Читать книгу A Dark So Deadly - Stuart MacBride - Страница 16

‘Shhh, you’re doing great.’

Is he? Then why does he feel so terrible? Why does he just want to lie down and die?

The water around him is cold, but that’s not why he’s shivering.

A sponge dips into the dark brown liquid, then runs gently across his chest, clearing away the thin white rime of salt. Dissolving the crystals back into the brine.

The wall whispers over the sound of trickling water. ‘They’ll worship you: you’ll be a god.’

Then the sponge dips into the water again, presses against his forehead sending rivulets running down his lined face.

‘They’ll worship you: you’ll be a god.’

‘Are you thirsty?’ The voice is kind, worried. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

He tries to shake his head, but can only tremble. No. No more of the foul water.

‘I know it’s bitter, but it’s good for you. Full of herbs and minerals. Here …’

‘You’ll be a god. You’ll be a god. You’ll be a god.’

A metal cup presses against his cracked lips, and he hasn’t got the strength to keep his jaw clenched shut. Sour liquid fills his mouth, catches the back of his throat. And he coughs, splutters the water out, feels it dripping from his chin onto his chest.

‘They’ll worship you.’

His body rocks back and forward, sending out little waves across the bath.

Why can’t he cry?

Only it’s not really a bath, is it? It’s a large metal trough, big enough for three people, let alone one living skeleton. All the joints are rusty, dark brown as if the thing is bleeding, rivets standing out like nipples on its cold metal skin.

Why can’t he just die?

‘You’ll be a god, and they’ll worship you.’

‘Shhh …’ A warm hand on his forehead. A gentle touch and a soft word. ‘It’ll all be over soon.’