The Polar Express had travelled one journey.

Bella had travelled a hundred.

Most of them had happened entirely inside her head.

She sat by the window, watching darkness slide past in long black stretches, one finger slowly winding a strand of hair around itself.

Across the aisle sat a man dressed as the Joker.

Purple coat.

Green hair.

White face.

Red smile.

Bella looked once.

Then again.

There were perfectly reasonable explanations.

Costume party.

Theatre performance.

Children’s event.

Convention.

Probably harmless.

Probably.

The Joker placed a black suitcase between his shoes.

Bella’s finger stopped.

Why keep it there?

Maybe clothes.

Maybe props.

Maybe something fragile.

He looked around the carriage.

Slowly.

Bella looked away.

Her mind did not.

Had he checked the exits?

Was he waiting for someone?

Why had he chosen the seat closest to the door?

Was the suitcase locked?

It looked locked.

Perhaps all suitcases looked locked if you stared at them long enough.

Bella wrapped the strand tighter around her finger.

The Joker reached inside his coat.

Bella sat straighter.

He pulled out—

a packet of crisps.

She exhaled.

Ridiculous.

A man eating crisps on a train.

That was the entire situation.

Nothing else was happening.

Then the lights went out.

The carriage dropped into darkness.

Someone laughed.

A child squealed.

Bella stopped breathing.

For a few seconds there was only the sound of wheels against track.

Then—

tick.

Bella’s eyes widened.

tick.

From across the aisle.

From the suitcase.

Definitely the suitcase.

Her brain, delighted to finally have evidence, accelerated.

Timer.

Device.

Bomb.

Obviously not.

Probably not.

Why would someone dressed as the Joker bring a ticking suitcase onto a train?

Because nobody would believe the woman who said:

The Joker has a bomb.

Excellent camouflage.

Bella’s hand moved toward the metal water bottle inside her bag.

She had no idea what she intended to do with it.

Apparently, fight a possible terrorist with hydration.

The lights flickered back.

Everyone blinked.

The Joker was still sitting there.

Calm.

Eating crisps.

Bella looked at the suitcase.

tick.

Again.

The Joker noticed her staring.

Bella looked away.

Too late.

He leaned down.

Placed one hand on the suitcase.

Bella’s heart climbed into her throat.

He opened it.

Bella gripped the water bottle.

Inside were balloons.

Red.

Yellow.

Blue.

A magician’s wand.

Paper stars.

Playing cards.

And lying neatly in the middle—

a wind-up monkey with two tiny cymbals.

tick.

The monkey raised its arms.

Clapped the cymbals.

And grinned at Bella.

The Joker looked at her.

Then at the metal bottle clutched in both her hands.

He raised one eyebrow.

Bella stared at him.

Then at the monkey.

Then back at him.

And started laughing.

Not politely.

Not elegantly.

The kind of laugh that came from surviving a disaster that had never existed.

The Joker smiled.

He lifted the monkey.

Bella raised the water bottle.

A truce.

For the rest of the journey, the suitcase stayed open.

Balloons.

Cards.

The ridiculous monkey.

Nothing dangerous.

Nothing hidden.

Nothing remotely worth the story Bella’s mind had written.

She turned back to the window.

Her reflection floated faintly over the darkness outside.

Hair slightly wild.

Eyes still bright from laughing.

Bella wound the same strand around her finger.

Once.

Twice.

She paused.

Across the aisle, the monkey clicked its cymbals together.

Bella smiled.

And let the strand go.