sk.dreamcatcher-第75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！


　　　　For　one　giddy　second　he　thought　Jonesy　might　do　just　that。　If　he　did；　Mr　Gray　would　sweep　him　back　to　the　hospital　at　once。　Jonesy　could　see　himself　die　on　television。　A　happy　ending　to　the　movie　they　had　been　watching。　And　then；　no　more　Mr　Gray。　just　what　Jonesy　thought　of　as　'the　cloud'。
　　　　Mr　Gray　looked　eagerly　at　the　doorknob；　willing　it　to　turn。　It　didn't。
　　　　'e　out。'
　　　　Nothing。
　　　　'You　killed　Richie；　you　coward！　You　and　your　friends。　You　。　。　。　you　dreamed　him　to　death。'　And　although　Mr　Gray　didn't　know　what　dreams　were；　he　knew　that　was　true。　Or　that　Jonesy　believed　it　was。
　　　　Nothing。
　　　　'e　out！　e　out　and。　。　。'He　searched　Jonesy's　memories。　Many　of　them　were　in　boxes　called　MOVIES；　Jonesy　seemed　to　love　movies　above　all　things；　and　Mr　Gray　plucked　what　he　thought　a　particularly　potent　line　from　one　of　these：　'　。　。　。　and　fight　like　a　man！'
　　　　Nothing。
　　　　You　bastard；　Mr　Gray　thought；　once　more　dipping　into　the　enticing　pool　of　his　host's　emotions。　You　son　of　a　bitch。　You　stubborn　asshole。　Kiss　my　bender；　you　stubborn　asshole。
　　　　Back　in　the　days　when　Jonesy　had　been　Jonesy；　he　had　often　expressed　anger　by　slamming　his　fist　down　on　something。　Mr　Gray　did　it　now；　bringing　Jonesy's　fist　down　on　the　center　of　the　truck's　wheel　hard　enough　to　honk　the　horn。　'Tell　me！　Not　about　Richie；　not　about　Duddits；　about　you！　Something　makes　you　different。　I　want　to　know　what　it　is。'
　　　　No　answer。
　　　　'It's　in　the　crib　…　is　that　it？'
　　　　Still　no　answer；　but　Mr　Gray　heard　Jonesy's　feet　shuffle　behind　the　door。　And　perhaps　a　low　intake　of　breath。　Mr　Gray　smiled　with　Jonesy's　mouth。
　　　　'Talk　to　me；　Jonesy　…　we'll　play　the　game；　we'll　pass　the　time。　Who　was　Richie；　besides　Number　19？　Why　were　you　angry　with　him？　Because　he　was　a　Tiger？　A　Derry　Tiger？　What　were　they？　Who's　Duddits？'
　　　　Nothing。
　　　　The　truck　crept　more　slowly　than　ever　through　the　storm；　the　headlights　almost　helpless　against　the　swirling　wall　of　white。　Mr　Gray's　voice　was　low；　coaxing。
　　　　'You　missed　one　of　the　Duddits…boxes；　buddy；　did　you　know　that？　There's　a　box　inside　the　box；　as　it　happens　…　it's　yellow。　There　are　Scooby…Doos　on　it。　What　are　Scooby…Doos？　They're　not　real　people；　are　they？　Are　they　movies？　Are　they　televisions？　Do　you　want　the　box？　e　out；　Jonesy。　e　out　and　I'll　give　you　the　box。'
　　　　Mr　Gray　removed　his　foot　from　the　gas　pedal　and　let　the　truck　coast　slowly　to　the　left；　over　into　the　thicker　snow。　Something　was　happening　here；　and　he　wanted　to　turn　all　his　attention　to　it。　Force　had　not　dislodged　Jonesy　from　his　stronghold　。　。　。　but　force　wasn't　the　only　way　to　win　a　battle；　or　a　war。
　　　　The　truck　stood　idling　by　the　guardrails　in　what　was　now　a　full…fledged　blizzard。　Mr　Gray　closed　his　eyes。　Immediately　he　was　in　Jonesy's　brightly　lit　memory　storehouse。　Behind　him　were　miles　of　stacked　boxes；　marching　away　under　the　fluorescent　tubes。　In　front　of　him　was　the　closed　door；　shabby　and　dirty　and　for　some　reason　very；　very　strong。　Mr　Gray　placed　his　three…fingered　hands　on　it　and　began　to　speak　in　a　low　voice　that　was　both　intimate　and　urgent。
　　　　'Who　is　Duddits？　Why　did　you　call　him　after　you　killed　Richie？　Let　me　in；　we　need　to　talk。　Why　did　you　take　some　of　the　Derry　boxes？　What　did　you　not　want　me　to　see？　It　doesn't　matter；　I　have　what　I　need；　let　me　in；　Jonesy；　better　now　than　later。'
　　　　It　was　going　to　work。　He　sensed　Jonesy's　blank　eyes；　could　see　Jonesy's　hand　moving　toward　the　knob　and　the　lock。
　　　　'We　always　win；'　Mr　Gray　said。　He　sat　behind　the　wheel　with　Jonesy's　eyes　closed；　and　in　another　universe　the　wind　screamed　and　rocked　the　truck　on　its　springs。　'Open　the　door；　Jonesy；　open　it　now。'
　　　　Silence。　And　then；　from　less　than　three　inches　away　and　as　surprising　as　a　basinful　of　cold　water　dashed　on　warm　skin：　'Eat　shit　and　die。'
　　　　Mr　Gray　recoiled　so　violently　that　the　back　of　Jonesy's　head　connected　with　the　truck's　rear　window。　The　pain　was　sudden　and　shocking；　a　second　unpleasant　surprise。
　　　　He　slammed　a　fist　down　again；　then　the　other；　then　the　first　once　more；　he　was　hammering　on　the　wheel；　the　horn　beating　out　a　Morse　code　of　rage。　A　largely　emotionless　creature　and　part　of　a　largely　emotionless　species；　he　had　been　hijacked　by　his　host's　emotional　juices　…　not　just　dipping　in　them　this　time　but　bathing。　And　again　he　sensed　this　was　only　happening　because　Jonesy　was　still　there；　an　unquiet　tumor　in　what　should　have　been　a　serene　and　focused　consciousness。
　　　　Mr　Gray　hammered　on　the　wheel；　hating　this　emotional　ejaculation　…　what　Jonesy's　mind　identified　as　a　tantrum　…　but　loving　it；　too。　Loving　the　sound　of　the　horn　when　he　hit　it　with　Jonesy's　fists；　loving　the　beat　of　Jonesy's　blood　in　Jonesy's　temples；　loving　the　way　Jonesy's　heart　sped　up　and　the　sound　of　Jonesy's　hoarse　voice　crying　'You　fuckhead！　You　fuckhead！'　over　and　over　and　over。
　　　　And　even　in　the　midst　of　this　rage；　a　cold　part　of　him　realized　what　the　true　danger　was。　They　always　came；　they　always　made　the　worlds　they　visited　over　in　their　image。　It　was　the　way　things　had　always　been；　and　the　way　they　were　meant　to　be。
　　　　But　now　。　。　。
　　　　Something's　happening　to　me；　Mr　Gray　thought；　aware　even　as　the　thought　came　that　it　was　essentially　a　'Jonesy'　thought。　I'm　starting　to　be　human。
　　　　The　fact　that　the　idea　was　not　without　its　attractions　filled　Mr　Gray　with　horror。


8

Jonesy　came　out　of　a　doze　where　the　only　sound　was　the　soothing；　lulling　rhythm　of　Mr　Gray's　voice；　and　saw　that　his　hands　were　resting　on　the　locks　of　the　office　door；　ready　to　turn　the　lower　and　draw　the　bolt　on　the　upper。　The　son　of　a　bitch　was　trying　to　hypnotize　him；　and　doing　a　pretty　good　job　of　it。
　　　　'We　always　win；'　said　the　voice　on　the　other　side　of　the　door。　It　was　soothing；　which　was　nice　after　such　a　stressful　day；　but　it　was　also　vilely　placent。　The　usurper　who　would　not　rest　until　he　had　it　all　。　。　。　who　took　getting　it　all　as　a　given。　'Open　the　door；　Jonesy；　open　it　now。'
　　　　For　a　moment　he　almost　did　it；　He　was　awake　again；　but　he　almost　did　it　anyway。　Then　he　remembered　two　sounds：　the　tenebrous　creak　of　Pete's　skull　as　the　red　stuff　tightened　on　it；　and　the　wet　squittering　Janas's　eye　had　made　when　the　tip　of　the　pen　pierced　it。
　　　　Jonesy　realized　he　hadn't　been　awake　at　all；　not　really。　But　now　he　was。
　　　　Now　he　was。
　　　　Dropping　his　hands　away　from　the　lock　and　putting　his　lips　to　the　door；　he　said　'Eat　shit　and　die'　in　his　clearest　voice。　He　felt　Mr　Gray　recoil。　He　even　felt　the　pain　when　Mr　Gray　thumped　back　against　the　window；　and　why　not？　They　were　his　nerves；　after　all。　Not　to　mention　his　head。　Few　things　in　his　life　gave　him　so　much　pleasure　as　Mr　Gray's　outraged　surprise；　and　he　vaguely　realized　what　Mr　Gray　already　knew：　the　alien　presence　in　his　head　was　more　human　now。
　　　　If　you　could　e　back　as　a　physical　entity；　would　you　still　be　Mr　Gray？　Jonesy　wondered。　He　didn't　think　so。　Mr　Pink；　maybe；　but　not　Mr　Gray。
　　　　He　didn't　know　if　the　guy　would　try　his　Monsieur　Mesmer　routine　again；　but　Jonesy　decided　to　take　no　chances。　He　turned　and　went　to　the　office　window；　tripping　over　one　of　the　boxes　and　stepping　over　the　rest。　Christ；　but　his　hip　hurt。　It　was　crazy　to　feel　such　pain　when　you　were　imprisoned　in　your　own　head　（which；　Henry　had　once　assured　him；　had　no　nerves　anyway；　at　least　not　once　you　got　into　the　old　gray　matter）；　but　the　pain　was　there；　all　right。　He　had　read　that　amputees　sometimes　felt　horrible　agonies　and　unscratchable　itches　in　limbs　that　no　longer　existed；　probably　this　was　the　same　deal。
　　　　The　window　had　returned　to　a　tiresome　view　of　the　weedy；　double…rutted　driveway　which　had　run　alongside　the　Tracker　Brothers　depot　back　in　1978。　The　sky　was　white　and　overcast；　apparently　when　his　window　looked　into　the　past；　time　was　frozen　at　midafternoon。　The　only　thing　the　view　had　to　remend　it　was　that；　as　he　stood　here　taking　it　in；　Jonesy　was　as　far　from　Mr　Gray　as　he　could　possibly　get。
　　　　He　guessed　that　he　could　change　the　view；　if　he　really　wanted　to；　could　look　out　and　see　what　Mr　Gray　was　currently　seeing　with　the　eyes　of　Gary　Jones。　He　had　no　urge　to　do　that；　however。　There　was　nothing　to　look　at　but　the　snowstorm；　nothing　to　feel　but　Mr　Gray's　stolen　rage。
　　　　Think　of　something　else；　he　told　himself。
　　　　What？
　　　　I　don't　know　…　anything。　Why　not…
　　　　On　the　desk　the　telephone　rang；　and　that　was　odd　on　an　Alice　in　Wonderland　scale；　because　a　few　minutes　ago　there　had　been　no　telephone　in　this　room；　and　no　desk　for　it　to　sit　on。　The　litter　of　old　used　rubbers　had　disappeared。　The　floor　was　still　dirty；　but　the　dust　on　the　tiles　was　gone。　Apparently　there　was　some　sort　of　Janitor　inside　his　head；　a　neatnik　who　had　decided　Jonesy　was　going　to　be　here　for　awhile　and　so　the　place　ought　to　be　at　least　tolerably　clean。　He　found　the　concept　awesome；　the　implications　depressing。
　　　　On　the　desk；　the　phone　shrilled　again。　Jonesy　picked　up　the　receiver　and　said；　'Hello？'
　　　　Beaver's　voice　sent　a　sick　and　horrible　chill　down　his　back。　A　telephone　call　from　a　dead　man　…　it　was　the　stuff　of　the　movies　he　liked。　Had　liked；　anyway。
　　　　'His　head　was　off；　Jonesy。　It　was　laying　in　the　ditch　and　his　eyes　were　full　of　mud。'
　　　　There　was　a　click；　then　dead　silence。　Jonesy　hung　up　the　phone　and　wa