dk.solesurvivor-第55部分

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　　At　the　penultimate　moment；　the　girl　had　transported　them　out　of　the　doomed　aircraft　by　a　monumental　exertion　of　her　psychic　gift；　to　another　place；　to　a　dimension　outside　of　space　and　time；　and　had　held　them　in　that　mysterious　sheltering　limbo　through　one　terrible　minute　of　cataclysmic　destruction。　The　effort　has　left　21…21　cold；　shaking；　and　unable　to　speak。　Her　eyes；　bright　with　reflections　of　the　many　surrounding　fires；　have　a　faraway　look　like　those　of　an　autistic　child。　Initially　she　cannot　walk　or　even　stand；　so　Rose　must　lift　her　from　the　seat　and　carry　her。
　　Weeping　for　the　dead　scattered　through　the　night；　shuddering　with　horror　at　the　carnage；　wonderstruck　by　her　survival；　slammed　by　a　hurricane　of　emotion；　Rose　stands　with　the　girl　cradled　in　her　arms　but　is　unable　to　take　a　single　step。　Then　she　recalls　the　flickering　passenger…cabin　lights　and　the　spinning　of　the　hands　on　her　wristwatch；　and　she　is　certain　that　the　pilot　was　the　victim　of　a　wet　mission；　remoted　by　the　boy　who　lives　in　a　steel　capsule　deep　below　the　Virginia　countryside。　This　realization　propels　her　away　from　the　crash　site；　around　the　burning　trees；　into　the　moonlit　forest；　wading　through　straggly　underbrush；　then　along　a　deer　trail　powdered　with　silver　light　and　dappled　with　shadow；　to　another　meadow；　to　a　ridge　from　which　she　sees　the　lights　of　Loose　Change　Ranch。
　　By　the　time　they　reach　the　ranch　house；　the　girl　is　somewhat　recovered　but　still　not　herself。　She　is　able　to　walk　now；　but　she　is　lethargic；　brooding；　distant。　Approaching　the　house；　Rose　tells　21…21　to　remember　that　her　name　is　Mary　Tucker；　but　21…21　says；　My　name　is　Nina。　That's　who　I　want　to　be。
　　Those　are　the　last　words　that　she　will　speak…perhaps　forever。　In　the　months　immediately　following　the　crash；　having　taken　refuge　with　Rose's　friends　in　Southern　California；　the　girl　sleeps　twelve　to　fourteen　hours　a　day。　When　she's　awake；　she　shows　no　interest　in　anything。　She　sits　for　hours　staring　out　a　window　or　at　a　picture　in　a　storybook；　or　at　nothing　in　particular。　She　has　no　appetite！　loses　weight。　She　is　pale　and　frail；　and　even　her　amethyst　eyes　seem　to　lose　some　of　their　colour。　Evidently；　the　effort　required　to　move　herself　and　Rose　into　and　out　of　the　blue　elsewhere；　during　the　crash；　has　profoundly　drained　her；　perhaps　nearly　killed　her。　Nina　exhibits　no　paranormal　abilities　any　more；　and　Rose　dwells　in　despondency。
　　By　Christmas；　however；　Nina　begins　to　show　interest　in　the　world　around　her。　She　watches　television。　She　reads　books　again。　As　the　winter　passes；　she　sleeps　less　and　eats　more。　Her　skin　regains　its　former　glow；　and　the　colour　of　her　eyes　deepens。　She　still　does　not　speak；　but　she　seems　increasingly　connected。　Rose　encourages　her　to　e　all　the　way　back　from　her　self…imposed　exile　by　speaking　to　her　every　day　about　the　good　that　she　can　do　and　the　hope　that　she　can　bring　to　others。
　　In　a　bureau　drawer　in　the　bedroom　that　she　shares　with　the　girl；　Rose　keeps　a　copy　of　the　Los　Angeles　Post；　the　issue　that　devotes　the　entire　front　page；　above　the　fold；　to　the　fate　of　Nationwide　Flight　353。　It　helps　to　remind　her　of　the　insane　viciousness　of　her　enemies。　One　day　in　July；　eleven　months　after　the　disaster；　she　finds　Nina　sitting　on　the　edge　of　the　bed　with　this　newspaper　open　to　a　page　featuring　photographs　of　some　of　the　victims　of　the　crash。　The　girl　is　touching　the　photo　of　Nina　Carpenter；　who　had　given　her　Pigs　and　Princes；　and　she　is　smiling。
　　Rose　sits　beside　her　and　asks　if　she　is　feeling　sad；　remembering　this　lost　friend。
　　The　girl　shakes　her　head　no。　Then　she　guides　Rose's　hand　to　the　photograph；　and　when　Rose's　fingertips　touch　the　newsprint；　she　falls　away　into　a　blue　brightness　not　unlike　the　sanctuary　into　which　she　was　transported　in　the　instant　before　the　plane　crash；　except　that　this　is　also　a　place　full　of　motion；　warmth；　sensation。
　　Clairvoyants　have　long　claimed　to　feel　a　residue　of　psychic　energy　on　mon　objects；　left　by　the　people　who　have　touched　them。　Sometimes　they　assist　police　in　the　search　for　a　murderer　by　handling　objects　worn　by　the　victim　at　the　time　of　the　assault。　This　energy　in　the　Post　photograph　is　similar　but　different…left　not　in　passing　by　Nina　but　imbued　in　the　newsprint　by　an　act　of　will。
　　Rose　feels　as　if　she　has　plunged　into　a　sea　of　blue　light；　a　sea　crowded　with　swimmers　whom　she　cannot　see　but　whom　she　feels　gliding　and　swooping　around　her。　Then　one　swimmer　seems　to　pass　through　Rose　and　to　linger　in　the　passing；　and　she　knows　that　she　is　with　little　Nina　Carpenter；　the　girl　with　the　lopsided　smile；　the　giver　of　Pigs　and　Princes；　who　is　dead　and　gone　but　safe；　dead　and　gone　but　not　lost　forever；　happy　and　alive　in　an　elsewhere　beyond　this　swarming　blue　brightness；　which　is　not　really　a　place　itself　but　an　interface　between　phases　of　existence。
　　Moved　almost　as　deeply　as　she　had　been　when　she　was　first　given　the　knowledge　of　the　afterlife；　in　the　room　at　the　orphanage；　Rose　withdraws　her　hand　from　the　photo　of　Nina　Carpenter　and　sits　silently　for　a　while；　humbled。　Then　she　takes　her　own　Nina　into　her　arms　and　holds　the　girl　tightly　and　rocks　her；　neither　capable　of　speaking　nor　in　need　of　words。
　　Now　that　this　special　girl's　power　is　being　reborn；　Rose　knows　what　they　must　do；　where　they　must　start　their　work。　She　does　not　want　to　risk　going　to　Lisa　Peccatone　again。　She　doesn't　believe　that　her　old　friend　knowingly　betrayed　her；　but　she　suspects　that　through　Lisa's　link　to　the　Post…and　through　the　Post　to　Horton　Nellor…the　people　at　Project　99　learned　of　her　presence　on　Flight　353。　While　Rose　and　Nina　are　believed　dead；　they　need　to　take　advantage　of　their　ghostly　status　to　operate　as　long　as　possible　without　drawing　the　attention　of　their　enemies。　First；　Rose　asks　the　girl　to　give　the　great　gift　of　eternal　truth　to　each　of　the　friends　who　has　sheltered　them　during　these　eleven　months　in　their　emotional　wilderness。　Then　they　will　contact　the　husbands　and　wives　and　parents　and　children　of　those　who　perished　on　Flight　353；　bringing　them　both　the　received　knowledge　of　immortality　and　visions　of　their　loved　ones　at　the　blue　interface。　With　luck；　they　will　spread　their　message　so　widely　by　the　time　they　are　discovered　that　it　cannot　be　contained。
　　Rose　intends　to　start　with　Joe　Carpenter；　but　she　can't　locate　him。　His　co…workers　at　the　Post　have　lost　track　of　him。　He　has　sold　the　house　in　Studio　City。　He　has　no　listed　phone。　They　say　he　is　a　broken　man。　He　has　gone　away　to　die。
　　She　must　begin　the　work　elsewhere。
　　Because　the　Post　published　photographs　of　only　a　fraction　of　the　Southern　California　victims　and　because　she　has　no　easy　way　to　gather　photos　of　the　many　others；　Rose　decides　not　to　use　portraits；　after　all。　Instead；　she　tracks　down　their　burial　places　through　published　funeral…service　notices；　and　she　takes　snapshots　of　their　graves。　It　seems　fitting　that　the　imbued　image　should　be　of　a　headstone；　that　these　grim　memorials　of　bronze　and　granite　should　bee　doorways　through　which　the　recipients　of　the　pictures　will　learn　that　Death　is　not　mighty　and　dreadful；　that　beyond　this　bitter　phase；　Death　himself　dies。
　　
　　High　in　the　wind…churned　mountains；　with　waves　of　moon…silvered　conifers　casting　sprays　of　needles　onto　the　roadway；　still　more　than　twenty　miles　from　Big　Bear　Lake；　Rose　Tucker　spoke　so　softly　that　she　could　barely　be　heard　over　the　racing　engine　and　the　hum　of　the　tyres：　'Joe；　will　you　hold　my　hand？'
　　He　could　not　look　at　her；　would　not　look　at　her；　dared　not　even　glance　at　her　for　a　second；　because　he　was　overe　by　the　childish　superstition　that　she　would　be　all　right；　perfectly　fine；　as　long　as　he　didn't　visually　confirm　the　terrible　truth　that　he　heard　in　her　voice。　But　he　looked。　She　was　so　small；　slumped　in　her　seat；　leaning　against　the　door；　the　back　of　her　head　against　the　window；　as　small　to　his　eyes　as　21…21　must　have　appeared　to　her　when　she　had　fled　Virginia　with　the　girl　at　her　side。　Even　in　the　faint　glow　from　the　instrument　panel；　her　huge　and　expressive　eyes　were　again　as　pelling　as　they　had　been　when　he'd　first　met　her　in　the　graveyard；　full　of　passion　and　kindness…and　a　strange　glimmering　joy　that　scared　him。
　　His　voice　was　shakier　than　hers。　'It's　not　far　now。'
　　'Too　far；'　she　whispered。　'Just　hold　my　hand。'
　　'Oh；　shit。'
　　'It's　all　right；　Joe。'
　　The　shoulder　of　the　highway　widened　to　a　scenic　rest　area。　He　stopped　the　car　before　a　vista　of　darkness：　the　hard　night　sky；　the　icy　disc　of　a　moon　that　seemed　to　shed　cold　instead　of　light；　and　a　vast　blackness　of　trees　and　rocks　and　canyons　descending。
　　
　　He　released　his　seat　belt；　leaned　across　the　console；　and　took　her　hand。　Her　grip　was　weak。
　　'She　needs　you；　Joe。'
　　'I'm　nobody's　hero；　Rose。　I'm　nothing。'
　　'You　need　to　hide　her。。。　hide　her　away。。。'
　　'Rose…'
　　'Give　her　time　。　。　。　for　her　power　to　grow。'
　　'I　can't　save　anyone。'
　　'I　shouldn't　have　started　the　work　so　soon。　The　day　will　e　when。。。　when　she　won't　be　so　vulnerable。　Hide　her　away。。。　let　her　power　grow。　She'll　know。。。　when　the　time　has　e。'
　　She　began　to　lose　her　grip　on　him。
　　He　covered　her　hand　with　both　of　his；　held　it　fast；　would　not　let　it　slip　from　his　grasp。
　　Voice　ravelling　away；　she　seemed　to　be　receding　from　him　though　she　did　not　move：　'Open。　。　。　open　your　heart　to　her；　Joe。'
　　Her　eyelids　fluttered。
　　'Rose；　please　don't。'
　　'It's　all　right。'
　　'Please。　Don't。'
　　'See　you　later；　Joe。'
　　'Please。'
　　'See　you。'
　　Then　he　was　alone　in　the　night。　He　held　her　small　hand　alone　in　the　night　while　the　wind　played　a　hollow　threnody。　When　at　last　he　was　able　to　do　so；　he　kissed　her　brow。
　　
　　The　directions　Rose　had　given　him　were　easy　to　follow。　The　cabin　was　neither　in　the　town　of　Big　Bear　Lake　nor　elsewhere　along　the　lake　front；　but　higher　on　the　northern　slopes　and　nestled　deep　in　pines　and　birches。　The　cracked　and　potholed　blacktop　led　to　a　dirt　driveway；　at　the　end　of　which　was　a　small　white　clapboard　house　with　a　shake…shingle　roof。
　　A　green　Jeep　Wagoneer　stood　beside　the　cabin。　Joe　parked　behind　the　Jeep。
　　The　cabin　boasted　a　deep；　elevated　porch；　on　which　three　cane　backed　rocking　chairs　were　arranged　side　by　side。　A　handsome　black　man；　tall　and　athletically　built；　stood　at　the　railing；　his　ebony　skin　highlighted　with　a　brass　tint　cast　by　two　bare；　yellow　light　bulbs　in　the　porch　ceiling。
　　The　girl　waited　at　the　head　of　the　flight　of　four　steps　that　led　up　from　the　driveway　to　the　porch。　She　was　blond　and　about　six　years　old。
　　From　under　the　driver's　seat；　Joe　retrieved　the　gun　that　he　had　taken　from　the　white…haired　storyteller　after　the　scuffle　on　the　beach。　Getting　out　of　the　car；　he　tucked　the　weapon　under　the　waistband　of　his　jeans。
　　The　wind　shrieked　and　hissed　through　the　needled　teeth　of　the　pines。
　　He　walked　to　the　foot　of　the　steps。
　　The　child　had　descended　two　of　the　four　treads。　She　stared　past　Joe；　at　the　Ford。　She　knew　what　had　happened。
　　On　the　porch；　the　black　man　began　to　cry。
　　The　girl　spoke　for　the　first　time　in　over　a　year；　since　the　moment　outside　the　Ealings'　ranch　house　when　she　had　told　Rose　that　she　wanted　to　be　called　Nina。　Gazing　at　the　car；　she　said　only　one　word　in　a　voice