"Barry Longyear - Dark Corners" - читать интересную книгу автора (Longyear Barry)

over my sides where Hicks kicked me. The ring finger on my left hand, the thumb and index fingers of my
right hand, are broken. Black with blood, the skin stretched so tightly over the swelling it shines. My
hands hurt terribly.

“Hicks,” stated the Misty Man.

“Yes. This time I know it’s him. I wrote it down. This time I know.”

There is a crusty substance in my nose and on my upper lip. It’s dried blood. “How can I write now?
He’s broken my fingers.”

The Misty Man’s power fills my mind. If I can write on an imaginary pad with an imaginary pencil, I can
hold the imaginary pencil with imaginary fingers.

I laugh and it’s a howl of power and victory. I can write.




The writing is in my head, and the doctor doesn’t even notice my hands are not moving. Nor does he
notice my broken fingers, black and swollen. The dried blood on my lip.

He looks at the clock, looks at his watch. Looks back at the clock.

“Doctor,” I say out loud. There is a smile on my face because he’s got to be excited about me speaking.
I know I’ve been locked up here for over three years, and this is the first time I’ve ever said anything.

The doctor looks at the clock, looks at his watch.

I check my notes to see if I really did speak to him, and I did. Maybe it wasn’t loud enough for him to
hear.

“Doctor?”

The doctor turns his head toward me, his eyebrows going up. “Yes?”

“I spoke.”
The doctor nods and looks back at the clock. “I told you that you could anytime you wanted.”

Deep red, pus yellow, blackening eddies of anger fill the room, cover the walls, flow through the barred
windows, cover the earth.

If the Misty Man should appear this second and ask me to end the universe, I—

“Our time’s about up.” The doctor leans forward and places his hands on his chair’s armrests
preparatory to standing.

“What about my hands?” I ask.

The doctor stood. “I noticed you weren’t pretending to write down things. If you’ll remember I told