"Robert R. McCammon - Mine" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCammon Robert R)

She took the doll to a closet in the hallway. At the back of the closet
was a cardboard box, and in that box were the dead babies. The signature of
her rage lay here. Some of the dolls had been burned faceless, like Robby.
Others had been decapitated, or were torn limb from limb. Some bore the marks
of being crushed under tires, and some had been ripped open by knives or
razors. All of them were little boys, and all of them had been her loves.
She peeled the sleepsuit with its yellow ducks off Robby. She held Robby
with two fingers, like something filthy, and she dropped him into the box of
death. She shoved the box into the back of the closet again, then she closed
the door.
She put away the wooden crate that had served as a crib, and she was
alone.
An eighteen-wheeler swept past on the highway, making the walls creak.
Mary went into the bedroom with the slow gait of a sleepwalker. Another death
freighted her soul. There had been so many of them. So many. Why didn't they
mind her? Why did they always have to fight her will? It wasn't right that she
fed them and clothed them and loved them and they died hating her in the end.
She wanted to be loved. More than anything in the world. Was that too
much to ask?
Mary stood at the window for a long time, looking out at the highway.
The trees were bare. Bleak January had gnawed the land, and it seemed that
winter ruled the earth.
She dropped the sleepsuit into the clothes hamper in her bathroom. Then
she walked to her dresser, opened the bottom drawer, reached under some
folded-up sweaters, and found the Colt Snubnose .38. The shine had worn off,
and in the six-bullet cylinder there was one shell.
 Mary turned on the television set. The early morning cartoons from TBS
were on. Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd. In the blue glow, Mary sat on the edge of
her rumpled bed and spun the cylinder once, twice, and a third time.
She drew a long, deep breath, and she pressed the Colt's barrel against
her right temple.
"C'mere, ya cwazy wabbit!"
"Who, me?"
"Yeah, you!"
"Ahhhhhh, what's up, d --"
She squeezed the trigger.
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
Mary let her breath go, and she smiled.
Her heart was beating hard, driving the sweet adrenaline through her
body. She returned the pistol to its place beneath the sweaters, and she slid
the drawer shut. Now she felt so much better, and Robby was just a bad memory.
But she couldn't survive long without a baby to care for. No, she was a
natural mother. An earth mother, it had once been said. She needed a new baby.
She'd found Robby in a Toys 'R Us in Douglasville. She knew better than to go
to the same store twice; she still had eyes in the back of her head, and she
was always watching for any sign of the pigs. So she'd find another toy store.
No sweat.
It was almost time to get ready for work. She needed to relax, and put
on the face she wore beyond these walls. It was her Burger King face, smiling
and friendly, no trace of steel in her eyes. She stood before the mirror in