pzb.lostsouls-第35部分

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t　would　love　him；　he　might　still　have　some　choice　as　to　what　his　life　would　be。
　　But　Ghost　did　not　want　him。　And　why　think　such　thoughts　anyway？　He　had　made　his　choice。　Not　even　a　choice；　really。　He　had　simply　e　home。
　　
　　Steve　got　up　to　make　sure　the　creeps　were　leaving。　The　kid's　big　dark　eyes　were　smeared　with　makeup　and　tears。　Steve　felt　a　touch　of　pity　for　him。　He　couldn't　be　much　older　than　thirteen；　right　about　now　he　ought　to　be　cadging　his　first　joint　or　his　first　feel；　not　breaking　into　people's　houses　with　assholes　like　these。　But　that　was　the　kid's　choice。　Pity　wouldn't　help　him。　Steve　looked　back　at　Ghost　on　the　bed；　but　Ghost　was　facing　the　window；　avoiding　everyone's　eyes。
　　Steve　followed　them　down　the　hall　into　the　living　room。　〃Don't　go　out　the　way　you　came　in；　huh？〃　he　said。　〃Use　the　door　this　time。〃
　　The　kid…Nothing；　what　a　weird　name；　what　a　shitty　name　when　you　thought　about　it…turned　as　he　went　through　the　door　and　looked　at　Steve。　In　those　dark　eyes　Steve　saw　again　the　essence　of　childhood　lost。　The　dark　innocence；　the　doomed　sadness。　And　the　shame。
　　〃I'm　sorry；〃　Nothing　said　again。
　　Inanely；　Steve　wanted　to　tell　him　it　was　okay。　But　just　then　Zillah　lifted　his　head　and　looked　at　Steve。　His　eyes　were　dull；　and　the　wreckage　of　his　nose　and　mouth　still　oozed　thick　blood。　Steve　hoped　he　was　fucked　up　for　good。　Brain…damaged；　maybe。　But　he　managed　to　unglue　his　swollen　lips　and　shape　his　mouth　around　four　bitter　words。　〃You'll　pay　for　this；〃　he　said。
　　Steve　lunged　at　him。　〃GET　THE　FUCK　OUT　OF　HERE！〃　Broken　nose　and　busted　lip　or　not…
　　But　Molochai　and　Nothing　moved　quickly；　hauling　Zillah　out　to　the　porch　and　down　the　steps。　Steve　saw　a　dingy　black　van　parked　at　the　end　of　the　driveway；　its　tailpipe　already　belching　exhaust。　He　thought　of　trying　to　get　the　license　number；　but　knew　he　wouldn't　call　the　cops：　they　were　happy　to　bust　you　for　underage　drinking　or　possession　of　weed；　but　not　too　thrilled　when　you　wanted　anything　else　done。
　　Steve　slammed　the　front　door。　Three　shadows…one　large　and　unkempt；　two　small　and　slim　and　bowed…slid　across　the　window。　Then　they　were　gone。
　　He　went　back　to　Ghost's　room。　Ghost　was　lying　fiat　on　his　back；　looking　at　the　stars　on　the　ceiling。　His　hands　lay　limp　on　the　blanket。　Steve　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　bed；　〃Shit；〃　he　said。　〃We　still　have　a　show　to　do　tonight。〃
　　〃They'll　be　there；〃　Ghost　told　him　with　absolute　certainty。
　　
　　　Chapter　20
　　
　　The　black　van　cruised　Missing　Mile　for　an　hour。　The　town　was　so　small　that　they　passed　the　same　places　four　or　five　times。　Nothing　sat　with　his　face　pressed　to　the　window。　Zillah　lay　on　the　mattress　for　a　while；　still　dazed　from　the　blows　he　had　taken。
　　Nothing　thought　guiltily　of　how　he　had　hurled　himself　across　the　room　and　thrown　Zillah　against　the　wall；　how　it　must　have　hurt。　He　hadn't　even　thought　about　doing　it；　he　had　just　seen　the　bat　in　Zillah's　hands；　about　to　e　down　on　Ghost's　skull；　and　he　had　known　that　Ghost's　death　would　be　lodged　in　his　heart　forever　if　he　didn't　do　something　fast。
　　Now　maybe　Zillah　would　abandon　him　on　the　highway　Somewhere；　or　maybe　all　three　of　them　would　kill　him；　their　teeth　and　tongues　burrowing　into　the　soft　parts　of　his　body　as　he　had　done　to　Laine。　Nothing　found　that　he　didn't　much　care。　He　had　fucked　up。　He　had　tried　to　have　everything　he　wanted；　all　at　once；　and　now　it　was　all　swirling　down　the　drain。
　　After　a　while　Zillah　propped　himself　up　and　stared　moodily　out　at　the　dusty　storefronts；　the　gas　station　with　its　wooden　facade　and　old…fashioned　pumps；　the　psychedelic　red…and…blue　whirligig　in　the　window　of　the　Whirling　Disc　record　store。　Soon　Zillah's　head　drooped　forward　onto　his　knees。　When　Nothing　tried　to　hug　him；　Zillah　pulled　away。
　　Nothing　had　seen　his　friends　back　home　use　such　behavior　on　one　another。　When　one　of　Julie's　previous　boyfriends　got　her　twentieth…row　Cure　tickets　for　her　birthday　instead　of　the　tenth…row　ones　she　had　wanted；　Julie　appeared　to　undergo　a　grieving　process　of　major　proportions。　She　sat　in　her　room　reading　the　poetry　of　Sylvia　Plath　and　Anne　Sexton。　Six　pounds　melted　from　her　already　skinny　frame。　When　anyone　at　school　tried　to　talk　to　her；　she　would　stand　dramatically　silent　for　several　seconds；　then　slowly　shake　her　head　and　walk　away。　In　short；　she　sulked　for　a　week。
　　Now　Zillah　was　doing　the　same　thing。　Nothing　was　only　a　little　angry　at　being　manipulated；　he　deserved　it　for　getting　Zillah　hurt。　What　made　him　angrier　was　that　it　worked。　He　was　responsible　for　the　pall　that　had　been　cast　over　the　day。　Zillah's　beautiful　face　was　all　torn　up；　and　that　alone　made　Nothing　feel　as　if　he'd　pissed　on　the　Mona　Lisa　or　something。　No　one　was　tripping　anymore；　and　no　one　had　started　drinking　yet。　The　van's　usual　air　of　carnival　was　gone；　and　the　mood　that　replaced　it　was　flat；　subdued。　Nothing　wondered；　not　for　the　first　time；　how　old　the　others　were。　He　had　thought　them　older　and　more　sophisticated　than　he；　but　right　now　they　were　acting　like　a　bunch　of　teenagers　who　are　mad　at　each　other　but　aren't　sure　why。
　　The　third　time　they　drove　past　the　record　store；　Twig　slowed　the　van　and　pointed　out　a　sign　taped　to　the　window。　〃Hey　kiddo。　Look　at　that。〃
　　Nothing　looked。　The　sign　was　a　grainy　photocopy　like　the　gravestone　on　the　Lost　Souls？　tape。　Only　this　was　a　picture　of　a　stone　angel；　wings　spread；　hand　raised　in　warning　or　benediction；　idiot　gaze　downcast。　Written　across　the　picture　in　large　curly　letters　was　LOST　SOULS？　TONIGHT　AT　SACRED　YEW。
　　〃Where's　the　Sacred　yew？〃　Molochai　wanted　to　know。　〃Is　it　in　the　graveyard？〃
　　〃It　must　he　a　club；〃　Nothing　said。　All　at　once　he　made　up　his　mind。　Zillah　might　he　glad　to　get　rid　of　him；　if　not；　then　they　could　kill　him　here；　right　in　the　middle　of　Missing　Mile。　〃You　can　let　me　out　anywhere；〃　he　told　Twig。　〃I'm　going　to　see　that　show。〃
　　Twig　slowed　the　van。　〃You're　leaving？　Just　when　things　were　starting　to　get　interesting？〃
　　〃Let's　at　least　eat　him；〃　said　Molochai　in　a　loud　sotto　voce。　
　　Zillah　seemed　to　wake　up。　He　raised　his　head　and　looked　at　Nothing。　Nothing　stared　back　at　him　for　a　long　moment；　trying　to　register　just　what　he　was　seeing。　The　torn　skin　of　Zillah's　mouth　was　knitting　itself　back　together；　its　appearance　was　already　closer　to　fresh　pink　scar　tissue　than　raw　wound。　The　smashed　cartilage　of　his　nose　was　straightening；　rebuilding　itself。　And　his　gums　were　still　bleeding…but　not　from　the　teeth　he　had　lost。　They　bled　because　new　teeth　were　ing　in；　poking　white　and　shiny　through　the　tender　pink　flesh。
　　〃This　is　a　goddamn　pain　in　the　ass；〃　said　Zillah。　
　　Nothing　lowered　his　eyes。　〃I　know。〃
　　〃Every　second　it's　growing　back　is　agony。　I　can　feel　each　cell　stretching　itself　toward　the　next　one；　each　nerve　end　screaming。　And　do　you　know　when　was　the　last　time　I　had　to　be　carried　out　of　a　place？　DO　YOU？〃
　　〃When？〃
　　〃1910。　I　was　about　your　age。　I'd　been　picked　up　by　a　pretty　young　artillery　officer　in　Savannah；　Georgia。　I　made　him　take　me　to　a　pany　party…posed　as　his　little　brother　…where　they　served　a　punch　you　could　have　embalmed　corpses　with。　It　was　made　of　wine；　rum；　gin；　brandy；　whiskey；　champagne　。　。　。〃
　　Nothing　thought　of　a　concoction　he　and　Laine　had　mixed　in　a　Mason　jar　when　they'd　been　learning　to　drink…an　inch　from　every　bottle　in　their　parents'　liquor　cabinets。　They　had　dry…heaved　for　days。
　　〃I　lost　control　of　myself。　Broke　a　gentle　lady's　arm；　bit　through　her　left　nipple；　and　put　out　one　of　her　eyes。　It　took　five　men　to　knock　me　out　and　carry　me　away。　They　hanged　me　from　a　live　oak；　and　I　cut　myself　down。　And　that　was　the　last　time　it　happened；　do　you　understand？　THE　LAST　TIME　UNTIL　TODAY！〃
　　Zillah's　face　was　an　inch　from　Nothing's　now；　he　could　actually　see　particles　of　skin　forming　on　Zillah's　lips；　forming　a　thin　web；　then　meshing。
　　〃I　understand；〃　he　told　Zillah。　〃I'm　getting　out　here。〃　
　　Zillah　stared　at　him。　〃No；〃　he　whispered。　〃No。　You　mustn't。〃　A　strange　smile　played　upon　his　half…healed　features。　〃Your　friends　weren't　hurt；　were　they？　And　you've　learned　your　lesson。　Why　don't　we　stay　and　see　the　show　with　you？〃
　　Then；　at　last；　Zillah　stretched　out　his　hands。　The　palms　were　turned　up　and　the　fingers　were　trembling　slightly。　Nothing　was　almost　sure　the　tremor　was　genuine。　Almost。　He　took　Zillah's　hands　in　his　own　and　kissed　them。
　　
　　All　through　the　remainder　of　the　afternoon　Steve　was　bored　and　restless。　Ghost　watched　him　do　the　Steve　Finn　equivalent　of　pacing　the　floor。　He　folded　his　long　body　into　a　hundred　positions　on　the　couch。　He　pulled　the　ratty　coverlet　around　him　and　tried　to　read。　He　picked　up　his　guitar；　then　his　banjo；　but　put　them　down　without　touching　the　strings。　He　got　out　an　old　shoebox　full　of　stuff　Ann　had　sent　him；　letters　and　notes　and　postcards　with　weird　little　messages　on　them。　With　one　finger　Steve　poked　at　an　envelope；　prying　at　the　stamp　with　his　fingernail；　slowly　peeling　it　away　from　the　paper。　Then　he　did　the　same　thing　to　a　second　stamp。　When　he　started　on　a　third；　Ghost　got　up　and　went　to　his　room。
　　He　took　off　his　clothes　and　curled　up　in　bed。　For　an　hour　he　lay　listening　to　the　syrupy　dark　voices　on　the　gospel　radio　station；　trying　not　to　think　about　the　strangers　who　had　broken　into　his　house。　He　was　sure　he　had　dreamed　about　Nothing…for　Ghost；　having　a　dream　about　something　he　was　going　to　do　or　somebody　he　was　going　to　meet　was　as　mon　as　getting　a　call　from　a　friend。
　　A　recollection　came　to　him。　Something　about　the　name　Zillah。　The　flower…seller　had　mentioned　that　name；　his　pale　face　snapping　up　eagerly：　〃Have　you　news　of　Zillah？〃　That　was　the　connection。　But　Ghost　still　didn't　know　who　they　were　or　what　they　wanted　in　Missing　Mile。　And　three　of　today's　visitors　had　a　look　that　reminded　Ghost　of　the　twins　on　the　hill：　a　sleek　gloss；　a　well　fed　but　somehow　unhealthy　look。
　　Nothing　did　not　have　that　look；　not　yet。　But　the　others　were　obviously　old　hands　at…at　whatever　sort　of　pain　and　death　they　dealt。　Ghost　only　knew　that　they　didn't　feel　human；　though　judging　from　the　new　bite　mark　on　Steve's　hand　and　the　bruises　on　his　wrists　and　legs　where　Molochai　and　Twig　had　held　him　down；　they　were　more　corporeal　than　the　twins