sk.dreamcatcher-第125部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


seless　tangle　of　wires。　All　of　them　were　red…orange；　all　of　them　were　contaminated　with　the　byrus。
　　　　Jonesy　dropped　the　phone　and　looked　up　at　the　swaying　dreamcatcher；　that　ephemeral　cobweb。　He　remembered　a　line　they'd　been　fond　of　as　kids；　pulled　out　of　some　edian's　routine：　Wherever　you　are；　there　you　are。　That　had　been　right　up　there　with　Same　shit；　different　day；　had　perhaps　even　taken　over　first　place　as　they　grew　older　and　began　to　consider　themselves　sophisticated。　Wherever　you　are；　there　you　are。　Only　according　to　Henry's　call　just　now；　that　wasn't　true。　Wherever　they　thought　they　were；　they　weren't。
　　　　They　were　in　the　dreamcatcher。
　　　　He　noted　that　the　one　swaying　in　the　air　above　the　ruins　of　his　desk　had　four　central　spokes　radiating　out　from　the　center。　Many　connecting　threads　were　held　together　by　those　spokes；　but　what　held　the　spokes　together　was　the　center　…　the　core　where　they　merged。
　　　　Run　along　the　dreamcatcher　and　meet　me！　There's　still　time！
　　　　Jonesy　turned　and　sprinted　for　the　door。


10

Mr　Gray　was　also　at　a　door　…　the　one　into　the　shaft　house。　It　was　locked。　Considering　what　had　happened　with　the　Russian　woman；　this　didn't　surprise　him　much。　Locking　the　barn　door　after　the　horse　had　been　stolen　was　Jonesy's　phrase　for　it。　If　he'd　had　one　of　the　kim；　this　would　have　been　easy。　As　it　was；　he　wasn't　too　perturbed。　One　of　the　interesting　side　effects　of　having　emotions；　he　had　discovered；　was　that　they　caused　you　to　think　ahead；　plan　ahead；　so　that　you　wouldn't　trigger　an　all…out　emotional　attack　if　things　went　wrong。　
　　　　It　might　be　one　reason　these　creatures　had　survived　as　long　as　they　had。
　　　　Jonesy's　suggestion　that　he　give　in　to　all　this　…　go　native　had　been　his　phrase　for　it；　one　that　struck　Mr　Gray　as　both　mysterious　and　exotic　…　wouldn't　quite　leave　his　mind；　but　Mr　Gray　pushed　it　aside。　He　would　acplish　his　mission　here；　satisfy　the　imperative。　After　that；　who　knew？　Bacon　sandwiches；　perhaps。　And　what　Jonesy's　mind　identified　as　a　'cocktail'。　This　was　a　cool　and　refreshing　drink；　slightly　intoxicating…
　　　　A　gust　of　wind　rolled　off　the　Reservoir；　slapping　wet　snow　into　his　face；　momentarily　blinding　him。　It　was　like　the　snap　of　a。　wet　towel；　returning　him　to　the　here　and　now；　where　he　had　a　job　to　finish。
　　　　He　sidled　to　the　left　on　the　rectangular　granite　stoop；　slipped；　then　dropped　to　his　knees；　ignoring　the　howl　from　Jonesy's　hip。　He　hadn't　e　all　this　way　…　black　light…years　and　white　miles　…　either　to　fall　back　down　the　steps　and　break　his　neck　or　to　tumble　into　the　Quabbin　and　die　of　hypothermia　in　that　chilly　water。
　　　　The　stoop　had　been　placed　atop　a　mound　of　crushed　stone。　Leaning　over　the　left　side　of　the　stoop；　he　brushed　snow　away　and　began　feeling　for　a　loose　chunk。　There　were　windows　flanking　the　locked　door；　narrow　but　not　too　narrow。
　　　　Sound　was　tamped　down　and　flattened　by　the　heavy　fall　of　wet　snow；　but　he　could　hear　the　sound　of　an　approaching　motor。　There　had　been　another；　as　well；　but　that　one　had　already　stopped；　probably　at　the　end　of　East　Street。　They　were　ing；　but　they　were　too　late。　It　was　a　mile　along　the　path；　which　was　densely　overgrown　and　slippery　underfoot。　By　the　time　they　got　here　the　dog　would　be　down　the　shaft；　drowning　and　delivering　the　byrum　into　the　aqueduct　at　the　same　time。
　　　　He　found　a　loose　rock　and　pulled　it　free；　working　carefully　so　as　not　to　dislodge　the　pulsing　body　of　the　dog　around　his　shoulders。　He　backed　away　from　the　edge　on　his　knees；　then　tried　to　get　to　his　feet。　At　first　he　couldn't。　The　ball　of　Jonesy's　hip　had　swelled　tight　again。　He　finally　lurched　upright；　although　the　pain　was　incredible；　seeming　to　go　all　the　way　up　to　his　teeth　and　his　temples。
　　　　He　stood　for　a　moment；　holding　Jonesy's　bad　right　leg　a　little　off　the　ground　like　a　horse　with　a　stone　in　its　hoof；　bracing　himself　against　the　locked　shaft…house　door。　When　the　pain　had　abated　somewhat；　he　used　the　rock　to　beat　the　glass　out　of　the　window　to　the　left　of　the　door。　He　cut　Jonesy's　hand　in　several　places；　once　deeply；　and　several　cracked　panes　in　the　upper　half　of　the　window　hung　over　the　lower　half　like　a　cut…rate　guillotine；　but　he　paid　no　attention　to　these　things。　Nor　did　he　sense　that　Jonesy　had　finally　left　his　bolt…hole；
　　　　Mr　Gray　squirmed　in　through　the　window；　landed　on　the　cold　concrete　floor；　and　looked　around。
　　　　He　was　in　a　rectangular　room　about　thirty　feet　long。　At　the　far　end；　a　window　which　no　doubt　would　have　given　a　spectacular　view　of　the　Reservoir　on　a　clear　day　showed　only　white；　as　if　a　sheet　had　been　tacked　over　it。　To　one　side　of　it　was　what　looked　like　a　gigantic　steel　pail；　its　sides　speckled　with　red　…　not　byrus；　but　an　oxide　Jonesy　identified　as　'rust'。　Mr　Gray　didn't　know　for　sure　but　guessed　that　men　could　be　lowered　down　the　shaft　in　the　bucket；　should　some　emergency　require　it。
　　　　The　iron　cover；　four　feet　across；　was　in　place；　seated　dead　center　in　the　middle　of　the　floor。　He　could　see　the　square　notch　on　one　side　of　it　and　looked　around。　A　few　tools　leaned　against　the　wall。　One　of　them；　in　a　scatter　of　glass　from　the　broken　window；　was　a　crowbar。　Quite　possibly　the　same　one　the　Russian　woman　had　used　as　she　prepared　for　her　suicide。
　　　　Way　I　heard　it；　Mr　Gray　thought；　the　folks　in　Boston'll　be　drinking　that　last　byrum　in　their　morning　coffee　right　around　Valentine's　Day。
　　　　He　seized　the　crowbar；　limped　painfully　to　the　center　of　the　room　with　his　breath　puffing　cold　and　white　before　him；　then　seated　the　spatulate　end　of　the　tool　in　the　slot　of　the　cover。
　　　　The　fit　was　perfect。


11

Henry　racks　the　telephone；　takes　in　a　deep　breath；　holds　it　。　。　。　and　then　runs　for　the　door　which　is　marked　both　OFFICE　and　PRIVATE。
　　　　'Hey！'　old　Reenie　Gosselin　squawks　from　her　place　at　the　cash…register。　'e　back　here；　kid！　You　can't　go　in　there！'
　　　　Henry　doesn't　stop；　doesn't　even　slow；　but　as　he　goes　through　the　door　he　realizes　that　yeah；　he　is　a　kid；　at　least　a　foot　shy　of　his　final　height；　and　although　he's　wearing　specs；　they're　nowhere　near　as　heavy　as　they　will　be　later　on。　He's　a　kid；　but　under　all　that　flopping　hair　（which　will　have　thinned　a　bit　by　the　time　he　hits　his　thirties）　there　is　an　adult's　brain。　I'm　two；　two；　two　mints　in　one；　he　thinks；　and　as　he　bursts　into　Old　Man　Gosselin's　office　he　is　cackling　madly　…　laughing　like　they　did　in　the　old　days；　when　the　strands　of　the　dreamcatcher　were　all　close　to　the　center　and　Duddits　was　running　their　pegs。　I　almost　busted　a　gut；　they　used　to　say；　I　almost　busted　a　gut；　what　a　fuckin　pisser。
　　　　Into　the　office　he　goes；　but　it's　not　Old　Man　Gosselin's　office　where　a　man　named　Owen　Underhill　once　played　a　man　whose　name　was　not　Abraham　Kurtz　a　tape　of　the　grayboys　talking　in　famous　voices；　it　is　a　corridor；　a　hospital　corridor；　and　Henry　is　not　in　the　least　surprised。　It's　Mass　General。　He's　made　it。
　　　　The　place　is　dank；　colder　than　any　hospital　corridor　should　be；　and　the　walls　are　splotched　with　byrus。　Somewhere　a　voice　is　groaning　I　don't　want　you；　I　don't　want　a　shot；　I　want　Jonesy。　Jonesy　knew　Duddits；　Jonesy　died；　died　in　the　ambulance；　Jonesy's　the　only　one　who　will　do。　Stay　away；　kiss　my　bender；　I　want　Jonesy。
　　　　But　he　will　not　stay　away。　He　is　crafty　old　Mr　Death　and　he　will　not　stay　away。　He　has　business　here。
　　　　He　walks　unseen　down　the　corridor；　where　it's　cold　enough　for　him　to　see　his　breath　puffing　out　in　front　of　him；　a　boy　in　an　orange　coat　he　will　soon　outgrow。　He　wishes　he　had　his　rifle；　the　one　Pete's　Dad　loaned　him；　but　that　rifle　is　gone；　left　behind；　buried　in　the　years　along　with　Jonesy's　phone　with　the　Star　Wars　sticker　on　it　（how　they　had　all　envied　that　phone）；　and　Beaver's　jacket　of　many　zippers；　and　Pete's　sweater　with　the　NASA　logo　on　the　breast。　Buried　in　the　years。　Some　dreams　die　and　fall　free；　that　is　another　of　the　world's　bitter　truths。　How　many　bitter　truths　there　are。
　　　　He　walks　past　a　pair　of　laughing；　talking　nurses　…　one　of　them　is　Josie　Rinkenhauer；　all　grown　up；　and　the　other　is　the　woman　in　the　Polaroid　photograph　they　saw　that　day　through　the　Tracker　Brothers　office　window。　They　don't　see　him　because　he's　not　here　for　them；　he　is　in　the　dreamcatcher　now；　running　back　along　his　strand；　running　toward　the　center。　I　am　the　eggman；　he　thinks。　Time　slowed；　reality　bent；　on　and　on　the　eggman　went。　　　　
　　　　Henry　went　on　up　the　corridor　toward　the　sound　of　Mr　Gray's　voice。


12

Kurtz　heard　it　clearly　enough　through　the　shattered　window：　the　broken　stutter　of　automatic…rifle　fire。　It　provoked　an　old　sense　of　unease　and　impatience　in　him：　anger　that　the　shooting　had　started　without　him；　and　fear　that　it　would　be　over　before　he　got　there；　nothing　left　but　the　wounded　yelling　medic…medic…medic。
　　　　'Push　it　harder；　Freddy。'　Directly　in　front　of　Kurtz；　Perlmutter　was　snoring　ever　deeper　into　his　a。
　　　　'Pretty　greasy　underfoot；　boss。'
　　　　'Push　it　anyway。　I've　got　a　feeling　we're　almost…'
　　　　He　saw　a　pink　stain　on　the　clean　white　curtain　of　the　snow；　as　diffuse　as　blood　from　a　facial　cut　seeping　up　through　shaving　cream；　and　then　the　ditched　Subaru　was　right　in　front　of　them；　nose　down　and　tail　up。　In　the　following　moments　Kurtz　took　back　every　unkind　thought　he'd　had　about　Freddy's　driving。　Hi