dk.intensity-第11节

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　Waiting；　she　began　to　lose　her　nerve。　Resurgent　fear　tempered　her　rage；　shifting　the　balance　from　vengeance　to　survival。　But　she　could　still　do　it。　She　could　do　it。　She　struggled　to　hold　on　to　her　crazy…hot　anger。
　Then　the　killer　came　out　of　the　motor　home；　but　he　didn't　use　the　exit　beside　her。　He　stepped　from　the　open　cab　door　at　the　front　of　the　vehicle。
　Chyna's　breath　caught　in　her　throat；　and　the　chill　wind　from　the　oning　storm　seemed　bitter　with　the　scent　of　failure。
　He　was　too　far　away。　No　longer　distracted　by　the　weight　of　Laura　in　his　arms　and　the　rattling　of　her　shackles；　he　would　hear　Chyna　ing。　She　no　longer　had　the　element　of　surprise　to　even　the　odds。
　He　stood　just　outside　the　cab　door；　thirty　feet　from　her；　stretching　almost　lazily。　He　rolled　his　big　shoulders　as　if　to　shake　weariness　from　them；　and　he　massaged　the　back　of　his　neck。
　If　he　turned　his　head　to　the　left；　he　would　see　her　at　once。　If　she　didn't　remain　absolutely　still；　he　would　surely　spot　her　slightest　movement　even　from　the　corner　of　his　eye。
　He　was　downwind　of　her；　and　she　was　half　afraid　that　he　would　smell　her　fear。　He　seemed　more　animal　than　human；　even　in　the　fluid　grace　with　which　he　moved；　and　she　had　no　trouble　believing　that　he　was　gifted　with　wild　talents　and　preternatural　senses。
　Although　he　wasn't　holding　the　silencer…fitted　gun　with　which　he　had　killed　Paul　Templeton；　it　might　be　tucked　under　his　belt。　If　she　tried　to　flee；　he　could　draw　the　weapon　and　shoot　her　dead　before　she　got　far。
　But　he　wouldn't　shoot　her　dead。　Nothing　that　easy。　He'd　pop　her　in　the　leg；　bring　her　down；　and　take　her　captive。　Load　her　into　the　motor　home　with　Laura。　He'd　want　to　play　with　her　later。
　Finished　stretching；　he　moved　briskly　toward　the　house。　Up　the　walkway。　Onto　the　porch。　Inside。
　He　never　looked　back。　Chyna's　pent…up　breath　stuttered　from　her　in　a　tattoo　of　fear；　and　she　inhaled　with　a　shudder。
　Before　her　courage　faded　further；　she　hurried　forward　to　the　cab　door　and　climbed　behind　the　steering　wheel。　Her　best　hope　was　to　find　keys　in　the　ignition；　in　which　case　she　would　be　able　to　start　the　engine　and　drive　away　with　Laura；　go　into　Napa　to　the　police。
　No　keys。　She　glanced　at　the　house；　wondering　how　long　he　would　be　gone。　Maybe　he　was　searching　for　valuables　now　that　the　killing　was　done。　Or　selecting　souvenirs。　That　could　take　five　minutes；　ten　minutes；　even　longer。　Which　might　be　enough　time　to　get　Laura　out　of　the　motor　home　and　hide　her　somewhere。　Somehow。
　She　still　had　the　knife。　And　now　that　she　was　in　the　killer's　domain　without　his　knowledge；　she　had　regained　the　precious　element　of　surprise。
　Nevertheless；　her　heart　raced；　and　her　dry　mouth　was　filled　with　the　sliahtly　metallic　taste　of　feverish　anxiety。
　The　seat　swiveled；　clearing　the　console。　She　was　able　to　step　from　behind　the　steering　wheel　into　the　lounge　area；　which　featured　builtin　sofas　upholstered　in　a　hunter…plaid　fabric。
　The　steel　floor　was　carpeted；　of　course；　but　after　long　years　of　hard　travel；　it　creaked　softly　under　her　feet。
　She　had　expected　the　place　to　smell　like　a　Grand　Guignol　theater　where　the　sadistic　plays　involved　no　make…believe；　but　instead　the　air　was　redolent　of　recently　brewed　coffee　and　cinnamon　rolls。　How　odd…and　somehow　profoundly　disturbing…that　a　man　like　this　should　find　any　satisfaction　at　all　in　innocent　pleasures。　
　〃Laura；〃　she　whispered；　as　though　the　killer　might　hear　her　all　the　way　from　the　house。　Then　more　fiercely　than　ever；　yet　in　a　whisper：　〃Laura！〃
　Beyond　the　lounge　and　open　to　it　were　a　kitchenette　and　a　cozy　dining　alcove　with　a　booth　upholstered　in　red　vinyl。　Running　off　the　battery；　a　lamp　hung　aglow　over　the　dining…nook　table。
　Laura　was　not　to　be　seen　anywhere。　Moving　swiftly　out　of　the　dining　area；　Chyna　came　to　the　rear　door　standing　open　on　the　right；　through　which　the　killer　had　entered　with　the　unconscious　girl　in　his　arms。　
　〃Laura。〃
　Aft　of　the　outer　door；　a　short　cramped　hall　led　along　the　driver's　side　of　the　vehicle；　illuminated　by　a　low…voltage　safety　fixture。　There　was　also　a　skylight；　now　black。　On　the　left　were　two　closed　doors；　and　at　the　end　a　third　stood　ajar。
　The　first　door　opened　into　a　tiny　bath。　The　space　was　a　marvel　of　efficient　design：　a　toilet；　a　sink；　a　medicine　cabinet；　and　a　corner　shower　stall。
　Behind　the　second　door　was　a　closet。　A　few　changes　of　clothes　hung　from　a　chrome　rod。
　At　the　end　of　the　hall　was　a　small　bedroom　with　imitation…wood　paneling　and　a　closet　with　an　accordion…style　vinyl　door。　The　meager　light　from　the　hall　didn't　brighten　the　place　much；　but　Chyna　could　see　well　enough　to　identify　Laura；　the　girl　was　lying　facedown　on　the　narrow　bed；　swaddled　in　a　sheet；　with　only　her　small　bare　feet　and　her　golden　hair　revealed。
　Urgently　whispering　her　friend's　name；　Chyna　stepped　to　the　bed　and　dropped　to　her　knees。
　Laura　didn't　respond。　Still　unconscious。　Chyna　couldn't　lift　the　girl；　couldn't　carry　her　as　the　killer　had　done；　so　she　had　to　try　to　rouse　her　instead。　She　pulled　aside　a　flap　of　sheet　and　was　eye…to…eye　with　her　friend。
　They　were　sapphire…blue　eyes　now；　not　pale…sky　blue；　perhaps　because　the　light　in　the　room　was　so　poor　or　perhaps　because　they　were　occluded　with　death。　Her　mouth　was　open；　and　blood　moistened　her　lips。
　The　crazy　fucking　hateful　bastard　had　taken　her　with　him　even　though　she　was　dead；　for　God…knew…what　purposes；　maybe　because　she　was　something　he　could　touch　and　look　at　and　talk　to　for　a　few　days　to　remind　him　of　the　glory。　A　souvenir。
　Chyna's　stomach　cramped　painfully；　not　with　revulsion　or　disgust　but　with　guilt；　with　failure　and　futility　and　sheer　black　despair。
　〃Oh；　baby；〃　she　said　to　the　dead　girl。　〃Oh；　baby；　sweetie；　I'm　so　sorry；　I'm　so　sorry。〃
　Not　that　she　could　have　done　anything　more　than　she　had　tried　to　do。　What　could　she　have　done？　She　couldn't　have　attacked　the　bastard　bare…handed　when　she　had　stood　behind　him　in　the　upstairs　hall；　when　he　had　been　cooing　to　the　dangling　spider。　What　could　she　have　done？　She　couldn't　have　gotten　to　the　kitchen　any　sooner；　found　the　knife　any　faster；　climbed　the　back　stairs　any　quicker。
　〃I'm　so　sorry。〃
　This　beautiful　girl；　this　dear　heart；　would　never　find　the　husband　about　whom　she　had　fantasized；　never　have　the　children　who　would　have　been　a　betterment　to　the　world　by　the　simple　virtue　of　having　been　her　children。　Twenty…three　years　of　getting　ready　to　make　a　contribution；　to　make　a　difference　in　the　lives　of　others；　so　full　of　ideals　and　hope：　But　now　her　gift　would　never　be　given；　and　the　world　would　be　immeasurably　poorer　for　it。　
　〃I　love　you；　Laura。　We　all　love　you。〃
　Any　words；　any　sentiment；　any　expression　of　grief　was　horribly　inadequate；　worse　than　inadequate…meaningless。　Laura　was　gone；　all　that　warmth　and　kindness　gone　forever；　and　even　the　most　heartfelt　words　were　only　words。
　Chyna's　stomach　cramped　with　a　sense　of　loss；　clenched　tight　and　pulled　her　relentlessly　into　a　black　hole　within　herself。
　At　the　same　time　she　felt　her　breast　swelling　with　a　sob　that；　if　voiced；　would　be　explosive。　A　single　tear　would　loose　a　flood。　Even　one　soft　sob　would　bring　on　an　uncontrollable　wail。
　She　couldn't　risk　grief。　Not　while　she　was　in　the　motor　home。　The　killer　would　be　returning　at　any　minute；　and　she　couldn't　moum　Laura　until　she　was　safely　out　of　there　and　until　he　was　gone。　She　no　longer　had　any　reason　to　stay；　for　Laura　was　indisputably　dead　and　irretrievable。
　Nearby　a　door　slammed　hard；　shaking　the　thin　metal　walls　around　Chyna。
　The　killer　was　back。　Something　rattled。　Rattled。　With　the　butcher　knife　in　hand；　Chyna　swiftly　backed　away　from　Laura　to　the　wall　next　to　the　open　door。　Unexpressed　grief　was　a　highoctane　fuel　for　rage；　and　in　an　instant　she　was　burning　with　fury；　afire　with　the　need　to　hurt　him；　slash　him；　spill　his　guts；　hear　him　scream；　and　bring　the　haunting　awareness　of　mortality　to　his　eyes　as　he　had　brought　it　to　Laura's。
　He'll　e　into　the　room。　I'll　cut　him。　He'll　e　and　I'll　cut　him。　It　was　a　prayer；　not　a　plan。　He'll　e。　I'll　cut　him。　He'll　e。　I'll　cut　him。
　The　shadowy　room　darkened。　He　was　at　the　door；　blocking　the　meager　light　from　the　hall。
　Silently；　the　knife　in　her　hand　jittered　furiously　up　and　down　like　the　needle　on　a　sewing　machine；　stitching　the　pattern　of　her　fear　in　the　air。
　He　was　at　the　threshold。　Right　there。　Right　there。　He　would　e　in　for　one　more　look　at　the　pretty　blond　dead　girl；　for　one　more　feel　of　her　cool　skin；　and　Chyna　would　get　him　when　he　crossed　the　threshold；　cut　him。
　Instead；　he　closed　the　door　and　went　away。　Aghast；　she　listened　to　his　retreating　footsteps；　the　creaking　as　the　carpeted　steel　floor　torqued　under　his　boots；　and　she　wondered　what　to　do　now。
　The　driver's　door　slarnmed。　The　engine　started。　The　brakes　released　with　a　brief　faint　shriek。
　They　were　on　the　move。
　Dead　girls　lie　as　troubled　in　the　dark　as　in　the　light。　As　the　motor　home　sped　along　the　runneled　driveway；　Laura's　shackles　clinked　ceaselessly；　only　half　muffled　by　the　sheet　in　which　she　was　loosely　wrapped。
　Blinded；　still　pressed　to　the　fiberboard　wall　beside　the　bedroom　door；　Chyna　Shepherd　could　almost　believe　that　even　in　death　Laura　struggled　against　the　injus