pzb.lostsouls-第16节

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　There　were　all　the　posters　from　the　movies　she　saw；　cruel　eyes　and　gaping；　razor…toothed　mouths　all　bloody；　and　the　walls　and　ceiling　festooned　with　black　lace。。。
　　〃Daddy。〃
　　Wallace　forced　his　eyes　open。　He　was　not　at　home；　standing　in　the　hallway　outside　Jessy's　room。　He　was　weaving　down　Bienville；　breathing　in　the　cool　night　air；　heading　for　the　river。　But　the　past　sucked　him　in　again；　and　it　was　that　day　。。。。
　　Jessy　was　calling　him。　For　ten　years　they　had　been　alone　except　for　each　other；　ever　since　the　day　Wallace　had　found　Lydia　in　her　cooling　red　bathwater　with　her　forearms　slashed　open　from　wrist　to　elbow。　He　was　Jessy's　father；　and　he　had　to　go　to　Jessy　when　she　called。　She　might　need　him。　
　　〃Daddy；〃　she　called　softly。　〃Daddy　。　。　。〃
　　Wallace　looked　at　the　old　sign　on　Jessy's　bedroom　door…a　cartoon　rabbit　in　rainbow…spattered　overalls　paining　the　words　GENIUS　AT　WORK　then　turned　the　knob　and　stepped　out　of　the　dark　hallway　into　brightness。　Jessy's　room　always　caught　the　morning　sunlight。
　　She'd　just　e　out　of　the　shower；　and　her　skin　was　as　pink　and　white　and　dewy　as　spring。　Her　hair　fell　wet　and　straight　along　her　cheeks。　As　he　stared　at　her；　she　let　the　green　towel　fall　from　her　breasts。　Wallace　had　not　seen　his　daughter's　body　since　she　was　a　young　child；　plump　and　androgynous；　with　pink　buttons　for　nipples　and　a　tiny　clean　fold　of　a　sex。　But　now　her　breasts　were　round　and　smooth；　with　a　girlish　heaviness　to　them；　and　Wallace　wondered　how　it　would　be　to　cup　their　weight　in　his　hands；　how　it　would　taste　if　he　took　one　of　those　creamy　strawberry　peaks　in　his　mouth　and　sucked。
　　〃I'm　going　to　he　a　vampire；　Daddy。〃
　　He　could　not　find　his　voice。　There　was　no　spit　in　his　mouth。　〃Put　your　clothes　on；　Jessy。〃　It　was　a　dry　whisper；　weak　and　useless。
　　〃I'm　going　to　bite　people；　Daddy。　I'm　going　to　feed　on　them。　I　need　blood。　Hot　。　。　。　rich　。　。　。　red　blood。　I　need　your　blood；　Daddy。　I'm　hungry。　Your　Jessy's　hungry。　e　to　me。〃
　　He　did　not　know　how　he　got　to　the　bed。　Surely　if　she　had　not　cajoled　so；　if　she　were　not　his　daughter；　his　only　joy；　if　he　had　not　always　tried　to　give　her　everything　she　asked　for。。。surely　if　he　had　lain　with　some　other　woman　in　the　ten　years　since　Lydia　was　gone。。。surely　then；　if　the　ache　in　his　groin　had　not　e　bursting　forth；　he　would　not　have　let　her　lay　him　out　and　undo　his　trousers　and　straddle　him；　slipping　around　him　as　smooth　and　tight　as　sea　anemones。　Surely　he　would　not　have　groaned　and　squeezed　her　heavy　soft　breasts　between　his　fingers　and　thrust　up　and　up　into　his　daughter's　wet…velvet　heaven　until　she　bent　over　him　and　he　felt　a　metallic　sting　as　of　a　razor　blade　beneath　his　jaw。　Jessy　fastened　her　lips　there。　He　felt　her　throat　working　as　she　swallowed。　Then　a　black　and　crimson　mist　began　to　drift　into　the　edges　of　his　vision。
　　He　awoke　tangled　in　Jessy's　rumpled　sheets　that　smelled　of　girl…skin。　There　was　a　nick　on　his　throat；　no　worse　than　a　bad　shaving　cut；　smeared　with　dried　blood　and　spit。　He　did　not　wash　it。　Jessy　was　gone。
　　After　a　few　nights　he　began　to　look　for　her　in　all　the　places　she　had　mentioned。　All　the　nighttime　haunts；　the　dark　bars　and　clubs　in　the　French　Quarter。　He　did　not　know　what　he　would　say　if　he　saw　Jessy。　He　had　begun　to　feel　as　if　the　thing　that　had　happened　were　his　fault；　as　if　he　had　seduced　her。　As　if　he　had　forced　himself　into　her。　He　did　not　know　whether　he　would　be　able　to　meet　his　daughter's　eyes。　But　that　did　not　matter；　for　he　never　saw　Jessy　again。
　　More　and　more　often　during　his　search；　he　found　himself　drawn　to　the　place　called　Christian's；　the　dark　bar　with　the　stained…glass　windows　that　threw　colored　shadows　onto　the　sidewalk。　It　was　a　little　place　way　down　Chartres；　away　from　the　life　of　the　Quarter。　He　came　here　because　he　knew　Jessy　had　liked　the　place；　and　he　decided　he　might　as　well　have　a　drink　or　two　or　three。　He　watched　the　bartender。　Christian　moved　behind　the　bar；　mixing　drinks　with　detached　expertise；　answering　his　customers'　chatter　politely　if　rather　coldly。　Unless　someone　spoke　to　Christian；　he　was　silent。
　　When　Wallace　watched　Christian；　studied　the　impossibly　tall；　gaunt；　pale　figure　always　dressed　in　black；　the　idea　of　Jessy's　vampires　no　longer　seemed　quite　so　preposterous。　Something　about　Christian　frightened　him。　Wallace　thought　of　himself　as　a　religious　man；　but　when　he　was　in　that　chilly　presence；　God's　warmth　seemed　to　shrivel　inside　him。　One　night　their　eyes　met　across　the　bar；　and　Wallace　felt　his　spine　turn　to　ice。　The　coldness　in　Christian's　eyes…that　awful；　empty　coldness；　like　winds　blowing　across　barren　plains…was　more　convincing　than　all　Jessy's　talk；　her　books　and　movies；　her　fevered　drinking　of　blood。
　　Wallace　could　not　forget　those　eyes。　When　he'd　seen　them　again　tonight；　he　had　felt　the　same　icy　hand；　the　same　helpless　fury。　Wallace　believed　in　vampires　now。
　　Tonight；　though；　he　would　not　be　helpless。　Fifteen　years　ago　he　had　been　afraid。　His　fear　no　longer　mattered；　not　now。　The　finger　of　God　had　touched　him；　a　fearful；　excruciating　touch　that　wrenched　his　insides　and　sometimes　drew　thin　dirty　blood　from　them；　and　soon　he　would　be　with　Jessy。　Tonight　he　would　avenge　her；　and　he　would　have　his　memories　of　her　again；　his　memories　of　a　child　who　danced　and　laughed；　of　a　child　who　loved　him；　who　was　not　a　dark　creature　of　sex　and　blood。　He　would　eradicate　his　damnable　sin。　He　would　redeem　himself。
　　The　air　sobered　him。　He　drew　himself　up；　refused　to　sway；　refused　to　let　his　dizziness　and　fear　overtake　him。　Tonight　belonged　to　him；　and　to　Jessy。
　　He　walked　toward　the　river。
　　
　　　Chapter　8
　　
　　Twig　kept　up　a　steady　string　of　curses　as　they　drove　into　DC。　The　streets　seemed　skewed　to　him；　the　signs　indecipherable。　Finally　he　turned　the　wrong　way　down　a　one…way　street；　screeched　to　a　halt　in　front　of　a　fancy　hotel；　and　said；　'That's　where　we're　staying。〃
　　Molochai　waved　the　parking　valet　over；　and　Twig　presented　him　with　the　keys　to　the　van。　〃Remember　which　one　is　ours；〃　he　told　the　valet。　〃We　want　this　van　back；　not　some　pussy　Volvo。〃
　　The　lobby　was　all　plush　and　marble　opulence；　red…carpet　gaudy　splendor。　They　appreciated　it　not　a　bit。　As　they　checked　in；　Molochai　gaped　up　at　the　three…tiered　crystal　chandelier；　and　Twig　palmed　the　desk　clerk's　cigarettes。
　　Their　room　was　not　as　gaudy　as　the　public　facade　of　the　hotel。　Here　on　the　twentieth　floor　there　was　only　pale　carpeting　as　thick　and　rich　as　whipped　cream。　Zillah　slipped　his　shoes　off　and　wriggled　his　toes　in　its　creamy　depths。　Here　were　only　deep；　cloud…soft　beds　and　sofas　that　one　might　drown　in；　falling　forever；　never　to　be　seen　again。　Oh　yes；　they　could　have　fun　here。
　　He　drifted　to　the　window　and　pulled　aside　heavy　draperies。　The　city　gleamed　far　below；　green　and　white；　immaculate。　The　crazy　pattern　of　the　streets　was　a　puzzle　that　wanted　deciphering。　In　the　center　of　it　all　the　Washington　Monument　soared　up；　as　clean　and　stark　as　a　bone。　Zillah　smiled　a　small　secret　smile。　The　city　was　delicious。　All　cities　were　delicious。　They　had　only　to　wait　until　nightfall。
　　From　behind　him　came　a　great　howl　of　delight　as　Molochai　and　Twig　saw　the　whirlpool　bathtub。　Zillah　turned　to　see　them　tipping　at　each　other's　clothes；　throwing　shirts　and　sneakers　and　socks　all　over　the　room　in　their　haste　to　get　undressed。　He　watched　them　for　a　moment；　still　smiling；　then　untied　the　purple　scarf　that　bound　his　ponytail　and　began　bing　his　hair　with　his　fingers；　smoothing　its　silky　length；　untangling　the　snarls　made　by　the　wind　on　the　road。　Hair　slipped　between　his　fingers；　tumbled　down　over　his　shoulders。
　　Molochai　and　Twig　stood　together　by　the　whirlpool；　naked　as　babes；　waiting　to　see　what　Zillah　would　do。　Zillah　slipped　out　of　his　trousers　and　jacket；　pulled　his　loose　black　T…shirt　over　his　head。　He　wore　no　underwear；　none　of　them　did。　Slim　as　a　girl；　he　stood　looking　at　Molochai　and　Twig；　his　skin　creamy　pale；　his　hair　the　color　of　coffee　with　milk。
　　They　moved　toward　one　another　until　their　shoulders　were　almost　touching。　All　three　bodies　bore　the　marks　of　various　piercings；　tattoos；　and　scarifications。　Living　so　long　in　the　same　unchanging　flesh　made　them　restless；　they　were　pelled　to　change　it　themselves。　Age　did　its　own　decorating　of　human　bodies…wrinkles；　wattled　flesh；　random　sproutings　of　coarse　yellowish　hair。　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　were　much　more　pleased　with　their　own　methods　of　decoration：　silver　rings；　intricate　patterns　in　ink　or　raised　flesh。
　　Twig　had　twin　strands　of　barbed　wire　tattooed　on　his　wrists；　twining　up　both　arms；　and　two　long　thin　pieces　of　metal　that　pierced　the　thin　skin　of　his　stomach　just　below　the　rib　cage　on　either　side；　capped　with　nuggets　of　hone　he　had　saved　to　have　honed　and　fitted。　Zillah　wore　silver　hoops　through　his　nipples；　Molochai's　were　pierced　with　safety　pins；　from　one　of　which　dangled　a　polished　fingerbone。　All　three　had　foreskin　rings　（because　of　the　circumstances　surrounding　their　births；　few　of　their　race　were　circumcised　as　babies）。　They　had　linked　these　together　to　pose　for　a　series　of　studies　by　a　famous　photographer　of　erotica；　Zillah　standing　on　an　inlaid…teak　stool　that　brought　his　ting　up　to　the　level　of　the　others'。