Chapter 16 9-1

When Duke isn't in the main control room, he spends most of his time with a Harley-Davidson type of sex goddess between his thick thighs.His shaggy blond hair and naturally curly beard are so shiny you can't help but want to touch them, and every inch of his arms and body is covered with colorful murals, his tattoo artist Presumably relying on this business to send the child to Bu University.Sasha wasn't entirely joking, though, when she said she wasn't up to Duke's standards.When it comes to attraction to the opposite sex, he has more "bear" charm than Pooh.Since I met him six years ago, the four women he's had sex with have all been stunning, wearing nothing but jeans and a flannel shirt, no makeup, and at the Academy Awards capital.

Bobby said Dukey.Sussman has sold his soul to the devil. He is now the underground mastermind of the universe. He already has the most well-proportioned male genitalia in the history of the earth. The male pheromones he emits are probably more powerful than the gravity of the earth. I'm glad to hear that Sheji is also on the night shift, because he's definitely a lot stronger than the other KBAY engineers. "But I thought someone else was there besides you two," I said. Sasha knew I wasn't jealous of Sheji, she could hear the uneasiness in my tone. "You also know that our business here has shrunk significantly since the closure of Fort Whitten, and we lost our nightly audience on military bases. Even though we have only the thinnest staff to maintain this nightly show, the business is still on the verge of making ends meet. What the hell happened? thing, Chris?"

"Did you close all the doors to the station?" "Yes. Every one of us on the night shift must watch 'PlayMisty ForMe' and take the horror lessons from the story." "Although your off-duty time is after dawn, promise me that the staff from the social foundation or the morning shift will accompany you to the parking place." "Could it be that some terrorist fugitive escaped?" "promise me." "Chris, what the hell is-" "I'll explain to you later, I just have to promise me." I said in a firm tone. She sighed, "Okay. But you didn't get into any trouble, did you? Did you—"

"Sasha, I'm fine, really, don't worry, just, damn it, promise me." "I promised—" "You didn't say that." "God! Well, well, I promise to do it, cross my chest and kill me. But now I want to hear how you explain it to me later, it must be a great story. , at least as scary as the stories I used to hear around the campfire when I was a Girl Scout. Will you be home waiting for me?" "Will you wear your Girl Scout uniform?" "The only thing I can copy are stockings." "That's enough." "You're restless just thinking about it, huh?"

"I couldn't stop shaking with excitement." "You are good or bad, Christopher Snow." "Yeah, I'm a killer." "Then Mr. Killer, see Luo later." We disconnect the phone and I clip the mobile back to my belt. At that moment, I listened quietly to the silence in the cemetery.Even the swallows who live in the chimney return to their nests for sleep at night when there is no performance.No wonder the earthworms come out to work at this time, but they always work seriously without saying a word and are quite dedicated to their work. I said to Orson, "I think I need some spiritual guidance. Let's go visit Father Tom."

As I hiked through the cemetery to the back of the church, I pulled the pistol out of my pocket. In a city where police chiefs dream of beating little girls and undertakers carry pistols, I can't rely on God's word to believe that priests don't carry guns.From the street, the rectory looked dark, but from behind I could see that two windows on the second floor were still lit. I was not at all surprised that the priest could not sleep after what he had witnessed in the church crypt.Although it is already three o'clock in the morning, since Jesse.Four hours had passed since Pinn's visit, and Father Tom still refused to turn off the lights.

"Walk silently like a cat." I whispered to Orson. We climbed the stone steps stealthily, then crossed the wooden floor of the back balcony as quietly as possible.I tried the door and it was locked.I originally hoped that this devout God's people would take unlocking the door as an expression of faith in God. I didn't want to knock on the door, and I didn't want to go around to the front door to ring the bell. Anyway, I even committed the crime of homicide.However, I want to avoid breaking windows as much as possible, because the sound of glass breaking is bound to startle people.

There are four windows that close up and down on the side facing the balcony. I tried them one by one and found that the third window was not locked.I tucked the pistol back into my pocket again, because I had to press the lower horizontal sash with both hands and fingers on the lower wires to lift the lower window.There was a sharp creaking and rubbing sound when the windows were opened up, making the atmosphere tense for a while. Olsen snorted, as if he was quite dissatisfied with my poor criminal skills, which shows that everyone is a natural critic. I waited there for a while, making sure that the noise just now had not been noticed, and then climbed through the open window into the dark house like the inside of a witch's purse.

"Come on, mate," I whispered, because I didn't want to leave Orson out alone, and besides, he didn't have a gun of his own. Ourson jumped inside and I pulled down and locked the window.While I don't think the monkeys or anyone else is watching us at the moment, it's prudent not to allow anyone or animals to easily follow us into the Abbey. Quickly scanning the room with my penlight, I saw we were in the dining room.There are two doors in the room, one is on my right and the other is facing the window.I turned off the penlight, pulled out the pistol again, and tentatively walked to the door closer to me, which was the one on my right.I come to the kitchen.The illuminated digital clocks on the two ovens and the microwave provided enough light to keep me from bumping into the fridge or the countertop on my way out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

There are several rooms on both sides of the corridor, and only a small candle is lit in the reception hall at the end. A three-legged half-moon table by the wall is dedicated to the Virgin.In the ruby-colored glass candlestick, a votive candle with only half an inch of burn left was shaking slightly. In the irregularly flickering candlelight, the face of the porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary reveals not kindness and dignity, but a touch of sadness.As if she also knew that these days, Yan Ran, the abbot of the church, has become a prisoner of fear, not the commander of faith. With Orson at my side, I climbed two wide flights of stairs to the second floor of the mansion.

A felon and his inseparable four-legged follower. The corridor on the second floor is L-shaped, and the stairway is located on the intersection.The hallway to the left was pitch black.At the end of this passage ahead of me, a staircase descended from a hole in the ceiling; somewhere in the back of the attic there must have been a light, but there was only an eerie gleam of light on the staircase. A stronger light shines from an open door on the right side of the corridor.I walked along the corridor to the door, peered cautiously inside, and found Father Tom's pretended simple bedroom, with a crucified crucifix hanging above their modest dark pine bed.The priest was not in the room; he was evidently in the attic.The bedspread had been lifted, and the sheets were neatly folded back on the bed, but there was no trace of sleep on the sheets. Two bedside lamps were on at the same time; I thought the area by the bed was too bright, but I was more interested in the desk in the other corner of the room.Under a desk lamp with a green glass shade on a brass stand, I saw a book open and a pen that clearly looked like either a diary or a diary. Orson let out a low growl behind me.I turned my head and found it standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring suspiciously up at the laser light coming out of the attic entrance.When it looked back at me, I raised my index finger to my mouth to keep it quiet, then gestured for it to come back to me.It came back to me obediently, not climbing to the top of the steps like a circus dog.So far, it seems to regard obedience as a very new and interesting thing. I was sure that if the priest had come down from the attic, I would have heard his footsteps descending the stairs before he reached the room.Even so, I still ordered Olson to be stationed at the door of the house and monitor the movement of the attic stairs. Averting my eyes from the head-on light of the bed, I crossed the room, walked to the desk, and glanced into the open door of the bathroom, which was empty.On the desk, in addition to the diary, was a corked glass decanter that clearly looked to be Scotch whiskey.A glass wine glass was placed next to the wine bottle, which contained more than half a glass of golden yellow liquid.The priest apparently took a few sips of his whiskey, straight and without rocks.Maybe not just sips. I picked up the diary, and Father Tom's handwriting was as tight and precise as machine-printed letters.I went into the darkest corner of the room, because my eyes, which were already in the dark, didn't need much reading light, and then I quickly scanned the last paragraph, which was about his sister.The last sentence is only half written: When the end comes, I may not be able to save myself, and I know that I will not be able to save Laura, because she is no longer the original her, she has gone, and all that is left is her shell. Or maybe even her body has changed, and God must have taken her soul back to the arms of the Father in Heaven, or maybe it has abandoned her, and will soon abandon us all. I believe in the goodness of God, I do, because there is nothing else to keep me going.If I believe in God, I should strengthen my faith and try my best to save one as many as one.If I can't save myself or Dora, at least I can save these poor things that come to me for help from abuse and domination.Jesse.Ping or those who ordered him may kill Laura someday, but she is not Laura anymore, Laura died long ago, I cannot stop my mission because of their threats, they will kill her sooner or later. Fuck me, but before they do... Olsen stood at the door to monitor the movement in the corridor. I turned to the first page of the diary and found that the date of the first diary was written on January 1st of this year. Laura has been captive for nine months, and I have long since given up any hope of ever seeing her again. Even if I have the chance to see her again, I may decline, may God forgive me, because I am afraid to see her changed appearance.Every night, I beg the merciful Mother Mary to send her beloved son down to take Laura out of this world of suffering. To get a full picture of what happened to his sister and how she is now, I'd have to find the previous volume or volumes of the diary, but I don't have the time to do that right now. There was a "bang" in the attic.I stood still, not daring to move, looking at the ceiling and listening carefully to the movement in the attic.Olsen, who stopped at the door, also pricked up one ear to listen.After about half a minute like this, we heard nothing more, so I turned my attention to the diary again.Due to time constraints, I could only flick through the contents of the diary in a hurry.most Most of the content reflects the priest's doubts and heartache towards theology.He struggled to remind himself every day, tried to convince himself, and even begged himself not to forget that if he hadn't relied on the power of faith, he would have been completely lost;These sections were extremely depressing, with a clear depiction of his mental torment, but nothing at all about Wervenburg's plot in Moonlight Bay, so I just skimmed through it quickly. On one page and several pages in a row of the diary, I noticed that Father Tom's neat handwriting suddenly became extremely scribbled.These incoherent, violent, paranoid passages must have been written in agitation after a good deal of whiskey. What is even more shocking is the diary he wrote on February 5th—three pages in a row, and the handwriting seems to be a bit outrageously neat. I believe in the goodness of God.I believe in the goodness of God.I believe in the goodness of God. I believe in the goodness of God.I believe in the goodness of God... These eight characters were repeated line after line, nearly two hundred times, none of which was hastily written; So neat.After reading this diary, I can feel the helplessness and panic in his heart when he wrote these words, as if his chaotic emotions at that time had been injected into the diary paper with ink, and then emitted from the paper. I wondered what had happened on February 5th that would have driven Father Tom to the brink of emotional and mental breakdown.What did he see?I wonder if he, too, experienced the rape-murder of the succubi that haunted and excited Stevenson to write these impassioned and desperate incantations.I continued to read and found an interesting observation in my diary entry for February 11th.This passage is buried in a lengthy theological debate in which the priest plays both skeptic and fideist, arguing for the existence and nature of God.If I hadn't caught a sudden glimpse of the word monkey group, I might have flipped through it quickly. This new group of monkeys, whose liberation I vowed to dedicate myself to, gave me hope because they were the exact opposite of the original group.These new breeds were neither violent nor angry—a scream from the attic distracted my attention from the diary.The mournful cry without a word was full of fear and pain, and it sounded strange and miserable. My panic was like a sonorous gong echoing in my mind, and at the same time touched the pity strings deep in my heart. It sounded like the voice of a child, maybe two or four years old, in a state of extreme confusion, fear and pain. The screams deeply moved Olsen, and he ran from the bedroom to the corridor. The priest's diary is too big to fit in my pocket.I had to tuck it into the waist of my jeans on the back. I followed Orson into the corridor and found him standing at the foot of the stacking ladder, staring up at the shadows and twilight of the attic entrance.It looked back at me with those expressive eyes, and if it could talk, I knew it would say we've got to figure something out. This dog is really special. Not only does it have a fleet of secrets in its head, it shows wit beyond the average dog, and it seems to have a fairly clear sense of moral justice.Before these things happened, I often suspected that the theory of reincarnation might not be superstitious, because I could imagine that Orson must have been a dedicated teacher or a responsible policeman in his previous life, maybe even a clever Xiuwen, and now he was reincarnated in this furry, In a small body with a long tail. Of course, I should have been piya for these ideas long ago.Candidate for the Crick Prize in the field of "Making guesswork".It is ironic that even if the mystery of Orson's life experience does not involve natural factors, it is probably not something that Piya and I could have imagined through our cooperation. At this moment, the screams came again, and Olsen let out a sad moan excitedly, the voice was too weak to reach the attic.This time the cry sounded more like the cry of a child than the first time.Immediately afterwards, another voice came. Because the voice was too small, I couldn't understand the content of the speech.Although I was pretty sure it was Father Tom's voice, I couldn't hear the tone of his voice, and couldn't deduce whether he was speaking soothingly or threateningly. If I had acted on instinct, I would have left the rectory immediately, headed straight home, made a pot of tea, smeared lemon jam on cheesecake, stuffed a roll of Jackie Chan movies into the VCR, with a blanket over my lap Lay back on the couch and enjoy a few hours, temporarily leaving your mind full of curiosity behind you.However, out of self-esteem, in order to show that my moral sense is stronger than that of dogs, I resolutely made a gesture to ask Orson to stand aside and wait.Then, with the 9cm Glock in my right hand and the uncomfortably stolen Father Tom's diary tucked into my waist, I climbed up the stairs. louis.The horrible scene in Stevenson's dream mansion, like a crow fluttering wildly in a cage, passed through my mind eeriely.Director Stevenson once regarded a little girl of the same age as his granddaughter as the object of his perverted fantasies, but the screams I just heard seemed to come from younger children.Even the priest suffers from Stevenson's strange understanding, so he may not limit the age group of his prey to children around ten years old. As I approached the top of the stairs, holding onto the stackable escalator with one hand, I looked down the side of my body, and I saw Orson looking up at me intently.It followed my instructions exactly and made no attempt to follow me up the stairs.In the past hour, it has been quite serious and obedient. It didn't snort at the order I gave, nor rolled its eyes with disdain. The self-control it showed is an excellent performance to break its personal record.In fact, an extra half hour of such a performance would have been Olympic-caliber. I thought about the possibility of being kicked, but I continued to climb up to the attic without hesitation.Apparently my light gesture didn't attract Father Tom's attention, because he wasn't waiting in the mouth to kick me head-on and hard between the eyebrows. The people in the attic live in a small open space, surrounded by large and small cardboard boxes, old furniture and some sundries that I can't identify, piled up like a six-meter-high maze.The light directly above the stair opening was not turned on, and the only light source came from the southeast corner of the village, close to the front of the house. I cautiously enter the attic in a semi-squat position.There was still ample distance between my head and the ceiling beams, owing to the pitched Germanic roof.I wasn't worried about bumping my head against the beam, but I was convinced that there was still a risk of being hit head-on with a stick, a bullet between the eyebrows, or a knife piercing the heart, so I kept my posture as low as possible and remained as calm as possible.If I could crawl on the ground on my belly like a snake, I would be too tall even to squat. The damp air is like the shade of old bottles, the smell of dust and old cardboard boxes.There was a faint woody, musty smell from the beams and pillars, and the stench of rotting corpses of small animals, perhaps birds or mice, dead in some unlit corner. To the left of the attic opening were two entrances into the labyrinth, one about five feet wide and the other less than three feet wide.I guessed that the wider passage would be the most direct route through the crowded attic, and the one the priest usually used to get in and out of the place where the captives were hidden—so I slipped quietly into the narrower passage.I'd rather take the initiative to surprise Father Tom than accidentally bump into him in one of the twists and turns of the maze. My sides were full of cardboard boxes, some held in twine, some with tape, and the half-peeled tape that brushed my face felt like insect whiskers.I learned to move forward in the dark slowly, because the shadows around me were too dazzling, and I was afraid that if I accidentally knocked down something, I would startle the snake. I came to a T-shaped intersection, but I didn't step into it immediately.I stopped at the intersection, held my breath and listened for a while, but heard nothing.Cautiously, I leaned forward from the first aisle, looking left and right along the new aisle, also three feet wide.Looking to the left, the light in the southeast corner appears to be slightly brighter than the front.Looking to the right, it was so dark that even my eyes accustomed to the night couldn't see any secrets hidden in it. I felt as if there was an unfriendly blind man watching me not far away, ready to surprise me at any time. I have the courage to tell myself that all the fabled geeks live under bridges, that evil goblins live in caves, that goblins only nest in machinery, and that demons have no guts to call the priest's mansion their home, Then I stepped into the new walkway and turned left, leaving the unfathomable darkness behind. It was too late and then soon, a sharp cry sounded, and I was so frightened that I quickly turned around and raised my gun to face the dark back, thinking that there were monsters, goblins, goblins and demons united to deal with me. Fortunately, I didn't shoot in a hurry, because after the panic, I suddenly understood that the source of the cry was the same as before, and it came from the southwest corner. The third call covered the sound of my turning. It came from exactly the same source as the first two, but it sounded slightly different in the attic than it did in the second-floor hallway. It no longer sounded like a child's cry.What's even more creepy is that this sound sounds even weirder than before, it's so weird to the extreme, as if it's monster music coming out of a person's throat. I considered whether to retreat to the stairs, and it was too late to turn back at this point.Besides, what if there is a dying child inside, no matter how small the chance is, I can't give up.Besides, if I back off from this, my boss will think me cowardly and cowardly.It's one of the only three friends I have in this world where I only care about family and friends and now that I don't have a family it's even more important to me and I can't let it Disappointed with me. To my left, miscellaneous cardboard boxes next to piles of outdoor rattan chairs, reeds and wicker painted rattan baskets jumbled together, next to a dilapidated dresser with black paint in the oval mirror. It was so dark that I couldn't even see my shadow, and there were some unknown objects covered in cloth, and then more cardboard boxes. After turning the corner, I began to be able to hear Father Tom's voice.He spoke in a soft, soothing voice, but I couldn't make out a word. I accidentally walked into the cobweb and it startled me when the cobweb hit my face and it felt like a ghost just brushed my lips.With my left hand I wiped the broken cobwebs from my cheeks and the brim of my hat.The thin gossamer tasted slightly mushroom-bitter; I grimaced, trying to spit the spider silk out without getting excited. In order to get to the bottom of the matter, I hurried towards the source of the sound.During this period, I have been struggling to resist the urge to sneeze, and the musty dust in the air seems to have been experienced for centuries. After another corner, I came to the last short walkway.Six feet away from the end of this narrow walkway surrounded by cardboard boxes is the underside of the sloped roof on the east side, which is the front of the building.There is a mud-yellow light in the invisible corner on the front right, clearly illuminating the beam-column structure on the ceiling that supports the roof.I tiptoed to the end of the aisle, the floorboards creaking slightly under my feet.The volume was about as unobtrusive as usual in an attic, but it still had the potential to give me away. Father Tom's voice was getting clearer, but I could only make out one word out of five or six. A trembling high-frequency call sounded again.It sounds like the voice of a very young child, but it's not so pure.Not as rich in tone as a child's voice, nor half as innocent, and I couldn't understand a word of it.The longer I listened, the more hairy my heart became, and finally I couldn't help but stop, although I didn't dare to stop for too long. At the end of the corridor, there is another peripheral corridor extending left and right along the east side of the attic.I risked being spotted and peeked down the straight aisle.On the left is a dark area, on the right is the southeast corner of the attic, which is also the source of the expected light, and the place where the priest kidnapped the captives.As a result, the source of the light was still invisible, and one had to turn right and make another turn along the southern wall. I walked along the six-foot-wide perimeter walkway, and because the wall to my lower left sloped so steeply, I had to half squat to avoid hitting the roof.Turning right, I walked down another aisle stacked with cardboard boxes and old furniture, and I stopped about two paces from the corner, leaving only the last pile of debris between me and the source of the light. partition. At this moment, a wriggling shadow suddenly flashed across the beam-covered wall in front of me, several jagged pointed feet swayed violently, and there was a bulb-shaped round body in the center, which looked very strange, and I was startled Jump almost screamed, and involuntarily raised his pistol in both hands. Then it dawned on me that the phantom in front of me was just the twisted shadow of a spider hanging on a filament.The place where it hangs must be very close to the light source, so its figure will be enlarged and projected on the wall in front of me. As neurotic as I am, I'm really not qualified to be a cold-faced killer.Maybe it's the caffeine in Pepsi.The next time I kill someone and vomit, I'll have to switch to decaffeinated drinks, so as not to tarnish my ruthless image of killing without batting an eyelid. After the spider incident was overwhelmed, I suddenly found that I could clearly hear every word the priest said: "... Pain, yes, pain is certain, and it will be very painful. But now I have removed the radio transmitter from you. Gouged out, dug out and mutilated, they can't follow you anymore." I think back to Jesse.Pinn was holding the mysterious instrument in his hand when walking through the cemetery earlier. From time to time, he listened to the faint signal from the instrument and read the display screen glowing green. From this, he knew that he was tracking the operation on the animal. Implanted radio transmitter.It's a monkey, isn't it?But not quite a monkey? "The wound is not very deep." The priest continued. "The wireless telegraph is buried under the subcutaneous fat. I have disinfected and stitched the wound." He sighed. "If only I knew how much you could understand, if only you could understand what I'm saying." Father Tom once mentioned in his diary that the new generation of monkeys was not as ferocious as the first generation, and he also vowed to devote himself to their liberation.Why is there a new generation of monkeys that is the opposite of the first generation?Why attach subcutaneous radios to them and then release them into the open air?How did these monkeys come to be in the first place? I can't even think about it.But it is clear that the priest played the role of a modern-day emancipator of the slavery system, fighting for the rights of the oppressed and disadvantaged groups, and his mansion became a stronghold of the underground liberation organization. When Ping went to the basement to settle accounts with Father Tom, he must have thought that the monkey had already undergone subcutaneous surgery and left. He also thought that the transmitter detected by the tracker was no longer on the monkey. In fact, his The fugitive was recuperating in the attic. The priest's secret visitor moaned softly, as if in pain, and the priest tried to comfort it in an almost baby-talking tone. Thinking of the meek temper of the priest and Ping Si in the face-to-face conflict, I boldly walked towards the remaining few feet of the road, and came to the last wall made of cardboard boxes.I leaned against the wall with my knees slightly bent so as not to hit the ceiling.From here, I had only to turn my head to the right and walk along the south side in the direction of the source of the light to see the priest and the animal. I hesitated and wondered whether I should show up, thinking back to some weird diary entries in the priest's diary, those fiery, incoherent and neurotic words, and the "I believe in the mercy of God" repeated two hundred times.Maybe he didn't treat Jesse the same way every time.Ping is so docile. On top of the smell of musty, dust and old cardboard boxes, the smell of medical supplies such as disinfectant alcohol, iodine and disinfectant is added at this moment. At this moment, the fat spider at the end of the aisle gathered its filaments, and sprinted to a place where the light could not reach. Its figure with claws and claws quickly shrank into a small black spot on the sloping ceiling, and finally disappeared completely. Father Tom reassured his patient and said: "I have antiseptic powder and various penicillin capsules, but I lack effective painkillers. It would be nice to have some. However, the world is full of suffering and suffering, isn't it?" This valley of tears. You'll be fine, you'll be fine, I promise you, God will watch over you through me." Is the priest a saint or a demon?Is it the few sane people left in Moonlight Bay?Or is it a beast that has already reached its extreme madness?I can't judge.I don't have enough facts to know what he actually did. I can only be sure of one thing: even if Father Tom was sane and doing the right thing, he already had a lot of turbulent thoughts in his heart, and he was not fit to hold a baby for a baptism. "I had some basic medical training," the priest told his patients, "because I was sent to Uganda for the next three years after finishing seminary." I felt as if I heard the patient's answer, the murmur reminded me of a pigeon's cooing, but not quite - it was more like a pigeon's cooing mixed with a cat's throaty purring Voice. "I'm sure you'll be fine," continued Father Tom, "but you really have to stay here for a few days so I can continue to treat you with antibiotics and watch the wound heal. You understand me Do you want to speak?" With a slightly melancholy and frustrated tone, he asked again: "Can you understand what I said?" Just when I was about to lean to the right and peek behind the carton, the "opponent" suddenly replied to the priest, the other party, when I heard it make a sound, I thought of this name most directly, because its sound sounds both Not like a child, not like a monkey, not even like any other creature God created. I froze on the spot, my fingers tensely clasped on the trigger. Of course, it still sounds a little like a little girl's voice, and a little like a monkey's cry.All in all, it sounds a little like every call, like an alien voice created by some of Hollywood's most creative sound artists mixing human and animal sounds. What is most shocking is not the frequency range of its voice, the ups and downs of its tone, nor the sincerity and emotion in its tone.What amazes me the most is that it actually has meaning.I heard more than meaningless chirping.But of course it wasn't English either, with no English words in it; although I'm not good at languages, I'm pretty sure it wasn't a foreign language either, because it wasn't as complex as human languages.However, it clearly consists of a crude string of strange phonemes, a primitive and powerful mode of verbal communication; it spouts out urgently with a very limited polysyllabic vocabulary. The other party seemed desperate to communicate, and even I, who was listening, was deeply moved by the longing, loneliness and pain revealed in its voice.These aren’t feelings I’ve imagined, they’re as real as the floor beneath my feet, the stack of cardboard boxes behind me, and my beating heart. Before I could turn my head to look around, the other party and the priest suddenly fell silent.I wonder what the priest's visitor looks like. It must be different from the average monkey, not from the first generation of monkeys that harassed me and Bobby in South Bay Point.Even if it looks like a rhesus monkey, the differences don't stop with the evil tawny eyes. If I had any trace of fear in my heart about the scene I was about to face, it would definitely have nothing to do with the terrifying appearance of this experimental animal.My chest was so overwhelmed with emotions that I could hardly breathe, and I had to struggle to swallow.What I'm afraid of is seeing my own inner loneliness and longing for a normal life from the other person's eyes. I'm afraid that the happy life I've gained by suppressing these emotions for the past 28 years will be lost in an instant.My happiness is as fragile and fragile as anyone's happiness.The urgent desire revealed in the other party's voice reminded me of the longing that pierced my heart many years ago. Over the years, I wrapped it into a pearl with indifference and closure; The resulting resonance would shatter that pearl and make me vulnerable again. My heart is shaking. This is why I am unable and afraid to express my inner pain and sadness when facing setbacks in life or losing loved ones.Depression only feeds self-pity, which is futile, and I can't allow myself to wallow in self-pity because the more I think about my limitations, the more I dig myself into them, and I end up sinking myself into a deep hole I've dug forever. Turn over.In order to survive; I had no choice but to be a ruthless guy. When facing the grief of the death of relatives and friends, I used a cowardly shell to wrap my fragile heart.I can freely express my love of existence, hug my friends without reservation, and sincerely pour out my heart, whether it will be raped or not.但是在我父亲过世的那一日，我必须对死亡、火化、生命等所有该死的话题保持谈笑风生的态度，因为我无法冒险——不能冒险——让自己从哀伤跌入绝望，最后陷入自怜，陷在充满愤怒、孤寂和自我怨恨的深坑里无法自拔。我不能过度深爱死去的人。无论我内心如何迫切地想要记得他们、拥抱他们，我必须让他们从我心中走远，愈快愈好。 我必须在他们死在病榻上的那一刻开始，奋力将他们从我的内心推出去。同样的道理，我必须拿身为杀人犯开玩笑，因为我愈是认真长久会思考杀害一条人命的含意，即使对象是路易斯。史帝文生这种禽兽不如的坏蛋；我愈会开始怀疑自己是否就是那个别人口中的午夜怪客、吸血鬼男孩和邪恶的克里斯。我不能太在乎死去的人，不管死去的是我深爱或厌恶的对象。找不能太在意孤孤单单一个人，我也不能太在乎我无法改变的事实。如同所有陷于出生和死亡之间这阵暴风雨的人们，我没有能力为这个世界带来巨大的改变，但求能为我深爱的人们做出微薄的贡献，也就是说，为了生存，我不能太在乎我现在是什么，而是我将来能成为什么，不在乎过去，只在乎未来，甚至不在乎我自己，只在乎那些为我带来生命中仅有的亮光，支持我继续蓬勃成长的朋友。 我不断颤抖，思索是否该转头面向对方，生怕会在对方的眼里看见太多熟悉的自己。我紧紧握住手枪，并非将它当作武器，而是当作我的护身，仿沸它是可以替我驱除任何毁灭力量的十字架，我不顾一切，强迫自己采取行动，于是我向右倾身转头张望，却什么人也没见到。 这条沿着阁楼南侧的外围走道比东侧的走道宽敞，大约有八尺宽；木头地板上，一张被褥凌乱的狭窄床垫靠在倾斜的屋顶下方。灯光的来源是一盏圆锥形的铜制桌灯，电线连接到架设在屋顶斜架上的插座。除了床垫之外，还有一个热水瓶，一碟切好的水果和奶油面包，一桶水，几个药品罐和消毒酒精、绷带，一条扫叠好的毛巾，和一条沾了血迹的湿布。 神父和他的访客像是一溜烟转世投胎似的瞬间消失无踪。 虽然当时对方充满渴望的声音导致我情绪激动得几乎无法动弹，但是他们静下来之后，我愣在纸箱尽头的时间绝对不超过一分钟。而今眼前的走道里却完全看不到汤姆神父和访客的身影。 四周静悄悄的，我一个脚步声也听不到。除了环境中寻常的小杂音之外没有半点摩擦、碰撞，或木头嘎嘎作响的声音。我甚至抬头朝天花板的橡木张望，心想他们会不会像蜘蛛一样，用细丝把自己往上拉，然后把身体编成一团躲藏在屋顶的阴影里。 只要我尽量贴近右边纸箱堆成的围墙，我头顶上就有足够的空间允许我站直。陡斜的椽水从屋檐处向左延伸；在我头顶上角六到八寸的空间。由于防卫心态使然，我还是小心翼翼地保持半蹲的姿势。 灯光的亮度还不至于对我造成威胁，而且圆锥状的铜制灯罩恰好将灯光集中在背离我的方向，于是我大胆地走近床垫，把床边摆设的物品看个究竟。我用一只脚的鞋尖掀开毛毯，虽然我完全不确定会在下面看到什么，结果我什么也没发现。 我不担心汤姆神父会下楼遇到欧森。其一，我认为他在阁楼进行的秘密工作尚未结束，再者，就算他真的下楼，我那只犯罪经验丰富的狗必然会聪明地找地方躲藏，不动半点声色地等候逃亡的时机。 然而，要是神父回到楼下，他可能会顺手将楼梯折好把阁楼的门关上，我或许可以用力把门推开然后从上面放下楼梯，但是难保不像撒旦和他的同伙被赶出天堂时般发出巨大的噪音。 与其继续沿着这条走道找到下一个出口，冒着半路与神父和对方正面冲突的危险，不如循着原路往回头走，我不断提醒自己把脚步放轻。高级的厚木地板上几乎没有空隙，而且由于地板不是用钉子固定，而是直接以螺丝拴在支撑地板的托梁上，因此即使我行过十分仓皇，走起路来照样安静无声。 当我在纸箱尽头一转身的时候，身材微胖的汤姆神父突然从我刚才站着偷听他们对话的阴影处冒出来。他身上穿的不是教服也不是睡衣，而是一件灰色的运动服，他满身大汗，像是刚跟着运动录影带做完健身操似的。 “你！”他一认出是我，就以严厉的语气对我大吼，好像我不只是克里斯多福。雪诺，而是刚从魔术师魔棒里迸出的妖魔鬼怪。 我心目中个性温和、乐观、善良的神父想必去了棕相泉度假，把公馆的钥匙交给他邪恶的双胞胎兄弟。他用棒球棍钝的一端用力戳痛我的胸膛。就算是XP侠也难逃物理定律的自然运作，这重重一击让我往后倾倒，跌到倾斜的屋顶下，一头撞在屋顶的橡木上。我没有限冒金星，不过倘若没有我詹姆斯。狄恩式的浓密头发做衬垫，我可能当场就撞晕在地上。 汤姆神父继续用棒球根戳我的胸膛，一边怒斥：“你！就是你！”