JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 235 из 425”
Rogette Whitmore threw back her head and laughed. The sound was like the scream of a rabbit caught in an owl’s talons, and my flesh crawled. I had an idea she was as crazy as he was. Thank God they were old. “You struck a nerve there, Max,” she said.
“What do you want?” I took a breath… and caught a taste of that putrescence again. I gagged. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it.
Devore straightened in his chair and breathed deeply, as if to mock me.
In that moment he looked like Robert Duvall in Apocalypse Now, striding along the beach and telling the world how much he loved the smell of napalm in the morning. His grin widened. “Lovely place, just here, isn’t it? A cozy spot to stop and think, wouldn’t you say?” He looked around.
“This is where it happened, all right. Ayuh.”
“Where the boy drowned.” I thought Whitmore’s smile looked momentarily uneasy at that. Devore didn’t. He clutched for his translucent oxygen mask with an old man’s overwide grip, fingers that grope rather than reach. I could see little bubbles of mucus clinging to the inside. He sucked deep again, put it down again. “Thirty or more folks have drowned in this lake, and that’s just the ones they know about,” he said. “What’s one boy, more or less?”
“I don’t get it. Were there two Tidwell boys who died here? The one that got blood-poisoning and the one—”
“Do you care about your soul, Mr. Noonan? Your immortal soul? God’s butterfly caught in a cocoon of flesh that will soon stink like mine?” I said nothing. The strangeness of what had happened before he arrived was passing. What replaced it was his incredible personal magnetism. I have never in my life felt so much raw force. There was nothing supernatural about it, either, and raw is exactly the right word. I might have run. Under other circumstances, I’m sure I would have. It certainly wasn’t bravery that kept me where I was; my legs still felt rubbery, and I was afraid I might fall down. “I’m going to give you one chance to save your soul,” Devore said. He raised a bony finger to illustrate the concept of one. “Go away, my fine whoremaster. Right now, in the clothes you stand up in. Don’t bother to pack a bag, don’t even stop to make sure you turned off the stoveburners. Go. Leave the whore and leave the whorelet.”
“Leave them to you.”
“Ayuh, to me. I’ll do the things that need to be done. Souls are for liberal arts majors, Noonan. I was an engineer.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Rogette Whitmore made that screaming-rabbit sound again.
Rogette Whitmore threw back her head and laughed. The sound was like the scream of a rabbit caught in an owl’s talons, and my flesh crawled. I had an idea she was as crazy as he was. Thank God they were old. “You struck a nerve there, Max,” she said.
“What do you want?” I took a breath… and caught a taste of that putrescence again. I gagged. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it.
Devore straightened in his chair and breathed deeply, as if to mock me.
In that moment he looked like Robert Duvall in Apocalypse Now, striding along the beach and telling the world how much he loved the smell of napalm in the morning. His grin widened. “Lovely place, just here, isn’t it? A cozy spot to stop and think, wouldn’t you say?” He looked around.
“This is where it happened, all right. Ayuh.”
“Where the boy drowned.” I thought Whitmore’s smile looked momentarily uneasy at that. Devore didn’t. He clutched for his translucent oxygen mask with an old man’s overwide grip, fingers that grope rather than reach. I could see little bubbles of mucus clinging to the inside. He sucked deep again, put it down again. “Thirty or more folks have drowned in this lake, and that’s just the ones they know about,” he said. “What’s one boy, more or less?”
“I don’t get it. Were there two Tidwell boys who died here? The one that got blood-poisoning and the one—”
“Do you care about your soul, Mr. Noonan? Your immortal soul? God’s butterfly caught in a cocoon of flesh that will soon stink like mine?” I said nothing. The strangeness of what had happened before he arrived was passing. What replaced it was his incredible personal magnetism. I have never in my life felt so much raw force. There was nothing supernatural about it, either, and raw is exactly the right word. I might have run. Under other circumstances, I’m sure I would have. It certainly wasn’t bravery that kept me where I was; my legs still felt rubbery, and I was afraid I might fall down. “I’m going to give you one chance to save your soul,” Devore said. He raised a bony finger to illustrate the concept of one. “Go away, my fine whoremaster. Right now, in the clothes you stand up in. Don’t bother to pack a bag, don’t even stop to make sure you turned off the stoveburners. Go. Leave the whore and leave the whorelet.”
“Leave them to you.”
“Ayuh, to me. I’ll do the things that need to be done. Souls are for liberal arts majors, Noonan. I was an engineer.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Rogette Whitmore made that screaming-rabbit sound again.