dk.intensity-第59节

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file　was　one　labeled　TEMPLETON。
　She　pushed　the　drawer　shut　with　her　foot。　She'd　found　too　much　in　this　study…yet　nothing　helpful。　Before　leaving　the　second　floor；　she　turned　off　all　the　lights。　If　Vess　came　home　early；　before　Chyna　could　get　away　with　Ariel；　the　lights　would　warn　him　that　something　was　amiss。　He　would　be　lulled　by　darkness；　however；　and　as　he　crossed　the　threshold；　she　might　have　one　last　chance　to　kill　him。
　She　hoped　it　wouldn't　e　to　that。　In　spite　of　her　fantasies　of　pulling　the　trigger　on　Vess；　Chyna　didn't　want　to　have　to　confront　him　again；　even　if　she　found　a　shotgun　and　loaded　it　herself　and　had　an　opportunity　to　test　fire　it　before　he　arrived。　She　was　a　survivor；　and　she　was　a　fighter；　but　Vess　was　more　than　either：　as　unreachable　as　stars；　something　e　down　from　a　high　darkness。　She　was　no　match　for　him；　and　she　didn't　want　another　chance　to　prove　it。
　One　tread　at　a　time；　balanced　against　the　handrail；　as　fast　as　she　dared；　Chyna　went　down　to　the　living　room。　None　of　the　Dobermans　was　at　the　undraped　window。
　The　mantel　clock　put　the　time　at　twenty…two　minutes　past　eight；　and　suddenly　the　night　seemed　to　be　a　sled　on　a　slope　of　ice；　picking　up　speed。
　She　extinguished　the　lamp　and　shuffled　through　darkness　to　the　kitchen。　There　she　turned　on　the　fluorescent　lights；　only　to　avoid　tripping　in　the　debris；　falling；　and　cutting　herself　on　broken　glass。
　No　Dobermans　were　on　the　back　porch　either。　At　the　window；　only　the　night　waited。
　Entering　the　windowless　laundry　room；　she　shut　off　the　kitchen　lights　behind　her　and　pulled　the　door　shut。
　Down　to　the　cellar；　then；　to　the　workbench　and　cabinets　that　she　had　seen　earlier。
　In　the　tall　metal　cabinets　with　the　vent　slits　in　the　doors；　she　found　cans　of　paint　and　lacquer；　paintbrushes；　and　drop　cloths　folded　as　precisely　as　fine　linen　sheets。　One　entire　cabinet　was　filled　with　thick　pads　from　which　dangled　black　leather　straps　with　chrome…plated　buckles；　she　didn't　have　any　idea　what　they　were；　and　she　left　them　undisturbed。　In　the　final　cabinet；　Vess　stored　several　power　tools；　including　an　electric　drill。
　In　one　of　the　drawers　on　the　big　wheeled　tool　chest；　she　located　an　extensive　collection　of　drill　bits　in　three　clear　plastic　boxes。　She　also　found　a　pair　of　Plexiglas　safety　goggles。
　A　power　strip　with　eight　outlets　was　attached　to　the　wall　behind　the　workbench；　but　a　duplex　receptacle　was　also　available　low　on　the　wall　beside　the　bench。　She　needed　the　lower　outlet；　because　it　allowed　her　to　sit　on　the　floor。
　Although　the　drill　bits　weren't　labeled　except　as　to　size；　Chyna　figured　that　they　were　all　meant　for　woodworking　and　would　not　bore　easily…if　at　all…through　steel。　She　didn't　want　to　pierce　the　steel　anyway；　she　wanted　only　to　screw　up　the　lock　mechanisms　on　her　leg　irons　enough　to　spring　them　open。
　She　chose　a　bit　approximately　the　size　of　the　leg…iron　keyway；　fitted　it　into　the　chuck；　and　tightened　it。　When　she　held　the　drill　in　both　hands　and　squeezed　the　trigger；　it　issued　a　shrill　whine。　The　spiral　throat　of　the　slender　bit　spun　so　fast　that　it　blurred　until　it　seemed　as　smooth　and　harmless　as　the　shank。
　Chyna　released　the　trigger；　set　the　silent　drill　aside　on　the　floor；　and　put　on　the　protective　goggles。　She　was　disconcerted　by　the　thought　that　Vess　had　worn　these　goggles。　Strangely；　she　expected　that　everything　she　saw　through　them　would　be　distorted；　as　if　the　molecules　of　the　lenses　had　been　transformed　by　the　magnetic　power　with　which　Vess　drew　all　the　sights　of　his　world　to　his　eyes。
　But　what　she　saw　through　the　goggles　was　no　different　from　what　she　saw　without　them；　although　her　field　of　vision　was　circumscribed　by　the　frames。
　She　picked　up　the　drill　with　both　hands　again　and　inserted　the　tip　of　the　bit　into　the　keyway　on　the　shackle　that　encircled　her　left　ankle。　When　she　pressed　the　trigger；　steel　spun　against　steel　with　a　hellish　shriek。　The　bit　stuttered　violently；　jumped　out　of　the　keyway；　and　skipped　across　the　two…inch…wide　shackle；　spitting　tiny　sparks。　If　her　reflexes　hadn't　been　good；　the　whirling　auger　would　have　bored　through　her　foot；　but　she　released　the　trigger　and　jerked　up　on　the　drill　just　in　time　to　avoid　disaster。
　The　lock　might　have　been　damaged。　She　couldn't　be　sure。　But　it　was　still　engaged；　and　the　shackle　was　secure。
　She　inserted　the　bit　into　the　keyway　again。　She　gripped　the　drill　tighter　than　before　and　bore　down　with　more　effort　to　keep　the　bit　from　kicking　out　of　the　hole。　Steel　shrieked；　shrieked；　and　blue　wisps　of　foul…smelling　smoke　rose　from　the　grinding　point；　and　the　vibrating　shackle　pressed　painfully　into　her　ankle　in　spite　of　the　intervening　sock。　The　drill　shook　in　her　hands；　which　were　suddenly　damp　with　cold　sweat　from　the　strain　of　controlling　it。　A　spray　of　metal　slivers　swirled　up　from　the　keyway；　spattered　her　face。　The　bit　snapped；　and　the　broken…off　end　zinged　past　her　head；　rang　off　the　concrete…block　wall　hard　enough　to　take　a　chip　out　of　it；　and　clinked　like　a　half…spent　bullet　across　the　cellar　floor。
　Her　left　cheek　stung；　and　she　found　a　splinter　of　steel　embedded　in　her　flesh。　It　was　about　a　quarter　of　an　inch　long　and　as　thin　as　a　sliver　of　glass。　She　was　able　to　grasp　it　between　her　fingernails　and　pluck　it　free。　The　tiny　puncture　was　bleeding；　she　had　blood　on　her　fingertips　and　felt　a　thin　warm　trickle　making　its　way　down　her　face　to　the　corner　of　her　mouth。
　She　freed　the　shank　of　the　broken　bit　from　the　drill　and　threw　it　aside。　She　selected　a　slightly　larger　bit　and　tightened　it　into　the　jaws　of　the　chuck。
　Again；　she　drilled　the　keyway。　The　shackle　around　her　left　ankle　popped　open。　Not　more　than　a　minute　later；　the　lock　on　the　other　shackle　cracked　too。
　Chyna　put　the　drill　aside　and　rose　shakily　to　her　feet；　every　muscle　in　her　legs　trembling。　She　was　shaky　not　because　of　her　many　pains；　not　because　of　her　hunger　and　weakness；　but　because　she　had　freed　herself　from　the　shackles　after　having　been　in　despair　only　a　couple　of　hours　before。　She　had　freed　herse4（
　She　was　still　handcuffed；　however；　and　she　could　not　hold　the　drill　one…handed　while　she　bored　out　the　lock　on　each　manacle。　But　she　already　had　an　idea　about　how　she　might　extricate　her　hands。
　Although　other　challenges　faced　her　in　addition　to　the　manacles；　although　escape　was　by　no　means　assured；　jubilation　swelled　in　Chyna　as　she　climbed　the　cellar　steps。　She　went　tread　over　tread；　not　one　step　at　a　time　as　the　shackles　had　required；　bounding　up　the　stairs　in　spite　of　her　weakness　and　the　tremors　in　her　muscles；　without　even　using　the　handrail；　to　the　landing；　into　the　laundry　room；　past　the　washer　and　dryer。　And　there　she　abruptly　halted　with　her　hands　on　the　knob　of　the　closed　door；　remembering　how　she　had　raced　along　this　same　route　and　into　the　kitchen　this　morning；　reassured　by　the　tatta…tatta…tatta　of　the　vibrating　water　pipe　in　the　wall；　only　to　be　blindsided　by　Vess。
　She　stood　at　the　threshold　until　her　breathing　quieted；　but　she　was　unable　to　quiet　her　heart；　which　had　been　thundering　with　excitement　and　with　the　steepness　of　the　stairs　but　now　pounded　with　fear　of　Edgler　Vess。　She　listened　at　the　door　for　a　while；　heard　nothing　over　ule　Lnuuuing　in　ner　oreasr；　anct　rurnea　rne　KnOD　as　steaitnliy　as　possible。
　The　hinges　operated　smoothly；　soundlessly；　and　the　door　opened　into　the　kitchen；　which　was　as　dark　as　she　had　left　it。　She　found　the　light　switch；　hesitated；　flipped　it　up…and　Vess　was　not　waiting　for　her。
　As　long　as　she　lived；　would　she　ever　again　be　able　to　go　through　a　doorway　without　flinching？
　From　a　drawer　where　earlier　Chyna　had　seen　a　set　of　cutlery；　she　extracted　a　butcher　knife　with　a　well…worn　walnut　handle。　She　put　it　on　the　counter　near　the　sink。　She　got　a　drinking　glass　from　another　cabinet；　filled　it　from　the　cold…water　tap；　and　drank　the　entire　glassful　in　long　swallows　before　lowering　it　from　her　lips。　Nothing　she　had　ever　drunk　had　been　half　as　delicious　as　those　eight　ounces。
　In　the　refrigerator；　she　found　an　unopened　coffeecake　with　white　icing；　cinnamon；　walnuts。　She　ripped　open　the　wrapper　and　tore　off　a　chunk　of　the　cake。　She　stood　over　the　sink；　eating　voraciously；　stuffing　her　mouth　until　her　cheeks　bulged；　greedily　licking　icing　from　her　lips；　crumbs　and　chunks　of　walnuts　dropping　into　the　sink。
　She　was　in　an　unmon　state　of　mind　as　she　ate：　now　moaning　with　delight；　now　half　choking　with　laughter；　now　gagging　and　on　the　verge　of　tears；　now　laughing　again。　In　a　storm　of　emotions。　But　that　was　okay。　Storms　always　passed　sooner　or　later；　and　they　were　cleansing。
　She　had　e　so　far。　Yet　she　had　so　far　to　go。　That　was　the　nature　of　the　journey。
　From　the　spice　rack　she　removed　the　bottle　of　aspirin。　She　shook　two　tablets　into　the　palm　of　her　hand；　but　she　didn't　chew　them。　She　drew　another　glass　of　water　and　took　the　aspirin；　then　took　two　more。
　She　sang；　〃I　did　it　my　way；〃　from　Sinatra's　standard；　and　then　added；　〃took　the　fucking　aspirin　my　way。〃　She　laughed　and　ate　more　coffeecake；　and　for　a　moment　she　felt　crazy　with　acplishment。
　Dogs　out　there　in　the　nigbt；　she　reminded　herself；　Dobermans　in　tbe　darkness；　rotten　bastard　Nazi　dogs　witb　big　teetb　and　eyes　black　like　sbarks'　eyes。
　At　a　key　organizer　nex