But even to Tristan it looked as if he were out there, on the other side of the track. Tristan stared at the image of himself that stood in the shadows of the northbound platform. The strange figure was dressed in a school jacket, like the one Tristan wore in his photograph, and had an old baseball cap pulled on backward. Tristan stared, as entranced by the figure as Ivy and Philip.
"That's not me," he told Philip. "Don't be fooled. It's someone else dressed like me." Gregory, he said to himself.
"Who is it? Why's he dressed like you?" They saw a pale hand move out of the shadows into the clear moonlight. The figure beckoned to Ivy, encouraging her, drawing her across the track.
The train was rushing toward them now, its headlight whitening the track beneath them, its whistle blasting in a final warning.
Ivy paid no attention to it. She was drawn to the hand like a moth to a flickering fire. It kept reaching out to her. She suddenly reached out her own hand and took a step forward.
"Ivy!" Tristan shouted — Philip shouted. "Ivy! Ivy, don't!"