11:08 A.M.

Fischer jarred up, heartbeat pounding, and looked around in dread. His head was throbbing violently. He wanted to fall back on the pillow, but something kept him from it.

He dropped his legs across the mattress edge and stood. He began to reel, and pressed both hands against his head, eyes closed, body rocking back and forth. He groaned, remembering that Barrett had given him pills. Damn fool! he thought. How long had he been unconscious?

He started for the door, moving like a drunken man, trying to maintain his balance. He moved unevenly into the corridor and started toward Florence's room. He entered and stopped. She wasn't in bed. His gaze jumped to the bathroom. Its door was open; there was no one there. He turned and stumbled back into the corridor. What the hell was wrong with Barrett, anyway?

He tried to move faster, but the impact inside his head was too painful. He stopped and leaned against the wall, a billowing of nausea in his stomach. He blinked and shook his head. The pain grew worse. To hell with it! he thought. He staggered forward willfully. He had to find her, get her out of here.

He glanced into the Barretts' room in passing, jarred to a halt. He moved inside and looked around incredulously. Barrett wasn't there; he'd left his wife alone! Fischer clenched his teeth in fury. What the hell was going on? He moved across the room as quickly as he could and dropped his hand on Edith's shoulder.

She jerked back from his touch, eyes open suddenly, gaping at him.

"Where's your husband?" Fischer asked.

She looked around in shock. "He isn't here?"

He watched dazedly as she stood. From the look on her face, he saw that she was taken aback by his appearance. "Never mind," he mumbled, heading for the corridor. Edith didn't speak. She brushed past him, calling, "Lionel!"

She was halfway down the stairs before he'd reached the landing. "Don't go alone!" he cried. She paid no attention. Fischer tried to hurry down the steps but had to stagger to a halt, clinging to the rail as pain drove spikes into his skull. He leaned against the banister, trembling. "Lionel!" he heard her calling as she ran across the entry hall. He heard an answering call below and opened his eyes. Where else? he thought bitterly. Barrett was so anxious to prove his point, he was leaving his wife alone now, ignoring Florence. Stupid bastard!

Fischer hobbled down the stairs and walked across the entry hall, teeth set against the jolting pain. Entering the great hall, he saw Barrett and Edith standing by the Reversor. "Where is she?" he demanded.

Barrett looked at him blankly.

" Well? "

"She's not in her room?"

"Would I ask if she was?" snarled Fischer.

Barrett started limping toward him, joined by Edith. From the look on her face, Fischer could tell she was upset with Barrett too. "But I listened," Barrett said; "I checked you awhile ago. And the pills I gave her - "

"To hell with your pills!" Fischer cut him off. "You think possession can be stopped with pills?"

"I don't believe - "

"Screw what you believe!" Fischer's head was pounding so hard now that he could barely see. "She's gone, that's all that matters!"

"We'll find her," Barrett said; but there was no assurance in his voice. He looked around uneasily. "We'll try the cellar first.

She might - "

He stopped as Fischer clutched his head, his face distended by a look of agony. "You'd better sit," he said.

"Shut up!" Fischer shouted hoarsely. He hunched over, making retching noises.

"Fischer - " Barrett started forward.

Fischer stumbled to a chair and dropped down heavily. Barrett approached as fast as he could, followed by Edith. They stopped as Fischer jerked down his hands and looked at them in shock.

"What?" asked Barrett.

Fischer began to shiver.

"What is it?" Barrett's voice rose involuntarily. Fischer's look unnerved him.

"The chapel."

Edith's scream of horror pierced the air. She spun away and stumbled to the wall.

" Oh, my dear God," Barrett murmured.

Fischer walked unsteadily to the body and stared at it. Her eyes were open, looking upward, her face the hue of pale wax.

His gaze shifted to her genitals. They were caked with blood, the outer tissues shredded.

He twitched as Barrett stopped beside him. "What happened to her?" the older man whispered.

"She was killed," said Fischer venomously. "Murdered by this house." He tensed, expecting Barrett's contradiction, but there was none. "I don't see how she could have gotten up with all that sedative inside her," was all Barrett said, his tone one of guilt.

He saw that Fischer had turned to look at the crucifix lying nearby and did the same. Seeing the blood on its wooden phallus, he felt his stomach walls contract. "My God," he said.

"Not here," Fischer muttered. He shouted suddenly, as if he'd gone berserk: " There's no God in this fucking house! "

Across the chapel, Edith jerked around to look at Fischer startledly. Barrett started to speak, then held it back. He drew in a trembling breath. The chapel smelled of gore. "We'd better get her out of here."

"I'll do it," Fischer said.

"You'll need some help."

" I'll do it."

Barrett shivered at the look on Fischer's face. "Very well."

Fischer crouched beside the body. Darkness pulsed before him, and he had to put down both hands to support himself he felt them pressing into her blood. After a while his vision cleared, and he looked at her face. She tried so hard, he thought.

Reaching out, he closed her eyes as gently as he could.

"What's that?" Barrett asked.

Fischer glanced up, wincing at the pain the movement caused. Barrett was staring at the floor near Florence. He looked down. It was too gloomy to see. He heard Barrett fumble in his pockets, then the scratching of a match end on a striking surface. The flare of light made his eyes contract painfully.

She'd drawn a symbol on the floor, using a finger dipped in her blood. It was a crude circle with something scrawled inside it. Fischer looked at it intently, trying to decipher it. Abruptly he saw what it was. Barrett spoke at the same moment.

"It looks like the letter 'B.'"

11:47 A.M.

They stood in the doorway, watching Fischer's slowly moving form until it vanished in the mist. Then Barrett turned.

"All right," he said.

She followed him into the great hall. Barrett hobbled quickly to the Reversor, and she stopped to watch him, trying not to think of Florence. Barrett made a final check on the Reversor, then turned to look at her.

"It's ready," he said.

She wished, for his sake, she could experience the emotion he obviously felt. "I know this moment is important to you," she said.

"Important to science." He turned to the Reversor, set its timer, turned several knobs, then, after hesitating for a moment, threw the switch.

For several seconds Edith thought that nothing was happening. Then she heard a resonant hum rise to audibility inside the giant structure and began to feel a throbbing in the floor.

She stared at the Reversor. The hum was rising in pitch and volume, the vibration in the floor increasing; she could feel it running up her legs, into her body. Power, she thought - the only thing that could oppose the house. She didn't understand it, but feeling its heavy throb in her body, its reverberation starting to hurt her ears, she almost believed.

She started as, behind the Reversor's grillwork, tubes began to glow with an intense phosphorescence. Barrett backed off slowly. His fingers trembled as he drew out his pocket watch. Exactly noon. Fittingly precise, he thought. He pushed the watch into his pocket and turned to Edith. "We have to go."

Their coats were on the table by the front door; Barrett had brought them down earlier. Hastily he helped her on with hers.

As she assisted him, she glanced toward the great hall. The noise of the Reversor was painful even here now. She could feel its pulsing in the floor beneath her, hear the rattling of a vase nearby. "Quickly," Barrett said.

A moment later they had left the house and were hurrying along the gravel path, around the tarn, the sound of the Reversor fading behind them. As they crossed the bridge, Edith saw the Cadillac standing in the mist, and tightened at the thought of Florence being in it.

Barrett pulled open the back door, flinching as he saw that Fischer had the blanket-covered body on the seat with him, cradling its head and upper torso in his arms. "Couldn't we - " he started, breaking off as Fischer glared at him. He hesitated, then reshut the door. No point in setting Fischer off. He was close enough to the edge as it was.

"She's in there with him?" Edith whispered.

"Yes."

Edith looked ill. "I can't sit in there with - " She couldn't finish.

"We'll sit in front."

"Can't we go back in the house?" she asked, fleetingly aware of the grotesqueness of her requesting to go back inside Hell House.

"Absolutely not. The radiation would kill us."

She stared at him. "All right," she finally said.

As they got into the front and closed the door, Barrett glanced into the rearview mirror. Fischer was bent over Florence's body, his chin resting on what must have been the top of her head. How badly had her death affected him? he wondered.

Remembering then, he turned to Edith. "Deutsch is dead," he told her.

Edith didn't respond. At last she nodded. "It doesn't matter."

Unexpectedly, Barrett felt a flare of anger. Doesn't it? he thought. He turned away. Why brood about it, then? He'd done his best to provide for her. If she didn't care . . .

He willed away the anger. What else could she say? He straightened up, grimacing at the pain in his thumb. "Fischer?"

There was no reply. Barrett looked around. "Deutsch is dead," he said. "His son refuses to pay us."

"What's the difference?" Fischer mumbled. Barrett saw his fingers tightening on Florence Tanner's shoulder. He turned back to the front and, reaching into his overcoat pocket, withdrew the ring of keys. Fingering through them, he found the ignition key and pushed it into its slot. He turned the key enough to activate the dial needles without starting the engine. There wasn't enough fuel to run the engine for forty minutes so they could keep the interior warm. Damn, he thought. He should have remembered to bring more blankets from the house, some brandy.

He leaned his head back, closed his eyes. Well, they'd have to endure it, that was all. Personally, he didn't care -  This moment was too engulfing for anything else in the world to overshadow it.

Behind those windowless walls some several hundred yards distant, Hell House was dying.