D A Novel (George Right) - By George Right Page 0,2

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