dk.intensity-第6部分

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　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　splash；　though　soft　and　soothing　under　other　circumstances；　now　abraded　her　nerves　as　effectively　as　the　whine　of　a　dentist's　drill。
　She　was　sure　that　the　intruder　wasn't　in　the　bathroom。　His　work　here　was　done。　He　was　busy　elsewhere　in　the　house。
　Right　this　minute　she　was　not　as　frightened　of　the　man　himself　as　she　was　of　discovering　exactly　what　he　had　done。　But　the　choice　before　her　was　the　essence　of　the　entire　human　agony：　not　knowing　was　ultimately　worse　than　knowing。
　At　last　she　pushed　open　the　door。　Squinting；　she　entered　the　fluorescent　glare。
　The　roomy　bath　featured　yellow　and　white　ceramic　tile。　On　the　walls　at　chair…rail　height　and　around　the　edges　of　the　vanity　and　lavatory　counters　ran　a　decorative　tile　band　of　daffodils　and　green　leaves。　She　had　expected　more　blood。
　Paul　Templeton　was　propped　on　the　toilet　in　his　blue　pajamas。　Lengths　of　wide　strapping　tape　across　his　lap　fixed　him　to　the　bowl。　More　tape　encircled　both　his　chest　and　the　toilet　tank；　holding　him　upright。
　Through　the　semitransparent　bands　of　tape；　three　separate　bullet　wounds　were　visible　in　his　chest。　There　might　have　been　more　than　three。　She　didn't　care　to　look　for　them　and　had　no　need　to　know。　He　appeared　to　have　died　instantly；　most　likely　in　his　sleep；　and　to　have　been　dead　before　he　was　brought　into　the　bathroom。
　Grief　welled　in　her；　black　and　cold。　Survival　meant　repressing　it　at　all　costs；　and　surviving　was　the　thing　that　she　did　best。
　A　collar　of　strapping　tape　around　Paul's　neck　became　a　leash　that　tethered　him　to　a　hand…towel　rack　on　the　wall　behind　the　toilet。　The　purpose　was　to　prevent　his　head　from　falling　forward　onto　his　chestand　to　direct　his　dead　gaze　toward　the　shower。　His　eyelids　were　taped　open；　and　in　his　right　eye　was　a　starburst　hemorrhage。
　Shuddering；　Chyna　looked　away　from　him。　Although　the　intruder　had　needed　to　kill　Paul　in　his　sleep　to　establish　control　of　the　house　quickly；　here　he　had　been　fantasizing　that　the　husband　was　being　forced　to　watch　the　atrocities　mitted　against　the　wife。
　This　was　a　classic　tableau；　a　favorite　of　those　sociopaths　who　took　delight　in　performing　for　their　victims。　They　actually　seemed　to　believe　that　for　a　while　the　recently　dead　could　still　see；　still　hear；　and　were　thus　capable　of　admiring　the　bold　antics　and　posing　of　a　tormentor　who　feared　neither　man　nor　God。　Textbooks　described　the　delusion。　In　one　of　her　aberrant…psychology　classes　at　UCSF；　a　speaker　from　the　FBI's　Behavioral　Science　Section　had　given　them　more　graphic　descriptions　of　such　scenes　than　any　textbooks　could　provide。
　Firsthand；　however；　the　impact　of　this　brutality　was　worse　than　words　could　convey。　Almost　paralyzing。　Chyna's　legs　felt　heavy　and　stiff。　The　tingling　in　her　hands　was　incipient　numbness。
　Sarah　Templeton　was　in　the　stall　shower；　which　was　separate　from　the　tub。　Although　the　glass　door　was　closed…and　frosted…Chyna　was　able　to　see　a　faint；　vaguely　pinkish　shape　huddled　on　the　shower　floor。
　On　the　face　of　the　soffit　above　the　glass　door；　the　killer　had　printed　two　words。　The　black　letters　appeared　to　have　been　made　with　multiple　strokes　of　an　eyebrow　pencil：　DIRTY　BITCH。
　Chyna　had　never　wanted　anything　as　much　as　she　wanted　to　be　free　of　the　obligation　to　look　into　this　shower　stall。　Surely　Sarah　could　not　be　alive。
　Yet　if　she　turned　away　without　being　certain　that　the　woman　was　beyond　all　help；　ineradicable　guilt　would　ensure　that　her　own　survival　would　bee　a　kind　of　walking　death。
　Besides；　she　had　mitted　her　life　to　trying　to　understand　this　very　aspect　of　human　cruelty；　and　no　published　case　study　would　ever　bring　her　closer　to　prehension　than　might　the　things　that　she　saw　here。　In　this　house；　on　this　night；　the　bleak　landscape　of　the　sociopathic　mind　had　been　externalized。
　Echoing　off　the　tile　walls；　the　sizzle…splash　of　the　falling　water　sounded　like　the　hissing　of　serpents　and　the　brittle　laughter　of　strange　children。
　The　water　must　be　cold。　Otherwise；　steam　would；have　been　seething　over　the　top　of　the　shower　enclosure。
　Chyna　held　her　breath；　gripped　the　anodized　aluminum　handle；　and　opened　the　stall　door。
　Sarah　Templeton　had　been　wearing　a　pale…green　teddy　and　matching　panties。　Her　garments　were　in　a　sodden　ball　in　one　corner　of　the　shower。
　After　her　husband　had　been　shot；　the　woman　had　evidently　been　hammered　unconscious；　perhaps　with　the　butt　of　the　gun。　Then　she　had　been　gagged；　her　cheeks　bulged　with　whatever　rag　had　been　forced　into　her　mouth。　Strips　of　strapping　tape　had　sealed　her　lips；　but　in　the　relentless　icy　spray；　the　edges　of　the　tape　had　begun　to　peel　away　from　her　skin。
　With　Sarah；　the　killer　had　used　a　knife。　She　was　not　alive。　Chyna　quietly　closed　the　stall　door。　If　there　was　such　a　thing　as　mercy；　then　Sarah　Templeton　had　never　regained　any　awareness　after　being　knocked　unconscious。
　She　remembered　the　hug　that　Sarah　had　given　her　on　the　front　walk　when　she　had　first　arrived　with　Laura。　Repressing　tears；　she　wished　that　she　herself　were　dead　instead　of　the　precious　woman　in　the　shower　stall。　Indeed；　she　was　half　dead　and　less　alive　by　the　minute；　because　a　piece　of　her　heart　died　with　each　of　these　people。
　Chyna　returned　to　the　bedroom。　She　moved　away　from　the　bed　but　didn't　go　immediately　toward　the　hall　door。　Instead；　she　stood　in　the　darkest　corner；　shaking　uncontrollably。
　Her　stomach　rolled。　An　acidic　burning　rose　in　her　chest；　and　a　bitter　taste　filled　the　back　of　her　mouth。　She　suppressed　an　urge　to　vomit。　The　killer　might　hear　her　retching；　and　then　he　would　e　to　get　her。
　Although　she'd　met　Laura's　parents　only　the　previous　afternoon；　Chyna　had　known　them　also　from　her　friend's　numerous　anecdotes　and　colorful　stories　of　family　adventures。　She　should　have　felt　even　more　grief　than　she　did；　but　she　had　only　a　limited　capacity　for　it　right　now。　Later　it　would　hit　her　harder。　Grief　thrived　in　a　quiet　heart；　and　right　now　hers　thundered　with　terror　and　revulsion。
　She　was　shocked　that　the　killer　had　done　so　much　damage　while　she　had　sat；　unknowing；　at　the　guest…room　window；　brooding　on　the　stars　and　thinking　of　other　nights　when　she　had