Сияние

On the Stairs

           Thatcamenext,didn’tit?Thewheelsofprogress;soonerorlatertheytookyoubacktowhereyoustartedfrom.

           "IcalledTony,"Dannysaid."Intheballroom.IguessIfelloffthechair.Itdoesn’thurtanymore.Justfeels…likemylip’stoobig."

           "Isthatwhatreallyhappened?"sheasked,lookingathim,troubled.

           "Daddydidn’tdoit,"heanswered."Nottoday."

           Shegazedathim,feelingeerie.Theballtraveledfromonebandtotheother.Hehadreadhermind.Hersonhadreadhermind.

           "What…whatdidTonytellyou,Danny?"

           "Itdoesn’tmatter."Hisfacewascalm,hisvoicechillinglyindifferent.

           "Danny-"Shegrippedhisshoulder,harderthanshehadintended.Buthedidn’twince,oreventrytoshakeheroff.

           (Ohwearewreckingthisboy.It’snotjustJack,it’smetoo,andmaybeit’snotevenjustus,Jack’sfather,mymother,aretheyheretoo?Sure,whynot?Theplaceislousywithghostsanyway,whynotacouplemore?OhLordinheavenhe’slikeoneofthosesuitcasestheyshowonTV,runover,droppedfromplanes,goingthroughfactorycrushers.OraTimexwatch.Takesalickingandkeepsonticking.OhDannyI’msosorry)

           "Itdoesn’tmatter,"hesaidagain.Theballwentfromhandtohand."Tonycan’tcomeanymore.Theywon’tlethim.He’slicked.

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