cb.coldheart canyon-第42部分

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　 He　gazed　weakly　down　at　the　splattered　whisky　and　meatballs　on　the　ground；　his　eyes　vaguely　prehending　the　intricacy　of　five　nails　that　were　driven　into　the　partially　rotted　wood　of　the　threshold。
　 Then；　from　the　darkness　on　the　other　side　of　the　threshold　there　came　a　soft；　infinitely　sorrowful　voice。　The　voice　of　a　lost　girl。
　 〃Let　me　in；〃　she　said。
　 Marco　looked　up；　his　head　still　spinning。　There　was　more　vomit　gurgling　in　his　belly；　he　could　feel　his　system　preparing　to　revolt　again。　He　tried　to　make　sense　of　the　girl　who　just　begged　entrance　to　the　house；　narrowing　his　eyes　to　see　if　he　could　separate　her　from　the　shadows。
　 There　she　was：　a　young　woman　with　a　face　that　his　sickened　eyes　could　not　entirely　fix　nor　be　certain　of；　but　who　seemed　to　be　more　than　passingly　pretty。　She　had　long　blonde　hair　and　pale；　almost　white；　skin；　and　as　suited　her　tone　of　supplication　she　was　on　her　knees；　her　pose　a　mirror　image　of　his　own。　She　was　wearing　what　appeared　to　be　a　man's　shirt；　which　was　unbuttoned。　Had　Marco　been　feeling　more　like　himself；　he　might　have　hoped　to　persuade　her　to　take　the　shirt　off　before　he　took　pity　on　her。　But　the　nausea　overwhelmed　all　other　responses：　the　girl's　near…nakedness　only　made　his　belly　churn　harder。　He　looked　away　from　her；　hoping　to　postpone　the　next　bout　of　vomiting　until　she　was　out　of　sight。　She　plainly　took　his　averted　eyes　as　a　sign　of　rejection。
　 〃Please。〃　she　said　to　him　again；　〃I　just　want　to　get　back　into　the　house。　You　have　to　help　me。〃
　 〃I'm　in　no　condition…〃　he　started；　looking　up　at　her　to　try　and　municate　with　the　expression　just　how　dire　he　felt；　but　the　few　words　he'd　begun　to　say　were　enough　to　bring　about　a　sudden　and　calamitous　change　in　her。
　 She　let　out　a　shriek　of　frustration　and　rage；　volume　and　shrillness　uncanny。　He　felt　his　gorge　rising；　and　as　the　woman's　din　reached　its　inhuman　height；　he　puked　up　what　was　left　of　his　dinner。
　 The　worst　was　over　now；　but　there　was　more　to　e　from　the　woman　outside。　Feeling　his　stomach　settling；　he　chanced　a　look　up　at　her。　It　was　an　error。　She　was　still　letting　out　the　remnants　of　that　godless　shriek　of　hers；　and　it　seemed…at　least　to　Marco's　sickened　and　bewildered　eyes…that　the　noise　was　taking　some　grotesque　toll　on　her　body。　Her　face…which　had　been　so　beautiful　just　minutes　before…had　bee　a　grey；　smeared　form：　her　forehead　swollen　so　that　she　looked　cretinous；　her　eyes　pulled　into　empty　slits；　her　mouth　running　with　saliva　from　its　turned　down　corners。　Her　oversized　shirt　of　hers　had　fallen　open　to　reveal　breasts　that　were　gray　scraps　of　dead　flesh；　hanging　on　the　cage　of　her　bones。　Beneath　them；　he　seemed　to　see　her　innards　in　frenzied　motion；　as　though　she　had　snakes　nesting　in　her。
　 It　was　too　much　for　Marco's　already　traumatized　senses。　He　didn't　give　any　further　thought　to　finding　Todd…Christ；　Todd　was　probably　part　of　this　insanity。
　 With　his　heels　sliding　in　the　mess　he'd　made；　he　hauled　himself　to　his　feet…half　expecting　the　abomination　on　the　other　side　of　the　threshold　to　e　after　him。　But　for　some　reason　she　kept　her　distance；　her　transformation　now　so　far　advanced　she　was　pletely　unrecognizable　as　the　woman　he'd　first　laid　eyes　on。
　 He　retreated　down　the　passageway…still　assuming　this　nightmare　might　e　after　him。　But　she　matched　his　retreat　with　one　of　her　own；　melting　into　the　shadows。　Marco　wasn't　reassured。　She'd　probably　gone　to　find　others；　he　didn't　want　to　be　here　when　they　came　back。　He　raced　into　the　kitchen　and　picked　up　his　car　keys；　which　were　on　the　table。　He　gave　a　moment's　consideration　to　the　possibility　of　lingering　to　wash　his　face　and　hands　（maybe　even　to　changing　his　puke…splattered　shirt）；　but　he　decided　to　forego　cleanliness　in　favour　of　making　a　fast　exit。
　
　 He　drove　down　the　serpentine　road　that　led　out　of　the　Canyon　as　if　he　were　being　pursued　by　a　horde　of　demon…women；　and　without　even　thinking　about　it　took　the　same　route　he'd　taken　with　Todd　countless　times：　up　onto　Mulholland　Drive。　He　opened　the　window　as　he　drove；　so　as　to　have　a　sobering　breeze　blowing　against　his　face；　but　it　had　very　little　effect。　There　was　too　much　alcohol　in　his　blood；　and　too　much　panic　inflaming　that　alcohol；　to　make　him　a　safe　driver　on　such　a　notoriously　tricky　and　dangerous　stretch　of　road。　He　didn't　care。　He　just　wanted　to　put　some　distance　between　himself　and　that　damn　Canyon　as　fast　as　possible。
　 On　one　of　the　hairpin　bends　his　clammy　hands　slid　on　the　wheel；　and　he　momentarily　lost　control　of　the　car。　He　was　a　good　enough　driver…even　in　his　present　state…to　recover　quickly；　and　things　might　have　been　fine　had　another　speed…freak　not　e　barreling　round　the　corner　in　the　opposite　direction。　The　other　driver　took　quick　evasive　action；　and　was　away　round　the　bend　before　Marco　lost　what　little　control　he　had。　The　wheel　slipped　through　his　hands；　and　his　drink…slurred　foot　was　too　slow　on　the　brake　to　stop　the　car　from　skewing　round；　squealing　loudly。　There　was　no　barrier　between　the　road　and　the　drop；　not　even　a　wooden　fence。　The　front　half　of　the　vehicle　went　over　the　edge；　and　there　it　lodged　for　a　moment；　finely　balanced　between　solid　asphalt　and　oblivion。　Marco　muttered　a　little　prayer；　but　God　wasn't　listening。　The　car　tripped　forward　and　slid　off　the　road　into　darkness。　It　was　a　straight　drop　of　perhaps　forty　or　fifty　feet。
　 The　vehicle　didn't　hit　solid　ground；　however。　It　fell　into　the　massive　boughs　of　a　sycamore　tree；　which　was　large　enough　to　hold　the　car；　nose　down；　in　its　branches。　Marco　was　thrown　against　the　windshield。　Through　it　he　could　see　the　yard　in　which　the　sycamore　stood。　There　was　a　party　going　on　down　there。　The　pool　was　illuminated：　its　bright　turquoise　water　twinkling。　Lanterns　hung　in　the　bushes　all　around；　swaying　in　the　breeze。　Marco　had　time　to　grasp　the　prettiness　of　all　this；　then　something　ignited　in　the　engine；　and　the　fume…filled　air　around　him　became　a　sheet　of　lurid　orange　flame。　It　enveloped　him　pletely；　the　first　burst　of　heat　enough　to　sear　the　clothes　from　his　body　and　set　his　hair　and　flesh　alight。
　 Blindly；　he　fumbled　for　the　handle　of　the　door；　and　pulled　on　it。　The　rush　of　air　only　excited　the　flames　further。　Through　the　stench　of　gasoline　and　burning　plastic　he　could　smell　the　sickening　tang　of　his　own　body　being　cooked。　Still　he　fought　to　escape；　and　gravity　was　on　his　side。　The　car　was　so　positioned　that　he　had　only　to　lean　forward　and　fall　out　through　the　open　door。　The　sycamore's　boughs　slowed　his　descent；　but　once　he　was　dear　of　them　there　was　an　eighteen　foot　drop　to　the　polished　Mexican　pavers　around　the　pool。
　 He　scarcely　felt　the　impact。　The　fire　had　pletely　traumatized　his　nerve…endings。　Nor　could　he　see　anything：　his　eyelids　had　been　fused　shut　by　the　heat。　He　could　still　hear；　though　he　wouldn't　make　much　sense　of　the　garbled　cries　of　the　people　who　had　gathered　to　witness　his　agonies。
　 There　was　one　person　in　the　crowd　who　was　willing　to　do　more　than　stand　and　watch　him　burn。　Marco　felt　arms　grab　hold　of　him；　heard　his　savior　yelling　something　about　the　pool。　Then　he　was　in　free…fall　again；　as　the　man　who'd　picked　him　up　threw　him　into　the　water。
　 The　flames　were　instantly　extinguished。　But　the　cure　was　too　much　for　his　flesh　to　endure。　The　sudden　shock　of　cold　after　the　blistering　heat　of　the　fire　sent　his　body　into　systemic　failure。
　 His　last　breath…a　bubble　of　heated　air…escaped　from　his　cooked　lungs。　Then　he　sank　to　the　bottom　of　the　pool。
　 Even　so；　the　people　around　the　pool　didn't　give　up　on　him。　Three　of　the　partygoers　dived　into　the　pool　and　brought　his　blackened；　fire…withered　body　up　from　the　bottom。　He　was　tenderly　rifted　onto　the　side　of　the　pool；　where　one　of　the　girls　attempted　to　breathe　some　life　back　into　him。　But　it　was　a　lost　cause。　The　man　who'd　made　such　a　dramatic　entrance　into　the　gathering　was　dead；　and　beyond　hope　of　saving。
　
　 This　was　not　quite　the　end　of　events　along　that　stretch　of　Mulholland　Drive；　however。
　 Just　a　few　hours　later；　as　the　first　light　of　dawn　was　breaking；　a　jogger；　who　ran　a　two…mile　route　along　the　Drive　daily；　rain　or　shine；　saw　a　light　on　the　road；　close　to　the　place　where　Marco's　tires　had　left　their　blackened　imprint　on　the　asphalt。　Apparently　aware　that　it　had　an　unwanted　witness；　the　mysterious　luminescence　rose　up　into　the　brightening　air　and　was　gone。
　 The　following　evening；　Paul　Booth；　the　man　who'd　had　the　courage　to　carry　the　burning　body　of　Marco　Caputo　to　the　pool…went　out　into　the　back　yard；　alone。　He　was　in　a　melancholy　state　of　mind。　The　party　he'd　thrown　the　previous　night　had　been　in　honour　of　his　little　sister's　sixteenth　birthday。　Some　celebration！　Alice　had　barely　stopped　crying　since。　He　could　hear　her　now；　sobbing　in　the　house。
　 He　took　out　the　half…smoked　reefer　he'd　been　saving　for　a　happier　occasion；　and　lit　it　up。　As　he　drew　on　the　pungent　smoke；　he　looked　up　and　saw　a　patch　of　luminous　air　lingering　at　the　edge　of　the　pool。　It　had　no　discernible　shape。　It　was　simply　a　gentle　brightness；　which　would　have　been　invisible　half　an　hour　before；　when　the　sun　had　still　been　up。　He　watched　the　brightness　as　it　hung　there　for　ten；　perhaps　fifteen　seconds；　then　he　nipped　out　his　reefer；　pocketed　it；　and　went　back　inside　to　find　someone　to　tell。　He　found　his　father；　and　together　they　emerged　into　the　backyard。
　 The　light　had　already　gone　from　beside　the　pool。
　 〃There！〃　Paul　said；　pointing　up　at　something　that　could　have　been　the　light　he'd　seen；　now　up　on　Mulholland　Drive。　But　it　could　just　as　easily　have　been　the　light　of　a　car　ing　round　the　treacherous　corner　of　the　road。　And　anyway；　it　had　gone　in　a　heartbeat；　leaving　both　father　and　son　doubting　what　they'd　seen。
　
　
　SIX
　 In　the　depths　of　the　Canyon；　no　more　than　half　a　mile　from　the　pool　and　the　lawn　and　the　tree　where　Ava　hung；　Tammy　lay　in　the　dirt；　and　waited　for　the　end。　She'd　done　all　she　could　do　to　survive：　she　had　eaten　berries　and　licked　the　dew　off　leaves；　she'd　fought　off　the　fever…dreams　which　threatened　to　claim　her　consciousness；　she'd　forced　herself　to　walk　when　she　had　no　strength　left　in　her　limbs。
　 It　had　tricks；　this　canyon：　ways　to　lead　you　round　and　round　in　circles；　so　that　you　burned　up　all　your　energies　ing　back　to　the　place　you'd　started　from。　It　put　colors　before　your　eyes　that　were　so　bewitching　that　you　ended　up　turning　round　and　round　on　the　spot　to　catch　them；　like　a　dog　chasing　its　own　tail。　And　sometimes　（this　was　its　cleverest　trick）　it　went　into　your　head　and　found　the　voices　there　that　were　most　forting；　then　made　them　call　to　you。　Arnie　（of　all　people　to　find　forting；　Mr。　Zero　Sperm　Count）；　and　the　man　who　used　to　do　her　dry…cleaning　in　Sacramento；　Mr。　O'Brien；　who'd　always　had　a　smile　and　a　wink　for　her；　and　Todd；　of　course；　her　beautiful　hero　Todd；　calling　out　to　her　just　to　make　her　stumble　a　few　more　steps。　She　hadn't　quite　believed　any　of　these　voices　were　real；　but　that　hadn't　stopped　her　following　them；　back　and　forth；　around　and　about…voices　and　colors…until　at　last　she　had　no　strength　left　in　her　body；　and　she　fell　down。
　 So　now　she　was　down；　and　she　was　too　weak　to　get　up　again；　too　damn　heavy　ever　to　get　her　fat　ass　up　and　moving。　At　the　back　of　her　head　was　the　fear　that　the　freaks　would　e　and　find　her。　But