Chapter 17: Dancing in the Dark    (print this)

AS THE WORLD went pitch black, Henry Bethel's instinct told him that Gus would expect him to dive forward in his effort to escape. So in the split second that the Underground House was plunged into impenetrable darkness, Henry threw himself backwards onto the palms of his hands, then threw his leg out in a wide arc swiftly to his right. It worked: Gus cursed him in his native language and lunged forward to wear he expected Henry to be, only to have his shin connect with Henry's leg. There was tremendous crash as Gus tripped and pitched himself into a glass end table, bringing down a huge, ornate lamp on his head. Or so Henry hoped, as he got to his feet and began moving like desperate blind man down what he believed was the main hallway of the house.

If Mangopoulos' little terrorist organization had really done their homework on him, they might have discovered that Henry had given numerous tours of Armstrong's house as part of various Las Vegas art and architecture tours he'd been involved in. Even then, they might not have known about the master electrical switch that Armstrong had installed inside the dragon's mouth. It was one of his favorite party tricks: gathering his guests around him, then suddenly sending them into the perpetual night that his little elegantly decorated cave enjoyed without the benefit of electricity.

But Armstrong went one further. The switch inside the dragon worked in only one direction. The other switch was on the opposite side of the house, and Armstrong would make good on his boast that he could find his way there in the dark. "Sense like a bat!" he'd cry in delight as he nonchalantly walked in the unnerving darkness to the other switch without tripping or stumbling once. Then he would flip the on switch to the applause of his guests, each breathing an unexpected sigh of relief at how comforting being able to see again was.

Poor Gus had no idea of such elaborate tomfoolery. Henry heard what could only be the sound of the dragon's head being ripped from the wall as Gus fumbled with the switch, flipping it futilely up and down. He kept moving, going as fast as he dared, hands outstretched like a zombie in a hokey horror flick.

When Henry reached the sliding glass door at the end of the corridor, his hand brushing against a second before he would have walked square into it, he was relieved to find it halfway open. To have slid it would have told Gus instantly where he was, and he was hoping Gus would think he had headed for the front door instead. As he slipped his body cautiously through the opening, he paused, listening for sounds of pursuit.

The sounds of Gus' guttural cursing had died away a minute before. Now, as Henry stood there, his head cocked, listening, he could hear nothing. He turned to step into the mock Florida room at the end of the house when a chuckle, far off (but not that far off) came spiraling up the hall like a spider across the back of his neck.

"Hah! Very clever, my friend, very clever." Gus' voice was ragged, an edge of anger boiling below his forced aplomb. "But Gus, he sees better than you think! He sees everything!" The voice, Henry thought as sweat trickled down his temple, as he stood there, not daring to breathe, was at the edge of the hallway he'd just come down. Gus' breathing came down the dark in menacing little gasps, as if he was waiting, waiting for the slightest sound that would betray which way Henry had gone.

As quietly has he could, Henry stepped fully through the door, reaching down to remove his left shoe. Slowly he reached down and removed the right, and with shoes in hand crept toward the patio door that he was sure was directly in front of him. If he could double back around the side of the house, he might be able to reach the elevator before Gus realized he hadn't made a beeline for it. Unless, of course, Gus was making a beeline for the elevator himself, knowing that it was Henry's only way out.

But, Henry suddenly realized, it wasn't his only way out

Henry reached the patio door, his palm suddenly flat against its cool wood. His hand drifted down until it found the doorknob. The door was shut, and if it squeaked as he opened it...

Henry held his breath once more, ready to dash through the door at the first hint of noise. The soft click of the latch slipping out as he turned the knob was almost imperceptible, but to Henry it was as loud as a cannon. He pushed gently and door swung silently out before him.

Henry stepped into the patio area and immediately stubbed his toe on the leg of something, most likely a table. He swallowed his yelp and went into a half-crouch, hopping a little and swinging his shoes before him to ward off the chaise lounge that was likely in his way. At last he made it to the astroturf of the house's "yard," and turned to his right, in the direction he hoped would lead him around the house.

It was then that he saw the skyline.

Stupid, stupid, thought Henry. It wasn't as if he'd forgotten about the murals that lined the walls of the Underground House, but in his excitement over his plan to escape he hadn't fully reckoned them in. For the murals that Armstrong had commissioned, each a different vista from some part of the world that the billionaire had fancied, had been painted with overlays of phosphorescent paint, so that each day scene also had an equivalent night. The glittering dabs of glow in the dark paint now rose, faintly, to evoke the city of Sydney at night. It wasn't enough light to see by, but to move in front of the murals was to present a silhouette that even Gus, with his one good eye, could see.

Henry dropped to his knees and began to crawl along the wall beneath the scenes, moving from Sydney to Rome to Chicago, his ears pricked for any sound at all behind him or in front of him. The going was agonizingly slow, but to move too fast would betray him to Gus, who by now must be outside the house as well, though he could hear nothing. With each crawling step, images of Maude and her assistants at the mercy of Mangopoulos' thugs flashed before him, but he squelched them, thinking only that he had to hurry, that he had to get out of here. The thought that it was already too late rose sickeningly to his mind, but he pushed it away as well, and started to crawl faster.

After what seemed an endless period but at best was only five minutes, he turned the corner of the house and saw, several yards distant, the point at which the glowing dots of cityscapes terminated into a patch of blackness, like a galaxy set against the void. The elevator lay in that void and for all Henry knew Gus was already there, standing before it, waiting with his thick, scaly hands that had no doubt wrung a hundred necks.

But twenty or so feet from the elevator, and only a dozen yards from where he crouched, was a secret door set into the wall that led to a staircase that led directly to Armstrong's garage above. If Henry could reach it, he could shut the door behind him and lock it, but the emergency lights inside would spill out into the dark. How quickly could Gus cover those twenty feet, if he even was standing at the elevator? Henry paused, listening. There wasn't a sound. As quiet as the proverbial tomb, Henry thought, and then decided Well, it's not going to be my tomb.

He stood up, back to what he thought was the corner of the house, and slipped his shoes on, preparing himself for the sprint to where he thought (where he hoped) that secret door was. But as he leaned against the house to steady himself, he felt a cool smoothness against his back.

Two things happened at once: Henry realized Fuck, I'm leaning against a window just as that window shattered outward. Henry instinctively threw his arms over his head and tried to crouch, but something had hold of the back of his jacket, pinning his arms upward for a moment. He felt himself being pulled back up like a rag doll as Gus, his fingers entangled in the material of Henry's coat, began to draw him into the house.

Adrenaline kicked in, and Henry, one step from terror, straightened his arms behind him and threw himself forward like a high diver. Somehow, it worked: Henry fell face down into the sharp little blades of plastic grass and shards of broken glass, leaving his empty jacket fluttering in Gus' grasp. An unintelligible curse roared behind him as he got to his feet and started moving for the dark break in the skyline where the elevator was. He was running now, moving straight for the void. Gus was still inside the house, he could make it there before—

It was at that moment that Henry ran headlong into something that fell all around him as he fell to the ground with a resounding clatter. Something wet and sticky gushed down the lower half of his face as he lay, stunned, covered with several cold object. In his sudden stupor he realized he'd stumbled directly into the full suit of medieval armor that stood just to one side of the elevator. Fucking dust collectors he thought for one stupid moment as he struggled to get up, his hand going to his bleeding nose. His ears where ringing, but not so loud that he couldn't hear Gus' low, throaty chuckle just above him. He was already upon him.

"Well, well. Cat and mouse is fun, but the cat always wins, yes, my friend? A shame, when your last hours could have been filled with stimulating conversation! Someone should have told you that nothing escapes ol' Gus' eyes, eh, my poor friend?"

Gus laughed, more in mirth than menace, though Henry knew he was about to die. Sitting up now, he looked in the direction of that laugh, and for a moment thought he was hallucinating. He blinked and blinked, but still he saw, bright in the darkness, Gus' eyes, the ruined one and the good one, both open and shining a brilliant blue in the darkness, like twin gas flames. For a second, Henry could have sworn that each eye had the endless reflection of another eye behind it, a tunnel of eyes descending into the back of Gus' head for all infinity.

But in that same second Henry's addled mind realized his right hand was lying on the hilt of a sword.

Gus laughed again. "So! Our evening is at an end! Perhaps when our warriors return we'll put your head next to the witches! Hah! Yes, you can listen to her lies for all eternity, you poor lovesick fool!" He laughed heartily as he leaned down to take Henry's throat in his ancient, scarred fingers.

But it was Gus' throat that was ripped open as Henry, with every ounce of strength available to his aching arm, swung the still sharp sword into the space below his terrible glowing eyes. Gus gasped as the blade buried itself into his neck, and as Henry got to his feet, still holding the hilt, Henry pushed himself forward and brought the sword all the way down.

Gus' head hit the astroturf with soft plop, like a ripe fruit dropping from a tree.

Henry felt as if he would vomit. He stood unsteady, wiping the blood away from his face. After a few seconds he dropped the sword and moved toward the elevator. His ears were still ringing as he searched for the button. At last his fingers found it, and pressed it as a hideous, gurgling sound arose from where Gus' headless corpse lay.

He knew he shouldn't look back. But he did. There, in the dark, the fiend's horrible blue eyes still shone. A sound issued forth, and if Henry didn't know better, he would have sworn that Gus' tongue somehow formed the words "Not again..." But then the elevator arrived, and Henry turned and stepped into it, hitting the button without looking back again. As the doors slid shut, only one thought remained.

Maude, hang on... I'm coming. Please don't let it be too late. I'm coming.