Part 54 (1/2)
”Fortunately, yes,” Henry corrected deliberately. ”I think we're looking at this the wrong way.” He waved the other two quiet and began to build the ending as though he were building the final chapter in one of his books. ”When the doors open-at sunrise, if not before-your people will come out of the house claiming it's haunted. That they saw ghosts. That they were under an attack by a malevolent thing in the bas.e.m.e.nt. They won't be able to prove any of it, though, and the general public will think they're nuts. And given that they're television people, they won't get the benefit of the doubt. Everyone knows television people are slightly crazy.”
”Is this true?” CB wondered.
Graham nodded. ”Common knowledge around Hollywood North, that's for d.a.m.ned sure.” ”Now then, put hallucinating television people in a house with a history of gas leaks and what do you have?”
”Probable cause of crazy. What?” Graham demanded as eyebrows raised. ”I watch a lot of Law and Order.”
”Who doesn't?” CB wearily asked the night. ”Suppose my people say nothing at all about hauntings or ghosts or things in the bas.e.m.e.nt? Suppose they collectively agree on a more plausible story?”
”It won't matter; even if they could agree on a story-and most groups that size can't agree on where to have lunch- there's no way they'll all be able to maintain it throughout a police investigation.”
”The truth will out?”
”And not be believed.”
His next question was less rhetorical. ”Did we not use a gas leak to explain what happened at the studio last spring?”
”There's a reason it's a cla.s.sic,” Henry reminded him. ”And I'm guessing-given that the police know the other deaths in this house were murder/suicides-that the actual cause of your wardrobe a.s.sistant's death will be obvious.
People were trapped in a house. They all went a little crazy. Someone went a lot crazy and killed someone else.”
”And that someone is probably dead, too,” Graham added. ”If the house stays to the same MO.”
”So the actual crime committed becomes an open and shut case. Why did they go crazy?” Henry spread his hands.
”Not our problem. What exactly caused the doors to jam shut? Also not our problem. One of the people trapped did amazing magical things? But we've already established that they all went a little crazy, so no one can be considered a reliable witness.”
”But these two . . .” Graham nodded toward the driveway. ”. . . think something is up.”
”And it's one thing to tell us what they think is going on and another thing entirely to put it in an official doc.u.ment.
They're not stupid, they've proven that already. If they find out what actually happened, who can they tell? Not only is there no empirical proof, there's no way to get it.”
”Whoa. What about you? You're walking, talking, empirical proof, eh?”
”They don't know about me.”
Graham snorted. ”You're standing right there.” As Henry's eyes darkened again, he backed up a step. ”Oh. Right. They don't know about you. And no one who does is going to say anything. Not a word. Lips are sealed. Hey, I talk to the dead; who am I to point fingers, right?”
”Right.” The masks were back in place. The smile held only the faintest hint of warning. ”Given that there's been a death, the sooner the police are involved, the better our people . . .” CB's people except for Tony. ”. . . your people . . .
look. And given that these particular police are already somewhat sympathetic to the situation . . .”
”Sympathetic?” CB growled.
”To the situation,” Henry repeated. ”And if they do mention anything about hauntings, well, there's no faster way for anything else they say to lose credibility with the powers that be.” A quick glance at the house. ”The judicial powers that be.”
”Yeah and what about the press?” Graham demanded. ”Friggin' tabloids'll be all over something like this.”
Henry glanced up at CB, one eyebrow c.o.c.ked.
After a moment, CB smiled. ”Of course. Given the right slant, this may even provide Darkest Night with a bonanza of free publicity. May even jump our ratings. If there's a chance that ghosts are real, why not vampires?”
”You might want to go easy with that.”
”Of course.”
Chapter Seventeen.
TONY REGAINED consciousness slowly, pulled out of a comforting darkness by the suspicion that while he was gone, people had been sticking red hot needles into the left side of his body. When he forced his eyes open, Brianna's face swam into focus.
”He's awake!” she yelled without turning her head.
Amy's face appeared almost immediately behind her. ”You okay?”
”Maybe. You?”
”I didn't even go out.” She sounded disappointed. ”I just got woozy. Define maybe.”
”Define okay.”
”Not about to kick it.”
Fair enough. ”Not sure,” he told her in turn. ”Help me sit up.”
Relying on Amy and Brianna's help, he ended up slumped against familiar lower cabinets. Still in the butler's pantry, then. Not good. Expressions on the half circle of faces staring down at him seemed to support that conclusion.
”The doors are still locked.” The voice of doom from above.
He blinked up at Peter. ”It didn't work?”
”Worked,” Mouse told him before Peter could say anything more. ”Caulfield's rotting. The wall's clean. Cleaner,” he amended, clearly remembering he was speaking of a field-stone foundation. Peter's lips were thin, white lines. ”But the doors are still locked.”
”Okay.” Tony managed to raise his right hand. ”Let me think about this. Caulfield's gone . . .”
Mouse shot a hard look at Peter and nodded.
”. . . the symbols that held the acc.u.mulated power to that specific spot on the bas.e.m.e.nt wall are gone . . . Lee!”
”Lee's fine,” Zev told him, handing him a bottle of water. ”All right, he's not exactly fine, but he's back. He's himself.
Tina and Mason and Ashley are . . . dealing with him.”
Comforting. Zev had been going to say comforting, but changed it to dealing at the last moment. Tony could see another pair of legs in dark trousers tucked in behind Mason, but he couldn't see Lee. He wasn't sure he wanted to see Lee as long as he knew Lee was fine. Back. Himself.