"Daddy, I'm tired." The little girl in red trousers and green blouse said irritably, "Can't we stop yet?" "Not yet, dear." It was a tall, broad-shouldered man who spoke.He was wearing a shabby dress.Wearing a frayed corduroy jacket and a pair of ordinary brown chinos, he took the little girl's hand and walked quickly on New York's Third Avenue.Looking back, the green car was still following them, slowly crawling forward close to the sidewalk. "Please, Dad. Please." He looked down at the little girl.Her face was pale and dark halos appeared under her eyes.

He picked up the girl in his arms and continued to walk forward.But he didn't know how long he could last.He was very tired, and his daughter Charlie was looking heavier and heavier. It is now 5:30 in the afternoon, and Third Avenue is blocked by passing vehicles and pedestrians.They were now crossing Sixty-sixth Avenue.These intersections were darker and quieter, but that was what he was afraid of. They accidentally ran into a woman pushing a cart full of daily necessities. "Watch a little while walking." She continued to walk forward, disappearing into the bustling crowd.

The arm holding Charlie was sore, he switched hands and glanced back quickly.Half a block away from them, the green sedan was still following them. He could imagine three people in the car: two in the front seat and one in the back. What should I do now? have no idea.Exhaustion and fear made it hard for him to think.He's in pretty bad shape right now, and these bastards probably know it.All he wanted now was to sit on the dirty sidewalk and cry out, crying out his frustration and fear.But that doesn't solve the problem. He is an adult, he should think of two people. What shall we do now?

Penniless.Aside from the people in the green sedan in the back, money may be the biggest problem.In New York, you can't get anywhere without money.Here, the poor don't even exist—they disappear into the sidewalk, never to be seen again.He looked back again, and the green car was getting closer.The cold sweat ran faster down his spine and arms. If they knew as much as he suspected—if they knew that his psychic ability to control other people's minds was gone—they would probably try to catch him here and now, ignoring the people on the street.In New York, if it's none of your business, everyone ignores it.Have they been recording me?Andy guessed desperately.If so, they would know my condition, and it would be the end of everything, and there was nothing I could do but cry for help.If they had recorded me in the past, they would have known my patterns.The strange things, the things they were interested in, hadn't happened for a while since Andy got some money.

keep going. Yes, move forward.But where? He'd been to the bank at noon because his "radar" went off— His premonition told him that the enemy was approaching again.There was money in the bank, and he and Charlie would need it if they had to flee.In the absurdity of the matter, Andrew McGee (nicknamed Andy) no longer had any deposits at the Chemical Union Bank in New York.Regular for personal and regular for business.The current date, like disappearing into the air, is gone. At this time, Andy knew that they really planned to stop the game this time.Was this really just five and a half hours ago?

But maybe he still retains a little psychic powers.Just a little bit.It had been almost a week since he had last used his psychic powers, to help a member of the Faith Club who was trying to commit suicide.The man, who had come to the regular Thursday night discussion, began with an eerie calm about how Hemingway had killed himself.At the end of the meeting, Andy casually walked out with his arm on his shoulders, exerting his own mind control over him.Andy now wonders bitterly whether that act of kindness was worth it.Because now it seemed like he and Charlie would have to pay for it.He almost wished that the doom would also be diverted to...

oh no.He waved the thought away, terrified and disgusted at the thought. It should not be thought of by anyone. Just a little, he prayed.God, I just need a little.As long as it gets me and Charlie out of trouble. Oh God, I'd give anything, even if I'd be dead like a dead man, like a broken machine within a month of this.Two months is fine.Or literally die, with useless brains spilling out of my ears.But what would Charlie do after that? They had now reached Seventy Avenue.The intersection of sidewalks is a red light.Vehicles are constantly passing through, and pedestrians are gathering more and more at the intersection.Suddenly he had a premonition that the people in the car were going to grab him and Charlie here.Of course they'd be caught alive if possible, but if it looked like trouble... Maybe they'd been informed of Charlie's situation from above.

They may no longer need to capture us alive.Maybe they've decided to wipe out all threats.What would you do if you got a wrong inequality?Simple, wipe it off the board. Stab a knife in the back or use a suppressed pistol.Most likely it will be a more stealthy tool - a drop of rare poison on the tip of a needle.In this way, he would collapse and die in convulsions at the intersection of Third Avenue and Sixty Avenue.The police will report: Sir, this man appears to have died of a heart attack. He can only hope for the little supernatural power that may remain.There is no other way. They came among the pedestrians waiting to cross the intersection.Opposite "Don't walk through...

The signal flickered on and on, as if intending never to change again.He looks back.The car has stopped.The sidewalk door opened, and two people in ordinary clothes stepped out.They looked young, with clean-shaven cheeks.They were far more spiritual than Andy McGee could have imagined. He began to push his way through the crowd, looking around in horror, trying to hail a cab. "Hey buddy—" "My God, you bastard!" "I'm sorry, sir, you stepped on my dog—" "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." Andy said desperately.He is looking for two taxis.At any other time the streets would be full of taxis, but now there were none.He could feel the people getting in and out of the limousine closing in on them, trying to grab him and Charlie and take them to God only knows where it was - "Ita" or some other goddamn place.Maybe they'd kill him and Charlie—

Charlie rested her head on his shoulder and yawned. At this time, Andy saw an empty taxi. "Taxi! Taxi!" he yelled, flying his free hand wildly up and down. Behind him, the other two gave up their disguise and started running. The taxi stopped. "Stop!" cried one of them. "Police! Police!" A woman behind the crowd at the intersection screamed loudly, and people started running in all directions. Andy opened the back door of the car.Stuffing Charlie into the car, he threw himself into the car. "Garden Street, come on!" he said. "Stop, taxi. Police!"

The driver turned his head away from the yell, when Andy hit him with a mental "push" at him. There was a sharp pain in Andy's head, which quickly faded away, leaving only a vague pain, like the discomfort you feel when you wake up in the morning because you have not slept in the right position. "I think they're after the black guy in the checkered hat," he told the driver. "That's right," the driver replied.He pulled off the sidewalk unhurriedly and headed down East Seventy Avenue. Andy looked back.Those two people stood alone on the sidewalk, and no pedestrian wanted to cause trouble.One of them pulled out a walkie-talkie from his pocket and started talking.The two then turned and walked away. The driver asked, "What did the black man do? He robbed a hotel or something?" "I don't know." Andy replied, trying to think about what to say next, how to convince the driver controlled by him to the maximum extent.Have they noted down the car's license plate?It should have been written down.But they don't go to the city or state police.They must at least panic for a while.When in a hurry. "I tell you, these niggers in town are crackers," said the driver. Charlie dozed off.Andy took off his jacket and folded it under her head.He began to feel a glimmer of hope.If this driver is handled well, they may be saved. Fate had sent him a gull (without prejudice in thinking so).The driver looked like the easiest type of person to handle: he was white (Orientals are stubborn for some reason); young (almost impossible to persuade older people); Smart people are the easiest to fool, dull people are more difficult. Controlling a demented person is impossible). "I've changed my mind," Andy said. "Please take us to Albany." "Where?" the driver glared at him in the rearview mirror. "Man, I can't send people to Albany. Are you crazy?" Andy pulled out his wallet.There was only one dollar bill inside.Thank goodness there is no riot grille in this car, otherwise you would have to talk to the driver through the little hole for handing money. And talking without any hindrance makes it easier for him to display his supernatural powers.He's never been able to figure out whether it's psychological.But that doesn't matter right now. "I'll pay you a five-hundred-dollar bill," Andy said quietly, "if you send me and my daughter to Albany. How about it?" "Jesus Christ, sir—" Andy pushed the bill into the driver's hand.When he looked down, Andy started to work on him again, giving him a hard "push" in his mind.For a moment Andy was very worried that his special powers had disappeared, and he could no longer control the young man.When he convinced the driver that he saw the non-existent black man in the checkered hat, that might have been the end of his career. The feeling that came with the great pain came again.At the same time, his stomach suddenly drooped, and his internal organs felt cramping.He raised a trembling hand in front of his face, feeling like he was going to throw up...or die.In that split second, he really wanted to die B, the feeling he would have whenever he overused his special ability.Use, don't abuse, the radio jockey's closing words from long ago rolled in his head.If someone put a gun into his hand at this moment - he glanced at Charlie, who was sleeping soundly.She believed her father could get them out of trouble, as he had done before; Charlie believed he would be there for her when she woke.Yeah, all the dilemmas, except they're all the same thing, fuck, the same thing.And all they can do is flee again.The deep despair gathered in Andy's mind. That feeling is gone...but the headache is still there.It would get worse until every beat of the heart sent pain into his head and neck.Bright light would make his eyes water and the muscles behind them ache.The nose will stop working and he will only be able to breathe through his mouth.There were drills piercing his temples, and the slightest sound became as harsh as a jackhammer, and the slightest sound became unbearable to him.The pain would intensify further, as if his head was being squeezed by the interrogator's torture device.This bad situation will last six or eight.Even ten hours. , this time he didn't know how long it would last.Before, he had never been to such a point where he was so close to exhaustion.And no matter how long his headache attacks would last, he would be left completely helpless, to be looked after only by Charlie.For God's sake, she's been burdened like this before...but they've been lucky.But who can be lucky forever? "Look, sir, I don't know—" What the driver meant was that it might lead to legal trouble. "As long as you don't mention it to my daughter, the five hundred dollars is yours," Andy said. "She's been with me for the past two weeks. I have to go back with my mother tomorrow morning." Visitation rights. "The driver said, "I understand. " "Look, I was supposed to get her on the plane." "To Albany? Maybe Ozark? Am I right?" "Yes. The problem is I'm terrified of flying. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's true. Usually I drive her home, but this time my ex-wife started making fun of me, and... I also I don't know..." To be honest, Andy really didn't know what to say.He made up this story on a whim, but now the story seems to have entered a dead end.He was exhausted and unable to justify himself any longer. "So I dropped you off at the Albany airport. And from Mother's point of view, you're flying in. Is that so?" "That's right." Andy's head was throbbing. "Besides, you're not such a coward in mother's eyes, are you?" "Yes." Coward?What would this mean?His head hurt even more. "For five hundred dollars, you won't have to travel by plane," the driver mused. "It's worth it to me," Andy said, exerting the last of his strength. He gently.Almost into the driver's ear, "And it should be worth it to you." "Listen," said the driver in a sleepy voice, "I'm not going to say no to five hundred dollars. I'm telling you the truth." "That's good." Andy leaned back in the chair after speaking.Satisfied, the driver didn't think too much about Andy's flawed story, or why a seven-year-old girl would visit her father for two weeks in October when school had already started.Nor did he wonder why the two men had no luggage, not even a handbag.He doesn't want to worry about anything.Andy had taken hold of him and made him believe everything. And Andy is now going to stick to it and pay the price. He put one hand on the sleeping Charlie's lap.All afternoon they ran for their lives.Andy came to school and pulled her out of her 2nd grade classroom with an excuse I can't remember...Grandma was very sick...Calling home...Sorry to have to take her home, Ann Dee breathed a sigh of relief.He was so afraid to come to Mrs. Michkin's classroom and see Charlie's seat empty, and her books neatly arranged in her desk: No, Mr. McGee, she and your friends two hours ago We left together, they took the note you wrote, nothing happened, right?What happened to Vicky, the sudden horror in the empty room that day came like a tide, and he was chasing Charlie crazily.Oh yes, they had caught her before. But this time Charlie was in the classroom.It's dangerous!He arrived half an hour earlier than those people?fifteen minutes?or less?He doesn't want to think about it.Later at noon, they had lunch at Nathan's Restaurant.Throughout the rest of the afternoon, they kept changing places—now Andy admits he was taken aback by the subway, the bus, but most of the time they walked.Now Charlie was exhausted. Andy looked at her deeply, lovingly.Her shoulder-length hair was impeccable, a flawless blond.In her sleep, she has a quiet beauty.She looked so much like Vicky that Andy's heart ached.He closed his eyes. In the front seat, the driver gazed curiously at the five-hundred-dollar bill the man had given him. He tucked the bill into the pocket on his waist for tips.He didn't think it was odd that the guy in the back was wandering around New York City with a little girl and a five-hundred-dollar bill.Nor did he think about how he could make this clear to the dispatcher.All he could think about was how excited his girlfriend Glenn would be.Grant always told him that driving a taxi was a tedious, monotonous job.Well, let her see if five hundred dollar bills are still boring and monotonous. In the backseat, Andy closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the seat.Gradually the headache came on, galloping relentlessly like a black horse without a harness in a funeral procession.He could hear the clatter of hooves on his temples: da, da, da. Endless escape.Charlie and him.Thirty-four years old, he was an English teacher at Ohio Harrison State University until last year.Harrison is a quiet, small college town.Good old Harrison, the heart of middle America.Good old Andrew.McGee, good, upright young man.Remember that riddle?Why a farmer is the Optimus Prime of his surroundings - because he is always standing in the field. Da, da, da, the black horse without a driver galloped wildly in his head with blood-red eyes, and the iron hoof lifted layers of soft gray brains, leaving strings of mysterious crescent-shaped hoofprints, gushing out moors of blood. The driver fell for it.good.An excellent taxi driver. Andy was drowsy.He closed his eyes, and there was Charlie's face in front of him.The face was Vicky's again. Andie McGee and his wife, beautiful Vicky.Those people pulled out her nails one by one.They drew four, and then Vicki spoke.At least that's Andy's surmise.thumb.index finger.Middle finger, ring finger... Then Vicky caved: Don't pull it out, I said.Whatever you want to know, I will tell you.Don't pull it out anymore. Please.So she said it.Later, maybe it was an accident….Later his wife died.Yeah, there are some things that the two of us can't compete with, and some things that none of us can contend with. Take "Ita" for example. Da da da.A black horse without a rider is galloping, look, what a black horse. Andy fell asleep. The past reappeared like a shadow. The person in charge of the experiment is Dr. Varys.He was a fat man who was losing his hair and had a rather odd habit. "We will administer an injection to twelve of you young ladies and gentlemen." As he spoke, he shredded a cigarette into the ashtray in front of him.His little pink hands tore open the thin wrapping paper of the cigarettes, and poured out the neat golden-brown shreds of tobacco. "Six of the injections are water. The other six are a mixture of water and a trace compound we call Destiny Six. The exact nature of this compound is an official secret, but it's basically just a hypnotic mild Hallucinogens. So you know we're going to be dispensing this drug in a double-blind way...meaning neither of us knows who gets injected with which fluid. That won't be known until later. Twelve of you are receiving You will be closely monitored for forty-eight hours after the injection, any questions?" The subjects asked questions, mostly about the exact composition of the Destiny Six—to say it was an official secret would be to put a pack of hounds in the criminal's escape route, arousing great curiosity.Dr. Varys dodges these questions very deftly.But there wasn't a single question that most interested twenty-two-year-old Andrew McGee.They were in a barely occupied lecture hall in the psychology and sociology department building at Harrison University.Andy considers whether to raise his hand in the middle of the meeting and ask: Why do you tear up good cigarettes like that?Best not to do that, though; let yourself be free to think during the dry meeting: Maybe he's trying to quit smoking? Maybe Varys' brother died of lung cancer, and the doctor was symbolically venting his displeasure with the tobacco industry.Or maybe it's just an involuntary habit that college professors feel should be boasted about rather than suppressed.Andy had an English teacher when he was a sophomore in Harrison (thankfully he is now retired) who gave lectures on William J. Howell and the Rise of Realism; Sniffing his own tie. "If there are no other questions, please fill out these forms and report on time at nine o'clock next Tuesday." Two graduate assistants handed out copies of the form to everyone, with twenty-five ridiculous yes-or-no questions to fill out: Have you ever had counseling?Do you consider yourself to have had a truly transcendental experience?Have you ever taken hallucinogenic drugs before?Andy hesitated, and ticked "No" on this question.He thought: This is the adventurous 1968, who hasn't taken this drug? He took part in the trial because of his college roommate, Quincy Raymount.Quincy knew Andy wasn't doing well financially.It was May of Andy's senior year, and he was about to graduate with a grade of 40 out of 506 students in the whole year and ranked third in English. But as he told Quincy, a psychology student, grades aren't what you eat.There was a possibility that Andy would get a graduate scholarship when the fall semester started, and another scholarship-loan, just enough to feed him and finish his graduate courses.But that will have to wait until autumn, and there is still a gap in the summer vacation.During the summer, the best job he could possibly get was one that demanded a lot of responsibility.Challenging position - night shift worker at Aker gas station. "What would you do if you could make two hundred dollars quickly?" Quincy asked him. Andy brushed his dark hair away from his green eyes and grinned, "Which men's room did I get licensed for?" "No, it's a psychological experiment," said Quincy. "It's just hosted by the mad doctor. You have to be careful. " "Who is he?" "His name is Varys, surnamed Tangto. A well-known drug expert in the Department of Psychology." "Why do you call him a crazy doctor?" "He's a scumbag and a Skinnerian. A behaviorist. Behaviorists don't just study love these days." "Oh." Andy said confused. "Also, he wears those little thick rimless glasses that look a lot like the shrinking doctor in the movie Dr. Cycloth. Have you seen that movie?" Andy is a new movie buff.After watching this movie, he felt that he had gained some confidence.But he couldn't make up his mind whether to take part in the show run by a man known as a scumbag.An experiment conducted by the mad doctor's professor. "They don't intend to shrink people, do they?" he asked. Quincy laughed out loud. "No, that's just for stuntmen in B-grade horror movies," he said. "The psych department has been testing a series of low-grade hallucinogens. They're working with American intelligence agencies." "CIA?" Andy asked. "Not the CIA. DIA. Not the NSA," said Quincy. "It's a bit lower. Have you ever heard of a group called 'ITA'?" "Maybe in a Sunday supplement or something. Can't remember." Quincy lit his pipe. "Psychology, chemistry. Physics. Biology, these departments work in much the same way... Even sociology has made a lot of money from this collaboration. From blood-sucking fly mating rituals to nuclear waste disposal methods. Some projects are Funded by the government. An organization like 'ITA' has to spend all of its annual funding to get roughly the same amount the next year." "I've got a lot of trouble with all this shit," said Andy.   "It's a headache for almost anyone with a brain." Quincy said with a calm, serene smile, "but who's going to stop it. What do our intelligence agencies want with low-grade hallucinogens? Who knows." You don't know, I don't know. Maybe they don't know. But their report looks good in the committee when deciding on the budget. Every department has their red man, in Harrison, Varys is They are popular in the psychology department." "Doesn't the administration care about that?" "Don't be so naive, my friend." Quincy was living a cigarette addiction, blowing big clouds of smelly smoke into the messy living room.His voice also became deeper and more serious, "It's good for Varys, it's good for Harrison's psychology department, next year it will have its own teaching building, and it won't be crowded with the sociology department: to the psychology department If it’s good, it’s good for Harrison State; it’s good for Ohio. And so on.” "Do you think it's safe to experiment?" "If it wasn't safe, they wouldn't test it on student volunteers," Quincy said. "If there was even the slightest doubt, they would test it on rats first, then criminals, and you can rest assured they're injecting you." About three hundred people must have been injected before. And their reactions were closely monitored." "I don't like the involvement of the CIA." "It's 'Ita'." "What difference could it make?" asked Andy gloomily.He looked at Quincy's poster hanging on the wall: Richard Nixon standing in front of a dilapidated classic car, clenched his hands and raised his fingers in a V shape representing victory.Andy couldn't believe that this man had been elected President of the United States less than a year ago. "I just thought maybe you could use the two hundred dollars. Nothing else." "Why are they asking such a high price?" Andy asked suspiciously. Quincy waved his hands and said, "Andy, this is a government treat, don't you understand? Two years ago, 'Ita' offered about three hundred dollars to do a trial of the feasibility of mass-producing explosive bikes—an ad in the Sunday New York Times.I guess it was developed for Vietnam again.But no one can be sure.As Faber McGee used to say: 'It seemed like a good idea at the time. Quincy snuffed out his pipe quickly: "To those people, every college campus in America is like one giant Macy's. They do their shopping here, window shopping there. Well, if you don't want to go if--" "Well, maybe I'll go. Are you going?" Quincy couldn't help laughing.His father owned a chain of men's clothing stores in Ohio and Louisiana. "I don't really need the two hundred dollars," he said. "Besides, I hate needles." "Oh!" "Look, for God's sake, I'm not trying to make a sales pitch. It's just that you look short on money. After all, there's a 50 percent chance you'll be in the control group. A little injection will get you two A hundred dollars. Remember it's not tap water; it's distilled." "Can you handle this?" "One of Varys' graduate assistants is my girlfriend," Quinn said. "They'll probably have fifty sign-ups, many of them sycophants trying to get something out of the Mad Doctor." "I wish you would stop calling him that." "Call him Varys, then," Quincy said, laughing. "He's going to watch these sycophants get weeded out one by one. My girlfriend will put your application in the 'admission' category.After that, man, it's up to you. " So when a notice to recruit volunteers was posted on the bulletin board of the Department of Psychology, Andy wrote the application.A week after submitting the application, a young female graduate assistant (Quincy's girlfriend, as far as Andy knew), called him with some questions.Andy told her his parents were dead; his blood type was O; far more than the 12 required for a full-time student). Oh yes, he is over twenty-one and can legally sign any document; public or private. Another week later, he received a letter via the school mail.The letter informed him that he had been admitted by: and asked him to sign an agreement.And on May 6, hand over the signed agreement to Jason Gilner Hall, Room 100. So now he's sitting here.The agreement has been handed over, and Varys, who tears cigarettes, has left (he does look a bit like the devil doctor in that horror movie).Andy, like eleven other undergraduates, answered questions about his religious experiences.Has he ever had epilepsy?no.His father died of a heart attack when he was eleven years old.His mother had died in a car accident when he was sixteen—a horrible one.Painful and unforgettable experience.His only close relative was his mother's sister, Aunt Carroll, and she was very old. He answered the questions one by one, ticking no.no.no.He answered "yes" to only one question.Have you ever had a broken bone or severe sprain?In the blank space of the answer, he scribbled down: Twelve years ago, he broke his left ankle in a game. Andy checked his answers.The nib of his Pick pen moved briskly upwards.At this moment, someone gently touched his shoulder, a sweet girl.A slightly hoarse voice asked: "If you have finished answering, can I borrow your pen? My pen is out of water." "Of course." He said, turning around and handing her the pen.a beautiful girl.tall.hazel hair.An extremely beautiful face.Wear a light blue sweater and a short skirt.A pair of beautiful legs, bare feet.This was Andy's first impression of his future wife. Andy handed her the pen, and the girl thanked her with a smile.Her hair was loosely tied back with a wide white ribbon.The lights from the roof make her hair a coppery glow as she looks down to fill out the form. Andy handed the form to the professor's assistant at the front of the room. "Thank you," she said, like a programmed robot, "Room 70, Saturday at nine o'clock, please be on time." "What's the code?" Andy asked in a hoarse voice. The assistant smiled politely. Andy walked out of the lecture hall and walked towards the gate through the corridor (the small square outside has been filled with green vitality with the approach of summer, and students are coming and going), when he remembered his pen .He almost wanted to let it go, it was just a 19 cent Piccolo, but he still had to prepare for the final round of preliminary examinations.But she's a pretty girl, and maybe worth talking to, as the English say.He had no illusions about his own unrefined looks and figure, nor about the general status of the girl (betrothed or engaged).But the weather was fine, and so was his mood.So he decided to wait.At worst, he can still appreciate those beautiful legs. Three or four minutes later, she came out with a book and notebooks under her arm.She was really attractive, Andy thought, and it was worth the wait for those legs.Not just pretty, it's simply breathtaking. "Ah, here you are," she said with a smile. "Yeah," said Andie McGee. "What do you think of the experiment?" "I don't know," she said, "my friend said that there are often experiments like this—she participated in the ESP experiment conducted by Professor Jay Bee Kings last semester, and earned fifty dollars, although she almost got it wrong. All the questions. So I thought—" She shrugged and didn't finish her sentence.Copper-colored hair was thrown briskly behind his shoulders. "Yes, me too." Andy replied.He took his pen, "Your friend is in the psychology department?" "Yes," she said. "My boyfriend, too. He's a student of Dr. Varys, so he can't take part in this trial. Difference of interests or something." Boy friend.Of course a slim brunette like her deserved a boyfriend.This is human nature. "What about you?" she asked. "Same as you. I have a friend in the psychology department. By the way, my name is Andy, Andy McGee." "My name is Vicky Tomlinson. I'm a little nervous, Andie McGee. What if I'm having bad hallucinations?" "It sounds very mild, and besides, even though it's a hallucinogen... As far as I know, the hallucinogens sold in the laboratory are not the same as those sold on the street. It is smooth, gentle, and injected in a quiet environment .Maybe he'll pour you some cream or ice cream too.:" Andy grinned. "Do you know about LSD?" she asked with a smile, one corner of her mouth curled up. Andy was mesmerized by her laugh. "Not much," he admits, "I've used it twice - once two years ago and once last year. Somehow, it made me feel very comfortable. My mind went blank and I thought it was. And then, for a long time All the unpleasantness seems to be gone. But I don't want to make it a habit. I don't like losing control. Would you like a Coke?" "Okay." She agreed.The two walked towards the Union Building together. It turned out he bought her two Cokes and spent the afternoon together.In the evening, they had a few more beers at the local pub.It turned out that she and her boyfriend were on the verge of breaking up, and she wasn't sure exactly how to handle it.She told Andy that her boyfriend was beginning to think they were more or less married; and that she was absolutely forbidden from taking part in Dr. Varys' experiments.It was because of his strong opposition that she signed the agreement without hesitation and decided to stick to it, even though she was a little scared now. "That Varys does look like a crazy doctor," she said, drawing circles on the table with her beer glass. "What do you think of his habit of tearing cigarettes?" Vicky giggled. "Weird way to quit smoking, huh?" 安迪问可不可以在参加试验的那天早晨去接她，维奇欣然答应了。 “和一个朋友一起参加试验会使我感觉好些。”她说道，坦诚的篮眼睛注视着他，“你知道，我确实有些害怕。乔治他太——怎么说呢——太冷酷了。为什么？他说了什么？” “正是这点让人伤心。”维奇说、“他不愿对我透露任何详情。 只是说他不相信瓦里斯。他说系里没有什么人相信他。但是许多人都报了名，因为他负责研究生的招生工作。再说他们知道这没什么危险，因为他会把他们全挑出来淘汰掉。 " 他伸出手，越过桌子碰了碰她的手。“不管怎么说，也许我们都只不过会被注射点儿蒸馏水。”他说，“别紧张，亲爱的。一切都会好的。” 但结果却是一切都很糟，一切的一切。 奥尔巴尼到了。 “先生，奥尔巴尼机场到了。 ” “嗨，先生、我们到了。” 一只手摇晃着他。他的头随之在肩膀上晃来晃去，头疼欲裂——天啊，砰砰地阵阵巨痛。 “嗨，先生，我们到机场了。” 安迪睁开眼，马上又被头顶那盏灯的耀眼白光晃得闭上了。 一阵可怕的轰呜声越来越响，在这巨响的撕裂下，安迪全身缩成一团，就像有钢针在他耳中一下下地钉着。一架飞机正在起飞。 它正穿过疼痛的血雾向他冲来。啊是的，大夫，现在一切又都回到我这儿来了。 “先生？”司机听上去忧心仲忡，“先生，你没事吧？” “我头疼。”他的声音像从遥远的地方飘来。湮没在飞机发动机的呼啸声中。谢天谢地，发动机声开始渐渐消退了。“现在几点了？” “快半夜十二点了。我实话对你说，到这儿来花了不少时间。如果你打算坐公共汽车回家，现在已没有车了。还用我送你们回家吗？” 安迪开始在脑海中搜寻他告诉这司机的故事。不管头疼与否，他应该记住的，这很重要。如果在什么地方他与前面所讲的故事自相矛盾，这司机的脑海中就会产生反弹效应．这效应也许会消失——确实这很可能——但也许不会。他可能会抓住其中一点漏洞、进一步探究；很快事情就会发展到他无法控制的地步，他的所有念头将全部集中在这一点上；此后不久，他就会全面精神崩溃．这样的情况以前出现过。 “我的车在停车场。”安迪说，“一切正常。” “噢。”司机松了口气，笑着说，“葛兰不会相信的，你知道。嗨！我实话对——” “她当然会相信的。你是相信的，对不对？”司机的嘴咧得更大了，“我有这张大票子作证明，先生，谢谢你。 “也谢谢你。”安迪说。他尽量表现得很有礼貌。为了恰莉他必须坚持。如果是独自一人的话，很久以前他就会自杀了。一个人不该忍受这样的痛苦。 “你肯定没事吗？先生？你看上去脸色惨白。” “我很好，谢谢。”安迪开始摇醒恰莉，“嘿，宝贝儿。” 小心地没有叫她的名字。也许这没什么关系，但警觉像呼吸功能一样，自然而然就起作用了，“醒醒，我们到了。” “恰莉嘟哝着，拥身离开他，“来吧，宝贝儿。醒醒，亲爱的。 " 恰莉的眼睛……从母亲那里继承的坦诚的蓝眼睛——颤动着睁开了，她坐了起来，擦着自己的脸，“爸爸？我们在哪儿？” “奥尔巴尼：室贝儿。在机场。”他俯身靠近恰莉，悄声说，“现在什么都不要说。” “好的。”恰莉朝司机绽开一张笑脸，司机也朝她笑了。她钻出汽车，安迪跟在她身后，尽量稳住自己的脚步。 “再次感谢，伙计。”司机叫道，“嘿、真是个绝妙的主顾。我实话对你说。” 安迪握住他伸出的手：“保重。” “我会的。葛兰不会相信我这次的奇遇的。” 司机上了车，将车驶离漆成黄色的人行道。又一架飞机正在起飞，引擎隆隆怒吼。安迪觉得自己的头马上就要裂成两半、像个空葫芦似地滚落在人行道上．他踉跄了一下，恰莉用手搂住他的胳膊。 “噢，爸爸。”她叫着，声音悠远缥缈。 “到里面去。我得坐下来。” 他们走进候机厅，一个是穿着红色裤子。绿色短衫的小女孩，一个是长着深色头发、没精打采的大个子男人，一个机场搬运工注视着他们走进候机厅。他想：这真是罪过，一个这样的大男人后半夜还在外面游荡”看上去喝得烂醉，让他的小女孩像只导盲犬一样领着他；几个小时前，她就该上床睡沉了。这样的父母根本就不配有孩子，搬运工愤愤地想着。 这两个人穿过由电眼控制的层层大门走进候机厅。搬运工也随即把他们忘到了脑后。直到大约四十分钟后，从那辆停在人行道旁的绿色轿车上下来的两个人开始盘问起他时，他才又记起了这两个人。 现在是子夜零点十分。航空集散站的大厅里已有不少人：即将离岗的服务人员；起得太晚。脾气乖戾的孩子们和催促着他们的手忙脚乱的母亲；满脸充满倦容的生意人；穿着大靴子、留着长发。四处游荡的年轻人。有些人肩上背着袋子，还有两个背着装在袋子里的网球拍；扩音器里宣布着飞机的到站和起飞，并播送着广播找人，像梦中听到的有些赶也赶不走的声音。 “安迪和恰莉并排坐在桌旁，面前摆着的电视机已经接通。这些电视机外壳已伤痕累累。凹凸不平，并被漆成了黑色。在安迪看来，它们就像是未来派画家笔下邪恶的眼镜蛇。他将自己最后的两个硬币投了进去。这样，人们就不会让他们走开了。恰莉的电视正在重放（新兵），而安迪的电视上是一部令人作呕的电视剧。 “爸爸，我非得那么做吗？”这是恰莉第二次问这个问题了眼泪已在她眼眶里打转。 “亲爱的，我已经精疲力尽了。”安迪说，“我们没有钱。我们不能呆在那里。” “那些坏人要来了吗？”她压低声音耳语般问道。 “我不知道。”哒，哒，哒，头痛阵阵。已不再是一匹没有驭手的黑马；而像是从五楼窗户中坠下砸在他身上的装满尖利铁块的邮袋，“不过我们得这样假设。” “我怎么能弄来钱呢？”安迪犹豫了一下，然后说，“你知道的。” 恰莉的眼泪夺眶而出，顺着脸颊流下，“这是不对的，偷东西是不对的。” “这我知道。”安迪说，“但他们一直追赶我们也是不对的。我向你解释过，恰莉。至少我试着向你解释过。” “小坏事和大坏事？” 'yes.微不足道的邪恶和巨大的邪恶。 " “你的头真得很疼吗？” “相当厉害。”安迪说。一两个小时之内，头疼会进一步加剧，使他不再能够思考。但告诉她这些是没有用的．她现在已经非常害怕，不应该再令她不安了。虽然安迪认为这次他们已不能逃脱，但他不想告诉恰莉。“我来试试吧。”她说着从椅子里站了起来，“可怜的爸爸。” 她说完吻了吻他。 安迪闭上了眼睛。面前的电视开着，在逐步加剧的头痛中，他只隐约听到一阵毫无意义的唠叨声。当他再次睁开眼时，恰莉已走得很远，只剩下一个小小的身影穿行在大厅零落的人群中，绿衣红裤，像一件圣诞节的装饰品。 上帝，保佑她吧。安迫想，别让任何人找她麻烦，也别再吓唬她了。求求你了，上帝，行吗？ 他再次闭上了眼睛。 看上去独自一人的小女孩。红色的弹力裤、绿色的人造丝罩衫，齐肩的金发，这么晚了还没睡，后半夜一个小女孩独自四处游荡艰难不引入注意，不过幸好这是在机场，她从人们身旁走过。 而没人注意到她。如果她是在哭泣，一个保安会来到她身旁，问她是不是走失了；是否知道父母乘坐的航班；他们叫什么名字，这样可以广播找人，但她并没有哭泣，而且看上去胸有成竹。 其实并不是这样——但她很清楚自己在找什么。爸爸说他们需要钱，头疼发作时，地不能用脑，必须躺下尽可能地休息，一直睡到头疼消失。可那些坏蛋就要来了。从“伊塔”'来的坏蛋们。他们要把她和爸爸拆散，看看他们为什么具有特异功能—— 看看能否利用他们，让他们做事。 一个垃圾桶上面扔着一个购物纸袋，恰莉顺手把它拿了起来。她沿着大厅又走了一会儿，终于找到了自己一直在寻找的东西：一排公用电话亭。 恰莉看着这些亭子，心中充满恐惧。因为从她很小的时候起，爸爸就一次次告诉她不能这样做，说那是个坏东西，可她并不是总能控制住这个坏东西。她可能会伤害自己，或是别人，或是许多人。那次（噢，对不起，妈妈，疼痛使得妈妈尖叫了，我让妈妈尖叫了，我再也不这样做了，再也不会，因为它是个坏东西）在厨房，她还很小，可是回忆令人痛苦。它是个坏东西，因为如果你对它听之任之，不加约束，它会到处蔓延。这真太可怕了。 她还有其它功能。比如说“推动”别人——爸爸这样称呼它。只是她比爸爸功力更强，而且在那之后并不头疼。可是有时在那之后……会起火。 恰莉不安地注视着电话亭，坏东西的名字在她脑中鸣响：无源热分裂。当他们住在波特城时，他们像傻瓜一样认为自己是安全的。那时爸爸对她说：“别在意，宝贝儿，你是个能引火的人，一个非州部落里的巫师。”当时这听起来很好玩，她咯咯笑了。 可现在她却一点也不觉得好玩了。 她不该发功的另外一个原因是可能被他们发现。那些从“伊塔”来的坏蛋们， “我不知道他们现在对你了解多少。”爸爸曾经对她说，“但我不愿让他们知道得更多。亲爱的，你的能力不完全跟我一样。你不能让人们，嗯，改变他们的想法，是不是？ “不能……” “但你可以移动物体，如果他们发现某种规律，并把这规律和你联系起来，那我们的处境就更不妙了。 这就是偷东西。偷窃也是件坏事。 没关系，爸爸的头很疼，他们必须在他不能思考之前找到一个安静。温暖的地方，恰莉向前走去。 一共是十五个电话亭，都装着圆形的自动门。人站在亭中，就像站在一个装有电话的巨大的胶囊里。恰莉沿着一个个亭子向前走着，看着。大多数亭子里面光线昏暗。一个穿着连衣裤的肥胖女人塞在一个亭子里，面带微笑飞快地说着。倒数第三个亭子里是个穿着军装的年轻人。他坐在小凳上，两条腿伸出门外，急急忙忙地说着。 “萨利，我知道你怎么想，但我可以解释。千真万确。我知道……我知道…… 只要你让我——”他抬起头看见了正盯着他的恰莉。他收回腿拉上门，动作连贯得像只缩回壳里去的乌龟。一定是和他女朋友吵架了，恰莉想。也许是他没有赴约，让她白等了。我可不许哪个男孩让我白等。 广播在大厅里回荡。恐惧像只老鼠，啃噬着她的心。周围都是陌生的面孔，她感到了自己的孤立无助和渺小，甚至伤心地想到了妈妈。这是偷东西，可又怎么样呢？他们已经偷走了她母亲的生命。恰莉溜进最后一个电话亭，手里的纸袋簌簌作响。她摘下听筒，装出一副打电话的样子——喂，爷爷，对，我和爸爸刚到。我们很好——边透过玻璃向外望去，看看是否有人在注意她。没有，附近只有一个黑人妇女正背朝着她从一台机器里抽出飞行保险。 恰莉凝视着电话。突然，她发功了。 一股能量从她体内溢出，恰莉咬住自己的下唇，很喜欢这种压迫感。不，一点儿也不疼。操纵物体使她感觉很舒服，而这是令她不安的又一个原因。万一她逐渐喜欢上这种危险的事情可怎么办？ 恰莉在心里又稳稳地“推”了一下电话。忽然间，一大堆硬中队退市口汹涌而出。她试着想用纸袋接在下面，可来不及了。 大部分硬币都掉落在地板上。她蹲在地上，尽可能在把硬币扫进纸袋，同时不停地朝窗外望去。 捡完地上的硬币，恰莉朝下一个电话亭走去。那个当兵的还在隔壁的亭子里说个不停，这时他又打开了门，嘴里叼着一支烟。“萨尔，向上帝发誓我去了！如果不信问问你哥哥！他会恰莉关上了自己亭子的门，掐断了他略带乞求的声音，虽然刚刚七岁，可她己能识破花言巧语，恰莉凝视着电话，不一会儿，它就吐出了里边的硬币。这次纸袋放的正是地方，硬币带着音乐般的叮当声落在里面。 当恰莉出来时，那个当兵的已经走了。于是她走进了这个电话亭。凳子还是温热的，尽管电扇在吹着，可里边还是充满了香烟难闻的气味。 硬币哗啦啦地落在她的袋子里。她走了出来。 埃迪·戴尔戈多坐在一把硬椅子里，盯着天花板，吸着烟。 婊子，他心里骂道。下回你要再是装模作样可得当心。埃迪这样埃迪那样埃迪我再也不想再见到你，埃迪你怎能这么狠心。不过现在他已经让她不再说“我再也不想见到你”这类鬼话了。眼下他有三十天假期。他要去纽约，去大苹果（纽约市别称）看看风景、逛逛单身汉酒吧。等他回来，萨利自己就会像是个熟透的大苹果，随手可摘了。不要对佛罗里达州马拉松市的埃迪·戴尔戈多说什么“你要尊重我” 这类的鬼话，他可不吃这一套。萨利·布莱德福就会对他投怀送抱了，如果她真相信他已经做了输精管切除手术，那就活该她自做自受了，让她跑到当老师的乡巴佬哥哥那儿去哭吧，活该，到那时，埃迪·戴尔戈多就会是在西柏林开着他的军用卡车了，他就会在—— 一股奇怪的热流从脚上传来，打断了埃迪，一半憎恶。一半幸灾乐祸的白日梦：就像猛然间地板温度上升了十度，与此同时，传来一种奇怪但有些熟悉的味道。并不是什么东西着了。但是，也许是什么东西烧焦了？ 他睁开眼，看见的第一个人就是那个在电话亭边转来转去的小女孩，她大约七，八岁，看上去己疲惫不堪，这时她手里托着一个大纸袋，里面好像装满了日用品。 但是他，的脚。是他的脚出问题了。 它们已不仅仅是热了，它们已经发烫了。 埃迪·戴尔戈多低头一看，尖叫了起来：“天啊！” 他的鞋起火了。它们已经发烫了。 埃迪，蓦地跳了起来。人们朝这边转过头来，有个女人看见发生的事，惊恐地叫了出来。两个保安正在和一个阿勒格尼航空公司的售票员闲聊，这时也朝这边望来，看出了什么事。 这一切对埃迪·戴尔戈多来说都无关紧要。萨利·布莱德福和他的爱情复仇计划已飞到了九霄云外。他的军鞋正欢快地吐着火苗，绿军装的裤脚边也开始着火。埃迪以冲刺速度冲过大厅，身后带着一股浓烟，就像是由发射器中弹出。女厕所离得更近些。 而现在对埃迪来讲救命要紧，己顾不得那么多礼仪了。他毫不迟疑地撞开问跑了进去。 一个年轻妇女正从其中一个小隔离问里出来。她把裙子塞在腰间，正在整理内裤。看见像个火炬似的埃迪，她“噢”地发出一声尖叫。叫声在用花砖装饰的厕所四壁问发出巨大回声。“怎么了？”“出什么事了？”从其它几个有人的小隔间里传出一阵骚动。埃迪没等小隔间的门关上就一头冲了进去。他双手撑着两边的墙头，把一双脚先伸到了马诵里，一阵吱吱的响声过后，大股大股的蒸气冉冉升起。 那两个保安人员冲了进来。 “站住！里边的人！”其中一个保安叫道。他拔出了手枪。 “两手放在脑后，出来！” “你就不能等我把脚上的火弄灭吗？埃迪咆哮着。