I pull away from the closet, slamming the door shut. On the door another giant pentagram, this one black and dripping, announces itself.
I shift the light over to another wall blighted with pentagrams and then focus the light on a series of letters spread high above me, floating against a huge expanse of pristine white wall over my bed, and I'm squinting, trying to focus, and I slowly fan the beam across the letters until I'm saying the words out loud.
Disappear
HeRE
The words cause me to sag against the wall and I'm gripping the gun so tightly I can barely feel it and the Oasis song is revolving into its climax and its endless soloing and as I stumble out of the room my shadow looms against another massive red pentagram.
The CD clicks off.
Silence.
And then my shoes are making noises moving down the hallway and they echo in the silence and suddenly lightning throws my silhouette against a wall and the wind outside keeps howling. I'm freezing. I pass another pentagram.
Within the silence of the house I suddenly hear one distinct sound.
Moaning.
Coming from down the hallway.
Keeping the gun held in an outstretched hand, I start moving down that hall, toward where the moaning is coming from.
Bentley's room.
Another pentagram looms over me. Outside, the wind keeps gusting and then there's a peal of thunder. A vague fear keeps growing but never really defines itself-it's just inevitable-and nearing panic, I bring a hand to my lips to keep my mouth from twitching and then I'm stepping forward, moving into the room.
I lower the flashlight's beam, running it across the terrazzo floor.
"Oh my god," I whisper to myself
A dark shape in the middle of the room, until I wave my flashlight over it. Bentley.
He's splayed out across the floor, his mouth gagged with a black handkerchief, taped over, and his arms are outstretched, pulled above his head, each one tied separately to bedposts, rope and chain intricately entwined and wrapped around each wrist. His legs are spread and more rope and chain is tied around his ankles and connected to the legs of a white-oak armoire.
He's signaling me with his eyes.
Attached to each thigh and bicep is some kind of device connected to its own timer-red digital numbers glowing in the dark and counting down.
Moving toward him, slipping on patches of ice, I notice another device strapped to his chest as I drop to my haunches and place the flashlight and the gun on the floor. Crouching beside Bentley, I pull the gag out of his mouth. He immediately starts panting.
"Help me, Victor, help me, Victor," he squeals, his voice cracking on my name, and he starts sobbing with relief, but my own voice is thick with panic as I tell him, "Calm down, it's okay, it's okay."
My legs start cramping up as I try to unlock the device connected above his right knee and Bentley starts babbling, "What did you tell him what did you tell him what did you tell him Victor oh god what did you tell Bobby?"
"I didn't tell him anything," I murmur, shining the flashlight over the device, trying to figure out the easiest way of removing it.
But I'm afraid to touch it.
"Who did this?" I'm asking.
"Bruce Rhinebeck," he screams.
"But Bruce is dead," I scream back. "Bruce died in that explosion
"Hurry, Victor, just hurry," Bentley moans in a voice that doesn't sound like him. "I don't want to die I don't want to die," he says, teeth clenched, and then he starts making shrill little screams.
"Shhh...," I murmur. Wind is now throwing rain against the windows. I keep peering at the device on his leg, having no idea how to remove it, and I'm taking deep breaths that turn into short fast breaths, my mouth wide open.
"Okay," I say, simply gripping the device and tugging up on it, but it's strapped too tightly to his leg.
Suddenly-a sound.
A clicking noise.
It's coming from the device strapped to Bentley's right arm.
Bentley stiffens.
Silence.
Then another sound-tch tch tch tch.
Bentley makes eye contact with me, looking briefly as if I'd offended him in some way, but then his eyes come hideously alive and he starts opening and closing his fingers in anticipation.
Silence.
Bentley begins to weep.
Another clicking noise, followed by a whirring sound.
"Don't let me die," he's crying. "Please I don't want to die I don't want to die oh god no-"
Bentley suddenly realizes what's going to happen and starts snarling in anticipation.
There's a loud whoompf as the device goes off, the noise of its activation muffled by flesh.
