whore right now, this very moment . . . dirty bitch . . .
Nina flung open the door at the end, gasping for air, and launched herself out onto the jointed metal platform. The noise hurt, but not as much as the contorted emotional worlds inside other people’s heads.
And she’d always considered herself an empathetic person.
Hah. She had no clue. No clue at all.
The next car was as crowded as the one she’d left. She couldn’t face the gauntlet again, so she clung to the door handle outside, teeth clenched, bones rattling while the train spat out of the tun-nel and into a station. Get a grip. She couldn’t just cower between the cars on a blind subway ride to nowhere. Toughen up, girl.
Those people at the hospital had been chasing her, specifically. It had to be related to Helga Kasyanov. She did not believe that her pursuers were, in fact, zombie ghouls. Her map of reality did not stretch that far, and never would. But seeing them as a symbol of death was a message from her subconscious mind that they meant her ill. She’d seen their eyes as they chased her.
She’d felt their evil. She was convinced. And so? What now?
The F train slowed. Coming up on Second Avenue, which reminded her of . . . she groped, and the lightbulb lit up in her overstressed brain. The driver! Yuri Marchuk lived in Alphabet City! He knew what Helga had said, and she needed a translator for Helga’s recording, now that Asshole Aaro had withdrawn his linguistic help. True, some legwork and phone calls would find her someone else who was competent, as Aaro had so helpfully pointed out, but she was on the verge of a breakdown on a random subway ride, and voilà, she had ended up in Yuri’s neighbor-hood. It was fate. Why look farther? Assuming the guy spoke English at all, of course, but hell, she could try.
As if she would meekly wait on Aaro’s convenience. Jerk. It pissed her off all over again, thinking about his grudging offer to call her back when it suited his schedule. Giving her attitude after what she’d been through. She was going to have words with Lily, about exposing her to such a butthead. Rude, insensitive, provocative son of a bitch.
She wrenched open the door to the subway car as the train shuddered to a stop, waiting until the others filed out. She cringed mentally, held her blanket of gray, fuzzy mental static tight around her.
No cobwebs clung to her this time. She felt them tickle her consciousness, but they didn’t snag. She was grimly amused.
Getting her back up about Asshole Aaro’s bad manners had steadied her nerves. To the point where she could actually keep a shield up.
It was kind of funny. Almost.
She fished in her pocket for the address that Bruno’s friends had procured for her as she slogged her way up the endless flights of stairs. She emerged onto Second Avenue, blinking in the blazing sunshine, and oriented herself to walk east. Three avenue blocks, then left onto B, and up a few short cross streets, and—no. Wait. What on earth . . . ?
Her neck prickled. A snarl of cars blocked the street entrance to Yuri’s block. The sidewalk and street seethed with people.
She edged closer, checked the address. Consulted the map, the street signs. This was the place. Short, narrow, cramped buildings. Flashing lights. Cop cars. Uniforms swarming. Yellow crime scene tape. Ambulance. An air of grim emergency. Goose bumps popped out on her neck.
She looked around for someone to ask. Spotted a young goth woman with lots of facial piercing. She revved up her shield of gray fuzz, and braced herself, just in case the makeshift barrier didn’t hold.
“Do you know what happened here?” she asked the girl
“They killed Yuri Marchuk,” the girl replied, her eyes bright and shining with unsavory excitement. “Tortured him and killed him! He was my downstairs neighbor! Holy shit, it totally could’ve been me!”
Horror blotted out everything for a moment. The girl’s words blurred, then comprehension
Nina flung open the door at the end, gasping for air, and launched herself out onto the jointed metal platform. The noise hurt, but not as much as the contorted emotional worlds inside other people’s heads.
And she’d always considered herself an empathetic person.
Hah. She had no clue. No clue at all.
The next car was as crowded as the one she’d left. She couldn’t face the gauntlet again, so she clung to the door handle outside, teeth clenched, bones rattling while the train spat out of the tun-nel and into a station. Get a grip. She couldn’t just cower between the cars on a blind subway ride to nowhere. Toughen up, girl.
Those people at the hospital had been chasing her, specifically. It had to be related to Helga Kasyanov. She did not believe that her pursuers were, in fact, zombie ghouls. Her map of reality did not stretch that far, and never would. But seeing them as a symbol of death was a message from her subconscious mind that they meant her ill. She’d seen their eyes as they chased her.
She’d felt their evil. She was convinced. And so? What now?
The F train slowed. Coming up on Second Avenue, which reminded her of . . . she groped, and the lightbulb lit up in her overstressed brain. The driver! Yuri Marchuk lived in Alphabet City! He knew what Helga had said, and she needed a translator for Helga’s recording, now that Asshole Aaro had withdrawn his linguistic help. True, some legwork and phone calls would find her someone else who was competent, as Aaro had so helpfully pointed out, but she was on the verge of a breakdown on a random subway ride, and voilà, she had ended up in Yuri’s neighbor-hood. It was fate. Why look farther? Assuming the guy spoke English at all, of course, but hell, she could try.
As if she would meekly wait on Aaro’s convenience. Jerk. It pissed her off all over again, thinking about his grudging offer to call her back when it suited his schedule. Giving her attitude after what she’d been through. She was going to have words with Lily, about exposing her to such a butthead. Rude, insensitive, provocative son of a bitch.
She wrenched open the door to the subway car as the train shuddered to a stop, waiting until the others filed out. She cringed mentally, held her blanket of gray, fuzzy mental static tight around her.
No cobwebs clung to her this time. She felt them tickle her consciousness, but they didn’t snag. She was grimly amused.
Getting her back up about Asshole Aaro’s bad manners had steadied her nerves. To the point where she could actually keep a shield up.
It was kind of funny. Almost.
She fished in her pocket for the address that Bruno’s friends had procured for her as she slogged her way up the endless flights of stairs. She emerged onto Second Avenue, blinking in the blazing sunshine, and oriented herself to walk east. Three avenue blocks, then left onto B, and up a few short cross streets, and—no. Wait. What on earth . . . ?
Her neck prickled. A snarl of cars blocked the street entrance to Yuri’s block. The sidewalk and street seethed with people.
She edged closer, checked the address. Consulted the map, the street signs. This was the place. Short, narrow, cramped buildings. Flashing lights. Cop cars. Uniforms swarming. Yellow crime scene tape. Ambulance. An air of grim emergency. Goose bumps popped out on her neck.
She looked around for someone to ask. Spotted a young goth woman with lots of facial piercing. She revved up her shield of gray fuzz, and braced herself, just in case the makeshift barrier didn’t hold.
“Do you know what happened here?” she asked the girl
“They killed Yuri Marchuk,” the girl replied, her eyes bright and shining with unsavory excitement. “Tortured him and killed him! He was my downstairs neighbor! Holy shit, it totally could’ve been me!”
Horror blotted out everything for a moment. The girl’s words blurred, then comprehension
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