dk.nightchills-第41部分

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　No　cats。
　No　men　in　scuba　suits。
　Although　he　knew　that　he　had　been　dreaming；　although　he'd　had　this　same　dream　on　each　of　the　last　three　days；　Buddy　got　out　of　bed；　stepped　into　a　pair　of　slippers　that　were　as　large　as　most　men's　boots；　and　lumbered　into　the　kitchen　to　check　the　water　faucets。　There　were　no　cats　streaming　out　of　them；　and　that　was　a　good　thing　to　know。
　However；　he　was　badly　shaken。　He　was　no　less　affected　by　the　dream　for　having　endured　it　on　two　other　occasions。　All　week　his　sleep　had　been　disturbed　by　dreams　of　one　sort　or　another；　and　he　never　was　able　to　fall　back　to　sleep　once　brought　awake　by　a　vivid　nightmare。
　The　wall　clock　showed　12：13。　He　came　home　from　the　mill　at　half　past　eight　and　went　to　bed　at　half　past　nine；　five　days　a　week；　as　if　he　were　a　clockwork　mechanism。　Which　meant　that　he　had　gotten　barely　three　hours　of　sleep。
　He　went　to　the　kitchen　table；　sat　down；　and　opened　the　travel　magazine　that　he　had　bought　at　the　general　store　last　Monday。　He　studied　the　photographs　of　divers　in　scuba　suits。
　why？　he　thought。　Divers。　Seamen。　Guns。　At　the　reservoir。　Why？　So　late。　Late　at　night。　Dark。　Divers。　'Why？　Figure　it。　e　on。　Figure　it。　Can't。　Can。　Can't。　Can。　Can't。　Divers。　In　woods。　Night。　So　crazy。　Can't　figure　it。
　He　decided　to　shower；　get　dressed；　and　walk　across　the　street　to　Edison's　General　Store。　It　was　time　he　asked　Sam　to　figure　it　for　him。
　At　12：05　Rya　watched　a　man　in　thick　glasses；　gray　trousers；　and　a　dark　blue　shirt　enter　Pauline　Vicker's　rooming　house。　He　was　the　man　who　had　ordered　Bob　Thorp　to　kill　Mark。
　At　12：10　she　went　to　St。　Margaret　Mary's　and　hid　in　one　of　the　confessionals　at　the　right　rear　corner　of　the　nave。　Last　week　she　had　heard　Emma　mention　the　Friday　lunch　and　card　club　that　met　all　afternoon　in　the　church　basement。　Through　a　chink　in　the　crimson　velveteen　confessional　curtains；　she　could　look　across　the　back　of　the　nave　to　the　steps　that　＇ed　down　to　the　recreation　room。　Women　in　bright　summer　dresses　and　pant…Suits；　many　of　them　carrying　umbrellas；　arrived　singly　and　in　pairs　for　the　next　fifteen　minutes…and　Emma　Thorp　came　through　the　foyer　arch　promptly　at　twelve　thirty。　Rya　recognized　her　even　in　the　dim　light。　As　soon　as　Emma　disappeared　down　the　stairs；　Rya　left　the　confessional。
　For　a　moment　she　was　transfixed　by　the　sight　of　the　crucifix　at　the　far　end　of　the　chamber。　The　wooden　Christ　seemed　to　be　staring　over　all　the　pews；　directly　at　her。
　You　could　have　saved　my　mother；　she　thought。　You　could　have　saved　Mark。　Why　did　you　put　killers　on　earth？
　Of　course　the　crucifix　had　no　answer。
　God　helps　those　who　help　themselves；　she　thought。　Okay。　I'm　going　to　help　myself。　I'm　going　to　make　them　pay　for　what　they　did　to　Mark。　I'm　going　to　get　proof　of　it。　You　wait　and　see　if　I　don't。　You　wait　and　see。
　She　was　beginning　to　tremble　again；　and　she　felt　tears　at　the　Corners　of　her　eyes。　She　took　a　minute　to　calm　herself；　then　Walked　out　of　the　nave。
　In　the　foyer　she　discovered　that　one　of　the　main　doors　was
　open；　and　that　the　lowest　of　its　four　hinges　had　been　removed。　A　toolbox　stood　on　the　foyer　floor；　and　a　variety　of　tools　were　spread　out　around　it。　The　workman　apparently　had　gone　to　get　some　piece　of　material　that　he　had　forgotten　on　his　first　trip。
　She　turned　and　looked　through　the　archway　at　the　twelve…foot…high　crucifix。
　The　wooden　eyes　still　seemed　to　be　staring　at　her；　a　terribly　sad　expression　in　them。
　Quickly；　worried　that　the　workman　might　return　at　any　moment；　she　bent　down；　peered　into　the　toolbox；　and　plucked　a　heavy　wrench　from　it。　She　slipped　the　wrench　into　a　pocket　of　her　windbreaker　and　left　the　church。
　At　12：35　she　strolled　past　the　municipal　building　which　was　at　the　northeast　corner　of　the　square。　The　police　chief's　office　was　toward　the　rear　of　the　first　floor；　and　it　had　two　large　windows。　The　venetian　blinds　were　raised。　As　she　passed　she　saw　Bob　Thorp　sitting　at　his　desk；　facing　the　windows；　he　was　eating　a　sandwich　and　reading　a　magazine。
　At　12：40　she　stood　in　front　of　Ultman's　Cafe　and　watched　as　a　dozen　kids　cycled　north　on　Union　Road　toward　the　macadamed　alley　where　some　of　the　Friday　races　were　held。　Jeremy　Thorp　was　one　of　the　cyclists。
　At　12：45；　at　the　southern　end　of　Union　Road；　Rya　crossed　the　street；　walked　under　the　grapevine　arbor；　and　went　around　to　the　back　of　the　Thorp　place。　The　lawn　ended　in　brush　and　trees；　no　parallel　streets　and　no　buildings　in　that　direction。　There　was　no　house　to　her　left…just　the　lawn　and　the　garage　and　the　river。　To　her　right　the　nearest　dwelling　was　set　closer　to　Union　Road　than　was　the　Thorp　house；　therefore；　she　was　not　in　anyone's　line　of　sight。
　A　polished　copper　knocker　gleamed　in　the　center　of　the　door。　To　one　side　of　that；　near　the　knob；　were　three　decorative　windows；　each　six　inches　wide　and　nine　inches　long。
　She　knocked　loudly。
　No　one　answered。
　When　she　tried　the　door　she　found　that　it　was　locked。　She　had　expected　as　much。
　She　took　the　stolen　wrench　from　her　windbreaker；　gripped　it　tightly　in　one　hand；　and　used　it　to　smash　the　middle　pane　in　the　verticle　row　of　three。　The　blow　made　considerably　more　noise　than　she　had　anticipated…although　not　sufficient　noise　to　discourage　her。　When　she　had　broken　every　shard　of　glass　out　of　the　frame；　she　pocketed　the　wrench；　reached　through　the　window；　and　felt　for　the　latch。　She　began　to　despair　of　ever　locating　the　mechanism…and　then　her　fingers　touched　cool　metal。　She　fumbled　with　the　lock　for　almost　a　minute；　finally　released　it；　withdrew　her　arm　from　the　window；　and　shoved　open　the　door。
　Standing　on　the　stoop；　staring　warily　into　the　shadow…hung　kitchen；　she　thought：　'What　if　one　of　them　es　back　home　and　finds　me　in　there？
　Go　ahead；　she　urged　herself。　You　better　go　inside　before　you　lose　your　courage。
　I'm　scared。　They　killed　Mark。
　You　ran　away　this　morning。　Are　you　going　to　run　away　again？　Are　you　going　to　run　away　from　everything　that　scares　you；　from　now　until　the　day　you　die？
　She　walked　into　the　kitchen。
　Glass　crunched　underfoot。
　When　she　reached　the　electric　range　where　the　murder　had　taken　place；　she　stood　quite　still；　poised　to　flee；　and　listened　closely　for　movement。　The　refrigerator　and　the　upright　freezer　rumbled　softly；　steadily。　The　clock…radio　hummed。　A　loose　window　rattled　as　a　gust　of　wind　rushed　along　the　side　of　the　house。　In　the　living　room　a　grandfather　clock；　running　a　few　minutes　late；　solemnly　chimed　the　third　quarter　of　the　hour；　the　note　reverberated　long　after　the　pipe　had　been　struck。　The　house　was　filled　with　noises；　but　none　of　them　had　a　human　source；　she　was　alone。
　Having　broken　the　law；　having　violated　the　sanctity　of　another　person's　home；　with　the　first　and　most　dangerous　step　already　taken；　she　couldn't　decide　what　to　do　next。　Well　。　。　Search　the　house。　Of　course。　Search　it　from　top　to　bottom。　Look　for　the　body。　But　where　to　begin？
　At　last；　when　she　realized　that　her　indecision　was　an　outgrowth　of　the　fear　which　she　was　determined　to　overe；　when　she　realized　that　she　was　desperately　afraid　of　finding　Mark's　corpse　even　though　she　had　e　here　to　do　precisely　that；　she　began　the　search　in　the　kitchen。　There　were　only　a　few　places　in　that　room　where　the　body　of　a　nine…year…old　boy　might　possibly　be　concealed。　She　looked　in　the　pantry；　in　the　refrigerator；　and　then　in　the　freezer；　but　she　uncovered　nothing　out　of　the　ordinary。
　When　she　opened　the　cabinet　beneath　the　sink；　however；　she　saw　a　bucket　full　of　bloody　rags。　Not　rags；　really。　Dish　towels。　They　had　used　the　towels　to　clean　up；　had　thrown　them　in　the　bucket…and　then　apparently　had　forgotten　to　destroy　the　evidence。　She　picked　up　one　of　the　cloths。　It　was　wet；　cold；　and　heavy　with　blood。　She　dropped　it　and　gazed　at　her　stained　hand。
　〃Oh；　Mark；〃　she　said　sadly；　a　bit　breathlessly。　A　pain　rose　from　deep　inside　of　her；　filled　her　chest。　〃Little　Mark　。　。　。　You　never　ever　hurt　anyone。　Not　anyone。　What　they　did　to　you。　What　an　awful　thing　they　did　to　you。　Why？〃
　She　stood　up。　Her　knees　felt　weak。
　Find　the　body；　she　thought。
　No；　she　told　herself。
　You　came　here　to　find　the　body。
　I've　changed　my　mind。　Find　the　body？　No。　No；　that's　just。。。　too　much。　Much　too　much。　Fin