"I don't trust anyone or anything," he said. "And anyone who does, in this house, is a fool."

"Something has has happened." happened."

"A lot of things have happened," Fischer snapped.

"Nothing we can't handle."

"Wrong." He turned on her, his dark eyes filled with venom-and with fear, she saw. "There's nothing in this house we can can handle. Nothing anyone is handle. Nothing anyone is ever ever going to handle." going to handle."

"That isn't true, Ben. We've made wonderful progress."

"Toward what? Our mutual graves? Our mutual graves?"

"No." She shook her head. "We've discovered much. Daniel, for instance; and the way Belasco works."

"Daniel," he said contemptuously. "How do you know there is is a Daniel? Barrett thinks you made him up in your mind. How do you know he isn't right?" a Daniel? Barrett thinks you made him up in your mind. How do you know he isn't right?"

"Ben, the body, the ring-"

"A body, body, a a ring," he broke in. "Is that your proof? Your logic for putting your head on the block?" ring," he broke in. "Is that your proof? Your logic for putting your head on the block?"

Florence was shocked at the malevolence in his voice. What had happened happened to him? to him?

"How do you know you haven't been deluding yourself from the first moment you entered this house?" he demanded. "How do you know Daniel Belasco isn't a figment of your imagination? How do you know his personality isn't exactly what you've made it, his problem exactly what you've made it? How do you know? How do you know?"

He jarred to his feet, glaring at her. "You're right right," he said. "I'm obstructed, shut off. And I'm going to stay stay shut off until the week is over. At which time I'll collect my hundred thousand clams and never come within a thousand miles of this G.o.dd.a.m.ned house again. I suggest you do the same." shut off until the week is over. At which time I'll collect my hundred thousand clams and never come within a thousand miles of this G.o.dd.a.m.ned house again. I suggest you do the same."

Turning on his heel, he moved across the floor with angry strides. "Ben-!" she called. He ignored her. Florence tried to stand to follow, but she didn't have the strength. She sat slumped on the chair, gazing toward the entry hall. After a while she set her plate aside. His words had had a terrible impact on her. She tried to repress them, but they would not be repressed. All the uncertainties were returning. She'd always been a mental medium. Why should she have, suddenly, become a physical one? It made no sense, it was unprecedented.

It threatened her faith.

"No." She shook her head. It wasn't true. Daniel did did exist. She had to believe that. He'd saved her life. He'd spoken to her, pleaded with her. exist. She had to believe that. He'd saved her life. He'd spoken to her, pleaded with her.

Pleaded. Spoken. Saved her life.

How do you know Daniel Belasco isn't a figment of your imagination?

She tried to repel the notion, but it wouldn't leave. All she could think was that if he were were a product of her imagination, she would have had him save her life exactly as he did. In trance, she would have taken herself down to the tarn to prove Belasco's murderous intent, then awakened herself at the moment of entering the tarn in order to prove that Daniel existed and wanted to save her life; even given herself the vision of him standing before her, blocking the way; the vision of Belasco fleeing. a product of her imagination, she would have had him save her life exactly as he did. In trance, she would have taken herself down to the tarn to prove Belasco's murderous intent, then awakened herself at the moment of entering the tarn in order to prove that Daniel existed and wanted to save her life; even given herself the vision of him standing before her, blocking the way; the vision of Belasco fleeing.

"No." She shook her head again. It wasn't true. Daniel did exist; he did did.

Are you happy? she thought, the words rising unexpectedly to the surface of consciousness. Yes. Very Yes. Very. The words she'd exchanged with Daniel as she'd danced with him-or thought that she was dancing with him. Are you happy? Yes. Very Are you happy? Yes. Very. Are you happy? Yes. Very Are you happy? Yes. Very.

"Oh, my G.o.d," she murmured.

She'd spoken those words in a television play once.

Her mind strained desperately to resist the onrush of doubt-but now the dam of her resistance had fallen, and the dark waters were flooding in. I love you I love you. And I love you And I love you. "No," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. You'll never leave me, will you? You'll always be beside me? Yes, my darling, always; always You'll never leave me, will you? You'll always be beside me? Yes, my darling, always; always.

She saw him as he'd looked that evening in the hospital, pale, drawn, eyes bright with the glitter of impending death; her beloved David. The remembrance chilled her. He had whispered to her earlier of Laura, the girl he loved. He'd never shared her physical love, and now he was dying, and it was too late.

He'd held her hand so tightly it had hurt, his face a lined, gray mask, his lips bloodless as he'd spoken those words to her: I love you I love you. She had whispered back: I love you, too I love you, too. Had he known, by then, that it was her in the room with him? Dying, had he thought that she was Laura? You'll never leave me, will you? You'll never leave me, will you? he'd murmured. he'd murmured. You'll always be beside me? You'll always be beside me? And she had answered: And she had answered: Yes, my darling, always; always Yes, my darling, always; always.

A sob of terror broke inside her. No, it wasn't true! She started crying. But it was was true. true. She had made up Daniel Belasco in her mind She had made up Daniel Belasco in her mind. There was was no Daniel Belasco. There was only the memory of her brother, and the way he'd died, the loss he'd felt, the need he'd carried to his grave. no Daniel Belasco. There was only the memory of her brother, and the way he'd died, the loss he'd felt, the need he'd carried to his grave.

"No, no, no, no, no." Her hands were clutching at the arms of the chair, her head slumped forward, shaking, hot tears spilling from her eyes. She couldn't seem to breathe, kept gulping at the air, as if her lungs were bursting. No, it wasn't true! She could not have done this thing, this blinded, terrible, deluded thing! There had to be some way of proving that! There had to be!

She jerked her head up with a gasp, staring at the fire through gelatinous tears. It seemed as though someone had whispered in her ear: two words.

The chapel.

A trembling smile drew back her lips. She wavered to her feet and started toward the entry hall, rubbing at her eyes. There was an answer in the chapel; she had always known that. Now, in an instant, she knew it was the answer she needed; it was proof and vindication.

This time she would get in.

She tried not to run but couldn't help herself. She rushed across the entry hall and past the staircase, skirts rustling, shoes thudding on the floor. Turning the corner, she started down the side corridor, running as fast as she could.

She reached the chapel door and placed her hands against it. Instantly the rush of cold resistance filled her vitals, the grinding churn of nausea. She pressed both palms against the door and started praying. Nothing in this world or in the next was going to stop her now.

The force within the chapel seemed to waver. Florence pressed her weight against the door. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!" she said in a loud, clear voice. The force began retreating, drawing backward and inward, as though it were shrinking. Her lips moved quickly as she prayed. "You cannot keep me from this place, for G.o.d is with me! We will enter now, together! Open! You cannot repel me any longer! Open! Open!"

Suddenly the force was gone. Florence pushed the door and went inside, switching on the lights. Leaning back against the door, she closed her eyes and spoke. "I thank thee, Lord, for giving me strength."

After several moments, she opened her eyes and looked around. The dim illumination of the wall lights barely held the darkness at bay. She was standing in a shadow, only her face in light as she searched the room with her eyes. The silence was intense; she seemed to feel its pressure on her eardrums.

Moving forward abruptly, she drifted down the center aisle, averting her shocked gaze from the crucifix above the altar. This was the way; she felt it unmistakably. Unseen filaments were drawing at her.

She reached the foot of the altar and looked at it. A ma.s.sive Bible with metal clasps was set on top of it. A Bible in this hideous place, she thought, shuddering. Her gaze shifted around the wall. The drawing power was so intense it seemed as though invisible threads were tied to her, pulling her toward... what? The wall? The altar? Surely not the crucifix. Florence felt herself drawn forward, forward.

She gasped, all movement frozen, as the cover of the Bible was flung back violently. As she stared at it, the pages began to turn so rapidly that they became a blur of movement. Florence felt a throbbing at her temples. Suddenly the pages stopped, and bending down, she looked at the page which had been uncovered.

"Yes!" she whispered joyously. "Oh, yes! yes!"

The top of the page was t.i.tled BIRTHS. Below it was a single faded entry: "Daniel Myron Belasco was born at 2:00 A.M. on November 4, 1903."

12/23 9:07 P.M.

There must be something something I can do," she said. Barrett turned from the machine, where he was working on an uncovered circuit a.s.sembly, comparing its maze of wires and transistors with one of his blueprints. She had been watching him in restive silence for the past twenty minutes, noticing how tired he looked. Finally she'd had to speak. I can do," she said. Barrett turned from the machine, where he was working on an uncovered circuit a.s.sembly, comparing its maze of wires and transistors with one of his blueprints. She had been watching him in restive silence for the past twenty minutes, noticing how tired he looked. Finally she'd had to speak.

"I'm afraid there isn't," he told her. "It's just too complicated. It would take ten times as long to explain what I wanted done as it does for me to do it myself."

"I know, but-" Edith broke off worriedly. "How much longer will it be?"

"Hard to say. I have to make certain everything's been done as specified. Otherwise there could be a malfunction, and all my work would be for nothing. I can't afford that." He tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace of pain. "I'll finish as soon as possible."

Edith nodded without a.s.surance. She glanced at Lionel's watch on the table. He'd been at it for more than an hour now and had barely finished checking one circuit a.s.sembly. The Reversor was gigantic. At this rate it could take all night, and his energy simply wasn't up to it. She'd phone Dr. Wagman if she thought it would do any good, but she knew that Lionel would drop in his tracks before stopping now.

The cold weight in her stomach seemed to press down as she watched him work. He was not as confident as he had been. He'd been trying to conceal it from her but she knew his conviction had been badly shaken by the occurrence in the steam room. She knew how vulnerable she'd felt after what she'd done.

Despite his facade of certainty, Lionel must be feeling the same way.

She had to know. "What is your machine supposed to do?"

He looked across his shoulder. "I'd rather not explain it now, my dear. It's quite involved."

"Can't you tell me anything?"

"Well, in essence, I'm going to pull the plug on all the power in the house." He swallowed dryly, turned to get a drink of water. "I'll explain it in detail tomorrow," he continued, pouring water into a gla.s.s. "Suffice to say that any form of energy can be dissipated-which is what I plan to do."

She watched him take out a codeine pill and wash it down. He drew in a shaking breath and smiled. "I know it doesn't sound too satisfying at the moment, but you'll see." He set the gla.s.s down. "By this time tomorrow, h.e.l.l House will be drained, de-energized."

They looked around abruptly at the sound of measured clapping. Fischer stood in the archway, looking at them, a bottle underneath his right arm. "Bravo," he said.

Edith turned away, a dark flush on her face.

"Have you been drinking, Mr. Fischer?" Barrett asked.

"Have been, will continue to," said Fischer. "Not enough to lose control," he cut off Barrett's words. "Just enough to blunt the senses. Nothing in this G.o.dd.a.m.n house is going to get another crack at me. I've had it. I have had had it." it."

"I'm sorry," Barrett said after a few moments. He felt, somehow, responsible for Fischer's black mood.

"Don't be sorry for me. Be sorry for yourself." Fischer pointed at the Reversor. "That G.o.dd.a.m.n pile of junk isn't going to do a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing but make a lot of noise... a.s.suming that it works at all. You think this house is going to shape up 'cause you play your G.o.dd.a.m.n music box? The h.e.l.l h.e.l.l it is. Belasco's going to laugh in your face. They're all going to laugh in your face-the way they've been laughing all these years at any idiot who tries to come in here and... deenergize the place." He made a hissing sound. "De-energize, my a.s.s." He glared at Barrett, gesturing toward Edith. "Get her out of here," he said. "Get yourself out. You don't have a chance." it is. Belasco's going to laugh in your face. They're all going to laugh in your face-the way they've been laughing all these years at any idiot who tries to come in here and... deenergize the place." He made a hissing sound. "De-energize, my a.s.s." He glared at Barrett, gesturing toward Edith. "Get her out of here," he said. "Get yourself out. You don't have a chance."

"What about yourself?" asked Barrett.

"I'm all right. I know the score. You don't fight this place, it can't get at you. You don't let it get inside your skin, you're fine. h.e.l.l House doesn't mind a guest or two. Anyone can stay here if they don't mind fun and games. What it doesn't like is people who attack it. Belasco doesn't like it. All his people, they they don't like it, and they fight back, and they kill you. He's a general, did you know that? A general with an army. He directs them!" Fischer gestured floridly. "Directs them like a- don't like it, and they fight back, and they kill you. He's a general, did you know that? A general with an army. He directs them!" Fischer gestured floridly. "Directs them like a-mess of G.o.dd.a.m.n troops! No one makes a move without him, not his son, not anybody." No one makes a move without him, not his son, not anybody."

Fischer pointed at Barrett, his expression suddenly rabid.

"I'm telling you," he said. "I'm telling telling you! Cut out this bulls.h.i.t! Leave that d.a.m.n machine alone, forget it! Spend your week here eating, resting, doing nothing. Then, when Sunday comes, tell old man Deutsch anything he wants to hear, and bank your money. Hear me, Barrett? Try anything more than that, and you're a dead man, you! Cut out this bulls.h.i.t! Leave that d.a.m.n machine alone, forget it! Spend your week here eating, resting, doing nothing. Then, when Sunday comes, tell old man Deutsch anything he wants to hear, and bank your money. Hear me, Barrett? Try anything more than that, and you're a dead man, a-dead-man a-dead-man." He looked at Edith. "With a dead wife by your side."

He jerked himself around. "Oh, h.e.l.l, why bother anyway? No one listens. Florence doesn't listen. You don't listen. No one listens. Die, then. Die!" He stumbled off. "I was the only one who made it out alive in 1940, and I'll be the only one to make it out alive in 1970." He weaved across the entry hall. "You hear me, Belasco, you son of a b.i.t.c.h! I'm closed off! Try to get me! You never will! You hear hear me?" me?"

Edith sat staring at her husband. He was watching Fischer's departure with a troubled look.

He looked at her, "Poor man. This house has really beaten him."

He's right; she heard the words in her mind. She hadn't the courage to voice them.

Barrett limped over, pulled a chair beside hers, and sat with a groan. He was silent for a while, then drew in a heavy breath and said, "He's wrong."

"Is he?" Edith's voice was faint.

He nodded. "What he calls a pile of junk"-he smiled at the words-"is nothing more or less than the key to h.e.l.l House." He raised a hand. "All right, grant you, things have happened which I don't quite comprehend-although I would if I had time." He rubbed his eyes. "That's not the point, however. Man controls electricity without understanding its true nature. What the details are of the energy inside this house is not as vital as the fact that I" -he pointed- "that machine machine... has the power of life and death over it."

He stood. "And that that is is that that. I told you from the start that Miss Tanner is wrong in what she believes. I tell you now that Fischer is equally in error. And tomorrow I'll prove my case beyond a solitary doubt."

He turned away and hobbled back to the Reversor. Edith watched him go. She wished she could believe him, but Fischer's words had driven fear so deep inside her she could feel it in her blood, chill and acidic, eating at her.

12/23 10:19 P.M.

... Daniel, please. You have to understand. What you ask is inconceivable. You know that. It isn't that I have no sympathy. I do. I've opened up my heart completely to you. I believe in you and trust you. You saved my life. Now let me save your soul.

You don't have to stay in this house any longer. Help is present, if only you will ask for it. Believe me, Daniel. There are those who love you and will help you if you ask. Your father doesn't have the power to stop you. Not if you seek out those beyond, and take the hand they offer you. Let them help you. Take their hand. If you only knew the beauty which awaits you, Daniel. If you only knew how lovely are the realms which lie beyond this house. Would you keep yourself locked in a barren cell when all the beauties of the universe await you on the outside? Think! Accept! Don't close yourself to those who would so gladly help you. Try; only try. They wait for you with open arms. They will help you, give you comfort. Don't remain within these cheerless walls. You can be free. Believe that, Daniel. Believe it, and it will be so. I pledge you this. Trust me. Let go. Let go.

She could barely stand. Shuffling to the bathroom, she washed and changed into her nightgown with infirm movements. Her limbs were like iron. She had never felt such helpless enervation in her life.

Daniel wouldn't listen. He simply would not listen.

She returned to the other room and got into bed. Tomorrow, then, she told herself. He had to listen sooner or later. In the morning, she would start again. She slumped back heavily or the pillow, wincing at the flare of pain in her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling with heavylidded eyes. Tomorrow, she thought.

She turned her head.

There was a figure standing by the door. She gazed at it without alarm. There was no menace in it.

"Daniel?"

The figure advanced. In the feeble light from the bathroom she saw its features clearly: youthful, handsome, the expression grave, the eyes filled with despair.

"Can you speak?" she asked.

"Yes." His voice was gentle, pained.

"Why won't you go?"

"I cannot."

"But you must."

"Not without-"

"Daniel, no," she said.

He turned his face away.

"Daniel-"

"I love you," he said. "You're the only woman I've ever said that to. I never met another like you. You're so good... so good... the kindest person I have ever known."

His face turned back to her, dark eyes searching her face. "I need-" He broke off, twisting toward the door. "I will will speak to her!" he said frightenedly. "You can't stop me!" He looked back at her. "I can't remain much longer; he won't let me," he said. "I beg of you. Please give me what I ask. If I am driven from this house without fulfillment..." speak to her!" he said frightenedly. "You can't stop me!" He looked back at her. "I can't remain much longer; he won't let me," he said. "I beg of you. Please give me what I ask. If I am driven from this house without fulfillment..."

"Driven?" Florence tensed.

"Your Doctor Barrett has the means."