dk.intensity-第51部分

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e　stretcher　bar　between　the　legs　on　the　right　side。
　Once　more　she　charged　backward　hard；　into　the　rock。　Blazing　pain　exploded　through　her　entire　body；　and　she　was　almost　blown　away。　But　when　the　right　rear　leg　didn't　snap　loose；　she　said；　〃Hell；　no；〃　refusing　to　surrender　to　hurt；　to　exhaustion；　to　anything；　anything；　and　she　hobbled　forward　and　then　launched　herself　backward　once　more。　Wood　split　with　a　dry　crackle；　broken　turnings　of　pine　clattered　off　flagstones；　and　with　a　bright　ringing；　the　lower　chain　fell　free　of　the　chair。
　Bending　forward；　dizzy；　filled　with　a　whirling　darkness；　shaking　violently；　she　leaned　with　both　hands　on　the　back　of　the　big　leather　armchair。　She　was　half　sick　with　pain　and　with　fear　of　what　damage　she　might　have　done　to　her　body；　wondering　about　fractured　vertebrae　and　internal　bleeding。
　Squeak…squeak…squeak。　One　of　the　dogs　clawed　at　the　window　glass。　Squeak…squeak。　Chyna　wasn't　free　yet。　She　was　still　chained　to　the　upper　half　of　the　chair。
　The　four　spindles　between　the　headrail　and　the　seat　were　thinner　than　the　stretcher　bars　between　the　legs；　so　they　ought　to　break　more　easily　than　those　bars　had　broken。　She　hadn't　been　able　to　keep　the　chair　legs　from　mercilessly　hammering　the　backs　of　her　knees　and　her　thighs；　but　for　this　part　of　the　operation；　the　tie…on　foam　cushion　between　her　and　the　spindles　should　provide　her　with　some　protection。
　A　pair　of　floor…to…ceiling　rock　pilasters　flanked　the　firebox　and　supported　the　six…inch　slab　of　laminated　maple　that　served　as　the　mantel。　They　were　curved；　and　it　seemed　to　Chyna　that　the　radius　would　help　focus　the　impact　on　one　or　two　spindles　at　a　time　instead　of　spreading；　it　across　the　four。
　She　moved　the　heavy　andiron　out　of　the　way。　She　pushed　aside　a　brass　rack　of　fireplace　tools。　The　lifting　and　shoving　made　her　head　spin　and　her　stomach　churn；　and　a　hundred　agonies　assailed　her。
　She　no　longer　dared　to　think　about　what　she　was　doing。　She　just　did　it；　past　courage　now；　past　consideration　and　calculation；　driven　by　a　blind　animal　determination　to　be　free。
　This　time；　she　didn't　hunch　over；　as　far　as　she　was　able；　she　stood　straight　and　rammed　backward　into　the　pilaster。　The　cushion　did　provide　protection；　but　not　enough。　She　was　suffering　so　many　contusions；　wrenched　muscles；　and　battered　bones　that　the　jarring　blow　would　have　been　devastating　even　if　it　had　been　twice　as　well　padded；　like　the　tap　of　a　dentist's　rubber　hammer　on　a　rotten　tooth　in　need　of　a　root…canal　job。　Right　now　every　joint　in　her　body　seemed　to　be　a　rotten　tooth。　She　didn't　pause；　because　she　was　afraid　that　all　of　those　pains；　pulsing　at　once；　would　soon　shake　her　to　the　floor；　shake　her　apart；　so　she　would　never　be　able　to　pull　herself　together　and　get　up。　She　was　rapidly　running　out　of　resources；　and　with　a　black　tide　lapping　at　the　edges　of　her　vision；　she　was　also　running　out　of　time。　Howling　with　misery　in　expectation　of　the　pain；　she　rammed　backward　and　screamed　when　the　blow　rattled　her　bones　like　dice　in　a　cup。　Agony。　But　immediately　she　threw　herself　into　the　pilaster　again；　chains　jangling；　and　again；　wood　splintering；　and　again；　screaming；　Jesus；　unable　to　stop　screaming　and　frightened　by　her　own　cries；　while　the　vigilant　dogs　made　that　needful　keening　at　the　window；　and　yet　once　more　backward；　hammering　herself　into　the　rock。
　Then　she　was　again　facedown　on　the　floor　without　remembering　how　she　had　gotten　there；　racked　by　dry　heaves　because　there　was　nothing　in　her　stomach　to　throw　up；　gagging　on　a　vile　taste　in　the　back　of　her　mouth；　hands　clenched　against　the　very　thought　of　defeat；　feeling　small　and　weak　and　pitiful；　shuddering；　shuddering。
　The　shudders　gradually　diminished；　however；　and　the　carpet　began　to　undulate；　pleasantly　cool　beneath　her；　and　she　was　a　cloud　shadow　on　fast…moving　waters。　The　sun…haloed　shadow　and　the　fathomless　water　moved　in　the　same　direction；　always　in　the　same　direction；　onward　and　forever；　swift　and　silken；　toward　the　edge　of　the　world　and　then　off　into　a　void；　flowing　still；　so　dark。
　Expecting　dogs；　Chyna　woke　from　red　dreams　of　refrigerator…chilled　guns　and　exploding　heads；　but　there　were　no　dogs。　She　was　alone　in　the　living　room；　and　all　was　quiet。　The　Dobermans　were　not　padding　back　and　forth　on　the　porch；　and　when　she　was　finally　able　to　lift　her　head；　she　saw　no　dogs　at　the　undraped　window。
　They　were　outside；　calmer　now　because　they　realized　that　their　time　would　e。　Watching　the　door　and　windows。　Waiting　to　see　her　face。　Alert　for　the　snick　of　a　latch；　the　rasp　of　a　hinge。
　She　was　in　so　much　pain　that　she　was　surprised　to　have　regained　consciousness。　She　was　more　surprised　that　her　head　was　clear。
　One　pain　was　separate　from　and　more　urgent　than　all　her　other　distresses。　Unlike　the　agonies　of　tortured　bones　and　muscles；　this　painful　pressure　could　be　relieved　easily；　and　she　wouldn't　even　have　to　put　herself　through　the　gruesome　ordeal　of　moving　from　where　she　lay。　〃Hell　no；〃　she　mumbled；　and　slowly　she　sat　up。
　Getting　to　her　feet；　she　disturbed　deep　hurts　that　had　slept　as　long　as　she　had　been　lying　on　the　floor　but　woke　as　soon　as　she　began　to　rise：　grindings　in　her　bones　and　hot　flares　in　her　muscles。　Some　were　intense　enough；　at　least　initially；　to　make　her　fteeze　and　gasp　for　breath；　but　by　the　time　she　was　standing　tall；　she　knew　there　was　no　single　pain　so　terrible　that　it　would　cripple　her；　and　while　the　burden　of　her　bined　agonies　was　daunting；　she　was　going　to　be　able　to　carry　it。
　She　didn't　have　to　carry　the　heavy　chair　any　longer。　It　lay　on　the　floor　around　her　in　fragments　and　splinters；　and　none　of　her　chains　was　encumbered　by　it。
　According　to　the　mantel　clock；　the　time　was　three　minutes　till　eight；　which　unsettled　her。　The　last　she　remembered；　it　had　been　ten　minutes　past　seven。　She　wasn't　sure　how　long　she　had　taken　to　break　free　from　the　chair；　but　she　suspected　that　she　had　lain　unconscious　for　half　an　hour；　perhaps　longer。　The　sweat　had　dried　on　her　body；　and　her　hair　was　only　slightly　damp　at　the　nape　of　her　neck；　so　half　an　hour　was　probably　correct。　This　realization　made　her　feel　weak　and　uncertain　again。
　If　Vess　could　be　believed；　Chyna　still　had　four　hours　until　he　returned。　But　there　was　much　to　be　done；　and　four　hours　might　not　be　time　enough。
　Chyna　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　sofa。　Freed　from　the　pine　dining　chair；　she　was　at　last　able　to　reach　the　carabiner　on　the　short　chain　between　her　ankles。　This　steel　coupling　connected　the　shorter　chain　to　the　longer　one　that　had　wrapped　the　chair　and　the　table　pedestal。　After　screwing　open　the　metal　sleeve　to　reveal　the　gate　in　the　carabiner；　she　disconnected　herself　from　the　longer　chain。
　Her　ankles　remained　cuffed；　and　on　her　way　to　the　stairs　to　the　second　floor；　she　still　had　to　shuffle。
　She　switched　on　the　stairwell　light　and　laboriously　climbed　the　narrow　stairs；　moving　first　her　left　foot　and　then　her　right　onto　each　tread。　Because　of　the　hobbling　chain；　she　was　unable　to　ascend　one　foot　per　tread；　step　over　step；　as　she　normally　would　have　done；　and　her　progress　was　slow。
　She　kept　a　two…hand　grip　on　the　handrail。　With　the　heavy　chair　gone　from　her　back；　she　was　no　longer　precariously　balanced；　but　she　remained　wary　of　tripping　in　her　fetters。
　Past　the　landing；　halfway　up　the　second　flight；　all　of　her　pains　and　the　fear　of　falling　and　the　hot　pressure　in　her　bladder　bined　to　double　her　over　with　severe　stomach　cramps。　She　leaned　against　the　wall　of　the　stairwell；　clutching　the　handrail；　suddenly　sheathed　in　sour　sweat；　moaning　low　and　wordlessly　in　misery。　She　was　certain　that　she　was　going　to　pass　out；　tumble　backward；　and　break　her　neck。
　But　the　cramps　passed；　and　she　continued　climbing。　Soon　she　reached　the　second　floor。
　She　switched　on　the　hall　light　and　found　three　doors。　Those　to　the　left　and　right　were　closed；　but　the　one　at　the　end　of　the　hallway　stood　open；　revealing　a　bathroom。
　In　the　bathroom；　although　her　hands　were　manacled　and　trembling　badly；　she　managed　to　unbuckle　her　belt；　unbutton　her　jeans；　unzip；　and　skin　down　jeans　and　panties。　Sitting；　she　was　hit　by　more　waves　of　cramps；　and　these　were　markedly　more　vicious　than　those　she　had　endured　on　the　stairs。　She　had　refused　to　wet　herself　at　the　kitchen　table；　as　Vess　had　wanted　her　to　do；　refused　to　be　reduced　to　that　degree　of　helplessness。　Now　she　couldn't　make　water；　though　she　desperately　wanted　to　do　that…needed　to　do　it　to　stop　the　crampsand　she　wondered　if　she　had　held　out　so　long　that　a　bladder　spasm　was　pinching　off　the　flow。　Such　a　thing　was　possible；　and　abruptly　the　cramps　grew　more　severe；　as　if　confirming　her　diagnosis。　She　felt　as　if　her　guts　were　being　rolled　through　a　wringer…but　then　the　cramps　passed　and　relief　came。
　With　the　sudden　flood；　she　was　surprised　to　hear　herself　say；　〃Chyna　Shepherd；　untouched　and　alive　and　able　to　pee。〃　Then　she　was　simultaneously　laughing　and　sobbing；　not　with　relief　but　with　a　weird　sense　of　triumph。
　Getting　free　of　the　table；　shattering　and　shaking　off　the　chair；　and　not　wetting　her　pants　seemed；　together；　to　be　an　act　of　endurance　and　of　courage　equivalent　to　setting　foot　on　the　moon　with　the　first　astronauts　to　land　there；　slogging　through　blinding　blizzards　to　the　Pole　with　Admiral　Peary；　or　storming　the　beaches　of　Normandy　against　the　might　of　the　German　army。　She　laughed　at　herself；　laughed　until　tears　spilled　down　her　face；　nevertheless；　she　still　felt　that　degree　of　triumph。　She　knew　how　small…even　pathetic…her　triumph　was；　but　she　felt　that　it　was　big。　〃Rot　in　Hell；〃　she　said　to　Edgler　Vess；　and　she　hoped　that　someday　she　would　have　the　chance　to　say　it　to　his　face　just　before　she　pulled　a　trigger　and　blew　him　out　of　this　world。
　She　had　so　much　pain　in　her　back　from　the　battering　that　she'd　endured；　especially　low　around　her　kidneys；　that　when　she　was　done；　she　checked　in　the　toilet　bowl　for　blood。　She　was　relieved　to　see　that　her　urine　was　clear。
　Glancing　in　the　mirror　above　the　sink；　however；　she　was　shocked　by　her　reflection。　Her　short　hair　was　tangled　and　lank　with　sweat。　The　right　side　of　her　face　along　the　jaw　seemed　to　be　smeared　with　a　purple　ink；　but　when　she　touched　it；　she　discovered　that　this　was　the　trailing　edge　of　a　bruise　that　mottled　that　entire　s