dk.intensity-第13部分

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the　knife　any　faster；　climbed　the　back　stairs　any　quicker。
　〃I'm　so　sorry。〃
　This　beautiful　girl；　this　dear　heart；　would　never　find　the　husband　about　whom　she　had　fantasized；　never　have　the　children　who　would　have　been　a　betterment　to　the　world　by　the　simple　virtue　of　having　been　her　children。　Twenty…three　years　of　getting　ready　to　make　a　contribution；　to　make　a　difference　in　the　lives　of　others；　so　full　of　ideals　and　hope：　But　now　her　gift　would　never　be　given；　and　the　world　would　be　immeasurably　poorer　for　it。　
　〃I　love　you；　Laura。　We　all　love　you。〃
　Any　words；　any　sentiment；　any　expression　of　grief　was　horribly　inadequate；　worse　than　inadequate…meaningless。　Laura　was　gone；　all　that　warmth　and　kindness　gone　forever；　and　even　the　most　heartfelt　words　were　only　words。
　Chyna's　stomach　cramped　with　a　sense　of　loss；　clenched　tight　and　pulled　her　relentlessly　into　a　black　hole　within　herself。
　At　the　same　time　she　felt　her　breast　swelling　with　a　sob　that；　if　voiced；　would　be　explosive。　A　single　tear　would　loose　a　flood。　Even　one　soft　sob　would　bring　on　an　uncontrollable　wail。
　She　couldn't　risk　grief。　Not　while　she　was　in　the　motor　home。　The　killer　would　be　returning　at　any　minute；　and　she　couldn't　moum　Laura　until　she　was　safely　out　of　there　and　until　he　was　gone。　She　no　longer　had　any　reason　to　stay；　for　Laura　was　indisputably　dead　and　irretrievable。
　Nearby　a　door　slammed　hard；　shaking　the　thin　metal　walls　around　Chyna。
　The　killer　was　back。　Something　rattled。　Rattled。　With　the　butcher　knife　in　hand；　Chyna　swiftly　backed　away　from　Laura　to　the　wall　next　to　the　open　door。　Unexpressed　grief　was　a　highoctane　fuel　for　rage；　and　in　an　instant　she　was　burning　with　fury；　afire　with　the　need　to　hurt　him；　slash　him；　spill　his　guts；　hear　him　scream；　and　bring　the　haunting　awareness　of　mortality　to　his　eyes　as　he　had　brought　it　to　Laura's。
　He'll　e　into　the　room。　I'll　cut　him。　He'll　e　and　I'll　cut　him。　It　was　a　prayer；　not　a　plan。　He'll　e。　I'll　cut　him。　He'll　e。　I'll　cut　him。
　The　shadowy　room　darkened。　He　was　at　the　door；　blocking　the　meager　light　from　the　hall。
　Silently；　the　knife　in　her　hand　jittered　furiously　up　and　down　like　the　needle　on　a　sewing　machine；　stitching　the　pattern　of　her　fear　in　the　air。
　He　was　at　the　threshold。　Right　there。　Right　there。　He　would　e　in　for　one　more　look　at　the　pretty　blond　dead　girl；　for　one　more　feel　of　her　cool　skin；　and　Chyna　would　get　him　when　he　crossed　the　threshold；　cut　him。
　Instead；　he　closed　the　door　and　went　away。　Aghast；　she　listened　to　his　retreating　footsteps；　the　creaking　as　the　carpeted　steel　floor　torqued　under　his　boots；　and　she　wondered　what　to　do　now。
　The　driver's　door　slarnmed。　The　engine　started。　The　brakes　released　with　a　brief　faint　shriek。
　They　were　on　the　move。
　Dead　girls　lie　as　troubled　in　the　dark　as　in　the　light。　As　the　motor　home　sped　along　the　runneled　driveway；　Laura's　shackles　clinked　ceaselessly；　only　half　muffled　by　the　sheet　in　which　she　was　loosely　wrapped。
　Blinded；　still　pressed　to　the　fiberboard　wall　beside　the　bedroom　door；　Chyna　Shepherd　could　almost　believe　that　even　in　death　Laura　struggled　against　the　injustice　of　her　murder。　Clink…clink。
　Periodic　sprays　of　gravel　spurted　from　beneath　the　tires　and　rattled　against　the　undercarriage。　Shortly　the　motor　home　would　reach　the　county　road；　smooth　blacktop。
　If　Chyna　tried　to　bail　out　now；　the　killer　was　sure　to　hear　the　back　door　bang　open　when　the　wind　tore　it　out　of　her　grasp；　or　spot　it　in　his　sideview　mirror。　In　these　winter…dormant　grape　fields；　where　the　nearest　houses　were　inhabited　only　by　the　dead；　he　would　certainly　risk　stopping　and　giving　chase；　and　she　would　not　get　far　before　he　brought　her　down。
　Better　to　wait。　Give　him　a　few　miles　on　the　county　road；　even　until　they　reached　a　more　major　route；　until　they　were　likely　to　be　passing　through　a　town　or　traveling　in　at　least　sparse　traffic。　He　wouldn't　be　as　quick　to　e　after　her　if　people　were　nearby　to　respond　to　her　cries　for　help。
　She　felt　along　the　wall　for　a　switch。　The　door　was　tightly　shut；　no　light　would　spill　into　the　hallway。　She　found　the　toggle；　flicked　it　up；　but　nothing　happened。　The　overhead　bulb　must　have　burned　out。
　She　remembered　seeing　a　pharmacy…style　reading　lamp　bolted　to　the　side　of　the　built…in　nightstand。　By　the　time　she　felt　her　way　across　the　small　room；　the　motor　home　began　to　slow。
　She　hesitated　with　the　lamp　switch　between　thumb　and　forefinger；　heart　suddenly　racing　again　because　she　was　afraid　that　he　was　going　to　brake　to　a　full　stop；　get　out　from　behind　the　wheel；　and　e　back　to　the　little　bedroom。　Now　that　a　confrontation　could　no　longer　save　Laura；　now　that　Chyna's　molten　rage　had　cooled　to　anger；　she　hoped　only　to　avoid　him；　escape；　and　give　the　authorities　the　information　that　they　would　need　to　find　him。
　The　vehicle　didn't　e　to　a　full　stop；　after　all；　but　hung　a　wide　left　turn　onto　a　paved　surface　and　picked　up　speed　once　more。　The　county　road。
　As　far　as　Chyna　could　recall；　the　next　intersection　would　be　State　Highway　29；　which　she　and　Laura　had　driven　the　previous　afternoon。　Between　here　and　there；　the　only　turnoffs　were　to　other　vineyards；　small　farms；　and　houses。　He　wasn't　likely　to　pay　a　visit　to　any　of　those　places　or　slaughter　any　more　innocently　sleeping　families。　The　night　was　waning。
　She　clicked　the　lamp　switch；　and　a　circle　of　muddy　light　fell　on　the　bed。
　She　tried　not　to　look　at　the　body；　even　though　it　was　mostly　concealed　by　the　enwrapping　linens。　If　she　thought　too　much　about　Laura　right　now；　she'd　be　sucked　into　a　slough　of　black　despondency。　She　needed　to　remain　energized　and　clearheaded　if　she　hoped　to　survive。
　Although　she　wasn't　likely　to　find　any　weapon　better　than　the　butcher　knife；　she　had　nothing　to　lose　by　searching　for　one。　Since　the　killer　was　armed　with　a　silencer…equipped　pistol；　he　might　keep　other　guns　in　the　motor　home。
　The　single　nightstand　had　two　drawers。　The　upper　contained　a　package　of　gauze　pads；　a　few　green　and　yellow　sponges　of　the　size　used　to　wash　dishes；　a　small　plastic　squeeze　bottle　of　some　clear　fluid；　a　roll　of　cloth　tape；　a　b；　a　hairbrush　with　a　tortoiseshell　handle；　a　halfempty　tube　of　K…Y　jelly；　a　full　bottle　of　skin　lotion　with　aloe　vera；　a　pair　of　needle…nose　pliers　with　yellow　rubber…clad　handles；　and　a　pair　of　scissors。
　She　could　imagine　the　uses　to　which　he　had　put　some　of　those　items；　and　she　didn't　want　to　think　about　the　others。　Sometimes；　no　doubt；　the　women　he　brought　into　this　room　were　alive　when　he　put　them　on　the　bed。
　She　considered　the　scissors。　But　the　butcher　knife　would　be　more　effective　if　she　needed　to　use　it。
　In　the　lower；　deeper　drawer　was　a　hard…plastic　container　rather　like　a　fishing…tackle　box。　When　she　opened　it；　she　found　a　plete　sewing　kit；　with　numerous　spools　of　thread　in　a　variety　of　colors；　a　pincushion；　packets　of　needles；　a　needle　threader；　an　extensive　selection　of　buttons；　and　other　paraphernalia。　None　of　that　was　helpful　to　her；　and　she　put　it　away。
　As　she　got　up　from　her　knees；　she　noticed　that　the　window　over　the　bed　had　been　covered　with　a　sheet　of　plywood　that　had　been　bolted　to　the　wall。　A　couple　of　folded　swatches　of　blue　fabric　were　trapped　between　the　plywood　and　the　window　frame：　the　edge　of　an　underlying　drapery　panel。
　From　outside；　the　window　would　appear　to　be　merely　curtained。　Anyone　inside；　even　if　clever　and　fortunate　enough　to　struggle　free　of　her　bonds；　would　never　be　able　to　open　the　window　and　signal　to　passing　motorists　for　help。
　As　there　was　no　other　furniture　in　the　cramped　bedroom；　the　closet　was　the　only　remaining　place　where　Chyna　could　hope　to　find　a　gun　or　anything　that　might　be　used　as　a　weapon。　She　circled　the　bed　to　the　accordion…style　vinyl　door；　which　hung　from　an　overhead　track。
　When　she　pulled　the　folding　door　aside；　it　pressed　into　pleats　that　stacked　to　the　left；　and　in　the　closet　was　a　dead　man。
　Shock　threw　Chyna　back　against　the　bed。　The　mattress　caught　her　behind　the　knees。　She　almost　fell　backward　atop　Laura；　kept　her　balance；　but　dropped　the　knife。
　The　rear　of　the　closet　appeared　to　have　been　retrofitted　with　welded　steel　plates　fixed　to　the　vehicle　frame　for　added　strength。　Two　ringbolts；　widely　sepa