dk.intensity-第63部分

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s。　Chyna　stumbled　forward；　and　the　upper　part　of　the　chair　whiplashed　into　her　neck；　as　she　had　expected；　and　she　was　knocked　off　balance。　She　dropped　to　her　knees　on　the　flagstone　hearth　and　fell　forward　with　the　chair　still　on　her　back；　hurting　in　too　many　places　to　bother　taking　an　inventory。
　Hobbled；　she　couldn't　get　to　her　feet　unless　she　was　gripping　something。　She　crawled　to　the　nearest　armchair　and　pulled　herself　up；　grunting　with　effort　and　pain。
　She　didn't　like　pain　the　way　Vess　claimed　to　like　it；　but　she　wasn't　going　to　bitch　about　it　either。　At　least　she　could　still　crawl　and　stand。　No　spinal　injury　yet。　Better　to　feel　pain　than　nothing　at　all。
　The　legs　of　the　chair　and　the　stretcher　bars　between　the　legs　seemed　to　be　intact。　But　judging　by　the　sound　of　the　impact；　she　had　weakened　them。
　Starting　eight　feet　from　the　wall　this　time；　Chyna　shuffled　backward　as　fast　as　she　could；　trying　to　ram　the　chair　legs　into　the　rock　at　the　same　angle　as　before。　She　was　rewarded　with　a　distinctive　crackthe　sound　of　splintering　wood；　though　it　felt　like　shattering　bone。
　A　dam　of　pain　burst　inside　her。　Cold　currents　dragged　her　down；　but　she　resisted　the　undertow　with　the　desperate　determination　of　a　swimmer　struggling　against　a　drowning　darkness。
　She　hadn't　been　knocked　off　her　feet　this　time。　She　shuffled　forward。　Not　pausing　to　catch　her　breath；　still　hunched　to　ensure　that　the　chair　legs　would　take　the　brunt　of　the　impact；　she　charged　backward　into　the　rock　wall。
　Chyna　woke　facedown　on　the　floor　in　front　of　the　hearth；　aware　that　she　must　have　been　unconscious　for　a　minute　or　two。
　The　carpet　was　as　cold　and　undulant　as　moving　water。　She　wasn't　floating　in　it　but　glimmering　along　the　rippled　surface；　as　though　she　were　coppery　spangles　of　sunlight　or　the　dark　reflection　of　a　cloud。
　The　worst　pain　was　in　the　back　of　her　head。　She　must　have　struck　it　against　something。
　She　felt　so　much　better　when　she　didn't　think　about　her　pain　or　her　problems；　when　she　simply　accepted　that　she　was　nothing　more　than　a　cloud　shadow　riding　on　the　mirrored　surface　of　a　rolling　river；　as　insubstantial　as　the　purling　patterns　on　moving　water；　gliding　away；　liquid　and　cool；　away；　away。
　Ariel。　In　the　cellar。　Among　the　watchful　dolls。　I　am　my　sister　keeper　Somehow　she　got　to　her　hands　and　knees。　She　heard　the　hollow　thump　of　paws　on　the　front　porch　floor。　When　she　pulled　herself　to　her　feet　against　an　armchair；　she　looked　at　the　window　that　wasn't　covered　by　drapes。　Two　Dobermans　were　standing　with　their　forepaws　on　the　windowsill；　staring　at　her；　their　eyes　radiant　yellow　with　reflections　of　the　soft　amber　light　from　the　lamp　on　the　end　table。
　At　the　base　of　the　stone　wall　was　one　of　the　rear　legs　of　the　chair。　That　length　of　turned　pine　was　all　jagged　splinters　at　the　thicker　end；　where　it　had　been　fixed　to　the　underside　of　the　seat。　Bristling　from　the　side　of　it　at　a　ninety…degree　angle　was　the　one…inch　stretcher　bar　that　had　connected　it　to　the　other　rear　leg。
　The　lower　chain　was　more　than　half　free。　On　the　porch；　one　dog　paced。　The　other　still　watched　Chyna。　She　worked　the　upper　chain　to　the　left　through　the　spindles　at　her　back；　drawing　her　right　hand　behind　her　head；　to　provide　as　much　slack　as　possible　for　her　left　hand。　Then　she　reached　down　to　her　left；　under　the　chair　arm　and　then　under　the　thick　slab　seat；　feeling　for　the　legs。　The　left　rear　leg　was　gone；　obviously　the　one　on　the　floor　by　the　wall。　The　side　stretcher　still　extended　from　the　left　front　leg；　but　with　the　rear　leg　gone；　it　no　longer　connected　to　anything；　and　the　chain　had　slipped　off　it。
　When　she　worked　the　upper　chain　to　the　right；　to　be　able　to　feel　under　the　chair　with　that　hand；　she　discovered　that　the　other　rear　leg　was　slightly　loose。　She　pulled；　pushed；　and　twisted；　trying　to　break　it　off。　But　she　couldn't　get　adequate　leverage；　and　the　leg　was　still　too　firmly　attached　to　succumb　to　her　efforts。
　No　stretcher　bar　had　ever　linked　the　two　front　legs。　Now　the　lower　chain　was　prevented　from　slipping　entirely　free　only　by　the　stretcher　bar　between　the　legs　on　the　right　side。
　Once　more　she　charged　backward　hard；　into　the　rock。　Blazing　pain　exploded　through　her　entire　body；　and　she　was　almost　blown　away。　But　when　the　right　rear　leg　didn't　snap　loose；　she　said；　〃Hell；　no；〃　refusing　to　surrender　to　hurt；　to　exhaustion；　to　anything；　anything；　and　she　hobbled　forward　and　then　launched　herself　backward　once　more。　Wood　split　with　a　dry　crackle；　broken　turnings　of　pine　clattered　off　flagstones；　and　with　a　bright　ringing；　the　lower　chain　fell　free　of　the　chair。
　Bending　forward；　dizzy；　filled　with　a　whirling　darkness；　shaking　violently；　she　leaned　with　both　hands　on　the　back　of　the　big　leather　armchair。　She　was　half　sick　with　pain　and　with　fear　of　what　damage　she　might　have　done　to　her　body；　wondering　about　fractured　vertebrae　and　internal　bleeding。
　Squeak…squeak…squeak。　One　of　the　dogs　clawed　at　the　window　glass。　Squeak…squeak。　Chyna　wasn't　free　yet。　She　was　still　chained　to　the　upper　half　of　the　chair。
　The　four　spindles　between　the　headrail　and　the　seat　were　thinner　than　the　stretcher　bars　between　the　legs；　so　they　ought　to　break　more　easily　than　those　bars　had　broken。　She　hadn't　been　able　to　keep　the　chair　legs　from　mercilessly　hammering　the　backs　of　her　knees　and　her　thighs；　but　for　this　part　of　the　operation；　the　tie…on　foam　cushion　between　her　and　the　spindles　should　provide　her　with　some　protection。
　A　pair　of　floor…to…ceiling　rock　pilasters　flanked　the　firebox　and　supported　the　six…inch　slab　of　laminated　maple　that　served　as　the　mantel。　They　were　curved；　and　it　seemed　to　Chyna　that　the　radius　would　help　focus　the　impact　on　one　or　two　spindles　at　a　time　instead　of　spreading；　it　across　the　four。
　She　moved　the　heavy　andiron　out　of　the　way。　She　pushed　aside　a　brass　rack　of　fireplace　tools。　The　lifting　and　shoving　made　her　head　spin　and　her　stomach　churn；　and　a　hundred　agonies　assailed　her。
　She　no　longer　dared　to　think　about　what　she　was　doing。　She　just　did　it；　past　courage　now；　past　consideration　and　calculation；　driven　by　a　blind　animal　determination　to　be　free。
　This　time；　she　didn't　hunch　over；　as　far　as　she　was　able；　she　stood　straight　and　rammed　backward　into　the　pilaster。　The　cushion　did　provide　protection；　but　not　enough。　She　was　suffering　so　many　contusions；　wrenched　muscles；　and　battered　bones　that　the　jarring　blow　would　have　been　devastating　even　if　it　had　been　twice　as　well　padded；　like　the　tap　of　a　dentist's　rubber　hammer　on　a　rotten　tooth　in　need　of　a　root…canal　job。　Right　now　every　joint　in　her　body　seemed　to　be　a　rotten　tooth。　She　didn't　pause；　because　she　was　afraid　that　all　of　those　pains；　pulsing　at　once；　would　soon　shake　her　to　the　floor；　shake　her　apart；　so　she　would　never　be　able　to　pull　herself　together　and　get　up。　She　was　rapidly　running　out　of　resources；　and　with　a　black　tide　lapping　at　the　edges　of　her　vision；　she　was　also　running　out　of　time。　Howling　with　misery　in　expectation　of　the　pain；　she　rammed　backward　and　screamed　when　the　blow　rattled　her　bones　like　dice　in　a　cup。　Agony。　But　immediately　she　threw　herself　into　the　pilaster　again；　chains　jangling；　and　again；　wood　splintering；　and　again；　screaming；　Jesus；　unable　to　stop　screaming　and　frightened　by　her　own　cries；　while　the　vigilant　dogs　made　that　needful　keening　at　the　window；　and　yet　once　more　backward；　hammering　herself　into　the　rock。
　Then　she　was　again　facedown　on　the　floor　without　remembering　how　she　had　gotten　there；　racked　by　dry　heaves　because　there　was　nothing　in　her　stomach　to　throw　up；　gagging　on　a　vile　taste　in　the　back　of　her　mouth；　hands　clenched　against　the　very　thought　of　defeat；　feeling　small　and　weak　and　pitiful；　shuddering；　shuddering。
　The　shudders　gradually　diminished；　however；　and　the　carpet　began　to　undulate；　pleasantly　cool　beneath　her；　and　she　was　a　cloud　shadow　on　fast…moving　waters。　The　sun…haloed　shadow　and　the　fathomless　water　moved　in　the　same　direction；　always　in　the　same　direction；　onward　and　forever；　swift　and　silken；　toward　the　edge　of　the　world　and　then　off　into　a　void；　flowing　still；　so　dark。
　Expecting　dogs；　Chyna　woke　from　red　dreams　of　refrigerator…chilled　guns　and　exploding　heads；　but　there　were　no