Read Online Usher's Passing by Robert R. McCammon - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert R. McCammon
Tags: Fiction, General, Horror, Weapons industry, Military weapons, Military supplies, Arms transfers, Defense industries
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other side, and the door opened.
3
A UNIFORMED NURSE WITH A SURGICAL MASK OVER THE LOWER HALF of her face peered from the Quiet Room at Rix. She wore skintight surgical gloves as well. Above the mask her eyes were dark brown and set in webs of wrinkles.
A wave of decay rolled out of the Quiet Room and struck Rix with almost tangible force. He gripped the banister tightly, his teeth clenched.
Mrs. Reynolds whispered, "A mask should help," and motioned toward the box.
He put one on. The inside was scented with mint, but it was not much help.
"Are you Rix?" She was a big-boned woman, possibly in her mid-forties, with curly iron-gray hair cut short. Rix noted that her eyes were faintly bloodshot.
"Of course it's Rix, you damned fool!" came the hoarse, barely human rasp from the darkness. Rix stiffened. His father's melodic voice had degenerated to an animal's growl. "I told you it would be Rix, didn't I? Let him in!"
Mrs. Reynolds opened the door wider for him. "Quickly," she said. "Too much light hurts his eyes. And remember, please keep your voice as soft as possible."
Rix stepped into the high-ceilinged, rubber-walled room. Then were no windows. The only light came from a small green shaded Tensor lamp on a table next to the chair where Mrs Reynolds had been sitting. It cast a low-wattage circle of illumination that extended for only a foot or so into the room. He had an instant to see his father's grim bedroom furniture arranged in the room before Mrs. Reynolds closed the heavy rubber-lined door, sealing off the corridor's light.
He'd seen his father's canopied bed. There had been something lying in that bed, within a clear plastic oxygen tent. Rix thanked God the door had closed before he'd been able to see it too well.
In the darkness he could hear the soft chirping of an oscilloscope.
The machine was just to the left of his father's bed; he saw the pale green zigzag of Walen Usher's labored heartbeat. His father's breathing was a pained, liquid gasping. Silk sheets rustled on the bed.
"Do you need anything, Mr. Usher?" the nurse whispered.
"No," the agonized voice replied. "Don't shout, goddamn it!"
Mrs. Reynolds returned to her chair, leaving Rix to fend for himself. She continued where she'd left off in her Barbara Cartland novel.
"Come closer," Walen Usher commanded.
"I can't see where I'm—"
There was a sharp inhalation. "Softly! Oh God, my ears . . ."
"I'm sorry," Rix whispered, unnerved.
The oscilloscope had started chirping faster. Walen didn't speak again until his,heartbeat had slowed down. "Closer. You're about to stumble into a chair. Step to your left. Don't trip over that cable, you idiot! More to the left. All right, you're five paces from the foot of the bed. Damn it, boy, do you have to stomp?"
When Rix reached the bed, he could feel the fever radiating from his father's body. He gripped one of the canopy sheets and felt sweat trickling down under his arms.
"Well, well," Walen said. Rix could sense himself being examined. The silk sheets rustled again, and a form slowly shifted on the bed. "So you've come home, have you? Turn around. Let me look at you."
"I'm not a prize horse," Rix mumbled to himself under his breath.
"You're not a prize son, either. You don't fill out those clothes, Rix. What's wrong with you? Doesn't writing put enough food on your table?"
"I'm all right."
Walen grunted. "Like hell you are." He was silent, and Rix heard the gurgling of fluid in his lungs. "I'm sure you recall this room, don't you? It used to shelter you, Boone, and Kattrina whenever you had attacks. Where do you go now?"
"There's a closet I use in my apartment. I've got egg cartons stapled to the walls to muffle sound, and I've fixed the door so light can't get in."
"I'll bet you've got it looking like a womb. Something about you always craved a return to the womb."
Rix let the remark go. The darkness and smell of corruption pressed on him. The sickening heat from his father's body glared in
3
A UNIFORMED NURSE WITH A SURGICAL MASK OVER THE LOWER HALF of her face peered from the Quiet Room at Rix. She wore skintight surgical gloves as well. Above the mask her eyes were dark brown and set in webs of wrinkles.
A wave of decay rolled out of the Quiet Room and struck Rix with almost tangible force. He gripped the banister tightly, his teeth clenched.
Mrs. Reynolds whispered, "A mask should help," and motioned toward the box.
He put one on. The inside was scented with mint, but it was not much help.
"Are you Rix?" She was a big-boned woman, possibly in her mid-forties, with curly iron-gray hair cut short. Rix noted that her eyes were faintly bloodshot.
"Of course it's Rix, you damned fool!" came the hoarse, barely human rasp from the darkness. Rix stiffened. His father's melodic voice had degenerated to an animal's growl. "I told you it would be Rix, didn't I? Let him in!"
Mrs. Reynolds opened the door wider for him. "Quickly," she said. "Too much light hurts his eyes. And remember, please keep your voice as soft as possible."
Rix stepped into the high-ceilinged, rubber-walled room. Then were no windows. The only light came from a small green shaded Tensor lamp on a table next to the chair where Mrs Reynolds had been sitting. It cast a low-wattage circle of illumination that extended for only a foot or so into the room. He had an instant to see his father's grim bedroom furniture arranged in the room before Mrs. Reynolds closed the heavy rubber-lined door, sealing off the corridor's light.
He'd seen his father's canopied bed. There had been something lying in that bed, within a clear plastic oxygen tent. Rix thanked God the door had closed before he'd been able to see it too well.
In the darkness he could hear the soft chirping of an oscilloscope.
The machine was just to the left of his father's bed; he saw the pale green zigzag of Walen Usher's labored heartbeat. His father's breathing was a pained, liquid gasping. Silk sheets rustled on the bed.
"Do you need anything, Mr. Usher?" the nurse whispered.
"No," the agonized voice replied. "Don't shout, goddamn it!"
Mrs. Reynolds returned to her chair, leaving Rix to fend for himself. She continued where she'd left off in her Barbara Cartland novel.
"Come closer," Walen Usher commanded.
"I can't see where I'm—"
There was a sharp inhalation. "Softly! Oh God, my ears . . ."
"I'm sorry," Rix whispered, unnerved.
The oscilloscope had started chirping faster. Walen didn't speak again until his,heartbeat had slowed down. "Closer. You're about to stumble into a chair. Step to your left. Don't trip over that cable, you idiot! More to the left. All right, you're five paces from the foot of the bed. Damn it, boy, do you have to stomp?"
When Rix reached the bed, he could feel the fever radiating from his father's body. He gripped one of the canopy sheets and felt sweat trickling down under his arms.
"Well, well," Walen said. Rix could sense himself being examined. The silk sheets rustled again, and a form slowly shifted on the bed. "So you've come home, have you? Turn around. Let me look at you."
"I'm not a prize horse," Rix mumbled to himself under his breath.
"You're not a prize son, either. You don't fill out those clothes, Rix. What's wrong with you? Doesn't writing put enough food on your table?"
"I'm all right."
Walen grunted. "Like hell you are." He was silent, and Rix heard the gurgling of fluid in his lungs. "I'm sure you recall this room, don't you? It used to shelter you, Boone, and Kattrina whenever you had attacks. Where do you go now?"
"There's a closet I use in my apartment. I've got egg cartons stapled to the walls to muffle sound, and I've fixed the door so light can't get in."
"I'll bet you've got it looking like a womb. Something about you always craved a return to the womb."
Rix let the remark go. The darkness and smell of corruption pressed on him. The sickening heat from his father's body glared in
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