sk.carrie-第22节

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He　opened　the　trunk　and　unlocked　the　ice　chest。　The　blood　had　frozen　solid；　but　that　was　all　right。　It　would　have　the　next　twenty…four　hours　to　thaw。
He　put　the　buckets　on　the　ground；　then　got　a　number　of　tools　from　his　kit。　He　stuck　them　in　his　back　pocket　and　grabbed　a　brown　bag　from　the　seat。　Screws　clinked　inside。
He　worked　without　hurry；　with　the　easeful　concentration　of　one　who　is　unable　to　conceive　of　interruption。　The　gym　where　the　dance　was　to　be　held　was　also　the　school　auditorium；　and　the　small　row　of　windows　looking　toward　where　he　had　parked　opened　on　the　backstage　storage　area。
He　selected　a　flat　tool　with　a　spatulate　end　and　slid　it　through　the　small　jointure　between　the　upper　and　lower　panes　of　one　window。　It　was　a　good　tool。　He　had　made　it　himself　in　the　Chamberlain　metal　shop。　He　wriggled　it　until　the　window's　slip　lock　came　free。　He　pushed　the　window　up　and　slid　in。
It　was　very　dark。　The　predominant　odour　was　of　old　paint　from　the　Dramatic　Club　canvas　flats。　The　gaunt　shadows　of　Band　Society　music　stands　and　instrument　cases　stood　around　like　sentinels。　Mr　Downer's　piano　stood　in　one　corner。
Billy　took　a　small　flashlight　out　of　the　bag　and　made　his　way　to　the　stage　and　stepped　through　the　red　velvet　curtains。　The　gym　floor；　with　its　painted　basketball　lines　and　highly　varnished　surface；　glimmered　at　him　like　an　amber　lagoon。　He　shone　his　light　on　the　apron　in　front　of　the　curtain。　There；　in　ghostly　chalk　fines；　someone　had　drawn　the　floor　silhouette　of　the　King　and　Queen　thrones　which　would　be　placed　the　following　day。　Then　the　entire　apron　would　be　strewn　with　paper　flowers　。。。　why；　Christ　only　knew。
He　craned　his　neck　and　shone　the　beam　of　his　light　up　into　the　shadows。　Overhead；　girders　crisscrossed　in　shadowy　lines。　The　girders　over　the　dance　floor　had　been　sheathed　in　crepe　paper；　but　the　arm　directly　over　the　apron　hadn't　been　decorated。　A　short　draw　curtain
obscured　the　girders　up　there；　and　they　were　invisible　from　the　gym　Floor。　The　draw　curtain　also　hid　a　bank　of　lights　that　would　highlight　the　gondola　mural。　
Billy　turned　off　the　flashlight；　walked　to　the　left…hand　edge　of　the　apron；　and　mounted　a　steel…runged　ladder　bolted　to　the　wall。　The　contents　of　his　brown　bag；　which　he　had　tucked　into　his　shirt　for　safety；　jingled　with　a　strange；　hollow　jolliness　in　the　deserted　gymnasium。
At　the　top　of　the　ladder　was　a　small　platform。　Now；　as　he　faced　outward　toward　the　apron；　the　stage　flies　were　to　his　right；　the　gym　itself　on　his　left。　In　the　flies　the　Dramatic　Club　props　were　stored；　some　of　them　dating　back　to　the　1920's。　A　bust　of　Pallas；　used　in　some　ancient　dramatic　version　of　Poe's　'Me　Raven；'　stared　at　Billy　with　blind；　floating　eyes　from　atop　a　rusting　bedspring　Straight　ahead；　a　steel　girder　ran　out　over　the　apron。　Lights　to　be　used　against　the　mural　were　bolted　to　the　bottom　of　it。
He　stepped　out　on　to　it　and　walked　effortlessly；　without　fear；　over　the　drop。　He　was　humming　a　popular　tune　under　his　breath。　The　beam　was　inch…thick　with　dust；　and　he　left　long　shuffling　tracks。　Halfway　he　stopped；　dropped　to　his　knees；　and　peered　down。
Yea。　With　the　help　of　his　light　he　could　make　out　the　chalk　lines　of　the　apron　directly　below。　He　made　a　soundless　whistling。
（bombs　away）
He　X'd　the　precise　spot　in　the　dust；　then　beam…walked　back　to　the　platform。　No　one　would　be　up　here　between　now　and　the　Ball；　the　lights　that　shone　on；　the　mural　and　on　the　apron　where　the　King　and　Queen　would　be　crowned
（they'll　get　crowned　an　right）
were　controlled　from　a　box　backstage。　Anyone　looking　up　from　directly　below　would　be　blinded　by　those　same　lights。　His　arrangements　would　be　noticed　only　if　someone　went　up　into　the　flies　for　something。　He　didn't　believe　anyone　would。　It　was　an　acceptable　risk。
He　opened　the　brown　bag　and　took　out　a　pair　of　Playtex　rubber　gloves；　put　them　on；　and　then　took　out　one　of　two　small　pulleys　he　had　purchased　yesterday。　He　had　gotten　them　at　a　hardware　store　in　Boxford；　just　to　be　safe。　He　popped　a　number　of　nails　into　his　mouth　like　cigarettes　and　got　the　hammer。　Still　humming　around　his　mouthful　of　nails；　he　fixed　the　pulley　neatly　in　the　corner　above　the　platform。　Beside　it　he　fixed　a　small　eyehole　screw。
He　went　back　down　the　ladder；　crossed　backstage；　and　climbed　another　ladder　not　far　from　where　he　had　e　in。　He　was　in　the　loft　…　sort　of　a　catchall　school　attic。　Here　there　were　stacks　of　old　yearbooks；　moth…eaten　athletic　uniforms；　and　ancient　textbooks　that　had　been　nibbled　by　mice。
Looking　left；　he　could　shine　his　light　over　the　stage　flies　and　spotlight　the　pulley　he　had　just　put　up。　Turning　right；　cool　night　air　played　on　his　face；　from　a　vent　in　the　wall。　Still　humming；　he　took　out　the　second　pulley　and　nailed　it　up。
He　went　back　down；　crawled　out　the　window　he　had　forced；　and　got　the　two　buckets　of　pig　blood。　He　had　been　about　his　business　for　a　half　hour；　but　it　showed　no　signs　of　thawing。　He　picked　the　buckets　up　and　walked　back　to　the　window；　silhouetted　in　the　darkness　like　a　farmer　ing　back　from　the　first　milking。　He　lifted　them　inside　and　went　in　after。
Beam…walking　was　easier　with　a　bucket　in　each　hand　for　balance。　When　he　reached　his　dust…marked　X；　he　put　the　buckets　down；　peered　at　the　chalk　marks　on　the　apron　once　more；　nodded；　and　walked　back　to　the　platform。　He　thought　about　wiping　the　buckets　on　his　last　trip　out　to　them　…　Kenny's　prints　would　be　on　them；　Don's　and　Steve's　as　well　…　but　it　was　better　not　to。　Maybe　they　would　have　a　little　surprise　on　Saturday　morning。　The　thought　made　his　lips　quirk。
The　last　item　in　the　bag　was　a　coil　of　jute　twine。　He　walked　back　out　to　the　buckets　and　tied　the　handles　of　both　with　running　slipknots。　He　threaded　the　screw；　then　the　pulley。　He　threw　the　uncoiling　twine　across　to　the　left；　and　then　threaded　that　one。　He　probably　would　not　have　been　amused　to　know　that；　in　the　gloom　of　the　auditorium；　covered　and　streaked　with　decades…old　dust；　grey　kitties　flying　dreamily　about　his　crow's　nest　hair；　he　looked　like　a　hunched；　half…mad　Rube　Goldberg　intent　upon　creating　the　better　mousetrap。
He　piled　the　slack　twine　on　top　of　a　stack　of　crates　within　reach　of　the　vent。　He　climbed　down　for　the　last　time　and　dusted　off　his　hands。　The　thing　was　done。　
He　looked　out　the　window；　then　wriggled　through　and　thumped　to　the　ground。　He　closed　the　window；　reinserted　his　jimmy；　and　closed　the　lock　as　far　as　he　could。　Then　he　went　back　to　his　car。
Chris　said　chances　were　good　that　Tommy　Ross　and　the　White　bitch　would　be　the　ones　under　the　buckets；　she　had　been　doing　a　little　quiet　promoting　among　her　friends　That　would　be　good；　if　it　happened。　But；　for　Billy；　any　of　the　others　would　be　all　right　too。
He　was　beginning　to　think　that　it　would　be　all　right　if　it　was　Chris　herself。
He　drove　away。
From　My　Name　Is　Susan　Snell　（p。　48）：
Carrie　went　to　see　Tommy　the　day　before　the　prom。　She　was　waiting　outside　one　of　his　classes　and　he　said　she　looked　really　wretched；　as　if　she　thought　he'd　yell　at　her　to　stop　hanging　around　and　stop　bugging　him。
She　said　she　had　to　be　in　by　eleven…thirty　at　the　latest；　or　her　momma　would　be　worried。　She　said　she　wasn't　going　to　spoil　his　time　or　anything；　but　it　wouldn't　be　fair　to　worry　her　momma。
Tommy　suggested　they　stop　at　the　Kelly　Fruit　after　and　grab　a　root　beer　and　a　burger。　All　the　other　kids　would　be　going　to　Westover　or　Lewiston；　and　they　would　have　the　place　to　themselves。　Carrie's　face　fit　up；　he　said。　She　told　him　that　would　be　fine。　Just　fine。
This　is　the　girl　they　keep　caning　a　monster。　I　want　you　to　keep　that　firmly　in　mind。　The　girl　who　could　be　satisfied　with　a　hamburger　and　a　dime　root　beer　after　her　only　school　dance　so　her　momma　wouldn't　be　worried。。　。
The　first　thing　that　struck　Carrie　when　they　walked　in　was　Glamour。　Not　glamour　but　Glamour。　Beautiful　shadows　rustled　about　in　chiffon；　lace；　silk；　satin。　The　air　was　redolent　with　the　odour　of　flowers；　the　nose　was　constantly　amazed　by　it。　Girls　in　dresses　with　low　backs；　with　scooped　bodices　showing　actual　cleavage；　with　Empire　waists。　Long　skirts；　pumps。　Blinding　white　dinner　jackets；　cumberbunds；　black　shoes　that　had　been　spitshined。
A　few　people　were　on　the　dance　floor；　not　many　yet；　and　in　the　soft　revolving　gloom　they　were　wraiths　without　substance。　She　did　not　really　want　to　see　them　as　her　classmates。　She　wanted　them　to　be　beautiful　strangers。
Tommy's　hand　was　firm　on　her　elbow。　'The　mural's　nice；'　he　said。
'Yes；'　she　agreed　faintly。
It　had　taken　on　a　soft　nether　light　under　the　orange　spots；　the　boatman　leaning　with　eternal　indolence　against　his　tiller　while　the　sunset　blazed　around　him　and　the　buildings　conspired　together　over　urban　waters。　She　knew　with　suddenness　and　ease　that　this　moment　would　be　with　her　always；　within　hand's　reach　of　memory。
She　doubted　if　they　all　sensed　it　…　they　had　seen　the　world…but　even　George　was　silent　for　a　minute　as　they　looked；　and　the　scone；　the　smell；　even　the　sound　of　the
band　playing　a　faintly　recognizable　movie　theme；　was　locked　forever　in　her；　and　she　was　at　peace。　Her　soul　knew　a　moment's　calm；　as　if　it　had　been　uncrumpled　and　smoothed　under　an　iron。
'V　'George　yelled　suddenly；　and　led　Frieda　out　on　to　the　floor。　He　began　to　do　a　sarcastic　jitterbug　to　the　old…timey　big…band　m