"Steven Gould - Jumper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Stephen Jay)

could hear gravel crunching as Topper walked around the front of the rig. I looked at him. He was
unbuckling his jeans and pulling down his zipper.

I yelled and scrambled back up to the cab, but strong hands gripped my ankles and knees,
dragging me back down. I grabbed onto the chrome handle by the door with both hands as tight as I
could, flailing my legs to try and break their grip. Somebody punched me in the stomach hard and I let
go of the handle, the air in my lungs, and my supper all at once.

"Jesus fucking Christ. He puked all over me!" Somebody hit me again as I fell.

They grabbed my arms and carried me over to the open tailgate of a pickup. They slammed me
down on the bed of the truck. My face hit and I tasted blood. One of them jumped up on the truck
bed and straddled my back, his knees and shins pinning my upper arms, one hand gripping my hair
painfully. I felt somebody else reach around and unbuckle my belt, then rip my pants and underwear
down. The air was cold on my butt and upper legs.

A voice said, "I wish you'd gotten another girl."

Another voice said, "Who brought the Vaseline?"

"Shit. It's in the truck."

"Well... we don't need it."

Somebody reached between my legs and pawed my genitals; then I felt him spread the cheeks
of my butt and spit. His warm saliva splattered my bottom and...

I pitched forward, the pressure off my arms and hair, the hands off my bottom. My head banged
into something and I struck out to hit my hand against something which gave. I turned, clutched at my
pants, pulled them up from my knees, while I sobbed for air, my heart pounding and my entire body
shaking.

It was dark, but the air was still and I was alone. I wasn't outside anymore. A patch of moonlight
came through a window six feet away to shine on bookshelves. I tasted blood again, gingerly touched
my split upper lip. I walked carefully down to the patch of light and looked around.

I pulled a book from the shelf and opened it. The stamp on the inside cover told me what I
already knew. I was back in the fiction section of the Stanville Public Library and I was sure I'd gone
mad.

That was the second time.



The first time I ended up in the library, it was open, I wasn't bleeding, my clothes were clean,
and I just walked away... from that building, from that town, from that life.

I thought I'd pulled a blank. I thought that whatever my father did to me was so terrible that I'd
simply chosen not to remember it. That I'd only come back to myself after reaching the safety of the
library.