"The Sympathy Society" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

‘I won't know till later, when I analyze all of the images. I wouldn't like to think that she died like that for nothing.’

‘She didn't die for nothing. She died because she's a human being, and human beings should have the choice to die in any way they want to. You haven't changed your mind, have you?’

Martin thought about Sarah speeding toward the cable. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I haven't changed my mind. But I wouldn't want to burn, like Sylvia did.’

They went back into the house. Theresa was sitting in the corner, in tears. Terence was hunched in his chair, saying nothing.

‘She's gone,’ said Sticky, unnecessarily. ‘A good girl, a very brave ending.’


Later that evening, Martin knocked on the door of Tybalt's study. Tybalt was sitting in front of his PC, frowning at the blurry, silvery-­gray images that danced on the screen. As soon as Martin came in, he switched it off.

‘Anything?’ asked Martin.

Tybalt shook his head. ‘Not so far. It's too soon to tell. There's a lot of filtering to do, a lot of enhancing. But I think I caught something today.’

Martin hesitated. Tybalt appeared tense, and anxious for him to go, as if he had recorded some images from Sylvia's last agonized seconds of life that he didn't want to discuss.

‘Of course - as soon as I come up with anything...’ Tybalt began. Martin nodded. Then he said, ‘Who's next?’

‘Theresa. Hers will take the longest, of course. There's an old dry well, right at the end of the garden, beyond the orchard. I had it bored deeper, fifty feet or so. She's going to go down tomorrow morning.’

‘Isn't anybody going to miss us? What about our bodies? Aren't you worried about the police?’

Tybalt gave a small, secretive smile. ‘By the time the police come looking, The Sympathy Society will have moved to pastures new. And everyone here has written a letter, explaining that they have taken their own lives. As will you, when your turn comes.’

‘Yes,’ said Martin, at last.


Theresa dropped herself down the dry well at the end of the garden just after dawn the following day. It was drizzling slightly, and her hair was stuck wetly to her forehead. They kissed her, each of them, before she went. She was obviously frightened, but she was smiling.

Tybalt attached the last electrodes to her forehead, with reels of cable so that he could monitor her alpha-rhythms right down at the bottom of the well. She knelt down in the brambly grass, and then, quite abruptly, she slithered out of sight.

They heard her cry out. ‘My leg! I think I've broken my leg!’ But they didn't answer, and she didn't cry out again. She had chosen to suffer the same death as her daughter, and her daughter had broken her left wrist and her collarbone, when she fell.

There was nothing more to do. They walked through the orchard and back to the house.

Three days later, it was Terence's turn. Tybalt had arranged to hire a tractor fitted with a disk plow. It was delivered to the top of the lane that ran down the side of the house, and Terence himself drove it down to the paddock past the orchard. He whistled as he steered it on to the grass. For the first time since Martin had met him, he seemed cheerful and contented.

This was one death that Martin really didn't want to witness. But, again, Sticky insisted. They walked to the paddock by way of the orchard, and Martin stood for a while by the well, listening. Theresa had insisted that nobody should peer down the well to see how she was, because that would mean that she wasn't completely forgotten, the way her daughter had been forgotten.

He listened, but he heard nothing. Tybalt had checked this morning and said that she was still alive, but 'very, very weak.'

The tractor was parked beside the paddock gate, with its engine chugging over. Terence was already lying underneath the plow, between its shining circular disks. He was stripped to the waist, with Tybalt's electrodes fastened to his forehead. He caught sight of Martin and Sticky making their way across the grass, and he gave them an elated thumb's up.

Martin went up and hunkered down next to him. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked him.

‘Couldn't be better. I've been looking forward to this. You don't know how much.’