sk.dreamcatcher-第17部分

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　　　　Pete　snickered。
　　　　'Third；　what　else　have　they　got　to　do？　And　fourth　…　this　concerns　the　hunters　…　they　probably　either　got　tired　of　it　and　went　home；　or　they　all　got　drunk　and　decided　to　get　rich　at　the　rez　casino　up　in　Carrabassett。'
　　　　'You　think；　huh？'　Pete　looked　crestfallen；　and　Henry　felt　a　great　wave　of　affection　for　him。　He　reached　over　and　patted　Pete's　knee。
　　　　'Never　fear；'　he　said。　'The　world　is　full　of　strange　things。'　If　the　world　had　really　been　full　of　strange　things；　Henry　doubted　he　would　have　been　so　eager　to　leave　it；　but　if　there　was　one　thing　a　psychiatrist　knew　how　to　do　（other　than　write　prescriptions　for　Prozac　and　Paxil　and　Amblen；　that　was）；　it　was　tell　lies。
　　　　'Four　hunters　all　disappearing　at　the　same　time　seems　pretty　strange　to　me；　all　right。'
　　　　'Not　a　bit；'　Henry　said；　and　laughed。　'One　would　be　odd。　Two　would　be　strange。　Four？　They　went　off　together；　depend　on　it。'
　　　　'How　far　are　we　from　Hole　in　the　Wall；　Henry？'　Which；　when　translated；　meant　Do　I　have　time　for　another　beer？
　　　　Henry　had　zeroed　the　Scout's　tripmeter　at　Gosselin's；　an　old　habit　that　went　back　to　his　days　working　for　the　State　of　Massachusetts；　where　the　deal　had　been　twelve　cents　a　mile　and　all　the　psychotic　geriatrics　you　could　write　up。　The　mileage　between　the　store　and　the　Hole　was　easy　enough　to　remember：　22。2。　The　odometer　currently　read　12。7；　which　meant…
　　　　'Look　out！'　Pete　shouted；　and　Henry　snapped　his　gaze　hack　to　the　windshield。
　　　　The　Scout　had　just　topped　the　steep　rise　of　a　tree…covered　ridge。　The　snow　here　was　thicker　than　ever；　but　Henry　was　running　with　the　high　beams　on　and　clearly　saw　the　person　sitting　in　the　road　about　a　hundred　feet　ahead　…　a　person　wearing　a　duffel　coat；　an　orange　vest　that　blew　backward　like　Superman's　cape　in　the　strengthening　wind；　and　one　of　those　Russian　fur　hats。　Orange　ribbons　had　been　attached　to　the　hat　and　they　also　blew　back　in　the　wind；　reminding　Henry　of　the　streamers　you　sometimes　saw　strung　over　used…car　lots。　The　guy　was　sitting　in　the　middle　of　the　road　like　an　Indian　that　wants　to　smoke…um　peace　pipe；　and　he　did　not　move　when　the　headlights　struck　him。　For　one　moment　Henry　saw　the　sitting　figure's　eyes；　wide　open　but　still；　so　still　and　bright　and　blank；　and　he　thought：　That's　how　my　eyes　would　look　if　I　didn't　guard　them　so　closely。
　　　　There　was　no　time　to　stop；　not　with　the　snow。　Henry　twisted　the　wheel　to　the　right　and　felt　the　thump　as　the　Scout　came　out　of　the　ruts　again。　He　caught　another　glimpse　of　the　white；　still　face　and　had　time　to　think；　Why；　goddam！　It's　a　woman。
　　　　Once　out　of　the　ruts　the　Scout　began　to　skid　again　at　once。　This　time　Henry　turned　against　it；　deliberately　snowplowing　the　wheels　to　deepen　the　skid；　knowing　without　even　thinking　about　it　（there　was　no　time　to　think）　that　it　was　the　road…sitter's　only　chance。　And　he　didn't　rate　it　much　of　one；　at　that。
　　　　Pete　screamed；　and　from　thy　corner　of　his　eye；　Henry　saw　him　raise　his　hands　in　front　of　his　face；　palms　out　in　a　warding…off　gesture。　The　Scout　tried　to　go　broadside　and　now　Henry　spun　the　wheel　back；　trying　to　control　the　skid　just　enough　so　that　the　rear　end　wouldn't　smash　the　road…sitter's　face　backward　into　her　skull。　The　wheel　spun　with　greasy；　giddy　ease　under　his　gloved　hands。　For　perhaps　three　seconds　the　Scout　shot　down　the　snow…covered　Deep　Cut　Road　at　a　forty…five…degree　angle；　a　thing　belonging　partly　to　Henry　Devlin　and　partly　to　the　storm。　Snow　flew　up　and　around　it　in　a　fine　spray；　the　headlights　painted　the　snow…slumped　pines　on　the　left　side　of　the　road　in　a　pair　of　moving　spots。　Three　seconds；　not　long；　but　just　long　enough。　He　saw　the　figure　pass　by　as　if　she　were　moving　instead　of　them；　except　she　never　moved；　not　even　when　the　rusty　edge　of　the　Scout's　bumper　flirted　past　her　with　perhaps　no　more　than　an　inch　of　snowy　air　between　it　and　her　face。
　　　　Missed　you！　Henry　exulted。　Missed　you；　you　bitch！　Then　the　last　thin　thread　of　control　broke　and　the　Scout　broached　broadside。　There　was　a　'udden'ng　vibration　as　the　wheels　found　the　ruts　again；　only　crosswise　this　time。　It　was　still　trying　to　turn　all　the　way　around；　swapping　ends　…　Frontsies…backsies！　they　used　to　cry　when　in　line　back　in　grammar　school　…　and　then　it　hit　a　buried　rock　or　perhaps　a　small　fallen　tree　with　a　terrific　thud　and　rolled　over；　first　on　the　passenger　side；　the　windows　over　there　disintegrating　into　glittering　crumbs；　then　over　onto　the　roof　One　side　of　Henry's　seatbelt　broke；　spilling　him　onto　the　roof　on　his　left　shoulder。　His　balls　thumped　against　the　steering　column；　producing　instant　leaden　pain。　The　turnsignal　stalk　broke　off　against　his　thigh　and　he　felt　blood　begin　to　run　at　once；　soaking　his　jeans。　The　claret；　as　the　old　boxing　radio　announcers　used　to　call　it；　as　in　Look　out；　folks；　the　claret　has　begun　to　flow。　Pete　was　yelling　or　screaming　or　both。
　　　　For　several　seconds　the　overturned　Scout's　engine　continued　to　run；　then　gravity　did　its　work　and　the　motor　died；　Now　it　was　just　an　overturned　hulk　in　the　road；　wheels　still　spinning；　lights　shining　at　the　snow…loaded　trees　on　the　left　side　of　the　road。　One　of　them　went　out；　but　the　other　continued　to　shine。


2

Henry　had　talked　with　Jonesy　a　lot　about　his　accident　（listened；　really；　therapy　was　creative　listening）；　and　he　knew　that　Jonesy　had　no　memory　of　the　actual　collision。　As　far　as　Henry　could　tell；　he　himself　never　lost　consciousness　following　the　Scout's　flip；　and　the　chain　of　recollection　remained　intact。　He　remembered　fumbling　for　the　seatbelt　clasp；　wanting　to　be　all　the　way　free　of　the　fucking　thing；　while　Pete　bellowed　that　his　leg　was　broken；　his　cocksucking　leg　was　broken。　He　remembered　the　steady　whick…thump；　whick…thump　of　the　windshield　wipers　and　the　glow　of　the　dashlights；　which　were　now　up　instead　of　down。　He　found　the　seatbelt　clasp；　lost　it；　found　it　again；　and　pushed　it。　The　seatbelt's　lap…strap　released　him　and　he　thumped　awkwardly　against　the　roof；　shattering　the　domelight's　plastic　cover。
　　　　He　flailed　with　his　hand；　found　the　doorhandle；　couldn't　move　it。
　　　　'My　leg！　Oh　man；　my　fucking　leg！'
　　　　'Shut　up　about　it；'　Henry　said。　'Your　leg's　okay。'　As　if　he　knew。　He　found　the　doorhandle　again；　yanked；　and　there　was　nothing。　Then　he　realized　why　…　he　was　upside　down　and　yanking　the　wrong　way。　He　reversed　his　grip　and　the　domelight's　uncovered　bulb　glared　hotly　in　his　eye　as　the　door　clicked　open。　He　shoved　the　door　with　the　back　of　his　hand；　sure　there　would　be　no　real　result；　the　frame　was　probably　bent　and　he'd　be　lucky　to　get　six　inches。
　　　　But　the　door　grated　and　suddenly　he　could　feel　snow　swirling　coldly　around　his　face　and　neck。　He　pushed　harder　on　the　door；　getting　his　shoulder　into　it；　and　it　wasn't　until　his　legs　came　free　of　the　steering　column　that　he　realized　they　had　been　hung　up。　He　did　half　a　somersault　and　was　suddenly　regarding　his　own　denim…covered　crotch　at　close　range；　as　if　he　had　decided　to　try　and　kiss　his　throbbing　balls；　make　them　all　well。　His　diaphragm　folded　in　on　itself　and　it　was　hard　to　breathe。
　　　　'Henry；　help　me！　I'm　caught！　I'm　fuckin　caught！'
　　　　'Just　a　minute。'　His　voice　sounded　squeezed　and　high；　hardly　his　own　voice　at　all。　Now　he　could　see　the　upper　left　leg　of　his　jeans　darkening　with　blood。　The　wind　in　the　pines　sounded　like　God's　own　Electrolux。
　　　　He　grabbed　the　doorpost；　grateful　he'd　left　his　gloves　on　while　he　was　driving；　and　gave　a　tremendous　yank　…　he　had　to　get　out；　had　to　unfold　his　diaphragm　so　he　could　breathe。
　　　　For　a　moment　nothing　happened；　and　then　Henry　popped　out　like　a　cork　out　of　a　bottle。　He　lay　where　he　was　for　a　moment；　panting　and　looking　up　into　a　sifting；　falling　net　of　snow。　There　was　nothing　odd　about　the　sky　then；　he　would　have　sworn　to　it　in　court　on　a　stack　of　Bibles。　Just　the　low　gray　bellies　of　the　clouds　and　the　psychedelic　downrush　of　the　snow。
　　　　Pete　was　calling　his　name　again　and　again；　with　increasing　panic。
　　　　Henry　rolled　over；　got　to　his　knees；　and　when　that　went　all　right　he　lurched　to　his　feet。　He　only　stood　for　a　moment；　swaying　in　the　wind　and　waiting　to　see　if　his　bleeding　left　leg　would　buckle　and　spill　him　into　the　snow　again。　It　didn't；　and　he　limped　around　the　back　of　the　overturned　Scout　to　see　what　he　could　do　about　Pete。　He　spared　one　glance　at　the　woman　who　had　caused　all　this　fuckarow。　She　sat　as　she　had；　cross…legged　in　the　middle　of　the　road；　her　thighs　and　the　front　of　her　parka　frosted　with　snow。　Her　vest　snapped　and　billowed。　So　did　the　ribbons　attached　to　her　cap。　She　had　not　turned　to　look　at　them　but　stared　back　in　the　direction　of　Gosselin's　Market　just　as　she　had　when　they　came　over　the　rise　and　saw　her。　One　swooping；　curving　tire…track　in　the　snow　came　within　a　foot　of　her　cocked　left　leg；　and　he　had　no　idea；　absolutely　none　at　all；　how　he　could　have　missed　her。
　　　　'Henry！　Henry；　help　me！'
　　　　He　hurried　on；　slipping　in　the　new　snow　as　he　rounded　the　passenger　side。　Pete's　door　was　stuck；　but　when　Henry　got　on　his　knees　and　yanked　with　both　hands；　it　came　open　about　halfway。　He　reached　in；　grabbed　Pete's　shoulder；　and　yanked。　Nothing。
　　　　'Unbuckle　your　belt；　Pete。'
　　　　Pete　fumbled　but　couldn't　seem　to　find　it　even　though　it　was　right　in　front　of　him。　Worki