pzb.lostsouls-第30部分

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　men　who　congregated　there；　playing　checkers　with　orange　and　grape　Nehi　bottle　caps　and　a　beat…up　checkerboard。　The　men　were　as　dry　and　tough　as　hard　nuts　and　would　not　move　their　gatherings　inside　until　snow　flew。　The　grape　team　was　winning　today。
　　Ghost　greeted　the　old　men　by　name。　〃Hey；　Mr。　Galvin；　Mr。　Berry；　Mr。　Joe。〃
　　〃Hey　there；　Ghost。　How　you？〃
　　〃I　feel　bad　times　ing　on；〃　he　told　them。　He　hoped　one　of　them　would　know　something　about　it。
　　But　the　old　men　just　laughed　at　him。　〃You　and　your　long…haired　friend　been　smokin'　that　dope　out　at　your　place；　Ghost？〃
　　〃Naw；　he's　Miz　Deliverance's　grandkid。　If　he　says　bad　times　in'；　then　there's　bad　times　in'。　Mebbe　we'll　be　dead　by　the　time　they　get　here。〃
　　The　oldest；　most　wrinkled　man　shot　a　stream　of　brown　spit　into　the　gutter。　〃Shit…fire；　save　matches。〃
　　Ghost　took　the　long　way　home。　It　was　twilight　now；　and　the　streets　of　Missing　Mile　were　deserted。　The　hills　were　checkered　with　the　yellow　light　of　faraway　houses。　Steve　would　have　gone　to　work　by　now；　but　Ghost　hoped　he　had　left　a　light　burning。　He　rode　past　the　town…limits　sign。　The　fields　that　stretched　away　on　either　side　of　the　read　were　bare　and　dry；　already　stripped　of　their　harvest。　Across　the　furrows　a　window　glimmered　on　the　dusk。
　　He　thought　of　the　twins　he　had　seen　up　at　the　hill；　the　twins　who　should　have　been　shrivelling　in　their　graves　but　were　instead　vibrant　and　alive。　He　hoped　the　bad　times　that　were　ing　didn't　have　anything　to　do　with　them。　He　was　pretty　sure　they　had　been　nothing　but　shades；　things　only　he　could　see；　maybe　even　brought　to　brief　life　by　the　dream　he　had　had　about　them。　But　they　had　terrified　him　for　no　good　reason。　And　they　had　known　about　the　little　boy　dead　on　the　road；　had　even　implied　in　the　sly　manner　of　spirits　that　they　had　killed　the　boy。
　　At　the　corner　where　Burnt　Church　Road　met　the　highway；　a　tall　figure　sat　hunched　behind　a　sign　that　said　ROSES。　The　flower…seller　the　same　one　he　had　seen　on　the　way　back　from　Miz　Catlin's。　He　was　sure　of　it。　A　few　huge　frothy　bouquets　shivered　in　the　wind。　Some　stunted　pumpkins　and　gourds　were　piled　around　the　base　of　the　stand。
　　Ghost　tried　to　ride　past　without　seeming　to　notice　the　flower…seller；　but　as　he　drew　close；　the　figure　got　to　its　feet　and　spread　its　arms　wide　。　。　。　wider　。　。　。　immensely　wide；　stretching。　The　sleeves　of　its　long　dark　cloak　billowed。　Ghost　slowed　his　bike。　Everything　in　him　screamed　danger；　but　be　had　never　been　one　for　turning　away　from　things　that　seared　him；　or　running　from　them。　He　would　talk　to　this　person；　try　to　figure　out　what　the　sick　feeling　and　the　worry　were　about。
　　〃Roses？〃　asked　the　flower…seller。　〃Or　a　jack…o'…lantern　to　light　your　path？〃
　　Ghost　pulled　his　hair　in　front　of　his　face。　He　had　seen　people　who　looked　a　little　like　this；　their　pale　gauntness　and　loose　black　clothes　vaguely　similar。　Such　people　had　sometimes　visited　his　grandmother；　bringing　her　mysterious　powders　and　oils　in　murky　bottles　or　buying　herbs　from　her。　They　had　scared　him；　sometimes　he　saw　the　skulls　beneath　their　faces；　long　pale　orbs；　or　the　bones　of　their　hands　as　clear　and　luminous　as　an　X　ray。　Sometimes　he　felt　their　thoughts　focusing　on　him　for　an　instant　with　a　flicker　of　cold　interest　like　a　flame　in　a　dark　tunnel　of　wind。　But　none　of　those　had　worn　sunglasses　and　gloves　in　hot　September　weather；　none　had　sold　roses　and　pumpkins　at　the　side　of　the　road。　And　none　had　had　eyes　quite　so　cold　。　。　。　or　so　desolate。
　　〃I　don't　have　any　money；〃　he　said；　〃or　I'd　buy　a　pumpkin。　But　you　ought　to　pack　up　for　tonight。　It's　too　cold　to　sit　out　here。〃　Even　as　he　spoke；　a　night　wind　seemed　to　be　whipping　up；　carrying　the　russet　smell　of　autumn　in　from　the　fields。
　　〃Pity？　For　pity　you　may　have　a　rose。　And　I　was　just　packing　up。〃　The　figure　stepped　closer　and　tucked　a　deep　red　bud　into　the　lapel　of　Ghost's　army　jacket。　When　one　of　those　long　thin　hands　brushed　the　bare　triangle　of　skin　at　the　base　of　his　throat；　Ghost　shivered。　Even　through　his　gloves　the　flower…seller's　fingers　were　as　cold　as　bone；　as　loneliness。　Ghost　looked　up　into　the　flower…seller's　face。　Those　cold　eyes　glittered　somewhere　deep　in　shadowed　sockets。　Ghost　looked　quickly　down　at　his　own　torn　white　sneakers。
　　But　it　was　too　late：　all　at　once　he　caught　a　rush　of　images；　not　words　but　feelings。　The　first　thing　he　sensed　was　age　and　dark　wisdom　beyond　his　ability　to　measure；　he　knew　this　was　no　man。　The　second　was　a　terrible；　resigned　loneliness；　a　longing　for　someone　he　thought　might　never　e。　The　flower…seller's　mind　was　like　a　sentient　void；　too　empty　even　to　be　sad；　colder　than　the　night。　Without　thinking；　Ghost　said；　〃You'll　be　warm　when　your　friends　get　here。〃
　　The　pale　face　snapped　up。　〃What　friends？　Have　you　news　of　Zillah？〃
　　Ghost　stumbled　backward。　〃No…I　mean；　I　only　know　somebody's　ing…I　mean；　somebody　must　be　ing　to　pick　you　up。　Or　I　guess　maybe　you　live　around　here…〃　He　shut　his　mouth　before　his　words　could　get　any　more　tangled。　Ghost　seldom　had　to　make　excuses　for　the　things　he　knew。　Not　everybody　wants　his　heart　looked　into；　his　grandmother　had　told　him　when　he　was　very　young。　So　look　if　you　have　to；　but　learn　to　keep　your　mouth　shut。　Since　her　death　six　years　ago；　he　spoke　of　such　things　only　to　Steve；　or　to　no　one　at　all。　But　sometimes　things　just　materialized　in　his　head；　and　he　said　them　out　loud　before　he　could　stop　himself。　As　soon　as　he　felt　that　emptiness　pouring　out　of　the　flower…seller；　he　had　known　that　friends　were　ing；　already　on　the　way。　And　as　much　as　he　feared　to　wonder　what　sort　of　friends　they　might　be…the　resurrected　dream…twins；　or　worse？…he　had　had　to　say　it。　fort　might　warm　those　cold　eyes。
　　But　the　eagerness　glittering　in　those　eyes　put　a　stupid　panic　into　Ghost；　panic　like　a　moth　beating　itself　against　a　window；　panic　that　made　him　want　to　hide　anything　he　might　know；　hide　his　own　head。　This　is　the　bad　times　ing；　he　realized。　The　start　of　it；　anyway。
　　〃You　don't　know　them；〃　the　flower…seller　said　flatly。　
　　Now　Ghost　was　no　longer　afraid。　Now　he　felt　only　a　terrible　empathetic　loneliness。　He　might　have　been　as　hollow　as　a　gourd。　What　if　nobody　in　the　whole　world　loved　you？　What　if　you　were　alone？
　　〃I'm　sorry；　I'm　sorry；〃　Ghost　said　wildly。
　　The　flower…seller　leaned　across　his　wooden　stand。　His　eyes　met　Ghost's；　and　his　tongue　darted　out　over　his　pale　lips。　The　long　thin　hands　trembled。　Then　that　cold　gaze　darted　toward　the　moon；　and　the　flower…seller　drew　himself　up　and　knotted　his　fingers　together。　〃Get　away　from　here；〃　he　said。　
　　〃What…〃
　　〃Go。〃　Now　there　was　a　light　of　desperation　in　the　deep…set　eyes。　Hungry　desperation；　it　looked　like。　〃Go　now　if　you　want　to　live。〃
　　The　last　light　of　day　disappeared　from　the　sky。　The　flower…seller's　face　was　partially　obscured　by　the　growing　dark；　making　it　look　pointed；　feral。　He　made　a　half…despairing；　half…starved　sound　deep　in　his　throat；　and　seemed　about　to　lunge　right　over　the　stand。　But　Ghost　was　already　straddling　his　bike；　shoving　at　the　kickstand；　reaching　up　with　one　hand　to　steady　his　hat　and　pedaling　as　hard　as　he　could。　After　a　few　minutes　he　stopped　and　looked　back　over　his　shoulder。　But　the　flower　stand　and　the　lone　figure；　if　there；　were　hidden　in　shadow。
　　
　　The　T…bird　was　still　parked　in　the　driveway　when　Ghost　rode　up；　though　the　house　was　unlit。　He　leaned　the　bike　against　the　side　of　the　house；　where　the　paint　was　flaking　away。　By　now　it　was　almost　too　dark　to　see；　though　weak　moonlight　limned　the　edges　of　the　clouds。　On　the　porch　Ghost　almost　fell　over　a　crate　of　beer　bottles　that　Steve　had　dragged　out　of　the　house。　Then　he　pushed　the　door　open　and　was　inside；　throwing　the　deadbolt　lock；　turning　on　lamps。　There　must　be　light。　Light　to　keep　him　from　thinking　about　the　flower…seller　out　there　in　the　deepening　night。
　　Steve　lay　on　the　couch；　blearily　rubbing　his　eyes　against　the　sudden　brightness；　several　empty　beer　bottles　on　the　floor　beside　him。　He　had　been　using　a　pile　of　dirty　sweat…shirts　for　a　pillow；　and　his　face　still　bore　the　faint　pattern　of　seams　and　creases。　Ghost　felt　something　under　his　foot…Steve's　keyring　lay　by　the　door　as　if　Steve　had　hurled　it　across　the　room。　He　picked　it　up；　rubbed　his　thumb　over　the　plastic　tab　that　said　Budweiser；　held　it　in　his　hand。　The　keys　jingled　faintly　against　one　another…the　house　key；　the　keys　to　the　T…bird　and　the　Whirling　Disc　record　store　where　Steve　worked；　other　keys　obsolete　and　useless　but　too　venerable　to　be　thrown　away　or　tossed　into　a　drawer。　There　was　a　feeling　on　the　keyring　like　the　object's　aura；　Steve's　emotion　as　he　had　last　touched　it。　Disgust　and　nausea。　It　gave　the　metal　a　cold；　faintly　slimy　feel。　〃Did　you　call　in　sick？〃　he　asked。
　　Steve　nodded。　〃Was　just　gonna　have　a　beer　before　I　went　to　work。　Next　time　I　looked　down；　four　of　'em　were　gone；　so　I　just　kept　on　drinking。　Might　as　well　call　in　drunk　for　all　the　difference　it　makes。〃
　　〃What　happened？〃
　　〃I　fell　asleep　and　had　this　dream。。。　about　Ann。　I　dreamed　her　face　was　all　bloody　and　some　of　her　teeth　were　knocked　out。　I　reached　out　to　touch　her　and　saw　my　hand　was　bloody　too。　I'd　done　it　to　her。　You　know　what　I　really　did　to　her？　Do　you　know　about　it；　Ghost？〃
　　Ghost　looked　at　the　floor。　〃I　guess　you　raped　her。〃
　　〃I　guess　I　raped　her　too。　I　guess　she　didn't　mind。　I　guess　she　liked　it　pretty　good。〃
　　〃e　on；　Steve。　That's　a　shitty　thing　to　say。　She　didn't　like　it。〃
　　〃Whose　side　are　you　on？〃
　　〃Yours。〃
　　〃How　do　you　know　she　didn't　like　it？　You　read　her　sick　little　mind　or　something？〃
　　〃No。　I　went　over　to　see　her　the　other　day。〃
　　All　at　once　Steve　was　up　off　the　couch；　grabbing　handfuls　of　Ghost's　sweatshirt；　pushing　his　face　up　close　to　Ghost's。　〃What　the　fuck　you　mean　you　went　to　see　her？　You　went　over　there　without　telling　me？〃
　　〃I　wanted　to　see　how　she　was。〃
　　Steve　stared　into　Ghost's　placid　face。　He　knew　he　wasn't　scaring　Ghost；　not　in　the　slightest；　he　was　only　making　a　fool　of　himself。　But　the　alcohol　in　his　brain　refused　to　let　him　shut　up。　〃You　stay　away　from　that　lying　cunt；〃　he　snarled；　〃or　else　you　decide　whose　friend　you　really　are。〃
　　Ghost's　wide　blue　eyes　met　Steve's；　forgiving　but　unrelenting。　Ghost　would　no