F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 (33 page)

 
          
"Nathan..."

 
          
The
man in the white coat turns, and you see Daddy. His eyes have that funny look,
as though he's looking so far away, way past the room, looking out to forever.
He rubs his chin.

 
          
"I
told you that I was working." Daddy's voice gets louder. "I told you
never ever disturb me when I'm
—
"

 
          
Mommy
takes a step into the room, and she pulls you behind her. You have no choice:
Even though you don't want to disturb Daddy and his important papers, she pulls
you in. You don't want Daddy mad. You love Daddy. You want him to love you.

 
          
"Nathan,
you must stop this."

 
          
Did
Daddy smile?

 
          
"Stop
what?"

 
          
"What
you're doing to the girls. You've scared Samantha ... showing her all those
paintings...."

 
          
Another
tug, and Mommy makes Sam go closer to him, to the shiny table and the papers.
You look up to her. Doesn't she know that Daddy shouldn't be... shouldn't be
—
what's the word?

 
          
Disturbed.

 
          
And
he seems disturbed now.

 
          
"I'm
teaching them, exposing them to the ranges of their possibilities
—
"

 
          
"Give
up these crazy ideas, Nathan. No one's interested. If they were you'd have
landed at least one grant."

 
          
"Money?
Is that all you care about?"

 
          
Money
is important. Like the papers. They yell about money. A lot.

 
          
Daddy
takes a step closer. His hands are clenched, balled up into fists.

 
          
"You're
scaring the children," Mommy says.

 
          
Nathan
stops. He stands there, his fists tight, like a little kid ready to start a
fight.

 
          
"I
want to maximize their potential, Lucy. Is that so awful?

           
They've got talents, enormous
talents. To consider wasting them
—
"

 
          
"They
need to be children!" Mommy says. "They need to have
fun!"

 
          
"Fun?
They've got their whole
lives
to have fun! It's now, when their minds
are thirsty sponges, that they must establish patterns of behavior that will
carry them through their lives!"

 
          
You
blink. A flash, and
—

 
          
Nathan
freezes. And now he looks like a wax figure, a museum display. Sam is gone,
Lucinda is gone. You hear something, a crackling noise, a hissing sound. The
wax dummy doesn't move.

 
          
Then,
from behind it, a tiny golden finger of fire, curling around the table. Another
fiery finger leaps to the tabletop and, snakelike, begins ranging across the
surface, touching each piece of paper, then moving on. Soon the stream of fire
has left a trail of smoking, blackened curls in its wake.

 
          
It
crawls down die table, joining the other finger. They move to die feet of the
wax dummy, and travel up Nathan's pants leg.

 
          
He's
not alive, you think. Otherwise he'd react. It's only a dummy....

 
          
The
flames go straight up Nathan's chest, and then encircle his neck, corkscrewing
up to the face.

 
          
You
start as he speaks.

 
          
"I
always loved you the best
..."

 
          
Who?
Sam, or
you?

 
          
The
jaws move horribly as the flames envelop them like a mask. He has more to say
but you can't hear anything because … because ...

 
          
Now
the face is dripping, the waxy bits of flesh sliding off, railing to the
ground, revealing something else just below the surface. What?

 
          
You
look down and see a trail of flame snaking toward you. In fact, it's only a few
feet away. Virtual flame in a virtual madhouse.

 
          
You
don't move.

 
          
You
know you must get out now. These flames aren't real, yet you feel their heat.
And if you can feel the heat from this distance, what will happen if they
catch you? Every instinct tells you to get out, but what about that melting
face? It's teasing you, promising to reveal something important.

 
          
The
jaw is moving up and down. You try to make out the words.

 
          
I...
yes you can make out that word. I...
love . . . you.

 
          
But
who's saying that? Nathan? Or Sam? Or somebody else?

 
          
The
flames are closer. Time to go. Really. You know you should hit that Exit button.
You notice the Window button blinking and beeping furiously, and you know who
that is and what he's going to say: Get
out, get out, get out!

 
          
You
raise your virtual glove and back away. But your movement is stopped. The door
is closed. All rules aren't suspended here. You still need to open and shut
things. You bring the glove near the Exit button.

 
          
No.
You feel linked to this scene, to this place, tied to your sister's memory. If
you jump out now, it all may vanish.

 
          
You
make a snap decision.

 
          
You
bring your hand down from the Exit button, and
—
instead
—
open the door.

 
          
Back
into the giant room of doors.

 
          
You
spin around, fighting vertigo. The flame follows, slowly, patiently, as if it
has all the time in the world.

 
          
Doors
—
which one did you come through?

 
          
You
turn right and see a black door. Of course. That was the one. But will you be
able to remember the turns coming in?

 
          
You
move to the door. The steady hiss and crackle of the fire trails behind you,
louder now, as if it's consuming this house of doors.

 
          
The
black door flies open and you see the Stygian void beyond. You stumble
through, and after the brilliant light of your father's lab, you might as well
be blind.

 
          
You
move along the corridor and come to a T. Which way do you go?

 
          
You
could call Dr. S. and ask him to rewind the tape quickly, but you've no time
for that. You look around
—
the fire is growing, the
thin trickle is now a lava flow of flame, picking up speed, roaring toward you.

 
          
You
turn right, and immediately sense that's wrong. You come to another turn, and
it's anyone's guess. All you know is the fire is coming for you and you know it
will hurt you.

 
          
But
dammit, you can't quit yet. You know this maze has more to offer than what
you've already seen. But those flames...

 
          
And
then you remember those behavioral psychology courses from your undergrad days.
How does the mouse get out of the maze? It picks one wall and follows it.

 
          
You
pick the right wall and begin to take every turn offered.

 
          
Behind
you, the roar grows louder.

 
          
What
if the wall brings you full circle back to the flame?

 
          
That's
when you'll hit the Exit button.

 
          
But
then the roar fades, and you're making no decisions now, just gliding down the
black corridors, flying, leaving the hungry fire behind.

 
          
Until
another door looms before you and you barrel through
—

 
          
To
find yourself in an English pub. You spin around and see the drinkers at the
bar, smell the sour tang of spilled beer and the pall of tobacco smoke in the
air. You whirl to a stop before a table and see Liam and Sam. He's nursing a
pint of bitter and she's sipping some white wine.

 
          
"I
still don't know why you brought me with you," Sam says. "Especially
to
England
. Aren't you the one who
told me he 'won't be going to Merry Olde too soon?"

 
          
She's
suspicious of Liam, who's been uncharacteristically tense and taciturn since
their arrival. He's disappeared for hours at a time for "meetings"
and now he's insisted they come here to this run-down Knightsbridge pub for a
drink before dinner.

 
          
"It's
business," Liam says. He glances at his watch. "And I wanted you
along for company. I miss you when we're apart, Sammi."

 
          
She
rolls her eyes. "It's just a short hop over to
Ireland
. Maybe you could kiss the
Blarney
stone again."
Playfully, she slaps his hand as he steals another glance at his watch. He's
been doing that since they left the hotel. "And what's with the clock-watching?
It's not like we're going to miss a train or any
—
"

           
A teeth-rattling
boom!
shakes
the glasses off the back of the bar. The patrons start shouting and, drinks in
hand, crowd out onto the sidewalk. Liam and Sam follow.

 
          
"H'it's
the bank!" someone shouts from the corner. "S'burnin' like it was
tinder!"

 
          
The
crowd hurries down the street, carrying Liam and Sam along. When they reach the
corner she stops, arrested by the sight of the bright orange and yellow flames
leaping into the sky, reaching for the high full moon. She feels an old terror
rising within her.

 
          
Liam
tugs on her arm. "C'mon, Sammi," he says, his eyes bright as the
flames. "Let's take us a closer look."

 
          
She
pulls free. No way she can take another step closer.

 
          
"You
go. I'm not into burning buildings."

 
          
"Okay,"
he says. "I'll only be a minute."

 
          
She
watches him wander up the street and mingle with the swelling crowd. He looks
so casual, but she can't help wondering:
Is he
casual? Or is this
professional interest?

 
          
Feeling
suddenly weak, she sits on the curb and rests her head against her knees,
breathing deeply. The flames ... she feels so strange. When she looks up again
she sees Liam walking back to her, coming closer, silhouetted in the glow of
the fire.

 
          
And
she wants to scream....

 
          
And
you want to scream too. You don't know why, but even as the scene fades and
you're in an empty virtual hall again, the urge persists. It verges on panic.
You want to run blindly through these empty halls, bouncing off the walls, but
suddenly you're spinning, rising;
—
you're
free, airborne, and flying away from the giant Mondrian-like structure.