Читать книгу Cabal - Clive Barker, Clive Barker - Страница 16

Things went well at first. It was good to be away from the office – where she’d be missed, but what the hell? – and the apartment, with all its reminders of her time with Boone. She wasn’t quite driving blind, but as near as damn it; no map she’d been able to lay hands on marked any town called Midian. She’d heard mention of other towns, however, in exchanges between the police. Shere Neck was one, she remembered – and that was marked on the maps. She made that her target.

She knew little or nothing about the landscape she was crossing. Her family had come from Toronto – the civilized east as her mother had called it to the day she died, resenting her husband for the move that had taken them into the hinterland. The prejudice had rubbed off. The sight of wheat fields stretching as far as the eye could see had never done much for Lori’s imagination and nothing she saw as she drove changed her mind. The grain was being left to grow, its planters and reapers about other business. The sheer monotony of it wearied her more than she’d anticipated. She broke her journey at McLennan, an hour’s drive short of Peace River, and slept a full night undisturbed on a motel bed, to be up good and early the next morning, and off again. She’d make Shere Neck by noon, she estimated.

Things didn’t quite work out that way, however. Somewhere east of Peace River she lost her bearings, and had to drive forty miles in what she suspected was the wrong direction till she found a gas station, and someone to help her on her way.

There were twin boys playing with plastic armies in the dirt of the station office step. Their father, whose blond hair they shared, ground a cigarette out amongst the battalions and crossed to the car.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Gas, please. And some information?’

‘It’ll cost you,’ he said, not smiling.

‘I’m looking for a town called Shere Neck. Do you know it?’

The war games had escalated behind him. He turned on the children.

‘Will you shut up?’ he said.

The boys threw each other sideways glances, and fell silent, until he turned back to Lori. Too many years of working outdoors in the summer sun had aged him prematurely.

‘What do you want Shere Neck for?’ he said.

‘I’m trying … to track somebody.’

‘That so?’ he replied, plainly intrigued. He offered her a grin designed for better teeth. ‘Anyone I know?’ he said. ‘We don’t get too many strangers through here.’

There was no harm in asking, she supposed. She reached back into the car and fetched a photograph from her bag.

‘You didn’t ever see this man I suppose?’

Armageddon was looming at the step. Before looking at Boone’s photograph he turned on the children.

‘I told you to shut the fuck up!’ he said, then turned back to study the picture. His response was immediate. ‘You know who this guy is?’

Lori hesitated. The raw face before her was scowling. It was too late to claim ignorance, however.

‘Yes,’ she said, trying not to sound offensive. ‘I know who it is.’

‘And you know what he did?’ The man’s lip curled as he spoke. ‘There were pictures of him. I saw them.’ Again, he turned on the children. ‘Will you shut up?’

‘It wasn’t me,’ one of the pair protested.

‘I don’t give a fuck who it was!’ came the reply.

He moved towards them, arm raised. They were out from his shadow in seconds, forsaking the armies in fear of him. His rage at the children and his disgust at the picture were welded into one revulsion now.

‘A fucking animal,’ he said, turning to Lori. ‘That’s what he was. A fucking animal.’

He thrust the tainted photograph back at her.

‘Damn good thing they took him out. What you wanna do, go bless the spot?’

She claimed the photograph from his oily fingers without replying, but he read her expression well enough. Unbowed he continued his tirade.

‘Man like that should be put down like a dog, lady. Like a fucking dog.’

She retreated before his vehemence, her hands trembling so much she could barely open the car door.

‘Don’t you want no gas?’ he suddenly said.

‘Go to hell,’ she replied.

He looked bewildered.

‘What’s your problem?’ he spat back.

She turned the ignition, muttering a prayer that the car would not play dead. She was in luck. Driving away at speed she glanced in her mirror to see the man shouting after her through the dust she’d kicked up.

She didn’t know where his anger had come from, but she knew where it would go: to the children. No use to fret about it. The world was full of brutal fathers and tyrannical mothers; and come to that, cruel and uncaring children. It was the way of things. She couldn’t police the species.

Relief at her escape kept any other response at bay for ten minutes, but then it ran out, and a trembling overtook her, so violent she had to stop at the first sign of civilization and find somewhere to calm herself down. There was a small diner amongst the dozen or so stores, where she ordered coffee and a sugar fix of pie, then retired to the rest room to splash some cold water on her flushed cheeks. Solitude, albeit snatched, was the only cue her tears needed. Staring at her blotchy, agitated features in the cracked mirror she began to sob so insistently, nothing – not even the entrance of another customer – could shame her into stopping.

The newcomer didn’t do as Lori would have done in such circumstances, and withdraw. Instead, catching Lori’s eye in the mirror, she said:

‘What is it? Men or money?’

Lori wiped the tears away with her fingers.

‘I’m sorry?’ she said.

‘When I cry –’ the girl said, putting a comb through her hennaed hair. ‘– it’s only ever men or money.’

‘Oh.’ The girl’s unabashed curiosity helped hold fresh tears at bay. ‘A man,’ Lori said.

‘Leave you, did he?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Jesus,’ said the girl. ‘Did he come back? That’s even worse.’

The remark earned a tiny smile from Lori.

‘It’s usually the ones you don’t want, right?’ the girl went on. ‘You tell ’em to piss off, they just keep coming back, like dogs –’

Mention of dogs reminded Lori of the scene at the garage, and she felt tears mustering again.

‘Oh shut up, Sheryl,’ the newcomer chided herself, ‘you’re making it worse.’

‘No,’ said Lori. ‘No really. I need to talk.’

Sheryl smiled.

‘As badly as I need coffee?’

Sheryl Margaret Clark was her name, and she could have coaxed gossip from angels. By their second hour of conversation and their fifth coffee, Lori had told her the whole sorry story, from her first meeting with Boone to the moment she and Sheryl had exchanged looks in the mirror. Sheryl herself had a story to tell – more comedy than tragedy – about her lover’s passion for cars and hers for his brother, which had ended in hard words and parting. She was on the road to clear her head.

‘I’ve not done this since I was a kid,’ she said, ‘just going where the fancy takes me. I’ve forgotten how good it feels. Maybe we could go on together. To Shere Neck. I’ve always wanted to see the place.’

‘Is that right?’

Sheryl laughed.

‘No. But it’s as good a destination as any. All directions being equal to the fancy-free.’