The pain in her neck was excruciating； and someone seemed to be twisting a corkscrew into her right clavicle。 But pain couldn't stop her。 It motivated。 The greater her pain； the more she identified with Laura and the whole Templeton family； with the young man hanging in the motor…home closet； with the service…station clerks； and with all the people who might be buried down in the meadow； and the more she identified with them； the more she wanted Edgler Vess to suffer a world of hurt。 She was in an Old Testament mood； unwilling to turn the other cheek just now。 She wanted Vess screaming on a rack； stretched until his joints popped apart and his tendons tore。 She didn't want to see him confined to a state hospital for the criminally insane； there to be analyzed and counseled and instructed as to how best to increase his self…esteem； treated with a panoply of antipsychotic drugs； given a private room and television； booked in card tournaments with his fellow patients； and treated to a turkey dinner on Christmas。 Instead of having him consigned to the mercies of psychiatrists and social workers； Chyna wanted to condemn him to the skilled hands of an imaginative torturer； and then see how long the sonofabitch bastard freak remained faithful to his philosophy about all experiences being value neutral； all sensations equally worthwhile。 This ardent desire； refined from her pain； was not noble in the least； but it was pure； a high…octane fael that burned with an intense light； and it kept her motor running。
This side of the barrel pedestal was off the floor perhaps three inches…she could only guess…approximately as high as she had gotten it before； but she still had plenty of steam left。 Bent in a backward Z； as hunched as a God…cursed troll； she muscled the table up； knees aching； thighs quive7ing with the strain； her butt clenched tighter than a politician's fist around a cash bribe。 She encouraged herself aloud by talking to the table as if it possessed awareness： 〃e on； e on； e on； move； shit； shit； move； you sonofabitcb； higher； e on； damn you； damn it； e on。 〃
A ludicrous mental image of herself flashed through her mind： She must resemble a character in one of those movie scenes where the deceived cowboy cottons to the truth and overturns the poker table on the dishonest itinerant cardshark； except that she was playing the drama in slow motion； as in a Western underwater。
Initially the chair remained exactly where it had been when her butt parted pany with it； but as her arms lifted higher and stretched farther in front of her； the heavy chair was hoisted off the floor by the tightening chain that circled behind her from wrist to wrist and wound through the vertical spindles behind the tie…on pad。 Now she was lifting the table in front and the chair at her back。 The hard edge of the seat jammed against her thighs； and the curved pine headpiece of the railed back pressed cruelly below her shoulder blades； as the chair began to act like a V…clamp to prevent her from rising much further。
Nevertheless； Chyna squeezed against the table as she lifted it； separating herself from the confining chair enough to be able to rise out of her crouch just one more inch； then one more。 At the extreme limits of strength and endurance； she grunted loudly； rhythmically： 〃Uh； uh； uh； uh！〃 Sweat glazed her face； stung her eyes； but there was no light in the kitchen anyway； no reason she had to see what she was doing in order to get it done。 Her burning eyes didn't bother her； this was small…time pain； but she felt as though she was about to burst a blood vessel from the straining…or throw a clot off an artery wall and recapture it deep in her brain。
Fear was with her again； for the first time in hours； because even as she strained against the table； she couldn't help thinking about what Edgler Vess would do with her if he returned home to find her on the floor； dazed and incoherent from a stroke。 With her mind reduced to hasty pudding； she would no longer be the sophisticated toy she had been； she'd be insufficiently responsive to provide him with the requisite thrills when he tortured her。 Then perhaps Vess would revert to the crude turtle games of his youth。 Maybe he would drag her into the backyard to set her on fire for the pleasure of watching her crawl jerkily in circles on crippled； blazing limbs。
The table crashed onto its side hard enough to jar the dishes in the kitchen cabinets and rattle a loose pane in a window。
Though she had been striving fiercely for precisely this result； she was so surprised by her abrupt success that she didn't cry out in triumph。 She leaned against the curve of the tilted table and gasped for breath。
Half a minute later； when she tried to pull away； she discovered that the chain was still wrapped tightly around the barrel pedestal and that she remained encumbered。
She attempted to tug it loose。 No luck。 Dropping to her hands and knees； carrying the chair on her back； she reached under the canted table； as though she were at the seashore and seeking shade beneath a giant beach umbrella。 In the darkness she felt around the bottom of the barrel that served as the pedestal； and she discovered that this part of the job was not yet finished。
The table was tipped on its side…like a mushroom with a large cap； stem meeting the floor at an angle。 Given the position from which she'd had to work； she had not been able to tip it pletely over； with the pedestal straight up in the air。 The bottom of the barrel； recessed inside a chime hoop； was fully exposed； however； the tethering chain was trapped in the angle between the floor and the side of the barrel。
Lifting the chair with her； Chyna struggled to her feet but rose only to a crouch。 She reached down with both hands； hooked her fingers around the chime hoop； paused to gather her strength； and pulled upward。
Although she tried to hold her injured trigger finger out of the way； her sweaty hands slipped on the painted iron hoop。 She stubbed the fingertips of her right hand hard against the rough bottom of the barrel； and such a brilliant pain flashed through her swollen index finger that she cried out in dazzled agony。
For a while she hunched over； protectively holding her injured hand against her breast； waiting for the pain to subside。 Eventually it faded somewhat。
After blotting her hands on her jeans； she hooked her fingers around the chime hoop once more； hesitated； heaved； and the barrel pedestal came off the floor half an inch； an inch。 With her left foot； she pawed at the loop of chain until she thought it was free； and then she let the pedestal drop to the floor again。
She scooted backward in her chair； and this time nothing impeded her。 The loop of chain rattled across the floor； no longer anchoring her to the table。
Her chair bumped into the wall that separated the kitchen from the laundry room。 She hitched sideways； out from behind the table； toward the window； which was but a faint gray rectangle between the blackness of the unlighted kitchen and the slightly less dark night。
Although Chyna was far from being free； farther still from being safe； she was exhilarated； because at least she had done something。 A headache like an endless ining tide throbbed in waves across her brow and along her right temple； and the pain in her neck was savage。 Her swollen index finger was a world of misery in itself。 In spite of her thick socks； her ankles felt as though they had been bruised and abraded by the shackles； and her left wrist stung where she had skinned it while trying to yank the spindles out of the back of the chair。 Her joints ached and her muscles burned from the demands she had put on them； and she had a stitch in her left side that was pulling like a needle threaded with hot wire…yet she was grinning and exhilarated。
When she was beside the window； she let the legs of her chair touch the floor。 She sat down。
As her heartbeat slowed from its frenzied hammering； Chyna leaned back against the cushion； still breathing hard； and surprised herself by laughing。 Musical； unexpectedly girlish laughter burst from her； an astonishing giggle part delight； part nervous relief。
She blotted her sweat…stung eyes on one sleeve