The Bloodline of Boston and the Secrets Hidden Beneath Sullivan Diner
The platform was empty, the green tiles stained with dirt.
“There she is!” a voice shouted from the top of the stairs.
I looked back and saw the man in the dark coat.
He was pointing a silver pistol at me.
I ducked behind a thick concrete pillar.
A bullet chipped the corner of the pillar, sending a shower of gray dust into the air.
I held my breath, clutching the infants close.
The train roared into the station, its headlight blinding me for a second.
The screech of the brakes was deafening.
I had to make a choice.
If I boarded the train, they would trap me inside.
If I stayed here, they would shoot.
I noticed a small wooden door marked *Employees Only* just a few feet away.
The lock was rusted.
I threw my shoulder against the wood.
It gave way with a loud crack, and I stumbled into a pitch-black maintenance corridor.
I closed the door gently behind me, pulling it shut until the latch clicked.
I stood in the darkness, listening.
The train doors opened and closed on the other side of the wall.