dk.intensity-第32部分

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　Tatta…tatta…tatta…tatta…tatta　。。。　It　always　came　to　this；　even　with　childhood　long　past　and　being　grown　up　and　everything　supposedly　in　control；　everything　supposedly　all　right；　even　then　it　still　came　to　this：　alone；　dizzy　with　fear；　alone；　down　into　a　bleak…dark…cramped　place；　no　exits；　sustained　only　by　mad　hope；　with　the　world　indifferent；　no　one　to　wonder　about　her　or　care　where　she　might　have　gone。
　Listening　intently　for　the　slightest　change　in　the　sound　of　the　rushing　water　and　the　vibrating　pipe；　Chyna　went　down　one　step　at　a　time；　her　left　hand　on　the　iron　railing。　The　gun　was　extended　in　her　right　hand；　she　was　clenching　it　so　fiercely　that　her　knuckles　ached。　〃Chyna　Shepherd；　untouched　and　alive；〃　she　said　shakily。　〃Chyna　Shepherd；　untouched　and　alive。〃
　Halfway　down　the　stairs；　she　glanced　back　and　up。　At　the　end　of　a　trail　of　her　wet　shoe　prints；　the　landing　seemed　a　quarter　of　a　mile　above　her；　as　far　away　as　the　top　of　the　knoll　had　seemed　from　the　front　porch　of　the　house。
　Alice　down　the　rabbit　bole　into　a　madness　witbout　tea　parties。
　At　the　open　doorway　between　the　in…kitchen　dining　area　and　the　laundry　room；　Mr。　Edgler　Vess　hears　the　mystery　woman　call　to　Ariel。　She　is　only　a　few　feet　away　from　him；　around　the　er；　past　the　washer　and　the　dryer；　so　there　can　be　no　mistake　about　what　name　she　speaks。
　Ariel。　Stupefied；　he　stands　blinking　and　open…mouthed　in　the　fragrance　of　laundry　detergent　and　in　the　wall…muffled　rattle　of　copper　pipes；　with　her　voice　echoing　in　memory。
　There　is　no　way　for　her　to　know　about　Ariel。　Yet　she　calls　to　the　girl　again；　louder　than　before。　Mr。　Vess　suddenly　feels　terribly　violated；　oppressed；　observed。　He　glances　back　at　the　windows　in　the　dining　area　and　the　kitchen；　expecting　to　discover　the　radiant　faces　of　accusing　strangers　pressed　to　those　panes。　He　sees　only　the　rain　and　the　drowned　gray　light；　but　he　is　still　anguished。
　This　is　not　fan　any　longer。　Not　fim　at　all。
　The　mystery　is　too　deep。　And　alarming。　It　is　as　if　this　woman　didn't　e　to　him　out　of　that　Honda　but　came　through　an　invisible　barrier　between　dimensions；　out　of　some　world　beyond　this　one；　from　which　she　has　been　secretly　watching　him。　The　flavor　is　distinctly　supernatural；　the　texture　otherworldly；　and　now　the　laundry　detergent　smells　like　burning　incense；　and　the　cloying　air　seems　thick　with　unseen　presences。
　Fearful　and　plagued　by　doubt；　unaccustomed　to　both　of　those　emotions；　Mr。　Vess　steps　into　the　laundry　room；　raising　the　Heckler　&　Koch　P7。　His　finger　wraps　the　trigger；　already　beginning　to　squeeze　off　a　shot。
　The　cellar　door　stands　open。　The　stairwell　light　is　on。
　The　woman　is　not　in　sight。　He　eases　off　the　trigger　without　firing。　On　those　infrequent　occasions　when　he　has　guests　to　the　house　to　dinner　or　for　a　business　meeting；　he　always　leaves　a　Doberman　in　the　laundry　room。　The　dog　lies　in　here；　silent　and　dozing。　But　if　anyone　other　than　Vess　were　to　enter；　the　dog　would　bark　and　snarl　and　drive　him　backward。
　When　the　master　is　away；　Dobermans　vigilantly　patrol　the　entire　property；　and　no　one　has　a　hope　of　getting　into　the　house　itself；　let　alone　into　the　cellar。
　Mr。　Vess　has　never　put　a　lock　on　the　door　to　the　cellar　steps　because　he　is　concerned　that　it　might　accidentally　trip；　imprisoning　him　down　there　when　he　is　at　play　and　unawares。　With　a　key…operated　deadbolt；　of　course；　this　catastrophe　could　never　happen。　He　himself　is　incapable　of　imagining　how　any　such　mechanism　could　malfunction　and　trap　him；　nevertheless；　he's　too　concerned　about　the　prospect　to　take　the　risk。
　Over　the　years；　he　has　seen　coincidence　at　work　in　the　world；　and　people　perishing　because　of　it。　One　late…June　afternoon　near　dusk；　as　Mr。　Vess　was　driving　to　Reno；　Nevada；　on　Interstate　8o；　a　young　blonde　in　a　Mustang　convertible　had　passed　his　motor　home。　She　was　wearing　white　shorts　and　a　white　blouse；　and　her　long　hair　streamed　red…gold　in　the　twilight　wind。　Filled　with　an　instant　and　powerful　need　to　smash　her　beautiful　face；　he　had　pressed　the　motor　home　to　its　limits　to　keep　her　swifter　Mustang　in　sight；　but　his　quest　had　seemed　doomed。　As　the　highway　rose　into　the　Sierras；　the　speed　of　the　motor　home　had　fallen；　and　the　Mustang　had　pulled　away。　Even　if　he　had　been　able　to　draw　close　to　the　woman；　the　traffic　had　been　too　heavy；　too　many　witnesses…for　him　to　try　anything　as　bold　as　forcing　her　off　the　highway。　Then　one　of　the　tires　on　the　Mustang　had　blown。　Traveling　at　such　high　speed；　she　nearly　spun　out；　nearly　rolled；　swerved　from　lane　to　lane；　blue　smoke　pouring　off　the　tires；　but　then　she　got　control　and　pulled　the　car　off　the　road　onto　the　shoulder。　Mr。　Vess　had　stopped　to　assist　her。　She　had　been　grateful　for　his　offer　of　help；　smiling　and　pleasantly　shy；　a　nice　girl　with　a　one…inch　gold　cross　on　a　chain　around　her　neck；　and　later　she　had　wept　so　bitterly　and　struggled　so　excitingly　to　resist　surrendering　her　beauty；　to　turn　her　face　away　from　his　various　sharp　instruments；　just　a　high…spirited　young　woman　full　of　life　and　on　the　way　to　Reno　until　coincidence　gave　her　to　him。
　And　if　a　blown　tire；　why　not　a　malfunctioning　lock？　If　coincidence　can　give；　it　can　take。　Mr。　Vess　lives　with　intensity　but　not　without　caution。　Now　this　woman；　calling　for　Ariel；　has　e　into　his　life；　like　a　blown　tire；　and　suddenlyhe's　not　sure　if　she　is　a　gift　to　him　or　he　to　her。
　Remembering　her　revolver　and　wishing　for　Dobermans；　he　glides　across　the　laundry　room　to　the　cellar　door。
　The　woman's　voice　rises　from　the　stairs　below：　〃China　Shepherd　untouched　and　alive。〃
　The　words　are　so　strange…the　meaning　so　mysterious…that　they　seem　to　be　an　incantation；　encoded　and　cryptic。
　Confirming　that　perception；　the　woman　repeats　herself；　as　though　she　is　chanting：　〃China　Shepherd　untouched　and　alive。〃
　Though　Vess　is　not　usually　superstitious；　he　experiences　a　heightened　sense　of　the　supernatural；　beyond　anything　he's　felt　thus　far。　His　scalp　prickles；　and　the　flesh　on　the　nape　of　his　neck　crawls；　and　his　hand　tightens　on　the　pistol。
　After　a　hesitation；　he　leans　through　the　open　door　and　looks　down　the　cellar　stairs。
　The　woman　is　only　a　few　steps　from　the　bottom。　She's　got　one　hand　on　the　railing；　the　revolver　held　out　in　front　of　her　in　the　other　hand。
　Not　a　cop。　An　amateur。　Nonetheless；　she　might　be　Mr。　Vess's　blown　tire；　and　he's　jumpy；　twitchy；　still　extremely　curious　about　her　but　prepared　to　put　his　safety　ahead　of　his　curiosity。
　He　eases　through　the　doorway　onto　the　upper　landing。　As　close　as　she　is；　she　does　not　hear　him　because　all　is　concrete；　nothing　to　creak。
　He　aims　his　pistol　at　the　center　of　her　back。　The　first　shot　will　catapult　her　off　her　feet；　send　her　'flying　with　her　arms　spread　toward　the　basement　below；　and　the　second　shot　will　take　her　as　she　is　in　flight。　Then　he'll　race　down　the　stairs　behind　her；　firing　the　third　and　fourth　rounds；　hitting　her　in　the　legs　if　possible。　He'll　drop　on　top　of　her；　press　the　muzzle　into　the　back　of　her　head；　and　then；　then；　then　when　he's　totally　in　control　of　her；　dominant；　he　can　decide　whether　she's　still　a　threat　or　not；　whether　he　can　risk　questioning　her　or　whether　she's　so　dangerous　that　nothing　will　do　but　to　put　a　couple　of　rounds　in　her　brain。
　As　the　woman　passes　under　the　light　near　the　foot　of　the　stairs；　Mr。　Vess　gets　a　better　look　at　her　revolver。　It　is　indeed　a　Smith　&　Wesson　…　38　Chief's　Special；　as　he　had　thought　earlier；　when　he　had　seen　it　from　the　second…floor　bedroom　window；　but　suddenly　the　make　and　model　of　the　weapon　have　electrifying　meaning　for　him。
　He　smells　a　Slim　Jim　sausage。　He　remembers　liquid…night　eyes　widening　in　shock；　terror；　and　despair。
　He　has　seen　two　of　these　guns　in　the　past　several　hours。　The　first　belonged　to　the　young　Asian　gentleman　at　the　service　station；　who　drew　it　from　under　the　counter　in　self…defense　but　never　had　the　opportunity　to　fire。
　Although　the　Chief's　Special　is　a　popular　revolver；　it　is　not　so　universally　admired　that　one　sees　it　everywhere　in　use。　Edgler　Vess　knows；　with　the　certainty　of　a　fox　on　the　scent　of　a　rabbit　in　the　weeds；　that　this　is　the　same　gun。
　Although　there　are　still　many　mysteries　about　the　woman　on　the　stairs　below　him；　though　her　presence　here　is　no　less　astonishing　to　him　than　it　was　before；　there　is　nothing　supernatural　about　her。　She　knows　the　name　Ariel　not　because　she　has　been　watching　from　some　world　beyond　this　one；　not　because　she　is　in　the　dutiful　service　of　some　higher　force；　but　simply　because　she　must　have　been　tbere；　in　the　service　station；　when　Vess　was　chatting　up　the　two　clerks　and　when；　moments　later；　he　killed　them。
　Where　she　could　have　been　hiding；　how　he　could　have　overlooked　her；　why　she　would　feel　the　need　to　pursue　him；　where　she　got　all　the　courage　for　this　reckless　adventure…these　are　things　he　can't　discern　through　intuition　alone。　But　now　he　will　have　the　opportunity　to　put　these　questions　to　her。
　Lowering　his　pistol；　he　steps　back　into　the　laundry　room；　lest　she　glance　up　the　stairs　and　see　him。
　His　uncharacteristic　fear；　his　eerie　perception　of　oppressive　supernatural　forces；　lifts　like　a　fog　from　him；　and　he　is　amazed　by　his　own　brief　spasm　of　gullibility。　He；　who　has　no　illusions　about　the　nature　of　existence。　He；　who　is　so　clear…seeing。　i1e；　who　knows　the　primacy　of　pure　sensation。　Even　he；　the　most　rational　of　all　men；　has　spooked。
　He　almost　laughs　at　his　foolishness；　and　at　once　puts　it　out　of　his　mind。
　The　woman　must　be　to　the　bottom　of　the　stairs　by　now。
　He　will　allow　her　to　explore。　After　all；　for　whatever　bizarre　reasons；　this　is　what　she　has　e　here　to　do；　and　Vess　is　curious　about　her　reactions　to　the　things　that　she　discovers。
　He　is　having　fun　again。　Once　more；　the　game　is　on。
　Chyna　reached　the　bottom　of　the　stairs。
　The　outer　wall　of　mortared　stone　was　to　her　right。　There　was　nowhere　to　go　in　that　direction。
　To　her　left　was　a　chamber　about　ten　feet　from　front　to　back；　and　as　wide　as　the　house。　She　moved　away　from　the　foot　of　the　stairs；　into　this　new　space。
　At　one　end　stood　an　oil…fired　furnace　and　a　large　electric　water　heater。　At　the　other　end　were　tall　metal　storage　cabinets　with　vent　slits　in　the　doors；　a　workbench；　and　a　tool　chest　on　wheels。
　Directly　ahead；　in　a　concret