"Jerry Davis - Random Acts" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

terrariums for a few hours, trying to take notes, but I can't keep my
mind on it. I end up laying on my bed holding the four-dimensional cube
and staring at it. It seems like hours pass. Though I'm looking at the
cube, I'm not really seeing it --- I'm thinking about Pris again, my
thoughts always returning to Pris. I'm wondering if she's off work yet,
and if she'd like to hear about Tom and Heather? But I can't do that, so
I don't. But I'd like to talk to her anyway, I'd just love to, I just
want to hear her voice and think about her petite little form and
imagine holding it against me, and kissing her hair, and massaging her
back, and touching her little nose with mine.
I pump up my nerve with nine gin-and-tonics then dial her number,
but instead of Pris I end up talking to her fat roommate for 45 minutes
about dinosaurs, which she thinks I study, and after hanging up I pass
out in a drunken stupor in my bed at four in the afternoon. Sometime
between then and midnight I dream that I'm making love to Pris, and
she's soft and warm and velvety and our rhythm is like music, but after
a while I realize it's not Pris I'm making love to, it's Heather, and
she's horrified and in the weird shifting way of dreams it turns out
I've been raping her, and Tom comes in with a baseball bat and smacks me
over the head with it, and I roll off of Heather and it's not Heather
after all, I was wrong --- it's Pris. I had been raping Pris. I wake up
crying, still drunk, and hear voices that I assume are Tom and some of
his friends in the living room. The room is dim, and I look to see what
time it is but I can't find my clock. It's too dark. The only light is
something brilliant and red, and very small, a pinpoint really, hitting



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the wall just above my bed. A little red light.
I realize what I'm seeing. It's the same thing that the haunted
people in the Co-Op meeting hall had seen. I hold my breath, staring.
". . . little to the left," a voice is saying. "Stop. There's
something."
"A picture."
"What is it? A lizard?"
"We must be looking into one of the bio labs."
The voices sound as if they're coming through a long cardboard
tube, muted and hollow. The brilliant, ruby-red speck of light moves
across the wall. It comes to rest on a picture of Anolis carolinesis,
which is a little green lizard better known as an American Chameleon.
I've seen ruby-red specks of light like this before, in fact many times
before. It's a laser beam. As I watch, it moves down and the voices
continue.
"What's that? A certificate of some type----"
"A doctorate. A doctor of . . . of . . . can you make that out?"
"Herpetology."
"Huh? Study of Herpes?"