pzb.lostsouls-第63部分

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　　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　lessened　a　little。　Christian　opened　his　eyes　and　studied　the　delicate　pattern　of　water　marks　on　the　ceiling；　following　their　lines；　wondering　if　they　formed　maps　that　someone　might　travel。　Wondering　if　they　formed　the　map　that　had　brought　him　and　Nothing　and　the　others　here；　to　this　city；　to　this　room。
　　Soon　his　eyes　closed；　and　he　slept　dark　dreamless　sleep。
　　
　　His　feet　sore　from　all　the　night's　running；　his　heart　ready　to　burst　with　Steve's　pain　and　his　own；　Ghost　led　Steve　along　Chartres　Street。　Steve　had　jammed　the　dagger　into　the　waistband　of　his　jeans。　The　jewelled　handle　protruded　obscenely。
　　Ghost　was　pretty　sure　he　knew　where　Nothing　and　the　others　were　staying。　He　didn't　have　to　be　psychic　to　use　the　phone　book；　and　Christian's　bar　was　still　listed。　But　how　do　you　know　about　the　bar；　the　long…ago　nights　empty　even　at　Mardi　Gras？　How　do　you　know　about　the　room　upstairs　where　a　girl　gave　birth　to　her　own　death？　These　were　questions　best　asked　in　dreams。　Ghost　let　his　feet　lead　him　along。
　　He　shouldn't　be　taking　Steve　on　this　fool　mission　at　all；　putting　them　both　in　danger。　He　should　lead　him　to　a　dead　end；　an　empty　room　somewhere。　Or　a　bar。　But　Steve　had　been　put　through　enough　bullshit　tonight。　Something　in　Ghost　rebelled　at　lying　to　him。　Anyway；　the　vampires　would　surely　be　out　drinking　somewhere。　Steve　could　go　upstairs　and　bang　on　the　door　until　he　saw　the　room　was　empty。　Then　there　would　be　no　reason　to　stay。
　　Steve　saw　the　boarded…up　window；　the　shabby　door　with　the　faded　sign　above　it　that　still　said　CHRISTIAN'S。　Beside　it；　an　unmarked　door　stood　open；　a　long　staircase　ascended　into　darkness。
　　〃Is　this　it？〃　Steve　didn't　wait　for　an　answer；　the　truth　was　in　Ghost's　eyes。　He　put　his　hand　on　the　jewelled　haft　and　started　up。
　　Halfway　to　the　top；　the　darkness　took　on　a　velvety　tangibility；　as　if　Ghost　might　stroke　it　with　his　hand。　Above　him　he　heard　Steve　feeling　his　way　up　the　stairs；　banging　his　head　against　the　walls；　missing　a　step　and　stumbling　when　he　finally　reached　the　landing。　Up　here　there　was　a　little　light；　dim　and　watery；　as　if　the　moon　shone　in　through　an　unseen　hole　in　the　roof。
　　〃This　door？〃　Steve　asked。　There　were　three。
　　〃Yeah；　but…〃　Ghost　stared　at　the　door。　He　had　thought　the　room　would　be　empty；　but　it　didn't　feel　empty。
　　Steve　twisted　the　knob　and　gave　the　door　a　vicious　kick　with　the　toe　of　his　boot。　It　swung　open；　and　before　Ghost　could　react；　Steve　had　stepped　inside。
　　
　　It　was　even　darker　in　the　apartment。　Steve　couldn't　see　the　bed　or　its　two　shadowy　occupants　until　he　was　upon　them。　His　knees　hit　the　edge　of　the　mattress；　and　he　nearly　lost　his　balance。　Only　the　thought　of　falling　into　bed　with　two　vampires　steadied　him。
　　The　room　reeked　of　blood　and　vomit。　Steve's　stomach　clenched；　and　all　the　beer　he　had　drunk　earlier　threatened　to　make　itself　known　to　him　again。　But　he　was　past　being　sick。　There　was　another　smell　too；　something　herbal　and　alcoholic。　It　was　ing；　he　realized；　from　one　of　the　figures　on　the　bed。　It　was　on　his　breath。
　　Steve　pulled　the　knife　out。　The　haft　felt　good　in　his　hand；　heavy　and　sure。　It　would　cleave　straight　through　the　mother…fucker's　heart　blood　for　Ann's　blood。　And　then　he　would　keep　carving。　He　would　take　out　as　many　of　them　as　he　could。
　　The　weight　of　the　knife　tugged　at　Steve's　arm；　as　if　the　thin　sharp　blade　were　hungry　for　blood。　A　thread　of　doubt　touched　him。　Blood　for　blood：　that　was　right。　But　somewhere　in　him　he　knew　that　this　was　not　the　one　who　had　killed　Ann。　This　was　not　Zillah。　Did　they　all　have　to　die　for　Zillah's　sins？
　　Steve　wavered；　nearly　dropped　the　knife。　But　then　the　demon　in　his　mind　began　to　whisper。　Not　his　old　familiar　demon。　This　was　a　new　one；　darker　and　more　twisted；　with　a　dark　shapeless　mouth　and　eyes　that　wept　blood。　Ann　died　like　a　roadkill；　it　told　him。　And　you　know　it　was　your　fault。　Fuck　what　Ghost　says；　you　know　the　part　you　played。　If　you　can't　do　this；　you　might　as　well　carry　her　bloody　corpse　back　to　Missing　Mile　slung　over　your　shoulders。
　　Steve's　hands　tightened　convulsively　around　the　haft　of　the　knife。　The　sharp　facets　of　the　jewels　cut　into　his　palms。　Zillah　was　somewhere　in　this　room；　he　knew　that。　And　Zillah　would　be　next。
　　Then　the　demon　was　pulling　his　arms　down；　and　Steve　screamed　his　exultant　rage　as　the　blade　cracked　the　vampire's　breastbone　and　sank　into　his　soft　dark　heart。
　　
　　Nothing　struggled　to　wake　up。　Something　was　wrong。　His　body　felt　sheathed　in　dry　sweat；　and　he　could　not　force　his　eyelids　open。
　　He　had　been　so　sick　from　Wallace's　blood。　They　all　had。　The　smell　of　vomit　was　still　strong　in　the　room；　vomit　and　Chartreuse　and　beer　。　。　。
　　No　one　had　drunk　beer　tonight。　That　much　he　was　certain　of。　Nothing　managed　to　open　his　eyes。
　　He　had　just　enough　time　to　see　Steve　standing　over　the　bed；　his　face　terrified　but　crazily　exultant；　his　arms　raised　high　above　his　head…and　then　Nothing　saw　the　blade　plunge　down　into　Christian's　body　beside　him。　Christian's　black　blood　arced　up　from　his　chest；　splattering　the　moonlight；　soaking　into　the　carpet　to　mingle　with　the　faded　blood　of　Jessy。
　　
　　The　impact　brought　Christian　up　from　sleep。
　　For　a　moment　there　was　pain；　deep　and　cold。　But　pared　with　the　sickness　he　had　felt　earlier；　the　pain　was　not　very　bad。　It　was　like　being　adrift　on　a　river；　one　that　smelled　of　mud　and　bones　like　the　Mississippi；　but　this　river　was　green。　Its　gentle　luminescence　bathed　him　and　soaked　through　him。　At　last　he　was　drunk。　The　river　made　him　drunk；　and　his　mind　grew　dim　and　began　to　rest。
　　Heartblood　welled　up　in　his　mouth；　and　he　licked　it　from　his　lips。　The　taste　was　sweet；　dark；　familiar；　and　it　would　stay　with　him　forever；　it　was　the　essence　of　him。　Through　the　bright　film　that　washed　over　his　eyes；　he　saw　a　face　above　him：　translucent　hair　hanging　like　a　waterfall；　pale　eyes　wide　and　stricken。
　　As　Christian　sank　beneath　the　green　waters　of　his　death；　he　thought；　Three　hundred　and　eighty…three　years。　And　he　was　as　beautiful　as　he　should　have　been。　He　was　lovely。
　　
　　There　were　too　many　words　in　Ghost's　mouth；　ready　to　spill　into　the　silence　of　the　room。　Murderer；　he　wanted　to　say；　my　best　friend；　my　only　brother。　I　once　saw　you　run　your　ear　off　the　road　to　keep　from　hitting　a　stray　dog。　How　could　you　stab　someone　through　the　heart？　How　could　you　bear　it　as　you　looked　into　his　eyes？
　　But　in　the　end　he　didn't　say　any　of　those　words；　because　the　silence　erupted　around　them。　
　　Ghost　had　e　up　beside　the　bed。　He　was　standing　a　little　behind　Steve；　and　he　never　saw　Zillah　ing。　Steve　must　have　seen　him；　because　he　stepped　backward。
　　There　was　only　a　heart…stopping　blur　of　motion　launching　itself　out　of　the　darkness。　Then　the　razor　flashed；　and　every　speck　of　light　in　the　room　seemed　to　coalesce　along　its　deadly　edge。　Wetness　hit　Ghost's　face；　hot　and　stinging。　The　taste　was　in　his　mouth；　in　his　throat。　Blood。　Steve's　blood；　spraying。
　　Zillah　had　Steve　around　the　chest；　forcing　him　down。　Steve　bucked　and　clawed　at　him。　But　Zillah's　free　hand　had　the　razor；　and　now　it　was　swinging　down；　toward　Steve's　throat。
　　The　knife　still　protruded　from　Christian's　chest；　jewels　glittering　dully　in　the　faint　light。　Ghost　reached　out　and　pulled　it　free。　Christian's　heart　made　a　faint　sucking　sound　as　the　blade　came　away。　Blood　seeped　from　the　wound。
　　Ghost　felt　that　he　moved　in　slow　motion：　the　razor　was　still　swinging　down。　He　took　two　steps　forward。　Easily；　he　slid　his　left　arm　around　Zillah's　neck　effortlessly　he　pulled　Zillah's　chin　up　and　back。
　　Then　he　drove　the　knife　straight　into　Zillah's　temple；　and　that　was　the　hardest　thing　he　had　ever　done。
　　
　　Nothing　saw　it　all。　He　was　still　on　the　bed；　half…propped　on　his　elbows；　naked　except　for　the　vomit…stained　sheet　that　covered　him。　He　saw　Steve　bring　the　knife　down　into　Christian's　chest；　and　he　had　not　even　had　time　to　react　to　that　when　Zillah　flew　like　a　demented　bat　out　of　the　corner　and　whipped　his　razor　across　Steve's　upraised　forearms。
　　Then　the　most　extraordinary　thing　of　all　happened：　Ghost　took　the　knife；　stepped　forward；　and　lifted　Zillah　straight　off　the　floor。　He　only　had　one　arm　around　Zillah's　neck；　but　Nothing　saw　Zillah's　feet　dangling　an　inch　above　the　floorboards。　Ghost　hoisted　Zillah　around　so　that　he　was　facing　the　bed。
　　And　Zillah's　eyes　met　Nothing's　as　the　knife　went　in。　
　　There　was　no　love　in　them；　no　sorrow。　Only　pain　and　blame　and　blind　rage。　This　was　not　the　way　Zillah　had　planned　it。　Through　all　the　stupid　risks　he　took　he　had　never　considered　the　possibility　of　his　own　death。　This　is　your　fault；　those　eyes　told　Nothing。　You　brought　me　to　this；　and　this　should　be　happening　to　you。
　　Then　the　green　light　blazed　once　and　went　out。　Zillah's　eyes　were　as　dead　as　a　blown　light　bulb。　But　their　message　had　burned　itself　into　Nothing；　had　hardened　him　faster　and　better　than　anything　else　could。
　　Zillah's　feet　kicked　and　shuffled　an　inch　above　the　floor。　Blood　began　to　seep　around　the　handle　of　the　knife；　then　from…his　nostrils　and　the　corners　of　his　eyes。　His　mouth　fell　open；　and　a　fountain　of　blood　tumbled　down　his　chin；　washed　over　Ghost's　arm　and　hand。　That　seemed　to　wake　Ghost。　The　strain　of　Zillah's　weight　hit　him；　and　he　let　the　body　fall。　He　stared　unbelievingly　at　his　hands。
　　〃Steve？〃　he　said　in　a　small　voice。　〃What。。。？〃
　　Steve　was　slumped　against　the　bed。　He　had　taken　off　his　shirt　and　was　pressing　it　between　his　arms；　trying　to　stop　the　bleeding　from　his　slashed　wrists。　Tiredly；　he　looked　up　at　Ghost。
　　〃I　owe　you　another　one；〃　he　said。
　　
　　Nothing　glanced　around　the　room。　Where　were　Molochai　and　Twig？　He　saw　them　huddled　against　the　far　wall；　heard　them　puking　more　violently　than　ever。　He　didn't　know　if　they　had　seen　Zillah　die。　Right　now　they　sounded　as　if　they　were　beyond　caring。
　　He　looked　at　Ghost。　Ghost　stared　back。　His　eyes　were　clear　and　very　pale。
　　〃I　could　kill　you；　you　know；〃　Nothing　heard　himself　say。　〃I　could　make　them　get　up　and　kill　y