pzb.lostsouls-第69节
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The light was as flat and dead as neon； though it was only the light of the moon shining through the window。 Steve sat on the edge of the bed。 Beside him was a hump swathed in bloody sheets。 Steve's face had gone an absolute； eerie white。 Thick blood coated his hands。 He raked his fingers through his hair； matting it and streaking his forehead。 〃She's dead；〃 he said。
〃Are you sure？〃
Steve laughed the most hopeless laugh Ghost had ever heard。 〃Oh yeah。 I'm sure。 e here and get a good look； why don't you？〃 Ghost stepped closer to the bed； and Steve yanked the sheet back。
Ann lay on her side； twisted into an attitude that was painful to look at。 Her neck craned stiffly back。 Her face was a grimace of pain。 Crusted rivulets of blood ran from the corners of her mouth。 Her hands were thrust between her outstretched legs as if she had been clawing at herself。 Blood slimed her arms to the elbows like gory gloves。 Most of the bandages had e unravelled； or Ann had torn them away。 They lay in a sodden heap beside the bed。 The sheet beneath Ann's hips was a black nightmare of blood。 She had bled so much that the sheet and the mattress could not absorb it all； the overflow pooled in the wrinkles and depressions of the bedclothes； clotting as thick and dark as jelly。
Cupped in Ann's hands； half…encased in a glob of gelatinous blood； Ghost saw a pale shape no larger than a red bean： the dot of an eye； the veined bubble of a skull； tiny fingers like the petals of sea anemones： He looked away。
Four A。M。 is when all my dreams die； Ann had told him。 It would always be four A。M。 for her now； nothing could ever get her through this last； longest night。
〃You know what？〃 Steve laughed again and shoved his bloody hair back。 〃There's even blood on her eyeballs。 How the fuck did it get on her eyeballs？ What did he give her？ What did we give her？〃 He stared wildly around the room； at the dusty walls； the cobwebbed ceiling。 He met Ghost's eyes； but there was no sign of recognition in his empty stare。 A long shudder ran through him。
Then he seemed to pull himself together。 His eyes were no longer blank； they shone with the glaze of alcohol and unhealthy resolve。 〃I'm gonna kill them；〃 he said。 〃You found Ann。 You can find where they live。 And you're gonna take me there and help me kill them all。〃
Ghost had to moisten his lips before he spoke。 〃I don't want to kill anybody；〃 he said。
〃Yeah？〃 Steve grinned his humorless grin。 〃Then how e you're holding that ？〃
Ghost looked down at his hand。 He was holding Arkady's jewelled knife。 The slender blade was dazzling in the cold neon light。
Ghost raised his eyes back to Steve's。 Slowly he shook his head。
〃Fuck you； then！〃 Steve jumped up and bolted onto the landing； heading for the stairs。 Ghost started to follow。
But before he reached the door； he turned back and dug a handkerchief out of one of his pockets。 Quickly； without thinking much about it； he took the head of the foetus between thumb and forefinger and extracted it from the lump of congealed blood。 The back of his hand brushed Ann's inner thigh； it was scaly with dried gore。
The tiny skull was still warm； and for a moment the sticky skin seemed to twitch between his fingers。 But that was only his hand trembling。 He wrapped the foetus in his handkerchief and tucked the bundle into his pocket。
Out on the landing； Steve snatched Arkady's withered corpse up by the front of its robe and slammed it against the wall。 The brittle cranium shattered。 Dust sifted from the cavity； powdered Steve's hands； mingled with Ann's blood。
〃What'd you do to her？〃 Steve yelled into the ruined face。 〃What was that stuff？。 Drano？ Why did we trust you？〃
He kicked the body down the stairs。 At the bottom it crumbled； the white robe settling over a pile of dust and splintered bones。 Steve followed it。
Ghost ran down after him and tried to grab him； but Steve was already raging through the shop。 He kicked Arkady's altar； and it crashed over； though Ashley's skull was nowhere to be seen。 He tore the beaded curtain down。 Bright bits of plastic skittered across the floor。 He swept rows of bottles and boxes off the shelves。 Strange pungent smells wafted up from the spilt substances。
〃Fucker；〃 said Steve helplessly。 〃Goddamn shithead fucker。〃 He might have been speaking of God or Arkady or himself。 He stood with his feet splayed and his eyes rolling wildly； looking for something else to destroy； something whose broken fragments might magically recoalesce into a whole； living Ann。 He grabbed the knife from Ghost's hand and raised it high above his head。
Ghost saw plainly what Steve intended to do next： he was going to bring the heavy handle down on the glass case where Arkady's bowls and jars were laid out。 Several hundred pounds of shattering glass； even in a back alley of the French Quarter late at night； might attract attention。 And with Ann lying in her own blood upstairs and the proprietor smashed to powder in the back room； attention was not what they wanted。 〃Don't do that；〃 Ghost said； and caught Steve's arm。
Steve whirled on him。 For a moment Ghost thought Steve would bring the knife down in his face。 But Steve only stood poised to attack； the muscles of his arms trembling。
〃Listen；〃 Ghost said as calmly as he could。 〃It wasn't your fault。 It wasn't even Arkady's fault。 Ann made her own choice。〃 Bewitched； he thought； but that wouldn't help Steve。
Steve's lips worked soundlessly。 His eyes were red and desperate。 But ever so slowly he lowered the knife。 In that moment； despite the dark smears of blood on his forehead and the lines of exhaustion bracketing his mouth； Steve's face looked younger and more vulnerable than ever。 It was the face of the eleven…year…old kid Ghost had once known； wanting badly to believe what Ghost was telling him； wanting to trust Ghost but not quite able。
At last Steve said； 〃You don't think it was my fault？〃
〃It was never your goddamn fault。〃
〃Or Arkady's； even？ You don't think she died because of the poison we gave her？〃
〃She would've died no matter what； Steve。 Arkady told us she couldn't have an abortion。 And the baby would have killed her。 It wasn't our fault。 Not a damn thing could have helped her。〃
〃The vampires did it。〃 Soft； but simmering with rage and pain。 〃Yeah。 Vampires。 So what if they are？ Does that mean they can just roll into town； fuck up my life； then go off and party some more？ I was fucking up my life just fine on my own。 I didn't need them。 Ann didn't need them。 I still loved her I would've…I would've 〃
〃I know you would've。〃
〃But now I can't。〃 Steve spread his hands wide。 〃There's no choice anymore。 Everything I wanted； everything she ever wanted…none of it can ever happen now。 And how e？ Because some vampire was horny？〃 He hefted the knife。 〃No。 It's not gonna be that way。 You can find them； Ghost。 You can take me to their lair。
〃And I'm gonna kick some vampire ass。〃
Christian clawed the bathroom door open and felt his way back along the landing。 His good night vision could not help him now； because his eyes were squeezed shut against the pain。 It washed over him again； a green nausea that felt as if it were turning his guts into bloody lace； a sickness that clutched the softest core of him and squeezed。
Twice already he had made his way to the bathroom。 His fastidiousness would not allow him to vomit on the floor as the others were doing； though now he was far sicker than any of them； except possibly Nothing。
He swore at himself。 Stupid； stupid…falling for Zillah's tricks； trying to buy their love。 You can never be like them。 They are young and strong and wild。 To them the blood is just another path to drunken gratification。 You are old； and for you the blood is life itself。
But as the Chartreuse blazed down； he had felt as if he were drinking those eyes； Zillah's eyes。 Zillah had made him drink half the bottle。 Molochai and Twig egged him on between bouts of retching。 Nothing lay silent； slit…eyed； beaded with icy sweat。
Christian pushed the door shut； stumbled across the room； and fell on the bed beside Nothing。 He heard no gagging or moaning； everyone else seemed to be asleep。 The blaze of green pain lessened a little。 Christian opened his eyes and studied the delicate pattern of water marks on the ceiling； following their lines； wondering if they formed maps that someone might travel。 Wondering if they formed the map that had brought him and Nothing and the others here； to this city； to this room。
Soon his eyes closed； and he slept dark dreamless sleep。
His feet sore from all the night's running； his heart ready to burst with Steve's pain and his own； Ghost led Steve along Chartres Street。 Steve had jammed the dagger into the waistband of his jeans。 The jewelled handle protruded obscenely。
Ghost was pretty sure he knew where Nothing and the others were staying。 He didn't have to be psychic to use the phone book； and Christian's bar was still listed。 But how do you know about the bar； the long…ago nights empty even at Mardi Gras？ How do you know about the room upstairs where a girl gave birth to her own death？ These were questions
