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 monitors? And how had that guy on the train known his name?
Jake ran a trembling hand through his hair. “I just need to get home and get some sleep,” he muttered. The sound of his own voice was comforting.
As he walked toward the escalator, he dug into his pocket for his iPod. He froze. It wasn’t there. Neither was his phone. Or his keys. Or his wallet. He searched frantically, checking each of his pockets and the floor, but it was no use — they were gone! They must have fallen out on the train during his scuffle with Short-Shorts. Either that or someone had stolen them. Even his transfer slip was gone.
Jake smacked his hand against the grimy wall and swore. “This night is getting better by the minute.”
Resigning himself to the fact that his stuff was lost, he took the escalator to the lower level and headed toward the eastbound platform. Since he hadn’t actually exited the transit system, he didn’t have to pay another fare. This was a minor relief since all he had left were the stray nickels and dimes he hadn’t gambled away — and even those had mysteriously dwindled in number. Jake hit the button on the transfer dispenser and shoved the new slip into his pocket without even glancing at it.
The train came quickly. A regular train — nothing old or odd about it. He boarded and sat back, thankful he was heading home.
Jake yawned deeply. He stared off into space, wondering why he had let Cole convince him to go to the party in the first place. To stay awake, Jake read the ads. There was an ad for some store’s upcoming sale, but the clothing seemed out of style. There was a Microsoft ad for Windows that looked ancient. How long has that been hanging around? Jake thought. Then he saw the subway map. It showed the north-south route and the east-west route, but the new line was missing.
Suddenly, something else occurred to Jake. Back at St. George Station the ad for the teeth whitener was gone. He remembered staring at the smiling faces before he’d boarded the old train, but it hadn’t been there when he’d gotten off. Where were the flat-screen monitors and where were the smiling people?
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