Kennedy returned the smile. For the first time, he felt relief that Jackson was along.
“If we come across someone in a bedsheet, Detective, give me the gun and I’ll shoot him.”
Kelly Delaphoy stopped no more than ten steps from the bottom. It had taken almost five minutes to get down the steps in the darkness. The small flashlight only served to cast dangerous-looking turns and drop-offs on the steep stairs. Jason had twisted his ankle, misjudging the turn halfway down. He had to sit and rub his ankle a while before he was sure he was okay to continue, but thus far he hadn’t said a word in complaint.
She stood still, looking into the darkness, seeing the even blacker outline of the audio and visual equipment in the middle of the room pointing toward the trapdoor she knew was there. The hulking shapes of the old kitchen appliances ringed the basement, just as they had before, but they looked far more ominous now. She swallowed and reached behind her, taking Jason’s hand in her own. His, as hers, was ice cold to the touch, but it still felt good to know she wasn’t alone. She used her free hand to adjust the earpiece and then contacted Harris in the van.
“Okay Harris, we’re a few steps from the bottom of stairs. We can see into the basement. Are you picking up the audio?”
“We have you, just a second and we’ll adjust the camera to pick you up as you step into the basement. We’ll lead with you after the break in fifteen seconds.”
“Okay.” Kelly squeezed Jason’s cold hand even tighter, and he reciprocated. “Well, here we go.” As she took another step down the steps, she heard the whine of the small motor on the camera tripod turn the lens their way. “I hope this was a good idea,” she said. Jason didn’t answer, just squeezed her hand tighter.
“Okay,” Harris called out. “We’re back in five, four, three, two…Camera Five, basement…go!”
On the green tinted picture, everyone watching — from the production van to Mr. and Mrs. America — saw Kelly take the first step onto the basement floor. She stood motionless, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She moved her small penlight to the far wall, and then over to the trap door. The basement was silent as a morgue as she took another tentative step. As she moved, she felt Jason become hesitant about going forward, but just as she was about to say something, he squeezed her hand almost to the point of breaking it.
“Hey, Jason, take it easy.” She took another step toward the center of the room. The whine of the tripod motor sounded lightly as it followed her. “Come on, Jason, you’re breaking my hand!”
Inside the production van, everyone watching the monitor froze. Harris tried to speak but couldn’t. He fumbled with the small switch on his mic but missed. Everyone watching the television special saw what they were seeing, but few really picked up on the horror of the moment as Kelly, with her arm behind her, came clear of the wall that had blocked the camera’s view.
“What did you say?” came Jason’s voice from the stairs.
Kelly froze. The pressure on her hand was becoming unbearable. A whimper escaped her lips.
Jason finally made the bottom step and froze. Kelly was standing in front of him with her arm trailing behind her, and holding her hand out.
The black entity was just behind Kelly, and part of that darkness was connected to Kelly’s outstretched hand. The obsidian blackness was enormous, far darker than its surroundings. The illumination of his small penlight penetrated through the towering darkness. Jason saw Kelly slowly turn around and open her eyes wide.
The hand she was holding was not Jason’s.
The small penlight and the power to the camera went out just as Jason and Kelly both screamed.
Gabriel stopped at the top of the third floor staircase. He looked around and made sure the laser designators were working. George Cordero moved up the stairs and stood by Kennedy.
“Gabe, do you feel it?” George said just as Harris Dalton started his countdown for coverage to begin again. “It’s warmer now. I’m not getting the black feeling like I was a few minutes ago.”
Kennedy did feel it. As he looked at the others he saw that there were no more shivers due to the cold.
“Are you saying that the entity has left this floor, Mr. Cordero?” Julie asked for the benefit of the live audience.
“No, I’m just saying something’s different.”
Gabriel thought for the briefest moment. In his earpiece, he heard the order to go to Camera Five, the static camera in the basement. He stepped onto the third floor and looked down the laser-lined hallway. The sewing room door was standing wide open. He could see the blackness beyond, as if it was a gateway that soaked up the possible, leaving only the impossible behind. He continued down the hallway.
As the others followed, they each heard the static in their earpieces — soft at first, but growing louder and stronger as they moved toward the sewing room and the master suite next to it. Julie tapped her earpiece.
“As we move down the hallway, our electronic equipment is starting to malfunction,” she explained to the audience, just hoping her words were going out to the van clearly.
“How surprising,” Lionel Peterson mumbled at the back of the group.
Damian Jackson looked at Peterson with the laser grid spread out over his features. He could see in the multicolored light that the entertainment president was getting drunk.
Suddenly the static became unbearably loud. Each of them grabbed at their ears, pulling the cords and letting them dangle. As a result, they missed the few discernable words from the production van — Harris Dalton screaming Kelly’s name.
“We have just lost communication with our production facilities outside,” Julie said. She shook her head, trying to clear the ringing in her ears.
An alarm sounded from the staircase. Gabriel ran back to the landing and looked down onto the first floor. In the blackness, he saw the first of Leonard’s motion sensors go off. The lights tracked something up the stairs a few step and then stopped. Again the lights on the banister registered movement as whatever it was moved five more steps up. Whatever it was, it was stopping to peer upward at the group gathering at the landing. It would take a few steps upward, then stop, look, and then continue.
“What are you feeling?” Gabriel asked George as the cameraman moved forward and switched to infrared. The soundman pushed his boom microphone out over the banister.
“I’m picking up footsteps,” he said quietly to the others. “Heavy freaking footsteps.”
“This is the thing that lives here, and it’s pissed, that’s what I’m feeling. This thing wasn’t human, it couldn’t be. It has grown in strength. It isn’t even close to what we were experiencing before,” George answered. His breath was starting to fog once more.
As Damian Jackson watched the red lights illuminate, following the movement up to the second floor landing, he swallowed. He had to give Kennedy and his team credit — if it was an intentional trick through electronic means, it was a good one. He could see the ply on the stair runners actually being depressed in the beam of the professor’s flashlight.
Lionel Peterson watched the blinking lights as they progressed up the stairs. Then he capped the flask and tossed it away.
In the freezing ballroom, John Lonetree was sweating as his head tossed from side to side on the pillow. With shaking hands, Jennifer wiped the cold sweat from John’s brow, wanting to say calming things to him but knowing that her voice could wake him from his Walk — something he had warned her not to do. She wasn’t even supposed to be touching him. Leonard reached out and pulled Jenny’s hand away, shaking his head.