Читать книгу The Calling - Джеймс Фрей, James Frey, Nils Johnson-Shelton - Страница 27

Christopher watches the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. He has not seen Sarah. But he has been looking, and he knows that she’s out there. He’d like to think that she can sense his love, but that would be crazy. He needs to keep his head on straight, to go about this rationally.

He didn’t travel halfway around the world, chasing his girlfriend who is involved in an apocalyptic game of allegedly alien design, to get sidetracked by silly puppy-love emotions.

His hotel is across the street from the pagoda. He has a telescope and two pairs of binoculars mounted on tripods. He has a DSLR with a 400-mm fixed lens. All of them face the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. He watches.

Waits.

Dreams of seeing her, touching her, smelling her, kissing her. Looking into her eyes and seeing love returned.

He watches.

Waits.

And on the night of the solstice it happens.

He sees seven people sneak into the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. Most are disguised, hidden, incognito. He can’t be sure if any of them is Sarah. Sarah said there were 12 Players, so he assumes the other five must have gone in from a different entrance, or gone undetected. He can’t cover all the angles from his room.

Snap snap snap.

He takes pictures.

Lots of pictures.

Only one person gives him a good image. A girl. Dark-tanned skin. Wearing colorful scarves over a form-fitting jumpsuit. Full black hair peeking out from a head wrap. The glint of brilliant green eyes.

He is tempted to go too. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is afraid. Of the other Players. Of Endgame. Of—he can hardly believe he is thinking it—the Sky People.

But mostly he is afraid of what Sarah would look like—what she would say, how she would feel—if she were to see him now.

He knows the time isn’t right.

Not yet.

He needs a moment where he can swoop in and help her, where he can prove his worth and his love. He doesn’t want to seem like a stalker, lingering around the pagoda like some kind of Endgame groupie. That would be embarrassing. So he waits. For an hour. Two. Two and a half.

Nothing.

He waits.

His eyes are heavy. His chin is in his hand. His elbow is on his knee.

There’s nothing, no one.

He can’t fight sleep anymore.

He’s been up for over 27 hours.

And just like that, he is out.