gns.thegraveyardvultures-第21部分

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　　Maniacal　laughter　jarred　his　nerves；　had　him　writhing　as　though　in　physical　pain。　Those　cold　fingers　like　the　hands　of　Death　himself　were　touching　his　face；　icy　sweat　running　down　his　face。　Then　amid　the　terror　came　an　idea；　loud　and　clear　like　the　clarion　call　of　a　rescuing　pany　of　troops；　a　sliver　of　ingenuity　impinging　itself　in　his　muzzy　brain。　He　had　exorcised　many　places；　people　…　why　not　himself'
　　
　　He　shuddered　at　the　implications；　that　boxer　again；　pinned　back　on　the　ropes；　swinging　one　mightly　knockout　punch。　If　it　landed；　he　won。　If　not；　his　defences　were　wide　open。　A　last　desperate　throw！
　　
　　Failure　he　dared　not　contemplate。　Neither　did　he　wish　to　dwell　on　his　decision。　Win　or　lose；　it　was　made。　Quentin's　voice；　an　inprehensible　babble　that　was　wearing　him　down；　opening　up　the　gate　to　let　the　enemy　in。
　　
　　Sabat　was　shouting；　screaming；　trying　to　pronounce　each　word　clearly；　frightened　lest　the　mental　confusion　might　close　in　before　he　was　finished。　'I　mand　you；　evil　spirit；　in　the　Name　of　God　the　Father　Almighty；　in　the　Name　of　Jesus　Christ　his　only　Son；　and　in　the　name　of　the　Holy　Spirit　。　。　。　'　he　had　to　gasp'　for　breath；　a　kind　of　asthma　constricting　his　lungs；　threatening　to　collapse　them。　That　。　。　。　harming　no　one　。　。　。　you　depart　from　this　。　。　。　creature　which　is　myself　。　。　。　and　return　to　the　place　appointed　you；　there　to　remain　forever。'
　　
　　He　exhaled　deeply；　had　to　draw　again　for　life…giving　breath；　the　pain　in　his　chest　crippling。　Noises　inside　his　head　which　threatened　to　dement　him；　clinging　desperately　to　a　cliff　face　beneath　which　a　black　chasm　yawned；　a　voice　that　threatened　to　suck　him　down。
　　
　　He　heard　Quentin　again。　This　time　there　was　no　laughter；　just　an　obscene　blasphemy。　'Damn　you；　you　won't　rid　yourself　of　me　like　that　because　I　am　you；　Mark　Sabat。　You　torture　yourself。'
　　
　　That　much　was　true。　Sabat　felt　the　excruciating　pain；　screamed　his　agony　but　somehow　held　on　to　his　sanity。　A　duel　was　taking　place　within　him；　the　same　as　it　had　that　last　time　between　Quentin　and　himself。　The　chasm　below　was　that　grave；　bigger；　alive　with　evil。　The　。38　barked　its　hate；　spewing　his　brother's　brains　out　like　stringy　phlegm。
　　
　　Winning　and　yet　losing；　a　stalemate　once　the　powdersmoke　had　drifted　away。
　　
　　Sabat　sank　sideways　across　the　front　seat；　closed　his　eyes　and　experienced　an　overpowering　exhaustion。　He　wanted　to　sleep　。　。　。　had　to。　Silence；　the　voice　had　gone；　just　a　terrible　stillness　which　left　him　trembling。
　　
　　'But　you　haven't　won　the　day；　Sabat！'　Quentin's　voice；　vibrant　with　fury；　but　dying　away；　to　an　unintelligible　muttering。
　　
　　And　Sabat　knew　that　he　was　alone　at　last。　That　last　super…psychic　effort　had　repelled　the　enemy；　driven　them　back　into　the　darkness。　He　reared　up　on　an　elbow；　glanced　through　the　windscreen；　saw　that　the　fog　had　gone。　Silvery　moonlight　reflected　on　the　hedges　and　a　warm　summer　breeze　was　breathing　its　fragrant　breath　in　through　the　window。
　　
　　Sabat　made　a　supreme　effort　and　struggled　up　into　a　sitting　position。　If　he　had　not　grasped　the　steering　wheel　he　would　have　slumped　back。　God；　his　whole　body　ached；　his　brain　was　numb　the　way　it　often　was　after　an　exorcism　when　he　had　projected　his　entire　mental　strength　at　an　opposing　evil　spirit。
　　
　　The　engine　had　stalled。　He　tried　to　start　it；　…barely　had　the　strength　to　turn　it　over　once。　And　that　remaining　strength　was　wilting　like　an　autumn　flower。　Totally　spent；　exorcist　and　exorcised；　a　bined　role　that　had　sapped　him。
　　
　　Even　as　he　felt　for　the　starter　again　he　sensed　himself　falling；　that　black　chasm　again　but　the　evil　had　gone　from　it。　Just　cool　and　weling；　a　place　in　which　to　drift　and　sleep。。　。
　　
　　Miranda　had　sat　silent；　staring　straight　ahead　of　her　but　seeing　nothing　on　the　roads　that　led　away　from　Warwickshire；　a　total　lack　of　awareness　so　that　when　the　big　man　behind　the　wheel　took　a　sharp　bend　too　fast　she　was　thrown　against　the　door。　A　bang　on　her　head　that　would　normally　have　brought　a　cry　of　pain　from　her　lips　did　not　so　much　as　alter　the　glazed　expression　on　her　features。　Yet　she　was　aware　of　her　predicament；　her　terror；　in　the　107　same　way　that　a　hospital　patient　stirring　in　a　deep　a　knows　but　is　unable　to　municate。　An　acceptance　of　her　fate　because　she　knew　that　she　could　not　escape　it。　In　a　way　she　had　already　died。
　　
　　At　last　the　car　slowed；　the　tyres　crunching　on　thick　gravel；　crawling　up　a　winding　drive　lined　with　rhododendrons；　ing　to　a　halt。　Royston　switched　off　the　engine；　turned　to　his　panion。
　　
　　'So　easy/　he　murmured；　his　eyes　narrowing；　once　again　the　hawk　which　had　swooped　and　taken　off　again　with　its　helpless　prey　dangling　in　its　talons；　not　even　struggling。　'And　in　spite　of　Sabat's　meddling　we　are　in　time。'　He　laughed；　an　unpleasant　sound；　got　out　and　came　round　to　unlatch　the　passenger　door。
　　
　　Miranda's　movements　were　jerky；　a　robot　in　human　shape；　her　only　feeling　that　one　spark　of　terror　somewhere　deep　inside　her。　Her　limp　hand　was　clutched　and　she　found　herself　stumbling　along　at　the　side　of　her　tall　panion；　wicked　briars　reaching　out　to　clutch　at　her　ankles；　low　branches　whipping　her　face　as　though　the　forces　of　Nature　were　eager　for　the　torment　to　mence。
　　
　　They　skirted　the　large　black　and　white　timbered　house；　half　moonlit；　half　in　shadow；　a　place　that　seemed　to　brood；　its　windows　eyes　that　scrutinised　her。　Down　paths　that　twisted　and　wound　back　on　themselves　in　places。　Once　Miranda　would　have　fallen　headlong　had　not　Royston　been　gripping　her　wrist；　he　caught　her；　pulled　her　roughly　upright　in　the　same　movement。　There　was　no　time　to　linger。
　　
　　She　saw　the　yawning　black　hole　before　her　but　did　not　understand；　had　her　captor　not　steadied　her　she　would　have　fallen　head　first　down　the　flight　of　broken　steps　that　led　below。　Royston　went　first；　picking　his　way　carefully；　holding　her　close　to　him；　gripping　her　as　though　he　both　hated　and　lusted　for　her；　fingers　squeezing　with　intent　to　hurt。
　　
　　A　narrow　passage；　its　stone　walls　running　with　moisture；　its　roof　bulging　in　places　as　though　it　might　collapse　at　any　second。　The　floor　was　uneven；　water　splashing　Miranda's　ankles　where　the　seepage　from　above　had　formed　puddles。　She　was　breathing　unevenly；　her　respiratory　system　rebelling　at　the　pungent　musty　odour；　her　skin　goosepimpling　because　it　was　so　very　cold　down　here。　Yet　she　was　not　aware　of　any　disfort。
　　
　　Light　was　ing　from　somewhere　ahead；　a　soft　yellow　glow　that　grew　brighter　with　every　bend　in　the　passage　until　at　length　they　emerged　into　a　large　underground　room。　Again　the　walls　were　rough　hewn　and　the　ceiling　was　supported　in　places　by　wooden　props　in　addition　to　the　existing　stone　pillars。　A　row　of　black　wax　candles　filled　the　area　with　an　oily　smoke　that　took　its　time　filtering　out　into　the　passage　down　which　the　two　newers　had　arrived。　And　people　moved　amid　the　smoke　haze。
　　
　　Heads　were　turned　towards　them；　eyes　glinting　with　the　same　carnal　lust　that　was　to　be　seen　in　Royston's；　all　focused　on　the　girl。　Even　in　her　trance…like　state　she　sensed　their　hostility；　their　evii　a　vibrant　wave　that　hit　her　and　set　every　nerve　tingling；　seemed　to　fan　that　tiny　spark　of　terror　within　her　to　a　flame。
　　
　　Wide…eyed　she　took　in　the　scene；　a　dozen　naked　men　and　women；　the　younger　ones　erotic　in　their　arousement；　the　older　ones　wrinkled　and　revolting。　Both　were　frightening。　They　had　been　doing　something；　some　kind　of　group　activity　that　inspired　a　feeling　of　guilt　because　their　leader　had　arrived　without　warning　and　witnessed　their　perverted　orgy。　But　their　shame　vanished　as　they　gazed　upon　Miranda；　willing　her　to　be　thrown　naked　into　their　midst　so　that　they　could　vent　their　unsatisfied　lust　upon　her　shapely　body；　finish　whatever　they　had　been　doing。
　　
　　The　shock　had　brought　an　awakening　to　Miranda；　now　seeing　and　beginning　to　understand。　That　altar　with　its　dark　tapestries；　the　gleaming　white　object　that　was　stretched　below　the　twin　candles；　the　flickering　flames　showing　the　fractured　bones；　how　some　had　been　rejoined　in　an　attempt　to　。。。　Oh　God；　they'd　repaired　that　broken　human　skeleton；　made　it　into　a　plete　frame　again　。　。　。　resurrected　William　Gardinerfor　some　awful　purpose？！
　　
　　The　empty　eye　sockets　seemed　to　single　her　out　as　though　they　saw　her；　the　mouth　cavity　an　evil　weling　grin。　But　that　was　impossible　because　this　century…old　skeleton　was　dead；　no　matter　what　Royston　tried　to　make　out。　She　shuddered；　recalled　what　had　happened　to　Sheila　Dowson；　what　they'd　done　to　Sylvia　Adams'　corpse。　They'd　do　the　same　to　her；　desecrate　her　body　before　and　after　death。　That　was　the　thought　that　had　the　scream　rising　from　deep　inside　her；　a　full…bodied　yell　of　terror　that　was　suddenly　checked　in　her　throat；　bulging　and　painful　like　a　block　of　trapped　wind。　Because　Royston　was　standing　directly　in　front　of　her；　clad　in　black　and　mauve　robes　with　a　high　cowl；　the　material　embroidered　all　over　with　inverted　crosses。　Miranda　wanted　to　laugh；　to　double　up　with　mirth　because　he　reminded　her　of　a　bishop　and　all　church　people　looked　ical　in　their　various　regalia。　Yet　she　could　neither　laugh　nor　scream；　finding　her　eyes　focused　on　his　own；　seeing　into　those　dark　pools　…　and　beyond　them　into　eternal　darkness。
　　
　　That　exchange　of　gazes　seemed　to　last　an　eternity。　Royston　looked　different　but　she　knew　that　he　was　capable　of　changing　his　features　at　will；　or　rather　when　he　looked　at　you　like　that　you　saw　him　how　he　wanted　you　to　see　him。　Earlier　he　had　been　Sabat；　more　like　Sabat　than　Sabat　was　himself。　Now　the　big　man　seemed　to　have　aged　decades；　a　withered　old　man　with　straggling　grey　hair；　similar　features；　yet　lined　and　shrunken。　Just　a　couple　of　broken　yellowed　teeth　so　that　when　he　spoke　he　lisped　and　dribbled；　and　Miranda　had　difficulty　in　hearing　the　words。　Gone　were　those　splendid　sinister　robes　and　in　their　place　a　shabby　grey　morning　coat　and　trousers　that　tapered　into　spats。　And　in　that　same　instant　realisation　dawned　on　her　waking　brain　that　she　was　stark　naked；　her　clothes　somehow　having　been　removed。
　　
　　Miranda　wanted　to　flee；　to　rush　screaming　from　this　awful　place；　but　somehow　Royston　had