“No,” Cantrell answered.
“Then God help you.”
After a few days, the snow stopped.
Cantrell looked out of the living room window over the bleak winter scene below.
Three feet of snow blanketed the desolate streets surrounding the Exeter. The air was cold, the skies gray and solemn, the traffic virtually nonexistent. Not a single footprint, animal or human, marred the snow-covered sidewalk and parking lot.
The press had withdrawn, the Cross loyalists finally departed, leaving behind only a few frozen wreaths, candles and a handful of handwritten cards and notes.
The Exeter was once more left in restless—but blissful—isolation.
Cantrell sighed, drawing a curtain over the scene. He made his way down to Su Ling’s apartment, barely noticing the vaguely cockeyed slant of the ornate staircase, the shadows that were somehow wrong.
As Su Ling opened the door, he immediately saw the look on her face. He also saw, on the other side of the room, her computer screen blinking off.
“What’s wrong?”
“I saw it, Alex.”
“Saw what?”
“Cross’s death. It was on the Internet. Somebody must have gotten a pirate copy of the tape.”
“Oh Jesus, Su, why in the hell did you… ”
“I had to see it, Alex, that’s all. And I’m sorry I did. I’ll never forget the look on his face.”
He took her in his arms and held her tight.
“I was hoping that you’d never have to see that. I’ll never forget it either.”
They sat at the kitchen table. She’d prepared hot tea for them.
He looked in her eyes.
“I’m not mad at you, Su,” he said. “I just wanted to spare you that, that… whatever the hell it was that happened down there.”
She returned his smile, but it was faint, still colored by her reaction to the video.
“What really happened down there?” she asked.
“Well, the coroner… ”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do. Maybe it was a heart attack, but that’s not what killed him. You know that, don’t you?”
Cantrell said nothing.
“The man turned into something before our eyes,” she said. “Before your eyes. I saw you on the video too; you were scared out of your wits. You can’t deny that.”
“Okay, I was scared. Who wouldn’t be? And you’re right. He did turn into something, or at least, he acted like it. It was awful, Su. I don’t know if it was something that was just going on in his head, or whether something else was happening. I don’t know—something’s happening in this building, something that not all of us can see, something that nobody can understand. Is that what you want me to say?”
“Yes,” she said, a little sharper than she intended. “I do want you to say that, because we both know that’s exactly what’s happening here.”
She rose and went to the kitchen, returning with an envelope.
“This came today. It’s from Sharon Knaster.”
Cantrell sat up, intrigued.
“Let me read this to you, Alex. It’s important. I think Sharon has a far better idea than either you or I about what’s happening.”
He nodded his assent.
“Dear Su Ling,” she began.
Please forgive me for not having had the opportunity to say goodbye to you and your lovely daughter, who I miss so very much. I know how badly we both wanted my work with Anna to bear results, and I believe that we were on the right track. There’s still hope for her—you must not forget that—but I’m afraid that I will no longer be able to help her, and you, through the darkness. You’ll have to find someone else, and I strongly urge you to do so.
I would have preferred to talk to you by phone, but I couldn’t take that risk. Please don’t laugh at me, but I believe there is a terrible force at work in the Exeter. I will not allow even the risk of my voice being heard within its walls, let alone ever set foot in that wretched place for the rest of my life.
You must have wondered many times what happened to me on that dreadful night. Even now, these months later, I find it almost impossible to explain and believe me, that hasn’t happened very often in the course of my professional career.
I should have died that night. I should have fallen off that balcony, and all the world would have believed that I was a suicide. Somehow, that never happened. I don’t know if it was luck or some inner strength that I never knew I possessed.
Why was I up there, teetering on that ledge? That’s a logical question, but I have no logical answer. All I can tell you is that it began with my secret fear—that down deep, I was afraid, terrified, that I would succumb to Alzheimer’s, just like my mother.
I began to believe that it was happening to me. It was so real, Su Ling, I can hardly tell you. I experienced all the symptoms, and trust me, I know them well. I forgot details, forgot arrangements, began to wander with no memory of where I’d gone.
Eventually, it was more than forgetfulness. I began to imagine myself somewhere else; the same facility where my mother died. It had the same smell, the same touch, the same methods for keeping patients controlled and restrained.
I knew I had to escape. It wasn’t the balcony; it was the door to my cell; a way out.
I know what you’re thinking, my friend. You’re thinking that old Dr. Knaster has finally lost her marbles. Believe me, I thought that too, for awhile. But I know madness, Su Ling. This was something different. How else to explain that the minute I left the Exeter, everything dissipated. The illusions were gone. Most important, so was the fear.
And how to explain what happened to that poor couple, the lawyer and his wife; to Mr. Brown; to that poor young man who used to throw the parties?
How to explain what happened to that television psychic? I read all about it. I was shocked, but not surprised.
It was fear, Su Ling. Pure, terrifying, horrifying, soul-searing fear. Our worst fears. Our deepest fears. Our most secret fears.
Yes, there was illusion in my case, and I’m sure in all of the others too. But the fear was real, and the results… well you already know enough about those.
My dear Su Ling, I feel—no, I know it to be true—that the Exeter is the source. It holds fear within itself, it breeds fear, it amplifies fear.
Ghosts? Hell if I know. Spirits? Your guess is as good as mine. I’m a woman of science and I’m not sure if I believe in any of that crap.
But I do know that you and Anna are at risk, and Mr. Cantrell too, whom I believe you have begun to care about. You need to get out of there, now.
I don’t know if I can be any more direct than that. Please take my words seriously, like you always did before. And know that the three of you remain very dear to my heart, and always will.
Love,
Sharon
Su Ling carefully folded the letter and returned it to its envelope.
“There’s no return address.”
They were sweating from their sex, resting from its exertions, but they were having a difficult afterglow.
Su Ling rose from the messed bed and quickly covered her nakedness with a gown. It wasn’t like her. Usually, she liked to linger beside him in bed, to cuddle and feel their skin touching.
“What’s wrong?” Cantrell asked.
“What do you mean?” There was an uncharacteristic sharpness in her voice.
“I don’t know… when we made love, it felt different, distant. Like you were thinking of something else.”
She sighed and ran her fingers through her long black hair.
“I’m sorry, Alex. You’re right. It’s this building. It’s so empty, so quiet… ”
“And?”