dk.intensity-第6节

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　But　then　his　blurred　boots　turned　away　from　her　and　kept　moving。　He　walked　past　the　bed　to　the　open　door。
　Whatever　he'd　thought　about　the　clothes　hanging　in　the　closet；　apparently　he　had　not　inferred　from　them　that　the　guest　room　was　occupied。
　She　blinked　furiously；　clearing　her　tear…blurred　vision。　He　stopped　and　turned；　evidently　studying　the　bedroom　one　last　time。
　Lest　he　hear　her　child…shallow　exhalations；　Chyna　held　her　breath。　She　was　glad　that　she　wore　no　perfume。　She　was　certain　that　he　would　have　smelled　her。
　He　switched　off　the　light；　stepped　into　the　hall；　and　pulled　the　door　shut　as　he　went。
　His　footsteps　moved　off　the　way　he　had　e；　for　her　room　was　the　last　on　the　second　floor。　His　tread　swiftly　faded；　cloaked　by　the　fierce　pounding　of　her　heart。
　Her　first　inclination　was　to　remain　in　that　narrow　haven　between　the　carpet　and　the　box　springs；　wait　until　daybreak　or　even　longer；　wait　until　there　came　a　long　silence　that　ceased　to　seem　like　the　stillness　of　a　crouched　predator。
　Any　of　them…all　of　them…might　be　alive；　grievously　wounded　but　drawing　breath。　The　intruder　might　even　be　keeping　them　alive　to　torture　them　at　his　leisure。　Any　newspaper　regularly　reported　stories　of　cruelty　no　worse　than　the　possible　scenarios　that　now　unreeled　vividly　in　her　mind。　And　if　any　of　the　Templetons　still　lived；　Chyna　might　be　their　only　hope　of　survival。
　She　had　crawled　out　of　all　the　many　hideaways　of　her　childhood　with　less　fear　than　she　felt　when　she　hesitantly　slid　out　from　under　this　bed。　Of　course　she　had　more　to　lose　now　than　before　she　had　walked　out　on　her　mother；　ten　years　ago：　a　decent　life　built　on　a　decade　of　ceaseless　struggle　and　hard…won　self…respect。　It　seemed　madness　to　take　this　risk　when　safety　was　assured　simply　by　her　staying　put。　But　personal　safety　at　the　expense　of　others　was　cowardice；　and　cowardice　was　a　right　only　of　small　children　who　lacked　the　strength　and　experience　to　defend　themselves。
　She　couldn't　simply　retreat　into　the　defensive　detachment　of　her　childhood。　Doing　so　would　mean　the　end　of　all　self…respect。　Slowmotion　suicide。　It's　not　possible　to　retreat　into　a　bottomless　pit…one　can　only　plunge。
　In　the　open　once　more；　she　rose　into　a　crouch　beside　the　bed。　For　a　while　that　was　as　far　as　she　got。　She　was　frozen　by　the　expectation　that　the　door　would　crash　open　and　that　the　intruder　would　burst　in　again。
　The　house　was　as　echo…free　as　any　airless　moon。　Chyna　rose　to　her　feet　and　silently　crossed　the　dark　guest　room。
　Unable　to　see　the　trio　of　blood　drops；　she　tried　to　step　around　the　place　where　they　had　fallen　earlier。
　She　pressed　her　left　ear　to　the　crack　between　the　door　and　the　jamb；　listening　for　movement　or　breathing　in　the　hall。　She　heard　nothing；　yet　she　remained　suspicious。
　He　could　be　on　the　other　side　of　the　door。　Smiling。　Deeply　amused　to　think　that　she　was　listening。　Biding　his　time。　Patient　because　he　knew　that　eventually　she　would　open　the　door　and　step　into　his　arms。
　Screw　it。　She　put　her　hand　on　the　knob；　turned　it　cautiously；　and　winced　as　the　spring　latch　scraped　softly　out　of　its　notch。　At　least　the　hinges　were　lubricated　and　silent。
　Even　in　the　inkiness　to　which　her　vision　had　not　totally　readapted；　she　could　see　that　no　one　was　waiting　for　her。　She　stepped　out　of　her　room　and　soundlessly　pulled　the　door　shut。
　The　guest　quarters　were　off　the　shorter　arm　of　the　L…shaped　upstairs　hall。　To　her　right　were　the　back　stairs；　which　led　down　to　the　kitchen。　To　her　left　lay　the　turn　into　the　longer　arm　of　the　L。
　She　ruled　out　the　back　stairs。　She　had　descended　them　earlier　in　the　evening；　when　she　and　Laura　went　out　to　walk　the　vineyards。　They　were　wooden　and　worn。　They　creaked　and　popped。　The　stairwell　acted　as　an　amplifier；　as　hollow　and　efficient　as　a　steel　drum。　With　the　house　so　preternaturally　silent；　it　would　be　impossible　to　creep　down　the　back　stairs　undetected。
　The　second…floor　hall　and　the　front　stairs；　on　the　other　hand；　were　plushly　carpeted。
　From　around　the　corner；　somewhere　along　the　main　hallway；　came　a　soft　amber　glow。　In　the　wallpaper；　the　delicate　pattern　of　faded　roses　appeared　to　absorb　the　light　rather　than　reflect　it；　acquiring　an　enigmatic　depth　that　it　had　not　previously　possessed。
　If　the　intruder　had　been　standing　anywhere　between　the　junction　of　the　hallways　and　the　source　of　the　light；　he　would　have　cast　a　distorted　shadow　across　that　luminous　paper　garden　or　on　the　wheatgold　carpet。　There　was　no　shadow。
　Keeping　her　back　close　to　the　wall；　Chyna　edged　to　the　corner；　hesitated；　and　leaned　out　to　scout　the　way　ahead。　The　main　hallway　was　deserted。
　Two　sources　of　faint　amber　light　relieved　the　gloom。　The　first　came　from　a　half…open　door　on　the　right：　Paul　and　Sarah's　suite。　The　second　was　much　farther　down　the　hallway；　past　the　front　stairs；　on　the　left：　Laura's　room。
　The　other　doors　all　seemed　to　be　closed。　She　didn't　know　what　lay　beyond　them。　Perhaps　other　bedrooms；　a　bath；　an　upstairs　study；　closets。　Although　Chyna　was　most　drawn　to…and　most　afraid　of…the　lighted　rooms；　every　closed　door　was　also　a　danger。
　The　unplumbable　silence　tempted　her　to　believe　that　the　intruder　had　gone。　This　was　a　temptation　best　resisted。
　Forward；　then；　through　the　paper　arbor　of　printed　roses　to　the　half…open　door　of　the　master　suite。　Hesitating　there。　On　the　brink。
　When　she　found　whatever　waited　to　be　found；　all　her　illusions　of　order　and　stability　might　dissolve。　The　truth　of　life　might　then　re…asserL　nseu；　arcer　ren　years　auring　wnicii　sne　tiact　diligently　denied　it：　chaos；　like　the　flow　of　a　stream　of　mercury；　its　course　unpredictable。
　The　man　in　the　blue　jeans　and　black　boots　might　have　returned　to　the　master　suite　after　leaving　the　guest　room；　but　more　likely　not。　Other　amusements　in　the　house　would　no　doubt　be　more　appealing　to　him。
　Fearful　of　lingering　too　long　in　the　hall；　she　sidled　across　the　threshold；　without　pushing　the　door　open　wider。
　Paul　and　Sarah's　room　was　spacious。　A　sitting　area　included　a　pair　of　armchairs　and　footstools　facing　a　fireplace。　Bookshelves　crammed　with　hardcovers　flanked　the　mantel；　their　titles　lost　in　shadows。
　The　nightstand　lamps　were　colorfully　patterned　ginger　jars　with　pleated　shades。　One　of　them　was　aglow；　crimson　streaks　and　blots　stained　its　shade。
　Chyna　stopped　well　short　of　the　foot　of　the　bed；　already　close　enough　to　see　too　much。　Neither　Paul　nor　Sarah　was　there；　but　the　sheets　and　blankets　were　in　tangled　disarray；　trailing　onto　the　floor　on　the　right　side　of　the　bed。　On　the　left；　the　linens　were　soaked　with　blood；　and　a　wet　spray　glistened　on　the　headboard　and　in　an　arc　across　the　wall。
　She　closed　her　eyes。　Heard　something。　Spun　around；　crouching　in　expectation　of　an　assault。　She　was　alone。
　The　noise　had　always　been　there；　a　background　hiss…patter…splash　of　falling　water。　She　hadn't　heard　it　on　entering　the　room；　because　she　had　been　deafened　by　bloodstains　as　loud　as　the　angry　shouting　of　a　maddened　mob。
　Synestbesia。　The　word　had　stuck　with　her　from　a　psychology　text；　more　because　she　thought　it　was　a　beautiful　arrangement　of　syllables　than　because　she　expected　ever　to　experience　it　herself。　Synesthesia：　a　confusion　of　the　senses　in　which　a　scent　might　register　as　a　flash　of　color；　a　sound　actually　might　be　perceived　as　a　scent；　and　the　texture　of　a　surface　under　the　hand　might　seem　to　be　a　trilling　laugh　or　a　scream。
　Closing　her　eyes　had　blocked　out　the　roar　of　the　bloodstains；　whereupon　she　had　heard　the　falling　water。　Now　she　recognized　it　as　the　sound　of　the　shower　in　the　adjoining　bathroom。
　That　door　was　ajar　half　an　inch。　For　the　first　time　since　she　had　entered　from　the　hallway；　Chyna　noticed　the　thin　band　of　fluorescent　light　along　the　bathroom　jamb。
　When　she　looked　away　from　that　door；　reluctant　to　confront　what　might　wait　beyond　it；　she　spotted　the　telephone　on　the　right…hand　nightstand。　That　was　the　side　of　the　bed　without　blood；　which　made　it　more　approachable　for　her。
　She　lifted　the　handset　from　the　cradle。　No　dial　tone。　She　had　not　expected　to　hear　one。　Nothing　was　ever　that　easy。
　She　opened　the　single　drawer　on　the　nightstand；　hoping　to　find　a　handgun。　No　luck。
　Still　certain　that　her　only　hope　of　safety　lay　in　movement；　that　crawling　into　a　hole　and　hiding　should　always　be　the　strategy　of　last　resort；　Chyna　had　gone　around　to　the　other　side　of　the　king…size　bed　before　she　quite　realized　that　she　had　taken　a　first　step。　In　front　of　the　bathroom　door；　the　carpet　was　badly　stained。
　Grimacing；　she　went　to　the　second　nightstand　and　eased　open　the　drawer。　In　the　mortal　fall　of　light；　she　discovered　a　pair　of　reading　glasses　with　yellow　reflections　in　the　half…moon　lenses；　a　paperback　men's　adventure　novel；　a　box　of　Kleenex；　a　tube　of　lip　balm；　but　no　weapon。
　As　she　closed　the　drawer；　she　smelled　burned　gunpowder　underlying　the　hot…copper　stench　of　fresh　blood。
　She　was　familiar　with　that　odor。　Over　the　years；　more　than　a　few　of　her　mother's　friends　either　had　used　guns　to　get　what　they　wanted　or　had　been　at　least　fascinated　by　them。
　Chyna　had　heard　no　shots。　The　intruder　evidently　had　a　weapon　with　a　sound　suppressor。
　Water　continued　to　cascade　into　the　shower　beyond　the　door。　That　susurrous　spl