The Hand on the Wall(80)

After the discovery, Charles’s office had been sealed. Charles himself was upstairs with Larry and the other faculty members. The seven students were downstairs and left to their own devices, as they were no longer the ones who needed to be watched for mischief. Vi and Janelle had vanished to some corner. Stevie and David had taken the ballroom, because, why not take the ballroom if the ballroom is there?

David gathered up their blankets—between them, they had four—and made a nest for the two of them in the ballroom. There they lay, in this marvelous, repeating room of mirrors and masks, looking up at the molded ceiling with its chandelier. David was brushing back her hair softly. Stevie found that she was exhausted, maybe more so than she had ever been in her life. She was between states, between worlds. The chandeliers magnified the scant bit of light in the room and dripped it across the ceiling like a smattering of stars.

“I did it,” she said.

“Yup.”

“You made fun of me when I first got here,” she said. “But I did it.”

“I was being friendly.”

“You were being a dick,” she said.

“Like I said, I was being friendly.”

“Why do you think we like each other?” Stevie asked.

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know how these things work.”

“Neither do I. Neither does anybody.”

“Some people seem to. I think Janelle does.”

“Janelle,” he said, “may know everything, but she doesn’t know that. And I like you because . . .”

He rolled up to his side and onto one elbow, gazing down into her face. He traced her jawline with one finger, sending such shivers down her body that she struggled not to squirm.

“ . . . because you came to do something impossible and you did it. And you’re smart. And you’re really, really attractive.”

There, on the floor that had been scuffed by a thousand dance shoes, under the eyes of the masks on the wall that had seen decades go by, they kissed, over and over, each one renewing the last.

Outside, the snow retreated slowly as if it was apologizing for the intrusion and taking silent steps back the way it had come.

Alice . . .

Stevie could hear her playing. She was running through the ballroom, her tiny patent leather shoes sliding on the floor, a ball bouncing ahead of her.

“Should we let her have the ball in here?” Iris said. “With the mirrors?”

“Of course!” said Albert. “It will be all right. Come on now, Alice! Give it a bounce! When you bounce your ball in here, you’ll see a hundred bouncing balls!”

Alice put her chubby arms overhead, balancing the ball, and then she tossed it with all her might—which was not that far, but it was far enough to please her. She laughed, her voice ringing out and bouncing merrily around the room.

“It’s good to be home,” Iris said, putting her head on Albert’s shoulder. “We’ve been gone so long.”

“We are all home,” Albert said. “And here we will stay.”

At daybreak a gentle light came through the French doors, spreading long rectangles over the dance floor. The light just reached Stevie’s eyes, unsealing them. She looked around for a moment, checking to make sure the reality she remembered from the night before corresponded with the one she was in now. Yes, she’d slept in a ballroom. Yes, David was at her side, his arms over her. They were pressed together under a pile of blankets. Stevie scanned the floor for a moment, seeing the marks and joins in the wood up close. The air in the room was cold. Under the blanket, all was warm and perfect. This was where she wanted to remain, forever if possible.

But there was a murderer to deal with.

Stevie inched her way out from under David’s arm, which had her wrapped in a soft, protective embrace. She set it back in the same position, then crawled away a few paces, scooping her clothes from the floor. She dressed quickly, catching her reflection as it echoed around the room. She didn’t mind the girl she saw. She was the girl with the choppy blond hair, tugging on her faded black clothes. She was exactly who she wanted to be.

She opened the ballroom door gently and crept out into the hall. The Great House was still and quiet. The fire in the murderer’s fireplace burned low. Larry sat by it, arms folded, nursing a tin mug of coffee. Stevie closed the door and crossed the hall to join him.

“Hey,” Stevie said, gesturing above. “What’s happening?”

“Mark, Dr. Pixwell, and Dr. Quinn are all up there with him in the Peacock Room. I don’t think he’ll try anything, but if he does, the three of them can handle it easily. I’ve been watching down here.”

“Has he said anything?” Stevie said, sitting down in the chair opposite and holding her hands out to the fire.

“No. He’s been very quiet. The police will be here soon. I told them first light was fine, that I would handle it. They’re going to send someone by helicopter, and there will be some backup with a snowplow down by the main road to help get everyone out. We’ll use the snowcat and then figure out how to move you all down the hill. Personally, I’d suggest sledding. That’s the best sledding hill in the state, provided you don’t steer into the river or a tree.”

“But him,” she said. “What will happen to him? Did I do it? Was it enough to put him in jail?”