dk.intensity-第22部分

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　He　stands　in　the　dim　light　that　remains；　breathing　through　his　mouth；　licking　his　lips；　rolling　his　tongue　over　his　gums；　tasting　the　lingering　acrid　scent　of　gunfire。　The　gloom　feels　good　against　his　face　and　the　backs　of　his　hands；　the　shadows　are　as　erotic　as　slender；　trembling　hands。
　Stepping　around　the　bodies；　he　goes　to　the　counter　and　takes　only　his　forty　dollars　from　the　cash　register　drawer。
　The　young　Asian's　Smith　&　Wesson　…　38　Chief's　Special　lies　on　the　counter；　in　the　cone　of　light　from　the　gooseneck　lamp；　where　Vess　carefully　placed　it　minutes　ago。　He　is　no　more　capable　of　stealing　the　gun　than　he　is　of　taking　money　that　doesn't　belong　to　him。
　The　Slim　Jim；　from　which　the　Asian　took　a　large　bite；　is　also　on'　the　counter。　Unfortunately；　the　wrapper　was　peeled　off；　therefore；　it　is　useless。
　Vess　plucks　another　sausage　from　the　display　rack；　neatly　chews　off　the　end　of　the　plastic　wrapper；　and　slides　the　tube　of　meat　out　of　the　package。　He　inserts　the　shorter　sausagre　（missing　the　Asian's　bite）　into　the　wrapper　and　twists　the　end　shut。　He　puts　this　in　his　pocket　with　the　videotape…for　Ariel。
　He　pays　for　the　sausage　that　he　threw　away；　making　change　from　the　open　register　drawer。
　On　the　counter　is　a　telephone。　He　unplugs　it　from　the　jack　and　smashes　the　keypad　with　the　butt　of　the　shotgun。
　Now　he　goes　shopping。
　Chyna　was　relieved　when　the　lights　went　off；　frightened　by　the　hammering；　and　then　alert　in　the　subsequent　silence。
　She　had　crept　out　of　the　cooler…lighted　aisle　and　returned　to　her　shelter　at　the　end　of　the　shelf　row；　where　she　had　quietly　peeled　open　the　cardboard…and…plastic　package　that　contained　the　disposable　cigarette　lighter。　While　the　overhead　fluorescents　had　been　on　and　the　flickering　flame　couldn't　betray　her；　she　had　tested　the　lighter；　and　it　had　worked。
　Now　she　clutched　this　pathetic　weapon　and　prayed　that　the　killer　would　finish　whatever　he　was　doingmaybe　looting　the　cash　registerand　just；　for　God's　sake；　get　out　of　here。　She　didn't　want　to　have　to　go　up　against　him　with　a　Bic　butane。　If　he　stumbled　onto　her；　she　might　be　able　to　take　advantage　of　his　surprise；　thrust　the　lighter　in　his　face；　and　give　him　a　nasty　little　burn…or　even　set　his　hair　on　fire…before　he　re…coiled。　More　likely；　his　reflexes　would　be　uncannily　quick；　he'd　knock　the　lighter　out　of　her　hand　before　she　could　do　any　damage。
　Even　if　she　burned　him；　she　would　gain　only　precious　seconds　to　turn　and　flee。　Hurting；　he　would　e　after　her；　and　with　his　long　legs；　he　would　be　swift。　Then　the　oute　of　the　race　would　depend　on　whether　her　terror　or　his　insane　rage　was　the　greater　motivating　force。
　She　heard　movement；　the　creak　of　the　counter　gate；　footsteps。　Half　nauseated　from　protracted　fear；　she　was　gloriously　heartened　when　it　seemed　that　he　was　leaving。
　Then　she　realized　that　the　footsteps　were　not　crossing　toward　the　door　at　the　front　of　the　store。　They　were　approaching　her。
　She　was　squatting　on　her　haunches；　back　pressed　to　the　end　panel　of　the　shelf　row；　not　immediately　sure　where　he　was。　In　the　first　of　the　three　aisles；　toward　the　front　of　the　store？　In　the　center　aisle　immediately　to　her　left？
　No。　The　third　aisle。　To　her　right。　He　was　ing　past　the　coolers。　Not　fast。　Not　as　if　he　knew　that　she　was　here　and　intended　to　whack　her。
　Rising　into　a　crouch　but　staying　low；　Chyna　eased　to　the　left；　into　the　middle　of　the　three　passages。　Here　the　glow　from　the　coolers；　one　row　removed；　bounced　off　the　acoustic…tile　ceiling　but　provided　little　illumination。　All　the　merchandise　was　shelved　with　shadows。
　She　started　forward　toward　the　cashiers'　counter；　thankful　for　her　soft…soled　shoes…and　then　she　remembered　the　packaging　from　which　she　had　extracted　the　Bic　lighter。　She'd　left　it　on　the　floor　where　she'd　been　squatting　at　the　end　of　the　shelf　row。
　He　would　see　it；　probably　even　step　on　it。　Maybe　he　would　think　that　earlier　in　the　night　some　shoplifter　had　slipped　the　lighter　out　of　the　packaging　to　conceal　it　more　easily　in　a　pocket。　Or　maybe　he　would　know。
　Intuition　might　serve　him　as　well　as　it　sometimes　served　Chyna。　If　intuition　was　the　whisper　of　God；　then　perhaps　another　and　less　benevolent　god　spoke　with　equal　subtleness　to　a　man　like　this。
　She　turned　back；　leaned　around　the　corner；　and　snatched　up　the　empty　package。　The　stiff　plastic　crinkled　in　her　shaky　grip；　but　the　sound　was　faint　and；　luckily；　masked　by　his　footsteps。
　He　was　at　least　halfway　down　the　third　aisle　by　the　time　she　started　forward　along　the　second。　But　he　was　taking　his　time　while　she　was　scuttling　as　fast　as　she　could；　and　she　reached　the　head　of　her　aisle　before　he　arrived　at　the　end　of　his。
　At　the　terminus　of　the　shelf　row；　instead　of　a　flat　panel　like　the　one　at　the　far　end；　there　was　a　freestanding　wire　carousel　rack　holding　paperback　books；　and　Chyna　nearly　collided　with　it　when　she　turned　the　corner。　She　caught　herself　just　in　time；　slipped　around　the　rack；　and　sheltered　against　it；　between　aisles　once　more。
　On　the　floor　lay　a　Polaroid　photograph：　a　close…up　of　a　strikingly　beautiful　girl　of　about　sixteen；　with　long　platinum…blond　hair。　The　teenager's　features　were　posed　but　not　relaxed；　frozen　in　a　studied　blandness；　as　though　her　true　feelings　were　so　explosive　that　she　would　self…destruct　if　she　acknowledged　them。　Her　eyes　subtly　belied　her　calm　demeanor；　they　were　slightly　wide；　watchful；　achingly　expressive；　windows　on　a　soul　in　torment；　full　of　anger　and　fear　and　desperation。
　This　must　be　the　photograph　that　he　had　shown　to　the　clerks。
　Ariet。　The　girl　in　the　cellar。
　Although　she　and　Ariel　bore　no　resemblance　to　each　other；　Chyna　felt　as　though　she　were　staring　into　a　mirror　rather　than　looking　at　a　picture。　In　Ariel；　she　recognized　a　terror　akin　to　the　fear　that　had　suffused　her　own　childhood；　a　familiar　desperation；　loneliness　as　deep　as　a　cold　polar　ocean。
　The　killer's　footsteps　brought　her　back　to　the　moment。　judging　by　the　sound　of　them；　he　was　no　longer　in　the　third　aisle。　He　had　turned　the　corner　at　the　back　of　the　store　and　was　now　in　the　middle　passage。
　He　was　ing　forward；　leisurely　covering　the　same　territory　over　which　Chyna　had　just　scuttled。　〃What　the　hell　is　he　doing？
　She　wanted　to　take　the　photograph　but　didn't　dare。　She　put　it　on　the　floor　where　she　had　found　it。
　She　went　around　the　paperback　carousel　into　the　third　aisle；　which　the　killer　had　just　left；　and　she　headed　toward　the　end　of　the　shelf　row　again。　She　stayed　close　to　the　merchandise　on　the　left；　away　from　the　glass　doors　of　the　lighted　coolers　on　the　right；　to　avoid　throwing　a　shadow　on　the　ceiling　tiles；　which　he　might　see。
　When　she　was　moving；　she　could　still　hear　his　heavy　footsteps；　but　unless　she　stopped　to　listen；　she　couldn't　tell　in　which　direction　he　was　headed。　Yet　she　didn't　dare　stop　to　take　a　bearing　on　him；　lest　he　circle　again　into　this　aisle　and　catch　her　in　the　open。　When　she　reached　the　end　of　the　row　and　turned　the　er；　she　half　expected　to　discover　that　he　had　changed　directions；　to　collide　with　him；　and　to　be　caught。
　But　he　wasn't　there。　Sitting　on　her　haunches；　Chyna　leaned　back　against　the　end　panel　of　the　shelf　row；　the　very　spot　from　which　she'd　started。　Gingerly　she　put　the　empty　Bic　lighter　package　on　the　floor　between　her　feet；　in　the　same　place　from　which　she　had　retrieved　it　less　than　a　minute　before。
　She　listened。　No　footsteps。　Other　than　the　noise　made　by　the　coolers；　only　silence。
　Thumb　poised；　she　clutched　the　lighter　in　her　fist；　prepared　to　strike　the　flame。
　Vess　stuffs　two　snack　packages　of　cheese…and…peanut…butter　crackers；　one　Planters　peanut　bar；　and　two　Hershey　bars　with　almonds　into　his　raincoat　pockets；　in　which　he's　already　carrying　the　pistol；　the　Polaroid；　and　the　videotape。
　He　totals　the　cost　in　his　head。　Because　he　doesn't　want　to　waste　time　going　behind　the　register　to　make　change；　he　rounds　the　figure　to　the　nearest　dollar　and　leaves　the　payment　on　the　counter。
　After　picking　up　the　fallen　photograph　of　Ariel；　he　hesitates；　soaking　up　the　atmosphere　of　aftermath。　There　is　a　special　quality　to　a　room　in　which　people　have　recently　perished：　like　the　hush　in　a　theater　during　that　instant　between　when　the　final　curtain　falls