dk.intensity-第30章

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ibility。　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　the　vestibule　was　inadequate；　but　it　was　the　sound…deadening　effect　of　the　padded　walls；　at　least　as　much　as　poor　airflow；　that　made　the　atmosphere　seem　as　thick　as　smoke　and　unbreathable。
　Chyna　slid　aside　the　padded　panel　on　the　inner　door。　Beyond　was　rose…colored　light。　The　port　was　fitted　with　a　sturdy　screen　to　protect　the　viewer　from　assault　by　whoever　or　whatever　was　within。
　Chyna　put　her　face　to　the　port　and　saw　a　large　chamber　nearly　the　size　of　the　living　room　under　which　it　was　situated。　In　portions　of　the　space；　shadows　were　pooled　deep；　and　the　only　light　came　from　three　lamps　with　fringed　fabric　shades　and　pink　bulbs　that　were　each　putting　out　about　forty　watts。
　At　two　places　along　the　back　wall　were　panels　of　red　and　gold　brocade　that　hung　from　brass　rods　as　if　covering　windows；　but　there　could　be　no　windows　underground；　the　brocade　was　just　set　dressing　to　make　the　room　more　fortable。　On　the　wall　to　the　left；　barely　touched　by　light；　was　a　large　tattered　tapestry：　a　scene　of　women　in　long　dresses　and　cloche　hats　riding　horses　sidesaddle　through　spring　grass　and　flowers；　past　a　verdant　forest。
　The　furnishings　included　a　plump　armchair　with　antimacassars；　a　double　bed　with　a　white　headboard　painted　with　a　scene　not　quite　discernible　in　the　rose　light；　bookcases　with　acanthus…leaf　molding；　cabinets　with　mullioned　doors；　a　small　dining　table　with　a　heavily　carved　apron；　two　Directoire　chairs　with　flower…pattern　upholstery　flanking　the　table；　and　a　refrigerator。　An　immense　dark…stained　armoire；　featuring　crackle…glazed　flower　appliqu6s　on　all　the　door　panels；　was　old　but　probably　not　a　genuine　antique；　battered　but　handsome。　A　padded　vanity　bench　sat　before　a　makeup　table　with　a　triptych　mirror　in　a　gilded；　fluted　frame。　In　a　far　er　was　a　toilet　and　a　sink。
　As　weird　as　this　subterranean　room　was；　like　a　storage　vault　for　the　stage　furniture　from　a　production　of　Arsenic　and　Old　Lace；　the　collection　of　dolls　was　by　far　the　strangest　thing　about　it。　Kewpie　dolls；　Cabbage　Patch　Kids；　Raggedy　Ann；　and　numerous　other　varieties；　both　old　and　new；　some　more　than　three　feet　tall；　some　smaller　than　a　milk　carton；　were　dressed　in　diapers；　snowsuits；　elaborate　bridal　dresses；　checkered　rompers；　cowboy　outfits；　tennis　togs；　pajamas；　hula　skirts；　kimonos；　clovm　suits；　overalls；　nighties；　and　sailor　suits。　They　filled　the　bookshelves；　peered　out　through　the　glass　doors　of　some　of　the　cabinets；　perched　on　the　armoire；　sat　atop　the　refrigerator；　stood　and　sat　on　the　floor　along　the　walls。　Others　were　piled　atop　one　another　in　a　corner　and　at　the　foot　of　the　bed；　legs　and　arms　jutting　at　odd　stiff　angles；　heads　cocked　as　on　broken　necks；　like　stacks　of　gaily　attired　corpses　awaiting　transport　to　a　crematorium。　Two　hundred；　or　three　hundred；　or　more　small　faces　either　glowed　in　the　gentle　light　or　were　ghost…pale　in　the　shadows；　some　of　bisque　and　some　of　china　and　some　of　cloth；　some　wood　and　some　plastic。　Their　glass；　tin；　button；　cloth；　and　painted…ceramic　eyes　reflected　the　light；　shone　brightly　where　the　dolls　were　placed　near　any　of　the　three　lamps；　glowed　as　moodily　as　banked　coals　where　they　were　consigned　to　the　darker　ers。
　For　a　moment；　Chyna　was　half　convinced　that　these　dolls　could　ac　tually　see；　except　for　a　few　individuals　who　appeared　to　be　blind　be：　hind　cataracts　of　rose　light；　and　that　awareness　glimmered　in　their　terrible　eyes。　Although　none　of　them　moved…or　even　shifted　their　gaze…they　had　an　aura　of　life　about　them。　Their　power　was　uncanny；　as　though　the　killer　were　also　a　warlock　who　stole　the　souls　of　those　he　murdered　and　imprisoned　them　in　these　figures。
　Then　quiet　movement　in　the　room；　a　shadow　ing　out　of　gloom；　proved　to　be　the　captive；　and　when　she　stepped　into　sight；　the　dolls　lost　their　eerie　magic。　She　was　the　most　beautiful　child　that　Chyna　had　ever　seen；　more　beautiful　even　than　in　the　Polaroid　snapshot；　with　straight　lustrous　hair　that　was　an　enchanting　shade　of　auburn　in　the　peculiar　light　though　platinum　blond　in　reality。　Fineboned；　slender；　graceful；　she　possessed　a　beauty　that　was　ethereal；　angelic；　and　she　seemed　to　be　not　a　real　girl　but　an　apparition　bearing　a　message　about　redemption；　a　manger；　hope；　and　a　guiding　star。
　She　was　dressed　in　black　penny　loafers；　white　knee　socks；　a　blue　or　black　skirt；　and　a　short…sleeved　white　blouse　with　dark　piping　on　the　collar　and　across　the　pocket　flap；　as　though　she　was　in　the　uniform　of　a　parochial　school。
　No　doubt　the　killer　provided　the　girl　with　the　clothes　that　he　wished　her　to　wear；　and　Chyna　saw　at　once　why　he　would　favor　outfits　like　this。　Though　physically　she　was　undoubtedly　sixteen；　she　seemed　younger　when　dressed　in　this　fashion；　with　her　slender　arms；　with　her　delicate　wrists　and　hands；　in　this　blushing　light；　the　demure　uniform　made　her　seem　like　a　child　of　eleven；　shy　of　her　confirmation　Sunday；　naive　and　innocent。
　Sociopaths　like　this　man　were　drawn　to　beauty　and　to　innocence；　because　they　were　pelled　to　defile　it。　When　innocence　was　stripped　away；　when　beauty　was　cut　and　crushed；　the　malformed　beast　could　at　last　feel　superior　to　this　person　he　had　coveted。　After　the　innocent　and　the　beautiful　were　left　dead　and　rotting；　the　world　was　to　some　degree　made　to　more　closely　resemble　the　killer's　interior　landscape。
　The　girl　sat　in　the　armchair。　She　was　holding　a　book。　She　opened　it；　turned　a　few　pages；　and　appeared　to　read。
　Although　she　had　surely　heard　the　panel　sliding　back　from　the　view　port　in　the　door；　she　did　not　look　up。　Apparently　she　assumed　that　her　visitor　was；　as　always；　the　eater　of　spiders。
　With　a　rush　of　emotion　that　pinched　her　heart　and　surprised　her　with　its　intensity；　Chyna　said；　〃Ariel。〃
　The　name　fell　through　the　port　as　into　an　airless　void；　having　carried　no　distance　whatsoever；　creating　no　echo。
　The　girl's　cell　obviously　had　been　lined　with　numerous　layers　of　soundproofing；　perhaps　with　even　more　layers　than　the　vestibule；　and　all　this　attention　to　the　containment　of　her　shouts　and　screams　seemed　to　indicate　that　from　time　to　time　the　killer　invited　people　into　his　home。　Perhaps　to　dinner。　Or　to　have　a　few　beers　and　wa