Bentley Little - The House

Margot and Tony had never been far from his mind, but seeing Laurie in his room this morning had reminded him even more acutely how much he missed his wife and how desperately he needed to get back to her. The thought that he might never see her again stabbed at his heart.

He folded his pants and shirt, hanging them over a chair, thinking that he was going to have to wash them soon, that if he did not do so they'd be so encrusted with filth he wouldn't be able to fold them at all.

But his mind returned to Margot as he slipped under the covers, and he thought of how she looked while she was sleeping, the cute sound of her little half snore, the comforting feel of her warm body snuggling next to his in the middle of the cold night. He missed her, he wanted her, he needed her, and for the first time since he'd been a child in the House, he cried himself to sleep.

Mark Mark lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling. He was exhausted and drenched with sweat, having tried in vain for the past half hour to once again access The Power, to focus his mind and concentrate completely on reviving the abilities he'd possessed and, until recently, taken for granted.

He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, felt a small rivulet trickle down the side of his face into his ear. What was he doing here? What did he have in common with these residents of other Houses? He felt closer to Billings than he did to Norton or Laurie--and the servant scared the living shit out of him.

Was he even supposed to be here or was it all some fluke of bad timing? Because the fact remained that although Billings had obviously been expecting him when he arrived, he was the only one who hadn't been specifically summoned.

He was the only one who hadn't had a recent encounter with the girl.

That was at the root of his concern, and he found himself wondering if maybe some other force had led him back here, had compelled him to return home.

No, it was Kristen's death. There was no higher power pushing him. No overall design. He'd come back simply because his sister had died and he wanted to find out what had happened to her.

Whatever the reason, though, he was here, a prisoner like the rest of them, and he felt that it was his responsibility to get them out of this. He had not mentioned The Power to anyone, and while he knew he should have come clean instantly, that time was past. It would be too awkward now, would raise too many questions. None of them seemed to have ever possessed any sort of extrasensory abilities or to suspect that he had.

Did Billings even know?

He wasn't sure.

That might give him an advantage.

He decided to try again. If anything was going to help him get them out of here and escape, it would be The Power. If he could just get an opportunity to read Billings, to scan the House . . .

He took a deep breath.

Concentrated hard.

Nothing.

His head hurt, the blood pounding in his temples, and his muscles were starting to ache from the strain as his body grew rigid and relaxed, rigid and relaxed. He wiped the sweat from his face, looked upward once again, and pushed until it felt as though his eyes were going to pop from his head.

And a figure flickered into existence at the foot of his bed.

He saw the form at the bottom of his peripheral vision, and he sat up instantly, facing it full on.

Kristen.

She was older, the way she must have looked when she died, but he recognized her instantly. She was not solid, not flesh, but she was not transparent either. Instead, she seemed to be sort of... glowing. And translucent. Like a computer-generated specter in a big-budget movie.

He was suspicious of that at first, not believing that reality would hew so closely to the middle-of the-road imaginations of anonymous film craftsmen, but then she turned her head, craned her neck, looking around as if uncertain for a second where she was, and her eyes alighted on Mark.

She smiled, her entire face lighting up.

And he knew it was her.

"We've still got it," she said to him, and there was a playfulness to the smile on her lips. Her hand reached out to touch his foot and he felt not pressure but a pleasant warmth, as though a ray of sunlight had been concentrated on that section of his skin. "How are you, Mark?"

He nodded, not knowing what to say.

"It's not your fault," she said. "About me dying, I

mean."

"I never--"

"Yes you did." She laughed, a sound that reminded him of tinkling chimes, the wind in the trees. "I know you, Mark."

"I should've come back for you. I should've been there."

"You made your choices. I made mine."

He swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and walked over to where she stood. Reaching out to touch her face, his fingers passed through her form and he felt only that pleasant warmth.

He took a deep breath. "How did you die?" he asked.

It was why he had come here. It was what he most wanted to know.

A frown crossed her features. "I can't talk about that."

"Kristen!"

"That's not why I'm here. That's not why I came back."

"Did I bring you back?"

She smiled again. "You helped."

"How did you die?"

"I told you--"

"I need to know!" His eyes did not leave hers, and he saw a struggle there.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you about that."

"Kristen . . ."

She glanced furtively around, as if checking to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "You know how," she said and looked at him meaningfully.

Her warmth was replaced by a wave of cold that came entirely from within him. "The girl?" he said.

She nodded.

"I knew it! What happened?"

"I can't--"

"Kristen ..."

Another furtive look around. "She sat on my face.

And smothered me."

"Jesus!"

"She was always wanting to have sex with me. And I always refused. And I guess, finally, she took the initiative. I was sleeping and when I woke up she was sitting on my face and I couldn't breathe. I tried to push her off me, but even though she's still a child, she weighed as much as a sumo wrestler. I couldn't get her off. I

tried to hit her, tried to buck her off, tried to roll over, but she just sat there on top of me, and finally I passed out. And I died."

"I should've been there," Mark said. "I should've come back after Dad died."

"There's nothing you could've done."

"I could've protected you."

"Not unless you slept with me every night. And I

don't think even you're that weird." She smiled teasingly, and he had to smile back.

"I miss you," he said.

"I miss you."

"Did you ever try to get her out of the House? Her or Billings?"

Kristen shook her head. "They're part of the House."

"But did you ever try?"

"I didn't know how. I just avoided them. Like we used to."

"And now we're both trapped here."

"Maybe," she said.

"Come on. Billings won't let us leave."

"First of all, I'm not really here. I'm . . . visiting."

"Then he's trapped me here."

"You're trapped," she told him, "but Billings hasn't done it to you. He's not keeping you here. Any of you.

You're keeping yourselves here. As long as you remain tied to your homes, as long as you have unresolved issues with those on the Other Side, you will remain on the border. It is the only hold the Houses have over you, this connection to the past, to the dead."

"Unresolved issues?"

Kristen nodded.

Bentley Little "With you?"

She shook her head, smiled. "We always understood one another," she said. She touched his cheek, and he felt the warmth of sunshine. "We still do."

"Who, then?"

She paused. "Mother. Father."

Mark grew silent.

"That is why you can't leave."

"Because I never came back and made it up with Mom and Dad?"

She nodded.