sk.thetalisman-第141部分

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　enough。　Not　nearly　enough。　Jack　was　panting　like　a　dog　on　a　hot　summer　day；　his　eyes　frantic　as　he　searched　the　stormy　blackness　for　Sloat。　'But　I'll　not　hold　it　against　you；　Jacky　Now；　let's　see。　What　were　we　talking　about？　Oh　yes。　Your　mother　。　。　。'
　　A　little　warble　。　。　。　a　little　fade　。　。　。　and　then　a　stone　came　whistling　out　of　the　darkness　on　the　right　and　struck　Jack's　temple。　He　whirled；　but　Sloat　was　gone　again；　skipping　nimbly　back　into　the　snow。
　　'She'd　wrap　those　long　legs　around　me　until　I　howled　for　mercy！'　Sloat　declared　from　behind　Jack　and　to　the　right　'OWWWWOOOOOO！'
　　Don't　let　him　get　you　don't　let　him　psych　you　out　don't…
　　But　he　couldn't　help　it。　It　was　his　mother　this　dirty　man　was　talking　about；　his　mother。
　　'You　stop　it！　You　shut　up！'
　　Sloat　was　in　front　of　him　now…so　close　Jack　should　have　been　able　to　see　him　clearly　in　spite　of　the　swirling　snow；　but　there　was　only　a　glimmer；　like　a　face　seen　underwater　at　night　Another　stone　zoomed　out　of　the　dark　and　struck　Jack　in　the　back　of　the　head。　He　staggered　forward　and　nearly　tripped　over　Richard　again…a　Richard　who　was　rapidly　disappearing　under　a　mantle　of　snow。
　　He　saw　stars　。　。　。　and　understood　what　was　happening。
　　Sloat's　flipping！　Flipping　。　。　。　moving　。　。　。　flipping　back！
　　Jack　turned　in　an　unsteady　circle；　like　a　man　beset　with　a　hundred　enemies　instead　of　just　one。　Lightning…fire　licked　out　of　the　dark　in　a　narrow　greenish…blue　ray。　He　reached　toward　it　with　the　Talisman；　hoping　to　deflect　it　back　at　Sloat。　Too　late。　It　winked　out。
　　Then　how　e　I　don't　see　him　over　there？　Over　there　in　the　Territories？
　　The　answer　came　to　him　in　a　dazzling　flash　。　。　。　and　as　if　in　response；　the　Talisman　flashed　a　gorgeous　fan　of　white　light…it　cut　the　snowy　light　like　the　headlamp　of　a　lootive。
　　I　don't　see　him　over　there；　don't　respond　to　him　over　there；　because　I'm　NOT　over　there！　Jason's　gone　。　。　。　and　I'm　single…natured！　Sloat's　flipping　onto　a　beach　where　there's　no　one　but　Morgan　of　Orris　and　a　dead　or　dying　man　named　Parkus…Richard　isn't　there　either；　because　Morgan　of　Orris's　son；　Rushton；　died　a　long　time　ago　and　Richard's　single…natured；　too！　When　I　flipped　before；　the　Talisman　was　there　。　。　。　but　Richard　wasn't！　Morgan's　flipping　。　。　。　moving　。　。　。　flipping　back　。　。　。　trying　to　freak　me　out　。　。　。　。
　　'Hoo…hoo！　Jacky…boy！'
　　The　left。
　　'Over　here！'
　　The　right。
　　But　Jack　wasn't　listening　for　the　place　anymore。　He　was　looking　into　the　Talisman；　waiting　for　the　downbeat。　The　most　important　downbeat　of　his　life。
　　From　behind。　This　time　he　would　e　from　behind。
　　The　Talisman　flashed　out；　a　strong　lamp　in　the　snow。
　　Jack　pivoted　。　。　。　and　as　he　pivoted　he　flipped　into　the　Territories；　into　bright　sunlight。　And　there　was　Morgan　of　Orris；　big　as　life　and　twice　as　ugly。　For　a　moment　he　didn't　realize　Jack　had　tumbled　to　the　trick；　he　was　limping　rapidly　around　to　a　place　which　would　be　behind　Jack　when　he　flipped　back　into　the　American　Territories。　There　was　a　nasty　little…boy　grin　on　his　face。　His　cloak　popped　and　billowed　behind　him。　His　left　boot　dragged；　and　Jack　saw　the　sand　was　covered　with　those　dragging　hashmarks　all　around　him。　Morgan　had　been　running　around　him　in　a　harrying　circle；　all　the　while　goading　Jack　with　obscene　lies　about　his　mother；　throwing　stones；　and　flipping　back　and　forth。
　　Jack　shouted：
　　'I　SEE　YOU！'　at　the　top　of　his　lungs。
　　Morgan　stared　around　at　him　in　utter　stunned　shock；　one　hand　curled　around　that　silver　rod。
　　'SEE　YOU！'　Jack　shouted　again。　'Should　we　go　around　one　more　time；　Bloat？'
　　Morgan　of　Orris　flicked　the　end　of　the　rod　at　him；　his　face　altering　in　a　second　from　that　rubbery　simple…minded　expression　of　shock　to　a　much　more　characteristic　look　of　craft…of　a　clever　man　quickly　seeing　all　the　possibilities　in　a　situation。　His　eyes　narrowed。　Jack　almost；　in　that　second　when　Morgan　of　Orris　looked　down　his　lethal　silver　rod　at　him　and　narrowed　his　eyes　into　gunsights；　flipped　back　into　the　American　Territories；　and　that　would　have　killed　him。　But　an　instant　before　prudence　or　panic　caused　him　in　effect　to　jump　in　front　of　a　moving　truck；　the　same　insight　that　had　told　him　that　Morgan　was　flipping　between　worlds　saved　him　again…Jack　had　learned　the　ways　of　his　adversary。　He　held　his　ground；　again　waiting　for　that　almost　mystical　downbeat。　For　a　fraction　of　a　second　Jack　Sawyer　held　his　breath。　If　Morgan　had　been　a　shade　less　proud　of　his　deviousness；　he　might　well　have　murdered　Jack　Sawyer；　which　he　so　dearly　wished　to　do；　at　that　moment。
　　But　instead；　just　as　Jack　had　thought　it　would；　Morgan's　image　abruptly　departed　the　Territories。　Jack　inhaled。　Speedy's　body　（Parkus's　body；　Jack　realized）　lay　motionless　a　short　distance　away。　The　downbeat　came。　Jack　exhaled　and　flipped　back。
　　A　new　streak　of　glass　divided　the　sand　on　the　Point　Venuti　beach；　glimmeringly　reflecting　the　sudden　beam　of　white　light　which　emanated　from　the　Talisman。
　　'Missed　one；　did　you？'　Morgan　Sloat　whispered　out　of　the　darkness。　Snow　pelted　Jack；　cold　wind　froze　his　limbs；　his　throat；　his　forehead。　A　car's　length　away；　Sloat's　face　hung　before　him；　the　forehead　drawn　up　into　its　familiar　corrugations；　the　bloody　mouth　open。　He　was　extending　the　key　toward　Jack　in　the　storm；　and　a　ridge　of　powdery　snow　adhered　to　the　brown　sleeve　of　his　suit。　Jack　saw　a　black　trail　of　blood　oozing　from　the　left　nostril　of　the　incongruously　small　nose。　Sloat's　eyes；　bloodshot　with　pain；　shone　through　the　dark　air。
　　　
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　　Richard　Sloat　confusedly　opened　his　eyes。　Every　part　of　him　was　cold。　At　first　he　thought；　quite　without　emotion　of　any　kind；　that　he　was　dead。　He　had　fallen　down　somewhere；　probably　down　those　steep；　tricky　steps　at　the　back　of　the　Thayer　School　grandstand。　Now　he　was　cold　and　dead　and　nothing　more　could　happen　to　him。　He　experienced　a　second　of　dizzying　relief。
　　His　head　offered　him　a　fresh　surge　of　pain；　and　he　felt　warm　blood　ooze　out　over　his　cold　hand…both　of　these　sensations　evidence　that；　whatever　he　might　wele　at　the　moment；　Richard　Llewellyn　Sloat　was　not　yet　dead。　He　was　only　a　wounded　suffering　creature。　The　whole　top　of　his　head　seemed　to　have　been　sliced　off。　He　had　no　proper　idea　of　where　he　was。　It　was　cold。　His　eyes　focused　long　enough　to　report　to　him　that　he　was　lying　down　in　the　snow。　Winter　had　happened。　More　snow　dumped　on　him　from　out　of　the　sky。　Then　he　heard　his　father's　voice；　and　everything　returned　to　him。
　　Richard　kept　his　hand　on　top　of　his　head；　but　very　slowly　tilted　his　chin　so　that　he　could　look　in　the　direction　of　his　father's　voice。
　　Jack　Sawyer　was　holding　the　Talisman…that　was　the　next　thing　Richard　took　in。　The　Talisman　was　unbroken。　He　felt　the　return　of　a　portion　of　that　relief　he　had　experienced　when　he'd　thought　he　was　dead。　Even　without　his　glasses；　Richard　could　see　that　Jack　had　an　undefeated；　unbowed　look　that　moved　him　very　deeply。　Jack　looked　like　。　。　。　like　a　hero。　That　was　all。　He　looked　like　a　dirty；　dishevelled；　outrageously　youthful　hero；　wrong　for　the　role　on　almost　every　count；　but　undeniably　still　a　hero。
　　Jack　was　just　Jack　now；　Richard　now　saw。　That　extraordinary　extra　quality；　as　of　a　movie　star　deigning　to　walk　around　as　a　shabbily　dressed　twelve…year…old；　had　gone。　This　made　his　heroism　all　the　more　impressive　to　Richard。
　　His　father　smiled　rapaciously。　But　that　was　not　his　father。　His　father　had　been　hollowed　out　a　long　time　ago…hollowed　out　by　his　envy　of　Phil　Sawyer；　by　the　greed　of　his　ambitions。
　　'We　can　keep　on　going　around　like　this　forever；'　Jack　said。　'I'm　never　going　to　give　you　the　Talisman；　and　you're　never　going　to　be　able　to　destroy　it　with　that　gadget　of　yours。　Give　up。'
　　The　point　of　the　key　in　his　father's　hand　slowly　moved　across　and　down；　and　it；　like　his　father's　greedy　needful　face；　pointed　straight　at　him。
　　'First　I'll　blow　Richard　apart；'　his　father　said。　'Do　you　really　want　to　see　your　pal　Richard　turned　into　bacon？　Hmmmm？　Do　you？　And　of　course　I　won't　hesitate　to　do　the　same　favor　for　that　pest　beside　him。'
　　Jack　and　Sloat　exchanged　short　glances。　His　father　was　not　kidding；　Richard　knew。　He　would　kill　him　if　Jack　did　not　surrender　the　Talisman。　And　then　he　would　kill　the　old　black　man；　Speedy。
　　'Don't　do　it；'　he　managed　to　whisper。　'Stuff　him；　Jack。　Tell　him　to　screw　himself。'
　　Jack　almost　deranged　Richard　by　winking　at　him。
　　'Just　drop　the　Talisman；'　he　heard　his　father　say。
　　Richard　watched　in　horror　as　Jack　tilted　the　palms　of　his　hands　and　let　the　Talisman　tumble　out。
　　　
　　　7
　　
　　'Jack；　no！'
　　Jack　didn't　look　around　at　Richard。　You　don't　own　a　thing　unless　you　can　give　it　up；　his　mind　hammered　at　him。　You　don't　own　a　thing　unless　you　can　give　it　up；　what　does　it　profit　a　man；　it　profits　him　nothing；　it　profits　him　zilch；　and　you　don't　learn　that　in　school；　you　learn　it　on　the　road；　you　learn　it　from　Ferd　Janklow；　and　Wolf；　and　Richard　going　head…first　into　the　rocks　like　a　Titan　II　that　didn't　fire　off　right。
　　You　learned　these　things；　or　you　died　somewhere　out　in　the　world　where　there　was　no　clear　light。
　　'No　more　killing；'　he　said　in　the　snow…filled　darkness　of　this　California　beach　afternoon。　He　should　have　felt　utterly　exhausted…it　had　been；　all　told；　a　four…day　run　of　horrors；　and　now；　at　the　end；　he　had　coughed　up　the　ball　like　a　freshman　quarterback　with　a　lot　to　learn。　Had　thrown　it　all　away。　Yet　it　was　the　sure　voice　of　Anders　he　heard；　Anders　who　had　knelt　before　Jack/Jason　with　his　kilt　spread　out　around　him　and　his　head　bowed：　Anders　saying　A'　wi'　be　well；　a'　wi'　be　well；　and　a'　manner　a'　things　wi'　be　well。
　　The　Talisman　glowed　on　the　beach；　snow　melting　down　one　sweetly　gravid　side　in　droplets；　and　in　each　droplet　was　a　rainbow；　and　in　that　moment　Jack　knew　the　staggering　cleanliness　of　giving　up　the　thing　which　was　required。
　　'No　more　slaughter。　Go　on　and　break　it　if　you　can；'　he　said。　'I'm　sorry　for　you。'
　　It　was　that　last　which　surely　destroyed　Morgan　Sloat。　If　he　had　retained　a　shred　of　rational　thought；　he　would　have　unearthed　a　stone　from　the　unearthly　snow　and　smashed　the　Talisman　。　。　。　as　it　could　have　been　smashed；　in　its　simple　unjacketed　vulnerability。