Ghosts by Gaslight - Jack Dann [171]
“I’ll be pushing along,” Dorothea said. “I’ve given you my all, as it were. Mister Richmond. All this talk of possession, though . . . it’s not a dance I care to do.”
Jane turned to her. “We can spare him one more night, can’t we?”
Dorothea said flatly, “I’m sorry.”
“I won’t leave without you, Jane,” I said.
“I swear to you, Samuel.” Richmond came out from behind his desk. “I will shut down the machine in the morning, whether or not . . .”
“Why should we believe anything you have to say?” I stepped away as he made to approach me. “You’ve done nothing but lie and dissemble since the beginning. If a resolution of the problems between you and Christine is what you actually seek, how will our presence assist in that? It will achieve nothing other than placing us in peril.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m frightened. I’m afraid of being alone with her. If you feel you must leave, I understand.”
Judging by the sympathetic expression on Jane’s face, I recognized there was little hope of countering Richmond’s self-serving statement; but I tried nevertheless.
“You are afraid, yet you wish us to stay,” I said. “And you care so little about our well-being, you expect us to join you in this dangerous folly. How noble!”
Jane shot me a reproving look.
“He’s manipulating you,” I said.
“He’s right,” said Richmond with a hangdog expression. “You should leave.”
“Good Christ!” I slammed the flat of my hand against the desk, making a loud report. “Now he’s feigning weakness to rouse your sympathy. Can’t you see?”
Both Jane and Richmond regarded me sadly, as if they were aware of some nuance, some shading of the truth that I had yet to comprehend.
SCIENTIFIC CURIOSITY MAY have played a part in my decision to remain in the house. I was genuinely anxious for Jane, and I wanted to keep an eye on Richmond—I insisted that we wait out the night together, thinking that should Richmond begin to behave erratically or Christine attempt to possess Jane once again, I would take decisive action. But as we sat at a bench on the sixth floor, speaking minimally or not at all, I came to ponder my missed opportunities. Had I not become involved with Jane and focused the bulk of my attention on the ghosts that passed through the chamber, I might have arrived at some firm conclusions about the spirit world. As things stood, I could make only the most general of suppositions. I vowed to devote myself henceforth to uncovering material proofs pertaining to everything I had observed.
Not until that night did I realize how unseemly a perdition the sixth floor was. With its mouse droppings, dusty spaces, and raw boards; its gray canvas curtain, iron walls, and benches laden with machine parts; and its ghosts and the vibration of the attractor, it had an ambiance that was part futuristic charnel house, part wizardly lair. I could not wait to relegate it to memory. My dislike for the place was augmented by Dorothea’s absence. Her pragmatism and humor had been necessary to the sustenance of the unusual family we had become during the past months, and I felt a corresponding disunity. Jane leafed through a book of poems, occasionally offering me a nervous smile. Now and then Richmond glanced at the ceiling. He may have been alerted by some aberrance in pitch of the attractor, though I detected none. During the initial hour of our vigil, Christine materialized in her several guises on fourteen separate occasions, never for more than seconds, but made no effort to possess Jane or to do anything other than look morose. After that she appeared no more. I was nonplussed by her withdrawal and Richmond’s manner grew funereal, sitting with his hands clasped and eyes downcast. Every so often he would blurt out a question such as “Where do you think she is?” or “Do you think we should move downstairs?” Our response to these and other questions was essentially the same: I don’t know. Another two hours passed in this fashion. Finally, during the fourth hour, he told us that he was going up to the roof.
“For what purpose?” I asked.
He