Deadly Disguise

by David Bergantino

  As a result, it took her some time to navigate her way across the room, even with her safety lights. Occasionally, she called out for help, but gave up after getting no response. Others must be leaving, and on a night like tonight, even with the lights out, cries of terror were just part of the scenery.

  Rachel didn't see a soul until she reached the top of the ballroom stairway. Light from the outside illuminated a motley crowd heading for the exits. Security staff with flashlights guided people out of the mansion. Rachel flew down the stairs and ran for the first people she saw.

  "Doug! Laura! You've got to help Jack."

  The benevolent Bonnie and Clyde turned to her.

  "What's wrong?" Laura asked, instantly alarmed.

  "Jack and I were in one of the rooms," she said breathlessly, "and when we tried to leave, he tripped and fell and hit his head. He's bleeding badly." Rachel began to cry. "I would have gotten down sooner, but it was so dark, I was afraid of falling. He's bleeding. He needs help…"

  "Slow down," Doug said, grasping her shoulder to steady her. "Which room?"

  "The Elvis room."

  "I'll be right back," he said to Laura. Laura nodded, and he pushed his way through the crowd toward the exit.

  "It'll be all right," Laura said. Rachel wiped her tears and tried to pull herself together. Doug returned with a flashlight.

  "Okay, one of the security guards is calling an ambulance."

  "But we're so far from town," Rachel pointed out.

  "Right. So we're gonna go up there ourselves right now. Let's go."

  They retraced Rachel's steps back to the Elvis room. The light made the going easier, but without full illumination, they still couldn't race. Finally, they reached the Elvis room.

  And it was empty.

  "See?" Rachel said, pointing to a dark spot on the floor. "He was lying there. That's his blood."

  Without hesitation, Doug stooped down and put his finger to the stain.

  "It sure ain't motor oil," he said gravely.

  "He must have wandered off. We have to find him." Rachel's voice was rising again.

  "He didn't go toward the ballroom," Laura said. "Or we would have seen him. Unless he knows some secret passageways in this place. In a place this big, I wouldn't be surprised."

  "I don't think so. Look." Doug said, pointing with the flashlight. Droplets of blood traced a path to the next room.

  Rachel darted forward. "Hurry! He's hurt badly." Throwing the door open, she peered into the blackness beyond. "Bring that flashlight, Doug."

  Doug appeared beside her and shined the light into the room. Empty. The blood drops stopped halfway across the room.

  "Check the display," Rachel told them.

  As Doug turned his flashlight toward the platform, Laura began sniffing the air.

  "Do you guys smell something?" she asked.

  Before either Doug or Rachel had a chance to answer, the flashlight beam fell upon a pair of shoes on the platform. All three pairs of eyes watched as Doug swept the flashlight beam up to illuminate the figure standing there.

  "Jack?" Doug called out tentatively. But at the sight of the charred, red and green sweater, they knew it wasn't Jack.

  "No!" gasped Laura.

  All three froze in place. Before them, his burned face snarling with rage, a lethal claw raised in the air ready to strike, stood none other than Freddy Krueger.

  Chapter 9

  Van McBride felt like Anti-Claus — that is, the opposite of Santa Claus. Whistling a holiday tune like a funeral dirge, he walked through the halls with a pillowcase slung over his shoulder. It was full of goodies he had plundered from the mansion.

  This party seemed like more fun than either Van or Todd had seen in a long while. But that apparently didn't matter to Todd, who had been, as usual, pretty mean and made Van get back to work. On his way back upstairs, Van had considered ditching Todd. Ever since Skrag had died, Todd had gotten a really big head. He was trying to be Skrag, and in Van's silent opinion, Todd had only a shade of their former mentor's criminal genius.

  Of course, I'm no Professor Moriarty, Van admitted to himself, remembering Sherlock Holmes' nemesis. But at least I know that about myself. Todd was trying to be something he was not. And this playacting was getting tired, especially since it always turned out that Todd got all the good loot while Van got almost nothing.

  Todd was right about one thing, though. This mansion was a gold mine.

  So Van returned to pillaging, resisting the urge to run off and join the party every time he heard a scream or shout that indicated that people were having fun elsewhere in the mansion. Finally, he became immune to the sounds and found a treasure trove of jewelry in a room that must have belonged to Jack's mother.

  The sack on his shoulder swelled to the limit with earrings, necklaces, and other assorted precious baubles.

  It was near the end of the hallway that he noticed the silence. The cheerful screams had ceased. For some reason, the fun had stopped. Then came the sound of car engines starting. Rushing to the nearest front room, Van saw what was happening but at first, couldn't tell why. Clearly, the party had ended. And by the looks of it, all at once. He and Todd had to get out of there, and fast.

  One step into the hallway, he realized his dilemma. He had a pillowcase full of stolen items, and getting it out of the house would now be a problem. He certainly couldn't go walking out the front door with it. But he couldn't leave it behind, either. That would make tonight a total failure. No fun and no loot.

  In a moment of inspiration, Van spun around and ran to the end of the hallway. The flashlight beam revealed exactly what he expected to find: a small door about four feet off the floor.

  In some old movie — he couldn't recall exactly which one — there had been a large mansion, just like this one. There had been a dumbwaiter to transport food between the kitchen and the dining room above. Van pulled open the little door now and sure enough, he found his dumbwaiter. It looked to be just the right size to take his pillowcase full of goodies downstairs for him so he wouldn't have to walk through the house with it.

  Inside the dumbwaiter was a small panel with two buttons, one marked up and the other down. Van pressed the up button to call the dumbwaiter.

  Nothing happened.

  Pressing it another few times to no avail, he almost thought he was sunk. At least he finally understood why everyone was leaving the party. The power was out. Then he noticed the pulley cords for the dumbwaiter. No reason why it shouldn't work manually, he reasoned. He gave one of the cords a sharp tug. Nothing. But he might be pulling in the wrong direction, so he tried again. It gave a little. Grunting, he pulled harder. It gave more. He shined the flashlight down the shaft. Following the cords, he spied what appeared to be the top of the dumbwaiter. He gave the rope another sharp pull, then looked down the shaft again. The dumbwaiter had moved closer. It would take some effort, but his plan would work.

  About the time he figured the dumbwaiter was halfway to him, a lone scream echoed from some other part of the mansion. The sound of it gave him a chill. Van turned sharply. That wasn't a happy scream, he thought. Someone had just had a major scare. Then another sound struck him. It was a squeak as the pulleys of the dumbwaiter began turning of their own accord. The dumbwaiter was moving downward.

  Instinctively, Van reached in and grabbed the ropes to stop the dumbwaiter. They fought him a little, but the pulleys stopped turning.

  Was someone down there? he wondered. Or had the pulleys just turned on their own to undo his efforts? The only person he could imagine being on the other end of the dumbwaiter was Todd, and he wasn't the type to fool around.

  Nah, that's not Todd's style, Van concluded. Must be my old arch-enemy gravity causing problems. So he reached into the shaft once more and pulled on the ropes. The dumbwaiter came easily for a few feet, then hitched. Van gave it some play, then pulled again. He encountered the same resistance, but each time he made more headway. He was reminded of fishing — l
etting it run, then reeling in a little, letting it run, reeling it in — until he finally «landed» the dumbwaiter.

  "You little bugger," Van scolded the dumbwaiter. "I oughta fillet you." As he loaded the pillowcase of jewelry into the dumbwaiter and secured its contents, Van relaxed again.

  Oh oh oh, the Anti-Claus was back in business.

  Then the dumbwaiter dropped suddenly. It fell so quickly that Van had no time to pull out his hands, and in an instant, his forearms were trapped. Van felt the crushing pressure and heard a scream… his own. It was getting worse. He was trapped. It wasn't gravity that had made the dumbwaiter fall. Someone had pulled it down and was still pulling. Soon, more than Van's circulation would be cut off. His hands were already numb.

  Despite the pain, Van resisted calling out again. Drawing attention to himself would only get him caught with the goods. Besides, he still held out hope that this was one of Todd's particularly cruel jokes. Perhaps his suggestion to call off the burglary had upset Todd more than it had seemed at the time. Whatever the case, if this was Todd, their days as a team were over. I may be dumb, but I'm not an idiot, Van thought, stifling a shout of pain. I don't have to take this kind of abuse.

  Just then, the dumbwaiter took a breather. It didn't let up entirely — Van's arms were still tightly wedged — but the intense downward pressure eased. Then, just as suddenly, the pressure increased again, and this time, Van was certain his arms were going to be severed. A cry of pain escaped his lips.

  "Stop that!" he shouted.

  And it did stop. His hands were now quite numb and he was quite stuck, but the dumbwaiter stopped moving. Now, maybe if he could think through the pain, he could find a way to extricate himself.

  Instead, another thought pierced through the red veil of agony. The significance of the last burst of pressure from the dumbwaiter hit him. That was the feeling of the dumbwaiter being wedged in place. This would allow whoever was responsible to leave it. But to do what? Was he about to get caught stealing?

  "Help!" he yelled, shocked by the sound of his own voice after so much silence. And to hell with being caught. If he didn't get his arms out soon, they'd probably have to be amputated. The mansion seemed just to swallow up his voice. He couldn't see how anyone would hear him. But he had to try. "Help me! I'm stuck up here!"

  As his voice died away, Van thought he heard the sound of footsteps in the distance behind him. He fell silent, craning his neck to hear better. But the sound stopped. Maybe he had heard nothing. The impeded circulation in his arms was making him dizzy.

  He felt sick. He leaned in closer to the dumbwaiter. "Help!" he shouted down the shaft. The dumbwaiter itself absorbed much of the sound, but much of it reverberated down the shaft. This success cut through his thickening haze and gave him hope. He leaned down again.

  "Up here! Anyone! I'm up here and I need help!"

  "Quit shouting, I'm here," came a sudden voice behind him.

  Van was so surprised and pleased, he tried to turn quickly, to see his savior, and only succeeded in nearly ripping his arms from their sockets.

  "Ow!" he cried. Then, gingerly craning his neck again, he tried to look behind him. It was too dark to see who it was. "Thanks," he started to blubber, already trying to figure out how to explain the situation. "I'm kinda stuck here, and…"

  "Try and steal from Jack Spyder, will you?" Van heard, the voice suddenly angry.

  Uh-oh, Van thought. I'm sunk. His mind raced. If it means getting out of this jam, then fine, I'll admit to it all. I'll even turn in Todd. It just hurts so much.

  "Okay, I admit…" he began, but was interrupted again.

  "Shut up!" the voice commanded, the last words Van would hear. In the next moment, a plastic bag was brought down over Van's head. There was a ripping sound, and tape started winding around Van's neck, securing the bag over his head.

  Van panicked and inhaled sharply, preparing to scream. But the thin film clung to his nostrils. He choked instantly, and coughed it back out. But the air was quickly becoming very stale inside. Instinctively, he tried to reach for his face to rip the bag away, but his arms were still wedged in the dumbwaiter. The reflex caused him to bang his forehead against the wall in front of him, dazing him. Spikes of pain shot through his arms to his shoulders.

  The pain only served to cut through the fog that was gathering around his mind as he suffocated. It made him more aware of what was happening — and what was about to happen. The knowledge nearly drove him crazy, and in frustration, he began to purposely bang his head against the wall.

  If only I knew Morse code, he thought. Then I could bang out SOS. I know it's simple, I just… can't… remember it… right now. But even if I did know it, would anyone else know that it was Morse code? Or that it was SOS? And if even they did know, by the time they got here, I'd probably have brain damage just from pounding it out. Todd… would say… I already have… brain damage.

  The thought made Van chuckle weakly, using the last of his air. His head fell forward and struck the wall one last time.

  * * *

  "It's all right!" Doug shouted. "It's just a robot!"

  Laura didn't seem to hear, and continued clawing at the door to escape. At the sight of the lifelike robot, she had screamed hysterically and tried to run. But in her panic, she couldn't seem to open the door. Doug ran to her and wrapped his arms around her.

  "It's all right, Laura," he said firmly. She continued to struggle in his arms. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

  Rachel looked in astonishment at Laura and then at the robot. It was a frightening sight, but Laura seemed almost unhinged.

  "We have to get out of here," Laura cried. Then looking fiercely into Doug's eyes, she whispered hoarsely, "We have to get out of here, right now."

  "It's okay," Doug said softly. Then he turned to Rachel. "I'm sorry. We have to go."

  "What about Jack?" Rachel demanded. "He may be hurt."

  "We have to leave," Laura told her, a wild look in her eyes. "You should leave, too."

  "Jack will be all right," Doug said. "He's probably downstairs looking for you. Besides, the ambulance will be here soon enough. Why don't you come with us?"

  "I'm not leaving until I find out what's happened to Jack," Rachel said, her voice quivering. Something had happened — and her friends were abandoning her. And abandoning Jack as well.

  "Okay," Doug told her. Clearly, he knew what Rachel was thinking. But his priority had to be getting Laura out of here. "But will you please walk us out to the car? I won't feel right just leaving you here, in front of this." He nodded his head toward the Freddy Krueger robot.

  "Okay. But let's hurry," she told them as they started back. "I want to help the paramedics find Jack."

  Down at the car, Laura pleaded one last time for Rachel to leave with them.

  "Something's wrong in there, Rachel. I can feel it. I've felt it before."

  Doug also tried to persuade Rachel. "Look, even the security guys have left. You shouldn't be here alone."

  Rachel looked around. Indeed, the lawn, which had served as the parking lot, was empty, save for Rachel's car and two others.

  Rachel shook her head. "I know you have to go," she told them. "But I have to stay. Somebody's here." She pointed to the third floor of the mansion where a yellow glow flickered through a window. For a moment, the light was eclipsed by a silhouette. Someone was looking out at them.

  Then that someone was gone, and moments later, the light went out.

  "There, see?" Rachel said. "That might be Jack. I'd better go in and see."

  "Call us later and tell us how it all shook out," Doug said reluctantly. He opened the passenger door, and Laura got in. "Apologize to Jack for us, would you?" Doug seemed truly distressed at their flight.

  "You got it," Rachel assured him.

  Doug closed the door and walked around to the other side of the car. As he got in and started the engine, Laura rolled down her window.

  "Be careful, okay?" she asked, her eyes
haunted.

  Before Rachel could reply, Doug drove off. She watched the headlights disappear, then turned back to the mansion, holding the flashlight Doug had given her. Walking toward the house, she thought of Jack and panicked. What if the house should somehow disappear, taking Jack with it? Rachel broke into a run. She reached the front door, and took one step into the house.

  It was as quiet as a grave.

  Now every instinct she had told her to turn, to get in her car, and catch up with Doug and Laura.

  Because she suddenly became quite certain that she was the only human being left alive in the entire place.

  "No!" she said out loud to give herself courage. Jack's in there, she thought, taking another step forward.

  But something was wrong. Laura had been right. Not out at the car, but upstairs. She had smelled something, but in the excitement, they had all forgotten about it. Now the odor was stronger. The heavy scent of rotten eggs assaulted Rachel's nostrils. Moving deeper into the house, it only got worse, and she started to choke.

  Now it became imperative that she find Jack.

  Because the mansion was filling with gas.

  Chapter 10

  Now this is a real drag, Vanessa thought.

  Waiting patiently for something to happen had never been her strong suit. She was used to making things happen, fast. But according to Ron's plan for the evening, there was nothing for her to do, except light the candle Ron had placed in her room and keep it burning until his evening's «chores» were completed.

  To his credit, Ron had executed his plan flawlessly. Having tipped off the guards that the blackout was a planned event — as a way of keeping the party from running too late, he had told them — the mansion had emptied out quickly. The last three stragglers were now getting into their car. One of them, she noticed from her third-story window, was that Rachel girl, Jack's old flame.

  "Sorry, honey," Vanessa purred at the window. "Your little baby bathtub buddy is going bye-bye real soon."