"Later, when the lights were out in the testing room-full controls in operation-a group of seven perfectly formed faces floated around the room. One of the testers-Doctor Wells, the famous Harvard chemist-had his face blown into by one of them, and another tried to kiss him. I believe he was rather a cynic about the entire subject until that night."

"What else?" Edith prompted as he fell silent again.

"Oh, a... dark shadow in the shape of a man walked around the testing room with a tread that shook the walls. Green phosph.o.r.escent lights, like outsize b.u.t.terflies, fluttered around the table and nested in the sitters' hair. A mandolin floated near the ceiling, playing 'My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean.' Professor Mulvaney of the Pittsburgh Parapsychological a.s.sociation held a perfectly formed materialized hand for more than ten minutes, describing it as possessing bones, skin, hair, nails, and warmth. It dissolved in his grip in less than a second.

"Finally, a ma.s.s of teleplasm flooded from Fischer's mouth and formed the figure of a Chinese mandarin, seven feet tall, complete to the finest detail. It spoke to the group for twenty minutes before being retracted into Fischer's body." Barrett set aside another plank. "Fischer was all of thirteen at the time."

"He was genuine, then."

"Oh, yes, completely." Barrett started working on the final plank. "Unfortunately, that was long ago. It's like a muscle, you see. Fail to use it, and it atrophies." He set aside the final plank and stood with his cane. "Now," he said.

Edith rose and walked over to him. He was peeling off a large envelope that was taped to the front of the machine. As he opened it and slid out his blueprints, Edith looked at the control panel with its array of switches, dials, and k.n.o.bs. "What did this cost to build?" she asked.

"I'd say in excess of seventy thousand dollars."

"My G.o.d." Edith ran her gaze over the dials. "EMR," she murmured, reading the metal plate fastened below the largest dial. The numbers on it ranged from zero to 120,000.

"What is is EMR, Lionel?" EMR, Lionel?"

"I'll explain it later, dear," he said distractedly. "I'll tell all of you exactly what the Reversor is designed to do."

"The Reversor," she said.

He nodded, looking at the top blueprint. Pulling the pencil flashlight from his pocket, he shone its thin beam through a grille-like opening on the side of the machine. He frowned and, limping to the table, set down the blueprints, and picked up a screwdriver. Returning to the machine, he began to unfasten a plate.

Edith moved to the fireplace and held her hands toward the flames. She'd stood right here, she thought after a moment. She could remember nothing before being slapped from sleep, to find herself naked in front of Fischer. She shuddered, trying not to think about it.

She was moving back toward Lionel when Fischer suddenly came dashing in. Edith started as he called out, "Doctor!"

Barrett whirled.

"It's Miss Tanner!"

Edith froze. My G.o.d, what's happened now? she thought.

"She's been hurt again."

Barrett nodded once and, limping to the table, grabbed his black bag. "Where?" he asked.

"In her room."

The three moved hurriedly across the great hall, Barrett setting the pace as best he could. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"She's scratched-torn-bitten."

"How did it happen?"

"I don't know; the cat, I think."

"The cat? cat?"

"I was bringing her some food. When she didn't answer my knock, I opened the door. The second I did, the cat shot out and disappeared."

"And Miss Tanner?"

"She was in the bathroom," Fischer said. "At first she wouldn't come out. When she did-" He stopped, grimacing.

She was lying on her bed when they came in; she opened her eyes and turned her head as they crossed the room. Edith made a sound of shock. The medium's skin was as pale as wax, deep, blood-encrusted indentations on her head, puffy scratches on her face and neck.

Barrett put his bag by her bed and sat down beside her. "Have you disinfected these?" he asked, looking at the bites on her head.

She shook her head. Barrett opened his bag and removed a small brown bottle and a box of Q-Tips. He glanced at the rips in Florence's sweater. "Your body, too?"

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

"You'd better take the sweater off."

"I've washed myself."

"That's not enough. There could be infection."

Florence glanced at Fischer. Without a word, he turned and walked to the other bed, sitting down on it, his back to them. Florence started to remove her sweater. "Would you help her, Edith?" Barrett asked.

Edith moved to the side of the bed, wincing as she saw the pattern of the jagged slashes across Florence's chest and stomach, the bites and lacerations on her arms. She reached behind the medium to unhook her bra, stepping back as Florence slipped it off. The medium's b.r.e.a.s.t.s were covered with scratches as well.

Barrett unscrewed the cap of the bottle. "This is going to hurt," he said. "Would you like a codeine?"

Florence shook her head. Barrett dipped a Q-Tip into the bottle and began to swab out one of the puncture wounds in her forehead. Florence hissed and closed her eyes, tears pressing out beneath the lids. Edith couldn't watch. She turned away and looked at Fischer. He was staring at the wall.

Several minutes pa.s.sed, the only sound Florence's hissing and an occasional murmur of apology from Barrett. When he was done, he drew a blanket across her chest. "Thank you," she said. Edith turned back.

"The cat attacked me," Florence said. "It was possessed by Daniel Belasco."

Edith looked at her husband. His expression was unreadable.

The medium tried to smile. "I know, you think-"

"It doesn't really matter what I think, Miss Tanner," Barrett cut her off. "What matters is your being mauled."

"I'll be all right."

"I wonder if that's so, Miss Tanner. I wonder if it might not be advisable for you you to leave rather than Mr. Fischer." to leave rather than Mr. Fischer."

Edith was aware of Fischer twisting around to look at them.

"No, Doctor." Florence shook her head. "I don't think it would be advisable at all."

Barrett looked at the medium for several moments before he spoke again. "Mr. Deutsch needn't know," he said.

Florence looked confused.

"I mean"-he hesitated-"you've more than contributed your share to the project."

"And you'll see to it that I get paid off, is that it?"

"I'm only trying to help. Miss Tanner."

Florence started to reply, then held back. She averted her eyes before she looked at Barrett again. "All right," she said, "I'll accept that. But I'm not going to leave."

Barrett nodded. "Very well. It's up to you, of course." He paused, then added, "But I would feel derelict in my responsibility toward you if I didn't urge, no, warn warn you to leave this house while you can." He paused again. "Furthermore, if I think your life is in danger, I may you to leave this house while you can." He paused again. "Furthermore, if I think your life is in danger, I may see see to it that you go." to it that you go."

Florence looked appalled.

"I don't intend to stand by knowingly and allow you to become yet one more victim of h.e.l.l House," Barrett told her. He snapped his bag shut, picked it up. "My dear?" he said. Struggling to his feet, he turned for the door.

12/23 10:43 A.M.

Edith turned onto her right side and looked at the other bed. Lionel was asleep. She should never have let him work on that crate. They should have asked Fischer to open it.

She thought about what Lionel had said before he'd gone to sleep: that Florence Tanner was becoming so anxious to prove her case that she was sacrificing her bodily well-being to do it.

"Dissociation of mind resulting in a modification of self is the basic cause of mediumistic phenomena," he had said. "I don't know if there really was a Daniel Belasco or not, but the personality Miss Tanner claims to be in touch with is nothing more than a division of her own personality."

Edith blew out a harried breath and turned onto her back. If only she could understand as Lionel did. All she could think of were those horrible teeth marks around Florence Tanner's nipples; the scratches and bites which Florence claimed the cat had inflicted. How could she have done those things to herself, even unconsciously?

Edith slipped her legs across the mattress edge and sat up. She stared at her shoes for several minutes before pushing her feet into them. Standing, she moved to the octagonal table and looked at the ma.n.u.script. She ran a finger over the t.i.tle page. Would it really hurt? she thought. It was ridiculous to have this almost mindless dread of alcohol. Just because her father's drinking had made her childhood miserable was no reason to condemn liquor per se. All she was contemplating was one small drink in order to relax.

She moved to the cabinet and opened the door. Lifting out the decanter and one of the small silver cups, she carried them to the table. She pulled a tissue from her purse and cleaned out the silver cup before she poured it full of brandy. It was very dark. She wondered suddenly if it could be poisoned. That would be a grisly way to end things.

She dipped a finger into the brandy, touched it to her tongue. Would she know if it was poisoned? Her tongue began to burn, and she swallowed nervously. The warmth spread delicately to the tissues of her throat. Edith raised the silver cup and held it underneath her nostrils. The aroma was pleasing. How could it be poisoned? Surely someone had tasted it before this.

She took a tiny sip, closing her eyes as it trickled down her throat. The inside of her mouth grew warm. She made a sound of pleasure as the brandy reached her stomach and a tiny core of heat began expanding there. She took another sip. It's what I need, she thought. I'm not a potential drunk just because I sip a little brandy. She moved to the rocking chair, hesitated, then sat down. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and drank the brandy with deliberate sips.

When the cup was empty, she opened her eyes and looked toward the table. No, she thought. One was enough. She felt relaxed now; that was all she wanted. She held the cup before her eyes, examining the intricacies of its silverwork. Maybe she'd take it home as a souvenir when the week was over. She smiled. There; that was better. She was planning ahead.

She thought about Fischer. She really should apologize to him for avoiding him so rudely this morning. She should thank him for saving her life. She shivered, thinking of the stagnant water in the tarn, and stood up, wavering slightly as she crossed the room. She opened the door and stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind herself as quietly as possible.

A wave of dread swept over her for an instant as she realized that she was alone for the first time since they'd entered the house. She scoffed away the dread. She was being foolish. Lionel was just inside the room. Florence was probably in her room, Fischer in his. She moved along the hallway to his door. Was she making a mistake? No, she thought; I owe him an apology, I owe him thanks.

She knocked on Fischer's door and waited. There was no sound inside the room. After several moments she knocked again, but there was no response. Edith turned the k.n.o.b and pushed at the door. What am I doing? she thought. She couldn't stop herself. Opening the door, she looked inside.

The room was considerably smaller than the one she and Lionel were in. There was only one ma.s.sive bed with a high, square-cut canopy. To its right was a table with a French telephone and an ashtray on it. Edith looked at the ashtray filled with mashed cigarette b.u.t.ts. He smokes too much, she thought.

She drifted to the armchair beside the table. Fischer's tote bag was on it, its zipper undone. Edith looked inside and saw some T-shirts and an open carton of cigarettes. She swallowed, reaching down to touch the bag.

She whirled with a gasp.

Fischer was standing in the doorway, looking at her.

For a terribly extended time, it seemed to her, they stared at each other. Edith's heartbeat raced; she felt a licking heat across her face.

"What is it, Mrs. Barrett?"

She tried to get control of herself. What must he be thinking to find her here like this? "I came to thank you," she managed.

"Thank me?"

"For saving my life last night."

She drew back unconsciously as Fischer walked over to her. "You shouldn't have left your husband."

She didn't know what to say.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course."

Fischer looked at her closely. "I think you should go back to your room now," he said.

He moved beside her as she crossed the rug. "Try tying your wrist to the bed at night," he told her.

Edith nodded as he followed her into the corridor and to her room. She turned to face him. "Thank you."

"Don't leave your husband again," he said. "You should never-"

He broke off, leaning forward suddenly as though to kiss her. Edith twitched and drew back. "Have you been drinking?" he asked.

She tightened. "Why?"

"Because it isn't safe to drink here. It isn't safe to lose control."

"I am not losing control," she told him stiffly. She turned and went inside her room.

12/23 11:16 A.M.

Florence started as someone knocked on the door. "Come in."

Fischer entered.

"Ben." She tried to rise.

"Don't get up," he told her. He started across the room. "I'd like to talk to you."

"Of course." She patted the bed. "Sit here beside me."