pzb.lostsouls-第59节

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　　Nothing　gasped　for　breath。　He　could　see　only　two　bright　green　spots　on　the　darkness。　〃All　I　have　to　say　is　this；〃　he　continued。　〃Don't　ever　hurt　me　again。　I　love　you。　I　want　to　stay　with　you。　But　don't　you　hurt　me。　I'm　not　Molochai　or　Twig。　I　won't　take　it。　I'm　sick　of　it。〃
　　Zillah　stared　at　him。　Slowly　the　blaze　in　his　eyes　died　down；　they　became　cool；　appraising。　〃Wait　here；〃　he　said。
　　Then　Zillah　did　an　odd　thing。　He　knelt　beside　Wallace　again　and　yanked　Wallace's　trouser　legs　up　past　his　ankles。　When　Zillah　reached　into　the　purple　silk　lining　of　his　jacket；　Nothing　knew　what　he　was　going　to　do。　He　wanted　to　look　away；　instead；　he　watched　helplessly　as　Zillah　unfolded　his　pearl…handled　razor　and　carefully　sliced　through　the　back　of　each　ankle。　He　drew　the　blade　through　the　old　man's　threadbare　socks；　through　the　thin　skin；　through　the　big　tendon　as　if　it　were　butter。　Nothing　saw　the　razor　falter　as　it　grated　on　bone。　Wallace　was　now　beyond　sound；　only　a　long　shudder　ran　through　his　body。
　　〃Wait　here；〃　Zillah　said　again。　Nothing　half…expected　him　to　skitter　up　the　brick　wall　and　climb　back　through　the　window。　But　Zillah　just　walked　to　the　mouth　of　the　alley；　glanced　over　his　shoulder　at　Nothing；　and　turned　toward　the　staircase　that　led　up　to　the　room。
　　Nothing　could　not　look　at　Wallace　now。　He　stared　at　the　ground；　at　the　broken　glass　and　the　pile　of　garbage。　Something　gleamed　near　his　foot。　The　crucifix。　Nothing　looked　at　it　for　a　long　moment；　then　picked　it　up　and　thrust　it　deep　into　his　pocket。　Zillah　wouldn't　like　him　keeping　it。　Too　bad。
　　In　a　few　minutes　Zillah　came　back　down　with　Molochai　and　Twig。　They　had　left　Christian　sleeping；　they　said。　They　could　tell　him　about　Wallace　later。　It　would　be　a　surprise。　Nothing　suspected　they　were　just　greedy。
　　Wallace　was　already　bleeding　from　several　places。　The　wounds　in　his　ankles　pumped　with　his　heartbeat。　Molochai　and　Twig　latched　onto　them。　Nothing　imagined　that　the　big　veins　of　the　legs　must　be　like　soda　straws。
　　Zillah　picked　up　one　of　Wallace's　limp　hands；　the　one　he　had　stomped。　The　palm　was　smeared　with　blood　where　it　had　been　crushed　against　the　broken　glass　and　rough　brick。　Zillah　opened　his　razor　again。　He　slid　it　smoothly　in；　and　the　flesh　of　the　palm　parted　cleanly。　A　sheet　of　thin　blood　mixed　with　saliva　ran　down　Zillah's　chin　as　he　began　to　suck　at　the　wound。
　　Nothing's　stomach　growled。
　　He　crawled　forward　and　knelt　beside　Wallace。　His　grandfather's　cheek　rested　on　a　broken　bottle。　His　eyes　were　open；　still　aware；　brimming　with　rage　and　pain。　At　least　I　can　end　the　pain　for　you；　Nothing　thought。　He　put　his　mouth　against　the　slow　pulse　of　Wallace's　throat。　The　skin　there　was　dry　and　soft；　it　felt　very　old。　He　choked　back　a　sob　and　sank　in　his　new　filed　teeth。
　　His　grandfather's　blood　was　bitter。
　　But　he　and　his　family　drank　every　drop。
　　
　　　Chapter　28
　　
　　Late　that　night　Ghost　opened　his　eyes　and　blinked　up　at　an　unfamiliar　ceiling。　There　were　no　dead　leaves　up　there；　no　painted　stars。　There　were　only　shifting　patches　of　moonlight　like　a　white　and　silver　sea。
　　For　a　moment　he　felt　the　floating　giddiness　that　always　came　when　he　woke　in　a　strange　bed。　Then；　slowly；　the　world　fell　into　place　around　him。　There　was　the　softness　of　a　mattress　under　his　back；　the　weight　of　blankets。　There　was　the　deep　regular　breathing　of　Steve　beside　him；　and　the　warmth　of　Steve's　skin；　and　Steve's　smell　that　had　gone　strange　in　the　past　couple　of　days。　It　made　Ghost　wonder　whether　Steve's　insides　had　been　thrown　off　balance　somehow。
　　Steve　usually　smelled　of　beer；　but　now；　often　as　not；　the　harsh　odor　of　whiskey　was　on　him　instead。　And　dirty　hair；　but　that　was　normal　because　Steve's　hair　was　getting　long　and　he　said　it　was　a　royal　pain　in　the　ass　to　wash。　But　now　Steve's　clothes　were　dirty　too；　and　there　was　some　strange　secret　smell　that　made　Ghost　lift　his　head　and　flare　his　nostrils；　trying　to　scent　it　out；　to　pin　it　down。　It　was　the　smell　of　exhaustion；　the　smell　of　frying　brains；　the　smell　of　despair。
　　It　might　mean　that　Steve　was　only　clinging　to　some　remote　edge　of　sanity。　It　might　mean　Steve　was　about　ready　to　say　Fuck　this　shit；　man；　and　give　up　altogether。　Steve　still　loved　Ann；　but　it　was　a　wretched　kind　of　love；　a　love　that　made　him　hate　himself　for　feeling　it。　Steve　was　just　blaming　himself　now。　He　had　reason　to　blame　himself。
　　But　Ghost　knew　guilt　could　be　traced　back　forever；　blame　could　be　laid　every　which　way；　and　what　good　would　it　do？　Whose　pain　would　be　lessened　by　it？　Steve　had　done　what　he　had　done；　and　because　he　was　Steve；　he　could　not　have　done　it　any　other　way。
　　Steve　had　always　been　like　that：　he　would　go　through　the　fire；　would　never　shy　away　no　matter　how　hellish　it　was。　When　the　pain　burned　off　him；　he　seemed　stronger；　more　pure。　But　sometimes　it　nearly　killed　him。　And　sometimes　he　tried　to　quench　it　by　drinking；　which　only　made　the　flames　burn　higher　and　hotter。
　　Why　couldn't　Ann　understand　how　Steve　was？　The　rocker　with　a　hundred　midnights　stored　in　his　heart　for　nobody　to　'find；　sure；　he　was　tough；　but　he　d/d　hurt；　and　somehow　you　had　to　soothe　that　pain　while　pretending　you　couldn't　see　it。　Ghost　stared　into　the　dark。　Sometimes　he　thought　he　was　the　only　person　who　understood　Steve　at　all。　They　had　been　together　so　long。　But　what　good　did　that　do　Steve？
　　He　remembered　what　Ann　had　said　the　day　he　went　over　to　her　house。　The　night　is　the　hardest　time　to　be　alive；　she　had　told　him。　And　four　A。M。　knows　all　my　secrets。　She　had　wanted　something；　or　someone；　to　get　her　through　the　night。
　　Zillah　with　his　green　eyes　had　gotten　her　through　part　of　one　night；　anyway。　But　what　saved　her　from　four　A。M。　now？　What　had　she　thought　about　on　those　nights　when　she　prowled　around　the　trailer　on　Violin　Road；　maybe　knocking　and　not　being　let　in；　maybe　afraid　even　to　knock？　What　was　she　thinking　now；　as　she　rode　a　southbound　bus；　as　she　roamed　the　dark　streets　of　the　French　Quarter；　breathing　the　mist　of　beer　and　the　essence　of　time？　Did　she　know　yet　where　Zillah　lived；　was　she　staring　up　at　his　window；　whispering　words　he　would　not　hear？
　　What　was　getting　her　through　this　night？　And　what　would　get　her　through　all　the　nights　yet　to　e；　as　the　poison　fetus　grew　inside　her？
　　Ghost　sat　up　and　swung　his　legs　over　the　side　of　the　bed。　He　caught　a　whiff　of　himself。　His　clothes　were　as　dirty　as　Steve's；　though　not　as　beer…stained；　they　had　only　the　things　they'd　been　wearing　when　they　took　off　for　New　Orleans。　Tomorrow　they　would　have　to　go　and　buy　a　couple　of　fresh　T…shirts。　Something　classy；　like　the　oyster　bar　shirts　that　said　SHUCK　ME；　SUCK　ME；　EAT　ME　RAW。
　　The　wooden　floor　was　cold。　Moonlight　dappled　Ghost's　feet。　He　stood　up　slowly；　easing　his　weight　off　the　mattress；　trying　not　to　wake　Steve。　There　wasn't　much　chance　of　Steve　waking　up；　though。　Earlier　tonight　Steve　had　declared　his　intention　to　drink　a　pitcher　of　Dixie　beer　in　every　bar　on　Bourbon　Street。　When　they　didn't　have　Dixie；　he　settled　for　Bud。　As　far　as　Ghost　could　recall；　they　had　gotten　about　halfway　before　he　was　able　to　drag　Steve　back　to　the　room　and　dump　him　into　bed。
　　Ghost　had　had　his　share　of　those　pitchers　too。　He　was　still　swaying　a　little。　He　steadied　himself　against　the　doorjamb　and　crossed　the　threshold　into　the　hall。
　　He　and　Steve　had　the　first　room　at　the　top　of　the　stairs。　Next　to　that　was　the　room　belonging　to　Arkady's　mysterious　guests；　beyond　that　was　the　bathroom；　where　Ghost　was　headed；　and　at　the　end　of　the　hall　was　Arkady's　bedroom。
　　As　Ghost　passed　the　open　door　of　the　second　room；　he　saw　moonlight　filtering　in　through　a　dirty　window。　The　cold　glow　spilled　over　the　rumpled　sheets　and　blankets　on　the　bed；　made　the　floorboards　gleam；　threw　the　closet　door　into　shadow　so　that　Ghost　couldn't　tell　whether　it　was　open　or　shut。　At　the　foot　of　the　bed；　drooping　halfway　to　the　floor；　a　small　twisted　shape　hung。
　　Ghost's　breath　caught　in　his　throat。　As　he　stared　at　the　shape；　it　seemed　to　twitch。　Ghost　took　two　quick　steps　backward。　Were　the　occupants　of　this　room　really　the　ones　who　had　killed　Ashley？　Could　Arkady　be　that　perverse？　Was　the　twisted　shape　another　of　their　victims；　a　child　with　all　the　life　sucked　out　of　it；　hanging　bonelessly？　Or　was　it　some　voodoo　creation　of　Arkady's；　some　dried　effigy　that　would　e　to　life　and　jerk　toward　him　in　a　horrible　parody　of　dance？
　　Ghost　stood　in　the　doorway　a　moment　longer；　pulling　his　hair　over　his　face；　staring　through　its　pale　curtain　into　the　room。　He　didn't　want　to　know　what　the　shape　was。　He　wanted　to　pull　the　door　shut；　go　on　down　the　hall　to　the　bathroom；　and　get　back　to　bed。　With　Steve　asleep　beside　him；　he　would　not　be　afraid。
　　But　he　had　to　know　what　was　going　on　here；　whether　this　was　a　safe　place　or　not。　Before　he　could　think　about　it　any　more；　he　made　himself　walk　to　the　foot　of　the　bed　and　prod　the　shape　with　one　finger。
　　A　pillow；　wadded　into　a　hard　little　knot。　That　was　all　it　was。　For　a　second　he　was　glad　Steve　was　in　the　other　room　passed　out；　not　here　to　see　him　getting　spooked　over　a　pillow。　Then　he　wished　Steve　were　here；　even　though　he　knew　Steve　would　call　him　a　pussy。　Steve　hadn't　been　laughing　at　much　of　anyth