Reign, p.29
Reign, page 29
They walked inside and sat, still in their coats, on an upholstered bench in the lobby, where he told her everything that had happened the previous night. Ann cried in his arms over the loss of Donna, and they sat in silence for a long time. Finally he spoke.
"I wanted you to know something — about what Terri told you. This may be hard to understand . . . but maybe no harder than a lot of other things that have been happening."
He took a deep breath and looked down at the dark, swirling colors of the giant Oriental rug. He had to tell her. He could not let her think Terri a liar. "I'm afraid that she may have been partially right about the other night. Not that I seduced her — I didn't. That's the truth. But I may have said some things that . . . may have given her the wrong impression. I've been having lapses in memory, in judgment too, I'm afraid. These deaths, these . . . losses have hurt me, weakened me. It's as though I'm . . . not myself sometimes." He gathered the courage to look at her. "Can you understand that? And can you forgive me?"
"I can always forgive you," she said, taking his hand. "I know you, Dennis. I've known you for so long, and I know that you're a good man. Terri is . . . well, she's confused. I think it would be easy for her to misunderstand what might be only a sign of approach, of affection, for something else."
"I'm glad you believe me, Ann. I needed you before, but I need you more than ever now."
"You have me. For as long as you want."
"You may regret saying that," he told her, with the hint of a smile. "What do you mean?"
"I don't want this to sound callous, but we're going on with Craddock. John and I talked it over last night — poor man, I think it was harder for him than it was for me. He treated Donna like a daughter for years. But we decided it would serve no purpose to delay the show. That's why Donna and Tommy and . . . and Robin were here. And I won't leave the area anyway — not as long as Sid's in jail. It won't be an ideal situation. It'll be harder than ever for the show to come off on time, but we can do it. If we have your help."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Take over Donna's position. You know the job, you know everything that it would take someone else months to learn. Donna was irreplaceable, we all know that. But if anyone can come close to what she did, it's you. And John agrees with me."
He had feared she would hesitate, claiming ignorance or inability, but she did not, and love and admiration surged through him as he saw her nod, heard her say, "All right. I'll do it. If you and John think I can, then I can. I only have one request.”
“And that is?"
"I want to move in here. Into the building, in one of the vacant fourth floor suites."
Dennis felt ice in the pit of his stomach. "No, Ann. No."
"Dennis, I have to. I've seen what Donna's job was like. She had to be accessible to John at all times."
He sought for an excuse to keep her out of the building. "But what about Terri? You want her to live alone?"
"I never see her now as it is. I think we'd both be more comfortable if we were apart for a while. Maybe that's a coward's way out, but I just can't bear any more confrontations with her."
"No. It's too dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"Yes. There have been four deaths in this building."
"And they all have explanations, Dennis. Tommy and Robin's deaths were both accidental, Harry, as impossible as it seems, had to be a suicide, and . . ." She trailed off.
"And Sid killed Donna? Is that what you think?"
"What else is there to think, Dennis? After what you told me about the two of them being the only ones there? I agree, it seems incredible that Sid could do such a thing, but what other explanation is there? I like Sid too, and if you could give me another possibility I'd grab onto it."
"He didn't do it, Ann."
"You say that as his best friend, but do you really believe it?"
Dennis thought about Sid and Donna and the Emperor's hand going through the wall, his own fingers feeling nothing but air where the Emperor stood, thought about Terri's accusation, thought about how real artists' creations could be. "I don't know," he said. "I really don't know."
"I'm moving in, Dennis. That's the only way I'll agree."
"Then you can't agree," he said, calling her bluff. "You cannot move in here. In fact, Whitney's moving out tomorrow — Marvella's daughter finally found a place that's suitable. But even if she hadn't, I'd have the two of them put in a hotel, whether Marvella kicked and screamed or not."
"All right, Dennis. I'll stay at home then. But I think you're being too cautious.”
“I don't," he said. "Trust me."
~ * ~
Little work was done in the Venetian Theatre offices that day. Robert Leibowitz, Sid's attorney, spoke with Steinberg, Dennis, and Curt for hours, then spent nearly as much time in Sid's suite in the company of a policeman. By late afternoon, Dennis felt exhausted, and when Steinberg asked him to join him for dinner, at first he declined.
"Come on, Dennis," Steinberg said. "It'll be good for you to get away from the building for a while. Besides, your own cooking could be fatal, you know." So he agreed to meet John at six-thirty, when they would walk together to the Inn.
When he arrived in the lobby, he saw Whitney sitting on a chair, swinging her short legs back and forth. When she looked up, her expression was far removed from her usual childish glow of wonder. "Hello, Whitney," he said, smiling at her, but she did not smile back.
"Hello, Mr. Hamilton."
"Waiting for your grandmother?"
She nodded. "We're going to McDonald's. Then we're gonna work in the shop tonight. I'm gonna help."
"Ah. Are you excited about going home?"
"Yeah," she said. "It'll be okay." She looked down for a moment, then said with juvenile candor, "Mr. Hamilton, is it true about Sid? Did he really hurt — kill Donna?"
"I don't know, Whitney. I'd rather believe not."
"I don't think he did," the girl said. "He loved her too much to hurt her. He never hurt me, and he got mad at me sometimes."
Dennis smiled, blessing the trust of children, wishing that it remained in himself. "I think you may be right, Whitney. I hope so anyway."
"Then did someone else do it?"
"I . . . I don't know. It could be, I suppose."
"I'm not afraid. Grandma'll take care of me."
"I'm sure she will." As if on cue, the elevator doors opened, and Marvella stepped out. "Hello, Marvella."
"Dennis," she said, and nodded to him. She looked as though she had been crying. "Awful thing, awful thing."
He nodded back, and without another word she took her granddaughter's hand and they left the building.
Dinner was mercifully bereft of any discussion of the killing, but it was there all the same, a ghostly presence, impossible to ignore, that sat at the table with them over each course, that ingratiated itself in every bite of food, every word they spoke.
"You didn't eat very much," Steinberg observed as the waiter cleared away Dennis's half-eaten dessert.
"Not much of an appetite."
"You need exercise. When's the last time you had a swim?"
"Weeks ago. I feel too tired."
"That's precisely when you should exercise. Let's have a dip when we get back."
Though a swim was the last thing that Dennis wished for, he felt incapable of refusing. It was somehow easier to go into the locker room, change into trunks, and join Steinberg in the pool. Dennis marveled at the man's grace in the water, heavy as he was. Steinberg swam laps, dove from the high board, and went for great lengths underwater, breaching the surface and taking in great lungfuls of air that Dennis felt would have burst him in two. Dennis, on the other hand, paddled without much vigor back and forth across the pool, resting often, his arms on the cool tile of the pool's edge.
After twenty minutes of exertion, Steinberg pulled himself out of the water for the last time. "Well, I'm sufficiently exhausted for a good night's rest, even after the events of the past day. Join me for a nightcap?"
Dennis shook his head. "No thanks. This feels good. I think I'll just stay in the water a bit longer."
"You'll be all right alone?"
"Why, you think there's something here?" He said it before he even realized it was out of his mouth. It was the lassitude the water caused that made him careless. Steinberg's eyes narrowed. "Something? What do you mean, something?”
“I . . . don't know. I guess I'm spooked, that's all."
"There's nothing here," Steinberg said with more force than Dennis thought was necessary. The three words implied a multitude of sentiments, chief among them that Sid was safely in jail.
"You think he did it?" Dennis asked Steinberg. It was the first time either of them had spoken of it that night.
"Yes. I do. There is no one else." Without another word, Steinberg turned and walked into the locker room, leaving Dennis alone in the pool.
He closed his eyes and rested his head against his arms. "No," he whispered to himself, unable to believe his friend had done what everyone except he and a trusting child thought he had. Even the attorney had seemed dubious that anyone else could have conceivably murdered Donna.
As if to escape from his thoughts, he twisted backward into the pool, immersing his head beneath the water, diving down, down, until his fingers touched the smooth surface of the pool's bottom, then came up again, his eyes still closed against the chlorine, against what he himself was beginning to think was the truth.
But when he opened his eyes, he saw that he had been right after all, saw that Sid was innocent. When he opened his eyes, he saw the Emperor standing by the side of the pool.
He was holding out a towel.
~ * ~
(THE EMPEROR wears his full dress uniform. His skin shows no signs of perspiration from the humidity of the pool. Smiling, he holds the towel toward DENNIS, who, treading water, seems stunned, and afraid to swim any nearer.)
THE EMPEROR
Not ready to come out? It won't wash off, you know. No matter how long you stay in there.
DENNIS
What . . . won't wash off?
THE EMPEROR
The blood. Your friends' blood on your hands.
DENNIS
You're . . . you're holding it.
THE EMPEROR
The towel? Oh yes. I'm quite capable of corporeality now, no small thanks to you. (He swings the towel about in demonstration.) I owe you a great deal, oh creator of mine. I owe you my very existence, of course, but you knew that. What you don't know is that I also owe you lives. Lives that I, in my imperial power, have taken.
DENNIS
(He is growing tired, continually treading water.) You killed Donna.
THE EMPEROR
I did.
DENNIS
Why? For God's sake!
THE EMPEROR
Why? Surely not for God's sake, but for the sake of the Emperor. You see, my friend, you no longer have the strength of will, the force of character required to hold such high office. It is time, my dear fellow, to abdicate to a higher power. Me.
DENNIS
No! It's a character, just a character! There is no emperor!
THE EMPEROR
(He spreads his arms) There is now.
DENNIS
Why did you let me think you were . . . harmless?
THE EMPEROR
It amused me to play such a game, to pretend, to perform. After all, was I not
born of performance? Born of an actor? Born of artifice? Yet, in a way my . . . harmlessness was true. My corporeality grew slowly, like a child learning to walk. I pulled the pin that dropped the curtain on that scheiskopf of an assistant stage manager — my first physical act, and it exhausted me. There was no way I could physically destroy one of your sycophants — not then — without great care and happy coincidences. But I could be seen, and I could move objects, were they small enough. (He grins) Like the servant's knife.
DENNIS
Harry. . . Harry Ruhl . . .
THE EMPEROR
Yes. The physician was correct, you know. He did perform those . . . surgeries upon himself. But at my direction, and by my will. He had practically none of his own. His brain was like butter. Your wife, I had hoped, would prove a worthier subject, but she was not. I had merely to drop the suggestion that she destroy your mistress, and she was off like a hound on scent.
DENNIS
You told her to kill Ann?
THE EMPEROR
Nothing so crude. I only opened the portal — she rushed through it. A few subtle clues, a hint of perfume, overheard voices, a lost handkerchief — had she never seen Othello? — and vengeance quite o'ertopped her thoughts. I little cared which one perished, though I hoped that only one would, so as to save a treat for later. (He shakes his head.) I had no idea you felt so deeply for the girl. After her death my strength was increased fivefold. More than enough to throttle the woman last night.
DENNIS
Oh my God . . .
THE EMPEROR
You have no idea of the pleasure of it — to actually hold a life in your hands, and make it ebb away. The strength I felt, the power, the . . . reality.
DENNIS
Everything then. you've done everything.
THE EMPEROR
I have indeed. Including the peccadillo with the young wardrobe person. That brought you more than a little grief from your aging mistress, I vow. It was an interesting sensation, but all in all I prefer execution more. Mating is only . . . a little death.
DENNIS
(Near tears) Why? Why have you done this?
THE EMPEROR
For a simple reason — self-preservation. I wish to live, and to keep growing in
my existence. In order for all things to grow, they must derive strength from
something. And I derive my strength from my creator. As your spirit ebbs, mine grows stronger. Each loss undermines the structure of your life, and makes my dais more solid, my throne more permanent. Soon everyone you love, everyone upon whom you depend, will be taken from you, and Dennis Hamilton will fade away, leaving only the Emperor. And on that day, as Dennis Hamilton became the Emperor, so will the Emperor become Dennis Hamilton.
DENNIS
(In a voice filled with fury) You're a liar.
THE EMPEROR
I beg your pardon?
DENNIS
(Desperately) You're a liar. I don't know what else you are, but I do know that. I don't even believe in you. Sid was right. You're nothing but a figment of my imagination. Maybe you're a part of me, but you're a part of my mind, nothing more.
THE EMPEROR
You know that's not true. You're only denying a reality that you're afraid of, that you feel ultimately responsible for. I can't blame you. It's such a human trait, but one that, under these circumstances, can accomplish nothing.
DENNIS
You don't exist.
THE EMPEROR
So I must prove it. Dear me. (He looks upward, as though hearing something.) Very well then. You wish proof? You shall have it. The little girl. Get out of the pool. Run and see. By the time you arrive it shall be done. Do not think to arrive before me, for you take the high road, while I take the low. (THE EMPEROR vanishes. The towel he has been holding falls to the floor.)
~ * ~
Dennis did not stop to dress nor to dry himself. Barefoot, dripping, clad in bathing trunks, he ran around the corner into the hall, and savagely pushed the button for the elevator. He had thought of running up the stairs, but the elevator would take less time than a trip up the labyrinthine, curving stairways.
He jabbed the button again, and realized that nothing was happening. He heard no whirring of gears, no whine of cables. The bastard! If he had been able to turn the lights on and off with whatever strange powers he possessed, the elevator should be a simple thing to stop.
Dennis cursed, whirled away from the elevator door, and ran toward the steps, his wet feet slapping the carpet beneath. He reached the stairs to the lobby and began to run up them, when the lights went out.
"No!" he shouted, but heard only his voice echoing through the building. One hand in front of him to ward off whatever barrier he might strike, the other clutching the banister, he climbed up the steps in the deep blackness that only cellars can exude. The banister came to an end, dim light was visible, and he knew he was in the first floor hall. In the light that shone through the glass doors from the street lamp outside, he made his way to the door to the lobby, shambled across it, and pushed open the door to a small storage room where, among other things, the ushers' flashlights were kept. He snatched one up, flicked its switch, and ran on, preceded by a weak, yellow beam that he prayed would stay alive.
Up the winding stair he ran to the second floor, then to the third. As he labored up the narrower stairway to the fourth floor, he noticed that the strength of the flashlight's beam was diminishing, and ran faster, so as to beat its imminent failure.
He was not successful. The light winked out just as his foot touched the last step. Surprised, he tripped, banged his shin, stood up, kept moving down the hall, knowing that the costume shop was ahead, that if he kept going straight he would run right into the door. Right hand against the wall, left hand out, Dennis scuffled along, expecting at any moment to bump into the door he sought.
But it did not come, and he thought that perhaps he had taken a wrong turn, or was on the wrong floor, or was trapped in the Emperor's world, in the skewed reality of a mad thing's mind, and that the hall went on forever into the darkness, that there would never be an end to it. Sobbing in frustration and fear, he pushed on, expecting at any moment to feel the floor fall away beneath his feet, plunging him down, down into some nightmare even worse than the one he now inhabited.
