sk.thetalisman-第41节

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ly　the　better　to　center　him　for　a　second　shot。
　　At　that　moment　a　woman　shrieked；　from　the　Tap；　'No；　Glen！　No！'　There　was　a　tangle　of　bellowing　male　voices；　most　of　them　alarmed。　Another　woman　screamed…a　high；　drilling　sound。　Then　a　gunshot。
　　'Shit　on　toast！'　Smokey　cried；　enunciating　each　word　as　carefully　as　an　actor　on　a　Broadway　stage。　He　threw　Jack　back　against　the　wall；　whirled；　and　slammed　out　through　the　swinging　door。　The　gun　went　off　again　and　there　was　a　scream　of　pain。
　　Jack　was　sure　of　only　one　thing…the　time　had　e　to　get　out。　Not　at　the　end　of　tonight's　shift；　or　tomorrow's；　or　on　Sunday　morning。　Right　now。
　　The　uproar　seemed　to　be　quieting　down。　There　were　no　sirens；　so　maybe　nobody　had　gotten　shot　。　。　。　but；　Jack　remembered；　cold；　the　millhand　who　looked　like　Randolph　Scott　was　still　down　in　the　men's　can。
　　Jack　went　into　the　chilly；　beer…smelling　storeroom；　knelt　by　the　kegs；　and　felt　around　for　his　pack。　Again　there　was　that　suffocating　certainty；　as　his　fingers　encountered　nothing　but　thin　air　and　the　dirty　concrete　floor；　that　one　of　them…Smokey　or　Lori…had　seen　him　hide　the　pack　and　had　taken　it。　All　the　better　to　keep　you　in　Oatley；　my　dear。　Then　relief；　almost　as　suffocating　as　the　fear；　when　his　fingers　touched　the　nylon。　
　　Jack　donned　the　pack　and　looked　longingly　toward　the　loading　door　at　the　back　of　the　storeroom。　He　would　much　rather　use　that　door…he　didn't　want　to　go　down　to　the　fire…door　at　the　end　of　the　hall。　That　was　too　close　to　the　men's　bathroom。　But　if　he　opened　the　loading　door；　a　red　light　would　go　on　at　the　bar。　Even　if　Smokey　was　still　sorting　out　the　ruckus　on　the　floor；　Lori　would　see　that　light　and　tell　him。
　　So　。　。　。
　　He　went　to　the　door　which　gave　on　the　back　corridor。　He　eased　it　open　a　crack　and　applied　one　eye。　The　corridor　was　empty。　All　right；　that　was　cool。　Randolph　Scott　had　tapped　a　kidney　and　gone　back　to　where　the　action　was　while　Jack　was　getting　his　backpack。　Great。
　　Yeah；　except　maybe　he's　still　in　there。　You　want　to　meet　him　in　the　hall；　Jacky？　Want　to　watch　his　eyes　turn　yellow　again？　Wait　until　you're　sure。
　　But　he　couldn't　do　that。　Because　Smokey　would　see　he　wasn't　out　in　the　Tap；　helping　Lori　and　Gloria　swab　tables；　or　behind　the　bar；　unloading　the　dishwasher。　He　would　e　back　here　to　finish　teaching　Jack　what　his　place　was　in　the　great　scheme　of　things。　So…
　　So　what？　Get　going！
　　Maybe　he's　in　there　waiting　for　you；　Jacky　。　。　。　maybe　he's　going　to　jump　out　just　like　a　big　bad　Jack…in…the…Box　。　。　。
　　The　lady　or　the　tiger？　Smokey　or　the　millhand？　Jack　hesitated　a　moment　longer　in　an　agony　of　indecision。　That　the　man　with　the　yellow　eyes　was　still　in　the　bathroom　was　a　possibility；　that　Smokey　would　be　back　was　a　certainty。
　　Jack　opened　the　door　and　stepped　out　into　the　narrow　hallway。　The　pack　on　his　back　seemed　to　gain　weight…an　eloquent　accusation　of　his　planned　escape　to　anyone　who　might　see　it。　He　started　down　the　hallway；　moving　grotesquely　on　tiptoe　in　spite　of　the　thundering　music　and　the　roar　of　the　crowd；　his　heart　hammering　in　his　chest。
　　I　was　six；　Jacky　was　six。
　　So　what？　Why　did　that　keep　ing　back？
　　Six。
　　The　corridor　seemed　longer。　It　was　like　walking　on　a　treadmill。　The　fire…door　at　the　far　end　seemed　to　draw　closer　only　by　agonizing　degrees。　Sweat　now　coated　his　brow　and　his　upper　lip。　His　gaze　flicked　steadily　toward　the　door　to　the　right；　with　the　black　outline　of　a　dog　on　it。　Beneath　this　outline　was　the　word　POINTERS。　And　at　the　end　of　the　corridor；　a　door　of　fading；　peeling　red。　The　sign　on　the　door　said　EMERGENCY　USE　ONLY！　ALARM　WILL　SOUND！　In　fact；　the　alarm　bell　had　been　broken　for　two　years。　Lori　had　told　him　so　when　Jack　had　hesitated　about　using　the　door　to　take　out　the　trash。
　　Finally　almost　there。　Directly　opposite　POINTERS。
　　He's　in　there；　I　know　he　is　。　。　。　and　if　he　jumps　out　I'll　scream　。　。　。　I　。　。　。　I'll　。　。　。
　　Jack　put　out　a　trembling　right　hand　and　touched　the　crash…bar　of　the　emergency　door。　It　felt　blessedly　cool　to　his　touch。　For　one　moment　he　really　believed　he　would　simply　fly　out　of　the　pitcher　plant　and　into　the　night　。　。　。　free。
　　Then　the　door　behind　him　suddenly　banged　open；　the　door　to　SETTERS；　and　a　hand　grabbed　his　backpack。　Jack　uttered　a　high…pitched；　despairing　shriek　of　a　trapped　animal　and　lunged　at　the　emergency　door；　heedless　of　the　pack　and　the　magic　juice　inside　it。　If　the　straps　had　broken　he　would　have　simply　gone　fleeing　through　the　trashy；　weedy　vacant　lot　behind　the　Tap；　and　never　mind　anything　else。
　　But　the　straps　were　tough　nylon　and　didn't　break。　The　door　opened　a　little　way；　revealing　a　brief　dark　wedge　of　the　night；　and　then　thumped　shut　again。　Jack　was　pulled　into　the　women's　room。　He　was　whirled　around　and　then　thrown　backward。　If　he　had　hit　the　wall　dead　on；　the　bottle　of　magic　juice　would　undoubtedly　have　shattered　in　the　pack；　drenching　his　few　clothes　and　good　old　Rand　McNally　with　the　odor　of　rotting　grapes。　Instead；　he　hit　the　room's　one　wash…basin　with　the　small　of　his　back。　The　pain　was　giant；　excruciating。
　　The　millhand　was　walking　toward　him　slowly；　hitching　up　his　jeans　with　hands　that　had　begun　to　twist　and　thicken。
　　'You　were　supposed　to　be　gone；　kid；'　he　said；　his　voice　roughening；　being　at　every　moment　more　like　the　snarl　of　an　animal。
　　Jack　began　to　edge　to　his　left；　his　eyes　never　leaving　the　man's　face。　His　eyes　now　seemed　almost　transparent；　not　just　yellow　but　lighted　from　within　。　。　。　the　eyes　of　a　hideous　Halloween　jack…o'…lantern。
　　'But　you　can　trust　old　Elroy；'　the　cowboy…thing　said；　and　now　it　grinned　to　reveal　a　mouthful　of　curving　teeth；　some　of　them　jaggedly　broken　off；　some　black　with　rot。　Jack　screamed。　'Oh；　you　can　trust　Elroy；'　it　said；　its　words　now　hardly　discernible　from　a　doglike　growl。　'He　ain't　gonna　hurt　you　too　bad。
　　'You'll　be　all　right；'　it　growled；　moving　toward　Jack；　'you'll　be　all　right；　oh　yeah；　you'll　。　。　。　'　It　continued　to　talk；　but　Jack　could　no　longer　tell　what　it　was　saying。　Now　it　was　only　snarling。
　　Jack's　foot　hit　the　tall　wastecan　by　the　door。　As　the　cowboy　thing　reached　for　him　with　its　hooflike　hands；　Jack　grabbed　the　can　and　threw　it。　The　can　bounced　off　the　Elroy…thing's　chest。　Jack　tore　open　the　bathroom　door　and　lunged　to　the　left；　toward　the　emergency　door。　He　slammed　into　the　crash…bar；　aware　that　Elroy　was　right　behind　him。　He　lurched　into　the　dark　behind　the　Oatley　Tap。
　　There　was　a　colony　of　overloaded　garbage　cans　to　the　right　of　the　door。　Jack　blindly　swept　three　of　them　behind　him；　heard　them　clash　and　rattle…and　then　a　howl　of　fury　as　Elroy　stumbled　into　them。
　　He　whirled　in　time　to　see　the　thing　go　down。　There　was　even　a　moment　to　realize…Oh　dear　Jesus　a　tail　it's　got　something　like　a　tail…that　the　thing　was　now　almost　entirely　an　animal。　Golden　light　fell　from　its　eyes　in　weird　rays；　like　bright　light　falling　through　twin　keyholes。
　　Jack　backed　away　from　it；　pulling　the　pack　from　his　back；　trying　to　undo　the　catches　with　fingers　which　felt　like　blocks　of　wood；　his　mind　a　roaring　confusion…
　　…Jacky　was　six　God　help　me　Speedy　Jacky　was　SIX　God　please…
　　…of　thoughts　and　incoherent　pleas。　The　thing　snarled　and　flailed　at　the　garbage　cans。　Jack　saw　one　hoof…hand　go　up　and　then　e　whistling　down；　splitting　the　side　of　one　corrugated　metal　can　in　a　jagged　slash　a　yard　long。　It　got　up　again；　stumbled；　almost　fell；　and　then　began　to　lurch　toward　Jack；　its　snarling；　rippling　face　now　almost　at　chest　level。　And　somehow；　through　its　barking　growls；　he　was　able　to　make　out　what　it　was　saying。　'Now　I'm　not　just　gonna　ream　you；　little　chicken。　Now　I'm　gonna　kill　you　。　。　。　after。'　
　　Hearing　it　with　his　ears？　Or　in　his　head？
　　It　didn't　matter。　The　space　between　this　world　and　that　had　shrunk　from　a　universe　to　a　mere　membrane。
　　The　Elroy…thing　snarled　and　came　toward　him；　now　unsteady　and　awkward　on　its　rear　feet；　its　clothes　bulging　in　all　the　wrong　places；　its　tongue　swinging　from　its　fanged　mouth。　Here　was　the　vacant　lot　behind　Smokey　Updike's　Oatley　Tap；　yes；　here　it　was　at　last；　choked　with　weeds　and　blown　trash…a　rusty　bedspring　here；　the　grille　of　a　1957　Ford　over　there；　and　a　ghastly　sickle　moon　like　a　bent　bone　in　the　sky　overhead；　turning　every　shard　of　broken　glass　into　a　dead　and　staring　eye；　and　this　hadn't　begun　in　New　Hampshire；　had　it？　No。　It　hadn't　begun　when　his　mother　got　sick；　or　with　the　appearance　of　Lester　Parker。　It　had　begun　when…
　　Jacky　was　six。　When　we　all　lived　in　California　and　no　one　lived　anywhere　else　and　Jacky　was…
　　He　fumbled　at　the　straps　of　his　pack。
　　It　came　again；　seeming　almost　to　dance；　for　a　moment　reminding　him　of　some　animated　Disney　cartoon…figure　in　the　chancy　moonlight。　Crazily；　Jack　began　to　laugh。　The　thing　snarled　and　leaped　at　him。　The　swipe　of　those　heavy　hoof…claws　again　missed　him　by　barest　inches　as　he　danced　back　through　the　weeds　and　litter。　The　Elroy…thing　came　down　on　the　bedspring　and　somehow　became　entangled　in　it。　Howling；　snapping　white　gobbets　of　foam　into　the　air；　it　pulled　and　twisted　and　lunged；　one　foot　buried　deep　in　the　rusty　coils。
　　Jack　groped　inside　his　pack　for　the　bottle。　He　dug　past　socks　and　dirty　undershorts　and　a　wadd