Bayou Moon - Andrews, Ilona [156]
“ ‘It’s easier to breathe. The budding arthritis in my hands troubles me no longer . . .
“ ‘I ran three miles in the morning to test myself, and discovering myself free of fatigue, I ran three more . . .
“ ‘The visions of the red daze haunt me. I must enter the Box again . . .
“‘I shall speak nothing of what I glimpsed beyond the red curtain. I must understand it before I commit it to the page . . .
“ ‘ The scar on my shin is gone. I’ve had it since I was a child ...
“ ‘And then I picked her up into my arms and danced across the house, danced and danced. She laughed, throwing her head back . . . Gods, I haven’t seen her laugh like that since we were twenty ...’ ”
Cerise’s voice kept on, flat and steady, reading Vernard’s thoughts as he slid deeper and deeper into delirium. The Box was addictive, and the addiction came with a price. It unhinged Vernard’s mind.
“ ‘I’m becoming violent. My moods, my rage are growing difficult to control. I screamed at Genevieve this morning when she brought us drinks. She had spilled my mug of tea. I didn’t mean to lash out, yet my body did it seemingly on its own, while I watched it act from the depths of my consciousness. It is as if I’m steering a boat with a broken rudder . . .
“‘The remedy failed me. The toxin proved too potent . . .
“ ‘ Too late. It’s too late for me.
“‘Too late . . . Impatient. Too impatient. Too many visits to the red daze. Had I just waited another month, letting the remedy affect me, had I limited myself to three trips and no more . . . Had I, had I . . .
“ ‘ Had I been a husband, had I been a father,
“ ‘I shall die alone, abandoned by my lover,
“ ‘Lay me down gently, I’ll go no farther,
“ ‘Lay me down gently . . .
“ ‘I found the pig dead in its pen. Its torn body was a mess of blood and bruises. I suspect the calf. I don’t like the way he looks at me.’ ”
Cerise closed her eyes for a long moment and kept going.
“ ‘Today, when I dumped the feed into the calf’s trough, it tried to ram me. I saw it coming, yellow eyes burning with a radiant hunger. It galloped to me, hooves striking a thudding battle hymn from the ground. It meant to kill me. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I didn’t wish to. It reached me, and my body took over. I spun out of the way. My hands closed about its neck and tore into the flesh. Blood washed over my fingers. Its scent . . . oh, its scent, intoxicating and sickening. It took hold of me and rode me, and I could not escape its grasp.
“‘I buried the calf. The rational part of me is horrified by the sight of the body, by its odor, by the taste of raw flesh on my tongue. But its voice is growing weak. The logical center of my being is fading. It leaves a ravening dog in its wake. And I have not the power to contain its rage. But she did fine. She did just fine. Only once and no more. My gift. My curse. My poor sweet E, carry it in you. I wanted so much for you and have given you so little. I’m just a selfish old man, tired and stupid, sitting on the shards of my tower. I fought against the forces of nature and was found wanting. I should’ve let it die, but couldn’t. I would beg for forgiveness, but I know you’ll have none to give. I love you. Gods, how hopelessly inadequate this simple proclamation feels.
“ ‘The red daze is coming. It will claim me soon.
“ ‘ I’ve hid it. Hid it where the fisherman waits.’ ”
Cerise stopped. “This is the last coherent entry. On the next two pages he has written ‘poor Vernard’ over and over, and then it dissolves into scribbles.”
She slumped in the chair, exhausted.
William’s mind raced. That’s what Spider wanted. The Box.
If the Hand’s freaks got cooked in the Box, they would come out more psychotic than they were before. They would regenerate their wounds in seconds, and they would kill and kill and kill, never stopping.
Louisiana wanted a weapon against Adrianglia. This was it.
Vernard never died. The thought dashed through his mind, illuminating the fractured pieces of the puzzle. Of course, Vernard never died. Not after that many trips to the Box. It would make him nearly