sk.thetalisman-第122部分

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ble　to　take　them　there　if　they　had　lingered；　if　not；　the　Blasted　Lands　awaited　them。　It　hurt　and　enraged　him　to　think　that　Richard　was　now　with　the　Sawyer　brat；　but　if　a　sacrifice　was　demanded　。　。　。　well；　Orris　had　lost　his　son　and　survived。
　　The　only　thing　that　had　kept　Jack　alive　this　long　was　the　maddening　fact　of　his　single　nature…when　the　whelp　flipped　to　a　place；　he　was　always　in　the　analogue　of　the　place　he　had　left。　Sloat；　however；　always　ended　up　where　Orris　was；　which　might　be　miles　away　from　where　he　needed　to　be　。　。　。　as　was　the　case　now。　He　had　been　lucky　at　the　rest　area；　but　Sawyer　had　been　luckier。
　　'Your　luck　will　run　out　soon　enough；　my　little　friend；'　Orris　said。　The　diligence　took　another　terrific　bounce。　He　grimaced；　then　grinned。　If　nothing　else；　the　situation　was　simplifying　itself　even　as　the　final　confrontation　took　on　wider　and　deeper　implications。
　　Enough。
　　He　closed　his　eyes　and　crossed　his　arms。　For　just　a　moment　he　felt　another　dull　thud　of　pain　in　the　deformed　foot　。　。　。　and　when　he　opened　his　eyes；　Sloat　was　looking　up　at　the　ceiling　of　his　apartment。　As　always；　there　was　a　moment　when　the　extra　pounds　fell　into　him　with　sickening　weight；　when　his　heart　reacted　with　a　surprised　double…beat　and　then　sped　up。
　　He　had　gotten　to　his　feet　then　and　had　called　West　Coast　Business　Jet。　Seventy　minutes　later　he　had　been　leaving　LAX。　The　Lear's　steep　and　abrupt　takeoff　stance　made　him　feel　as　it　always　did…it　was　as　if　a　blowtorch　had　been　strapped　to　his　ass。　They　had　touched　down　in　Springfield　at　five…fifty　central　time；　just　as　Orris　would　be　approaching　Outpost　Depot　in　the　Territories。　Sloat　had　rented　a　Hertz　sedan　and　here　he　was。　American　travel　did　have　its　advantages。
　　He　got　out　of　the　car　and；　just　as　the　morning　bells　began　to　ring；　he　walked　onto　the　Thayer　campus　his　own　son　had　so　lately　quitted。
　　Everything　was　the　essence　of　an　early　Thayer　weekday　morning。　The　chapel　bells　were　playing　a　normal　morning　tune；　something　classical　but　not　quite　recognizable　which　sounded　a　bit　like　'Te　Deum'　but　wasn't。　Students　passed　Sloat　on　their　way　to　the　dining　hall　or　to　morning　workouts。　They　were　perhaps　a　little　more　silent　than　usual；　and　they　shared　a　look…pale　and　slightly　dazed；　as　if　they　had　all　shared　a　disquieting　dream。
　　Which；　of　course；　they　had；　Sloat　thought。　He　stopped　for　a　moment　in　front　of　Nelson　House；　looking　at　it　thoughtfully。　They　simply　didn't　know　how　fundamentally　unreal　they　all　were；　as　all　creatures　who　live　near　the　thin　places　between　worlds　must　be。　He　walked　around　to　the　side　and　watched　a　maintenance　man　picking　up　broken　glass　that　lay　on　the　ground　like　trumpery　diamonds。　Beyond　his　bent　back　Sloat　could　see　into　the　Nelson　House　lounge；　where　an　unusually　quiet　Albert　the　Blob　was　sitting　and　looking　blankly　at　a　Bugs　Bunny　cartoon。
　　Sloat　started　across　toward　The　Depot；　his　thoughts　turning　to　the　first　time　that　Orris　had　flipped　over　into　this　world。　He　found　himself　thinking　of　that　time　with　a　nostalgia　that　was；　when　one　really　stopped　to　think　about　it；　damned　near　grotesque…after　all；　he　had　nearly　died。　Both　of　them　had　nearly　died。　But　it　had　been　in　the　middle　fifties；　and　now　he　was　in　his　middle　fifties…it　made　all　the　difference　in　the　world。
　　He　had　been　ing　back　from　the　office　and　the　sun　had　been　going　down　in　a　Los　Angeles　haze　of　smudged　purples　and　smokey　yellows…this　had　been　in　the　days　before　the　L。A。　smog　had　really　begun　to　thicken　up。　He　had　been　on　Sunset　Boulevard　and　looking　at　a　billboard　advertising　a　new　Peggy　Lee　record　when　he　had　felt　a　coldness　in　his　mind。　It　had　been　as　if　a　wellspring　had　suddenly　opened　somewhere　in　his　subconscious；　spilling　out　some　alien　weirdness　that　was　like　。　。　。　like　。　。　。
　　（like　semen）
　　。　。　。　well；　he　didn't　know　exactly　what　it　had　been　like。　Except　that　it　had　quickly　bee　warm；　gained　cognizance；　and　he　had　just　had　time　to　realize　it　was　he；　Orris；　and　then　everything　had　turned　topsy…turvy　like　a　secret　door　on　its　gimbal…a　bookcase　on　one　side；　a　Chippendale　dresser　on　the　other；　both　fitting　the　ambience　of　the　room　perfectly…and　it　had　been　Orris　sitting　behind　the　wheel　of　a　1952　bullet…nosed　Ford；　Orris　wearing　the　brown　double…breasted　suit　and　the　John　Penske　tie；　Orris　who　was　reaching　down　toward　his　crotch；　not　in　pain　but　in　slightly　disgusted　curiosity…Orris　who　had；　of　course；　never　worn　undershorts。
　　There　had　been　a　moment；　he　remembered；　when　the　Ford　had　nearly　driven　up　onto　the　sidewalk；　and　then　Morgan　Sloat…now　very　much　the　undermind…had　taken　over　that　part　of　the　operation　and　Orris　had　been　free　to　go　along　his　way；　goggling　at　everything；　nearly　half…mad　with　delight。　And　what　remained　of　Morgan　Sloat　had　also　been　delighted；　he　had　been　delighted　the　way　a　man　is　delighted　when　he　shows　a　friend　around　his　new　home　for　the　first　time　and　finds　that　his　friend　likes　it　as　much　as　he　likes　it　himself。
　　Orris　had　cruised　into　a　Fat　Boy　Drive…in；　and　after　some　fumbling　with　Morgan's　unfamiliar　paper　money；　he　had　ordered　a　hamburger　and　french　fries　and　a　chocolate　thick…shake；　the　words　ing　easily　out　of　his　mouth…welling　up　from　that　undermind　as　water　wells　up　from　a　spring。　Orris's　first　bite　of　the　hamburger　had　been　tentative　。　。　。　and　then　he　had　gobbled　the　rest　with　the　speed　of　Wolf　gobbling　his　first　Whopper。　He　had　crammed　the　fries　into　his　mouth　with　one　hand　while　dialling　the　radio　with　the　other；　picking　up　an　enticing　babble　of　bop　and　Perry　o　and　some　big　band　and　early　rhythm　and　blues。　He　had　sucked　down　the　shake　and　then　had　ordered　more　of　everything。
　　Halfway　through　the　second　burger　he…Sloat　as　well　as　Orris…began　to　feel　sick。　Suddenly　the　fried　onions　had　seemed　too　strong；　too　cloying；　suddenly　the　smell　of　car　exhaust　was　everywhere。　His　arms　had　suddenly　begun　to　itch　madly。　He　pulled　off　the　coat　of　the　double…breasted　suit　（the　second　thick…shake；　this　one　mocha；　fell　unheeded　to　one　side；　dribbling　ice　cream　across　the　Ford's　seat）　and　looked　at　his　arms。　Ugly　red　blotches　with　red　centers　were　growing　there；　and　spreading。　His　stomach　lurched；　he　leaned　out　the　window；　and　even　as　he　puked　into　the　tray　that　was　fixed　there；　he　had　felt　Orris　fleeing　from　him；　going　back　into　his　own　world　。　。　。
　　'Can　I　help　you；　sir？'
　　'Hmmmm？'　Startled　out　of　his　reverie；　Sloat　looked　around。　A　tall　blond　boy；　obviously　an　upperclassman；　was　standing　there。　He　was　dressed　prep…an　impeccable　blue　flannel　blazer　worn　over　an　open…collared　shirt　and　a　pair　of　faded　Levi's。
　　He　brushed　hair　out　of　his　eyes　which　had　that　same　dazed；　dreaming　look。　'I'm　Etheridge；　sir。　I　just　wondered　if　I　could　help　you。　You　looked　。　。　。　lost。'　
　　Sloat　smiled。　He　thought　of　saying…but　did　not…No；　that's　how　you　look；　my　friend。　Everything　was　all　right。　The　Sawyer　brat　was　still　on　the　loose；　but　Sloat　knew　where　he　was　going　and　that　meant　that　Jacky　was　on　a　chain。　It　was　invisible；　but　it　was　still　a　chain。
　　'Lost　in　the　past；　that's　all；'　he　said。　'Old　times。　I'm　not　a　stranger　here；　Mr。　Etheridge；　if　that's　what　you're　worried　about。　My　son's　a　student。　Richard　Sloat。'　
　　Etheridge's　eyes　grew　even　dreamier　for　a　moment…puzzled；　lost。　Then　they　cleared。　'Sure。　Richard！'　he　exclaimed。
　　'I'll　be　going　up　to　see　the　headmaster　in　a　bit。　I　just　wanted　to　have　a　poke　around　first。'
　　'Well；　I　guess　that's　fine。'　Etheridge　looked　at　his　watch。　'I　have　table…duty　this　morning；　so　if　you're　sure　you're　okay　。　。　。'
　　'I'm　sure。'　
　　Etheridge　gave　him　a　nod；　a　rather　vague　smile；　and　started　off。
　　Sloat　watched　him　go；　and　then　he　surveyed　the　ground　between　Nelson　House　and　here。　Noted　the　broken　window　again。　A　straight　shot。　It　was　fair…more　than　fair…to　assume　that；　somewhere　between　Nelson　House　and　this　octagonal　brick　building；　the　two　boys　had　Migrated　into　the　Territories。　If　he　liked；　he　could　follow　them。　Just　step　inside…there　was　no　lock　on　the　door…and　disappear。　Reappear　wherever　Orris's　body　happened　to　be　at　this　moment。　It　would　be　somewhere　close；　perhaps　even；　in　fact；　in　front　of　the　depot…keeper　himself。　No　nonsense　about　Migrating　to　a　spot　which　might　be