Mortal Fear. Greg Iles

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СКАЧАТЬ Symbol of the hotel. Trust me.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> Oh, I do.

      HARPER> I’m not as handsome as you have imagined me, but you aren’t disappointed. I have a certain power over you that you didn’t expect. You want to please me, and this makes you a little angry. You understand?

      ELEANOR RIGBY> Perfectly. What do you think of me?

      HARPER> Mercy fuck.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> Harper!

      HARPER> Sorry. ;) You’re more beautiful than I imagined. Your body-double’s body was a given, but your symmetry still surprises me. Petite, and your face more feminine than I could envision.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> Feminine how?

      HARPER> The blend of curve and angle. Softs and hards. Cheek and jaw. Defined brows, nebulous eyes. Dusk is falling on the Memphis streets, over the river. Yellow lamps come up inside and light you like a painter’s hand.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> What am I wearing?

      HARPER> White linen. Appropriate for a deflowering.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> You give me far too much credit. <g>

      HARPER> I intend to boldly go where no man has gone before.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> Dare I ask?

      HARPER> No.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> Yummy.

      HARPER> I see shadows of your nipples through the linen. They look more brown than pink.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> How do you like my breasts?

      HARPER> Champagne-glass size, exquisitely shaped.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> What do we talk about?

      HARPER> Inanities.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> How long do we talk?

      HARPER> Not very. We’ve said all we have to say on EROS, haven’t we?

      ELEANOR RIGBY> Do we diddle under the table? Victorian teasing?

      HARPER> No. I sign the suite number on the bill and lead you by the hand across the high-ceilinged lobby to the bank of elevators. In the elevator we kiss for the first time.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> A long kiss?

      HARPER> When the door opens, we’re still kissing. An older couple is staring at us like we are crazy.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> I’m already wet.

      HARPER> Not yet.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> I’m speaking in the present tense, dear. Offline.

      HARPER> Fine, but we’re not going to rush. When the stupid credit card key finally works, I pull you inside the room but do not turn on the light.

      ELEANOR RIGBY> We haven’t been in the suite until now?

      HARPER> No. Before you can say anything, I close the door and slip past you in the darkness, pulling my shoes off as I walk. You call out to me, but I don’t answer. I hear you bang your foot into a chair. You curse. We’re going to play a game, I say. What kind of game? you ask.

      I stop typing for a few moments, letting the images flow freely in my head.

      HARPER> A hunting game, I reply. I’m going to hunt you in the dark suite. And the first rule is: we can’t talk to each other. Even when I find you, we cannot speak. And there’s another catch. I should have mentioned it earlier, but … well … there’s another person in the room.

       What? you ask nervously. Who? Don’t be frightened. He—or she—is standing silently—or sitting—somewhere in the room, but only watching. How, you ask? Simple. He’s wearing a night-vision headset I brought to the hotel during the afternoon. You giggle nervously, but I’m not joking. This person can see us right now and will watch us when I finally find you. You don’t believe me? Let down the top of your dress. A few seconds later, a whispered voice from across the room says, Beautiful. I can almost feel your heart stutter from the shock. Stay calm, I say reassuringly. This person is merely an observer. All right, you stammer, far from your normally confident self. But who is it? you wonder. Who _is_ it? Maybe it’s your sister, I say. You bastard, you hiss. Maybe it’s a bellboy I paid a hundred bucks to come upstairs and watch a beautiful woman having sex. Do you want to go on? I ask. Yes, you say softly. Even if you are seen? I can do anything in the dark, you say. Even if the whole city is watching. And so we begin the hunt. How do you feel now?

      ELEANOR RIGBY> >toi bbusy otype<

      HARPER> Please do your best to evade me, I tell you. But you should know that I’ll be getting a bit of direction from our guest. He/she will whisper “warmer” or “colder” ever so often.

       You do not answer. And so I begin the hunt. The first thing I hear is silence. Blood beating in my ears. The suite is large. I move deeper into the bedroom to give you room to move. Then I wait motionless for two minutes. I sense you becoming more tense with each passing second. You cannot hear me. Very softly I remove my clothes. I feel the air along my body, especially on the places usually covered. I go down on all fours, allowing my body to cover more floor space, increasing my odds of touching you if you try to slip past me. I move slowly at first. Colder, whispers our guest. I change direction. Where _are_ you? I ask in a singsong voice. Warmer, says our guest. Instinct tells me my back is a few feet from the far corner of the room. You are not behind me. Slowly and soundlessly I work my way across the carpet, pausing occasionally to listen and to try to feel any movement of air against my skin. Nothing. There’s not much floor space left to cover. Could you have climbed onto one of the beds? No. I’d have heard you. Wait. A rustle of cloth ahead of me. A few feet away. Is she naked? I ask. No reply. I freeze. There is water running in the bathroom, the sound like a distant cataract in the silence. I rise and move quickly toward the sound—too quickly—and bash my head against the door frame. I’m in the bathroom now, but you aren’t. Steam coats my face and body like jungle humidity. When I reach to shut off the tap, I scald my hand. Yet even as I curse, I realize I smell you. In the blackness. The female smell. Strongly enough that I suspect you have left this as a calling card. This is not turning out the way I’d planned. As I move out of the bathroom, something swishes past me in the dark. Strangely, it seemed larger than me. Then I hear the bathroom door close. I try the handle but it’s locked. Are you really inside? Or is this a diversion? Where is she? I ask the darkness. No answer. Warmer or colder? I ask. Nothing. Then, through the bathroom door, I hear new sounds. A woman, softly moaning. A man rhythmically groaning. First I think you are teasing me. Confused, I feel my way to the wall and break a rule. Switch on the light. My assistant is gone. The noises are louder. It sounds as though you are using my draftee in the bathroom and have locked me out. This isn’t what I had in mind at all, but you sound like you’re having the time of your life. I ask what you are doing but he answers insolently, She can’t talk with her mouth full. Suddenly I am angry. I kick the door twice near the knob and it splinters open, flooding the bathroom with light. At first glance I feel relief, seeing that you still have your linen dress on. But a millisecond later the positions register: you’re sitting on the edge of the tub and you have your hand around him and are working diligently (though your eyes are locked on mine) and he seems very close to release. It’s the least I could do for СКАЧАТЬ