pzb.drawingblood-第60部分

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　　Not　pennies。　Tiny　diamonds。
　　
　　Trevor　kept　following　the　street　he　had　chosen。　It　led　him　deeper　into　the　factories　where　he　wasn't　sure　he　wanted　to　go；　but　there　were　no　cross　streets　anymore；　and　he　would　not　return　the　way　he　had　e。　There　was　nothing　in　those　bars　for　him；　nothing　but　the　bottles　frosted　with　dust　and　filled　with　poison；　nothing　but　Skeletal　Sammy's　crumbling　bones。
　　He　passed　a　shining；　bubbling　pool　of　black　liquid　enclosed　by　a　chain…link　fence；　a　vast　decrepit　building　with　white　steam　billowing　from　hundreds　of　broken　windows；　a　railyard　where　rusty　boxcars　lay　scattered　like　children's　blocks。　There　was　a　weird　toxic　beauty　to　the　landscape。　Like　alien　terrain；　Trevor　thought　at　first；　but　this　desolation　was　peculiarly　human。
　　His　fingers　itched　for　pencil　and　paper。　He　could　actually　feel　the　satisfying　sensation　of　the　graphite　tip　gliding　over　the　page；　the　slight　textured　catch　of　the　paper's　grain；　the　minute　sympathetic　vibration　in　the　bones　of　his　hand。　He　thrust　both　hands　into　his　pockets　and　walked　on。
　　The　street　began　to　curve　away　in　a　strange　perspective；　as　if　the　horizon　line　didn't　quite　mesh　with　the　sky。　He　saw　the　corner　of　another　empty　lot　up　ahead；　then　realized　it　wasn't　empty　after　all　as　the　edge　of　a　building　became　visible；　set　back　farther　from　the　street　than　the　others。　Something　else　was　odd　about　the　building；　and　after　a　moment　Trevor　realized　what。　It　was　made　of　wood。　The　structure　he　saw　was　a　wooden　porch；　here　in　this　industrial　wasteland　of　steel　and　concrete。
　　It　cast　a　flat　black　shadow　on　the　ground；　the　shadow　of　a　peaked　roof　and　spindly　railings；　like　any　of　a　million　porches　on　a　million　rambling　old　farmhouses。　You　saw　them　plenty　driving　around　rural　areas　of　the　South。　You　didn't　see　them　much；　though；　in　the　industrial　sections　of　vast　gray　deserted　cities。
　　A　few　more　steps　and　his　conscious　mind　saw　what　his　back　brain　had　known　all　along。　It　was　the　house　from　Violin　Road；　set　down　stark　and　solid　in　the　middle　of　this　necrophiliac　dreamscape；　the　same　as　it　had　ever　been；　hardly　looking　a　part　of　the　world　it　now　inhabited。
　　If　not　the　seed　of　Birdland；　the　house　was　surely　its　rotten　core；　if　not　an　actual　part　of　this　dead　world；　the　house　was　surely　its　source。　Trevor　knew　he　was　going　back　in　there　now。　If　he　died　this　time；　it　would　be　as　if　he　had　never　lived　these　twenty　years。　If　he　didn't；　then　the　rest　of　his　life　belonged　to　him。
　　And　to　Zach；　if　he　still　wanted　any　part　of　it。　It's　the　house　where　you　lost　your　virginity　after　a　quarter　century；　too；　Trevor　reminded　himself。　But　that　was　another　source　of　its　power　over　him；　as　visceral　as　the　deaths。
　　Remember；　he　thought　dreamily；　you　still　have　plenty　of　time　to　get　down　to　Birdland　。　。　。
　　But　now　there　was　no　more　time。　Now　he　was　all　the　way　down。
　　Without　its　yardful　of　weeds　and　green　veil　of　kudzu　the　house　looked　stark；　broken…backed；　sculpted　of　splinter　and　shadow。　The　windows　rippled　with　opaque　colors；　reflecting　some　light　Trevor　could　not　see。　As　he　crossed　the　featureless　lot　they　flared　violet；　then　faded　to　bruise。
　　He　mounted　the　steps；　pushed　the　listing　door　open；　and　went　in。　The　living　room　was　just　as　he　remembered　it：　ugly　chair　and　sofa　sagging　but　not　pletely　gone　to　mold　and　mildew；　the　turntable　surrounded　by　crates　of　records。　His　heart　missed　a　beat　as　he　saw　another　figure　in　the　dim　room。
　　Crouching　near　the　hall　doorway　was　a　slender　woman　in　a　loose　white　camisole　and　a　red　skirt　with　matching　elbow…length　gloves。　Long　black　hair　spilled　over　her　shoulders　and　down　her　back；　rippling　with　unearthly　blue　highlights。
　　Her　head　swiveled　and　her　face　tilted　up　to　him：　pale；　sharp…featured；　startlingly　lovely。　Her　enormous　dark　eyes　were　slightly　tilted；　smudged　with　shadows。　Trevor　realized　three　things　at　once：　the　woman　looked　just　like　Zach；　she　was　holding　something　in　her　cupped　hands；　and　she　was　wearing　only　a　white　one…piece　shift；　no　gloves。　The　skirt　was　so　stained　with　blood　that　he　had　thought　it　a　separate　piece　of　clothing。　Her　arms　were　swathed　to　the　elbows　in　gore。
　　She　raised　her　hands　and　showed　him　what　she　held。　Trevor　saw　a　gelatinous　glob　of　blood　shot　through　with　dark　veins；　the　black　dot　of　an　eye；　five　tiny　curled　fingers。
　　〃I　didn't　have　the　money　for　a　doctor；〃　she　said；　〃so　I　hit　myself　in　the　stomach　until　it　bled。　I　just　wanted　the　damn　thing　out　of　me。　Do　you　hear？　Out！〃
　　Trevor　advanced　on　her；　stared　her　down。　A　quick　hot　vein　of　anger　pulsed　in　his　head。　Zach　had　suffered　unforgivably　at　the　hands　of　this　woman。　〃You　did　not；〃　he　said。　〃You　didn't　want　him　but　you　had　him　anyway；　and　you　two　tortured　him　as　long　as　you　could　get　away　with　it。　That　was　nineteen　years　ago　and　your　baby's　doing　fine。　Where　are　you　now；　you　fucking　evil　bitch？〃
　　The　woman　crumpled　back　against　the　door　frame。　The　bloody　mess　slid　out　of　her　hands。　Trevor　had　to　resist　the　urge　to　scoop　the　lonely　detritus　into　his　own　hands　and　sob　over　it。　That　mangled　thing　wasn't　Zach；　couldn't　be。　It　was　only　a　neverborn　phantom。
　　He　remembered　that　Zach's　mother　was　named　Evangeline；　like　the　poem。　〃Go　away；　Evangeline；〃　he　said。　〃Get　out　of　my　house。　I　hate　you。〃
　　Her　huge　stricken　eyes　settled　on　Trevor。　He　couldn't　tell　if　she　was　hearing　him；　she　hadn't　responded　directly　to　anything　he　said。　〃You're　a　ghost；〃　he　told　her；　〃and　you're　not　even　the　right　one。〃
　　Her　head　fell　back。　Her　hands　curled　into　claws。　A　shudder　went　through　her；　and　for　a　moment　the　outlines　of　her　body　blurred；　as　if　she　were　passing　through　some　unseen　membrane。　Then　all　at　once　her　hair　was　turning　to　cornsilk　shot　through　with　streaks　of　darker　gold；　matted　with　blood。　Her　features　grew　softer；　rounder；　her　breasts　heavier。　Her　arms　hung　by　her　sides；　a　mass　of　blood　and　bruise。　Trevor　found　himself　looking　at　his　own　mother；　Rosena　McGee；　as　he　had　discovered　her　that　morning。
　　He　remembered　the　first　day　he　had　e　back　to　the　house；　when　he　switched　on　the　light　in　the　studio　and　saw　Bobby's　drawing　of　this　scene；　identical　to　the　one　Trevor　had　done　on　the　bus。　At　the　time　Trevor　thought　maybe　Bobby　had　drawn　it　before　her　death；　as　a　sort　of　dry　run。　But　it　was　too　exact；　with　Rosena　struggling；　he　never　could　have　landed　the　blows　as　precisely　on　her　flesh　as　he　had　done　on　paper。
　　No。　He　had　killed　her；　and　then　he　had　sat　down　here　with　his　sketchbook　and　drawn　her。　Then　he　had　tacked　the　drawing　to　the　studio　wall　before　he　went　in　and　killed　Didi。　Trevor　had　no　proof　of　this　sequence　of　events；　but　he　could　see　it　all　too　clearly。　Bobby　hunched　on　the　floor　before　her　broken　body；　hand　flying　over　the　paper；　eyes　flickering　with　manic　intensity　from　Rosena's　dead　face　to　the　page　and　back　again。　But　why？
　　His　mother's　eyes　were　open；　the　whites　filmed　with　blood。　There　were　deep　gouges　in　her　forehead；　her　left　temple；　the　center　of　her　chest。　All　had　bled　heavily。　From　the　head　wounds　had　also　trickled　some　clear　substance…　cerebral　fluid；　he　supposed…that　cut　pale　tracks　through　the　blood。　Trevor　noticed　that　unlike　himself　and　Skeletal　Sammy；　Rosena　was　not　in　forties…noir　costume；　she　wore　the　same　embroidered　jeans　and　cotton　dashiki　top　she'd　had　on　the　night　she　died。
　　What　the　hell　did　that　mean？　What　the　hell　did　any　of　it　mean？　He　suddenly　wanted　Zach　here　with　him　as　badly　as　he　had　ever　wanted　anything。　Zach　could　unravel　intricate　patterns　of　logic；　perhaps　explain　them。　And　if　there　was　no　logic　in　Birdland；　then　Zach　could　hold　him；　give　him　somewhere　to　hide　his　face　so　he　would　not　have　to　keep　looking　into　his　mother's　bloody　eyes。
　　No。　This　was　what　he　had　e　for。　He　had　to　see　everything。
　　Rosena's　body　blocked　half　the　doorway。　Trevor　edged　by；　careful　not　to　let　his　leg　brush　her。　He　could　picture　the　stiff　sprawl　of　her　limbs　if　he　were　to　knock　her　over；　could　hear　the　hollow　sound　her　head　would　make　hitting　the　floor。　When　he　was　nearly　past；　he　could　also　imagine　how　it　would　feel　if　she　reached　out　and　wrapped　a　hand　around　his　ankle。　But　Rosena　remained　motionless。　He　could　not　believe　that　she　would　ever　harm　him。
　　He　pushed　open　the　door　of　Didi's　room　and　looked　through　the　crack　but　did　not　enter　the　room。　There　was　a　tiny　body　sprawled　on　the　mattress。　Even　in　the　dim　light　Trevor　could　make　out　the　dark　stain　surrounding　the　head。
　　Had　Bobby　drawn　Didi　after　killing　him　too？　Maybe；　but　Trevor　didn't　think　so。　It　would　have　been　getting　very　late　by　then；　and　Bobby　didn't　want　to　see　another　dawn。　But　where　had　he　gone　next？　Straight　into　the　bathroom　with　his　rope；　or　somewhere　else？
　　So　many　questions。　Trevor　was　suddenly　disgusted　with　himself　for　asking　them　when　there　seemed　to　be　no　answers。　What　the　fuck　did　it　matter　what　Bobby　had　done？　What　difference　could　it　make　to　him　now？　He　should　never　have　eaten　those　mushrooms；　should　never　have　catapulted　himself　over　into　Birdland。　He　had　left　Zach　behind；　and　he　didn't　know　how　to　find　his　way　back；　and　everything　here　seemed　like　a　senseless　dead　end。
　　Maybe　he　was　hallucinating　it　all。　This　world　seemed　as　tangible　as　the　other：　he　had　felt　the　sting　of　Sammy's　needle　going　into　his　arm；　smelled　the　fresh　blood　and　raw　sewage　stink　of　the　bodies。　But　he　was　on　an　unfamiliar　drug。　Who　knew　what　could　happen？　Maybe　he　would　enter　his　bedroom　and　see　his　own　body　asleep　on　the　mattress；　curled　around　Zach。　Maybe　he　could　get　back　through。
　　You　came　for　answers；　he　reminded　himself。　Did　you　think　they　would　be　written　on　the　walls　in　blood？　Are　you　really　ready　to　go　back　to　the　real　house；　to　the　empty　house？　Are　you　ready　to　stop　trying　to　fit　yourself　like　an　odd　piece　into　the　puzzle　of　your　family's　deaths；　to　fly　away　with　Zach；　to　start　your　own　life？
　　He　didn't　know。　There　seemed　to　be　an　invisible　barrier　between　him　and　all　he　saw；　as　if　the　house　were　letting　him　look　but　not　touch；　telling　him　You　were　never　a　part　of　this　as　if　he　needed　to　hear　it　again。　The　dead　were　linked　in　a　terrible　intimacy；　and　Trevor　was　the　living；　the　outsider。　You　never　had　anything　to　do　with　it。　Bobby　left　you　out　pletely。　They　all　left　you。　Go　back　to　the　on