Gasping, Susan flung herself away from him at the last second. She
teetered on her heels, unable to think of how close she had come, to being
pushed off the platform. "You're insane!" she screamed at him, although
she could barely hear herself over the deafening metallic screeching of the
subway coming to a halt. "Get away from me, or I'll call the police!"
"Daughter of Eve," the old man cried, "I only want to help you. One must die in order to truly live."
Susan didn't respond to that; instead she jumped into the nearest car. There had to be people on it; surely, they would help her, protect her from this maniac...
She stumbled through the car, shaking. When she looked around, the blood drained from her face. It was almost impossible to believe, but the car, like the platform, was empty of people- except for herself, of course. I have to be dreaming, she thought dazedly. God, she had to be. She grasped a pole and clung to it. In dreams, weren't people often dressed or looking different than they did in real life? But when she glimpsed herself in a nearby window, she saw only black hair in carefully styled waves, and a scarlet mouth against a rouged and powdered face. She still looked the same. And she was still wearing her Lilli Ann of Paris coat and the full-skirted amber taffeta frock- Adele Simpson, bought at Saks- that she put on almost an hour ago. It'll be all right, Susan, she told herself, closing her eyes. If she told herself she was dreaming, then she would snap out of it. Of course, it didn't help that everything seemed so real... the pole seemed so real and substantial under her hands... but wasn't that the way it always was in dreams?
But she opened her eyes, she saw the old man standing there. The harsh florescent lights bathed his wrinkled face, casting his deep-set, gimlet- bright eyes into pits of shadow.
"Daughter of Eve," the old man cried, "I only want to help you. One must die in order to truly live."
Susan didn't respond to that; instead she jumped into the nearest car. There had to be people on it; surely, they would help her, protect her from this maniac...
She stumbled through the car, shaking. When she looked around, the blood drained from her face. It was almost impossible to believe, but the car, like the platform, was empty of people- except for herself, of course. I have to be dreaming, she thought dazedly. God, she had to be. She grasped a pole and clung to it. In dreams, weren't people often dressed or looking different than they did in real life? But when she glimpsed herself in a nearby window, she saw only black hair in carefully styled waves, and a scarlet mouth against a rouged and powdered face. She still looked the same. And she was still wearing her Lilli Ann of Paris coat and the full-skirted amber taffeta frock- Adele Simpson, bought at Saks- that she put on almost an hour ago. It'll be all right, Susan, she told herself, closing her eyes. If she told herself she was dreaming, then she would snap out of it. Of course, it didn't help that everything seemed so real... the pole seemed so real and substantial under her hands... but wasn't that the way it always was in dreams?
But she opened her eyes, she saw the old man standing there. The harsh florescent lights bathed his wrinkled face, casting his deep-set, gimlet- bright eyes into pits of shadow.
