The Voice, by Paul Fitzgerald and Elizabeth Gould
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- 35 -
"Quick, or you'll miss your chance." He beckoned, face
pressed against the glass.
I couldn't help grimace as the other passengers stared.
It was against my instincts to leave the car, let alone
leave it with a strange little man. Juicy John was obviously
deranged, leaving a subway car in the middle of a dark
tunnel, especially after he'd just come so close to being
killed. But there was something in those dark little eyes
that said, you'd better listen to me, and after a moment of
not-so-profound meditation I politely moved through the
passengers and in an instant, found myself on the train's
boiler plated platform.
"Now what do we do?" I asked as I stood on the platform
staring into the darkness, looking for the short little man
with the oval face.
"Quick as a spark. Jump into the dark!" The voice said
from somewhere beyond the train.
It had been instinct-pulling the little man back from the
oncoming train. Now it was instinct again-jumping into the
"Where are you?" I yelled as I groped around in the dark
gritty tunnel, barely able to discern the outline of the
rails against the distant signal lights.
"Quick. This way!" The voice called as I suddenly felt
myself being pulled to my feet and tugged up the tracks.
"We've got to go before they find us."
"Isn't that the point?" I asked, as I turned and saw the
flicker of flashlights from down the tunnel.
"That is decidedly not the point," Juicy John said as he
forcefully pulled me in the opposite direction away from the
train and up the tracks.