The House That Death Built (10 page)

The light in the window turned
out.

Tommy started forward, but Rob
held up a hand.
Wait
.

He could sense that Tommy and Kayla
both wanted to move. They were hungry for a score, hungry for action. To them,
the prospect of money coupled with the probability of violence was a siren
call.

Aaron didn't move. Not because he
was calm, he was just a prize-winning chicken with a yellow streak so broad
there was nothing left over but the fear.

They waited. Five minutes. Ten.

Twenty.

The light didn't turn back on.

Rob gestured, and he and the
others crept along the grounds. The area surrounding the house was lit – no
surprise, places like this always had landscape lighting that cost at least the
same as a small country – but less so than many other places that occupied the
same socioeconomic sphere.

Cheap bastards. How can you be
this rich and this stingy at the same time?

He wasn't really upset. Far from
it. The Crawfords' choice in lighting was going to cost them far more than they
saved.

It took a surprisingly long time
to pick their way across the darkened grounds, which were bigger than any Rob
had ever seen, at least in person.

Definitely more than just a
couple million waiting for us.

They got to their entry point: a
back door to the house. To get to it they had to cross over a porch that was
itself nearly fifty feet wide and that wrapped around the entire house.

A sudden déjà vu gripped him.

Porch is just like the other one.
The last one.

It's all gonna go to hell. Again.

"Something wrong?"

He almost didn't register the
voice. And when he did, his face curled automatically. No one would see his
expression, of course – not through the thick ski mask that covered his face.
But he also knew that Aaron would know. Would know that Rob had heard him, and
was disgusted at the man's cowardice.

For a moment it struck him that
Aaron might not be a coward, after all. He constantly stood up to Rob, didn't
he? He had managed –

(
to have a family a wife a
life
)

– to keep up with a gang that
despised him, he had kept a hold on what seemed to be the most important parts
of himself.

And that's why I hate him.

"I'm fine," Rob said.
And though the mask might cover his expression, he knew the kid would hear the
loathing in his voice; would
feel
it.

Rob switched his gaze from Aaron
to Kayla, who had waited until the exchange was over before kneeling in front
of the back door.

"How long?" he said.

Kayla didn't answer for a few
long seconds. Then she snorted, a low noise that slid through the darkness.
"I don't think…." She pulled a small box out of one of her pockets.
She had explained what it was once: something like a digital wall scanner, only
instead of detecting wall studs it looked for specific types of wires with a
specific range of electrical currents, a specific spectrum of radio or
Bluetooth transmissions.

Essentially, it was an alarm
detector.

The scanner blinked a few times,
then turned green. She snorted again. "No alarm." She flicked a
glance in Rob's direction. "You were right. These idiots didn't
bother."

Rob almost hadn't believed it
when he looked closely at the electrical plan sheets from the sheaf Tommy
brought him. Most houses this size were specially wired for pre-installed,
custom alarm systems. This place had shown no such features. Which didn't mean
there would still be no alarm; systems now were easily installed. But still, he
had thrilled when he saw a house like this. The essential feature left off the
plans.

And he was even happier now.

My luck is changing already.

He could feel it: a lightness
that stripped away years of failures in a moment. The feeling that tonight,
everything would finally change.

Back on top, baby.

Tommy snorted, too. This one a
sound of incredulity. "No alarm?" he whispered. "On a place like
this? Fortune really does favor the brave."

"I told you, the guy was
wasted when he left," said Rob. "Even if there
is
an alarm, he
probably couldn't have turned it on if he tried. Numbers that small can be
weally, weally hard to push."

He said the last in a nasally,
babyish voice. Tommy and Kayla laughed so quietly it was barely a breeze in the
windless night. No one would hear it inside the house.

But he heard. And smiled.

Yeah. The luck's changing.

Only Aaron, the ever-killer of
all things buzz, was silent. He just waited. Then said, "I don't like
it."

Tommy shook his head. "Of
course you don't. You're an idiot."

Aaron managed to bridle, his
cowardice sliding aside as umbrage replaced it. "
I'm
an idiot?
Really?"

Rob had the sudden feeling that
Aaron would stop this moment. Would steal their success – maybe go for one of
their guns, maybe raise a scream that would alert the slumbering owners of the
house.

"Shut up," said Rob.
"Both of you." He stared hard at Aaron. "Especially you. Don't
jinx this for us."

The moment he finished, there was
a subtle click as Kayla cracked open the door. In spite of her assurances,
everyone froze for a moment – even her – waiting for the telltale sound of an
alarm going off.

Nothing.

Could be a silent alarm. Just
alerting Crawford on his cell while a call goes directly to the cops.

But that wasn't it. He knew. His
luck was changing.

Tonight was the night.

He went in.

The door opened to reveal a
spacious kitchen. Everything was thoroughly modern, not at all worn. It had the
look and feel of a room that gets updated every few years, whether it needs it or
not. Stainless steel appliances perfectly matched one another, splashes of
color artfully highlighted the perfect design of the space. Everything that
wasn't metal was dark wood, and Rob knew this wasn't plywood covered by a PVC
laminate, or even oak or cherry. This had to be teak or mahogany. But the dark
cabinetry didn't detract from the feeling of bright openness the kitchen
exhibited – even in the dead of night. The wood was itself polished to a sheen
so perfect it was a glow in the darkness.

There was a center island the
size of a conference table, which held a (second) complete stovetop and a
(third) oven. The top of the island was a single, thick slab of marble, cut
precisely, with rounded corners to prevent anything so banal as a bruise to the
hired help.

On the wall behind the stove was
a backsplash that alone probably cost ten thousand dollars, leading up to an
industrial-size steel oven hood so clean it could have served as a mirror.

Not just the kitchen of the rich
and famous, this was a kitchen meant to service those lucky few with utter
efficiency, while maintaining the fiction that nothing ever occurred here. It
was a place so looked-after that it was a delight to look upon.

Not that the scabs who live here would
ever set foot in such a nasty place, a place where the help do their ugly work.

Rob looked at Tommy and Kayla.
Their eyes gleamed, and he knew they were doing their own appraisals of the
place, and of what it would mean to their score.

He didn't look at Aaron. He was
in too good of a mood.

Tommy and Kayla finally looked at
him. Their heads swiveled in sync, as though they were connected by strings no
one could ever see. It made them a good team, a good addition to
his
team.

But sometimes, when they did
that, it really creeped him out.

He swallowed the feeling, buried
it under the conviction that tonight –

(
it all changes
)

– was going to be a very special
night.

He nodded at them. Then pulled
out the item that had been making the top pocket on his many-pocketed pants
bulge. The gun was as dark as the rest of the kitchen was bright. It took the
reflected light and swallowed it whole. It was an implement that, in Rob's
hands, was meant for one thing only.

Aaron spoke behind him. "You
said –"

Again, Rob had a moment. An
instant where he wondered if Aaron really was braver than Rob thought. What
would it cost a man, to stand up to three dangerous people in the dark? And one
of them armed, to boot?

And, as before, Rob shoved the
thought back. Tamped it down and covered it up with anger. "Shut up and
worry about your part of the job."

He turned to one of the doors
that led out of the kitchen: the door that, according to the architectural
plans, led into a hall that would provide the easiest access to the rest of the
house.

He took a step. Then stopped with
his second foot raised mid-stride. Frozen in place by something he had no words
for.

"What is it?" Kayla
whispered.

Rob shook his head. "I
don't…." He looked around again. Stoves, refrigerators, center island,
sundry appliances. It was all perfectly appointed, perfectly laid out, perfect
in every way.

So why were his muscles
quivering? Why was everything inside him suddenly screaming, shrieking,
No
no no no watch watch watch out watch out!

RUN!

"I don't know," he
finally managed. "Something about the way the kitchen is laid out."

He looked around. Nothing amiss,
just the perfection that was so absent from his own life, but which he so
deserved.

That's it. I don't belong.

No. That's not it. It's….

"Something," he
murmured. "Something about the way the kitchen is laid out."

And that was it. He didn't know
what it could be, but something was still tickling him. That threat, that sense
of –

(
Run run RUN!
)

– an indefinable wrongness that
had set him on edge.

He shook his head. Shook off the
feeling. His gut had lied to him before. It led him to that job, didn't it?
That
one
job?

It's nothing.

Get moving.

He looked from Tommy to Kayla.
"Straight to the master bedroom. Keep your eyes peeled on the way, but
unless it's the crown jewels, no side trips."

They already knew this. It was
what they'd gone over at Rob's house in the hurried moments before everyone
left for the job. But he needed to say it, as though saying the words would
push back his sudden alarm.

And it worked. He had a plan, he
had a team, they were in control, they –

"Please." Aaron again.
Staring at Rob's gun, pleading for it to disappear.

Not gonna happen.

Rob stared at him with a message
that should make it through the mask with ease:
Shut up
.

Message received. Aaron visibly
swallowed, then looked away.

Rob looked away from him.

Back to the door that led to the
rest of the house.

He stepped to it.

Opened the door.

It's all coming back to the way
it should be.

He stepped through. The rest of
the house waited.

It would be easy to stop this.
Just scream. Just one single yell, and it all comes down.

Aaron almost did it. In the
moment he was alone, the instant after Rob walked out of the room with Tommy
and Kayla hot on his heels, eager to get to the finish line of this ugly race.

He almost yelled.

But didn't.

What if they get away? What if
Rob avoids the cops? Gets back to the city?

Gets back to
Dee
?

His mouth, half-open for the
burgeoning shout, slowly closed.

He would end it if he could. But
he couldn't. Because that might be –
would
be – a death sentence for
Dee. She'd already sidestepped one of those, already slipped out the back door
the first time the Grim Reaper came knocking.

She wouldn't escape a second
time. Especially if Rob's hands held the scythe.

But he couldn't help looking back.
Stealing a glance at the back door. Kayla had pulled it closed behind them, but
it wasn't locked. Easy to step through, to disappear in the dark.

But that wouldn't happen. He'd be
seen, hunted down, made to do what he came here for, and Dee would suffer the
punishment for his moment of rebellion.

Rob brought a gun.

Aaron knew what that meant. Knew
that Rob wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice anyone in the house to reach his goal.

I have to stay. If I go, who's
going to hold him back?

"Last one, babe," he
said. The words came out so quietly he barely heard them. "Then we're
done. Then we have to be done."

He turned away from the false
escape the back door promised. Turned back to the door that led to his only
reality: to Rob and Tommy and Kayla and the job.

I have to stay. I'm the only way
this family makes it out alive.

He went through the door.

The difference between the
kitchen and the rest of the house was obvious, and it was a change he had seen
before. The kitchen, beautiful and unnaturally perfect as it was, was a room
that saw use. It held tools for cooking meals, for party preparations, for life
itself.

The rest of the house was clearly
made not to be lived in, but
appreciated
. A lot of the most expensive
houses were like that: one or two rooms that served a utilitarian purpose, that
serviced human necessities. The rest were there to be experienced in passing,
lives glancing over and through them like stones skipped across a mirrored
pond.

Rob, leading the short column of
thieves, passed through the main hall efficiently, slowing long enough as they
passed each room that he and the others could look in and check for anything so
valuable it simply couldn't be passed up. All the doors were open, which made
it easy to look in. No secrets – the house a living embodiment of simple,
foolish trust.

No one had a flashlight on, but
it was easy to see into the rooms, the outside lighting dim but still bright
enough to allow anyone to make out the contents of each room.

On the left side: a dining room,
a living room. The dining room was gorgeously appointed. A silver chandelier
hung over a table that seated eighteen, maybe twenty. Expensive buffet table at
the far end, silver service resting on it, waiting for morning to come and
breakfast to be served.

The living room was nicer than
St. Peter's Basilica. Much nicer. A long leather couch against one wall, a
coffee table that probably dated back to the discovery of coffee. Another
chandelier hanging from the tray ceiling – a ceiling recessed not a few inches,
but a few
feet
, with several steps leading up to the highest point like
an inverted staircase. The recessed portion of the ceiling was white, with the
rest covered by a light gray hardwood of some kind, filigrees around the edges
that would have made the room suitable for French royalty circa Louis XV.

On the right of the hall: music
room, trophy room, guest bath.

The music room held a piano,
harp, and an antique cylinder music box the size of a juke box. The floor was
teak, probably a floor that people actually waltzed on.

Mozart would have loved this room
.

The trophy room was the first one
that made Aaron feel vaguely uneasy. Or rather, it was the first one that made
him uneasy in and of itself – every room made him uneasy in the sense that he
worried they might find someone in it. The sense that he might have to stop Rob
– or, more likely, Tommy or Kayla – from killing someone to keep any alarms
from being raised.

Or just for the fun of it
.

The trophy room was creepy in the
darkness. There was a dark brown sofa, a few tables that looked like they could
be either writing desks or gaming tables – elegant poker hands being dealt
while expensive cigar smoke hung in the air and cognacs were sipped.

Elegant, except for the many eyes
that stared into the room. Trophies hung every few feet along the dark wood
walls. Deer, moose, a wolf with its lips drawn back in a perpetual growl. Even
a few smaller animals, birds. Glass eyes that stared nowhere at all and in so
doing captured everything in their empty gazes.

Aaron shivered and hurried past
that room.

The "guest" bath was
bigger than Aaron's bedroom. And the only reason he could find for it being a
"guest" bathroom was that it was so close to the front of the house.
It still had a bath – a porcelain tub that sat on the floor on clawed feet
carved to look like a big cat's paws – and a shower designed in such a way that
it simultaneously conveyed the contradicting impressions that it was usable,
but should never actually be used.

There was a bidet, too. Both it
and the toilet had keypads on their sides – probably temperature controls for
the seats.

Classy, classy.

Then he was through the hall, and
into the foyer.

The foyer was huge, perfectly
appointed. He had to place his feet carefully to keep them from slapping
against the stone tiles, which had been cut into intricate patterns. The walls
were an off-white – the kind of thing people with the kind of time to debate
shades of white would probably call "eggshell" – and yet another
chandelier hung from a ceiling nearly thirty feet overhead. This chandelier was
much bigger than the others had been, though. Probably ten feet in diameter, a
set of silver wheels from which hung thousands of crystals, each wheel backlit
by cunningly hidden lights that would no doubt cast perfectly diffused
illumination that would brighten without stressing the eyes.

Tommy gave a low whistle. Rob
motioned to him to shut up, but his body language showed he agreed with the
sentiment.

Kayla was at the wall near the
front door, examining what was clearly an alarm control pad. She returned to
the group after just a moment, shaking her head.

"Morons," she muttered.

So there was an alarm after all.

Aaron couldn't help wishing that
it had gone off. That way the job would end without it being his fault.

Without it hurting Dee.

Rob moved to the stairs. Tommy
and Kayla followed. Aaron, as always, brought up the rear.

No, no, no, no, no….

He was mouthing the word as it
sounded over and over in his mind. A never-ending prayer composed of so many
things.

No
, please keep them from
hurting anyone.

No
, please keep Dee safe.

No
, please turn back time so
none of this will be happening.

On and on, with every step
upward. Praying to some God who he knew wouldn't listen.

Up to the second floor.

To the bedrooms.

To the people.

No, no, no, no….

But God was as silent as the rest
of the house.

And Aaron kept walking. Forward.
Upward.

To the end.