House (11 page)

Without having to consult, Jack and Randy half ran, half limped to the door. Randy slammed the latch plate with his palm, they shoved with their full weight, and the big door eased open in no hurry at all. Betty and Stewart were on their feet again. Stewart was loading another cartridge.

Jack bellowed as he and Randy tumbled around the door and pushed it shut.

Almost.

The two bodies on the inside collided with the door, punching it open. Jack and Randy leaned into it, forcing it shut again, but they couldn't hold it forever.

“We've got to jam this latch,” Jack said.

Randy checked his hands, only now discovering they were empty. He'd dropped the ax hammer inside.

Ka-thud!
The door jerked again, sending a brief flash of orange light into the kitchen, enough to reveal a mop against the wall a few feet away. Randy reached for it.

Boom!
Jack could feel the shock of the shotgun blast on the other side of the door. It jerked.

Randy had the mop. “Push!” Jack and Randy gave the door their shoulders and all that remained of their strength. The latch fell into place, and Randy jammed the mop under the latch handle.

The locking mechanism banged and rattled as Stewart and Betty tried to operate it, but the handle was jammed solid.

“Good work,” Jack said.

A
boom-boom-boom!
carried right through the door and into Jack's skull.

The ax hammer.

They began to shout. “Leslie! Stephanie!”

There was no answer from either.

Crack!

They noticed the change in the sound of the blows. Namely, ax instead of hammer.

“They'll be through that door soon enough,” Randy said. “Let's find the girls and get out of here.”

“Pete went after Leslie,” Jack said.

Randy didn't respond.

Jack dug in his pocket for Stephanie's lighter and flicked it. The tiny yellow flame was just enough to guide them through the kitchen and toward the hallway. Randy spotted a rack of kitchen knives near the butcher block and helped himself to an eight-incher, tucking it in his belt. “Bring it on,” he muttered.

“Steph!”

“Leslie!”

Still no answer.

“Jack!” Stephanie called into the darkness, but only silence answered. “Jack, I'm in here!
Jack
!
”

He didn't answer.

“Jack!”

She flopped against an unseen wall as little thoughts buzzed in her mind: she didn't need him anyway. Jack had died with their daughter. Why
should
he answer? Maybe he was being quiet because he
did
hear her.

She started humming, trying to make the thoughts go away.
“My heart holds all secrets; my heart tells no lies . . .”
She couldn't remember the next line. She sang the one she remembered twice, then hummed the melody until the fear eased up and she could think. She'd been on her own since Melissa's death. She could manage this.
Get yourself out, girl. Jack isn't going to do it for you.
Everything would work out okay in the end.

She had no idea where she was. There was still no light. She'd gone through a door into what felt and sounded like a hall, but it wasn't
the
hallway she was hoping to find. She'd encountered a table and some chairs, and then a painting on the wall, but these were entirely unfamiliar. When she tried to backtrack and find the door she came through, her hands found nothing but blank wall.

Jack! So help me . . .

Now she heard commotion and voices, some footsteps far away and muffled. She followed the sound.

Crack!
Jack and Randy could hear it from the hallway between the kitchen and dining room. Stewart was making quick work of the barricaded locker.

Jack's lighter illuminated a door that stood half-open. The one Betty had scolded him about.

“The basement,” Jack said.

They paused at the threshold. Dirty shiplap walls and wooden stairs descended into a black void beyond.

“What do you think?” Randy asked.

Bam! Crack!
Not much time for conversation.

“
Somebody
went down there.”

“It wasn't the girls. They got out. They had to.”

“Got out to where?”

Bam! Bam!

Randy took off toward the dark foyer, his shoes wandering on the hardwood, stumbling on the debris. “Leslie!” Jack heard bodies collide. A woman screamed. Randy screamed then cursed.

Jack leaped back into the hallway and squinted. Stephanie. She was flailing and pounding Randy, who was only trying to help her. “Steph!”

She stilled, swept the hair off her face. “Where have you been? Didn't you hear me calling you?”

“Not so loud,” Jack cautioned.

Stephanie marched at Jack, anger in her steps. “Maybe you don't think I'm worth keeping, but I'm still a human being with feelings, and I'm still your wife!”

“Where is Leslie?” Randy asked.

“I don't know. Jack, can we please get out of here?”

“Was Leslie with you?”

“No!
Can we go now?
”

Jack looked down the basement stairs again. The light caught a sparkle on the first step. He bent and picked up a silver drop-shaped earring, held it up for them to see. “She went down there. She's in the basement.”

“That doesn't prove anything,” Randy said.

Stephanie paced. “I'm not going down there, Jack. We have to get out.”

Boom!
The shotgun put another spray of lead into the meat-locker door.

Jack raised his lighter high and turned in place, starving for an idea, a lead, a course of action. He spotted the other door, the closet. He ran to it, jerked it open. Without the extra chairs, there was plenty of room. Coats, enough to conceal someone, hung from a rod.

He motioned to Stephanie. “Steph. Inside.”

Her feet were planted. “Are you crazy? I'm not going in there!”

He took firm hold of her arm and got her moving. “We can fight about it later. Right now I need you where I can find you.”

She stumbled backward into the black cavity under his firm guidance. “What are you going to do?”

“Find Leslie.”

“Oh, so
she's
worth looking for, is that it?”

“Not now, Steph.” Everything was all about her, wasn't it? Her selfishness was wearing thin. “Stay put till we come back. I'll make it quick.”

“What about—” He put his hand over her mouth. She pried it off and whispered, “What about Stewart and Betty?”

“They'll be chasing me and Randy. Stay put.”

“But you can't leave—”

He closed the closet and went to the basement door. The silence, the darkness down there, was hiding something. He could feel it. “Randy?”

Randy started to argue, “We don't know for sure she's down there—”

Crash!
Wood splintered in the kitchen.

Jack stepped into the stairwell.

10
10:55 pm

BARSIDIOUS WHITE STOOD AT THE TOP OF THE brick stairwell that led into the basement, arms crossed, waiting. Waiting . . . waiting. So much of life was waiting. All good things came to those who waited, as the saying went.

He lifted his face to the pouring rain and focused on the pelting of his skin. Lightning flashed. This storm was the kind that brought flash floods. Good thing to know.

He knew a few things none of those inside knew, naturally. More than a few things. The game was being so perfectly executed that he wondered if his luck would run out before he had a chance to introduce the real stakes.

Or show his true power, for that matter.

If all good things came to those who waited, and he was waiting for evil to work its magic, did that make evil good? If he was waiting for the hour of the killing, did that make killing good?

Killing one person makes you a murderer. Killing a million people makes you a king. Killing them all makes you God.

In the end he would be God, because the game being played behind these dirty white walls wasn't unlike the game all people played everywhere, every day, every last dirty one of them.

In the end they all killed; they all died; they all would rot in hell.

But in this house they would play his game, which boasted enough drama and delight to bring a smile to the blackest of souls. Assuming he won. But he would win. He was born to win, born to rip their filthy heads off their scrawny necks in a way that made it all at least interesting.

White took a deep breath. After weeks of waiting, each second now delivered enough reward to justify it all.

He unfolded his arms and walked to the edge of the stairwell. The sounds of an ax or a hammer slamming into a door resounded with each blow. If he was right, if he'd judged correctly, the players would soon be in the basement, and the real game could begin.

Of course, the real game was already in full swing, but they didn't understand this. By dawn he'd bring everything into clear focus.

Driving the truck into the front door had been a nice touch. Put the fear of God into their hearts. And that would be him because, as he'd just established, he was God.

“Welcome to my house, Jack.” He let out an amused grunt. “Jack in the box.”

White descended. Packed leaves and dirt had long ago covered the concrete, raising the landing several inches so that when the door opened, decaying leaves tended to spill into the basement. But there was more than a little decay waiting to enter this world tonight.

He put his hand on the keyless door latch and pressed it down. Locked. As it should be. He would wait.

White walked back up into the night. The methodic thumping of the ax inside morphed into a muffled sound of splintering wood. A loud crash. Pounding feet.

White's right hand began to quiver. He made no attempt to stop it. Deep in the backwoods of Alabama where no one was watching and the darkness had swallowed all light, he was allowed to enjoy life a little, wasn't he?

Jack's lighter flickered above the old wooden stairs. Jack paused halfway down, straining for a glimpse of something. A repulsive odor—rotten eggs or sulfur—filled his nose. He tried to breathe shallow.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for, other than Leslie. The floor below was gray concrete and the walls were red brick, he could see that much. Nothing more.

He leaned forward and shouted. “Leslie!”

“What are you doing?” Randy whispered from behind. “They'll hear you!”

“I
want
her to hear me; isn't that the point?”

“
Her
, not the whole house. They'll know we went after her.”

“They're in the meat locker making themselves deaf—no way they heard me.”

Stephanie's muffled voice called from the closet. “Jack!”

He ignored her and continued four steps before realizing that Randy wasn't following. The man still stood at the top of the stairs.

“You coming?”

“You sure this is a good idea?”