dk.watchers-第39部分

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　The　interior　had　been　Sheetrocked；　the　ceilings　textured。　The　family　room　opened　into　a　breakfast　area　adjoining　the　kitchen；　all　of　it　one　large　flowing　space　without　partitions。　Oak　cabinets　had　been　installed　in　the　kitchen；　but　the　tile　floor　had　not　yet　been　put　down。
　The　air　had　the　lime　odor　of　drywaller's　mud；　with　an　underlying　scent　of　wood　stain。
　Standing　in　the　breakfast　area；　Tee！　listened　for　more　sounds　of　destruction；　movement。
　Nothing。
　If　this　was　like　most　California　tract　homes；　he　would　find　the　dining　room　to　the　left；　beyond　the　kitchen；　then　the　living　room；　the　entrance　foyer；　and　a　den。　If　he　went　into　the　hallway　that　led　out　of　the　breakfast　area；　he　would　probably　find　a　laundry　room；　the　downstairs　bath；　a　coat　closet；　then　the　foyer。　He　could　see　no　advantage　of　one　route　over　another；　so　he　went　into　the　hall　and　checked　the　laundry　first。
　The　dark　room　had　no　windows。　The　door　was　standing　half…open；　and　the　flashlight　showed　only　yellow　cabinets　and　the　spaces　where　the　washer　and　dryer　would　be　placed。　However；　Teel　wanted　to　look　at　the　section　behind　the　door；　where　he　figured　there　was　a　sink　and　work　area。　He　pushed　the　door　all　the　way　open　and　went　in　fast；　swinging　the　flashlight　and　the　gun　in　that　direction。　He　found　the　stainless…steel　sink　and　built…in　table　that　he　expected；　but　no　killer。
　He　was　more　on　edge　that　he　had　been　in　years。　He　could　not　keep　the　Image　of　the　dead　man　from　flickering　repeatedly　through　his　mind：　those　empty　eye　sockets。
　Not　just　on　edge；　he　thought。　Face　it；　you're　scared　shitless。
　　　
　　
　Out　front；　Ken　jumped　across　a　narrow　ditch　and　headed　for　the　house's　double　entrance　doors；　which　were　still　closed。　He　surveyed　the　surrounding
　area　and　saw　no　one　trying　to　escape。　As　twilight　descended；　Bordeaux　Ridge　looked　less　like　a　tract　under　development　than　like　a　bombed…out　neighborhood。　Shadows　and　dust　created　the　illusion　of　rubble。
　　
　　
　In　the　laundry　room；　Teel　Porter　turned；　intending　to　step　into　the　hail；　and　on　his　right；　in　the　group　of　yellow　cabinets；　the　two…foot…wide；　six…foot…high　door　of　a　broom　closet　flew　open；　and　this　thing　came　at　him　as　if　it　were　a　jack…in…the…box；　Jesus；　for　a　split　second　he　was　sure　it　must　be　a　kid　in　a　rubber　fright　mask。　He　could　not　see　clearly　in　the　backsplash　of　the　flashlight；　which　was　pointed　away　from　the　attacker；　but　then　he　knew　it　was　real　because　those　eyes；　like　circles　of　smoky　lamplight；　were　not　just　plastic　or　glass；　no　way。　He　fired　the　revolver；　but　it　was　aimed　ahead；　into　the　hall；　and　the　slug　plowed　harmlessly　into　the　wall　out　there；　so　he　tried　to　turn；　but　the　thing　was　all　over　him；　hissing　like　a　snake。　He　fired　again；　into　the　floor　this　time…the　sound　was　deafening　in　that　enclosed　space…　then　he　was　driven　backward　against　the　sink；　and　the　gun　was　torn　out　of　his　hand。　He　also　lost　the　flashlight；　which　spun　off　into　the　corner。　He　threw　a　punch；　but　before　his　fist　was　halfway　though　its　arc；　he　felt　a　terrible　pain　in　his　belly；　as　if　several　stilettos　had　been　thrust　into　him　all　at　once；　and　he　knew　instantly　what　was　happening　to　him。　He　screamed；　screamed；　and　in　the　gloom　the　misshapen　face　of　the　jack…in…the…box　loomed　over　him；　its　eyes　radiantly　yellow；　and　Teel　screamed　again；　flailed；　and　more　stilettos　sank　through　the　soft　tissue　of　his　throat…　Ken　Dimes　was　four　steps　from　the　front　doors　when　he　heard　Tee！　scream。
　A　cry　of　surprise；　fear；　pain。
　〃Shit。〃
　They　were　double　doors；　stained　oak。　The　one　on　the　right　was　secured　to　the　sill　and　header　by　sliding　bolts；　while　the　one　on　the　left　was　the　active　door…and　unlocked。　Ken　rushed　inside；　caution　briefly　forgotten；　then　halted　in　the　gloomy　foyer。
　Already；　the　screaming　had　stopped。
　He　switched　on　his　flashlight。　Empty　living　room　to　the　right。　Empty　den　to　the　left。　A　staircase　leading　up　to　the　second　floor。　No　one　anywhere　in　sight。
　Silence。　Perfect　silence。　As　in　a　vacuum。
　For　a　moment　Ken　hesitated　to　call　out　to　Teel；　for　fear　he　would　be　revealing　his　position　to　the　killer。　Then　he　realized　that　the　flashlight；　without　which　he　could　not　proceed；　was　enough　to　give　him　away；　it　did　not　matter　if　he　made　noise。
　〃Teel！〃
　The　name　echoed　through　the　vacant　rooms。
　〃Teel；　where　are　you？〃
　No　reply。
　Teel　must　be　dead。　Jesus。　He　would　respond　if　he　was　alive。
　Or　he　might　just　be　injured　and　unconscious；　wounded　and　dying。　In　that　case；　perhaps　it　would　be　best　to　go　back　to　the　patrol　car　and　call　for　an　ambulance。
　No。　No；　if　his　partner　was　in　desperate　shape；　Ken　had　to　find　him　fast　and　administer　first　aid。　Tee！　might　die　in　the　time　it　took　to　call　an　ambulance。　Delaying　that　long　was　too　great　a　risk。
　Besides；　the　killer　had　to　be　dealt　with。
　Only　the　vaguest　smoky…red　light　penetrated　the　windows　now；　for　the　day　was　being　swallowed　by　the　night。　Ken　had　to　rely　entirely　on　the　flashlight；　which　was　not　ideal　because；　each　time　the　beam　moved；　shadows　leaped　and　swooped；　creating　illusory　assailants。　Those　false　attackers　might　distract　him　from　real　danger。
　Leaving　the　front　door　wide　open；　he　crept　along　the　narrow　hall　that　led　to　the　back　of　the　house。　He　stayed　close　to　the　wall。　The　sole　of　one　of　his　shoes　squeaked　with　nearly　every　step　he　took。　He　held　the　gun　out　in　front　of　him；　not　aimed　at　the　floor　or　ceiling；　because　for　the　moment；　at　least；　he　didn't　give　a　damn　about　safe　weapons　procedure。
　On　the　right；　a　door　stood　open。　A　closet。　Empty。
　The　stink　of　his　own　perspiration　grew　greater　than　the　lime　and　wood…stain　odors　of　the　house。
　He　came　to　a　powder　room　on　his　left。　A　quick　sweep　of　the　light　revealed　nothing　out　of　the　ordinary；　though　his　own　frightened　face；　reflected　in　the　mirror；　startled　him。
　The　rear　of　the　house…family　room；　breakfast　area；　kitchen…was　directly　ahead；　and　on　his　left　was　another　door；　standing　open。　In　the　beam　of　the　flashlight；　which　suddenly　began　to　quiver　violently　in　his　hand；　Ken　saw　Teel's　body　on　the　floor　of　a　laundry　room；　and　so　much　blood　that　there　could　be　no　doubt　he　was　dead。
　Beneath　the　waves　of　fear　that　washed　across　the　surface　of　his　mind；　there　were　undercurrents　of　grief；　rage；　hatred；　and　a　fierce　desire　for　vengeance。
　Behind　Ken；　something　thumped。
　He　cried　out　and　turned　to　face　the　threat。
　But　the　hall　to　the　right　and　the　breakfast　area　to　the　left　were　both　deserted。
　The　sound　had　e　from　the　front　of　the　house。　Even　as　the　echo　of　it　died　away；　he　knew　what　he'd　heard：　the　front　door　being　closed。
　Another　sound　broke　the　stillness；　not　as　loud　as　the　first　but　more　unnerving：　the　clack　of　the　door's　dead　bolt　being　engaged。
　Had　the　killer　departed　and　locked　the　door　from　the　outside；　with　a　key？　But　where　would　he　get　a　key？　Off　the　foreman　that　he　had　murdered？　And　Why　would　he　pause　to　lock　up？
　More　likely；　he　had　locked　the　door　from　inside；　not　merely　to　delay　Ken's　escape　but　to　let　him　know　the　hunt　was　still　under　way。
　Ken　considered　dousing　the　flashlight　because　it　pinpointed　him　for　the　enemy；　but　by　now　the　twilight　glow　at　the　windows　was　purple…gray　and　did　not　reach　into　the　house　at　all。　Without　the　flashlight；　he　would　be　blind。
　How　the　hell　was　the　killer　finding　his　way　in　this　steadily　deepening　darkness？　Was　it　possible　that　a　PCP　junkie's　night　vision　improved　when　he　was　high；　just　as　his　strength　increased　to　that　of　ten　men　as　a　side　effect　of　the　angel　dust？
　The　house　was　quiet。
　He　stood　with　his　back　to　the　hallway　wall。
　He　could　smell　Teel's　blood。　A　vaguely　metallic　odor。
　Click；　click；　click。
　Ken　stiffened　and　listened　intently；　but　he　heard　nothing　more　after　those　three　quick　noises。　They　had　sounded　like　swift　footsteps　crossing　the　concrete　floor；　taken　by　someone　wearing　boots　with　hard　leather　heels…or　shoes　with　cleats。
　The　noises　had　begun　and　ended　so　abruptly　that　he　had　not　been　able　to　tell　where　they　were　ing　from。　Then　he　heard　them　again…click；　click；　click；　click…four　steps　this　time；　and　they　were　in　the　foyer；　moving　in　this　direction；　toward　the　hall　in　which　he　stood。
　He　immediately　pushed　away　from　the　wall；　turning　to　face　the　adversary；　dropping　into　a　crouch　and　thrusting　both　the　flashlight　and　the　revolver　toward　where　he　had　heard　the　steps。　But　the　hallway　was　deserted。
　Breathing　through　his　open　mouth　to　reduce　the　noise　of　his　own　rapid　respiration；　which　he　feared　would　mask　the　movements　of　the　enemy；　Ken　eased　along　the　hall；　into　the　foyer。　Nothing。　The　front　door　was　closed　all　right；　but　the　den　and　the　living　room　and　the　staircase　and　the　gallery　above　were　deserted。
　Click；　click；　click；　click。
　The　noises　arose　from　an　entirely　different　direction　now；　from　the　back　of　the　house；　in　the　breakfast　area。　The　killer　had　fled　silently　out　of　the　foyer；　across　the　living　room　and　dining　room；　into　the　kitchen；　into　the　breakfast　area；　circling　through　the　house；　ing　around　behind　Ken。　Now　the　bastard　was　entering　the　hall　that　Ken　had　just　left。　And　though　the　guy　had　been　silent　while　flitting　through　the　other　rooms；　he　was　making　those　noises　again；　obviously　not　because　he　had　to　make　them；　not　because　his　shoes　clicked　with　every　step　the　way　Ken's　shoes　squeaked；　but　because　he　wanted　to　make　the　noises　again；　wanted　to　taunt　Ken；　wanted　to　say：　Hey；　I'm　behind　you　now；　and　here　I　e；　ready　or　not；　here　I　e。
　Click；　click；　click。
　Ken　Dimes　was　no　coward。　He　was　a　good　cop　who　had　never　walked　away　from　trouble。　He　had　received　two　citations　for　bravery　in　only　seven　years　on　the　force。　But　this　faceless；　insanely　violent　son　of　a　bitch；　scurrying　through　the　house　in　total　darkness；　silent　when　he　wanted　to　be　and　making
　taunting　sounds　when　it　suited　him…he　baffled　and　scared　Ken。　And　although　Ken　was　as　courageous　as　any　cop；　he　was　no　fool；　and　only　a　fool　would　walk　boldly　into　a　situation　that　he　did　not　understand。
　Instead　of　returning　to　the　hall　and　confronting　the　killer；　be　went　to　the　front　door　and　reached　for　the　lever…action　brass　handle；　intending　to　get　the　hell　out。　Then　he　noticed　the　door　hadn't　merely　been　closed　and　dead…bolted。　A　length　of　scrap　wire　had　been　wound　around　the　hand