“Mister,” he says. “I think we're in big fuckin' trouble.”
The door at the far end of the aisle opens and a small group of people enter the car. Wiley recognizes them as the couples he and his merry men eyeballed before.
“Anyone know what's going on here?” one of the men asks.
Wiley tucks his switchblade into his back pocket and approaches them. “You gotta go back the way you came. There's fucked up people back there.”
He looks over his shoulder.
No sign of Amanda yet
.
“Fucked up people?” one of the men says.
Wiley attempts to usher everyone out of the car. “Come on, we gotta go.”
“Wait a minute,” the other man says. “I'd really like to know what you mean by 'fucked up people.'”
Both men have on dark suits and have more than likely had a swell evening on the town with their attractive girlfriends. Wiley is certain, however, that all good things are about to come to a swift end if they don't perform a u-turn, and soon.
“There's these people back there,” he explains, “...two of them, and they're fuckin' maniacs. I think one of them might have killed a friend of mine - judging by his screams.”
Typically, one of the girls - the blonde one in the red strapless dress - gasps.
“Screams?” guy number one says. “And you left your friend back there?”
“Look,” Wiley says, “if you wanna be a hero, be my guest. You all can go touch base with it for all I care. All I know is, I'm gettin' as far away from it as I can, and that means goin' back the way I came.”
“Wait a minute,” guy number two says. “You just called one of these 'maniacs' an
It
.”
“Why don't you go see for yourself,” Wiley replies.
“I think we should go,” the blonde girl says. “I'm getting scared.”
“Me too,” the taller brunette in the sexy little black number pipes up.
“You know what,” Wiley says, “I don't care what you people do.” He looks to the old man, who's seated back where he was before. “What's your name, mister?”
The old man looks over at Wiley. He has the look of someone who barely gives a crap anymore. “Jack.”
“Jack, you comin' with me?”
“You think if I just sit here and mind my own business they'll pass me by?”
“I don't even know if they're headed this way, but you heard my friend scream, right?”
The couples wait intently for the old man's reply.
Jack hoists himself to his feet. Not the easiest of tasks at his age.
Wiley approaches Jack to offer assistance should he need it. “You can call me Wiley.”
Jack looks at the young man and manages a smile. “Then lead the way, Wiley.”
“Hey, look, the train's slowing down,” guy number two says.
The blonde girl grips his arm. “Maybe we'll be able to get off now.”
Just then, the door at the opposite end of the aisle opens and Amanda enters the car.
“Not soon enough,” Wiley says.
Amanda - looking like Amanda as opposed to Amanda-the-thing - stumbles forward and drops to her knees. Despite a lack of light, it's clear to see she's the image of distress. Her pink off-shoulder top is torn, exposing a black bra cup, and her hair is all messed up.
Immediately, one of the men rushes to her aid.
“No!” Wiley shouts, “Don't go near her!”
Discarding Wiley's advice, the man helps Amanda to her feet. “It's okay, I got you.” It's then that he notices the blood on her hands and face. “Oh my God, you've got blood on you.”
“It's not her own blood,” Wiley says. “You gotta get away from her.”
Now it's the second man's turn to ignore Wiley. He, too, motions to help the distressed woman, but his brunette girlfriend holds him back. “Becky, what are you doing? I can't just stand here.”
“Gary's with her,” Becky replies. “And besides, what if this Wiley guy is right?”
“Jesus, Becky, does she really look like a maniac to you?”
Becky refuses to let go of her boyfriend's arm. “Still. Just hang back. For me.”
Amanda's sobbing quite loudly. She tries to talk, but her words come out broken and incoherent.
Gary leads her to a seat. “Take it easy.” He sits her down. “Try to catch your breath then tell me what happened. It might also help if you give me your name.”
“She's called Amanda and you're gonna fuckin' die,” Wiley says.
Amanda wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath as suggested. “My name's Amanda, and...” She takes another breath to help maintain her composure. “And they raped me.”
Alarmed, Gary asks: “Who did this to you?”
Amanda looks directly at Wiley - “Him and his friends” - and then she bursts into tears.
“Fuck this,” Wiley says, and pushes past Becky and her boyfriend. “I'm not gonna die with you all.” But, before he can reach the door, he's hauled back by the scruff of his neck.
“Oh no you don't.”
Fucking Mister Becky, trying to play the hero
.
Wiley fumbles around in his back pocket for his blade - something that isn't easy when you're being pulled backwards.
Mister Becky, who must be packing quite a bit of muscle under his suit top, spins Wiley to face his accuser.
Amanda continues to provide details between sobs: “They muh- made me do...” - deep breath - “suh- sex acts on them.”
Mister Becky squeezes Wiley's neck. He has a hand as big as a shovel and a grip like a tightly wound vice. “Is this true? Is that what you're running away from? You and your gang assault this woman?”
“She's lying!” Wiley protests. “Jack, you heard the screaming.”
“Oh yeah, I heard screaming,” Jack admits, “but I don't know who it belonged to.”
Amanda says quietly: “It was my boyfriend.” She sniffs. “They killed my boyfriend.”
The blonde girl gasps.
“Is that where all this blood is from?” Gary asks.
Amanda nods her head.
Gary looks over at Wiley and curls his fists into balls. “You dirty motherfucker.” He turns his attention to his blonde girlfriend in the red dress. “Sheri, move away from him.”
Sheri moves away from Wiley and joins boyfriend Gary's side.
“Man, you're all in so much trouble,” Wiley says.
“You threatening me!” Mister Becky barks.
“Steve,” Becky says. “Calm down. We don't know what happened.”
“I think we got all the evidence we need,” Steve replies. “This guy and the rest of his gang are up to no good – speaking of which, where the hell is the rest of your group?”
“They're probably all dead,” Wiley replies. “Just like you're about to be.”
“That's it,” Steve says, gripping Wiley's neck tighter than ever, “keep it up with the threats, see where it gets you.”
Amanda, head hung low, says something.
Gary moves his ear close to Amanda's mouth. “What was that?”
Wiley surreptitiously slides his switchblade out of his back pocket.
Amanda repeats herself, but she's speaking so quietly it's still hard for Gary to make out what she's saying.
Gary looks to Sheri, but she's just as nonplussed. He lays a comforting hand on Amanda's shoulder. “I'm afraid you're going to have to speak up.”
Amanda's sobs fade and she looks up at Gary. The lights from the tunnel flash briefly across her face, highlighting her puffy eyes and runny mascara. And then, suddenly, those same eyes blacken over and the pupils turn yellow and elongate.
Before Gary has time to react to what he's seeing, the Amanda-Thing thrusts its long, blood encrusted fingernails into the underside of his chin.
It stands erect and lifts him off his feet.
Sheri starts to scream.
Jack, apparently, still does give a crap. He brushes past Steve and makes for the end door.
“I told you!” Wiley shouts, and flips open his knife. He takes advantage of Steve's surprise and twists free of him.
Steve has no idea what to respond to. Too much is happening all at once.
“Fucker,” Wiley spits, and thrusts his knife into Steve's throat.
Steve's face contorts. He clasps one hand over his throat and reaches for Becky with the other.
Becky screams and steps away from Steve.
Wiley stabs Steve repeatedly in the belly. “You had to play the hero, didn't you, fuckface.”
Panicking, Becky pulls open the end door and quickly disappears.
Steve falls to his knees. He's covered in blood.
“Outta my way,” Wiley grunts, and pushes him over, then, without bothering to check on the fates of Gary and Sheri, follows Jack and Becky through the door.
Gary's still on the end of the Amanda-Thing's grip and is violently kicking and flailing. Blood is running down his neck from where the creature's fingernails are embedded in his flesh.
“Let him go!” Sheri yells.
She steps forward, looks like she's about to engage the Amanda-Thing.
The Amanda-Thing reaches out with its free hand and clamps its nails into Sheri's face.
Sheri clutches the Amanda-Things arm and tries to pull herself free. “Get off me!”
The Amanda-Thing digs its thumbnail and end finger into Sheri's cheeks, gouging flesh and drawing blood. It's index and middle fingers find her eye sockets and sink into them. One eye is displaced and the other punctures, spurting its aqueous humor.
Sheri's tortured screams flood the car.
The Amanda-Thing sneers and increases its grip on Sheri's face. This forces the woman's nose flat, breaking it, and fractures the bone below her eye sockets.
Sheri abruptly falls silent.
The Amanda-Thing simultaneously releases both its victims.
Sheri's lifeless body crumples to the floor of the car and Gary lands hard on his back. He starts coughing and moaning. The formidable shape that is the Amanda-Thing looms over him. He raises a hand as a feeble barrier. “Please, I don't wanna-”
The Amanda-thing plunges one of its hands into Gary's stomach. The man's frenzied wailing is like music to its ears. It reaches all the
way in, finds his spine and wraps its digits around it, then gives a powerful yank.
Gary's body jerks clean off the floor. There's a look of absolute horror in his eyes, and then -
snap
- his spine breaks and his body goes limp.
The Amanda-Thing holds Gary suspended for a few seconds, then releases him to the floor.
Beyond the train's windows, Canal Street drifts silently by.
*
01:43 am ...
Screwball is on his hands and knees and fumbling around in the dark for his hat. There's a sense of urgency to his movements due to his usually none-the-wiser internal voice telling him to hurry the hell up or he's going to be killed.
He lays a hand on something, but it's not his hat. It's a sneaker. And it's not empty.
He looks up.
Jeff is standing over him. He's intermittently highlighted by the external light from the tunnel. And he looks different.
Jeff stares at Screwball through luminous yellow eyes which feature black elliptical slits. His mouth spreads into an unnaturally wide grin. There's no teeth and gums behind the grin. Only darkness.
Now what in Jehovah's name is this thing
?
Not since childhood, sitting in front of old re-runs of
The Howdy Doody Show
on some skanky cable channel, has Screwball felt so completely overwhelmed by fear. That god damn puppet and clown have a lot to answer for.
The Jeff-Thing utters something - it makes no sense; sounds like an ancient language of some kind - then reaches for Screwball.
And now Screwball reacts; can be as slippery as an eel when he wants, and the want has never been greater. He draws back quickly into a sitting position then springs to his feet.
The Jeff-Thing mutters more of its ancient mumbo jumbo then retreats behind a wall of impenetrable darkness.
Screwball scans the aisle looking for some sign of the Jeff-Thing. “Where the hell'd you go?” Calling the Jeff-Thing out like this is more a sign of nerves than anything else. He curses under his breath and carefully steps back over Len's body.
The lights in the car briefly flicker
... and the Jeff-Thing reappears, standing a mere couple of feet in front of Screwball.
Screwball's heart skips a beat. It's an odd sensation bordering on unpleasant. He cries out and turns for the end door. Despite it being dark, he finds the handle straight away.
Is that the Jeff-Thing breathing down his neck, or is it his imagination
?
He squeezes himself into the next car and holds the door tightly shut behind him. He peers through one of the glass panels. The lights in the adjacent car momentarily flicker, highlighting the Jeff-Thing standing in the open doorway and staring ahead through its weird reptile eyes. Its mouth opens wide and what looks like hundreds of small insects pour from the black void.