pzb.lostsouls-第43部分

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　　Steve's　anger　lessened　as　he　looked　at　the　kid。　Scruffy　and　none　too　clean；　in　ragged　clothes　and　that　damn　phony…looking　black　dye　job；　looking　as　if　he　hadn't　had　a　good　night's　sleep　or　a　decent　meal　in　weeks；　there　was　nonetheless　a　strange；　innocent　dignity　to　him。　His　features　were　clear　and　heartbreakingly　young；　and　when　he'd　stood　up　with　Zillah　leaning　against　him；　a　kind　of　holiness　had　broken　over　his　face。　A　sense　of　rightness；　of　arriving　at　a　place　he　had　been　seeking　for　a　long　time。
　　Next　to　him；　the　creeps　looked　worse　than　ever。
　　
　　Ghost　stared　at　Nothing。　As　he　had　e　awake；　he　had　known　something　about　Nothing；　about　his　past。　A　baby…a　jumble　of　bright　festive　streets…a　spreading　pool　of　blood　on　a　hardwood　floor。　He　had　known　that　somehow　Nothing　was　connected　to　the　bad　times　that　were　ing；　maybe　already　here。　Most　of　it　was　gone　now；　though　he　knew　he　could　get　it　back　if　he　tried。
　　Instead　Ghost　did　something　he　could　not　remember　doing　before；　not　ever。　He　tried　to　block　Nothing　out。　He　tried　to　keep　his　mind　from　touching　Nothing's；　from　sharing　Nothing's　secrets。　He　did　not　want　to　know　who　Nothing　really　was；　or　where　he　had　e　from；　or　where　he　was　going。　He　did　not　want　to　feel　this　boy's　pain　because　he　could　not　lessen　it。　Nothing　was　lost。　He　might　not　know　it　yet　but；　what　frightened　Ghost　still　more；　he　might　know　it。　He　might　know　it　very　well。　He　might　have　chosen　it。
　　Zillah　swayed　against　his　two　supporters；　nearly　unconscious。　Beneath　the　blood　and　the　swelling　his　face　was　androgynous　and　achingly　beautiful　in　the　way　that　a　statue　or　a　mask　might　be　beautiful…smooth　and　symmetrical；　but　cold。　Bloomless。　His　lips；　purple　with　lipstick　and　gore；　stretched　tight　across　his　broken　teeth。　His　slitted　eyes　burned　bitter；　the　color　of　poison。
　　〃Is　he　okay？〃　asked　Ghost。　〃Is　he…〃　He　stopped；　his　eyes　widening。　A　low　sexless　voice　had　begun　to　speak　within　his　head。
　　No；　I'm　not　okay；　it　said。　I　am　in　terrible　pain　because　your　idiot　friend　surprised　me　with　his　baseball　bat　and　my　own　lover　betrayed　me　for　the　sake　of　your　worthless　songs。　So　what？　I　can　take　pain。　It　will　pass。　And　if　I　choose　to　return　and　take　my　pain　out　of　your　hide；　I　will；　my　pretty　seer。　Or；　if　you　like；　I'll　shove　my　tongue　down　your　throat　and　corrupt　you　with　my　spit。　Or；　if　you　prefer；　I'll　unzip　your　skin　and　kiss　you　with　your　own　heart…blood　on　my　lips。　Are　you　tempted　yet？
　　〃No；〃　said　Ghost。　〃Get　out　of　my　head。〃　He　was　not　sure　if　he　had　spoken　aloud；　it　didn't　matter。　He　knew　Zillah　could　hear　him。　The　voice　crested　into　laughter；　lewd　and　savage。　Ghost　thought　of　a　blank　soul；　a　being　with　no　morals　and　no　passions　except　those　that　could　be　gratified　at　a　moment's　notice；　a　mad　child　allowed　to　rage　out　of　control。
　　Now　Ghost　could　only　see　Zillah　and　the　others　through　a　veil　of　tears。　Tears　not　for　the　awful　feeling　of　having　his　thoughts　raped　by　such　a　being；　but　for　Nothing。　For　that　quiet　little　boy　with　the　thin　haunted　face；　with　the　dyed　black　hair。　For　that　boy　who　loved　Zillah　with　all　his　soul。
　　
　　〃Stop　it；〃　said　Nothing。　〃Please。　Everyone　just　stop　it。　We're　leaving　right　now。〃　He　pulled　Molochai　and　Zillah　toward　the　door。
　　He　hadn't　meant　to　cause　all　this　pain。　How　could　he　have　known　what　would　happen？　No　one　had　told　him　much　of　anything　yet。　They　had　taught　him　how　to　rip　through　resisting　flesh；　how　to　coax　the　last　drop　of　blood　from　a　limp　cold　body　that　had　once　been　warm　and　alive。　But　no　one　had　sat　him　down　and　told　him　how　quickly　and　inexorably　the　other　world　the　day　world；　he　supposed…would　begin　to　slip　away。　Zillah　hadn't　said　to　him；　We　are　your　whole　world　now；　we　and　others　of　our　kind。　We　are　the　only　friends　you　can　have　now。　Or　as　Molochai　and　Twig　might　have　put　it；　Everyone　else　is　just　cocktails。
　　He　glanced　back　at　Ghost　one　last　time。　He　wished　he　could　crawl　into　bed　with　Ghost；　pull　the　pile　of　patchwork　quilts　and　scruffy　blankets　around　him；　and　sleep　in　Ghost's　arms。　Ghost　would　be　a　friend；　not　a　wild　and　predatory　master　like　Zillah。　If　Ghost　would　love　him；　he　might　still　have　some　choice　as　to　what　his　life　would　be。
　　But　Ghost　did　not　want　him。　And　why　think　such　thoughts　anyway？　He　had　made　his　choice。　Not　even　a　choice；　really。　He　had　simply　e　home。
　　
　　Steve　got　up　to　make　sure　the　creeps　were　leaving。　The　kid's　big　dark　eyes　were　smeared　with　makeup　and　tears。　Steve　felt　a　touch　of　pity　for　him。　He　couldn't　be　much　older　than　thirteen；　right　about　now　he　ought　to　be　cadging　his　first　joint　or　his　first　feel；　not　breaking　into　people's　houses　with　assholes　like　these。　But　that　was　the　kid's　choice。　Pity　wouldn't　help　him。　Steve　looked　back　at　Ghost　on　the　bed；　but　Ghost　was　facing　the　window；　avoiding　everyone's　eyes。
　　Steve　followed　them　down　the　hall　into　the　living　room。　〃Don't　go　out　the　way　you　came　in；　huh？〃　he　said。　〃Use　the　door　this　time。〃
　　The　kid…Nothing；　what　a　weird　name；　what　a　shitty　name　when　you　thought　about　it…turned　as　he　went　through　the　door　and　looked　at　Steve。　In　those　dark　eyes　Steve　saw　again　the　essence　of　childhood　lost。　The　dark　innocence；　the　doomed　sadness。　And　the　shame。
　　〃I'm　sorry；〃　Nothing　said　again。
　　Inanely；　Steve　wanted　to　tell　him　it　was　okay。　But　just　then　Zillah　lifted　his　head　and　looked　at　Steve。　His　eyes　were　dull；　and　the　wreckage　of　his　nose　and　mouth　still　oozed　thick　blood。　Steve　hoped　he　was　fucked　up　for　good。　Brain…damaged；　maybe。　But　he　managed　to　unglue　his　swollen　lips　and　shape　his　mouth　around　four　bitter　words。　〃You'll　pay　for　this；〃　he　said。
　　Steve　lunged　at　him。　〃GET　THE　FUCK　OUT　OF　HERE！〃　Broken　nose　and　busted　lip　or　not…
　　But　Molochai　and　Nothing　moved　quickly；　hauling　Zillah　out　to　the　porch　and　down　the　steps。　Steve　saw　a　dingy　black　van　parked　at　the　end　of　the　driveway；　its　tailpipe　already　belching　exhaust。　He　thought　of　trying　to　get　the　license　number；　but　knew　he　wouldn't　call　the　cops：　they　were　happy　to　bust　you　for　underage　drinking　or　possession　of　weed；　but　not　too　thrilled　when　you　wanted　anything　else　done。
　　Steve　slammed　the　front　door。　Three　shadows…one　large　and　unkempt；　two　small　and　slim　and　bowed…slid　across　the　window。　Then　they　were　gone。
　　He　went　back　to　Ghost's　room。　Ghost　was　lying　fiat　on　his　back；　looking　at　the　stars　on　the　ceiling。　His　hands　lay　limp　on　the　blanket。　Steve　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　bed；　〃Shit；〃　he　said。　〃We　still　have　a　show　to　do　tonight。〃
　　〃They'll　be　there；〃　Ghost　told　him　with　absolute　certainty。
　　
　　　Chapter　20
　　
　　The　black　van　cruised　Missing　Mile　for　an　hour。　The　town　was　so　small　that　they　passed　the　same　places　four　or　five　times。　Nothing　sat　with　his　face　pressed　to　the　window。　Zillah　lay　on　the　mattress　for　a　while；　still　dazed　from　the　blows　he　had　taken。
　　Nothing　thought　guiltily　of　how　he　had　hurled　himself　across　the　room　and　thrown　Zillah　against　the　wall；　how　it　must　have　hurt。　He　hadn't　even　thought　about　doing　it；　he　had　just　seen　the　bat　in　Zillah's　hands；　about　to　e　down　on　Ghost's　skull；　and　he　had　known　that　Ghost's　death　would　be　lodged　in　his　heart　forever　if　he　didn't　do　something　fast。
　　Now　maybe　Zillah　would　abandon　him　on　the　highway　Somewhere；　or　maybe　all　three　of　them　would　kill　him；　their　teeth　and　tongues　burrowing　into　the　soft　parts　of　his　body　as　he　had　done　to　Laine。　Nothing　found　that　he　didn't　much　care。　He　had　fucked　up。　He　had　tried　to　have　everything　he　wanted；　all　at　once；　and　now　it　was　all　swirling　down　the　drain。
　　After　a　while　Zillah　propped　himself　up　and　stared　moodily　out　at　the　dusty　storefronts；　the　gas　station　with　its　wooden　facade　and　old…fashioned　pumps；　the　psychedelic　red…and…blue　whirligig　in　the　window　of　the　Whirling　Disc　record　store。　Soon　Zillah's　head　drooped　forward　onto　his　knees。　When　Nothing　tried　to　hug　him；　Zillah　pulled　away。
　　Nothing　had　seen　his　friends　back　home　use　such　behavior　on　one　another。　When　one　of　Julie's　previous　boyfriends　got　her　twentieth…row　Cure　tickets　for　her　birthday　instead　of　the　tenth…row　ones　she　had　wanted；　Julie　appeared　to　undergo　a　grieving　process　of　major　proportions。　She　sat　in　her　room　reading　the　poetry　of　Sylvia　Plath　and