"Nayler, Ray - All The Way West" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nayler Ray)

And of course, he would come and get her...and they would drive home in silence, him with that set, hard look on his face, as if he had been turned to stone, her staring out the window watching all the grain elevators getting larger again as they sped home. And then he would start in on her: The children were worried about you, Shannon. I was worried sick, Shannon. What would make you do something like this, Shannon? Are you crazy, Shannon? He ended every sentence with her name when he was angry, dropping it like an insult, meant to humiliate her...as if her name were shithead, or idiot.

She realized that Jason was talking to her and turned toward him, shaking her head as if waking up.

"What?"

"I asked what you're running away from."

"My husband."

He nodded as if he understood the whole situation. "He beat you up, huh?"

She shook her head.

He said "What, then?" confusedly, as if there were no other possible reasons.

"He buys me lousy Christmas presents."

Jason reached in his pack and pulled out another cigarette, pushed in the car lighter and then lit it with the burning coil. Shannon watched him for a while, studying him. He glanced constantly at the rear-view mirror, almost involuntarily.

"What are you running from?"

He jumped a little and then laughed, nervously. "An old buddy of mine...I guess you wouldn't call him that anymore. I grabbed a little of his dough, and took off with it." He looked at her as if trying to gauge her reaction. "I figure if I can make it out of the state, he'll never find me."

She shrugged noncommittally.

As long as he keeps driving, she thought, I could really care less what he's running from. She wondered if he really cared why she was running, and decided that he probably felt the same about her...they were just sharing the same car, really...nothing else. And it was nice. She wished that she could get that silence from more people. But instead, they crowded her with expectations. She found herself changing the shape of her personality to suit them. But this man beside her...he wouldn't even care if she rolled down the window and spat. He wouldn't even blink at her. At the most, she imagined, he might be picturing me naked, or picturing fucking me in some sleazy roadside motel. And I just might do it, anyway. She could imagine it...she leaned her head back and imagined the force of him, hard, on top of her. Yes, she just might.

The sun had almost dipped below the horizon now. Shadowy, crimsoned cornfields whipped past the windows. Jason took his sunglasses off and tossed them into the back seat.

With a sudden jerk of the steering wheel and a heavy foot on the brakes, he slid the car off onto the shoulder.

"What...." Shannon blurted.

His fist hit her in the temple. Her head rocked back and thudded against the window. Blackness crept in from the edges of her vision. There was a loud ringing sound in her ears. Something in the car with her was growling. She felt her shirt tear. She heard herself saying "No...." over and over again, very far away. She kicked out as hard as she could with her feet. They connected, and he made a "whuff" sound. A fist smashed into her nose and the air exploded in gold and red stars. A voice very close to her ear said "Hold still, bitch."

She reached down into the back seat, her hand searching. Her belt was off now, a rough hand shoving itself down the front of her panties, hurting, pushing violently down and into her. Her hand found the cool metal of the crescent wrench and wrapped around it. She swung blindly and connected with a crunch.

He made a sound like a dog that has had its tail stepped on. The hand came out of her pants with a jerk and he convulsed violently on top of her. She swung the wrench again. It connected with his temple, above his ear, and he stopped moving.

She kicked at him desperately. Her hand clawed at the door handle. She struggled free of his weight, sliding out of the car backwards, onto the gravel shoulder, scraping her elbows.

She barely noticed. She scrambled to her feet and stood staring at him, still clutching the crescent wrench in her hand. He lay face down on the front seat of the car, sprawled as if dead. Blood ran sluggishly from above his ear.

The air was evening-hot, and full of tiny swarming bugs like gnats. She watched with fascination as the blood pooled on the vinyl beside his head. She had....

He came awake with a roar and lunged at her, springing free of the car in one motion.

She jerked to the side, and he landed on his hands and knees in the gravel.