"Kelly,_James_Patrick_-_10_16_to_1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

"Well, you know. I thought maybe I should have one with me with all this stuff going on."
He didn't say anything for a moment. He just pulled a paper bag from under the counter and put my things into it. His shoulders were hunched; I thought maybe he felt guilty about overcharging for the radio. "You should be listening to music, Ray," he said quietly. "You like Elvis? All kids like Elvis. Or maybe that colored, the one who does the Twist?"
"They're all right, I guess."
"You're too young to be worrying about the news. You hear me? Those politicians ..." He shook his head. "It's going to be okay, Ray. You heard it from me."
"Sure, Mr. Rudowski. I was wondering, could I get five dollars in change?"
I could feel him watching me as I stuffed it all into my book bag. I was certain he'd call my mom, but he never did. Home was three miles up Cobb's Hill. I did it in forty minutes, a record.
* * * *
I remember I started running when I saw the flashing lights. The police car had left skid marks in the gravel on our driveway.
"Where were you?" Mom burst out of the house as I came across the lawn. "Oh, my God, Raymie, I was worried sick." She caught me up in her arms.
"I got off the bus in Ward's Hollow." She was about to smother me; I squirmed free. "What happened?"
"This the boy, ma'am?" The state trooper had taken his time catching up to her. He had almost the same hat as Scoutmaster Newell.
"Yes, yes! Oh, thank God, officer!"
The trooper patted me on the head like I was a lost dog. "You had your mom worried, Ray."
"Raymie, you should've told me."
"Somebody tell me what happened!" I said.
A second trooper came from behind the house. We watched him approach. "No sign of any intruder." He looked bored: I wanted to scream.
"Intruder?" I said.
"He broke into the shelter," said Mom. "He knew my name."
"There was no sign of forcible entry," said the second trooper. I saw him exchange a glance with his partner. "Nothing disturbed that I could see."
"He didn't have time," Mom said. "When I found him in the shelter, I ran back to the house and got your father's gun from the bedroom."
The thought of Mom with the .38 scared me. I had my Shooting merit badge, but she didn't know a hammer from a trigger. "You didn't shoot him?"
"No." She shook her head. "He had plenty of time to leave but he was still there when I came back. That's when he said my name."
I had never been so mad at her before. "You never go out to the shelter."
She had that puzzled look she always gets at night. "I couldn't find my key. I had to use the one your father leaves over the breezeway door."
"What did he say again, ma'am? The intruder."
"He said, 'Mrs. Beaumont, I present no danger to you.' And I said, 'Who are you?' And then he came toward me and I thought he said 'Margaret,' and I started firing.
"You did shoot him!"
Both troopers must have heard the panic in my voice. The first one said, "You know something about this man, Ray?"
"No, I-I was at school all day and then I stopped at Rudowski's ...." I could feel my eyes burning. I was so embarrassed; I knew I was about to cry in front of them.
Mom acted annoyed that the troopers had stopped paying attention to her. "I shot at him. Three, four times, I don't know. I must have missed, because he just stood there staring at me. It seemed like forever. Then he walked past me and up the stairs like nothing had happened."
"And he didn't say anything?"
"Not a word."
"Well, it beats me," said the second trooper. "The gun's been fired four times but there are no bullet holes in the shelter and no bloodstains."
"You mind if I ask you a personal question, Mrs. Beaumont?" the first trooper said.
She colored. "I suppose not."
"Have you been drinking, ma'am?"
"Oh that!" She seemed relieved. "No. Well, I mean, after I called you, I did pour myself a little something. Just to steady my nerves. I was worried because my son was so late and ... Raymie, what's the matter?"
I felt so small. The tears were pouring down my face.
* * * *
After the troopers left, I remember Mom baking brownies while I watched Superman. I wanted to go out and hunt for Cross, but it was already sunset and there was no excuse I could come up with for wandering around in the dark. Besides, what was the point? He was gone, driven off by my mother. I'd had a chance to help a man from the future change history, maybe prevent World War III, and I had blown it. My life was ashes.
I wasn't hungry that night, for brownies or spaghetti or anything, but Mom made that clucking noise when I pushed supper around the plate, so I ate a few bites just to shut her up. I was surprised at how easy it was to hate her, how good it felt. Of course, she was oblivious, but in the morning she would notice if I wasn't careful. After dinner she watched the news and I went upstairs to read. I wrapped a pillow around my head when she yelled at David Brinkley. I turned out the lights at 8:30, but I couldn't get to sleep. She went to her room a little after that.
"Mr. Beaumont?"
I must have dozed off, but when I heard his voice I snapped awake immediately.
"Is that you, Mr. Cross?" I peered into the darkness. "I bought the stuff you wanted." The room filled with an awful stink, like when Mom drove with the parking brake on.
"Mr. Beaumont," he said, "I am damaged."
I slipped out of bed, picked my way across the dark room, locked the door and turned on the light.
"Oh jeez!"
He slumped against my desk like a nightmare. I remember thinking then that Cross wasn't human, that maybe he wasn't even alive. His proportions were wrong: an ear, a shoulder and both feet sagged like they had melted. Little wisps of steam or something curled off him; they were what smelled. His skin had gone all shiny and hard; so had his business suit. I'd wondered why he never took the suit coat off and now I knew. His clothes were part of him. The middle fingers of his right hand beat spasmodically against his palm.
"Mr. Beaumont," he said. "I calculate your chances at 10^16 to 1."
"Chances of what?" I said. "What happened to you?"