I glanced at my burner phone again. I was anxious too. By now he should have had some news to share. I hoped to see a text message from him telling me that Becky’s eyes had infiltrated the railway world I’d stepped into. The phone’s screen showed me nothing but the glossy silhouette of my reflection, however. Another static eruption came from the broken speaker, calling out the upcoming Arch Street stop. I had fifteen minutes before Lady was due to arrive.
“Good luck to you today,” I told the young woman across from me. I fished out a set of Band-Aids from my bag—a motherly preparation—and handed them to her. “In case your new shoes cut in.”
She lifted her hand hesitantly, but then took a few of the bandages, thanking me with a look of surprise on her face.
Someday, it will be Michael and Snacks sitting alone on the train and preparing for their first job interviews.
I stepped onto the platform and was immediately met by hot air blowing up from beneath the train car. I waited a minute as bodies came in a flush of hurriedness, swarming as one, like blackbirds in flight. I only had to stand there and let it happen, to let the human cloud envelop me and then spit me out. The other passengers made their hurried way to the platform’s exits.
The train bucked and bumped and huffed with a metal chirp, resisting against its own massive size, but then it eased away from the platform. I followed it with my eyes and, within minutes, I was almost completely alone. And in the quiet, I heard the platform speak to me. A discarded newspaper tumbled over the concrete. A bird’s wings batted the air. The train’s flanged wheels went click-clack against the rail’s slender tracks. I heard these things and knew at once that Lady listened to them too, keyed in on them like a hunter staying alert of all that is going on around her.
I made my way to the platform’s steps, where I expected to find her approaching. The stairs wound downward, around and around, until they ended at the sidewalk. I couldn’t tell how high the elevated platform was, but peering down through the fencing made my stomach lift into my throat. Heights had never been my thing.
I scanned the streets, looking for Lady, but only found a man and his dog. They stopped at a planted tree where the dog sniffed and went about doing what dogs do. The man looked around guiltily, searching to see if anyone had seen him. He never knew I saw what he’d left behind. People never look up. But I do. I backed away from the edge of the platform and glanced into the high corners, where the top of the fence met the station’s pitched roof. A dozen eyes stared back at me, watching my every move. While the subway had rats, the rail’s elevated platforms carried pigeons. As if they could read my thoughts, a few suddenly took flight, darting from one truss to the next. A team of smooth, iridescent heads bobbed up and down as they walked along the riveted beams, cooing and pecking the air.
But there were other eyes too. More concerning eyes. I found life in the form of red, blinking lights sitting atop the square faces of the platform’s security cameras.
Is there someone on the other end? Are they watching me?
I couldn’t take the chance. I needed Nerd to tell me. Without a hack into the rail system’s computers, I couldn’t finish my design.
My best opportunity for killing my mark involved the platform, but until the cameras were gone, I was stuck. A new sound came then, the sound of gravelly footsteps. It was Lady.
How had I missed her? She must have approached from the other staircase.
A hulking woman, she was unmistakable. If not for her clothes, I would have thought her to be a man. I faded into a shadow beneath the camera and watched. She walked past me, never looking over, never lifting her head. She wore thick heels, her red toenails peering from beneath blue, pleated slacks and peering downward. And despite the hot weather, she had her hood up, hiding her face, hiding who she was.
She moved with the lumber of a large person—a clop and the stony sound of pebbles crushing beneath her heels. Like a steed walking in a parade. She’d tempt fate in a minute, step to the edge of the platform, place herself within an inch of death. I wanted to see her do it. On this day, she’d arrived in time for the rush of an express train. City–bound and racing by without a stop, she only wanted to stand near the express train, to give it an airy kiss and let it brush her lips as it flew by her face like a bullet.
Lady placed a foot onto the warning stripe, sending my heart into my throat with anticipation. She toed the platform, picking her spot among the dingy, yellow, tactile domes. My phone told me we had another minute before the express train would streak by. Beyond the yellow warning area, there was a narrow stretch of white, like first-aid tape, that disappeared when the train arrived. She crept forward, her toes dangerously close to the white edge.
Thirty seconds.
A faraway metal squeal called like a distant bird and she stepped beyond the warning track. We were alone. If not for the cameras, I’d know what to do next.
Twenty seconds.
I could finish this case with one push. Lady stepped onto the narrow white line, impatiently tapping her toes.
Ten seconds.
The train sounded its whistle, waking up the platform. The pigeons took flight, leaving the safety of the trusses with a flurry of dusty air and loose feathers.
Five seconds.
She moved again. She was too close. Maybe she’d had enough. Maybe the guilt of her sins had shown her a path leading right to the edge of this platform. I was stuck in my own position—excited fascination tingled deep inside me as the train bore down on us. My eyes were fixed on her leaning form.
I sunk deeper into the shadow, clearing myself from the video camera’s peripheral vision.
One second.
The train barreled into view. My chest exploded with a rapid thump as she moved still nearer to the edge. She was going to get killed. I was sure of it. I couldn’t blink. Her body was going to get sucked underneath the metal monster. Consumed. The whistle screamed a warning. I shrunk back at the piercing sound, but she didn’t flinch. She tilted her head and pursed her lips. Then the huge train was on top of her, blowing back the skin on her face and throwing her hood off her head. Her feet disappeared along with the white line, but she stayed planted. She reached up then, stretching out her arms, her fingers splayed, teasing the metal skin with a light touch. As I watched, I began to understand what she was doing.
She needs to feel alive.
Her heinous acts. Her crimes. Those had made her feel alive. And they’d been taken away from her. She was dead without them.
The train disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, slipping out of view, the metal carriage chasing the sound of a blaring whistle. Lady slowly moved back from the edge, dropped her chin and raised her hood to place it back on her head. She wiped her mouth like a lover after an awkward kiss. When she glanced at her hands, I saw a bright spot of red and realized she’d been too close, that she’d cut her mouth on the steel belly—the express train had bitten back.
Without murder to commit, Lady needed to find another way to feel alive. She was going to continue her dare, continue to get closer, continue to tease life by tempting death.
I had my plan.
THIRTY-FOUR
DUST. THE TRAIN PLATFORM was dry and quiet. I’d climbed the three sets of stairs, softly counting each one—just as I knew Lady would do in a short while. Thirty-two steps lifted me high enough above the city street to push my belly into my throat if I dared a look below. The climb left me winded, with my heart pounding in my chest and the back of my neck damp with sweat. I’d be ready, though, when the time was here. I was always ready. And that day there was no place else I wanted to be.
A breeze spun up a short dirt devil, carrying a loose piece of paper that had been lost by a school student. I saw a test grade before the paper rolled up: a bold letter B circled in red, with a smiley just beneath it.
Good job.
The spinning dust stayed alive until it hit the platform’s tactile warning strip, the yellow bumps catching and diffu
sing the wind’s energy. Another flip—a drafty flutter—and the test paper dropped out of the air, fell over the edge, and onto the tracks.
“That’s about right,” I said, imagining my mark doing the same in the moment of her murder. I calmed myself, preparing with deep breaths to slow my pulse. A train rumbled, traveling the thick rails like electricity and shaking the platform. I felt the vibrations in the soles of my shoes, and my heart raced again. But it wasn’t because of the steps this time. I was eager and on edge—this was going to be risky. One mistake and I could end up dead.
“Not long now.” The oncoming train was the local commuter line—the 5:30. It wasn’t the city express line. Not yet.
A push. That’s all I had planned for Lady. I laughed at the thought. After all of the whiteboard designs and Nerd’s security camera hacking, all the scrutiny around train schedules and passenger volumes, and even the details about what shoes to wear, today’s case would conclude with a simple push.
My plan was to approach Lady from behind as she inched toward the platform’s warning strip. I wouldn’t touch her then, though. No, I’d wait until she was at her most vulnerable, when I knew she couldn’t defend herself or recover her balance. It was her hands I wanted to see. I’d use them as my cue. When she raised her arms and leaned into the passing train, I’d shove her from the platform. The express line moved like the turbulent overflow of a rushing river—she’d get sucked under the metallic torrent and carried away.
A sudden tumble of air wafted down from above as a dozen pigeons dropped from a truss. Thick, riveted iron stood upright, supporting the platform’s pitched roof—its car-size ends were seamed with heavy welds that helped it bridge the east and west platforms. My father once told me about how birds have a favorite spot. A tree branch, a fence post, or a roof’s peak—they always went back to it to roost.
“I think their favorite places are on those beams,” I mumbled. I glanced over at one of the cameras, a suspended gray box with wires sprouting behind it. The jumbled cables managed to weave a somewhat straight path, I noticed, snaking upward before disappearing into the ceiling. I dared a look into its dark glassy eye, and saw the reflection of the platform behind me, the round lens capturing everything. I was safe standing beneath it, I knew, outside of its view. I checked each of the cameras on the platform, searching for their pulses—a red, pin-size light blinking above each eye—telling me they were alive and recording. Nerd had already gained control of them, scheduled their power to shut down at exactly one minute before the express line arrived. There’d be no recording of me, or Lady’s murder. I only needed to stay outside of their view until then.
Impatient and becoming restless, I shuffled my foot over the platform and swept dust into the air. The cloud paled and disappeared. I never liked it to be too quiet. Certainly not this quiet. I felt fidgety and didn’t know what to do with myself. I went over the plans in my head, retracing what I’d drawn on the whiteboard. Lady would arrive on the south entrance steps. From there, she’d walk across the platform and peer over the north side’s concrete wall before turning west to face the train tracks. That’s when I’d get into position. Her timing was impeccably predictable. Once her turn to the west was complete, she’d take long steps toward the rails as the express train approached the platform. Seventeen paces—I’d counted those too. It was always seventeen paces, I wondered if she’d marked a spot on the platform like an actress marking the centerline of a stage during rehearsals.
The birds took flight again, alarmed by a steely screech. The ringing metal sound bounced off the walls as a train slowed to a stop. The 5:30 local was filled with rail riders on their way home from the city—their day ending while mine had just begun. Lady would show up once the train moved on. I slunk back, deeper into a corner, out of the light. My feathered friends returned and cooed a familiar resting call.
The doors opened like escape hatches, breaking the metal capsule’s lifeless mirage. The trains emptied their rail riders—the workers appearing in pairs and threesomes—some mumbling to themselves, others stretching out their legs. The crowd stayed quiet, one passenger mindlessly following another, filling the platform until the concrete floor was filled. I glanced at the southern entrance, expecting to see Lady arrive. She wasn’t there. I felt a concerning nag. My phone told me it was nearly half a minute past her usual arrival time.
She was never late.
The group of rail riders bulged and then thinned, threading a sharp point through the platform’s exit. They trickle through the narrow passage, draining down the steps and onto the streets below. I peered over the wall in time to see the first of the riders appear like a gum ball that had coursed its way to the mouth of a coin-slot vending machine. More of the riders appeared and, as they spread out in every direction, the platform became quiet again. Soon it was empty, and I was alone with the pigeons again.
The commuter train lurched forward—bumping cars side by side, lumbering at first and then picking up speed until the last car exited the platform. A cloud of dust and loose trash followed the railcars like cans tied to a bumper, kicking and tumbling in chaotic celebration.
I stabbed my phone’s screen, anxiously pressing my fingers to wake it up and read the time. My heart sank. Lady was going to miss the express train. I could already feel the subtle vibrations in my feet from the oncoming train. I paced beneath the camera like the pigeons on the trusses and tapped a text message to Nerd.
No show.
The indicator showed me he had read the message, and then showed me he was typing a reply.
Cameras? he texted, asking if he should drop the power to them.
Any risk? I asked, tapping the screen’s keyboard and hitting Send.
I kept one eye on the burner phone and one eye on the southern entrance. Three dots appeared below my message to tell me he was typing again. I pegged the concrete with my toe, perplexed and upset. The south entrance stayed as empty as an untouched canvas, and I jabbed the platform with my heel. The anxiety sat in my gut like a cold stone—I was a junky who needed to get my fix.
Yes! he texted back.
It was do-or-die time. A decision needed to be made. The train rails hummed and the pigeons flew from truss to truss. My heart raced faster, thumping in my chest. I had an idea.
You still there?
Drop them! I texted, thinking we’d do a dry run and come back tomorrow to do the job for real. It would be a terrific opportunity to test his hack and make sure all the platform cameras dropped. Was it worth the risk? We’d find that out too.
She’s a no-show. Let’s call this a dry run.
The burner’s screen showed that the message had been delivered, then read. I waited.
Are you sure? he finally texted back.
Do it! I answered, planting my thumb on Send.
You’re the boss, he texted. And then he added, In 3 . . . 2 . . . 1.
With a final look to the south entrance, I gave up on Lady. I glimpsed the cameras, searching along the tops of each of them for their pulsing red lights. They were still on, alive and well, recording everything.
WTF! I texted back, frowning. I hit Send, but then regretted my tone.
Give it a second, he replied, ending with a frowny-face emoticon. A second later he added, Propagation delay. I understood what a delay was, which was enough for me. The camera’s red lights dimmed, flickered, and then went dark. They were blind and hung, limp, looking broken and sagging toward the ground.
You did it! I texted, wondering how to tell him how proud I felt. Great job. I added two smileys at the end.
As I waited for him to reply, I heard a metal screech from the express line.
I know, he texted back. I laughed at his smugness.
Leave them off until I give the signal, I instructed. I needed a fix, and the crazy idea that came to me was to do as Lady would do.
Will do, he texted. I could tell Nerd had begun to text something else, but I was nearly out of time, so I shoved the burner i
nto my pocket.
I found the mark where Lady habitually started her advance toward the train. The platform rumbled, sending the pigeons into another feathery commotion. I took my position, pacing off each step until my body was planted firmly on the warning strip.
I was eleven the first time I ever rode on a roller-coaster, and the sensation I felt running through my body now reminded me a lot of that: I was alive with electricity.
I could see the front of the train. Two dark windows stared down the tracks like giant eyes. The long wipers made it wear a permanent frown. A single headlight shined like a bulbous nose, and the metal grille sneered in a toothy grin. The train was coming faster than I could have imagined, but I was ready to take the ride, to plunge headfirst into the roller-coaster drop.
The warning track’s small tactile bumps pushed up into the bottom of my feet, telling me to back away, but I wanted to feel the excitement, capture the adrenaline, leave none of it to waste. I moved forward. The train entered the station with a near-deafening roar. The smell of ozone and electricity filled my nose and mouth, pushed a taste of metal deep into my throat. I urged my feet onto the white edge, curling my toes around the lip of concrete. The face of the train was nearly on me, rocking from side to side. The train’s whistle blew then, causing me to jump. I stuck to where I was, though, challenging the train with the spread of my arms.
The train covered me like a blanket, began blowing by me in a stormy rush. Sheer exhilaration made my blood rush to my head and then adrenaline spread through me like a sensual climax. Metal flew past my face and my body, a mere sliver of air between the machine and my skin. I couldn’t breathe. All the air was pulled from my nose and mouth, sucking my lungs dry. I was in a vacuum.
My exhilaration spiked with fear as I realized what was happening. My back arched and my belly bowed in, nearly touching the steely blur. I tightened my middle and tried to slide my feet away, but I was stuck. I slipped closer, like a magnet being pulled. Images of Michael and Snacks flashed in my mind as I lowered my arms, resisting the instinct to push against the metal rushing by. The train’s vacuum pulled harder.
Affair with Murder The Complete Box Set Page 44
