dk.intensity-第47章

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ization　made　her　feel　weak　and　uncertain　again。
　If　Vess　could　be　believed；　Chyna　still　had　four　hours　until　he　returned。　But　there　was　much　to　be　done；　and　four　hours　might　not　be　time　enough。
　Chyna　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　sofa。　Freed　from　the　pine　dining　chair；　she　was　at　last　able　to　reach　the　carabiner　on　the　short　chain　between　her　ankles。　This　steel　coupling　connected　the　shorter　chain　to　the　longer　one　that　had　wrapped　the　chair　and　the　table　pedestal。　After　screwing　open　the　metal　sleeve　to　reveal　the　gate　in　the　carabiner；　she　disconnected　herself　from　the　longer　chain。
　Her　ankles　remained　cuffed；　and　on　her　way　to　the　stairs　to　the　second　floor；　she　still　had　to　shuffle。
　She　switched　on　the　stairwell　light　and　laboriously　climbed　the　narrow　stairs；　moving　first　her　left　foot　and　then　her　right　onto　each　tread。　Because　of　the　hobbling　chain；　she　was　unable　to　ascend　one　foot　per　tread；　step　over　step；　as　she　normally　would　have　done；　and　her　progress　was　slow。
　She　kept　a　two…hand　grip　on　the　handrail。　With　the　heavy　chair　gone　from　her　back；　she　was　no　longer　precariously　balanced；　but　she　remained　wary　of　tripping　in　her　fetters。
　Past　the　landing；　halfway　up　the　second　flight；　all　of　her　pains　and　the　fear　of　falling　and　the　hot　pressure　in　her　bladder　bined　to　double　her　over　with　severe　stomach　cramps。　She　leaned　against　the　wall　of　the　stairwell；　clutching　the　handrail；　suddenly　sheathed　in　sour　sweat；　moaning　low　and　wordlessly　in　misery。　She　was　certain　that　she　was　going　to　pass　out；　tumble　backward；　and　break　her　neck。
　But　the　cramps　passed；　and　she　continued　climbing。　Soon　she　reached　the　second　floor。
　She　switched　on　the　hall　light　and　found　three　doors。　Those　to　the　left　and　right　were　closed；　but　the　one　at　the　end　of　the　hallway　stood　open；　revealing　a　bathroom。
　In　the　bathroom；　although　her　hands　were　manacled　and　trembling　badly；　she　managed　to　unbuckle　her　belt；　unbutton　her　jeans；　unzip；　and　skin　down　jeans　and　panties。　Sitting；　she　was　hit　by　more　waves　of　cramps；　and　these　were　markedly　more　vicious　than　those　she　had　endured　on　the　stairs。　She　had　refused　to　wet　herself　at　the　kitchen　table；　as　Vess　had　wanted　her　to　do；　refused　to　be　reduced　to　that　degree　of　helplessness。　Now　she　couldn't　make　water；　though　she　desperately　wanted　to　do　that…needed　to　do　it　to　stop　the　crampsand　she　wondered　if　she　had　held　out　so　long　that　a　bladder　spasm　was　pinching　off　the　flow。　Such　a　thing　was　possible；　and　abruptly　the　cramps　grew　more　severe；　as　if　confirming　her　diagnosis。　She　felt　as　if　her　guts　were　being　rolled　through　a　wringer…but　then　the　cramps　passed　and　relief　came。
　With　the　sudden　flood；　she　was　surprised　to　hear　herself　say；　〃Chyna　Shepherd；　untouched　and　alive　and　able　to　pee。〃　Then　she　was　simultaneously　laughing　and　sobbing；　not　with　relief　but　with　a　weird　sense　of　triumph。
　Getting　free　of　the　table；　shattering　and　shaking　off　the　chair；　and　not　wetting　her　pants　seemed；　together；　to　be　an　act　of　endurance　and　of　courage　equivalent　to　setting　foot　on　the　moon　with　the　first　astronauts　to　land　there；　slogging　through　blinding　blizzards　to　the　Pole　with　Admiral　Peary；　or　storming　the　beaches　of　Normandy　against　the　might　of　the　German　army。　She　laughed　at　herself；　laughed　until　tears　spilled　down　her　face；　nevertheless；　she　still　felt　that　degree　of　triumph。　She　knew　how　small…even　pathetic…her　triumph　was；　but　she　felt　that　it　was　big。　〃Rot　in　Hell；〃　she　said　to　Edgler　Vess；　and　she　hoped　that　someday　she　would　have　the　chance　to　say　it　to　his　face　just　before　she　pulled　a　trigger　and　blew　him　out　of　this　world。
　She　had　so　much　pain　in　her　back　from　the　battering　that　she'd　endured；　especially　low　around　her　kidneys；　that　when　she　was　done；　she　checked　in　the　toilet　bowl　for　blood。　She　was　relieved　to　see　that　her　urine　was　clear。
　Glancing　in　the　mirror　above　the　sink；　however；　she　was　shocked　by　her　reflection。　Her　short　hair　was　tangled　and　lank　with　sweat。　The　right　side　of　her　face　along　the　jaw　seemed　to　be　smeared　with　a　purple　ink；　but　when　she　touched　it；　she　discovered　that　this　was　the　trailing　edge　of　a　bruise　that　mottled　that　entire　side　of　her　neck。　Where　it　wasn't　bruised　or　smeared　with　dirt；　her　skin　was　gray　and　grainy；　as　if　she　had　been　suffering　through　a　long　and　difficult　illness。　Her　right　eye　was　fiery；　no　white　visible　any　more：　just　the　dark　iris　and　the　darker　pupil　floating　in　an　elliptical　pool　of　blood。　Both　the　bloodied　eye　and　the　clear　left　eye　gazed　back　at　her　with　a　haunted　expression　so　unnerving　that　she　turned　away　from　her　own　reflection　in　confusion　and　fear。
　The　face　in　the　mirror　was　that　of　a　woman　who　had　already　lost　some　battle。　It　wasn't　the　face　of　a　winner。
　Chyna　tried　to　press　that　dispiriting　thought　out　of　her　mind　at　once。　What　she　had　seen　was　the　face　of　a　fighter…no　longer　the　face　of　a　mere　survivor；　but　afighter　Every　fighter　sustained　some　punishment；　both　physical　and　emotional。　Without　anguish　and　agony；　there　was　no　hope　of　winning。
　She　shuffled　from　the　bathroom　to　the　door　on　the　right　side　of　the　upstairs　hall；　which　opened　onto　Vess's　bedroom。　Simple　furniture　and　a　minimum　of　it。　A　neatly　made　bed　with　a　beige　chenille　spread。　No　paintings。　No　bibelots　or　decorative　accessories。　No　books　or　magazines；　or　any　newspapers　folded　open　to　crossword　puzzles。　This　was　nothing　more　than　a　place　to　sleep；　not　a　room　where　he　lingered　or　lived。
　Where　he　truly　lived　was　in　the　pain　of　others；　in　a　storm　of　death；　in　the　calm　eye　of　the　storm　where　all　was　orderly　but　where　the　wind　howled　on　every　side。
　Chyna　checked　the　nightstand　drawers　for　a　gun　but　didn't　find　one。　She　found　no　phone　either。
　The　large　walk…in　closet　was　ten　feet　deep　and　as　wide　as　the　bedroom；　essentially　a　room　of　its　own。　At　a　glance；　the　closet　held　nothing　useful　to　her。　She　was　sure　to　discover　something　worthwhile　if　she　searched；　maybe　even　a　well…hidden　gun。　But　there　were　built…in　cabinets　with　laden　shelves　and　packed　drawers；　and　boxes　were　stacked　on　boxes；　she　would　need　hours　to　pore　through　everything。　More　urgent　tasks　awaited　her。
　She　emptied　the　dresser　drawers　on　the　floor；　but　they　contained　only　socks；　under…wear；　sweaters；　sweatshirts；　and　a　few　rolled　belts。　No　guns。
　Across　the　hall　from　Vess's　bedroom　was　a　Spartan　study。　Bare　walls。　Blackout　blinds　instead　of　drapes。　On　two　long　worktables　stood　two　puters；　each　with　its　own　laser　printer。　Of　the　numerous　items　of　puter…related　equipment；　she　could　identify　some　but　was　mystified　by　others。
　Between　the　long　tables　was　an　office　chair。　The　floor　was　not　carpeted；　the　bare　wood　was　exposed；　evidently　to　make　it　easier　for　Vess　to　roll　between　tables。
　The　drab；　utilitarian　room　intrigued　her。　She　sensed　that　it　was　an　important　place。　Time　was　precious；　but　there　was　something　here　worth　pausing　to　examine。
　She　sat　in　the　chair　and　looked　around；　bewildered。　She　knew　that　the　world　was　wired　these　days；　even　into　the　hinterlands；　but　it　seemed　odd　to　find　all　this　high…tech　equipment　in　such　a　remote　and　rustic　house。
　Chyna　suspected　that　Vess　was　set　up　to　enter　the　Internet；　but　there　was　no　phone　or　modem　in　sight。　She　spotted　two　unused　phone　jacks　in　the　baseboard。　His　meticulous　security　procedures　had　served　him　well　again；　she　was　stymied。
　What　did　he　do　here？　On　one　of　the　tables　were　six　or　eight　ring…bound　notebooks　with　colorful　covers；　and　she　opened　the　nearest。　The　binder　was　divided　into　five　sections；　each　with　the　name　of　an　agency　of　the　federal　government。　The　first　was　the　Social　Security　Administration。　The　pages　were　filled　with　what　seemed　to　be　notes　from　Vess　to　himself　regarding　the　trial…and…error　method　by　which　he　had　hacked　his　way　into　the　administration's　data　files　and　had　learned　to　manipulate　them。　The　second　divider　was　labeled　U。S。　DEPT　OF　STATE　（PASSPORT　AGENCY）；　and　judging　by　the　following　notes；　Vess　was　engaged　in　an　inplete　experiment　to　determine　if；　by　a　byzantine　route；　he　might　be　able　to　enter　and　control　the　Passport　Agency's　puterized　records　without　being　detected。
　Part　of　what　he　was　doing；　evidently；　was　preparing　for　the　day　when　he　slipped　up　in　his　〃homicidal　adventuring〃　and　required　new　identities。
　Chyna　didn't　believe；　however；　that　Vess's　only　projects　were　the　altering　of　his　public　records　and　the　obtaining　of　fake　ID。　She　was　troubled　by　the　feeling　that　this　room　contained　information　about　Vess　that　could　be　of　vital　importance　to　her　own　survival　if　only　she　knew　where　to　look　for　it。
　She　put　down　the　notebook　and　swiveled　in　the　chair　to　face　the　second　puter。　Under　one　end　of　this　table　stood　a　two…drawer　file　cabmet。　She　opened　the　top　drawer　and　saw　Pendaflex　hanging　files　with　blue　tags；　each　tag　featured　a　person's　name；　with　the　surname　first。
　Each　folder　contained　a　two…sheet　dossier　on　a　different　lawenforcement　officer；　and　after　a　couple　of　minutes　of　investigation；　Chyna　decided　that　they　were　deputies　with　the　sheriffs　department　in　the　very　county　in　which　Vess's　house　was　located。　These　dossiers　provided　all　vital　statistics　on　the　officers　plus　information　about　their　families　and　their　personal　lives。　A　Xerox　of　each　deputy's　official　ID　photo　was　also　attached。
　Did　the　freak　see　some　advantage　in　collecting　information　on　all　the　local　cops　as　insurance　against　the　day　when　he　might　find　himself　in　a　standoff　with　them？　This　effort　seemed　excessive　even　for　one　as　meticulous　as　Edgler　Vess；　on　the　other　hand；　excess　was　his　philosophy。
　The　lower　drawer　of　the　filing　cabinet　contained　manila　folders　as　well。　The　tabs　of　these　also　featured　names；　like　those　in　the　upper　drawer；　but　only　surnames。
　In　the　first　folder；　labeled　ALmEs；　Chyna　found　a　full…page　enlargement　of　the　California　driver's　license　of　an　attractive　young　blonde　named　Mia　Lorinda　Almes。　Judging　by　the　exceptional　clarity；　it　wasn't　a　Xerox　blow…up　of　the　original　license　but　a　digitized　data　transmission　received　on　a　phone　line；　through　a　puter；　and　reproduced　on　a　high…quality　laser　printer。
　The　only　other　items　in　the　folder　were　six　Polaroid　photographs　of　Mia　Lorinda　Almes。　The　first　two　were　close…ups　from　different　angles。　She　was　beautiful。　And　terrified。
　This　file　drawer　was　Edgler　Vess's　equivalent　of　a　scrapbook。　Four　more　Polaroids　of　Mia　Almes。　Don't　look。　The　next　two　were　full…body　shots。　The　young　woman　was　naked　in　both。　Manacled。
　Chyna　closed　her　eyes。　But　opened　them。　She　was　pelled　to　look；　perhaps　because　she　was　determined　not　to　hide　from　anything　any　more。
　In　the　fifth　and　sixth　photos；　the　young　woman　was　dead；　and　in　the　last　her　beautiful　face　was　gone　as　if　it　had　been　blown　off　or　sheared　away。
　The　folder　and　the　photographs　fluttered　from　Chyna's　hands　to　the　floor；　where　they　clicked　*against　the　wood　and　spun　and　were　still。　She　hid　her　face　in　her　hands。
　She　wasn't　trying　to　block　from　her　mind　the　gruesome　image　on　the　snapshot。　Instead；　she　was　striving　to　repress　a　nineteen…year…old　memory　of　a　farmhouse　outside　New　Orleans；　two　visitors　with　a　Styrofoam　cooler；　a　gun　taken　from　the　refrigerator；　and　the　cold　accuracy　with　which　a　woman　named　Memphis　had　fired　two　rounds。
　Memory；　however；　always　has　its　way。