sk.dreamcatcher-第68部分

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e　horn　beating　out　a　Morse　code　of　rage。　A　largely　emotionless　creature　and　part　of　a　largely　emotionless　species；　he　had　been　hijacked　by　his　host's　emotional　juices　…　not　just　dipping　in　them　this　time　but　bathing。　And　again　he　sensed　this　was　only　happening　because　Jonesy　was　still　there；　an　unquiet　tumor　in　what　should　have　been　a　serene　and　focused　consciousness。
　　　　Mr　Gray　hammered　on　the　wheel；　hating　this　emotional　ejaculation　…　what　Jonesy's　mind　identified　as　a　tantrum　…　but　loving　it；　too。　Loving　the　sound　of　the　horn　when　he　hit　it　with　Jonesy's　fists；　loving　the　beat　of　Jonesy's　blood　in　Jonesy's　temples；　loving　the　way　Jonesy's　heart　sped　up　and　the　sound　of　Jonesy's　hoarse　voice　crying　'You　fuckhead！　You　fuckhead！'　over　and　over　and　over。
　　　　And　even　in　the　midst　of　this　rage；　a　cold　part　of　him　realized　what　the　true　danger　was。　They　always　came；　they　always　made　the　worlds　they　visited　over　in　their　image。　It　was　the　way　things　had　always　been；　and　the　way　they　were　meant　to　be。
　　　　But　now　。　。　。
　　　　Something's　happening　to　me；　Mr　Gray　thought；　aware　even　as　the　thought　came　that　it　was　essentially　a　'Jonesy'　thought。　I'm　starting　to　be　human。
　　　　The　fact　that　the　idea　was　not　without　its　attractions　filled　Mr　Gray　with　horror。


8

Jonesy　came　out　of　a　doze　where　the　only　sound　was　the　soothing；　lulling　rhythm　of　Mr　Gray's　voice；　and　saw　that　his　hands　were　resting　on　the　locks　of　the　office　door；　ready　to　turn　the　lower　and　draw　the　bolt　on　the　upper。　The　son　of　a　bitch　was　trying　to　hypnotize　him；　and　doing　a　pretty　good　job　of　it。
　　　　'We　always　win；'　said　the　voice　on　the　other　side　of　the　door。　It　was　soothing；　which　was　nice　after　such　a　stressful　day；　but　it　was　also　vilely　placent。　The　usurper　who　would　not　rest　until　he　had　it　all　。　。　。　who　took　getting　it　all　as　a　given。　'Open　the　door；　Jonesy；　open　it　now。'
　　　　For　a　moment　he　almost　did　it；　He　was　awake　again；　but　he　almost　did　it　anyway。　Then　he　remembered　two　sounds：　the　tenebrous　creak　of　Pete's　skull　as　the　red　stuff　tightened　on　it；　and　the　wet　squittering　Janas's　eye　had　made　when　the　tip　of　the　pen　pierced　it。
　　　　Jonesy　realized　he　hadn't　been　awake　at　all；　not　really。　But　now　he　was。
　　　　Now　he　was。
　　　　Dropping　his　hands　away　from　the　lock　and　putting　his　lips　to　the　door；　he　said　'Eat　shit　and　die'　in　his　clearest　voice。　He　felt　Mr　Gray　recoil。　He　even　felt　the　pain　when　Mr　Gray　thumped　back　against　the　window；　and　why　not？　They　were　his　nerves；　after　all。　Not　to　mention　his　head。　Few　things　in　his　life　gave　him　so　much　pleasure　as　Mr　Gray's　outraged　surprise；　and　he　vaguely　realized　what　Mr　Gray　already　knew：　the　alien　presence　in　his　head　was　more　human　now。
　　　　If　you　could　e　back　as　a　physical　entity；　would　you　still　be　Mr　Gray？　Jonesy　wondered。　He　didn't　think　so。　Mr　Pink；　maybe；　but　not　Mr　Gray。
　　　　He　didn't　know　if　the　guy　would　try　his　Monsieur　Mesmer　routine　again；　but　Jonesy　decided　to　take　no　chances。　He　turned　and　went　to　the　office　window；　tripping　over　one　of　the　boxes　and　stepping　over　the　rest。　Christ；　but　his　hip　hurt。　It　was　crazy　to　feel　such　pain　when　you　were　imprisoned　in　your　own　head　（which；　Henry　had　once　assured　him；　had　no　nerves　anyway；　at　least　not　once　you　got　into　the　old　gray　matter）；　but　the　pain　was　there；　all　right。　He　had　read　that　amputees　sometimes　felt　horrible　agonies　and　unscratchable　itches　in　limbs　that　no　longer　existed；　probably　this　was　the　same　deal。
　　　　The　window　had　returned　to　a　tiresome　view　of　the　weedy；　double…rutted　driveway　which　had　run　alongside　the　Tracker　Brothers　depot　back　in　1978。　The　sky　was　white　and　overcast；　apparently　when　his　window　looked　into　the　past；　time　was　frozen　at　midafternoon。　The　only　thing　the　view　had　to　remend　it　was　that；　as　he　stood　here　taking　it　in；　Jonesy　was　as　far　from　Mr　Gray　as　he　could　possibly　get。
　　　　He　guessed　that　he　could　change　the　view；　if　he　really　wanted　to；　could　look　out　and　see　what　Mr　Gray　was　currently　seeing　with　the　eyes　of　Gary　Jones。　He　had　no　urge　to　do　that；　however。　There　was　nothing　to　look　at　but　the　snowstorm；　nothing　to　feel　but　Mr　Gray's　stolen　rage。
　　　　Think　of　something　else；　he　told　himself。
　　　　What？
　　　　I　don't　know　…　anything。　Why　not…
　　　　On　the　desk　the　telephone　rang；　and　that　was　odd　on　an　Alice　in　Wonderland　scale；　because　a　few　minutes　ago　there　had　been　no　telephone　in　this　room；　and　no　desk　for　it　to　sit　on。　The　litter　of　old　used　rubbers　had　disappeared。　The　floor　was　still　dirty；　but　the　dust　on　the　tiles　was　gone。　Apparently　there　was　some　sort　of　Janitor　inside　his　head；　a　neatnik　who　had　decided　Jonesy　was　going　to　be　here　for　awhile　and　so　the　place　ought　to　be　at　least　tolerably　clean。　He　found　the　concept　awesome；　the　implications　depressing。
　　　　On　the　desk；　the　phone　shrilled　again。　Jonesy　picked　up　the　receiver　and　said；　'Hello？'
　　　　Beaver's　voice　sent　a　sick　and　horrible　chill　down　his　back。　A　telephone　call　from　a　dead　man　…　it　was　the　stuff　of　the　movies　he　liked。　Had　liked；　anyway。
　　　　'His　head　was　off；　Jonesy。　It　was　laying　in　the　ditch　and　his　eyes　were　full　of　mud。'
　　　　There　was　a　click；　then　dead　silence。　Jonesy　hung　up　the　phone　and　walked　back　to　the　window。　The　driveway　was　gone。　Derry　was　gone。　He　was　looking　at　Hole　in　the　Wall　under　a　pale　clear　early…morning　sky。　The　roof　was　black　instead　of　green；　which　meant　this　was　Hole　in　the　Wall　as　it　had　been　before　1982；　when　the　four　of　them；　then　strapping　high…school　boys　（well；　Henry　had　never　been　what　you'd　call　strapping）；　had　helped　Beav's　Dad　put　up　the　green　shingles　the　camp　still　wore。
　　　　Only　Jonesy　needed　no　such　landmark　to　know　what　time　it　was。　No　more　than　he　needed　someone　to　tell　him　the　green　shingles　were　no　more；　Hole　in　the　Wall　was　no　more；　Henry　had　burned　it　to　the　ground。　In　a　moment　the　door　would　open　and　Beaver　would　run　out。　It　was　1978；　the　year　all　this　had　really　started；　and　in　a　moment　Beaver　would　run　out；　wearing　only　his　boxer　shorts　and　his　many…zippered　motorcycle　jacket；　the　orange　bandannas　fluttering。　It　was　1978；　they　were　young　。　。　。　and　they　had　changed。　No　more　same　shit；　different　day。　This　was　the　day　when　they　began　to　realize　just　how　much　they　had　changed。
　　　　Jonesy　stared　out　the　window；　fascinated。
　　　　The　door　opened。
　　　　Beaver　Clarendon；　age　fourteen；　ran　out。

CHAPTER　FIFTEEN

HENRY　AND　OWEN


1
　　　　
Henry　watched　Underhill　trudge　toward　him　in　the　glare　of　the　security　lights。　Underhill's　head　was　bent　against　the　snow　and　the　intensifying　wind。　Henry　opened　his　mouth　to　call　out；　but　before　he　could；　he　was　overwhelmed；　nearly　flattened；　by　a　sense　of　Jonesy。　And　then　a　memory　came；　blotting　out　Underhill　and　this　brightly　lit；　snowy　world　pletely。　All　at　once　it　was　1978　again；　not　October　but　November　and　there　was　blood；　blood　on　cattails；　broken　glass　in　marshy　water；　and　then　the　bang　of　the　door。


2

Henry　awakes　from　a　terrible　confused　dream　…　blood；　broken　glass；　the　rich　smells　of　gasoline　and　burning　rubber　…　to　the　sound　of　a　banging　door　and　a　blast　of　cold　air。　He　sits　up　and　sees　Pete　sitting　up　beside　him；　Pete's　hairless　chest　covered　with　goosebumps。　Henry　and　Pete　are　on　the　floor　in　their　sleeping…bags　because　they　lost　the　four…way　toss。　Beav　and　Jonesy　got　the　bed　Oater　there　will　be　a　third　bedroom　at　Hole　in　the　Wall；　but　now　there　are　only　two　and　Lamar　has　one　all　to　himself；　by　the　divine　right　of　adulthood）；　only　now　Jonesy　is　alone　in　the　bed；　also　sitting　up；　also　looking　confused　and　frightened。
　　　　Scooby…ooby…Doo；　where　are　you；　Henry　thinks　for　no　appreciable　reason　as　he　gropes　for　his　glasses　on　the　windowsill。　In　his　nose　he　can　still　smell　gas　and　burning　tires。　We　got　some　work　to　do　now…
　　　　'Crashed；'　Jonesy　says　thickly；　and　throws　back　the　covers。　His　chest　is　bare；　but　like　Henry　and　Pete；　he　wore　his　socks　and　longjohn　bottoms　to　bed。
　　　　'Yeah；　went　in　the　water；'　Pete　says；　his　face　suggesting　he　doesn't　have　the　slightest　idea　what　he's　talking　about。　'Henry；　you　got　his　shoe…'
　　　　'Moccasin…'Henry　says；　but　he　hasn't　any　idea　what　he's　talking　about　either。　Nor　wants　to。
　　　　'Beav；'　Jonesy　says；　and　gets　out　of　bed　in　a　clumsy　lunge。　One　of　his　stocking…clad　feet　es　down　on　Pete's　hand。
　　　　'Ow！'　Pete　cries。　'Ya　stepped　on　me；　ya　fuckin　gomer；　watch　where　you're…'
　　　　'Shut　up；　shut　up；'　Henry　says；　grabbing　Pete's　shoulder　and　giving　it　a　shake。　'Don't　wake　up　Mr　Clarendon！'
　　　　Which　would　be　easy；　because　the　door　of　the　boys'　bedroom　is　open。　So　is　the　door　on　the　far　side　of　the　big　central　room；　the　one　to　the　outside。　No　wonder　they're　cold；　there's　a　hell　of　a　draft。　Now　that　Henry　has　his　eyes　back　on　（that　is　how　he　thinks　of　it）；　he　can　see　the　dreamcatcher　out　there　dancing　in　the　cold　November　breeze　ing　in　through　the　open　door。
　　　　'Where's　Duddits？'　Jonesy　asks　in　a　dazed；　I'm…still…dreaming　voice。　'Did　he　go　out　with　Beaver？'
　　　　'He's　back　in　Derry；　foolish；'　Henry　says；　getting　up　and　pulling　on　his　thermal　undershirt。　And　he　doesn't　feel　that　Jonesy　is　foolish；　not　really；　he　also　has　a　sense　that　Duddits　was　just　here　with　them。
　　　　It　was　the　dream；　he　thinks。　Duddits　was　in　the　dream。　He　was　sitting　on　the　bank。　He　was　crying。　He　was　so。　He　didn't　mean　to。　If　　anyone　meant　to；　it　was　us。　　　　
　　　　And　there　is　still　crying。　He　can　hear　it；　ing　in　through　the　front　door；　carried　on　the　breeze。　It's　not　Duddits；　though；　it's　the　Beav。
　　　　They　leave　the　room　in　a　line；　pulling　on　scraps　of　clothes　as　they　go；　not　bothering　with　their　shoes；　which　would　take　too　long。
　　　　One　good　thing　…　judging　from　the　tin　city　of　beer…cans　on　the　kitchen　table　（plus　a　suburb　of　same　on　the　coffee…table）；　it'll　take　more　than　a　couple　of　open　doors　and　some　whispering　kids　to　wake　up　Beaver's　Dad。
　　　　The　big　granite　doorstep　is　freezing　under　Henry's　stocking　feet；　cold　in　the　deep　thoughtless　way　death　must　be　cold；　but　he　barely　notices。
　　　　He　sees　the　Beaver　right　away。　He's　at　the　foot　of　the　maple　tree　with　the　deer…stand　in　it；　on　his　knees　as　if　praying。　His　legs　and　feet　are　bare；　Henry　sees。　He's　wearing　his　motorcycle　jacket；　and　tied　up　and　down　its　arms；　fluttering　like　pirate's　finery；　are　the　orange　bandannas　his　father　made　his　son　wear　when　Beaver　in