Death Trance

by R. D. Zimmerman

  “Maddy!”

  “Alex, it's going on eight-thirty, and I'm starved. So-lange left some sandwiches in the refrigerator. Let's go downstairs and get something to eat and I'll tell you everything.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “Oh, Alex, stop it. Relax. I'm going to be open with you.”

  I took a deep breath, looked at my granite-willed sister. “Promise?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I knew, of course, that I was a fool to believe her, but she'd always been able to sucker me. Like when we were kids, she used to pretend she was dying, get all gaspy and roll on the ground, and she'd beg me to say good-bye to Mom and Dad. I went for it five or six times, but then I learned. I knew better, or so I'd thought, because then she'd swear this time it was for real, that she really was dying. She pulled that another five times or so, me eventually falling for it each time. It was the meanest thing she ever did to me, that dying routine, so why did I feel like she was doing that to me now? What was in her voice that reminded me of back then?

  “Come on, Alex,” she said, pushing herself up. “I'm starved, aren't you?”

  I was. Famished. But I wasn't about to admit it.

  “All right, but I want to hear it all.”

  “You will.” She reached out baronesslike, hand slightly draped, waiting for me to take it. “Help me, will you?”

  I skipped that crap, the hand stuff, went right for her body, asserting my power and strength by wrapping one arm around her waist, the other under her legs and lifting her entirely off the recliner, then settling her into the wheelchair. It startled her, I could see that in her face, could feel it as she wrapped her arms around my neck. Okay, I was trying to say, no more Big Sister, Little Brother shit. Got it? Then without asking, I started to push because I wanted to be in control, wanted to make it clear that she couldn't get away with it now, that she was going to have to tell me whatever it was she knew.

  “Oh, Alex, the doors. They're still open. Would you shut them, please?”

  I hesitated but didn't let go of the back of the wheelchair. What was she doing, trying to prove that it was she who was really in control? I glanced back at the door, tall and wide. She was right. If it stormed, the rain would come pouring in here, so I went over, closed the doors, locked them tight. Then I returned to the wheelchair, started to push again.

  “I can do it,” said Maddy.

  “I've got you.”

  I said it flatly, blankly, as if she had no choice, and she was quiet, didn't say a thing as we passed around the Tiffany dome and the skylight above it, as we passed out of this huge room, through the door, and back into the rear wing of the attic. In the smaller room, there was only one light, a dim, naked one in the middle of the ceiling, and dressers and chairs, all draped with dingy, dusty sheets.

  “Solange left some cold steak sandwiches and some gazpacho, too, I think,” said Maddy. “She makes the best gazpacho—nice and spicy but not too acidy.”

  It irked the hell out of me the way she was talking and everything. So lightly. I didn't care if there was caviar waiting for us. I just wanted to get this over with, so I said nothing because I knew I couldn't hide my frustration and anger. I just pushed on and around the abandoned furniture, around the boxes of junk, and back toward the hall that led to the elevator. As I pushed Maddy around the last of the stuff and toward that hall, however, her hands dropped to the wheels of her chair.

  “Wait a minute, Alex,” she said, braking. “Speaking of windows, there's another one back here that's open. I've been meaning to get Alfred up here to shut it but I keep forgetting. Would you?”

  I felt all of me tighten with frustration, said, “Maddy, cut it—”

  “Please, Alex. A bunch of pigeons got in last week. I'm sure they came in through there.”

  I took a deep breath, forced myself to be patient just a few more minutes, said, “Where?”

  “Over there in that corner bedroom.”

  She took over, wheeling herself some ten, fifteen feet over to a back corner bedroom, one of the servants’ rooms, long abandoned. I followed, looked in, saw an old bird's-eye maple dresser, a sink in one corner, a wicker rocking chair, and pigeon shit. A whole lot of it on the floor.

  She stopped at the doorway, pointed to the back, saying “I think it's the rear window. The one way back. There's a sconce right up on the left, isn't there?”

  I stepped into the room, did indeed see a sconce, a tarnished brass one with a dangling chain, and said, “What, do you have this whole house memorized?”

  “Just about.”

  But when I pulled on the chain, nothing happened. I pulled again. Nothing, burned out.

  “Is the bulb no good?” she asked.

  “There's enough light.”

  I moved on, pushing past an old TV stand, two or three mattresses, some boxes, and back toward the window. When I reached it, though, I found the window completely shut.

  “It's okay, Maddy,” I called back. “The thing's all—”

  Behind me I heard something creak and slam. I turned around. The door was shut.

  I called, “Maddy? Maddy, what is it?”

  I started hurrying, bumping into all that old furniture and all those boxes. Oh, my God. Was it the wind? Or someone else? A stranger? Maddy wouldn't do something like this; so was someone else here as I had once suspected? A rush of panic swept me. Was Maddy in danger?

  “Maddy!” I shouted. “Maddy, are you all right?”

  I tipped over a lamp, heard something crash beside me, then pawed past the mattresses. Ran to the door. But it was stuck. Or locked? I heard someone fiddling with keys. God, no. It wasn't the wind at all. I tugged on the door. The thing was locked tight.

  “Maddy, Maddy! Are you all right? What happened? What's going on? Maddy, speak to me!”

  I tugged on the door, then beat on it, my fists slamming against the heavy door. Oh, shit. My sister. She was out there. Alone.

  I screamed, “Maddy, are you okay?”

  Just on the other side of the door I heard sniffling, then I heard keys jingling, jangling. I froze, was silent, heard nothing except the pounding of my own heart. I was just about to tear into the door again when someone spoke.

  “I'm sorry, Alex,” said Maddy, her voice low and quiet, just on the other side of the door. “Really, I am.”

  “Maddy, what the hell's going on?”

  “I'm sorry, but I have to do this. I started something and I have to finish it.”

  “What are you talking about?” I stood there in the dark, shaking my head, clenching my fists. “Maddy, listen to me. Open the door.”

  “No, I can't.”

  “Maddy!” I screamed, and kicked the door, its frame, the wall.

  But the damn door and everything else were as solid as the rest of the house. I didn't even make a dent in the wood, didn't even cause a crack or a fissure.

  “Alex, believe me, I'm sorry. You're just going to have to stay in there for a while. I locked the door itself and then there's a padlock, too. I know how heavy the door is —it's solid oak. You can't get out.”

  What was this? What was going on? Had my wonderful sister, my filthy rich sister, gone totally nuts? Had her long years of blindness and the recent years of paralysis finally cracked her? Quite possibly. I'd never understood how she could bear it, that darkness and lack of movement. So what was she doing? Why would she need to lock me up?

  I caught my breath, forced myself to speak as slowly as possible, my voice nonthreatening, coaxing, saying, “What's the matter, Maddy? What's all this about? Come on, open up the door and let's talk about it.” I heard her crying, not a lot, just slightly. “Maddy? Maddy, speak to me!”

  “It's all my fault, Alex. All of it—Toni and Liz, I mean.”

  “What? Come on, don't be silly. That's impossible.”

  “No, it's not. It's not at all. It's my fault they're dead-Chris, too—so I have to finish it, you see. You'll understand later. Later it'll all make sense.”<
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  “Maddy, don't leave me up here! You can't do this!”

  “I have to. I don't want you hurt, too. If everything goes all right, I'll be back in an hour or so. Just stay put and stay quiet. This is my business. There's nothing you can do. In any case, Alfred and Solange will be back in the morning.”

  My God. She had this all planned out. Whatever she was doing, she had plotted and calculated it all. That's why she'd sent them away, Alfred and Solange, so she could lock me up, so she could proceed with… with what? I had this horrible notion. Dear God, this couldn't be connected to one of Maddy's former patients from Chicago, could it?

  “Maddy?” I called, pounding on the door. “Don't go! Don't leave me! Maddy, what's this all about? What's going on? Maddy!”

  “Alex, remember when I asked for your help on something? Remember? Well, you already helped me. I just want you to know that. I wanted your help on something very important, and you did that. You may not know it, but you helped me a lot. Thanks, Little Brother.”

  “Quit that shit, would you!” I heard the squeak of her chair, the rolling movement, and I pounded and yelled, “Maddy!”

  Angrily, she snapped, “Stop it, Alex! There's nothing you can do. I'm not letting you out, so just be quiet and wait there. It's between Toni's killer and me now.”

  I was still. “What are you talking about?”

  “I figured it out yesterday, who killed Toni, I mean. And Liz and Chris, too. You said something in trance, brought a piece of information to the surface, and I knew. So I sent for the killer and that person's on the way here right this minute—should be here in a half hour or so.”

  “Maddy, what are you talking about?” Could she be serious? “Maddy, listen, if you really did do something like that, that person's dangerous as hell. A lot of people have been killed. Maddy, do you hear me? Maddy? Maddy!”

  “Love you.”

  Then there was nothing, only the gentle rolling of her chair, the sound of her hand touching the wall as she felt her way along it, next, the hum and clanging of the elevator as Maddy boarded it and closed the gates and rode it from the third floor down to some unknown fate below.

  “Maddy!” I yelled as I kicked and banged on the door, but she was right. There was no way in hell I was going to bust out of here.

  Chapter 29

  I stopped kicking and banging against the door about ten minutes later, having had a veritable temper tantrum, the likes of which I hadn't had since I was a kid. It wasn't simply that the truth of Toni's murder seemed to be slipping away. Or that I'd been tricked and locked in here. No. If what Maddy had told me was the truth, then my big sister, the person I was closest to in the world and whom I adored more than anyone, was in a shitload of trouble.

  I was sweaty and breathing hard, standing there in the dark until I backed up, dropped into the wicker rocker. What had Maddy done? Had she flipped out, gone totally crazy? How could she possibly be bringing Toni's murderer here? Could she have somehow lured that person to her island? The very thought of it was pumping me with anxiety. If it was Jenkins, he'd have a gun, and how was a blind, paraplegic woman like Maddy going to defend herself from someone like that? Or what if it was Tyler? What if Maddy had found him—what would a wacko like that do to my sister? What if it were both of them, Jenkins and Tyler? My God. What if they were bringing along a handful of Dragons? Would they mutilate her in some way, make her their sacrifice of the month? And what was I supposed to do up here, just listen to her screams, if indeed I could hear them way up in this hidden chamber? Dragons. I envisioned them overrunning the island, murdering Maddy, later killing me, ruining this house, perhaps torching it, then tomorrow murdering Alfred and Solange. What would the outside world ever know, and why in hell had I asked for the dogs to be penned up?

  My head was bursting with worry, the worry sweating out my pores, and I leaped up, charged the door, kicked it, screamed yet again, “Maddy!”

  But of course there was no response. Only the doorknob banging as it dropped to the floor because I'd just succeeded in busting it off. Wonderful. Now what?

  The room was gray with the last of the day's light, and I turned, saw that back window, the one Maddy had tricked me into checking. Just maybe, I thought as I hurried to the window, beat open the latch with my fist, jerked it up. If you can't get out the usual way, you find another, and so I stood back, gave the screen window a kick. It went flying out, gracefully soaring through the air, into the night, and to the ground some fifty feet below. I leaned out as far as I could. The back of the house was flat, a sheer wall of white clapboard.

  I desperately hurried to the other window, pushing past the mattresses, clambering over some boxes. There was a light curtain on it, a tattered old thing, and I ripped it down, hammered my fist against the latch, and lifted up the window. Kicked out this screen window, too. Peering out, I saw about three feet of roof, then a huge old copper gutter.

  I hung on to the window frame, leaned around. The elevator tower was there, half of it sticking into the side of the house and the roof, the rest of it protruding. Between that tower and this dormer was a small valley about two feet wide, just wide enough for me to crawl into, yet narrow enough to keep me from slipping right out.

  I looked to the ground below, thought, What choice do I have? I clung to the inside of the window frame, lifted my left foot up and out the window, then pushed down on the copper gutter, heard it creak and moan. Still clutching the window, I put more weight on my left foot, found the gutter still true, and so I slowly, carefully swung my right foot out the window and into the air. I glanced over my shoulder, down at the ground. There was no way I'd survive a fall from here.

  My hands clinging to the window frame, I inched along. Had to move over about a foot, then pull myself up through that little valley between the elevator tower and the dormer. I couldn't turn back, I knew, and so I let go of the window, threw myself against the elevator tower, and then I was desperately clawing at clapboard and trim. Somehow I was moving up. Not much. I caught my breath, pushed on, and the rest went quickly. Within seconds I was crawling past the green copper dome atop the elevator tower and on up to the next part of the roof, the top section, which flattened into a much gentler slope.

  I paused again, pushed myself up slightly. Atop that copper dome was a huge spear of a lightning rod, to my right an enormous vent. One chimney back here. A redbrick one in the middle of the house. Yet another chimney, a very big one, up where the roof rose again above the main section of the house. Right, I thought. Up there and underneath that part of the roof was the gymlike attic room, Maddy's trance room, and the Tiffany dome. All under that swell of the roof.

  I crawled to the very peak of the roof, then straddled it, sat for a moment, then dared to stand. I was above treetop level, and the wind was fresh, not too strong. The view incredible. The lake seemed to stretch forever into the darkness, a freshwater sea that swelled and rocked, and way out there sailed a tanker or freighter, lights strung along it like a huge party boat. Behind me a long stretch of white light rode the horizon. The Mackinac Bridge? Yes, probably. While in front? The small city of Petoskey. Sure. Something caught my eye and I gazed straight up, saw swirls of yellow and red throb and rush, pulse and fade. The northern lights, dancing away in heaven while we poor slobs struggled down below.

  But I couldn't linger, and I caught my breath, tried to think of what next, where next. I was on the roof, but how was I going to get down from here? Were there any ladders, anything perhaps permanently attached? Or a trapdoor, some way for repairmen or chimneysweeps to get up here? I turned, scanned the back part of the house. No, nothing that I could see, not near here, anyway, so I turned, started making my way along the peak of the great house, my arms outstretched as if I were traversing a tightrope.

  Off to my left, toward shore, I heard an engine, then saw the lights of a boat. It was a good-sized pleasure boat, actually a speedboat that could easily handle Lake Michigan. Oh, please, I thought, let it be Alf
red and Solange. Perhaps they'd changed their minds, decided to return for the night after all. I scurried along, came to the main part of the house, where the roof ran the other way, like the top part of a capital T. The roof was higher there, too, rising perhaps another twenty feet. Undaunted, I bent over, and on my hands and knees scrambled up, hurried past the skylight above the Tiffany dome and all the way to the main chimney, a big redbrick affair that flared out at the top. I took hold of the edge of the chimney, which was easily two feet taller than me, and pulled myself up. My clothes rustled in the wind, and I was momentarily filled with an enormous rush of power, of superiority.

  The boat. Solange. Alfred. Where? To the east by the boathouse? Shouldn't they be docking there? No. I heard the engine, followed the roar with my eyes, and saw the boat right in front of the house, pulling up to the small swimming dock. I saw the red and green dots of light on its bow, the white running light at the rear, and I wondered what it was doing there, floating amid the huge rocks in those shallow waters. Alfred would never take a boat there; a single wave would smash a fiberglass hull to pieces on just one of those rocks. I stood next to the chimney, one hand on its bricks, and watched as the mysterious boat slipped up to the dock, hovered next to it for just an instant. A figure jumped out, leaped onto Maddy's swimming dock, and then the boat carefully floated back and back and brack, eventually turning, then roaring full engine as it aimed for the mainland.

  I stood motionless, my eyes fixed on the stranger, who was carrying a small valise. I edged closer to the chimney, slunk into its shadow so as not to be seen. I had no gun, no weapon. Only surprise, and I had to use that expertly, efficiently against whoever was down there.

  I turned, looked behind me. I kept thinking there had to be a trapdoor. My mind scattered, panicked, and ran in ten different directions. I didn't remember seeing any hatch on the inside, and a horrible realization swept over me. I'd crawled out that window, up on this roof, and now I was stuck up here, no way down, more impotent than ever.

  I turned from the chimney, started sliding back down, past the large skylight over the dome. As I slid on my butt past the skylight, I looked at the bluish light rising from inside. That's when I saw the ladder I was looking for. I skidded to a halt right next to the skylight. The Tiffany dome lay inside there, some four or five feet beneath these panes of glass, and surrounded by scaffolding. The roofers knew they were going to have to come up here and retar the edges of this skylight every few years, so they'd built a ladder over the dome and right up to the flat skylight. My eyes followed the ladder, and there it was. The one pane that was hinged, that could be pushed open and folded back.