Bentley Little - The House

He hated the bitch.

He wanted her dead.

"Why am I here?" he asked his mother. "Is this where I'm supposed to spend my ... afterlife?"

She picked up a rose from somewhere in the nest to the right of her and chewed on it thoughtfully.

"You're still in the House," she said. "It doesn't seem to want to let you go."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's . . . interesting."

"What happened to you?"

"After I was killed?"

He nodded.

"I was freed instantly."

"Did you go ... here?"

She shook her head, laughing, and her laugh was like music. "I am not here even now."

"Where are you?"

"I am on the Other Side."

"Where is this, then? I thought this was the Other Side."

"The border. The Other Side of the border, but the border nevertheless. Until you are fully on the Other Side, you can still go back. You may be dead, but you are not yet completely free from . . . that world. That's what makes it interesting."

"I thought the Houses were charged up again. I

thought the barrier was in place and you ... we ...

couldn't go back and forth."

"You're still part of the House." She looked at him.

"You're not bound by the border. Apparently, the House still needs you."

"But the barrier is up, right? Things aren't. .leakm out anymore, are they?"

"No." She stroked his hair.

"What about those . . . things thatkiliied me?"

"They must've been trapped out there when the border closed."

He blinked. "Jesus, Margot and Tony!"

She placed a calming hand on his. "Those creatures probably burnt themselves out fighting you. They're like fish out of water there. They don't last long. The worlds . . . aren't really compatible." She smiled at him.

"Good."

She nodded. "Yes."

"So where's Billings?"

His mother's face fell, and for the first time, she looked worried. "He's gone."

"I know he's dead. I mean, where's his ghost or his spirit or--"

"He's gone," she said. "There's nothing left of him."

"He--"

"They're not like us, the butler and the girl."

Understanding dawned on him. "Then if he can be killed, she can be killed."

His mother nodded.

"Is that why I'm still part of the House?"

"Perhaps," she mused. She thought for a moment.

"You can capture her, you know."

"Can I kill her?"

She shook her head. "No. Not anymore. You could have if you were alive. But dead you can only hold her, restrain her. You can still bring her back, though. You can return her to the House and keep her here, keep her away from your wife and son." She looked at him as though she'd just thought of it for the first time.

"Your son," she said wonderingly. "My grandson."

He smiled at her. "Tony."

"Tony."

"I think you'd like him, Mom."

"I'm sure I will."

The egg shook, rumbled, and Daniel leaped to his feet, tottering on the unstable branches of the nest. His mother moved off the egg, and helped him out of the nest.

It shook again, vibrated, jerked.

Suddenly the egg cracked open, and from it emerged ... nothing.

A beatific smile crossed his mother's face, and she started to fade. As she grew slowly insubstantial, her hair seemed to return, and she looked more like the mother he remembered. He reached out to her, but their hands passed through each other.

"I love you," his mother said. "We all love you."

"I love you, too."

"I'll see you in--" she began.

And she was gone.

The House darkened, the interior dimming as if a light had been switched off, the blank world outside growing indistinct. He felt panicky, didn't know what he was supposed to do, but he thought of Margot, thought of Tony and he was back home, in their bedroom, standing at If the foot of the bed and staring down at a sleeping Margot.

He felt lost, confused. He supposed, in the back of hisli mind, despite all of the surface layers of skepticism mod- fern life had heaped on him, he had assumed that all would be revealed after death, that the answers to the cosmic questions and metaphysical concerns that had bedeviled mankind since the beginning of history and provided the impetus for every religion would be instantly supplied to him and he would become some sort of wise, enlightened, loving being, far different and far superior to the ordinary average guy he'd been.

But he was the same person as before, no different, if no smarter, no more enlightened.

Just dead.

Piecing together what he knew and what he could infer, Doneen had driven out or killed all of the residents of all of the Houses, leaving the Houses empty, in an attempt to bring down the barrier and open the border, allowing the dead and various beings from the Other Side to invade the material, physical world. Billings, the attendant of the Houses, had doggedly kept on, plugging away as the Houses faded, the barrier weakened, entirely unaware of the girl's existence. Despite Doneen's best efforts to scare them and keep them away, Billings and the Houses had called them back, and once again the integrity of the border was restored, the two worlds separated. But the girl had killed Billings and was now systematically trying to destroy the rest of them. Why? What was the reason? What did she hope to gain? What were her ultimate goals? He didn't know, couldn't say.

He thought of what Mark had said: Magic isn't logical. The observation was wiser than he'd given it credit for being, and he had the feeling that there was no rational reason for what she was doing, that her object was not something he could ever hope to understand.

Whatever her purpose, though, he knew it was evil, knew it was wrong.

He wondered what had happened to Mark, to Stormy and Norton, to Laurie. Had they all been tricked into death as he had been? Had they all been murdered? His mother said that Doneen could not be killed by someone who was dead, that it would take a living human being to stop her, and he assumed that Doneen's immediate plan was to kill them all, to make sure they could not harm her. Why she hadn't murdered them outright, why she'd let them get this far, why she hadn't killed them before they even returned to their Houses, was a mystery.

Perhaps Billings had been protecting them. Perhaps the Houses had. Maybe her power to inflict harm did not extend beyond the Houses' walls.

He looked down at Margot, sleeping soundly, completely unaware of the fact that he was dead and would never return. He was filled with a deep profound sadness, and he felt like crying, but he was not sure if it was for her or himself. It was for both of them, he supposed, for the forced death of their relationship.

He could not cry, though. The emotion was there, but not the physical capability, and he stood there looking down at her, unable to express what he was experiencing.

He reached down to stroke her cheek. His hand did not pass through her, his fingers were stopped by her skin, but there was no sensation of feeling. He felt I

neither the warmth of her body nor the softness of her face. Her cheek was merely an impediment to him. But there was no more wall between them, and though he could no longer feel her the way he had in that split second before he'd been pulled back to the House, just the fact that he could be close to her made him feel better, made him feel good.

He bent down even farther to kiss her, and he realized that when he pressed his cheek to hers, he could hear her sleeping thoughts. She was dreaming about him, planning their reunion, thinking about their future life together, and he had to pull away; it was too painful, too raw. He wished he could talk to her, wished he could communicate, but when he tried to nudge her and wake her up, he found that he could not move her. He could touch her form but was unable to exert any pressure against it. He said her name. Softly first, then louder, but she did not awaken.