sk.dreamcatcher-第75部分

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　　　　Goodbye　annoying　human　thoughts。　Goodbye　distracting　and　disturbing　human　emotions。
　　　　Goodbye　Jonesy。
　　　　'Mr　Gray；　are　you　trying　to　smoke　me　out？'　
　　　　Still　no　answer。　Jonesy　didn't　need　one。　Mr　Gray　had　access　to　all　the　controls；　didn't　he？　Including　the　ones　that　controlled　his　temperature。　How　high　had　he　pushed　it？　Jonesy　didn't　know；　but　he　knew　it　was　still　going　up。　The　band　around　his　chest　was　hotter　and　heavier　than　ever；　and　he　could　hardly　breathe。　His　temples　were　pounding。
　　　　The　window。　What　about　the　window？
　　　　Feeling　a　burst　of　hope；　Jonesy　turned　in　that　direction；　putting　his　back　to　the　door。　The　window　was　dark　now　…　so　much　for　the　eternal　afternoon　in　October　of　1978　…　and　the　driveway　which　ran　up　the　side　of　Tracker　Brothers　was　buried　under　shifting　drifts　of　snow。　Never；　even　as　a　child；　had　snow　looked　so　inviting　to　Jonesy。　He　saw　himself　bursting　through　the　window　like　Errol　Flynn　in　some　old　pirate　movie；　saw　himself　charging　into　the　snow　and　then　throwing　himself　into　it；　bathing　his　burning　face　in　its　blessed　white　chill…
　　　　Yes；　and　then　the　feel　of　Mr　Gray's　hands　closing　around　his　neck。　Those　hands　had　only　three　digits　each；　but　they　would　be　strong；　they　would　choke　the　life　out　of　him　in　no　time。　If　he　even　cracked　the　window；　tried　to　let　in　some　of　the　cold　night　air；　Mr　Gray　would　be　in　and　battening　on　him　like　a　vampire。　Because　that　part　of　JonesyWorld　wasn't　safe。　That　part　was　conquered　territory。
　　　　Hobson's　choice。　Fucked　either　way。
　　　　'e　out。'　Mr　Gray　at　last　spoke　through　the　door；　and　in　Jonesy's　own　voice。　'I'll　make　it　quick。　You　don't　want　to　roast　in　there　。　。　。　or　do　you？'
　　　　Jonesy　suddenly　saw　the　desk　standing　in　front　of　the　window；　the　desk　that　hadn't　even　been　here　when　he　first　found　himself　in　this　room。　Before　he'd　fallen　asleep　it　had　just　been　a　plain　wooden　thing；　the　sort　of　bottom…of…the…line　model　you　might　buy　at　Office　Depot　if　you　were　on　a　budget。　At　some　point　…　he　couldn't　remember　exactly　when　…　it　had　gained　a　phone。　Just　a　plain　black　phone；　as　utilitarian　and　undecorative　as　the　desk　itself。
　　　　Now；　he　saw；　the　desk　was　an　oak　rolltop；　the　twin　of　the　one　in　his　Brookline　study。　And　the　phone　was　a　blue　Trimline；　like　the　one　in　his　office　at　Jay。　He　wiped　a　palmful　of　piss…warm　sweat　off　his　forehead；　and　as　he　did　it　he　saw　what　he　had　brushed　with　the　top　of　his　head。　　
　　　　It　was　the　dreamcatcher。
　　　　The　dreamcatcher　from　Hole　in　the　Wall。
　　　　'Holy　shit；'　he　whispered。　'I'm　decorating　the　place。'
　　　　Of　course　he　was；　why　not？　Didn't　even　prisoners　on　Death　Row　decorate　their　cells？　And　if　he　could　add　a　desk　and　a　dreamcatcher　and　a　Trimline　phone　in　his　sleep；　then　maybe　Jonesy　closed　his　eyes　and　concentrated。　He　tried　to　call　up　an　image　of　his　study　in　Brookline。　For　a　moment　this　gave　him　trouble；　because　a　question　intruded：　if　his　memories　were　out　there；　how　could　he　still　have　them　in　here？　The　answer；　he　realized；　was　probably　simple。　His　memories　were　still　in　his　head；　where　they　had　always　been。　The　cartons　in　the　storeroom　were　what　Henry　might　call　an　externalization；　his　way　of　visualizing　all　the　stuff　to　which　Mr　Gray　had　access。
　　　　Never　mind。　Pay　attention　to　what　needs　doing。　The　study　in　Brookline。　See　the　study　in　Brookline。
　　　　'What　are　you　doing？'　Mr　Gray　demanded。　The　smarmy　self…confidence　had　left　his　voice。　'What　the　doodlyfuck　are　you　doing？'
　　　　Jonesy　smiled　a　little　at　that　…　he　couldn't　help　it　…　but　he　held　onto　his　image。　Not　just　the　study；　but　one　wall　of　the　study　。　。　。　there　by　the　door　leading　into　the　little　half…bath　。　。　。　yes；　there　it　was。　The　Honeywell　thermostat。　And　what　was　he　supposed　to　say？　Was　there　a　magic　word；　something　like　alakazam？　　　　
　　　　Yeah。
　　　　With　his　eyes　still　closed　and　a　trace　of　a　smile　still　on　his　sweat…streaming　face；　Jonesy　whispered：　'Duddits。'
　　　　He　opened　his　eyes　and　looked　at　the　dusty；　nondescript　wall。
　　　　The　thermostat　was　there。


3

'Stop　it！'　Mr　Gray　shouted；　and　even　as　Jonesy　crossed　the　room　he　was　amazed　by　the　familiarity　of　that　voice；　it　was　like　listening　to　one　of　his　own　infrequent　tantrums　（the　wild　disorder　of　the　kids'　rooms　was　a　likely　flashpoint）　on　a　tape　recorder。　'You　just　stop　it！　7'his　has　got　to　stop！'　　　　
　　　'Kiss　my　bender；　beautlful；'　Jonesy　replied；　and　grinned。　How　many　times　had　his　kids　wished　they　could　say　something　like　that　to　him；　when　he　started　quacking？　Then　a　nasty　thought　occurred　to　him。　He'd　probably　never　see　the　inside　of　his　Brookline　duplex　again；　but　if　he　did；　it　would　be　through　eyes　which　now　belonged　to　Mr　Gray。　The　cheek　the　kids　kissed　（'Eeu；　scratchy；　Daddy！'　Misha　would　say）　would　now　be　Mr　Gray's　cheek。　The　lips　Carla　kissed　would　likewise　be　Mr　Gray's。　And　in　bed；　when　she　gripped　him　and　guided　him　into　her…
　　　　Jonesy　shivered；　then　reached　for　the　thermostat　。　。　。　which；　he　saw；　was　set　to　120。　The　only　one　in　the　world　that　went　so　high；　no　doubt。　He　backed　it　half　a　turn　to　the　left；　not　knowing　what　to　expect；　and　was　delighted　to　feel　an　immediate　waft　of　cool　air　on　his　cheeks　and　brow。　He　turned　his　face　gratefully　up　to　catch　the　breeze　more　fully；　and　saw　a　heating/cooling　grate　set　high　in　one　wall。　One　more　fresh　touch。
　　　　'How　are　you　doing　that？'　Mr　Gray　shouted　through　the　door。　'Why　doesn't　your　body　incorporate　the　byrus？　How　can　you　be　there　at　all？'　　　　
　　　　Jonesy　burst　out　laughing。　There　was　simply　no　way　to　hold　it　in。
　　　　'Stop　that；'　Mr　Gray　said；　and　now　his　voice　was　chilly。　This　was　the　voice　Jonesy　had　used　when　he　had　given　Carla　his　ultimatum：　rehab　or　divorce；　hon；　you　choose。　'I　can　do　more　than　just　turn　up　the　heat；　you　know。　I　can　burn　you　out。　Or　make　you　blind　yourself。'
　　　　Jonesy　remembered　the　pen　going　into　Andy　Janas's　eye　…　that　terrible　thick　popping　sound　…　and　winced。　Yet　he　recognized　a　bluff　when　he　heard　one。　You're　the　last　and　I'm　your　delivery…system；　Jonesy　thought。　You　won't　beat　the　machinery　up　too　much。　Not　until　your　mission's　acplished；　anyhow。
　　　　He　walked　slowly　back　to　the　door；　reminding　himself　to　be　wary。　。　。　because；　as　Gollum　had　said　of　Bilbo　Baggins；　it　was　tricksy；　precious；　aye；　very　tricksy。
　　　　'Mr　Gray？'　he　asked　softly。
　　　　No　answer。
　　　　'Mr　Gray；　what　do　you　look　like　now？　What　do　you　look　like　when　you're　yourself？　A　little　less　gray　and　a　little　more　pink？　A　couple　more　fingers　on　your　hands？　Little　bit　of　hair　on　your　head？
　　　　Starting　to　get　some　toesies　and　some　testes？'
　　　　No　answer。
　　　　'Starting　to　look　like　me；　Mr　Gray？　To　think　like　me？　You　don't　like　that；　right？　Or　do　you？'　　　　
　　　　Still　no　answer；　and　Jonesy　realized　Mr　Gray　was　gone。　He　turned　and　hurried　across　to　the　window；　aware　of　even　more　changes：　a　Currier　and　Ives　woodcut　on　one　wall；　a　Van　Gogh　print　on　another　…　Marigolds；　a　Christmas　gift　from　Henry　…　and　on　this　desk　the　Magic　8…Ball　he　kept　on　his　desk　at　home。　Jonesy　barely　noticed　these　things。　He　wanted　to　see　what　Mr　Gray　was　up　to；　what　had　engaged　his　attention　now。


4

For　one　thing；　the　interior　of　the　truck　had　changed。　Instead　of　the　olive…drab　plainness　of　Andy　Janas's　government…issue　pickup　（clipboard　of　papers　and　forms　on　the　passenger　side；　squawking　radio　beneath　the　dash）；　he　was　now　in　a　luxy　Dodge　Ram　with　a　club　cab；　gray　velour　seats；　and　roughly　as　many　controls　as　a　Learjet。　On　the　glove　partment　was　a　sticker　reading　I　？？my　BORDER；　COLLIE。　The　border　collie　in　question　was　still　present　and　accounted　for；　asleep　in　the　passenger…side　footwell　with　its　tail　curled　neatly　around　it。　It　was　a　male　named　Lad。　Jonesy　sensed　that　he　could　access　the　name　and　the　fate　of　Lad's　master；　but　why　would　he　want　to？　Somewhere　north　of　their　present　position；　Janas's　Army　truck　was　now　off　the　road；　and　the　driver　of　this　one　would　be　lying　nearby。　Jonesy　had　no　idea　why　the　dog　had　been　spared。
　　　　Then　Lad　lifted　his　tail　and　farted；　and　Jonesy　did。


5

He　discovered　that　by　looking　out　the　Tracker　Brothers'　office　window　and　concentrating；　he　could　look　out　through　his　own　eyes。　The　snow　was　ing　down　more　heavily　than　ever；　but　like　the　Army　truck；　the　Dodge　was　equipped　with　four…wheel　drive；　and　it　poked　along　steadily　enough。　Going　the　other　way；　north　toward　Jefferson　Tract；　was　a　chain　of　headlights　set　high　off　the　road：　Army　convoy　trucks。　Then；　ahead　on　this　side；　a　reflectorized　sign　…　white　letters；　green　background　…　loomed　out　of　the　flying　Snow。　DERRY　NEXT　5　EXITS。
　　　　The　city　plows　had　been　out；　and　although　there　was　hardly　any　traffic　（there　wouldn't　have　been　much　at　this　hour　even　on　a　clear　night）；　the　turnpike　was　in　passable　shape。　Mr　Gray　increased　the　Ram's　speed　to　forty　miles　an　hour。　They　passed　three　exits　Jonesy　knew　well　from　his　childhood　（KANSAS　STREET；　AIRPORT；　UPMILE　HILL/STRAWFORD　PARK）　then　slowed。
　　　　Suddenly　Jonesy　thought　he　understood。
　　　　He　looked　at　the　boxes　he'd　dragged　in　here；　most　marked　DUDDITS；　a　few　marked　DERRY。　The　latter　ones　he'd　taken　as　an　afterthought。　Mr　Gray　thought　he　still　had　the　memories　he　needed　…　the　information　he　needed　…　but　if　Jonesy　was　right　about　where　they　were　going　（and　it　made　perfect　sense）；　Mr　Gray　was　in　for　a　surprise。　Jonesy　didn't　know　whether　to　be　glad　or　afraid；　and　found　he　was　both。　　　　
　　　　Here　was　a　green　sign　reading　EXIT　25　…　WITCHAM　STREET。　His　hand　flicked　on　the　Ram's　turnsignal。
　　　　At　the　top　of　the　ramp；　he　turned　left　onto　Witcham；　then　left　again；　half　a　mile　later；　onto　Carter　Street。　Carter　went　up　at　a　steep　angle；　heading　back　toward　Upmile　Hill　and　Kansas　Street　on　the　other　side　of　what　had　once　been　a　high；　wooded　ridge　and　the　site　of　a　thriving　Micmac　Indian　village。　The　street　hadn't　been　plowed　in　several　hours；　but　the　four…wheel　drive　was　up　to　the　task。　The　Ram　threaded　its　way　among　the　snow…covered　humps　on　either　side　…　cars　that　had　been　street…parked　in　defiance　of　municipal　snow…emergency　regulations。
　　　　Halfway　up　Mr　Gray　turned　again；　this　time　onto　an　even　narrower　track　called　Carter　Lookout。　The　Ram　skidded；　its　rear　end　fishtailing。　Lad　looked　up　briefly；　whined；　then　put　his　nose　back　down　on　the　floormat　as　the　tires　took　hold；　biting　into　the　snow　and　puffing　the　Ram　the　rest　of