dk.coldfire-第44章
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She believed him； and her instincts proved reliable。 They sat at the bar together for a couple of hours； chatting about movies and television shows； edians and singers； weather and food； never touching on politics； plane crashes； or the cares of the world。 To her surprise； she drank three beers and felt nothing but a light buzz： 〃Howie；〃 she said quite seriously when she left him； 〃I'll be grateful to you for the rest of my life。〃
She returned to her room alone； undressed； slid under the sheets； and felt sleep stealing over her even as she put her head on the pillow。
Pulling the covers around her to ward off the chill of the air conditioner； she spoke in a voice slurred more by exhaustion than by beer： 〃Snuggle down in my cocoon； be a butterfly soon。〃 Wondering where that had e from and what she meant by it； she fell asleep。
Whoosh； whoosh； whoosh； whoosh； whoosh。 。 。
Though she was in the stone…walled room again； the dream was different in many ways from what it had been previously。 For one thing； she was not blind。 A fat yellow candle stood in a blue dish； and its dancing orange flame revealed stone walls； windows as narrow as embrasures； a wooden floor； a turning shaft that came through the ceiling above and disappeared through a hole into the room below； and a heavy door of iron…bound timbers。 Somehow she knew that she was in the upper chamber of an old windmill； that the sound…whoosh； whoosh； whoosh…was produced by the mill's giant sails cutting the turbulent night wind； and that beyond the door lay curved limestone steps that led down to the milling room。
Though she was standing when the dream began； circumstances changed with a ripple； and she was suddenly sitting； though not in an ordinary chair。
She was in an airline seat； belted in place； and when she turned her head to the left； she saw Jim Ironheart seated beside her。 〃This old mill won't make it to Chicago；〃 he said solemnly。 And it seemed quite logical that they were flying in that stone structure； lifted by its four giant woodslat sails the way an airliner was kept aloft by its jets or propellers。 〃We'll survive； though…won't we？〃 she asked。 Before her eyes； Jim faded and was replaced by a ten…year…old boy。 She marveled at this magic。 Then she decided that the boy's thick brown hair and electric…blue eyes meant he was Jim from another time。
According to the liberal rules of dreams； that made his transformation less magical and； in fact； altogether logical。 The boy said； 〃We'll survive if it doesn't e。〃 And she said； 〃What is it？〃 And he said； 〃The Enemy。〃 Around them the mill seemed to respond to his last two words； flexing and contracting； pulsing like flesh； just as her motel…room wall in Laguna Hills had bulged with malevolent life last night。 She thought she glimpsed a monstrous face and form taking its substance from the very limestone。 〃We'll die here；〃 the boy said； 〃we'll all die here；〃 and he seemed almost to wele the creature that was trying to e out of the wall。 WHOOSH！ Holly came awake with a start； as she had at some point during each of the past three nights。 But this time no element of the dream followed her into the real world； and she was not terrified as she had been before。
Afraid； yes。 But it was a low…grade fear； more akin to disquiet than to hysteria。
More important； she rose from the dream with a buoyant sense of liberation。 Instantly awake； she sat up in bed； leaned back against the headboard； and folded her arms across her bare breasts。 She was shivering neither with fear nor because of a chill； but with excitement。
Earlier in the night； tongue lubricated by beer； she had spoken a truth as she had slipped off the precipice of sleep： 〃Snuggle down in my cocoon； be a butterfly soon。〃 Now she knew what she had meant； and she understood the changes that she had been going through ever since she had stumbled onto Ironheart's secret； changes that she had only begun to realize were under way when she had been in the VIP lounge at the airport after the crash。
She was never going back to the Portland Press She was never going to work on a newspaper again。
She was finished as a reporter。
That was why she had overreacted to Anlock； the CNN reporter at the airport。 Loathing him； she was nevertheless eaten by guilt on a subconscious level because he was chasing a major story that she was ignoring even though she was a part of it。 If she was a reporter； she should have been interviewing her fellow survivors and rushing to write it up for the Press。 No such desire touched her； however； not even for a fleeting moment； so she took the raw cloth of her subconscious self disgust and tailored a suit of rage with enormous shoulders and wide； wide lapels； then she dressed herself in it and strutted and seethed for the CNN camera； all in a frantic attempt to deny that she didn't care about journalism any more and that she was going to walk away from a career and a mitment that she had once thought would last all her life。
Now she got out of bed and paced； too excited to sit still。
She was finished as a reporter。
Finished。
She was free。 As a working…class kid from a powerless family； she had been obsessed by a lifelong need to feel important； included； a real insider。
As a bright child who grew into a brighter woman； she had been puzzled by the apparent disorderliness of life； and she had been pelled to explain it as best she could with the inadequate tools of journalism。
Ironically； the dual quest for acceptance and explanations…which had driven her to work and study seventy… and eighty…hour weeks for as long as she could remember…had left her rootless； with no significant lover； no children； no real friends； and no more answers to the difficult questions of life than those with which she had started。 Now she was suddenly free of those needs and obsessions； no longer concerned about belonging to any elite club or explaining human behavior。
She had thought she hated journalism。 She didn't。
What she hated was her failure at it； and she had failed because journalism had never been the right thing for her。
To understand herself and break the bonds of habit； all she had needed was to meet a man who could work miracles； and survive a devastating airline tragedy。
〃Such a flexible woman； Thorne；〃 she said aloud； mocking herself。
〃So insightful。〃
Why； good heavens； if meeting Jim Ironheart and walking away from a plane crash hadn't made her see the light； then surely she'd have figured it out just as soon as Jiminy Cricket rang her doorbell and sang a cleverly rhymed lesson…teaching song about the differences between wise and stupid choices in life。
She laughed。 She pulled a blanket off the bed； wound it around her nude body； sat in one of the two armchairs； drew her legs up under her； and laughed as she had not laughed since she had been a giddy teenager。
No； that was where the problem began： she had never been giddy。
She had been a serious…minded teenager； already hooked on current events； worried about World War III because they told her she was likely to die in a nuclear holocaust before she graduated from high school； worried about overpopulation because they told her that famine would claim one and a half billion lives by 1990； cutting the world population in half； decimating even the United States； worried because man…made pollution was causing the planet to cool down drastically； insuring another ice age that would destroy civilization within her own lifetime which was front…page news in the late seventies； before the Greenhouse Effect and worries about planetary warming。 She had spent her adolescence and early adulthood worrying too much and enjoying too little。 Without joy； she had lost perspective and had allowed every news sensation…some based on genuine problems； some entirely fraudulent…to consume her。
Now she laughed like a kid。 Until they hit puberty and a tide of hormones washed them into a new existence； kids knew that life was scary； yeah； dark and strange； but they also knew that it was silly； that it was meant to be fun； that it was an adventurous journey down a long road of time to an unknown destination in a far and wondrous place。
Ho
