dk.coldfire-第38章

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　Above　them；　starting　from　the　partition　that　the　bath　shared　with　the　bedroom；　the　white　ceiling　began　to　discolor　as　if　abruptly　saturated　with　red　blood；　brown　bile。　The　sheen　of　semigloss　paint　on　drywall　metamorphosed　into　a　biological　surface　and　began　to　throb　in　time　with　the　thunderous　heartbeat。　
　Jim　pulled　her　into　a　corner　by　the　vanity；　and　she　huddled　helplessly　against　him。　Beyond　the　pregnant　droop　of　the　lowering　ceiling；　she　saw　a　repulsive　movement　like　the　frenzied　squirming　of　a　million　maggots。　
　The　thudding　heartbeat　increased　in　volume；　booming　around　them。　
　She　heard　a　wet；　tearing　sound。　None　of　this　could　be　happening；　yet　it　was；　and　that　sound　made　it　more　real　than　the　things　she　was　seeing　with　her　own　eyes；　because　it　was　such　a　filthy　sound　and　so　hideously　intimate　too　real　for　a　delusion　or　a　dream。　
　The　door　crashed　open；　and　the　ceiling　burst　overhead；　showering　then　with　debris。　
　But　with　that　implosion；　the　power　of　the　lingering　nightmare　was　exhausted；　and　reality　finally；　fully　reasserted　itself　Nothing　monstrous　surged　through　the　open　door；　only　the　sun…filled　bedroom　lay　beyond　Although　the　ceiling　had　looked　entirely　organic　when　it　had　burst　in　upon　them；　no　trace　of　its　transformed　state　remained；　it　was　only　a　ceiling　again。　The　rain　of　debris　included　chunks　of　wallboard；　flaked　and　powdered　drywall　paste；　splinters　of　wood；　and　wads　of　fluffy　Fiberglas　insulation…but　nothing　alive。　
　The　hole　itself　was　astonishing　enough　to　Holly。　
　Two　nights　ago；　in　the　motel；　though　the　wall　had　bulged　and　rippled　as　if　alive；　it　had　returned　to　its　true　position　without　a　crack。　No　evidence　of　the　dream…creature's　intrusion　had　been　left　behind　except　the　scratches　in　her　sides；　which　a　psychologist　might　have　said　were　self　inflicted。　When　the　dust　settled；　everything　might　have　been　just　a　fantastically　detailed　delusion。　
　But　the　mess　in　which　they　were　now　standing　was　no　delusion。　The　pall　of　white　dust　in　the　air　was　real。　
　In　a　state　of　shock；　Jim　took　her　hand　and　led　her　out　of　the　bathroom。　
　The　bedroom　ceiling　had　not　crashed　down。　It　was　as　it　had　been　last　night：　smooth；　white。　But　the　furniture　was　piled　up　against　the　door　as　if　washed　there　by　a　flood。　
　Madness　favored　darkness；　but　light　was　the　kingdom　of　reason。　If　the　waking　world　provided　no　sanctuary　from　nightmares；　if　daylight　offered　no　sanctuary　from　unreason；　then　there　was　no　sanctuary　anywhere；　anytime；　for　anyone。　
　The　attic　light；　a　single　sixty…watt　bulb　dangling　from　a　beam；　did　not　illuminate　every　corner　of　that　cramped　and　dusty　space。　
　Jim　probed　into　the　many　recesses　with　a　flashlight；　edged　around　heating　ducts；　peered　behind　each　of　the　two　fireplace　chimneys；　searching　for。　。　。　whatever　had　torn　apart　the　bathroom　ceiling。　He　had　no　idea　what　he　expected　to　find。　Besides　the　flashlight；　he　carried　a　loaded　revolver。　The　thing　that　destroyed　the　ceiling　had　not　descended　into　the　bathroom；　so　it　had　to　be　in　the　attic　above。　
　However；　because　he　lived　with　a　minimum　of　possessions；　Jim　had　nothing　to　store　up　there　under　the　roof；　which　left　few　possible　hiding　places。　
　He　was　soon　satisfied　that　those　high　reaches　of　his　house　were　untenanted　except　by　spiders　and　by　a　small　colony　of　wasps　that　had　constructed　a　nest　in　a　junction　of　rafters。　
　Nothing　could　have　escaped　those　confines；　either。　Aside　from　the　trap　door　by　which　he　had　entered；　the　only　exits　from　the　attic　were　the　ventilation　cut…outs　in　opposing　eaves。　which　was　about　two　feet　long　and　twelve　inches　high；　covered　with　tightly　fitted　screens　that　could　be　re　moved　only　with　a　screwdriver。　Both　screens　were　secure。　
　Part　of　that　space　had　plank　flooring；　but　in　some　places　nothing　but　insulation　lay　between　the　exposed　floor　studs；　which　were　also　the　ceiling　studs　of　the　rooms　below。　Duck…walking　on　those　parallel　supports；　Jim　cautiously　approached　the　rupture　above　the　master　bathroom。　He　peered　down　at　the　debris…strewn　floor　where　he　and　Holly　had　been　standing。　
　What　in　the　hell　had　happened？　At　last　conceding　that　he　would　find　no　answers　up　there；　he　returned　to　the　open　access　and　climbed　down　into　the　second…floor　linen　closet。　He　folded　up　the　accordion　ladder　into　the　closet　ceiling；　which　neatly　closed　off　the　attic　entrance。　
　Holly　was　waiting　for　him　in　the　hallway。　〃Well？〃　〃Nothing；〃　he　said。　
　〃I　knew　there　wouldn't　be。〃　
　〃What　happened　here？〃　〃It's　like　in　the　dream。〃　
　〃What　dream？〃　he　demanded。　
　〃You　said　you've　had　the　windmill　dreams；　too。〃　
　〃I　do。〃　
　〃Then　you　know　about　the　heartbeat　in　the　walls。〃　
　〃No。〃　
　〃And　the　way　the　walls　change。〃　
　〃No；　none　of　that；　for　Christ's　sake！　In　my　dream；　I'm　in　the　high　room　of　the　windmill；　there's　a　candle；　rain　at　the　windows。〃　
　She　remembered　how　surprised　he　had　been　at　the　sight　of　the　bedroom　ceiling　distended　and　strange　above　them。　
　He　said；　〃In　the　dream；　I　have　a　sense　that　something's　ing；　something　frightening　and　terrible…〃　〃The　Enemy；〃　she　said。　
　〃Yes！　Whatever　that　might　be。　But　it　never　es；　not　in　my　dreams。　I　ways　wake　up　before　it　es。〃　
　He　stalked　down　the　hall　and　into　the　master　bedroom；　and　she　followed　him。　Standing　beside　the　battered　furniture　that　he　had　shoved　away　from　the　door；　he　stared　up　in　consternation　at　the　undamaged　ceiling。　
　〃I　saw　it；〃　he　said；　as　if　she　had　called　him　a　liar。　
　〃I　know　you　did；〃　she　said。　〃I　saw　it；　too。〃　
　He　turned　to　her；　looking　more　desperate　than　she　had　seen　him　even　aboard　the　doomed　DC…10。　〃Tell　me　about　your　dreams；　I　want　to　hear　all　of　them；　every　detail。〃　
　〃Later；　I'll　tell　you　everything。　First　let's　shower　and　get　dressed。　I　want　out　of　this　place。〃　
　〃Yeah；　okay；　me　too。〃　
　〃I　guess　you　realize　where　we've　got　to　go。〃　
　He　hesitated。　
　She　answered　for　him；　〃The　windmill。〃　
　He　nodded。　
　They　showered　together　in　the　guest　bathroom；　only　to　save　time…and　because　both　of　them　were　too　edgy　to　be　alone　at　the　moment。　
　She　supposed　that；　in　a　different　mood；　she　would　have　found　the　experience　pleasantly　erotic。　But　it　was　surprisingly　platonic；　considering　the　fierce　passion　of　the　night　just　passed。　
　He　touched　her　only　when　they　had　stepped　out　of　the　the　shower　and　were　hurriedly　toweling　dry。　He　leaned　close；　kissed　the　corner　of　her　mouth；　and　said；　〃What　have　I　gotten　you　into；　Holly　Thorne？〃　Later；　while　Jim　hurriedly　packed　a　suitcase；　Holly　wandered　only　as　far　as　the　upstairs　study；　which　was　next　to　his　bedroom。　The　place　had　a　disused　look。　A　thin　layer　of　dust　covered　the　top　of　the　desk。　
　Like　the　rest　of　the　house；　his　study　was　humble。　The　cheap　desk　had　probably　been　purchased　at　a　cut…rate　office…supplies　warehouse。　
　The　other　furniture　included　just　two　lamps；　an　armchair　on　a　wheel…and…swivel　base；　two　free…standing　bookcases　overflowing　with　worn　volumes；　and　a　work　table　as　bare　as　the　long…unused　desk。　
　All　of　the　two　hundred　or　more　books　were　about　religion：　fat　histories　of　Islam；　Judaism；　Buddhism；　Zen　Buddhism；　Christianity；　Hinduistn；　Taoism；　Shintoism；　and　others；　the　collected　works　of　St。　
　Thomas　Aquinas；　Martin　Luther；　Scientists　and　Their　Godsù　the　Bible　in　several　versions　…Douay；　King　James；　American　Standard；　the　Koran；　the　Torah；　including　the　Old　Testament　and　the　Talmud；　the　Tripitaka　of　Buddhism；　the　Agama　of　Hinduism；　the　Zend…Avesta　of　Zoroastrianism；　and　the　Veda　of　Brahmanism。　
　In　spite　of　the　curious　pleteness　of　that　part　of　his　personal　library；　the　most　interesting　thing　in　the　room　was　the　gallery　of　photographs　that　occupied　two　walls。　Of　the　thirty…some　8　X　10　prints；　a　few　were　in　color　but　most　were　black　and　white。　The　same　three　people　featured　in　all　of　them：　a　strikingly　lovely　brunette；　a　good…looking　man　with　bold　features　and　thinning　hair；　and　a　child　who　could　be　no　one　but　Jim　Ironheart。　
　Those　eyes。　One　photograph　showed　Jim　with　the　couple…obviously　his　'；　parents…when　he　was　only　an　infant　swaddled　in　a　blanket；　but　in　the　others　he　was　not　much　younger　than　four　and　never　older　than　about　ten。　
　When　he'd　been　ten；　of　course；　his　parents　had　died。　
　Some　photos　showed　young　Jim　with　his　dad；　some　with　his　mom；　and　Holly　assumed　the　missing　parent　had　always　been　the　one　with　the　camera。　
　A　handful　included　all　three　Ironhearts。　Over　the　years；　the　mother　only　grew　more　striking；　the　father's　hair　continued　to　thin；　but　he　appeared　to　be　happier　as　time　passed；　and　Jim；　taking　a　lesson　from　his　mother；　became　steadily　better　looking。　
　Often　the　backdrop　of　the　picture　was　a　famous　landmark　or　the　sign　for　one。　Jim　and　both　parents　in　front　of　Radio　City　Music　Hall　when　he'd　been　about　six。　Jim　and　his　father　on　the　boardwalk　at　Atlantic　City　when　Jim　was　four　or　five。　Jim　and　his　mother　at　a　sign　for　Grand　Canyon　National　Park；　with　a　panoramic　vista　behind　them。　
　All　three　Ironhearts　in　front　of　Sleeping　Beauty　Castle　in　the　heart　of　Disneyland；　when　Jim　was　only　seven　or　eight。　Beale　Street　in　Memphis。　
　The　sun…splashed　Fontainebleau　Hotel　in　Miami　Beach。　An　observation　deck　overlooking　the　faces　of　Mount　Rushmore。　Buckingham　Palace　in　London。　The　Eiffel　Tower。　The　Tropicana　Hotel；　Las　Vegas。　
　Niagara　Falls。　They　seemed　to　have　been　everywhere。　
　In　every　case；　no　matter　who　was　holding　the　camera　or　where　they　were；　those　in　the　shot　looked　genuinely　happy。　Not　one　face　in　one　print　was　frozen　in　an　insincere　smile；　or　caught　with　one　of　those　snap…the…damn…picture　expressions　of　impatience　that　could　be　found　in　abundance　in　most　family　photo　albums。　Often；　they　were　laughing　instead　of　merely　smiling；　and　in　several　instances　they　were　caught　in　the　middle　of　horseplay　of　one　kind　or　another。　All　three　were　touchers；　too；　not　simply　standing　side　by　side　or　in　brittle　poses。　
　They　were　usually　shown　with　their　arms　around　one　another；　sometimes　hugging；　occasionally　kissing　one　another　on　the　cheek　or　casually　expressing　affection　in　some　fashion。　
　The　boy　in　the　photographs　revealed　no　hint　of　the　sometimes　moody　adult　he　would　bee；　and　Holly　could　see　that　the　untimely　death　of　his　parents　had　changed　him　profoundly。　The　carefree；　grinning　boy　in　the　photographs　had　been　lost　forever。　
　One　black…and…white　particularly　arrested　her。　It　showed　Mr。　
　Ironheart　sitting　on　a　straight…backed　chair。　Jim；　maybe　seven　years　old；　was　on　his　father's　lap。　They　were　in　tuxedos。　Mrs。　Ironheart　stood　behind　her　husband；　her　hand　on　his　shoulder；　wearing　a　slinky　sequined　cocktail　dress　that　emphasized　her　wonderful　figure。　They　faced　the　camera　directly。　
　Unlike　the　other　shots；　this　one　was　carefully　posed；　with　nothing　but　a　piece　of　artfully　draped　cloth　as　a　backdrop；　obviously　set　up　by　a　professional　photographer。　
　〃They　were　wonderful；〃　Jim　said　from　the　doorway。　She　had　not　heard　him　approaching。　〃No　kid　ever　had　better　folks　than　them。〃　
　〃You　traveled　a　lot。〃　
　〃Yeah。　They　were　always　going　somewhere。　They　loved　to　show　me　new　places；　teach　me　things　firsthand。　They　would've　made　wonderful　schoolteachers；　let　me　tell　you。〃　
　〃What　work　did　they　do？〃　〃My　dad　was　an　accountant　at　Warner　Brothers。〃　
　〃The　movie　studio？〃　〃Yeah。〃　Jim　smiled。　〃We　lived　in　L。A。　Mom…she　wanted　to