Bentley Little - The House

Maybe that's why they'd been shown the greenhouse --because it was the only room left that had windows.

The chime sounded once again.

Daniel remained in bed. Fuck Billings. He was going back to sleep. If punctual communal meals assisted the Houses in their regeneration of power, then he wasn't going to do anything to help. Besides, he was still tired and didn't want to wake up. And they'd have all day-- hell, all year--to interrogate the butler.

There was a knock on his door. "Daniel?"

Laurie.

"Just a minute." Sighing, he got out of bed, pulled on his pants, and opened the door.

She stood in the hall, dressed, hair combed, and he unconsciously ran a hand through his own hair. "May I

come in?" she asked.

He nodded, stepped back. She closed the door behind her, and his first thought was that he ought to remind her that he was married. But she seemed oblivious to that potential in the situation and pulled his small chair away from the desk, sitting down.

"I know we haven't had a chance to talk one-on-one," she said. "None of us have. But I've been doing some thinking and . . .

well . . ." She met his eyes. "What do you think of Mark?"

"Mark? I ... I don't know. Why?"

"Come on. Cut the crap. There's no reason to be diplomatic here. What are your feelings about Mark? Your gut reaction."

"No reason to be diplomatic?" He smiled. "The way I see it, we may be stuck with each other for the rest of our lives. And beyond. I should try to get along with as many people as I can."

"I'm being serious," Laurie said.

He nodded, sitting down on the side of the unmade bed. "I know. What are you getting at?"

"There's something . . . not right about him."

"Well, he's not a real talkative guy, but--"

"Not that." She sighed. "What if he's a spy?"

"What?"

"Just hear me out."

"That's crazy."

"Is it? I don't think he's been totally honest with us--"

"Come on! Everyone has secrets. You think I'd completely spill my guts to a bunch of strangers? You think I told you guys everything about me?"

"No, but I think you were honest enough to tell us everything that you thought pertained to this situation.

I'm not so sure Mark did. I think he's keeping something from us."

"And that makes him--what?--a House agent?"

"I don't know. I'm not saying he's monitoring our conversations and reporting back to Billings or whoever.

I'm just saying that I don't entirely trust him."

"Why did you come to me? Why are you telling me this?"

"You seem ... I feel like we maybe have more in common than some of the others. I don't want your ego to get too swollen, but you seem smart. Confident.

Straightforward. And I guess the bottom line is that I

trust you the most."

Daniel couldn't help smiling. "I'm flattered."

"Look. Just think about it. Just keep your eyes open.

That's all I'm saying." She stood up. "It's getting late.

We'd better go down to breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Daniel said.

"But--"

"But what? Our faithful servant will get mad at me?

Let him."

Laurie nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Maybe these rituals give the Houses power."

"It's a possibility."

"I'll tell the others."

"You going to skip breakfast too?"

"Starting tomorrow." She smiled embarrassedly. "I'm hungry."

Daniel laughed. "Go on, then. I'll see you guys later."

But he couldn't fall back asleep, and after a fruitless forty-five minutes tossing and turning restlessly, he put on his clothes and headed downstairs to the dining room.

The table was set, but there was no food on it and no one was eating. Whatever conversation there had been had died, and Laurie, Mark, Norton, and Stormy sat in separate sections of the long table, playing with their silverware or staring into space.

"Where's Billings?" Daniel asked, sitting down.

Stormy shrugged. "That's the big question."

"Has anyone tried to look for him?"

"I did," Laurie said. "No sign of him. On this floor at least."

"So . . . what? We're going to starve?"

Stormy stood. "I'll make the damn breakfast." He looked around the table. "But we're switching off. This is not my regular gig."

"I'll take dinner," Laurie said.

"And we can each make our own lunch." Daniel smiled. "I know the schedule."

"You'd better like scrambled eggs," Stormy said. "It's all I can make." He disappeared into the kitchen and emerged a moment later, looking perplexed, carrying a tray of bacon and a pitcher of orange juice.

"It's ready," he said.

"What?"

"Our breakfast is in there. It's all cooked and ready."

"It wasn't there before," Laurie said. "I checked."

"Somebody want to come in here and give me a hand?"

They all stood, followed him into the kitchen, picked up assorted dishes. There were pancakes and bagels, muffins and fresh fruit. Neither the stove nor the oven appeared to have been used, and there were no dirty knives or cooking utensils on the counters or in the sink.

It was as if the food had just . . . appeared.

Daniel picked up the coffeepot and a plate of sausage and headed back to the dining room. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there seemed something different about the kitchen. It seemed larger than he remembered, the positioning of its elements changed slightly. He wondered if the room was a composite of all of their old kitchens and if a modification or remodeling on the part of one of the families had thrown it off a little bit. Until now, everything in the House looked exactly the same as it had in Matty Groves.

Maybe that was knowledge that could be used to their advantage.

They ate, for the most part, in silence, occasional mini conversations breaking out and then dying. He did find himself watching Mark, paying attention to what the young man did and the few things he said, and he was angry with Laurie for planting the seeds of doubt in his mind.

But he couldn't be too angry with her. He really was flattered that she trusted him, that she respected his honesty and intelligence, and had chosen him to confide in.

He smiled to himself. Anyone with perceptions that astute couldn't be completely wrong.

But it was a bad precedent. They'd only been together for, what? Twelve hours, House time? What would it be like in a week? A month?

Hopefully, they wouldn't be here by then. Hopefully, they would have found a way out by that time.

But if they hadn't?

They'd probably be at each other's throats, like that old Twilight Zone episode, "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street," where a group of aliens shut off water and power and watched the residents of a neighborhood scapegoat each other, blame each other, distrust each other, finally kill each other.

He glanced over at Laurie. She gave him a wan smile.

They had to get out of here.

They spent the day exploring the House: the basement to the attic, and the three floors in between. He would have thought that sealing off the windows, removing all trace of the world--or worlds--outside the House would make it seem more claustrophobic, smaller, but that was not the case. Instead, it seemed even bigger, its corridors more labyrinthine, the number of rooms greater.

Except he knew that wasn't true. He knew where all of the room doors were, knew what was behind most of them, and there were no more than there had been when he'd lived here as a child.

So why did the interior of the House seem to be expanding?

He did not know and he did not want to know, and after the maddening frustration of their fruitless day, he was grateful when he was finally able to retire to his room.

He took off his clothes. Were they really going to be trapped inside this damn House for the rest of their lives?