She could have made it to Newport in two hours, if public transit in Maine had been less of a tragedy. At the mercy of Amtrak, train schedules and ticket prices, Elisha considered whether her medication really impaired her driving skills as much as the box claimed. In truth, she knew she was upset that the truth had been taken in vain. The former Father Terry, now 'Mr. Longhurst' of New England Geriatrics, was as close as Elisha could get to a walking, talking Wikipedia article on the supernatural. However, his knowledge was limited by its relation to Christian mythology– and so the disappearances in Newport remained a mystery without more information. It warranted a closer look and she was determined to get it.
The train arrived in Portland in the late afternoon. Her heels clicked against the asphalt as she walked across the parking lot, keeping a good grip on a simple, black suitcase. It was a little bit too hot for the long, light coat she wore, but it would have to do. Once the pace was set she was reluctant to stop and take her coat off. From the station she found her way to a decrepit bus stop where a worn-down coach waited for her. It rumbled in the afternoon smog like a beast waiting in the shadows– Elisha stepped right into the belly, depositing her suitcase above her seat. It didn't take long for the bus to fill, a little over the capacity in her amateur opinion, but people seemed to have expected it and remained standing in the aisle with their books, phones and newspapers as though it was natural. She summoned the patience of a saint, avoiding conversation with the rest, trying not to sneer when they tried to reel her in with the group.
Then there were only a few left. Night was falling, the sky turning grey with clouds– not too dark to see, just yet. Elisha walked on unsteady feet down the aisle of the bus as it passed the Newport sign, and frowned.
"I thought this bus went to Newport?"
The bus driver glanced at her in the rear-view mirror, and shrugged. "You've been reading an old schedule," he said. "Bus don't go to Newport anymore."
"Why not?"
"Nobody goes to Newport. No money for us there if nobody wants to go. Just a waste of gas."
"Well, I want to go. Stop the bus."
He eyed her more carefully this time. "You'll have to walk. I can't take you there– It's not my route anymore."
"Stop the damn bus."
And that, she thought as she watched the bus continue on its way without her, was the story of how Elisha promised vengeance on the public transit system. She felt a growing empathy with Jonathan Harker as she walked down the dusty road. It didn't look untravelled to her– just... less travelled. At the very least she wouldn't be arriving in a complete ghost town, unless that was, in fact, what was causing the disappearances– but that was a dangerous line of thought to delve into just now. She was tired, hungry, and felt a little bit undignified stumbling down the road in her uncomfortable shoes. The pavement struck too hard on her heels, but the heel tip sank into the sand if she tried to walk on the side. In the end she took the bloody things off, and walked barefoot until she saw signs of civilisation on the horizon.
She had arrived at Newport. Now she just needed to find the place where she'd promised to meet Jack.