dk.intensity-第32部分

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　He　is　baffled。　Deeply。　Mr。　Vess's　simple　life　is　not　often　touched　by　mystery。　There　are　things　that　can　be　killed　and　things　that　can't。　Some　things　are　harder　to　kill　than　others；　and　some　are　more　fun　to　kill　than　others。　Some　scream；　some　weep；　some　do　both；　some　only　tremble　silently　and　wait　for　the　end　as　if　having　spent　their　whole　lives　in　anticipation　of　this　awful　pain。　Thus　the　days　go　by　pleasantly　straightforward；　a　river　of　raw　sensation　upon　which　enigma　seldom　sets　sail。
　But　this　woman　in　a　red　sweater　is　an　enigma；　all　right；　as　mystenous　and　intriguing　as　anyone　Mr。　Vess　has　ever　known。　What　experiences　he　will　have　with　her　are　difficult　to　imagine；　and　he　is　excited　by　the　prospect　of　such　novelty。
　He　gets　out　of　the　Honda　and　closes　the　door。　For　a　moment　he　stands　staring　at　the　forest　in　the　cold　rain；　hoping　to　appear　unsuspecting　if　the　woman　should　be　watching　him　from　inside　the　motor　home。　Maybe　he　is　wondering　what　happened　to　the　driver　of　the　Honda。　Maybe　he　is　a　good　citizen；　concerned　about　her　and　considering　a　search　of　the　woods。
　Multiple　bolts　of　lightning　chase　across　the　sky；　as　white　and　jagged　as　running　skeletons。　The　subsequent　blasts　of　thunder　are　so　powerful　that　they　rattle　through　Mr。　Vess's　bones；　a　vibration　that　he　finds　most　agreeable。
　Unfazed　by　the　storm；　several　elk　suddenly　appear　from　out　of　the　forest；　drifting　between　the　trees　and　into　the　bordering　sward　of　ferns。　They　move　with　stately　grace；　in　a　silence　that　is　ethereal　behind　the　fading　echo　of　thunder；　eyes　shining　in　the　backwash　of　the　headlight　beams。　They　seem　almost　to　be　apparitions　rather　than　real　animals。
　Two；　five；　seven；　and　yet　more　of　them　appear。　Some　stop　as　though　posing；　and　others　move　farther　but　then　stop　as　well；　until　now　a　dozen　or　more　are　revealed　and　standing　still；　and　every　one　of　them　is　staring　at　Mr。　Vess。
　Their　beauty　is　unearthly；　and　killing　them　would　be　enormously　satisfying。　If　he　had　one　of　his　guns　at　hand；　he　would　shoot　as　many　of　them　as　he　could　manage　before　they　bolted　beyond　range。
　As　a　young　boy；　he　began　his　work　with　animals。　Actually；　he'd　begun　with　insects；　but　soon　he　had　moved　on　to　turtles　and　lizards；　and　then　to　cats　and　larger　species。　As　a　teenager；　as　soon　as　he　had　gotten　a　driver's　license；　he　had　roamed　back　roads　some　nights　and　in　the　early　mornings　before　school；　shooting　deer　if　he　spotted　any；　stray　dogs；　cows　in　fields；　and　horses　in　corrals　if　he　was　certain　that　he　could　get　away　with　it。
　He　is　flushed　with　nostalgia　at　the　thought　of　killing　these　elk。　The　sight　of　their　blood　would　intensify　the　redness　of　his　own　and　make　his　arteries　sing。
　Though　usually　reticent　and　easily　spooked；　the　elk　stare　boldly　at　him。　They　do　not　seem　to　be　watching　with　alarm；　are　not　in　the　least　skittish　or　poised　to　flee。　Indeed；　their　directness　strikes　him　as　strange；　uncharacteristically；　he　feels　uneasy。
　Anyway；　the　woman　in　the　red　sweater　awaits　him；　and　she　is　more　interesting　than　any　number　of　elk。　He　is　a　grown　man　now；　no　longer　a　boy；　and　his　quest　for　intense　experiences　cannot　be　satisfactorily　conducted　along　the　byways　of　the　past。　Edgler　Vess　has　long　ago　put　aside　childish　things。
　He　returns　to　the　motor　home。　At　the　door；　he　sees　that　the　woman　is　in　neither　the　pilot's　nor　the　copilot's　position。
　Swinging　in　behind　the　steering　wheel；　he　glances　back　but　can　see　no　sign　of　her　in　the　lounge　or　the　dining　area。　The　short　and　shadowy　hall　at　the　end　appears　deserted　as　well。
　Facing　forward　but　keeping　his　eyes　on　the　rearview　mirror；　he　opens　the　tambour…top　console　between　the　seats。　His　pistol　is　still　there；　where　he　left　it；　sans　silencer。
　Pistol　in　hand；　he　swivels　in　his　chair；　gets　up；　and　moves　back　through　the　motor　home　to　the　kitchen　and　dining　area。　The　butcher　knife；　found　on　the　service…station　blacktop；　lies　on　the　counter　as　before。　He　opens　the　cabinet　to　the　left　of　the　oven　and　discovers　that　the　12　…　gauge　Mossberg　is　securely　in　its　spring　clamps；　to　which　he　returned　it　after　killing　the　two　clerks。
　He　doesn't　know　if　she　is　armed　with　a　weapon　of　her　own。　From　the　distance　at　which　he'd　seen　her；　he　hadn't　been　able　to　discern　whether　she　was　empty…handed　or；　equally　important；　whether　she　was　attractive　enough　to　be　a　fun　kill。
　Farther　back；　then；　through　his　narrow　domain；　with　special　caution　at　the　end　of　the　dining　nook；　behind　which　lies　the　step　well。　She's　not　crouched　here　either。
　Into　the　hall。　The　sound　of　the　rain。　The　idling　engine。　He　opens　the　bathroom　door；　quickly　and　noisily；　aware　that　stealth　isn't　possible　in　this　reverberant　tin　can　on　wheels。　The　cramped　bathroom　is　as　it　should　be；　no　stowaway　on　the　pot　or　in　the　shower　stall。
　Next　the　shallow　wardrobe　with　its　sliding　door。　But　she　isn't　in　there　either。
　The　only　place　remaining　to　be　searched　is　the　bedroom。　Vess　stands　before　this　last　closed　door；　positively　enchanted　by　the　thought　of　the　woman　huddled　in　there；　unaware　of　those　with　whom　she　shares　her　hiding　place。
　rht　is　visible　alon　No　thread　of　lig　g　the　threshold　or　the　jamb；　so　she　no　doubt　entered　in　darkness。　Evidently　she　has　not　yet　sat　upon　the　bed　and　found　the　sleeping　beauty。
　Perhaps　she　has　edged　warily　around　the　small　room　and；　by　blind　exploration；　has　discovered　the　folding　door　to　the　closet。　Perhaps　if　Vess　opens　this　bedroom　door；　she　will　simultaneously　pull　aside　those　vinyl　panels　and　attempt　to　slip　swiftly　and　quietly　into　the　closet；　only　to　feel　a　strange　cold　form　hanging　there　instead　of　sport　shirts。
　Mr。　Vess　is　amused。　The　temptation　to　throw　open　the　door　is　almost　irresistible；　to　see　her　carom　off　the　body　in　the　closet；　then　to　the　bed；　then　away　from　the　dead　girl；　screaming　first　at　the　sewn…shut　face　of　the　boy　and　then　at　the　manacled　girl　and　then　at　Vess　himself；　in　a　ic　pinball　spin　of　terror。　Following　that　spectacle；　however；　they　will　have　to　get　down　to　issues　at　once。　He　will　quickly　learn　who　she　is　and　what　she　thinks　she　is　doing　here。
　Mr。　Vess　realizes　that　he　doesn't　want　this　rare　experience　with　mystery　to　end。　He　finds　it　more　pleasing　to　prolong　the　suspense　and　chew　on　the　puzzle　for　a　while。
　He　was　beginning　to　feel　weary　from　his　recent　activities。　Now　he　is　energized　by　these　unexpected　developments。
　Certain　risks　are　involved；　of　course；　in　playing　it　this　way。　But　it　is　impossible　to　live　with　intensity　and　avoid　risk。　Risk　is　at　the　heart　of　an　intense　existence。
　He　backs　quietly　away　from　the　bedroom　door。　Noisily；　he　steps　into　the　bathroom；　takes　a　piss；　and　flushes　the　toilet；　so　the　woman　will　think　that　he　came　to　the　back　of　the　motor　home　not　in　search　of　her　but　to　answer　the　call　of　nature。　If　she　continues　to　believe　that　her　presence　is　unknown；　she　will　proceed　on　whatever　course　of　action　brought　her　here　in　the　first　place；　and　it　will　be　interesting　to　see　what　she　does。
　He　goes　forward　again；　pausing　in　the　kitchen　to　pump　a　cup　of　hot　coffee　from　the　two…quart　thermos　on　the　counter　by　the　cooktop。　He　also　switches　on　a　couple　of　lights　so　he　will　be　able　to　see　the　interior　clearly　in　the　rearview　mirror。
　Behind　the　steering　wheel　once　more；　he　sips　the　coffee。　It　is　hot；　black；　and　bitter；　just　the　way　he　likes　it。　He　secures　the　cup　in　a　holder　bracketed　to　the　dashboard。
　He　tucks　the　pistol　in　the　open　console　box　between　the　seats；　with　the　safeties　off　and　the　butt　up。　He　can　put　his　hand　on　it　in　a　second；　turn　in　his　seat；　shoot　the　woman　before　she　can　get　near　him；　and　still　maintain　control　of　the　motor　home。
　But　he　doesn't　think　that　she　will　try　to　harm　him；　at　least　not　soon。　If　harming　him　was　her　primary　intention；　she　would　have　gone　after　him　already。
　Strange。　〃Why？　What　now？〃　he　says　aloud；　enjoying　the　drama　of　his　peculiar　situation。　〃What　now？　What　next？　Surprise；　surprise。〃
　He　drinks　more　coffee。　The　aroma　reminds　him　of　the　crisp　texture　of　burned　toast。
　Outside；　the　elk　are　gone。　A　night　of　mysteries。　The　mounting　wind　lashes　the　long　fronds　of　the　fems。　Like　evidence　of　violence；　bright　wet　rhododendron　blossoms　spray　through　the　night。
　The　forest　stands　untouched。　The　power　of　time　is