pzb.lostsouls-第57部分

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ough　the　windowpanes　the　next　morning。　Astaroth。　He　thought　he　remembered　that。　Or　was　it　asafoetida？　Sometimes；　as　old　women　will；　they　spoke　of　recipes　and　grown　children　and　husbands　strayed　or　buried。　Still　Ghost　had　listened　rapt；　turning　over　each　word　he　could　hear；　keeping　it　like　a　jewel…colored　pebble　or　a　broken　blue　eggshell　somewhere　in　his　mind。
　　And　sometimes　。　。　。　sometimes　they　spoke　of　him。　At　those　times　he　thought　his　ears　would　pull　loose　from　his　head　and　fly　away；　so　hard　did　they　stretch　to　listen。
　　〃He　won't　ever　have　it　easy；　Deliverance。　The　boy's　gift　is　just　too　damn　strong。〃　That　was　Miz　Catlin。　She　meant　him；　Ghost。　The　gift　was　the　things　he　knew；　or　felt；　without　having　any　way　to　know。　The　things　he　couldn't　tell　just　anybody；　the　things　his　grandmother　always　understood。
　　〃I　know　it；　Catlin。　Nobody　with　the　gift　ever　has　an　easy　time；　'specially　not　when　they're　as　open…hearted　as　my　Ghost。　Let　that　boy　try　to　tell　a　lie　and　his　forehead　turns　to　glass。〃　That　was　his　grandmother；　her　voice　softer　than　Miz　Catlin's；　her　words　softer　too。　〃But　I　trust　him　to　use　it　well。　He'll　never　hurt　anybody　with　his　gift。〃　Her　voice　had　lowered　then。　〃The　only　thing　I　worry　about　is；　his　gift　might　hurt　him。　He'll　spend　his　life　feeling　everybody　else's　pain。　Takes　a　lot　of　strength　not　to　lay　down　and　be　crushed　under　that　weight。〃
　　Ghost　jerked　awake　and　tossed　his　head。　He　was　being　lulled　to　sleep　by　voices　from　the　past；　by　the　night　road；　by　the　spirits　drifting　between　midnight　and　dawn。　As　he　drove　past　the　graveyard　outside　Corinth；　Ghost　saw　the　humped　stones　palely　gleaming；　the　rags　of　mist　that　rose　from　the　cold　ground。
　　He　felt　the　hair　at　the　back　of　his　neck　trying　to　stand　up。　Lie　down　and　be　quiet；　he　told　it。　Those　graves　weren't　dangerous。　Even　if　spirits　roamed　there；　they　were　just　people。　Frightened；　maybe；　because　their　bodies　were　rotting　and　drying　and　dusting　away。　Frightened　and　maybe　even　angry。　But　still　people。　They　couldn't　hurt　him　or　Steve。　Not　like　some　things。　Some　of　the　monsters　were　alive。
　　Ghost　thought　of　Miles　Hummingbird。　Did　Miles　roam　tonight？　Did　his　spirit　soar　on　the　night　winds　like　the　roar　of　the　ocean？　And　would　Miles　have　to　return　to　his　grave　at　dawn；　summoned　back　by　some　rooster　crowing；　some　train　whistle　blasting　far　away　in　the　cold　morning？　Ghost　tried　to　send　his　mind　into　the　night；　out　where　Miles　or　Miz　Deliverance　might　hear　him。　Help　me；　my　dear　dead；　he　thought。　Help　me　stay　awake。　Help　Steve　wake　up　without　a　really　bad　hangover。　Let　him　want　to　drive　because　I　don't　know　how　much　longer　I　can　keep　this　steamboat　on　the　road。　Help　me　if　you　can。
　　It　didn't　work；　not　right　then。　But　an　hour　later；　as　U。S。　1　took　them　down　into　South　Carolina；　Steve　unfolded　himself；　groaned；　and　said；　〃What　the　fuck　are　you　doing　driving　my　car？〃
　　Thank　you；　thought　Ghost　as　he　went　to　sleep；　his　bead　leaning　against　the　window；　his　eyes　blessedly　shut。　Thanks。　And　good　night。
　　
　　Speeding　away　from　midnight；　Steve　felt　good。　Good　because　they　had　found　a　truck　stop　where　four　cups　of　bitter　black　coffee　had　sent　his　hangover　to　headache　heaven。　Good　because　he'd　tuned　in　to　an　FM　station　that　played　classic　rock　all　night　long。　He　sang　along　with　the　old　tunes　loud　enough　to　keep　himself　awake；　soft　enough　to　let　Ghost　sleep。
　　But　good　most　of　all　because　they　were　on　the　road　again。　He　was　not　thinking　about　Ann；　or　green…eyed　Zillah　（that　little　jerkoff；　Steve's　mind　automatically　subtitled　him）；　or　even　New　Orleans。　He　was　not　brooding　over　the　way　the　last　few　months　had　turned　to　shit。　He　was　not　thinking　at　all。　He　was　only　singing　along　with　the　radio；　letting　the　cold　wind　whip　his　hair　across　his　eyes；　letting　the　road　wash　his　soul　clean。　Heaviness　fell　away　with　each　mile　he　left　behind。　He　felt　weightless。　God；　he　could　road…trip　forever。　He　knew　what　lay　at　the　end　of　the　road：　more　of　Ann's　bullshit；　more　fury；　more　pain。　But　the　highway　was　home。
　　After　a　while　something　began　to　nibble　at　his　happiness。　I've　got　maybe　thirty…five　bucks　on　me；　he　figured。　My　last　paycheck　from　Whirling　Disc；　less　beer　money。　And　Ghost　never　carries　any　cask　Were　gonna　need　money　soon。
　　Okay；　but　there　was　a　way　to　solve　that　problem。　Dangerous。　Fuckin'　renegade　business。　But　so　easy；　if　he　could　pull　it　off。
　　Steve　started　scanning　the　roadside。　Used…car　dealerships；　orange　sodium　lights　glinting　on　rows　and　rows　of　souped…up　wrecks；　making　them　look　like　cars　in　an　old　black…and…white　movie。　A　railyard；　tracks　crossing　and　diverging　like　some　tangled　puzzle　of　wood　and　iron；　boxcars　casting　long　square　shadows。　There；　up　ahead…that　was　what　he　wanted。　A　ramshackle　little　gas　station；　closed　down　for　the　night。　And　outside；　the　dim　glow　of　a　Coke　machine。　The　old…fashioned　kind。　The　kind　you　could　jimmy。　Steve　pulled　up　in　front　of　the　store　and　killed　the　lights。
　　〃Don't；〃　Ghost　said　thickly。
　　〃Go　back　to　sleep；〃　Steve　told　him。　〃It'll　buy　our　beer　in　the　French　Quarter。〃
　　He　fished　through　the　mess　in　the　backseat　and　found　his　trusty　coat　hanger；　knelt；　and　fed　it　into　the　coin…return　slot。　It　was　about　to　catch　。　。　。　there　。　。　。　he　could　feel　it　nearly　catch。　If　the　Coke　machine　had　been　a　girl；　Steve　would　have　been　getting　ready　to　make　it　e　like　a　banshee。
　　〃That's　it；　baby；〃　he　muttered；　and　then　something　with　a　lot　of　weight　behind　it　slammed　into　his　back。　Pain　flared　deep　in　his　kidneys。　Steve　lost　his　balance　and　spilled　backward　into　the　dust　of　the　parking　lot。
　　〃Looks　like　we　got　us　a　trick…or…treater。〃
　　Steve　twisted　to　meet　the　two　most　emptily　gleeful　pairs　of　eyes　he　had　ever　seen。　These　two　made　Zillah's　thug　friends　look　like　geniuses　。　。　。　or　at　least　subgeniuses。　They　had　sloping　foreheads　and　tattoos　that　wound　down　ropy…muscled　arms　and　spread　dark　tendrils　over　the　backs　of　grimy　hands。　One　of　them　was　broad…chested　with　features　that　seemed　too　large　and　sensual　for　his　face…a　redneck　Dionysus。　The　other　was　scrawny；　his　colorless　hair　fell　straight　and　fine　from　under　a　mesh　baseball　cap　stitched　with　the　Coors　logo；　a　trusty　asshole　indicator　if　there　ever　was　one。　In　one　knuckly　fist　he　gripped　a　hammer。
　　He　grinned　at　Steve；　showing　crooked　little　teeth。　〃We　got　anything　for　trick…or…treaters；　Willy？〃
　　Willy　laughed。　The　sound　made　up　in　malice　what　it　lacked　in　humor。　〃Shit；　I　didn't　save　no　candy。　You　got　any　candy；　Charlie？〃
　　〃Yeah。〃　Charlie　swung　the　hammer。　It　whistled　past　Steve's　head；　inches　away。　〃I　got　me　a　big　jawbreaker　right　here。〃
　　〃Fuck　off；〃　he　said；　struggling　to　his　knees。　〃I　wasn't　bothering　you。〃　His　voice　sounded　thin　and　seared。　He　cursed　it。
　　〃Now　will　you　listen　to　this？〃　Willy's　face　was　suddenly　the　picture　of　shocked　innocence。　〃Asshole　was　fixin'　to　rip　off　my　daddy's　Coke　machine　in　the　parking　lot　of　my　daddy's　store。　And　he　thinks　we　ought　fuck　off　and　leave　him　be。　What　you　say；　Charlie？〃
　　〃Uh…uh。〃　Charlie　let　loose　a　high；　toneless　giggle。　〃I　think　we　better　beat　the　shit　out　of　him。〃
　　The　gas　station　didn't　belong　to　Willy's　daddy。　With　a　sudden　helpless　fury；　Steve　was　sure　of　that。　They　were　carrying　a　hammer；　for　fuck's　sake。　Why　would　you　carry　a　hammer　around　a　deserted　gas　station　in　the　middle　of　the　night？　To　bash　in　the　skull　of　some　punk　city　kid　you　caught　ripping　off　the　Coke　machine？　Not　likely。　To　bust　a　window；　maybe？　To　pound　hell　out　of　the　cash　register？　Bingo；　Steve　congratulated　himself。　You　win　the　prize。　Willy's　gonna　give　you　the　Golden　Ticket。
　　Steve　sputtered　laughter。　It　came　with　no　warning；　hysterical　and　beyond　control。　He　leaned　against　the　Coke　machine　and　tried　to　catch　his　breath；　but　he　couldn't　help　it。　Willy　was　going　to　give　him　the　Golden　Ticket；　and　bang…bang；　Charlie's　silver　hammer　was　going　to　e　down　upon　his　head。　Then　maybe　they　could　make　him　sqeeeeeeal　like　a　pig。
　　Steve　knew　he'd　better　stop　laughing；　knew　things　might　get　real　unpleasant　around　here　if　he　kept　laughing；　but　he　couldn't　quit。　Not　until　Charlie's　fist　smashed　into　his　cheekbone　and　the　sole　of　Willy's　boot　came　down　on　his　ribs。　Or　maybe　it　was　Willy　punching　him　in　the　face