jherbert.sepulchre-第24部分

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　arms　and　legs　stretched　outwards；　body　punctured　by　wounds；　many　needles　still　protruding；　metal　dull　in　the　poor　light；　thin　rivulets　of　blood；　now　dried　and　crusted；　on　his　skin。　Every　part　of　him　seared　pain　and；　had　his　senses　been　more　lucid；　the　agony　might　have　checked　his　heart。　While　one　channel　of　his　mind　struggled　for　reason；　others　closed　down；　refuting　the　hurt　to　his　body；　the　degradation　it　had　suffered；　instinctively　knowing　that　full　acknowledgement　could　only　mean　insanity。　The　remaining　dregs　of　morphia　were　an　ally　to　their　cause。
　　The　low　flames　wavered；　caressed　by　a　breeze。　He　raised　his　head　from　the　cold　slab　he　was　chained　to；　the　motion　sluggish；　taking　all　his　strength；　and　looked　down　along　his　own　body。　The　slender　spikes　in　his　chest　were　huge　to　his　fuddled　brain；　rising　like　crooked　metal　poles　in　a　greasy　snow　field；　and　their　undulation　as　he　breathed　became　mesmerising。　But　light　from　above　was　seeping　into　the　chamber。　He　struggled　to　keep　his　head　raised；　but　it　was　too　heavy；　the　strain　was　too　much。　It　fell　back　onto　the　stone　with　a　sharp　crack。　He　had　seen　the　figures　emerge　from　the　passageway　though；　grouped　together　at　the　top　of　the　stairs　as　if　their　bodies　were　joined。　The　youth　moaned　aloud；　his　dread　even　more　acute。
　　He　tried　to　call　out　when　he　heard　their　footsteps　on　the　stairs；　wanting　to　plead　with　them；　and　could　only　manage　an　incoherent　wailing　sound　that　became　a　whimper　when　his　head　lolled　to　the　side　and　he　saw　them　approach。
　　The　two　Arabs；　as　ever；　were　grinning　down　at　him　and　between　them　stood…no；　sagged；　for　the　others　were　supporting　him…a　small　man　whose　ravaged　face　was　so　old　and　so　wicked　that　the　youth　tried　to　turn　away。　But　it　was　impossible…the　strength　wasn't　there；　the　side　of　his　face　could　only　rest　against　the　stone　and　his　eyes　could　only　stare。
　　The　dark…haired　man；　whose　features　were　wizened　and　cruel；　skin　flaking　away　as　though　diseased；　gazed　on　the　youth；　and　his　tongue　flicked　across　dry；　cracked　lips。　He　extended　a　tremulous　hand；　index　finger　pointing；　and　trailed　a　yellow　fingernail　along　the　white　stomach；　bringing　the　nail　up　towards　the　sternum。　As　it　travelled；　the　finger　sank　into　the　flesh；　with　no　apparent　effort；　leaving　a　shallow　rent　behind。
　　Once　more　a　syringe　found　a　vein　in　the　youth's　spindly　arm　and　fluid　was　pushed　into　him。　The　glow　rapidly　spread　through　him　and　he　almost　smiled　his　gratitude。　Now　he　could　turn　his　face　towards　the　black；　limitless　ceiling　above。
　　He　was　conscious　of；　but　did　not　feel；　the　pulling　apart　of　his　；kin；　and　the　vapour　that　rose　from　his　stomach　into　the　cool　air　was　no　more　to　him　than　a　light　cloud　rising　from　a　warm　dampness。
　　The　dark…haired　man　shuffled　away；　aided　by　one　of　the　Arabs；　the　other　disappearing　to　a　different　part　of　the　room。
　　The　youth　lay　there　on　his　blood…soaked　slab；　his　body　opened；　and　dreamily　wondered　why　they　had　gone　away。　He　didn't　mind；　not　at　all。　It　was　pleasant　lying　there；　watching　steam　gently　curl　upwards　from　a　source　near　him；　but　just　out　of　sight。　He　wanted　to　drift　away；　to　sleep；　but　for　some　reason　his　mind　wouldn't　allow　him。　It　was　nagging；　trying　to　tell　him　something；　something　desperately　urgent；　but　he　didn't　want　to　know；　the　peace　after　so　much　pain　was　too　intoxicating。　Now　the　needles　were　tike　birthday　candles；　their　heads　gleaming　as　tiny　flames。　Was　it　his　birthday？　He　couldn't　remember。　Any　celebration　was　nice　though。
　　He　heard　nearby　sounds　and　turned　and　craned　his　neck　as　far　as　it　would　go。　Nerve…ends　twinged　only　a　little。　The　darkhaired　man　was　inside　an　alcove；　opening　something；　a　cabinet　of　some　kind。　No；　not　a　cabinet。　One　of　those　。　。　。　what　were　they　called？　The　sort　of　thing　they　had　in　churches；　a　box…thing　priests　were　always　poking　into。　Funny；　this　place　was　like　a　church　with　all　the　candles；　even　though　they　were　black。　The　stone　he　lay　on　was　like　an　altar。
　　The　youth　giggled；　although　the　noise　he　made　was　more　like　a　gurgle。
　　The　three　men　converged　on　the　pale；　prone　body；　the　dark…haired　man　carrying　a　dish　of　black　metal；　a　veil；　black　again；　draped　over　its　edges。　Blood　was　spilling　over　from　the　long　scission　in　the　youth's　body；　spreading　in　pools　on　the　stone's　surface；　beginning　to　trickle　down　the　sides。　The　youth　had　scant　life　left　in　him。
　　The　veil　was　drawn　away；　revealing　the　dish　to　be　more　like　a　wide…brimmed　chalice；　for　it　had　a　base　which　was　clutched　in　one　trembling　hand。　With　his　other　hand；　the　dark…haired　man　removed　the　contents　and　placed　it　inside　the　youth's　stomach；　gently　pressing　down；　soaking　it　in　blood；　smothering　it　in　slithery　organs。
　　Now　the　youth　did　scream；　a　piercing　screech　that　echoed　around　the　stone　walls　of　the　chamber；　for　no　drugs　could　deaden　the　pain　nor　the　horror。
　　He　was　alive；　but　barely；　when　the　Arab　on　the　outer　side　of　the　stone　raised　the　tool　he　had　collected　and　began　cutting　into　the　youth's　outstretched　limbs。
　　And　still　those　myriad　eyes　stared；　never　closing；　never　wavering。
　　　
　　　
　　　19　CORA'S　NEEDS
　　
　　'I　need　pany；'　she　said　simply。　'I　get　。　。　。　frightened　when　I'm　alone　in　this　house。'　Halloran　had　opened　the　door　wider　and　she'd　hurried　by　him；　glancing　back　over　her　shoulder　as　if　someone　had　been　stalking　her　along　the　corridor。　He　looked　out　to　make　sure　there　really　was　no　one　there。
　　He　turned　and　she　was　putting　the　bottle　and　glasses　she'd　brought　with　her　on　the　bedside　cabinet。
　　'I　remembered　you　liked　Scotch；'　Cora　told　him；　and　there　was　no　confidence　in　her　voice。
　　He　shook　his　head。　'I'm　on　watch　again　in　。　。　。'　he　checked　his　wristwatch　'。　。　。　a　couple　of　hours。　You　go　ahead　if　you　want。'　She　did。　Cora　poured　herself　a　stiff　measure；　turning　slightly　away　from　him　to　avoid　his　eyes；　and　he　wasn't　sure　if　she　felt　guilty　at　ing　to　him　in　the　middle　of　the　night　or　because　she　needed　a　drink。　He　closed　the　door。
　　Cora　wore　a　white　bathrobe　against　the　night　chill。　'You　must　think　me　silly。　Or　。　。　。'　She　let　the　sentence　trail　away。
　　Halloran　walked　towards　her；　lifting　the　big　automatic　from　its　holster　and　laying　it　beside　the　bottle　and　empty　glass。　'We　all　have　fears；'　he　had　said。
　　Halloran　began　to　move　into　her；　taking　care；　even　though　she　dug　her　fingers　into　his　naked　back；　urging　him　on。　Her　teeth　nipped　his　neck；　his　shoulder；　as　she　squirmed　beneath　him；　thrusting　herself　upwards。　Cora　still　wore　the　bathrobe　and　he　pushed　it　open　so　that　he　could　caress　her　breasts。　She　moaned　and　there　was　a　desperation　to　the　sound。　He　lifted　himself　so　that　he　could　see　her　flesh；　could　kiss　her　breasts。　He　bent　to　a　raised　nipple　and　softly　drew　on　it　with　his　lips；　moistening　the　tip　with　his　tongue。　She　caught　her　breath；　then　let　it　escape　in　an　unsteady　sigh。　He　pulled　the　robe　from　her　and　tossed　it　over　a　chair；　then　turned　back　to　her　weling　naked　body。
　　He　let　his　fingertips　trail　away；　touching　her　side；　her　hip；　his　hand　moving　inwards　so　that　it　was　between　them；　his　palm　smoothing　her　stomach；　fingers　reaching　down　into　her　hair。　Her　thighs　rose　around　him　and　he　was　inside　her；　pushing　inwards；　meeting　only　slight　resistance。　Cora's　hands　were　low　on　his　back　and　they　pulled　him　tight　so　that　he　lost　control　of　the　movement。　He　was　drawn　into　her　sharply；　causing　her　to　give　a　little　cry　of　pain。
　　Every　part　of　her　seemed　stretched；　her　muscles　stiffened　as　if　she　had　been　pierced　rather　than　entered。　Halloran's　demand　now　matched　hers　as　he　felt　the　familiar　floating　sensation；　the　incredible　tensing　of　his　own　muscles；　the　swift　rise　towards　the　breaking　of　that　tension。　He　gasped　air　and　the　low　moan　came　from　him　this　time。
　　But　it　changed。　Her　clutching　altered　in　intensity；　became　fraught　rather　than　encouraging；　her　cries　became　those　of　frustration　rather　than　passion。　Halloran　slowed　his　rhythm；　aware　that　he　was　losing　her。
　　Cora's　legs　straightened　and　her　motion　subsided；　then　became　still。　She　turned　her　face　away　from　him。　Perplexed；　Halloran　raised　himself　and　looked　down　on　her。　A　tear　gathered　in　the　corner　of　her　eye；　welling　there　and　finally　spilling。
　　'Please；　Liam。　Help　me。'　He　frown