dk.intensity-第36节

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　And　if　a　blown　tire；　why　not　a　malfunctioning　lock？　If　coincidence　can　give；　it　can　take。　Mr。　Vess　lives　with　intensity　but　not　without　caution。　Now　this　woman；　calling　for　Ariel；　has　e　into　his　life；　like　a　blown　tire；　and　suddenlyhe's　not　sure　if　she　is　a　gift　to　him　or　he　to　her。
　Remembering　her　revolver　and　wishing　for　Dobermans；　he　glides　across　the　laundry　room　to　the　cellar　door。
　The　woman's　voice　rises　from　the　stairs　below：　〃China　Shepherd　untouched　and　alive。〃
　The　words　are　so　strange…the　meaning　so　mysterious…that　they　seem　to　be　an　incantation；　encoded　and　cryptic。
　Confirming　that　perception；　the　woman　repeats　herself；　as　though　she　is　chanting：　〃China　Shepherd　untouched　and　alive。〃
　Though　Vess　is　not　usually　superstitious；　he　experiences　a　heightened　sense　of　the　supernatural；　beyond　anything　he's　felt　thus　far。　His　scalp　prickles；　and　the　flesh　on　the　nape　of　his　neck　crawls；　and　his　hand　tightens　on　the　pistol。
　After　a　hesitation；　he　leans　through　the　open　door　and　looks　down　the　cellar　stairs。
　The　woman　is　only　a　few　steps　from　the　bottom。　She's　got　one　hand　on　the　railing；　the　revolver　held　out　in　front　of　her　in　the　other　hand。
　Not　a　cop。　An　amateur。　Nonetheless；　she　might　be　Mr。　Vess's　blown　tire；　and　he's　jumpy；　twitchy；　still　extremely　curious　about　her　but　prepared　to　put　his　safety　ahead　of　his　curiosity。
　He　eases　through　the　doorway　onto　the　upper　landing。　As　close　as　she　is；　she　does　not　hear　him　because　all　is　concrete；　nothing　to　creak。
　He　aims　his　pistol　at　the　center　of　her　back。　The　first　shot　will　catapult　her　off　her　feet；　send　her　'flying　with　her　arms　spread　toward　the　basement　below；　and　the　second　shot　will　take　her　as　she　is　in　flight。　Then　he'll　race　down　the　stairs　behind　her；　firing　the　third　and　fourth　rounds；　hitting　her　in　the　legs　if　possible。　He'll　drop　on　top　of　her；　press　the　muzzle　into　the　back　of　her　head；　and　then；　then；　then　when　he's　totally　in　control　of　her；　dominant；　he　can　decide　whether　she's　still　a　threat　or　not；　whether　he　can　risk　questioning　her　or　whether　she's　so　dangerous　that　nothing　will　do　but　to　put　a　couple　of　rounds　in　her　brain。
　As　the　woman　passes　under　the　light　near　the　foot　of　the　stairs；　Mr。　Vess　gets　a　better　look　at　her　revolver。　It　is　indeed　a　Smith　&　Wesson　…　38　Chief's　Special；　as　he　had　thought　earlier；　when　he　had　seen　it　from　the　second…floor　bedroom　window；　but　suddenly　the　make　and　model　of　the　weapon　have　electrifying　meaning　for　him。
　He　smells　a　Slim　Jim　sausage。　He　remembers　liquid…night　eyes　widening　in　shock；　terror；　and　despair。
　He　has　seen　two　of　these　guns　in　the　past　several　hours。　The　first　belonged　to　the　young　Asian　gentleman　at　the　service　station；　who　drew　it　from　under　the　counter　in　self…defense　but　never　had　the　opportunity　to　fire。
　Although　the　Chief's　Special　is　a　popular　revolver；　it　is　not　so　universally　admired　that　one　sees　it　everywhere　in　use。　Edgler　Vess　knows；　with　the　certainty　of　a　fox　on　the　scent　of　a　rabbit　in　the　weeds；　that　this　is　the　same　gun。
　Although　there　are　still　many　mysteries　about　the　woman　on　the　stairs　below　him；　though　her　presence　here　is　no　less　astonishing　to　him　than　it　was　before；　there　is　nothing　supernatural　about　her。　She　knows　the　name　Ariel　not　because　she　has　been　watching　from　some　world　beyond　this　one；　not　because　she　is　in　the　dutiful　service　of　some　higher　force；　but　simply　because　she　must　have　been　tbere；　in　the　service　station；　when　Vess　was　chatting　up　the　two　clerks　and　when；　moments　later；　he　killed　them。
　Where　she　could　have　been　hiding；　how　he　could　have　overlooked　her；　why　she　would　feel　the　need　to　pursue　him；　where　she　got　all　the　courage　for　this　reckless　adventure…these　are　things　he　can't　discern　through　intuition　alone。　But　now　he　will　have　the　opportunity　to　put　these　questions　to　her。
　Lowering　his　pistol；　he　steps　back　into　the　laundry　room；　lest　she　glance　up　the　stairs　and　see　him。
　His　uncharacteristic　fear；　his　eerie　perception　of　oppressive　supernatural　forces；　lifts　like　a　fog　from　him；　and　he　is　amazed　by　his　own　brief　spasm　of　gullibility。　He；　who　has　no　illusions　about　the　nature　of　existence。　He；　who　is　so　clear…seeing。　i1e；　who　knows　the　primacy　of　pure　sensation。　Even　he；　the　most　rational　of　all　men；　has　spooked。
　He　almost　laughs　at　his　foolishness；　and　at　once　puts　it　out　of　his　mind。
　The　woman　must　be　to　the　bottom　of　the　stairs　by　now。
　He　will　allow　her　to　explore。　After　all；　for　whatever　bizarre　reasons；　this　is　what　she　has　e　here　to　do；　and　Vess　is　curious　about　her　reactions　to　the　things　that　she　discovers。
　He　is　having　fun　again。　Once　more；　the　game　is　on。
　Chyna　reached　the　bottom　of　the　stairs。
　The　outer　wall　of　mortared　stone　was　to　her　right。　There　was　nowhere　to　go　in　that　direction。
　To　her　left　was　a　chamber　about　ten　feet　from　front　to　back；　and　as　wide　as　the　house。　She　moved　away　from　the　foot　of　the　stairs；　into　this　new　space。
　At　one　end　stood　an　oil…fired　furnace　and　a　large　electric　water　heater。　At　the　other　end　were　tall　metal　storage　cabinets　with　vent　slits　in　the　doors；　a　workbench；　and　a　tool　chest　on　wheels。
　Directly　ahead；　in　a　concrete…block　wall；　a　strange　door　waited。　Click…whoosh。　Chyna　swung　to　the　right　and　almost　squeezed　off　a　shot　before　she　realized　that　the　sound　had　e　from　the　fiirnace：　the　electric　pilot　light　clicking　on；　fiiel　taking　flame。
　Over　the　sound　of　the　furnace；　she　was　still　able　to　hear　the　vibrating　pipe。　Tatta…tatta…tatta。　It　was　fainter　here　than　on　the　stairs；　but　still　audible。
　She　could　barely　make　out　the　music　from　the　second…floor　bathroom；　an　inconstant　thread　of　melody；　primarily　the　passages　in　brass　or　wailing　clarinet。
　Evidently　for　soundproofing；　the　door　in　the　back　wall　was　padded　like　a　theater　door；　in　leather…grain　maroon　vinyl　divided　into　quiltlike　squares　by　eight　upholstery　nails　with　large　round　heads　covered　in　matching　vinyl。　The　frame　was　upholstered　in　the　same　material。
　No　lock；　not　even　a　spring　latch；　prevented　her　from　proceeding。　Putting　her　hand　on　the　vinyl；　Chyna　discovered　that　the　padding　was　even　more　plush　than　it　appeared　to　be。　As　much　as　two　inches　of　foam　covered　the　underlying　wood。
　She　gripped　the　long　stainless…steel；　U…shaped　handle。　When　she　pulled；　the　vinyl…encased　door　softly　scraped　and　squeaked　across　the　upholstery　on　the　jamb。　The　fit　was　snug：　When　the　door　swung　all　the　way　free　of　the　jamb　and　the　seal　was　broken；　there　was　a　faint　sound　similar　to　that　made　when　one　opened　a　jar　of　vacuum…packed　peanuts。
　The　door　was　upholstered　on　the　inside　as　well。　The　overall　thickness　was　in　excess　of　five　inches。
　Beyond　this　new　threshold　lay　a　six…foot…square　chamber　with　a　low　ceiling；　which　reminded　her　of　an　elevator；　except　that　every　surface　other　than　the　floor　was　upholstered。　The　floor　was　covered　with　a　rubber　mat　of　the　kind　used　in　many　restaurant　kitchens　for　the　fort　of　cooks　who　worked　on　their　feet　for　hours　at　a　time。　In　the　dim　light　from　the　recessed　overhead　bulb；　she　saw　that　the　fabric　here　wasn't　vinyl　but　gray　cotton　with　a　nubbly　texture。
　The　strangeness　of　the　place　sharpened　her　fear；　yet　at　the　same　time　she　was　so　sure　she　understood　the　purpose　of　the　padded　vestibule　that　her　stomach　rolled　with　faint　nausea。
　Directly　opposite　the　door　that　Chyna　held　open　was　one　more　door。　It　was　also　padded　and　set　in　an　upholstered　frame。
　Finally；　here　were　locks。　The　gray　upholstery　plumped　around　two　heavy…duty　brass　lock　cylinders。　She　couldn't　proceed　without　keys。
　Then　she　noticed　a　small　padded　panel　overlying　the　door　itselfat　eye　level；　perhaps　six　by　ten　inches　with　a　knob　attached。　It　was　like　the　sliding　panel　over　the　view　port　in　the　solid　door　of　a　maximumsecurity　prison　cell。
　Tatta…tatta…tatta　。。。　The　killer　seemed　to　be　taking　an　unusually　long　shower。　On　the　other　hand；　Chyna　hadn't　been　in　the　house　more　than　three　minutes；　it　just　seemed　longer。　If　he　was　having　a　leisurely　scrub；　he　might　not　be　half　done。
　Tatta…tatta　。。。　She　would　have　preferred　to　hold　open　the　outer　door　while　she　stepped　into　the　vestibule　and　slid　aside　the　panel　on　the　inner　view　port；　but　the　distance　was　too　great。　She　had　to　let　the　door　fall　shut　behind　her。
　The　moment　that　the　upholstered　door　met　the　upholstered　jamb　with　a　whisper…squeak　of　softly　abraded　vinyl；　Chyna　could　no　longer　hear　the　vibrating　water　pipe。　The　quiet　was　so　profound　that　even　her　ragged　breathing　was　barely　audible。　Under　the　padding；　the　walls　must　have　been　covered　with　layers　of　sound…attenuating　insulation。
　Or　perhaps　the　killer　had　shut　off　the　shower　just　as　the　door　had　fallen　shut。　And　was　now　toweling　dry。　Or　pulling　on　a　robe　without　bothering　to　towel　off。　On　his　way　downstairs。
　Fearful；　unable　to　breathe；　she　opened　the　door　again。　Tatta…tatta…tatta　and　the　rush　of　water　moving　at　high　velocity；　under　pressure。
　She　exhaled　explosively　with　relief。　She　was　still　safe。　All　right；　okay；　be　cool；　keep　moving；　find　out　if　the　girl　is　here　and　then　do　what　has　to　be　done。　Reluctantly　she　allowed　the　door　to　fall　shut。　The　rattling　of　the　pipe　was　again　sealed　out。
　She　felt　as　though　she　was　suffocating。　Perhaps　ventilation　in　th