The Dead Place

Начало книги

Soon there will be a killing. It might happen in the nextfew hours. We could synchronize our watches and countdown the minutes. What a chance to record the tickingaway of a life, to follow it through to that last, perfectmoment, when existence becomes nothing, when thespirit parts with the physical.

The end is always so close, isn’t it? Fate lurks beneathour feet like a rat in a sewer. It hangs in a corner ofthe room like a spider in its web, awaiting its moment. And the moment of our dying already exists inside us, deep inside. It’s a dark ghost on the edge of our dreams, a weight that drags at our feet, a whisper in the ear atthe darkest hour of the night. We can’t touch it or seeit. But we know it’s there, all the same.

But then again … perhaps I’ll wait, and enjoy theanticipation. They say that’s half the pleasure, don’tthey? The waiting and planning, the unspoiled thrill ofexpectation. We can let the imagination scurry ahead, like a dog on a trail, its nostrils twitching, its tonguedribbling with joy. Our minds can sense the blood andsavour it. We can close our eyes and breathe in thearoma.

Читать дальше →