Читать книгу Mind Gap - Marina Cohen - Страница 10

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.