Then the thought occurred to him at last, and it was so overwhelming that he voiced it. "All those lives might have been spared… if mine had ended. And how many more might be spared now
… if I would die?"
"Stop it, Dennis," Ann said, and her voice was low and steady. "Don't even think about that. For all you know, that could be just what it wants – your death."
He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had almost forgotten she was there. Now he looked at her gratefully. "You believe me."
"Of course I believe you. My God, I saw it. It may be something born of your mind, but it's not an hallucination. Hallucinations can't kill." She clutched his arm. "What are we going to do?"
"We're going to do what I said I would. We're going to leave."
"But, Dennis," John Steinberg said, "Munro said that it wouldn't do any good to go away, that this… person would just follow us."
"Munro's wrong."
"How do you know that?"
"I just do. We're putting the show in mothballs, John. The show and the theatre. I want everyone out of here. We'll stay elsewhere tonight. Try to make reservations at the Kirkland Hotel. And tomorrow we'll go back to New York."
"And what do I tell the investors?"
"You won't have to tell them much at all. They read the newspapers. Call it a production delay, I don't care. If anyone wants their investment back, give it to them."
Steinberg scratched his head. "Marvella's gone back already with Whitney's body, so there's only you and I, Evan, and Curt. What shall we do about Ann and Terri? Let them go?
"Just Terri. Keep her on the payroll, but there's nothing for her to do until we get underway again. Ann's coming to New York with us. I've already asked her and she's accepted, if that's all right with you."
"Of course." Steinberg cocked his head and looked deeply at Dennis. "Will we get underway again?"
Dennis stood up and looked out the window of Steinberg's office. "Yes. This is only a truce, John, not a surrender. This project has been my dream for a long time, and I'm not going to give it up." He turned back to his friend. "But for now I want us all to pack today – get everything out of the suites we'll need in the city. Curt and Evan can finish doing whatever they need to do on the stage – pull the electrics, whatever's necessary – but I don't want either of them alone down there at any time. Understood?"
"I'll take care of it. By the way, Leibowitz just called. He's arranged it so that you can get in to visit Sid now. You may want to do that before you go.”
“I will this afternoon. I'll take Ann with me, if that's all right."
"Go ahead. I can get everything thrown together here. Most of it's on disk anyway. When are you going to pack?"
"I'm already packed. It didn't take long, because I didn't take much." Dennis smiled grimly. "I'm planning on coming back."
Scene 2
Sid Harper was of two minds about seeing Dennis Hamilton. Dennis had been his friend for many years, but at the same time, Sid had come to the conclusion that it was Dennis who had killed Donna Franklin and possibly the others in the theatre. He had thought about little else in the few days he had been incarcerated, and could come up with no other conclusion. As unlikely as it seemed, Dennis was the only one who was not accounted for during several of the deaths, and if anyone had access to keys, it would be the man who owned the building. The motives were a puzzle, but perhaps, Sid thought, the only motive needed was madness.
For Dennis was mad. He had proven that with his seemingly constant sightings of this psychic double he had told Sid about. Sid had not believed the story, not for an instant. There were no such things outside the limits of Dennis's mind. Sid did believe, however, that Dennis thought this creature was real. He had created it out of guilt, out of frustration with his life, out of God only knew what else. At any rate, he had brought it into being in his mind, and Sid firmly believed that it was Dennis as "The Emperor" who had killed Donna.
How he had gotten past him, whether he had come through a window or a door or a goddam secret passageway, Sid didn't know. All he knew was that these deaths had to be the work of a maniac, and, as much as he hated to admit it, there was only one person whose behavior put him close to that category.
So when the guard came up to his cell and told him that Dennis Hamilton was there to see him, he didn't know how to feel. He got up stolidly, left the cell, and followed the guard to the visiting room, where Dennis sat on the other side of a heavy glass window. Sid sat down facing him, and waited for him to speak through the microphone.
"How are they treating you?"
Sid shrugged. "It's jail. It's pretty much like the movies. Not too bad."
Dennis sat for a long time before he spoke again. "There was another death last night."
Sid could hardly take it in. "What?"
"It was… Whitney." Dennis swallowed heavily. "She suffocated. In a pile of costumes."
Sid's face grew hard even as he felt tears come to his eyes. "Jesus, Dennis. Jesus." He would not cry, dammit, he would not. The girl's face came into his mind and he forced it out. Now was not the time for more tears. "Whitney?" Dennis nodded. If there had been no glass between them, Sid felt he might leap at the man and try to strangle him. "And do they have… a suspect?"
"Munro thinks it's a celebrity stalker."
"But you know it's not."
Dennis nodded. "That's right. I know who it is now."
Sid nodded as well. "The Emperor."
"Yes. The Emperor."
Sid jerked his head away. He could not, he felt, look at Dennis any more. Before he had felt mostly pity toward the madness of his friend, but now he felt only hate. Whitney. Dear Christ, how could he have killed Whitney?
"And what about me, Dennis? Do you think I'm safer in here than I would be out there? Do you think… the Emperor would kill me too?"
"I don't know, Sid. I think he might try."
Sid looked at Dennis. His face was still blank, seemingly devoid of feeling. "You hate me that much too?"
Dennis shook his head. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I think you'd try to kill me, Dennis. Not the Emperor. I don't believe in the goddamned Emperor. What I believe in is you."
Sid's words were pouring out in a desperate torrent. "Why don't you tell them, Dennis? You need help. Do it now before you… before somebody else dies. Because you know you'll do it again."
"It's real, Sid. Ann saw it. She heard it."
"Then she's just as crazy as you are. Come on, Dennis, please, God, you've gotta stop this!" Sid had his hands on the glass now, trying to reach through, to reach Dennis, to make him stop – Donna, Robin, now Whitney, for Christ's sake, all of them, all of them…
Then he felt a guard's hand on his shoulder, a voice saying, "All right, that's enough, come on now…” and he swung around.
"It's him," Sid told the guard. " He's the one who did it, not me … it's him! Make him stop!"
" Sid." Dennis's voice bit through the air. "I'll get you out of here. Don't worry. Trust me. Believe in me."
Sid laughed all the way back to his cell. When the door closed behind him, he began to cry, and did not stop for a long time.
That afternoon, back at the Venetian Theatre, lunchtime had come and gone, unnoticed by Curt and Evan, who were trying to put the theatre and all its systems in mothballs by five o'clock. They were both subdued by Whitney's death, coming so fast upon the heels of Donna's murder and Sid's imprisonment, and both of them, though they did not mention it to each other, were glad to be leaving Kirkland.
If it had not been for Curt's desire to have everything in its place, they could have been finished in an hour or two. Safety dictated that only the electrics needed to be disconnected, but Curt insisted that everything else be stored away where it had been originally, and all backdrops and curtains flown to their original height. Since three days before they had lowered everything to inspect the ropes and battens, they worked from eleven to one putting most of the flown scenery aloft, and when the last teaser was airborne, Curt said that he was hungry. "Want a sandwich?" Evan offered, pointing to the paper bag with his lunch.