"Ty Drago - Shadowself" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drago Ty)

run, of course; just drop everything and go. The light in his tiny room was comfortable, and it
would be dangerous to leave the safety of its glow. But Liam knew, from bitter experience,
that once the Shadowself had found him, it was more dangerous to stay put.

Once...in Dallas?...Chicago?...the Shadowself had cornered him in a bus terminal. Liam had
sat on a bench beneath a lamplight all night, aware of the creature's hungry presense just
beyond the edge of darkness. As the hours had passed, Liam had felt increasingly drousy,
as though the strength were being slowly drained from him. Finally, as sleep had been about
to overcome him, he'd seen the lamplight over his head begin to struggle for life, flashing on
and off as it might in a thunderstorm. Liam's reflexes, and the timely arrival of a subway train,
had saved him. As the shadows had closed in around him, he'd forced himself to move,
darting across the platform and into a lit railroad car, leaving the Shadowself to glare
helplessly at him from the platform.
The lesson had been well learned that night: Once he was found...he ran.

Liam rose from the bed and walked to the closet. On the shelf mounted above his meager
collection of clothes was an old Samsonite suitcase. As he drew it down he noticed, with a
certain grim humor, that a layer of dust had settled over the luggage since he'd taken this
ramshackle apartment on the Jersey coast. Liam glanced dourly around the dirty,
one-bedroom efficiency and found, with some surprise, that he would miss it.

It took him five minutes to dress and ten to pack. His watch read just after midnight on the
sixteen of the November. He'd taken a month-to-month lease, but without thirty days notice,
his pig of a landlord would certainly keep his deposit. Well, let him, Liam thought. He sure as
hell couldn't risk waiting around here for the first of the month.
He scribbled a quick note of apology and left his keys on the bedside table. Then, giving a
final, furtive look at this last in a long line of homes, Liam Reese slipped quietly out into the
night. The walkway outside was well lit, and his truck was parked under a street lamp.
Nevertheless, he crossed the distance at a run, tossed his luggage into the bed of the
pickup and climbed into the cab, slamming and locking the door.
Fifteen minutes later he was heading down Route Nine. The radio was thrumming some old
fifties tune. There was a full moon, and the night was bright. Nevertheless, Liam nervously,
instinctively eyed each patch of darkness between the street lamps. The Shadowself could
be anywhere, he knew. The night was its element.
Ten or twelve miles down the highway from his apartment house he spotted what he'd been
looking for. It was an all-night bar, boasting the name MARTY'S in large, neon letters over
the door. When he'd first come to town, Liam had been something of a regular here, since
he was generally safer around crowds than alone. But, over the past few months, as his
sense of security had increased, he'd stopped in less and less often. He had secrets to
keep.

Tonight, however, he needed both the liquor and the sanctuary. In the morning, when the
Shadowself would have receded back into whatever pit it rose from, Liam would set out on
his way. South this time, he thought as he parked the truck as close to the well-lit doorway as
he could. Maybe this time he'd head south.

It was past midnight on a Tuesday morning, and there weren't more than a half-dozen
patrons, all occupying stools at the bar. The barman, a tall, lanky fellow whose name Liam
recalled as Abe, was involved in a conversation with a darkly dressed man near the far wall.
Liam selected a stool near the juke box, but far enough away from the others to grant him at