pzb.lostsouls-第35节

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！


　remember　Zillah's　face　buried　in　the　ruin　of　his　crotch　like　a　sadistic　lover？
　　Nothing　shied　away　from　that　voice。　But　he　could　not　forget　the　music　of　screams　that　died　away　to　a　tired　confused　whimper　of　pain；　then　to　silence。　He　had　dreamed　of　standing　in　front　of　a　culvert　somewhere；　a　dank　concrete　pipe　choked　with　weeds；　kudzu；　highway　trash。　It　was　dark；　souldark　in　this　hour　long　past　midnight　and　far　from　dawn；　but　Nothing　could　see。　He　could　see　clearly　in　the　dark：　the　acid；　or　some　new　vision　refining　itself？　Slung　over　his　shoulder　he　held　a　limp　little　bundle；　a　bundle　of　stained　rags　and　skin　gone　paler　than　before。
　　〃Put　it　in　there；〃　Zillah　had　said；　and　Nothing　stuffed　the　bundle　deep　into　the　culvert。　Looking　back；　he　caught　a　last　glimpse　of　feathery　white…blond　hair　straggling　from　a　blue　bandanna。　Wet　threads　of　scarlet　ran　through　that　hair　。　。　。　and　for　a　moment　Nothing　stopped；　struck　by　the　enormity　of　what　had　happened。　Of　what　you　did；　his　mind　amended。　The　blood　would　never　get　washed　out　of　that　hair；　except　by　rainwater　and　runoff　from　the　highway。　No　one　was　going　to　shampoo　that　hair　or　give　it　a　fresh　blond　dye　job　ever　again。　Perhaps　for　a　while　it　would　keep　growing；　dark　roots　pushing　slowly　up　through　the　cold　waxy　scalp。　Then　it　would　loosen　and　separate　and　scatter；　washed　away　strand　by　strand；　stolen　even　as　Laine's　bones　would　soon　be。
　　But　he　had　dreamed；　surely　he　had　dreamed。　He　must　have　dreamed。　〃Oh　God；〃　he　said；　and　shuddered。
　　〃Who？〃　Molochai；　hovering　over　him；　looked　honestly　puzzled：　Do　you　remember　how　we　slaughtered　your　friend　and　half…tore　him　apart；　or　are　you　just　hung　over？　Molochai's　eyes　glittered　through　enormous　smudges　of　black　eyeliner。　Nothing　smelled　something　sweet　on　Molochai's　breath；　some　buried　childhood　odor。　Twinkies。
　　〃What's　wrong；　kiddo？〃　Twig　asked　from　the　front　seat。　
　　Nothing　didn't　answer。　Instead　he　sat　up；　put　his　arms　around　Molochai's　neck；　and　buried　his　face　in　the　dirty　black　cloth　of　Molochai's　jacket；　cloth　that　smelled　of　sweat　and　sweets；　of　sex　and　。　。　。　blood。　Laine's　blood。　Nothing　knew　it　was　probably　on　his　own　clothes　too；　on　his　skin　and　greased　into　his　hair。　Because　he　had　not　dreamed。　Last　night　had　really　happened。　He　had　killed　Laine；　killed　him　with　bare　teeth　and　hands　and　only　a　little　help　from　his　friends。
　　They　really　are　vampires；　he　thought。　You　be　consigned　yourself　to　a　life　of　blood　and　murder；　you　can　never　rejoin　the　daytime　world。　And　he　answered　himself：　Fine。　As　long　as　I　don't　have　to　be　alone　again。
　　〃We're　here；〃　Molochai　said；　dropping　Nothing　back　onto　the　mattress。　〃This　is　it；　right；　Twig？〃
　　〃Yup；〃　said　Twig。　〃Fourteen　Burnt　Church　Road；　Missing　Mile；　Enn　Cee。　Curb　service；　kiddo。〃
　　The　roof　of　the　van　billowed　and　rippled。　With　an　effort；　Nothing　focused　his　eyes。　The　streaky　faces　of　Molochai　and　Twig　hung　over　him；　haggard　and　grinning；　waiting　to　see　what　he　would　do。
　　Where　was　Zillah？　Asleep　on　the　mattress　nearby；　his　warmth　close　enough　to　touch；　his　head　pillowed　on　a　fold　of　Nothing's　raincoat。　Wisps　of　his　dry　Mardi　Gras　hair　trailed　away　over　the　black　silk。
　　〃We　could　e　with　you；〃　Molochai　offered　generously。　〃We　like　musicians。〃
　　〃We　like　you；〃　Twig　said；　the　sharp　tip　of　his　tongue　flickering　over　his　lips。　〃It's　not　often　we　meet　a　drinking　man　such　as　yourself。〃
　　Nothing　struggled　to　his　knees；　cupped　his　hands　to　the　window。　He　saw　a　small　wooden　house　nestled　among　trees　far　off　at　the　end　of　a　gravel　driveway。　Was　Ghost　in　that　house　right　now；　awake　or　dreaming？　His　vision　seemed　to　shift　again；　and　he　realized　that　even　the　watery　light　of　the　early　afternoon　hurt　his　eyes。　His　pupils　felt　distended。
　　Molochai　turned　on　the　tape　player。　As　Bauhaus　began　blasting　a　live　cut　of　〃Stigmata　Martyr；〃　Zillah　came　slowly　and　luxuriously　awake。　He　opened　first　one　brilliant　eye；　then　the　other；　ran　his　hands　through　his　silky　hair；　yawned　and　stretched　his　catlike　body。　When　his　eyes　lit　upon　Nothing's；　he　sat　up　and　took　Nothing　into　his　arms　and　kissed　him。
　　Zillah's　mouth　was　as　sour　and　sweet　as　wine；　and　his　spit　had　a　rich　red　corrupt　taste。　Nothing　let　it　flow　into　him；　drank　it；　took　strength　from　it　as　if　it　were　the　potion　in　the　wine　bottle。　That　taste　was　everything。　The　taste　of　blood　and　Zillah's　spit　and　e　and　the　roughplay　and　the　drinking　and　all　the　long　enchanted　days　and　nights。　Everything。　Nothing　still　wanted　to　talk　to　Lost　Souls？…he　had　e　all　this　wayrebut　he　no　longer　ached　for　a　family。　He　no　longer　wanted　to　pretend　that　Steve　and　Ghost　were　his　long…lost　brothers。　He　had　his　family　now；　he　had　chosen　them　and　their　nighttime　world。
　　〃e　on；〃　he　said。　〃You're　all　going　in　with　me。〃　He　had　asserted　himself　for　the　first　time；　he　was　being　their　equal；　and　he　thought　he　saw　approval　in　the　slant　of　Zillah's　smile。
　　He　felt　so　good；　so　strong　and　confident；　that　he　never　stopped　to　think　what　might　happen　once　they　got　into　the　house。
　　They　left　the　van　parked　near　the　road　and　made　their　way　unsteadily　up　the　driveway。　Gravel　crunched　under　Nothing's　feet。　The　house　was　thirty　steps　away。　Twenty。　Molochai　and　Twig　clutched　each　other；　trying　to　stay　upright。　Zillah's　hand　brushed　the　back　of　Nothing's　neck。　Nothing　shivered　at　the　touch。　It　made　him　want　to　be　back　in　the　van；　on　the　mattress　with　Zillah；　tangled；　sweaty；　biting　again。
　　But　now　he　was　so　close　to　Ghost；　he　thought　he　felt　the　tendril　of　a　golden　aura　touching　him。　The　house　loomed　up；　if　such　a　scruffy　little　house　could　be　said　to　loom。　One　shutter　hung　askew　like　the　half…cynical　tilt　of　an　eyebrow。　The　windows　were　lidded；　deeply　humorous　eyes。　This　house　was　good。
　　The　porch　steps　sagged　a　little　under　their　weight。　Not　much；　the　house　was　old　but　sturdy。　Someone　had　painted　a　hex　sign　at　the　threshold　of　the　door：　a　red　triangle　and　a　blue　one　interlocking　to　form　a　six…pointed　star；　and　in　the　center　a　small　ankh　traced　in　silver。　Molochai　and　Twig　drew　back　from　it；　still　clutching　each　other　uneasily；　but　Zillah　cast　them　a　look　of　contempt。　'That　thing　won't　hurt　you。　Just　step　over　it。〃
　　The　door　sported　an　incongruously　fancy　knocker：　the　face　of　a　gargoyle　wrought　in　silver；　with　a　heavy　ring　through　its　nostrils　and　eyes　that　seemed　about　to　bulge　out　of　their　sockets。　Nothing　used　the　ring　to　knock；　first　gently　and　then　loudly；　but　no　one　stirred　inside　the　house。　He　looked　doubtfully　at　the　old　brown　car　in　the　driveway。　Someone　must　be　here。　〃Maybe　they　don't　want　pany；〃　he　said；　not　sure　whether　the　sinking　inside　him　was　disappointment　or　relief。
　　〃Try　the　door；〃　Twig　suggested。　Before　Nothing　could　respond；　Twig　stepped　up　and　rattled　the　knob　himself。　It　would　turn　no　more　than　a　quarter　inch　in　either　direction。　The　door　was　locked。
　　〃I　guess　that's　it；〃　said　Nothing。　His　hand；　deep　in　the　pocket　of　his　raincoat；　touched　the　single　long　bone　he　had　found　on　the　shoulder　of　the　highway。　Four　days　ago…a　lifetime　ago…he　had　set　out　thinking　be　might　e　here。　Had　he　hoped　to　find　his　home　in　Missing　Mile；　at　an　address　he　had　found　on　the　liner　of　a　tape　put　out　by　an　obscure　band？　Now　that　he　was　here；　it　hardly　seemed　real。
　　Molochai　had　been　peering　through　the　window　next　to　the　front　door。　Now　he　gave　it　a　shove。　It　slid　up　with　only　a　small　groaning　protest。　〃I　found　a　way　in；〃　Molochai　said　proudly。
　　And　before　Nothing　quite　knew　what　was　happening；　the　other　three　had　climbed　through　the　window…even　Zillah；　who　stepped　delicately　over　the　sill　and　was　received　on　the　other　side　by　the　outstretched　hands　of　Molochai　and　Twig。　Nothing　stared　in　at　them。　They　grinned　and　waved　back；　daring　him。　But　he　couldn't　follow。　The　car　was　here；　someone　must　be　home。　He　couldn't　just　let　himself　in；　no　matter　how　much　he　wanted　to　see　the　inside　of　the　house。　He　couldn't　go　through　the　window；　He　mustn't。
　　A　splinter　from　the　windowsill　snagged　his　jeans　as　he　went　in。
　　The　jumble　of　decor…obscure；　lovely　jazz　and　acid　rock　posters；　religious　samplers；　a　bookshelf　with　volume　after　volume　of　herbal　lore　cheek　by　jowl　with　things　like　Kerouac；　Ellison；　Bradbury　（the　Bradbury　books　surely　belonged　to　Ghost；　Steve　would　never　choose　anything　so　romantic）…　caught　Nothing's　attention　at　first。　Then　he　realized　what　the　others　were　doing。　Molochai　and　Twig　were　in　the　kitchen；　ransacking　the　refrigerator。　He　heard　pop…tops　cracking　open　as　they　helped　themselves　to　cans　of　beer。　Zillah　fell　dramatically　onto　the　couch　and　began　unbuttoning　his　shirt　with　dreamy　fascination；　his　long　hair　draped　over　the　arm　of　the　couch；　streaming　down。
　　The　passage　down　the　hall；　pale　and　wavering　and　tantalizing；　held　Nothing's　attention　for　a　long　time　before　he　noticed　the　smell。　When　it　finally　breached　his　awareness；　he　did　not　recognize　it　at　once。　It　was　so　faint…there；　on　a　breath　of　air；　and　gone　again。　He　licked　his　lips；　took　a　shallow　breath　through　his　mouth。　Although　he　did　not　realize　it；　he　was　testing　the　air；　beginning　to　use　sensitive　scent　organs　that　had　lain　dormant　all　his　fifteen　years。　The　scent　was　familiar；　he　had　smelled　it　just　last　night；　but　now　there　was　something　differ