Someone in the House (27 page)

“Goodness, it’s hot tonight! I wish the storm would break. My room will be cool, though—those nice big windows.”

“Uh-huh,” said Roger. “It has been suggested that the Roman intolerance toward the druids was more political than religious. The archdruid—”

“What about something cold to drink?” Bea said. Nowshe was making gestures at me. I interpreted them correctly.

“That sounds good,” I cried. “Hey, Kevin, didn’t you say something about changing rooms? This would be a good night to do it. I’ll bet your bedroom is like an oven.”

My rotten acting got through to Roger, who stopped babbling about the archdruid. Kevin looked at me in mild surprise. “Maybe I will,” he said.

“I’ll give you a hand,” said Roger, who had had time to think the idea over.

“What do you mean, give me a hand? I’m not going to move my stuff, I’ll just sleep elsewhere till the weather breaks.”

“The tower room at the end of my corridor has windows all around,” Bea said eagerly. “I could put sheets on the bed in five minutes.”

Kevin was looking at us oddly, so I reverted to the burning question of cold drinks, and offered to help Bea. She refused, but Roger took the hint and the subject of where Kevin would sleep that night was dropped. We had our drinks and a snack. Then Bea rolled up her needlework.

“I’ll make that bed for you, Kevin,” she said.

“We’ll do it together.” Stifling a yawn, Kevin got lazily to his feet. “I feel as if I could sleep tonight. Must be the heat that makes me so groggy.”

After they had gone I lingered long enough to ask Roger about his plans for the night. Instead of answering he gave me a suspicious look. “Who had the bright idea of suggesting that Kevin change rooms?”

“I’m surprised we didn’t think of it before,” I said glibly. “We ought to find out whether the—the thing follows Kevin or is confined to his room.”

“I thought you were concerned about someone human getting to him.”

“The accesses to his new room are a lot easier to watch. The corridor is brighter and more populated, and there is only one stair.”

“What about stairs in the tower?”

“I don’t know. The tower room on that level is a bedroom, obviously; but I don’t remember what is underneath, or whether there is a separate stair. That’s a little job for you.”

“I’ll have to go outside, and look for a door,” Roger grumbled; but I could see the prospect rather interested him.

“Watch out for the burglar alarm.”

“I’ll take care of it. Let’s see, if I put one camera in the hall and another one—”

“Good night,” I said.

I hadn’t been in my room five minutes before Bea slipped in. She was wearing a nightgown and robe, and suggested I follow her example. “In case we are caught out of our rooms,” she explained.

“You make this sound like a boarding-school frolic,” I muttered, pulling my shirt over my head. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? Maybe Kevin will stop…dreaming when he’s sleeping somewhere else.”

“You don’t believe that, and neither do I.”

We crept down the hall like a pair of burglars, pausing at the head of the stair to listen, and then tiptoeing on. Kevin’s room looked harmless enough. A couple of shirts tossed carelessly over the back of a chair and a pile of books on the bedside table suggested that the occupant had just stepped out for a minute.

“I hope he doesn’t come back for a book or something,” I said uneasily, as Bea drew a table out into the middle of the floor and pulled up a couple of chairs.

“He won’t come back.”

“What makes you so—Bea! You didn’t!”

“I couldn’t risk his walking in on us. Sit here, Anne.”

“You drugged him!”

“What a terrible thing to say! I just gave him the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed for me when I was having a bad time. I didn’t take many of them. I don’t like drugs.”

“You don’t like…My God.”

“They are very mild.”

“But you don’t know what else…How many did you give him? The same dosage that was prescribed for you?”

Bea’s eyes shifted. “It’s by body weight. He’s larger than I am. Anne, stop fussing. A good night’s sleep will do him good. Now if you sit here, and I sit across from you, we can watch both the windows and the door.”

I dropped into the chair she indicated and watched her incredulously as she moved around the room, drawing the heavy draperies over the French doors and arranging a silk scarf around the bedside lamp, which she carried to the table. Then she pressed the light switch. I heard her footsteps move toward me, and a dim glow appeared, garishly crimsoned by the scarf she had placed over the lamp. Her face looked like something out of a horror movie, all red skin and black shadows and a gleam of eyeballs.

“Sit still and don’t talk.” she said quietly. “I think we had better hold hands. Would you like to take notes?”

“What with, my toes?”

Bea sighed patiently. “Make jokes if it helps you feel more comfortable. We’ll hold one hand—one hand each—goodness, you know what I mean. It’s impossible to form a circle with only two people, but contact may help.”

For someone who scorned the shoddy devices of spiritualism, she was awfully well informed about the techniques. I thought of pointing out that holding hands—two hands each—would ensure that neither of us was playing tricks, but decided that was the least of my worries. She was right; I had to make smart remarks, if only to myself, in order to keep from howling. I was scared.

We sat in silence for a long time. My eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light. Bea held a pencil in her free hand; her head was bowed. I had heard of automatic writing; I told myself that if the pencil started to move I would put an end to the proceedings. Her hand in mine was soft and cool and relaxed. Her breathing was even. So far, so good, I assured myself.

There were all kinds of weird noises in the room. Though the windows were closed, the approaching storm brought a breeze that slid slyly through various cracks and made the draperies rustle. It was extremely hot, and the red light increased the impression that I had landed in one of the less popular regions of the universe. My physical discomfort increased to a point where I forgot about being frightened. Surreptitiously I wiped perspiration from my streaming face with my free hand.

After a while I realized I wasn’t perspiring as heavily. The temperature in the room was almost comfortable—cool, in fact. Cool and steadily growing colder. Bea lifted her head. The fingers of the hand I was holding tightened on mine.

I felt as if I were going to die, and that is not a figure of speech. My lungs deflated, and the blood started roaring along my veins.

The figure was dim and utterly transparent, like a painting on a thin sheet of plastic. Either it shone with a faint light of its own making, or I saw it with some other sense than vision, for though it wavered slightly, as if a breeze stirred the surface on which it was painted, I could make out every detail—the long robe of rich forest green bordered with fur, the jeweled belt, fastened high under the breasts, the sparkle of tiny gems netting the hair. The face was not so clear. But I think the eyes were blue.

Bea was muttering in a low, quick voice. I couldn’t hear all she said, there was still a roaring in my head, like the sound you get when you press a seashell to your ear, but I caught a few phrases.

“…many mansions…in him is no darkness at all…commend to thy fatherly goodness all those who are in any way afflicted…when two or three are gathered together in thy Name…”

Then she pulled her hand from mine, folded hers, and bowed her head. Her voice came stronger. “O God the Creator and Preserver of all mankind, we humbly beseech thee for all sorts and conditions of men…”

She went from that, whatever it was, to the Apostles’ Creed and the Lord’s Prayer; and the transparent shape wavered and swayed more strongly. With the last “Amen” it was gone. It didn’t fade, it just vanished. A long, shaken sigh died into silence.

After a moment, Bea took the scarf from the lamp. Her eyes were shining. Shimmering trails of dampness streaked her cheeks. It might have been perspiration. Once again the room was as hot as a pizza oven.

I tried to think of something to say that would not be banal or anticlimactic. I couldn’t. So I cleared my throat and inquired, “Can we go now?”

“If you like,” Bea said quietly. “It’s done—finished.”

“It is?”

“Can’t you feel it? It was wonderful—the sense of peace, of rest.” She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief; Bea would, of course, have a clean handkerchief. “I shouldn’t cry,” she went on. “It was so beautiful. I’m so happy.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“But my poor Anne.” She gave me a quick hug. “I suppose you were frightened. I’m sorry, darling. But I’m glad you were here, to help me and to bear witness. Come along and I’ll tuck you into bed. Would you like a cup of tea?”

The combination of tea and spiritual comfort was almost too much for my nerves. “No tea,” I said, swallowing. “Thanks just the same.”

Bea refused to tiptoe on the way back. She swept down the hall like a saint on her way to glory. She wouldn’t have minded meeting Roger; she was dying to tell him of her triumph. We didn’t see him, though. I refused another offer of tea and finally saw her door close behind her.

I stood in my own doorway listening to the silence. I felt the same relief that follows recovery from the flu; I knew the worst was over, but every muscle in my body was limp.

Of all the things I had seen thus far, the ghost lady was the most easily explicable. I could even visualize how it might have been produced. What I couldn’t understand was how anyone could have known of our plans. The only time we had discussed them was when we were alone in the car.

But that was not what kept me hovering uneasily in my open doorway, unwilling to collapse into bed. I had been frightened during the performance, I had to admit that. Now I was still frightened—of Bea. Terms like “Jesus freak” and “religious fanatic” came to my mind, together with fear of the spiritual arrogance that dared to fight the devil for the salvation of a damned soul. Oh, I was overreacting, and I knew it even then; but I couldn’t forget her calm admission that she had slipped Kevin a Mickey. She had not heard my theory about drugs and hypnotism, but she was well aware that he might be unstable. How could she have done such a thing?

I knew I couldn’t go to bed until I made sure Kevin was all right.

I think I closed my door, but I’m not sure. The tower room was beyond Bea’s at the end of the hall. My feet were bare. They made no sound.

I opened his door without knocking. The windows were wide open, and the curtains were lashing in the wind. The temperature had dropped. The cool air felt good on my damp skin. The bed was one of the big, high-postered affairs with a heavy canopy. In its shadow I could see the outlines of Kevin’s body. I could not hear him breathe.

I called his name, and when I got no response I started shaking him. His head flopped around on the pillow like the head of a rag doll. I put my ear against his bare chest. It moved up and down with his breathing. His heart was beating. I was so relieved I stayed there, listening to that lovely, regular throb, feeling the smooth warm skin against my cheek.

After a while he stirred. He made a funny, sleepy little sound, and then he said “Anne.” Just that, just my name, not even questioning. His arms went around me and pulled me down against him.

II

Kevin was still asleep when I left next morning. I stood looking down at him, thinking the thoughts loving and tender women are supposed to think at such times—how young he looked, how defenseless and innocent. Actually, he did. His lips were sweetly curved and his face was calm.

I pulled the sheet over him. The air was brisk and fresh. Apparently it had rained during the night. I hadn’t heard it. I wouldn’t have heard a tornado.

Roger and Bea were in the kitchen when I went downstairs. I could hear raised voices some distance away; and when I caught the phrase “painted on thin plastic” from Roger, I knew what they were talking about. When I entered, he turned on me, happy to have some other object on which to vent his spleen.

“Damn it, Anne, why didn’t you tell me about this harebrained scheme of Bea’s? You had no right—”

“I’m tired of being Watson,” I said, getting a cup and saucer from the cupboard. “I resign.”

“Don’t take it out on her,” Bea said. “I insisted that she give me her word before I told her of my plans. You ought to thank her, Roger. If you want to scream at someone, scream at me.”