14
Louise sat huddled in the far corner of the AA train as it rattled downtown. Her walk from Willie’s apartment to the subway had terrified her. Like so many New Yorkers, Louise had no concept of the extent of the devastation that neglect and poverty had taken on uptown Manhattan. All the way to the station she had thought of the bombed-out ruins of postwar Europe. The streets were littered with rubble, trash, and bricks; the buildings were rife with decay and despair. It was a netherworld she never wanted to see again.
And everywhere she walked, there were the eyes-the eyes of the young black men hanging out on the street corners, drinking and drugging, trying chemically to escape the grinding hopelessness of their lives. They clung to their blaring gigantic radios, feeling less insignificant in the teeming, faceless streets. They made love openly to the girls and women who, drawn by their own restlessness and the promise of a drink of cheap wine, descended from the tenements into the street. With each step Louise took, those eyes followed her; curious, resentful, lustful eyes that saw she didn’t belong up here among them. Her demeanor proclaimed it, her walk, her clothes, but mostly the fear on her face.
Yet she made it to the subway unscathed, her breath scorching her throat la time with her accelerated heartbeat. She was sweaty from the fear, and a thin trickle of perspiration from her armpits eased down her sides, sending a cold shiver through her body. As the subway stopped at the station, Louise decided she’d better get used to the fear, for in the next hours it would be her only companion, her only friend. Corelli and Willie were uptown, and Louise was downtown, under the city, searching for Lisa on the tracks.
The train pulled into Eighty-first Street, slowed, and stopped. She sat at the far end of the train purposely. She needed time alone, time to walk down the platform at Seventy-second Street until she was exactly where she and Lisa had stood four days ago on Labor Day. The doors opened, one passenger waiting on the platform entered the train, and on the conductor’s signal, the doors closed and the train left.
Three minutes later Louise was alone at Seventy-second Street. The station was dank and dirty, but cooler than it had been on Labor Day. She remembered that crushing heat and the feel of her sundress clinging to her legs and torso. Oh, she’d been so hot that day. So short-tempered and irritable. And Lisa had been so fun-loving and free.
“Lisa, come back here”-the memory of her own petulant voice drifted back to her now as she walked slowly toward the end of the platform.
“I want to look at the pictures, Mommy,” Lisa urged, sounding a little too like Dave for comfort.
“I want you back here, now!” Her anger had nothing to do with Lisa; it had to do with Dave. But, “Lisa, it’s for your own safety,” was the rationale for giving in to it. And when the child continued to disobey her, Louise had thought the thought that now haunted her every waking moment: If something dreadful happens to Lisa, never let it be said I didn’t warn her. And suddenly Louise was standing at the end of the platform.
The memory of that vow came back with the swift judgmental clout that staggered Louise. Her tears choked her and she leaned heavily against the wall, smudging with her shoulder obscene graffiti that covered a movie poster. For the first time since becoming involved with Corelli, she cried full-out. The tears were unlike those during the first days when the shock of losing Lisa was so new; then something inside needed release, something connected with fear. Now it was simple loss. Standing on the platform, the memory of Lisa as fresh as a newly opened grave, Louise felt violated and abused.
She beat her fist against the wall until the side of her hand was numb. Then she changed hands and began again. “Oh, Jesus God,” she whimpered. “Please, please let me find my baby alive. Please. I'll do anything if you just grant me this one favor.”
In answer, an express train rumbled toward the station. It appeared at the far end of the tunnel, compressing the air before it until, as it careened through the station, it kicked up a tornado of dust. When the train was gone, the station was strangely silent. And Louise’s tears were gone, erased by a grim determination to find and protect the child who’d been taken from her-and to survive in the offing. If the creepers were going to kill Louise Hill, they were in for the fight of their monstrous lives.
She sat wearily down on the edge of the platform, thinking ironically that her pastel skirt-and-blouse combination was hardly the outfit for tramping around in a subway tunnel. For Vogue it might be the appropriate costume; for Louise Hill, no. But she had no choice. She hadn’t dressed to be an explorer, any more than she’d dressed to be a fugitive. For a moment she just rested, praying no one would come along to interfere. There was always the chance a stranger might call the police, but the greater chance was that a stranger would turn his back on the whole thing. She relaxed.
Louise’s feet dangled mere inches from the slimy roadbed, and every ounce of her good breeding rebelled at the sight and smell of the garbage-strewn tracks. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw something dart through the roadbed’s slushy puddles, and before her imagination got the chance to turn a humble mouse into a monster, she pushed off and landed in the muck.
Corelli had talked about the roadbed and the third rail. He said even a moron was safe if he were careful and didn’t panic. Even a moron could maneuver his way south along the tracks. Panic and irrationality were the dangers down here. The subway was not an obstacle course; it was rationally constructed to allow maximum safety for the workmen. Right now Louise had to think like a TA workman who was used to being on the tracks night after night, stepping back into safety troughs, watching with only detached interest as trains passed mere inches away.
She flicked on Corelli’s flashlight, sending a narrow but powerful beam ahead of her like a scout. The track behind was clear, and a quick search of the near wall revealed several troughs in which to escape should anything unexpected come along. Louise moved slowly, keeping her eyes riveted on the roadbed. One false step might mean a tumble to the third rail or an injury that precluded escape from an oncoming train that would plow into her and tear her body apart under its thundering wheels.
Louise wasn’t quite sure why she was in the tunnel. She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for; she didn’t expect really to find Lisa down here; at least, she hoped she wouldn’t now, four days later. Yet she was there. She needed to find something, some little clue to give her the courage of her convictions to continue believing her daughter was still alive. Something. Anything.
Ten minutes later Louise had made a little progress through the tunnel. The way was treacherous; more than once she lost her footing and fell, grasping toward the cold, uninviting wall to seek support. She’d expected to encounter rats, snakes, horrible things, but instead she mostly found garbage and refuse that had blown into the tunnel or had been dragged along by the undercarriage of a passing train.
A crunching sound from behind startled Louise. She turned and saw a local train in the distance. But between her and the train she saw something else; it moved ahead, then swerved onto the express track, where it disappeared. At least it seemed to disappear; Louise wasn’t sure. She was more concerned with the approach of the local. Telling herself to remain calm, Louise skittered to the wall and found refuge in the workman’s trough. It was no more than a foot and a half deep, and although Louise wouldn’t have wanted to live there, it sure was a great place to visit.
The train gamed speed out of the station. Instinctively she pressed her body deep into the trough, stretching her arms out against the shallow walls for added support. Like a bolt of summer heat lightning, the train crashed by, sucking an armful of trash up from the roadbed; it wrapped itself around Louise’s legs like a paper snake, then blew up into her face. The train’s terrifying clatter knifed through her brain, and she screamed without knowing it. When the train was gone, Louise waited a moment, then carefully climbed back down onto the roadbed.
Twenty feet south of where she’d escaped the train, Louise’s light revealed something partially hidden in the mud between the tracks. Because it was covered with filth, she’d almost missed it, despite her careful searching. Gingerly, almost daintily, Louise stooped down, and as her hands touched the soft jellylike plastic, she knew she’d found her clue. She quickly rubbed it against her yellow blouse, leaving an angry stain across her left breast Cleaned, the object proved to be a red plastic sandal. Lisa’s.
Louise became conscious of the running footsteps behind her only when they shattered a piece of glass that lay in the roadbed. Her first instinct was to clutch the sandal to her as if someone were going to steal the one thing linking Lisa to the fantastic story of the creepers. Then, as the sound grew closer, Louise gazed behind her. Someone, something, was skipping over the ties through the darkness toward her. It was running low to the ground, leaning forward as if to streamline itself for added momentum. Louise swallowed hard and felt the tightness of fear in her throat. If only I can get to the Fifty-ninth Street station, she thought.
She turned and ran toward the distant station lights. They were such a long way off, and the thing was gaining on her. The headlights of an oncoming express pierced the darkness, and suddenly it was rocketing by on the opposite tracks. The shrieking sound of metal clattering against metal filled her head and, it seemed, called her name once… twice. She stumbled, then fell, painfully breaking her fall with the palms of her hands. Lisa’s sandal skittered away from her, and she frantically scrambled for it, ignoring the approaching footsteps.
By the time she’d retrieved the shoe, it was too late to escape. Strong hands slid themselves around her waist and harsh fingers gripped her sides and yanked her up to her feet She pulled the flashlight from her pocket and spun around, holding it high, the light transcribing an arc in the darkness as it came down toward her attacker’s head.
Corelli averted the blow by grabbing Louise’s wrist and relieving her of the flashlight like he might have taken a lollipop from an infant. She stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then beat her fists against him, her whole body trembling.
“I thought you were a-” she began, but he stopped her.
“You’ve got to get out of here, now,” he said angrily. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me what you were up to?”
“Would you have let me come? Or come with me?” Her voice shook with anger and indignation. “Not a chance,” he admitted solemnly. “That’s why I had to do it on my own. Do you understand that?” she asked sarcastically.
“I understand that you could get yourself killed.” He stared into her eyes, wanting to stoke his anger, but Louise looked so helpless it was deflated. He pulled her close. “If you can’t think of yourself, I’ll have to do it for you. And I’m very selfish where you’re concerned.” He kissed her. “If you get yourself killed, where does that leave me?” She said nothing. “You were lucky… this time. Next time it could be someone… something… else.”
“Never mind all that,” she said impatiently. “I found Lisa’s shoe.” She displayed the little sandal like a trophy. “That means you were right, Frank. Lisa was brought into the tunnel, not taken aboveground.”
The shoe didn’t improve Corelli’s mood. He guessed- feared-that if they were to proceed farther south they might just find incontrovertible evidence not only that Lisa Hill had been brought into the tunnel but also that she had been killed there. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up-”
She pushed away from him. “What the hell do you want? You want me to sit at home chewing my fingernails up to my elbows until I get word that Lisa is officially dead-is that what you want?” She stuffed the sandal into the pocket of her skirt and wrenched the flashlight from his hand. “That’s not my style, Detective Corelli. I’m betting that Lisa is still alive. And I’m going to find her-with or without your help.”
She gave him a moment to answer, and when he didn’t, she flicked on the light and turned her back on him, carefully finding her fooling as she walked away.
A minute later Corelli’s voice shattered the silence. “Louise, shine that light back here a minute, will you?”
She stopped and turned in the half-light to face him. “Why?”
“Because, goddammit, if I’m going to help you look for Lisa, I want to see just where the hell I’m walking.” He started walking toward Louise. He couldn’t let her go this alone, but he still had his obligation to Willie and Dogs of Hell. He’d hustle her out at Fifty-ninth Street and get on with real business.
Four expresses and three locals hurtled by them before they saw the lights of Columbus Circle/Fifty-ninth Street station. By that time Corelli and Louise had become adept at preparing themselves for the oncoming trains. They acted mechanically now, skipping over the third rails that lay side by side in the middle of the tunnel to get to the express tracks when a local train was coming-it was easier, and less frightening, than hiding in the troughs. They were successful at not getting hurt, but less successful at gathering more evidence.
Because Louise was now convinced Lisa was still alive, she frantically scoured the tracks for more evidence to support her theory. Corelli, convinced Lisa Hill had long since been devoured by the creepers, was more interested in finding evidence of their comings and goings, where they hid, where they lived. He suspected their lairs were probably away from main stations, places where there were always passengers, police, workmen. The creepers were smart; their patterns proved that. They would seek out quieter places to live, where they might come and go unobserved. One such ideal place was the abandoned station near Ninety-sixth Street.
Just outside the Fifty-ninth Street station, Corelli tapped Louise lightly on the shoulder and whispered, “This place is a hotbed of TA cops. Let me go first. Right after the next downtown local, we’ll get up on the platform. If I’m seen, ignore me. As soon as you can, call Willie and tell him that tonight’s called off.”
“And what if I get seen?” The question was academic.
“Pretend you never heard of me. I’ll get back to you when this is all over.” It sounded crass because it was crass, but Louise, of all people, understood the gravity of the situation. They had to put success before their own personal feelings.
In the last, lingering second before they moved into the station’s halo of light, Louise took Frank’s hand and squeezed it.
“You know, Mrs. Hill, I’m falling in love with you.”
Before Louise had the chance to reply, a local train rattled by them into the station. A minute later an express pulled up alongside it; two minutes later both trains left. The platform was completely empty and would remain so for at least thirty seconds, maybe more. Corelli emerged from the tunnel and jumped up onto the platform. Louise followed moments later. He took her hand and pulled her up next to him.
“So far so good,” he said softly. “Now all we have to do is get the hell out of here.”
“Get out?” Louise pulled back. “You never said we were leaving.”
“What’d you expect?”
“To find my daughter. Leave if you want to. I’ll be okay on my own.” She walked down the platform away from him.
“Louise,” he hissed at her, but she paid no attention. He hadn’t counted on her being irrational. She was supposed to be helping him and he was supposed to be uptown with Willie. Yet, here he was, nearly forty blocks south of his destination, arguing with the pigheaded woman he loved. She was fucking everything up!
His anger flared wildly. “The hell with you,” he spat under his breath. He stalked away toward the stairs leading up to the Seventh Avenue local stop. But at the top of the stairs he paused. Jesus, he’d just told Louise he was falling in love with her and now he was walking out. She’d been lucky earlier, alone in the tunnel. Next time she might not be so lucky. Next time a train might clip her, or she might stumble and fall on the third rail. Or she might meet up with one of the creepers.
Shaking his head ruefully, Corelli skipped back down the stairs and raced along the platform until he came to a public phone. Louise saw him and waited while he called Calhoun’s number. He let it ring eight times before hanging up. Shit, Willie was gone. He tried Willie’s, and there was also no answer. So he was probably already on his way to Ninety-sixth Street and Corelli wouldn’t be there. The whole plan was getting screwed up royally. He slammed down the phone and joined Louise.
“I should let you go in there alone and get killed,” he said heatedly. “It would serve you right.”
“I know you’re angry, Frank, but… having you here makes me feel good. I’m sorry I’m ruining your own plans, but I’ve got to follow my conscience.”
“Come on, time’s wasting.” He took her by the arm. “But we’ve got to be extra careful. This is a main terminus and the pattern of tracks is like a basket full of snakes.”
“I’m not sure I like that image,” Louise said with a smile. “I’ll just take your word for it.”
Once back in the tunnel, Corelli felt an odd sensation of security. All the while they’d stood on the platform he’d been watching for any one of his TA buddies. There’d be no time for explanations if one of the boys saw him. Dolchik surely had put out the word that Frank Corelli was poison-caught with his hand in the till, or dealing drugs, or worse. Most of the guys felt about rogue cops like Frank did; they wouldn’t hesitate, friend or no friend, to turn him in to the captain. And that meant being turned in to Russ Matthews. And that meant disappearing for a while; perhaps for good.
Just south of the station the confluence of tracks Corelli had warned Louise about presented itself. The tunnel widened, offering vistas of dimly lighted tubes running off in all directions. At this point local and express tracks headed due south but also segued into tracks for the east-bound B and D trains. Corelli wasn’t sure which set of tracks to follow, and he’d just decided to continue due south when he heard the express tram.
Why hadn’t he heard it before? Was he so lost in thought he’d simply ignored it? Or was he so determined to hurry Louise out of the tunnel he’d forgotten everything he knew about being in the subway? About subway safety? It hardly mattered now, for as he turned, the lights of an express train directly behind them blinded him. Instinctively he pushed Louise against the wall to the right as he jumped as far to the left as he could.
As the last car of the train disappeared into the hazy distance, Corelli exhaled and let his shoulders sag. How long had he been on the run now? A week? Two? A year? Hell, no. It had been only two days. But they were the longest two days of his life. Right about now he wanted to forget the creepers and their monstrous appetites. He wanted to forget fat Dolchik and his secret involvements and liaisons with the mayor. He wanted to forget everything-except Louise. For a moment the memory of her warm body suffused his consciousness and he actually felt happy. Louise.
He glanced across the tunnel to where he’d last seen her. She’d first looked surprised as his arm reached out to push her; then she’d looked grateful. Louise’s mind had been miles away too, as the express approached. Probably she’d been thinking of Lisa. Well, maybe the kid was lucky. Maybe she was still alive. Corelli would tell Louise that to bolster her confidence.
He stepped out of his niche onto the tracks, ready to continue his search. Louise was gone. He froze in place, blinking once, then twice, hoping the fumy air was interfering with his vision. Louise had been directly opposite him. He’d seen flashes of her yellow blouse between cars of the express as it barreled past them. The train had also kicked up a mountain of dust; his eyes had been closed for at least thirty seconds, a minute. And in that time something had happened to Louise.
Frank jumped across the tracks and ran his hands over the trough where Louise had hidden, as if she were really there, concealed from sight but not from touch. He stared down the tracks to the display of open tunnels, then back up to the station. A few lone passengers milled around on the platform. But the tunnels were empty. He closed his eyes and shook his head. This wasn’t happening. This just wasn’t happening to him… and to Louise. They’d only been separated by the train for a minute or so, but in that time she’d vanished? It wasn’t possible. Unless… unless she’d been taken by the creepers.
Corelli had actually known her fate the moment he saw she was gone. Only die creepers knew the subway system well enough to make a split-second attack, then disappear without a trace. Generations of living underground had created an instinctive way of dealing with trains… and trespassers. Corelli tried not to think of Louise in the hands of those things, but the idea was too strong for him. In frustration he beat his hands against the cold walls, tears of rage streaming down his cheeks.
“Goddammit, I’ll get you, you bastards, for this,” he cried out into the empty tunnel. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find you and kill each one of you by hand.”
He brushed aside the tears and quickly headed back to the station. There was only one place to start looking for Louise. One place where death had already visited: the abandoned station between the Ninety-sixth and Eighty-sixth Street stations, the place where Ted Slade had been mutilated and murdered.
Louise kept her eyes closed tightly, still pretending to be unconscious. But she was actually listening to the scurrying sounds around her. Her body ached, and when she stretched slightly to ease her stiff muscles, the pain expanded, blossoming fully at her wrists and ankles; she’d been bound and gagged with a foul-tasting rag. But none of this worried her as much as the scampering, scurrying sounds around her.
She wanted desperately to open her eyes, if only to vanish the horrible images those sounds evoked, but she was too afraid of what was actually making the noises. She wanted desperately to confront her captors, but she didn’t. When Louise was grabbed as the express train rushed by, she hadn’t seen the thing that held her. There’d only been something clutching at her, and a foul smell-the smell of death and decay-swirling up around her. She’d screamed for Corelli, but the sound of the train drowned her out. And when her captor pulled her down dangerously close to the clattering train wheels, she’d fainted.
She rolled slightly to ease the pain in her ankles, but the movement brought on a fresh bout of agony from the backs of her legs this time. In fact, as she became more and more aware of how she felt, Louise realized that she hurt everywhere-from her toes to the top of her head. She must have been dragged here-her body abused and mistreated along the way. And she was convinced that it was only the beginning.
She counted to ten as slowly as she’d ever done anything in her life. Then she opened her eyes. Louise lay on a filthy floor in a cluttered area the size of her dining room. Except for flickering light shed from a candle stub on a stack of cardboard boxes and wooden crates stacked against the wall, the room was dark. The candle cast a dirty halo of light into the room, the edge of which just touched Louise. She raised her head slightly to look around, unable to discern where she was until she heard the rumble of a subway train as it passed her jail on the same level. She was still in the subway!
Louise peered into the darkness, and the features of the room became clearer-two stairways led off and up at each corner of the room, and in the center was a darkened cubicle…that had once been a token booth. This was one of the abandoned stations Corelli had talked about. Oh, thank God, she thought. Frank will figure it out and come save me. It’s only a matter of time. But her optimism sank as quickly as it had risen. There were hundreds of miles of track in the subway, hundreds of places to hide… and how many empty stations? How could Frank ever find his way to this particular station?
A flicker of movement behind the stack of crates in the corner caught Louise’s attention. She lifted her head as a shape, a figure, shuffled out from the corner’s darkness into the muddy candlelight. It could have been a man stooping low, but it was unlike any man she’d ever seen before. It was low and hulking, head bent so far down that it seemed tucked into its belly. It rolled on the backs of its hands as it walked, pushing from behind with short legs and naked feet. It was dressed in the tattered remains of clothing long since gone gray from grease and dirt. Its shaggy hair hung low over a foreshortened forehead, and even in the dark, Louise sensed it was coming her way.
The creeper paused no more than five feet from her and lifted its head, facing her for the first time. Louise’s mouth quivered with the beginnings of a scream, but she couldn’t make any sound. She sucked in her breath and clamped down on the rag in her mouth, praying Corelli would find her. The creeper now rocked back on its heels and stared at Louise. At first it seemed there were no eyes whatsoever, but gradually its eyelids oozed open, exposing bloodshot eyeballs. Louise watched, so fascinated by the monstrosity that even her fear drained away. Its lips pulled back, exposing two rows of stained teeth, which in the half-light seemed more a smile than a snarl.
Louise made two fists and ground her fingernails into her palms. She reduced her breathing, as if it might make her smaller, less vulnerable, less apparent. The creeper stood before her, leering, watching, waiting. But now something else caught Louise’s attention; another creeper appeared from behind the crates, then another and another. Within a minute seven creepers stood before her, rocking back and forth on their downturned hands.
At first Louise thought they were all predatory males; they were all dressed the same, had the same physical conformation, the same manner. But on closer inspection she saw three of them were women. The ragged tops of their clothing exposed thick breasts that swung forward as they moved closer to Louise for a better look. One of the males edged forward and ran the back of his hand over Louise’s cheek. She winced as the scabrous skin raked against hers. As the smell that surrounded the creatures filled her nostrils with its bittersweet rottenness, she screamed against the gag in mute rage.
The aggressive male creeper circled her, touching every part of her body with his foul hands. If she moved, she’d die. If she protested, she’d be killed and eaten. If she gave in to her disgust, she was as good as dead. But, dear God, if she had to endure this defilement one more minute, she’d lose her mind!
Suddenly a terrifying howl shattered the deadly silence of the deserted station. The gathered creepers instantly cowered and crawled off to the sidelines like crabs on a moonlit beach. And from behind the packing cases came another male. He strode into the center of the floor and howled once again, filling the room with anger. The creepers pushed farther back against the wall in fright.
This male stood taller than any of the others, and as he walked, he was more erect than his semi-simian counterparts. This creeper-the leader?-slithered up to Louise’s side and stared unblinkingly into her eyes. He reached out with his right hand and rubbed her cheek, like the other male had done. But unlike the other male, his skin was smooth, almost soothing. For an instant Louise thought of Corelli’s touch, and she whimpered. God, the anguish he must be going through, she thought, her attention drifting away from her own plight. The creature, mistaking her moan as one of pleasure, quickly proceeded to repeat his feathery touch on her face, her neck and arms, then on her legs, until his long hands danced lightly over her thighs far up under her skirt.
When Louise couldn’t stand it any longer, she let out a scream that was more a howl, a sound that caught in the gag, then broke through it by its sheer animal power. The male who was fondling her leaped back in fear. Then, as fear turned to anger, he raced toward her and with one quick, deft movement slapped her across the side of the head. The force of the blow twisted Louise’s face away from him, and she began to cry uncontrollably.
The creature scurried back away from the sounds of her sobs. He listened intently for a moment, then signaled the others to take Louise away. The subservient males crept up to her and dragged her by the feet to the packing cases on the opposite side of the room. By the time she was left alone in the eerie darkness, Louise hovered somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, sanity and insanity. But for the moment, at least, she was safe. And alone. For now.
She knew they’d be back for her. She saw in the dominant male’s eyes lust that looked all too human. He could caress her for as long as he wished, and she could do nothing; her screams were meaningless. She could pray for death to release her from her torment, but she suspected that such a mercy would not be soon coming. In her mind now she felt the creeper’s caresses and knew that should they continue, she certainly would go mad. She was totally, helplessly at their mercy.
Later, when Louise’s initial panic had diminished, she relaxed somewhat and allowed herself to think. Time was important now. Time to be patient and not incite these things against her. Time to wait to be rescued by Frank. At the thought of Corelli’s warm smile, Louise leaned her head back against the wall and took in a deep breath, but the nauseating smell of the room gagged her. The outside area of the station reeked of putrefaction; here the smell was tenfold. It was as if something were rotting nearby.
Louise squinted into the corner, where darkness was gathered like black velvet, and saw exactly what caused the stench: propped up against the wall were three rotting corpses, mute witnesses to the creepers’ evil. She closed her eyes and turned away in disgust, wondering why the bodies were there. And as she asked herself the question, the answer came to her: they were being stored for future use…as a hedge against bad hunting… against starvation. She was being held in their larder!
Before hysteria had a chance to take hold, something attracted Louise’s attention-a movement near the floor to her immediate left. She thought she was the only one alive here, but as she peered into the darkness she discerned the rustling of a small shape near her. It was wrapped in the long gray remnants of a blanket. Louise edged closer and, with her shoulder, nudged at it. It moved again. A frail voice whimpered as if in a deep sleep. Louise pushed again. This time the little figure turned, reaching out unconsciously. A small hand brushed Louise’s cheek. It was the hand of a child, a child who had been left for dead.
Thinking the unthinkable, hoping for the impossible, Louise shimmied her way closer to the child and positioned herself by its head, barely able to keep down the frustration of not being able to use her hands to whisk aside the cloth that hid its face. Once again she nudged the captive, who now turned away from Louise. But a corner of the blanket caught itself under her body, and as the child moved once again, the covering was lifted from its head, revealing short black hair matted with dried blood. And the sweet, sweet face of the child Louise knew so well… It was Lisa!
Willie checked the clock in the living room three times before giving in to his anger. It was 11:45 and Corelli had promised to contact him no later than eleven. Shit, he’d been conned again by a no-good white prick. Willie’s rage propelled him out of the chair into the center of the room. He stood there a moment wondering what to do next. He’d promised Frank he’d sit tight until they made contact by phone. And he had waited at Bimbo’s until forty-five minutes ago. But Calhoun wanted to go out catting, so Willie came home. There was always the chance Corelli had called while Willie was on his way home. Bullshit! It was more likely he was just playing Willie for a fool.
“That Corelli’s some sonofabitch. Big buddy-buddy with Willie Hoyte, shit! And I fell for it,” Willie snarled out loud as he paced into the kitchen, then back into the living room.
He flopped back into the overstaffed chair, hoping the rage would dissipate, but it just lay there, under the surface, like the hard core of a boil. Corelli had pulled a fast one, getting Dogs of Hell into the subway while Willie sat home like some fucking clown. Hell, he’d wanted to be in on the kill with these creeper things, too. The publicity would be good for him and Dogs of Hell, and the personal satisfaction of confronting Slade’s killers would make any danger worthwhile. But all that seemed now out of reach.
As suddenly and violently as the anger took over, the rational side of Willie Hoyte surfaced. He was taking this whole thing too personally, as if Corelli’s absence were a personal slight. Maybe that wasn’t it at all. He wasn’t giving Frank the benefit of the doubt. Corelli was in one hell of a lot of trouble. Maybe whoever had been chasing him had caught him. Maybe Corelli was the one in big trouble now… and that’s why he hadn’t phoned. That wasn’t personal; no way. The thought, unpleasant though it was, relieved Willie. He’d rather imagine his friend in the hands of a captor than believe he’d turned his back on him and a solemn promise to work together.
Deciding that this was exactly what had happened and that he owed Corelli the favor of taking over for him during his absence tonight in the subway, Willie grabbed his coat and bolted out into the hallway, knowing in his gut that he was doing the right thing by going off on his own.
Two minutes after he left, the telephone in the Hoyte apartment began to ring.
Corelli slammed down the phone and cursed Willie Hoyte for his stupidity and his insubordination. Frank had told him not to move until he called. And now the stupid bastard was gone; he wasn’t at Calhoun’s, he wasn’t at home. Corelli shook his head in wonder. Why had he ever let himself believe that someone as self-centered and publicity-happy as Willie Hoyte would follow orders? Hoyte was probably sitting that very minute with the city editor of one of the newspapers, telling him not only about the creepers but also about Corelli and Louise, and, more important, about Willie Hoyte and how he and his Dogs of Hell had uncovered the whole creeper caper.
Corelli ducked under the ancient turnstile at Eighty-sixth Street onto the uptown platform of the Seventh Avenue IRT. He meandered toward the far end of the station, his eyes on the tunnel opening. A young woman in slacks and sandals and a loose-fitting sweater that showcased her nipples watched him cautiously, then stepped back against the wall as he passed. Corelli would have written off her abrupt reaction as healthy female “subway paranoia” had he not looked down at himself and discovered he was covered from toes to shoulders with a thick layer of grime and filth from his exploration of the subway with Louise. It was no wonder the woman backed away; he looked like one of the vagrants or freed mental patients who make the subway their home.
How many of them, Corelli wondered, have come down into the subway looking for a little warmth, only to become fodder for the creepers? No one ever missed the poor and homeless. They had no one to care for them, unlike Louise Hill and her daughter. A pang of loss stabbed him deep in the gut, and he faltered a moment. Twenty minutes earlier, when he discovered Louise was gone, an angry rush of adrenaline had poured into his system, spurring him on to find Louise, to rescue her from a fate no one else had managed to escape. But he’d believed then that this time it would be different; this time Frank Corelli was involved, and Death would turn its head and let him save the woman he loved.
Now he wasn’t so sure. The absolute self-confidence that he could save Louise had eroded. Who the hell was Frank Corelli anyway? Superman? Who was he kidding? Looking for one woman in the maze of tracks and tunnels and the thousands of hiding places in the midst of the New York subway system was pure folly. What were his real chances of finding her? What were his real chances of walking out of here arm in arm with Louise? Pretty close to zero, he figured now. Still, he had to be sure. For his sake. For Louise’s.
As he reached the far end of the station, a magnified voice oozed into the air over the antiquated loudspeaker system. Forced through wires as old as the system itself, the voice crackled like a talking hen, but the message was loud and clear: “Your attention, please. Your attention. The subway will be closed tonight from midnight to six A.M. for extensive repairs. Please take the next available train. If you are on the platform later than twelve-fifteen you will be forced to leave by the nearest exit. We regret this inconvenience, but it is being done for your safety. I repeat: take the next available train as far as you can. The subway will be closed in ten minutes. Thank you.”
The announcement sent a bolt of fear through Corelli. What the hell was going on? The subway was never closed down completely. Sections of it were closed when major track repairs were necessary, but the whole system? Never. Frank’s gut reaction said Russ Matthews was behind this; Dolchik, too. They knew about the creepers and they had to keep it quiet. He’d forced their hands with last night’s phone call. Now it seemed his threat was about to pay off. What better way to rid the system of the creepers than to close off the subway and… What?
Matthews could do anything he wanted, and the mere mortals who lived in New York were powerless to stop him. If the mayor said the recent disaster at Chambers Street was a good reason for closing the entire subway one night to systematically check it for safety, who would know that his real reason had to do with something far more terrifying and dangerous than any malfunctioning signal? Only Corelli. And they hadn’t caught him…yet.
He waited until the next-and last-train came and left; then he jumped down onto the roadbed and ran into the shadows inside the tunnel. And, as if to give credence to the danger of his situation, two uniformed policemen appeared on both the uptown and downtown platforms. They scanned the station for any stray passengers, then retreated to stand guard at the token booth. And that put an end to any help from Willie and Dogs of Hell.
Corelli scrambled deeper into the tunnel, unable to shake off the fear that squeezed his chest. Time was running out. With this new twist, he’d have to move faster than ever. And he was now alone; no Willie Hoyte, no Dogs of Hell. He’d hoped to capture a creeper tonight, but the mayor had beat him to the punch. And then Louise had been kidnapped. Nothing was going right. With the subway closed, he was a single figure in the darkness, running scared, not sure exactly what he was doing.
But one thing was for sure: either he found Louise- alive or dead-or he’d die trying.