"Lee Killough - Deathglass" - читать интересную книгу автора (Killough Lee)

shouting a diatribe as histrionic and rhythmic as an operatic aria.
Then the lead cars reached Scorpion Turn.
The front tires on Victor Dietrich's Porsche dissolved simultaneously in flying shreds of rubber.
Seconds later the car was spinning across the road and into the inner wall, rebounding from that in a
leaping roll that brought it down on two following cars. An orange fireball enveloped the three. A passing
car trying to avoid the pileup skidded sideways, through the guardrail and into emptiness.
Everything behind the fire vanished from the TV camera's sight, but in the end, the statistics came to
four drivers dead, three others hospitalized.
Garrett slammed his fist down on the arm of the couch. "I should have said something. I should have
warned them!"
"You can't change the future, either," Aletheia said distantly.
He came to his feet, whirling on her. "Then what are you doing here! Who and what are you?"
She sighed. "If you refuse to know, how can I ever help you?"
Garrett exploded, as suddenly and lividly as the racing cars. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he jerked
Aletheia out of the chair and to her feet. "What the hell can Truth do for me!" he shouted. "Will you
prophesy my end, tell me the measure of my productive days? Is that supposed to help me!"
She looked up at him with compassion. "The right questions will help you."
"Questions." Face contorted in rage and dispair, Garrett shook her. "Damn your questions!"
Aletheia's head snapped back and forth. Galvanized by the memory of our father's murderous rages, I
leaped at Garrett. "Stop it! Let her go before you kill her!"
We went down on the floor in a tangle. Somehow, though, Aletheia peeled clear. From the corner of
my eye I saw her retreating across the room to watch us with glittering eyes. Garrett thrashed under me,
kicking and swinging, but he managed only one good connection that left my head ringing before I pinned
both his arms. He might be the older, the smarter, the more gifted, but I was always faster and stronger.
He struggled a minute more, then went limp. "Dane. Oh, god, Dane."
The cry of anguish stabbed through my gut. I hugged him fiercely, searching for something comforting
and reassuring to say... something that would reassure me, too. "It's all right. You've got Claudia and me.
No matter what comes, however unthinkable, we'll face it together."
His shudders stopped. "Face?" Suddenly he sat up and pulled away to where he could look at me.
"Face. That's it." He twisted to look at Aletheia. "The question?"
She smiled faintly.
He rolled to his feet and headed for the stairs.
I started to follow, but a fever-hot hand caught my arm. "Please don't. Let him work."
I looked around into the amethyst eyes. They focused on me and remained there, intense, earnest...
fiercely happy. I stared at her. "What question?"
Regret dimmed her eyes only a little. "A private one."
I fought a desire to shake her, too. "Is it the right one? Do you promise this will really help him?"
The heat of her hand seared my arm. "I promise."
***


I gave him his privacy. That did not stop me from speculating on what he could be making, though. My
best guess was a self-portrait in glass, to see exactly what he faced and how soon.
Garrett worked the rest of the day and through the night. The several times I woke, I heard voices and
movement below. But in the morning I found him in the kitchen clear-eyed and singing while he made
toast and coffee.
Astonishment and relief washed through me. I wanted to hug Aletheia. She had been right. "You must
have liked the answer. What was the question?"
He only smiled and left the toaster long enough to put a shoe box on the top shelf of a cupboard.
Then it dawned on me that he was cooking. "Where's Aletheia?"