He came down to a platform. Nowhere, as far as he could see, was anybody waiting. Probably, the train has just left, Logan thought with disappointment. At such time the next one will arrive no sooner than in fifteen minutes…
But isn’t this the wrong line? Do Q trains go from here? There is only one way to the right of the platform… No, it is obviously not the place where Tony usually took the train. Or have they opened some alternate way, and he has not paid attention to a service change announcement? The station, in fact, looked no less abandoned than the staircase, and it was lit rather dimly… The clock over the platform, however, worked and showed 12:55 a.m. No, he probably missed a sign and has gone down to some other line. Tony approached the sign hanging over the edge of the platform. Not only were any route letters or numbers lacking, but even the mention of Brooklyn had disappeared. The inscription said simply: “Downtown”.
Tony tried to remember whether any route not going to Brooklyn passes through the 42nd Street station. Yes, number 1 comes to an end in lower Manhattan… Then, just the same, he had come to the wrong place. He moved back toward the staircase, but at this moment the train appeared from the tunnel.
Logan shuddered in surprise. He had gotten used to the fact that a train approaching a station announces itself by noise and headlights, but this one appeared in the black throat of the tunnel somehow suddenly. There must be an abrupt turn, Tony guessed. And in the following instant, he gladly distinguished on the flat muzzle of the forward car the capital letter Q in a red circle.
Yes, probably, after all it is a temporary change of service causing the train to come to an alternate platform. Therefore the signs were not changed. Well, for a New Yorker, such things are not surprising.
The train stopped and opened its doors. Tony stepped into the air-conditioned cool and arranged himself on a seat, only after that noticing that, except for him, there was nobody in the car. Well, at one a.m. it’s probably not too surprising, though usually there are at least two or three passengers in any subway car, especially here, in the center of Manhattan. And, by the way, has anybody came out to the platform from any car of the train? It seems, no… And this is really strange for such a busy station as 42nd Street, even at night. However, Tony, after all, had come in immediately, instead of looking around and waiting for exiting passengers… But, maybe, something is wrong with this train, and it goes straight to the depot? Then why did it open its doors? Well, let’s assume, to let the last passengers out, but not to take on new ones. But this should be announced loudly, and a subway employee should pass through the train, checking whether everybody has left…
While Tony reflected on it, the doors closed and the train began moving. Oh, that’s all he wanted after all today’s other troubles—not to arrive at home, but at the depot! Logan stood up and, grasping a handrail, moved to the left, to the nearest end of the car. Having stopped before a door, he began observing the neighbor car. It looked empty, too—but not absolutely. In the distant end some Black man sat. Black not only meaning his skin color—all his clothes were absolutely black, too. Black and… disheveled, or something like that. Tony could not make out the details from such a distance. Probably, a homeless man in rags? More often homeless New Yorkers are dressed decently enough—not richly, of course, but also not in old, torn clothes. A few times, though, Logan also met quite classic beggars in tatters. He thought then that they probably selected such an image intentionally, and not at all because they did not know any charity organization supplying tramps with free food and clothing.
All right. Whoever that guy was, the fact that there were other passengers on a train calmed Logan. He returned to his former seat, wearily closed his eyes and relaxed, intending to doze. He needed a long ride, to Sheepshead Bay station, so he could fall asleep for a half-hour without risking missing his stop. Especially because stops are announced, which usually wakes you up and, understanding that it is still too early, you fall asleep again…
“Announced?” asked his brain, which was already ready to sink into a black abyss. Before doors were closed, did he really hear the classic phrase uttered by a recorded female voice? “This is a Brooklyn-bound Q local train. The next stop is…” No, not at all. Well, not all New York subway trains have this automatic feature, but the Q trains are so equipped. Probably, a malfunction of the loudspeaker. A loose contact…
Tony dozed off. He had some nasty dream: he still realized that was riding a train, however the tunnel was not a tunnel, but something like a huge gut, and the train did not roll on wheels, but crept, convulsively extending and contracting. It crept unexpectedly quickly for this way of moving, but nevertheless it was not fast enough—as in the clammy suffocating darkness behind it, something else moved. Moved, gradually decreasing the distance. Tony did not know what it was, but he knew that if it were to catch up, then… then… it would be more awful than any accident that ever happened in underground tunnels. Much, much more awful… He already felt its icy breath; he would like to shout, but fear had closed his throat with a spasm. And the train—or whatever it was actually—instead of rushing to safety suddenly began to slow down, as if purposely allowing the anonymous horror to overtake it…
Tony opened his eyes and abruptly raised his head. The train was actually braking, approaching the next station. And it was cold in the car. The air conditioner here was definitely overused. Maybe he’d better move to the next car? Though it may not be warmer there… also he would have to warm a new seat. Tony ruffled up, hiding his hands under his arms.
The train stopped. Doors opened behind Logan. In the opposite window he saw a ceiling-propping column, behind it—the counter way sunk in twilight and behind it—a hardly distinguishable platform. What station is it? It was almost impossible to discern an inscription on the distant wall, but it still seemed to Tony that he saw a figure 8. “Eighth Street — New York University”? But Q trains do not stop there. N and R, which use the same line—yes, but not Q. However, if there was really a change of service… Or has he nevertheless taken the wrong train? But no, it is unlikely the Eighth, there is a two-digit number. 28th? Q does not stop there, too, and more to the point—this vertical dash can not be “2” anyway. 18th Street? But it is somewhere on the red lines, and Q goes on the yellow ones…
Tony jumped up, wanting to leave before this train delivers him the devil knows where. But the doors had closed already. He swept his eyes over the car in search of subway maps which always hang in every car. But in this one they did not. Ubiquitous advertising was on the walls, but no maps. Electronic boards showing the current station also were absent.
But he found that he was not alone anymore.
Close to the opposite end of the car, a child sat. It seemed to be a boy, and not older than nine years. He was dressed in a thick jacket and a knitted cap—perhaps too warmly for September, even considering an evening cold snap. But the main point—why is a little child alone in the subway after one o’clock at night? What are his parents thinking and does he have parents at all?
The child sat motionlessly, probably slept, too. His cap was drawn so low that it covered his eyes and his chin hid in a jacket collar. Logan reflected on whether it was necessary to interfere. Probably, the boy was lost or had run away from home. On the other hand, Tony did not enjoy the prospect of the additional fuss if it was necessary to call the police or other authorities. Besides, modern children have learned to keep as far as possible from strangers… If such a demure little thing says “this bad man bothered me,” try to prove then…