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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] were closed, he shook his head back and forth, as if he were walking through a wall of cobwebs. With a small cry, he flung himself forward, landing on his hands and knees on the mattress. Sitting up straight, he threw his hands out, crossing his arms in front of his face as though warding off an attacker. Terror passed over his face and he threw himself backward, a muted scream leaving his lips as he tumbled off the bed, cracking his head on the baseboard of the wall. His eyes sprang open, clear and bright. He looked at his legs, his heels still on the mattress, then glanced around. "Damn," he said. "Damn, damn, damn. What a dream." He couldn't remember all of it, just terrifying glimpses. Blood, fire, faces, screams. It was jumbled, didn't make any sense. Even as he drew his heels off the bed, the dream was fading. By the time he got to the bathroom, it was gone. Sleepily, he stood over the toilet and peed, then turned to the sink to splash some water on his blushing, sweaty face. Droplets dripping off his nose, he grabbed a nearby hand towel and, dabbing at the wetness, cast his eyes on the mirror before him. Deep in the mirror's recesses, a small green glow appeared. Jason first thought it was the reflection of something behind him and whirled around. Only the white shower curtain stared back at him. When he turned back to the mirror, the viridian glow was bigger. No, not bigger. Closer. He stepped away from the mirror and the glow picked up speed, coming toward him in a streamlined jet. Jason stood mesmerized for a moment, wondering if he still was dreaming, then decided he didn't want to find out one way or the other. Spinning on his heels, he started to run. Too late. The glow erupted from the mirror, spewing a vast cloud that swallowed Jason and stopped him in his tracks. From inside the cloud, Jason saw everything through a diseased greenish hue. The white porcelain of the toilet, sink, and bathtub resembled yellow-green jade. The tile floor looked as if someone had coated it with vomit. The sick discoloration made him feel ill. Prickling in his fingertips made him glance down and a cry of shock rose in his throat His fingertips were absorbing the emerald cloud. As the glow moved under his fingernails and into his hands, he could see the blood vessels beneath the skin take on an iridescent green. Holding his arms outstretched, he watched as the green flowed op his forearms and past his elbows. He grasped his right shoulder with his left hand, trying to stem the flow, but the sickening greenness moved as if his hand weren't there. He suddenly realized it was aiming for his brain. And he couldn't stop it. He stood still, fearfully waiting for the green-tinted blood to reach its destination. There was no doubt when it did. A rush of visions erupted in his head, collapsing him to his hands and knees. His mind's eye was drenched in an onslaught of horrid pictures. Blood, fire, faces, screams. He shook his head to rid it of the images. No use. He closed his eyes, threw his bands up and covered them with his palms, but the parade of horror continued. He opened his eyes and the visions remained. His whole existence revolved around the world within his mind. There were vast fires, screaming people trapped inside. No, not just trapped, put there on purpose. To burn, to die, to repent. Skin charred, then was peeled back with iron hooks to reveal fresh, sensitive muscle. Howls rent the air. He saw chunks of iron, spikes jutting on four sides, shoved into people's mouths. Confess, demon, confess. Spikes thrust through the roof of the mouth and into the blood-rich, tender tissue of the brain. The demon died, his guilt assured. Or the demon lived, his guilt assured. Jason saw hundreds, thousands, of people dying. On the rack, joints popping as they stretched beyond their breaking point; in the pillories, cat-o'-nine-tails lashing their backs, blood splashing the grinning face of the whip wielder. Innocent people were swept up in mob rule, carried away by fear and hate. The images abruptly changed and individual faces flew by, each unknown, yet each familiar. Men, all men. Many were dressed in ancient clothes: tricornered hats, powdered wigs, high-necked blouses. Some faces were peaceful, others screamed in agony. Who are these people? What do they mean to me? The images changed again, combined into one. The familiar faces were in the flames, in the iron devices, on the racks, and in the pillories. Tortured. Racked with agony. Dying. The pain scorched into Jason's body, shredding his nerves. It was hideous, horrible, yet a sense of unendurable sadness washed over him. What did they do? He flung his arms upward, crossing them in front of his face to ward off the horror. An anguish-filled scream burst from his mouth as he threw himself backward to get away, to hide, to leave this pain-drenched place. His head cracked against the side of the tub and he collapsed to the floor. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |