pzb.drawingblood-第36节

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eezed　halfway　out　of　their　sockets　by　the　pressure　of　the　rope；　giving　him　a　goggle…eyed　stare　that　would　last　until　the　eyeballs　fell　into　the　cranial　cavity。
　　Zach　folded　the　autopsy　reports　and　jammed　them　back　into　the　envelope。　It　was　as　if　Trevor　had　imagined　the　scene　so　many　times　that　it　was　imprinted　on　these　sheets　of　paper　like　some　sort　of　psychic　snapshot。　Zach　glanced　over　his　shoulder　again；　but　the　doorway　was　still　empty。　He　wasn't　sure　if　he　had　been　afraid　of　seeing　Trevor；　or　something　worse。
　　Enough　snooping　for　now。　It　was　making　him　jumpy。　He　put　the　envelope　back　and　found　a　fat　paperback　book　in　the　very　bottom　of　the　bag。　Thou　Shall　Not　Kill　was　the　true　tale　of　a　man　named　John　List　who　had　calmly　and　systematically　murdered　five　members　of　his　family…　wife；　mother；　two　sons；　and　a　daughter…and　then　disappeared　for　eighteen　years。　The　back　cover　said　they　had　caught　him　through　the　TV　show　America's　Most　Wanted。
　　The　book　fell　open　in　Zach's　hands　to　page　281；　where　the　spine　was　cracked。　List　was　killing　his　older　son；　fifteen…year…old　Johnny。　He'd　struggled　with　the　boy　in　the　kitchen；　shot　him　in　the　back　as　he　ran　down　the　hall；　caught　up　with　him　and　shot　him　nine　more　times　as　he　tried　to　crawl　away　from　his　father　toward　some　imagined　safety。
　　Zach　checked　out　Johnny's　school　picture　in　the　section　of　photographs　at　the　center　of　the　book。　A　skinny；　grinning　kid　with　badly　cut　dark　hair　and　birth…control　glasses　and　ears　that　stuck　out　goofily。　Looked　like　a　hundred　puter　geeks　Zach　had　known；　not　so　different　from　how　he　had　looked　at　fifteen。　This　shit　could　happen　to　anybody。
　　He　sat　down　at　the　table　and　began　to　read　about　the　Lists。　He　didn't　usually　read　this　kind　of　thing；　but　it　was　a　pretty　interesting　story。　They　didn't　find　List's　family　until　a　month　later；　lined　up　on　sleeping　bags　in　the　giant　ballroom；　their　bodies　black　and　swollen。
　　When　it　grew　too　dark　to　see　the　page；　Zach　got　up　and　switched　the　overhead　light　on　without　thinking　about　it。　He　read　for　two　hours；　until　he　heard　stirring　and　yawning　from　the　bedroom。
　　Trevor　appeared　in　the　kitchen　doorway；　his　hair　rumpled　and　tangled；　knuckling　sleep　from　his　eyes。　He　had　put　on　a　pair　of　baggy　black　sweatpants　but　remained　shirtless。　〃Was　I　out　long？〃
　　〃Couple　hours。　I　thought　you　could　use　it。〃
　　〃Why　are　you　reading　that？〃
　　Zach　put　the　book　down。　〃Why　are　you？　I　mean；　it's　none　of　my　business；　but　it　seems　a　little　depressing　for　someone　in　your　situation。〃
　　Trevor　pulled　out　the　other　chair　and　sat　down　at　the　table。　〃I　always　read　books　like　that。　I　keep　hoping　〃one　of　them　will　make　me　understand　why　the　guy　did　it。〃
　　〃Any　luck？〃
　　〃No。〃　Suddenly　Trevor　looked　up；　speared　him　with　those　eyes。　〃Anyway；　I　meant　why　are　you　reading　that　book　that　was　in　my　bag？　I　didn't　say　you　could　go　in　my　bag。〃
　　Zach　held　up　his　hands。　〃Sorry。　I　just　wanted　something　to　read；　and　you　were　asleep。　I　didn't　touch　anything　else。〃
　　Great。　They'd　make　a　perfect　pair：　a　professional　snoop　and　a　privacy　freak。　Zach　guessed　now　was　probably　not　the　best　time　to　tell　Trevor　how　much　he　had　liked　the　drawings　in　his　sketchbook；　and　he　didn't　think　he'd　better　mention　the　autopsy　reports　at　all。
　　Trevor　still　didn't　look　happy　about　the　matter；　but　let　it　drop。　He　noticed　Zach's　Post…it　notes；　peeled　one　off　the　table　and　read　it。　〃What's　this？〃
　　〃A　phone　card　number。〃
　　〃What's　it　for？〃
　　〃Making　phone　calls。〃
　　Trevor　gave　Zach　a　look；　but　decided　to　let　this　pass　too。　〃Are　you　hungry？〃
　　〃Starved。〃
　　They　retrieved　Kinsey's　can　of　ravioli　from　under　the　couch　and　ate　it　cold　with　forks　scrounged　out　of　a　kitchen　drawer。　It　was　awful；　but　Zach　felt　better　after　he　had　choked　it　down。　He　watched　Trevor　drink　two　Cokes　the　way　some　guys　drank　beer；　putting　the　stuff　away　with　more　regard　for　quick　chemical　effect　than　thirst　or　taste。　He　was　starting　to　think　he　could　watch　Trevor　all　night。
　　〃Do　you　want　something　else？〃　he　asked；　thinking　they　might　go　out　to　the　diner。
　　Trevor　looked　at　him　rather　sheepishly。　〃Could　I　。。。〃
　　Anything；　Zach　wanted　to　say；　but　settled　for　〃What？〃
　　〃Could　I　have　some　more　of　that　pot？〃
　　Zach　laughed　and　fished　the　half…burnt　joint　out　of　his　pocket。　It　was　a　bit　damp；　but　fired　up　fine。　〃I　thought　you　weren't　used　to　it；〃　he　said。
　　〃I'm　not。　I　never　really　liked　it　before。　But　my　dad　used　to　smoke　a　lot　back　when　he　was　drawing；　and　I　just　thought　。　。　。〃
　　〃What？〃　Zach　asked　gently。　〃That　you　could　figure　out　why　he　stopped？〃
　　Trevor　shrugged。　〃If　I　really　wanted　to　figure　that　out；　I'd　start　drinking　whiskey。　Bobby　used　to　say　pot　made　him　more　creative；　and　after　he　went　dry；　he　wouldn't　smoke　even　when　Momma　tried　to　make　him。　It　was　like　he　didn't　even　want　to　try　anymore。〃
　　〃Maybe　he　just　knew　it　was　gone　no　matter　what　he　did。〃
　　〃Maybe。〃
　　They　sat　at　the　table　talking　and　smoking。　As　Trevor　passed　him　the　joint；　Zach　noticed　the　tracery　of　slightly　raised　white　scars　on　his　left　forearm。　He　had　to　put　some　on　the　outside；　Zach　thought；　to　match　the　ones　on　the　inside。　But　he　didn't　yet　know　Trevor　well　enough　to　say　that。　Instead　he　talked　of　New　Orleans；　the　daytime　bustle　of　the　French　Market；　the　way　the　cobblestone　streets　looked　at　night　under　the　gas　lamps　all　black　and　gold；　the　neon　smear　of　Bourbon　Street；　the　river　like　a　dirty　brown　vein　pulsing　through　the　city。
　　At　last　they　both　began　to　yawn。　Trevor　stood　up；　stretched　hugely。　Zach　watched　the　loose　sweatpants　ride　low　on　the　ridges　of　his　hipbones；　then　wondered　why　he　was　staring；　he'd　already　seen　it　all　this　afternoon。　〃Do　you　want　to　crash　here？〃
　　Finally。　〃That'd　be　great。〃
　　〃You　can　have　the　big　bedroom。　There's　a　mattress　and；　uh　。　。　。〃　Trevor　stared　at　the　floor。　〃Nobody　died　in　there　or　anything。〃
　　Zach　hadn't　expected　an　invitation　to　bed　down　with　Trevor；　was　still　trying　to　convince　himself　he　didn't　want　one。　But　he　couldn't　help　feeling　disappointed　as　he　said　good　night　and　left　the　kitchen。
　　He　untied　his　sneakers；　took　off　his　glasses；　and　was　about　to　lie　down　on　the　sagging　double　mattress　when　he　realized　that　his　head　and　back　were　throbbing　in　tandem。　He'd　been　running　on　pure　adrenaline　for　more　than　twenty…four　hours；　now　the　pot　and　the　long　drive　had　finally　kicked　in　to　give　him　the　great…granddaddy　of　all　body　aches；　and　he　hadn't　brought　any　kind　of　medicine。
　　He　padded　down　the　hall　to　Trevor's　room；　saw　that　the　light　was　still　on；　and　tapped　at　the　door。　〃Do　you　have　any　aspirin？〃
　　Trevor　was　sprawled　in　bed　reading　the　John　List　book。　〃Yeah；　I　think　so。〃　He　sat　up　and　rummaged　in　his　bag；　came　up　with　a　single　white　pill。　〃Here　you　go。　I　think　this　is　my　last　one。〃
　　〃Thanks。　G'night　again。〃　Zach　went　to　the　kitchen　and　drank　from　the　faucet；　put　the　pill　in　his　mouth；　and　washed　it　down。　A　chill　ran　along　his　spine　as　he　passed　the　hall　doorway　and　returned　to　his　room。　It　was　dank　and　dim；　empty　except　for　the　mattress　and　some　moldering　cardboard　boxes　in　the　shadowed　recesses　of　the　closet；　the　window　an　inky　rectangle　beaded　with　rain。
　　For　the　first　time　in　hours　Zach　found　himself　unnerved　by　the　house。　Sitting　in　the　bright　kitchen　talking　with　Trevor　was　one　thing。　Sleeping　by　himself　in　the　bedroom　of　a　suicide　and　a　murder　victim　whose　blood　still　stained　the　place　。　。　。　that　was　another。
　　But　he　wasn't　afraid　of　ghosts；　he　reminded　himself。　He　lay　down　on　the　dusty　mattress；　pulled　one　of　Kinsey's　blankets　over　him；　and　closed　his　eyes。
　　A　few　minutes　later　his　heart　gave　a　nauseating　lurch　and　began　to　race　so　hard　he　thought　it　might　just　punch　right　through　his　breastbone　like　an　angry　fist　made　of　muscle　and　blood。　Then　his　whole　chest　seized　up　and　he　was　sure　the　tortured　organ　had　simply　ceased　to　beat；　that　in　seconds　he　would　realize　he　was　dead。
　　He　felt　the　house　gather　itself　around　him；　its　rotting　boards　alive　and　watchful；　its　darkness　ready　to　enfold　him　in　velvety　arms　and　claim　him　for　its　own。
　　
　　Trevor　turned　out　the　light　and　lay　back　on　his　mattress；　listening　to　the　slow　creak　and　drip　of　the　house。　He　thought　that　somewhere　deep　within　the　hundreds　of　tiny　noises　there　might　be　a　murmuring　voice。　He　wondered　。　what　having　Zach　here　would　do　to　the　house's　subtle　chemistry。　He　wondered　why　he　had　let　Zach　stay。
　　It　was　only　for　one　night；　he　told　himself。　Zach　was　an　outsider　too；　and　he　would　surely　want　to　move　on　tomorrow。
　　But　that　didn't　explain　the　weird　sensation　they'd　had　of　almost　recognizing　each　other　this　afternoon。　And　it　didn't　explain　the　tightness　Trevor　felt　behind　his　eyes　when　he　looked　at　Zach；　or　the　uneasy　warmth　deep　in　his　stomach　when　he　thought　about　Zach　now。　He　was　so　smart　。　。　。　and　so　strange　。　。　。　and　he　had　the　smoothest　skin；　like　matte　paper　。　。　。
　　Probably　it　was　just　the　pot。　Trevor　had　smoked　too　much。　Stupid　to　think　it　could　teach　him　anything　of　his　father；　it　was　only　a　drug；　its　effects　as　subjective　as　those　of　sleep　or　sorrow。　Even　alcohol　was　nothing　but　a　drug。　In　his　heart　he　knew　it　hadn't　made　Bobby　kill　his　family　any　more　than　the　hammer　had。