"Roger Zelazny - Amber Chronicles, The 06 - Trumps of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

I decided to drive on over to her place and see. It wasn't that far. And
whatever it was that she had for me, picking it up would be a good excuse
for seeing her this one last time.
I cruised the neighborhood for several minutes. before I located a
parking space. I locked the car, walked back to the corner, and turned
right. The day had grown slightly warmer. Somewhere, dogs were barking.
I strolled on up the block to that huge Victorian house that had been
converted into apartments. I couldn't see her windows from the front. She
was on the top floor; to the rear. I tried to suppress memories as I passed
on up the front walk, but it was no good. Thoughts of our times together
came rushing back along with a gang of old feelings. I halted.. It was silly
coming here. Why bother, for something I hadn't even missed. Still . . .
Hell. I wanted to see her one more time. I wasn't going '╖ to back out
now. I mounted the steps and crossed the porch. The door was open a crack so
I walked in.
Same foyer. Same tired-looking potted violet, dust on its leaves, on
the chest before the gilt-framed mirror-the mirror that had reflected our
embrace, slightly warped, many times. My face rippled as I went by.
I climbed the green-╓arpeted stairs. A dog began howling somewhere out
back.
The first landing was unchanged. I walked the short hallway, past the
drab etchings and the old end table, turned 'and mounted the second
staircase. Halfway up I heard a scratching noise from overhead and a sound
like a bottle or a vase rolling on a hardwood floor. Then silence again,
save for a few gusts of wind about the eaves. A faint apprehension stirred
within me and I quickened my pace. I halted at the head of the stairway and
nothing looked to be out of order, but with my next inhalation a peculiar
odor came to me. I couldn't place it-sweat, must, damp dirt
perhaps-certainly something organic.
I moved then to Julia's door and waited for several moments. The odor
seemed stronger there, but I heard no new sounds.
I rapped softly on the dark wood. For a moment it seemed that I heard
someone stirring within, but only for a moment. I knocked again.
"Julia?" I called out. "It's me Merle."
Nothing.
I knocked louder.
Something fell with a crash. I tried the doorknob. Locked.
I twisted and jerked and tore the doorknob, the lock plate, and the
entire locking mechanism free. I moved immidiately to my left then, past the
hinged edge of the door and the frame. I extended my left hand and applied
gentle pressure to the upper panel with my fingertips.
I moved the door a few inches inward and paused. No new sounds ensued,
and nothing but a slice of wall and floor came into view, with narrow
glimpses of a watercolor, the red sofa, the green rug. I eased the door open
a little farther. More of the same. And the odor was even stronger.
I took a half step to my right and applied a steady pressure.
Nothingnothingnothing . . .
I snatched my hand away when she came into view. Lying there. Across
the room. Bloody . . .
There was blood on tie floor, the rug, a bloody disarray near the