dk.intensity-第35节

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led　through　the　rear　wall　of　the　old　house。　Water　being　drawn　upward　to　the　bathroom　made　an　urgent；　hollow　rushing　sound　through　copper。　Furthermore；　the　pipe　wasn't　tied　down　and　insulated　as　well　as　it　ought　to　have　been；　and　at　some　point　along　its　course；　it　vibrated　against　a　wall　stud：　rapid　knocking　behind　plasterboard；　tatta…tatta…tatta…tatta…tatta。
　If　that　noise　abruptly　stopped；　she　would　know　that　her　safe　time　in　the　house　was　limited。　In　the　subsequent　silence；　she　could　count　on　no　more　than　a　minute　or　two　of　grace　while　he　toweled　off。　Thereafter　he　might　show　up　anywhere。
　Chyna　looked　around　for　a　telephone　but　saw　only　a　wall　jack　into　which　one　could　be　plugged。　If　there　had　been　a　phone；　she　might　have　paused　to　call　911；　supposing　there　was　911　service　out　here　in　。。。　well；　wherever　the　hell　they　were…these　boondocks。　Knowing　that　help　was　on　the　way　would　have　made　the　remainder　of　the　search　less　nerve…racking。
　At　the　north　end　of　the　dining　area　was　another　door。　Although　the　killer　was　in　the　shower　upstairs；　she　turned　the　knob　as　quietly　as　she　could　and　crossed　the　threshold　with　caution。
　Beyond　lay　a　bination　laundry　and　storage　room。　A　washer。　An　electric　dryer。　Boxes　and　bottles　of　laundry　supplies　were　stored　in　an　orderly　fashion　on　two　open　shelves；　and　the　air　smelled　like　detergent　and　bleach。
　The　rush　of　water　and　the　knocking　pipe　were　even　louder　here　than　they　had　been　in　the　kitchen。
　To　the　left；　past　the　washer　and　dryer；　was　another　door…rough　pine；　painted　lime　green。　She　opened　it　and　saw　stairs　leading　down　to　a　black　cellar；　and　her　heart　began　to　beat　faster。
　〃Ariel〃；　she　said　softly；　but　there　was　no　answer；　because　she　had　spoken　more　to　herself　than　to　the　girl。
　No　windows　at　all　below。　Not　even　a　turbid　leak　of　gray　storm　light　seeping　through　narrow　casements　or　screened　ventilation　cutouts。
　Dungeon　dark。
　But　if　the　bastard　was　keeping　a　girl　down　there；　how　odd　that　he　wouldn't　have　added　a　lock　to　this　upper　door。　It　offered　only　the　spring　latch　that　retracted　with　a　twist　of　the　knob；　not　a　real　lock　of　any　kind。
　The　captive　might　be　sealed　in　a　windowless　room　deep　below；　of　course；　or　even　manacled。　Ariel　might　have　no　hope　of　reaching　these　stairs　and　this　upper　door；　even　if　left　alone　for　days　to　worry　at　her　restraints；　which　would　explain　why　the　killer　was　confident　that　one　more　barrier　to　her　flight　wasn't　necessary　even　when　he　was　away　from　home。
　Nevertheless；　it　seemed　peculiar　that　he　wouldn't　be　concerned　about　a　thief　breaking　into　the　house　when　he　was　gone；　descending　to　the　cellar；　and　inadvertently　discovering　the　imprisoned　girl。　Considering　the　obvious　age　of　the　structure；　its　rusticity；　and　the　lack　of　any　apparent　alarm　keypads；　Chyna　doubted　that　the　house　had　a　security　system。　The　killer；　with　all　his　secrets；　ought　to　have　installed　a　steel　door　to　the　cellar；　with　locks　as　impregnable　as　those　on　a　bank　vault。
　The　lack　of　special　security　might　mean　that　the　girl；　Ariel；　was　not　here。
　Chyna　didn't　want　to　dwell　on　that　possibility。　She　bad　to　find　Ariel。
　Leaning　through　the　doorway；　she　felt　along　the　stairwell　wall　for　the　switch；　and　snapped　it　up。　Lights　came　on　both　at　the　upper　landing　and　in　the　basement。
　The　bare　concrete　steps…a　single　flight…were　steep。　They　appeared　to　be　much　newer　than　the　house　itself；　perhaps　even　a　relatively　recent　addition。
　The　high…velocity　surge　of　water　through　plumbing　and　the　hard　rapping　of　the　loose　pipe　in　the　wall　told　her　that　the　killer　was　still　busy　in　the　bathroom　above；　scrubbing　away　all　traces　of　his　crimes。　Tatta…tatta…tatta　。。。
　Louder　than　before　but　still　in　a　whisper；　she　said：　〃Ariel。〃　Out　of　the　still　air　below；　no　response。　
　Louder。　〃Ariel。〃　Nothing。　Chyna　didn't　want　to　go　down　into　this　windowless　pit；　with　no　way　out　except　the　stairs；　even　with　a　lockless　door　above。　But　she　couldn't　think　of　any　way　to　avoid　the　descent；　not　if　she　was　to　learn　for　sure　whether　Ariel　was　here。
　Tatta…tatta…tatta…tatta…tatta　。。。　It　always　came　to　this；　even　with　childhood　long　past　and　being　grown　up　and　everything　supposedly　in　control；　everything　supposedly　all　right；　even　then　it　still　came　to　this：　alone；　dizzy　with　fear；　alone；　down　into　a　bleak…dark…cramped　place；　no　exits；　sustained　only　by　mad　hope；　with　the　world　indifferent；　no　one　to　wonder　about　her　or　care　where　she　might　have　gone。
　Listening　intently　for　the　slightest　change　in　the　sound　of　the　rushing　water　and　the　vibrating　pipe；　Chyna　went　down　one　step　at　a　time；　her　left　hand　on　the　iron　railing。　The　gun　was　extended　in　her　right　hand；　she　was　clenching　it　so　fiercely　that　her　knuckles　ached。　〃Chyna　Shepherd；　untouched　and　alive；〃　she　said　shakily。　〃Chyna　Shepherd；　untouched　and　alive。〃
　Halfway　down　the　stairs；　she　glanced　back　and　up。　At　the　end　of　a　trail　of　her　wet　shoe　prints；　the　landing　seemed　a　quarter　of　a　mile　above　her；　as　far　away　as　the　top　of　the　knoll　had　seemed　from　the　front　porch　of　the　house。
　Alice　down　the　rabbit　bole　into　a　madness　witbout　tea　parties。
　At　the　open　doorway　between　the　in…kitchen　dining　area　and　the　laundry　room；　Mr。　Edgler　Vess　hears　the　mystery　woman　call　to　Ariel。　She　is　only　a　few　feet　away　from　him；　around　the　er；　past　the　washer　and　the　dryer；　so　there　can　be　no　mistake　about　what　name　she　speaks。
　Ariel。　Stupefied；　he　stands　blinking　and　open…mouthed　in　the　fragrance　of　laundry　detergent　and　in　the　wall…muffled　rattle　of　copper　pipes；　with　her　voice　echoing　in　memory。
　There　is　no　way　for　her　to　know　about　Ariel。　Yet　she　calls　to　the　girl　again；　louder　than　before。　Mr。　Vess　suddenly　feels　terribly　violated；　oppressed；　observed。　He　glances　back　at　the　windows　in　the　dining　area　and　the　kitchen；　expecting　to　discover　the　radiant　faces　of　accusing　strangers　pressed　to　those　panes。　He　sees　only　the　rain　and　the　drowned　gray　light；　but　he　is　still　anguished。
　This　is　not　fan　any　longer。　Not　fim　at　all。
　The　mystery　is　too　deep。　And　alarming。　It　is　as　if　this　woman　didn't　e　to　him　out　of　that　Honda　but　came　through　an　invisible　barrier　between　dimensions；　out　of　some　world　beyond　this　one；　from　which　she　has　been　secretly　watching　him。　The　flavor　is　distinctly　supernatural；　the　texture　otherworldly；　and　now　the　laundry　detergent　smells　like　burning　incense；　and　the　cloying　air　seems　thick　with　unseen　presences。
　Fearful　and　plagued　by　doubt；　unaccustomed　to　both　of　those　emotions；　Mr。　Vess　steps　into　the　laundry　room；　raising　the　Heckler　&　Koch　P7。　His　finger　wraps　the　trigger；　already　beginning　to　squeeze　off　a　shot。
　The　cellar　door　stands　open。　The　stairwell　light　is　on。
　The　woman　is　not　in　sight。　He　eases　off　the　trigger　without　firing。　On　those　infrequent　occasions　when　he　has　guests　to　the　house　to　dinner　or　for　a　business　meeting；　he　always　leaves　a　Doberman　in　the　laundry　room。　The　dog　lies　in　here；　silent　and　dozing。　But　if　anyone　other　than　Vess　were　to　enter；　the　dog　would　bark　and　snarl　and　drive　him　backward。
　When　the　master　is　away；　Dobermans　vigilantly　patrol　the　entire　property；　and　no　one　has　a　hope　of　getting　into　the　house　itself；　let　alone　into　the　cellar。
　Mr。　Vess　has　never　put　a　lock　on　the　door　to　the　cellar　steps　because　he　is　concerned　that　it　might　accidentally　trip；　imprisoning　him　down　there　when　he　is　at　play　and　unawares。　With　a　key…operated　deadbolt；　of　course；　this　catastrophe　could　never　happen。　He　himself　is　incapable　of　imagining　how　any　such　mechanism　could　malfunction　and　trap　him；　nevertheless；　he's　too　concerned　about　the　prospect　to　take　the　risk。
　Over　the　years；　he　has　seen　coincidence　at　work　in　the　world；　and　people　perishing　because　of　it。　One　late…June　afternoon　near　dusk；　as　Mr。　Vess　was　driving　to　Reno；　Nevada；　on　Interstate　8o；　a　young　blonde　in　a　Mustang　convertible　had　passed　his　motor　home。　She　was　wearing　white　shorts　and　a　white　blouse；　and　her　long　hair　streamed　red…gold　in　the　twilight　wind。　Filled　with　an　instant　and　powerful　need　to　smash　her　beautiful　face；　he　had　pressed　the　motor　home　to　its　limits　to　keep　her　swifter　Mustang　in　sight；　but　his　quest　had　seemed　doomed。　As　the　highway　rose　into　the　Sierras；　the　speed　of　the　motor　home　had　fallen；　and　the　Mustang　had　pulled　away。　Even　if　he　had　been　able　to　draw　close　to　the　woman；　the　traffic　had　been　too　heavy；　too　many　witnesses…for　him　to　try　anything　as　bold　as　forcing　her　off　the　highway。　Then　one　of　the　tires　on　the　Mustang　had　blown。　Traveling　at　such　high　speed；　she　nearly　spun　out；　nearly　rolled；　swerved　from　lane　to　lane；　blue　smoke　pouring　off　the　tires；　but　then　she　got　control　and　pulled　the　car　off　the　road　onto　the　shoulder。　Mr。　Vess　had　stopped　to　assist　her。　She　had　been　grateful　for　his　offer　of　help；　smiling　and　pleasantly　shy；　a　nice　girl　with　a　one…inch　gold　cross　on　a　chain　around　her　neck；　and　later　she　had　wept　so　bitterly　and　struggled　so　excitingly　to　resist　surrendering　her　beauty；　to　turn　her　face　away　from　his　various　sharp　instruments；　just　a　high…spirited　young　woman　full　of　life　and　on　the　way　to　Reno　until　coincidence　gave　her　to　him。
　And　if　a　blown　tire；　why　not　a　malfunctioning　lock？　If　coincidence　can　give；　it　can　take。　Mr。　Vess　lives　with　intensity　but　not　without