House (21 page)

“Because you were hallucinating,” Leslie said.

He grabbed his wet shirt. “You call this a hallucination?”

“You let Stewart drown,” Leslie said. “Have you ever drowned someone before, Randy? I don't think so. Do you know why they put infantry through hell week at boot camp? So that when they get in a bloody battle they don't start seeing things. The mind is a fragile instrument. It snaps easily. If there's anything you have to ask yourself, it's why you've become a completely different person since you entered this house.”

Randy stared at her without responding. It was a good question. Even he had to see what the stress had done to him.

“She has a point, Randy,” Jack said. “Think about it. You talk about Stewart dying in the most graphic terms without batting an eye, and none of us care. You get to a point where everything starts to shut down, right? The problem is, we can't shut down yet.”

“Excuse me,” Stephanie said, “but do we really care about all this psychobabble? Didn't you hear Randy? The killer's down here
with
us! People are going to die! What do you think this is all about? Sucking up some dog food?”

Jack wanted to reach across the room and smack her. She wasn't lucid.

Then again, it had been a long time since he'd seen her so full of emotion. The mix of old and new gave him pause.

To her credit, Leslie ignored the cruel jab. “I'm just saying that we really need to get a grip and not let the circumstances get into our heads.”

“And I suppose the snakes were in my head too,” Stephanie said.

“For starters, yes.”

Stephanie just stared at her. Maybe she really didn't know.

Jack paced. “Okay, let's take this methodically.”

“I think the question of whether what seems to be happening is really happening is important,” Leslie said. “The answer lays out the entire framework for how we deal with it.”

“How's that?”

“Take Stephanie's snakes. If they're real snakes, you kill them with a knife or something. If they're in the mind, you shut your eyes and put them out of your mind.”

Made sense. Stephanie huffed.

“Okay,” Jack said. “I'll go with that. What else has happened that could fall into that category?”

“I can't believe we're sitting here—”

“Please, Stephanie, try to use more than your mouth. Just go with us here.”

She clamped her mouth shut and glared at him. He had to hand it to her, though—she'd found some spunk in that closet. At least she wasn't in denial, running away. He had to respect her for that much.

“Randy, is there anything you've seen that could have been a trick of your mind?”

“I'm with Stephanie. I don't see how this helps us.”

“What if you think you see a lock on a door and walk away?” Leslie said. “You walk away when you could have walked out.”

“I
heard
him lock the back door. I
saw
the padlock before he locked it—”

“What about the shotgun?” Jack said, gesturing to Randy's lap. “We could blow the locks off.”

They all looked at him with dawning awareness. Randy slid off the drum, eyes bright. “I knew the gun would be our ticket out of here. We blow the doors. Lock and load.”

“Hold up,” Jack said, raising a hand. “Let's think this through.”

“What's there to think through?” Stephanie said. “Randy's right!”

“For starters, Stephanie, you just came down the main stairs, right? Do you know how to get back? Don't you find it a little strange that you just
happened
to end up here, with us? The halls down here don't make any sense, but you just waltz on in.”

She didn't respond.

“I agree, going for the door with the gun may be a good plan,” Jack said. “If we can find it. But let's not blow our chances by going off half-cocked. So let's have it: what have we seen that could be in our minds?”

The house creaked above them, and they all looked up.

After a moment Leslie lowered her eyes. “There. The wind's moving the house. We hear a groan, but our minds are already stretched to the breaking point so we all expect more and look up. Stress-induced deception, pure and simple.”

“What about the mirrors?” Jack asked.

“They have to be trick mirrors of some kind,” she said. “Pete told me they used to travel with a circus. Did anyone specifically notice a reflection from anything as close to the mirror as you were? Randy?”

“You mean in the foreground? Actually, now that you mention it, no. Jack and I couldn't see either of our reflections, but we could see the room behind us.”

“Jack?”

“That's right. I never thought of it that way.”

“I know for a fact that a mirror can be manufactured in such a way as to reflect no light within a certain distance.”

Jack could feel strength entering the room as if it were a force field. They had a gun, they had answers—two things that might have prevented everything that happened tonight. He resolved in that moment never to travel without a weapon again.

“Okay, what about Stewart's body disappearing?”

Randy looked around at them.
He was returning to sanity by the minute,
Jack thought.

“Okay, I was a bit on edge.” He closed his eyes, lifted his chin, and took a deep breath. Silence settled. His vulnerability was palpable.

A long, awkward moment passed.

Randy took another deep breath and looked at them. “When Jack got sucked into that door and I ended up in that rising water, something snapped. I was a dead man. You have no idea what it's like, watching someone drown while you think about carving them up.”

“I'm sure it was very difficult,” Leslie said. She walked over to him and took his hand in a show of support. “You'll be okay.”

Seeing her go to him bothered Jack, but not because he cared for Leslie in that way. He simply didn't trust Randy. The thought of anyone extending him trust was unnerving.

“Okay,” Jack said, “so some of what we've seen was probably the product of stressed imagination. For all I know, I could have jumped into the tunnel. A strong draft . . .” He frowned. “I suppose it's possible I thought I was being sucked.”

Leslie looked at Randy. “Maybe you saw a dead body because you needed Stewart dead—not unheard of.”

He frowned. “Maybe.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Leslie. “And the odor—”

“We've grown accustomed to it due to the stress, so we don't smell it anymore. It's a start, anyway.”

Jack took a deep breath and paced, rubbing his face to clear the cobwebs. “So let me get this straight. We were all taken off the road by a serial killer named White who has a thing for elaborate games. He's killed who knows how many people over the years and ends up in the backwoods of Alabama where no one goes but the stray traveler. Good so far?”

Leslie picked up, walking across the room. “We're not the first victims in this house. The last was Susan, who managed to escape. Our hosts are working with White, but this latest miss—with Susan, that is—has changed their relationship, putting pressure on Stewart and Betty. But that fits into White's game, because he wants others to do his killing. He intends to force his victims to extract the penalty for sin themselves. How am I doing?”

“Give me one dead body,” Randy said.

“Rule number three,” Jack said.

“It's also what I thought I heard White say in the tunnels.”

Leslie turned on him. “You heard his voice? Another little detail you forgot to mention?”

“I
thought
I did. Either way, you're right. He wants us to kill each other. That's the whole point, isn't it?”

It was. They all had to know that by now, Jack thought. “So his plan all along was to get us into the house and lure us into this basement, which apparently isn't just a basement at all. How do you explain the basement? I can't get a handle on the layout of this place.”

“Tunnels, shafts, holding tanks . . . ,” Leslie mused. “Maybe it was part of a mining operation.”

“What kind of mining operation in the middle of Alabama would resemble anything like this?” Randy asked.

“Catacombs,” Stephanie said. “Maybe it was more than a mining operation. Something built for slaves after the war. For all we know, this house is built on a mass grave.”

Randy snickered.

“Please, let's try to stay focused,” Leslie said. “This isn't
Poltergeist
.”

Stephanie shrugged. “I'm just saying.”

“The point is, White's been manipulating us from the beginning,” Leslie said. “He's got us locked in this place with four other people. Eight people to pit against each other. The last one alive gets to live . . . or something like that. Betty and Stewart and Pete are as much victims as we are at this point.”

“But they don't count,” Randy said.

“What?”

“Something else the voice said.”

They stared at him.

“Why wouldn't they count?” Jack asked.

“They are like him?” Randy said. “On his team?”

“But Susan said White's going to kill them for letting her go. One way or another, he intends to kill everyone tonight. Or having us kill each other.”

“One down,” Randy said.

“Then we have to kill Betty and Pete,” Stephanie said.

“No, we have to get out,” Jack said.

“But if they get in our way, we kill them,” Randy said. “I guarantee, if either one of those two perverts comes into my sights, they're dead meat.”

Leslie looked at him.

“What? You disagree?”

“No. If you come across Pete, put a round in his groin for me.”

Given the circumstances, Jack couldn't fault her sentiment.

“So we're going to get out, right?” Stephanie asked.

“With Stewart out of the way, we might have a shot,” Leslie said.

“And when we get out, what then?” Randy asked.

“Unless we manage to disable White, he'll come after us.”

“We could use that truck.”

“It's trashed. We'll have to make a run for the main road on foot.”

“You think there's any chance that someone could have seen the cars and called it in?” Stephanie asked. “I mean, it's possible, right? That highway patrol officer knew we were taking this road. It's only a matter of time before he comes. The only question is, can he get here before dawn?”

“We have to find Susan,” Jack said.

None of them responded.

“I'm dead serious; we can't leave here without Susan.”

“Well, that's a bit of a problem, isn't it?” Randy said. “We don't know where this Susan is. And if you're right, they will expect us to look for her. We'd be playing right into White's hands. He's no idiot. He knows someone's going to want to save the sweet little girl.”

“What's your problem?” Leslie snapped. “She's as much a victim here as we are. You can't just
leave
her!”

“According to you, Betty's a victim too. You want to go save
her
?”

“She's also a cold-blooded killer!”

Randy shook his head, exasperated.

“There's no way you can find this girl down here,” Stephanie said. “You said she's been hiding out for days?”

“You do what you want,” Randy said. “You find her, fine, we take her out with us. But we can't all stay down here looking for one girl. We have to get
out
!”

It sounded right. But to Jack it felt very wrong. He caught Leslie's look. They both knew that Susan had saved their lives.

The sound of a long, drawn-out creaking filled the boiler room. Jack looked for the source, but there was nothing he could see.

It was as if the walls were made of wood and a strong wind was pushing the planks slowly in one direction.

“You see?” Stephanie cried. “That's what I heard. You're saying that's just in my mind?”

The sound finally abated. Even Leslie was breathing hard.

“Something's wrong with this place,” Randy said. “We have to get out. Now.” He grabbed the shotgun off the fifty-five-gallon barrel and strode for the same closed door he'd come through.

“Hold on, we haven't agreed on a plan,” Jack said.

“We go for the doors, that's the plan.”

“Which door? Who goes for which door? And what happens if something goes wrong? Just hold up a second!”

Randy turned around. His expression said clearly enough that he hadn't thought that far ahead. Stephanie had started to follow him. Made sense; they thought alike. Get out and get out now; just go.

Like their marriage.

The creaking returned, not quite as loud but just as long. It was the most unnatural sound Jack could imagine. He shivered reflexively.

Before Randy could set off again, Jack put a thought in his mind. “You sure your gun's going to do the trick against whatever's making that noise?”

“Stop it!” Leslie said. “We're not dealing with ghosts here, for heaven's sake. Act like adults!”

“Then what are we dealing with?” Stephanie demanded, and Jack was thankful she'd asked. “Mass hysteria?”

“I don't know! Pipes? The house above us is moving in the wind. It has a web of rusted pipes underneath. How should I—”

“The sound's coming from the walls, not the pipes,” Stephanie insisted.

“Sound travels,” Leslie said.

“And the puncture marks on your face and hands? You still think those are incidental? Or were they something more like darts?”

Leslie's face lightened a shade. “What do you mean?”

Stephanie stared her down. “I don't know. But neither do you, do you? And yet you insist that there's
zero
chance we're dealing with anything supernatural here. Are you willing to bet all of our lives on that?”