"L. Lee Lowe - Mortal Ghost" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lowe L Lee)

Sarah looked at Jesse, who shook his head.

'Thanks. Just the bill, please,' she said as she reached into her shoulder bag for her wallet. The waiter flicked a
look of contempt in Jesse's direction. Jesse stiffened but waited till the bloke was out of earshot.

'Look,' he said, 'you may not want my thanks but you've got them, and willingly. I was hungry, tired, dirty. I
feel much better now. As soon as you've finished your drink, I'd like to go back to your house. I'll be gone
before you begin to regret it.'

Sarah looked towards the waiter, who was busy clearing a table near the kitchen door. 'Do you really imagine
I care what someone like him thinks?'

Jesse had not expected her to be quite so perceptive. 'It's got nothing to do with him.'

'Please. Give me credit for a little intelligence.'

'OK, not much to do with him. He just showed me a hard truth.' His gesture managed to convey both
bitterness and contempt. 'I don't belong here. Not in this posh place, not in your posh house, not in your posh
lives. I want to leave as soon as possible.'

'Where will you go?'

He shrugged. 'Does it matter?'

Sarah slammed the flat of her hand down on the tabletop so that their glasses jumped. At a nearby table two
women with cigarettes between crimson-manicured fingers, carrier bags fawning at their feet, looked up in
curiosity. Sarah lowered her voice but spoke no less urgently.

'Of course it matters. You know how you're going to end, don't you?'

'That's my problem.'

'What are you afraid of?'

'I'm not afraid.'
Chapter 4 27

'Then stop running.'

A series of pictures flashed through his head: a bed without nightmares; a room where he could close -- and
bolt -- the door any time he chose; music and quiet voices talking; a chess game; a home. Books, endless
books. And the time to read them without worrying about the next meal, the next lonely sod or dangerous
piece of goods, the police, the rain, the cold. One by one the pictures faded, leaving at first a ghostly
afterimage, and then ... nothing.

Once it might have been possible. He had forfeited the right to a normal life long ago. He stared into the
bottom of his glass: running, she called it. As if anyone could run that fast.

Sarah's next words scared him.