“Old guys” was the driver’s term for those passengers.
I froze, thinking of the gray shadows trailing behind Jerry and his group and muttered, “I… I’m not sure, but it seemed like they followed.”
“Ah, never mind.” The driver waved a hand dismissively and tapped the enamel cup on the ground.
“If the sky falls, there’s always someone taller to hold it up. It’s not your concern.”
He bent down and picked something up from the carriage floor—it was my work ID, the one Jerry had crushed and crumpled. The plastic cover was cracked and the photo still showed the naïve expression I’d worn when I first started the job.
The driver brushed the dust away with his rough fingers, blew lightly on the edges, then raised the strap and placed the ID back around my neck.
The cold plastic pressed against my chest and his fingertips, calloused from years of gripping the steering wheel, accidentally brushed my skin.
“Remember to bring your work ID when you go to work.”
He looked at me, his eyes as deep and still as a pond.
“This thing is sometimes more important than your life.”
Without another word, he turned toward the carriage. Instead of taking the wheel, he stood in the middle of the aisle and called softly, “We’ve arrived at the station.”
Then he pulled a brass bell from his pocket—its surface polished smooth, faint patterns etched into the metal.
He shook it gently.
Dingling… dingling…
The crisp sound rang out like spring water trickling over stones, instantly drowning out the rustling noises inside the carriage.
Even the chill in the air seemed to ease, replaced by a strange calm that settled deep in the chest, as if something invisible had quietly washed over it.
I watched as the figures in the back row began to move. One by one, they slowly stood, their movements stiff but orderly and shuffled toward the door.
With each chime of the bell, their outlines became both clearer and hazier at the same time—like ink dissolving in water.
Suddenly, a sharp cry for help rang out from far away. It was broken, uneven and muffled, as though something were covering the mouth of the speaker.
“Help… help…”
The sound came from the direction of Jerry’s villa.
The driver paused in his ringing for just a moment, then continued at the same pace, his voice calm and detached.
“Did you hear that?”
The cries grew fainter, until they ended with a dull, muffled thud—then silence.
The wind in the alley picked up, colder now, swaying the streetlights and twisting the shadows on the ground.
The driver tucked the bell back into his robe, then patted my shoulder harder than usual.
“Remember, the rules of this ride aren’t set by humans.”
I watched as the figures stepped out of the bus, one by one and disappeared into the depths of the dark alley. Only then did the driver turn back to me and nod.
“Pack up. Let’s go.”
I stood there for a moment, staring toward Jerry’s villa. It was still pitch-black, no lights on anywhere.
The bloodstained tooth in my palm had gone cold, but the work ID hanging from my neck felt faintly warm—like it had absorbed some of the bell’s lingering heat.
