Daniel's heart was pounding, but he feigned nonchalance, tried to keep the tremble out of his hand. "Your daughter," he found himself saying. "She predicted my mother's death. And she was somehow involved with it." His eyes metBillingsly's . "I thought you were, too."
The butler shook his head. "No."
"Then why did you force us to stay, me and my dad?"
"As I told you, the House needed occupants."
"But you knew she died?"
"I did not know how."
"A doll, a doll made out of dust and lint and gum wrappers, shoved itself down her throat and strangled her."
The butler's voice remained even. "I did not know that."
"You didn't know that I was making one of those dolls, too? You don't know that my son saw her and she taught him how to make them, as well?"
"She was obviously trying to keep you from the House, trying to remind you of what had happened and scare you away."
"And you? Tony said he saw you, too."
"I was trying to entice you back."
"And you knew nothing about her? This is all news to you?"
Billingsly nodded.
Daniel angrily grabbed a bagel, dug into the eggs and sausage on his plate. Billingsly moved unobtrusively around the table, refilling Daniel's coffee cup, taking dishes back to the kitchen, and it was only after Daniel had finished his breakfast that the butler finally asked a question: "Have you had sex with this . . . being?"
"No." Daniel was firm. "She wanted me to, but I refused.
Like I said, that's why I left."
Billingsly nodded. "I don't know who or what this child is, but I assure you that I have never seen her, and until now I've been entirely unaware of her existence."
It was true, Daniel thought. He had never seen the two of them together. He'd just assumed Doneen was Billingsly's daughter.
Or perhaps she'd told him that.
"Apparently, she was successful in her efforts to drive you away from the House," Billingsly said. "And, indeed, that weakened the barrier. I assume that was her goal, to open the border." The butler smiled reassuringly.
"But if she was here, she is gone now--at least in that guise. You have come back, the House is once again returning to its intended state, and all attempts to thwart the House in its intended purpose have failed."
"My son saw her," Daniel reminded him. "I think I've seen her, too. And I thought I saw one of those . . .
dolls in the window when I drove up. I'm pretty sure she's still around."
Billingsly smiled again, and this time there was some thing predatory in the gesture, an intensity and cold unnatural fierceness completely unlike any human expression.
For the first time, Daniel thought, he was seeing the real butler, and he could not look upon the sight, he had to turn away.
Billingslyplaced his coffeepot back on its tray and surveyed the table. "Are we all finished with breakfast?"
he asked innocently.
He was acting as though nothing was wrong, as though nothing unusual had occurred or been discussed, and Daniel wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
"I think so," he said.
"Very well. Dinner is at six sharp. You may eat lunch or not, as is your wont, but you must appear for dinner."
His eyes were hard. "On time."
"What am I supposed to do all day? Can I leave, go shopping?"
Billingsly laughed, and for the first time there seemed to be real humor in it. "I'm afraid not."
"What then?"
The butler began walking around the table. "Whatever you want. This is your home now, explore it. Get to know it."
"I do know it," Daniel said. "I spent half my fucking life here."
Billingsly smiled. "I think you'll be surprised."
There was nothing threatening in either Billingsly's words or his tone of voice but Daniel still felt chilled.
"I don't want to be surprised," he said softly.
But the butler had walked into the kitchen and did not hear him.
Stormy Stormy strode out of the dining room into the sitting room. He was determined not to simply fall into line and do whatever Billingham told him to do. That snotty servant had rubbed him the wrong way even as a child, and while he'd always been afraid of and intimidated by him, he'd always resented it. He wasn't about to capitulate now, to give in and give up and blindly follow orders.
If anything, he was more determined than ever to stand up to the butler and the House.
Butchery.
He kept thinking of the movie.
He kept thinking about a lot of movies. Now that he knew the world wasn't going to end, he was anxious to get the hell out of here and get back to work. He didn't know how long he'd been here--with the wacky time that seemed to affect this place, who could tell?--but even if it had just been a day or two, he needed to get back. He had things to do. He had the Taos festival to prepare for.
Had he been reported missing? he wondered. Were people looking for him? Would anybody be able to find him?
Doubtful. He didn't know where he was himself. To paraphrase Dorothy, he had the feeling he wasn't in Chicago anymore.
He wondered if the dead who had come back to life were still hanging around the reservation. Or if his return home and the fact that the House was once again occupied had put a stop to that. Had they disappeared, the living dead? Had they simply fallen in their tracks?
Had they rotted away and turned to dust like Dracula?
He hoped Rodman had been out there with his camera, documenting it. It would make a hell of a film.
He had to get out of here. He had to escape.
But what if the butler was right? What if he was the only thing protecting the world, the universe, from demons and monsters, from this "Other Side." Didn't he owe it to ... to humanity to do everything he could to--how did Billingham put it--"maintain the barrier"?
No.
There were bound to be people willing to give up their lives for this, to devote all of their time for the greater good. The same people who joined the Peace Corps and spent all of their free time helping the homeless.
But he was not one of them.
He knew it was selfish, but he had things he wanted to do, too. He had his own life to live. Let Billingham find someone else to staff his fucking House. From what Stormy could tell, all that was needed was a warm body.
Anyone would do. It didn't have to be him. He wasn't bringing any special skills or abilities to the table.
Stormy glanced back toward the dining room. The first question he had to ask himself was: Did he believe Billingham about the House?
Yes.
He didn't know why--he'd seen no evidence to support the butler's wild claims--but he supposed it was because he'd experienced his own examples of that other world bleeding into this one. And Billingham offered an easy one-stop explanation.
Time for the next question: Who was Billingham ? What was he?
That one was a little harder.
Maybe he was God.
God was his family's servant? He found that hard to believe.
But it worked from an objective, interpretive standpoint.
If this was a film, the girl would obviously represent the devil, evil, temptation. You didn't have to be Antonioni to figure that out.
And that would make Billingham God.
No, Stormy thought. He didn't buy it. The butler clearly didn't know about the girl.
But maybe he wasn't the final word here. Maybe he was a good guy, but the power didn't rest with him.
Maybe he and the girl were both puppets.