dk.intensity-第25章

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avers　or；　perhaps；　with　her　ignorance　of　them。　In　her　retreat；　the　window　is　sealed　off　with　plywood；　and　the　light　of　dawn　doesn't　penetrate。
　Vess　is　a　superb　driver；　and　he　makes　excellent　time；　even　in　bad　weather。　We　do　best　those　things　that　we　enjoy　doing；　which　is　why　Mr。　Vess　is　such　a　success　at　killing　and　why　he　bines　that　enthusiasm　with　his　love　of　driving　rather　than　restrict　himself　to　prey　within　a　reasonable　radius　of　his　home。
　Being　on　the　open　road　with　landscapes　ever　changing；　Edgler　Vess　is　the　recipient　of　a　constant　influx　of　fresh　visual　sensation。　And　of　course；　to　one　with　his　exquisitely　refined　senses　and　his　ability　to　use　them　in　a　hologrammatic　manner；　a　beautiful　sight　can　also　be　a　musical　sound。　A　scent　caught　through　the　open　window　can　be　not　solely　an　olfactory　experience　but　tactile　too；　the　sweet　fragrance　of　lilac　like　a　woman's　warm　breath　against　his　skin。　Ensconced　in　the　driver's　seat　of　his　motor　home；　he　travels　through　a　rich　sea　of　sensation　that　washes　him　the　way　water　ceaselessly　washes　the　hull　of　a　deeply　submerged　submarine。
　Now　he　crosses　into　Oregon。　The　mountains　e　to　him　and　pull　him　up　into　their　fastnesses。
　The　thickening　stands　of　trees　on　the　steep　slopes　are　more　gray　than　green　in　the　stubborn　rain；　and　the　sight　of　them　is　like　biting　on　a　piece　of　ice；　hard　between　his　teeth；　a　slight　but　pleasant　metallic　taste；　and　a　shattering　coldness　against　his　lips。
　He　seldom　glances　at　the　rearview　mirror　any　more。　The　woman　is　a　mystery；　and　mysteries　of　this　nature　can't　be　resolved　by　the　sheer　desire　to　resolve　them。　Ultimately　she　will　reveal　herself；　and　the　intensity　of　the　experience　will　depend　upon　whatever　purpose　she　has　and　what　secrets　she　possesses。
　The　waiting　is　delicious。　Throughout　the　last　few　hours　of　the　journey；　Vess　leaves　the　radio　off；　although　not　because　he　is　afraid　that　music　will　mask　the　sounds　of　the　woman　stalking　forward　through　the　motor　home。　In　fact；　he　rarely　listens　to　the　radio　while　driving。　In　his　memory　is　a　vast　library　of　recordings　of　the　music　that　he　likes　best：　the　cries　and　squeals；　the　prayerful　whispers；　the　shrieks　as　thin　as　paper　cuts；　the　pulsatory　sobbings　for　mercy；　and　the　erotic　inducements　of　final　desperations。
　As　he　leaves　the　state　highway　for　the　county　route；　he　recalls　specifically　Sarah　Templeton　in　her　shower　stall；　her　screams　and　her　frantic　gagging　muffled　by　the　green　dishwashing　sponge　that　he'd　stuffed　into　her　mouth　and　by　the　two　strips　of　strapping　tape　that　sealed　her　lips。　Nothing　on　the　radio；　from　Elton　John　to　Garth　Brooks　to　Pearl　Jam　to　Sheryl　Crow…to　Mozart　or　Beethoven；　for　that　matter…can　pare　to　this　interior　entertainment。
　He　follows　the　rain…swept；　two…lane　county　route　to　his　private　driveway。　The　entrance　is　securely　gated　and　flanked　by　thickets　of　pines　and　brambly　underbrush。
　The　gate　is　made　of　tubular　steel　and　barbed　wire；　set　between　stainless…steel　posts　in　concrete　footings。　It　features　an　electric　motor　with　remote　operation；　and　when　Mr。　Vess　pushes　a　button　on　the　hand…held　control　that　he　fishes　from　the　console　box；　the　barrier　swings　inward　to　the　left；　in　a　satisfying　stately　manner。
　After　driving　the　motor　home　onto　his　property；　he　brakes　to　a　stop　once　more；　rolls　down　his　window；　holds　out　the　control　unit；　with　the　signal…transmission　window　reversed　in　his　grip。　In　his　sideview　mirror；　he　watches　as　the　gate　closes。
　The　driveway　is　nearly　as　long　as　that　at　the　Templeton　family's　vineyards；　as　his　property　enpasses　fifty…four　acres　that　back　up　to　a　government…owned　wilderness；　which　measures　many　miles　on　a　side。　He　is　not　as　well…to…do　as　the　Templetons；　land　here　is　far　cheaper　than　in　the　Napa　Valley。
　In　spite　of　the　lack　of　paving；　there　is　little　mud　and　no　real　danger　of　the　motor　home　bogging　down。　The　topsoil　is　shallow；　the　lane　was　graded　down　to　the　underlying　shale。　The　way　is　a　bit　rough；　but　this　is　not；　after　all；　New　York　City；　New　York。
　Vess　drives　up　a　modest　incline；　between　looming　ranks　of　tall　pines；　spruces；　scattered　firs；　and　then　the　trees　recede　a　little；　and　he　crosses　the　bald　hilltop。　The　road　descends　easily；　in　a　graceful　curve；　into　a　small　vale；　with　the　house　at　the　end　and　the　hills　rising　behind　in　the　sheeting　rain　and　morning　fog。
　His　heart　swells　at　the　sight　of　home。　Home　is　where　his　Ariel　patiently　awaits。
　The　two…story　house　is　small　but　solidly　built　of　logs　mortared　with　cement。　The　old　lovs　are　nearly　black　with　layers　of　pitch；　and　time　has　darkened　the　cement　to　a　tobacco　brown；　except　for　the　tan　and　gray　mottling　of　recent　repairs。
　The　house　was　constructed　in　the　late　192os　by　the　owner　of　a　family　logging　business；　long　before　small　operators　were　regulated　out　of　such　work　and　before　the　government　declared　the　surrounding　public　lands　off…limits　to　timber　harvesters。　Electricity　was　brought　in　sometime　during　the　forties。
　Edgler　Vess　has　owned　the　house　for　six　years。　Upon　purchasing　the　place；　he　rewired　it；　improved　the　plumbing；　enlarged　the　secondfloor　bathroom。　And；　entirely　on　his　own；　of　course；　he　undertook　extensive　and　secret　remodeling　work　in　the　basement。
　To　some；　the　property　may　seem　isolated；　inconveniently　far　from　a　7…Eleven　or　a　multiplex　cinema。　But　for　Mr。　Vess；　whose　pleasures　would　never　be　understood　by　most　neighbors；　relative　isolation　is　the　faildamental　requirement　when　he　is　shopping　for　real　estate。
　On　a　summer　afternoon　or　evening；　however；　sitting　in　a　bentwood　rocker　on　the　front　porch；　gazing　out　at　the　deep　yard　and　the　acres　of　wildflowers　in　the　fields　cleared　by　the　logger　and　his　sons；　or　staring　at　the　great　spread　of　stars；　even　the　most　meek　and　citified　man　would　agree　that　isolation　has　its　appeal。
　In　good　weather；　Mr。　Vess　likes　to　take　his　dinner　and　a　couple　of　beers　on　the　porch。　When　the　mountain　silences　bee　boring；　he　allows　himself　to　hear　the　voices　of　those　who　are　buried　in　the　field：　their　groveling　and　lamentations；　the　music　that　he　prefers　to　any　on　the　radio。
　In　addition　to　the　house；　there　is　a　small　barn；　not　because　the　original　owner　of　the　property　farmed　any　of　the　land　that　he　cleared　of　trees　but　because　he　kept　horses。　This　second　building　is　of　traditional　wood…frame　construction　on　a　concrete　footing　and　fieldstone　stem　wall；　wind；　rain；　and　sun　long　ago　laid　down　a　silver　patina　on　the　durable　cedar　siding；　which　Vess　finds　lovely。
　Since　he　owns　no　horses；　he　uses　the　barn　as　a　garage。　Now；　however；　he　pulls　to　a　stop　beside　the　house；　rather　than　continuing　to　the　barn。　The　woman　is　in　the　motor　home；　and　he　will　soon　need　to　deal　with　her。　He　prefers　to　park　here；　where　he　can　watch　her　from　the　house　and　wait　for　developments。
　He　glances　at　the　rearview　mirror。　Still　no　sign　of　her。　Switching　off　the　engine　but　not　the　windshield　wipers；　Vess　waits　for　his　guards　to　appear。　The　late…March　morning　is　animate　with　slanting　rain　and　wind…shaken　things；　but　nothing　moves　of　its　own　deliberation。
　They　have　been　trained　not　to　charge　willy…nilly　at　approaching　vehicles　and　even　to　bide　their　time　with　intruders　who　are　on　foot；　the　better　to　lure　them　into　a　zone　from　which　escape　is　impossible。　These　guards　know　that　stealth　is　as　important　as　savage　fury；　that　the　most　successful　assaults　are　preceded　by　calculated　stillnesses　to　lull　the　quarry　into　a　false　confidence。
　Finally　the　first　black　head　appears；　bullet　sleek　but　for　its　pricked　ears；　low　to　the　ground　at　the　rear　corner　of　the　house。　The　dog　hesitates　to　reveal　more　of　himself；　surveying　the　scene　to　make　sure　that　he　understands　what　is　happening。　〃Good　fella；〃　Vess　whispers。
　At　the　nearest　er　of　the　barn；　between　the　cedar　siding　and　the　trunk　of　a　winter…bare　maple；　another　dog　appears。　It　is　little　more　than　a　shadow　of　a　shadow　in　the　rain。
　Vess　wouldn't　have　noticed　these　sentries　if　he　hadn't　known　to　look　for　them。　Their　self…control　is　remarkable；　a　testament　to　his　abilities　as　a　trainer。
　Two　more　dogs　lurk　somewhere；　perhaps　behind　the　motor　home　or　belly　crawling　through　shrubbery　where　he　can't　see　them。　They　are　all　Dobermans；　five　and　six　years　old；　in　their　prime。
　Vess　has　not　cropped　their　ears　or　bobbed　their　tails；　as　is　usually　done　with　Dobermans；　for　he　has　an　affinity　for　nature's　predators。　He　is　able　to　perceive　the　world　to　a　degree　as　he　believes　that　animals　perceive　it…the　elemental　nature　of　their　view；　their　needs；　the　importance　of　raw　sensation。　They　have　a　kinship。
　The　dog　by　the　corner　of　the　house　slinks　into　the　open；　and　the　dog　at　the　barn　emerges　from　beneath　the　black…limbed　maple。　A　third　Doberman　rises　from　behind　the　massive　and　half…petrified　stump　of　a　long…vanquished　cedar　in　the　side　yard；　around　which　has　grown　a　tangled　mass　of　holly。
　The　motor　home　is　familiar　to　them。　Their　vision；　while　not　their　strongest　suit；　is　probably　sufficient　to　allow　them　to　recognize　him　through　the　windshield。　With　a　sense　of　smell　twenty　thousand　times　more　acute　than　that　of　the　average　human　being；　they　no　doubt　detect　his　scent　even　through　the　rain　and　even　though　he　is　inside　the　motor　home。　Yet　they　don't　wag　their　tails　or　in　any　way　exhibit　pleasure；　because　they　are　still　on　duty。
　The　fourth　dog　remains　hidden；　but　these　three　drift　warily　toward　him　through　the　rain　and　the　mist。　Their　heads　are　lifted；　pointy　cars　flicked　up　and　forward。
　In　their　disciplined　silence　and　indifference　to　the　storm；　they　remind　him　of　the　herd　of　elk　in　the　redwood　grove　the　previous　night；　eerily　intent。　The　big　difference；　of　course；　is　that　these　creatures；　if　confronted　by　anyone　other　than　their　beloved　master；　would　not　respond　with　the　timidity　of　elk　but　would　tear　the　throat　out　of　that　luckless　person。
　Although　she　would　not　have　believed　it　possible；　Chyna　had　been　lulled　into　sleep　by　the　hum　of　the　tires　and　the　motion　of　the　motor　home。　Her　dreams　were　of　strange　houses　in　which　the　geometry　of　the　rooms　was　ever　changing　and　bizarre；　something　eager　and　hungry　lived　within　the　walls；　and　at　night　it　spoke　to　her　through　vent　grilles　and　electrical　outlets；　whispering　its　needs。
　The　brakes　woke　her。　Immediately　she　realized　that　the　motor　home　had　e　to　a　full　halt　once　before　and　then　had　started　up　again；　only　moments　ago；　she　had　dozed　through　that　first　stop；　disturbed　in　her　sleep　but　not　fully　awakened。　Now；　although　they　were　on　the　move　again　and　the　killer　was　obviously　still　behind　the　steering　wheel；　Chyna　grabbed　the　revolver　from　the　floor　beside　her；　scrambled　to　her　feet；　and　stood　with　her　back　to　the　wall；　tense　and　alert。
　From　the　tilt　of　the　floor　and　the　laboring　sound　of　the　engine；　she　knew　that　they　were　climbing　a　hill。　Then　they　reached　the　top　and　headed　downward。　Soon　they　stopped　again；　and　at　last　the　engine　cut　out。
　The　rain　was　the　only　sound。　She　waited　for　footsteps。　Although　she　knew　that　she　was　awake；　she　seemed　to　be　in　a　dream；　rigid　in　darkness；　with　the　susurrant　rain　like　whispering　in　the　walls。
　Mr。　Vess　takes　the　time　to　put　on　his　raincoat　and　to　slip　his　Heckler　&　Koch　P7　into　one　pocket。　He　removes　the　Mossberg　shotgun　from　the　cabinet　in　the　kitchenette；　in　case　the　woman　searches　the　place　after