said this with such sincerity, it actually made me feel better…for about a second.
“What happens when it’snot in your power?” I asked.
Uncle Press smiled, and said, “That won’t be for a while. Are you with me?”
They say that just before you’re about to meet your doom, your life flashes before your eyes. Surprisingly, that didn’t happen. I didn’t think of the game. I didn’t think of my family. I didn’t even think of Courtney Chetwynde. I just thought about me and Uncle Press. Here and now. I took that as a good sign. So I mustered all the bravura I could and said, “Hey, ho, let’s go.”
Uncle Press let out a laugh like I hadn’t heard from him in a long time, then turned and rushed down the stairs. As I watched him disappear into the dark hole of the subway, I did my best to pretend I wasn’t being an idiot by going along with him. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw Uncle Press standing in front of a wall of graffiti-covered plywood that blocked the entrance. The station was closed and by the looks of the old wood, it had been closed for a long time.
“Well, that’s a problem,” I said glibly. “No go, right?”
Uncle Press turned to me and with the sincerity of a sage teacher imparting golden words of wisdom, he said, “There are no problems, only challenges.”
“Well, if the challenge is to catch a subway at a station that’s closed,” I countered, “then I’d say that’s a problem.”
But not for Uncle Press. He casually reached toward the wall with one hand, grabbed one of the boards and gave it a yank. It didn’t seem as if he pulled all that hard, but instantly four huge boards pulled loose in one piece, opening up an avenue into the darkened station.
“Who said anything about catching a subway?” he said with a sly smile.
He effortlessly dropped the large section of boards on the stairs and stepped inside. I had no idea Uncle Press was that strong. I also had no idea why we were stepping into a closed subway station, at night, in the worst section of the city.
Uncle Press then poked his head back out. “Coming?”
I was half a breath away from turning, running up the stairs, and giving myself a crash course in motorcycle driving. But I didn’t. Chances are the bike was already stolen anyway. I had no choice, so I followed him.
The station had been closed for a long time. The only light came from street lamps that filtered down through grates in the sidewalk. The soft glow cast a crisscross pattern against the walls that threw the rest of the station into darkness. It took a while for my eyes to adjust, but when they did I saw a forgotten piece of history. At one time this was probably a busy station. I could make out ornate mosaic tile work on the walls that must have been beautiful when new, but was now a mess of grimy cracks that looked like a giant, dirty spiderweb. Garbage was everywhere, benches were overturned, and the glass around the token booth was shattered. In a word, it was sad.
As I stood on top of the cement stairs, the derelict station began to show signs of life. It started as a faint rumble, that slowly grew louder. The station may have been closed, but the subway trains still ran. I saw the headlight first as it beamed into the opening, lighting up the track and the walls. Then the train came-fast. There was no reason to stop at this station anymore so it rumbled through like a shot, on its way to someplace else. For a brief moment I could imagine the station as it had looked in better days. But just as quickly, the image was gone, along with the train. In an instant, the place was deathly quiet again. The only sign that the train had been through was the swirling pieces of crusty paper caught in its slipstream.
I looked to Uncle Press to see if he were appreciating this forlorn piece of old New York history the same as I was. He wasn’t. His eyes were sharp and focused. He quickly scanned the empty station looking for…something. I didn’t know what. But I definitely sensed that he had just notched up into DefCon 2. He was on full alert, and it didn’t do much to put me at ease.
“What?” was all I could think of asking.
He started quickly down the stairs. I was right after him. “Listen, Bobby,” he said quickly, as if he didn’t have much time. “If anything happens, I want you to know what to do.”
“Happens? What do you mean happens?” This didn’t sound good.
“Everything will be fine if you know what to do. We’re not here to catch a train, we’re here because this is where the gate is.”
“Gate? What gate?”
“At the end of the platform are stairs that lead down to the tracks. About thirty yards down the track, along the wall, there’s a door. It’s got a drawing on it, like a star.”
Things were going a little fast for me now. Uncle Press kept walking quickly, headed for the far end of the platform. I had to dodge around pillars and overturned garbage cans to keep up with him.
“You with me?” he asked sharply.
“Yeah,” I said. “Stairs, door, star. Why are we-”
“The door is the gate. If for some reason I’m not with you, open the door, go inside and say, ‘Denduron.’”
“Denda-what?”
“Den-du-ron. Say it!”
“Denduron. I got it. What is it, some kind of password?”
“It’ll get us where we’re going.”
Okay, could this have been anymore mysterious? Why didn’t we just say “abracadabra” or something equally stupid? I was beginning to think this was all some kind of big old joke.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked nervously. “We’re going together, right?”
“That’s the plan, but if anything-”
“Stop right there!”
Uh-oh. We weren’t alone. We both stopped short and whipped around to see…a cop. Busted. For what I’m not sure. Trespassing, I guess.
“You boys want to tell me what you’re doing down here?” The cop looked confident-no, cocky. He was a clean-cut guy, with a perfect khaki-colored uniform, a big badge, and an even bigger gun. At least it was still in its holster. Even though we were busted, I was actually kind of relieved to see him. To be honest, Uncle Press was starting to freak me out. I didn’t think he’d gone off the deep end or anything, but this adventure was getting stranger by the second. Maybe now that a cop was here, he’d have to explain things a little better. I looked up to Uncle Press, expecting him to answer the cop. I didn’t like what I saw. Uncle Press was staring the cop down. I could sense the wheels turning in his head, calculating. But what? An escape? I hoped not. The gun on the cop’s hip looked nasty. There was a long moment of silence, like a standoff, and then somebodyelse joined the party.
“Can’t you leave me in peace?”
We all shot a look over to a dark corner where a pile of garbage sat. At least it looked like a pile of garbage, until it moved and I saw that it was a homeless dude. Correction, he had a home and we were standing in it. He was a big guy, and I had no idea how old he was because all I saw was a tangle of hair and rags. He didn’t smell so good either. He pulled himself to his feet and shuffled toward us. When he spoke, it was with a kind of slurred, crazy-speak.
“Peace! That’s all I want! Little peace, little quiet!” he jabbered.
Uncle Press squared off and stood firm, glancing quickly back and forth between the cop and the homeless guy. He was thinking fast, calculating.
“I think you two better come with me,” the cop said to us calmly. He wasn’t rattled by the new arrival.
I looked to Uncle Press. He didn’t move. The homeless guy got closer.
“Castle! This ismy castle! I want you all to-”
“What?” asked Uncle Press. “What do you want us to do?” I couldn’t believe he was trying to talk to this crazy guy. Then the platform started to rumble. Another subway train was on its way.
“I want you all to go away! Leave me alone!”
For some reason this made Uncle Press smile. Now I was totally confused. Whatever he was trying to calculate, he had his answer. He turned away from the homeless guy and faced the cop.
“You don’t know this territory, do you?” he said to the cop.
Huh? What was that supposed to mean? Behind us, the light from the subway train started to leak into the station. It would be here in a few seconds.
