dk.intensity-第7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　shuddered；　stunned　to　be　alive。
　The　house　held　a　drowning　depth　of　stillness　as　a　dam　held　water；　with　tremendous　pent…up　power　and　pressure　on　the　breast。
　When　Chyna　found　the　courage　to　move；　she　cautiously　approached　the　head　of　the　stairs。　She　feared　that　the　visitor　had　not　fully　descended　to　the　first　floor；　that　he　was　toying　with　her；　standing　just　out　of　sight；　waiting；　smiling。　He　would　reach　for　her；　palms　up；　and　say；　e　to　me。
　She　held　her　breath；　risked　exposure；　and　looked　down。　The　stairs　curved　through　gradients　of　gloom　to　the　foyer　below。　She　could　see　just　well　enough　to　be　sure　that　he　wasn't　there。
　As　far　as　Chyna　could　discern；　no　lamps　were　on　downstairs。　She　wondered　what　he　was　doing　in　that　darkness；　guided　only　by　the　pale　moonglow　at　the　windows。　Perhaps　he　was　in　a　er；　crouched　like　a　spider；　sensitive　to　the　faintest　changes　in　the　patterns　of　the　air；　dreaming　of　silent　stalkings　and　the　frenzied　rending　of　prey。
　She　went　quickly　past　the　head　of　the　stairs；　into　the　last　length　of　hallway；　to　the　next　open　door　and　the　second　source　of　amber　light；　dreading　what　she　might　find。　But　she　could　cope　with　both　the　dread　and　the　finding。　it　was　always　not　knowing；　turning　away　from　truth；　that　caused　night　sweats　and　bad　dreams。
　This　room　was　smaller　than　the　master　suite；　with　no　sitting　area。　A　corner　desk。　A　double　bed。　One　nightstand　with　a　brass　lamp；　a　dresser；　a　vanity　with　a　padded　bench。
　On　the　wall　above　the　bed　was　a　poster…size　portrait　of　Freud。　Chyna　loathed　Freud。　But　Laura；　dear　of　heart　and　idealistic；　clung　to　a　belief　in　many　aspects　of　Freudian　theory；　she　embraced　the　dream　of　a　guiltless　world；　with　everyone　a　victim　of　his　troubled　past　and　yearning　for　rehabilitation。
　Laura　was　lying　facedown　on　the　bed；　atop　the　sheets　and　the　blankets。　Her　wrists　were　handcuffed　behind　her。　A　second　pair　of　handcuffs　secured　her　ankles。　Linking　both　of　those　shiny　steel　restraints　was　a　shackling　chain。
　She　had　been　violated。　The　pants　of　her　baggy　blue　pajamas　had　been　cut　off　with　a　neatness　worthy　of　a　conscientious　tailor；　the　blue　panels　of　cloth　had　been　smoothed　across　the　blankets　to　both　sides　of　her。　The　pajama　shirt　had　been　shoved　up　her　back；　now　it　was　gathered　in　rumpled　folds　across　her　shoulders　and　the　nape　of　her　neck。
　Chyna　moved　deeper　into　the　room；　her　fear　equaled　now　by　a　swelling　sorrow　that　seemed　to　enlarge　her　heart　yet　leave　it　cold　and　empty。　When　she　caught　a　faint　odor　of　spilled　semen；　her　fear　and　sorrow　were　matched　by　anger。　As　she　stooped　beside　the　bed；　her　hands　curled　into　such　hard　fists　that　her　fingernails　pressed　painfully　into　her　palms。
　Sweat…damp　blond　hair　was　pasted　to　the　side　of　Laura's　face。　Her　delicate　features　were　salt…pale　and　clenched　in　anxiety；　and　her　eyes　were　squeezed　tightly　shut。
　She　was　not　dead。　Not　dead。　It　seemed　impossible。　The　girl…terror　had　reduced　her　to　the　condition　of　a　girl…was　murmuring　so　softly　that　the　words　couldn't　be　heard　even　from　a　distance　of　inches；　yet　so　urgently　that　the　meaning　was　harrowingly　clear。　It　was　a　prayer；　one　that　Chyna　had　recited　on　numerous　nights　long　ago；　in　far　places：　a　prayer　for　mercy；　a　plea　to　be　delivered　from　this　horror　untouched　and　alive；　dear　God；　please；　untouched　and　alive。
　On　those　other　nights；　Chyna　had　been　spared　both　violation　and　death。　Already；　half　of　Laura's　petition　had　gone　unanswered。
　Chyna's　throat　tightened　with　anguish；　and　she　could　barely　speak：　〃It's　me。〃　Laura's　eyelids　sprang　open；　and　her　blue　eyes　rolled　like　those　of　a　terrified　horse；　wide　with　disbelief。　〃All　dead。〃
　〃Ssshhh；〃　Chyna　whispered。
　〃Blood。　His　hands。〃
　〃Ssshhh。　I'll　get　you　out　of　here。〃
　〃Stank　like　blood。　Jack's　dead。　Nina。　Everyone。〃
　Jack；　her　brother；　whom　Chyna　had　not　met。　Nina；　her　sister…in…law。　Evidently　the　killer　had　been　to　the　vineyard　manager's　bungalow　before　ing　to　the　main　house。　Four　dead。　There　was　no　help　to　be　found　anywhere　on　the　sprawling　property。
　Chyna　glanced　worriedly　at　the　open　door；　then　quickly　rose　to　test　the　handcuffs　on　Laura's　wrists。　Securely　locked。
　With　fettered　hands　and　fettered　ankles　linked　by　a　chain；　Laura　was　thoroughly　hobbled。　She　wouldn't　be　able　to　stand；　let　alone　walk。
　Chyna　wasn't　strong　enough　to　carry　her。　She　saw　her　reflection　in　the　vanity　mirror　across　the　room；　and　she　realized　with　a　shock　how　nakedly　her　terror　was　revealed　in　her　wrenched　face。
　Trying　to　look　more　posed　for　Laura's　sake；　Chyna　stopped　beside　the　bed　again　and　murmured　almost　as　softly　as　her　friend　had　been　praying：　〃Is　there　a　gun？〃
　〃What？〃
　〃A　gun　in　the　house？〃
　〃No。〃
　〃Nowhere　in　the　house？〃
　〃No；　no。〃
　〃Shit。〃
　〃Jack。〃
　〃What？〃
　〃Has　one。〃
　〃A　gun？　At　the　bungalow？〃　Chyna　asked。
　〃Jack　has　a　gun。〃
　Chyna　didn't　have　time　to　get　to　the　bungalow　and　back　before　the　killer　returned　to　Laura's　room。　Anyway；　more　likely　than　not；　he　had　already　found　the　gun　and　confiscated　it。　〃Do　you　know　who　he　is？〃
　〃No。〃　Laura's　sky…blue　eyes　appeared　to　darken　with　despair。　〃Get　out。〃
　〃I'll　find　a　weapon。〃
　〃Get　out；〃　Laura　whispered　more　urgently；　cold　sweat　glistening　on　her　brow。
　〃A　knife；〃　Chyna　said。
　〃Don't　die　for　me。〃　Then；　sotto　voce；　tremulously　but　fiercely；　fiercely　she　said：　〃Run；　Chyna。　Oh；　God；　please　run！〃
　〃I'll　be　back。〃
　〃Run。〃
　
　From　outside；　a　sound　arose。　A　truck　engine。　Approaching。　Astonished；　Chyna　shot　to　her　feet。　〃Someone's　ing。　Help's　ing。〃
　Laura's　bedroom　was　toward　the　front　of　the　house。　Chyna　stepped　to　the　nearer　of　two　windows；　which　provided　a　view　of　the　half…mile　driveway　leading　in　from　the　two…lane　county　road。
　A　quarter　of　a　mile　away；　bright　headlights　pierced　the　night。　judging　by　the　height　of　the　lights　from　the　ground；　Chyna　concluded　that　the　truck　was　big。
　How　miraculous　that　anyone　would　show　up　at　this　hour；　in　this　lonely　place。
　As　a　thrill　of　hope　swept　through　Chyna；　she　realized　that　the　killer　would　have　heard　the　engine　too。　The　man　or　men　in　the　truck　wouldn't　know　what　trouble　they　were　getting　into。　When　they　stopped　in　front　of　the　house；　they　would　be　dead　men　breathing。　
　〃Hold　on；〃　she　said；　touched　Laura's　damp　forehead　to　reassure　her；　and　then　crossed　the　room　to　the　door；　leaving　her　friend　under　the　smug　and　somber　gaze　of　Sigmund　Freud。
　The　hallway　was　deserted。　Chyna　hurried　to　the　head　of　the　curved　stairs；　hesitated　to　mit　herself　to　the　tenebrous　lair　below；　but　then　realized　that　she　had　nowhere　else　to　go。　She　went　down　as　fast　as　she　dared　without　the　support　of　the　handrail。　Staying　clear　of　the　balustrade。　Too　exposed　there。　Close　to　the　wall　was　better。
　She　quickly　passed　a　series　of　large　landscape　paintings　in　ornate　frames；　which　seemed　almost　to　be　windows　on　actual　pastoral　vistas。　Earlier；　they　had　been　bright　and　cheerful　scenes。　Now　they　were　ominous：　goblin　forests；　black　rivers；　killing　fields。
　The　foyer。　An　oval　area　rug　on　polished　oak。　Through　a　closed　door　to　the　right　was　Paul　Templeton's　study。　Through　the　archway　on　the　left　was　the　dark　living　room。
　The　killer　could　be　anywhere。　Outside；　the　roar　of　the　truck　grew　louder。　It　was　almost　to　the　house。　The　driver　would　be　shot　through　the　windshield　the　moment　that　he　braked　to　a　stop。　Or　gunned　down　when　he　stepped　out　from　behind　the　steering　wheel。
　Chyna　had　to　warn　him；　not　solely　for　his　sake　but　for　her　own；　for　Laura's。　He　was　their　only　hope。
　Certain　that　the　spider…eating　intruder　was　nearby；　she　expected　a　savage　attack　and；　abandoning　caution；flew　at　the　front　door。　The　oval　rug　rucked　beneath　her　feet；　twisted；　and　nearly　spun　out　from　under　her。　She　stumbled；　reached　out　to　break　her　fall；　and　slammed　both　palms　flat　against　the　front　door。
　Such　a　noise；　hellacious　noise；　booming　through　the　house；　had　surely　drawn　the　killer's　attention　away　from　the　approaching　truck。
　Chyna　fumbled；　found　the　knob；　and　twisted　it。　The　door　was　unlocked。　Gasping；　she　pulled　it　open。
　A　cool　breeze　out　of　the　northwest；　faintly　scented　by　freshly　turned　vineyard　earth　and　fungicide；　whistled　through　the　bare　limbs　of　the　maple　trees　that　flanked　the　front　walkway。　Snuffling　like　a　pack　of　hounds；　it　rushed　past　her　into　the　foyer　as　she　stepped　out　onto　the　front　porch。
　The　truck　had　already　passed　the　house　and　was　heading　away　from　her。　It　would　e　around　for　a　second　approach　on　the　end…loop　of　the　driveway；　which　was　wide　enough　to　acmodate　produce　haulers　in　the　harvest　season；　and　park　facing　out　toward　the　county　road。　But　it　wasn't　a　truck　after　all。　A　motor　home。　An　older　model　with　rounded　lines；　well　kept；　forty　feet　long；　either　blue　or　green。　Its　chrome　glimmered　like　quicksilver　under　the　late…winter　moon。
　Amazed　that　she　had　not　yet　been　stabbed　or　shot　or　struck　from　behind；　glancing　back　at　the　open　front　door　where　the　killer　hadn't　yet　appeared；　Chyna　headed　for　the　porch　steps。
　The　motor　home　rounded　the　end　of　the　loop；　beginning　to　turn　toward　her。　Its　twin　beams　swept　across　the　Templetons'　barn　and　other　outbuildings。
　Larch　and　maple　and　evergreen　shadows　fled　before　the　arcing　headlights。　They　flickered　darkly　through　the　trellis　at　the　end　of　the　porch；　along　the　white　balustrade；　across　the　lawn　and　the　stone　walkway；　stretching　impossibly；　swooping　into　the　night　as　if　trying　frantically　to　tear　free　of　the　trees　that　cast　them。
　The　deep　quiet　in　the　house；　the　lack　of　lights　downstairs；　the　killer's　failure　to　attack　her　as　she　escaped；　the　timely　arrival　of　the　motor　home…suddenly　all　of　those　things　made　chilling　sense。　The　killer　was　driving　the　motor　home。　〃No。〃
　Chyna　swiftly　retreated　from　the　porch　steps　and　scrambled　back　into　the　foyer。
　At　her　heels；　the　headlights　came　all　the　way　around　the　end　of　the　driveway　loop。　They　pierced　the　trellis　grid；　projecting　geometric　patterns　across　the　porch　floor　and　the　front　wall　of　the　house。
　She　closed　the　door　and　fumbled　for　the　big　lock　above　the　knob。　Found　the　thumb…turn。　Engaged　the　heavy　deadbolt。
　Then　she　realized　her　mistake。　The　front　door　had　been　unlocked　because　the　killer　had　gone　out　that　way。　If　he　found　it　locked　now；　he　would　know　that　Laura　wasn't　the　only　person　alive　in　the　house；　and　the　hunt　would　begin。
　Her　sweaty　fingers　slipped　on　the　brass　thumb…turn；　but　the　bolt　snapped　open　with　a　hard　clack。
　Earlier；　he　must　have　parked　the　vehicle　near　the　end　of　the　halfmile…long　driveway；　out　toward　the　county　road；　and　must　have　walked　to　the　house。
　Now　tires　crunched　through　gravel。　Air　brakes　issued　a　soft　whoosh　and　a　softer　whine；　and　the　motor　home　came　to　a　full　stop　in　front　of　the　house。
　Remembering　the　oval　rug　that　had　turned　under　her　feet　and　had　nearly　sent　her　sprawling；　Chyna　dropped　to　her　knees。　She　crawled　across　the　wool；　smoothing　the　rumples　with　her　hands。　If　the　killer　tripped　over　the　disarranged　rug；　he　would　know　that　it　hadn't　been　in　that　condition　when　he'd　left。
　Footsteps　arose　outside：　boot　heels　ringing　off　the　flagstone　walkway。
　Chyna　came　to　her　feet　and　turned　toward　the　study。　No　good。　She　couldn't　know　for　sure　where　he　would　go　when　he　reentered　the　house；　and　if　he　stepped　into　the　study；　she　would　be　trapped