Room Beneath the Stairs (25 page)

“I understand you're leaving,” I said.

“Yes.”

She stared at me as though I weren't there.

“I wish you well, Helen.”

“Do you indeed?”

“Of course.”

“This is all your fault,” she said coldly. “If you hadn't come, this would never have happened. Grey should never have married you, should never have brought you here, but I don't blame him. He's gullible, easily led. You tricked him into marrying you.”

“That isn't true,” I said quietly.

“You've destroyed everything—everything.”

Her voice almost broke. For perhaps five seconds she looked trapped, desperate, but she didn't lose control, not quite. She drew back, even more rigid than before, and her eyes stared at me with pure hatred.

“I'm leaving this house, this island. I'll never return. I'll never be able to come here again. It's just as well, I suppose. You've wrecked everything. I don't know what I'll do with the rest of my life. I have no idea.”

You'll survive, I wanted to say, but I didn't. I felt neither resentment nor dislike for Helen Porter, merely pity. She was far more neurotic than her mother, even though her neurosis had taken a different form.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Evan came down, carrying a third piece of luggage. His white collar was wrinkled, his hair unkempt. Burke came down behind him, gathered up all the suitcases and went out the front door. Helen followed him, leaving Evan and me alone at the foot of the stairs.

Neither of us said anything for a moment. The shadows under his eyes were darker, and there were deep hollows under his cheekbones. I had never seen anyone so exhausted, and yet even so, the strength, the control were there. He tugged at his tie, straightening the knot. His dark brown eyes stared at me with uncertainty.

“You won't do anything foolish?” he said.

I shook my head ever so slightly.

“You'll be all right?”

“I'll be all right,” I replied.

“I have to leave. I have to put her on that train.”

“I understand.”

“I should be back in a couple of hours.”

I made no reply. My coldness seemed to pain him. He frowned, studying my face closely.

“You despise me,” he said, “don't you?”

“What could that possibly matter?”

“It does matter, a great deal. I don't expect you to believe me, Carolyn, but—it matters.”

“You'd better hurry,” I replied. “You might miss the train.”

I turned and walked back into the sitting room. I expected to hear the front door slam violently. It didn't. Stepping over to the front windows, I stood to one side, peering out. It was twilight. I saw the Rolls pulling up in front of the steps. Burke got out and put the luggage in the trunk. Helen stood like a statue. Beside her, Evan seemed to sag, his shoulders drooping. There was a bright flash of lightning as Burke opened the car door and helped Helen inside. He and Evan talked quietly for a moment, and then Evan turned and glanced back at the house. There was a worried expression on his face. Burke shook his head and said something else, and Evan got behind the wheel, circled the drive and drove toward the portals. Burke waited until the car was out of sight, then came back into the house. I could hear his footsteps in the hall, hear the stairs groan under his weight as he climbed them.

They were taking no chances. I was filled with frustration. Some of my calm was beginning to leave. I could feel tension building. My nerves might have been anesthetized before, but now they seemed to tingle. I was acutely aware of the thunder, the lightning, the roar of the wind. My strength seemed to be ebbing away. I sat down on the sofa in the darkened room, praying the calm would last awhile longer, praying the strength wouldn't desert me now when I needed it most. Time seemed to hang suspended. Twenty minutes might have passed. Or thirty. Then light, pattering footsteps came down the hall. Judy stepped into the room.

“Mrs. Brandon! You gave me such a start, sitting there like—”

She fumbled for the light switch. Lamps blossomed, shedding warm yellow light. Judy wore a slick white mackintosh. A vivid green and white silk scarf was tied over her hair, and she had a large brown tote bag slung over one arm. A bit of lace peeked out of one corner, unmistakably the hem of a nightgown. She looked nervous and on edge, even though she tried to hide it. Her blue eyes were wide with apprehension. She had been content to play her role earlier on, excited to be a part of the drama, but the excitement had worn off now. She was very young, and the thought of spending the night alone in her dark room after what had happened must have been terrifying.

“Mrs. Brandon, I—I hope you won't mind, but—well, this morning Ned said he wanted me to spend the—wanted me to come down to the village. He's worried about me, you see, and with the storm and all—I'd feel ever so much better if I was with him.”

“I don't mind at all, Judy.”

“I wouldn't want you to think I was desertin' my post. It's just that I get so
edgy
when it storms, and—”

“You don't have to explain. Hadn't you better leave before it starts to rain?”

“I have my bike. It won't take me five minutes to get there, downhill all the way. There's a sliced ham in the fridge, a pot of stew too. All you'll have to do is heat it. I've done your room already. 'Course I didn't want to disturb Mister Grey—”

“Judy,” I interrupted, “Burke went upstairs a little while ago. Have you seen him?”

“I saw him in the hall just as I was going out of your room, not more than twenty minutes ago. He was going down to the basement. I said to myself, ‘Now, that's strange,' but then he's always prowling—”

“He wasn't anywhere near my husband's room?”

She shook her head, puzzled by my question. “What could he be going down to the basement for, I asked myself. I guess maybe he's checking the windows or somethin' because of the storm. Well—” She wrapped the mackintosh closer about her and got a firm hold on the tote bag. “I'd better be on my way. I'll be back first thing in the morning, in plenty of time to cook breakfast.”

Judy left. I stood at the window, watching her pedal away furiously down the drive, scarf and mackintosh belling out behind her, tote bag flapping. Thunder rumbled. The swollen black clouds hung low, ready to burst. Judy disappeared. I hoped she would make it down to the village before the deluge.

Quickly, silently, I went upstairs. The hall leading to Grey's room was pitch black, but the continuous flashes of lightning illuminated it enough for me to discern that no one lingered there. I had no idea why Burke had gone down to the basement, but he might come back at any moment. He wouldn't like it if he found me here. Squaring my shoulders, I hurried down the hall to Grey's room. The door was closed. I opened it with trembling hands and stepped inside, shutting it behind me.

“Grey,” I whispered.

He didn't answer. He must still be fast asleep. The room was in total darkness. The windows rattled noisily, wind seeping around the frame. I moved over toward the bed, stumbling against it. I reached out to shake him. My hands felt nothing but empty space. Grey wasn't in the bed. Remembering the lamp on the night table, I groped for it, found it, pressed the switch. The room filled with light so suddenly that my eyes hurt. I stood up straight, puzzled. The room was exactly as I had left it yesterday afternoon before going out to meet Valerie. Nothing was out of place. No clothes were scattered over the floor. The brown and tan striped counterpane was smooth, not a single wrinkle marring it.

Calm. I must remain very calm.
He hadn't been in his room. Where was he?
He had been sleeping, yes, and … and when he awakened he had tidied up the room, remade the bed. He had probably gone to my apartment. He was probably waiting for me now. And yet … Grey, I felt sure, had never willingly made up a bed in his life. Judy hadn't straightened the room.

My heart was palpitating rapidly. My throat felt tight. The unnatural detachment that had sustained me ever since I had awakened in the afternoon completely deserted me now. My senses seemed to be sharpened, my awareness magnified. As I stood there in the room the rain began, suddenly, savagely, lashing against the windows, pounding on the roof.

Vibrations. I could feel them. The house was alive with them. An almost palpable atmosphere filled the air. My whole being seemed to be attuned, almost as though I had taken a consciousness-expanding drug. I was open to all impressions, absorbing them immediately. I left Grey's room. I walked slowly down the long hall. Now that the rain had begun, the lightning no longer flashed. The darkness was total. The walls seemed to draw away from me. The house seemed to have its own nervous system, and it was tense, holding its breath in anticipation.

Lights burned dimly in the wide hall leading to my own apartment. Judy must have left them on, I said to myself, or Burke.… Burke, when he went down to the basement. Why? Why had he gone down there? There were no windows to close. Just one, and it was barred. No, I mustn't think about that. I mustn't. I must go to my room. Grey would be there, waiting. He would listen to me. He would understand. He would tell me everything, and then we would call the police. I went down the narrow hall, climbed up the enclosed spiral staircase to my rooms.

Grey wasn't in the sitting room, nor in the bedroom. I really hadn't expected him to be. It had been hope, not expectation. The veil lifted. The pieces of the puzzle locked together, as they had done in my dream, and I really wasn't surprised at what I saw. I had known for a long time. But I had driven the knowledge back, refused to accept it.

Judy had left the lamps burning. I turned them off. I sat down on the window seat, watching the rain splashing against the windowpanes. Waves of rain crashed against the glass, swirling, sliding across the panes. I sat very quietly, and now that it was over, now that I knew, I was calm again. No. I was numb, through and through. I wanted to cry, but no tears would come. I wondered if I would ever be able to cry again.

I lost all awareness of time. The rain slackened, falling steadily but without its previous fury. Glittering streams of wetness slipped over the hard panes in moving patterns. The storm was wearing itself out. The noise abated. I could hear the house stretch and groan, joints creaking, windows shaking quietly in their frames. I stood up. There was no hope left, but I had to know for sure. My bedroom was filled with a pale gray light. I stepped over to the bureau and opened one of the drawers. Reaching under the pile of handkerckiefs, I took hold of the revolver and pulled it out. I stared at it for a moment in the diffused light. I couldn't possibly use it, I knew that, but I also couldn't possibly go down there without it. Still numb, moving as though in a trance, I left my apartment and started toward the basement stairs.

I was halfway down the hall when I heard the crash. It was an explosion of sound, shattering the silence, filling the house. It sounded like wood splintering. There was a loud, echoing clatter, then a cry of pain; a dull, heavy thud, then silence again. I hesitated. I was trembling inside. I stood there in the darkness of the hall, wanting to flee, knowing I must continue. I had to see with my own eyes. Shadows stirred as I moved toward that dark doorway. There was a clicking, clattering noise, then sobbing. Someone was sobbing. The sound rose up from below, anguished, trembling with pathos, just as it had done that night an eternity ago. I stood at the head of the stairs. Currents of icy air eddied up the stairwell, stroking my bare arms.

“
Carolyn, no!
”

The voice was low, a whisper. I ignored it, knowing that it came from inside me. I started down the stairs, moving down into darkness. I held on to the banister with one hand, the other gripping the revolver. The sobbing welled up, reaching an anguished peak, then stopped abruptly. There was no sound but my own footsteps, echoing loudly, the noise reverberating from wall to wall, footsteps ahead of me, footsteps behind. Someone was following me down the stairs. Someone was moving down in front of me. The stairs groaned, creaked. I turned, went down the second flight. The darkness diminished as light seeped up from below. I reached the landing near the kitchen. I could see the door, the shabby square of carpet. Below, the naked light bulb burned brightly, spilling light over the bare wooden wall.

I went down to the third landing, standing directly beneath the bright white bulb. I peered at the final flight of steps. Something was sprawled out on the concrete floor just beyond them. Slowly, as though sleepwalking, I moved down. The dim yellow bulb was burning too. It shed feeble rays over the large, crumpled body in the tight black uniform. He looked like an enormous rag doll some vicious child had hurled to the floor in fury. Arms and legs akimbo, head to one side, he looked like a grotesque toy, one side of his head covered with sticky red paste. I knelt down beside him.

“Burke,” I whispered.

It was futile. Burke was dead.

A light burned in the room beneath the stairs. It spilled out over the basement floor. The door had literally been torn from its hinges. It was on the floor, broken into several pieces. I stood up, stepping into that small room with its hideous colored faces, with the long grooves that had been gouged out by human hands. He wasn't there. I came back out, looked around the large basement room filled with its clutter of boxes and discarded furniture. Corners were thick with shadows. I saw a dark form crouching behind a stack of cardboard boxes. I could hear his breathing. I could feel him watching me.

“Please come out,” I said. “I won't hurt you.”

“I don't wanna,” he whined.

“Please, Grey.”

Slowly, cautiously, he crept from behind his place of concealment. His feet shuffled on the floor. He was still in shadow, his white sweater a blur. Watching me apprehensively, he stepped into the light, several yards away from me. He was still wearing the jeans, the sweater he had worn when he left with Evan yesterday afternoon. The sweater was covered with dirt. His blond hair was matted, falling in a heavy fringe over his forehead. He clutched the teddy bear to him with one arm. His other hand gripped a hammer. The head of it was smeared with sticky red wetness.