本帖最后由 sammy 于 2012-7-23 13:47 编辑
The Color of Fear
by Michael Gallowglas
"You're more lucid than usual," the doctor said. "Let's revisit where we left off last Thursday about the cold."
"Yeah." The patient shifted on the couch. "Um." He took a breath. "Some people say fear is cold. Maybe for them. Not me. When my heart beats with that steady bam, bam, it burns the core of my body. Sweat drips down my back. Nasty while running through some jungle or some half-buried ruins in a desert. But it's not half bad when lying underneath a layer of snow and ice."
"This was on your expedition to Antarctica?"
"Yeah."
"Why don't you go into detail? If we can determine the source of your fear, we can work toward overcoming it."
"Okay. I'd thrown myself into a snow drift beneath a stone pillar that could have been from Athens or Rome, except for the luminescent jade set into it. A meter away, a hand reached out of another snow bank, fingers blackened. A head poked out of the snow. Frozen eyes glimmering in the sunlight, staring back at me. I picked that spot hoping that if they saw me, I'd be another corpse."
"They?"
"Agent Jaques Artois and James Crusher. I'd known about them for some time but managed to keep them ignorant of my existence. Artois had come up on Crusher while Crusher was up to his favorite pastime. You know."
The doctor looked up. "You've never mentioned them."
"Crusher blows things up. The old fashioned way. Dynamite. He lights them with a cigar. Kind of clichéd now that I think about it. Artois tries to stop him.
"Long story short. Artois's hand rested on his .44. Crusher gripped a lit cigar in his teeth. He held a stick of dynamite, the fuse about an inch away from the glowing tip."
The patient barked a laugh that had no hint of amusement as he stared upward. "Some dynamite went off. Artois dove for cover. Crusher and looked around, blinking, surprised. Rock and ice rained down." The patient bit his lip, as if to stop himself, but he couldn't. "I started getting nervous. My ears heated. Crusher never mistimes his explosives. Never."
"Then I...saw...against the skyline..."
"You're safe here," the doctor said.
"Two things. The light and a rose petal, blood red, shot through with withering black veins, framed in that light..."
"The sun?" the doctor prompted.
"No. I'd had enough of the sun, ever-present, never offering the warmth it promised. You would be surprised what can hide in that too bright light. No. The other light... green, erupting like a fountain against the sky. I shut my eyes, but it had burned its way inside, like looking at any bright light too long... Only, in the darkness, it spoke to me in some forgotten tongue, whispering in my mind. I opened my eyes and the whispering faded, but the green was there, in front of me, glowing, shadowing the daylight." He pointed straight up. "Do you see Doctor? There. Coming for us."
The patient's eyes rolled into the back of his head. foamed spittle flecking his lips. The doctor kept writing.
