pzb.lostsouls-第2部分

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rist　until　the　blood　flowed　there　too。
　　Jessy　watched　with　eyes　wide　and　disbelieving。　She　saw　her　dignified　friend　Christian's　mouth　smeared　with　blood；　trembling　with　passion。　She　saw　Twig's　teeth　at　Molochai's　wrist；　saw　the　flesh　part　and　the　blood　flow　into　Twig's　mouth。　Most　of　all　she　saw　the　lovely　impassive　face　of　Zillah　looking　on；　his　brilliant　eyes　like　green　jewels　set　in　moonstone。　And　her　stomach　clenched；　and　her　mouth　watered；　and　a　secret　message　travelled　from　the　softest　fold　between　her　legs　to　the　deepest　whorl　of　her　brain…The　vampires！　The　VAMPIRES！
　　Jessy　stood　up　very　quietly；　and　then　the　bloodlust　she　had　wanted　so　badly　was　upon　her。　She　leapt；　tore　Molochai's　arm　away　from　Twig；　and　tried　to　fasten　her　lips　on　the　gash。　But　Molochai　turned　furiously　on　her　and　batted　her　away；　hard　across　the　face；　and　she　felt　the　pain　in　her　lip　before　she　tasted　the　blood　there；　her　own　dull　blood　in　her　mouth。　Molochai　and　Twig　and　even　kind　Christian　stood　staring　at　her；　bloodied　and　wild…eyed；　like　dogs　startled　at　a　kill；　like　interrupted　lovers。
　　But　as　she　backed　away　from　them；　a　pair　of　warm　arms　went　around　her　from　behind　and　a　pair　of　large　strong　hands　caressed　her　through　the　silk　dress；　and　a　voice　whispered；　〃His　blood　is　sticky…sweet　anyway；　my　dear…I　can　give　you　something　nicer。〃
　　She　never　knew　Zillah's　name；　or　how　she　ended　up　with　him　on　a　blanket　in　the　back　room　of　Christian's　bar。　She　only　knew　that　her　blood　was　smeared　across　his　face；　that　his　fingers　and　his　tongue　explored　her　body　more　thoroughly　than　any　had　before；　that　once　she　thought　he　was　inside　her　and　she　was　inside　him　at　once；　and　that　his　sperm　smelled　like　altars；　and　that　his　hair　drifted　across　her　eyes　as　she　went　to　sleep。
　　It　was　one　of　the　rare　nights　that　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　spent　apart。　Zillah　slept　on　the　blanket　with　Jessy；　hidden　between　cases　of　whiskey；　cupping　her　breasts　in　his　hands。　Molochai　slept　in　Christian's　room　above　the　bar　with　Christian　and　Twig　cuddled　close　to　him；　their　mouths　still　working　sleepily　at　his　wrists。
　　Below；　far　away　on　Bourbon　Street；　the　mounted　police　rode　their　high…stepping　steeds　through　the　crowd；　chanting；　〃Leave　the　street。　Mardi　Gras　is　officially　over。　Leave　the　street。　Mardi　Gras　is　officially　over；〃　each　one　ready　with　a　sap　for　a　drunken　skull。　And　the　sun　came　up　on　the　Wednesday　morning　trash　in　the　gutters；　the　butts　and　the　cans　and　the　gaudy；　forgotten　beads；　and　the　vampires　slept　with　their　lovers；　for　they　preferred　to　do　their　roaming　at　night。
　　
　　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　left　town　the　next　evening　after　the　sun　went　down；　so　they　never　knew　that　Jessy　was　pregnant。　None　of　them　had　seen　a　child　of　their　race　being　born；　but　they　all　knew　that　their　mothers　had　died　in　childbirth。　They　would　not　have　stayed　around。
　　Jessy　disappeared　for　nearly　a　month。　When　she　came　back　to　Christian's　bar；　it　was　to　stay　for　good。　Christian　gave　her　the　richest　food　he　could　afford　and　let　her　wash　glasses　when　she　insisted　on　earning　her　keep。　Sometimes；　remembering　Molochai's　blood　smeared　around　Christian's　mouth；　remembering　Zillah's　fragrant　sperm　inside　her；　Jessy　crept　into　bed　with　Christian　and　sat　on　top　of　him　until　he　would　make　love　to　her。　He　would　not　bite　her；　and　for　that　she　beat　at　his　face　with　her　fists　until　he　slapped　her　and　told　her　to　stop。　Then　she　moved　quietly　over　him。　He　watched　her　grow　gravid　through　the　sweltering　oily　summer　months；　lazily　shaped　her　tight　distended　belly　and　her　swollen　breasts　with　his　hands。
　　When　her　time　came；　Christian　poured　whiskey　down　her　throat　like　water。　It　wasn't　enough。　Jessy　screamed　until　she　could　scream　no　more；　and　her　eyes　showed　only　the　whites　with　their　silvery　rims；　and　great　gouts　of　blood　poured　from　her。　When　the　baby　slipped　out　of　Jessy；　its　head　turned　and　its　eyes　met　Christian's：　confused；　intelligent；　innocent。　A　shred　of　deep　pink　tissue　was　caught　in　the　tiny　mouth；　softening　between　the　working　gums。
　　Christian　separated　the　baby　from　Jessy；　wrapped　it　in　a　blanket；　and　held　it　up　to　the　window。　If　its　first　sight　was　of　the　French　Quarter；　it　would　know　its　way　around　those　streets　forever…should　it　ever　need　such　knowledge。　Then　he　knelt　between　Jessy's　limp　legs　and　looked　at　the　poor　torn　passage　that　had　given　him　so　many　nights　of　idle　pleasure。　Ruined　now；　bloody。
　　So　much　blood　to　go　to　waste。
　　Christian　licked　his　lips；　licked　them　again。
　　
　　Christian's　bar　was　closed　for　ten　nights。　Christian's　car；　a　silver　Bel　Air　that　had　served　him　well　for　years；　headed　north。　He　drove　up　any　road　that　looked　anonymous；　along　any　highway　he　knew　he　would　not　remember。
　　Little　Nothing　was　a　lovely　baby；　a　sugar…candy　confection　of　a　baby　with　enormous　dark　blue　eyes　and　a　mass　of　golden…brown　hair。　Someone　would　love　him。　Someone　human；　away　from　the　South；　away　from　the　hot　night　air　and　the　legends。　Nothing　might　escape　the　hunger　for　blood；　might　be　happy；　might　be　whole。
　　Toward　dawn；　in　a　Maryland　suburb　full　of　fine　graceful　houses；　dark　grassy　lawns；　long　sleek　cars　in　sweeping　driveways；　a　tall　thin　figure　draped　in　heavy　black　clothes　stooped；　set　a　bundle　down　on　a　doorstep；　and　went　slowly　away　without　looking　back。　Christian　was　remembering　the　last　night　of　Mardi　Gras；　and　the　taste　of　blood　and　altars　was　in　his　mouth。
　　
　　The　baby　Nothing　opened　his　eyes　and　saw　darkness；　soft　and　velvety；　pricked　with　sparkling　white　light。　His　mouth　drew　down；　his　eyebrows　came　together　in　a　frown。　He　was　hungry。　He　could　not　see　the　basket　that　cradled　him；　could　not　read　the　note　in　spidery　handwriting　pinned　to　his　blanket：　His　name　is　Nothing。　Care　for　him　and　he　will　bring　you　luck。　He　lay　in　the　basket　snug　as　a　king　cake　baby；　pink　and　tiny　as　the　infant　Christ　in　plastic；　and　he　knew　only　that　he　wanted　light　and　warmth　and　food；　as　a　baby　will。　And　he　opened　his　mouth　wide　and　showed　his　soft　pink　gums　and　yelled。　He　yelled　long　and　loud　until　the　door　opened　and　warm　hands　took　him　in。
　　
　　　PART　ONE
　　Fifteen　Years　Later
　　
　　　Chapter　1
　　
　　The　night　wind　felt　wonderful　in　Steve's　hair。
　　The　Thunderbird　was　huge。　It　always　drove　like　a　fucking　monster；　but　tonight　Steve　felt　as　if　he　were　piloting　some　great　steamboat　down　a　magic　river；　a　river　of　shimmering　asphalt　banked　by　pine　forest　and　thick；　rioting　expanses　of　kudzu。　They　were　somewhere　far　outside　Missing　Mile；　somewhere　on　the　highway　that　led　up　to　the　Roxboro　electric　power　plant　and；　beyond　that；　the　North　Carolina…Virginia　border。
　　Ghost　was　asleep　beside　him；　his　head　hung　out　the　window　on　the　passenger　side；　his　pale　hair　whipping　in　the　wind；　his　face　washed　in　moonlight。　The　bottle　of　whiskey　was　prepped　between　Ghost's　legs；　three…quarters　empty；　in　danger　of　tipping　despite　the　limp　hand　that　curled　around　it。
　　Steve　leaned　over　and　grabbed　the　bottle；　took　a　healthy　swig。　〃The　T…bird　has　been　drinking；〃　he　sang　into　the　wind；　〃yes；　the　T…bird　has　been　drinking　。　。　。　not　me。〃
　　〃Um；〃　said　Ghost。　〃What？　What？〃
　　〃Forget　it；〃　Steve　told　him。　〃Go　back　to　sleep。　Have　another　drink。〃　He　drove　faster。　He'd　wake　Ghost　on　the　drive　home；　to　keep　him　pany。　Now　he　wanted　Ghost　to　stay　asleep　awhile　longer；　there　was　bad　business　ahead。　Dangerous　business。　Or　so　Steve　liked　to　think　of　it。
　　Ghost　took　the　bottle　back　and　stared　at　the　label；　trying　to　focus　on　it。　His　pale　blue　eyes　swam；　narrowed；　sharpened　only　slightly。　〃White　Horse；〃　he　read。　〃Look；　Steve；　it's　White　Horse　whiskey。　Did　you　know　Dylan　Thomas　was　drinking　at　a　pub　called　the　White　Horse　the　night　he　died？〃
　　〃You　told　me。　That's　why　we　bought　it。〃　Steve　crossed　his　fingers　and　tried　to　will　Ghost　back　to　sleep。
　　〃He　drank　eighteen　straight　whiskeys；〃　Ghost　said；　awed。　
　　〃You　drank　eighteen　straight　whiskeys。〃
　　〃No　wonder　my　brain　is　sailing　with　the　moon。　Sing　to　me；　Steve。　Sing　me　back　to　sleep。〃
　　Just　at　that　moment　they　crossed　a　bridge　that　seemed　to　bow　under　the　weight　of　the　old　brown　T…bird；　and　Steve　saw　moonlight　shimmering　on　black　waters；　so　he　raised　his　voice　in　the　first　song　that　came　to　mind：　〃Silver　southern　moon　。　。　。　for　ten　years　I　thought　I　was　born　of　you　。。。。　Silver　moon；　I'll　be　back　someday　。。。。　〃
　　〃That's　not　the　way　it　goes。　I　should　know；　I　wrote　it。〃　Ghost's　voice　was　fading。　〃Oh；　silver　southern　moon　。　。　。　tell　me　your　sweet　lies；　then　let　me。　drown　deep　in　your　eyes　。。。。
　　〃Somedaaay；〃　Steve　joined　in。　He　and　the　whiskey　sang　Ghost　to　sleep；　the　whiskey　with　its　somnolent　amber　song；　Steve　with　a　voice　that　cracked　when　he　tried　to　hit　the　high　notes。　Behind　them　the　river　passed　in　silence；　the　lowest…hanging　branches　brushed　the　water；　and　the　leaves　rotted　on　the　bough。　The　moon　spread　like　butter　on　the　black　river；　and　Ghost's　eyes　closed；　with　his　head　pillowed　on　the　hump　between　the　seats；　he　began　to　dream。
　　They　bypassed　Roxboro；　but　Steve　saw　the　power　plant　on　Lake　Hyco；　lit　up　all　glowing　green　and　white　like　a　weird　birthday　cake；　its　million　pipes　and　wires　and　glass　insulators　and　metal　gewgaws　reflected　in　the　lake。　On　the　way　back；　if　Ghost　was　awake；　they'd　drive　up　there　to　a　hill　Steve　knew　and　look　out　over　the　pastures　and　the　lake　and　all　the　glittering　Milky　Way。　An　hour　or　so　after　passing　out　Ghost　was　usually　raring　to　go　again。　His　dreams　gave　him　new　strength。　Or　made　him　laugh　or　cry；　or　sometimes　scared　the　shit　out　of　him。
　　Steve　put　his　hand　on　Ghost's　head；　smoothed　back　wisps　of　hair　from　flickering　closed　eyes。　He　wondered　what　was　unfolding　beneath　his　hand；　beneath　the　thin　bone；　inside　the　orb　of　ivory　that　cradled　Ghost's　weird　brain。　Who　was　born　and　murdered　and　resurrected　inside　that　skull？　What　walked　behind　Ghost's　eyelids；　what　lithe　secret　phantoms　tapped　Ghost's　shoulder　and　made　him　whimper　deep　in　his　throat？
　　Ghost　often　dreamed　of　things　that　were　going　to　happen；　or　of　things　that　had　already　happened　that　he　couldn't　possibly　know　about。　These　premonitions　could　e　when　he　was　awake　too；　but　the　ones　that　came　to　him　in　dreams　seemed　to　be　the　most　potent。　More　often　than　not　they　were　also　the　most　cryptic。　He　h