dk.intensity-第44章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　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　peered　into　cabinets；　but　she　found　only　pots；　pans；　dishes；　and　glasses。　She　soon　gave　up　on　the　phone　when　she　realized　that　Vess；　having　taken　the　trouble　to　unplug　and　conceal　it；　would　have　hidden　it　outside　the　kitchen　and　in　a　place　where　she　was　unlikely　to　find　it　even　if　she'd　had　hours　to　devote　to　the　search。
　She　continued　opening　drawers。　In　the　fourth；　she　discovered　a　partmentalized　plastic　tray　containing　a　collection　of　small　culinary　tools　and　gadgets。
　She　parked　the　chair　beside　the　open　drawer　and　sat　down。　Outside；　the　Doberman　was　pacing　again；　paws　thumping　faster　than　before；　all　but　running　back　and　forth　on　the　porch；　back　and　forth；　and　whining　louder　as　well。　Chyna　couldn't　understand　why　it　was　still　so　agitated。　She　wasn't　breaking　dishes　or　overturning　furniture　any　longer。　She　was　quietly　looking　in　drawers；　minimizing　the　clatter　of　her　chains；　doing　nothing　to　alarm　the　dog。　It　seemed　to　realize　that　she　was　escaping；　but　that　was　impossible；　it　was　only　an　animal；　it　couldn't　understand　the　plexities　of　her　situation。　Only　an　animal。　Yet　it　raced　worriedly　from　end　to　end　of　the　porch；　jumped　to　peer　in　the　window　again；　fixed　her　with　its　fierce　black　eyes；　and　seemed　to　be　saying；　Get　awayftom　the　drawer；　bitcb！
　She　plucked　a　wooden…handled　corkscrew　from　the　drawer；　examined　the　spiraling　point；　and　discarded　it。　A　bottle　opener。　No。　Potato　peeler。　Lemon…rind　shaver。　No。　She　found　an　eight…inch…long　pair　of　heavy…duty　tweezers；　which　Vess　probably　used　to　extract　olives　and　pickles　and　similar　items　from　tightly　packed　jars。　The　gripping　blades　of　the　tweezers　proved　too　large　to　be　inserted　into　the　tight　keyholes　on　her　handcuffs；　so　she　discarded　them　as　well。
　Then　she　located　the　ideal　item：　a　five…inch…long　steel　pin；　which　she　believed　was　called　a　poultry　strut。　A　dozen　were　fixed　together　by　a　tightly　wound　rubber　band；　and　she　pulled　one　loose。　The　pin　was　rigid；　about　a　sixteenth　of　an　inch　in　diameter；　with　a　point　at　the　end　of　the　shank　and　a　half…inch…wide　eye　loop　at　the　top。　Smaller　struts　were　made　for　pinning　shut　roasting　chickens；　but　this　one　was　for　turkeys。
　The　thought　of　succulent　roasted　turkey　brought　the　smell　of　it　immediately　to　mind。　Chyna's　mouth　watered；　and　her　stomach　growled；　and　she　wished　that　she'd　eaten　some　of　the　ham　and　cheese　sandwich　Vess　had　made　for　her。
　She　held　the　strut　between　the　thumb　and　the　middle　digit　of　her　right　hand；　sparing　her　swollen　index　finger；　and　slipped　the　point　into　the　keyway　on　the　left　handcuff。　Probing　experimentally；　she　produced　a　lot　of　small　ticking　and　scraping　sounds；　trying　to　feel　the　lock　mechanism　in　the　gateway　of　the　cuff。
　She　remembered　a　movie　in　which　the　greatest　psychotic　killer　and　criminal　genius　of　his　age　fashioned　a　handcuff　key　out　of　the　metal　ink　tube　from　a　ballpoint　pen　and　an　ordinary　paper　clip。　He　sprang　one　cuff　and　then　the　other　in　about　fifteen　seconds；　maybe　ten；　after　which　he　overpowered　his　two　guards；　killed　them；　and　cut　the　face　off　one　to　wear　as　a　disguise；　although　he　used　a　penknife　for　the　surgery；　not　the　homemade　handcuff　key。　Over　the　years；　she　had　seen　many　other　movies　in　which　prisoners　picked　open　cuffs　and　leg　irons；　and　none　of　them　had　any　more　training　for　it　than　she　did。
　Ten　minutes　later；　with　her　left　cuff　still　securely　locked；　Chyna　said；　〃Movies　are　full　of　shit。〃
　She　was　so　frustrated　that　her　hand　trembled　and　she　couldn't　control　the　strut。　It　jittered　uselessly　in　the　tight　keyway。
　On　the　porch；　the　dog　wasn't　pacing　as　fast　as　it　had　paced　earlier；　but　it　was　still　disturbed。　Twice　it　clawed　at　the　back　door；　once　with　considerable　fervor；　as　if　it　thought　it　might　be　able　to　dig　its　way　through　the　wood。
　Chyna　switched　the　strut　to　her　left　hand　and　worked　on　the　right　cuff　for　a　while。　Ticks；　clicks；　scrapes；　and　squeaks。　She　was　concentrating　so　intently　on　picking　the　tiny　lock　that　she　was　sweating　as　copiously　as　when　she　had　been　struggling　to　overturn　the　heavy　table。
　Finally　she　threw　the　turkey　strut　on　the　floor；　and　it　bounced　pingping…ping　across　the　tiles；　across　a　piece　of　the　broken　plate；　and　off　a　shard　of　the　water　glass。
　Perhaps　she　could　have　freed　herself　in　a　wink　if　she　had　been　the　greatest　psychotic　killer　and　criminal　genius　of　her　age。　But　she　was　only　a　waitress　and　a　psychology　student。
　Even　as　inconveniently　sane　and　law…abiding　as　she　was；　she　might　be　able　to　pop　the　handcuffs　off　her　wrists　and　the　larger　shackles　off　her　ankles　with　a　more　suitable　tool　than　the　turkey　strut；　but　she　would　probably　need　hours　to　do　it。　She　couldn't　dedicate　hours　solely　to　the　job　of　freeing　herself　from　the　chair　and　chains；　because　once　she　was　unfettered；　there　were　many　other　urgent　tasks　to　be　done　before　Vess　returned。
　She　slammed　the　drawer　shut。　Holding　the　chain　out　of　her　way　and　hauling　the　chair　with　her；　she　got　to　her　feet。
　With　a　jangle　worthy　of　the　Ghost　of　Christmas　Past；　Chyna　went　to　the　door　between　the　kitchen　and　the　living　room。
　Behind　her；　at　the　window　in　the　dining　area；　a　weird　screeching　arose。　She　looked　back　and　saw　that　the　big　Doberman　was　scratching　frantically　at　the　glass　with　both　forepaws。　Its　claws　squeaked　down　the　pane　with　a　sound　as　unsettling　as　fingernails　dragged　across　a　chalkboard。
　She　had　intended　to　find　her　way　into　the　dark　living　room　by　the　light　spilling　through　the　open　door；　but　the　dog　spooked　her。　While　she'd　picked　at　the　cuff　locks；　the　Doberman　had　grown　slightly　calmer；　but　now　it　was　as　disturbed　as　ever。　Hoping　to　calm　it　before　it　decided　to　spring　through　the　window；　she　turned　off　the　overhead　fluorescent　panels。
　Squeak…squeak…squeak。　Claws；　glass。　Squeak…squeak。　She　eased　across　the　threshold；　leaving　the　kitchen；　and　pushed　the　door　shut　behind　her；　blocking　out　the　squeaking。　Blocking　out　the　damn　dog　as　well；　in　case　it　proved　to　be　crazed　enough　to　burst　through　the　glass。
　She　felt　along　the　wall。　Evidently　the　only　switches　were　on　the　other　side　of　the　room；　by　the　front　door。
　The　living　room　seemed　to　be　blacker　than　the　kitchen。　The　drapes　were　drawn　over　one　of　the　two　expansive　windows　that　faced　onto　the　front　porch。　The　other　window　was　a　barely　defined　gray　rectangle　that　admitted　no　more　light　than　had　the　double…pane　slider　in　the　kitchen。
　Chyna　stood　motionless；　taking　time　to　orient　herself；　trying　to　recall　the　furnishings。　She　had　been　in　the　room　only　once　before；　briefly；　and　the　space　had　been　clotted　with　shadows。　When　she　had　entered　from　the　front　porch　this　morning；　the　kitchen　door　had　been　somewhat　to　her　left　in　the　back　wall。　The　handsome　sofa　with　ball　feet；　covered　in　a　tartan…plaid　fabric；　had　been　to　the　right；　which　would　put　it；　now；　to　her　left　as　she　faced　toward　the　front　of　the　house。　Rustic　oak　end　tables　had　flanked　the　large　sofa…and　on　each　end　table　had　been　a　lamp。
　Trying　to　hold　this　clear　image　of　the　room　in　her　mind；　she　hobbled　warily　through　the　darkness；　afraid　of　falling　over　a　chair　or　a　footstool　or　a　magazine　rack。　Swaddled　in　cha