«Thank God,» whispered Martha.
The cars, honking, whipped around the last bend and down the hill and stopped, waiting, looking in at the dark house. Then, at last, they started up away into the snow and the hills.
Soon their lights were gone and their sound gone with them.
«We were lucky,» said Robert Webb.
«But she's not.»
«She?»
«That woman, whoever she was, ran out of here. They'll find here. Some body'll find her.»
«Christ, that's right.»
«And she has no I.D., no proof of herself. And she doesn't know what's happened to her. And when she tells them who she is and where she came from!»
«Yes, yes.»
«God help her.»
They looked into the snowing night but saw nothing. Everything was still. «You can't escape,» she said. «No matter what you do, no one can escape.»
They moved away from the window and down the hall to the Witch Door and touched it.
«Lotte,» they called.
The Witch Door did not tremble or move. «Lotte, you can come out now.» There was no answer; not a breath or a whisper. Robert tapped the door. «Hey in there.» «Lotte!»
He knocked at the paneling, his mouth agitated. «Lotte!»
«Open it!»
«I'm trying, damn it!»
«Lotte, we'll get you out, wait! Everything's all right!»
He beat with both fists, cursing. Then he said, «Watch
out!» took a step back, raised his leg, kicked once, twice, three times; vicious kicks at the paneling that crunched holes and crumbled wood into kindling. He reached in and yanked the entire paneling free. «Lotte!»
They leaned together into the small place under the stairs. The candle flickered on the small table. The Bible was
gone. The small rocking chair moved quietly back and forth, in little arcs, and then stood still.
«Lotte!»
They stared at the empty room. The candle flickered.
«Lotte,» they said.
«You don't believe.»
«I don't know. Old houses are old… old…»
«You think Lotte… she…?»
«I don't know, I don't know.»
«Then she's safe at least, safe! Thank God!»
«Safe? Where's she gone? You really think that? A woman in new clothes, red lipstick, high heels, short skirt, perfume, plucked brows, diamond rings, silk stockings, safe? Safe!» he said, staring deep into the open frame of the Witch Door.
«Yes, safe. Why not?»
He drew a deep breath.
«A woman of that description, lost in a town called Salem in the year 1680?»
He reached over and shut the Witch Door.
They sat waiting by it for the rest of the long, cold night.