slipped - and I was standing in the ballroom’s absolute darkness, enveloped in the familiar vacuum of silence as I waited for it to begin.
A minute passed, but nothing happened. No visions assailed me. I was merely standing dead center in the room, my head bowed, swaying on my feet.
‘Hello?’
I hated the sound of my voice when I was alone. In there, at that hour, it made my heart beat erratically. Windowless, the ballroom was so dark I could not see my hand in front of my face.
‘What do you want ?’ I said, now angry as well as frightened.
No one answered. I sat on the floor, tired and disoriented and needing a moment to get my head around this pattern. It had ceased when I moved downstairs, but now it was starting again.
Perhaps I am not here , I thought. I might still be sound asleep, down on the couch. But how would I know? I should set up a camera, one with a motion detector and night vision. Anything larger than a rat moves in this old ballroom, bingo.
I imagined watching a recording of myself sleepwalking, the screen grainy and green from the night-vision lens, and wondered what else I would see in the ballroom that I couldn’t see now. What if I filmed myself and the next morning, watching the footage, noticed something in the corner? A shadow that stood out in the darkness like a jacket hanging in a closet. A pair of white orbs, like boiled eggs, hovering five feet off the floor. On second thought, no, let’s not do that. Let’s not film anything that may or may not be happening in Casa Hastings. We’ve seen that movie and it didn’t turn out well.
I rubbed my eyes and my hand fell to something hard and misshapen on the floor. I closed my palm around the handle. It was my new toy, the Glock 27.
Without pausing to consider how it had gotten there, I gripped the gun, stood and headed for the door. But after only a couple of steps I halted, paralyzed by the need to make a decision. It seemed important that I make up my mind about something. I had been afraid of living in this house for too long. I was tired of waiting for the main event. It would be nice to return to the bed for a change. The couch was fine and in a surprising way good for my back, but if I avoided the upstairs much longer, the house would continue to shrink around me until my . . . neurosis . . . had gotten the best of me, and then there would be no place to sleep at all.
I turned in the dark, my eyes adjusting. I could see my hand now, and the black outline of the gun in it. The vague furniture shapes, the hulk of the bar. The smoky mirror a tunnel of welcoming darkness, reflecting nothing. James Hastings wasn’t even here. The meaning came to me then, the message I was searching for. It was as clear in my mind as her face once had been, and it would be my deliverance back to her. I wrapped my finger around the trigger and set the muzzle to my temple. My teeth clenched. My muscles tensed, tensed, and a cold hand wrapped around my bare arm.
‘James, wait,’ Stacey said. ‘You’re not alone.’
7
I jerked away and the trigger went click . A thousand tingling pins pushed into my skin. The cold pressure of her fingers lingered on my arm as I whirled, swatting the air, touching nothing as I fled. Somewhere in this panic, the gun fell to the floor.
I made it to the ballroom’s double doors, yanked them open and ran down the hall, to the front landing. I stormed down the stairs and leaped over the last four, landing in the foyer with a slam that made the chandelier twinkle like wind chimes. I backed myself into the kitchen, my heart aching as if it were trying to pump marbles. What I had been on the verge of in that room - I never intended that. But for a moment there, something had gotten inside me. Something had made the prospect seem not only sane but . . . comforting.
She wants me to join her.
I was clawing my car keys from the counter when the footsteps
A minute passed, but nothing happened. No visions assailed me. I was merely standing dead center in the room, my head bowed, swaying on my feet.
‘Hello?’
I hated the sound of my voice when I was alone. In there, at that hour, it made my heart beat erratically. Windowless, the ballroom was so dark I could not see my hand in front of my face.
‘What do you want ?’ I said, now angry as well as frightened.
No one answered. I sat on the floor, tired and disoriented and needing a moment to get my head around this pattern. It had ceased when I moved downstairs, but now it was starting again.
Perhaps I am not here , I thought. I might still be sound asleep, down on the couch. But how would I know? I should set up a camera, one with a motion detector and night vision. Anything larger than a rat moves in this old ballroom, bingo.
I imagined watching a recording of myself sleepwalking, the screen grainy and green from the night-vision lens, and wondered what else I would see in the ballroom that I couldn’t see now. What if I filmed myself and the next morning, watching the footage, noticed something in the corner? A shadow that stood out in the darkness like a jacket hanging in a closet. A pair of white orbs, like boiled eggs, hovering five feet off the floor. On second thought, no, let’s not do that. Let’s not film anything that may or may not be happening in Casa Hastings. We’ve seen that movie and it didn’t turn out well.
I rubbed my eyes and my hand fell to something hard and misshapen on the floor. I closed my palm around the handle. It was my new toy, the Glock 27.
Without pausing to consider how it had gotten there, I gripped the gun, stood and headed for the door. But after only a couple of steps I halted, paralyzed by the need to make a decision. It seemed important that I make up my mind about something. I had been afraid of living in this house for too long. I was tired of waiting for the main event. It would be nice to return to the bed for a change. The couch was fine and in a surprising way good for my back, but if I avoided the upstairs much longer, the house would continue to shrink around me until my . . . neurosis . . . had gotten the best of me, and then there would be no place to sleep at all.
I turned in the dark, my eyes adjusting. I could see my hand now, and the black outline of the gun in it. The vague furniture shapes, the hulk of the bar. The smoky mirror a tunnel of welcoming darkness, reflecting nothing. James Hastings wasn’t even here. The meaning came to me then, the message I was searching for. It was as clear in my mind as her face once had been, and it would be my deliverance back to her. I wrapped my finger around the trigger and set the muzzle to my temple. My teeth clenched. My muscles tensed, tensed, and a cold hand wrapped around my bare arm.
‘James, wait,’ Stacey said. ‘You’re not alone.’
7
I jerked away and the trigger went click . A thousand tingling pins pushed into my skin. The cold pressure of her fingers lingered on my arm as I whirled, swatting the air, touching nothing as I fled. Somewhere in this panic, the gun fell to the floor.
I made it to the ballroom’s double doors, yanked them open and ran down the hall, to the front landing. I stormed down the stairs and leaped over the last four, landing in the foyer with a slam that made the chandelier twinkle like wind chimes. I backed myself into the kitchen, my heart aching as if it were trying to pump marbles. What I had been on the verge of in that room - I never intended that. But for a moment there, something had gotten inside me. Something had made the prospect seem not only sane but . . . comforting.
She wants me to join her.
I was clawing my car keys from the counter when the footsteps
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