dk.intensity-第34章

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er　rag　doll。　You'll　like　it。　I'll　give　it　to　you　later。〃
　Mr。　Vess　gets　up　from　the　footstool　and　takes　a　casual　inventory　of　the　contents　of　the　refrigerator　and　the　cabinet　that　serves　as　the　girl's　pantry。　She　has　enough　supplies　to　carry　her　three　more　days；　and　he　will　restock　her　shelves　tomorrow。
　〃You're　not　eating　quite　as　much　as　you　should；〃　he　admonishes。　〃That's　ungrateful　of　you。　I've　given　you　a　refrigerator；　a　microwave；　hot　and　cold　running　water。　You've　got　everything　you　need　to　take　care　of　yourself。　You　should　eat。〃
　The　dolls　are　no　less　responsive　than　the　girl。　〃You've　lost　two　or　three　pounds。　It　hasn't　affected　your　looks　yet；　but　you　can't　lose　any　more。〃
　She　gazes　into　thin　air；　as　if　waiting　for　her　voice…box　string　to　be　pulled　before　she　recites　recorded　messages。　〃Don't　think　you　can　starve　yourself　until　you're　haggard　and　unattractive。　You　can't　escape　me　that　way；　Ariel。　I'll　strap　you　down　and　force…feed　you　if　I　have　to。　I'll　make　you　swallow　a　rubber　tube　and　pump　baby　food　into　your　stomach。　In　fact；　I'd　enjoy　it。　Do　you　like　pureed　peas？　Carrots？　Applesauce？　I　guess　it　doesn't　matter；　since　you　won't　taste　them…unless　you　regurgitate。〃
　He　gazes　at　her　silken　hair；　which　is　red　blond　in　the　filtered　light。　This　sight　translates　through　all　five　of　Vess's　extraordinary　senses；　and　he　is　bathed　in　the　sensory　splendor　of　her　hair；　in　all　the　sounds　and　smells　and　textures　that　the　look　of　it　conveys　to　him。　One　stimulus　has　so　many　associations　for　him　that　he　could　lose　himself　for　hours　in　the　contemplation　of　a　single　hair　or　one　drop　of　rain；　if　he　chose；　because　that　item　would　bee　an　entire　world　of　sensation　to　him。
　He　moves　to　the　armchair　and　stands　over　the　girl。　She　doesn't　acknowledge　him；　and　although　he　has　entered　her　line　of　sight；　her　gaze　has　somehow　shifted　above　and　to　one　side　of　him　without　his　being　aware　of　the　moment　when　it　happened。
　She　is　magically　evasive。　〃Maybe　I　could　get　a　word　or　two　out　of　you　if　I　set　you　on　fire。　〃What　do　you　think？　Hmmm？　A　little　lighter　fluid　on　that　golden　hair…and　whoosh！〃
　She　does　not　blink。　〃Or　I'll　give　you　to　the　dogs；　see　if　that　unties　your　tongue。〃　No　flinch；　no　tic；　no　shudder。　What　a　girl。　Mr。　Vess　stoops；　lowering　his　face　toward　Ariel's；　until　they　are　nose…to…nose。
　Her　eyes　are　now　directly　aligned　with　his…yet　she　is　still　not　looking　at　him。　She　seems　to　peer　through　him；　as　if　he　is　not　a　man　of　flesh　and　blood　but　a　haunting　spirit　that　she　can't　quite　detect。　This　isn't　merely　the　old　trick　of　letting　her　eyes　swim　out　of　focus；　it's　a　ruse　infinitely　more　clever　than　that；　which　he　can't　understand　at　all。
　Nose…to…nose　with　her；　Vess　whispers；　〃We'll　go　to　the　meadow　after　midnight。　I'll　bury　Laura　and　the　hitchhiker。　Maybe　I'll　put　you　into　the　ground　with　them　and　cover　you　up；　three　in　one　grave。　Them　dead　and　you　alive。　Would　you　speak　then；　Ariel？　Would　you　say　please？　〃
　No　answer。　He　waits。　Her　breathing　is　low　and　even。　He　is　so　close　to　her　that　her　exhalations　are　warm　and　steady　against　his　lips；　like　promises　of　kisses　to　e。
　She　must　feel　his　breath　too。　She　may　be　frightened　of　him　and　even　repulsed　by　him；　but　she　also　finds　him　alluring。　He　has　no　doubt　about　this。　Everyone　is　fascinated　by　bad　boys。
　He　says；　〃Maybe　there'll　be　stars。〃　Such　a　blueness　in　her　eyes；　such　sparkling　depths。　〃Or　even　moonlight；〃　he　whispers。
　The　steel　cuffs　on　Chyna's　ankles　were　linked　by　a　sturdy　chain。　A　second　and　far　longer　chain；　connected　by　a　carabiner　to　the　first；　wound　around　the　thick　legs　of　the　chair　and　around　the　stretcher　bars　between　the　legs；　returned　between　her　feet；　encircled　the　big　barrel　that　supported　the　round　table；　and　connected　again　to　the　carabiner。　The　chains　didn't　contain　enough　play　to　allow　her　to　stand。　Even　if　she'd　been　able　to　stand；　she　would　have　had　to　carry　the　chair　on　her　back；　and　the　restricting　shape　and　the　weight　of　it　would　have　forced　her　to　bend　forward　like　a　hunchbacked　troll。　And　once　standing；　she　could　not　have　moved　from　the　table　to　which　she　was　tethered。
　Her　hands　were　cuffed　in　front　of　her。　A　chain　was　hooked　into　the　shackle　that　encircled　her　right　wrist。　From　there　it　led　around　her；　wound　between　the　back　rails　of　the　chair　behind　the　tie…on　pad；　then　to　the　shackle　on　her　left　wrist。　This　chain　contained　enough　slack　to　allow　her　to　rest　her　arms　on　the　table　if　she　wished。
　She　sat　with　her　hands　folded；　leaning　forward；　staring　at　the　red　and　swollen　index　finger　on　her　right　hand；　waiting。
　Her　finger　throbbed；　and　she　had　a　headache；　but　her　neck　pain　had　subsided。　She　knew　that　it　would　return　worse　than　ever　in　another　twenty…four　hours；　like　the　delayed　agony　of　severe　whiplash。　Of　course；　if　she　was　still　alive　in　another　twenty…four　hours；　neck　pain　would　be　the　least　of　her　worries。
　The　Doberman　was　no　longer　at　the　window。　She　had　seen　two　at　once　on　the　lawn；　padding　back　and　forth；　sniffing　the　grass　and　the　air；　pausing　occasionally　to　prick　their　ears　and　listen　intently；　then　padding　away　again；　obviously　on　guard　duty。
　During　the　previous　night；　Chyna　had　used　rage　to　overe　her　terror　before　it　had　incapacitated　her；　but　now　she　discovered　that　humiliation　was　even　more　effective　at　quelling　fear。　Having　been　unable　to　protect　herself；　having　wound　up　in　bondage…that　was　not　the　source　of　her　humiliation；　what　mortified　worse　was　her　failure　to　fulfill　her　promise　to　the　girl　in　the　cellar。
　I　am　your　guardian。　I'll　keep　you　safe。　She　kept　returning；　in　memory；　to　the　upholstered　vestibule　and　the　view　port　on　the　inner　door。　The　girl　among　the　dolls　had　given　no　indication　that　she　had　heard　the　promise。　But　Chyna　was　sick　with　the　certainty　that　she　had　raised　false　hopes；　that　the　girl　would　feel　betrayed　and　more　abandoned　than　ever；　and　that　she　would　withdraw　even　further　into　her　private　Elsewhere。
　I　am　your　guardian。　In　retrospect；　Chyna　found　her　arrogance　not　merely　astonishing　but　perverse；　delusional。　In　twenty…six　years　of　living；　she'd　never　saved　anyone；　in　any　sense　whatsoever。　She　was　no　heroine；　no　mysterynovel…series　character　with　just　a　colorful　dash　of　angst　and　a　soupqon　of　endearing　character　flaws　and；　otherwise；　the　petence　of　Sherlock　Holmes　and　James　Bond　bined。　Keeping　herself　alive；　mentally　stable；　and　emotionally　intact　had　been　enough　of　a　struggle　for　her。　She　was　still　a　lost　girl　herself；　fumbling　blindly　through　the　years　for　some　insight　or　resolution　that　probably　wasn't　even　out　there　to　be　found；　yet　she'd　stood　at　that　view　port　and　promised　deliverance。
　I　am　your　guardian。　She　opened　her　folded　hands。　She　flattened　her　hands　on　the　table　and　slid　them　across　the　wood　as　if　smoothing　away　wrinkles　in　a　tablecloth；　and　as　she　moved；　her　chains　rattled。
　She　wasn't　a　fighter；　after　all；　no　one's　paladin；　she　worked　as　a　waitress。　She　was　good　at　it；　piling　up　tips；　because　sixteen　years　in　her　mother's　bent　world　had　taught　her　that　one　way　to　ensure　survival　was　to　be　ingratiating。　With　her　customers；　she　was　indefatigably　charming；　relentlessly　agreeable；　and　always　eager　to　please。　The　relationship　between　a　diner　and　a　waitress　was；　to　her　way　of　thinking；　the　ideal　relationship；　because　it　was　brief；　formal；　generally　conducted　with　a　high　degree　of　politeness；　and　required　no　baring　of　the　heart。
　I　am　your　guardian。　In　her　obsessive　determination　to　protect　herself　at　all　costs；　she　was　always　friendly　with　the　other　waitresses　where　she　worked；　but　she　never　made　friends　with　any　of　them。　Friendships　involved　cornmitment；　risks。　She　had　learned　not　to　make　herself　vulnerable　to　the　hurt　and　betrayal　that　ensued　from　mitments。
　Over　the　years；　she'd　had　affairs　with　only　two　men。　She　had　liked　both　and　had　loved　the　second；　but　the　first　relationship　had　lasted　eleven　months　and　the　second　only　thirteen。　Lovers；　if　they　were　worthwhile；　required　more　than　simple　mitment；　they　needed　revelation；　sharing；　the　bond　of　emotional　intimacy。　She　found　it　difficult　to　reveal　much　about　her　childhood　or　her　mother；　in　part　because　her　utter　helplessness　during　those　years　embarrassed　her。　More　to　the　point；　she　had　e　to　the　hard　realization　that　her　mother　had　never　really　loved　her；　perhaps　had　never　been　capable　of　loving　her　or　anyone。　And　how　could　she　expect　to　be　cherished　by　any　man　who　knew　that　she'd　been　unloved　even　by　her　mother？
　She　was　aware　that　this　attitude　was　irrational；　but　awareness　didn't　free　her。　She　understood　that　she　was　not　responsible　for　what　her　mother　had　done　to　her；　but　regardless　of　what　so　many　therapists　claimed　in　their　books　and　on　their　radio　talk　shows；　understanding　alone　didn't　lead　to　healing。　Even　after　a　decade　beyond　her　mother's　control；　Chyna　was　at　times　convinced　that　all　the　dark　events　of　all　those　troubled　years　could　have　been　avoided　if　only　she；　Chyna；　had　been　a　better　girl；　more　worthy。
　I　am　your　guardian。
　She　folded　her　hands　on　the　table　again。　She　leaned　forward　until　her　forehead　was　pressed　to　the　backs　of　her　thumbs；　and　she　closed　her　eyes。
　The　only　close　friend　she'd　ever　had　was　Laura　Templeton。　Their　relationship　was　something　that　she　had　wanted　badly　but　had　never　sought；　desperately　needed　but　did　little　to　nurture；　it　was　purely　a　testament　to　Laura's　vivaciousness；　perseverance；　and　selflessness　in　the　face　of　Chyna's　caution　and　reserve；　a　result　of　Laura's　dear　heart　and　her　singular　capacity　to　love。　And　now　Laura　was　dead。
　I　am　your　guardian。　In　Laura's　room；　under　the　dead　gaze　of　Freud；　Chyna　had　knelt　beside　the　bed　and　whispered　to　her　shackled　friend；　I'll　get　you　out　of　here。　God；　how　it　hurt　to　think　of　it。　I'll　get　you　out　of　here。　Her　stomach　knotted　excruciatingly　with　self…disgust。　I'llfind　a　weapon；　she　had　promised。　Laura；　selfless　to　the　end；　had　urged　her　to　run；　to　get　out。　Don't　diefor　me；　Laura　had　said。　But　Chyna　had　answered；　I'll　he　hack。
　Now　here　came　grief　again；　swooping　like　a　great　dark　bird　into　her　heart；　and　she　almost　let　its　wings　enfold　her；　too　eager　for　the　strange　solace　of　those　battering　pinions…until　she　realized　that　she　was　using　grief　to　knock　humiliation　from　its　perch。　Grieving；　she　would　have　no　room　for　self…loathing。
　I　am　your　guardian。　Although　the　clerk　had　never　fired　the　revolver；　she　should　have　checked　it。　She　should　have　known。　Somehow。　Some　way。　Though　she　could　not　possibly　have　known　what　Vess　had　done　with　the　bullets；　she　should　have　known。
　Laura　had　always　told　her　that　she　was　too　hard　on　herself；　that　she　would　never　heal　if　she　kept　inflicting　new　bruises　on　the　old　in　endless　self…flagellation。
　But　Laura　was　dead。　I　am　your　guardian。　Chyna's　humiliation　festered　into　shame。　And　if　humiliation　was　a　good　tool　for　repressing　terror；　shame　was　even　better。　Steeping　in　shame；　she　knew　no　fear　at　all；　even　though　she　was　in　shackles　in　the　house　of　a　sadistic　murderer；　with　no　one　in　the　world　looking　for　her。　Justice　seemed　served　by　her　being　there。　Then　she　heard　footsteps　approaching。
　She　raised　her　head　and　opened　her　eyes。
　The　killer　entered　from　the　laundry　room；　evidently　returning　from　the　girl　in　the　cellar。
　Without　speaking　to　Chyna；　without　glancing　at　her；　as　if　she　didn't