The Last Seat Beside the Scarred Stranger — Part 2
The Last Seat Beside the Scarred Stranger — Part 2
The subway tunnel swallowed them whole.
Chantel stumbled after Develin, her cheap sneakers slipping against the damp concrete.
The sounds of the train faded behind them.
The screaming.
The gunfire.
The shattered glass.
All of it disappeared into the darkness.
Only their footsteps remained.
Develin’s were steady.
Measured.
Almost unnaturally calm.
Chantel’s were uneven and frantic.
She could barely breathe.
Her lungs burned from trying to keep up with him.
“Slow down,” she gasped.
Develin didn’t stop.
“I can’t.”
“You absolutely can.”
He glanced over his shoulder.
She was pale, trembling, and barely keeping her balance.
For the first time, something resembling concern crossed his face.
He slowed.
Only slightly.
They continued deeper into the tunnel.
Emergency lights appeared every few dozen yards, casting weak yellow pools across the concrete. Between them was complete darkness.
Chantel hated the darkness.
Every shadow looked like another attacker.
Every distant noise made her flinch.
Then her foot caught on a thick cable.
She pitched forward.
Develin caught her wrist before she hit the ground.
The sudden force nearly pulled her shoulder out of its socket.
“Ouch!”
He released her immediately.
“Are you hurt?”
“My shoulder.”
He looked at it.
Then at her.
“Can you move it?”
Chantel rotated her arm cautiously.
“Yes.”
“Then keep moving.”
She stared at him.
“You really need to work on your bedside manner.”
“This isn’t a bedside.”
“You know what I mean.”
He said nothing.
Chantel limped beside him.
After another hundred yards, she finally couldn’t take it anymore.
She stopped.
Develin continued for several steps before realizing she wasn’t behind him.
He turned.
Chantel was bent over, hands on her knees.
“I can’t.”
His jaw tightened.
“We don’t have time.”
“I know.”
She looked up at him.
“But I literally can’t.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Develin walked back.
He crouched in front of her.
“Get on.”
Chantel blinked.
“What?”
“Your legs are failing.”
“You want me to ride on your back?”
“Yes.”
She stared at the massive man in front of her.
Five minutes ago, he’d shot his way through a train full of armed attackers.
Now he was offering her a piggyback ride.
This night had officially become insane.
“I’m not getting on your back.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know you.”
“You know enough.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
For the first time, the corner of his mouth moved.
Barely.
Almost a smile.
“You sat beside me before knowing anything.”
“That was before the shooting.”
“Fair.”
Chantel looked back toward the tunnel they’d come from.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No voices.
But she knew that could change at any second.
Reluctantly, she stepped forward.
Develin turned around.
“Hold on.”
Chantel wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
He stood effortlessly, lifting her as though she weighed nothing.
She immediately felt embarrassed.
“This is humiliating.”
“You’re alive.”
“That’s a very low standard.”
“It’s the only one that matters tonight.”
He started walking.
For several minutes, Chantel said nothing.
His body was warm despite the cold tunnel.
She could feel the controlled rhythm of his breathing.
Eventually, exhaustion began dragging her toward sleep.
Then she heard something.
A faint metallic scrape.
Chantel’s eyes opened.
“Develin.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“I heard something.”
His entire body went still.
He slowly lowered her to the ground.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You don’t get to tell me to stay here after dragging me through a murder tunnel.”
“Stay.”
He disappeared into the darkness.
Chantel’s heart pounded.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then she heard footsteps.
Not Develin’s.
Several pairs.
Coming from behind them.
Her blood ran cold.
“Develin!”
No answer.
The footsteps grew louder.
Chantel looked around desperately.
There was nowhere to hide.
Then a hand covered her mouth.
She screamed into it.
A voice whispered against her ear.
“Don’t.”
Chantel recognized the voice.
Develin.
He pulled her backward into a narrow maintenance alcove and pressed one finger against his lips.
Three men appeared in the tunnel.
They carried flashlights.
They were searching.
Chantel’s heart hammered so loudly she was certain they could hear it.
One of the men stopped.
“Murphy’s heading east.”
Another voice answered.
“Then we cut him off at the junction.”
“What’s with the woman?”
A pause.
“The waitress?”
“Yeah.”
“They saw her on the cameras. She was sitting beside him.”
“Lucian wants her alive.”
Chantel’s eyes widened.
Alive.
They wanted her alive.
That somehow frightened her more.
The men continued past.
Their footsteps slowly disappeared.
Develin waited.
Then he leaned close.
“You’re going to have to trust me.”
Chantel glared at him.
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because you don’t have another option.”
He took her hand.
This time, his grip wasn’t painful.
He led her through the maintenance passage.
They emerged into an abandoned service room.
There was an old metal door on the far wall.
Develin pulled out a key.
Chantel stared.
“You have a key?”
“I plan ahead.”
The door opened.
Beyond it was a small underground maintenance office.
It looked abandoned for years.
Dust covered the desks.
An old fluorescent light flickered overhead.
Develin entered and locked the door behind them.
For the first time since the shooting, Chantel felt relatively safe.
She sank onto the floor.
Develin immediately noticed the blood on her jeans.
He crouched.
“That’s not yours.”
Chantel looked down.
The wetness she’d felt earlier.
She had been sitting in someone else’s blood.
Her stomach turned.
She covered her mouth.
Develin stood.
“Don’t look.”
“I’m going to throw up.”
“Then turn away.”
She did.
A moment later, she heard a metal cabinet opening.
Develin returned with a first-aid kit.
He crouched in front of her.
“Your knee.”
“It’s fine.”
“Let me see.”
She hesitated.
Then slowly pulled up her jeans.
There was a shallow cut across her knee.
Develin cleaned it with surprising gentleness.
Chantel watched him.
“You don’t seem like the first-aid type.”
“I have experience.”
“Of course you do.”
Silence.
Then Chantel noticed something.
His hand was bleeding.
“You’ve been shot.”
He looked down.
A thin line of blood ran along his forearm.
“It’s a graze.”
“That’s still a gunshot.”
“I’m aware.”
“You need to clean it.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That doesn’t mean you should ignore it.”
He looked at her.
She stared back.
Neither moved.
Finally, Develin handed her the antiseptic.
“Fine.”
Chantel blinked.
“You want me to do it?”
“Apparently you’re very concerned.”
She took his arm.
Her fingers were still trembling.
She carefully cleaned the wound.
Develin didn’t flinch.
“You know,” she whispered, “most people would be freaking out right now.”
“You are freaking out.”
“I mean more.”
He almost smiled again.
Then his phone vibrated.
The expression vanished.
He checked the screen.
His face hardened.
“What?”
Chantel asked.
“Nothing.”
“That was definitely not a nothing face.”
He ignored her.
He typed a message.
Then another.
His phone vibrated again.
This time, he answered.
“Talk.”
A man’s voice came through the speaker.
Chantel couldn’t make out every word.
But she heard one name.
“Lucian.”
Develin’s eyes became ice.
“How many?”
A pause.
“Six confirmed.”
Another pause.
“And the police?”
Develin listened.
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t let them reach the station.”
He ended the call.
Chantel stared at him.
“What’s happening?”
He didn’t answer.
“Develin.”
He looked at her.
“They know where we are.”
Her stomach dropped.
“How?”
“Someone is feeding them our location.”
“Your men?”
“Maybe.”
“Then who can you trust?”
He stared at her for a long moment.
“No one.”
Chantel swallowed.
“Not even me?”
Develin’s eyes narrowed.
“Especially not you.”
Her expression fell.
“Right.”
She looked away.
For some reason, that hurt more than it should have.
Then Develin said something unexpected.
“Because I don’t know you.”
Chantel looked back.
His voice was quieter now.
“I don’t know why you sat beside me.”
“I told you.”
“Your feet hurt.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
He studied her face.
“You weren’t sent?”
“No.”
“You don’t work for Lucian?”
“I don’t even know who Lucian is.”
“You’ve never heard the name?”
“No.”
Develin leaned back against the wall.
For the first time, Chantel saw something behind the cold expression.
Fatigue.
Not physical.
Something deeper.
The exhaustion of a man who had spent years watching everyone around him become a potential enemy.
“Who is Lucian?” she asked.
Develin was silent.
Then he said:
“The man who has been trying to kill me for three years.”
A distant metallic clang echoed through the tunnel.
Both of them froze.
Another clang.
Closer.
Develin stood immediately.
He checked his weapon.
Chantel’s breathing stopped.
Someone was outside.
A shadow moved beneath the door.
Then came a voice.
“Murphy.”
Develin raised his gun.
The voice continued.
“We know you’re in there.”
Chantel stared at Develin.
He placed himself between her and the door.
Then the handle began to turn.
Slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Develin whispered:
“When that door opens, stay behind me.”
Chantel nodded.
The lock suddenly snapped.
The door burst inward.
And a man’s voice shouted—
“Kill Murphy!”
Develin raised his gun.
The room exploded into chaos.
