sk.carrie-第24部分

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'Don't　let　it　bother　you；'　Frieda　said；　tilting　her　letteropener　nose　and　strolling　over。　'If　they　kill　each　other；　I'll　dance　with　you。'
'They　look　too　stupid　to　kill；'　Carrie　ventured。　'Like　dinosaurs。'　And　when　Frieda　grinned；　she　felt　something　very　old　and　rusty　loosen　inside　her。　A　warmth　came　with　At。　Relief。　Ease。
'Where'd　you　buy　your　dress？'　Frieda　asked。　'I　love　it。'
'I　made　it。'
'Made　it？'　Frieda's　eyes　opened　in　unaffected　surprise。　'No　shit！'
Carrie　felt　herself　blushing　furiously。　'Yes　I　did。　I　。。。　I　like　to　sew。　I　got　the　material　at　John's　in　Andover。　The　pattern　is　really　quite　easy。'
'e　on；'　George　said　to　all　of　them　in　general。　'Band's　gonna　start。'　He　rolled　his　eyes　and　went　through　a　limber；　satiric　buck…and…wing。　'Vibes；　vibes；　vibes。　Us　Gooks　love　them　big　Fender　viyyybrations。'
When　they　went　in；　George　was　doing　impressions　of　Flash　Bobby　Pickett　and　mugging。　Carrie　was　telling　Freida　about　her　dress；　and　Tommy　was　grinning；　hands　stuffed　in　his　pockets。　Spoiled　the　lines　of　his　dinner　jacket　Sue　would　be　telling　him；　but　fuck　it；　it　seems　to　be　working。　So　far　it　was　working　fine。
He　and　George　and　Frieda　had　less　than　two　hours　to　live。
From　The　Shadow　Exploded　（p。　132）：
The　White　mission's　stand　on　the　trigger　of　the　whole　affair　…　two　buckets　of　pig　blood　on　a　beam　over　the　stage　…　seems　to　be　overly　weak　and　vacillating；　even　in　light　of　the　scant　concrete　proof。　If　one　chooses　to　believe　the　hearsay　evidence　of　Nolan's　immediate　circle　of　friends　（and　to　be　brutally　frank；　they　do　not　seem　intelligent　enough　to　lie　convincingly）；　then　Nolan　took　this　part　of　the　conspiracy　entirely　out　of　Christine　Hargensen's　hands　and　acted　on　his　own　initiative　。。。
He　didn't　talk　when　he　drove；　he　liked　to　drive。　The　operation　gave　him　a　feeling　of　power　that　nothing　could　rival；　not　even　fucking。
The　road　unrolled　before　them　in　photographic　blacks　and　whites；　and　the　speedometer　trembled　just　past　seventy。　He　came　from　what　the　social　workers　called　a　broken　home；　his　father　had　taken　off　after　the　failure　of　a　badly　managed　gas…station　venture　when　Billy　was　twelve；　and　his　mother　had　four　boyfriends　at　last　count。　Brucie　was　in　greatest　favour　right　now。　He　was　a　Seagram's　7　man。　She　was　turning　into　one　ugly　bag；　too。
But　the　car：　the　car　fed　him　power　and　glory　from　its　own　mystic　lines　of　force。　It　made　him　someone　to　be　reckoned　with；　someone　with　mana。　It　was　not　by　accident　that　he　had　done　most　of　his　balling　in　the　back　seat。　The　car　was　his　slave　and　his　god。　It　gave；　and　it　could　take　away。　Billy　had　used　it　to　take　away　many　times。　On　long；　sleepless　nights　when　his　mother　and　Brucie　were　fighting；　Billy　made　popcorn　and　went　out　cruising　for　stray　dogs。　Some　mornings　he　let　the　car　roll；　engine　dead；　into　the　garage　he　had　constructed　behind　the　house　with　its　front　bumper　dripping。
She　knew　his　habits　well　enough　by　now　and　did　not　bother　making　conversation　that　would　simply　be　ignored　anyway。　She　sat　beside　him　with　one　leg　curled　under　her；　gnawing　a　knuckle。　The　fights　of　the　cars　streaking　past　them　on　302　gleamed　softly　in　her　hair；　streaking　it　silver。
He　wondered　how　long　she　would　last。　Maybe　not　long　after　tonight。　Somehow　it　had　all　led　to　this；　even　the　early　part；　and　when　it　was　done　the　glue　that　had　held　them　together　would　be　thin　and　might　dissolve；　leaving　them　to　wonder　how　it　could　have　been　in　the　first　place。　He　thought　she　would　start　to　look　less　like　a　goddess　and　more　like　the　typical　society　bitch　again；　and　that　would　make　him　want　to　belt　her　around　a　little。　Or　maybe　a　lot。　Rub　her　nose　in　it。
They　breasted　the　Brickyard　Hill　and　there　was　the　high　school　below　them；　the　parking　lot　filled　with　plump；　glistening　daddies'　cars。　He　felt　the　familiar　gorge　of　disgust　and　hate　rise　in　his　throat。　We'll　give　them　something
（a　night　to　remember）
all　right。　We　can　do　that。
The　classroom　wings　were　dark　and　silent　and　deserted；　the　lobby　was　lit　with　a　standard　yellow　glow；　and　the　bank　of　glass　that　was　the　gymnasium's　east　side　glowed　with　a　soft；　orangey　light　that　was　ethereal；　almost　ghostly。　Again　the　bitter　taste；　and　the　urge　to　throw　rocks。
'I　see　the　lights；　I　see　the　party　fights；'　he　murmured。
'Huh？'　She　turned　to　him；　startled　out　of　her　own　thoughts。
'Nothing。'　He　touched　the　nape　of　her　neck。　'I　think　I'm　gonna　let　you　pull　the　string。'
Billy　did　it　by　himself；　because　he　knew　perfectly　well　that　he　could　trust　nobody　else。　That　had　been　a　hard　lesson；　much　harder　than　the　ones　they　taught　you　in　school；　but　he　had　learned　it　well。　The　boys　who　had　gone　with　him　to　Henty's　place　the　night　before　had　not　even　known　what　he　wanted　the　blood　for。　They　probably　suspected　Chris　was　involved；　but　they　could　not　even　be　sure　of　that。
He　drove　to　the　school　minutes　after　Thursday　night　had　bee　Friday　morning　and　cruised　by　twice　to　make　sure　it　was　deserted　and　neither　of　Chamberlain's　two　police　cars　was　in　the　area。
He　drove　into　the　parking　lot　with　his　lights　off　and　swung　around　in　back　of　the　building。　Further　back；　the　football　field　glimmered　beneath　a　thin　membrane　of　ground　fog。
He　opened　the　trunk　and　unlocked　the　ice　chest。　The　blood　had　frozen　solid；　but　that　was　all　right。　It　would　have　the　next　twenty…four　hours　to　thaw。
He　put　the　buckets　on　the　ground；　then　got　a　number　of　tools　from　his　kit。　He　stuck　them　in　his　back　pocket　and　grabbed　a　brown　bag　from　the　seat。　Screws　clinked　inside。
He　worked　without　hurry；　with　the　easeful　concentration　of　one　who　is　unable　to　conceive　of　interruption。　The　gym　where　the　dance　was　to　be　held　was　also　the　school　auditorium；　and　the　small　row　of　windows　looking　toward　where　he　had　parked　opened　on　the　backstage　storage　area。
He　selected　a　flat　tool　with　a　spatulate　end　and　slid　it　through　the　small　jointure　between　the　upper　and　lower　panes　of　one　window。　It　was　a　good　tool。　He　had　made　it　himself　in　the　Chamberlain　metal　shop。　He　wriggled　it　until　the　window's　slip　lock　came　free。　He　pushed　the　window　up　and　slid　in。
It　was　very　dark。　The　predominant　odour　was　of　old　paint　from　the　Dramatic　Club　canvas　flats。　The　gaunt　shadows　of　Band　Society　music　stands　and　instrument　cases　stood　around　like　sentinels。　Mr　Downer's　piano　stood　in　one　corner。
Billy　took　a　small　flashlight　out　of　the　bag　and　made　his　way　to　the　stage　and　stepped　through　the　red　velvet　curtains。　The　gym　floor；　with　its　painted　basketball　lines　and　highly　varnished　surface；　glimmered　at　him　like　an　amber　lagoon。　He　shone　his　light　on　the　apron　in　front　of　the　curtain。　There；　in　ghostly　chalk　fines；　someone　had　drawn　the　floor　silhouette　of　the　King　and　Queen　thrones　which　would　be　placed　the　following　day。　Then　the　entire　apron　would　be　strewn　with　paper　flowers　。。。　why；　Christ　only　knew。
He　craned　his　neck　and　shone　the　beam　of　his　light　up　into　the　shadows。　Overhead；　girders　crisscrossed　in　shadowy　lines。　The　girders　over　the　dance　floor　had　been　sheathed　in　crepe　paper；　but　the　arm　directly　over　the　apron　hadn't　been　decorated。　A　short　draw　curtain
obscured　the　girders　up　there；　and　they　were　invisible　from　the　gym　Floor。　The　draw　curtain　also　hid　a　bank　of　lights　that　would　highlight　the　gondola　mural。　
Billy　turned　off　the　flashlight；　walked　to　the　left…hand　edge　of　the　apron；　and　mounted　a　steel…runged　ladder　bolted　to　the　wall。　The　contents　of　his　brown　bag；　which　he　had　tucked　into　his　shirt　for　safety；　jingled　with　a　strange；　hollow　jolliness　in　the　deserted　gymnasium。
At　the　top　of　the　ladder　was　a　small　platform。　Now；　as　he　faced　outward　toward　the　apron；　the　stage　flies　were　to　his　right；　the　gym　itself　on　his　left。　In　the　flies　the　Dramatic　Club　props　were　stored；　some　of　them　dating　back　to　the　1920's。　A　bust　of　Pallas；　used　in　some　ancient　dramatic　version　of　Poe's　'Me　Raven；'　stared　at　Billy　with　blind；　floating　eyes　from　atop　a　rusting　bedspring　Straight　ahead；　a　steel　girder　ran　out　over　the　apron。　Lights　to　be　used　against　the　mural　were　bolted　to　the　bottom　of　it。
He　stepped　out　on　to　it　and　walked　effortlessly；　without　fear；　over　the　drop。　He　was　humming　a　popular　tune　under　his　breath。　The　beam　was　inch…thick　with　dust；　and　he　left　long　shuffling　tracks。　Halfway　he　stopped；　dropped　to　his　knees；