Chapter 474:

"Gentle and gentle Jesus, gentle Jesus, look at this kid, have mercy on me... what does this mean?
Have pity on me-simple, please me come to you. "
That makes him feel better. The sleep of balm is deep and deep.
Quaid sat in the dark. Terror fell on him again, worse than ever. His body was stiff with fear. So much that he can't even get up and grab the light. Besides, if this time, this time has always been true, what should I do? What if there is flesh and blood beside the axeman? As Quaid saw in his dream, he grinned at him dreamily, dancing at the top of the stairs like a devil on the stairs, grinning, and dancing with a grin. Nothing moved. There is no creak of stairs, no giggles in the shadows. It's not him after all. Quaid will live till morning.
Now his body is somewhat relaxed. He turned his leg away from the bed and turned on the light. The room is indeed empty. The house is very quiet. Through the open door, he could see the top of the stairs. Of course, there is no axeman.
Steve woke up and shouted. It's still dark. He didn't know how long he slept, but his limbs no longer hurt so much. He put his elbows on the pillow, half-sitting, staring at the dormitory to see all the reasons for the commotion. Four rows of bed away from him, the two were fighting. The source of the dispute is not clear. They just wrestled with each other like girls and made Steve look at them with a laugh, screaming and blowing each other's hair. In the moonlight, the blood on their faces and hands was black.
One of them, the older of the two, was pushed back into his bed, screaming: "I won't go to Finchley Road! You won't let me. Don't hit me! I'm not your man! I" No! "
The other can't hear it. He was too stupid or too angry to know that the old man was begging to be alone. At the urging of the audience from all directions, the old man's assailant took off his shoes and was working for the victim. Steve could hear the crack of his blow, crack: the heel on the head. Each strike was accompanied by cheers and eased the cry of the old man.
Suddenly, when someone walked into the dormitory, the applause was faltering. Steve didn't know who it was. A large number of people fighting around were between him and the door.
He did see the winner throw his shoes into the air and finally shouted "!".
shoe.
Steve couldn't look away. It rises in the air, turns when it rises, and then falls like a bird onto the bare wood. Steve saw it clearly, more clearly than what he hadn't seen for days.
It landed not far from him.
It landed rumblingly.
It landed on its side. When his shoes landed. His shoes. He started. On the grid. in the room. In the house. On Pilgrim Street.
Quaid woke up with the same dream. Always stairs. He was always looking down at the tunnel of the stairs, and the ridiculous sight, half-joking, half-horrible tiptoes leaning towards him, laughing every step of the way.
He has never slept twice in a night. He reached to the bed and fumbled for the bottle he kept there. In the darkness, he sighed deeply.
Steve walked past the knot of angry people, not caring about their shouts or the old man's chants and curses. It is difficult for prison guards to cope. This was the last time the old man Crowley was allowed inside: he always incited violence. Everything bears traces of riots. It will take several hours for them to settle down again. No one asked Steve as he strolled down the corridor and passed through the gate into the lobby of the nightclub. The open door was closed, but the night air, bitter before dawn, smelled like a fresh smell. The reception is empty, and through the door, Steve can see the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. It was red and bright: beside it was a long black hose, curled on the red drum like a sleeping snake. Next to it, sitting on two brackets on the wall, is an axe.
A very beautiful axe.
Stephen walked into the office. Not far away, he heard running footsteps, shouts and whistles. But no one came to bother Steve, because he made friends with Axe.
First he smiled at it.
The blade curve of the axe smiled backward.
Then he touched it.
Axe seemed to like to be moved. It is dusty and has not been used for a long time. Too long. It wants to be picked up, stroked, and smiling. Steve took it out of the bracket very gently and then slid it under the jacket to keep it warm. Then he walked out of the reception, walked through the swing door, and found another shoe.
It took Steve a short time to adjust to his direction. As he set foot on Pilgrim Street, spring ushered in. He felt like a clown, wearing so many bright colors, wearing these loose pants, wearing these dumb boots. He is a cartoonist, isn't he? He laughed, very ridiculous.
The wind started to enter his mind, whipping his hair, making him irritable, making his eyes cold like two blocks of ice in his den.
He began to run, jump, dance, and shuttle on the street, turning white under the lights and darkening in the middle. Now you see me, now you are gone. Now, you see me, now, you-this time you are not awakened by the dream. This time he heard the sound. It's definitely noise.
The moon rises high enough to throw light beams from windows, doors, and the top of stairs. No need to turn on the lights. He can see everything he needs to see. As always, the top of the stairs is empty.
Then, the stairs at the bottom creaked and made a faint sound, as if the breath had fallen on it.
Quaid was scared then.
The other squeaked, and when it walked up the stairs towards him, it was an absurd dream. This must be a dream. After all, he has no clown, no axe killer. Then, that ridiculous image is another image that awakens him night after night. There is nothing but dreams?
However, maybe some dreams are so absurd that they can only be real.
When he stood looking at the door, the stairs and the spotlight of the moon, he said to himself, there was no clown. Quaid only knew about the fragile mind, so weak that they couldn't provide him with clues about nature, origin, or cure the panic that now puts him in trouble. When faced with the most terrifying fear in life, all they did was shatter and collapse into dust.
He knew there was no clown, never, never.
Then it appeared; fool's face. In the moonlight, his face was pale, young features were bruises, unshaved and puffy, and his smile was as wide as a child's. It bit his lip with excitement. There are blood stains on the jaw, and the gums are almost black with blood. Still a clown. There is no doubt that the clown would even wear inappropriate clothes, so uncoordinated and so pathetic.
Only the axe didn't match the smile.
The lunatic cut off the moonlight with a small gesture, his little black eyes gleaming with the expected pleasure.
He almost stopped at the highest point of the stairs, and his smile did not waver when he stared at Quaid's terror. Quayd stretched out his legs and stumbled to his knees.
The Joker climbed up another step, he jumped up, his gleaming eyes looked at Quaid, his body was full of benign malice. The axe swayed back and forth in his fair hands, which was a small murderous action. Quaid knew him.
That was his student: his guinea pig became his own fearful image.
he. Among all men. he. Deaf boy.
Now the skipping rope is bigger, and the clown is making a hoarse noise, just like some fantasy birds. The axe describes the widening sweep in the air, each time more deadly than the last.
"Stephen," Quaid said.
The name has no meaning to Steve. He only saw the open mouth. Close your mouth. Maybe a sound: maybe not. This has nothing to do with him.
The clown's throat made a harsh sound, and the axe swung over his head with two hands. At the same time, when the axe man jumped to the last two stairs and rushed into the bedroom, a happy little dance began.
His body turned halfway to avoid a fatal blow, but his movements were not fast enough or elegant enough. The blade cut through the air, cut through the back of Quaid’s arm, shook off most of his triceps, shattered his humerus, and opened his lower arm in a wound that just missed his artery. meat.
Quaid's screams could have been heard outside of ten houses, except that those houses were rubble. No one heard. No one came to drag the clown away from him.
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