Infernal - Страница 50

"All right," Jack said. "Let's see it."

"No, I—"

"Please. This isn't just about you and me. There's the baby to think of."

Gia looked like she was again going to refuse to show him whatever they were talking about, but must have changed her mind. Because, without another word, she turned and raised the back of her T-shirt.

Tom gasped and felt his knees dissolve when he saw the black band spread across her back. He had to prop himself against the door molding.

Sweet Jesus, it was almost halfway around her body!

Jack stared at it, then his head dropped. Gia pulled her shirt back down.

The light dawned for Tom.

No! A horrendous situation had become infinitely worse. He could comprehend a mother's love for her child, but weren't there limits? He'd heard of mothers throwing themselves in front of a car to save their child, but that was impulse. This had been premeditated.

Initially her daughter was going to be shunted off into the Great Unknown. Now Gia was going to be sent there instead.

It made no sense. Either way she loses her daughter, but this way she loses Jack too. Not to mention this exquisite townhouse.

"Only one thing to do then," he heard Jack say.

In one swift, smooth move he stepped to the counter, pressed his hand into a saucepan, and returned with his palm coated in some thick brown fluid. He then lifted the back of Gia's shirt and slipped his hand under. Gia reacted as if he'd splashed her with acid—her back arched, her eyes widened, and then she began to cry.

What the hell was going on here?

"Now it's settled," Jack said.

Gia turned and pounded her fists once against his chest.

"No! I can't lose you! Not now!"

Jack grabbed her wrists. "You didn't really think I was going to let this happen to you, did you? You three are more important than anything else I can think of."

"Turn around! I want to see!"

Jack complied, lifting his shirt and revealing the Stain. Gia threw her arms around him and sobbed.

Stunned, awed, Tom watched the two of them. He couldn't imagine doing something like that—not even for his kids, let alone a woman. Especially the women he'd married. He could see no upside. And the downside was unthinkable.

He repressed a shudder. To be whisked away to some unknown place, never to be seen again… the idea of risking that—embracing it—for someone else was beyond him…

What planet were these two from?

Again those feelings of longing and envy he'd experienced in B. B. King's. Their devotion to each other… the way Jack hadn't hesitated, not for a heartbeat, to place himself between Gia and the Lilitongue. He'd given it no more thought than slapping a mosquito he'd spotted on her arm.

Tom shook his head. Inconceivable…

And then he thought of something else: Who would do that for him?

Vicky had Gia, and Gia had Jack. But Tom could think of no one who'd step up like that for him.

The realization staggered him.

No one… I've got no one.

That chill angst washed over him as it had last night. Was there one person in this world who gave a damn if he lived or died?

Surely not his brother. He glanced Jack's way and saw him glaring over Gia's quaking shoulder.

He heard Gia moan, "What did we ever do to deserve this?"

Tom knew the terrible answer: I came into your lives.

All his fault. He'd brought the Lilitongue up from the depths. He'd been the one who wanted to escape…

Tom felt himself wilting under Jack's stare. What did the man want?

He doesn't expect me to step up and take it from him, does he? Is he crazy?

Never happen. Not in a million years.

Even if Jack weren't here, even if Gia had no Jack in her life, Tom knew that he couldn't, simply couldn't, do what Jack had done.

He was made of different stuff. Wired differently.

He fought the burning shame. No one had the right… it wasn't fair to expect that.

He shook his head and turned away. No… too frightening… he can't… he won't…

He opened the door and let himself out. He stood on the front step and blinked in the wind. He pulled his jacket tightly around him. Cold out here, but warmer than inside.

Safer too. At least here Gia couldn't turn to him with a pleading look, asking him to save the father of her baby, to do the right thing.

And when he shook his head and backed away, as he most certainly would, her expression would change, and she'd look on him as a coward.

I'm not a coward. I've done things, lots of things that require balls the size of cantaloupes.

I just can't… do… this.

He felt a sadness descend on him. And something more… an odd feeling… an emotion he hadn't experienced in years.

Guilt.

But that wasn't enough, not nearly enough to make him turn and go back in there.

-44:23

Jack forced himself to look on the bright side: The shmegege was gone. And Vicky hadn't heard any of this.

On the dark side, his back itched and burned. He didn't have to look to know why.

Gia tightened her python grip on him.

"Jack, Jack, Jack—what are we going to do?"

His gut roiled with fear… of the unknown, ol being taken Irom everything he knew, everyone he loved.

"Keep looking for a solution."

But not much time left.

He glanced at the old Regulator clock on the kitchen wall: a couple of minutes to eleven. Less than two days.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Jesus. They'd already been through most of the Compendium. The odds of finding something else in there looked low to nil.

"I don't know what I'll do without you."

"Let's not write me off just yet. We don't even know if this thing will live up to its press."

She lifted her head off his chest and looked him in the eye.

"You're not serious!"

"Well, it's who knows how old. Maybe over the centuries it's had some internal breakdown and won't be able to, you know, take me away."

Jack didn't believe a word of it. And neither, apparently, did Gia. She scowled at him.

"You're kidding, right? It sits in midair and can't be moved. It leaves a mark, a Stain, just like the book says. Oh, it's working all right. It's working just fine!" She closed her eyes as another sob shook her. "I don't want to lose you!"

Jack took hold of her upper arms and stared into her eyes.

"You won't. If we can't find a way out of this, and it takes me somewhere—I'll get back. Wherever that thing takes me, I'll find a way back to you."

"But what if it takes you somewhere else, someplace too far away… some other place you can't get back from?"

Jack knew what she meant: What if the Lilitongue transported the escapee to the Otherness? To where his life expectancy would be calibrated in nanoseconds.

Gia had her arms around him again.

"Why'd this have to happen? Why?"

The first words that leaped to his lips were, Because of my goddamn brother. But he bit them back when he realized that the recent string of incidents had not begun with Tom. It had begun with Dad's death. And a terrorist plot had preceded that.

Massacre… Joey hadn't returned his call… with all that had been happening, he'd forgotten about Joey.

"Who knows? Maybe Tom will steal the Stain from me."

She looked at him, shock on her face.

"What?"

"Only kidding."

"Didn't you read the coda to the recipe?"

Something in her tone…

"No. What—?"

She turned to the kitchen table. The Compendium was open to the Stain recipe. She ran a finger down the page and stopped.

"Read that."

Jack leaned over the book.

"'The Stain may be taken by yet another, but none shall take it from him. The third Stained is the last Stained.'"

Jack closed his eyes. That shut the door.

No. He wouldn't, couldn't, buy that. And he couldn't let Gia think he did.

"So they say," he said with more bravado than he felt. "This Lilitongue thing was made by a man, it can be unmade by another man. And I intend to be that man."

"Jack—"

He pressed a finger against her lips.

"Here's what we do. You finish reading the rest of the Compendium."

"And you?"

"I'm going to get some tools."

He went upstairs for another look at the thing and found it gone.

He knew where to find it.

-42:17

Jack stood in his bedroom before the floating Lilitongue and shoved a magazine into the grip of the Glock.

Why bedrooms? he wondered. Maybe because your scent was strongest there.

He pointed the Glock at the thing.

First he'd tried an ax. N-G. Did no more damage than the baseball bat. Not even a dent.

Next he'd fitted an electric drill with a diamond-tipped bit. Might as well have been trying to puncture steel with a pretzel stick. The drill whined and wailed as the tip slipped and slid all over the surface without leaving so much as a scratch.

How could something that felt like rough skin or old leather be so tough?

Well, he'd see how it stood up to his third and last tool: a bullet. Would have loved to hit it with a monster .454 Casull round from his Super Redhawk, but was afraid of killing someone with a ricochet. Hell, the slug might end up in Queens.