gns.cannibalcult-第1部分

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　　THE　GUILLOTINE；　brutal　instantaneous　bloody　death；　a　hellish　instrument　of　execution。　It　dominated　the　white…tiled　room；　a。　metallic　structure　that　gleamed　evilly　in　the　stark　fluorescent　light。
　　
　　Louis　Nevillon　was　calm　as　his　guards　allowed　him　a　few　seconds　to　savour　his　fate。　They　were　gloating；　he　could　read　it　in　their　smug；　supposedly　impassive；　expressions。　Even　the　priest。　Tete…de…chien！　The　executioner　was　masked；　a　custom　that　went　back　centuries；　but　there　was　a　gleam　in　the　pale　blue　eyes　that　stared　out　of　the　cloth　slits　that　was　unmistakable。　It　was　Gallon；　of　course。　Who　else？　Nobody　had　ever　seen　his　face；　at　least　none　of　his　victims。　Just　those　cold　orbs；　enjoying　every　second；　not　hurrying　because　it　was　all　over　in　a　second　and　what　were　an　extra　few　minutes　to　a　doomed　man？
　　
　　Nevillon　returned　his　stare。　His　heart　missed　a　beat；　for　one　second　he　thought　the　other　flinched　but　it　could　have　been　a　trick　of　the　light。　But　why　should　it　be？　These　cochons　were　all　frightened　of　Nevillon；　even　though　they　had　him　shackled；　his　head　as　good　as　on　the　block。　Even　now　they　feared　that　he　might　strike　them　dead　with　his　inexplicable；　terrible　magic。　The　fifteenth　century　or　the　twentieth；　it　made　no　difference。　Each　and　every　person　has　a　lurking　fear　of　the　unknown。　Except　Nevillon；　of　course。
　　
　　They　had　been　scared　of　him　throughout　the　ten…day　trial；　armed　warders　and　police　surrounding　the　dock；　a　pany　of　special　Surete　ringing　the　building。　The　press　claimed　it　was　to　keep　the　angry　crowds　back；　to　stop　them　from　breaking　in　with　their　own　brand　of　justice。
　　
　　Nevillon　had　sensed　clammy　hands　tightening　over　revolver　butts　each　time　he　had　shifted　position；　eyes　averted　every　time　he　had　looked　around　the　crowded　court　room。　Even　the　judge　flinched；　licking　his　dry　lips　continually；　snapped　irritably　at　the　witness　for　the　prosecution　for　not　speaking　up。　The　little　plump　man　had　blanched；　swallowed；　continued　his　evidence　in　a　loud　hoarse　whisper；　his　gaze　averted　so　that　his　eyes　did　not　meet　Nevillon's。
　　
　　Nevillon　had　never　doubted　that　they　would　find　him　guilty。　He　had　considered　a　plea；　spurned　the　advice　of　his　counsel。　Fourteen　charges　of　murder；　nine　of　mutilation。　They　could　only　guillotine　you　once。
　　
　　By　the　fifth　day　of　the　trial　he　was　refusing　to　answer　questions；　silent　contempt　that　was　making　the　jury　uneasy。　Even　now　they　had　reached　their　decision；　but　when　the　time　came　it　would　need　courage　to　voice　it。　Because　Louis　Nevillon　was　no　ordinary　murderer。　Had　he　not　already　told　them　that　he　was　a　descendant　of　Silvain　Nevillon　who　was　burned　for　witchcraft　at　Orleans　in　1614。　Descendant？　He　was　more　than　that。　A　reincarnation！　Silvain　himself　reborn；　a　line　of　evil　that　even　the　guillotine　could　not　destroy。　But　these　fools　would　not　understand　that。
　　
　　Each　charge　brought　a　racing　of　Nevillon's　pulses；　a　quickening　of　his　heartbeat。　The　mention　of　Yvette　de　Coulon　gave　him　an　erection　as　though　even　now　she　lay　naked　before　him；　wide…eyed　with　terror；　yielding。
　　
　　'Louis　Nevillon；　did　you　not　on　the　night　of　30　April　kidnap　one　Yvette　de　Coulon　from　her　home　and　take　her　to　a　place　of　devil　worship　at　Nemours　where　you　mitted　vile　and　unspeakable　acts　upon　her　body　both　in　life　and　in　death？'　30　April…Walpurgisnacht！
　　
　　By　not　so　much　as　the　flicker　of　an　eyelid　did　Nevillon　betray　his　emotions。　Perhaps　they　noticed　his　arousement　pushing　atthe　zip　of　his　dark　serge　trousers。　Half…hearted　staccato　barks　from　the　judge　demanding　an　answer；　but　Louis　Nevillon　remained　silent　and　impassive。　He　wanted　to　hear　it　all　from　their　lips；　relive　it　in　his　own　mind　in　the　telling。　His　senses　were　sharp；　he　had　a　good　memory。　He　smelled　again　the　freshness　of　that　young　body；　tasted　it　again　on　his　palate。
　　
　　'。。。　and　in　pany　with　others　unknown　to　this　court　you；　Louis　Nevillon；　attempted　to　mune　with　Satan。　After　you　had　raped　the　said　girl　you　then　proceeded　to　drain　the　blood　from　her　body；　drinking　it　with　your　followers。　And　then　。。。　and　then　。。。〃
　　
　　A　sharp　intake　of　breaths　in　unison；　a　sea　of　faces　that　paled；　shying　away；　not　wanting　to　hear　the　truth。
　　
　　'And　then　。。。　what？'　the　judge's　tongue　was　flicking　like　a　hungry　lizard　in　search　of　insects。　'This　court　must　know　exactly　what　happened！'
　　
　　'And　then　。。。　Louis　Nevillon；　you　proceeded　to　mutilate　the　corpse　still　further；　hacking　it　limb　from　limb　。。。　distributing　joints　of　human　flesh　to　your　followers；　joining　with　them　in　cannibalism。　In　the　space　of　a　few　hours　the　entire　body　of　Yvette　de　Coulon　was　devoured；　after　which　you　perpetrated　acts　that　defy　the　belief　of　sane　people　with　the　remaining　bones！'
　　
　　A　piercing　scream　from　somewhere　up　in　the　public　gallery；　the　thud　of　a　falling　body。　People　rushing；　somebody　being　stretchered　out。　Madame　de　Coulon；　the　dead　girl's　mother。　Nevillon　permitted　himself　the　faintest　of　smiles。　He　had　many　ways　of　taking　his　revenge　on　people；　every　one　of　them　in　here　and　those　chanting　out　in　the　street　would　pay　for　their　arrogance　in　a　variety　of　ways。
　　
　　The　lesser　killings；　some　not　proven。　He　heard　the　drone　of　words　but　his　mind　was　elsewhere。　He　could；　had　he　chosen；　have　transported　his　astral　body　on　to　the　astral　plane；　left　behind　a　useless　body　impervious　to　pain…but　that　would　not　have　served　his　purpose。　The　Nevillon　evil　must　live　on　and　he　had　to　see　it　through　to　the　end。　The　guillotine；　degradation　but　painless。　The　sooner　it　was　over　the　better。
　　
　　He　was　suddenly　aware　that　the　death　sentence　had　been　passed　amidst　an　eager　murmur　throughout　the　crowded　courtroom。　Time　had　slipped　by；　the　jury　had　been　out　for　three　hours　and　he　had　not　noticed　their　absence。　Now　he　was　back　in　the　dock；　a　condemned　man　being　led　down　a　flight　of　stone　steps；　his　guards　losing　no　opportunity　to　hustle　him。　A　kick　from　behind　almost　sent　him　sprawling。　They　would　all　pay　for　this！
　　
　　The　journey　from　the　court　to　the　prison　would　have　been　a　nightmare　for　any　man　other　than　Nevillon。　It　was　all　the　police　could　do　to　restrain　the　crowds；　a　blur　of　hate…filled　faces　screaming　abuse；　a　fusillade　of　rotten　fruit　and　eggs　continually　splatting　against　the　vehicle；　rivulets　of　thick　red　tomato　juice　trickling　down　the　two　small　barred　windows；　reminding　Louis　Nevillon　of　Yvette　de　Coulon　again　and　giving　him　another　erection。　It　had　all　been　worth　it。
　　
　　The　guards　inside　the　prison　van　had　their　pistols　drawn　even　though　he　was　handcuffed。　Like　everybody　else；　they　were　frightened　of　the　tall　grey…haired　man　with　the　aristocratic　features。　History　was　repeating　itself；　another　nobleman　on　his　way　to　M。　Guillotine；　the　mob　roaring　for　his　head　and　the　sight　of　blood。　He　laughed　aloud　and　his　two　panions　started；　blanching；　their　pistol　barrels　jerking　up　and　training　on　his　chest。
　　
　　'You　will　not　laugh　when　your　head　is　on　the　block；　Monsieur　Nevillon'　one　of　them　spat。　'I　have　witnessed　an　execution。　Once。　Shall　I　tell　you　all　about　it？'
　　
　　'I；　too；　have　been　present　at　an　execution；'　Nevillon　replied　softly；　'so　perhaps　you　would　like　to　hear　about　mine　first。　The　condemned　girl's　name　was　Yvette　。。。'
　　
　　'Cochonr　a　clenched　fist　caught　the　prisoner　across　the　mouth；　jerked　his　head　back。　'Filthy　swine！'
　　
　　The　second　man　drove　forward　with　a　booted　foot；　took　Louis　Nevillon　full　in　the　groin；　knocked　him　from　his　seat　More　blows。　He　threw　up　his　manacled　hands　but　it　was　impossible　to　ward　them　off。
　　
　　'If　I　had　my　way；'　the　guard　who　had　delivered　the　first　blow　restrained　his　colleague；　'I　would　not　put　his　head　on　the　block。　A　little　at　a　time；　eh；　Marcel？　One　leg；　two。。。　one　arm；　two　。。　。　maybe　something　else　after　that！'　He　winked　and　they　both　roared　with　malicious　mirth。
　　
　　Now　the　end　was　in　sight。　The　priest　wanted　to　see　him　dead　because　it　was　all　part　of　the　fight　against　evil。　The　guards；　the　executioner；　this　was　their　revenge　for　Yvette　de　Coulon。　Fools；　Satan's　own　could　not　be　destroyed　by　the　guillotine；　he　was　not　as　other　men。
　　
　　The　priest　was　mumbling　something；　reciting　from　a　prayer　book。　None　of　them　tried　to　look　pious；　they　were　deliberately　prolonging　the　finale；　thinking　that　he　would　suffer　untold　mental　agonies　these　last　few　minutes。　They　should　have　drugged　him　but　they　had　deliberately　overlooked　this　act　of　legal　mercy。　Who　was　to　know？　This　chamber　was　soundproofed；　nobody　would　hear　his　final　screams　for　mercy。
　　
　　Yet　Louis　Nevillon　heard　the　huge　gathering　beyond　the　high　prison　walls；　a　slow　countdown　to　the　acpaniment　of　slow　handclapping　and　the　stamping　of　feet。　They　were　shouting　Yvette　de　Coulon's　name。
　　
　　Two　of　the　warders　led　Nevillon　forward；　viciously　kicked　his　legs　from　under　him　so　that　he　fell　hard；　was　dragged　into　a　kneeling　position；　the　steel　neckbands　almost　choking　him　as　his　head　was　strapped　on　to　the　block。　His　eyes　should　have　been　covered　but　this；　like　the　sedatives；　was　ignored。
　　
　　He　could　see　everything　that　was　happening。　A　detailed　reflection　on　the　polished　stainless　steel　base　on　which　the　guillotine