Genesis - Keith R. A. DeCandido [38]
There was certainly something familiar about the man in the picture. She knew him, though whether that familiarity was a good one or not, she couldn't tell.
Right now, she was just grateful for any feeling of familiarity. She certainly wasn't getting it from this house. The more she walked through it, the less she believed that this place was hers. It didn't feel right.
A heavy thud startled her. She set the picture down, and turned toward the statue. When she first entered the room, she had thought it to be in an alcove, but she realized now that it was a doorway to a vestibule or hallway or something—and there was a door or a window that had just been opened. Wind was now rustling the plastic that covered the winged-woman statue.
"Hello?"
Nobody replied.
She moved toward the doorway, all the while wondering at the absurdity of instinctively knowing the word vestibule, yet taking five minutes to remember what a wedding ring and a bathrobe were.
Cautiously, she walked closer to the statue, now really wishing she had the codes that would allow her access to those guns. She had no idea whether or not she knew how to use them, but she had the feeling that just holding one in her hand would put her in a better position right now.
Sure enough, there was a door here—an old wooden one with a brass pull handle that was, for some inexplicable reason, up around her neck level. The door was so big, she wondered if it had been built with giraffes in mind.
It was only slightly ajar. Based on the breeze that was still fluttering the plastic on the statue, it was quite possible the wind had knocked the door open.
She started to step outside, then stopped. It was growing darker. That beautiful sky signified sunset.
Looking around, she quickly spied several switches next to the door. Instinctively, she turned them on.
This was the right move. Where it had been dim on the other side of the door, it was now lit up like daylight. Whoever built this place wanted people to be able to get around outside at night if they had to. A reasonable precaution since, based on that forest outside the bedroom window, they were in the middle of nowhere. Any significant illumination there was to be had around here was going to come from the house.
Opening the door all the way, she stepped outside. A blast of cold air caused goosebumps to rise on her exposed arms and legs, making her wonder if stepping outside without seeing if the house came equipped with a coat was such a hot idea.
The doorway led to a sheltered walkway that bordered the house—house, hell, it was a mansion—the shelter supported on the outside by columns with ridges in them.
She found she couldn't remember what kind of columns they were, though she was pretty sure it had something to do with being greasy. Maybe.
The walkway was covered with brown leaves that crinkled under her booted feet. The sound was pleasant, almost soothing in its harshness. It reminded her of—something. Another familiar feeling that ultimately meant nothing without context.
As much to hear the sound of her own voice again, she said, "Hello?"
Another sudden noise made her jump, but this time it was a huge flock of birds, who took her voicing as a prompt to all fly off into the evening air at once.
Shaking her head, she turned to go back inside. If nothing else, it was freezing out here.
Then the breeze started.
No, this wasn't a breeze. This was wind.
And it was getting closer.
The dead brown leaves rustled and started flying up into the air and along the ground toward the mansion, as if being pushed by a mental force.
Or by a helicopter.
She had no idea where that thought came from, but it was one she didn't like very much, and thought she'd have an easier time dealing with inside. Besides which, the wind was getting stronger.
Running toward the door, she almost stumbled. The thigh-high boots may have looked good with the dress, but they weren't much more practical than the bathrobe had been.
She reached the doorway and took another quick look around to see if she could see anything