Kelly was about to respond when they heard a door creak open. She looked at Dalton with her brows raised.
Harris turned away from the fireplace and made his way across the living room to the entrance hall. The front doors were closed and secure. He grimaced, then moved through past the coat check stall and into the passageway that led to the huge kitchen. He pushed open the right side of the swinging doors and stepped inside. The smells of old meals still hung in the air. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, the black and white checkerboard tile stood out as if it were painted in neon bright colors. Everything else was solely illuminated by the light that came through the open door. He felt Kelly behind him, trying to peek around his large frame.
“Look,” Kelly said, squeezing past him.
The basement door, once locked, was standing wide open. The lock that had been used to secure it — the one that Kelly had witnessed Wallace Lindemann remove himself during the tour — was sitting on the large butcher’s block next to the door. “That door is always locked. Lindemann said so himself. He was afraid one of the Johanssons would take a tumble down the steep stairs.”
“Well, obviously things have slipped while Eunice and her husband have been away.” Harris allowed the swinging door to close as he stepped into the large kitchen. He felt around for the old fashioned light switch and turned it on. The light fixture on the ceiling flared to life, casting a brilliant glow over the old appliances and counters. The kitchen was decorated with checkered tile floors, red countertops and white paint on the walls with a belt of black tile halfway up. “I think I would have modernized the paint scheme in here,” he said, stepping toward the basement door.
Kelly followed, watching as Dalton took the old crystal door handle and moved the thick wood door back and forth. It made the exact same squeak they had heard in the living room. Harris looked at Kelly and her brows rose questioningly. Dalton stepped to the open doorway and looked down into the blackness. He reached in and felt around but could find no light switch.
“It’s a string above your head,” Kelly said, remembering Wallace Lindemann clicking on the lights for the tour.
“There’s no string here, or light switch, or fixture,” Harris said.
“It’s there. I saw it the other day,” Kelly said in exasperation as she stepped into the landing.
“Yeah, well tell me where it—”
The loud bang from far below stopped the rest of the words cold in Dalton’s mouth and made both of them jump. The sound reverberated through the kitchen.
“That was the root cellar door,” Kelly said. She quickly stepped away from the steep staircase.
“How do you know?” Harris asked.
“I just do.”
Harris grabbed her by the arm as he heard the first foot fall far below on the staircase. Then suddenly the draft hit him and its force made the hair on his arms stand up. Goose pimples formed across his exposed skin. The landing, the doorway and the entire kitchen felt like a door had been opened to the North Pole. Their breaths fogged in the air before them. Something had changed inside Summer Place, and this time it originated from far below.
“Listen!” he hissed, cocking his head to the right.
Kelly stopped and listened. There was a second step, and whatever was down there stopped. It was as if it were listening to see if it had been heard.
“Okay, that’s it, back to the ballroom.” Dalton pulled on Kelly’s arm. She tried to shrug off his grip but it was like iron. Then she froze as the footfalls started again. This time it seemed they were coming on with a purpose.
“Jesus.” Harris yanked Kelly off the landing and through the door. He slammed it shut and then bent over for the lock as the footsteps rose toward the landing. Kelly could tell that they had rounded the bend in the staircase and were just below in the blackness, just out of her sight. Harris retrieved the lock and fit it into the latch, slamming the mechanism home. A moment later, something that sounded like a bowling ball struck the door from the far side. Harris and Kelly jumped back and watched wide-eyed as the door rattled. The cut glass knob turned rapidly.
“Shit,” Kelly mumbled.
Suddenly the door, just like the one in the network meeting room a few days before, started to bend inward, cracking. Harris knew that if they stayed where they were, they would soon see what was creating such force. He knew that if they left, the power would die.
“Let’s get out of here, now!” Dalton pulled Kelly back through the kitchen door. It swung as he backed out, and he could see that whatever was on the other side of the basement door gave one last powerful push inward. On the swinging door’s rebound, Harris saw that the door had held. Then the door came to a rest, closing the view for good.
Harris didn’t let go of Kelly until they were well away from the kitchen. They passed the coat check station and backed into the large living room. He finally stopped as he felt the heat return to his system. He let go of Kelly and placed his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
“What the fuck was that?” he managed to get out.
Kelly, wide-eyed and staring at the small entrance way to the kitchen, kept her eyes on the door.
“Goddamn it, I should have known to have a camera on me.”
Harris straightened up.
“You crazy bitch. When is enough enough?”
“When we have it on tape, Harris. That’s when it’s enough.”
Harris walked toward the ballroom. “I have a feeling you just may find out tomorrow that this fucking house has the final say on that.”
Kelly watched Harris leave the living room and decided that she no longer wanted to be alone inside Summer Place. She started moving in the same direction to force herself to sleep, she would need the rest.
“We’ll see about that.” She turned around and looked at the walls enclosing her. “You’re going to talk to the world, so you better get ready.”
Kelly tossed and turned on the small, uncomfortable cot. She kicked off the itchy blanket and stared up at the darkened ceiling far above her head. She eased her left arm behind her head and then closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the old mansion as it creaked and settled. She wondered in her semi-daze how long it took for a house to settle. She turned over and tried to keep her eyes shut, but the cameraman who had taken the cot nearest her own was snoring so loudly that she lost all thought of listening to the house.
Kelly tried to find a peaceful rhythm to the large man’s snoring, but she couldn’t. She shot the sleeping man an angry glance, then stood and ran a hand through her long hair. Julie Reilly was sitting on one of the stools at the bar, jotting something in her large notebook. Curious, Kelly eased past the sleeping men and women. Julie had the advance script that outlined the first four hours of the show, and it looked like she was furiously crossing things out and writing things in. Kelly cleared her throat.
“Jason and I worked on that thing all day. You’re not even going to consult with us on your changes?”
Julie stopped writing for the briefest of moments and then started up again without answering.
Kelly pulled out the barstool next to Julie.
“Can we be civil for a moment, here?”
Julie added a line to the first page, then placed the pen down and looked at Kelly.
“Number one, I don’t like you. We’ve been through this already, and just because we’ve entered your war zone, doesn’t mean we’re going to become foxhole buddies. Second, I know what you have in mind and I—”