“The bowels of hell await you!”
Jake swung around to see the guy who had blocked his way on the escalator staggering toward him, pointing a dirty, accusing finger. The ends of his coat were frayed. His shoes were mismatched. His beard was long and dishevelled. He looked — and more importantly smelled — as if he hadn’t bathed in years. Unmistakably homeless. There was no telling how old he was. Could be thirty. Could be fifty. Street life wasn’t easy on the complexion.
“Judgment is upon you!”
Perfect, thought Jake, rolling his eyes. Exactly what I need.
“Lay your hands in mine!”
Grease and dirt were caked on the guy’s face, but Jake noticed a strange spark in his eyes. He held both hands outstretched as though he were coming to hug Jake.
“Rise up from the darkness! Take my hands and rise!”
Rise. Riiiight. Nutjob. Jake rolled his eyes. He was about to head back toward the escalator when he heard a low rumble. Instinctively, he glanced up. The clock on the flat-screen monitor still read twelve o’clock. He walked to the edge of the platform and peered into the tunnel. There was a dim yellow light getting brighter by the second.
“They’re coming … take my hand …” the man muttered.
A train was approaching at top speed, its headlights unusually bright — so bright Jake had to shade his eyes. It blasted into the station, rushing past him, its roar drowning out the lunatic raving behind him. But as Jake’s eyes adjusted to what he saw, he frowned. Instead of the modern steel-grey subway, what blew past him was an old maroon train with two thin gold stripes. He recognized it from a news story he’d once seen about the transit system. It appeared to be one of the original subway trains — the Gloucester.
I thought they’d retired those dinosaurs decades ago, thought Jake as it screeched to a halt and the doors opened. But as quickly as they opened, they began closing again. Without a second to think, Jake stepped inside. The last thing he heard before the doors sealed themselves was the homeless man’s voice echoing through the hollow station: “You have entered the belly of the beast …”
The lights dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again. The car rattled and shook as it lurched forward. As he scanned the interior of the car, Jake grabbed for the nearest pole to steady himself.
If this was a party, it was the weirdest one he’d ever seen.
CHAPTER SIX
The inside of the train was dim. It smelled like a pile of dirty laundry. Passengers were crammed like cattle. Some were laughing. Others were talking. Music — the kind you might hear in the bathroom of a fancy hotel — wafted above the crowd.
One guy was wearing a grey sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves and matching sweatpants. Over his sweats he wore red shorts — short-shorts, like the kind basketball players wore in the 1980s. He had sweatbands on his wrists. Another guy had greased-up hair and a retro leather jacket like some James Dean wannabe. A neon-green mohawk sprouted from one girl’s head. She posed in skin-tight leopard-print pants and the pointiest boots Jake had ever seen. Another girl wore a dress and shoes that must have belonged to her great-grandmother. Still another looked like a hippie, complete with fringed vest and headband.
A costume party, thought Jake. It was Halloween in a couple of weeks, and it figured that Cole would leave out the most important detail.
Jake scanned the crowd, looking for his buddy, but as far as he could tell Cole had stood him up. As he looked around, he noticed some of the passengers staring at him and whispering to one another.
“I’m going to kill you, Cole,” he muttered under his breath.
“You can’t kill anyone,” said the guy in the short-shorts. “We’ve already tried that. It’s been done to death. Literally.” People around the guy burst out laughing as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.
“Um, yeah,” said Jake. “Whatever.”
Something really weird was going on. Jake could feel it in his gut. Hopefully, the train would get to the next station quickly so he could jump off and make his way back home.
“So. You wanna party …?” asked Short-Shorts. His dark eyes narrowed. “Have you, uh, got a ticket?”
“Ticket?” Jake mumbled. Instinctively, he dug in his pocket and produced the wrinkled transfer slip. The train got suddenly quiet. He could feel eyes crawling all over him. Everyone was staring at him except one girl who sat facing the dark window. She was holding a little pink blanket in her arms and rocking back and forth. There was another passenger who wasn’t staring at him, either. A guy sitting all alone. Before Jake could catch a glimpse of his face, ice-cold hands swung him around.
“Just passing through, eh? One of the lucky ones. Better hang on to that transfer. You never know when it might come in handy.”
Jake wondered if these people had escaped from an insane asylum. The homeless dude on the platform should have gotten on the train instead. He would have fitted right in.
“I think I made a mistake,” said Jake.
“Maybe,” said Short-Shorts. “Then again, maybe not …” He grinned as if he’d said something really funny again.
“I don’t want any trouble,” said Jake. “I’m just going to get off at the next stop.” He turned to face the doors. This stop was taking forever. The old pot lights kept flickering. The subway car rattled as it curved through the tunnel. Was it Jake’s imagination or was it getting warmer?
“Get off at the next stop?” Short-Shorts shook his head. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?”
Jake could see the guy’s refection in the dark glass of the subway car doors. His face was distorted, his grin maniacal.
Come on, subway. Next stop should be coming right up …
Jake felt a hand on his shoulder.
“I said, you’re one of the lucky ones.”
“Get lost, man,” Jake said, spinning around. He shoved the guy, sending him careening into a group of passengers. They caught him and burst out laughing.
Short-Shorts steadied himself and began moving toward Jake again. Jake braced himself.
Just then the subway ploughed into the station and slowed. Jake didn’t want to turn his back until the last second. Finally, the train came to a complete stop, and he heard the doors open. Jake turned to exit, but when his eyes settled on the black writing on the walls of the station, the air caught in his lungs.
He stepped off the train and back onto the very same platform he’d left from.
As the doors behind him closed, a voice like sandpaper scraped at his ears: “You can get off, Jake … but you can’t leave …”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jake felt as if he’d just stepped out of a nightmare. His head was a cyclone of thoughts. He moved back until he felt himself up against the cold tile wall. Jake took a deep breath and let the air escape slowly as he watched the last car disappear into the tunnel.
The platform was empty, but it was St. George Station, all right. Jake stood motionless for a moment, letting the storm in his mind settle. He examined his surroundings. Something was different — something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then it hit him. The plasma screens were gone. They were replaced with digital clocks that read exactly midnight. How was that possible? How could a subway leave a station and re-enter the exact same one at the exact same time? And who had taken the