"Davis, Jerry - Wall Of Delusion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

Leo was a small guy, blond and skinny and always smiling. He
was the one who'd introduced Terri to Scott. They were all dressed
in tee shirts and shorts, a weekend during spring break. Scott had
brought them all home to his parent's house from college.
Another one of their friends, a redheaded guy named Kelly,
was over in a corner of the yard beside a birdbath. He'd had too
much to drink and was now on his hands and knees, puking. Scott
was drunk himself --- as were they all --- he lurched to his feet,
walking unsteadily along the swimming pool, and knelt by his
redheaded friend. "You're going to be okay, Kel," he said. Leaning
over, he put his arm around Kelly's stomach and hugged, supporting
the stomach muscles as they contracted. He held on, lending
support, trying to ignore the disgusting sounds and smells.
Through the waves of alcohol, he heard Leo saying to Terri,
"I could never do that. He's really strong to do that."
"He cares," Terri said.
"He's a good friend."
Scott felt lifted by the words. Proud. Barfing was a hard
thing --- he didn't want Kelly to go through it alone. Besides,
Scott had bought the tequila that was making Kelly barf. It was
partially his fault.
The memory froze to an image, and receded away from Scott.
It was no longer immediate and live. Again he perceived the
phantom image of the spring, unmoving and red. He opened his eyes
and saw Dr. Kline across the room tapping at a workstation
keyboard. One of the two ever-present armed guards was giving
Scott a strange look.
"What was the significance of this memory?" the doctor asked
him. "It's very vivid."
"Oh…" Scott felt his face flushing. "My wife told me it was
the moment she fell in love with me."
"The wife that you killed?" Dr. Kline said. "Interesting."
Scott opened his mouth to tell him he'd only had one wife,
just one, just one damn wife. One. But he let out his breath. Why
be mad at Kline? Kline didn't kill Terri. He swallowed his anger
and turned it inward, self-hate like needles in his heart.

#

Alone at night, Scott lay on the cot in his cell and
mentally fiddled with the software hoping he'd crash it and give
himself a lobotomy. He would go back five minutes, then back five
more minutes, then forward five minutes, then back again until he
got completely lost in his short-term memory, not knowing if he
was reliving a memory or in the present. The clue, the giveaway,
was if he willed the spring clockwise until it stopped and
wouldn't go any further --- that was the present.
He found he was reliving memories of reliving memories, and
so on, and so on again, and he kept it up all night, hoping it
would foul the programming code. Jam it up. Freeze his thoughts