dk.intensity-第55节

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　After　those　gray　hours　of　depression　during　which　she　had　been　emotionally　dead；　she　was　energized　by　this　siege　of　terror。　If　she　ever　suffered　a　killing　bout　of　cardiac　arrhythmia；　the　mere　thought　of　Vess　would　be　more　effective　at　jump…starting　her　heart　than　the　electrical　paddles　of　a　defibrillation　machine。　Fear　proved　that　she　had　e　back　to　life　and　that　she　had　found　hope　again。
　She　shambled　to　the　gray　river…rock　fireplace　that　extended　from　floor　to　ceiling　across　the　entire　north　wall　of　the　room。　The　deep　hearth　in　the　center　wasn't　raised；　which　would　make　her　work　easier。
　She　had　considered　going　down　to　the　cellar；　where　earlier　she　had　seen　a　workbench；　to　examine　the　saws　that　were　surely　in　Vess's　tool　collection。　But　she　had　quickly　ruled　out　that　solution。
　Descending　the　steep　cellar　steps　while　hobbled；　festooned　with　steel　chains；　and　carrying　the　heavy　pine　chair　on　her　back　would　be　a　stunt　not　quite　equivalent　to　leaping　the　Snake　River　Gorge　on　a　rocket…powered　motorcycle；　perhaps；　but　undeniably　risky。　She　was　moderately　confident　of　making　her　way　to　the　bottom　without　pitching　forward　and　cracking　her　skull　like　an　eggshell　on　the　concrete　or　breaking　a　leg　in　thirty…six　places…but　far　from　entirely　confident。　Her　strength　wasn't　what　it　ought　to　have　been；　because　she　hadn't　eaten　much　in　the　past　twenty…four　hours　and　because　she　had　already　been　through　an　exhausting　physical　ordeal。　Furthermore；　all　her　separate　pains　made　her　shaky。　A　trip　to　the　cellar　seemed　simple　enough；　but　under　these　circumstances；　it　would　be　equivalent　to　an　acrobat　slugging　down　four　double　martinis　before　walking　the　high　wire。
　Besides；　even　if　she　could　find　a　sharp…toothed　saw　small　enough　to　be　easily　handled；　she　wouldn't　be　able　to　use　it　at　an　angle　that　would　allow　her　to　bear　down　with　effective　force。　To　free　the　lower　chain　from　the　chair；　she　would　have　to　cut　through　all　three　of　the　horizontal　stretcher　bars　between　the　chair　legs；　each　of　which　was　an　inch　or　an　inch　and　a　half　in　diameter；　around　which　the　links　were　wound。　To　acplish　this；　she　would　have　to　sit；　bend　forward；　and　saw　backward　under　the　chair。　Even　if　the　upper　chain　had　sufficient　slack　to　allow　her　to　reach　down　far　enough　for　the　task；　which　she　doubted；　she　would　only　be　able　to　scrape　feebly　at　the　wood。　With　luck；　she'd　whittle　through　the　third　stretcher　sometime　in　the　late　spring。　Then　she　would　have　to　turn　her　attention　to　the　five　sturdy　spindles　in　the　back　of　the　chair　to　free　the　upper　chain；　and　not　even　a　carnival　contortionist　born　with　rubber　bones　could　get　at　them　with　a　saw　while　pinioned　as　Chyna　was。
　Hacking　through　the　steel　chains　was　impossible。　She　would　be　able　to　get　at　them　from　an　angle　better　than　that　from　which　she　could　approach　the　stretcher　bars　between　the　chair　legs。　But　Vess　wasn't　likely　to　own　saw　blades　that　could　carve　through　steel；　and　Chyna　definitely　didn't　have　the　necessary　strength。
　She　was　resigned　to　more　primitive　measures　than　saws。　And　she　was　worried　about　the　potential　for　injury　and　about　how　painful　the　process　of　liberation　might　be。
　On　the　mantel；　the　bronze　stags　leaped　perpetually；　antlers　to　antlers；　over　the　round　white　face　of　the　clock。
　Eight　minutes　past　seven。　She　had　almost　five　hours　until　Vess　returned。　Or　maybe　not。
　He　had　said　that　he　would　be　back　as　soon　after　midnight　as　possible；　but　Chyna　had　no　reason　to　suppose　that　he'd　been　telling　the　truth。　He　might　return　at　ten　o'clock。　Or　eight　o'clock。　Or　ten　minutes　from　now。
　She　shuffled　onto　the　floor…level　flagstone　hearth　and　then　to　the　right；　past　the　firebox　and　the　brass　andiron；　past　the　deep　mantel。　The　entire　wall　flanking　the　fireplace　was　smooth　gray　river　rockjust　the　hard　surface　that　she　needed。
　Chyna　stood　with　her　left　side　toward　the　rock；　twisted　her　upper　body　to　the　left　as　far　as　possible　without　turning　her　feet；　in　the　manner　of　an　Olympic　athlete　preparing　to　toss　a　discus；　and　then　swung　sharply　and　forcefully　to　the　right。　This　maneuver　threw　the　chairon　her　back…in　the　opposite　direction　from　her　body　and　slammed　it　into　the　wall。　It　clattered　against　the　rock；　rebounded　with　a　ringing　of　chains；　and　thudded　against　her　hard　enough　to　hurt　her　shoulder；　ribs；　and　hip。　She　tried　the　same　trick　again；　putting　even　more　energy　into　it；　but　after　the　second　time；　she　was　able　to　judge　by　the　sound　that　she　would；　at　best；　scar　the　finish　and　chip　a　few　slivers　out　of　the　pine。　Hundreds　of　these　lame　blows　might　demolish　the　chair　in　time；　turn　it　into　kindling；　but　before　she　hammered　it　against　the　rock　that　often；　suffering　the　recoil　each　time；　she　would　be　a　bruised　and　bloodied　mess；　and　her　bones　would　splinter；　and　her　joints　would　separate　like　the　links　in　a　pop…bead　necklace。
　By　swinging　the　chair　as　though　she　were　a　dog　wagging　its　tail；　she　couldn't　get　the　requisite　force　behind　it。　She　had　been　afraid　of　this。　As　far　as　she　could　determine；　there　was　only　one　other　approach　that　might　work…but　she　didn't　like　it。
　Chyna　looked　at　the　mantel　clock。　Only　two　minutes　had　passed　since　the　last　time　she'd　glanced　at　it。
　Two　minutes　was　nothing　if　she　had　until　midnight；　but　it　was　a　disastrous　waste　of　time　if　Vess　was　on　his　way　home　right　now。　He　might　be　turning　off　the　public　road；　through　the　gate；　into　his　long　private　driveway　this　very　moment；　the　lying　bastard；　having　set　her　up　to　believe　that　he　would　be　gone　until　after　midnight；　then　sneaking　back　early　to…She　was　baking　a　nourishing　loaf　of　panic；　plump　and　yeasty；　and　if　she　allowed　herself　to　eat　a　single　slice；　then　she'd　gorge　on　it。　This　was　an　appetite　she　didn't　dare　indulge。　Panic　wasted　time　and　energy。
　She　must　remain　calm。　To　free　herself　from　the　chair；　she　needed　to　use　her　body　as　if　it　were　a　pneumatic　ram；　and　she　would　have　to　endure　serious　pain。　She　was　already　in　severe　pain；　but　what　was　ing　would　be　worse…devastating…and　it　scared　her。
　Surely　there　was　another　way。　She　stood　listening　to　her　heart　and　to　the　hollow　ticking　of　the　mantel　clock。
　If　she　went　upstairs　first；　maybe　she　would　find　a　telephone　and　be　able　to　call　the　police。　They　would　know　how　to　deal　with　the　Dobermans。　They　would　have　the　keys　to　get　her　out　of　the　shackles　and　manacles。　They　would　free　Ariel　too。　With　that　one　phone　call；　all　burdens　would　be　lifted　from　her。
　But　she　knew　in　her　heart…the　old　friend　intuition…that　she　was　not　going　to　find　any　telephones　upstairs　either。　Edgler　Vess　was　unfailingly　thorough。　A　phone　would　be　in　service　in　the　house　whenever　he　was　home…but　not　when　he　was　away。　He　might　actually　unplug　the　unit　and　take　it　with　him　each　time　he　left。
　Trammeled；　unbalanced　by　the　chair　and　therefore　dangerously　clumsy；　Chyna　would　be　risking　a　crippling　fall　if　she　climbed　the　stairs。　She　would　face　an　even　greater　risk　when；　after　finding　no　telephone；　she　had　to　e　back　down　again。　And　in　the　process；　she　would　have　wasted　precious　time。
　Turning　her　back　to　the　river…rock　wall；　she　shuffled　six　feet　from　it；　stopped；　closed　her　eyes；　and　gathered　her　courage。
　Possibly　one　of　the　spindles　in　the　rail…back　chair　would　crack　apart　and　be　driven　forward。　The　splintered　end　would　puncture　the　tie…on　cushion　or　slip　past　it　and　then　skewer　her；　back　to　front；　straight　through　her　guts。
　More　likely；　she'd　sustain　a　spinal　injury。　With　all　the　force　of　the　impact　directed　against　the　lower　half　of　the　chair；　the　legs　of　it　would　be　driven　into　her　legs；　the　upper　half　would　first　pull　away　from　herthen　recoil　and　snap　hard　against　her　upper　back　or　neck。　The　spindles　were　fixed　between　the　seat　and　the　wide　slab　of　radius…cut　pine　that　served　as　the　headrail；　and　the　headrail　was　so　solid　that　it　would　do　major　damage　if　it　cracked　into　her　cervical　vertebrae　with　sufficient　force。　She　might　wind　up　on　the　living…room　floor；　under　the　chair　and　chains；　paralyzed　from　the　neck　down。
　Sometimes　she　brooded　about　possibilities　too　much；　dwelt　be…　；07es
　3o　；　on　all　the　myriad　ways　that　any　situation　or　any　relationship　could　go　terribly　wrong。　This　was　also　a　result　of　having　spent　her　childhood　hiding　on　the　wrong　side　of　bedsprings；　waiting　for　either　the　fighting　or　the　partying　to　stop。
　For　a　while　when　Chyna　was　seven；　she　and　her　mother　had　stayed　with　a　man　named　Zack　and　a　woman　named　Memphis　in　a　ram…shackle　old　farmhouse　not　far　from　New　Orleans；　and　one　night　two　men　had　e　to　visit；　carrying　a　Styrofoam　cooler；　and　Memphis　had　killed　them　less　than　five　minutes　after　they　arrived。　The　visitors　had　been　in　the　kitchen；　sitting　at　the　table。　One　of　them　had　been　talking　to　Chyna　and　the　other　had　been　twisting　the　cap　off　a　bottle　of　beerwhen　Memphis　withdrew　a　gun　from　the　refrigerator　and　shot　both　men　in　the　head；　one　after　the　other；　so　fast　that　the　second　one　didn't　even　have　time　to　dive　for　cover　before　she　put　a　round　in　his　face。　As　slippery　and　quick　as　a　skink；　Chyna　fled；　certain　that　Memphis　had　gone　crazy　and　would　kill　them　all。　She　hid　in　a　drift　of　loose　hay　in　the　barn　loft。　During　the　hour　that　the　adults　took　to　find　her；　she　so　often　visualized　her　own　face　dissolving　with　the　impact　of　a　bullet　that　every　image