dk.nightchills-第36节

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hree　minutes…but　it　was　only　the　first　stage　of　a　plan　to　conceal　his　involvement　in　the　murder。　If　the　situation　were　any　less　desperate；　if　a　capital　offense　hadn't　been　mitted；　if　the　entire　key…lock　program　didn't　hang　in　the　balance；　he　could　have　left　the　Thorps　with　blank　spots　in　their　memories；　and　he　would　have　felt　perfectly　safe　in　spite　of　that。　But　the　circumstances　were　such　that　he　knew　he　should　not　merely　wipe　out　the　truth　but　that　he　should　also　replace　it　with　a　detailed　set　of　false　memories；　recollections　of　routine　events　which　might　have　happened　that　morning　but　which　in　reality　did　not。
　He　decided　to　begin　with　the　woman。　To　the　boy　he　said；　〃Go　into　the　living　room　and　sit　on　the　couch。　Don't　move　from　there　until　I　call　for　you。　Understood？〃
　〃Yeah。〃　Jeremy　left　the　room。
　Salsbury　thought　for　a　minute　about　how　to　proceed。
　Emma　watched　him；　waited。
　Finally　he　said；　〃Emma；　what　time　is　it？〃
　She　looked　at　the　clock…radio。　〃Twenty　minutes　of　eleven。〃
　〃No；〃　he　said　softly。　〃That's　wrong。　it's　twenty　minutes　of　nine。　Twenty　minutes　of　nine　this　'morning。〃
　〃It　is？〃
　〃Look　at　the　clock；　Emma。〃
　〃Twenty　of　nine；〃　she　said。
　〃Where　are　you；　Emma？〃
　〃In　my　kitchen。〃
　〃Who　else　is　here？〃
　〃Just　you。〃
　〃No。〃　He　sat　in　Jeremy's　chair。　〃You　can't　see　me。　You　can't　see　me　at　all。　Can　you；　Emma？〃
　〃No。　I　can't　see　you。〃
　〃You　can　hear　me。　But　you　know　what？　Whenever　our　little　Conversation　is　over；　you　won't　remember　we've　had　it。　Every　event　that　I　describe　to　you　in　the　next　couple　of　minutes　will　bee　a　part　of　your　memories。　You　won't　remember　that　you
　were　told　these　things。　You　will　think　that　you　actually　experienced　them。　Is　that　clear；　Emma？〃
　〃Yes。〃　Her　eyes　glazed。　Her　facial　muscles　went　slack。
　〃All　right。　What　time　is　it？〃
　〃Twenty　minutes　of　nine。〃　〃Where　are　you？〃
　〃In　my　kitchen。〃
　〃Who　else　is　here？〃
　〃No　one。〃
　〃Bob　and　Jeremy　are　here。〃　〃Bob　and　Jeremy　are　here；〃　she　said。　〃Bob's　in　that　chair。〃
　She　smiled　at　Bob。
　〃Jeremy's　sitting　there。　The　three　of　you　are　eating　breakfast。〃
　〃Yes。　Breakfast。〃
　〃Fried　eggs。　Toast；　Orange　juice。〃
　〃Fried　eggs。　Toast。　Orange　juice。〃
　〃Pick　up　that　glass；　Emma。〃
　She　lifted　the　empty　glass　in　front　of　her。
　〃Drink；　Emma。〃
　She　stared　doubtfully　at　the　tumbler。
　〃It's　filled　to　the　top　with　cold；　sweet　orange　juice。　Do　you　see　it？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃Doesn't　it　look　good？〃　〃Yes。〃
　〃Drink　some　of　it；　Emma。〃　She　drank　from　the　empty　glass。
　He　laughed　aloud。　The　power。　。　。　It　was　going　to　work。　He　could　make　her　remember　whatever　he　wished。　〃How　does　it　taste？〃
　She　licked　her　lips。　〃Delicious。〃
　Lovely　animal；　he　thought；　suddenly　giddy。　Lovely；　lovely　little　animal。
　　
　3
　NOON　IN　BUDDY'S　NIGHTMARE　two　men　were　filling　the　town's　reservoir　with　cats。　In　the　deepest　shadows　of　the　night；　just　before　sunrise；　they　were　standing　at　the　edge　of　the　pool；　opening　cages　and　pitching　the　animals　into　the　water。　The　felines　squalled　about　this　assault　on　their　dignity　and　fort。　Soon　the　reservoir　was　teeming　with　cats：　alley　cats；　Siamese　cats；　Angora　cats；　Persian　cats；　black　cats　and　gray　cats　and　white　cats　and　yellow　cats；　striped　cats；　spotted　cats；　old　cats　and　kittens。　Below　the　reservoir；　in　Black　River；　Buddy　innocently　turned　on　the　cold　water　tap　in　his　kitchen…and　cats；　dozens　upon　dozens　of　fiercely　angry　cats；　began　to　spill　into　the　sink；　full…sized　cats　that　had　somehow；　miraculously；　passed　through　the　plumbing；　through　narrow…gauge　pipe　and　rat　traps　and　elbow　joints　and　filter　screens。　Screeching；　wailing；　hissing；　biting；　scratching　cats　fell　over　one　another　and　clawed　the　porcelain　and　scrambled　inexorably　out　of　the　sink　as　new　streams　of　cats　poured　in　behind　them。　Cats　on　the　counter。　Cats　on　the　breadbox。　Cats　in　the　dish　rack。　They　leapt　to　the　floor　and　clambered　atop　the　cupboards。　One　of　them　jumped　on　Buddy's　back　as　he　turned　to　run。　He　tore　it　loose　and　threw　it　against　the　wall。　The　other　cats　were　outraged　by　this　cruelty。　They　Swarmed　after　Buddy；　all　of　them　spitting　and　snarling。　He
　reached　the　bedroom/living　room　inches　ahead　of　them；　slammed　and　locked　the　door。　They　threw　themselves　against　the　far　side　of　the　barrier　and　yammered　incessantly；　but　they　weren't　strong　enough　to　force　their　way　through　it。　Relieved　that　he　had　escaped　them；　Buddy　turned…and　saw　ten…yard…square　cages　full　of　cats；　scores　of　green　eyes　studying　him　intensely；　and　behind　the　cages　two　men　wearing　shoulder　holsters；　holding　pistols；　and　dressed　in　black　rubber　scuba　suits。
　He　woke　up；　sat　up；　and　screamed。　He　flailed　at　the　mattress；　wrestled　with　the　sheets；　and　pounded　his　fists　into　the　pillows　for　a　few　seconds　until；　gradually；　he　realized　that　none　of　these　things　was　a　cat。
　〃Dream；〃　he　mumbled。
　Because　Buddy　slept　in　the　mornings　and　early　afternoons；　the　drapes　were　heavy；　and　there　was　virtually　no　light　in　the　room。　He　quickly　switched　on　the　bedside　lamp。
　No　cats。
　No　men　in　scuba　suits。
　Although　he　knew　that　he　had　been　dreaming；　although　he'd　had　this　same　dream　on　each　of　the　last　three　days；　Buddy　got　out　of　bed；　stepped　into　a　pair　of　slippers　that　were　as　large　as　most　men's　boots；　and　lumbered　into　the　kitchen　to　check　the　water　faucets。　There　were　no　cats　streaming　out　of　them；　and　that　was　a　good　thing　to　know。
　However；　he　was　badly　shaken。　He　was　no　less　affected　by　the　dream　for　having　endured　it　on　two　other　occasions。　All　week　his　sleep　had　been　disturbed　by　dreams　of　one　sort　or　another；　and　he　never　was　able　to　fall　back　to　sleep　once　brought　awake　by　a　vivid　nightmare。
　The　wall　clock　showed　12：13。　He　came　home　from　the　mill　at　half　past　eight　and　went　to　bed　at　half　past　nine；　five　days　a　week；　as　if　he　were　a　clockwork　mechanism。　Which　meant　that　he　had　gotten　barely　three　hours　of　sleep。
　He　went　to　the　kitchen　table；　sat　down；　and　opened　the　travel　magazine　that　he　had　bought　at　the　general　store　last　Monday。　He　studied　the　photographs　of　divers　in　scuba　suits。
　why？　he　thought。　Divers。　Seamen。　Guns。　At　the　reservoir。　Why？　So　late。　Late　at　night。　Dark。　Divers。　'Why？　Figure　it。　e　on。　Figure　it。　Can't。　Can。　Can't。　Can。　Can't。　Divers。　In　woods。　Night。　So　crazy。　Can't　figure　it。
　He　decided　to　shower；　get　dressed；　and　walk　across　the　street　to　Edison's　General　Store。　It　was　time　he　asked　Sam　to　figure　it　for　him。
　At　12：05　Rya　watched　a　man　in　thick　glasses；　gray　trousers；　and　a　dark　blue　shirt　enter　Pauline　Vicker's　rooming　house。　He　was　the　man　who　had　ordered　Bob　Thorp　to　kill　Mark。
　At　12：10　she　went　to　St。　Margaret　Mary's　and　hid　in　one　of　the　confessionals　at　the　right　rear　corner　of　the　nave。　Last　week　she　had　heard　Emma　mention　the　Friday　lunch　and　card　club　that　met　all　afternoon　in　the　church　basement。　Through　a　chink　in　the　crimson　velveteen　confessional　curtains；　she　could　look　across　the　back　of　the　nave　to　the　steps　that　＇ed　down　to　the　recreation　room。　Women　in　bright　summer　dresses　and　pant…Suits；　many　of　them　carrying　umbrellas；　arrived　singly　and　in　pairs　for　the　next　fifteen　minutes…and　Emma　Thorp　came　through　the　foyer　arch　promptly　at　twelve　thirty。　Rya　recognized　her　even　in　the　dim　light。　As　soon　as　Emma　disappeared　down　the　stairs；　Rya　left　the　confessional。
　For　a　moment　she　was　transfixed　by　the　sight　of　the　crucifix　at　the　far　end　of　the　chamber。　The　wooden　Christ　seemed　to　be　staring　over　all　the　pews；　directly　at　her。
　You　could　have　saved　my　mother；　she　thought。　You　could　have　saved　Mark。　Why　did　you　put　killers　on　earth？
　Of　course　the　crucifix　had　no　answer。
　God　helps　those　who　help　themselves；　she　thought。　Okay。　I'm　going　to　help　myself。　I'm　going　to　make　them　pay　for　what　they　did　to　Mark。　I'm　going　to　get　proof　of　it。　You　wait　and　see　if　I　don't。　You　wait　and　see。
　She　was　beginning　to　tremble　again；　and　she　felt　tears　at　the　Corners　of　her　eyes。　She　took　a　minute　to　calm　herself；　then　Walked　out　of　the　nave。
　In　the　foyer　she　discovered　that　one　of　the　main　doors　was
　open；　and　that　the　lowest　of　its　four　hinges　had　been　removed。　A　toolbox　stood　on　the　foyer　floor；　and　a　variety　of　tools　were　spread　out　around　it。　The　workman　apparently　had　gone　to　get　some　piece　of　material　that　he　had　forgotten　on　his　first　trip。
　She　turned　and　looked　through　the　archway　at　the　twelve…foot…high　crucifix。
　The　wooden　eyes　still　seemed　to　be　staring　at　her；　a　terribly　sad　expression　in　them。
　Quickly；　worried　that　the　workman　might　return　at　any　moment；　she　bent　down；　peered　into　the　toolbox；　and　plucked　a　heavy　wrench　from　it。　She　slipped　the　wrench　into　a　pocket　of　her　windbreaker　and　left　the　church。
　At　12：35　she　strolled　past　the　municipal　building　which　was　at　the　northeast　corner　of　the　square。　The　police　chief's　office　was　toward　the　rear　of　the　first　floor；　and　it　had　two　large　windows。　The　venetian　blinds　were　raised。　As　she　passed　she　saw　Bob　Thorp　sitting　at　his　desk；　facing　the　windows；　he　was　eating　a　sandwich　and　reading　a　magazine。
　At　12：40　she　stood　in　front　of　Ultman's　Cafe　and　watched　as　a　dozen　kids　cycled　north　on　Union　Road　toward　the　macadamed　alley　where　some　of　the　Friday　races　were　held。　Jeremy　Thorp　was　one　of　the　cyclists。
　At　12：45；　at　the　s