He didn't wait for her to respond, but turned and shoved his hands in his pockets as he stalked past the crowds, glowering at anyone who came near.
A block later, the crowds were gone and the street all but deserted. He headed for the closest 'L' and climbed the steps to the platform. It was empty and he wasn't sure when the next train would come, but it didn't matter. Eventually, one would arrive.
Mark eased down to sit on the bench, holding his ribs. It was as quiet as night time in Chicago ever got. Distantly, sirens wailed, a door slammed and the ever present hum of traffic filled the air. A shudder coursed through him. With nobody around to see, he allowed the sob, stifled for so long, to escape .
Вы читаете March Into Hell
