dk.intensity-第30部分

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　The　driver's　door　is　open；　and　when　Vess　leans　inside；　he　sees　that　the　keys　are　in　the　ignition。　The　windshield　wipers　sweep　the　glass。　The　taillights；　the　interior　ceiling　light；　and　the　gauges　in　the　instrument　panel　are　all　aglow。
　He　steps　away　from　the　car　and　looks　at　the　tree　toward　which　the　tire　tracks　lead。　The　bark　is　scarred　from　the　impact　but　only　superficially。
　Intrigued；　he　surveys　the　rest　of　the　grove　on　that　side　of　the　highway。
　Quite　possibly；　the　driver　climbed　out　of　the　wrecked　car；　dazed　from　a　blow　to　the　head；　and　wandered　into　the　redwoods。　Even　now　she　might　be　traveling　farther　into　the　primeval　grove；　lost　and　confused…or　maybe；　having　collapsed　from　injuries；　she　lies　unconscious　in　a　fern　glade。
　The　closely　grown　trees　form　a　maze　of　narrow　corridors；　more　wood　than　open　space。　Even　at　high　noon　on　a　cloudless　day；　sun…shine　would　penetrate　to　the　forest　floor　only　in　a　few　thin　bright　blades；　and　stubborn　darkness　would　impose　itself　in　most　of　these　deep　reaches；　as　though　each　of　the　many　hundreds　of　thousands　of　nights　since　the　grove's　beginning　had　left　its　residue　of　shadows。　Now；　still　on　the　witching　side　of　dawn；　that　blackness　is　so　pure　that　it　seems　almost　like　a　thing　alive；　crouching　and　predatory　and　yet　weling。
　This　special　darkness　stirs　Air。　Vess　and　makes　him　yearn　for　experiences　that　he　senses　are　available　to　him　but　that　he　cannot　imagine；　experiences　that　are　mysterious　and　transforming；　yet　which　he　cannot　even　dimly　envision。　Far　into　the　redwoods；　down　corridors　of　fissured　bark；　in　some　secret　citadel　of　bestial　passion；　where　shadows　dwell　that　are　older　than　human　history；　a　mystical　adventure　awaits。
　If　the　woman；　in　fact；　is　wandering　in　the　woods；　he　could　park　the　motor　home　and　search　for　her。　Perhaps　the　knife　that　he　found　at　the　service　station　is　an　omen；　after　all；　and　hers　may　be　the　blood　that　he　is　meant　to　draw　with　that　blade。
　He　imagines　what　it　would　be　like　to　take　off　his　clothes　and　enter　the　grove　naked　with　the　knife；　relying　solely　on　his　primitive　instincts　to　stalk　her　and　bring　her　down；　the　rain　and　mist　cold　on　his　skin；　the　air　steaming　once　he　has　breathed　it；　unchilled　by　the　rain　but　imparting　his　heat　to　the　night；　tearing　ferociously　at　the　woman's　clothes　as　he　drags　her　to　the　forest　floor。　He　is　already　erect　with　the　dream　of　it；　but　he　wonders　if　he　would　attack　her　first　with　knife　or　phallus…or　perhaps　with　his　teeth。　That　decision　would　be　made　in　the　moment　of　capture；　and　much　would　depend　on　how　attractive　she　was；　but　he　is　convinced　that　whatever　might　happen　between　them　would　be　unprecedented　and　mysterious…and　inexpressibly　intense。
　Dawn　is　ing　in　an　hour　or　so；　however；　and　he　would　be　wise　to　be　on　his　way。　He　must　put　more　distance　between　himself　and　the　places　where　he　took　his　entertainment　during　the　night。
　Being　good　at　being　Edgler　Vess　requires；　among　other　qualities；　the　ability　to　repress　his　most　ardent　passions　when　indulgence　in　them　is　dangerous。　If　he　instantly　gratified　every　desire；　he　would　be　less　a　man　than　an　animal…and　either　long　dead　or　imprisoned。　Being　Edgler　Vess　means　being　free　but　not　reckless；　being　quick　but　not　impulsive。　He　must　have　a　sense　of　proportion。　And　good　timing。　Hell；　he　needs　the　timing　of　a　tap…dance　master。　And　a　nice　smile。　A　truly　nice　smile　bined　with　self…control　can　take　a　person　a　long　way。
　He　smiles　at　the　forest。
　The　motor　home　stood　on　the　pavement；　approximately　twenty　feet　from　the　battered　Honda；　shrunken　in　appearance　because　the　redwoods　dwarfed　it。
　As　the　killer　had　walked　down　the　roadway　to　the　abandoned　car　through　the　headlight　beams　from　the　motor　home；　Chyna　had　crept　upslope　through　the　dark　forest；　moving　parallel　to　him　but　in　the　opposite　direction。　She　had　circled　behind　the　tree　to　the　right　of　her；　gripping　the　revolver　in　her　right　hand；　with　her　left　hand　flat　against　the　trunk　for　balance　in　case　she　stumbled　over　a　root　or　other　obstruction。　Under　her　palm；　she　had　felt　the　deep　pattern　of　repetitive　Gothic　arches　formed　by　the　fissures　in　the　thick　bark。　With　each　uncertain　step　that　she　had　taken　around　this　great　easy　curve；　she　had　felt　that　the　tree　was　less　like　a　tree　than　like　a　building；　a　windowless　fortress　erected　against　all　the　rage　of　the　world。
　After　navigating　a　hemisphere　of　the　trunk　to　the　shoulder…wide　gap　between　this　tree　and　the　next；　she　peered　out　once　more。　The　killer　stood　near　the　open　door　of　the　Honda；　gazing　into　the　forest　on　the　far　side　of　the　highway。
　She　was　worried　that　another　motorist　would　e　along　before　she　could　carry　out　her　plan。
　She　moved　on；　circling　the　next　tree。　It　was　even　larger　than　the　previous　behemoth。　The　bark　featured　the　familiar　Gothic　patterns。
　In　spite　of　the　shrill　wind　keening　high　above　and　collected　drizzles　of　rain　spattering　down　from　the　lofty　branches；　the　grove　impressed　her　as　a　good　safe　place；　dark　but　not　in　spirit；　cold　but　not　forbidding。　She　was　still　alone　in　her　troubles…but　curiously；　for　the　first　time　all　night；　she　didn'tfeel　alone。
　At　the　next　trunk…framed　gap　in　the　forest　wall；　Chyna　looked　out　again　and　saw　the　killer　getting　into　the　Honda。　He　would　have　to　move　the　disabled　car　out　of　the　way；　because　there　wasn't　room　to　drive　around　it。
　She　glanced　at　the　motor　home。　Perhaps　because　she　knew　what　lay　within　it…a　dead　man　closeted　in　chains；　a　dead　woman　swaddled　in　a　white　shroud…the　vehicle　seemed　as　ominous　as　any　war　machine。
　She　could　just　wait　in　the　grove。　Forget　about　her　plan。　He　would　leave；　and　life　would　go　on。
　So　easy　to　wait。　Survive。　The　police　would　find　the　girl。　Ariel。　Somehow。　In　time。　Without　the　need　for　heroics。
　Chyna　leaned　against　the　tree；　suddenly　weak。　Weak　and　shaking。　Shaking　and　almost　physically　ill　with　despair；　with　fear。
　The　taillights　and　interior　lights　of　the　Honda　dimmed　with　the　grinding　of　the　starter；　as　the　killer　tried　to　get　the　engine　to　turn　over。
　Then　another　noise　came　to　Chyna。　Much　closer　than　the　car。　Behind　her。　A　rustle；　a　snap；　a　soft　snort　like　a　startled　horse　exhaling。
　Frightened；　she　turned。　In　the　backwash　of　light　from　the　motor　home　out　on　the　highway；　Chyna　saw　angels　in　the　redwood　grove。　Or　so　it　seemed　for　a　moment。　Regarding　her　were　gentle　faces；　pale　in　the　darkness；　eyes　luminous　and　inquisitive　and　kind。
　But　even　in　that　meager　moonlike　glow；　she　was　unable　to　sustain　a　hope　of　angels。　After　a　brief　initial　confusion；　she　realized　that　these　creatures　were　a　breed　of　coastal　elk　without　antlers。
　Six　stood　together　in　a　fifteen…foot…wide　space　between　this　outer　row　of　trees　and　the　deeper　growth；　so　close　that　Chyna　could　have　been　among　them　in　three　steps。　Their　noble　heads　were　lifted；　ears　pricked；　gazes　fixed　intently　on　her。
　The　elk　were　curious；　but　although　timid　by　nature；　they　seemed　oddly　unafraid　of　her。
　Once；　for　two　months；　she　and　her　mother　had　stayed　on　a　ranch　in　Mendocino　County；　where　a　group　of　well…armed　survivalists　waited　for　the　race　wars　that　they　believed　would　soon　destroy　the　nation；　and　in　that　doomsday　atmosphere；　Chyna　had　spent　as　much　time　as　possible　exploring　the　surrounding　countryside；　hills　and　vales　of　singular　beauty；　groves　of　pines；　golden　fields　where　scattered　Oaks　stood…each　alone　and　huge　and　black…limbed　against　the　sky…and　where　small　herds　of　coastal　elk　appeared　from　time　to　time；　always　keeping　at　a　distance　from　human　beings　and　their　works。　She　had　stalked　them　not　as　a　hunter　but　with　awkward　girlish　guile；　as　shy　as　the　elk　themselves　but　irresistibly　attracted　to　the　tranquillity　and　the　peace　that　they　radiated　in　a　world　otherwise　saturated　with　violence。
　In　those　two　months；　she　had　never　managed　to　get　closer　than　eighty　or　ninety　feet　to　the　elk　herds　before　they　had　reacted　to　her　nonchalant　approach；　whidding　to　farther　fields　and　ridges。
　Now　they　had　approached　ber；　vigilant　but　not　frightened；　as　if　they　were　the　same　elk　of　her　childhood；　at　long　last　willing　to　believe　in　her　peaceable　intentions。
　Coastal　elk　should　have　been　somewhat　closer　to　the　sea；　in　the　open　meadows　beyond　the　redwoods；　where　the　grass　was　lush　and　gre