"Thomas Easton - Organic Future 02 - Greenhouse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

He stood at the window. Its frame was wreathed in the ever-present
honeysuckle vines. Most people, he thought, kept the vines trimmed back from
their windows. Many even tried to keep them from growing in their yards,
though the plants were insistent. But Muffy liked them. She wanted them
hovering in the apartment windows, like drapes, she sometimes said, only
fresher, prettier, more useful.

He had to admit the vines were prettier, though they did, as now, have a
tendency to drape themselves over the sill. He picked up the intruding
vegetation and pushed it outside. When it fell away from the masonry, he
caught his breath. Had Muffy or her kidnappers grabbed at the vines? Had they
struggled here? Had she tried to escape? He didn't think the vines would hold
her weight.

Some of the vines' tendrils were broken. He picked fragments from the
sill, fingered the stubs, and made a face at the stickiness of the sap that
leaked from them. Where was she? Why had they taken her?

He took a step, and one foot made a "snick-ick" noise as he pulled against
a stickiness. He looked. Three honeysuckle blossoms lay crushed upon the
wooden floor, their pink and cream flesh discolored by dirt and bruises. The
invasion had been too recent for their spilled nectar to dry entirely, but
someone had stepped in one of the puddles and the footprints had had time to
grow syrupy. Small insects hovered in the air around the sticky patches.

He sniffed. The sickly sweet odor of honeysuckle wine dominated the room.
He wondered how Muffy could stand to drink the stuff. She had persuaded him to
try it, but only once. He had not liked its taste or smell.

Nor had he liked what he thought it did to Muffy. She had once been
vivacious, active, a joy to be with. But ever since she had taken up honey
sucking, she had had spells of seeming tired, uninvolved, languid.

He knew that languidness. The wine had made him want to stretch out on a
mossy bank, arms spread to the sun, smiling and uncaring, disconnected from
the animal rush of life. He hadn't liked the feeling.

A scrabbling noise behind the couch brought him out of his reverie and
made his last hopes fall. He turned away from the window. "Randy?"

Randy scuttled from her hiding place, mute evidence that Muffy could not
simply have left early for her job. The spider was the size of a cat, black
and shaggy, and she was essential to Muffy's work. And besides, the wreckage
in the apartment could not be due to simple burglars, or vandals. Nothing
seemed to be missing, except for Muffy. And the damage was hardly enough to
satisfy vandals.

He noticed that one of Randy's legs was trailing. When she reached Tom's
feet, she made a "Meep" noise and waved her palps.