cb.booksofblood-第18部分

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　　His　small　body　was　rigid；　and　it　was　all　Redman　could　do　to　prize　his　limbs　apart。　With　little　words　of　care；　he　coaxed　the　boy　to　his　feet　as　the　smoke　began　to　swirl　into　the　pig…house。
　　〃e　on；　it's　all　right；　e　on。〃　He　stood　upright　and　something　brushed　his　hair。　Redman　felt　a　little　rain　of　worms　across　his　face　and　glanced　up　to　see　Henessey；　or　what　was　left　of　him；　still　suspended　from　the　crossbeam　of　the　pig…house。　His　features　were　inprehensible；　blackened　to　a　drooping　mush。　His　body　was　raggedly　gnawed　off　at　the　hip；　and　his　innards　hung　from　the　foetid　carcass；　dangling　in　wormy　loops　in　front　of　Redman's　face。
　　Had　it　not　been　for　the　thick　smoke　the　smell　of　the　body　would　have　been　overpowering。　As　it　was　Redman　was　simply　revolted；　and　his　revulsion　gave　strength　to　his　arm。　He　hauled　Lacey　out　of　the　shadow　of　the　body　and　pushed　him　through　the　door。
　　Outside　the　straw　was　no　longer　blazing　as　brightly；　but　the　light　of　fire　and　candles　and　burning　body　still　made　him　squint　after　the　dark　interior。
　　〃e　on　lad；〃　he　said；　lifting　the　kid　through　the　flames。　The　boy's　eyes　were　button…bright；　lunatic…bright。　They　said　futility。
　　They　crossed　the　sty　to　the　gate；　skipping　Leverthal's　corpse；　and　headed　into　the　darkness　of　the　open　field。
　　The　boy　seemed　to　be　stirring　from　his　stricken　state　with　every　step　they　took　away　from　the　farm。　Behind　them　the　sty　was　already　a　blazing　memory。　Ahead；　the　night　was　as　still　and　impenetrable　as　ever。
　　Redman　tried　not　to　think　of　the　pig。　It　must　be　dead　by　now；　surely。
　　But　as　they　ran；　there　seemed　to　be　a　noise　in　the　earth　as　something　huge　kept　pace　with　them；　content　to　keep　its　distance；　wary　now　but　relentless　in　its　pursuit。
　　He　dragged　on　Lacey's　arm；　and　hurried　on；　the　ground　sun　baked　beneath　their　feet。　Lacey　was　whimpering　now；　no　words　as　yet；　but　sound　at　least。　It　was　a　good　sign；　a　sign　Redman　needed。
　　He'd　had　about　his　fill　of　insanity。
　　They　reached　the　building　without　incident。　The　corridors　were　as　empty　as　they'd　been　when　he'd　left　an　hour　ago。　Perhaps　nobody　had　found　Slape's　corpse　yet。　It　was　possible。　None　of　the　boys　had　seemed　in　a　fit　mood　for　recreation。　Perhaps　they　had　slipped　silently　to　their　dormitories；　to　sleep　off　their　worship。
　　It　was　time　to　find　a　phone　and　call　the　Police。
　　Man　and　boy　walked　down　the　corridor　towards　the　Governor's　Office　hand　in　hand。　Lacey　had　fallen　silent　again；　but　his　expression　was　no　longer　so　manic；　it　looked　as　though　cleansing　tears　might　be　close。　He　sniffed；　made　noises　in　his　throat。
　　His　grip　on　Redman's　hand　tightened；　then　relaxed　pletely。
　　Ahead；　the　vestibule　was　in　darkness。　Somebody　had　smashed　the　bulb　recently。　It　still　rocked　gently　on　its　cable；　illuminated　by　a　seepage　of　dull　light　from　the　window。
　　〃e　on。　There's　nothing　to　be　afraid　of。　e　on；　boy。〃　Lacey　bent　to　Redman's　hand　and　bit　the　flesh。　The　trick　was　so　quick　he　let　the　boy　go　before　he　could　prevent　himself；　and　Lacey　was　showing　his　heels　as　he　scooted　away　down　the　corridor　away　from　the　vestibule。
　　No　matter。　He　couldn't　get　far。　For　once　Redman　was　glad　the　place　had　walls　and　bars。
　　Redman　crossed　the　darkened　vestibule　to　the　Secretary's　Office。　Nothing　moved。　Whoever　had　broken　the　bulb　was　keeping　very　quiet；　very　still。
　　The　telephone　had　been　smashed　too。　Not　just　broken；　smashed　to　smithereens。
　　Redman　doubled　back　to　the　Governor's　room。　There　was　a　telephone　there；　he'd　not　be　stopped　by　vandals。
　　The　door　was　locked；　of　course；　but　Redman　was　prepared　for　that。　He　smashed　the　frosted　glass　in　the　window　of　the　door　with　his　elbow；　and　reached　through　to　the　other　side。　No　key　there。
　　To　hell　with　it；　he　thought；　and　put　his　shoulder　to　the　door。　It　was　sturdy；　strong　wood；　and　the　lock　was　good　quality。　His　shoulder　ached　and　the　wound　in　his　stomach　had　reopened　by　the　time　the　lock　gave；　and　he　gained　access　to　the　room。
　　The　floor　was　littered　with　straw；　the　smell　inside　made　the　sty　seem　sweet。　The　Governor　was　lying　behind　his　desk；　his　heart　eaten　out。
　　〃The　pig；〃　said　Redman。　〃The　pig。　The　pig。〃　And　saying；　〃the　pig〃；　he　reached　for　the　phone。
　　A　sound。　He　turned；　and　met　the　blow　full…face。　It　broke　his　cheek…bone　and　his　nose。　The　room　mottled；　and　went　white。
　　
　　The　vestibule　was　no　longer　dark。　Candles　were　burning；　it　seemed　hundreds　of　them；　in　every　corner；　on　every　edge。　But　then　his　head　was　swimming；　his　eyesight　blurred　with　concussion。　It　could　have　been　a　single　candle；　multiplied　by　senses　that　could　no　longer　be　trusted　to　tell　the　truth。
　　He　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　arena　of　the　vestibule；　not　quite　knowing　how　he　could　be　standing；　for　his　legs　felt　numb　and　useless　beneath　him。　At　the　periphery　of　his　vision；　beyond　the　light　of　the　candles；　he　could　hear　people　talking。　No；　not　really　talking。　They　weren't　proper　words。　They　were　nonsense　sounds；　made　by　people　who　may　or　may　not　have　been　there。
　　Then　he　heard　the　grunt；　the　low；　asthmatic　grunt　of　the　sow；　and　straight　ahead　she　emerged　from　the　swimming　light　of　the　candles。　She　was　bright　and　beautiful　no　longer。　Her　flanks　were　charred；　her　beady　eyes　withered；　her　snout　somehow　twisted　out　of　true。　She　hobbled　towards　him　very　slowly；　and　very　slowly　the　figure　astride　her　became　apparent。　It　was　Tommy　Lacey　of　course；　naked　as　the　day　he　was　born；　his　body　as　pink　and　as　hairless　as　one　of　her　farrow；　his　face　as　innocent　of　human　feeling。　His　eyes　were　now　her　eyes；　as　he　guided　the　great　sow　by　her　ears。　And　the　noise　of　the　sow；　the　snaffling　sound；　was　not　out　of　the　pig's　mouth；　but　out　of　his。　His　was　the　voice　of　the　pig。
　　Redman　said　his　name；　quietly。　Not　Lacey；　but　Tommy。　The　boy　seemed　not　to　hear。　Only　then；　as　the　pig　and　her　rider　approached；　did　Redman　register　why　he　hadn't　fallen　on　his　face。
　　There　was　a　rope　around　his　neck。
　　Even　as　he　thought　the　thought；　the　noose　tightened；　and　he　was　hauled　off　his　feet　into　the　air。
　　No　pain；　but　a　terrible　horror；　worse；　so　much　worse　than　pain；　opened　in　him；　a　gorge　of　loss　and　regret；　and　all　he　was　sank　away　into　it。
　　Below　him；　the　sow　and　the　boy　had　e　to　a　halt；　beneath　his　jangling　feet。　The　boy；　still　grunting；　had　climbed　off　the　pig　and　was　squatting　down　beside　the　beast。　Through　the　greying　air　Redman　could　see　the　curve　of　the　boy's　spine；　the　flawless　skin　of　his　back。　He　saw　too　the　knotted　rope　that　protruded　from　between　his　pale　buttocks；　the　end　frayed。　For　all　the　world　like　the　tail　of　a　pig。
　　The　sow　put　its　head　up；　though　its　eyes　were　beyond　seeing。
　　He　liked　to　think　that　she　suffered；　and　would　suffer　now　until　she　died。　It　was　almost　sufficient；　to　think　of　that。　Then　the　sow's　mouth　opened；　and　she　spoke。　He　wasn't　certain　how　the　words　came；　but　they　came。　A　boy's　voice；　lilting。
　　〃This　is　the　state　of　the　beast；〃　it　said；　〃to　eat　and　be　eaten。〃　Then　the　sow　smiled；　and　Redman　felt；　though　he　had　believed　himself　numb；　the　first　shock　of　pain　as　Lacey's　teeth　bit　off　a　piece　from　his　foot；　and　the　boy　clambered；　snorting；　up　his　saviour's　body　to　kiss　out　his　life。
　　
　　
　　
　　　SEX；　DEATH　AND　STAR　SHINE
　　
　　
　　DIANE　RAN　HER　scented　fingers　through　the　two　days〃　growth　of　ginger　stubble　on　Terry's　chin。
　　〃I　love　it；〃　she　said；　〃Even　the　grey　bits。〃　She　loved　everything　about　him；　or　at　least　that's　what　she　claimed。
　　When　he　kissed　her：　I　love　it。
　　When　he　undressed　her：　I　love　it。
　　When　he　slid　his　briefs　off：　I　love　it；　I　love　it；　I　love　it。
　　She'd　go　down　on　him　with　such　unalloyed　enthusiasm；　all　he　could　do　was　watch　the　top　of　her　ash…blonde　head　bobbing　at　his　groin；　and　hope　to　God　nobody　chanced　to　walk　into　the　dressing…room。　She　was　a　married　woman；　after　all；　even　if　she　was　an　actress。　He　had　a　wife　himself；　somewhere。　This　tête…à…tête　would　make　some　juicy　copy　for　one　of　the　local　rags；　and　here　he　was　trying　to　garner　a　reputation　as　a　serious…minded　director；　no　gimmicks；　no　gossip；　just　art。
　　Then；　even　thoughts　of　ambition　would　be　dissolved　on　her　tongue；　as　she　played　havoc　with　his　nerve…endings。　She　wasn't　much　of　an　actress；　but　by　God　she　was　quite　a　performer。　Faultless　technique；　immaculate　timing：　she　knew　either　by　instinct　or　by　rehearsal　just　when　to　pick　up　the　rhythm　and　bring　the　whole　scene　to　a　satisfying　conclusion　When　she'd　finished　milking　the　moment　dry；　he　almost　wanted　to　applaud。
　　
　　The　whole　cast　of　Calloway's　production　of　Twelfth　Night　knew　about　the　affair；　of　course。　There'd　be　the　occasional　snide　ment　passed　if　actress　and　director　were　both　late　for　rehearsals；　or　if　she　arrived　looking　full；　and　he　flushed。　He　tried　to　persuade　her　to　control　the　cat…with…the…cream　look　that　crept　over　her　face；　but　she　just　wasn't　that　good　a　deceiver。　Which　was　rich；　considering　her　profession。
　　But　then　La　Duvall；　as　Edward　insisted　on　calling　her；　didn't　need　to　be　a　great　player；　she　was　famous。　So　what　if　she　spoke　Shakespeare　like　it　was　Hiawatha；　dum　de　dum　de　dum　de　dum？　So　what　if　her　grasp　of　psychology　was　dubious；　her　logic　faulty；　her　projection　inadequate？　So　what　if　she　had　as　much　sense　of　poetry　as　she　did　propriety？　She　was　a　star；　and　that　meant　business。
　　There　was　no　taking　that　away　from　her：　her　name　was　money。　The　Elysium　Theatre　publicity　announced　her　claim　to　fame　in　three　inch　Roman　Bold；　black　on　yellow：　〃Diane　Duvall：　star　of　The　Love　Child。〃　The　Love　Child。　Possibly　the　worst　soap　opera　to　cavort　across　the　screens　of　the　nation　in　the　history　of　that　genre；　two　solid　hours　a　week　of　under…written　characters　and　mind…numbing　dialogue；　as　a　result　of　which　it　consistently　drew　high　ratings；　and　its　performers　became；　almost　overnight；　brilliant　stars　in　television's　rhinestone　heaven。　Glittering　there；　the　brightest　of　the　bright；　was　Diane　Duvall。
　　Maybe　she　wasn't　born　to　play　the　classics；　but　Jesus　was　she　good　box…office。　And　in　this　day　and　age；　with　theatres　deserted；　all　that　mattered　was　the　number　of　punters　on　seats。
　　Calloway　had　resigned　himself　to　the　fact　that　this　would　not　be　the　definitive　Twelfth　Night；　but　if　the　production　were　successful；　and　with　Diane　in　the　role　of　Viola　it　had　every　chance；　and　it　might　open　a　few　doors　to　him　in　the　West　End。　Besides；　working　with　the　ever…adoring；　ever…demanding　Miss　D。　Duvall　had　its　pensations。
　　
　　Galloway　pulled　up　his　serge　trousers；　and　looked　down　at　her。　She　was　giving　him　that　winsome　smile　of　hers；　the　one　she　used　in　the　letter　scene。　Expression　Five　in　the　Duvall　repertoire；　somewhere　between　Virginal　and　Motherly。
　　He　acknowledged　the　smile　with　one　from　his　own　stock；　a　small；　loving　look　that　passed　for　genuine　at　a　yard's　distance。
　　Then　he　consulted　his　watch。
　　〃God；　we're　late；　sweetie。〃　She　licked　her　lips。　Did　she　really　like　the　taste　that　much？
　　〃I'd　better　fix　my　hair；〃　she　said；　standing　up　and　glancing　in　the　long　mirror　beside　the　shower。
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃Are　you　OK？〃
　　〃Couldn't　be　better；〃　he　replied。　He　kissed　her　lightly　on　the　nose　and　left　her　to　her　teasing。
　　On　his　way　to　the　stage　he　ducked　into　the　Men's　Dressing　Room　to　adjust　his　clothi