, gripping him, choking him, Rhys saw one normal, human hand wave in front of his face. A voice reached him, deep and concerned. “You alright, Cupcake?”
Dear God, was he not alright. He was going to die! He-he had to start running, now! He couldn’t find any comfort in the calm voice, but he turned to it, if only to make sure that it wasn’t one of the shadow monsters.
It was the Edgy Businessman. He had taken off his sunglasses, was looking at Rhys with scrunched up brows. He repeated his question when he didn’t get an answer. Then he changed tactics.
“Are you afraid of the darkness?” he asked knowingly, as if it suddenly became obvious. Rhys wanted to laugh, because there was so much more that he was afraid of. But he found himself nodding, clinging to the calming presence of the man that seemed to know what was going on better than Rhys did.
“It’s okay, Pumpkin,” the Businessman continued in a softer voice. “It’s gone now. You’re safe.”
Rhys didn’t believe that. He shut his eyes tight briefly, then opened them wide when that only served to make the fear greater. He scanned everybody on the tram, noting their faces, faces turned to him, slowly being swallowed by shadows.
“No no, keep your eyes on me, Princess,” the Businessman said, making Rhys’ head snap to the side, if only because the man’s voice was the only thing he could hear over the thrumming of his own blood in his ears. “That’s it, good,” the man praised. “Eyes on me. You listening? Good. You’re on a tram. We just went through a tunnel; it got a little dark for a second. We’re back in the open now; everybody’s safe. You’re safe… Do you know where you are?”
Rhys took a deep breath. He didn’t know how to feel about the man talking to him, but at the same time, the Businessman’s presence was incredibly calming. He had to at least try to talk to him. He gulped before speaking. “Y-yeah… I’m on the-the tram. Number 10.”
“Good, continue,” the man encouraged him, but Rhys didn’t know what else to say. He looked out of the window to try to guess how long till the eight stop, but what he saw was the back of a gas station that was near the tenth stop, which didn’t make sense, that much time couldn’t have passed…
“Eyes on me,” the Businessman reminded. “I’ll sit closer, okay?” he asked next, standing up and heading towards the seat opposite to Rhys, who frantically shook his head, making the man stop and backtrack. “Not okay, got it,” he said. “I’ll stay here, give you space. But I need you to do something for me, sweet thing. Take a deep breath, count to five, let it out.”
Right. His therapist suggested something similar for situations like this. Rhys decided to follow the instructions, taking deep breaths and slowly letting them out. The other man continued to soothe and encourage him, complimenting him for his progress. When Rhys finally felt himself enough to look away from those capturing eyes, it was raining behind the windows. He checked out everyone in the tramcar, noting regulars and especially the unusual faces, and when he didn’t find anything suspicious, he returned his gaze to the businessman.
The man was watching him with concern, tracking his every move, as if expecting Rhys to break down again. He smiled slightly when Rhys looked at him. It made crowfeet stand out around his eyes. He was older than Rhys, that’s for sure.
“Thank you,” Rhys whispered, flustered. He didn’t know what else to say. He was grateful that he didn’t fall apart completely. He didn’t want to draw any more attention.
“You’re welcome, Cupcake,” the Businessman grinned. “Can I know your name? If you’re comfortable with that…” he added, and Rhys once more wondered whether the man knew everything about the situation he was in, and how.
“I-it’s Rhys,” he said softly, unsure. “Yours?”
The man regarded him with a curious look for several seconds before finally answering: “You can call me Jack.”
“Jack,” Rhys repeated, testing the sound of it, as if hearing it in his own voice could determine if he could trust it, if it was real.
“How are you feeling?” Jack asked after a while. “You aren’t pale as a ghost anymore, so I’m guessing better?”
“Yeah,” Rhys nodded, looking down into his lap and blushing. “Thank you, really. I don’t know what I would do if I…” he trailed off, not sure where he was going with it.
“You’re welcome, Pumpkin,” Jack said, smiling. In that moment, he didn’t look like everybody on the tram was beyond him. He looked like a normal person, who he most probably was, but Rhys had decided long ago that this would be the Edgy Businessman, and it was hard letting go of that prejudice.
“Fear is a bitch,” Jack continued, leaning back in his seat. “It grips you and doesn’t let go, does it? Feels almost pointless fighting it, because you know that it won’t ever really let go, so why bother trying to make it better? It’s a lost fight.”
Rhys recognised that way of thinking. Back when he finally escaped, when he realised that he had made it, he had trouble trying to break his almost obsessive rituals fuelled by fear. He knew that sleeping with all lights in his apartment turned on wasn’t healthy or economic, but he needed it, needed all of them to shine bright, and why would he ever want to wean himself off them? They helped him sleep, at least for a couple hours each night.
Rhys wondered how did Jack know that, and he was about to ask, his paranoia compelling him to find out, to know everything about everyone around him, so he could be sure that there wasn’t a monster hiding among them. But he stopped himself when he realised how stupid and unnecessary that question was. People could only learn something like this one way. Or two, he supposed, but Jack didn’t look like a psychiatrist; he worked at Hyperion. That left experience. Either he had experience with PTSD, or someone close to him had. And he seemed willing to share his experience with Rhys.
“The worst thing is the irrationality of it,” he whispered, not wanting to let the conversation fizzle out to nothing, but also not feeling comfortable talking about this stuff in public. “I know that it’s not there, that I’m safe, or as safe as I could be, but I still fear. What if… You know what I mean?” he asked, hoping to learn something in return.
After a while, the businessman nodded. “Yeah, I think I do. That sounds annoying. Especially for a rational person.”
Rhys smiled slightly. He considered himself a pretty rational person, or at least… before that. “It changed me,” he wondered, mostly to himself.
“For better or for worse?” Jack asked, no longer looking at the younger man but out of the window, at the dark clouds. He didn’t pry as to what changed Rhys, respecting the younger man’s privacy.
Rhys didn’t have an answer for that question. It was hard to tell what kind of person he was when he barely talked to anyone, and besides taking this trip every workday, he didn’t leave the house. It was like he didn’t exist outside of the tram, and he liked it that way. He built a new, small universe around himself, one where only he lived, and few people were allowed to visit.
“I don’t know…” he admitted eventually. “How do you know you’re a good person?”
Jack didn’t have an answer either.