pzb.lostsouls-第4节
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ichelangelo's。 Androgynous striplings who outlined each other's bones in lipstick。 And they were allowed every art and luxury and perversion the city held because of their overrouged lips and their sluts' eyes and the poetry of their hands。
〃They grew jaded； tired； but still insatiable on their own mattress。 They lived and lived and saw the first lines appear around their eyes。 They saw years of liquor； expensive cigarettes； drugs and passion etch themselves on their movie…starlet faces。 They watched the mirror as they would have watched a quicksilver film of their death； in a cold heat of fascination； dread； clutching each other。 They bit at each other's throats in desperation； thinking to regain beauty in blood； to drink the pulse of life。 But their blood was thin； grainy； mixed with other substances…no longer the rich purple fountain they had once known。 They went out less； spending whole days flat on the mattress like two dry sticks side by side； forgetting to eat； watching the cobweb cracks in the ceiling plaster widen； spread like the tracery on their faces。 They…〃
The high stupid scream of a siren split the night open。 Ghost's voice trailed off。 Blue light pulsated in the rearview mirror； turned Ghost's face pallid； made the litter of beer cans seem to whirl and dance。
〃Shit；〃 said Steve； trying to decide whether to pull over。 His mind spun with the blue light： the store and the Pepsi machine were forty fucking miles behind！ No one had seen him jimmy the machine； no one。 Would he go to jail？ Would Ghost go too； as an accessory to the crime he had slept through？ Ghost would lie； say he'd planned it； trying to take some of the heat off Steve。 Ghost was only twenty…two； Steve a year older。 They had their whole lives ahead of them and an open bottle of whiskey in their hands 。 。 。 Fuck！ Fuck！ Fuck！ Steve's mind raced； and the radio got louder； and the siren ripped the night apart； and he heard Jimmy Page wafting on guitar and then Ghost's voice； not at all panicky； saying； 〃Pull over； Steve； pull over； you dumb fuck！〃
Steve wrenched the wheel to the right； braked hard； and they skidded on the surface of the dark road and slowed 。 。 。 slowed 。 。 。 stopped； gravel spraying from the tires； a thin trail of black rubber behind them。 But they were whole and safe； and so was the car； and most blessedly of all； the police car was passing them； siren still screaming； light still whirling like a cold blue dervish。
〃Jesus fuckin' Christ；〃 said Steve； and let his hands drop from the steering wheel； his head fall back against the seat。 He was aware of Ghost reaching over to kill the ignition； putting his hand on Steve's shoulder； moving closer across the seat。 No questions （why are you so paranoid about the cops tonight； Steve？ just carrying a couple of joints？ or maybe jimmying Pepsi machines again？ or hiding the raped and gutted corpse of your ex…girlfriend in the trunk？）； no accusations （we coulda been KILLED！）； just the gentle； wordless fort of Ghost's hand on the back of his neck； Ghost's thoughts inside his head。
For a few moments Steve accepted the fort gratefully； thirstily。 Then he remembered who he was （Steve Finn don't need nothin' from nobody！ No； not much； not much）； straightened up； and shook Ghost off。 Ghost withdrew； understanding all too well。 Understanding maddeningly。 Steve wanted to hurt Ghost； to stop the waves of placent sympathy pouring from the passenger seat。 But Steve could not find the words to hurt Ghost； and if he had found them； he could not have made himself use them。 The best he could e up with was 〃Don't you call me a dumb fuck。〃
〃Okay；〃 said Ghost； so soft that Steve could barely hear him。
Up ahead was a riot of lights and movement。 Red lights； blue lights； someone standing in the road flagging the T…bird down。 Steve stopped； and the flagman motioned him forward。 Slow； he signalled。 An ambulance。 Two police cars。 An officer talking to a tired country woman in a torn bathrobe and curlers。 The woman held the collar of a Doberman； restraining it。 The dog snarled at the police； strained toward the T…bird as it passed at five miles per hour。 A brick ranch house built close to the road； its scrubby yard littered with broken toys and car parts； on the porch the woman's family； a man holding four small children back； apparently telling them not to look。 The man was small and red and scrawny as a chicken neck。 The children craned their necks； pointing； curious。
There was something else in the yard； near the roadside； something that had excited the dog； something the children were trying to see。 Something naked； dry； withered。 A child …but what could have shrivelled it so； leached its life away？ Steve saw a backpack lying nearby； spilling the kid's life。 Clothes。 A couple of toy robots。 Transformers； Steve knew from watching the Saturday…morning mercials。 The kid must be a runaway。 Flecks of gravel were embedded in the soft skin of his face； his head lolled back； half severed； the dark red cavern of his throat glistening…but there was so little blood； and the raw tissues within looked wasted； parched。 A gray blanket settled over the planes and angles of the little body。 A small brown hand protruded； thin and dirty； scraped by roadside grit。
As Steve rolled down his window and handed his driver's license to one of the cops； Ghost turned his head and stared back at the blanket； at the body beneath it。 His eyes lost their focus； then； slowly； they closed。 Ghost saw through the blanket through death。 He saw how the boy had looked alive； curiosity and intelligence in his young eyes。 The name came to him as clearly as a memory： Robert。 He felt the fury that had made Robert climb out his window； steal away from home and parents who used him as a receptacle for their overprotective love。 There was something they had not let him do…go to a ball game or spend the night at a friend's house。 Ghost almost had the knowledge； then it slipped away。 It didn't matter。 The important thing was that the boy need not have died。 Ghost felt Robert's fear at being alone under the tab trees and the wide midnight sky； the great glittering impassive sky。 He felt the boy almost turn around； almost save his own life； but the wounded pride of adolescence would not allow him。
Ghost felt Robert's terror mount as he caught sounds…insidious whispers； soft laughter…sounds not of the night and its usual spooks but something darker； stranger； more purposeful and far； far deadlier。 And then the hands； grabbing him from behind； four strong and sharp…fingered hands； and the hungry mouths all over him； sucking out his strength and his life。 At the end there was only pain that spiralled up and up and stretched itself impossibly thin…exquisite pain； pain that precluded all thought； all memory； all identity。 To know such pain was to lose one's self； to bee the pain； to die borne away on pain； its high soundless song in the ears。 That was what had happened to Robert。
Ghost lay quiet； and he knew the insensate loneliness of a corpse on the roadside； growing cold； the taste of blood melting from the tongue； the eyes filming over； the impossibility of human contact ever again； of fort ever again。 Ghost tried to swallow； but his throat would not work； and he made some small gasping sound and felt Steve's big hand covering his own； enfolding his fingers； squeezing life back into him。
〃Let it go； Ghost；〃 Steve said。 〃You can't take on all the pain in the world。 Let it go； man。〃
Ghost shuddered； then began to slip back。 Warmth。 Blood where it ought to be； in his veins； flowing safely and sanely。 The ambulance； the police cars； the lonely dry dead thing under the blanket were far away now； left behind。
〃What happened to those twins？〃 Steve asked as they drove on。 〃In your dream。〃
Ghost thought； remembered。 Suddenly he didn't want to think about those twins。
But Steve wanted to hear the rest of the story。 Ghost hoped it was only a story； only a dream。 He never knew； not at first。 'They grew weak；〃 he said。 〃Eventually they had to spend alternate days alive。 One would watch over the other； keeping vigil over the still chest； the blotted…out eyes； the drying mouth。 At the first tinge of dawn the dead twin would begin to move； and the living twin would lie down and stretch himself taut on the mattress； his skin already crackling on his bones； his hair straggling like grass across his bare hollow shoulders。 One day 。 。 。 one day 。 。 。 One day their eyes were open； but neither of them moved。〃
Ghost finished in a rush of breath； whiskey and fear breath； upset all over again。 Steve kept hold of Ghost's hand。 Ghost's fingers twitched。
〃Jesus； Ghost；〃 Steve said。 〃Jeeesus； Ghost。〃
Chapter 2
The last dying days of summer； fall ing on fast。 A cold night； the first of the season； a change from the usual bland Maryland climate。 Cold； thought the boy； his mind felt numb。 The trees he could see through his bedroom window were tall charcoal sucks； shivering； afraid of the wind or only trying to stand against it。 Every tree was alone out there。 The animals were alone； each in its hole； in its thin fur； and anything that got hit on the road tonight would die alone。 Before morning； h
