She walked down the hall and unlocked it for him, then headed back into the den and located her rebar.

Kill all that you love, The Breviary, the tenants, the ghosts, and even the thing on the other side of the door whispered, just as Saraub Ramesh entered 14B. The Breviary, the tenants, the ghosts, and even the thing on the other side of the door whispered, just as Saraub Ramesh entered 14B.

45.

Let Me In It took Saraub sixty-five excruciating minutes to check out of the hospital. His cabbie was new to the job, and took Central Park North instead of the 97th Street Transverse. They wound up circling Morningside Park and adding an extra fifteen minutes to the trip. When he finally made his way into The Breviary's lobby, the doorman was gone, and the place was empty. A kiddie p.o.r.no lay open on the floor. Street Transverse. They wound up circling Morningside Park and adding an extra fifteen minutes to the trip. When he finally made his way into The Breviary's lobby, the doorman was gone, and the place was empty. A kiddie p.o.r.no lay open on the floor.

The more he thought about it, the worse this sounded. She was was a private person, so why hadn't she called him herself if she'd wanted his help? And where was everyone in this building? a private person, so why hadn't she called him herself if she'd wanted his help? And where was everyone in this building?

He waited for the elevator for ten minutes, then finally broke open the iron gate, and looked down the shaft. The wire cable had torn, and the car lay crashed in the bas.e.m.e.nt, its roof broken open from the impact of the fall.

He headed for the stairs. After two flights, he was sweating. It was dusty in here, and he breathed some of it in-a greasy, foul taste that slithered in his stomach. After three flights, he took a break to rest his ribs and leaned against the wall. It vibrated against his fingers.

After a minute or two, he caught his breath and kept walking. Faster. As fast as he could. The building swayed. He could feel it rocking, like the top of the Empire State Building, only he didn't think it had been engineered to bow with the wind: this thing was no longer sound.

At the fourth-floor landing, an old woman peeked out from the fire door. She'd smeared coral lipstick across her forehead and cheeks, but otherwise was wearing nothing at all. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s hung slack around her belly. "She doesn't want you!" The woman giggled. "But they want to wear you!" She pointed and laughed, and he walked faster.

He picked up his pace. It was hard to keep his balance with his arms in casts, so he leaned against the railing. Thought about calling the cops, but didn't know yet what to tell them.

He got to the sixth floor. Sweat dripped from his brow. It was humid in here. Red ants scurried up the steps as if seeking higher ground. He felt something in his stomach. Gnawing. It got bigger inside him, like indigestion.

She said you couldn't make a p.o.r.n star c.u.m.

Had someone just said something? He slowed. Two steps at a time. Had Audrey been talking about him?

She said she was after your money, only you don't have any. You're just your mother's b.i.t.c.h.

One step at a time.

You never met a Twinkie you didn't love.

He's always wanted a girl like Audrey, who called her own shots. He'd thought she'd seen past his drawbacks. But how can anyone see past 280 pounds?

And these dreams he'd had, of a house. Before Audrey, he'd used his family's credit card to buy movie tickets. He'd eaten entire pizzas for dinner, followed by two pitchers of beer. He'd never paid his bills, or cooked, or cleaned. These dreams of his, they belonged to someone else.

He stopped at the tenth-floor landing. The lights flickered. The banister was hot beneath his fingers. And why was he doing this? For a woman who'd treated him like garbage and cleaned their toilet every time he used it, like she thought his a.s.s germs would put her in a hospital.

He got to the eleventh floor. Breathing so hard he was dizzy.

She's spreading her legs for both the partners at her office. She was easy, too. All she wanted out of it was a raise.

Saraub clenched his jaw. The b.i.t.c.h deserved a right hook. A tooth knocked out, or maybe her pretty face slashed, so she'd know how bad it felt to be stared at for being different.

She said she'd have respected you, if just once, you'd punched something besides a wall.

He got to the twelfth-floor landing. His fury swelled. He saw, but did not place, the dried and b.l.o.o.d.y footprints on the steps, as belonging to Audrey. The fourteenth floor. He walked down the red carpet. It was a mess of white powder and broken ceramic. All the doors except 14B were open. In 14C, an old woman in a torn dressing gown pointed at him, and shouted, "He's here! He's here! I tole you!"

He walked on. A white-haired old man leaned inside 14A's doorway and shot his arm with a hypodermic needle full of cloudy fluid. When he saw Saraub, he frowned. "How are we going to get rid of the carca.s.s? You're too big for the chute."

He turned the handle to 14B. It creaked open. His panting was fast, and sweat poured. He didn't notice the running water, or the shadows that raced down the hall and into the den. Didn't notice the Steinway chopped to bits. From its bones and her moving boxes, she'd made a door. The blackbirds in the windows flapped their wings, trapped in gla.s.s. Alive. He didn't register this, either. All he heard was that voice in his mind, and the walls, and the air: Give it to her. She wants it. The only way to keep her in line is the back of your hand. If you don't do it, she'll find a man who can. Give it to her. She wants it. The only way to keep her in line is the back of your hand. If you don't do it, she'll find a man who can.

He charged. First walking fast, then running with his broken arms at his sides. Her expression was flat and without emotion. Her eyes were black. She was wearing a sweat suit that fit her like a blanket, and she stank. "You b.i.t.c.h," he said. Then he took a swing with his plaster cast.

She swung, too, but she was faster. He didn't have the time to block the blow. Only heard the sound as his shoulder cracked, and he crashed to the floor.

46.

The Tenants Once Saraub arrived, the tenants lined the fourteenth-floor hallway and began to cheer. Loretta stamped her feet. "It's started!" she cried. Nude Arthur tucked his needle behind his ear. Elaine Alexander slammed her fists against her stomach. Benjamin Borrell tore his hair. Evvie Waugh thought about heaven. "It's time!" they all shouted. "It's time! It's time! It's time!" Francis Galton revealed what he'd done to improve on his artwork: a face without skin.

One by one, every living tenant of The Breviary followed Saraub's path, and crawled, walked, and hobbled down the throat of 14B. Their bodies had become hunched and their eyes black. They clapped and laughed and cried with delight, as Audrey struck his shoulder once more with her rebar.

Seven generations, trapped in this building. No air, no gra.s.s, no sky or sun. They did not care what happened next, so long as it led to an end.

The red ants climbed. Up the steps, through the cracks, vents, and floors. They swarmed 14B, until the floors and walls were red.

47.

What You Love Is the Same as What You Hate A crowd had arrived. The apartment turned red, just like when Clara lived there. The stained-gla.s.s blackbirds got loose from the gla.s.s and flew circles around the door, in an ever-tightening gyre. The entire building rattled. The floor beneath her cracked, and the ceiling cracked, too. The door throbbed within its frame, and The Breviary trembled with delight. crowd had arrived. The apartment turned red, just like when Clara lived there. The stained-gla.s.s blackbirds got loose from the gla.s.s and flew circles around the door, in an ever-tightening gyre. The entire building rattled. The floor beneath her cracked, and the ceiling cracked, too. The door throbbed within its frame, and The Breviary trembled with delight.

Saraub lifted his casted arm in defense. His promises and his bulls.h.i.t, oh, how she hated him. She swung again. Missed as he rolled, double casts flailing, onto his side. The door opened a crack. Her heart swelled: she was such an excellent engineer. But of course, if anyone understood functional chaos, it was the daughter of Betty Lucas.

She drew back the rebar. Saraub's big eyes were cow-like and stupid. Too shocked to react. That's why she was a survivor, and he wasn't. She lifted the pole once more.

"Stop," he groaned. "It's not you. It's the building."

She tightened her fingers and struck again. This time, the bottom of his foot, just to frighten him, because his voice was so familiar. He crawled, using his hips to propel himself backward. Only, the hall was filled with the tenants and ants. Clapping and screaming. His skin was so smooth. Had he shaved for her? Did he know she'd once been a ballerina, or that before Betty went mad, Audrey's best friend's father had owned a Dairy Queen? Did he know that during Betty's final AWOL, she'd gotten beaten to unconsciousness in the back of an Omaha dive bar? Or that Audrey had committed her against her will? On the day she wheeled her into Ward C, she'd told her that the hospital was an airport and that they were going on a vacation to Paris. Did he know the kind of coldhearted b.i.t.c.h she could be, when she had to be?

A tear rolled down the side of her face. "I don't want to kill you. But I have to. It's better this way, trust me."

Behind them, the door opened about a half inch. The s.p.a.ce made a vacuum that sucked the light from the room. The ants swarmed. They filled the cracks until the room lightened again.

"Audrey, stop," he pleaded as she followed him down the hall.

The thing inside her squirmed, whispering words of sweetness in her mother's voice. We girls stick together. No one comes between. Do you know what he did to Jayne? He touched her a.s.s. You saw, didn't you, Lamb? It wasn't your lamp that hurt her feelings so bad. It was the guilt, because she was afraid to tell you. That's why he left you. He raped her, Lamb. It's his fault she's dead. We girls stick together. No one comes between. Do you know what he did to Jayne? He touched her a.s.s. You saw, didn't you, Lamb? It wasn't your lamp that hurt her feelings so bad. It was the guilt, because she was afraid to tell you. That's why he left you. He raped her, Lamb. It's his fault she's dead.

"No," she muttered. "Impossible"

Schermerhorn was at her other ear. He'll be fine, darling. It's better this way. Don't worry your little head. You're one of us, and he doesn't make the cut. He'll be fine, darling. It's better this way. Don't worry your little head. You're one of us, and he doesn't make the cut.

The door groaned. Along the walls, ancestors of The Breviary watched. And there was baby Deirdre on the floor. Unresponsive, mute. Vacant. She peered up at Audrey with black eyes. "Finish it."

Soon, they were all chanting, even the tenants. "Finish it. Finish it. Finish it."

She could hear their thoughts. They were too far gone to think in words. All was the color red, of madness and murder and frugal love.

She hoisted the rebar.

"Audrey. Think! You'll go to jail. You'll lose everything," Saraub cried as he crawled toward the turret window. Blackbirds struck his exposed skin as they flew, their talons sharp as gla.s.s.

"Finish it! Finish it! Finish it!" The tenants trilled. Loretta began to howl. The sound was pained, as if she'd been stabbed.

"Audrey. Put it down," Saraub cried. His arms were plaster wings that reminded her of flight.

She squeezed the rebar. The look he wore was familiar. Even now, his concern outweighed his fear. Stupid man, worried about how his murder might cramp her freedom. So good at caring for other people, so terrible at caring for himself. A red ant climbed along her cheek and bit the bridge of her nose. She realized she'd become the thing she hated most. She'd become Betty's sickness.

The thing inside her lifted her hand against the man she loved. This time she fought it. She noticed her filthy sweat suit and bare feet. Remembered Jayne, and her mother, and herself, all so scarred and raw but fighters, too. Saw Saraub's blood as it coated the plaster of paris. Broken arms-who'd hurt him?

They both knew he could do a lot better than a white-trash hick with OCD. The thing is, maybe he didn't want better. Maybe she made him happy.

"Finish it! Finish it!" the tenants wailed.

She dropped the pole and bent down next to him. "I'm sorry," she said. Around them, ants scurried. There were so many that they looked fluid. They rushed the door, and she remembered, finally, that time in Hinton. Red ants had filled the holes then, too.

"I love you. I'm sorry," Audrey said as she helped him stand. Just then, Loretta hobbled out in front of the door. All around them now, ants squirmed. They filled the ever-widening cracks as the door continued to open.

"I'll do it myself!" Loretta hooted, then picked up the rebar and swung. Only, she didn't go after Audrey or Saraub. She hit the den wall. Plaster chunks broke loose from their wooden beam bones. The others joined her, weak fists punching.

"Fire!" Evvie Waugh cried, and they all cheered. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" A few scrurried out of 14B, still chanting.

"What?" Saraub whispered. She squeezed his hand to quiet him. Together, they slid toward the hall, but Loretta spotted them, and blocked their way. "It's my party!" she said. "And you have to stay!"

Panting, Saraub whispered, "I think we can take them."

She doubted this but appreciated his optimism; from the way it slumped backward, she'd broken his shoulder. Supporting him by the waist, they kept going for a step, then two, until the crowd pushed back. Fists flailing, she struggled, punching at random. The sound was like twigs breaking. Saraub threw his body into the crowd. A few, including Evvie Waugh, fell as he jerked his neck back and shouted, "Run!"

The command confused her-did he expect her to leave him? She shook her head and followed him into the crowd. Flailing, kicking, trying to wrest him back. After a short struggle, the tenants had her, too.

The seconds pa.s.sed. The smell of smoke wafted through the vents. She could feel heat, too, and realized then where the ones who left had gone. To open the door, the tenants were killing the only thing they loved. They were burning down The Breviary. It shrieked its agonized protest, and they shrieked, too. The thing about monsters, they hate themselves most of all.

"Oh, s.h.i.t," Audrey said.

Saraub stood on tiptoe, to see over the tenants' heads, and called out to her, "We've got to get out of here!" just as Loretta Parker twisted the faucet handle and opened the door.

48.

Mother The door opened. The Breviary screamed in pain and joy. On the other side of the door were the monsters, at last. Spiderlike Edgar Schermerhorn was up front. Behind him were Loretta Parker, Evvie Waugh, Francis Galton, and the rest of the tenants, too. And then, to the left, shadow versions of Audrey Lucas and Saraub Ramesh. Their likeness was unmistakable, only their joints were rounded and their eyes were black. They walked on four legs.

She understood then what was behind the door. Humanity's dark, soulless twins. Cast off by reason and consequence but always searching for ways to return, be it through the subtlety of sickness or the enormity of a door. They were shaped like insects because insects are the only animals that have no souls.

Snarling, they pushed against the boundaries that trapped them inside the door, which would collapse as soon as The Breviary died. From its groans of pain, perhaps even The Breviary regretted what it had done.

"Stupid building. I'm the boss. Me!" Loretta cried. Then she charged the door and somehow raced through its aperture. Her arms were opened wide, as if to give Schermerhorn a hug, but it was her opposite Loretta who caught her, and took the first bite. The rest helped. They pulled her apart. Unsocial creatures, none voluntarily shared.

The building smoldered. Chips of plaster fell, and the door rocked inside its frame. Francis Galton was the next to race through the opening. The same fate greeted him. This time it was Schermerhorn who caught him. The dark, spiderlike Schermerhorn she'd met upon Jayne's death, who'd consumed his human counterpart and had lived here ever since, guiding The Breviary's hand.

"Run!" Evvie Waugh exclaimed, then beat his way backward through the crowd with Edgardo's cane. Some followed him, others followed Loretta.

The shadow creatures pushed against the opening but so far could only lure the tenants inside, and couldn't yet break free.

Audrey could not help but look. Behind the monsters was a red-sunned world with dirt instead of gra.s.s and air thick as ashes. Her shadow twin was hunched, with hard features and narrow, ungenerous eyes.

She realized she'd seen this thing before, only back then, she hadn't recognized it. Hinton, 1992.

"We've got to break the door," Saraub said, as the tenants scurried down the hall or else flung themselves inside the door. He lifted the rebar with one of his broken arms. His own shadow self retained his features but stood only as tall as a child. A stunted thing, it sucked its thumb.

"No, it'll collapse before it can open," she told him. "We just have to get out."

He grimaced. "I have to take it down," he said, and she understood that what he meant was, every second it stands is an abomination.

Another tenant screamed as she walked through the door. And another. She didn't hear the sound of smacking lips, or grunts. Even these would have marked a human kind of delight.

The floor beneath them buckled. Saraub advanced too slowly. She took the rebar from him. "Let me."

As she approached the door, she thought about what she'd forgotten in Hinton. b.l.o.o.d.y-necked, she'd escaped her mother's knife and bent down over the hole to help dig. One clump of dirt, another. And then, a face. Frantic, she'd clawed more dirt and so had Betty, until they'd unearthed the thing.

Black-eyed Audrey Lucas had peered back at them. Human-sized, a grown woman aged before her time, it had scritch-scratched scritch-scratched with fingers worn to bones against the floor it was trapped beneath. Though she hadn't recognized it as her twin, in her drunken horror, she'd screamed. with fingers worn to bones against the floor it was trapped beneath. Though she hadn't recognized it as her twin, in her drunken horror, she'd screamed.

It was Betty who'd stabbed it with her knife. First slitting its throat, then cutting off its head. It was then that the red ants had swelled up from the ground and filled the kitchen while Audrey and her mother had stomped. They'd chewed flesh and blood and bones, until every last bit of the monster was gone.

By the time the ants had finished, she'd forgotten. Maybe it had been too terrible. Maybe it was a secret humans weren't meant to know.

The red ants were not the imaginary symptom of madness, like she'd always believed. They were the gatekeepers that kept the shadow world and the hopeful world separate. Her mother, attuned to both places, had heard Audrey's monster that day and murdered it. And then she'd fled, to escape her own monster.

Audrey swung the rebar. Hard. One hit was all it took because she knew that the top left corner of the frame was the weakest part. The trapped things wailed in fury as the frame crashed down. The cruciform handle tumbled end to end.