Dark Angel 03: Broken Dream by Eden Maguire Read Free Book Online Page B

there in a different context: what’s to like?
    Unfortunately, Orlando and I hit the rush hour. We stood for ages on the platform, shuffling forward and finding that the doors slid closed on us just as we were about to step into the train. This happened twice.
    ‘Let’s go back up, take a cab,’ I suggested.
    Orlando shook his head. ‘We’ll get on the next train, no problem,’ he assured me.
    The next train rattled by without even stopping.
    ‘Or we could walk,’ I said. This is a rabbit warren. Crazy people throw themselves on to the tracks.
    ‘We’ll definitely make it on to the next one,’ he promised.
    A train appeared and shuddered to a halt. Passengers stepped out then we were carried forward in an impatient, jostling surge. We found standing room inside the coach. The doors closed and the train slid, clicked, rattled onward.
    We were far from the surface, hurtling through a tunnel. There were hundred-storey tower blocks bearing down on us, the ground above our heads was a honeycomb of sewage systems and air vents as well as these snaking subway tunnels and cavernous stations. And bear in mind that the engineering of these subway trains is almost a hundred years old. Shake, rattle, roll.
    When our train slowed down between stations, fellow passengers didn’t even look up. When it ground to a halt and the lights began to flicker, a couple of people groaned at the delay.
    Then the lights went out. We were in total darkness.
    I feel the crushing weight of the earth above. I’m trapped .
    The ground around me heaves with subterranean life. Pale, bloodless beings writhe, neither animal nor human. Their faces are white, the place where their eyes should be are dark holes. They surround me .
    I struggle to get away but I can’t move. It’s the weight of the crumbling black earth. My ribs are crushed .
    What are these silent creatures with empty eye sockets and open, wailing mouths? How long have they been in the earth?
    And I recall the three words that accompany my dark angel wherever he goes – death, darkness, suffering .
    Machines cut through rock, men without safety helmets hack out a tunnel, lay down mile after mile of steel rails, die when the roof collapses. They look up in terror as the rock shifts and splits. Boulders thud down from above. They smash skulls and crush ribs. All is darkness .
    I’m pressed down, there is soil in my eyes, my mouth, my nose. I am buried alive .
    The train lost power for thirty seconds – no more. When the lights came back on, Orlando took one look at me and knew he had to get me off the train. ‘Next station,’ he promised. ‘Can you hang on until then?’
    I could only nod and close my eyes. I heard the click of the wheels on the tracks, felt the coach jerk forward. My skin ran with cold sweat.

    I have no recollection of how Orlando got me off the train and out of the station, up in the elevator on to the street.
    ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Look, Tania, everything is OK.’
    The streets were lit up for Christmas, frost sparkled on the sidewalks. There was a happy Friday night buzz in the air.
    But everything wasn’t OK.
    ‘He’s back,’ I told Orlando.
    He walked me across the street, out of my nightmare.
    ‘He’s inside my head.’
    There was no longer any doubt in my mind – my dark angel had followed me to New York.

4
    W ho needs words when body language tells you all you need to know?
    The moment I made my dark angel confession, Orlando held back from physical contact, walking towards our hotel with his head down, hands in pockets.
    Meanwhile, I was under a dark shadow, fearing the swoop of eagle wings, the jaws of the wolf man.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ I sighed when we reached the safety of our room. ‘This is the last thing I wanted to happen.’
    To be pursued across the country because I was born psychic, to feel that my battle with dark angels would never end.
    Orlando shook his head and went to the window to stare down at the parked cars, the