dk.intensity-第53节

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　when　he　tortured　her。　Then　perhaps　Vess　would　revert　to　the　crude　turtle　games　of　his　youth。　Maybe　he　would　drag　her　into　the　backyard　to　set　her　on　fire　for　the　pleasure　of　watching　her　crawl　jerkily　in　circles　on　crippled；　blazing　limbs。
　The　table　crashed　onto　its　side　hard　enough　to　jar　the　dishes　in　the　kitchen　cabinets　and　rattle　a　loose　pane　in　a　window。
　Though　she　had　been　striving　fiercely　for　precisely　this　result；　she　was　so　surprised　by　her　abrupt　success　that　she　didn't　cry　out　in　triumph。　She　leaned　against　the　curve　of　the　tilted　table　and　gasped　for　breath。
　Half　a　minute　later；　when　she　tried　to　pull　away；　she　discovered　that　the　chain　was　still　wrapped　tightly　around　the　barrel　pedestal　and　that　she　remained　encumbered。
　She　attempted　to　tug　it　loose。　No　luck。　Dropping　to　her　hands　and　knees；　carrying　the　chair　on　her　back；　she　reached　under　the　canted　table；　as　though　she　were　at　the　seashore　and　seeking　shade　beneath　a　giant　beach　umbrella。　In　the　darkness　she　felt　around　the　bottom　of　the　barrel　that　served　as　the　pedestal；　and　she　discovered　that　this　part　of　the　job　was　not　yet　finished。
　The　table　was　tipped　on　its　side…like　a　mushroom　with　a　large　cap；　stem　meeting　the　floor　at　an　angle。　Given　the　position　from　which　she'd　had　to　work；　she　had　not　been　able　to　tip　it　pletely　over；　with　the　pedestal　straight　up　in　the　air。　The　bottom　of　the　barrel；　recessed　inside　a　chime　hoop；　was　fully　exposed；　however；　the　tethering　chain　was　trapped　in　the　angle　between　the　floor　and　the　side　of　the　barrel。
　Lifting　the　chair　with　her；　Chyna　struggled　to　her　feet　but　rose　only　to　a　crouch。　She　reached　down　with　both　hands；　hooked　her　fingers　around　the　chime　hoop；　paused　to　gather　her　strength；　and　pulled　upward。
　Although　she　tried　to　hold　her　injured　trigger　finger　out　of　the　way；　her　sweaty　hands　slipped　on　the　painted　iron　hoop。　She　stubbed　the　fingertips　of　her　right　hand　hard　against　the　rough　bottom　of　the　barrel；　and　such　a　brilliant　pain　flashed　through　her　swollen　index　finger　that　she　cried　out　in　dazzled　agony。
　For　a　while　she　hunched　over；　protectively　holding　her　injured　hand　against　her　breast；　waiting　for　the　pain　to　subside。　Eventually　it　faded　somewhat。
　After　blotting　her　hands　on　her　jeans；　she　hooked　her　fingers　around　the　chime　hoop　once　more；　hesitated；　heaved；　and　the　barrel　pedestal　came　off　the　floor　half　an　inch；　an　inch。　With　her　left　foot；　she　pawed　at　the　loop　of　chain　until　she　thought　it　was　free；　and　then　she　let　the　pedestal　drop　to　the　floor　again。
　She　scooted　backward　in　her　chair；　and　this　time　nothing　impeded　her。　The　loop　of　chain　rattled　across　the　floor；　no　longer　anchoring　her　to　the　table。
　Her　chair　bumped　into　the　wall　that　separated　the　kitchen　from　the　laundry　room。　She　hitched　sideways；　out　from　behind　the　table；　toward　the　window；　which　was　but　a　faint　gray　rectangle　between　the　blackness　of　the　unlighted　kitchen　and　the　slightly　less　dark　night。
　Although　Chyna　was　far　from　being　free；　farther　still　from　being　safe；　she　was　exhilarated；　because　at　least　she　had　done　something。　A　headache　like　an　endless　ining　tide　throbbed　in　waves　across　her　brow　and　along　her　right　temple；　and　the　pain　in　her　neck　was　savage。　Her　swollen　index　finger　was　a　world　of　misery　in　itself。　In　spite　of　her　thick　socks；　her　ankles　felt　as　though　they　had　been　bruised　and　abraded　by　the　shackles；　and　her　left　wrist　stung　where　she　had　skinned　it　while　trying　to　yank　the　spindles　out　of　the　back　of　the　chair。　Her　joints　ached　and　her　muscles　burned　from　the　demands　she　had　put　on　them；　and　she　had　a　stitch　in　her　left　side　that　was　pulling　like　a　needle　threaded　with　hot　wire…yet　she　was　grinning　and　exhilarated。
　When　she　was　beside　the　window；　she　let　the　legs　of　her　chair　touch　the　floor。　She　sat　down。
　As　her　heartbeat　slowed　from　its　frenzied　hammering；　Chyna　leaned　back　against　the　cushion；　still　breathing　hard；　and　surprised　herself　by　laughing。　Musical；　unexpectedly　girlish　laughter　burst　from　her；　an　astonishing　giggle　part　delight；　part　nervous　relief。
　She　blotted　her　sweat…stung　eyes　on　one　sleeve　of　her　cotton　sweater；　and　then　on　the　other　sleeve。　With　her　cuffed　hands；　she　awkwardly　smoothed　her　short　hair　back　from　her　brow；　across　which　it　had　fallen　in　damp　licks。
　As　a　softer；　more　subdued　trill　of　laughter　bubbled　from　her；　Chyna　detected　movement　out　of　the　er　of　her　right　eye。　She　turned　to　the　window；　happily　thinking；　The　elk。
　A　Doberman　was　staring　at　her。　Few　stars　and；　as　yet；　no　moon　shone　between　the　torn　clouds；　and　the　dog　was　oil　black。　Yet　it　was　clearly　visible；　because　its　pointed　face　was　only　inches　from　hers；　with　nothing　between　them　except　the　glass。　Its　inky　eyes　were　cold　and　merciless；　sharklike　in　their　steadiness　and　glassy　concentration。　Inquisitively；　it　pressed　its　wet　nose　against　the　pane。
　A　thin　whine　escaped　the　Doberman；　audible　even　through　the　glass：　neither　a　whimper　of　fear　nor　a　plea　for　attention；　but　a　needful　keening　that　perfectly　expressed　the　killing　passion　in　its　eyes。
　Chyna　was　no　longer　laughing。　The　dog　dropped　from　the　window；　out　of　sight。　She　heard　its　paws　thumping　hollowly　against　the　boards　as　it　paced　rapidly　back　and　forth　across　the　porch。　Between　urgent　whines；　it　made　a　low　quarrelsome　sound。
　Then　the　dog　jumped　into　view；　planting　its　broad　forepaws　on　the　window　stool；　eye…to…eye　with　her　once　more。　Agitated；　it　bared　its　long　teeth　threateningly；　but　it　didn't　bark　or　snarl。
　Perhaps　the　sound　of　the　water　glass　shattering　on　the　floor　or　the　crash　of　the　table　tipping　onto　its　side　had　carried　into　the　backyard；　and　this　Doberman　had　been　close　enough　to　hear。　The　dog　might　have　been　standing　at　this　window　for　a　while；　listening　to　Chyna　alternately　cursing　her　bonds　and　encouraging　herself　as　she　had　struggled　to　be　free　of　the　table；　and　certainly　it　had　heard　her　laughter。　Dogs　had　lousy　eyesight；　and　this　one　would　not　be　able　to　see　more　than　her　face；　nothing　of　the　wreckage。　They　had　a　phenomenal　sense　of　smell；　however；　so　maybe　the　beast　was　able　to　detect　the　scent　of　her　sudden　exuberance　through　the　barrier　of　glass…and　was　alanned　by　that。
　The　window　was　about　five　or　six　feet　long　and　four　feet　high；　divided　into　two　sliding　panels。　Obviously　not　part　of　the　original　architecture；　it　appeared　to　have　been　installed　during　a　relatively　recent　remodel。　If　there　had　been　numerous　smaller　panes　separated　by　wide　sturdy　mullions　of　wood；　Chyna　would　have　been　a　lot　more　confident。　But　either　of　the　two　sheets　of　glass　was　large　enough　to　admit　the　agitated　Doberman　if　it　tried　to　smash　through　at　her。
　Surely　that　wouldn't　happen。　The　dogs　had　been　trained　to　patrol　the　grounds；　not　to　assault　the　house。
　in　the　The　bared　teeth　were　pearly；　vaguely　luminous；　gray…white。　gloom：　a　wide　but　humorless　smile。
　Rather　than　make　any　sudden　provocative　movements；　Chyna　waited　until　the　Doberman　dropped　from　the　window　again　before　she　reached　to　the　floor　and　picked　up　the　loop　of　excess　chain　to　avoid　tripping　over　it。　Listening　to　the　dog　padding　back　and　forth　on　the　porch；　she　rose　into　the　Rumpelstiltskin　crouch　that　the　burdening　chair　imposed。　She　edged　around　the　kitchen；　staying　close　to　the　walls　and　cabinets；　feeling　her　way　as　best　she　could　while　cuffed　and　holding　the　loop　of　chain　in　one　hand。　She　shuffled　her　feet　more　than　her　shackles　required；　hoping　to　shove　the　broken　drinking　glass　and　the　fragments　of　the　plate　aside　rather　than　step　on　them。
　When　she　reached　the　doorway　between　the　kitchen　and　the　front　room；　she　found　the　light　switches　but　was　reluctant　to　flip　them　up。　Glancing　back　and　seeing　the　Doberman　at　the　window　again；　she　wished　that　she　could　leave　the　kitchen　dark。
　She　needed　to　search　the　drawers；　however；　so　she　snapped　on　the　overhead　lights。　At　the　window；　the　Doberman　twitched；　flattened　its　ears　to　its　skull；　immediately　pricked　them　again；　found　her　with　its　eyes；　and　fixed　her　with　its　gaze。
　Ignoring　the　Doberman；　Chyna　bent　forward　as　far　as　her　fetters　would　allow；　hoisting　the　chair　on　her　back。　She　strove　to　reach　the　carabiner　that　linked　the　shorter　chain　between　her　leg　irons　with　the　longer　chain　that　had　encircled　the　table　pedestal　and　that　still　wrapped　the　stretcher　bars　of　the　chair。　But　even　free　of　the　table；　she　was　trammeled　in　such　a　way　that　she　could　not　put　her　fingers　on　this　coupling。
　She　retraced　her　path　along　the　cabinets。　She　opened　one　drawer　after　another　and　studied　the　contents。
　When　she　passed　the　telephone　jack　in　the　wall；　she　paused　to　stare　at　it；　frustrated。　If　Edgler　Vess　had　a　life　other　than　that　of　a　〃homicidal　adventurer；〃　actually　held　a　job　and　maintained　any　social　life　whatsoever　as　a　cover　for　his　true　nature；　he　would　have　a　telephone；　the　jack　wasn't　merely　a　dead　plug　left　by　the　previous　owners　of　the　house。　He　must　have　hidden　the　phone。
　For　a　psychotic　killer；　raging　out　of　control　on　one　level；　Vess　was　surprisingly　careful　and　methodical　when　it　came　to　covering　his　ass。
　An　agent　of　chaos；　leaving　behind　rubble　in　the　lives　of　others；　he　nevertheless　kept　his　own　affairs　tidy　and　avoided　mistakes。
　She　opened　a　few　of　the　cupboard　doors　and