dk.intensity-第50部分

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d　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　in　her　mind's　eye…even　fleeting　glimpses　of　the　Wild　Wood　to　which　she　could　not　quite　escape…was　entirely　in　shades　of　red；　wet　red。
　But　she　had　survived　that　night。　She　had　been　surviving　for　a　long　time。　Eternity。　And　she　would　survive　this　too…or　die　trying。　Without　opening　her　eyes；　Chyna　hurtled　backward　as　fast　as　her　leg　irons　would　allow；　and　in　spite　of　her　fear；　she　figured　that　she　must　be　at　least　a　somewhat　ic　sight；　because　she　had　to　shuffle　frantically　to　build　speed；　had　to　throw　herself　toward　spinal　injury　in　quick　little　baby　steps。　But　then　she　slammed　into　the　rocks；　and　there　was　nothing　whatsoever　funny　about　that。
　She'd　been　bent　forward　slightly　to　lift　the　legs　of　the　chair　behind　her　and　to　ensure　that　they；　rather　than　another　part　of　it；　would　strike　first　and　take　the　hard　initial　blow。　With　her　entire　weight　behind　the　assault；　there　was　a　satisfyingly　splintery　thwack　on　impact…and　the　pine　legs　were　jammed　painfully　into　the　backs　of　her　legs。　Chyna　stumbled　forward；　and　the　upper　part　of　the　chair　whiplashed　into　her　neck；　as　she　had　expected；　and　she　was　knocked　off　balance。　She　dropped　to　her　knees　on　the　flagstone　hearth　and　fell　forward　with　the　chair　still　on　her　back；　hurting　in　too　many　places　to　bother　taking　an　inventory。
　Hobbled；　she　couldn't　get　to　her　feet　unless　she　was　gripping　something。　She　crawled　to　the　nearest　armchair　and　pulled　herself　up；　grunting　with　effort　and　pain。
　She　didn't　like　pain　the　way　Vess　claimed　to　like　it；　but　she　wasn't　going　to　bitch　about　it　either。　At　least　she　could　still　crawl　and　stand。　No　spinal　injury　yet。　Better　to　feel　pain　than　nothing　at　all。
　The　legs　of　the　chair　and　the　stretcher　bars　between　the　legs　seemed　to　be　intact。　But　judging　by　the　sound　of　the　impact；　she　had　weakened　them。
　Starting　eight　feet　from　the　wall　this　time；　Chyna　shuffled　backward　as　fast　as　she　could；　trying　to　ram　the　chair　legs　into　the　rock　at　the　same　angle　as　before。　She　was　rewarded　with　a　distinctive　crackthe　sound　of　splintering　wood；　though　it　felt　like　shattering　bone。
　A　dam　of　pain　burst　inside　her。　Cold　currents　dragged　her　down；　but　she　resisted　the　undertow　with　the　desperate　determination　of　a　swimmer　struggling　against　a　drowning　darkness。
　She　hadn't　been　knocked　off　her　feet　this　time。　She　shuffled　forward。　Not　pausing　to　catch　her　breath；　still　hunched　to　ensure　that　the　chair　legs　would　take　the　brunt　of　the　impact；　she　charged　backward　into　the　rock　wall。
　Chyna　woke　facedown　on　the　floor　in　front　of　the　hearth；　aware　that　she　must　have　been　unconscious　for　a　minute　or　two。
　The　carpet　was　as　cold　and　undulant　as　moving　water。　She　wasn't　floating　in　it　but　glimmering　along　the　rippled　surface；　as　though　she　were　coppery　spangles　of　sunlight　or　the　dark　reflection　of　a　cloud。
　The　worst　pain　was　in　the　back　of　her　head。　She　must　have　struck　it　against　something。
　She　felt　so　much　better　when　she　didn't　think　about　her　pain　or　her　problems；　when　she　simply　accepted　that　she　was　nothing　more　than　a　cloud　shadow　riding　on　the　mirrored　surface　of　a　rolling　river；　as　insubstantial　as　the　purling　patterns　on　moving　water；　gliding　away；　liquid　and　cool；　away；　away。
　Ariel。　In　the　cellar。　Among　the　watchful　dolls。　I　am　my　sister　keeper　Somehow　she　got　to　her　hands　and　knees。　She　heard　the　hollow　thump　of　paws　on　the　front　porch　floor。　When　she　pulled　herself　to　her　feet　against　an　armchair；　she　looked　at　the　window　that　wasn't　covered　by　drapes。　Two　Dobermans　were　standing　with　their　forepaws　on　the　windowsill；　staring　at　her；　their　eyes　radiant　yellow　with　reflections　of　the　soft　amber　light　from　the　lamp　on　the　end　table。
　At　the　base　of　the　stone　wall　was　one　of　the　rear　legs　of　the　chair。　That　length　of　turned　pine　was　all　jagged　splinters　at　the　thicker　end；　where　it　had　been　fixed　to　the　underside　of　the　seat。　Bristling　from　the　side　of　it　at　a　ninety…degree　angle　was　the　one…inch　stretcher　bar　that　had　connected　it　to　the　other　rear　leg。
　The　lower　chain　was　more　than　half　free。　On　the　porch；　one　dog　paced。　The　other　still　watched　Chyna。　She　worked　the　upper　chain　to　the　left　through　the　spindles　at　her　back；　drawing　her　right　hand　behind　her　head；　to　provide　as　much　slack　as　possible　for　her　left　hand。　Then　she　reached　down　to　her　left；　under　the　chair　arm　and　then　under　the　thick　slab　seat；　feeling　for　the　legs。　The　left　rear　leg　was　gone；　obviously　the　one　on　the　floor　by　the　wall。　The　side　stretcher　still　extended　from　the　left　front　leg；　but　with　the　rear　leg　gone；　it　no　longer　connected　to　anything；　and　the　chain　had　slipped　off　it。
　When　she　worked　the　upper　chain　to　the　right；　to　be　able　to　feel　under　the　chair　with　that　hand；　she　discovered　that　the　other　rear　leg　was　slightly　loose。　She　pulled；　pushed；　and　twisted；　trying　to　break　it　off。　But　she　couldn't　get　adequate　leverage；　and　the　leg　was　still　too　firmly　attached　to　succumb　to　her　efforts。
　No　stretcher　bar　had　ever　linked　the　two　front　legs。　Now　the　lower　chain　was　prevented　from　slipping　entirely　free　only　by　the　stretcher　bar　between　the　legs　on　the　right　side。
　Once　more　she　charged　backward　hard；　into　the