В Thicker Than Water, каждое ново открывается шрамом более глубокой связи между людьми. Главные герои — это два близнеца, чья жизнь разбита одной коварной встречей. Начинается с простых моментов и остается неизменным мрачно-сюрреалистическим тоном, привлекающим внимание и заставляющим ждать следующего шага....
It scattered the old lady’s knuckle-bones and she yelled in alarm and fear, but she was a second behind the times because the sudden silence had opened a hole in the net: the demon rushed through it and was gone, too intent on its own survival even to hit out at us aÃhites s it left.
‘What are you doing?’ Caryl screamed.
‘Shut up.’ My voice was so thick that he probably couldn’t even make out the words. I lurched to my feet, made it as far as the door before my legs buckled under me. My knees hit the floor first, my hands a second later.
‘Mister Castor.’ Something cold touched my throat: the barrel of a tiny pistol. A Jesus gun. The old lady had a Jesus gun, hidden up her sleeve. How funny was that? ‘Finish the exorcism.’
‘Go - fuck - yourself!’ I panted.
‘Finish the exorcism, or I’ll have to shoot you. A bullet this small probably won’t kill you, but if I aim it straight at your spine I can almost guarantee it will leave you quadriplegic.
I didn’t answer.
‘It’s your call, Mister Castor. What do you want me to do?’ There was cold steel in the old lady’s voice. She’d have made a good nun: might even have been one, at some point, before she’d heard Gwillam’s call.
‘Pray,’ I suggested, with a bitter, choking laugh. ‘Pray for him.’
The gun stayed where it was for a moment longer, then withdrew.
The next time I looked up, I was alone. But not really: you’re never really alone in a big city.
22
From the comfort of Mark’s bedroom, I watched the world end. Or at least, that was how it felt. Melodramatic, I know, but it’s not easy to keep a sense of proportion when the wind gusts with the bitter reeks of burnt flesh and half-spent tear gas, and ignorant armies are clashing by night right in front of your sleep-deprived eyes.
"The riot cops had a hard time of it when they made their first charge. They got past the barricades at ground level and on the third-floor walkways, but they couldn’t penetrate on the eighth and twelfth floors - so the further they advanced, the tougher the going got. A plexiglass riot shield is a fine defence against a lobbed brick or a Molotov cocktail, but it’s not much use when an armchair drops on you out of the skies.
