Creepers (29 page)

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.