sk.thetalisman-第108节

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arden　half　a　mile　away。　Suddenly　Jack　felt　as　if　he　could　simply　push　off　and　jump　all　the　way　across　the　quad　。　。　。　or　fly；　like　those　men　with　the　wings　strapped　to　their　backs。
　　Oh；　there　was　light　and　clear　air　replacing　that　foul；　garbagey　stench　and　a　sensation　of　crossing　voids　of　darkness；　and　for　a　moment　everything　in　him　seemed　clear　and　full　of　radiance；　for　a　moment　everything　was　rainbow；　rainbow；　rainbow。
　　So　Jack　Sawyer　flipped　into　the　Territories　again；　this　time　while　running　headlong　across　the　degenerating　Thayer　campus；　with　the　sound　of　cracked　bells　and　snarling　dogs　filling　the　air。
　　And　this　time　he　dragged　Morgan　Sloat's　son　Richard　with　him。
　　
　　　INTERLUDE
　　　
　　Sloat　in　This　World/
　　Orris　in　the　Territories　（III）
　　
　　Shortly　after　seven　a。m。　on　the　morning　following　Jack　and　Richard's　flip　out　from　Thayer；　Morgan　Sloat　drew　up　to　the　curb　just　outside　the　main　gates　of　Thayer　School。　He　parked。　The　space　was　marked　with　a　HANDICAPPED　ONLY　sign。　Sloat　glanced　at　it　indifferently；　then　reached　into　his　pocket；　drew　out　a　vial　of　cocaine；　and　used　some　of　it。　In　a　few　moments　the　world　seemed　to　gain　color　and　vitality。　It　was　wonderful　stuff。　He　wondered　if　it　would　grow　in　the　Territories；　and　if　it　would　be　more　potent　over　there。
　　Gardener　himself　had　awakened　Sloat　in　his　Beverly　Hills　home　at　two　in　the　morning　to　tell　him　what　had　happened…it　had　been　midnight　in　Springfield。　Gardener's　voice　had　been　trembling。　He　was　obviously　terrified　that　Morgan　would　fly　into　a　rage；　and　furious　that　he　had　missed　Jack　Sawyer　by　less　than　an　hour。
　　'That　boy　。　。　。　that　bad；　bad　boy　。　。　。'
　　Sloat　had　not　flown　into　a　rage。　Indeed；　he　had　felt　extraordinary　calm。　He　felt　a　sense　of　predestination　which　he　suspected　came　from　that　other　part　of　him…what　he　thought　of　as　'his　Orris…ness'　in　a　half…understood　pun　on　royalty。
　　'Be　calm；'　Sloat　had　soothed。　'I'll　be　there　as　soon　as　I　can。　Hang　in　there；　baby。'　
　　He　had　broken　the　connection　before　Gardener　could　say　any　more；　and　lain　back　on　the　bed。　He　had　crossed　his　hands　on　his　stomach　and　closed　his　eyes。　There　was　a　moment　of　weightlessness　。　。　。　just　a　moment　。　。　。　and　then　he　felt　a　sensation　of　movement　beneath　him。　He　heard　the　creak　of　leather　　traces；　the　groan　and　thump　of　rough　iron　springs；　the　curses　of　his　driver。
　　He　had　opened　his　eyes　as　Morgan　of　Orris。
　　As　always；　his　first　reaction　was　pure　delight：　this　made　coke　seem　like　baby　aspirin。　His　chest　was　narrower；　his　weight　less。　Morgan　Sloat's　heartbeat　ran　anywhere　from　eighty…five　beats　a　minute　to　a　hundred　and　twenty　when　he　was　pissed　off；　Orris's　rarely　went　higher　than　sixty…five　or　so。　Morgan　Sloat's　eyesight　was　tested　at　20/20；　but　Morgan　of　Orris　nonetheless　saw　better。　He　could　see　and　trace　the　course　of　every　minute　crack　in　the　sidewall　of　the　diligence；　could　marvel　over　the　fineness　of　the　mesh　curtains　which　blew　through　the　windows。　Cocaine　had　clogged　Sloat's　nose；　dulling　his　sense　of　smell；　Orris's　nose　was　totally　clear　and　he　could　smell　dust　and　earth　and　air　with　perfect　fidelity…it　was　as　if　he　could　sense　and　appreciate　every　molecule。
　　Behind　him　he　had　left　an　empty　double　bed　still　marked　with　the　shape　of　his　large　body。　Here　he　was　sitting　on　a　bench　seat　plusher　than　the　seat　in　any　Rolls…Royce　ever　made；　riding　west　toward　the　end　of　the　Outposts；　toward　a　place　which　was　called　Outpost　Depot。　Toward　a　man　named　Anders。　He　knew　these　things；　knew　exactly　where　he　was；　because　Orris　was　still　here；　inside　his　head…speaking　to　him　the　way　the　right　side　of　the　brain　may　speak　to　the　rational　left　during　daydreams；　in　a　low　but　perfectly　clear　voice。　Sloat　had　spoken　to　Orris　in　this　same　low　undervoice　on　the　few　occasions　when　Orris　had　Migrated　to　what　Jack　had　e　to　think　of　as　the　American　Territories。　When　one　Migrated　and　entered　the　body　of　one's　Twinner；　the　result　was　a　kind　of　benign　possession。　Sloat　had　read　of　more　violent　cases　of　possession；　and　although　the　subject　did　not　greatly　interest　him；　he　guessed　that　the　poor；　unlucky　slobs　so　afflicted　had　been　taken　over　by　mad　hitchhikers　from　other　worlds…or　perhaps　it　was　the　American　world　itself　which　had　driven　them　mad。　That　seemed　more　than　possible；　it　had　certainly　done　a　number　on　poor　old　Orris's　head　the　first　two　or　three　times　he　had　popped　over；　although　he　had　been　wildly　excited　as　well　as　terrified。
　　The　diligence　took　a　mighty　bounce…in　the　Outposts；　you　took　the　roads　as　you　found　them　and　thanked　God　they　were　there　at　all。　Orris　shifted　in　his　seat　and　his　clubfoot　muttered　dull　pain。
　　'Hold　on　steady；　God　pound　you；'　the　driver　muttered　up　above。　His　whip　whistled　and　popped。　'Roll；　you　sons　of　dead　whores！　Roll　on！'　
　　Sloat　grinned　with　the　pleasure　of　being　here；　even　though　it　would　only　be　for　moments。　He　already　knew　what　he　needed　to　know；　Orris's　voice　had　muttered　it　to　him。　The　diligence　would　arrive　at　Outpost　Depot…Thayer　School　in　the　other　world…well　before　morning。　It　might　be　possible　to　take　them　there　if　they　had　lingered；　if　not；　the　Blasted　Lands　awaited　them。　It　hurt　and　enraged　him　to　think　that　Richard　was　now　with　the　Sawyer　brat；　but　if　a　sacrifice　was　demanded　。　。　。　well；　Orris　had　lost　his　son　and　survived。
　　The　only　thing　that　had　kept　Jack　alive　this　long　was　the　maddening　fact　of　his　single　nature…when　the　whelp　flipped　to　a　place；　he　was　always　in　the　analogue　of　the　place　he　had　left。　Sloat；　however；　always　ended　up　where　Orris　was；　which　might　be　miles　away　from　where　he　needed　to　be　。　。　。　as　was　the　case　now。　He　had　been　lucky　at　the　rest　area；　but　Sawyer　had　been　luckier。
　　'Your　luck　will　run　out　soon　enough；　my　little　friend；'　Orris　said。　The　diligence　took　another　terrific　bounce。　He　grimaced；　then　grinned。　If　nothing　else；　the　situation　was　simplifying　itself　even　as　the　final　confrontation　took　on　wider　and　deeper　implications。
　　Enough。
　　He　closed　his　eyes　and　crossed　his　arms。　For　just　a　moment　he　felt　another　dull　thud　of　pain　in　the　deformed　foot　。　。　。　and　when　he　opened　his　eyes；　Sloat　was　looking　up　at　the　ceiling　of　his　apartment。　As　always；　there　was　a　moment　when　the　extra　pounds　fell　into　him　with　sickening　weight；　when　his　heart　reacted　with　a　surprised　double…beat　and　then　sped　up。
　　He　had　gotten　to　his　feet　then　and　had　called　West　Coast　Business　Jet。　Seventy　minutes　later　he　had　been　leaving　LAX。　The　Lear's　steep　and　abrupt　takeoff　stance　made　him　feel　as　it　always　did…it　was　as　if　a　blowtorch　had　been　strapped　to　his　ass。　They　had　touched　down　in　Springfield　at　five…fifty　central　time；　just　as　Orris　would　be　approaching　Outpost　Depot　in　the　Territories。　Sloat　had　rented　a　Hertz　sedan　and　here　he　was。　American　travel　did　have　its　advantages。
　　He　got　out　of　the　car　and；　just　as　the　morning　bells　began　to　ring；　he　walked　onto　the　Thayer　campus　his　own　son　had　so　lately　quitted。
　　Everything　was　the　essence　of　an　early　Thayer　weekday　morning。　The　chapel　bells　were　playing　a　normal　morning　tune；　something　classical　but　not　quite　recognizable　which　sounded　a　bit　like　'Te　Deum'　but　wasn't。　Students　passed　Sloat　on　their　way　to　the　dining　hall　or　to　morning　workouts。　They　were　perhaps　a　little　more　silent　than　usual；　and　they　shared　a　look…pale　and　slightly　dazed；　as　if　they　had　all　shared　a　disquieting　dream。
　　Which；　of　course；　they　had；　Sloat　thought。　He　stopped　for　a　moment　in　front　of　Nelson　House；　looking　at　it　thoughtfully。　They　simply　didn't　know　how　fundamentally　unreal　they　all　were；　as　all　creatures　who　live　near　the　thin　places　between　worlds　must　be。　He　walked　around　to　the　side　and　watched　a　maintenance　man　picking　up　broken　glass　that　lay　on　the　ground　like　trumpery　diamonds。　Beyond　his　bent　back　Sloat　could　see　into　the　Nelson　House　lounge；　where　an　unusually　quiet　Albert　the　Blob　was　sitting　and　looking　blankly　at　a　Bugs　Bunny　cartoon。
　　Sloat　started　across　toward　The　Depot；　his　thoughts　turning　to　the　first　time　that　Orris　had　flipped　over　into　this　world。　He　found　himself　thinking　of　that　time　with　a　nostalgia　that　was；　when　one　really　stopped　to　think　about　it；　damned　near　grotesque…after　all；　he　had　nearly　died。　Both　of　them　had　nearly　died。　But　it　had　been　in　the　middle　fifties；　and　now　he　was　in　his　middle　fifties…it　made　all　the　difference　in　the　world。
　　He　had　been　ing　back　from　the　office　and　the　sun　had　been　going　down　in　a　Los　Angeles　haze　of　smudged　purples　and　smokey　yellows…this　had　been　in　the　days　before　the　L。A。　smog　had　really　begun　to　thicken　up。　He　had　been　on　Sunset　Boulevard　and　looking　at　a　billboard　advertising　a　new　Peggy　Lee　record　when　he　had　felt　a　coldness　in　his　mind。　It　had　been　as　if　a　wellspring　had　suddenly　opened　somewhere　in　his　subconscious；　spilling　out　some　alien　weirdness　that　was　like　。　。　。　like　。　。　。
　　（like　semen）
　　。　。　。　well；　he　didn't　know　exactly　what　it　had　been　like。　Except　that　it　had　quickly　bee　warm；　gained　cognizance；　and　he　had　just　had　time　to　realize　it　was　he；　Orris；　and　then　everything　had　turned　topsy…turvy　like　a　secret　door　on　its　gimbal…a　bookcase　on　one　side；　a　Chippendale　dresser　on　the　other；　both　fitting　the　ambience　of　the　room　perfectly…and