The fire snapped and Illya's head came up with a jerk. He looked around, but Judith, the daughter of a South African diplomat, was still asleep.
Illya had been on edge from the very start of this assignment. Illya didn't like going out without anyone at his back. He'd gotten used to having Napoleon watch it, counted upon him and his abilities to see what Illya might not. Waverly decided they were getting too dependent and temporarily separated them.
Illya had met the woman at her hotel and was escorting her to the embassy party when he picked up a tail. In an attempt to lose them, he also lost himself. A powerful storm blew in and visibility went out the window. He was nearly at the end of his rope when the girl, Judith, had spotted the house... this house.
Illya tried to resist the warmth emanating from it, drawing them in. He felt angry and ill-at-ease, a feeling that grew exponentially the closer they got to the house.
Inside his senses went into overdrive. He kept hearing voices that weren't there, seeing shadows that couldn't exist, and strange thoughts formed inside his head. The more agitated he grew, the calmer Judith became. She'd fallen asleep on the sofa, Illya using a blanket from the back of it to cover her.
The house, itself, was an enigma. There was a fire going in the fireplace, candles burning in every room, but Illya couldn't find anyone and he'd looked nearly everywhere, except the chapel. He couldn't go in there.
Finally, he could bear it no longer. "Open Channel D."
"Channel D is open." The communication tech's voice was cheerful. "How are you this evening?"
"Unwell. Could you patch me through to maps?"
It took a moment, but another voice came on the line and Illya quickly gave her a rundown. "Can you triangulate my position?"
"I don't see why not... that's odd..."
"What?"
"It is..." A sharp buzzing drowned her out. "Not... Illya? Illya!"
"I can't hear you... repeat your last statement."
"Not.... get... Illya... listen... need to." The communicator went dead in his hand and Illya shook it. Outside the storm was growing in intensity, bolts of lightning painting the room an eerie blue.
The girl moaned in her sleep and Illya poured brandy into a snifter. All around him, he could hear what sounded like whispers. He knelt beside the couch and touched a shoulder. "Judith?"
"Mmm, Illya," Judith murmured, more asleep than awake. Up to now, she'd called him Mr. Kuryakin.
"Judith, I need you to wake up for me."
"Why? Are you going to have your wicked way with me?"
"I beg your pardon?" There was a loud bang and Illya's head swiveled in that direction. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up and a feeling of dread had settled around him like a cape. He jumped as she touched his face. "We need to go."
"I thought we were coming. " She giggled as her cheeks reddened. A wild look came over her face and Illya knew how she felt. "I didn't..."
"It's this house, let's go." He stood, dragging her to her feet. She tumbled into his arms, mouth seeking his, but he eluded her and began to pull her towards the front door. The voices were getting louder, buzzing around his ears like angry gnats. The bangs and thuds were coming more frequently and closer.
Illya renewed his efforts, even as Judith's hands were getting much too familiar with parts of his anatomy he'd have rather she'd stayed ignorant of. She struggled, resisting him.
"I'm sorry, Judith," he murmured and popped her. A 'peep' of surprise and the woman slumped in his arms. Hefting her, Illya stumbled to the door. For a moment, he held his breath, terrified that the door would be locked, but it yielded easily and they were suddenly outside.
As he groped his way to their vehicle, he could feel the house reaching for him, invisible tendrils trying to drag him back in. The earth seemed to suck at his feet, hindering his every step, intent on keeping him here.
He'd been driving a few minutes when his communicator chirped. "Kuryakin."
"Illya, where are you?"
"On the road going someplace. Not exactly sure where yet."
"Are you out of the house?"
"Yes."
"You really are out of the house?"
That shocked Illya and he did a fast check. He could feel the damp cool air from the temperamental defroster and the stickiness of wet clothes as they clung to his body. He even went so far as to bite his tongue and winced at the resulting pain.
"Yes, I am..." Suddenly he could hear the whispers right behind him and he gasped. There were hands on him, touching and groping him. He fought, struggling to get away from whatever was clutching at him.
"Illya, stop." Napoleon's voice made him hesitate. Abruptly he was cold and wet, nearly shivering with the force of the gales blowing across a dank swamp. The night was colored with red and blue from emergency vehicles.
"Na- na -na..."
"It's okay, partner, come on."
"Judith..."
"She's fine; she's in the car."
Illya looked into Napoleon's face and his partner's eyes calmed him.
"What happened?"
"You owe Maxine a dinner; she called out everyone she could think of."
"And you too?" He couldn't stop shivering.
"Me too."
Napoleon piled him into the back of the car and Illya huddled with Judith, both of them trembling and weak.
"What was that place?" Judith whispered.
"That was the Belasco place."
"That means nothing to me," Illya confessed.
"No one has ever walked out of Hell House* alive and sane, Illya. Until now..."
Illya shuddered at the whispers still in his head. "Am I?"
"What?"
"Sane?" He began to laugh. He laughed until a hypo silenced him.
Behind them, Hell House, dark and ominous, awaited its next victim.
*Hell House by Richard Matheson
|
|
