“Because she never tried to find out what happened to me,” he said, whispering this time. Now he did cry. Pressing a thumb and forefinger to his eyes, he heaved softly and wept for the first time in years. Eventually, his left hand found the knob to the lower desk drawer. There was a bottle in there, probably two. He wouldn’t drink all day in the office, but he needed to start. Now.
CHAPTER 25
Wednesday, July 13, 1977
West Seventy-Ninth Street and the Hudson River
Upper West Side, Manhattan
10:28 p.m.
A few cars moving from West Seventy-Ninth Street through the traffic circle provided a brief view of the path ahead, but it also shrank their pupils and dimmed their night vision. Then the traffic petered out and disappeared altogether. They were about to enter a short tunnel at the edge of the circle that went under the parkway and then east along Seventy-Ninth Street. In front of them was blackness; not even the other end was visible in the gloom.
Joe’s stomach felt fluttery. Before the move, their house was on a rundown street in Danbury, Connecticut. It was dark at night, but there were house lights on all the time and tall streetlamps every half block or so. Neither boy had done much camping, so a complete absence of light was scary to begin with. This was much more ominous, though. Grown-up places, Joe knew instinctively, places with lots of people and big cities especially, shouldn’t be so dark. Darkness like that wasn’t natural. It only hid bad things.
Robbie clicked the lighter on, and a warm cone of light leaped up the curved wall of the tunnel. Mostly it illuminated graffiti—dirty words and other letters that Joe couldn’t make out in a dozen spray-paint colors.
“Let’s walk in the street,” Robbie said, letting the lighter go dark. “I can click it on every few seconds, maybe.”
“I can’t see the other side,” Joe said, his voice rising with fright. “Even with the flame, I can’t see more than a little bit in front of us.”
“Those cars up there,” Robbie said, although the passing cars up the hill on Broadway weren’t visible from inside the tunnel, “that’s what we’re aiming for.”
“I can’t see them!”
“Ugh, it’s because there’s a hill that goes up. Just walk straight, okay? We’ll be out in like thirty seconds.” They began to move forward, Joe close behind his brother. The air was hot, still, and fetid. Inside the tunnel it smelled mostly like pee, but there was a dankness underneath, like wet earth. They heard the rumble of vehicles passing overhead every few seconds. Robbie clicked the lighter on, and more garish graffiti appeared along the scarred barrel of the tunnel. Then there was a sound, a moan or a grunt, followed by a cough. Robbie lifted the lighter higher, then squealed and it clicked off, leaving them in blackness.
“Ow, my thumb!” Robbie said. “I can’t keep it lit like that!”
“What’s going on?” Joe asked, his heart in his throat. “I heard something.”
Another few coughs echoed in the gloom.
“Hey! Who’s there?!”
The voice was gravelly and deep. Joe felt his penis shrivel. He grabbed Robbie by the arm, and they both stood still. Joe stared straight ahead at nothing, praying for the glow of headlights, but none came.
“Who’s there?!” It came out “hoo-ZARE,” and the last word was a throaty scream. More hacking and phlegmy coughs were punctuated by a mumbled curse that Joe couldn’t make out. The voice was closer now. Robbie took a step backward and almost tripped over Joe. Neither boy dared make a sound. Then there was a bad smell. The whole place smelled bad, but this was a distinctive fug—the clinging, almost food-like smell of body odor. Now there were shuffling and scraping sounds as the stranger moved along the pavement toward them.
“WHO IS IT, GODDA—” The words devolved into throaty spasms, hacking, cursing, and coughing. There was a hock-spit sound, and Joe ducked as if expecting to be struck by saliva. The person was close to them now, his breathing audible.
“Run!” Robbie said. “Run!”
“Which way?!” Joe cried as his brother pulled away from him.
“Away from him! Just go!”
Too afraid to cry, Joe bolted forward in the dark toward the sound of Robbie’s voice. There was a terrible moment when he felt hot skin, like a hand or an arm, reaching out to grab him. The smell was sickening. He heard footfalls and Robbie cursing up ahead. Then there was a thump. Robbie must have struck the wall on the left side.
Joe staggered on. His eyes had adjusted, and he could see a few things outside the tunnel. There were spots of yellow and orange—candles in windows up high—and the dim outline of the buildings. They still seemed very far away. Behind him, the person in the tunnel sounded like he was throwing up. Echoes of it punched through the hot air.