by Marina Cohen
Just as Jake lay down again, his bedroom door burst open. His mother stood there with that crazed look she got when Jake had done something really horrible.
“I can’t believe you!” she hissed.
Jake winced. This wasn’t good. For a second he wondered if she’d overheard his conversation with Cole. Maybe she had his room bugged.
“I can’t believe you did such a rotten thing!”
Did? That was the past tense. Jake took a deep breath. Whatever it was, he’d already done it and she knew about it. No use in trying to talk his way out.
“Where’s Drew?” he asked.
“Brushing his teeth.” His mother eyed him with disgust. “How could you take your little brother’s money and gamble it away?”
Jake rolled his eyes. The money thing again.
“It’s bad enough you gamble your own money, my money, money I work hard for and give to you so you can buy lunch and clothes, but now you have to gamble Drew’s money away, too?”
“Listen, Mom …” he tried.
“Don’t listen Mom me! I’ve had enough of you. Lazy. Irresponsible. You’re throwing your life away, you know that? You’re so selfish. You’re exactly like —”
Jake sat up and cut her off before she could finish. “Like who? The Pigeon? Is that who I’m like?” He glared at her.
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her expression had changed. She slumped against the wall as if her bones had evaporated. Then she took a deep breath and exhaled. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you were thinking it,” he snapped.
Whenever his mother compared him to his father — the father who had abandoned them when Drew was a baby and Jake was only four — Jake went ballistic. He barely had any memory of the guy, yet he hated him. He didn’t refer to him as Dad or even by his first name. He called him “The Pigeon” because, as his mom always said, “He flew the coop.”
“Listen to me, Jake,” she said. “You can be anything you want to be. You just gotta make the right choices.”
Jake hated it even more when she got all philosophical on him. She sounded exactly like Mr. Dean. And what did either of them know, anyway? Truth was, he couldn’t be anything. Not like Drew. Not like the smart one, the good one. If Jake wanted respect, he’d have to take it. Steal it. Like Damon and Vlad. Like the 5 Kings …
“Do I look like him?” he blurted out “Is that it? Is that why you hate me so much?”
He stared at her, waiting for something, anything, to tell him he was wrong. Seconds felt like hours. He gritted his teeth and flung himself back onto his bed, turning to face the wall.
“I love you, Jake …” Her voice trailed off. He could feel her stare pulling at him, trying to turn him around. He imagined the sticky-sweet smile masking her real feelings.
“Please, Jake,” she tried again. “I’m just tired. I can’t hold your hand anymore. You’re not a little kid. You’re going to do what you want to do. But it’s killing me. I feel like I’m just standing there watching you throw it all away.”
Her words hung in the air like a rotten odour. She was giving up on him. He could feel it. Maybe she already had. Maybe she drove his father away by nagging him all the time, too. Maybe it was all her fault.
Just then Drew bounced into the room. “You’re not going to believe who they eliminated!”
His mother sighed and left the room. Tears burned at the back of Jake’s eyes, but he held them prisoner. Drew went on and on about the show until he finally wore himself out.
For the longest time Jake lay awake thinking about his father. Why did he leave? Where did he go? His mother never talked about him. She’d thrown away all his pictures. Jake couldn’t even remember what he looked like. He was a phantom haunting the hollow rooms of Jake’s mind.
The only clear memory Jake had was of the time his father bought him a shiny red toboggan. It was mid-October and wouldn’t snow for quite a while, but his dad had promised that the very first snowfall they would go tobogganing together. By the time the snow arrived, his father was long gone. Jake kept that toboggan for years. Then one day he walked to the curb, tossed it onto the trash, and stood watching as the garbage truck crushed it.
Jake took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
He was four years old, riding down the perfect hill covered in December snow. Strong arms cradled him from behind, helping him steer. He could feel icy wind on his cheeks, hot breath on his neck. Deep laughter filled the air. He was happy.
Then the landscape began to change. The white snow turned city-slush grey. The arms steadying him disappeared, and the laughter faded. Jake was alone, and the toboggan was out of control, flying faster and faster, heading straight into darkness. Something was in that darkness, and he was headed straight for it. He was going to crash. Jake lifted his hands to shield his eyes. He opened his mouth to scream. He sat bolt upright in his bed.
His cellphone was buzzing.
CHAPTER FOUR
St. George Station. Southbound train. Midnight.
Jake stared at the text and yawned. He rubbed his eyes. A party on a subway. At midnight. He had to admit he was curious.
He glanced at his alarm clock. It was 11:07. Jake did some quick calculations. If he even wanted to make it to St. George Station by midnight, he’d have to hurry. It was a twenty-minute bus ride from his building to the subway. From there he’d have to catch a westbound train, ride thirteen stops, and then switch to the north-south route. It would be tight.
Jake could hear his brother’s heavy breathing. Drew wouldn’t be a problem. Jake could set off a bomb and his brother wouldn’t so much as stir.
His mother was another story. She slept on the pullout sofa in the living room and was known to wake up if a cockroach scuttled across the floor. The last thing Jake wanted was to be caught. He reconsidered, almost climbing back into bed, but then his mother’s face flashed before him and he remembered that awful look in her eyes — the look that said she’d given up on him — and it was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.
A party is exactly what I need, he thought. She already thinks I’m like The Pigeon — so why disappoint her?
Jake groped around the floor for his jeans. He pulled them on and shoved his cellphone and iPod into his pocket. Next he grabbed his black hoodie — it was clean and lay folded on top of his dresser. Just in case Shelly did turn up, at least he’d smell good.
Slipping out of the bedroom, Jake crept toward the front door. For a second he thought he’d heard the sofa groan. He held his breath, but the apartment was still. Jake moved swiftly, stepping into his running shoes and clicking the deadbolt. If he swung the door open quickly, it wouldn’t creak.
The hall lights were dim. They masked the cracks in the walls, making the building seem almost livable. The stench of other people’s cooking saturated the air — cabbage, fish, and a clash of spices that made Jake’s stomach turn. He raced along the worn carpet toward the elevator, but when he reached it he did an about-face. Jake told himself the stairs would be quicker, though deep down he knew he was still spooked by the freaky incident.
Stale smoke and urine battled for control of the stairwell. Jake hurried down flight after flight until he reached the main floor. He pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool of the night.
It must have rained. The air was heavy and the sidewalk was slick. Jake turned on his iPod as he flew down the empty side street toward the bus shelter. More than once he got the feeling he was being followed, but quick glances over his shoulder confirmed he was alone.
Even this late, buses ran frequently along the main routes. Jake stood in the shelter and watched cars zip past, bass pulsing through his body. He checked his phone for the time. It was already 11:15. If the bus didn’t come soon, he might as well turn around
and go home.
As he waited, his thoughts drifted back to his father. Had the guy snuck out in the middle of the night? Had he jumped on a bus and never looked back? What could possibly make someone abandon his family?
A blast of toxic air scattered Jake’s thoughts as the bus shrieked to a halt in front of him. He hadn’t even seen it coming.
Jake climbed aboard, paid his fare, and grabbed a transfer slip. As the vehicle lurched forward, he swaggered to the back where he plunked himself into the last row. There were several other passengers on the bus, none of whom paid Jake any attention. He leaned his head against the window, took a deep breath, and shut his eyes.
Last stop.
Jake’s eyes snapped open. His pulse thrummed. Who had said that? Jake searched his surroundings. There was no one even close to him. He must have dozed off, because the bus was already pulling into the subway station. Was he imagining things again? Last stop? Those words wormed their way around and around in his head.
Jake checked his cell. It was 11:37. There was no time to waste. He flew up the aisle, jumped off the bus, and headed down the steps into the station.
During the day, Victoria Park Station was a hive of activity. Although far from empty, Jake could hear the thud of his footsteps echoing through the hollow hall as he made his way toward the ticket booth. He tossed his transfer to the attendant, pushed through the turnstile, and broke into a sprint as the familiar thunder of an approaching subway shook the ceiling and walls. Jake made it to the platform just as the westbound train exploded into the station.
The subway car was pretty full. Jake slumped into a seat and cranked up the volume on his iPod. He leaned back and was about to close his eyes again but reconsidered. This time he’d keep them wide open.
He scanned the car. There were two kinds of people in the subway this time of night. Either they had that listless quality about them — as if they were heading home from late-hour jobs — or they were buzzing with electricity — as if they were heading out for a big night on the town.
A group of teenagers were goofing around at the opposite end. Jake wondered if they were going to the same party. One girl was looking directly at him. He didn’t want to be caught staring, so he shifted his gaze to the advertisements lining the tops of the windows. His eyes settled on one sign in particular. It read: KILL THE LIGHTS. SAVE THE BIRDS. It had a picture of a black-headed bird with a white breast flying over brightly lit office buildings at night.
The advertisement made Jake think of pigeons — flying the coop.
CHAPTER FIVE
Station after station, people entered and exited the subway, each oblivious to the other’s existence. Jake decided he could spend his entire life riding aimlessly, never seeing the same person twice.
He checked his phone: 11:55. One more stop — plenty of time.
The group of teenagers had left the train. Too bad, thought Jake, that girl was pretty hot. As the subway began to roll, Jake settled back and relaxed. He was confident he’d make it to the party on time. He had more than four minutes and this was a short stop. Then, just after the train entered the tunnel, it ground to a sudden halt.
Figures, thought Jake, ripping off his iPod and shoving it into his pocket. Can’t anything ever go right?
Seconds passed like hours. He kept checking his phone. Three minutes left. Two minutes …
The subway finally lurched forward and started picking up speed. It slithered through the dark tunnel like a snake into its hole. When it burst through the darkness and into the station, Jake had one minute left. He was already standing at the doors waiting for them to open.
Luckily, there were few people to get in his way. He sprinted the length of the platform until he reached the escalator. The ceiling above him began to quake. He took the steps two at a time, but halfway up stood a man in an old trench coat muttering to himself. The man took up the entire space, blocking Jake’s path. He smelled like egg salad left too long in the sun.
“’Scuse me,” Jake said, but the guy didn’t budge.
The thundering had stopped. Jake needed to get around this guy and quick. With a twinge of disgust, he used his shoulder to muscle past the man, nearly knocking him over. The subway was straight ahead — its doors open wide. Jake raced toward them, then heard the familiar chimes announcing their closure. In a last-ditch effort he lunged to try to stick his hand between the doors. He missed by an inch and nearly got his foot stuck in the gap between the subway and the platform. The rubber panels sealed themselves tight. He was too late.
All Jake could do was stand there and watch helplessly as the subway rolled into motion. Car after car glided past him, leaving nothing but stale air blowing through his hair. When the train had disappeared into the tunnel, Jake’s eyes settled on the red triangular warning sign posted on a black pillar between the tracks. It had a stick man crossing from the platform onto a train. It said: MIND THE GAP. Beside that was a large poster in the centre of the tracks. It was an ad for the latest teeth whitener. Five people of various ages and ethnicity stared at him with ridiculous grins. It was as if they were all mocking him. You’re a loser, Jake, just like Cole said.
“The bowels of hell await you!”
Jake swung around to see the guy who had blocked his way on the escalator staggering toward him, pointing a dirty, accusing finger. The ends of his coat were frayed. His shoes were mismatched. His beard was long and dishevelled. He looked — and more importantly smelled — as if he hadn’t bathed in years. Unmistakably homeless. There was no telling how old he was. Could be thirty. Could be fifty. Street life wasn’t easy on the complexion.
“Judgment is upon you!”
Perfect, thought Jake, rolling his eyes. Exactly what I need.
“Lay your hands in mine!”
Grease and dirt were caked on the guy’s face, but Jake noticed a strange spark in his eyes. He held both hands outstretched as though he were coming to hug Jake.
“Rise up from the darkness! Take my hands and rise!”
Rise. Riiiight. Nutjob. Jake rolled his eyes. He was about to head back toward the escalator when he heard a low rumble. Instinctively, he glanced up. The clock on the flat-screen monitor still read twelve o’clock. He walked to the edge of the platform and peered into the tunnel. There was a dim yellow light getting brighter by the second.
“They’re coming … take my hand …” the man muttered.
A train was approaching at top speed, its headlights unusually bright — so bright Jake had to shade his eyes. It blasted into the station, rushing past him, its roar drowning out the lunatic raving behind him. But as Jake’s eyes adjusted to what he saw, he frowned. Instead of the modern steel-grey subway, what blew past him was an old maroon train with two thin gold stripes. He recognized it from a news story he’d once seen about the transit system. It appeared to be one of the original subway trains — the Gloucester.
I thought they’d retired those dinosaurs decades ago, thought Jake as it screeched to a halt and the doors opened. But as quickly as they opened, they began closing again. Without a second to think, Jake stepped inside. The last thing he heard before the doors sealed themselves was the homeless man’s voice echoing through the hollow station: “You have entered the belly of the beast …”
The lights dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again. The car rattled and shook as it lurched forward. As he scanned the interior of the car, Jake grabbed for the nearest pole to steady himself.
If this was a party, it was the weirdest one he’d ever seen.
CHAPTER SIX
The inside of the train was dim. It smelled like a pile of dirty laundry. Passengers were crammed like cattle. Some were laughing. Others were talking. Music — the kind you might hear in the bathroom of a fancy hotel — wafted above the crowd.
One guy was wearing a grey sweatshirt wit
h cut-off sleeves and matching sweatpants. Over his sweats he wore red shorts — short-shorts, like the kind basketball players wore in the 1980s. He had sweatbands on his wrists. Another guy had greased-up hair and a retro leather jacket like some James Dean wannabe. A neon-green mohawk sprouted from one girl’s head. She posed in skin-tight leopard-print pants and the pointiest boots Jake had ever seen. Another girl wore a dress and shoes that must have belonged to her great-grandmother. Still another looked like a hippie, complete with fringed vest and headband.
A costume party, thought Jake. It was Halloween in a couple of weeks, and it figured that Cole would leave out the most important detail.
Jake scanned 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.