dk.nightchills-第2部分

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　Holbrook　repeated　it。
　〃Excellent。　Now　do　it。〃
　He　hung　up；　went　into　the　bathroom；　and　began　to　draw　a　tub　full　of　warm　water。
　When　he　turned　right　onto　the　state　route；　Glenn　Rossner　pressed　the　accelerator　all　the　way　to　the　floor。　The　engine　roared。　The　car's　frame　began　to　shimmy。　Trees　and　houses　and　other　cars　flashed　past；　mere　blurs　of　color。　The　steering　wheel　jumped　and　vibrated　in　his　hands。
　For　the　first　mile　and　a　half；　he　didn't　look　away　from　the　road　for　even　a　second。　When　he　saw　the　curve　ahead；　he　glanced　at　the　speedometer　and　saw　that　he　was　doing　slightly　better　than　a　hundred　miles　per　hour。
　He　whimpered；　but　he　didn't　hear　himself。　The　only　things　he　could　hear　were　the　tortured　noises　produced　by　the　car。　At　the　last　moment　he　gritted　his　teeth　and　shuddered。
　The　Land　Rover　hit　the　four…foot…high　stone　wall　so　hard　that　the　engine　was　jammed　back　into　Rossner's　lap。　The　car　plowed　part　of　the　way　through　the　wall。　Stones　shot　up　and　rained　back　down。　The　Rover　tipped　onto　its　crushed　front　end；　rolled　over　on　its　roof；　slid　across　the　ruined　wall；　and　burst　into　flames。
　Holbrook　undressed　and　climbed　into　the　tub。　He　settled　down　in　the　water　and　picked　up　the　single…edge　razor　blade　that　lay　on　the　porcelain　rim。　He　held　the　blade　by　the　blunt　end；　firmly　between　the　thumb　and　first　finger　of　his　right　hand；　then　slashed　open　the　veins　in　his　left　wrist。
　He　tried　to　cut　his　right　wrist。　His　left　hand　could　not　hold　the　blade。　It　slipped　from　his　fingers。
　He　plucked　it　out　of　the　darkening　water；　held　it　in　his　right　hand　once　more；　and　cut　across　the　bridge　of　his　left　foot。
　Then　he　leaned　back　and　closed　his　eyes。
　Slowly；　he　drifted　down　a　lightless　tunnel　of　the　mind；　into　ever　deepening　darkness；　getting　dizzy　and　weak；　feeling　surprisingly　little　pain。　In　thirty　minutes　he　was　atose。　In　forty　minutes　he　was　dead。
　　
　　
　　
　Sunday；　August　7；　1977
　AFTER　WORKING　ALL　WEEK　on　the　midnight　shift；　Buddy　Pellineri　was　unable　to　change　his　sleeping　habits　for　the　weekend。　At　four　o'clock　Sunday　morning；　he　was　in　the　kitchen　of　his　tiny；　two…room　apartment。　The　radio；　his　most　prized　possession；　was　turned　down　low：　music　from　an　all…night　Canadian　station。　He　was　sitting　at　the　table；　next　to　the　window；　staring　fixedly　at　the　shadows　on　the　far　side　of　the　street。　He　had　seen　a　cat　running　along　the　walk　over　there；　and　the　hairs　had　stood　up　on　the　back　of　his　neck。
　There　were　two　things　that　Buddy　Pellineri　hated　and　feared　more　than　all　else　in　life：　cats　and　ridicule。
　For　twenty…five　years　he　had　lived　with　his　mother；　and　for　twenty　years　she　had　kept　a　cat　in　the　house；　first　Caesar　and　then　Caesar　the　Second。　She　had　never　realized　that　the　cats　were　quicker　and　far　more　cunning　than　her　son　and；　therefore；　a　bane　to　him。　Caesar…first　or　second；　it　made　no　difference…　liked　to　lie　quietly　atop　bookshelves　and　cupboards　and　high…boys；　until　Buddy　walked　past。　Then　he　leaped　on　Buddy's　back。　The　cat　never　scratched　him　badly；　for　the　most　part　it　was　concerned　with　getting　a　good　grip　on　his　shirt　so　that　he　could　not　shake　it　loose。　Every　time；　as　if　following　a　script；　Buddy　would　panic　and　run　in　circles　or　dart　from　room　to　room　in　search　of　his　mother；　with　Caesar　spitting　in　his　ear。　He　never　suffered　much　pain　from　the　game；　it　was　the　sudden…
　ness　of　the　attack；　the　surprise　of　it　that　terrified　him。　His　mother　said　Caesar　was　only　being　playful。　At　times　he　confronted　the　cat　to　prove　he　was　unafraid。　He　approached　it　as　it　sunned　on　a　window　sill　and　tried　to　stare　it　down。　But　he　was　always　the　first　to　look　away。　He　couldn't　understand　people　all　that　well；　and　the　alien　gaze　of　the　cat　made　him　feel　especially　stupid　and　inferior。
　He　was　able　to　deal　with　ridicule　more　easily　than　he　could　deal　with　cats；　if　only　because　it　never　came　as　a　surprise。　When　he　was　a　boy；　other　children　had　teased　him　mercilessly。　He　had　learned　to　be　prepared　for　it；　learned　how　to　endure　it。　Buddy　was　bright　enough　to　know　that　he　was　different　from　others。　If　his　intelligence　quotient　had　been　several　points　lower；　he　wouldn't　have　known　enough　to　be　ashamed　of　himself；　which　was　what　people　expected　of　him。　If　his　I。Q。　had　been　a　few　points　higher；　he　would　have　been　able　to　cope；　at　least　to　some　extent；　with　both　cats　and　cruel　people。　Because　he　fell　in　between；　his　life　was　lived　as　an　apology　for　his　stunted　intellect…　a　curse　he　bore　as　a　result　of　a　malfunctioning　hospital　incubator　where　he　had　been　placed　after　being　born　five　weeks　prematurely。
　His　father　had　died　in　a　mill　accident　when　Buddy　was　five；　and　the　first　Caesar　had　entered　the　house　two　weeks　later。　If　his　father　hadn't　died；　perhaps　there　would　have　been　no　cats。　And　Buddy　liked　to　think　that；　with　his　father　alive；　no　one　would　dare　ridicule　him。
　Ever　since　his　mother　had　succumbed　to　cancer　ten　years　ago；　when　he　was　twenty…five；　Buddy　had　worked　as　an　assistant　night　watchman　at　the　Big　Union　Supply　pany　mill。　If　he　suspected　that　certain　people　at　Big　Union　felt　responsible　for　him　and　that　his　job　was　make…work；　he　had　never　admitted　it；　not　even　to　himself。　He　was　on　duty　from　midnight　to　eight；　five　nights　a　week；　patrolling　the　storage　yards；　looking　for　smoke；　sparks；　and　flames。　He　was　proud　of　his　position。　In　the　last　ten　years　he　had　e　to　enjoy　a　measure　of　self…respect　that　would　have　been　inconceivable　before　he　had　been　hired。
　Yet　theme　were　times　when　he　felt　like　a　child　again；　humiliated　by　other　children；　the　brunt　of　a　joke　he　could　not　understand。　His　boss　at　the　mill；　Ed　McGrady；　the　chief　watchman　on　the　graveyard　shift；　was　a　pleasant　man。　He　was　incapable　of　hurting　anyone。　However；　he　smiled　when　others　did　the　teasing。　Ed　always　told　them　to　stop；　always　rescued　his　friend　Buddy…but　always　got　a　laugh　from　it。
　That　was　why　Buddy　hadn't　told　anyone　what　he　had　seen　Saturday　morning；　nearly　twenty…four　hours　ago。　He　didn't　want　them　to　laugh。
　Around　that　time　he　left　the　storage　yard　and　walked　well　off　into　the　trees　to　relieve　himself。　He　avoided　the　lavatory　whenever　he　could　because　it　was　there　the　other　men　teased　him　the　most　and　showed　the　least　mercy。　At　a　quarter　to　five；　he　was　standing　by　a　big　pine　tree；　shrouded　in　darkness；　taking　a　pee；　when　he　saw　two　men　ing　down　from　the　reservoir。　They　carried　hooded　flashlights　that　cast　narrow　yellow　beams。　In　the　backwash　of　the　lights；　as　the　men　passed　within　five　yards　of　him；　Buddy　saw　they　were　wearing　rubber　hip　boots；　as　if　they　had　been　fishing。　They　couldn't　fish　in　the　reservoir；　could　they？　There　were　no　fish　up　there。　Another　thing　。
　each　man　wore　a　tank　on　his　back；　like　skin　divers　wore　on　television。　And　they　were　carrying　guns　in　shoulder　holsters。　They　looked　so　out　of　place　in　the　woods；　so　strange。
　They　frightened　him。　He　sensed　they　were　killers。　Like　on　the　television。　If　they　knew　they　had　been　seen；　they　would　kill　him　and　bury　him　out　here。　He　was　sure　of　it。　But　then　Buddy　always　expected　the　worst；　life　had　taught　him　to　think　that　way。
　He　stood　perfectly　still；　watched　them　until　they　were　out　of　sight；　and　ran　back　to　the　storage　yard。　But　he　quickly　realized　he　couldn't　tell　anyone　what　he　had　seen。　They　wouldn't　believe　him。　And　by　God；　if　he　was　going　to　be　ridiculed　for　telling　what　was　only　the　truth；　then　he　would　keep　it　secret！
　Just　the　same　he　wished　he　could　tell　someone；　if　not　the　watchmen　at　the　mill。　He　thought　and　thought　about　it　but　still　could　not　make　sense　of　those　skin　divers　or　whatever　they　were。　…In　fact；　the　more　he　thought　about　it；　the　more　bizarre　it
　seemed。　He　was　frightened　by　what　he　could　not　understand。　He　was　certain　that　if　he　told　someone；　it　could　be　explained　to　him。　Then　he　wouldn't　be　afraid。　But　if　they　laughed　。
　Well；　he　didn't　understand　their　laughter　either；　and　that　was　even　more　frightening　than　the　mystery　men　in　the　woods。
　On　the　far　side　of　Main　Street；　the　cat　scampered　from　the　heavy　purple　shadows　and　ran　east　toward　Edison's　General　Store；　startling　Buddy　out　of　his　reverie。　He　pressed　against　the　windowpane　and　watched　the　cat　until　it　turned　the　corner。　Afraid　that　it　would　try　to　sneak　back　and　climb　up　to　his　third　floor　rooms；　he　kept　a　watch　on　the　place　where　it　had　vanished。　For　the　moment　he　had　forgotten　the　men　in　the　woods　because　his　fear　of　cats　was　far　greater　than　his　fear　of　guns　and　strangers。
　　
　PART　ONE：
　Conspiracy
　　
　1
　Saturday；　August　13；　1977
　WHEN　HE　DROVE　AROUND　THE　CURVE；　into　the　small　valley；　Paul　Annendale　felt　a　change　e　over　him。　After　five　hours　behind　the　wheel　yesterday　and　five　more　today；　he　was　weary　and　tense…but　suddenly　his　neck　stopped　aching　and　his　shoulders　unknotted。　He　felt　at　peace；　as　if　nothing　could　go　wrong　in　this　place；　as　if　he　were　Hugh　Conway　in　Lost　Horizon　and　had　just　entered　Shangri…La。
　Of　course；　Black　River　was　not　Shangri…La；　not　by　any　stretch　of　the　imagination。　It　existed　and　maintained　its　population　of　four　hundred　solely　as　an　adjunct　of　the　mill。　For　a　pany　town　it　was　quite　clean　and　attractive。　The　main　street　was　lined　with　tall　oak　and　birch　trees。　The　houses　were　New　England　colonials；　white　fr