The Animal Hour by Andrew Klavan

businessman lowered his newspaper, stared at her. A broad black in jeans squared, as if to stop her.
    She barreled toward them. “Watch out!” she cried. “I’ve got a gun.”
    The black guy hesitated and she was past him. Cornering onto the platform. Out of sight of the cops. Running along the platform’s edge, her flats skirting the yellow line at the brink of it. There were the tracks below—the empty tracks.
    No train.
    She was sobbing with exhaustion now. Stumbling on in despair.
    No train.
    There was no train coming. She could see up the tracks. And there was no place left to run. The concrete platform ended up ahead. She thrashed her way toward it. She wove out over the tracks, wove back toward the filthy yellow tiles of the wall. Ahead of her, frightened faces turned, whitened by the low fluorescents. Behind her, new cries: The cops had rounded the corner. They were coming after her. Their shouts were right at her shoulder.
    â€œStop!”
    â€œYou’re under arrest!”
    â€œI’m gonna shoot, sister, put ’em up!”
    And she was trapped. Out of room. The platform ended two steps ahead. A metal ladder led down from it onto the tracks and the tracks curved on and out of sight into the unknowable dark.
    She flailed toward the edge. Toward a white sign that hung askew where the station wall ended: “All persons forbidden to enter or cross tracks.” The red letters blended together as she started to cry, as the tears streamed down her cheeks.
    Turn around. Just tell them. Don’t shoot. I’m just scared. Just a scared little button.
    She was finished. She stopped, her chest heaving painfully. She turned and stumbled backward a few steps toward the brink. Her shoulders sagged. Her breath honked in and out of her. She peered through her tears. It was all a blur. Dragon-toothed lights. Featureless faces. And the four cops like shadowy blue goblins. Big, unfocused blue creatures pulsing toward her. They moved more cautiously now—now that she was cornered. They walked—quickly—their free hands raised, their guns leveled at her.
    Jesus Christ. They are going to put me away , she thought. It was true. They would think she was nuts. They would put her in a hospital, in a room, in a white room. Just her and the walls. And the voice inside her head …
    The Animal Hour. That’s when he dies. You have to be there.
    They would call her mother. Her mother would come to visit her. She would sit beside her and call her name and cry. But Nancy would only hear …
    Eight o’clock.
    The voices. She would be alone in a padded room with voices.
    You have to be there.
    The cops were only a few steps away from her now. Two of them were coming on ahead of the others, a man cop and a woman. They had their guns leveled at her. They had their hands raised toward her to keep her steady.
    â€œEasy now, Miss, easy,” the woman cop said.
    She gazed at them wearily, panting and crying. They were going to put her away and …
    You have to be there! The Animal Hour! He’s going to die!
    â€œI have to,” she whispered. “I have to be there.”
    She swung around suddenly. The shouts flared behind her. She crouched down …
    â€œHey!”
    â€œWait!”
    â€œStop!”
    She grabbed hold of the top of the ladder. With a single motion, she swung herself over the platform’s edge. Out, into the darkness. Down, onto the tracks.
    She stumbled. Straightened. Ran.

    A blonde came toward him from the corner of Sixth. He had just left Nana’s to head for the mews. The blonde was beautiful, a student with books propped against her middle. The sight of her broke Perkins’s chain of thought.
    He watched her as she approached, as he approached her. She was tall and broad. Athletic-looking in a red down vest and jeans. Her skin was white but her cheeks were pink with sun. She glanced at Perkins as she passed. He glanced after her