"That was certainly tacky," Monica said.

"What was?"

"What do you think? Ethel. Good God. I didn't know this was going to be a peepshow. No wonder you were so eager to come here."

They started to climb the stairs.

"Nothing you couldn't see on any beach," Owen pointed out.

"In France, maybe."

"Anyway, she's just a dummy."

"It's pretty funny, they give all that lip service about keeping the dirty stuff out of the tour, then they show us something like that."

"I didn't think it was that bad."

"You wouldn't."

At the top of the stairs, a sign on the wall read Station Three. "Here we go again," Monica muttered, starting her player.

Owen thumbed down the Play button on his machine, and heard Janice's voice.

"After finishing its brutal attack on Ethel, the beast ran out of the parlor and scurried up the stairs, leaving a trail of blood to mark his way. Ethel's blood. Look down, and you'll see stains on the floor. They've been copied from crime scene photos, and match the stains found on the hardwood floor the night of murder. Follow them to Lilly's bedroom and listen to what Maggie had to say."

Monica, head down, followed the red stains. Owen walked behind her. His tape hissed, wordless for the few seconds that it took to reach the doorway of a bedroom.

"'We're just above the parlor here,'" Maggie explained. "This is Lilly Thorn's bedroom. That's her on the bed.'"

He entered the room behind Monica.

Only a few tourists were here. They were scattered along the length of the cordon, so Owen had a fine view of the bed.

Sitting upright on it was the figure of a young woman dressed in a pink nightgown. Eyes wide, mouth agape, hand to her mouth, she looked to Owen like a star of the silent screen demonstrating terror.

"'All that commotion from downstairs woke Lilly up,'" Maggie continued. "'She must've known something mighty awful was going on. Must've known she and her boys were in danger. But instead of running to save the kids, she climbed out of bed and shut her door. See that dressing table there? She dragged it over in front of the door so the intruder couldn't barge in. Then she climbed out her window. It would've been a long fall to the ground, but there's a bay window just below this one, and she dropped down on top of it. From there, it was an easy jump. She landed on her lawn and run away into the night.'

"Lilly made good her escape," Janice said, her smooth voice replacing Maggie's gruffness. "She escaped with her life, but not with her sanity. The wax figure that you see on the bed, done by Dubois, was based on a photograph that had been taken of Lilly at the time of her marriage to Lyle Thom, the outlaw, several years earlier. This nightgown is an exact replica of the one she..."

"And the original can be found at the Beast House Museum," Monica said in a sing-song, mocking voice that interferred with whatever Janice was saying on Owen's tape.

She pushed her Stop button.

Owen frowned at her.

He looked around. Though some people were entering the room, nobody stood nearby. Monica's mimickry had probably disturbed nobody but Owen.

"Cut it out," he whispered.

She flashed her teeth at him.

Owen stopped his machine. He studied it, found the Rewind button, and pressed it.

"You're not going back?"

"Yeah, I am."

"That was the end."

"I wasn't to the end yet when you interrupted. You made me miss stuff."

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "You're kidding."

Owen thumbed Play. Maggie said, "'from downstairs woke Lilly up. She must've known something mighty awful was going on.'"

He'd rewound way too far.

As Maggie went on, he thought about hitting the fast-forward.

Don't, he told himself. Just listen to it all again. So what if it takes a while? Monica can just wait. She should've kept her mouth shut.

He met her eyes.

She frowned.

"I rewound too far," he explained.

"Good going."

"This may take a minute."

"Wonderful."

"Shhhh. I'm trying to listen."

"Cute move."

"You don't have to wait for me."

"You can really be a pain sometimes, do you know that?"

"You're going to make me miss stuff again. Then I'll have to rewind."

She clamped her lips shut and glared at him.

Owen wished she would leave. He wanted to concentrate on the tour without any distractions-especially without the negative distractions provided by Monica. She was ruining it for him.

His tape reached the part that he'd missed.

As Monica had already told him, the original nightgown worn by Lilly on the night of the attack was on display at the Beast House museum.

"You may now go down the hallway, and resume listening when you come to Station Four."

He stopped the tape.

"All done?" Monica asked.

"Yep."

"You're sure you didn't miss a single precious word?"

"I think that'll do it."

This time, he led the way. Though he walked slowly toward the door, he didn't look back to make sure that Monica was staying with him. It made him feel rude, but he didn't care.

If it offended her, good. For years, he'd been looking forward to Beast House. Now he was finally here, but Monica wouldn't let him enjoy it.

Big mistake.

And she thinks I'm actually going to marry her?

When hell freezes over He waited just inside the doorway while a family with three kids made their way into Lilly's bedroom. Everyone in the family wore earphones. Even their girl, who appeared to be about eight years old.

It didn't seem right, bringing a kid that age into a place like this.

People are so damn queer, he thought.

But what's really the harm? If the kid ever lays her eyes on the TV news, she'll see a lot worse than this.

When the door was clear, Owen moved into the hallway and stepped aside to avoid a man carrying an infant The baby didn't wear earphones. Owen smiled.

For just a moment, he pictured a kid of his own-but it was a girl and it looked like Monica.

No way, he thought.

My God, she could be pregnant right now for all I know! Who's to say she isn't? Condoms leak.

He wished he could simply close his eyes and make a wish and Monica would be gone...

"Oh, there's nothing much to see up there, anyway. But the attic isn't particularly safe. That's why we don't allow anyone up the stairs."

Owen glanced at the person who was speaking.

A guide.

He started to look away.

She caught him looking and smiled.

He smiled back.

She turned her eyes away from him and resumed talking to a couple of teenagers who had stopped near the attic door. On the wall beside the doorway was a large number 7.

Owen kept moving.

He stared at her as he walked by.

Then he turned his head to look over his shoulder at her.

"Don't break your neck," Monica said.

"Huh?"

"God almighty."

"Huh?" Facing Monica, he raised his eyebrows. "What're you talking about?"

"You know damn well."

"What?"

"That dumb blonde in the guide suit back there."

Was I that obvious?

"What makes you think she's dumb?" Owen asked, trying to sound amused.

"Just one look at her."

"I wouldn't know. I didn't get that good of a look."

"Sure you didn't."

"I was trying to see up the attic stairs," he said.

"Uh-huh, sure. She's not that hot, you know. If you ask me, she sort of looks like a horse."

Yeah, a gorgeous thoroughbred.

"I don't know," he said. "I hardly saw her."

He wished he'd had a better chance to see her.

She works here, he told himself. She'll still be around when we come back this way. Station Seven.

She'll probably be a big disappointment. Nobody can be that terrific. And even if she IS that terrific, I'd never stand a chance with her.

Guys like me don't even exist...