House (25 page)

White?

He reacted on impulse, swinging his shotgun up and around toward Randy, who stared at his dead twin in shock.

“Drop the gun!” Jack shouted.

“What?”

“Drop it!” His arms trembled. Had he chambered another round? He did so now—
ca-chink!
“Now!”

Randy held the shotgun in one hand, barrel pointed at the floor. His eyes turned to Jack, lit by fear. “What's—”

“What are you doing, Jack?” Stephanie asked.

I'm allowing myself to be manipulated by the killer. I'm being pushed slowly to killing for the killer. Putting myself on the same plane as the killer. Forcing myself to show my true colors. I am evil. We are all evil.

The wages of sin . . . is death. One dead body.

The thoughts flashed through his mind and were gone. They weren't of any use to him now.

“That's not Randy,” Jack said, nodding at the living Randy. “Randy's dead.”

“You . . . you think that's me?” Randy asked, still dazed.

Jack didn't answer. They were all following the same thread of logic that he'd found.

“Drop . . . the . . . gun.”

Stephanie took a step back, eyes on Randy.

“
This
is me!” Randy said, jabbing his chest with his free hand. “It's a trick. He's trying to get you to kill me! One dead body. He told me you'd do this! He told me—”

“When did he tell you, Randy? You bring that gun up even an inch, and I'll take your head off. And for the record, I've done it before. I killed Betty a few minutes ago. I'll do it again in a heartbeat.”

The man stared, angrily now. “If that's me, who am I? An apparition?” His eyes darted to the others, looking for support. “You think I'm not real? I just rescued Stephanie . . .”

But not even Stephanie jumped to his defense.

“He could be White,” Leslie said.

“Yes, he could,” Jack said.

“I'm
not
White!”

“And I'm not willing to take that chance,” Jack said.

Randy regarded Leslie bitterly. “So now not only the house is haunted, but the killer can magically appear in any form he wants to? This from a staunch atheist?”

“I don't know what I believe anymore. But there's two of you, and one of you isn't real,” Leslie said.

“What if that one's the apparition?” Stephanie asked, pointing to the swinging body.

“Check it, Leslie,” Jack said.

She looked momentarily unsure, then slowly stepped up to the body. Jack watched from his peripheral vision as she cautiously lifted a hand and nudged it. The body swung and turned in place, rope creaking softly.

“Real,” Jack said.

“And so was the body of Stewart that I saw,” Randy said. “And it was leaking smoke too. That's the sign. I'm telling you, I'm not White!”

A thought occurred to Jack. He had reason enough to pull the trigger now, didn't he? If Randy was White, Jack would be acting in self-defense. If Randy really was
Randy
, Jack would be acting in
presumed
self-defense. And they would have their one dead body.

The sudden urge to do it brought a tremor to his index finger, despite the weakness of his reasoning.

“Why would I rescue Stephanie after Pete took her?” Randy asked. “Tell me that.”

Jack glanced at Stephanie. “What about it? What happened back there?”

“He . . . he rescued me.”

“Was he ever out of your sight? Any time when White might have killed him?”

She looked at Randy, eyes wider.

“Actually, yes.”

Randy's brow furrowed. “What?”

“When you disappeared around the corner. He could have killed you then and switched places. You were acting a bit strange.”

“Good grief! He threatened to kill me.”

“Threatened you how?” Jack demanded. “What did he say?”

“That he'd kill me if I didn't kill you. That you'd try to kill me. Which you are. That time is running out. Dawn is coming.”

Leslie gasped. “It's gone!”

Jack looked. The body was gone. Rope and all. They'd imagined it? Impossible!

Behind him a door opened, feet pounded in, Jack whirled. The door slammed. What he saw made his knees threaten to buckle.

Randy and Stephanie had just stumbled into the room through one of the doors. The Randy and Stephanie already in the room stared at their twins, aghast. Identical in every way, down to the shotguns held by both Randys.

“Randy?” Leslie's voice was taut.

Jack stepped back and glanced toward Leslie. But it wasn't just Leslie that he saw.

He saw another Leslie standing five feet from her.

And another Jack.

26
4:31 am

JACK'S LEGS BEGAN TO SHAKE.

There were eight of them in the room now; two Leslies, two Stephanies, two Randys—and two Jacks. All of them were wearing stricken looks of horror, including the other Jack, who gripped his shotgun with white knuckles.

Clearly, four of them weren't real. Right?

The Stephanie who'd just come in whimpered.

As if reacting to an unspoken signal, the two Randys and the new Jack snatched their shotguns to their shoulders and paired off into a stalemate. The Randys' guns on the Jacks, and the Jacks' guns on the Randys.

He'd lost whatever advantage he had, Jack realized. He should have finished this when he had the chance, because he couldn't now—not without knowing who was real and who wasn't, a luxury now clearly out of reach.

The two Randys were breathing hard. At any moment a gun would go off.

“Easy,” Jack said.

“No one moves,” the other Jack said.

“What's going on?” the new Stephanie asked, trembling.

None of them took a stab at answering. For long seconds they stood in a deadlock, silent. The house groaned again, loud and distant above them.

The other Jack broke their silence. “We have a problem,” he said. “No one makes any rash moves. Just take it easy.”

“Who are you?” the new Leslie asked, looking at Jack. “How did you get in here?”

“Through the door.”

“That couldn't be. Jack and I came through the door a few minutes ago, and the room was empty. We were here first.”

Impossible. But she obviously didn't think so.

“Four of you aren't real,” the new Jack said. He switched his gun from Randy to Jack. “Beginning with you. Put the gun down.”

A bead of perspiration broke down Jack's forehead and snaked around his eye. The new Jack was taking command as if he were the real Jack. Jack's mind tipped dangerously. His finger was tight on the trigger, and he forced himself to ease off.

First one Randy, then the other, swiveled their guns to train on Jack. Now all three shotguns were on him.

“Just take it easy,” he breathed. “Nothing rash.”

Isn't that what the other Jack had said?

“We have to figure this out. Leslie?”

She didn't answer. He cast her a quick glance. “Tell them.”

“Tell them what?” Her eyes darted around. “I don't know what.”

“That we're real, for heaven's sake!”

“I . . . I don't know which one of you is the real Jack.”

“Are you crazy? We were just in here with the dead body . . .”

“What dead body?” the new Leslie asked.

“Shut up!” Randy snapped.

White had told Randy that he should kill Jack.

Would an apparition's shotgun actually work?

“He's going to kill us,” Jack said, glancing at the other Jack. “You know that, don't you? And since he doesn't know which is real, he has to take both of us out.”

The new Jack thought about his statement, then turned his gun back on Randy.

The new Randy jerked his gun on the new Jack. They were paired off again.

“He's doing this!” Leslie said. Which Leslie, Jack no longer knew. He no longer knew who was who in relationship to how it all began. He only knew he was the real Jack.

The other Jack also seemed to know about himself. What if he was right?

“White's manipulating us,” one Leslie said. “Forcing us to kill someone we think might not be real without knowing for certain.”

“She's right,” the other Leslie said. “He's trying to extract payment for wrongdoing, which in his sick little mind is death.”

The hopelessness of the situation was driving Jack mad. He couldn't seem to still the trembling in his hands.

If they could all be reasonable . . .

The notion of reasoning with an apparition struck him as pointless. And Randy was out for blood. There was no reasoning with either Randy at this point.

“This is what White told me would happen,” Randy said with a wicked smirk. “He said Jack would kill me if I didn't kill him. Not a chance, hero boy.”

“Don't do it,” the new Jack said.

“Do it,” the other Randy said. “He's got his gun on the wrong Randy.”

It only took a moment for the first Randy to understand the meaning. “You're saying I'm expendable because you think you're real?”

“I'm saying we got us a standoff. Someone's going to die here, and it isn't going to be me.”

Each of them truly believed they were real. If either of the Randys knew they were unreal, they would have started the bloodbath already without fear of dying.

“We can tell which of us is real,” the new Jack said. “I doubt an apparition's shotgun will actually fire. We can all fire our weapons at the wall.”

Assuming the assumption was correct.

“And then what, kill the ones whose guns misfire?” Randy asked, wearing that smirk of his. “Why don't we just go for it now and see who's alive when the dust settles?”

“Because you may end up dead, that's why,” Jack said. He lowered his gun a few inches. “I'll agree to Jack's suggestion.”

After a few moments of consideration, the Randys each lowered their shotguns. One turned his gun on the wall and pulled the trigger.

Boom!
The room echoed with the blast. Followed almost immediately by another blast.

Boom!

The second Randy had discharged his weapon as well. As one they both trained their guns on Jack. Then one of them switched to the other Jack, who brought his up as well.

Jack followed suit.

“Like I said,” one Randy murmured. “I say we just go for it.”

“Which probably means you're not the real Randy,” Leslie said. “You're egging us all on and into a bloodbath!”

“You think? I think I'm looking at White.” His eyes were on Jack. “And the only way to find out is to put some lead in his gut.”

“There's another way,” the other Randy said.

They waited.

“Stewart's dead body leaked black smoke. I'm thinking that maybe it wasn't real, like the hanged body a few moments ago. And I'm thinking that unreal bodies leak black smoke.”

“Betty was real enough, and smoke came out of her,” Jack said. “I'm thinking the smoke has to do with being dead.”

“Or wounded,” Leslie said. “The stuff oozes out the wounds, right?”

“You're saying we should each cut ourselves?”

Randy shrugged. “You afraid of a cut?”

“Okay. We cut ourselves on one condition,” Jack said. “We give up our weapons when we get cut. If nothing happens, we get it back. Leslie can hold them, one at a time.”

“What's to keep Leslie from taking us out?” Randy demanded.

Would the real Randy say that? Maybe he would.

“Agreed?” Jack pressed.

“Agreed,” Jack said.

The Randy who had suggested a standoff hesitated, but the other agreed, followed by the Leslies and the Stephanies.

Sweat streamed past both of Jack's temples. He was sure that if they didn't do something soon, one of them would go ballistic. And he was no longer sure it wouldn't be him.

He impulsively handed his gun to Leslie. “Anyone have a knife?”

Both Randys did. Naturally. The real Randy had taken one from the kitchen upstairs. One of them slid it toward Jack without lowering his gun, eyes glinting.

Jack picked up the knife and held his hand out. He placed the blade's edge against his palm and looked at the others.

“We all go. Anyone refuses, they prove themselves to be unreal. Assuming this works. If anyone smokes black, they're incapacitated, not shot outright. Agreed?”

They all nodded.

Because he was sure that no black smoke would pour out of any cut on his hand, Jack had no difficulty with the test. But he wasn't so sure that Randy would be as eager to cut himself.

“Keep the gun on Randy, Leslie.”

“That wasn't part of—”

“It is now,” Jack interrupted. “Just to even things out. Consider her impartial.”

Leslie lifted the gun so that both Randys were covered.

Jack nodded. He pressed the blade against his skin and pressed. But the knife wasn't as sharp as he'd hoped, forcing him to draw it back until it sliced past the epidermis.

Blood seeped from the cut. He held it out. The sight of red blood had never looked quite so comforting.

He showed them. “Satisfied?”

He tossed the knife back toward Randy. It clattered to his feet. “You're next.”

“Why me?”

“To keep it even. You nervous? Leslie, get his gun.”

The door behind Randy opened. Susan stood in the doorway, eyes wide, breathing hard.

Jack glanced at the others to see their reactions. They all looked similarly amazed. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think you're doing?” she demanded. “You're going to kill . . . the one thing . . .” Her voice wasn't connecting with Jack. It seemed to be hitting dead spots. Skipping like a bad CD.

None of them had lowered their weapons.

“Is she real?” Stephanie asked. “Maybe she's not the real Susan.”