Dark Angel 03: Broken Dream (7 page)

‘I was by the carousel, and it came to me as clear as any of the other times. Something scary was in the air and I picked it up in a flash. I got the cold sensation that makes my flesh creep. My head started to spin. That’s when the carved horses came to life.’

Orlando thought it through with me then tried out a theory based on the evidence I was giving him. ‘So it’s the mugger – he’s the dark angel? We’re not looking for the leader of a cult or anyone with power and charisma. This time, he’s totally anonymous.’

‘It’s possible.’ I was so deep in thought that I didn’t even see our landlady walk down the hall with today’s
New York Times
.

‘They closed JFK and LaGuardia,’ she commented as she passed by. ‘Fresh snow on the runways. All flights cancelled.’

Practically ignoring Mrs Waterman, I hurried on with my train of thought. ‘Then there was something else I didn’t tell you about. It happened during yesterday’s workshop.’

‘Really?’ Orlando’s one-word question came across as a rebuke.

‘I didn’t mention it because when we met up at lunchtime Macy was with us,’ I reminded him. ‘I wasn’t going to say in front of her, “By the way, evil shadows slipped off the movie screen and crept right into the lecture room where I was sitting. They surrounded me and make me shake with terror.”’

‘Ssh!’ he warned as the landlady crossed the hall again.

‘So now I’m telling you,’ I hissed. ‘The film projector broke down and the shadows came off the screen. It was so scary I almost passed out. Macy asked me if I was OK.’

‘So this has nothing to do with the guy who attacked you in the park?’ Orlando checked. ‘There’s no connection.’

‘No, totally separate. And then there was a third time when we were walking across the film set, right by the reservoir, just before we met Natalia. I got a vision of the ice cracking and these horrible creatures rising out of it…’

‘Are you done?’ Orlando cut right across me. With a meaningful glance towards the landlady he finished with his coffee cup, put on his jacket and led the way out on to the street.

‘Actually, I’m not,’ I protested. ‘There was also the time on the subway when I couldn’t breathe …’

‘I hear you.’ Stopping at the bottom of the brownstone steps, he took my hand and spoke more gently. ‘And so, as it happens, did Mrs W.’

I shook my head. ‘How could she hear me? I was whispering.’

‘Maybe she can lip-read.’

‘Seriously?’

‘No. Yes. I don’t know. Anyway, she was tuned into our conversation,’ he insisted. ‘And she was giving us a weird look when we left – like we were aliens or something. Didn’t you see?’

‘So now you’re saying we’ll be thrown out of our room, we’ll have to spend our last nights in New York on the street and it’s all my fault.’ I marched angrily down Hubert Street, slipping and sliding as I went.

Orlando soon caught up with me. ‘Jeez, Tania, what’s eating you today?’

‘You know what’s eating me.’ I was seeing dark angels in every shadow, round every corner. I shook when we entered the subway; they were on the train with me, lurking in the tunnels – creatures you only see in nightmares and which wake you up with a scream.

‘So?’ Macy stood at the classroom door and greeted me impatiently.

‘So this is the second day of our course.’ I grinned, deliberately sidestepping the obvious question and trying to lighten my mood after the early morning, intense conversation with Orlando. ‘Let’s hope we learn something interesting.’

‘So, in the flesh…?’

‘What? Who are we talking about? Oh, you mean Jack Kane!’

She blocked the doorway, desperate for details. ‘Come on, Tania, quit fooling. After you and Orlando got through Security, how close did you get to the main man?’

‘This close.’ I teased her by showing a distance of about four centimetres between my thumb and forefinger.

‘Jeez! Really? That close!’

‘Jack sat on the same sofa, right next to me.’ I couldn’t help laughing at Macy’s expression – a mixture of amazement, envy and disbelief.

‘Where were you? How come? What did he say to you?’

‘We were in his trailer with Natalia. We met his kids. Then we spoke with the screen god himself.’

‘Oh my God, Tania! His trailer! Are you for real?’

‘I know – totally cool, huh?’ At first I’d planned to play along with Macy’s hero worship of Jack Kane only for a short time, before I gave her the real picture, alcoholic warts and all. But as we got deeper into the conversation, I found I was in no hurry to smash her precious dream into sharp, nasty little pieces. It was her face that stopped me – so shiny, bright and full of little-kid wonder beneath the kohl and mascara – that I knew it would be too cruel.

‘So what did Jack say?’

‘He asked our names. Yeah, and then he offered me a role in the movie.’ I threw this in casually, knowing her jaw would drop still further.

‘Tania, no! Didn’t I tell you that would happen?’

‘I said no.’

‘You said no! But you have a great face for the screen – so photogenic.’

‘I told him we were only in town until Monday.’

‘B-b-but … you’re missing a chance in a million – you know that.’

‘I guess I wasn’t thinking straight,’ I said, still trying to keep up the illusion.

‘And close up, was he drop-dead, you know, gorgeous – even hunkier than in his movies?’

Luckily at this point I spotted our lecturer, Adrian Ross, heading down the corridor. Here was my escape from a game that was getting out of hand. ‘Jack was … unbelievable,’ I told Macy as I stepped by her into the classroom.

And one over-the-moon Jack Kane fan followed behind with her dream intact.

By coffee time both Macy and I had had our fill of Adrian’s two major topics for the day: abstract art house movies and East Village grunge flicks. We stood in the small, sixth-floor lobby next to the elevator, close to the Coke machine.

‘So what are you doing for Christmas?’ My question was a time-filler before we returned to the classroom for more grunge.

‘I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided.’ Macy looked down and fiddled with the ring-pull on her Coke can.

‘I’ll be in Bitterroot with Orlando – Christmas and New Year.’

‘You’re lucky. I don’t have anyone like him in my life right now.’

‘So you’ll spend time with your family?’

‘No family either,’ she muttered. ‘My dad left home when I was eight. My mom died.’

‘Oh, Macy, when?’

‘January this year.’

‘That’s so sad. I’m sorry.’

‘Hey.’ She threw her can into the trash with a sudden movement. ‘I still have Mom’s house, so at least there’s a place to call home after I’m done with New York.’ She looked up at me with a defiant tilt of her head. ‘No pity, please. I’m totally fine where I’m at in my life – free to visit with friends, free to study.’

‘That’s cool,’ I agreed. But all through the next session I was distracted by the sad thought of Macy home alone on Christmas Day.

I stuck with her as the lecture finished and the classroom emptied out. ‘Come for coffee,’ I told her, pressing the elevator button and hearing it whir between floors.

‘No – you and Orlando, you guys need time together.’

‘Come!’ I insisted, stepping into the elevator.

But then a bunch of fellow students pushed ahead of Macy, leaving her stranded in the lobby as the doors closed and we went down to ground level. Planning to go back up to the sixth floor to collect her, I waited for the elevator to empty then pressed six on the control panel. There was a jolt. Instead of rising again, the arrow on the panel told me that we were headed for the basement. I frowned, wondering how long Macy would wait before she gave up on the elevator and headed for the stairway.

Another jolt prepared me for the doors to open. Sure enough, I was below ground, staring out at a dimly lit, empty car park. No one waited to step into the elevator so I chose the sixth floor and pressed again. The door stayed open. Nothing happened.

Great! I stepped outside, took a look around, stepped back in and tried the control panel again. Taking a second look at the concrete pillars and oil-stained floor, and the absence of cars, I knew there was something odd but it took a while for me to work it out – the car park must be empty because the elevator up to street level was out of order. Except that, weirdly, it had decided to bring me down here in the first place. That was when the first creepy, skin-crawling sensation began.

It started at the back of my neck as I finally gave up on the lift buttons and set out to find a stairway out of there. Then, just as I was crossing an open area towards what looked like a pedestrian exit, the yellow safety lights started to flicker and cold panic spread through my whole body. With a final glimmer the lights went out. I was in total darkness.

I hear voices yelling out a warning. Rocks fall, the roof caves in.

I see a faint beam of light and crawl towards it. Behind me, boulders scrape and grind, falling and forming a barrier. Ahead there is a pocket of air. Three men lay curled on their sides. Their faces are bruised and cut. Their eyes are dark with fear. One has a flashlight. He shines it on my terrified face.

‘We’re dead men,’ he gasps. ‘We’re dust.’

All around us there are creatures who never saw the light. Bloodless, the same as the first time I saw them, but now I have longer to breathe in the dust and see them advance, writhing like snakes, burrowing through the earth towards me. They want me and I can’t run, I can’t move. I’m staring at death
.

The lights in the basement car park flickered back on. In my panic I saw that I’d lost my sense of direction, turned away from the exit and blundered towards a support pillar. Now I leaned against its rough, cold surface, my breathing shallow, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I didn’t see but I sensed that there was someone down here with me, close to where I stood. I picked up small movements, body heat and almost inaudible breathing.

Still no one emerged from the shadows. I swallowed hard to beat the constriction in my throat then tried to take a deep breath. Fixing my sights on a red Exit sign beyond the parking bays, I inched towards the door.

He sprang from behind the nearest pillar, bare-headed this time and wearing a black T and jeans, planting himself in front of me, blocking my way. It was the same small but stocky mixed-race guy minus the hunter’s hat and leather jacket. And today he held a knife.

He stood three paces from me, his face blank of expression, the hand with the blade raised slightly.

I had enough time to register a few thoughts. How unexpected this was, after rock star Zoran Brancusi and the charming, elegant Laurent twins. This guy was nobody – a punk with a knife. I hadn’t expected this, then I realized how clever it was for my dark angel to take an everyday shape, lurk in the shadows and finally corner me without fireworks or fanfare in an underground car park, alone and helpless. I knew with total clarity that this could be the end.

My oh-so-ordinary dark angel didn’t open his mouth to gloat or deliver a victory speech. Instead, he stared at me with expressionless eyes, keeping the knife raised.

The only thing I could do was cut and run. I turned back the way I’d come, away from the Exit sign towards what I hoped was the elevator shaft. I sprinted in the dark between concrete pillars, across empty parking bays. When I didn’t hear my attacker’s footsteps coming after me, I glanced over my shoulder to see that he was in fact right there behind me. I stopped suddenly, turned and swung my bag at him. Its buckle caught the side of the face and I was shocked to see blood spurt from a cut above his eye.

It ran down his cheek and into his mouth. He touched it with his fingertips, giving me a split second to run on ahead and hope that he would lose track of me beyond the next pillar. I got my bearings, spotted the sign for the elevator, allowed myself to hope.

Then the doors opened and Macy stepped out.

‘There you are, Tania!’ she cried. ‘I’ve been up and down, up and down in the elevator trying to find you. What the hell happened to you?’

M
acy appeared and the guy with the knife ran off. White striplights came on and flooded the underground car park.

‘You look terrible. What happened?’ she asked.

I stumbled into the elevator with her. The door closed behind us and I felt the lift judder then rise. ‘I just ran into the guy who stole my phone – the one in Central Park. He had a knife.’

‘You’re sure it was the same guy?’

‘One hundred per cent.’ I still shook with fear and felt a big knot form in my stomach and threaten to rise into my throat.

‘You have a stalker!’ Macy cried, pulling me out of the elevator through the ground-floor lobby and out on to Lincoln Plaza.

‘Oh God, I feel nauseous!’

‘Take deep breaths. Is that better? OK, now quickly, Tania – call the cops!’

‘Wait. First let me speak with Orlando.’ Before I did anything else, I needed to hear his voice. But when I called his number, it went straight on to not-available-and-speak-after-the tone. ‘Orlando, it’s me,’ I said hurriedly. ‘Call me. I want you to meet me outside the Lincoln Center.’

‘Now the cops,’ Macy insisted. While I’d been trying to contact Orlando she’d had a better idea than dialling 911. ‘We get a cab to drive us to the nearest station. You tell them face to face.’

I was too shocked and confused to argue
and soon I found myself in a taxi with Macy beside me asking the driver which precinct we were in and telling him to drive us the fastest route to the cop station.

But you get nowhere fast in Central Manhattan. We hit all the red lights and got stuck behind guys riding Harleys all dressed up as Santa Claus – a phalanx of them stretched out across the street. The cab driver had seen all that city life has to offer so eight office-party Santas on motorbikes drew no reaction.

‘How far now?’ Macy demanded. She kept checking to see if I was still about to vomit or pass out. ‘Preferably the latter,’ she muttered, uncertain of the level of sympathy we’d get from our driver if I puked all over his cab.

Looking in his mirror and judging the situation on the back seat, he cut down a couple of side alleys and when he found a delivery van blocking our way he swore and blasted his horn. No one came so he gave a second blast, again without a result. He turned and told us it would be faster to get out and walk. ‘Take a left. Walk two blocks and you’re there.’