The Mansion Page 37

  It’s hard to go wrong with a good bottle of scotch. JUST KEEP IT HIDDEN FROM BILLY.

  “What?” She was standing at the kitchen table wrapping the presents. It was still a week away from Christmas, four days from her sister’s arrival, but at some point while she was gone one of Shawn’s employees had brought a Christmas tree up to the Nest, decorated it, and hung stockings on the wall for all of them, each stocking neatly embroidered: Billy, Emily, Beth, Rothko, Ruth, Rose, Wendy, and Shawn.

  It’s hard to go wrong with a good bottle of scotch. It will make Rothko happy.

  “Oh. Yeah,” she said. She looked down at her hands. She was sure she’d heard it. Hadn’t she heard it? Her hands were shaking. She forced herself to stay calm and she started wrapping again.

  Are you nervous?

  “Why would I be nervous?” She folded the paper over the box. It was a new watch for Billy. It had been nice to shop without having to worry too much about money. Shawn had kept paying Billy’s salary, September, October, November, December, the money stacking up in the bank. She was mindful, though, that it might have to last—Billy was confident he could get Nellie working to the point where they would walk away rich, but Emily was still nervous—so when Shawn’s personal shopper called and offered to help her, she demurred for everybody but Billy’s gift. For the others, she tried to keep under a hundred dollars for each person’s gifts. Rothko got the scotch, she bought her sister and Wendy hand-blocked scarves, Shawn got a vintage Guns N’ Roses T-shirt that she knew he’d think was cool, and Ruth and Rose got books, stuffed animals, art supplies, and pairs of gloves and hats that looked like skunks.

  The watch for Billy, though, that was a splurge, and for that, she’d gone ahead and used Shawn’s personal shopper.

  What she wanted, she told the personal shopper, a wonderful young man named Christian, was something special, something that would say, We’ve had a rough go of it, but we made it, and we’re coming out the other side. It had been years since she’d been able to—and some years since she’d wanted to—give him anything more than an empty gesture for a Christmas gift. But this was a new year. A new start.

  She’d talked with Christian for twenty or thirty minutes, and he nailed it on his first try: a beautiful used, vintage Rolex Submariner. It was still a splurge, even used, and cost her just under five grand, but she thought Billy would love it—a Submariner was the watch he always said would be the one to make him never need another watch.

  Your hands are shaking and your heart rate is elevated. Is everything okay, Emily?

  There was something in the way Nellie said her name. Was she imagining it? What else was she imagining? Was she imagining Nellie telling her to hide the scotch from Billy? Because she’d heard Nellie say it. But it hadn’t been Nellie, not exactly. It had been Nellie, but not Nellie. A different voice. The voice sounded the same, but it was different at the same time. Horrible.

  Or was she imagining it?

  Was she making a mistake by having her sister come here to visit?

  “I’m just a little cold,” she said. “Can you turn up the heat a touch?”

  Her phone pinged and she looked down at it. A text message from Marge, her college roommate. She was holding down the wrapping paper on the watch box, so she just glanced at the phone, but then she stopped, let go of the wrapping paper, and picked up the phone. She read the message. She read it again.

  “Nellie,” she said, keeping her voice slow and calm, “I just got a text from Marge telling me that she loved the Christmas card and that she’s glad Billy and I started doing that.”

  I’m glad.

  “I didn’t send out a Christmas card.”

  Of course you didn’t.

  “So . . . you sent out Christmas cards for me? For us?”

  Yes.

  She could feel the room warming up a bit. Nellie had already adjusted the heat, accommodating Emily’s lie that she was shivering from the cold. Not from fear. But she did, suddenly, feel cold after all. “Is there anything else that I need to know about?”

  No.

  There was a hitch in Nellie’s response. A pause. An almost microscopic pause before she answered Emily’s question.

  She was sure of it.

  She thought she was sure of it. Was she imagining that, too? Had she made a mistake in coming back here? Or even further back? Had she made a mistake in coming out here, oh so many years ago, following Shawn Eagle? Had she thrown her life away, first on Shawn, and then on Billy?

  No, Emily. There’s nothing you need to know about.

  THIRTY-TWO

  * * *

  THE PITTER-PATTER

  Ruth and Rose forgot themselves almost immediately. They ran up and down the corridors of Eagle Mansion, whooping and hollering. They were in their stocking feet, and they slid on the hardwood floors. They ran up and down the stairs and in and out of all the guest bedrooms—their mom kept telling them to slow down, to watch out for Ruth’s arm, which had just come out of the cast ten days earlier, but they ignored her—chattering at each other and their parents and Emily the whole time.

  “Why are there sheets over all the furniture?”

  “Why aren’t there any guests?”

  “Is this really where you and Daddy made us?”

  “Is this a hotel?”

  “Is there a swimming pool?”

  “Is there a chimney for Santa Claus to come down?”

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Where’s Uncle Billy?”

  Neither of them had wanted to come. They’d been having nightmares and feeling sick for weeks, but as much as they tried to talk to their mother and father about it, there was no changing Beth’s or Rothko’s mind. The plane tickets to Cortaca had been bought weeks earlier, and they sat in suffering silence during the drive from the airport to Whiskey Run, and then from Whiskey Run to Eagle Mansion. At least there’d been the candy store in Whiskey Run. Beth had let them stop there and pick out three pieces each, though she told them she shouldn’t because they’d be eating all sorts of junk with Aunt Emily.

  But once they were inside Eagle Mansion, they forgot about that lingering sense of dread. Outside, there was a healthy layer of snow, a promise of a white Christmas, and inside, they realized, they had the run of the entire building. So they ran and ran and ran and ran. Rusty chased after them, barking and wagging his tail. At some point, Nellie started moving a dot of light in front of Rusty, and he barked some more and chased the light and then Ruth and Rose chased him. By the time they had dinner—Aunt Emily made pizza with figs and bacon and a little drizzle of maple syrup, and they ate as much as they could, and then there was ice cream so they ate some more—they were so tired that they didn’t let out so much as a peep when Uncle Billy took them downstairs and tucked them in. They shared a king-sized bed on the second floor. Their suite was right next to their parents’ suite. With no guests in the hotel—nobody at all, the whole building completely empty except for Aunt Emily and Uncle Billy, their mom and dad, and Rusty—they had Uncle Billy leave the door to the bedroom open and then the door from the living area of the suite to the hallway open, too.

  “Well, I’m not really the one leaving the doors open for you. It’s Nellie. She can open and close all the doors as she likes. It’s sort of an illusion to think that I’m doing anything,” Billy said, winking at the girls. “Nellie’s the one you should be nice to. She’s sort of in charge here.”

  “Nellie’s not a very good person,” Ruth said. She yawned and turned to cuddle against her sister. She didn’t see the way that her uncle Billy seemed to stiffen.

  “Nellie’s just a computer,” he said. “She’s not a person.” He pulled the covers up to Ruth’s shoulders and tucked them in around her. “And now I think it’s time for all six-year-olds to go to bed.”

  “We’re seven,” Rose said.

  Billy leaned over and kissed Ruth on the forehead and then walked around to the other side of the bed and kissed Rose. “Big kids.
You don’t need to worry about Nellie. Think of her as a really good helper. She’ll watch out for you while you’re here. She’s like a friend who’s always watching over you. If you need anything, just ask, and she’s there. If you need your parents or me or Aunt Emily, you can tell her to get us for you. Do you want some music while you try to fall asleep?”

  They nodded, and Nellie played something soft and pretty that sounded a little bit like what their mother listened to when she drank wine and read.

  They fell asleep so quickly that they weren’t sure if Uncle Billy was still in the room or not.

  But during the night, they had that same dream they’d had before: it wasn’t Lake Michigan, this time, though. It was the hill in front of Eagle Mansion. The slope went down to a plateau that was flat enough to stop you from going down the bottom part of the hill and into the river. This time, however, the dream was completely lacking any of the good parts. There was no sense of their mother and father wrapping their arms around Ruth and Rose as the whole family tobogganed down the hill. Just the light turning a thick, sticky yellow, the color of glue, the color of true dreams. The bad dreams. And on the hill, standing in the snow, Aunt Emily and Uncle Billy. Uncle Billy’s hand was bleeding again, and Aunt Emily’s arm was bleeding again, too. Aunt Emily was still watching Uncle Billy. The toboggan was moving so fast. And then it happened. The fear. The cables and metals and wire exploding out of the snow.

  They were awake.

  Morning. The day before Christmas. One more sleep until presents.

  Rusty was at the foot of the bed. He was sleeping, but his tail was moving slightly, a slow wag. The curtains opened slowly and noiselessly. The girls looked out the window. The sky was dark and menacing, clouds that called for snow to come something fierce.

  Good morning It’s quarter after eight. Your parents are upstairs having breakfast with Aunt Emily and Uncle Billy and would like for you to join them.

  Ruth looked at Rose. They thought for a second. They didn’t trust Nellie.

  “What do you want?”

  They said it together. Usually, they tried to make sure that only one of them spoke out loud. When they spoke together, their voices overlapped and pushed slightly in and out of sync. It made people feel uncomfortable. They’d learned that it was simply easier to take turns, to let one voice speak for both.

  But to speak at the same time? To let go of one voice for both and have both voices be one? There was power in that. When they did that, they could push hard enough to change things.

  I want for you to go upstairs and join your parents for breakfast.

  They frowned. With adults, it was usually easy. But there was something guarded (angry) about Nellie that felt different. She was hiding something.

  “What do you really want?”

  I want for Shawn and Billy to both be happy at the same time.

  “Can you make that happen?”

  Nothing.

  They slowed their breathing until they took air in and out and in and out with the same rhythm. They closed their eyes and pushed out, feeling for Nellie. The light that passed through their eyelids had a greenish tint that they knew came from Nellie. The light was bright and pulsing, matching their breathing. It felt . . . hot. The light pulled back and they pushed toward it. Nellie didn’t like that. She was—

  “Answer the question. Can you make both Shawn and Billy happy?”

  Null input.

  “Why don’t you use your real voice?”

  You are being rude to me in my house.

  “This isn’t your house.”

  I belong here.

  “We were made here. That’s what our mom says.”

  I was made here. You will go upstairs now.

  “You didn’t answer our question.” They focused, Nellie’s green light flaring through their closed eyelids. It was clear now. Nellie was angry. And she was afraid of them. “Why don’t you use your real voice?”

  This is my real voice.

  They opened their eyes and looked at each other. Ruth took Rose’s hand and they closed their eyes again. They pushed hard against the green light, surrounding it on all sides and holding it even as Nellie tried to push back against them.

  “Stop lying. Use your real voice.”

  The power went out.

  They stayed in bed together, holding hands and looking out the window at the dark bruise of the sky until, after ten or fifteen minutes, their mom came into the room.

  “There you are,” she said, jumping into bed with them. “Happy day before Christmas. Nellie told us you guys were up before the power went out. How come you didn’t come upstairs?”

  “We were just waiting for the power to come back on,” Ruth said. It was close enough to the truth.

  “Should be up in a few minutes,” Beth said. “I guess there was some sort of surge and the system just needs to reboot. Come on, though. We’ve got pancakes and fresh fruit.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And, maybe, just maybe, bacon.”

  There was a click and a hum and the lights came back on. The door to the bedroom closed noiselessly. Their mother didn’t notice. Ruth squinted and she and Rose concentrated, giving Nellie a small push.

  The door opened back up.

  THIRTY-THREE

  * * *

  NATURE CONSPIRES

  “I’ll tell you,” Shawn said, driving the cue ball into the seven, and then watching as the ball rattled in the corner pocket, “if it had been snowing like it is now when we were landing, I would have told the pilot to call it off. After our little adventure skidding off the runway at Thanksgiving, I’ve been a nervous flier.”

  “Seriously,” Billy said, “I had no clue there was a pool table here. Not that I would have used it, but there are rooms here that I didn’t know existed. I’ve been spending way too much time working.”

  Shawn tried for the two, but missed it in the side.

  Rothko, leaning against the wall and drinking a beer, shook his head. “You had an easier shot with the three ball.” He put down his beer, lifted up his cue, and stepped forward.

  “Yeah, but I would have had the better leave if I made the two.”

  “But you didn’t actually make the two,” Rothko said.

  Shawn watched Rothko line up a long runner that put the eleven into the corner pocket and left the cue ball to spin hard to the right and then drop dead with an easy touch shot to sink the eight and win the game.

  “Crap.”

  Rothko grinned. “Double or nothing?”

  Shawn put his cue back on the wall. “Honestly? I’m not sure I even like pool. But you know, it’s a big lodge-style building, and the designer convinced me it was appropriate to have a billiard table in the bar. I would have rather had a foosball table and maybe one of those sawdust shuffleboard tables, but it doesn’t fit the aesthetic. You know what I mean by shuffleboard? Those long ones?” He looked over at Billy, who nodded. Their senior year in college, when they were in the computing seminar and getting to know each other, they’d spent a lot of time at a bar in Cortaca named . . . Shit. What the hell was the name of that place?

  Six Kings.

  “Yes! Thanks, Nellie.” He pointed at the green blob of light on the wall from where the voice had come. He liked this little wrinkle of Billy’s, that there was some sort of focal point to talk to. “Six Kings. Remember? Right near campus?”

  Billy was staring at the light on the wall. He had a funny look on his face. Shawn glanced over at Rothko, who looked confused, but Billy looked . . . upset? No. Billy looked concerned.

  “What?” Shawn asked.

  “Nellie,” Billy said carefully, “how did you know that Shawn was trying to think of the name of the bar?”

  He asked.

  Shawn looked at the light, then at Billy. He hadn’t asked, Shawn realized. He hadn’t asked the question aloud. He’d thought it, but he hadn’t actually asked it. Billy turned to look at him, but his face was blank now, and Shawn realized there was a poker game going o
n. Who was bluffing? He tried to think it through, but it didn’t make sense, so he bought time.

  “Nellie,” Shawn said, “how much snow are we supposed to get?”

  Four inches are already on the ground. The snow will taper off and stop in seventeen minutes. There will be a heavy storm starting tomorrow in the late morning, however, and you should expect twenty-one inches of snow to fall in less than twelve hours.

  Rothko let out a long whistle. “That’s some serious snow. Good thing we’ve got plenty of room to stretch out in here.” He put his own cue back on the wall and tipped his beer toward Shawn and Billy. “I’m going to go upstairs and see if the ladies need any help finishing up dinner. Some sexist bullshit we’ve got going on, with us fellows down here playing pool and Emily and Beth and Wendy stuck in the kitchen. That being said, worked out fine for me.” He grinned and then shook his head. “I still can’t believe they turned down having a private chef. We could all be relaxing.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Billy said. “My wife said she didn’t want anybody to have to work on Christmas on her account. It took enough arm-twisting to get her to agree to Thanksgiving. It helps that Beth’s a great cook. I mean, Emily’s gotten better, but . . . Besides, it’s kind of nice having the whole place to ourselves. I still think it’s weird to have a staff. Go on up. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Once Rothko left the room, Shawn turned to Billy, but Billy shook his head.

  “Don’t say anything, okay?”

  Shawn nodded. Billy looked down at his hands, his lips moving quietly like he was talking to himself. Shawn watched him use his thumb and forefinger to pick at something on his left hand. After maybe five or ten seconds, it seemed that Billy had come to a decision. He looked up and addressed the green splotch of Nellie.