"Robert Reed - The Boy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

The Boy
by Robert Reed
The mass market paperback edition of the Robert ReedтАЩs latest novel,
Marrow , is just out from Tor Books. Mr. Reed tells us the inspiration for the
following story came from two sources. тАЬAt a flea market, my wife bought
one of those Christ-with-the-flock-of-sheep prints. She claims that she only
wanted the frame, but somehow the Savior remains in his home. Nicely
combed and very long hair; almost feminine, in some ways.тАЭ He also had a
tall adolescent boy come to the front door and ask if he could pick one of his
flowers. Those two incidents got the author thinking about a simple what-if.
****

Dies Veneris.
A throbbing finds Helena.
It is warm and insistent, and in a small hard way, it feels angry.
For a slippery instant, the sensation is her own. Her heart is thundering, or
maybe a sick artery is pulsing deep within her brain. Then she finds herself awake,
realizing that a lazy after-lunch nap must have ambushed her, and as she sits up in
bed, breathing in quick sighs, the throbbing turns from something felt into a genuine
sound, and the sound swells until the loose panes in her windows begin to rattle, and
the air itself reverberates like the stubborn head of a beaten drum.
A car passes. Smallish, and elderly. Nothing about it fast or particularly
dangerous. But it is endowed with oversized speakers, their unlovely, thoroughly
modern music making the neighborhood shiver.
Helena watches the car as far as her lilacs.
Then it vanishes, and the rude noise diminishes, and she lies back on her
pillow, considering. Considering how much time she has, and her mood. Twenty
minutes left in her lunch hour. A six-minute drive to work, if traffic cooperates. Her
right hand tugs casually at her zipper. An after-lunch indulgence, sheтАЩs thinking. She
thinks about one man, then another. But the music returns, and her window glass
rattles until it stops in mid-throbтАФa cessation of sound that startles in its own right.
Helena takes a breath, and holds it.
Through the windows, a person appears. A male person. On foot, strolling
with purpose along her narrow driveway.
Helena feels embarrassed for no good reason. She sits up, telling herself that
nobody can see her. And even if they could, she was doing nothing but enjoying a
dieterтАЩs lunch and an innocent nap.
 Her doorbell rings.
Helena gives her zipper a tug before slipping into her front room.
SheтАЩs not sure what to do. Nothing is a viable, sensible option. Stand and wait
and do nothing. Because caution is always sensible, she reminds herself. Just last
week, another local woman was raped, and they still havenтАЩt found the monster
responsible. But then the doorbell rings again, gnawing away her resolve. Cathedral
bells, itтАЩs supposed to sound like. But itтАЩs a cheap wireless bell that she installed
herself, and the batteries are dying, and a bright sharp hum lingers. She can still hear
the hum as she unbolts and opens the front door. Standing on her tiny concrete
porch is a tall thin boy. He looks to be sixteen, with few pimples and a neat
diamond-shaped scar standing on his right cheek. She doesnтАЩt know his face. Or
does she? Placing a hand on the locked latch of her storm door, Helena begins with
a soft cough, then growls, тАЬYes?тАЭ