gns.cannibalcult-第4章
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re not Mark Sabat…you 're Quentin。 One of us！
The dreaded reversal； one soul overing another after weeks and months of awaiting its opportunity。 Sabat was still trying to fight； an autumnal leaf attempting to resist a gale； being swept away。 Sobbing； something he had not done since 。。。 since when1* He couldn't remember crying； not even in childhood； his frustrations had always built up into something more vicious； revenge at any cost。 Oh God； he'd have his revenge on them； make them pay dearly for this。 He had to fight！
Crawling； slumping down； fingers that trembled with cold and terror searching the darkness； touching something that toppled and fell； the handset of the bedside trimphone。 He groped for it again。 It was like a wriggling serpent trying to escape him； but in the end he caught it； dragged it back。 Invisible fingers tried to tear it from his grasp but he managed to hold on。
Trying to dial； the spring so strong that he could hardly move the digits。 Any number； it didn't matter。 Got to tell them。。。 warn them。。； about Louis Nevillonl
Sabat almost fainted； felt his chilled slippery fingers losing their hold on the handset。 It fell； swung to and fro below the bed like some taunting pendulum； evil to good and back to evil。 He couldn't muster the strength to try and catch it again。 He moaned aloud。
A pause； then a sound apart from the rasping of his laboured lungs。 Metallic； so divorced from this atmosphere of enshrouding evil。 It took Sabat some seconds to work out what it was； and then he knew。 The phone was ringing out at the other end； some anonymous number。
A voice。 It wasn't Quentin's nor any of the others； a jumble of meaningless words that did not register in his numbed brain； being angry； impatient。 Shouting。
Sabat tried to speak； tried to warn them about Louis Nevillon but all he managed were animal…like gasps and grunts。 They were trying to shout him down； a whispering noise like the hissing of angry demons。 Weakening still further； feeling his senses slipping from him； knowing that they had beaten him in the end。
The phone went silent at approximately the same time as Sabat lost consciousness and rolled off the bed on to the floor。
CHAPTER THREE
LIGHTS so bright that they seared Sabat's eyeballs even though his eyes were still closed； a sickly sour…sweat smell that almost had him vomiting。
He lay motionless； tried to work out where he was； what had happened。 The darkness that had hidden so many evil entities was gone and in its place was harsh blinding light。 He knew that he was in a bed but it did not seem as fortable as his own； like wooden boards beneath him。
After a lengthy mental struggle he came to the conclusion that he was in a hospital。 Somehow he had been saved； his SOS call had got through in spite of their efforts。
He opened his eyes a fraction； squinted。 It was a hospital ward all right and there were screens around his bed； people beyond them talking in low muttered tones。 He tried to make out what they were saying but it was impossible； a harsh nasal voice that reminded him of Quentin。 He closed his eyes； tried to work out what had happened。
He'd been ill。 Or had he？ It was as though his body had been taken over by 。。。 something； an inner force dominating； making him subservient to the dark powers。 He'd lost all track of time。 It could have been hours or weeks ago。
A movement； somebody ing inside the screens。 Sabat squinted again； saw a tall angular man wearing a long white coat and spectacles that seemed to enlarge his frog…like eyes； approaching the bed； bending over to scrutinise the patient。 Sabat had no reason to keep his eyes shut any longer。 The brightness hurt but he decided it was time he found out what was going on。
'Ah； Mr Sabat！' a note of relief in the doctor's voice。 'You have decided to join us at last。'
'How long have I been here？' Sabat grunted； suddenly realised how weak he felt； even his own voice was barely recognisable。
'Ten days。' The other consulted a chart； pursed his lips pensively。
'Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what's been the matter。'
'You've had pneumonia^ the eyes flicked back on to Sabat； an expression that almost reprimanded。 'Touch and go for a week； I'm afraid。 We moved you out of intensive care the day before yesterday。 It was lucky you managed to telephone for help； otherwise I'm afraid you would not have made it through the night。 Fortunately the person who got your call had enough monsense to realise that there was something wrong and the police were able to trace the number。'
Sabat tried to struggle up but his muscles were not strong enough。 With a curse he fell back； grimaced。 'How much longer before 。。。'
'Now don't you get any ideas about going anywhere；' the doctor wagged a finger。 'You're lucky to be alive and you've got to regain your strength。 It will take weeks； and even after you leave here you've got to go away somewhere for a nice long convalescence。'
Sabat groaned inwardly； let his eyes remain closed。 Laughter； leering； taunting。 Quentin had won his battle of the dark hours； had a weakened Mark Sabat at his mercy。 By the time Sabat was strong again it would be too late…he would be Quentin reborn！
He felt sleep closing in on him again and vaguely wondered what had happened to Louis Nevillon's corpse。
Sabat had made his way across the Bernese Oberland in easy stages； resting for days sometimes because he barely had the strength to carry on。 Once he had tried to smoke his meerschaum pipe； but his lungs had rebelled and he had collapsed in a fit of coughing。 Drifting； the night hours haunted by strange dreams that were either forgotten on waking or else had no meaning； a string puppet controlled by the unknown。
Eventually he came to Interlaken； that small township between Lake Thun and Lake Brienz； a tourist attraction since the early nineteenth century； standing on a lush strip of flat land amidst the towering snow…capped mountains。 The air was keen； seemed to scour his lungs； the sunshine warm even for late April。 A land of beauty。 He stared up at the dark green forests that clothed the mountains and shuddered。 So familiar； right across the Oberland； into Austria and Germany； the kind of terrain across which he had hunted down Quentin。 And now Quentin lived again。
He booked in at the Jungfrau Hotel； experienced an acute embarrassment at having to seek out a porter to carry his suitcases up to his room； an old man who wheezed harder than himself and muttered his plaints in a form of bastard German。
Sabat sank into an armchair after the old man had left； stared out of the wide French windows across the balcony； and watched the evening shadows beginning to creep across the mountains。 Maybe he should not have e here after all； instead travelled to the south of France； maybe further。 But it made no difference。 Wherever he went he could not escape； for he carried his brother with him。 If the dark forces which controlled his destiny manded him then he would obey。 The sooner he got used to being Quentin； the better。 He wasn't interested in Louis Nevillon； why should he be？ He had no plans； he had all the money he needed。 When he felt stronger he would enjoy himself。 Until then he must bide his time。
It was more than two decades since Sabat had last been up the Jungfrau。 His previous visit had been an excursion during a school skiing holiday but nothing seemed to have changed。 The same route because there was none other； a virgin mountain conquered by a railway that climbed up towards the heavens through a mountain wilderness of ice and snow。 On from Wengen； through Wengernalp and up to Kleine Scheidegg where you changed trains for the last lap of the breathtaking heady trip。 A smaller train now； a tunnel through the Eiger and the Monch； and at Eigerward you looked down on Lake Thun as a pagan god might survey his domain and felt slightly dizzy。
Finally； the Jungfraujoch terminus； an underground station where you first began to fe
