sk.thetalisman-第159章
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
Now Gardener also began to grin。 'No；' he said。 'No。'
For the first time Morgan became aware of dull and throbbing pain in his hands。 He opened them and looked thoughtfully at the blood which flowed out of the deep semi…circular wounds in his palms。 His grin did not falter。 Indeed； it widened。
Gardener was staring at him solemnly。 A great sense of power filled Morgan。 He reached up to his neck and closed one bloody hand over the key that brought the lightning。
'It profits a man the world；' he whispered。 'Can you gimme hallelujah。'
His lips pulled even farther back。 He grinned the sick yellow grin of a rogue wolf…a wolf that is old but still sly and tenacious and powerful。
'e on； Gard；' he said。 'Let's go to the beach。'
CHAPTER 41
The Black Hotel
1
Richard Sloat wasn't dead； but when Jack picked his old friend up in his arms； he was unconscious。
Who's the herd now？ Wolf asked in his head。 Be careful； Jacky！ Wolf！ Be…
E TO ME！ E NOW！ the Talisman sang in its powerful； soundless voice。 E TO ME； BRING THE HERD； AND ALL WILL BE WELL AND ALL WILL BE WELL AND…
'…a' manner a' things wi' be well；' Jack croaked。
He started forward and came within an inch of stepping right back through the trapdoor； like a kid participating in some bizarre double execution by hanging。 Swing with a Friend； Jack thought crazily。 His heart was hammering in his ears； and for a moment he thought he might vomit straight down into the gray water slapping at the pilings。 Then he caught hold of himself and closed the trapdoor with his foot。 Now there was only the sound of the weathervanes…cabalistic brass designs spinning restlessly in the sky。
Jack turned toward the Agincourt。
He was on a wide deck like an elevated verandah； he saw。 Once； fashionable twenties and thirties folk had sat out here at the cocktail hour under the shade of umbrellas； drinking gin rickeys and sidecars； perhaps reading the latest Edgar Wallace or Ellery Queen novel； perhaps only looking out toward where Los Cavernes Island could be dimly glimpsed…a blue…gray whale's hump dreaming on the horizon。 The men in whites； the women in pastels。
Once； maybe。
Now the boards were warped and twisted and splintered。 Jack didn't know what color the deck had been painted before； but now it had gone black； like the rest of the hotel…the color of this place was the color he imagined the malignant tumors in his mother's lungs must be。
Twenty feet away were Speedy's 'window…doors；' through which guests would have passed back and forth in those dim old days。 They had been soaped over in wide white strokes so that they looked like blind eyes。
Written on one was：
YOUR LAST CHANCE TO GO HOME
Sound of the waves。 Sound of the twirling ironmongery on the angled roofs。 Stink of sea…salt and old spilled drinks…drinks spilled long ago by beautiful people who were now wrinkled and dead。 Stink of the hotel itself。 He looked at the soaped window again and saw with no real surprise that the message had already changed。
SHE'S ALREADY DEAD JACK SO WHY BOTHER？
（now who's the herd？）
'You are； Richie；' Jack said； 'but you ain't alone。'
Richard made a snoring； protesting sound in Jack's arms。 'e on；' Jack said； and began to walk。 'One more mile。 Give or take。'
2
The soaped…over windows actually seemed to widen as Jack walked toward the Agincourt； as if the black hotel were now regarding him with blind but contemptuous surprise。
Do you really think； little boy； that you can e in here and really hope to ever e out？ Do you think there's really that much Jason in you？
Red sparks； like those he had seen in the air； flashed and twisted across the soaped glass。 For a moment they took form。 Jack watched； wondering； as they became tiny fire…imps。 They skated down to the brass handles of the doors and converged there。 The handles began to glow dully； like a smith's iron in the forge。
Go on； little boy。 Touch one。 Try。
Once； as a kid of six； Jack had put his finger on the cold coil of an electric range and had then turned the control knob onto the HIGH setting。 He had simply been curious about how fast the burner would heat up。 A second later he had pulled his finger； already blistering； away with a yell of pain。 Phil Sawyer had e running； taken a look； and had asked Jack when he had started to feel this weird pulsion to burn himself alive。
Jack stood with Richard in his arms； looking at the dully glowing handles。
Go on； little boy。 Remember how the stove burned？ You thought you'd have plenty of time to pull your finger off…'Hell；' you thought； 'the thing doesn't even start to get red for almost a minute'…but it burned right away； didn't it？ Now； how do you think this is going to feel； Jack？
More red sparks skated liquidly down the glass to the handles of the French doors。 The handles began to take on the delicate red…edged…with…white look of metal which is no more than six degrees from turning molten and starting to drip。 If he touched one of those handles it would sink into his flesh； charring tissue and boiling blood。 The agony would be like nothing he had ever felt before。
He waited for a moment with Richard in his arms； hoping the Talisman would call him again； or that the 'Jason…side' of him would surface。 But it was his mother's voice that rasped in his head。
Has something or someone always got to push you； Jack…O？ e on； big guy…you set this going by yourself； you can keep going if you really want to。 Has that other guy got to do everything for you？
'Okay； Mom；' Jack said。 He was smiling a little； but his voice was trembling with fright。 'Here's one for you。 I just hope someone remembered to pack the Solarcaine。'
He reached out and grasped one of the red…hot handles。
Except it wasn't； the whole thing had been an illusion。 The handle was warm； but that was all。 As Jack turned it； the red glow died from all the handles。 And as he pushed the glass door inward； the Talisman sang out again； bringing gooseflesh out all over his body：
WELL DONE！ JASON！ TO ME！ E TO ME！
With Richard in his arms； Jack stepped into the dining room of the black hotel。
3
As he crossed the threshold； he felt an inanimate force…something like a dead hand…try to shove him back out。 Jack pushed against it； and a second or two later； that feeling of being repelled ceased。
The room was not particularly dark…but the soaped windows gave it a monochrome whiteness Jack did not like。 He felt fogged in； blind。 Here were yellow smells of decay inside walls where the plaster was slowly turning to a vile soup： the smells of empty age and sour darkness。 But there was more here； and Jack knew it and feared it。
Because this place was not empty。
Exactly what manner of things might be here he did not know…but he knew that Sloat had never dared to e in； and he guessed that no one else would； either。 The air was heavy and unpleasant in his lungs； as if filled with a slow poison。 He felt the strange levels and canted passageways and secret rooms and dead ends above him pressing down like the walls of a great and plex crypt。 There was madness here； and walking death； and gibbering irrationality。 Jack might not have had the words to express these things； but he felt them； all the same 。 。 。 he knew them for what they were。 Just as he knew that all the Talismans in the cosmos could not protect him from those things。 He had entered a strange； dancing ritual whose conclusion； he felt； was not at all pre…ordained。
He was on his own。
Something tickled against the back of his neck。 Jack swept his hand at it and skittered to one side。 Richard moaned thickly in his arms。
It was a large black spider hanging on a thread。 Jack looked up and saw its web in one of the stilled overhead fans； tangled in a dirty snarl between the hardwood blades。 The spider's body was bloated。 Jack could see its eyes。 He couldn't remember ever having seen a spider's eyes before。 Jack began to edge around the hanging spider toward the tables。 The spider turned at the end of its thread； following him。
'Fushing feef！'
