Survive the Night

14

The ballroom was empty. Let them keep searching, Bleak thought as he flicked on the lights. This appeared to be the largest room in the house. Or maybe only the emptiest. Either way, something about the ambiance here made Bleak feel comfortable. Separated. The floor was tiled marble, blue and white. Like the floors in an Arabian palace. The walls were adorned with golden curtains far larger than the windows they covered.

Bleak shut the door--though it could not be locked--and made his way to the center of the room. He remembered he and Wendy would pass this room often on their visits. She'd always wanted to dance with him. He'd always refused.

Come on, she'd say. I won't laugh. But she was laughing even as she said it, so he knew she would. Still, he recalled the passion in her eyes. Not a desire to dance, but a desire to dance with him. Her thin lips would fold back into a smile, and Bleak would shy away and keep walking. Let's go back, Bleak would say. I left my dancing shoes at home, anyway.

Wendy would follow him out smiling, but Bleak knew. He knew that she was disappointed because she wanted it more than anything. She'd even brought it up before her death, he remembered. You owe me a dance, she'd said.

He'd failed her so many times, even on the day of her death.

He turned in the room, fretting the pain in his heart. There was a chandelier in this room as well, hanging over him in mock dominion. There's nowhere to be alone in this house, he thought. He wondered where Wendy was right now. The occurrences in this house had proved to him that there was life after death, in some form or another.

Maybe she's here, the chilling thought came. His eyes darted around the room again. Coldly, slowly, the hair on his arms stirred erect. Bleak began to shuffle his feet about the tiled floor, listening to the high-pitched sound the soles of his shoes made as they licked the marble. His hands floated up as if he were holding an invisible person.

"I owe you a dance," he whispered.

He twirled, dipped, slid across the floor, his eyes closed. He imagined classical music in his mind. He kept his hands curled; let the knuckles of his fingers stiffen with familiarity. The touch. The chill.

Wendy was here. He believed it.

He lost himself in a blind dance, tottering at times, nearly bumping against the wall on some turns. Spinning, he let the chandelier guide him around the room; he let the tiles be his map. Bleak took a shaky breath and found that it came too easily, felt his mouth shut like a fly trap. He knew it was the start of another breakdown even before the tears came crumbling down his face. His lower lip throbbed rapidly, his hands felt weak. Yet, on he danced.

"I owe you a dance..." he said again, this time hating the way his voice melted.

Instantly, Bleak collapsed to the ground. He was shaking rabidly. "Oh God," he cried. "Wendy... Wendy... Wendy... I miss you so much."

With his eyes shut tight, he didn't even notice the chandelier lights flickering on and off.

***

Victoria's hand jerked up and down, slowly, as to not damage the electricity indefinitely. Stalling, she left the light on this time and removed her hand from the switch. She glanced around the room. Her stomach growled, and she pressed her weary hands on it.

There had to be a way out.

She approached the desk and examined the tools in the box. Wrenches, drills, a hammer, screwdrivers. She picked up the drill. She popped in the largest drill bit she could find and plugged in the cord to the outlet nearest the door. When she pulled the trigger, she heard the drill roar and vibrate in her hand and the tip spun to a blur. Positioning herself, she angled the drill against the door and pulled the trigger. The drill slipped against the surface, so she tried again. This time, it caught against the wood and began piercing through. Even if she couldn't get through, maybe they would hear it if they were just outside. It was a long shot, but she had to try.