American Horror Story: Subway Terror

The Texas sun always carried a raw, unrestrained intensity, spilling over Houston's streets like molten gold.

The oaks beside Sixth Avenue spread their dense canopies, scattered flecks of sunlight dancing across the smooth asphalt and weaving with the endless traffic into a moving tapestry of light and shadow.

Red pickups drove alongside gleaming sports cars. Strains of country music occasionally drifted from their windows, mingling with the scent of lattes from roadside cafés and wafting past pedestrians sporting cowboy hats.

Li Dan leaned back in the passenger seat of the police car, his fingertips tracing the window glass absently and leaving a faint streak of moisture.

The bustling scene outside looked slightly unreal to him, like air distorted by the blazing sun.

"Mr. Li, the stretch of subway where the attacks happened is just ahead."

The driver was a young officer named Tommy. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his fingers had gone slightly white around the steering wheel. He glanced at the Asian man in the passenger seat, barely concealed awe and unease in his eyes.

Li Dan murmured an acknowledgment, looking at the subway sign passing outside. It was a blue metal sign, its "METRO" lettering slightly faded by the sun. An arrow beneath it pointed toward the underground entrance, a silent mouth swallowing the passing crowds.

The police car stopped at the curb, directly across from the subway entrance to Houston Central Station.

Even in the afternoon, people still streamed in and out. Office workers in suits hurried along, students with backpacks jostled one another as they rushed into the entrance, and mothers pushing strollers paused to wait in front of the escalator.

Tommy switched off the engine and rubbed his hands against his thighs. His voice sounded a little dry. "The chief is waiting inside. He...