dk.intensity-第5节

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t　didn't　sit　as　close　to　the　floor　as　did　most　beds。　One　inch　less　of　clearance　would　have　prevented　her　from　hiding　under　it。
　Footsteps　sounded　in　the　hall　again。　Another　door　opened。　The　guest…room　door。　Directly　opposite　the　foot　of　the　bed。
　Someone　switched　on　the　lights。　Chyna　lay　with　her　head　turned　to　one　side；　her　right　ear　pressed　to　the　carpet。　Staring　out　from　under　the　footboard；　she　could　see　a　man's　black　boots　and　the　legs　of　his　blue　jeans　below　midcalf。
　He　stood　just　inside　the　threshold；　evidently　surveying　the　room。　He　would　see　a　bed　still　neatly　made　at　one　o'clock　in　the　morning；　where　four　decorative　needlepoint　pillows　arranged　against　the　headboard。
　She　had　left　nothing　on　the　nightstands。　No　clothes　tossed　on　chairs。　The　paperback　novel　that　she　had　brought　with　her　for　bedtime　reading　was　in　a　bureau　drawer。
　She　preferred　spaces　that　were　clean　and　uncluttered　to　the　point　of　monastic　sterility。　Her　preference　might　now　save　her　life。
　Again　a　faint　doubt；　the　acquired　propensity　for　self…analysis　that　plagued　all　psychology　students；　flickered　through　her。　If　the　man　in　the　doorway　was　someone　with　a　right　to　be　in　the　house…Paul　Templeton　or　Laura's　brother；　Jack；　who　lived　with　his　wife　in　the　vineyard　manager's　bungalow　elsewhere　on　the　property…and　if　some　crisis　was　unfolding　that　explained　why　he　would　burst　into　her　room　without　knocking；　she　was　going　to　appear　to　be　a　prime　fool；　if　not　a　hysteric；　when　she　crawled　out　from　under　the　bed。
　Then；　directly　in　front　of　the　black　boots；　a　fat　red　dropletanother；　and　a　third…fell　to　the　wheat…gold　carpet。　Plop…plop…plop。　Blood。　The　first　two　soaked　into　the　thick　nylon　pile。　The　third　held　its　surface　tension；　shimmering　like　a　ruby。
　Chyna　knew　the　blood　wasn't　that　of　the　intruder。　She　tried　not　to　think　about　the　sharp　instrument　from　which　it　might　have　fallen。
　He　moved　off　to　her　right；　deeper　into　the　room；　and　she　rolled　her　eyes　to　follow　him。
　The　bed　had　carved　side　rails　into　which　the　spread　was　tightly　tucked。　No　overhanging　fabric　obstructed　her　view　of　his　boots。
　Obversely；　without　a　spread　draped　to　the　floor；　the　space　under　the　bed　was　more　visible　to　him。　From　certain　angles；　he　might　even　be　able　to　look　down　and　see　a　swatch　of　her　blue　jeans；　the　toe　of　one　of　her　Rockports；　the　cranberry…red　sleeve　of　her　cotton　sweater　where　it　stretched　over　her　bent　elbow。
　She　was　thankful　that　the　bed　was　queen…size；　offering　more　cover　than　a　single　or　double。
　If　he　was　breathing　hard；　either　with　excitement　or　with　the　rage　that　she　had　sensed　in　his　approach；　Chyna　couldn't　hear　him。　With　one　ear　pressed　tightly　to　the　plush　carpet；　she　was　half　deaf。　Wood　slats　and　box　springs　weighed　on　her　back；　and　her　chest　barely　had　room　to　expand　to　acmodate　her　own　shallow；　cautious；　openmouth　inhalations。　The　hammering　of　her　pressed　heart　against　her　breastbone　echoed　tympanically　within　her；　and　it　seemed　to　fill　the　claustrophobic　confines　of　her　hiding　place　to　such　an　extent　that　the　intruder　was　certain　to　hear。
　He　went　to　the　bathroom；　pushed　open　the　door；　and　flicked　on　the　lights。
　She　had　put　away　all　her　toiletries　in　the　medicine　cabinet。　Even　her　toothbrush。　Nothing　lay　out　that　might　alert　him　to　her　presence。
　But　was　the　sink　dry？　On　retiring　to　her　room　at　eleven　o'clock；　she　had　used　the　toilet　and　then　had　washed　her　hands。　That　was　two　hours　ago。　Any　residual　water　in　the　bowl　surely　would　have　drained　away　or　evaporated。
　Lemon…scented　liquid　soap　in　a　pump　dispenser　was　provided　at　the　sink。　Fortunately；　there　was　no　damp　bar　of　soap　to　betray　her。
　She　worried　about　the　hand　towel。　She　doubted　that　it　could　still　be　damp　two　hours　after　the　little　use　she　had　made　of　it。　Nonetheless；　in　spite　of　a　propensity　for　neatness　and　order；　she　might　have　left　it　hanging　ever　so　slightly　askew　or　with　one　telltale　wrinkle。
　He　seemed　to　stand　on　the　bathroom　threshold　for　an　eternity。　Then　he　switched　off　the　fluorescent　light　and　returned　to　the　bed…room。
　Occasionally；　as　a　little　girl…and　then　not　so　little…Chyna　had　taken　refuge　under　beds。　Sometimes　they　looked　for　her　there；　sometimes；　though　it　was　the　most　obvious　of　all　hidey…holes；　they　never　thought　to　look。　Of　those　who　found　her；　a　few　had　checked　under　the　bed　first…but　most　had　left　it　for　last。
　Another　red　droplet　fell　to　the　carpet；　as　though　the　beast　might　be　shedding　slow　tears　of　blood。
　He　moved　toward　the　closet　door。　Chyna　had　to　turn　her　head　slightly；　straining　her　neck；　to　keep　track　of　him。
　The　closet　was　deep；　a　walk…in　with　a　chain…pull　light　in　the　center。　She　heard　the　distinctive　snap　of　the　tugged　switch；　then　the　clinking　of　the　metal　beads　in　the　chain　as　they　rattled　against　the　light　bulb。
　The　Templetons　stored　their　own　luggage　at　the　back　of　that　closet。　Stacked　with　the　other　suitcases；　Chyna's　single　bag　and　train　case　were　not　obviously　those　of　a　guest　in　residence。
　She　had　brought　several　changes　of　clothes：　two　dresses；　two　skirts；　another　pair　of　jeans；　a　pair　of　chinos；　a　leather　jacket。　Because　Chyna　was　the　same　size　as　Laura；　the　intruder　might　conclude　that　the　few　garments　on　tne　roa　were　just　spillovers　trom　ttie　packecl　closet　in　Laura's　room　rather　than　evidence　of　a　houseguest。　If　he　had　been　in　Laura's　bedroom；　however；　and　had　seen　the　condition　of　her　closet…then　what　had　happened　to　Laura？
　She　must　not　think　about　that。　Not　now。　Not　yet。　For　the　moment；　she　needed　to　focus　all　her　thoughts；　all　her　wits；　on　staying　alive。
　Eighteen　years　ago；　on　the　night　of　her　eighth　birthday；　in　a　seaside　cottage　on　Key　West；　Chyna　had　squirmed　under　her　bed　to　hide　from　Jim　Woltz；　her　mother's　friend。　A　storm　had　been　raging　from　the　Gulf　of　Mexico；　and　the　sky…blistering　lightning　had　made　her　fearful　of　escaping　to　the　sanctuary　of　the　beach　where　she'd　retreated　on　other　nights。　After　mitting　herself　to　the　cramped　space　under　that　iron　bed；　which　had　been　lower　slung　than　this　one；　she　had　discovered　that　she　was　sharing　it　with　a　palmetto　beetle。　Palmettos　were　not　as　exotic　or　as　pretty　as　their　name。　In　fact；　they　were　nothing　more　than　enormous　tropical　cockroaches。　This　one　had　been　as　large　as　her　little…girl　hand。　Ordinarily　the　hateful　bug　would　have　scurried　away　from　her。　But　it　had　seemed　less　alarmed　by　her　than　by　the　thundering　Woltz；　who　had　crashed　around　her　small　room　in　a　drunken　fury；　rebounding　tirelessly　from　the　furniture　and　the　walls；　like　an　enraged　animal　throwing　itself　against　the　bars　of　its　cage。　Chyna　had　been　barefoot；　dressed　in　blue　shorts　and　a　white　tube　top；　and　the　palmetto　beetle　had　raced　in　a　frenzy　over　all　that　exposed　skin；　between　her　toes；　up　and　down　her　legs　and　up　again；　across　her　back；　along　her　neck；　into　her　hair；　over　her　shoulder；　the　length　of　her　slender　arm。　She　hadn't　dared　to　squeal　in　revulsion；　afraid　of　drawing　Woltzs　attention。　He　had　been　wild　that　night；　like　a　monster　from　a　dream；　and　she　had　been　convinced　that；　like　all　monsters；　he　possessed　supernaturally　keen　sight　and　hearing；　the　better　to　hunt　children。　She　hadn't　even　found　the　courage　to　strike　out　at　the　beetle　or　knock　it　away；　for　fear　that　Woltz　would　hear　the　smallest　sound　even　over　the　shriek　of　the　storm　and　the　incessant　crashing　of　thunder。　She　had　endured　the　palmetto's　attentions　in　order　to　avoid　those　of　Woltz；　clenching　her　teeth　to　bite　off　a　scream；　praying　desperately　for　God　to　save　her；　then　praying　harder　for　God　to　take　her；　praying　for　an　end　to　the　torment　even　if　by　a　bolt　of　lightning；　an　end　to　the　torment；　an　end；　dear　God；　an　end。
　Now；　although　she　wasn't　sharing　the　space　under　this　galbe…leg　bed　with　any　cockroach；　Chyna　could　feel　one　crawling　over　her　toes　as　if　she　were　that　barefoot　girl　again；　scurrying　up　her　legs　as　if　she　were　wearing　not　jeans　but　cotton　shorts。　She　had　never　again　worn　her　hair　long　since　the　night　ot　her　eighth　birthday；　when　the　bug　had　burrowed　through　her　tresses；　but　now　she　felt　the　ghost　of　that　palmetto　in　her　closely　cropped　hair。
　The　man　in　the　closet；　perhaps　capable　of　atrocities　infinitely　worse　than　the　wickedest　dreams　of　Woltz；　tugged　on　the　chain…pull。　The　light　went　out　with　a　click　followed　by　a　tinkle　of　metal　beads。
　The　booted　feet　reappeared　and　approached　the　bed。　A　fresh　tear　of　blood　glistened　on　the　curve　of　black　leather。
　He　was　going　to　drop　to　one　knee　beside　the　bed。　Dear　God；　he'll　find　me　cowering　like　a　child；　choking　on　my　own　stifled　scream；　in　a　cold　sweat；　all　dignity　lost　in　the　desperate　struggle　to　stay　alive；　untouched　and　alive；　untouched　and　alive。
　She　had　the　crazy　feeling　that　when　he　peered　under　the　side　rail；　face…to…face　with　her；　he　would　be　not　a　man　but　an　enormous　palmetto　with　multifaceted　black　eyes。
　She　had　been　reduced　to　the　helplessness　of　childhood；　to　the　primal　fear　that　she　had　hoped　never　to　know　again。　He　had　stolen　from　her　the　self…respect　that　she　had　earned　from　years　of　endurancethat　she　had　earned；　God　damn　him…and　the　injustice　of　it　filled　her　eyes　with　bitter　tears。
　But　then　his　blurred　boots　turned　away　from　her　and　kept　moving。　He　walked　past　the　bed　to　the　open　door。
　Whatever　he'd　th