The Mansion

by Boone, Ezekiel

  “I want to go home,” she said. “I don’t like this place at all.”

  “Me either, honey,” Billy said. “Me either.”

  He heard the sound of Shawn laughing. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not me. Maybe all of this is over a girl.” He sounded manic.

  “It’s always about a girl,” Billy said, slurring. “Somebody told me that once.” He couldn’t remember who. It felt like something he’d heard recently, but it could have been years before.

  Emily came and sat by him on the stairs. She slumped over. Billy couldn’t stop himself. He reached out with his good hand to clamp down on her wrist. As he did so, her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him in anger. “Don’t you dare,” she said. “Don’t you dare let her win.”

  He let go and her injured arm flopped down, blood draining onto the floor. The hand with the knife was in her lap. Carefully, he reached out and pulled the knife from her hand. He didn’t want her to hurt herself.

  Hurt herself more.

  “Nellie,” he said. His voice was quiet, and he tried again, yelling. “Nellie! What do you want? Is this what you want?” He looked at Emily. Was he losing her? “You don’t want Emily. You want Shawn. I’ll give you Shawn if that’s what you want.”

  Shawn laughed again. “So you do think it’s about me, huh?”

  Movement caught Billy’s attention. He saw that both of the girls were squirming, and then Beth and Rothko let Ruth and Rose down to the floor. They stood in front of Billy, holding hands. One of the girls reached out and scratched at Rusty’s ear and then stood up straight again.

  They said it together. “Nellie.”

  That weird, barely stuttered, syncopated speech.

  They said it again, “Nellie,” but this time he felt something, an invisible, visceral force that made the hair on his arms and neck stand up. It felt like a current of electricity passing through him.

  The glass doors slid open. Rusty barked and ran through.

  Shawn jumped forward, wrapping his sweatshirt as tightly as he could around Emily’s wrist. “Come on,” he said. “She’s lost a lot of blood. We’ve got to get her to a hospital.”

  Billy tried to smile. “What about me?”

  Shawn glared at him. “Frankly, right now, I don’t give a damn about you, Billy.”

  Rothko pushed Shawn gently to the side and grasped Emily’s good wrist. “Both of you guys, shut up. Let’s get her out of here, okay? And you, too, Billy. Let’s get both of you to the hospital. Beth, come here. Keep pressure on her arm, I’ll carry her down.” He bent over and hoisted Emily over his shoulder, Beth trailing behind, holding the sweatshirt tightly.

  One of the twins moved around to Billy’s other side and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. She was looking at his hand. The towel was completely soaked through. Blood was dripping off the step and pooling down below. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s a mess.” He motioned at it with his good hand and then laughed, because he realized he was still holding Emily’s knife. He laughed, despite being scared, despite the way Emily’s body was limp over Rothko’s shoulder, because he didn’t know what else to do.

  He staggered to his feet, but even though he was unsteady as he walked down the three flights of stairs to the main foyer, there was something about having the twins near him that kept him moving. He felt like they were holding him up.

  Rothko almost walked directly into the front doors before realizing they weren’t opening.

  As one, the adults looked at the twins, but Ruth and Rose shook their heads. “We’re sorry,” they said. “We can’t do any more.”

  Shawn walked up to the doors and then leaned his head against them. “Nellie,” he said. “Open the doors. Nellie. Nelson. Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Open the doors.”

  I’m not going to do that, Shawn.

  “Please,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I don’t know what else I can do, what else I can say, but I don’t want Emily to die.”

  Or Billy.

  Shawn looked at Billy. Billy tried to shrug, but he almost fell over. “Not doing so hot myself,” he said.

  “Good,” Shawn said. “Because maybe if you just go ahead and die, that will be enough of a blood sacrifice for Nellie and she’ll let us out.” He kicked at the doors. “Is that enough for you, Nellie?” He kicked again and again.

  You know the real answer, don’t you, Shawn?

  Billy wanted to sit down, desperately, but he was afraid that if he did, he’d never stand again. He looked down at his left hand, at the blood-soaked towel, at the dripping mess he’d left behind him, at the pool forming at his feet. How could he still be bleeding? He stumbled a bit and reached out to brace himself on the wall. He kept his fist clenched around Emily’s knife, his hand and the blade covered in her blood. Everything was soaked in blood.

  Blood. What was it Shawn had said? A blood sacrifice?

  Shawn pushed away from the doors. “I can go through the basement,” he said. “I can try that. And if I can get out, I can try to disable the automatic function in one of the cars, drive into Whiskey Run, and get help.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Billy said. “I don’t have time for that. Emily doesn’t have time for that, Shawn. In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s some bleeding going on.” He laughed. “That’s a weird way to put it, isn’t it? Bleeding going on.”

  “There isn’t another choice.”

  You know the real answer, Shawn.

  God. That voice. Nellie, or whoever she was. It was bones rattling against chains, it was generations of blood and beatings and lies. “There’s always another choice,” Billy said. He felt himself swaying. Good lord, he wanted to go to sleep.

  Shawn turned to him, that same smug look on his face that Billy knew so well. “Oh, so you have some other great idea? Because this is it, Billy. Your wife is bleeding to death, and you want to play ‘who’s the smartest guy in the room?’ with me? Because there isn’t another answer. Emily gave it a try. And maybe it would have worked if this was truly about Nellie trying to make us happy.” He looked up at the ceiling, shouting now, not at Billy, but at Nellie. “But you don’t care, do you? This isn’t about Emily, and it’s not about Billy, is it?”

  You always think everything is about you, don’t you, Shawn?

  “What?” He seemed genuinely taken aback. He was staring around the room, fruitlessly trying to find Nellie’s voice.

  The dog seemed confused, too. His hackles were raised and he was letting out a low, dangerous growl.

  Billy stepped forward, in front of Shawn. “She said, ‘You always think everything is about you,’ Shawn.”

  Shawn reached out and shoved Billy’s chest. “Go to hell, Billy. You don’t think this is about me?”

  Billy stumbled back, but somehow, he stayed on his feet. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was just tired. Tired and sad. He looked over at his wife. She was still on Rothko’s shoulder, her eyes closed, unconscious. Beth had her hands clamped over the sweatshirt, holding the wound tightly. She stared at him, beseeching.

  Billy took a step forward again. His legs felt like they were going to collapse under him. “It’s not about you, Shawn. It’s never been about you.”

  “Then who,” Shawn said, his voice loud, his finger jabbing forward and poking Billy in the shoulder, “do you think this is about? Takata? Huh?” He was yelling now. “Takata? Do you want to talk about him? Is this about Takata?”

  “No,” Billy said. “You don’t understand. Hell, it’s taken this long for me to understand. It’s not Takata. It’s not you. It’s not even Nellie.”

  “Then who is this about, Billy, huh?” Shawn raised his hands to his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s about you? Is that it?”

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” Billy said. He took another look at his wife. “It’s about Emily.”

  Shawn scoffed. “She tried that. Nellie doesn’t give a shit about Emily. This mansion doesn’t give
a crap about Emily. This is about me. It’s about my history and my mistakes and—”

  Billy cut him off. “No, Shawn. I’m not talking about Nellie or the mansion or history or ghosts or whatever the hell is going on here. I’m talking about me. For me. It’s about Emily. Everything is about Emily. I should have seen that years ago. I should have known that back in September when you asked me to come out here, but I was too damned selfish. But now . . .” He hesitated. Was he sure?

  “Nellie?” he said.

  Do it, Billy.

  He was sure.

  “She’s what I care about,” he said. “Not Nellie. Not the money. Nothing else. Emily.”

  He could feel himself starting to shake, could feel the strength leaving him, and even as Shawn opened his mouth to respond, he did what he had to do. With everything he had left in him, he lunged forward, the knife cutting through the air.

  He felt the blade sink deep into Shawn’s stomach, heard the gasp from Shawn’s mouth. Somebody was screaming—Beth? The twins? Shawn himself?—but he pulled the knife out and then thrust it in again, and then out, and then into Shawn’s belly a third time, ripping and tearing.

  A blood sacrifice. That’s what Shawn had said, and he’d been right. What his family had done here, in this mansion, on these grounds. Their history. That skeleton in the buried basement. Takata. All the blood. All the pain. As long as Shawn was alive, it would repeat and repeat and repeat. But with Shawn gone, Nellie didn’t have to choose. She wouldn’t be trapped in this loop. Not ones and zeroes, but something worse. Something darker. Something that made him have to admit that there were things beyond the reach of science. Something dark and twisted in the soil here, haunting Shawn’s family, and in this moment, Billy was calling all of it to account, saving himself by finally sacrificing Shawn.

  He could still hear screaming as Shawn fell backward, pulling him down with him. The knife was trapped underneath him, and as he landed on Shawn’s body, he felt the blade drive in even deeper.

  So much blood.

  So tired.

  So, so tired. All he wanted to do was close his eyes, but the last thing he saw, just before he did close his eyes, was the front doors sliding open, the sacrifice accepted.

  FORTY-FOUR

  * * *

  FLIGHT

  Aunt Emily and Uncle Billy’s SUV was waiting out front for them. Their dad carried Aunt Emily to the car and laid her down in the backseat. In his firmest, most serious tone, he told them to hold on as tight as they could to her wrist, to keep the sweatshirt pressed down.

  They watched through the car window as he and their mom walked back up the front steps and into the mansion. For a moment they worried that the glass doors would close, trapping their parents inside, but after a few seconds they came out again, dragging Uncle Billy. They got him down the steps and, with some difficulty, into the middle seat up front. He was half-conscious, babbling something about logic gates and mistakes, but the girls were more worried about Aunt Emily. She was dreaming in a way that made them nervous. There was not much time for either their aunt or their uncle.

  “Beth!” It was their father’s voice, stern and alarmed, enough to make them look up, enough to start Rusty—who was in the way back—barking. Their mother was part of the way up the steps, headed back to the mansion, but she’d stopped. “The doors,” their father said.

  And yes, the doors to the mansion were closed. Their mother and father spent a few precious minutes banging on the door, calling to Nellie to open it, and finally Ruth called out. “Mom,” she yelled. “Aunt Emily needs a doctor. And Uncle Billy, too.”

  Their mom looked at their father and then at them. “We’ve got to help Shawn, too.”

  Rose stepped out of the car, leaving Ruth to press on Aunt Emily’s wrist. “Nellie isn’t going to let you back in,” she said.

  “But—”

  Rose walked up the steps and took her mom’s hand. “It’s too late,” she said. “Nellie is going to keep him.”

  Both of the girls knew that. It was too late for Shawn. But not for Aunt Emily or Uncle Billy.

  But it was close.

  The drive from Eagle Mansion into Whiskey Run was torture. Their mother wanted to take over the wheel, but their dad insisted it was safer to let the car drive itself, a maddeningly slow pace given the weather.

  After an hour, they had made it only halfway to Whiskey Run, but then, out of the blowing white, they saw flashing lights. The snowplow had come out to meet them. Their cell phones were still bricked, but Nellie had called for them, to make sure they made it to the medical center.

  In Whiskey Run, the doctor stabilized Aunt Emily as best he could while a nurse worked on Uncle Billy. Both of them were hooked up to tubes and machines that beeped and blinked.

  After a short while, the doctor turned to Beth and Rothko and told them there wasn’t any more he could do in Whiskey Run.

  “We’ve got to get them to a real hospital. Normally, I’d call to have them choppered to Syracuse, but with the weather, your best bet is to have the snowplow lead the way and drive. I think they’re stable enough for that.”

  They spent a long night at the hospital. Every couple of hours their dad went out to the car and ran it for a while, taking Rusty for a quick walk and heating the car up. But mostly, it was just waiting.

  FORTY-FIVE

  * * *

  ASHES TO ASHES

  Only two things moved in the mansion.

  The first was in the front hall: Shawn’s chest heaved, his labored breath leaving bubbles of blood foaming around his lips.

  The second was in the kitchen: the automated gas control swiveled fully open, the check valve held by Nellie’s control. The hiss of the invisible, the inevitable. Gas seeped from the kitchen into the front hall and the downstairs rooms, leaking through the mansion.

  All the while, Shawn’s breathing slowed and slowed. And all the while, he could hear the mansion whispering to him:

  This is your home. This is your home. This is your home.

  After an hour, Shawn’s breathing finally stopped.

  That’s when Nellie triggered the spark.

  FORTY-SIX

  * * *

  ALL THE NEWS THAT’S FIT TO PRINT

  Shawn Eagle Dead in Fire

  Tech mogul killed in blaze at country estate; Shares of Eagle Technology down 22

  Shawn Eagle, the tech billionaire and driving force behind Eagle Technology, was killed yesterday afternoon in a fire at his home in upstate New York. The mansion was located in a remote area, more than half an hour from the nearest town, and by the time emergency crews were able to reach the building, it was completely gutted. While the Federal Bureau of Investigation says the extent of the fire is such that they have not been able to positively identify either of the two recovered bodies yet, a spokesperson for Eagle Technology did confirm that Eagle is dead.

  Local authorities believe the blaze was caused by a gas leak in the kitchen; however, the damage is so severe that it might be several weeks before a complete cause is known.

  “We are devastated by the loss of Shawn Eagle. He was a visionary and a leader, and even though he positioned Eagle Technology to survive and thrive in the future, he will never be replaced,” said Braxton Shandy, a spokesperson for Eagle Technology . . .

  Eagle Technology Names Johnston Acting CEO

  Stella Johnston, chief marketing officer for Eagle Technology, was named acting CEO by the board. While a search for a new permanent CEO is ongoing, Johnston has been with the company for seven years, and the move seemed to help calm the markets. Eagle Technology stock has been extremely volatile in the month since founder and CEO Shawn Eagle died in a fire at . . .

  Fire That Killed Shawn Eagle Called “Perfect Storm”

  While the Federal Bureau of Investigation says that its inquiry into the blaze that killed tech mogul Shawn Eagle is still ongoing, the lead investigator, Mike Mills, announced today that he believes there was no foul play involve
d. In the last two months, a number of conspiracy theories—most notably that espoused by Rick Nancy, host of the television show Wall Street Takover! on MSNBC—have claimed that Eagle was murdered in an elaborate plot to manipulate the price of Eagle Technology shares.

  “Nothing is absolute,” Mills said, “but it looks like it was just the perfect storm of bad luck. There was a gas leak in the kitchen and it ran long enough so that when it was triggered it was apocalyptic. The mansion had a state-of-the-art fire suppression system, but it was new construction, and something malfunctioned.”

  According to Mills, the location of the mansion was part of the problem. By the time emergency crews were able to respond, it was too late to stop the fire.

  “The truth,” Mills said, “is that when a fire burns this hot and this long, there’s only so much you can determine. We had to resort to dental records to identify Mr. Eagle. But there are no signs that it was anything other than an accident.”

  When asked to comment, Nancy . . .

  Eagle Estate Goes to Charity

  According to Eagle Technology, the bulk of Shawn Eagle’s estate was left to his foundation, Eagle Works. The foundation, like many of the larger foundations created by technology moguls, focuses on “big picture” problems such as hunger and disease eradication, while also having branches devoted to homelessness and domestic violence. Although it is a nonprofit, it has often worked in concert with Eagle Technology, and a spokesperson for the company confirmed that partnership is likely to continue. The gift from Eagle’s estate, mostly in stock, is valued at over $100 billion, making it the largest charitable gift on record.

  A smaller portion of the estate was left in trust for an unnamed former acquaintance of Eagle’s. An anonymous source at Eagle Technology, afraid for her job security, confirmed that the trust was worth upwards of $1 billion. Repeated attempts . . .