"Tad Williams - The War of the Flowers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Tad)

Kris rolled his eyes, dismissing the entire unimaginably boring subject, then punched the buttons on the
DAT deck with his long fingers, rewinding the tape to listen to his feedback-heavy solo again. Morgan
and Dano bobbed their heads once each in Theo's direction, which he assumed was to save the energy of
waving. John smiled at him, sharing the joke, although unlike Theo he was going to stay and hang out
with these kids a decade younger than himself, sharing bong hits and loose talk about a hypothetical first
album until one or two in the morning. "Stay loose, Thee," he called.
Theo's ancient Yamaha started on the first kick. It seemed like a good sign.
The bedroom light was out but the television was flickering behind the blinds, which meant Catherine
was probably still up. Even though she hadn't tried to call him, he had a feeling she wouldn't be too
happy with him coming in after midnight. Theo hesitated, then sat down on the porch steps to smoke the
cigarette Johnny had given him. The streetlamps made little pools of light down the sidewalk that ran in
front of the dark houses. It was a quiet neighborhood in the Western Addition, a working neighborhood,

file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...0Williams%20-%20The%20War%20of%20the%20Flowers.html (6 of 418)23-2-2006 18:16:56
 file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruiswijk/Mijn%20d...n/spaar/Tad%20Williams%20-%20The%20War%20of%20the%20Flowers.html

full of people who watched Letterman or Leno through the opening monologue and then switched off
because they had to be up early. A wind sent leaves rattling and rolling up the street.
I'm dying here, he thought suddenly. I don't belong here.
He had surprised himself. If not here, then where? What was he going to find that was any better? It was
true that he never felt quite alive except when he was singing, making music тАФ he often had the
disturbing feeling that in his job, his conversations, even sometimes being with Cat, he was just going
through the motions тАФ but he felt sure he was past the childish dreams of being a rock star. He would be
happy just to play club dates in front of live human beings every few weeks. No, this was what he
wanted, wasn't it тАФ a house, a grown-up life? It was certainly what Catherine Lillard wanted, and he
wanted her. He'd been with her for almost two years. That was nearly forever, wasn't it? Practically
married, even before they'd received the test results.
Theo walked across the tiny lawn to the sidewalk and flicked his cigarette into the gutter, then went
inside. The television was on, but there was only a tangled blanket in Cat's usual curling-up spot on the
couch.
"Hey, honey? Cat?" The kitchen was dark, but it smelled like she'd been cooking: there was a weird,
spicy scent in the air, something both sweet and a little sickening. The windows were open and it was a
nice March night, but the air inside the small house felt as close as if a thunderstorm were moving in.
"Cat? It's me." He shrugged. Maybe she'd gone to bed and left the television on. He wandered down the
hall and saw that the light was on in the bathroom, but that was nothing unusual тАФ Cat hated fumbling
for the switch when she was half-awake or barking her shin in the dark on something left in the hall. He
took little notice of the bundle on the floor against the far bathroom wall. It was the red smears on the
side of the tub that caught his eye instead, weirdly vivid against the porcelain. He pushed the door all the
way open.
It took perhaps two full seconds to realize what he was seeing, the longest two seconds he had ever
experienced, a sideways lurch of reality as disorienting as a hallucination. Blood was smeared across the
bathroom floor behind the door, too, screamingly scarlet under the fluorescents. Cat's terrycloth
bathrobe, rolled somehow into a huge lump and flung against the wall near the toilet, was soaked in it as
well.
"Oh my GodтАж" he said.
The bathrobe shuddered and rolled over, revealing Catherine's pale face. Her skin was like a white paper
mask except for the bloody fingerprints on both cheeks тАФ her own, as he found out later. But for a
moment he could only stare, his chest clamped in crushing shock, his brain shrilling murder murder
murder over and over.
He was right. But he didn't find that out until later, either. Much later.