Weaveworld by Clive Barker Read Free Book Online Page A

was the vaguest of questions, but she was shooting in the dark.
    Mimi’s eyes flickered closed for an instant, and the frown deepened. She had given up trying to make words, apparently. Perhaps she had given up entirely.
    And then, with a suddenness that made Suzanna cry out, the fingers that rested on her arm slid around her wrist. The grip lightened ‘til it hurt. She might have pulled herself free, but she had no time. A subtle marriage of scents was fillingher head; dust and tissue-paper and lavender. The tall-boy of course; it was the perfume from the tall-boy. And with that recognition, another certainty: that Mimi was somehow reaching into Suzanna’s head and putting the perfume there.
    There was an instant of panic – the animal in her responding to this defeat of her mind’s autonomy. Then the panic broke before a vision.
    Of what, she wasn’t certain. A pattern of some kind, a design which melted and reconfigured itself over and over again. Perhaps there was colour in the design, but it was so subtle she could not be certain; subtle too, the shapes evolving in the kaleidoscope.
    This, like the perfume, was Mimi’s doing. Though reason protested. Suzanna couldn’t doubt the truth of that. This image was somehow of vital significance to the old lady. That was why she was using the last drops of her will’s resources to have Suzanna share the sight in her mind’s eye.
    But she had no chance to investigate the vision.
    Behind her, the nurse said:
    ‘Oh my god.’
    The voice broke Mimi’s spell, and the patterns burst into a storm of petals, disappearing. Suzanna was left staring down at Mimi’s face, their gazes momentarily locking before the old woman lost all control of her wracked body. The hand dropped from Suzanna’s wrist, the eyes began to rove back and forth grotesquely; dark spittle ran from the side of her mouth.
    ‘You’d better wait outside.’ the nurse said, crossing to press the call button beside the bed.
    Suzanna backed off towards the door, distressed by the choking sounds her grandmother was making. A second nurse had appeared.
    ‘Call Doctor Chai,’ the first said. Then, to Suzanna, ‘Please. will you wait outside?’
    She did as she was told: there was nothing she could do inside but hamper the experts. The corridor was busy; she had to walk twenty yards from the door of Mimi’s room before she found somewhere she could take hold of herself.
    Her thoughts were like blind runners; they rushed back andforth wildly, but went nowhere. Time and again, she found memory taking her to Mimi’s bedroom in Rue Street, the tall-boy looming before her like some reproachful ghost. What had Gran’ma wanted to tell her, with the scent of lavender?; and how had she managed the extraordinary feat of passing thoughts between them? Was it something she’d always been capable of? If so, what other powers did she own?
    ‘Are you Suzanna Parrish?’
    Here at least was a question she could answer.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I’m Doctor Chai.’
    The face before her was round as a biscuit, and as bland.
    ‘Your grandmother, Mrs Laschenski …’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘… there’s been a serious deterioration in her condition. Are you her only relative?’
    The only one in this country. My mother and father are dead. She has a son. In Canada.’
    ‘Do you have any way of contacting him?’
    ‘I don’t have his telephone number with me … but I could get it.’
    ‘I think he should be informed,’ said Chai.
    ‘Yes, of course,’ said Suzanna. ‘What should I…? I mean, can you tell me how long she’s going to live?’
    The Doctor sighed. ‘Anybody’s guess,’ he said. ‘When she came in I didn’t think she’d last the night. But she did. And the next. And the next. She’s just kept holding on. Her tenacity’s really remarkable.’ He halted, looking straight at Suzanna. ‘My belief is, she was waiting for you.’
    ‘For me?’
    ‘I think so. Your name’s the only coherent word she’s spoken