dk.coldfire-第50部分

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was　my　special　place；　where　I　went　to　play。　。　。　to　be　alone。〃　
　〃I　wish　we'd　been　kids　together；〃　she　said。　
　〃Why？〃　She　thought　of　Norby；　the　boy　she　had　pulled　from　the　sarcophagus　under　the　DC…10's　overturned　seats。　〃So　I　could've　known　you　before　your　parents　died；　what　you　were　like　then；　untouched。〃　
　Another　stretch　of　time　passed　in　silence。　
　When　he　spoke；　his　voice　was　so　low　that　Holly　could　barely　hear　it　above　the　thumping　of　her　own　heart：　〃Viola　has　a　sadness　in　her；　too。　
　She　looks　like　the　happiest　lady　in　the　world；　but　she　lost　her　husband　in　Vietnam；　never　got　over　it。　Father　Geary；　the　priest　I　told　you　about；　he　looks　like　every　devout　parish　rector　from　every　old　sentimental　Catholic　movie　ever　made　in　the　thirties　and　forties；　but　when　I　met　him　he　was　weary　and　unsure　of　his　calling。　And　you。　。　。　
　well；　you're　pretty　and　amusing；　and　you　have　an　air　of　efficiency　about　you；　but　I'd　never　have　guessed　that　you　could　be　as　relentless　as　you　are。　You　give　the　impression　of　a　woman　who　moves　easy　through　life；　interested　in　life　and　in　her　work；　but　never　moving　against　a　current；　always　with　it；　easy。　Yet　you're　really　like　a　bulldog　when　you　get　your　teeth　in　something。〃　
　Staring　at　the　dapple　of　light　and　shadow　on　the　ceiling；　holding　his　strong　hand；　Holly　considered　his　statement　for　a　while。　Finally　she　said；　〃What's　your　point？〃　〃People　are　always　more。　。　。　plex　than　you　figure。〃　
　〃Is　that　just　an　observation。　。　。　or　a　warning？〃　He　seemed　surprised　by　her　question。　〃Warning？〃　〃Maybe　you're　warning　me　that　you're　not　what　you　seem　to　be。〃　
　After　another　long　pause；　he　said；　〃Maybe。〃　
　She　matched　his　silence。　Then　she　said；　〃I　guess　I　don't　care。〃　
　He　turned　toward　her。　She　moved　against　him　with　a　shyness　that　she　had　not　felt　in　many　years。　His　first　kiss　was　gentle；　and　more　intoxicating　than　three　bottles　or　three　cases　of　Corona。　
　Holly　realized　she'd　been　deceiving　herself　She　had　needed　the　beer　not　to　soothe　her　nerves；　not　to　insure　an　uninterrupted　night　of　sleep；　but　to　give　her　the　courage　to　seduce　him…or　to　be　seduced。　She　had　sensed　that　he　was　abysmally　lonely；　and　she　had　told　him　so。　Now　she　understood　that　her　loneliness　had　exceeded　his；　and　that　only　the　smallest　part　of　her　desolation　of　spirit　had　resulted　from　her　disenchantment　with　journalism；　most　of　it　was　simply　the　result　of　being　alone；　for　the　most　part；　all　of　her　adult　life。　
　Two　pajama　bottoms　and　one　top　seemed　to　dissolve　between　them　like　clothes　sometimes　evaporate　in　erotic　dreams。　She　moved　her　hands　over　him　with　increasing　excitement；　marveling　that　the　sense　of　touch　could　convey　such　intricacies　of　shape　and　texture；　or　give　rise　to　such　exquisite　longings。　
　She　had　a　ridiculously　romantic　idea　of　what　it　would　be　like　to　make　love　to　him；　a　dreamy…eyed　girl's　fantasy　of　unmatched　passion；　of　sweet　tenderness　and　pure　hot　sex　in　perfect　balance；　every　muscle　in　both　of　them　flexing　and　contracting　in　sublime　harmony　or；　at　times；　in　breathless　counterpoint；　each　invasive　stroke　a　testament　to　mutual　surrender；　two　being　one；　the　outer　world　of　reason　overwhelmed　by　the　inner　world　of　feeling；　no　wrong　word　spoken；　no　sigh　mistimed；　bodies　moving　and　meshing　in　precisely　the　same　mysterious　rhythms　by　which　the　great　invisible　tidal　forces　of　the　universe　ebbed　and　flowed；　elevating　the　act　above　mere　biology　and　making　of　it　a　mystical　experience。　Her　expectations　proved；　of　course；　to　be　ridiculous。　In　reality；　it　was　more　tender；　more　fierce；　and　far　better　than　her　fantasy。　
　They　fell　asleep　like　spoons　in　a　drawer；　her　belly　against　his　back；　her　loins　against　his　warm　bottom。　Hours　later；　in　those　reaches　of　the　night　that　were　usually…but　no　longer…the　loneliest　of　all；　they　woke　to　the　same　quiet　alarm　of　renewed　desire。　He　turned　to　her；　she　weled　him；　and　this　time　they　moved　together　with　an　even　greater　urgency；　as　if　the　first　time　had　not　taken　the　edge　off　their　need　but　had　sharpened　it　the　way　one　dose　of　heroin　only　increases　the　addict's　desire　for　the　next。　
　At　first；　looking　up　into　Jim's　beautiful　eyes；　Holly　felt　as　if　she　were　gazing　into　the　pure　fire　of　his　soul。　Then　he　gripped　her　by　the　sides；　half　lifting　her　off　the　mattress　as　he　eased　deep　into　her；　and　she　felt　the　scratches　burning　in　her　flanks　and　remembered　the　claws　of　the　thing　that　had　stepped　magically　out　of　a　dream。　For　an　instant；　with　pain　flashing　in　her　shallow　wounds；　her　perception　shifted；　and　she　had　the　queer　feeling　that　it　was　a　cold　blue　fire　into　which　she　gazed；　burning　without　heat。　But　that　was　only　a　reaction　to　the　stinging　scratches　and　the　pain…engendered　memory　of　the　nightmare。　When　he　slid　his　hands　off　her　sides　and　under　her；　lifting；　she　rose　to　meet　him；　and　he　was　all　warmth　now；　not　the　faintest　chill　about　him。　
　Together　they　generated　enough　heat　to　sear　away　that　brief　image　of　a　soul　on　ice。　
　The　frost…pale　glow　of　the　unseen　moon　backlit　banks　of　coaly　clouds　that　churned　across　the　night　sky。　
　Unlike　in　other　recent　dreams；　Holly　was　standing　outside　on　a　graveled　path　that　led　between　a　pond　and　a　cornfield　toward　the　door　in　the　base　of　the　old　windmill。　The　limestone　structure　rose　above　her　at　a　severe　angle；　recognizably　a　mill　but　nonetheless　an　alien　place；　unearthly。　
　The　huge　sails；　ragged　with　scores　of　broken　or　missing　vanes；　were　silhouetted　against　the　foreboding　sky　and　angled　like　a　tilted　cross。　
　although　a　blustery　wind　sent　moon…silvered　ripples　across　the　ink…dark　pond　and　rattled　the　nearby　cornstalks；　the　sails　were　still。　
　The　mill　obviously　had　been　inoperable　for　many　years；　and　the　mechanisms　were　most　likely　too　rusted　to　allow　the　sails　to　turn。　
　A　spectral　muddy…yellow　light　flickered　at　the　narrow　windows　of　the　upper　room。　Beyond　the　glass；　strange　shadows　moved　across　the　interior　limestone　walls　of　that　high　chamber。　
　She　didn't　want　to　get　any　closer　to　the　building；　had　never　been　more　frightened　of　a　place　in　her　life；　but　she　was　unable　to　halt　herself　She　was　drawn　forward　as　if　she　were　the　spellbound　thrall　of　some　powerful　sorcerer。　
　In　the　pond　to　her　left；　something　was　wrong　with　the　moon…cast　reflection　of　the　windmill；　and　she　turned　to　look　at　it。　The　pattern　of　light　and　shade　on　the　water　was　reversed　from　what　it　should　have　been。　The　mill　shadow　was　not　a　dark　geometric　form　imposed　on　the　water　over　the　filigree　of　moonlight；　instead；　the　image　of　the　mill　was　brighter　than　the　surface　of　the　pond　around　it；　as　if　the　mill　were　luminous；　the　brightest　object　in　the　night；　when　in　fact　its　stones　rose　in　an　ebony　and　forbidding　pile。　Where　the　high　windows　were　filled　with　lambent　light　in　the　real　mill；　black　rectangles　floated　in　the　impossible　reflection；　like　the　empty　eyeholes　in　a　fleshless　skull。　
　Creak。　。　。　creak。　。　。　creak。　。　。　
　She　looked　up。　
　The　massive　sails　were　trembling　in　the　wind　and　beginning　to　move。　
　They　forced　the　corroded　gears　that　drove　the　windshaft　and；　in　turn；　the　grinding　stones　in　the　millroom　at　its　base。　
　Wanting　only　to　wake　up　or；　failing　that；　to　flee　back　along　the　gravel　path　over　which　she　had　e；　Holly　drifted　inexorably　forward。　
　The　giant　sails　began　to　turn　clockwise；　gaining　speed；　producing　less　creaking　as　the　gears　unfroze。　It　seemed　to　her　that　they　were　like　the　fingers　of　a　monstrous　hand；　and　the　jagged　end　of　every　broken　vane　was　a　claw。　
　She　reached　the　door。　
　She　did　not　want　to　go　inside。　She　knew　that　within　lay　a　hell　of　some　kind；　as　bad　as　the　pits　of　torture　described　by　any　fire…and…brimstone　preacher　who　had　ever　thundered　a　sermon　in　old　Salem。　If　she　went　in　there；　she　would　never　e　out　alive。　
　The　sails　swooped　down　at　her；　passing　just　a　couple　of　feet　over　her　head；　the　splintered　wood　reaching　for　her：　Whoosh；　whoosh；　whoosh；　whoosh。　
　In　the　grip　of　a　trance　even　more　manding　than　her　terror；　she　opened　the　door。　She　stepped　across　the　threshold。　With　the　malevolent　animation　that　objects　possessed　only　in　dreams；　the　door　pulled　out　of　her　hand；　slammed　shut　behind　her。　
　Ahead　lay　the　lightless　lower　room　of　the　mill；　in　which　the　worn　stone　wheels　ground　against　ea