dk.intensity-第52节

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rd　that　tics　developed　in　her　jaw　muscles；　she　pulled　once　more　until　she　felt　the　arteries　throbbing　in　her　temples　and　saw　red　and　silver　pinwheels　of　light　spinning　behind　her　eyelids。　But　she　wasn't　rewarded　with　any　breaking　sounds。　The　chair　was　solid；　the　spindles　were　thick；　and　every　joint　was　well　made。
　Her　heart　boomed；　partly　because　of　her　struggles　but　largely　because　she　was　brimming　with　an　exhilarating　sense　of　liberation。　Which　was　crazy；　crazy；　because　she　was　still　shackled；　no　closer　to　breaking　her　bonds　than　she　had　been　at　any　moment　since　she'd　awakened　in　this　chair。　Yet　she　felt　as　if　she　had　already　escaped　and　was　only　waiting　for　reality　to　catch　up　with　the　freedom　that　she　had　Willed　for　herself。
　She　sat　gasping；　thinking。　Sweat　beaded　her　brow。　Forget　the　chair　for　now。　To　get　loose　from　it；　she　would　have　to　be　able　to　stand　and　move。　She　couldn't　deal　with　the　chair　until　she　was　free　of　the　table。
　She　was　unable　to　reach　down　far　enough　to　unscrew　the　carabiner　that　joined　the　shorter　chain　between　her　ankles　to　the　longer　chain　that　entwined　the　chair　and　the　table。　Otherwise；　she　might　easily　have　freed　her　legs　from　both　pieces　of　furniture。
　If　she　could　overturn　the　table；　the　loop　of　chain　that　wrapped　the　supporting　pedestal　and　connected　with　her　leg　irons　would　then　slide　free　as　the　bottom　of　that　barrel　tipped　up　and　off　the　floor。　Wouldn't　it？　Sitting　in　the　dark；　she　couldn't　quite　visualize　the　mechanics　of　what　she　was　proposing；　but　she　thought　that　turning　the　table　on　its　side　would　work。
　Unfortunately；　the　chair　across　from　hers；　the　one　in　which　Vess　had　sat；　was　an　obstruction　that　would　most　likely　prevent　the　table　from　tipping　over。　She　had　to　get　rid　of　it；　clear　the　way。　Shackled　as　she　was；　however；　and　with　the　barrel　pedestal　intervening；　she　couldn't　extend　her　legs　far　enough　to　kick　at　the　other　chair　and　knock　it　aside。　Hobbled　and　tethered；　she　was　also　unable　to　stand　and　reach　across　the　big　round　table　and　simply　push　the　obstruction　out　of　the　way。
　Finally　she　tried　scooting　backward　in　her　chair；　hoping　to　drag　the　table　with　her；　away　from　Vess's　chair。　The　chain　encircling　the　pedestal　drew　taut。　As　she　strained　backward；　digging　her　heels　into　the　floor；　it　seemed　that　the　piece　was　too　heavy　to　be　dragged；　and　she　wondered　if　the　barrel　was　filled　with　a　bag　of　sand　to　keep　the　table　from　wobbling。　But　then　it　creaked　and　stuttered　a　few　inches　across　the　vinyl　tiles；　rattling　the　sandwich　plate　and　the　glass　of　water　that　stood　on　it。
　This　was　harder　work　than　she　had　anticipated。　She　felt　as　though　she　were　on　one　of　those　television　shows　devoted　to　stunts　and　stupid　physical　challenges；　pulling　a　railroad　car。　A　loaded　railroad　car。　Nevertheless；　the　table　moved　grudgingly。　In　a　couple　of　minutes；　after　pausing　twice　to　get　her　breath；　she　stopped　because　she　was　concerned　that　she　might　back　against　the　wall　between　the　kitchen　and　the　laundry　room；　she　needed　to　leave　herself　some　maneuvering　space。　Although　it　was　difficult　to　estimate　distance　in　the　dark；　she　believed　that　she　had　dragged　the　table　about　three　feet；　far　enough　to　be　clear　of　Vess's　chair。
　Trying　to　favor　her　sprained　finger；　she　placed　her　cuffed　hands　under　the　table　and　lifted。　It　weighed　considerably　more　than　she　did…a　two…inch　pine　top；　the　thick　staves　in　the　supporting　barrel；　the　black　iron　hoops　around　the　staves；　perhaps　that　bag　of　sandand　she　couldn't　get　much　leverage　while　she　was　forced　to　remain　seated。　The　bottom　of　the　barrel　tipped　up　an　inch；　then　two　inches。　The　water　glass　toppled；　spilling　its　contents；　rolled　away　from　her；　dropped　off　the　table；　and　shattered　on　the　floor。　All　the　noise　made　it　seem　as　if　her　plan　was　working…she　hissed；　〃Yes！　〃…but　then　because　she　had　underestimated　the　weight　and　the　effort　required　to　move　it；　she　had　to　relent；　and　the　barrel　slammed　down。
　Chyna　flexed　her　muscles；　took　a　deep　breath；　and　immediately　returned　to　the　task。　This　time　she　planted　her　feet　as　far　apart　as　her　shackles　would　allow。　On　the　underside　of　the　table；　she　flattened　her　upturned　palms　against　the　pine；　thumbs　hooked　toward　herself　over　the　smooth　bull…nose　edge。　She　tensed　her　legs　as　well　as　her　arms；　and　when　she　shoved　up　on　the　table；　she　pushed　with　her　legs　too；　getting　to　her　feet　an　inch　at　a　time；　one　hard…won　inch　for　each　inch　that　the　table　tipped　up　and　backward。　She　did　not　have　enough　slack　in　the　various　tethering　chains　to　be　able　to　get　all　the　way　or　halfway　erect；　so　she　rose　haltingly　in　a　stiff　and　awkward　crouch；　cramped　under　the　weight　of　the　table。　She　put　enormous　strain　on　her　knees　and　thighs；　wheezing；　shuddering　with　the　effort；　but　she　persevered　because　each　precious　inch　that　she　was　able　to　gain　improved　her　leverage；　she　was　using　her　entire　body　to　lift；　lift；　lift。
　The　sandwich　plate　and　the　bag　of　potato　chips　slid　off　the　table。　China　cracked　and　chips　scattered　across　the　floor　with　a　sound　unnervingly　like　scurrying　rodents。
　The　pain　in　her　neck　was　excruciating；　and　someone　seemed　to　be　twisting　a　corkscrew　into　her　right　clavicle。　But　pain　couldn't　stop　her。　It　motivated。　The　greater　her　pain；　the　more　she　identified　with　Laura　and　the　whole　Templeton　family；　with　the　young　man　hanging　in　the　motor…home　closet；　with　the　service…station　clerks；　and　with　all　the　people　who　might　be　buried　down　in　the　meadow；　and　the　more　she　identified　with　them；　the　more　she　wanted　Edgler　Vess　to　suffer　a　world　of　hurt。　She　was　in　an　Old　Testament　mood；　unwilling　to　turn　the　other　cheek　just　now。　She　wanted　Vess　screaming　on　a　rack；　stretched　until　his　joints　popped　apart　and　his　tendons　tore。　She　didn't　want　to　see　him　confined　to　a　state　hospital　for　the　criminally　insane；　there　to　be　analyzed　and　counseled　and　instructed　as　to　how　best　to　increase　his　self…esteem；　treated　with　a　panoply　of　antipsychotic　drugs；　given　a　private　room　and　television；　booked　in　card　tournaments　with　his　fellow　patients；　and　treated　to　a　turkey　dinner　on　Christmas。　Instead　of　having　him　consigned　to　the　mercies　of　psychiatrists　and　social　workers；　Chyna　wanted　to　condemn　him　to　the　skilled　hands　of　an　imaginative　torturer；　and　then　see　how　long　the　sonofabitch　bastard　freak　remained　faithful　to　his　philosophy　about　all　experiences　being　value　neutral；　all　sensations　equally　worthwhile。　This　ardent　desire；　refined　from　her　pain；　was　not　noble　in　the　least；　but　it　was　pure；　a　high…octane　fael　that　burned　with　an　intense　light；　and　it　kept　her　motor　running。
　This　side　of　the　barrel　pedestal　was　off　the　floor　perhaps　three　inches…she　could　only　guess…approximately　as　high　as　she　had　gotten　it　before；　but　she　still　had　plenty　of　steam　left。　Bent　in　a　backward　Z；　as　hunched　as　a　God…cursed　troll；　she　muscled　the　table　up；　knees　aching；　thighs　quive7ing　with　the　strain；　her　butt　clenched　tighter　than　a　politician's　fist　around　a　cash　bribe。　She　encouraged　herself　aloud　by　talking　to　the　table　as　if　it　possessed　awareness：　〃e　on；　e　on；　e　on；　move；　shit；　shit；　move；　you　sonofabitcb；　higher；　e　on；　damn　you；　damn　it；　e　on。　〃
　A　ludicrous　mental　image　of　herself　flashed　through　her　mind：　She　must　resemble　a　character　in　one　of　those　movie　scenes　where　the　deceived　cowboy　cottons　to　the　truth　and　overturns　the　poker　table　on　the　dishonest　itinerant　cardshark；　except　that　she　was　playing　the　drama　in　slow　motion；　as　in　a　Western　underwater。
　Initially　the　chair　remained　exactly　where　it　had　been　when　her　butt　parted　pany　with　it；　but　as　her　arms　lifted　higher　and　stretched　farther　in　front　of　her；　the　heavy　chair　was　hoisted　off　the　floor　by　the　tightening　chain　that　circled　behind　her　from　wrist　to　wrist　and　wound　through　the　vertical　spindles　behind　the　tie…on　pad。　Now　she　was　lifting　the　table　in　front　and　the　chair　at　her　back。　The　hard　edge　of　the　seat　jammed　against　her　thighs；　and　the　curved　pine　headpiece　of　the　railed　back　pressed　cruelly　below　her　shoulder　blades；　as　the　chair　began　to　act　like　a　V…clamp　to　prevent　her　from　rising　much　further。
　Nevertheless；　Chyna　squeezed　against　the　table　as　she　lifted　it；　separating　herself　from　the　confining　chair　enough　to　be　able　to　rise　out　of　her　crouch　just　one　more　inch；　then　one　more。　At　the　extreme　limits　of　strength　and　endurance；　she　grunted　loudly；　rhythmically：　〃Uh；　uh；　uh；　uh！〃　Sweat　glazed　her　face；　stung　her　eyes；　but　there　was　no　light　in　the　kitchen　anyway；　no　reason　she　had　to　see　what　she　was　doing　in　order　to　get　it　done。　Her　burning　eyes　didn't　bother　her；　this　was　small…time　pain；　but　she　felt　as　though　she　was　about　to　burst　a　blood　vessel　from　the　straining…or　throw　a　clot　off　an　artery　wall　and　recapture　it　deep　in　her　brain。
　Fear　was　with　her　again；　for　the　first　time　in　hours；　because　even　as　she　strained　against　the　table；　she　couldn't　help　thinking　about　what　Edgler　Vess　would　do　with　her　if　he　returned　home　to　find　her　on　the　floor；　dazed　and　incoherent　from　a　stroke。　With　her　mind　reduced　to　hasty　pudding；　she　would　no　longer　be　the　sophisticated　toy　she　had　been；　she'd　be　insufficiently　responsive　to　provide　him　with　the　requisite　thrills　when　he　tortured　her。　Then　perhaps　Vess　would　revert　to　the　crude　turtle　games　of　his　youth。　Maybe