sk.theshining-第79部分

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　amused　titters　from　somewhere。
　　（You're　jumping　at　shadows。　It's　bad　enough　without　that。　By　tomorrow　morning；　you'll　be　ready　for　the　rubber　room。）　There　was　only　one　way　to　allay　those　fears　and　she　knew　what　it　was。
　　She　would　have　to　go　down　and　make　sure　Jack　was　still　in　the　pantry。
　　Very　simple。　Go　downstairs。　Have　a　peek。　e　back　up。　Oh；　by　the　way；　stop　and　grab　the　tray　on　the　registration　counter。　The　omelet　would　be　a　washout；　but　the　soup　could　be　reheated　on　the　hotplate　by　Jack's　typewriter。
　　（Oh　yes　and　don't　get　killed　if　he's　down　there　with　a　knife。）　She　walked　to　the　dresser；　trying　to　shake　off　the　mantle　of　fear　that　lay　on　her。　Scattered　across　the　dresser's　top　was　a　pile　of　change；　a　stack　of　gasoline　chits　for　the　hotel　truck；　the　two　pipes　Jack　brought　with　him　everywhere　but　rarely　smoked　。　。　。　and　his　key　ring。
　　She　picked　it　up；　held　it　in　her　hand　for　a　moment；　and　then　put　it　back　down。
　　The　idea　of　locking　the　bedroom　door　behind　her　had　occurred；　but　it　just　didn't　appeal。　Danny　was　asleep。　Vague　thoughts　of　fire　passed　through　her　mind；　and　something　else　nibbled　more　strongly；　but　she　let　it　go：　Wendy　crossed　the　room；　stood　indecisively　by　the　door　for　a　moment；　then　took　the　knife　from　the　pocket　of　her　robe　and　curled　her　right　hand　around　the　wooden　haft；：　She　pulled　the　door　open。
　　The　short　corridor　leading　to　their　quarters　was　bare。　The　electric　wall　flambeaux　all　shone　brightly　at　their　regular　intervals；　showing　off　the　rug's　blue　background　and　sinuous；　weaving　pattern。
　　（See？　No　boogies　here。）　（No；　of　course　not。　They　want　you　out。　They　want　you　to　do　something　silly　and　womanish；　and　that　is　exactly　what　you　are　doing。）　She　hesitated　again；　miserably　caught；　not　wanting　to　leave　Danny　and　the　safety　of　the　apartment　and　at　the　same　time　needing　badly　to　reassure　herself　that　Jack　was　still　。
　　safely　packed　away。
　　（Of　course　he　is。）　（But　the　voices）　（There　were　no　voices。　It　was　your　imagination。　It　was　the　wind。）
　　〃It　wasn't　the　wind。〃　The　sound　of　her　own　voice　made　her　jump。　But　the　deadly　certainty　in　it　made　her　go　forward。　The　knife　swung　by　her　side；　catching　angles　of　light　and　throwing　them　on　the　silk　wallpaper。　Her　slippers　whispered　against　the　carpet's　nap。　Her　nerves　were　singing　like　wires。
　　She　reached　the　corner　of　the　main　corridor　and　peered　around；　her　mind　stiffened　for　whatever　she　might　see　there。
　　There　was　nothing　to　see。
　　After　a　moment's　hesitation　she　rounded　the　corner　and　began　down　the　main　corridor。　Each　step　toward　the　shadowy　stairwell　increased　her　dread　and　made　her　aware　that　she　was　leaving　her　sleeping　son　behind；　alone　and　unprotected。
　　The　sound　of　her　slippers　against　the　carpet　seemed　louder　and　louder　in　her　ears；　twice　she　looked　back　over　her　shoulder　to　convince　herself　that　someone　wasn't　creeping　up　behind　her。
　　She　reached　the　stairwell　and　put　her　hand　on　the　cold　newel　post　at　the　top　of　the　railing。　There　were　nineteen　wide　steps　down　to　the　lobby。　She　had　counted　them　enough　times　to　know。　Nineteen　carpeted　stair　risers；　and　nary　a　Jack　crouching　on　any　one　of　them。　Of　course　not。　Jack　was　locked　in　the　pantry　behind　a　hefty　steel　bolt　and　a　thick　wooden　door。
　　But　the　lobby　was　dark　and　oh　so　full　of　shadows。
　　Her　pulse　thudded　steadily　and　deeply　in　her　throat。
　　Ahead　and　slightly　to　the　left；　the　brass　yaw　of　the　elevator　stood　mockingly　open；　inviting　her　to　step　in　and　take　the　ride　of　her　life。
　　（No　thank　you）　The　inside　of　the　car　had　been　draped　with　pink　and　white　crepe　streamers。
　　Confetti　had　burst　from　two　tubular　party　favors。　Lying　in　the　rear　left　corner　was　an　empty　bottle　of　champagne。
　　She　sensed　movement　above　her　and　wheeled　to　look　up　the　nineteen　steps　leading　to　the　dark　second…floor　landing　and　saw　nothing；　yet　there　was　a　disturbing　corner…of…the…eye　sensation　that　things　（things）　had　leaped　back　into　the　deeper　darkness　of　the　hallway　up　there　just　before　her　eyes　could　register　them。
　　She　looked　down　the　stairs　again。
　　Her　right　hand　was　sweating　against　the　wooden　handle　of　the　knife；　she　switched　it　to　her　left；　wiped　her　right　palm　against　the　pink　terrycloth　of　her　robe；　and　switched　the　knife　back。　Almost　unaware　that　her　mind　had　given　her　body　the　mand　to　go　forward；　she　began　down　the　stairs；　left　foot　then　right；　left　foot　then　right；　her　free　hand　trailing　lightly　on　the　banister。
　　（Where's　the　party？　Don't　let　me　scare　you　away；　you　bunch　of　moldy　sheets！
　　Not　one　scared　woman　with　a　knife！　Let's　have　a　little　music　around　here！　Let's　have　a　little　life！）　Ten　steps　down；　a　dozen；　a　baker's　dozen。
　　The　light　from　the　first…floor　hall　filtered　a　dull　yellow　down　here；　and　she　remembered　that　she　would　have　to　turn　on　the　lobby　lights　either　beside　the　entrance　to　the　dining　room　or　inside　the　manager's　office。
　　Yet　there　was　light　ing　from　somewhere　else；　white　and　muted。
　　The　fluorescents；　of　course。　In　the　kitchen。
　　She　paused　on　the　thirteenth　step；　trying　to　remember　if　she　had　turned　them　off　or　left　them　on　when　she　and　Danny　left。　She　simply　couldn't　remember。
　　Below　her；　in　the　lobby；　highbacked　chairs　hulked　in　pools　of　shadow。　The　glass　in　the　lobby　doors　was　pressed　white　with　a　uniform　blanket　of　drifted　snow。　Brass　studs　in　the　sofa　cushions　gleamed　faintly　like　cat's　eyes。　There　were　a　hundred　places　to　hide。
　　Her　legs　stilted　with　fear；　she　continued　down。
　　Now　seventeen；　now　eighteen；　now　nineteen。
　　（Lobby　level；　madam。　Step　out　carefully。）　The　ballroom　doors　were　thrown　wide；　only　blackness　spilling　out。　From　within　came　a　steady　ticking；　like　a　bomb。　She　stiffened；　then　remembered　the　clock　on　the　mantel；　the　clock　under　glass。　Jack　or　Danny　must　have　wound　it　。　。　。　or　maybe　it　had　wound　itself　up；　like　everything　else　in　the　Overlook。
　　She　turned　toward　the　reception　desk　meaning　to　go　through　the　gate　and　the　manager's　office　and　into　the　kitchen。　Gleaming　dull　silver；　she　could　see　the　intended　lunch　tray。
　　Then　the　clock　began　to　strike；　little　tinkling　notes。
　　Wendy　stiffened；　her　tongue　rising　to　the　roof　of　her　mouth。　Then　she　relaxed。
　　It　was　striking　eight；　that　was　all。　Eight　o'clock　。　。　。　five；　six；　seven　。　。　。
　　She　counted　the　strokes。　It　suddenly　seemed　wrong　to　move　again　until　the　clock　had　stilled　。
　　。　。　。　eight　。　。　。　nine　。　。　。
　　（？？　Nine　？？）　。　。　。　ten　。　。　。　eleven　。　。　。
　　Suddenly；　belatedly；　it　came　to　her。　She　turned　back　clumsily　for　the　stairs；　knowing　already　she　was　too　late。　But　how　could　she　have　known？
　　Twelve。
　　All　the　lights　in　the　ballroom　went　on。　There　was　a　huge；　shrieking　flourish　of　brass。　Wendy　screamed　aloud；　the　sound　of　her　cry　insignificant　against　the　blare　issuing　from　those　brazen　lungs。
　　〃Unmask！〃　the　cry　echoed。　〃Unmask！　Unmask！〃　Then　they　faded；　as　if　down　a　long　corridor　of　time；　leaving　her　alone　again。
　　No；　not　alone。
　　She　turned　and　he　was　ing　for　her。
　　It　was　Jack　and　yet　not　Jack。　His　eyes　were　lit　with　a　vacant；　murderous　glow；　his　familiar　mouth　now　wore　a　quivering；　joyless　grin。
　　He　had　the　Toque　mallet　in　one　hand。
　　〃Thought　you'd　lock　me　in？　Is　that　what　you　thought　you'd　do？〃　The　mallet　whistled　through　the　air。　She　stepped　backward；　tripped　over　a　hassock；　fell　to　the　lobby　rug。
　　〃Jack…〃
　　〃You　bitch；〃　he　whispered。　〃I　know　what　you　are。〃　The　mallet　came　down　again　with　whistling；　deadly　velocity　and　buried　itself　in　her　soft　stomach。　She　screamed；　suddenly　submerged　in　an　ocean　of　pain。　Dimly　she　saw　the　mallet　rebound。　It　came　to　her　with　sudden　numbing　reality　that　he　meant　to　beat　her　to　death　with　the　mallet　he　held　in　his　hands。
　　She　tried　to　cry　out　to　him　again；　to　beg　him　to　stop　for　Danny's　sake；　but　her　breath　had　been　knocked　loose。　She　could　only　force　out　a　weak　whimper；　hardly　a　sound　at　all。
　　〃Now。　Now；　by　Christ；〃　he　said；　grinning。　He　kicked　the　hassock　out　of　his　way。　〃I　guess　you'll　take　your　medicine　now。〃　The　mallet　whickered　down。　Wendy　rolled　to　her　left；　her　robe　tangling　above　her　knees。　Jack's　hold　on　the　mallet　was　jarred　loose　when　it　hit　the　floor。　He　had　to　stoop　and　pick　it　up；　and　while　he　did　she　ran　for　the　stairs；　the　breath　at　last　sobbing　back　into　her。　Her　stomach　was　a　bruise　of　throbbing　pain。
　　〃Bitch；〃　he　said　through　his　grin；　and　began　to　e　after　her。　〃You　stinking　bitch；　I　guess　you'll　get　what's　ing　to　you。　I　guess　you　will。〃　She　heard　the　mallet　whistle　through　the　air　and　then　agony　exploded　on　her　right　side　as　the　mallet…head　took　her　just　below　the　line　of　her　breasts；　breaking　two　ribs。　She　fell　forward　on　the　steps　and　new　agony　ripped　her　as　she　struck　on　the　wounded　side。　Yet　instinct　made　her　roll　over；　roll　away；　and　the　mallet　whizzed　past　the　side　of　her　face；　missing　by　a　naked　inch。　It　struck　the　deep　pile　of　the　stair　carpeting　with　a　muffled　thud。　That　was　when　she　saw　the　knife；　which　had　been　jarred　out　of　her　hand　by　her　fall。　It　lay　glittering　on　the　fourth　stair　riser。
　　〃Bitch；〃　he　repeated。　The　mallet　came　down。　She　shoved　herself　upward　and　it　landed　just　below　her　kneecap。　Her　lower　leg　was　suddenly　on　fire。　Blood　began　to　trickle　down　her　calf。　And　then　the　mallet　was　ing　down　again。　She　jerked　her　head　away　from　it　and　it　smashed　into　the　stair　riser　in　the　hollow　between　her　neck　and　shoulder；　scraping　away　the　flesh　from　her　ear。
　　He　brought　the　mallet　down　again　and　this　time　she　rolled　toward　him；　down　the　stairs；　inside　the　arc　of　his　swing。　A　shriek　escaped　her　as　her　broken　ribs　thumped　and　grated。　She　struck　his　shins　with　her　body　while　he　was　offbalance　and　he　fell　backward　with　a　yell　of　anger　and　surprise；　his　feet　jigging　to　keep　their　purchase　on　the　stair　riser。　Then　he　thumped　to　the　floor；　the　mallet　flying　from　his　hand。　He　sat　up；　staring　at　her　for　a　moment　with　shocked　eyes。
　　〃I'll　kill　you　for　that；〃　he　said。
　　He　rolled　over　and　stretched　out　for　the　handle　of　the　mallet。　Wendy　forced　herself　to　her　feet。　Her　left　leg　sent　bolt　after　bolt　of　pain　all　the　way　up　to　her　hip。　Her　face　was　ashy　pale　but　set。　She　leaped　onto　his　back　as　his　hand　closed　over　the　shaft　of　the　Toque　mallet。
　　〃Oh　dear　God！〃　she　sc