dk.intensity-第26部分

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he　reptile　consciousness　within；　its　needs　and　hungers；　and　they　attempt　to　restrict　its　sensation　seeking　by　using　lies　such　as　love；　guilt；　hate；　courage；　loyalty；　and　honor。
　This　is　the　philosophy　of　Mr。　Edgler　Vess。　He　embraces　his　reptilian　nature。　The　glory　of　him　is　to　be　found　in　his　unmatched　accretion　of　sensations。　This　is　a　finictional　philosophy；　requiring　its　adherent　to　endorse　neither　the　black…and…white　values　that　so　hamper　religious　persons　nor　the　embarrassing　contradictions　of　the　situational　ethics　that　characterize　both　the　modern　atheist　and　those　whose　religion　is　politics。
　Driving　north　on　Highway　101；　finishing　the　second　of　his　two　Hershey　bars；　Vess　considers；　not　for　the　first　time；　that　there　is　a　similarity　between　the　texture　of　melting　chocolate　and　that　of　thickening　blood。
　He　recalls　the　restful　silence　of　the　blood　pooled　around　Mrs。　Templeton　in　the　shower　stall　before　he　disturbed　it　by　turning　on　the　cold　water。
　The　memory　of　the　hollow　drumming　in　that　shower　makes　him　aware　of　the　coldness　of　all　the　rain　as　yet　unleashed　by　the　pending　storm　toward　which　he　is　driving。
　He　sees　a　quick　blush　of　lightning　along　the　face　of　the　clouds；　and　he　knows　that　it　tastes　like　ozone。
　Above　the　monotonous　rumble　of　the　motor…home　engine；　he　hears　a　peal　of　thunder；　and　that　sound　is　also　a　vivid　image　in　his　mind：　the　young　Asian's　eyes　opening　wide；　wide；　wide　with　the　first　crash　of　the　shotgun。
　Even　in　the　airless　void　between　galaxies：　the　light　and　the　darkness；　color；　texture；　motion；　shape；　and　pain。
　The　highway　rose；　and　the　forests　crowded　close。　On　a　wide　curve；　the　headlights　of　the　Honda　swept　across　the　flanking　hills；　revealing　that　some　of　the　looming　trees　were　immense　spruces　and　pines。　Soon；　perhaps；　redwoods。
　Chyna　kept　her　foot　down　hard　on　the　accelerator。　To　the　best　of　her　recollection；　this　was　the　first　time　she　had　ever　broken　a　speed　limit。　She'd　never　been　fined　for　a　traffic　violation；　but　she　would　be　grateful　now　if　a　cop　pulled　her　over。
　Her　unblemished　driving　record　resulted　ftom　her　preference　for　moderation　in　all　things；　including　the　pace　at　which　she　ordinarily　drove。　judging　by　the　catastrophes　that　she　had　seen　befall　others；　survival　was　closely　related　to　moderation；　and　her　whole　life　was　about　survival；　as　any　nun's　life　might　be　defined　by　the　word　faith　or　any　politician's　by　power　She　seldom　drank　more　than　one　glass　of　wine；　never　used　drugs；　engaged　in　no　dangerous　sports；　ate　a　diet　low　in　fat　and　salt　and　sugar；　stayed　out　of　neighborhoods　reputed　to　be　dangerous；　never　expressed　strong　opinions；　and　in　general　was　safely　inconspicuous…all　in　the　interest　of　getting　by；　hanging　on；　surviving。
　Against　the　odds；　she　had　already　survived　the　events　of　the　past　few　hours。　The　killer　didn't　even　know　that　she　existed。　She　had　made　it。　She　was　free。　It　was　over。　The　smart　thing；　the　wise　thing；　the　sane　thing…the　Chyna　thing…to　do　was　to　let　him　go；　just　let　him　get　away；　pull　off　to　the　side　of　the　road；　stop；　surrender　to　the　shakes　that　she　was　strenuously　repressing；　and　thank　God　that　she　was　untouched　and　alive。
　As　she　drove；　Chyna　argued　against　her　previous　conviction；　insisting　that　the　teenage　girl　in　the　cellar；　Ariel　of　the　angelic　face；　wasn't　real。　The　photo　might　be　of　a　girl　whom　he　had　already　killed。　The　story　of　her　incarceration　might　be　only　a　sick　fantasy；　a　psychotic's　version　of　a　Brothers　Grimm　tale；　Rapunzel　underground；　merely　a　mind　game　that　he'd　been　playing　with　the　two　clerks。　〃Liar；〃　she　called　herself。
　The　girl　in　the　photo　was　alive　somewhere；　imprisoned。　Ariel　was　no　fantasy。　Indeed；　she　was　Chyna；　they　were　one　and　the　same；　because　all　lost　girls　are　the　same　girl；　united　by　their　suffering。
　She　kept　her　foot　pressed　firmly　on　the　accelerator；　and　the　Honda　crested　a　hill；　and　the　aged　motor　home　was　on　the　long　gradual　downslope　ahead；　five　hundred　feet　away。　Her　breath　caught　in　her　throat；　and　then　she　exhaled　with　a　whispered；　〃Ob；　Yesus。〃
　She　was　approaching　him　at　too　great　a　speed。　She　eased　off　the　accelerator。
　By　the　time　she　was　two　hundred　feet　from　the　motor　home；　she　had　matched　speeds　with　it。　She　fell　back　farther；　hoping　that　he　hadn't　noticed　her　initial　haste。
　He　was　driving　between　fifty　and　fifty…five　miles　per　hour；　a　prudent　pace　on　that　highway；　especially　as　they　were　now　traveling　on　a　stretch　without　a　median　strip　and　with　somewhat　narrower　lanes　than　previously。　He　wouldn't　necessarily　expect　her　to　pass　him；　and　he　shouldn't　be　suspicious　when　she　remained　behind；　after　all；　at　this　sleepy　hour；　not　every　driver　in　California　was　in　a　blistering　hurry　or　suicidally　reckless。
　At　this　more　reasonable　speed；　she　didn't　have　to　concentrate　as　intently　as　before　on　the　road　ahead；　and　she　quickly　searched　the　immediate　interior　of　the　car　in　hopes　of　finding　a　cellular　telephone。　She　was　pessimistic　about　the　chances　that　a　night　clerk　at　a　service　station　would　have　a　portable　phone；　but　on　the　other　hand；　half　the　world　seemed　to　have　them　now；　not　just　salesmen　and　Realtors　and　lawyers。　She　checked　the　console　box。　Then　the　glove　box。　Under　the　driver's　seat。　Unfortunately；　her　pessimism　proved　well　founded。
　Southbound　traffic　passed　in　the　oning　lanes：　a　big　rig　with　a　lead…footed　driver；　a　Mercedes　close　in　its　wake…then；　following　a　long　gap；　a　Ford。　Chyna　paid　special　attention　to　the　cars；　hoping　that　one　of　them　would　be　a　police　cruiser。
　If　she　spotted　a　cop；　she　intended　to　get　his　attention　with　the　car　horn　and　by　making　a　weaving　spectacle　of　herself　in　his　rearview　mirror。　If　she　was　too　late　with　the　horn　and　if　the　cop　didn't　look　back　and　catch　a　glimpse　of　her　reckless　slalom；　she　would　turn　and　pursue　him；　reluctantly　letting　the　motor　home　out　of　her　sight。
　She　wasn't　hopeful　about　finding　a　cop　anytime　soon。　All　the　luck　seemed　to　be　with　the　killer。　He　conducted　himself　with　a　confidence　that　unnerved　Chyna。　Perhaps　that　confidence　was　the　only　guarantor　of　his　good　luck…although　even　for　one　as　rooted　in　reality　as　Chyna；　it　was　easy　to　let　superstition　overwhelm　her；　attributing　to　him　powers　dark　and　supernatural。
　No。　He　was　only　a　man。
　And　now　she　had　a　revolver。　She　was　no　longer　helpless。　The　worst　was　past。
　Lightning　traveled　the　northern　sky　again；　but　this　time　it　was　not　pale　or　diffused　through　cloud　layers。　The　bolts　were　as　bright　as；　though　the　naked　sun　were　breaking　through　from　the　other　side　of　the　night。
　In　those　stroboscopic　flashes；　the　motor　home　seemed　to　vibrate；　as　if　divine　wrath　would　shatter　it　and　its　driver。
　In　this　world；　however；　retribution　was　left　to　mortal　men　and　women。　God　was　content　to　wait　for　the　next　life　to　mete　out　punishment；　in　Chyna's　view；　this　was　His　only　cruel　aspect；　but　in　this　was　cruelty　enough。
　Explosions　of　thunder　followed　the　lightning。　Although　something　above　should　have　broken；　nothing　did；　and　the　rain　remained　bottled　higher　in　the　night。
　She　hoped　to　spot　a　sign　for　a　highway　patrol　depot；　where　she　could　seek　help；　but　none　appeared。　The　nearest　town　of　appreciable　size；　where　she　might　be　fortunate　enough　to　find　a　police　station　or　a　cruising　squad　car；　was　Eureka；　which　was　hardly　a　metropolis。　And　even　Eureka　was　at　least　an　hour　away。
　As　a　child；　flat　under　beds　and　curled　in　the　backs　of　closets；　perched　on　rooftops　and　balanced　in　the　upper　reaches　of　trees；　in　winter　barns　and　on　warm　night　beaches；　she　had　hidden　and　waited　out　the　passions　and　the　rages　of　adults；　always　with　dread　but　also　with　patience　and　with　a　Zen…like　disconnection　from　the　realities　of　time。　Now　impatience　plagued　her　as　never　before。　She　wanted　to　see　this　man　caught；　manacled；　harried　to　justice；　hurt。　Desperately　she　wanted　this　and　without　a　single　additional　minute　of　delay；　hefore　he　could　kill　again。　Her　own　survival　wasn't　currently　at　stake　but　that　of　a　teenage　girl　whom　she　had　never　met；　and　she　was　surprised…and　made　uneasy　to　discover　that　she　could　care　so　ferociously　about　a　stranger。
　Perhaps　she　had　always　possessed　that　capacity　and　simply　had　never　been　in　a　situation　that　required　recognition　of　it。　But　no。　That　was　sel