pzb.lostsouls-第62部分

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seum　once。　They　were　all　in　glass　boxes；　she　told　him。　You　couldn't　smell　them；　but　I　knew　just　how　they　would　smell。　Like　spice　kept　in　a　jar　too　long。　Like　rags　hung　up　to　dry　for　a　thousand　years。
　　Pink　and　black　candle　wax　had　melted　onto　the　velvet　dropcloth　of　the　altar。　Steve　took　the　stairs　three　at　a　time；　kicking　aside　a　heap　of　rags　that　lay　across　the　top　tread。　Ghost　followed　slowly。　There　was　a　bad　feeling　here；　a　feeling　of　stillness；　of　nothing　left　alive。　He　didn't　want　to　go　upstairs；　but　he　knew　he　had　to。
　　At　the　top　of　the　stairs　he　nudged　the　heap　of　rags　with　the　toe　of　his　sneaker。　It　rolled　over　and　gaped　up　at　him；　lips　stretched　tight　over　teeth　like　chips　of　ivory。　A　tiny　half…dried　trickle　of　blood　seeped　from　the　torn　socket　of　its　right　eye。　Arkady　must　have　summoned　the　last　of　his　strength　to　pull　the　knife　out　of　his　robe　and　drive　it　into　his　eye　socket。　Ghost　had　seen　the　knife　on　Arkady's　nightstand；　a　long；　lethal…looking　thing　with　a　jewelled　handle　and　a　ten…inch　tapered　blade。　His　hands　were　still　folded　around　the　haft。　Ghost　saw　the　gleam　of　precious　stones　between　fingers　like　dry　kindling。
　　Steve's　boot　had　punched　a　sizable　hole　in　Arkady's　brittle　rib　cage。　Inside　the　body　cavity；　withered　organs　hung　like　empty　wineskins；　grayish…brown；　already　coated　with　a　fine　layer　of　dust。　How　the　twins　must　have　loved　Arkady；　Ghost　thought；　how　many　wild　nights　they　must　have　spent　with　him；　to　be　able　to　suck　him　so　utterly　dry。　How　could　this　bundle　of　shrivelled　tissues　have　lived　long　enough　to　drive　a　knife　into　its　own　eye？
　　But　the　knife　protruded　from　the　socket　in　mute　testimony。　Gently；　Ghost　pried　Arkady's　brittle　fingers　from　the　haft；　drew　the　blade　from　Arkady's　eye；　and　tried　to　tuck　the　white　robe　around　the　desiccated　little　body。　He　closed　Arkady's　withered　eyelids　as　carefully　as　he　could；　but　they　still　flaked　away　beneath　his　fingers。
　　Then　he　made　himself　go　into　the　bedroom。
　　The　light　was　as　flat　and　dead　as　neon；　though　it　was　only　the　light　of　the　moon　shining　through　the　window。　Steve　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　bed。　Beside　him　was　a　hump　swathed　in　bloody　sheets。　Steve's　face　had　gone　an　absolute；　eerie　white。　Thick　blood　coated　his　hands。　He　raked　his　fingers　through　his　hair；　matting　it　and　streaking　his　forehead。　〃She's　dead；〃　he　said。
　　〃Are　you　sure？〃
　　Steve　laughed　the　most　hopeless　laugh　Ghost　had　ever　heard。　〃Oh　yeah。　I'm　sure。　e　here　and　get　a　good　look；　why　don't　you？〃　Ghost　stepped　closer　to　the　bed；　and　Steve　yanked　the　sheet　back。
　　Ann　lay　on　her　side；　twisted　into　an　attitude　that　was　painful　to　look　at。　Her　neck　craned　stiffly　back。　Her　face　was　a　grimace　of　pain。　Crusted　rivulets　of　blood　ran　from　the　corners　of　her　mouth。　Her　hands　were　thrust　between　her　outstretched　legs　as　if　she　had　been　clawing　at　herself。　Blood　slimed　her　arms　to　the　elbows　like　gory　gloves。　Most　of　the　bandages　had　e　unravelled；　or　Ann　had　torn　them　away。　They　lay　in　a　sodden　heap　beside　the　bed。　The　sheet　beneath　Ann's　hips　was　a　black　nightmare　of　blood。　She　had　bled　so　much　that　the　sheet　and　the　mattress　could　not　absorb　it　all；　the　overflow　pooled　in　the　wrinkles　and　depressions　of　the　bedclothes；　clotting　as　thick　and　dark　as　jelly。
　　Cupped　in　Ann's　hands；　half…encased　in　a　glob　of　gelatinous　blood；　Ghost　saw　a　pale　shape　no　larger　than　a　red　bean：　the　dot　of　an　eye；　the　veined　bubble　of　a　skull；　tiny　fingers　like　the　petals　of　sea　anemones：　He　looked　away。
　　Four　A。M。　is　when　all　my　dreams　die；　Ann　had　told　him。　It　would　always　be　four　A。M。　for　her　now；　nothing　could　ever　get　her　through　this　last；　longest　night。
　　〃You　know　what？〃　Steve　laughed　again　and　shoved　his　bloody　hair　back。　〃There's　even　blood　on　her　eyeballs。　How　the　fuck　did　it　get　on　her　eyeballs？　What　did　he　give　her？　What　did　we　give　her？〃　He　stared　wildly　around　the　room；　at　the　dusty　walls；　the　cobwebbed　ceiling。　He　met　Ghost's　eyes；　but　there　was　no　sign　of　recognition　in　his　empty　stare。　A　long　shudder　ran　through　him。
　　Then　he　seemed　to　pull　himself　together。　His　eyes　were　no　longer　blank；　they　shone　with　the　glaze　of　alcohol　and　unhealthy　resolve。　〃I'm　gonna　kill　them；〃　he　said。　〃You　found　Ann。　You　can　find　where　they　live。　And　you're　gonna　take　me　there　and　help　me　kill　them　all。〃
　　Ghost　had　to　moisten　his　lips　before　he　spoke。　〃I　don't　want　to　kill　anybody；〃　he　said。
　　〃Yeah？〃　Steve　grinned　his　humorless　grin。　〃Then　how　e　you're　holding　that　？〃
　　Ghost　looked　down　at　his　hand。　He　was　holding　Arkady's　jewelled　knife。　The　slender　blade　was　dazzling　in　the　cold　neon　light。
　　Ghost　raised　his　eyes　back　to　Steve's。　Slowly　he　shook　his　head。
　　〃Fuck　you；　then！〃　Steve　jumped　up　and　bolted　onto　the　landing；　heading　for　the　stairs。　Ghost　started　to　follow。
　　But　before　he　reached　the　door；　he　turned　back　and　dug　a　handkerchief　out　of　one　of　his　pockets。　Quickly；　without　thinking　much　about　it；　he　took　the　head　of　the　foetus　between　thumb　and　forefinger　and　extracted　it　from　the　lump　of　congealed　blood。　The　back　of　his　hand　brushed　Ann's　inner　thigh；　it　was　scaly　with　dried　gore。
　　The　tiny　skull　was　still　warm；　and　for　a　moment　the　sticky　skin　seemed　to　twitch　between　his　fingers。　But　that　was　only　his　hand　trembling。　He　wrapped　the　foetus　in　his　handkerchief　and　tucked　the　bundle　into　his　pocket。
　　Out　on　the　landing；　Steve　snatched　Arkady's　withered　corpse　up　by　the　front　of　its　robe　and　slammed　it　against　the　wall。　The　brittle　cranium　shattered。　Dust　sifted　from　the　cavity；　powdered　Steve's　hands；　mingled　with　Ann's　blood。
　　〃What'd　you　do　to　her？〃　Steve　yelled　into　the　ruined　face。　〃What　was　that　stuff？。　Drano？　Why　did　we　trust　you？〃
　　He　kicked　the　body　down　the　stairs。　At　the　bottom　it　crumbled；　the　white　robe　settling　over　a　pile　of　dust　and　splintered　bones。　Steve　followed　it。
　　Ghost　ran　down　after　him　and　tried　to　grab　him；　but　Steve　was　already　raging　through　the　shop。　He　kicked　Arkady's　altar；　and　it　crashed　over；　though　Ashley's　skull　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。　He　tore　the　beaded　curtain　down。　Bright　bits　of　plastic　skittered　across　the　floor。　He　swept　rows　of　bottles　and　boxes　off　the　shelves。　Strange　pungent　smells　wafted　up　from　the　spilt　substances。
　　〃Fucker；〃　said　Steve　helplessly。　〃Goddamn　shithead　fucker。〃　He　might　have　been　speaking　of　God　or　Arkady　or　himself。　He　stood　with　his　feet　splayed　and　his　eyes　rolling　wildly；　looking　for　something　else　to　destroy；　something　whose　broken　fragments　might　magically　recoalesce　into　a　whole；　living　Ann。　He　grabbed　the　knife　from　Ghost's　hand　and　raised　it　high　above　his　head。
　　Ghost　saw　plainly　what　Steve　intended　to　do　next：　he　was　going　to　bring　the　heavy　handle　down　on　the　glass　case　where　Arkady's　bowls　and　jars　were　laid　out。　Several　hundred　pounds　of　shattering　glass；　even　in　a　back　alley　of　the　French　Quarter　late　at　night；　might　attract　attention。　And　with　Ann　lying　in　her　own　blood　upstairs　and　the　proprietor　smashed　to　powder　in　the　back　room；　attention　was　not　what　they　wanted。　〃Don't　do　that；〃　Ghost　said；　and　caught　Steve's　arm。
　　Steve　whirled　on　him。　For　a　moment　Ghost　thought　Steve　would　bring　the　knife　down　in　his　face。　But　Steve　only　stood　poised　to　attack；　the　muscles　of　his　arms　trembling。
　　〃Listen；〃　Ghost　said　as　calmly　as　he　could。　〃It　wasn't　your　fault。　It　wasn't　even　Arkady's　fault。　Ann　made　her　own　choice。〃　Bewitched；　he　thought；　but　that　wouldn't　help　Steve。
　　Steve's　lips　worked　soundlessly。　His　eyes　were　red　and　desperate。　But　ever　so　slowly　he　lowered　the　knife。　In　that　moment；　despite　the　dark　smears　of　blood　on　his　forehead　and　the　lines　of　exhaustion　bracketing　his　mouth；　Steve's　face　looked　younger　and　more　vulnerable　than　ever。　It　was　the　face　of　the　eleven…year…old　kid　Ghost　had　once　known；　wanting　badly　to　believe　what　Ghost　was　telling　him；　wanting　to　trust　Ghost　but　not　quite　able。
　　At　last　Steve　said；　〃You　don't　think　it　was　my　fault？〃　
　　〃It　was　never　your　goddamn　fault。〃
　　〃Or　Arkady's；　even？　You　don't　think　she　died　because　of　the　poison　we　gave　her？〃
　　〃She　would've　died　no　matter　what；　Steve。　Arkady　told　us　she　couldn't　have　an　abortion。　And　the　baby　would　have　killed　her。　It　wasn't　our　fault。　Not　a　damn　thing　could　have　helped　her。〃
　　〃The　vampires　did　it。〃　Soft；　but　simmering　with　rage　and　pain。　〃Yeah。　Vampires。　So　what　if　they　are？　Does　that　mean　they　can　just　roll　into　town；　fuck　up　my　life；　then　go　off　and　party　some　more？　I　was　fucking　up　my　life　just　fine　on　my　own。　I　didn't　need　them。　Ann　didn't　need　them。　I　still　loved　her　I　would've…I　would've　〃
　　〃I　know　you　would've。〃
　　〃But　now　I　can't。〃　Steve　spread　his　hands　wide。　〃There's　no　choice　anymore。　Everything　I　wanted；　everything　she　ever　wanted…none　of　it　can　ever　happen　now。　And　how　e？　Because　some　vampire　was　horny？〃　He　hefted　the　knife。　〃No。　It's　not　gonna　be　that　way。　You　can　find　them；　Ghost。　You　can　take　me　to　their　lair。
　　〃And　I'm　gonna　kick　some　vampire　ass。〃
　　
　　Christian　clawed　the　bathroom　door　open　and　felt　his　way　back　along　the　landing。　His　good　night　vision　could　not　help　him　now；　because　his　eyes　were　squeezed　shut　against　the　pain。　It　washed　over　him　again；　a　green　nausea　that　felt　as　if　it　were　turning　his　guts　into　bloody　lace；　a　sickness　that　clutched　the　softest　core　of　him　and　squeezed。
　　Twice　already　he　had　made　his　way　to　the　bathroom。　His　fastidiousness　would　not　allow　him　to　vomit　on　the　floor　as　the　others　were　doing；　though　now　he　was　far　sicker　than　any　of　them；　except　possibly　Nothing。
　　He　swore　at　himself。　Stupid；　stupid…falling　for　Zillah's　tricks；　trying　to　buy　their　love。　You　can　never　be　like　them。　They　are　young　and　strong　and　wild。　To　them　the　blood　is　just　another　path　to　drunken　gratification。　You　are　old；　and　for　you　the　blood　is　life　itself。
　　But　as　the　Chartreuse　blazed　down；　he　had　felt　as　if　he　were　drinking　those　eyes；　Zillah's　eyes。　Zillah　had　made　him　drink　half　the　bottle。　Molochai　and　Twig　egged　him　on　between　bouts　of　retching。　Nothing　lay　silent；　slit…eyed；　beaded　with　icy　sweat。
　　Christian　pushed　the　door　shut；　stumbled　across　the　room；　and　fell　on　the　bed　beside　Nothing。　He　heard　no　gagging　or　moaning；　everyone　else　seemed　to　be　asleep。　The　blaze　of　green　pain　lesse