"Don't shake your head," said Florence. "You and I are going to have a lovely time."

"No." Edith started edging backward.

"Yes." Florence removed the sweater, dropped it. Starting across the room, she reached back to unhook her bra.

Oh, G.o.d, please don't! Edith kept shaking her head as Florence moved in on her. The bra was off now. Florence began unzipping her skirt, the smile fixed to her lips. Edith b.u.mped against a bed and caught her breath convulsively. She could retreat no farther. Cold and weak, she watched Florence drop her skirt, bend over to remove her panties. She stopped shaking her head. "Oh, no," she pleaded.

Florence dropped to her knees, straddling Edith's legs. Sliding both hands underneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she held them up in front of Edith's face; Edith winced at the purplish teeth marks on them. "Aren't they nice?" said Florence. "Aren't they delicious-looking? Don't you want them?" Her words drove a spear of terror into Edith's heart. She stared up frozenly as Florence fondled her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in front of her. "Here, feel them," Florence said. She released her left breast, reached down, lifted Edith's hand.

The feel of the warm, yielding flesh against her fingers broke a dam in Edith's chest. A sob of anguish shook her. No, I'm not that way! No, I'm not that way! screamed her mind. screamed her mind.

"Of course you are," said Florence, as though Edith had spoken. "We're both that way; we've always been that way. Men are ugly, men are cruel. Only women can be trusted. Only women can be loved. Your own father tried to rape you, didn't he?"

She couldn't know! thought Edith, horrified. She jerked both hands against her chest and pressed them tightly to her body, jammed her eyes shut.

With an animal-like sound, Florence fell across her. Edith tried to push her off, but Florence was too heavy. Edith felt the medium's hands clamping on the back of her head, forcing up her face. Abruptly Florence's lips were crushed on hers, mouth open, tongue trying to force its way inside her mouth. Edith tried to fight, but Florence was too strong. The room began to spin around her, burgeoning with heat. A heavy mantle fell across her body. She felt numb, detached. She couldn't keep her lips together, and Florence's tongue plunged deep inside her mouth, licking at the tender roof. Curls of sensation flickered through her body. She felt one of Florence's hands wrap her fingers around the breast again. She couldn't pull the hand away. There was a pounding in her ears. Heat poured across her.

The sound of Lionel's voice cut through the pounding. Edith jerked her head to one side, trying to see past Florence. The heated mantle vanished. Coldness rushed across her. She glanced up, saw the twisted face of Florence looming overhead. Lionel called her name again. "In here!" she cried. Florence pulled away from her, looking at herself with sickened realization; she lunged to her feet and ran into the bathroom. Edith struggled up and moved across the room unevenly. She fell against Lionel as he ran in, clinging to him, eyes shut, face against his chest. She started crying helplessly.

12/24 9:01 A.M.

You'll be all right." Barrett patted Fischer's shoulder. "Just stay in bed awhile; don't move."

"How is she?" Fischer mumbled.

"Asleep. I gave her pills."

Fischer tried to sit up, fell back, gasping.

"Don't move," Barrett told him. "That was quite a blow you took."

"Have to get her out of here."

"I'll get her out."

Fischer looked at him suspiciously.

"I promise," Barrett said. "Now rest."

Edith was standing by the door. Barrett took her arm and led her into the corridor. "How is he?" she asked.

"Unless he has a more serious concussion than I think, he should come around."

"What about you?"

"Just a few more hours," Lionel said. Edith saw that he was holding his right arm against his chest as though it were broken. There was a stain of fresh blood on the thumb bandage. When he'd wrenched the crowbar out of Florence's hands, he must have torn apart the edges of the cut. She was about to mention it, then gave it up, a sense of utter hopelessness oppressing her.

Lionel opened the door to Florence's room, and they crossed to her bed. She was lying motionless beneath the covers. After Lionel had spoken to her for a long time, she'd emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her. She hadn't spoken, hadn't met their gaze. Eyes downcast like those of a repentant child, she had accepted the three pills, slipped beneath the bedclothes, and in moments closed her eyes and gone to sleep.

Barrett raised her left eyelid and looked at her staring eye. Edith averted her face. Then Lionel was taking her arm again; they crossed the room and went into the corridor. Moving to their room, they went inside.

"Would you get me some water?" he asked.

Edith went into the bathroom and ran cold water into the gla.s.s. When she returned, Lionel was on his bed, propped against the headboard. "Thank you," he murmured as she handed him the gla.s.s. He had two codeines in his palm. He washed them down his throat. "I'm going to telephone Deutsch's man for an ambulance," he said. Edith felt a momentary burst of hope. "Have Fischer and Miss Tanner taken to the nearest hospital."

The hope was gone. Edith looked at him without expression.

"I'd like you to go with them," Lionel said.

"Not until you go."

"It would make me feel much better."

Edith shook her head. "Not without you."

He sighed. "Very well. It'll all be over by this afternoon, at any rate."

"Will it?"

"Edith-Barrett looked surprised-"have you lost your faith in me?"

"What about-?"

"-what happened just before?" He drew in a hitching breath. "Don't you see? It proves my point precisely."

"How?"

"Her attack on my Reversor was the ultimate tribute. She knows knows I'm right. There was nothing else to do-her very words, if you recall-except to destroy my beliefs before they could destroy hers." I'm right. There was nothing else to do-her very words, if you recall-except to destroy my beliefs before they could destroy hers."

Barrett reached out his left hand and drew her onto the bed. "She's not possessed by Daniel Belasco," he told her. "She's not possessed by anyone-unless it's by her inner self, her true self, her repressed repressed self." self."

Like I was yesterday, she thought. She stared at Lionel hopelessly. She wanted to believe him, but it wasn't in her anymore.

"The medium is a most unstable personality," he said. "Any psychic worthy of the name invariably turns out to be a hysteric and/or somnambulist, a victim of divided consciousness. The parallel between the mediumistic trance and the somnambulistic fit is absolute. Personalities come and go, methods of expression are identical, as are psychological structures, the amnesia upon awakening, the artificial quality of the alternate personalities.

"What we've witnessed this morning is that part of Miss Tanner's personality she's always kept hidden, even from herself-her patience turning into anger, her withdrawal into furious expression." He paused. "Her chasteness into wanton s.e.xuality."

Edith declined her head. She couldn't look at him. Like me, she thought.

"It's all right," Barrett said.

"No." She shook her head.

"If there are... things to be discussed, we'll discuss them at home."

At home, she thought. Never had a phrase implied such impossibility to her.

"All right," she said. But it was someone else's voice.

"Good," said Barrett. "In addition to my work, then, some extra value has come of this week, some personal enlightenment." He smiled at her. "Have heart, my dear. Everything will work out."

12/24 9:42 A.M.

Barrett opened his eyes, to find himself looking at Edith's sleeping face. He felt a twinge of worry. He hadn't meant to sleep.

Taking hold of his cane, he slipped his legs across the edge of the mattress and stood, wincing as he put his weight down. He winced again as he slipped his feet into shoes. Sitting on the other bed, he crossed his left leg over his right, and worked the lace out of the shoe, using the fingers of his left hand.

He set the foot down. That was some improvement. He did the same to his right shoe, then drew out his watch. It was getting close to ten. His expression grew alarmed. That couldn't be P.M., could it? In this d.a.m.ned, windowless hulk, there was no way to be certain.

He hated to wake Edith. She'd had so little sleep this week. Did he dare leave her, though? He stood irresolutely, staring at her. Had anything happened to them in their sleep? It was an aspect of the EMR he had not investigated, but it did seem that one had to be conscious in order to be affected by it. No, that wasn't true; she'd walked in her sleep.

He decided to leave the door open, go downstairs as rapidly as possible, make the call, and come right back. If anything happened, surely he'd be aware of it.

He limped across the room and into the corridor, setting his teeth against the pain in his thumb. Despite his having taken codeine, it still throbbed unrelentingly. G.o.d knew what it looked like by now; he had no intention of checking. It would undoubtedly require minor surgery when this was over; he might even lose partial use of it. Never mind, he thought. The price was acceptable.

He opened Fischer's door and looked inside the bedroom. Fischer hadn't stirred. Barrett hoped he'd remain asleep when they carried him out of here on a stretcher. He didn't belong here; never had. At least he was surviving once more.

Turning clumsily, he hobbled to Florence Tanner's room and looked inside. She was also immobile. Barrett gazed at her sympathetically. The poor woman had a lot to confront after she was out of here. What would it be like to face the lie of her past existence? Was she up to it? Most likely, she would slip back into pretension; it would be less difficult.

He turned from Florence's door and limped to the staircase. Well, it's been quite a week, all in all, he thought. He smiled involuntarily. That was, without a doubt, the understatement of his life. Still, all was well. Thank G.o.d Miss Tanner had been blinded by her rage. A few well-placed blows, and he would have been confronted by days, perhaps weeks, of work to put the Reversor into working condition. Everything would have been ruined. He shivered at the thought.

What would they all do after they had left the house? he wondered as he descended the staircase haltingly, his left hand on the banister rail. It was an interesting speculation. Would Miss Tanner return to her church? Could Could she return to it after this appalling insight into herself? What about Fischer? What would he do? With a hundred thousand dollars, he could do a great deal. As for Edith and himself, the future was relatively clear. He avoided thinking of their personal problems yet to solve. That was for later. she return to it after this appalling insight into herself? What about Fischer? What would he do? With a hundred thousand dollars, he could do a great deal. As for Edith and himself, the future was relatively clear. He avoided thinking of their personal problems yet to solve. That was for later.

At least they would all be out of h.e.l.l House. As the unofficial leader of the group, he felt some pride in that, although it was, perhaps, absurd for him to feel it. Still, the 1931 and 1940 groups had been virtually decimated. This time, four of them had entered h.e.l.l House, four would be safely out by tonight.

He wondered what to do with the Reversor after today. Should he have it delivered to his laboratory at the college? That seemed most likely. What a delivery that would be; tantamount, he thought, to displaying the capsule that had taken the first astronaut into s.p.a.ce. Perhaps, someday, the Reversor would occupy a place of honor in the Smithsonian Inst.i.tution. He smiled sardonically. And perhaps not. He was hardly deluding himself into thinking that the world of science would topple in submission before his accomplishment. No, there were still a good many years ahead before parapsychology was conceded its rightful place beside the other natural sciences.

He moved to the front doors and opened one. Daylight. He shut the door and hobbled to the telephone, picked up the receiver.

There was no answer. Barrett jiggled the cradle arm. A fine time for communication to be broken off. He waited, jiggled the cradle arm again. Come on, he thought. He couldn't possibly get Fischer and Miss Tanner out of here without help.

He was about to hang up when the receiver was lifted on the other end of the line. "Yes?" said Deutsch's man.

Barrett exhaled loudly with relief. "You had me worried there. This is Barrett. We need an ambulance."

Silence.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Will you have it sent out right away, then? Mr. Fischer and Miss Tanner require immediate hospitalization."

There was no reply.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

The line was silent.

"Is something wrong?" Barrett asked.

The man drew in a sudden breath. "Oh, h.e.l.l, this isn't fair to you," he said angrily.

"What isn't?"

The man hesitated.

"What isn't?" isn't?"

Another hesitation. Then the man said quickly, "Old man Deutsch died this morning."

"Died?"

"He had terminal cancer. Took too many pills to dull the pain. Accidentally killed himself."

Barrett felt a numbing pressure on his skull. What difference does it make? he heard his mind inquiring; but he knew. "Why didn't you tell us?" he asked.

"I was ordered not to."

By the son, thought Barrett. "Well..." His voice was faint. "What about-?"

"I was ordered to just-leave you stranded out there."

"And the money?" Barrett had to ask, even though he knew the answer.

"I don't know about that, but under the circ.u.mstances-" The man sighed. "Is there anything in writing?"

Barrett closed his eyes. "No."

"I see." The man's tone was flat. "Then that b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of his will doubtless-" He broke off. "Look, I apologize for not having called you, but my hands are tied. I have to go back to New York City right away. You have the car there. I suggest you all leave. There's a hospital here in Caribou Falls you can go to. I'll do what I can to..." His voice faded, and he made a sound of disgust. "h.e.l.l," he said. "I'll probably be out of a job myself. I can't stand that man. The father was bad enough, but-"

Barrett hung up as a wave of dark despair broke over him. No money, no provision for Edith, no retirement, no chance to rest. He leaned his forehead against the wall. "Oh, no," he murmured.

The tarn.

Barrett whirled with a gasp and looked around the entry hall. The words had leaped into his mind, unbidden. No, he thought. He clenched his teeth together tightly. No, he told the house. He shook his head deliberately.

He started toward the great hall. "You don't win," he said. "I may not get that money, but you're not going to beat me; not you. I know your secret, and I'm going to destroy you." He had never felt such hatred in his life. He reached the archway and pointed at the Reversor with a look of triumph. "There!" he shouted. "There it stands! Your conqueror!" He had to lean against the archway wall. He felt exhausted, racked by pain. It doesn't matter, he told himself. Whatever pain he felt was secondary now. He'd worry later about Fischer and Miss Tanner, worry afterward about Edith and himself. There was only one thing that mattered at this moment: his defeat of h.e.l.l House and the victory of his work.

12/24 10:33 A.M.