cb.booksofblood2-第20部分

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　He　ran　at　her　before　she　could　unlock　the　door；　and　the　blow　…　in　its　force；　in　its　malice　…　was　totally　unexpected。
　'Bitch！'　he　shrieked；　a　hail　of　blows　ing　fast　upon　the　first。
　In　her　stomach；　the　thing　that　wanted　to　kill　grew　a　little　larger。
　He　had　his　fingers　tangled　in　her　hair；　and　pulled　her　back　into　the　room；　shouting　obscenities　at　her；　an　endless　stream　of　them；　as　though　he'd　opened　a　dam　full　of　sewer…water　on　her。　This　was　just　another　way　for　him　to　get　what　he　wanted　she　told　herself；　if　you　succumb　to　this　you've　lost：　he's　just　manipulating　you。　Still　the　words　came：　the　same　dirty　words　that　had　been　thrown　at　generations　of　unsubmissive　women。　Whore；　heretic；　cunt；　bitch；　monster。
　Yes；　she　was　that。
　Yes；　she　thought：　monster　I　am。
　The　thought　made　it　easy。　She　turned。　He　knew　what　she　intended　even　before　she　looked　at　him。　He　dropped　his　hands　from　her　head。　Her　anger　was　already　in　her　throat　ing　out　of　her　…　crossing　the　air　between　them。
　Monster　he　calls　me：　monster　I　am。
　I　do　this　for　myself；　not　for　him。　Never　for　him。　For　myself！
　He　gasped　as　her　will　touched　him；　and　the　glittering　eyes　stopped　glittering　for　a　moment；　the　will　to　die　became　the　will　to　survive；　all　too　late　of　course；　and　he　roared。　She　heard　answering　shouts；　steps；　threats　on　the　stairs。　They　would　be　in　the　room　in　a　matter　of　moments。
　'You　are　an　animal；'　she　said。
　'No；'　he　said；　certain　even　now　that　his　place　was　in　mand。
　'You　don't　exist；'　she　said；　advancing　on　him。　'They'll　never　find　the　part　that　was　Titus。　Titus　is　gone。　The　rest　is　just　…'
　The　pain　was　terrible。　It　stopped　even　a　voice　ing　out　from　him。　Or　was　that　her　again；　changing　his　throat；　his　palate；　his　very　head？　She　was　unlocking　the　plates　of　his　skull；　and　reorganizing　him。
　No；　he　wanted　to　say；　this　isn't　the　subtle　ritual　I　had　planned。　I　wanted　to　die　folded　into　you；　I　wanted　to　go　with　my　mouth　clamped　to　yours；　cooling　in　you　as　I　died。　This　is　not　the　way　I　want　it。
　No。　No。　No。
　They　were　at　the　door；　the　men　who'd　kept　her　here；　beating　on　it。　She　had　no　fear　of　them；　of　course；　except　that　they　might　spoil　her　handiwork　before　the　final　touches　were　added　to　it。
　Someone　was　hurling　themselves　at　the　door　now。　Wood　splintered：　the　door　was　flung　open。　The　two　men　were　both　armed。　They　pointed　their　weapons　at　her；　steady…handed。
　'Mr　Pettifer？'　said　the　younger　man。　In　the　corner　of　the　room；　under　the　table；　Pettifer's　eyes　shone。
　'Mr　Pettifer？'　he　said　again；　forgetting　the　woman。　Pettifer　shook　his　snouted　head。　Don't　e　any　closer；　please；　he　thought。
　The　man　crouched　down　and　stared　under　the　table　at　the　disgusting　beast　that　was　squatting　there；　bloody　from　its　transformation；　but　alive。　She　had　killed　his　nerves：　he　felt　no　pajn。　He　just　survived；　his　hands　knotted　into　paws；　his　legs　scooped　up　around　his　back；　knees　broken　so　he　had　the　look　of　a　four…legged　crab；　his　brain　exposed；　his　eyes　lidless；　lower　jaw　broken　and　swept　up　over　his　top　jaw　like　a　bulldog；　ears　torn　off；　spine　snapped；　humanity　bewitched　into　another　state。
　'You　are　an　animal；'　she'd　said。　It　wasn't　a　bad　facsimile　of　beast　hood。
　The　man　with　the　gun　gagged　as　he　recognized　fragments　of　his　master。　He　stood　up；　greasy…chinned；　and　glanced　around　at　the　woman。
　Jacqueline　shrugged。
　'You　did　this？'　Awe　mingled　with　the　revulsion。
　She　nodded。
　'e　Titus；'　she　said；　clicking　her　fingers。
　The　beast　shook　its　head；　sobbing。
　'e　Titus；'　she　said　more　forcefully；　and　Titus　Pettifer　waddled　out　of　his　hiding　place；　leaving　a　trail　like　a　punctured　meat…sack。
　The　man　fired　at　Pettifer's　remains　out　of　sheer　instinct。　Anything；　anything　at　all　to　prevent　this　disgusting　crea…ture　from　approaching　him。
　Titus　stumbled　two　steps　back　on　his　bloody　paws；　shook　himself　as　if　to　dislodge　the　death　in　him；　and　failing；　died。
　'Content？'　she　asked。
　The　gunman　looked　up　from　the　execution。　Was　the　power　talking　to　him？　No；　Jacqueline　was　staring　at　Pettifer's　corpse；　asking　the　question　of　him。
　Content？
　The　gunman　dropped　his　weapon。　The　other　man　did　the　same。
　
　'How　did　this　happen？'　asked　the　man　at　the　door。　A　simple　question：　a　child's　question。
　'He　asked；'　said　Jacqueline。　'It　was　all　I　could　give　him。'
　The　gunman　nodded；　and　fell　to　his　knees。
　
　Vassi's　Testimony　（final　part）
　
　'Chance　has　played　a　worryingly　large　part　in　my　romance　with　Jacqueline　Ess。　Sometimes　it's　seemed　I've　been　subject　to　every　tide　that　passes　through　the　world；　spun　around　by　the　merest　flick　of　accident's　wrist。　Other　times　I've　had　the　suspicion　that　she　was　masterminding　my　life；　as　she　was　the　lives　of　a　hundred　others；　a　thousand　others；　arranging　every　fluke　meeting；　choreographing　my　victories　and　my　defeats；　escorting　me；　blindly；　towards　this　last　encounter。
　I　found　her　without　knowing　I'd　found　her；　that　was　the　irony　of　it。　I'd　traced　her　first　to　a　house　in　Surrey；　a　house　that　had　a　year　previous　seen　the　murder　of　one　Titus　Pettifer；　a　billionaire　shot　by　one　of　his　own　bodyguards。　In　the　upstairs　room；　where　the　murder　had　taken　place；　all　was　serenity。　If　she　had　been　there；　they　had　removed　any　sign。　But　the　house；　now　in　virtual　ruin；　was　prey　to　all　manner　of　graffiti；　and　on　the　stained　plaster　wall　of　that　room　someone　had　scrawled　a　woman。　She　was　obscenely　over…endowed；　her　gaping　sex　blazing　with　what　looked　like　lightning。　And　at　her　feet　there　was　a　creature　of　indeterminate　species。　Perhaps　a　crab；　perhaps　a　dog；　perhaps　even　a　man。　Whatever　it　was　it　had　no　power　over　itself。　It　sat　in　the　light　of　her　agonizing　presence　and　counted　itself　amongst　the　fortunate。　Looking　at　that　wizened　creature；　with　its　eyes　turned　up　to　gaze　on　the
　
　burning　Madonna；　I　knew　the　picture　was　a　portrait　of　Jacqueline。
　I　don't　know　how　long　I　stood　looking　at　the　graffiti；　but　I　was　interrupted　by　a　man　who　looked　to　be　in　a　worse　condition　than　me。　A　beard　that　had　never　been　trimmed　or　washed；　a　frame　so　wasted　I　wondered　how　he　managed　to　stand　upright；　and　a　smell　that　would　not　have　shamed　a　skunk。
　I　never　knew　his　name：　but　he　was；　he　told　me；　the　maker　of　the　picture　on　the　wall。　It　was　easy　to　believe　that。　His　desperation；　his　hunger；　his　confusion　were　all　marks　of　a　man　who　had　seen　Jacqueline。
　If　I　was　rough　in　my　interrogation　of　him　I'm　sure　he　forgave　me。　It　was　an　unburdening　for　him；　to　tell　everything　he'd　seen　the　day　that　Pettifer　had　been　killed；　and　know　that　I　believed　it　all。　He　told　me　his　fellow　bodyguard；　the　man　who　had　fifed　the　shots　that　had　killed　Pettifer；　had　mitted　suicide　in　prison。
　His　life；　he　said；　was　meaningless。　She　had　destroyed　it。　I　gave　him　what　reassurances　I　could；　that　she　meant　no　harm；　and　that　he　needn't　fear　that　she　would　e　for　him。　When　I　told　him　that；　he　cried；　more；　I　think；　out　of　loss　than　relief。
　Finally　I　asked　him　if　he　knew　where　Jacqueline　was　now。　I'd　left　that　question　to　the　end；　though　it　had　been　the　most　pressing　enquiry；　because　I　suppose　I　didn't　dare　hope　he'd　know。　But　my　God；　he　did。　She　had　not　left　the　house　immediately　after　the　shooting　of　Pettifer。　She　had　sat　down　with　this　man；　and　talked　to　him　quietly　about　his　children；　his　tailor；　his　car。　She'd　asked　him　what　his　mother　had　been　like；　and　he'd　told　her　his　mother　had　been　a　prostitute。　Had　she　been　happy？　Jacqueline　had　asked。　He'd　said　he　didn't　know。　Did　she　ever　cry；　she'd　asked。　He'd　said　he　never　saw　her　laugh　or　cry　in　his　life。　And　she'd　nodded；　and　thanked　him。
　Later；　before　his　suicide；　the　other　gunman　had　told　him　Jacqueline　had　gone　to　Amsterdam。　This　he　knew　for　a　fact；　from　a　man　called　Koos。　And　so　the　circle　begins　to　close；　yes？
　I　was　in　Amsterdam　seven　weeks；　without　finding　a　single　clue　to　her　whereabouts；　until　yesterday　evening。　Seven　weeks　of　celibacy；　which　is　unusual　for　me。　Listless　with　frustration　I　went　down　to　the　red…light　district；　to　find　a　woman。　They　sit　there　you　know；　in　the　windows；　like　mannequins；　beside　pink…fringed　lamps。　Some　have　miniature　dogs　on　their　laps；　some　read。　Most　just　stare　out　at　the　street；　as　if　mesmerized。
　There　were　no　faces　there　that　interested　me。　They　all　seemed　joyless；　lightless；　too　much　unlike　her。　Yet　I　couldn't　leave。　I　was　like　a　fat　boy　in　a　sweet　shop；　too　nauseous　to　buy；　too　gluttonous　to　go。
　Towards　the　middle　of　the　night；　I　was　spoken　to　out　of　the　crowd　by　a　young　man　who；　on　closer　inspection；　was　not　young　at　all；　but　heavily　made　up。　He　had　no　eyebrows；　just　pencil　marks　drawn　on　to　his　shiny　skin。　A　cluster　of　gold　earrings　in　his　left　ear；　a　half…eaten　peach　in　his　white…gloved　hand；　open　sandals；　lacquered　toenails。　He　took　hold　of　my　sleeve；　proprietarily。
　I　must　have　sneered　at　his　sickening　appearance；　but　he　didn't　seem　at　all　upset　by　my　contempt。　You　look　like　a　man　of　discernment；　he　said。　I　looked　nothing　of　the　kind：　you　must　be　mistaken；　I　said。　No；　he　replied；　I　am　not　mistaken。　You　are　Oliver　Vassi。
　My　first　thought；　absurdly；　was　that　he　intended　to　kill　me。　I　tried　to　pull　away；　his　grip　on　my　cuff　was　relentless。
　
　You　want　a　woman；　he　said。　Did　I　hesitate　enough　for　him　to　know　I　meant　yes；　though　I　said　n