Chapter 22

           Themusicwokehim,andatfirstitmighthavebeenthebeatofhisownheart.Hesatupbesideher,pullinghisjacketoverhisshouldersinthepredawnchill,graylightfromthedoorwayandthefirelongdead.

           Hisvisioncrawledwithghosthieroglyphs,translucentlinesofsymbolsarrangingthemselvesagainsttheneutralbackdropofthebunkerwall.Helookedatthebacksofhishands,sawfaintneonmoleculescrawlingbeneaththeskin,orderedbytheunknowablecode.Heraisedhisrighthandandmoveditexperimentally.Itleftafaint,fadingtrailofstrobedafterimages.

           Thehairstoodupalonghisarmsandatthebackofhisneck.Hecrouchedtherewithhisteethbaredandfeltforthemusic.Thepulsefaded,returned,faded...

           `What’swrong?’Shesatup,clawinghairfromhereyes.`Baby...’

           `Ifeel...likeadrug...Yougetthathere?’

           Sheshookherhead,reachedforhim,herhandsonhisupperarms.

           `Linda,whotoldyou?WhotoldyouI’dcome?Who?’

           `Onthebeach,’shesaid,somethingforcinghertolookaway.`Aboy.Iseehimonthebeach.Maybethirteen.Heliveshere.’

           `Andwhatdidhesay?’

           `Hesaidyou’dcome.Hesaidyouwouldn’thateme.Hesaidwe’dbeokayhere,andhetoldmewheretherainpoolwas.HelooksMexican.’

           `Brazilian,’Casesaid,asanewwaveofsymbolswasheddownthewall.`Ithinkhe’sfromRio.