cb.damnationgame-第88章

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ormation。　He　didn't　want　to　see　you　curl　up　and　die。〃　〃I'm　not　going　to　die！〃　the　old　man　…snapped。　〃Mamoulian's　the　one　who'll　die。　You'll　see。　He's　running　out　of　time。　All　I　have　to　do　is　wait。　Here's　as　good　a　place　as　any。　I'm　very　fortable。　Except　for　Carys。　I　miss　her。　Why　don't　you　send　her　to　me；　Marty？　Now　that　would　be　most　wele。〃　〃You'll　never　see　her　again。〃　Whitehead　sighed。　〃Oh；　yes；〃　he　said；　〃she'll　be　back　when　she's　tired　of　you。　When　she　needs　someone　who　really　appreciates　her　stony　heart。　You'll　see。　Well　。　。　。　thank　you　for　calling。　Goodnight；　Marty。〃　〃Wait。〃　〃I　said　goodnight。〃
　　〃。　。　。　I've　got　questions　。　。　。〃　Marty　began。
　　〃Questions；　questions　。　。　。〃　the　voice　was　already　receding。　Marty　pressed　closer　to　the　door　to　offer　his　final　sliver　of　bait。　〃We　found　out　who　the　European　is；　what　he　is！〃　But　there　was　no　reply。　He'd　lost　Whitehead's　attention。　It　was　fruitless　anyway；　he　knew。　There　was　no　wisdom　to　be　got　here；　just　a　drunken　old　man　replaying　his　old　power　games。　Somewhere　deep　inside　the　penthouse　suite　a　door　closed。　All　contact　between　the　two　men　was　summarily　severed。
　　Marty　descended　the　two　flights　of　stairs　back　to　the　open　fire　door；　and　left　the　building　by　the　route　he'd　entered。　After　the　smell　of　dead　fire　inside；　even　the　highway…tainted　air　smelled　light　and　new。
　　He　stood　for　several　minutes　on　the　escape　and　watched　the　traffic　passing　along　the　highway；　his　attention　pleasantly　diverted　by　the　spectacle　of　lane…hopping　muters。　Below；　two　dogs　fought　among　the　refuse；　bored　with　rape。　None　of　them　cared；　drivers　or　dogs；　about　the　fall　of　potentates：　why　should　he？　Whitehead；　like　the　hotel；　was　a　lost　cause。　He'd　done　his　best　to　salvage　the　old　man　and　failed。　Now　he　and　Carys　would　slip　away　into　a　new　life；　and　let　Whitehead　make　whatever　arrangements　for　cessation　he　chose。　Let　him　slit　his　wrists　in　a　stupor　of　remorse；　or　choke　on　vomit　in　his　sleep：　Marty　was　past　caring。
　　He　climbed　down　the　escape　and　scrambled　onto　the　table；　then　crossed　the　wasteland　to　the　car；　glancing　back　only　once　to　see　if　Whitehead　was　watching。　Needless　to　say；　the　upper　windows　were　blank。
　　
　　68
　　When　they　got　to　Caliban　Street　the　girl　was　still　so　high　on　her　delayed　fix　it　was　difficult　to　municate　through　her　chemically　elated　senses。　The　European　left　the　evangelists　to　do　the　cleaning　up　and　burning　he'd　instructed　Breer　to　do；　and　escorted　Carys　to　the　room　on　the　top　floor。　There　he　set　about　persuading　her　to　find　her　father；　and　quickly。　At　first　the　drug　in　her　just　smiled　at　him。　His　frustration　began　to　curdle　into　anger。　When　she　started　to　laugh　at　his　threats…that　slow；　rootless　laughter　that　was　so　like　the　pilgrim's　laugh；　as　if　she　knew　some　joke　about　him　that　she　wasn't　telling…his　control　snapped　and　he　unleashed　a　nightmare　of　such　unrestrained　viciousness　upon　her　its　crudity　disgusted　him　almost　as　much　as　it　terrorized　her。　She　watched　in　disbelief　as　the　same　tide　of　muck　that　he'd　conjured　in　the　bathroom　dribbled　and　then　gushed　from　her　own　body。　〃Take　it　away；〃　she　told　him；　but　he　only　increased　the　pitch　of　the　illusion；　until　her　lap　squirmed　with　monstrosities。　Abruptly；　her　drug　bubble　burst。　A　gleam　of　insanity　crept　into　her　eyes　as　she　cowered　in　the　corner　of　the　room；　while　the　things　came　from　her　every　orifice；　struggling　to　work　their　way　out；　then　clinging　to　her　with　whatever　limbs　his　invention　had　supplied。　She　was　within　a　hairbreadth　of　madness；　but　he'd　gone　too　far　to　withdraw　the　assault　now；　repelled　though　he　was　by　its　depravity。
　　〃Find　the　pilgrim；〃　he　told　her；　〃and　all　this　vanishes。〃　〃Yes；　yes；　yes；〃　she　pleaded；　〃whatever　you　want。〃　He　stood　and　watched　while　she　obeyed　his　demands；　flinging　herself　into　that　same　fugue　state　she'd　achieved　when　pursuing　Toy。　It　took　her　longer　to　find　the　pilgrim；　however；　so　long　that　the　European　began　to　suspect　she'd　canceled　all　link　with　her　body；　and　left　it　to　his　devices　rather　than　reenter　it。　But　she　finally　returned。　She　had　found　him　at　a　hotel　no　less　than　half　an　hour's　drive　from　Caliban　Street。　Mamoulian　was　not　surprised。　It　was　not　in　the　nature　of　foxes　to　travel　far　from　their　natural　habitat；　Whitehead　had　simply　gone　to　ground。
　　Wrung　out　by　the　journey　and　the　fear　that　had　propelled　her；　Carys　was　half…carried　down　the　stairs　by　Chad　and　Tom　and　out　to　the　waiting　car。　The　European　made　one　farewell　circuit　of　the　house；　to　see　that　any　sign　of　his　presence　there　had　been　removed。　The　girl　in　the　cellar；　and　Breer's　detritus；　could　not　be　cleared　at　such　short　notice；　but　that　was　a　nicety。　Let　those　who　came　after　construe　what　they　liked　from　the　atrocity　photographs　on　the　wall　and　the　bottles　of　perfume　so　lovingly　arranged。　All　that　mattered　was　that　evidence　of　his；　the　European's；　existence　here…or　indeed　anywhere…be　thoroughly　effaced。　Soon　he　would　be　rumor　again；　gossip　among　the　haunted　people。
　　〃Time　to　go；〃　he　said　as　he　locked　the　door。　〃The　Deluge　is　almost　upon　us。〃
　　
　　Now；　as　they　drove；　Carys　was　beginning　to　find　some　strength。　Balmy　air　through　the　front　window　caressed　her　face。　She　opened　her　eyes　fractionally；　and　cast　them　in　the　direction　of　the　European。　He　was　not　looking　her　way；　he　was　staring　out　of　the　window；　that　aristocratic　profile　of　his　made　blander　than　ever　by　fatigue。
　　She　wondered　how　her　father　would　fare　in　the　approaching　endgame。　He　was　old；　but　Mamoulian　was　vastly　older；　was　age；　in　this　confrontation；　an　advantage　or　a　disadvantage？　Suppose…the　thought　occurred　to　her　for　the　first　time…they　were　equally　matched？　Suppose　the　game　they　were　playing　ended　without　defeat　or　victory　on　either　side？　Just　a　twentieth…century　conclusion…all　ambiguities。　She　didn't　want　that：　she　wanted　finality。
　　Whichever　way　it　went　she　knew　there　was　small　chance　of　her　survival　in　the　ing　Deluge。　Only　Marty　could　tip　the　balance　in　her　favor；　and　where　was　he　now？　If　he　returned　to　Kilburn　and　found　it　deserted；　mightn't　he　assume　she'd　left　him　of　her　own　accord？　She　couldn't　predict　the　way　he'd　jump；　that　he　was　capable　of　the　blackmail　with　the　heroin　had　e　as　a　shock。　One　desperate　maneuver　remained　a　possibility：　to　think　her　way　to　him　and　tell　him　where　she　was；　and　why。　There　were　risks　in　such　a　gambit。　Catching　stray　thoughts　from　him　was　one　thing…it　was　no　more　than　a　parlor　trick…but　attempting　to　push　her　way　into　his　head　and　municate　with　him　consciously；　mind　to　mind；　would　require　more　mental　muscle。　Even　assuming　she　had　the　strength　to　do　it；　what　would　the　consequences　of　such　an　intrusion　be　for　Marty？　She　pondered　the　dilemma　in　a　daze　of　anxiety；　knowing　the　minutes　were　ticking　by；　and　soon　it　would　be　too　late　for　any　escape　attempt；　however　desperate。
　　
　　Marty　was　driving　south　toward　Cricklewood　when　a　pain　began　at　the　nape　of　his　neck。　It　spread　rapidly　up　and　over　his　skull；　escalating　within　two　minutes　to　a　headache　of　unparalleled　proportions。　His　instinct　was　to　pick　up　speed　and　get　back　to　Kilburn　as　quickly　as　possible；　but　the　Finchley　Road　was　heavily　trafficked；　and　all　he　could　do　was　edge　along　with　the　flow；　the　pain　worsening　every　ten　yards。　His　consciousness…increasingly　preoccupied　with　the　upward　spiral　of　pain…focused　on　smaller　and　yet　smaller　bits　of　information；　his　perception　narrowing　to　a　pinprick。　Ahead　of　the　Citro？n　the　road　was　a　blur。　He　was　almost　blinded；　and　a　collision　with　a　refrigerated　meat　truck　was　only　prevented　by　the　skill　of　the　other　driver。　He　realized　that　driving　any　further　could　be　fatal；　so　he　edged　out　of　the　traffic　as　best　he　could…horns　blaring　front　and　behind…and　parked；　inelegantly；　at　the　side　of　the　road；　then　stumbled　out　of　the　car　to　get　some　air。　pletely　disoriented；　he　stepped　straight　into　the　middle　of　the　traffic。　The　lights　of　the　oning　vehicles　were　a　wall　of　strobing　colors。　He　felt　his　knees　about　to　buckle　and　only　prevented　himself　from　collapsing　in　front　of　the　traffic　by　hanging　on　to　the　open　car　door　and　hauling　himself　around　the　front　of　the　Citro？n　to　the　parative　safety　of　the　pavement。
　　A　single　drop　of　rain　fell　on　his　hand。　He　peered　at　it；　concentrating　to　brin