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Darkly dreaming Dexter :: Lindsay Jeffry P.
Страница: 150 из 160“And it isn't even a full moon, is it?”
“But not actually an empty moon,” I said. Hardly great wit, but some kind of attempt, which under the circumstances seemed significant. And I realized that I was half drunk with the realization that here at last was someone who knew . He was not making idle remarks that coincidentally stabbed into my own personal bull's-eye. It was his bull's-eye, too. He knew. For the first time I could look across the gigantic gulf between my eyes and someone else's and say without any kind of worry, He is like me .
Whatever it was that I was, he was one, too.
“But seriously,” I said. “Who are you?”
His face stretched into a Dexter-the-Cheshire-Cat smile, but because it was so much like my own I could see there was no real happiness behind it. “What do you remember from before?” he said. And the echo of that question bounced off the container's walls and nearly shattered my brain.
CHAPTER 27
W HAT DO YOU REMEMBER FROM BEFORE? HARRY had asked me.
Nothing, Dad.
Except-
Images tugged at my underbrain. Mental pictures-dreams? memories?-very clear visions, whatever they were. And they were here-this room? No; impossible. This box could not have been here very long, and I had certainly never been in it before. But the tightness of the space, the cool air flowing from the thumping compressor, the dim light-everything called out to me in a symphony of homecoming. Of course it had not been this same box-but the pictures were so clear, so similar, so completely almost-right, except for-
I blinked; an image fluttered behind my eyes. I closed them.
And the inside of a different box jumped back out at me. There were no cartons in this other box. And there were-things over there. Over by… Mommy? I could see her face there, and she was somehow hiding and peeking up over the-things-just her face showing, her unwinking unblinking unmoving face. And I wanted to laugh at first, because Mommy had hidden so well. I could not see the rest of her, just her face. She must have made a hole in the floor. She must be hiding in the hole and peeking up-but why didn't she answer me now that I saw her? Why didn't she even wink? And even when I called her really loud she didn't answer, didn't move, didn't do anything but look at me. And without Mommy, I was alone.
But no-not quite alone. I turned my head and the memory turned with me. I was not alone. Someone was with me.
“But not actually an empty moon,” I said. Hardly great wit, but some kind of attempt, which under the circumstances seemed significant. And I realized that I was half drunk with the realization that here at last was someone who knew . He was not making idle remarks that coincidentally stabbed into my own personal bull's-eye. It was his bull's-eye, too. He knew. For the first time I could look across the gigantic gulf between my eyes and someone else's and say without any kind of worry, He is like me .
Whatever it was that I was, he was one, too.
“But seriously,” I said. “Who are you?”
His face stretched into a Dexter-the-Cheshire-Cat smile, but because it was so much like my own I could see there was no real happiness behind it. “What do you remember from before?” he said. And the echo of that question bounced off the container's walls and nearly shattered my brain.
CHAPTER 27
W HAT DO YOU REMEMBER FROM BEFORE? HARRY had asked me.
Nothing, Dad.
Except-
Images tugged at my underbrain. Mental pictures-dreams? memories?-very clear visions, whatever they were. And they were here-this room? No; impossible. This box could not have been here very long, and I had certainly never been in it before. But the tightness of the space, the cool air flowing from the thumping compressor, the dim light-everything called out to me in a symphony of homecoming. Of course it had not been this same box-but the pictures were so clear, so similar, so completely almost-right, except for-
I blinked; an image fluttered behind my eyes. I closed them.
And the inside of a different box jumped back out at me. There were no cartons in this other box. And there were-things over there. Over by… Mommy? I could see her face there, and she was somehow hiding and peeking up over the-things-just her face showing, her unwinking unblinking unmoving face. And I wanted to laugh at first, because Mommy had hidden so well. I could not see the rest of her, just her face. She must have made a hole in the floor. She must be hiding in the hole and peeking up-but why didn't she answer me now that I saw her? Why didn't she even wink? And even when I called her really loud she didn't answer, didn't move, didn't do anything but look at me. And without Mommy, I was alone.
But no-not quite alone. I turned my head and the memory turned with me. I was not alone. Someone was with me.