dk.solesurvivor-第15部分

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e　eyes　of　the　last　corpse　that　he　had　seen　on　a　morgue　gurney；　the　night　he　walked　away　from　crime　reporting　forever。
　　When　he　drove　out　of　the　bank　lot；　he　saw　that　the　assistant　manager　was　standing　beyond　the　glass　doors；　all　but　hidden　by　the　reflected　bronze　glare　of　the　westering　sun。　Maybe　he　was　storing　away　a　description　of　the　Honda　and　memorizing　the　license…plate　number。　Or　maybe　he　was　just　locking　the　doors。
　　The　metropolis　shimmered　under　the　blind　blue　stare　of　the　dead　sky。
　　
　　Passing　a　small　neighbourhood　shopping　centre；　from　across　three　lanes　of　traffic；　Joe　saw　a　woman　with　long　auburn　hair　stepping　out　of　a　Ford　Explorer。　She　was　parked　in　front　of　a　convenience　store。　From　the　passenger　side　jumped　a　little　girl　with　a　cap　of　tousled　blond　hair。　Their　faces　were　hidden　from　him。
　　Joe　angled　recklessly　across　traffic；　nearly　colliding　with　an　elderly　man　in　a　grey　Mercedes。　At　the　intersection；　as　the　light　turned　from　yellow　to　red；　he　made　an　illegal　U…turn。
　　He　already　regretted　what　he　was　about　to　do。　But　he　could　no　more　stop　himself　than　he　could　hasten　the　day's　end　by　manding　the　sun　to　set。　He　was　in　the　grip　of　a　bizarre　pulsion。
　　
　　Shaken　by　his　lack　of　self…control；　he　parked　near　the　woman's　Ford　Explorer。　He　got　out　of　the　Honda。　His　legs　were　weak。
　　He　stood　staring　at　the　convenience　store。　The　woman　and　the　child　were　in　there；　but　he　couldn't　see　them　for　the　posters　and　merchandise　displays　in　the　big　windows。
　　He　turned　away　from　the　store　and　leaned　against　the　Honda；　trying　to　pose　himself。
　　After　the　crash　in　Colorado；　Beth　McKay　had　referred　him　to　a　group　called　The　passionate　Friends；　a　nationwide　organization　for　people　who　had　lost　children。　Beth　was　slowly　finding　her　way　to　acceptance　through　passionate　Friends　in　Virginia；　so　Joe　went　to　a　few　meetings　of　a　local　chapter；　but　he　soon　stopped　attending。　In　that　regard；　he　was　like　most　other　men　in　his　situation；　bereaved　mothers　went　to　the　meetings　faithfully　and　found　fort　in　talking　with　others　whose　children　had　been　taken；　but　nearly　all　the　fathers　turned　inward　and　held　their　pain　close。　Joe　wanted　to　be　one　of　the　few　who　could　find　salvation　by　reaching　out；　but　male　biology　or　psychology…or　pure　stubbornness　or　self…pity…kept　him　aloof；　alone。
　　At　least；　from　passionate　Friends；　he　had　discovered　that　this　bizarre　pulsion；　by　which　he　was　now　seized；　was　not　unique　to　him。　It　was　so　mon　they　had　a　name　for　it：　searching　behaviour。
　　Everybody　who　lost　a　loved　one　engaged　in　a　degree　of　searching　behaviour；　although　it　was　more　intense　for　those　who　lost　children。　Some　grievers　suffered　it　worse　than　others。　Joe　had　it　bad。
　　Intellectually；　he　could　accept　that　the　dead　were　gone　forever。　Emotionally；　on　a　primal　level；　he　remained　convinced　that　he　would　see　them　again。　At　times　he　expected　his　wife　and　daughters　to　walk　through　a　door　or　to　be　on　the　phone　when　it　rang。　Driving；　he　was　occasionally　overe　by　the　certainty　that　Chrissie　and　Nina　were　behind　him　in　the　car；　and　he　turned；　breathless　with　excitement；　more　shocked　by　the　emptiness　of　the　backseat　than　he　would　have　been　to　find　that　the　girls　were　indeed　alive　again　and　with　him。
　　Sometimes　he　saw　them　on　a　street。　On　a　playground。　In　a　park。　On　the　beach。　They　were　always　at　a　distance；　walking　away　from　him。　Sometimes　he　let　them　go；　but　sometimes　he　was　pelled　to　follow；　to　see　their　faces；　to　say；　'Wait　for　me；　wait；　I'm　ing　with　you。'
　　Now　he　turned　away　from　the　Honda。　He　went　to　the　entrance　of　the　convenience　store。
　　
　　Opening　the　door；　he　hesitated。　He　was　torturing　himself。　The　inevitable　emotional　implosion　that　would　ensue　when　this　woman　and　child　proved　not　to　be　Michelle　and　Nina　would　be　like　taking　a　hammer　to　his　own　heart。
　　The　events　of　the　day…the　encounter　with　Rose　Tucker　at　the　cemetery；　her　words　to　him；　the　shocking　message　waiting　for　him　at　the　Post…had　been　so　extraordinary　that　he　discovered　a　gut…deep　faith　in　uncanny　possibilities　that　surprised　him。　If　Rose　could　fall　more　than　four　miles；　smash　unchecked　into　Colorado　rock；　and　walk　away　。。。　Unreason　overruled　facts　and　logic。　A　brief；　sweet　madness　stripped　off　the　armour　of　indifference　in　which　he'd　clothed　himself　with　so　much　struggle　and　determination；　and　into　his　heart　surged　something　like　hope。
　　He　went　into　the　store。
　　The　cashier's　counter　was　to　his　left。　A　pretty　Korean　woman　in　her　thirties　was　clipping　packages　of　Slim　Jim　sausages　to　a　wire　display　rack。　She　smiled　and　nodded。
　　A　Korean　man；　perhaps　her　husband；　was　at　the　cash　register。　He　greeted　Joe　with　a　ment　about　the　heat。
　　Ignoring　them；　Joe　passed　the　first　of　four　aisles；　then　the　second。　He　saw　the　auburn…haired　woman　and　the　child　at　the　end　of　the　third　aisle。
　　They　were　standing　at　a　cooler　full　of　soft　drinks；　their　backs　to　him。　He　stood　for　a　moment　at　the　head　of　the　aisle；　waiting　for　them　to　turn　toward　him。
　　The　woman　was　in　white　ankle…tie　sandals；　white　cotton　slacks；　and　a　time…green　blouse。　Michelle　had　owned　similar　sandals；　similar　slacks。　Not　the　blouse。　Not　the　blouse；　that　he　could　recall。
　　The　little　girl；　Nina's　age；　Nina's　size；　was　in　white　sandals　like　her　mother's；　pink　shorts；　and　a　white　T…shirt。　She　stood　with　her　head　cocked　to　one　side；　swinging　her　slender　arms；　the　way　Nina　sometimes　stood。
　　Nine…ah；　neen…ah；　have　you　seen　her。
　　Joe　was　halfway　down　the　aisle　before　he　realized　that　he　was　on　the　move。
　　He　heard　the　little　girl　say；　'Please；　root　beer；　please？'
　　Then　he　heard　himself　say；　'Nina；'　because　Nina's　favourite　drink　had　been　root　beer。　'Nina？　Michelle？'
　　The　woman　and　the　child　turned　to　him。　They　were　not　Nina　and　Michelle。
　　He　had　known　they　would　not　be　the　woman　and　the　girl　whom　he　had　loved。　He　was　operating　not　on　reason　but　on　a　demented　impulse　of　the　heart。　He　had　known；　had　known。　Yet　when　he　saw　they　were　strangers；　he　felt　as　though　he　had　been　punched　in　the　chest。
　　Stupidly；　he　said；　'You。　。　。　I　thought。。　。　standing　there。。。'
　　'Yes？'　the　woman　said；　puzzled　and　wary。
　　'Don't　。。。　don't　let　her　go；'　he　told　the　mother；　surprised　by　the　hoarseness　of　his　own　voice。　'Don't　let　her　go；　out　of　your　sight；　on　her　own；　they　vanish；　they're　gone；　unless　you　keep　them　close。'
　　Alarm　flickered　across　the　woman's　face。
　　With　the　innocent　honesty　of　a　four…year…old；　piping　up　in　a　concerned　and　helpful　tone；　the　little　girl　said；　'Mister；　you　need　to　buy　some　soap。　You　sure　smell。　The　soap's　over　that　way；　I'll　show　you。'
　　The　mother　quickly　took　her　daughter's　hand；　pulled　her　close。　Joe　realized　that　he　must；　indeed；　smell。　He　had　been　on　the　beach　in　the　sun　for　a　couple　of　hours；　and　later　in　the　cemetery；　and　more　than　once　he'd　broken　into　a　sweat　of　fear。　He'd　had　nothing　to　eat　during　the　day；　so　his　breath　must　be　sour　with　the　beer　that　he　had　drunk　at　the　shore。
　　'Thank　you；　sweetheart；'　he　said。　'You're　right。　I　smell。　I　better　get　some　soap。'
　　Behind　him；　someone　said；　'Everything　all　right？'
　　Joe　turned　and　saw　the　Korean　proprietor。　The　man's　previously　placid　face　was　now　carved　by　worry。
　　'I　thought　they　were　people　I　knew；'　Joe　explained。　'People　I　knew。　。　。　once。'
　　He　realized　that　he　had　left　the　apartment　this　morning　without　shaving。　Stubbled；　greasy　with　stale　sweat；　rumpled；　breath　sour　and　beery；　eyes　wild　with　blasted　hope；　he　must　be　a　daunting　sight。　Now　he　better　understood　the　attitude　of　the　people　at　the　bank。
　　'Everything　all　right？'　the　proprietor　asked　the　woman。
　　She　was　uncertain。　'I　guess　so。'
　　'I'm　going；'　Joe　said。　He　felt　as　if　his　internal　organs　were　slip…sliding　into　new　positions；　his　stomach　rising　and　his　heart　dropping　down　into　the　pit　of　him。　'It's　okay；　okay；　just　a　mistake；　I'm　going。'
　　He　stepped　past　the　owner　and　went　quickly　to　the　front　of　the　store。
　　As　he　headed　past　the　cashier's　counter　toward　the　door；　the　Korean　woman　worriedly　said；　'Everything　all　right？'
　　'Nothing；　nothing；'　Joe　said；　and　he　hurried　outside　into　the　sedimentary　heat　of　the　settling　day。
　　When　he　got　into　the　Honda；　he　saw　the　manila　envelope　on　the　passenger's　seat。　He　had　left　twenty　thousand　dollars　unattended　in　an　unlocked　car。　Although　there　had　been　no　miracle　in　the　convenience　store；　it　was　a　miracle　that　the　money　was　still　here。
　　Tortured　by　severe　stomach　cramps；　with　a　tightness　in　his　chest　that　restricted　his　breathing；　Joe　wasn't　confident　of　his　ability　to　drive　with　adequate　attention　to　traffic。　But　he　didn't　want　the　woman　to　think　that　he　was　waiting　for　her；　stalking　her。　He　started　the　Honda　and　left　the　shopping　centre。
　　Switching　on　the　air　conditioning；　tilting　the　vents　toward　his　face；　he　struggled　for　breath；　as　if　his　lungs　had　collapsed　and　he　was　striving　to　re…inflate　them　with　sheer　willpower。　What　air　he　was　able　to　inhale　was　heavy　inside　him；　like　a　scalding　liquid。
　　This　was　something　else　that　he　had　learned　from　passionate　Friends　meetings：　For　most　of　those　who　lost　children；　not　just　for　him；　the　pain　was　at　times　physical；　stunning。
　　Wounded；　he　drove　half　hunched　over　the　steering　wheel；　wheezing　like　an　asthmatic。
　　He　thought　of　the　angry　vow　that　he　had　made　to　destroy　those　who　might　be　to　blame　for　the　fate　of　Flight　353；　and　he　laughed　briefly；　sourly；　at　his　foolishness；　at　the　unlikely　image　of　himself　as　an　unstoppable　engine　of　vengeance。　He　was　walking　wreckage。　Dangerous　to　no　one。
　　If　he　learned　what　had　really　happened　to　that　747；　if　treachery　was　indeed　involved；　and　if　he　discovered　who　was　responsible；　the　perpetrators　would　kill　him　before　he　could　lift　a　hand　against　them。　They　were　powerful；　with　apparently　vast　resources。　He　had　no　chance　of　bringing　them　to　justice。
　　Nevertheless；　he'd　keep　trying。　The　choice　to　turn　away　from　the　hunt　was　not　his　to　make。　pulsion　drove　him。　Searching　behaviour。
　　　
　　At　a　K…Mart；　Joe　purchased　an　electric　razor　and　a　bottle　of　aftershave。　He　bought　a　toothbrush；　toothpaste；　and　toiletries。
　　The　glare　of　the　fluorescent　lights　cut　at　his　eyes。　One　wheel　on　his　shopping　cart　wobbled　noisily；　louder　in