"Florence told us," Fischer said. "She told told us, but I didn't have the brains to see." us, but I didn't have the brains to see."

"What?"

"The 'B' inside the circle," Fischer answered. "Belasco. Alone."

"Alone?" She couldn't comprehend it.

"He created everything."

"How do you know?"

"He told me so," he said. "He let me know, because I was about to die.

"No wonder the secret was never found. There's never been anything like it in the history of haunted houses: a single personality so powerful that he could create what seemed to be a complex multiple haunting; one ent.i.ty appearing to be dozens, imposing endless physical and mental effects on those who entered his house-utilizing his power like some soloist performing on a giant, h.e.l.lish console."

The motor was off now; the car was getting cold. They should be getting into town, but sitting in the darkness, stunned, subdued, she couldn't stir herself as Fischer's voice droned on.

"I think he knew, from the second we entered, that Florence was the one to concentrate on. She was our weakest link; not because she had no strength, but because she was so willingly vulnerable to him.

"When she sat on Monday night, he must have fed her various impressions, looking for one that would create a response in her. It was the young man that 'took' in her mind- the one Florence came to identify as Daniel Belasco.

"At the same time, in order to use her against your husband, Belasco caused her to manifest physical phenomena. It served a multiple purpose. It verified your husband's beliefs. It was the first wedge in Florence's a.s.surance; she knew she was a mental medium, and even though she tried to convince herself that it was G.o.d's will, it always distressed her. She knew it was wrong. We both did.

"And, as a third effect, it prevented your husband from bringing another psychic into the house after I refused to sit for him." His eyes flinted. "Belasco keeping the group to a workable number.

"Then," he continued, "he started to evolve a situation of hostility between Florence and your husband. He knew that they disagreed on their beliefs, knew that, subconsciously. Florence would resent your husband's insistence on the physical examination, the intimation-however politely phrased- that she was capable of fraud, even if it was involuntary. Belasco worked on that resentment, worked on their differences of belief, built them up, then caused the poltergeist attack in the dining hall, using some of Florence's strength but mostly his own. Again, a multiple purpose was served. First, it weakened Florence, made her doubt her motivations. Second, it increased the animosity between her and your husband. Third, it further verified your husband's convictions. Fourth, it injured him, frightened him a little."

"He wasn't frightened," Edith said; but there was no conviction in her voice.

"He kept on working on Florence," Fischer said, as though she hadn't spoken, "draining her physically and mentally: the bites, the cat's attack-undermining her strength on the one hand, elaborating her misconception about Daniel on the other. When her confidence was flagging most, because of what your husband said, Belasco let her find the body-even staging an apparent resistance to her finding it, to make it more convincing.

"So she became persuaded that Daniel Belasco haunted the house. To guarantee the conviction, Belasco led her to the tarn in her sleep, let 'Daniel' rescue her, even gave her a fleeting glimpse of himself rushing from the tarn. She was positive then. She came to me and told me what she thought-that Belasco controlled the haunting by manipulating every other ent.i.ty in the house. She was so close. My G.o.d! My G.o.d! Even fooled every step of the way, she almost had it. That was why she was so certain. Because, in everything she said, there was only the thinnest wall between her and the actual truth. If I'd helped her, she might have broken through, might have-" Even fooled every step of the way, she almost had it. That was why she was so certain. Because, in everything she said, there was only the thinnest wall between her and the actual truth. If I'd helped her, she might have broken through, might have-"

Fischer stopped abruptly. For a long time he stared through the window. Finally he went on.

"It was a matter of timing," he said. "Belasco must have known that, sooner or later, Florence would come up with the right answer. So he concentrated on her even more, used her memory about her brother's death, and tied it in to her obsession about Daniel Belasco. Her brother's grief became Daniel's grief, her brother's need"-Fischer clenched his teeth- "became Daniel's."

His expression was one of hatred now. "He clinched it by finally letting her into the chapel. Admitting her to the very place she was positive possessed the secret of h.e.l.l House. It was his final stratagem, showing her the Bible entry made when his son was born. Belasco knew she'd believe it, because it was exactly what she was looking for-a final verification. There was no room left in her mind for doubt after that. There had been a Daniel Belasco, and his spirit needed her help. Combining the facts of his son's existence with her lasting sorrow for her brother's death, Belasco had convinced her."

Edith twitched as, unexpectedly, Fischer drove the edge of a fist against his palm. "And I sensed what that help was going to be. I knew it inside!" He turned his face away from her. "And I let it go. Let her do what she should never have done, let her destroy herself.

"From then on, she was lost," he went on bitterly. "There was no way I could have gotten her out of the house; I was a fool for thinking that I could. She was his... a puppet to be played with, tortured." Again, the sound of self-derision. "There I sat at the table while your husband explained his theory to us, knowing she was possessed, yet not even questioning why-suddenly, illogically-she was so quiet and attentive, on her best behavior. Because it wasn't her listening at all; it was Belasco.

"He wanted to hear the details."

"Was it him that tried to break the Reversor, then?"

"Why should he break it? He knew it wasn't any danger to him."

"But you said the house was clear after Lionel used it."

"Another of Belasco's tricks."

"I can't believe-"

"He's still in that house, Edith," Fischer interrupted, pointing. "He murdered your husband, murdered Florence, almost murdered you and me-"

His laugh was cold with defeat. "His final jest. Even though we actually know his secret now, there's not a d.a.m.n thing we can do about it."

12/24 8:36 P.M.

Fischer held back as they reached the house. Edith turned to face him. He was staring at the doors. "What is it?" she asked.

"I don't know if I can go back in."

She hesitated, finally said, "I have to have his things, Ben."

Fischer didn't respond.

"You said if you were closed off, Belasco couldn't touch you."

"I said a lot of things this week. Most of them wrong."

"Shall I go in, then?"

He was silent.

"Shall I?"

Stepping to the doors, he pushed the right one open. He looked inside for several moments, then turned to her. "I'll be as fast as I can," he said.

Fischer stepped inside the house. For a few minutes he stood motionless, antic.i.p.ating. When nothing happened, he started across the entry hall, heading for the stairs. Again the atmosphere was flat. It did not a.s.suage his fears this time. As he ascended the steps quickly, he wondered if Belasco was still in the chapel or moving about the house. He hoped that being closed off was enough defense. He wasn't even sure of that now. Entering the Barretts' room, he threw their suitcases on the bed and opened them.

What had unnerved him as much as anything, he thought as he started packing, was the realization that Barrett had been wrong. The man had seemed so confident; everything he'd said had made so much sense. Still, what did that weigh against the fact that he'd failed?

Fischer moved quickly between bed, closet, and bureau, grabbing clothes and other personal belongings and tossing them into the two open suitcases. Belasco must have decided, from the start, never to show himself, he thought. If no one ever saw him, they could never think him that important a part of the haunting. If, instead, they observed a fantastic array of phenomena, all apparently disconnected, they would work on separate elements of those phenomena, never once realizing that he was the cause of all of them. b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he thought. His features hardened, and with angry movements he began to cram things together in the suitcases so he could shut the lids.

The only thing he couldn't understand was why Belasco- so diabolically efficient when it came to plotting Florence's and Barrett's overthrow-had chosen such an inefficient way to finish him. Sending him away from the house could not have been fail-proof under any circ.u.mstances. If Belasco's power was unlimited, why had he chosen such an inept method?

Fischer stopped packing abruptly.

Unless that power was not unlimited any more.

Was it possible? He'd certainly been vulnerable to Belasco in the chapel. If there had ever been a time when Belasco should have been able to crush him, that had been the time. Yet, despite that, the most he'd been able to do was direct him to commit suicide in the tarn. Why? Why? Had Florence been right about him, too? Was his own power really so vast? He shook his head. That didn't make sense. It was ego-flattering, but unconvincing. Maybe when he was a boy, but not now. More acceptable an idea was that Belasco hadn't been strong enough to destroy him after destroying Barrett and Florence. Had Florence been right about him, too? Was his own power really so vast? He shook his head. That didn't make sense. It was ego-flattering, but unconvincing. Maybe when he was a boy, but not now. More acceptable an idea was that Belasco hadn't been strong enough to destroy him after destroying Barrett and Florence.

Again, why? why? With such power at his disposal as he'd manifested all week, why should he be weakened now? It couldn't be that the Reversor had worked. If it had, Belasco would be gone. With such power at his disposal as he'd manifested all week, why should he be weakened now? It couldn't be that the Reversor had worked. If it had, Belasco would be gone.

What was it, then?

Edith stamped her feet on the porch, waiting for Fischer's return. The blanket she'd wrapped around herself was not keeping her warm; her clothes, still damp, were getting chilled again. She looked into the entry hall. Would it hurt to step a few feet inside and get out of the worst of the cold?

She had to do it finally. Entering the house, she closed the door and stood beside it, looking toward the staircase.

It seemed as if they'd come into this house in another life. Monday seemed as distant in her mind as the time of Christ. That had been one reason she'd come back. Now that Lionel was gone, nothing seemed important anymore.

She wondered how long it would take before the full impact of his death hit her. Maybe when she saw his body again.

She thrust aside the thought. Had it been only yesterday that she'd come down those stairs after Fischer? She shivered. She'd been such an easy prey for Belasco.

When she was examining Florence, it had been Belasco looking in at her, noting her embarra.s.sment. Belasco had shown her the photos, made her drink the brandy, turned her fear of possessing lesbian tendencies into a thoughtless counterdesire for Fischer; she winced at the memory. How weak she was; how easily Belasco had manipulated her.

She thrust aside that thought as well. Every thought about Belasco was an affront to Lionel's memory. She was almost sorry she'd come back, to discover that he'd been wrong in everything he'd said and done.

She grimaced with self-accusing guilt. How could his entire body of work have been for nothing? She felt herself tighten with anger against Fischer for destroying her faith in Lionel. What right had he to do that?

A rush of sudden anguish made her start across the entry hall. Ascending the stairs, she crossed the corridor. The two suitcases stood outside their room. She looked around, heard sounds in Fischer's room, and moved there rapidly.

He started as she came in. "I told you-"

"I know what you told me," she interrupted. She had to get it out before he spoke. "I want to know why you're so sure my husband was wrong."

"I'm not."

The impetus of her anger carried her past the point of reaction. She began to speak again, then had to catch herself and backtrack. "What?"

"I'm wondering if he might have been partially right."

"I don't-"

"You recall what Florence said?"

"What?"

"She said, 'Can't you see that both both of us can be right?'" of us can be right?'"

"I don't understand."

"I'm wondering if Belasco's power is electromagnetic radiation, as she said," Fischer told her. "I'm wondering if he was weakened by the Reversor."

He scowled. "But why would he allow himself to be weakened? It doesn't make sense. Especially when he had a chance to wreck the Reversor."

Edith wouldn't listen to his objection. Eager to restore validity to Lionel's work, she said, "Maybe he is is weakened, though. You said he trapped you in the chapel. If he was still powerful, why would he have to do that? Why not attack you anywhere you were?" weakened, though. You said he trapped you in the chapel. If he was still powerful, why would he have to do that? Why not attack you anywhere you were?"

Fischer didn't look convinced. He started pacing. "It might explain why he lured me there," he said. "If, in coming out after the Reversor had weakened him, he used up most of his remaining energy to destroy your husband and attack you-" He broke off angrily. "No. It doesn't add up. If the Reversor worked at all, it would have dissipated all his power, not just part of it."

"Maybe it wasn't strong enough. Maybe his power was too great for even the Reversor to destroy it entirely."

"I doubt it," he said. "And that still wouldn't explain why he'd allow the Reversor to be used at all when he had a chance to destroy it before before it could be used." it could be used."

"But Lionel believed in the Reversor," she persisted. "If Belasco had destroyed it before it could be used, wouldn't that be as much as an admission, to Lionel, that he was right?"

Fischer studied her face. Something was needling up inside him, something that had the same exhilarating sense of rightness he'd felt when Florence had told him her theory about Belasco. Seeing his expression, Edith hurried on, desperate to convince him that Lionel had been right, even if only partially. "Wouldn't it be more satisfying to Belasco to let Lionel actually use the Reversor, then then destroy him?" she asked. "Because Lionel must have believed that he was wrong when he died. Wouldn't that be what Belasco would want?" destroy him?" she asked. "Because Lionel must have believed that he was wrong when he died. Wouldn't that be what Belasco would want?"

The feeling was increasing steadily. Fischer's mind struggled to fit the pieces together. Could Belasco really have been so determined to destroy Barrett in just that way that he'd deliberately let himself be weakened? Only an egomaniac would- It sounded like a groan that shuddered upward from his vitals.

"What?" she asked in alarm.

"Ego," he said.

He pointed at Edith without realizing it. "Ego," he repeated.

"What do you mean?"

"That's why he did it that way. You're right; it wouldn't have been satisfying to him any other way. But to let your husband actually use his Reversor, apparently dissipate the power-and when your husband was at the peak of his fulfillment, to get him then." He nodded. "Yes. Only that way could satisfy his ego.

"He had to let Florence know before she died that it was him alone. Ego. He must have told your husband, too. Ego. He let you know in the theater. Ego. He had to let me know. Ego. It wasn't enough to lure us to our destruction. He had to tell us, at the precise moment when he had us powerless, that it was him. Except that, by the time he got to me, most of his power was used up, and he couldn't destroy me. All he could do was direct me to destroy myself."

He looked suddenly excited. "What if he can't leave the chapel now?"

"But you said he made you go there."

"What if he didn't? What if it was was her? What if she her? What if she knew knew he was trapped in there?" he was trapped in there?"

"But why would she lead you to destruction?"

Fischer looked distressed. "She wouldn't. Why would would she lead me there, then? It had to be for a reason." she lead me there, then? It had to be for a reason."

He caught his breath. "The Bible entry." There was a throbbing in his system he had not experienced since he was a boy, the pulsing of force inside him, crying for release. "If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out." He paced restlessly, feeling himself near the edge of the precipice, the mist about to part in front of him, the truth about to appear. "If thy right eye offend thee-"

He couldn't get it; turned his mind away from it. What else had happened in the chapel? The torn wallpaper. What had that meant? The medallion-broken, like a spearhead pointing at the altar. And, on the altar, the open Bible. "G.o.d." His voice was trembling, eager. He was so close-so close. "If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out." Ego, the thought recurred. "If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out."Ego. He stopped, his inner senses heightening with awareness. He was almost there. Something; something something. "If thy right eye-"

"The tape!" he cried.

He whirled and rushed for the doorway. Edith ran after him as he plunged into the corridor and over to the staircase. He was halfway down before she'd reached the landing, springing down the steps with vaulting leaps. Edith descended as quickly as she could and ran across the entry hall.

He was at the great-hall table, listening to the tape recorder. She bit her lip involuntarily as she heard Lionel's voice. "-causing brief systemic shock." Fischer made a grumbling sound and shook his head as he pressed the REVERSE b.u.t.ton and turned the spool back, pressed the PLAY b.u.t.ton again. "Dynamometer fourteen hundred and sixty," Lionel's voice said. Fischer made an impatient sound and reversed the spool again, waited, pushed the b.u.t.ton for PLAY position. Edith heard Florence's voice saying, "Get out of this house before I kill you all." Fischer snarled and punched the REVERSE b.u.t.ton again. He switched to PLAY. "Here too long," Florence's voice said deeply, supposedly the voice of her Indian guide. "Not listen. Not understand. Too much sick inside." There was a pause. Fischer leaned across the table tensely, unaware that he was doing so. "Limits," said the voice. "Nations. Terms. Not know what that mean. Extremes and limits. Terminations and extremities."

Edith flinched as Fischer cried out with a savage glee. He reversed the tape and played it again. "Extremes and limits. Terminations and extremities." Fischer s.n.a.t.c.hed up the tape recorder and held it high above his head in triumph. "She knew!" he shouted. "She knew! She knew!" He flung the tape recorder across the room. Before it had crashed to the floor, he was running for the entry hall. "Come on!" he shouted.

Fischer sprinted across the entry hall and down the corridor, followed by Edith. With a howl like that of an attacking Indian, he flung open the chapel door and leaped inside. "Belasco!" he roared. "I'm here again! Destroy me if you can!" Edith ran in beside him. "Come on!" he yelled. "Both of us are here now! Finish us! Don't leave the job half done!"

Ma.s.sive silence fell, and Edith heard how strangely Fischer breathed. "Come on," he mumbled to himself.

He shouted suddenly, "Come on, you lousy b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Edith's gaze leaped toward the altar. For a moment she could not believe her hearing. Then the sounds grew louder, clearer, unmistakable.