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imself in the house。 It would take a SWAT team to pry him out of the place…and before they got to him； he might kill Ariel and mit suicide。
In fact； that was almost certainly how it would play out as soon as any cops showed up。 He would know that his freedom was at an end； that his games were over； that he would have no more fin； and all he would see available to him was one last； apocalyptic celebration of madness。
Chyna couldn't bear to lose this imperiled girl so soon after losing Laura； failing Laura。 Intolerable。 She couldn't keep failing people as； all her life； others had iailed her。 Meaning wasn't to be found in psychology classes and textbooks but in caring； in hard sacrifice； in faith； in action。 She didn't want to take these risks。 She wanted to live…but for someone other than herself At least now she had a gun。 And the advantage of surprise。 Earlier； at the Templeton house and in the motor home and then at the service station； she'd also had the advantage of surprise； but she hadn't been in possession of the revolver。
She realized that she was arguing herself into taking the most dangerous course of action open to her； making excuses for going into the house。 Going into the house was obviously crazy； Jesus； a totally crazy move； Jesus； but she was striving hard to rationalize it； because she had already made up her mind that this was what she was going to do。
ing out of the motor home； the woman has a gun in her right hand。 It looks as if it might be a … 3 8 … perhaps a Chief's Special。
This is a popular weapon with some cops。 But this woman doesn't move like a cop； doesn't handle the weapon as a cop would…although clearly she is somewhat fortable with a gun。
No； she's definitely not an officer of the law。 Something else。 Something weird。
Mr。 Vess has never been so intrigued by anyone as he is by this spunky little lady； this mysterious adventurer。 She's a real treat。
The moment she sprints from the motor home to the house and out of sight； Vess moves from the window on the south wall of his bedroom to the window on the east wall。 It is also covered by a blue drape； which he parts。
No sign of her。 He waits； holding his breath； but she doesn't head east along the lane。 After half a minute or so； he knows that she isn't going to run。
If she had taken off； she would have sorely disappointed him。 He doesn't think of her as a person who would run。 She is bold。 He wants her to be bold。
Had she run； he would have sent the dogs after her； not with instructions to kill but merely to detain。 Then he would have retrieved her to question her at his leisure。
But sbe is ing to bim。 For whatever unimaginable reason； she will follow him into the house。 With her revolver。
He will need to be cautious。 But oh； what fun he is having。 Her gun only makes the game more intense。
The front porch is immediately below this window； but he isn't able to see it because of the overhanging roof。 The mystery woman is somewhere on the porch。 He canfeel her close； perhaps directly under him。
He retrieves his pistol from the nightstand and glides quietly across the wall…to…wall carpet into the open doorway。 He steps into the hall and quickly to the head of the enclosed stairs； where he stops。 He can see only the landing below； not the living room； but he listens。
If she opens the front door； he will know； because one of the hinges makes a dry ratcheting sound。 It's not a loud noise； but it is distinctive。 Because he's listening specifically for that corroded hinge； not even the drumming of the rain on the roof； the pounding of the shower into e bathtub； and 〃In the Mood〃 on the radio can entirely mask the sound。
Crazy。 But she was going to do it。 For Ariel。 For Laura。 But also for herself。 Maybe most of all for herself。
After all these years under beds； in closets； in attic shadows…no more hiding。 After all these years of getting by； keeping her head down； drawing no attention to herself…suddenly she had to do something or explode。 She'd been living in a prison since the day she'd been bom； even after leaving her mother； a prison of fear and shame and lowered expectations； and she'd been so accustomed to her circumscribed life that she had not recognized the bars。 Now righteous rage released her； and she was crazy with freedom。
The chilly wind kicked up； and shatters of rain blasted under the porch roof。
Seashell wind chimes clattered； an irritation of flat notes。 Chyna eased past the window； trying to avoid several snails on the porch floor。 The drapes remained tightly shut。
The front door was closed but unlocked。 She slowly pushed it inward。 One hinge rasped。
The big…band tune finished with a flourish； and at once two voices arose from deeper in the house。 Chyna froze on the threshold； but then she realized that she was listening to an advertisement。 The music had been ing from a radio。
It was possible that the killer shared the house with someone other than Ariel； and other than the procession of victims or dead bodies brought back from his road trips。 Chyna couldn't conceive of his having a family； a wife and children； a psychotic Brady Bunch waiting for him； but there were rare cases on record of homicidal sociopaths working together； like the two men who proved to be the Hillside Strangler in Los Angeles a couple of decades ago。
Voices on a radio； however； were no threat。 With the revolver held in front of her； she went inside。 The ining wind whistled into the house； rattling a wobbly lampshade and threatening to betray her； so she closed the door。
The radio voices came down an enclosed stairwell to her left。 She kept one eye on the doorless opening at the foot of those steps； in case more than voices descended。
The front room on the ground floor ran the entire width of the small house； and although it was illuminated only by the gray light from the windows； it was nothing like what she had expected to find。 There were hunter…green leather armchairs with footstools； a tartan…plaid sofa on large ball feet； rustic oak end tables； and a section of bookshelves that held perhaps three hundred volumes。 On the hearth of the big river…rock 'fireplace were gleaming brass andirons； and on the mantel was an old clock with two bronze stags rearing up on their hind legs。 The decor was thoroughly but not aggressively masculineno glassily staring deer or bear heads on the walls； no hunting prints； no rifles on display； just cozy and fortable。 Where she had been expecting pervasive clutter as evidence of his seriously disordered mind； there was neatness。 Instead of filth； cleanliness； even in the shadows； Chyna could see that the room was well dusted and swept。 Rather than being burdened with the stench of death； the house was redolent of lemon…oil furniture polish and a subtle pine…scented air freshener； as well as the faint and pleasant smell of char from the fireplace。
Selling H & R Block tax services and then doughnuts； the radio voices bounced with enthusiasm down the stairs。 The killer had it cranked up too loud； the volume level seemed wrong to Chyna； as if he was trying to mask other sounds。
There was another sound； similar to but different from the rain； and after a moment she recognized it。 A shower。
That was why he had set the radio so loud。 He was listening to the music while taking a shower。
She was in luck。 As long as the killer was in the shower； she could search for Ariel without the risk of being discovered。
Chyna hurriedly crossed the front room to a half…open door； went through； and found a kitchen。 Canary…yellow ceramic tile with knotty…pine cabinets。 On the floor； gray vinyl tile speckled with yellow and green and red。 Well scrubbed。 Everything in its place。
She was soaked； rain dripping off her hair and still seeping from her jeans onto the clean floor。
Taped to the side of the refrigerator was a calendar already turned forward to April； with a color photograph that showed one white and one black kitten…both with dazzling green eyes…peering out from a huge spray of lilies。
The normality of the house terrified her： the gleaming surfaces； the tidiness； the homey touches； the sense that a person lived here who might walk in daylight on any street and pass for human in spite of the atrocities that he had mitted。
Don't think about it。 Keep moving。 Safety in movement。
She went past the rear door。 Through the four glass panes in the upper half； she saw a back porch； a green yard； a couple of big trees； and the barn。
Without any architectural division； the kitchen opened into the dining area； and the bined space was probably two…thirds the width of the house。 The round dinette table was dark pine； supported by a thick central drum rather than legs； the four heavy pine captain's chairs featured tie…on back and seat cushions。
Upstairs； the music started again； but it was softer in the kitchen than in the front room。 If she had been an aficionado of big…band music； however； she would have been able to recognize the tune from here。
The noise of the running shower was more apparent in the kitchen than in the living room； because the pipes were channeled through the rear wall of the old house。 Water being drawn upward to the bathroom made an urgent；