George Right: D

Doors opened, and Tony heard the incoming knock of heels. More precisely, one heel; then there was a short pause and a slow shuffling, and then new abrupt clatter followed. Logan turned his head and saw a girl entering the car. Yes indeed—the poor creature had broken a heel and now limped, shuffling her foot. For some reason she held the heelless right foot sideways, putting it on edge, as if the foot was sprained and could not return it to its normal position. That, certainly, was not possible—in this case any attempt to put her body weight on it, increasing the strain, would cause terrible pain.

In other respects, however, the girl was quite usual—even more, attractive. Slender, in a light summer blouse with a miniskirt (probably, she also believed the morning sun when she left her house, Tony thought sympathetically), long nut-brown hair, a bit twisted on the ends, a nice profile. She passed by Logan in her limping gait and sat down opposite and obliquely to him. Now he noticed that, while on the right side her hair passed behind an ear, at the left, on the contrary, it hung over her face, almost completely hiding an eye and a cheek.

“Excuse me, Miss,” Tony called her, “is this the Q train?”

The girl answered nothing and did not even look in his direction. The doors closed, and the train got under way.

“Probably, she thought that I was trying to pick her up,” Logan thought, “so she’s ignoring me. Really, my question sounded silly: the person already on a train asks someone just getting on what train it is. If it were on the contrary…”

Nevertheless Logan felt more and more uncomfortable on the train and the desire to talk to a normal person became stronger than thoughts about possible negative reactions. “Well, what will she do, eventually—call the police through the intercom? Hm, let her try,” Tony mentally grinned. “Though she could have a taser… or even a gun…”

As a result he chose a compromise: he did not sit near the girl but only moved to a seat opposite her.

“I must apologize for troubling you,” he said as politely as possible, “but I’m confused. There are no maps and stops are not announced here. When I entered, it seemed to me that this was the Q train, but now I’m not sure. I don’t recognize the stations. Was there any change of service? And what happened, by the way, to the electricity, do you know? Why are stations lit so badly? Budget cuts? You know, I seldom ride so late, but it seemed to me…”

The girl still was silent and did not react in any way. Exactly as that senile child. The long hair obscuring the left half of her face rocked slightly with the car movement. “Maybe she’s deaf?” Tony thought. “However, deaf people are usually able to read lips…”

All right. If she prefers to ignore him, he has no right to force the issue. And he will get off at the next stop. Will get off and wait for a normal train, however long it takes.

Nevertheless, the girl looked at him with her only open eye. Probably, she was waiting for whatever he would say or do further. Tony, feeling that to stare back at her would be rude, muttered, “Never mind, excuse me” and looked away. But, after looking around for some time (“CORPSES. THE EXHIBITION!”), he felt that she was still looking at him. Not expectantly, not savagely, not even enticingly. Simply looking. And there was something unnatural about her gaze. Something that made Logan feel even more creepy. She doesn’t blink, Tony realized. She has never blinked…

Forcing himself (why is it so difficult to look in the eyes of a stranger?), he again focused his eyes on her face. And then understood that his imagination played a trick on him. The right eye of the girl was closed. Possibly, she had decided to sleep until her stop, too…

However, Logan never before saw anybody that slept sitting bolt upright, without throwing the head back or drooping it on the chest.

And he felt an irrational confidence that her left eye was not closed—not at all, but watched him from under hanging-down hair.

Following an unaccountable impulse, he moved to his former place to get away from this supposed gaze. He was almost sure that she would turn her head to follow him. But the silent girl remained sitting as before.

The train began to brake sharply again before a station. Tony was going to rise, as soon as the train stopped. But the girl moved first. Paying no attention to inertia which should have tumbled her down, especially considering the current instability of her gait—she, shuffling the turned foot the same way, moved towards Tony. He froze in his seat, looking at her with absolutely irrational fear. The girl, however, passed by him and turned to the doors, obviously going to exit.

Was it his illusion, or had her right eye really remain closed?

Now Tony could not answer this question any more because the girl stood with her left profile to him, which was still concealed by hair.

The train stopped and the doors opened. The girl stepped onto the platform outside, and at the very same time wind from a tunnel rushed into the car and for an instant blew her hair aside.

A spasm seized Logan’s throat.

He saw damp meat… wet, shapeless, exuding ichor… a hole with torn edges in place of an eye, from which some tatters hung down… naked gums and teeth where there should be a cheek… a dangling torn-off lip similar to a fat dead worm…

All this lasted less than a second. In the next instant, the girl was already on the platform. And no force in the world could make Tony follow her.

“You did not see it,” he told himself. “She just has, well, a birthmark covering the whole cheek. A very ugly birthmark. Therefore she wears her hair this way. And all the rest you simply imagined. My God, in a such a short time it was simply impossible to make out such details!”

But, nevertheless, he remained on his seat, as if he were glued. He still heard receding clattering-shuffling sounds.

Doors slammed. Dirty, dimly lit letters floated by the windows: “Myrtle Ave.”

What the hell? Myrtle Avenue is in northern Brooklyn. And there are neither Q train stops nor parallel routes on it. It seemed like farther to the east there was a subway station belonging to the brown line. But, the main thing, if the train is in Brooklyn, it had to pass over the bridge! Manhattan bridge or, at the worst, Williamsburg, if it is indeed a “brown” station. But Tony could swear that the train had remained underground all the time. After all, it is impossible to be mistaken about this even at night. It is possible of course to cross the East River by a tunnel, but those routes definitely do not go through any Myrtle…

“It’s a bad dream,” Tony thought. “I’ve fallen asleep in a subway train and am having a nightmare…” It was impossible to wake up, however. And, as if wishing to prove the reality of the situation, the train once again began to brake sharply, almost tumbling Logan down on a seat. This time the appeared to be very short.

“Is he crazy?” Tony angrily thought about the train operator. “Why is he braking this way all the time?”

“And what if that’s true,” a wild thought flashed. “The crazy train operator drives the train goodness knows where, paying no attention to routes and the schedule… However, even a madman can’t go where rails aren’t laid.”

In the following moment, Tony read the name of the next station with relief: “DeKalb Ave.”

Well, at last. So, Brooklyn after all, and it’s unimportant how he arrived here. Five routes meet at the DeKalb Avenue station and here Tony can change to the normal Q train. He could hardly wait when the doors opened and allowed him to jump out onto the platform.

He had time to take some steps. Had time to notice that the platform was empty and garbage lay about everywhere. Had time to see the “Downtown” sign, though in Brooklyn stations they do not use such a sign…