dk.intensity-第37节

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　She　felt　as　though　she　was　suffocating。　Perhaps　ventilation　in　the　vestibule　was　inadequate；　but　it　was　the　sound…deadening　effect　of　the　padded　walls；　at　least　as　much　as　poor　airflow；　that　made　the　atmosphere　seem　as　thick　as　smoke　and　unbreathable。
　Chyna　slid　aside　the　padded　panel　on　the　inner　door。　Beyond　was　rose…colored　light。　The　port　was　fitted　with　a　sturdy　screen　to　protect　the　viewer　from　assault　by　whoever　or　whatever　was　within。
　Chyna　put　her　face　to　the　port　and　saw　a　large　chamber　nearly　the　size　of　the　living　room　under　which　it　was　situated。　In　portions　of　the　space；　shadows　were　pooled　deep；　and　the　only　light　came　from　three　lamps　with　fringed　fabric　shades　and　pink　bulbs　that　were　each　putting　out　about　forty　watts。
　At　two　places　along　the　back　wall　were　panels　of　red　and　gold　brocade　that　hung　from　brass　rods　as　if　covering　windows；　but　there　could　be　no　windows　underground；　the　brocade　was　just　set　dressing　to　make　the　room　more　fortable。　On　the　wall　to　the　left；　barely　touched　by　light；　was　a　large　tattered　tapestry：　a　scene　of　women　in　long　dresses　and　cloche　hats　riding　horses　sidesaddle　through　spring　grass　and　flowers；　past　a　verdant　forest。
　The　furnishings　included　a　plump　armchair　with　antimacassars；　a　double　bed　with　a　white　headboard　painted　with　a　scene　not　quite　discernible　in　the　rose　light；　bookcases　with　acanthus…leaf　molding；　cabinets　with　mullioned　doors；　a　small　dining　table　with　a　heavily　carved　apron；　two　Directoire　chairs　with　flower…pattern　upholstery　flanking　the　table；　and　a　refrigerator。　An　immense　dark…stained　armoire；　featuring　crackle…glazed　flower　appliqu6s　on　all　the　door　panels；　was　old　but　probably　not　a　genuine　antique；　battered　but　handsome。　A　padded　vanity　bench　sat　before　a　makeup　table　with　a　triptych　mirror　in　a　gilded；　fluted　frame。　In　a　far　er　was　a　toilet　and　a　sink。
　As　weird　as　this　subterranean　room　was；　like　a　storage　vault　for　the　stage　furniture　from　a　production　of　Arsenic　and　Old　Lace；　the　collection　of　dolls　was　by　far　the　strangest　thing　about　it。　Kewpie　dolls；　Cabbage　Patch　Kids；　Raggedy　Ann；　and　numerous　other　varieties；　both　old　and　new；　some　more　than　three　feet　tall；　some　smaller　than　a　milk　carton；　were　dressed　in　diapers；　snowsuits；　elaborate　bridal　dresses；　checkered　rompers；　cowboy　outfits；　tennis　togs；　pajamas；　hula　skirts；　kimonos；　clovm　suits；　overalls；　nighties；　and　sailor　suits。　They　filled　the　bookshelves；　peered　out　through　the　glass　doors　of　some　of　the　cabinets；　perched　on　the　armoire；　sat　atop　the　refrigerator；　stood　and　sat　on　the　floor　along　the　walls。　Others　were　piled　atop　one　another　in　a　corner　and　at　the　foot　of　the　bed；　legs　and　arms　jutting　at　odd　stiff　angles；　heads　cocked　as　on　broken　necks；　like　stacks　of　gaily　attired　corpses　awaiting　transport　to　a　crematorium。　Two　hundred；　or　three　hundred；　or　more　small　faces　either　glowed　in　the　gentle　light　or　were　ghost…pale　in　the　shadows；　some　of　bisque　and　some　of　china　and　some　of　cloth；　some　wood　and　some　plastic。　Their　glass；　tin；　button；　cloth；　and　painted…ceramic　eyes　reflected　the　light；　shone　brightly　where　the　dolls　were　placed　near　any　of　the　three　lamps；　glowed　as　moodily　as　banked　coals　where　they　were　consigned　to　the　darker　ers。
　For　a　moment；　Chyna　was　half　convinced　that　these　dolls　could　ac　tually　see；　except　for　a　few　individuals　who　appeared　to　be　blind　be：　hind　cataracts　of　rose　light；　and　that　awareness　glimmered　in　their　terrible　eyes。　Although　none　of　them　moved…or　even　shifted　their　gaze…they　had　an　aura　of　life　about　them。　Their　power　was　uncanny；　as　though　the　killer　were　also　a　warlock　who　stole　the　souls　of　those　he　murdered　and　imprisoned　them　in　these　figures。
　Then　quiet　movement　in　the　room；　a　shadow　ing　out　of　gloom；　proved　to　be　the　captive；　and　when　she　stepped　into　sight；　the　dolls　lost　their　eerie　magic。　She　was　the　most　beautiful　child　that　Chyna　had　ever　seen；　more　beautiful　even　than　in　the　Polaroid　snapshot；　with　straight　lustrous　hair　that　was　an　enchanting　shade　of　auburn　in　the　peculiar　light　though　platinum　blond　in　reality。　Fineboned；　slender；　graceful；　she　possessed　a　beauty　that　was　ethereal；　angelic；　and　she　seemed　to　be　not　a　real　girl　but　an　apparition　bearing　a　message　about　redemption；　a　manger；　hope；　and　a　guiding　star。
　She　was　dressed　in　black　penny　loafers；　white　knee　socks；　a　blue　or　black　skirt；　and　a　short…sleeved　white　blouse　with　dark　piping　on　the　collar　and　across　the　pocket　flap；　as　though　she　was　in　the　uniform　of　a　parochial　school。
　No　doubt　the　killer　provided　the　girl　with　the　clothes　that　he　wished　her　to　wear；　and　Chyna　saw　at　once　why　he　would　favor　outfits　like　this。　Though　physically　she　was　undoubtedly　sixteen；　she　seemed　younger　when　dressed　in　this　fashion；　with　her　slender　arms；　with　her　delicate　wrists　and　hands；　in　this　blushing　light；　the　demure　uniform　made　her　seem　like　a　child　of　eleven；　shy　of　her　confirmation　Sunday；　naive　and　innocent。
　Sociopaths　like　this　man　were　drawn　to　beauty　and　to　innocence；　because　they　were　pelled　to　defile　it。　When　innocence　was　stripped　away；　when　beauty　was　cut　and　crushed；　the　malformed　beast　could　at　last　feel　superior　to　this　person　he　had　coveted。　After　the　innocent　and　the　beautiful　were　left　dead　and　rotting；　the　world　was　to　some　degree　made　to　more　closely　resemble　the　killer's　interior　landscape。
　The　girl　sat　in　the　armchair。　She　was　holding　a　book。　She　opened　it；　turned　a　few　pages；　and　appeared　to　read。
　Although　she　had　surely　heard　the　panel　sliding　back　from　the　view　port　in　the　door；　she　did　not　look　up。　Apparently　she　assumed　that　her　visitor　was；　as　always；　the　eater　of　spiders。
　With　a　rush　of　emotion　that　pinched　her　heart　and　surprised　her　with　its　intensity；　Chyna　said；　〃Ariel。〃
　The　name　fell　through　the　port　as　into　an　airless　void；　having　carried　no　distance　whatsoever；　creating　no　echo。
　The　girl's　cell　obviously　had　been　lined　with　numerous　layers　of　soundproofing；　perhaps　with　even　more　layers　than　the　vestibule；　and　all　this　attention　to　the　containment　of　her　shouts　and　screams　seemed　to　indicate　that　from　time　to　time　the　killer　invited　people　into　his　home。　Perhaps　to　dinner。　Or　to　have　a　few　beers　and　watch　a　football　game。　That　he　would　dare　such　a　thing　was　only　one　more　proof　of　his　outrageous　boldness。
　But　that　he　would　have　friends　at　all　chilled　Chyna；　friends　not　demented　like　him；　who　would　be　horrified　to　discover　the　girl　in　his　cellar　and　to　know　that　their　host　slaughtered　whole　families　for　his　entertainment。　He　passed　for　human　in　the　workaday　world。　People　laughed　at　his　jokes。　Sought　his　advice。　Shared　their　joys　and　sorrows　with　him。　Perhaps　he　attended　church。　On　some　Saturday　nights；　did　he　go　dancing；　smoothly　two…stepping　around　the　floor　with　a　smiling　woman　in　his　arms；　keeping　time　to　the　same　music　everyone　else　heard？
　Chyna　raised　her　voice：　〃Ariel。〃　The　girl　failed　to　look　up。　Louder　still；　all　but　shouting　it　through　the　screened　port　in　the　padded　door：　〃Ariel！〃
　In　the　chair；　knees　primly　together；　the　book　in　her　lap；　head　bowed　to　the　page；　wings　of　hair　hiding　most　of　her　face；　Ariel　sat　as　if　deaf…or　as　if　she　were　a　girl　in　the　back　of　a　closet；　tuning　out　the　shouted　arguments　of　drunk　and　drug…sodden　adults；　tuning　out　further　and　further　until　she　was　in　a　great　deep　silent　place　of　her　own；　untouchable。
　Chyna　recalled　times；　as　a　young　girl；　when　simply　hiding　from　her　mother　and　her　mother's　more　dangerous　friends　had　not　provided　her　with　a　sufficient　sense　of　security。　Sometimes　the　arguments　or　the　celebrations　became　too　violent　or　too　boisterous；　the　chaos　of　noise　and　crazy　laughter　and　cursing　spun　like　a　tornado　around　her　even　where　she　had　concealed　herself；　and　her　fear　spiraled　out　of　control；　until　she　thought　that　her　heart　would　burst　or　her　head　explode。　Then　she　went　away　to　more　weling　places　in　her　mind；　through　the　back　of　the　old　wardrobe　into　the　land　of　Narnia；　which　she　had　read　about　in　the　wonderful　books　of　Mr。C。S。　Lewis；　or　to　visit　Toad　Hall　and　the　Wild　Wood　from　The　Wind　in　the　Willows；　or　into　realms　that　she　herself　invented。
　She　had　always　been　able　to　e　back　from　those　escapements。　But　on　occasion；　she　had　thought　about　how　wonderful　it　would　be　to　stay　in　that　faraway　place；　where　neither　her　mother　nor　her　mother's　kind　would　ever　be　able　to　find　her　again；　no　matter　how　hard　they　looked。　In　those　exotic　kingdoms；　there　was　often　danger；　but　there　were　also　true　and　faithful　friends　like　none　found　on　this　side　of　magical　wardrobes。
　Now；　peering　through　the　screened　port　at　the　girl　in　the　chair；　Chyna　was　sure　that　Ariel　had　sought　refuge　in　just　such　a　far　place　and　was　detached　from　this　sorry　world　in　every　way　that　counted。　After　a　year　in　this　dismal　hole；　from　time　to　time　suffering　the　attentions　of　the　sociopath　upstairs；　perhaps　she　had　wandered　so　far　along　the　road　of　inner　adventure　that　she　could　not　easily…or　everreturn。
　In　fact；　the　girl　raised　her　gaze　from　the　book　and　sat　staring　neither　at　Chyna's　face　in　the　door　port　nor　apparently　at　anything　in　the　room；　but　at　something　in　a　world　twice　removed　from　this　one。　Even　in　the　inadequate　rose　light；　Chyna　could　see　that　Ariel's　eyes　were　out　of　fo