sk.dreamcatcher-第98章

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　　　　Deke　wasn't　paranoid　by　nature　（he　was　lumpish　by　nature；　his　ex…wife　would　have　told　you）；　but　that　didn't　change　the　fact　that　he　felt　suddenly　menaced　by　the　afternoon's　first　customer。　He　didn't　care　very　much　for　the　fellows　who　sometimes　turned　up　and　loafed　around　the　store；　talking　about　the　patriots　or　the　Red　Sox　or　telling　stories　about　the　whoppers　they'd　caught　up　to　the　Reservoir；　but　he　wished　for　a　few　of　them　now。　A　whole　gang　of　them；　actually。
　　　　The　man　just　stood　there　inside　the　door　at　first；　and　yeah；　there　was　something　wrong　with　him。　He　was　wearing　an　orange　hunting　coat　and　deer　season　hadn't　started　yet　in　Massachusetts；　but　that　could　have　been　nothing。　What　Deke　didn't　like　were　the　scratches　on　the　man's　face；　as　if　he　had　spent　at　least　some　of　the　last　couple　of　days　going　cross…country　through　the　woods；　and　the　haunted；　drawn　quality　of　the　features　themselves。　His　mouth　was　moving；　as　though　he　was　talking　to　himself。　Something　else；　too。　The　gray　afternoon　light　slanting　in　through　the　dusty　front　window　glinted　oddly　on　his　lips　and　chin。
　　　　That　sonofabitch　is　drooling；　Deke　thought。　Be　goddamned　if　he　ain't。
　　　　The　newer's　head　snapped　around　in　quick　little　tics　while　his　body　remained　perfectly　still；　reminding　Deke　of　the　way　an　owl　remains　perfectly　still　on　its　branch　as　it　looks　for　prey。　Deke　thought　briefly　of　sliding　out　of　his　chair　and　hiding　under　the　counter；　but　before　he　could　do　more　than　begin　to　consider　the　pros　and　cons　of　such　a　move　（not　a　particularly　quick　thinker；　his　ex…wife　would　have　told　you　that；　as　well）；　the　guy's　head　did　another　of　those　quick　flicks　and　was　pointing　right　at　him。
　　　　The　rational　part　of　Deke's　mind　had　been　harboring　the　hope　（it　was　not　quite　an　articulated　idea）　that　he　was　imagining　the　whole　thing；　just　suffering　the　whimwhams　from　all　the　weird　news　and　weirder　rumors；　each　dutifully　reported　by　the　press；　ing　out　of　northern　Maine。　Maybe　this　was　just　a　guy　who　wanted　smokes　or　a　six…pack　or　maybe　a　bottle　of　coffee　brandy　and　a　stroke…book；　something　to　get　him　through　a　long；　sleety　night　in　a　motel　outside　of　Ware　or　Belchertown。
　　　　That　hope　died　when　the　man's　eyes　met　his。
　　　　It　wasn't　the　gaze　of　a　family…murdering　maniac　off　on　his　own　private　cruise　to　nowhere；　it　almost　would　have　been　better　if　that　had　been　the　case。　The　newer's　eyes；　far　from　empty；　were　too　full。　A　million　thoughts　and　ideas　seemed　to　be　crossing　them；　like　one　of　those　big…city　tickertapes　being　run　at　super　speed。　They　seemed　almost　to　be　hopping　in　their　sockets。　　　　　　　
　　　　And　they　were　the　hungriest　eyes　Deke　McCaskell　had　seen　in　his　entire　life。
　　　　'We're　closed；'　Deke　said。　The　words　came　out　in　a　croak　that　didn't　sound　like　his　voice　at　all。　'Me　and　my　partner　…　he's　in　the　back　…　we　closed　for　the　day。　On　account　of　the　goings…on　up　north。　I　…　we；　I　mean　…　just　forgot　to　flip　over　the　sign。　We…'
　　　　He　might　have　run　on　for　hours　…　days；　even　…　but　the　man　in　the　hunting　coat　interrupted　him。　'Bacon；'　he　said。　'Where　is　it？'
　　　　Deke　knew；　suddenly　and　absolutely；　that　if　he　didn't　have　bacon；　this　man　would　kill　him。　He　might　kill　him　anyway；　but　without　bacon　。　。　。　yes；　certainly。　He　did　have　bacon。　Thank　God；　thank　Christ；　thank　Okeefenokee　and　all　the　hopping　ragheads；　he　did　have　bacon。
　　　　'Cooler　in　back；'　he　said　in　his　new；　strange　voice。　The　hand　lying　on　top　of　his　magazine　felt　as　cold　as　a　block　of　ice。　In　his　head；　he　heard　whispering　voices　that　didn't　seem　to　be　his　own。　Red　thoughts　and　black　thoughts。　Hungry　thoughts。
　　　　An　inhuman　voice　asked；　What's　a　cooler？　A　tired　voice；　very　human；　responded：　Go　on　up　the　aisle；　handsome。　You'll　see　it。
　　　　Hearing　voices；　Deke　thought。　Aw；　Jesus；　no。　That's　what　happens　to　people　just　before　they　flip　out。
　　　　The　man　moved　past　Deke　and　up　the　center　aisle。　He　walked　with　a　heavy　limp。　　　　
　　　　There　was　a　phone　by　the　cash…register。　Deke　looked　at　it；　then　looked　away。　It　was　within　reach；　and　he　had　911　on　the　speed…dialer；　but　it　might　as　well　have　been　on　the　moon。　Even　if　he　was　able　to　summon　enough　strength　to　reach　for　the　phone…
　　　　I'll　know；　the　inhuman　voice　said；　and　Deke　let　out　a　breathless　little　moan。　It　was　inside　his　head；　as　if　someone　had　planted　a　radio　in　his　brain。
　　　　There　was　a　convex　mirror　mounted　over　the　door；　a　gadget　that　came　in　especially　handy　in　the　summer；　when　the　store　was　full　of　kids　headed　up　to　the　Reservoir　with　their　parents　the　Quabbin　was　only　eighteen　miles　from　here　…　for　fishing　or　camping　or　just　a　picnic。　Little　bastards　were　always　trying　to　kite　stuff；　particularly　the　candy　and　the　girly　magazines。　Now　Deke　looked　into　it；　watching　with　dread　fascination　as　the　man　in　the　orange　coat　approached　the　cooler。　He　stood　there　a　moment；　gazing　in；　then　grabbed　not　just　one　package　of　bacon　but　all　four　of　them。
　　　　The　man　came　back　down　the　middle　aisle　with　the　bacon；　limping　along　and　scanning　the　shelves。　He　looked　dangerous；　he　looked　hungry；　and　he　also　looked　dreadfully　tired　…　like　a　marathon　runner　going　into　the　last　mile。　Looking　at　him　gave　Deke　the　same　sense　of　vertigo　he　felt　when　he　looked　down　from　a　high　place。　It　was　like　looking　not　at　one　person　but　at　several；　overlaid　and　shifting　in　and　out　of　focus。　Deke　thought　fleetingly　of　a　movie　he'd　seen；　some　daffy　cunt　with　about　a　hundred　personalities。
　　　　The　man　stopped　and　got　a　jar　of　mayonnaise。　At　the　foot　of　the　aisle　he　stopped　again　and　snagged　a　loaf　of　bread。　Then　he　was　at　the　counter　again。　Deke　could　almost　smell　the　exhaustion　ing　out　of　his　pores。　And　the　craziness。
　　　　He　set　his　purchases　down　and　said；　'Bacon　sandwiches　on　white；　with　mayo。　Those　are　the　best。'　And　smiled。　It　was　a　smile　of　such　tired；　heartbreaking　sincerity　that　Deke　forgot　his　fear　for　a　moment。
　　　　Without　thinking；　he　reached　out。　'Mister；　are　you　all　r…'
　　　　Deke's　hand　stopped　as　if　it　had　run　into　a　wall。　It　trembled　for　a　moment　over　the　counter；　then　flew　up　and　slapped　his　own　face　…　crack！　It　drew　slowly　away　and　stopped；　floating　like　a　Hovercraft。
　　　　The　third　and　fourth　fingers　folded　slowly　down　against　the　palm。
　　　　Don't　kill　him！
　　　　e　out　and　stop　me！
　　　　If　you　make　me　try；　you　might　get　a　surprise。
　　　　These　voices　were　in　his　head。
　　　　His　Hovercraft　hand　floated　forward　and　the　first　two　fingers　plunged　into　his　nostrils；　plugging　them。　For　a　moment　they　were　still；　and　then　oh　dear　Christ　they　began　to　dig。　And　while　Deke　McCaskell　had　many　questionable　habits；　chewing　his　nails　was　not　one　of　them。　At　first　his　fingers　didn't　want　to　move　much　up　there　close　quarters　…　but　then；　as　the　lubricating　blood　began　to　flow；　they　became　positively　frisky。　They　squirmed　like　worms。　The　dirty　nails　dug　like　fangs。　They　shoved　up　further；　burrowing　brainward　。　。　。　he　could　feel　cartilage　tearing　。　。　。　could　hear　it　。　。　。
　　　　Stop　it；　Mr　Gray；　stop　it！
　　　　And　suddenly　Deke's　fingers　belonged　to　him　again。　He　pulled　them　free　with　a　wet　plop。　Blood　pattered　down　on　the　counter；　on　the　rubber　change…pad　with　the　Skoal　logo　on　it；　also　on　the　unclad　lass　in　glasses　whose　anatomy　he　had　been　studying　when　this　creature　had　e　in。
　　　　'How　much　do　I　owe　you；　Deke？'
　　　　'Take　it！'　Still　that　crow…croak；　but　now　it　was　a　nasal　croak；　because　his　nostrils　were　plugged　with　blood。　'Aw；　man；　just　take　it　and　go！　The　fuck　outta　here！'
　　　　'No；　I　insist。　This　is　merce；　in　which　items　of　real　worth　are　exchanged　for　currency　plain。'
　　　　'Three　dollars！'　Deke　cried。　Shock　was　setting　in。　His　heart　was　beating　wildly；　his　muscles　thrumming　with　adrenaline。　He　believed　the　creature　might　be　going；　and　this　made　everything　infinitely　worse：　to　be　so　close　to　a　continued　life　and　still　know　it　could　be　snatched　away　at　this　fucking　loony's　least　whim。
　　　　The　loony　brought　out　a　battered　old　wallet；　opened　it；　and　rummaged　for　what　seemed　an　age。　Saliva　drizzled　steadily　from　his　mouth　as　he　bent　over　the　wallet。　At　last　he　came　out　with　three　dollars。　He　put　them　on　the　counter。　The　wallet　went　back　into　his　pocket。　He　rummaged　in　his　nasty…looking　jeans　（rode　hard　and　put　away　wet；　Deke　thought）；　came　out　with　a　fistful　of　change；　and　laid　three　coins　on　the　Skoal　pad。　Two　quarters　and　a　dime。
　　　　'I　tip　twenty　per　cent；'　his　customer　said　with　unmistakable　pride。　'Jonesy　tips　fifteen。　This　is　better。　This　is　more。'
　　　　'Sure；'　Deke　whispered。　His　nose　was　full　of　blood。
　　　　'Have　a　nice　day。'
　　　　'You　。　。　。　you　take　it　easy。'
　　　　The　man　in　the　orange　coat　stood　with　his　head　lowered。　Deke　could　hear　him　sorting　through　possible　responses。　It　made　him　feel　like　screaming。　At　last　the　man　said；　'I　will　take　it　any　way　I　can　get　it。'　There　was　another　pause。　Then：　'I　don't　want　you　to　call　anyone；　partner。'
　　　　'I　won't。'
　　　　'Swear　to　God？'
　　　　'Yeah。　Swear　to　God。'
　　　　'I'm　like　God；'　his　customer　remarked。
　　　　'Yeah；　okay。　Whatever　you…'　　　　
　　　　'If　you　call　someone；　I'll　know。　I'll　e　back　and　fix　your　wagon。'
　　　　'I　won't！'
　　　　'Good　idea。'　He　opened　the　door。　The　bell　jangled。　He　went　out。
　　　　For　a　moment　Deke　stood　where　he　was；　as　if　frozen　to　the　floor。　Then　he　rushed　around　the　counter；　bumping　his　upper　leg　hard　on　the　er。　By　nightfall　there　would　be　a　huge　black　bruise　there；　but　for　the　moment　he　felt　nothing。　He　turned　the　thumb…lock；　shot　the　bolt；　then　stood　there；　peering　out。　Parked　in　front　of　the　store　was　a　little　red　shitbox　Subaru；　mudsplattered；　also　looking　rode　hard　and　put　away　wet。　The　man　juggled　his　purchases　into　the　crook　of　one　arm；　opened　the　door；　and　got　in　behind　the　wheel。
　　　　Drive　away；　Deke　thought。　Please；　mister；　for　the　love　of　God　just　drive　away。
　　　　But　he　didn't。　He　picked　something　up　instead　…　the　loaf　of　bread　…　and　pulled　the　tie　off　the　end。　He　took　out　roughly　a　dozen　slices。　Next　he　opened　the　jar　of　mayonnaise；　and；　using　his　finger　as　a　knife；　began　to　slather　the　slices　of　bread　with　mayo。　After　finishing　each　slice；　he　licked　his　finger　clean。　Each　time　he　did；　his　eyes　slipped　closed；　his　head　tipped　back；　and　an　expression　of　ecstasy　filled　his　features；　radiating　out　from　the　mouth。　When　he　had　finished　with　the　bread；　he　picked　up　one　of　the　packages　of　meat　and　tore　off　the　paper　covering。　He　opened　the　plastic　inner　envelope　with　his　teeth　and　shook　out　the　pound　of　sliced　bacon。　He　folded　it　and　put　it　on　a　piece　of　bread；　then　put　another　piece　on　top。　He　tore　into　the　sandwich　as　ravenously　as　a　wolf。　That　expression　of　divine　enjoyment　never　left　his　face；　it　was　the　look　of　a　man　enjoying　the　greatest　gourmet　meal　of　his　life。　His　throat　knotted　as　each　huge　bite　went　down。　Three　such　bites　and　the　sandwich　was　gone。　As　the　man　in　the　car　reached　for　two　more　pieces　of　bread；　a　thought　filled　Deke　McCaskell's　brain；　flashing　there　like　a　neon　sign。　It's　even　better　this　way！　Almost　alive！　Cold；　but　almost　alive！
　　　　Deke　backed　away　from　the　door；　moving　slowly；　as　if　underwater。　The　grayness　of　the　day　seemed　to　invade　the　store；　dimming　the　lights。　He　felt　his　legs　e　unhinged；　and　before　the　dirty　board　floor　tilted　up　to　meet　him；　gray　had　gone　to　black。


21

When　Deke　came　to；　it　was　later　…　just　how　much　later　he　couldn't　tell；　because　the　Budweiser　digital