按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
he hate of them like hot ice； and his grip on the tennis racket tightened until it trembled in his hand like a tuning fork。 They had busted out…six； seven； eight…eight windows on his bus！
He slipped behind it and then crept up the long yellow side to the passenger door。 It was folded open。 He tensed； and suddenly sprang up the steps。
'All right！ Stay where you are！ Kid； lay off that goddamn horn or I'll…'
The kid sitting in the driver's seat with both hands plastered on the horn ring turned to him and smiled crazily。 Charlie felt a sickening drop in his gut。 It was Richie Boddin。 He was white…just as white as a sheet…except for the black chips of coal that were his eyes； and his lips； which were ruby red。
And his teeth …
Charlie Rhodes looked down the aisle。
Was that Mike Philbrook？ Audie James？ God Almighty； the Griffen boys were down there！ Hal and Jack； sitting near the back with hay in their hair。 But they don't ride on my bus！ Mary Kate Greigson and Brent Tenney； sitting side by side。 She was in a nightgown； he in blue jeans and a flannel shirt that was on backward and inside out； as if he had forgotten how to dress himself。
And Danny Glick。 But…oh； Christ…he was dead； dead for weeks！
'You；' he said through numb lips。 'You kids…'
The tennis racket slid from his hand。 There was a wheeze and a thump as Richie Boddin； still smiling that crazy smile； worked the chrome lever that shut the folding door。 They were getting out of their seats now； all of them。
'No；' he said； trying to smile。 'You kids 。 。 。 you don't understand。 It's me。 It's Charlie Rhodes。 You 。 。 。 you 。 。 。' He grinned at them without meaning； shook his head； held out his hands to show them they were just ole Charlie Rhodes's hands； blameless； and backed up until his back was jammed against the wide tinted glass of the windshield。
'Don't；' he whispered。
They came on； grinning。 'Please don't。'
And fell on him。
28
Ann Norton died on the short elevator trip from the first floor of the hospital to the second。 She shivered once； and a small trickle of blood ran from the er of her mouth。
'Okay；' one of the orderlies said。 'You can turn off the siren now。'
29
Eva Miller had been dreaming。
It was a strange dream； not quite a nightmare。 The fire of '51 was raging under an unforgiving sky that shaded from pale blue at the horizons to a hot and merciless white overhead。 The sun glared from this inverted bowl like a glinting copper coin。 The acrid smell of smoke was everywhere； all business activity had stopped and people stood in the streets； looking southwest； toward the Marshes； and northwest； toward the woods。 The smoke had been in the air all morning； but now； at one in the afternoon； you could see the bright arteries of fire dancing in the green beyond Griffen's pasture。 The steady breeze that had allowed the flames to jump one firebreak now brought a steady fall of white ash over the town like summer snow。
Ralph was alive； off trying to save the sawmill。 But it was all mixed up because Ed Craig was with her and she had never even met Ed until the fall of 1954。
She was watching the fire from her upstairs bedroom window； and she was naked。 Hands touched her from behind； r ugh brown hands on the smooth whiteness of her hips； and she knew it was Ed； although she could not see even a ghost of his reflection in the glass。
Ed； she tried to say。 Not now。 It's too early。 Not for almost nine years。
But his hands were insistent； running over her belly； one finger toying with the cup of her navel； then both hands slipping up to catch her breasts with brazen knowledge。
She tried to tell him they were in the window； anyone out there in the street could look over his shoulder and see them； but the words would not e out and then his lips were on her arm； her shoulder； then fastening with firm and lustful insistence on her neck。 She felt his teeth and he was biting her； sucking and biting； drawing blood； and she tried to protest again： Don't give me a hickey； Ralph will see …
But it was impossible to protest and she no longer even wanted to。 She no longer cared who looked around and saw them； naked and brazen。
Her eyes drifted dreamily to the fire as his lips and teeth worked against her neck； and the smoke was very black； as black as night； obscuring that hot gun…metal sky； turning day to night； yet the fire moved inside it in those pulsing scarlet threads and blossoms … rioting flowers in a midnight jungle。
And then it was night and the town was gone but the fire still raged in the blackness； shifting through fascinating； kaleidoscopic shapes until it seemed that it limned a face in blood … a face with a hawk nose； deep…set； fiery eyes； full and sensuous lips partially hidden by a heavy mustache； and hair swept back from the brow like a musician's。
'The Welsh dresser；' a voice said distantly； and she knew it was his。 'The one in the attic。 That will do nicely； I think。 And then we'll fix the stairs 。 。 。 it's wise to be prepared。'
The voice faded。 The flames faded。
There was only the darkness； and she in it； dreaming or beginning to dream。 She thought dimly that the dream would be sweet and long； but bitter underneath and without light； like the waters of Lethe。
Another voice…Ed's voice。 'e on； darlin'。 Get up。 We have to do as he says。'
'Ed？ Ed？'
His face looked over hers； not drawn in fire； but looking terribly pale and strangely empty。 Yet she loved him again 。 。 。 more than ever。 She yearned for his kiss。
'e on； Eva。'
'Is it a dream； Ed？'
'No 。 。 。 not a dream。'
For a moment she was frightened； and then there was no more fear。 There was knowing instead。 With the knowing came the hunger。
She glanced into the mirror and saw only her bedroom reflected； empty and still。 The attic door was locked and the key was in the bottom drawer of the dresser； but it didn't matter。 No need for keys now。
They slipped between the door and the jamb like Shades。
30
At three in the morning the blood runs slow and thick； and slumber is heavy。 The soul either sleeps in blessed ignorance of such an hour or gazes about itself in utter despair。 There is no middle ground。 At three in the morning the gaudy paint is off that old whore； the world； and she has no nose and a glass eye。 Gaiety bees hollow and brittle； as in Poe's castle surrounded by the Red Death。 Horror is destroyed by boredom。 Love is a dream。
Parkins Gillespie shambled from his office desk to the coffeepot； looking like a very thin ape that had been sick with a wasting illness。 Behind him； a game of solitaire was laid out like a clock。 He had heard several screams in the night； the strange； jagged beating of a horn on the air； and once； running feet。 He had not gone out to investigate any of these things。 His lined and socketed face was haunted by the things he thought were going on out there。 He was wearing a cross； a St Christopher's medal； and a peace sign around his neck。 He didn't know exactly why he had put them on； but they forted him。 He was thinking that if he could get through this night； he wo