sk.dreamcatcher-第76部分

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　　　　'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　walked　back　to　the　window。　The　driveway　was　gone。　Derry　was　gone。　He　was　looking　at　Hole　in　the　Wall　under　a　pale　clear　early…morning　sky。　The　roof　was　black　instead　of　green；　which　meant　this　was　Hole　in　the　Wall　as　it　had　been　before　1982；　when　the　four　of　them；　then　strapping　high…school　boys　（well；　Henry　had　never　been　what　you'd　call　strapping）；　had　helped　Beav's　Dad　put　up　the　green　shingles　the　camp　still　wore。
　　　　Only　Jonesy　needed　no　such　landmark　to　know　what　time　it　was。　No　more　than　he　needed　someone　to　tell　him　the　green　shingles　were　no　more；　Hole　in　the　Wall　was　no　more；　Henry　had　burned　it　to　the　ground。　In　a　moment　the　door　would　open　and　Beaver　would　run　out。　It　was　1978；　the　year　all　this　had　really　started；　and　in　a　moment　Beaver　would　run　out；　wearing　only　his　boxer　shorts　and　his　many…zippered　motorcycle　jacket；　the　orange　bandannas　fluttering。　It　was　1978；　they　were　young　。　。　。　and　they　had　changed。　No　more　same　shit；　different　day。　This　was　the　day　when　they　began　to　realize　just　how　much　they　had　changed。
　　　　Jonesy　stared　out　the　window；　fascinated。
　　　　The　door　opened。
　　　　Beaver　Clarendon；　age　fourteen；　ran　out。

CHAPTER　FIFTEEN

HENRY　AND　OWEN


1
　　　　
Henry　watched　Underhill　trudge　toward　him　in　the　glare　of　the　security　lights。　Underhill's　head　was　bent　against　the　snow　and　the　intensifying　wind。　Henry　opened　his　mouth　to　call　out；　but　before　he　could；　he　was　overwhelmed；　nearly　flattened；　by　a　sense　of　Jonesy。　And　then　a　memory　came；　blotting　out　Underhill　and　this　brightly　lit；　snowy　world　pletely。　All　at　once　it　was　1978　again；　not　October　but　November　and　there　was　blood；　blood　on　cattails；　broken　glass　in　marshy　water；　and　then　the　bang　of　the　door。


2

Henry　awakes　from　a　terrible　confused　dream　…　blood；　broken　glass；　the　rich　smells　of　gasoline　and　burning　rubber　…　to　the　sound　of　a　banging　door　and　a　blast　of　cold　air。　He　sits　up　and　sees　Pete　sitting　up　beside　him；　Pete's　hairless　chest　covered　with　goosebumps。　Henry　and　Pete　are　on　the　floor　in　their　sleeping…bags　because　they　lost　the　four…way　toss。　Beav　and　Jonesy　got　the　bed　Oater　there　will　be　a　third　bedroom　at　Hole　in　the　Wall；　but　now　there　are　only　two　and　Lamar　has　one　all　to　himself；　by　the　divine　right　of　adulthood）；　only　now　Jonesy　is　alone　in　the　bed；　also　sitting　up；　also　looking　confused　and　frightened。
　　　　Scooby…ooby…Doo；　where　are　you；　Henry　thinks　for　no　appreciable　reason　as　he　gropes　for　his　glasses　on　the　windowsill。　In　his　nose　he　can　still　smell　gas　and　burning　tires。　We　got　some　work　to　do　now…
　　　　'Crashed；'　Jonesy　says　thickly；　and　throws　back　the　covers。　His　chest　is　bare；　but　like　Henry　and　Pete；　he　wore　his　socks　and　longjohn　bottoms　to　bed。
　　　　'Yeah；　went　in　the　water；'　Pete　says；　his　face　suggesting　he　doesn't　have　the　slightest　idea　what　he's　talking　about。　'Henry；　you　got　his　shoe…'
　　　　'Moccasin…'Henry　says；　but　he　hasn't　any　idea　what　he's　talking　about　either。　Nor　wants　to。
　　　　'Beav；'　Jonesy　says；　and　gets　out　of　bed　in　a　clumsy　lunge。　One　of　his　stocking…clad　feet　es　down　on　Pete's　hand。
　　　　'Ow！'　Pete　cries。　'Ya　stepped　on　me；　ya　fuckin　gomer；　watch　where　you're…'
　　　　'Shut　up；　shut　up；'　Henry　says；　grabbing　Pete's　shoulder　and　giving　it　a　shake。　'Don't　wake　up　Mr　Clarendon！'
　　　　Which　would　be　easy；　because　the　door　of　the　boys'　bedroom　is　open。　So　is　the　door　on　the　far　side　of　the　big　central　room；　the　one　to　the　outside。　No　wonder　they're　cold；　there's　a　hell　of　a　draft。　Now　that　Henry　has　his　eyes　back　on　（that　is　how　he　thinks　of　it）；　he　can　see　the　dreamcatcher　out　there　dancing　in　the　cold　November　breeze　ing　in　through　the　open　door。
　　　　'Where's　Duddits？'　Jonesy　asks　in　a　dazed；　I'm…still…dreaming　voice。　'Did　he　go　out　with　Beaver？'
　　　　'He's　back　in　Derry；　foolish；'　Henry　says；　getting　up　and　pulling　on　his　thermal　undershirt。　And　he　doesn't　feel　that　Jonesy　is　foolish；　not　really；　he　also　has　a　sense　that　Duddits　was　just　here　with　them。
　　　　It　was　the　dream；　he　thinks。　Duddits　was　in　the　dream。　He　was　sitting　on　the　bank。　He　was　crying。　He　was　so。　He　didn't　mean　to。　If　　anyone　meant　to；　it　was　us。　　　　
　　　　And　there　is　still　crying。　He　can　hear　it；　ing　in　through　the　front　door；　carried　on　the　breeze。　It's　not　Duddits；　though；　it's　the　Beav。
　　　　They　leave　the　room　in　a　line；　pulling　on　scraps　of　clothes　as　they　go；　not　bothering　with　their　shoes；　which　would　take　too　long。
　　　　One　good　thing　…　judging　from　the　tin　city　of　beer…cans　on　the　kitchen　table　（plus　a　suburb　of　same　on　the　coffee…table）；　it'll　take　more　than　a　couple　of　open　doors　and　some　whispering　kids　to　wake　up　Beaver's　Dad。
　　　　The　big　granite　doorstep　is　freezing　under　Henry's　stocking　feet；　cold　in　the　deep　thoughtless　way　death　must　be　cold；　but　he　barely　notices。
　　　　He　sees　the　Beaver　right　away。　He's　at　the　foot　of　the　maple　tree　with　the　deer…stand　in　it；　on　his　knees　as　if　praying。　His　legs　and　feet　are　bare；　Henry　sees。　He's　wearing　his　motorcycle　jacket；　and　tied　up　and　down　its　arms；　fluttering　like　pirate's　finery；　are　the　orange　bandannas　his　father　made　his　son　wear　when　Beaver　insisted　on　wearing　such　a　damned　foolish　unhunterly　thing　in　the　woods。　The　outfit　looks　pretty　funny；　but　there's　nothing　funny　about　that　agonized　face　tilted　up　toward　the　maple's　nearly　bare　branches。　The　Beav's　cheeks　are　streaming　with　tears。
　　　　Henry　breaks　into　a　run。　Pete　and　Jonesy　follow　suit；　their　breath　puffing　white　in　the　chill　morning　air。　The　needle…strewn　ground　under　Henry's　feet　is　almost　as　hard　and　cold　as　the　granite　doorstep。
　　　　He　drops　to　his　knees　beside　Beaver；　scared　and　somehow　awed　by　those　tears。　Because　the　Beav　isn't　just　misting　up；　like　the　hero　of　a　movie　who　may　be　allowed　to　shed　a　manly　drop　or　two　when　his　dog　or　his　girlfriend　dies；　Beav　is　running　like　Niagara　Falls。　From　his　nose　hang　two　ropes　of　clear　glistening　snot。　You　never　saw　stuff　like　that　in　the　movies。
　　　　'Gross；'　Pete　says。
　　　　Henry　looks　at　him　impatiently；　but　then　he　sees　Pete　isn't　looking　at　Beaver　but　past　him；　at　a　steaming　puddle　of　vomit。　In　it　are　kernels　of　last　night's　corn　（Lamar　Clarendon　believes　passionately　in　the　virtues　of　canned　food　when　it　es　to　camp　cooking）　and　strings　of　last　night's　fried　chicken。　Henry's　stomach　takes　a　big　unhappy　lurch。　And　just　as　it　starts　to　settle；　Jonesy　yarks。　The　sound　is　like　a　big　liquid　belch。　The　puke　is　brown。
　　　　'Gross！'　Pete　almost　screams　it　this　time。
　　　　Beaver　doesn't　seem　to　even　notice。　'Henry！'　he　says。　His　eyes；　submerged　beneath　twin　lenses　of　tears；　are　huge　and　spooky。　They　seem　to　peer　past　Henry's　face　and　into　the　supposedly　private　rooms　behind　his　forehead。
　　　　'Beav；　it's　okay。　You　had　a　bad　dream。'
　　　　'Sure；　a　bad　dream。'　Jonesy's　voice　is　thick；　his　throat　still　plated　with　puke。　He　tries　to　clear　it　with　a　thick　ratching　noise　that　is　somehow　worse　than　what　just　came　out　of　him；　then　bends　over　and　spits。　His　hands　are　planted　on　the　legs　of　his　longhandles；　and　his　bare　back　is　covered　with　bumps。
　　　　Beav　takes　no　notice　of　Jonesy；　nor　of　Pete　as　Pete　kneels　down　on　his　other　side　and　puts　a　clumsy；　tentative　arm　around　Beav's　shoulders。　Beav　continues　to　look　only　at　Henry。
　　　　'His　head　was　off；'　Beaver　whispers。
　　　　Jonesy　also　drops　to　his　knees；　and　now　all　three　of　them　are　surrounding　the　Beav；　Henry　and　Pete　to　either　side；　Jonesy　in　front。　There　is　vomit　on　Jonesy's　chin。　He　reaches　to　wipe　it　away；　but　Beaver　takes　his　hand　before　he　can。　The　boys　kneel　beneath　the　maple；　and　suddenly　they　are　all　one。　It　is　brief；　this　sense　of　union；　but　as　vivid　as　their　dream。　It　is　the　dream；　but　now　they　are　all　awake；　the　sensation　is　rational；　and　they　cannot　disbelieve。
　　　　Now　it　is　Jonesy　the　Beav　is　looking　at　with　his　spooky　swimming　eyes。　Clutching　Jonesy's　hand。
　　　　'It　was　laying　in　the　ditch　and　his　eyes　were　full　of　mud。'
　　　　'Yeah；'　Jonesy　whispers　in　an　awed　and　shaky　voice。　'Oh　jeez；　it　was。'
　　　　'Said　he'd　see　us　again；　remember？'　Pete　asks。　'One　at　a　time　or　all　together。　He　said　that。'
　　　　Henry　hears　these　things　from　a　great　distance；　because　he's　back　in　the　dream。　Back　at　the　scene　of　the　accident。　At　the　bottom　of　a　trash…littered　embankment　where　there　is　a　soggy　piece　of　marsh；　created　by　a　blocked　drainage　culvert。　He　knows　the　place；　it's　on　Route　7；　the　old　Derry…Newport　Road。　Lying　overturned　in　the　muck　and　the　murk　is　a　burning　car。　The　air　stinks　of　gas　and　burning　tires。　Duddits　is　crying。　Duddits　is　sitting　halfway　down　the　trashy　slope　and　holding　his　yellow　Scooby…Doo　lunchbox　against　his　chest　and　crying　his　eyes　out。
　　　　A　hand　protrudes　from　one　of　the　windows　of　the　overturned　car。　It's　slim；　the　nails　painted　candy…apple　red。　The　car's　other　two　occupants　have　been　thrown　clear；　one　of　them　almost　thirty　damn　feet。　This　one's　facedown；　but　Henry　still　recognizes　him　by　the　masses　of　soaked　blond　hair。　It's　Duncan；　the　one　who　said　you're　not　gonna　tell　anyone　anything；　because　you'll　be　fuckin　dead。　Only　Duncan's　the　one　who　wound　up　dead。
　　　　Something　floats　against　Henry's　shin。　'Don't　pick　tha