The Door appeared before them, overlaying on the actual entry to the home. Jo opened it and felt the usual tug. But it was shorter this time, almost like tripping over the weather-stripping. They both had a small stumble, but found themselves in a small foyer.
“How did you know that would work?” Wayne asked with no small degree of amazement. Jo was reminded of what Nico had said, that the Door “didn’t work that way”. She was glad, this time, that she hadn’t let herself be dissuaded.
“How did you not think it would?” Jo arched her eyebrows. “I’ve been doing that sort of thing since the first wish.”
“But when we use the Door, there’s a degree of error.”
The word “we” stuck out to her. It felt like a line drawn between her and the rest of the Society . . . It sounded almost like Pan when she had used “you” instead of “us”.
“Maybe it’s just when you’re very close to where you want to be,” Jo said, ready to dismiss the topic. Luckily, there was an easy distraction right before her. She looked around the entry they found themselves in.
Wayne seemed willing to be distracted as well, as he stepped into the living room and made a softhuhnoise. “So, this is the house of the Bone Carver?”
“According to Eslar and Snow’s information.” Jo stepped to her left, looking at the room Wayne was assessing. Two couches, facing each other for conversation. A television built into the wall above a fireplace, bookcases on either side. Modest, modern, but a design that betrayed someone with rather impeccable taste. “What is it?”
“It looks so . . . normal. Not my choice on a few things here and there.” He motioned to a suspended lamp in particular. “But . . .” Wayne shook his head, momentarily at a loss for words. “Do you think he sits his victims down here and has a lovely little chat before he carves them up like some modern-day Hannibal?”
“Why are you asking me?” The question felt so direct, so probing. “I don’t know any more than you do.” She started through a back doorway. There was another entry to their right, a side door that led to the garage. To the left was a hallway that ended in a kitchen, dining area and office. A small bathroom was in front of them. “Out of everywhere, I’d guess he works in there.”
“Do we even want to look?” Wayne outwardly cringed.
“I’m good not to, if you are.” Jo turned, starting back for the stairs that led up from the entry.
“Where are you going now?” he called, catching up to her.
“I said I wanted to see the bastard, didn’t I?” She trudged forward, up the stairs and into the darkness that her eyes had no trouble piercing. It was just like the catacombs, the two of them marching along a stairway. But where that had been a journey she’d embarked on in hope, this was one where her feet dragged with apprehension.
“You don’t think he’s actually here, do you?”
“It’s the middle of the night on a weekday; where else would he be?” Jo stopped at the top of the landing. There were three doors to her left along a hall that ran parallel to the stairs. Two bedrooms, she presumed, with a Jack-and-Jill bathroom between.
“We’re not going to—”
Wayne didn’t have a chance to finish before Jo was pulling them through the Door again. It slammed shut behind them, the echo reverberating so loudly through the void of space-time that Wayne winced.
“Easy there, you trying to break it?”
“That wasn’t me,” she snapped back. “I didn’t even touch it.”
Discussion over her handling of the Door was short lived. Both of their eyes fell on the bed and the man sleeping there. He shifted briefly, as if able to hear the reverberation of the Door, but didn’t stir further.
“Glad he can sleep so soundly,” Wayne muttered. “Not that I get how he can do it at all.”
“Do what?” Jo stared at the man. There was no way to tell that the sleeping figure was anything other than human. Even his eyes moved under his eyelids in REM sleep.Dreams. How could a creature with dreams not be seen as a full-fledged person?
“Sleep soundly as if he’s not some deranged lunatic who’s reaped countless deaths.”
“The same way we can sleep soundly,” Jo whispered. She quickly corrected, “Well, not sleep . . . rest, exist, you get what I mean.”
“Like hell I get what you mean.” Wayne spun, clearly looking for an explanation.
Jo supposed she owed him one. It was quite the thing to say, after all. “The Society has witnessed countless deaths, countless horrors across time and space, and we manage to get by just fine.”
“Don’t sound like Samson’s bull-crap.” Wayne’s tone had changed dramatically from the briefing room. “That’s different.”
“Is it?”
Wayne seemed horrified by her train of thought, but Jo couldn’t stop herself from thinking it. “Of course it is!”
