“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But they all see it. My mother. My father. Now Slade.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you?” He raised his voice at the end, turning it into a question instead of a reassurance as he pulled her close. She trembled in his arms, scared, cold, and drugged.
“Yes, there is.” Tears ran down her cheeks, mixed with mascara. “What am I doing wrong?”
She was a beautiful, broken doll. He hoped her face wouldn’t be marred. “Maybe you aren’t doing anything wrong.”
She twitched at the sound of his voice. It had come out high-pitched again, like an excited child’s. He couldn’t force it back into its usual register. They were almost there. The voice had to come out.
“I’ve done something wrong,” she whispered. “I must have. Or else why would everyone run away from me? Why am I alone?”
“What’s wrong with a life lived alone?” he whispered back.
She dropped her head against his shoulder, and again, he smelled her lipstick. “Everything.”
The metal track vibrated against the toe of his Oxford. He didn’t have much time.
“You can live alone for years and years. Get old alone. Die alone,” he said.
She sagged against him. “I have to find someone.”
“How?”
She tipped her head up toward him again and searched his eyes for hope. He didn’t give her any. “Won’t the next man turn away from you? Like your father? Like Slade?”
The train rattled closer, but she acted as if she didn’t hear it.
“He didn’t even say good-bye.” Ziggy let go of her, knowing how cold she’d feel when he stepped away, the dank tunnel air replacing the warmth where his body had pressed against hers.
He clutched her purse and its valuable contents in one hand.
Goose bumps rose on her chest and neck, and she wrapped her arms around herself in a lonely hug. Her lips moved as she repeated the last words he’d given her. “He didn’t even say good-bye.”
Ziggy backed into the darkness of the tunnel so he couldn’t be seen by anyone but her. So far as the train operator would see, she was alone on the tracks. His heart danced in anticipation. It was like Christmas morning, and he was a young boy looking at the gaudily wrapped boxes, ready to tear open the paper and discover the real treasure underneath.
“Stay,” he said, and she nodded her head like the good girl she was.
The headlights of the oncoming train illuminated her fragile form. Her silvery dress sparkled like tinsel, and her golden hair glowed like a halo. Tears glistened on alabaster cheeks. She was radiant.
White showed around her irises when she looked forward into the light, but he knew she would not jump away. Fear would pin her there. At first, he’d thought they feared the train, but now he knew differently.
They feared the light.
Brakes shrieked. Sparks flew from the tracks, skittered over the ground, and winked out. The driver was braking on instinct and prayer, but the car would not stop in time. Physics always trumped faith.
If Ziggy looked, he knew he’d see the driver’s face trapped in a rictus of horror. He didn’t look. Her death shouldn’t be seen as a horrible event. It was liberation.
The car slammed into her bright body and thundered yards down the track. The car took the light with it, and welcome darkness enveloped him. Bliss coursed through his veins. He threw back his head and moaned his ecstasy to the screaming brakes.
The air pulled in the wake of the hard metal cars stroked his cheeks, forced his eyes closed. He swayed back against the hard wall. The stone anchored him, and he didn’t fall. He took one shuddering breath and then another.
She’d been everything he’d hoped.
His ears rang in the sudden silence. The car had shuddered to a stop. When he opened his eyes, the red taillight shone on the spot where she’d stood. He had to leave her soon, but first he needed to see her one last time.
He crept from pillar to pillar. His shoes made no sound on the sharp stones.
Her broken body hadn’t left the tracks. Sometimes, they were thrown clear, and he could have one last look, but not today. The subway cars hid her from him, but he could smell the rich, coppery scent of her blood.
With a pneumatic whoosh, the door opened. The driver stumbled out and retched next to the tracks. Shakily, he stood again.
Ziggy melted into the darkness before the man’s smells could overtake him. He caressed the purse, the leather as smooth as her skin, the lipstick within practically glowing.
999. His favorite.
Chapter 1
Joe Tesla had acquired the best modern and antique maps when the tunnels under New York City became his primary domain. Much information was written down, but when he walked the tunnels, he often found things not marked on the maps: filled-in tunnels, bricked-up doors, a deserted train car, and hidden passages. The tunnel system grew and decayed like a living thing. And like any living thing, it held on to its secrets.
In companionable silence, he and his psychiatric service dog, Edison, walked along at a brisk clip. The dog ranged a little farther ahead, sniffing the ground. Joe checked for the flashlight in his pocket as he walked. He had extra batteries in his backpack, and he might need them. The tunnels he intended to map probably wouldn’t be lit.
Joe stifled a sneeze. The tunnels had their own smells — steel dust, engine oil, rocks, and rat urine. The sense of adventure that came from exploring this hidden world buoyed him. It was still early, and nothing ran down these tracks at this time of day.
He kicked a rock, and it pinged against the metal track. Far to his left, a quick patter of tiny feet told him that he’d disturbed a rat. Edison pricked his ears and looked toward the sound, but he stayed close in front of Joe.
Joe slipped on his night vision goggles, and the world appeared in shades of green. The change always made him feel like he was playing a zombie video game.
Eventually, Edison’s greenish form stopped. The dog looked over his shoulder at Joe, waiting for instructions. His tail wagged in an electric green blur. Next to him loomed the black maw of an unknown tunnel.
Edison looked into the unexplored tunnel, then back at Joe.
Joe pulled the map out of his backpack, a signal they’d be here for a while. Edison trotted back and sat next to him. Joe handed him a treat.
Night vision goggles weren’t ideal for reading maps, so Joe slid the goggles onto his forehead and clicked on his flashlight. He traced their journey with his finger. They’d made good time through their well-known haunts to reach this blank spot on his map.
“You know what they say about the blank spots on maps, don’t you, boy?”
Edison didn’t.
“Here there be dragons,” Joe told him.
Clearly unimpressed, Edison scratched his ear.
Joe took out a compass to get the direction exactly right, then marked the new tunnel in pencil. With precise strokes, he filled in the blank spot. Hopefully that would vanquish the dragons.
He walked to where Edison had first stopped and aimed his light down the new tunnel. Brackets that had once held pipes protruded from the stone, but the pipes were gone, leaving only long streaks of rust that showed where they had leaked. An abandoned steam tunnel.
Probably the building those pipes once serviced had shut off its steam, or maybe the tunnel had been built by a competing steam company long since devoured by Con Edison. Either way, the short tunnel dead-ended at a rusty old door. Barely worth exploring, but he was already here.
The dog pressed against Joe’s leg. Ever since being shot in one, the dog didn’t like steam tunnels. Joe didn’t really blame him.
“It’s OK, Ed,” he said. “Ain’t nobody here but us chickens.”