House Of Stairs Part 8

"Don't you want to beat the machine?" Lola said.

Oliver came next. His walk was both belligerent and apprehensive, like a man swaggering to the gallows. He spoke to Peter, his eyes flickering only occasionally over to Lola, who regarded him silently, squatting with hunched shoulders, her mouth in a hard line.

"Come on, Pete," Oliver began, in the cajoling tones he had once used to wake him from his dreams. "I know what you're trying to do; know what you're trying to do; I I understand. Okay, you've proven that you can be strong and ... do things on your own. But don't you remember how much fun it was when we did things together?" understand. Okay, you've proven that you can be strong and ... do things on your own. But don't you remember how much fun it was when we did things together?"

Lola fought her desire to stop him, trying to appear indifferent but really watching Peter nervously. And Peter, hearing that warm, familiar voice so close to him, the voice that had been the only thing comforting enough to bring him back from his other world, felt his breath catch in his throat and his resolution begin to give way. He looked down, avoiding Oliver's eyes, feeling the terrifying vast s.p.a.ces pressing down on him, feeling the gnawing hunger and his loneliness, thinking of Jasper-Oliver. And it would be so easy to make everything comfortable again. All he had to do was stand up and let Oliver lead him back; back to depending on Oliver for everything, back to his magic room. And if he went, Lola would come too, and they could eat. She had said he was essential, she had said she couldn't do it on her own.

"Come on, Pete. What do you think you're doing up here anyway? Starving ourselves won't make things any better. Don't you know that?"

But strangely enough, it was the fact that he was essential that kept Peter from giving in. When Lola had first said she needed him it had been terrifying; but now he couldn't bear to think of what would happen, and how she would feel, if he deserted her. Still unable to look at Oliver directly, he said, in a near whisper, "No, Oliver, I ... I think it would be better if I stayed here."

"But, but Peter," Oliver said brokenly, as though something very precious was being torn away from him, "Peter, we need need you down there." you down there."

Peter pressed his eyes tightly shut and shook his head.

That was when Oliver turned on Lola. "What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l have you done to him?" He spat at her, his voice suddenly high-pitched in fury. "Are you trying to kill us all, is that what you're trying to do? What are you trying to prove, you stupid b.i.t.c.h? What are you trying to have you done to him?" He spat at her, his voice suddenly high-pitched in fury. "Are you trying to kill us all, is that what you're trying to do? What are you trying to prove, you stupid b.i.t.c.h? What are you trying to prove? prove?" And all at once he was violently shaking her, snarling like an animal.

Peter had never seen such an open expression of terror and helplessness cross Lola's face. Oliver was much stronger, he could easily pitch her over the edge. "Oh, Oliver, go away!" he cried out. "Go away, go away!"

And finally Blossom came, plodding laboriously toward them, her cheeks sagging and her mouth pinched, her filthy dress hanging on her like a shroud. "Really, Lola," she began, turning slightly from side to side, her hands behind her back. "Honestly, Lola, I didn't really really mean those things I said about ruining everything you did; I just wanted to see if saying something like that would make the machine work. To see if you were right. And you mean those things I said about ruining everything you did; I just wanted to see if saying something like that would make the machine work. To see if you were right. And you were were right." The oddly persuasive quality her voice had once had, though she was obviously trying to make use of it now, was all but lost under a feeble, ingratiating whine. "And I told the others the truth, I told them I changed what you said, and I promise I won't do anything like that ever again, Lola, if you'll please just come back. Please?" right." The oddly persuasive quality her voice had once had, though she was obviously trying to make use of it now, was all but lost under a feeble, ingratiating whine. "And I told the others the truth, I told them I changed what you said, and I promise I won't do anything like that ever again, Lola, if you'll please just come back. Please?"

"Then how the h.e.l.l do you expect to get the machine to work, if you're not going to do anything like that again?" Lola asked her. "You know that's what it wants; you just admitted I was right about it."

"Uh ... well, uh, yes, I know." Blossom bit her lips in concentration. "But, you know, Lola," she continued quickly, after a pause, "that doesn't mean I have to do it against you you. We could do things to the others. Not to you, Peter, of course." She flashed him a quick, frightened smile. "But to the others, to Abigail and Oliver. Especially to Oliver, Lola, you know he deserves it. I know you don't like it that the machine wants us to do mean things to each other, but if it's to somebody like Oliver.... Do you know what he said, after he came back from talking to you? He said you-"

"Look," Lola interrupted. "There's no point in going on. I'm not going to fall for your c.r.a.p, and we're not going to come down. You might as well stop wasting your breath."

"But," said Blossom, her fists clenched at her sides and her face growing red and puffy, "but you've got got to come back. Oh, please, please, I'm begging you to come back. How can you be so cruel? We've got to eat, Lola, please, we've got to eat, we've just" to come back. Oh, please, please, I'm begging you to come back. How can you be so cruel? We've got to eat, Lola, please, we've got to eat, we've just"

"Stop it!" Lola said shakily. "Stop it and get away, just get out of here! Didn't you hear me? We're not coming, it's no good. We're not coming! not coming!"

Blossom gasped back a sob and stared blankly for a moment, tears clinging to her cheeks. And then strength seemed to return to her and she wiped her tears quickly away, glaring at Lola with her little sparkling eyes. "All right," she said hoa.r.s.ely. "All right. I gave you your chance to come back. And now you've lost it, both of you! I know we'll get that machine to work without you. And when it does, don't think we'll give you a sc.r.a.p. We'll let you starve." Her voice dropped menacingly. "And that's not all we'll do. That's not all. You know what the machine wants, don't you? Well," she stopped to take a deep breath, then went on very slowly, "well, you're the ones who are going to get it." And she turned and hurried away without looking back.

It was hardest when the whispers came, and the colored light, which, even as high as they were, flashed brilliantly on the s.h.i.+ning surfaces all around them. They would close their eyes and hold their ears and hum, trying to obliterate the precious signals, the infinitely compelling messages commanding them to dance, causing their muscles to twitch; and telling them: Food, food, the smell of it and the taste of it and the feel of it in their mouths and going down to their stomachs, the emptiness and the pain in their stomachs, the pain in their stomachs, the intolerable pain. Food, food, the smell of it and the taste of it and the feel of it in their mouths and going down to their stomachs, the emptiness and the pain in their stomachs, the pain in their stomachs, the intolerable pain.

It helped a bit to hide from the signals, but just knowing that they were going on around them was enough to create a wrenching agony in them both, a feeling that they were literally being torn apart. It was almost impossible not to move-as they both often found themselves doing-not to jump to their feet and start toward the light, their arms and legs moving helplessly in the familiar patterns of the dance. But they would scream at each other to stop; they would pull at each other, gasping and sobbing, back up to their high landing, back up to the landing to close their eyes and hold their ears and crouch, sweating and shaking, begging for the light and the voices to stop; and wondering if next time they would have the strength the resist them.

For they were growing weak. Lola never ran anymore, not only because she felt too listless and exhausted most of the time, but also because she was afraid of what might happen if she found herself alone, anywhere near the machine, when the light and the voices began. Nor did she want to leave Peter by himself, for without someone to cling to it would be too easy to give way.

And at first she was worried about Peter. True, he had shown great determination and strength by joining with her, by running from the machine and so far resisting its commands; by turning from Oliver. But he was even less accustomed to bearing such burdens than she was, and, along with everything else, his dream world pulled at him seductively. Going back to the machine meant going back to the magic room as well, and she was afraid that as their situation grew worse, the power of the room would grow stronger.

Lola could tell when he sank into his daze, his face loosening; and at first she had debated with herself whether or not to try to wake him up. For wouldn't it be easier for him to sit through the terrible relentless commands if he were unconscious of them? She soon learned, however, that it really made no difference. He was in the daze once when the signals started, and within a few seconds, he was struggling right along with her.

"But how come you never seemed to notice them before?" she asked him when it was over. "How come it always took Oliver so long to wake you up?"

"It's ... hard to explain," he said. "I never really thought about it till now. But somehow, I do do know what's going on, even when I'm in the magic room, and now I just come right out. But...." He looked away from her, "But when Oliver was there, I couldn't come out until he ... until he talked to me like that." know what's going on, even when I'm in the magic room, and now I just come right out. But...." He looked away from her, "But when Oliver was there, I couldn't come out until he ... until he talked to me like that."

At first she had been angry, thinking of all the time that had been wasted while Oliver tried to wake him up, when all along Peter could perfectly well have come out of it on his own. But he kept trying to explain to her that it really wasn't that simple, that it hadn't been so easy, and in the end she had to forgive him. It was too tiring to stay angry.

Nevertheless, she was now all the more determined to keep him out of his trances. And so, whenever he started to slip away, she would shake him, even hit him when necessary. And this was partially successful, because she could always get him out.

But he kept going back. Obviously, the room provided him with pleasure and comfort that he could not resist. If only she could find something even more pleasurable that would entice him to stay out! Rewarding him, she realized, would be more effective than just punis.h.i.+ng him. But she had nothing to reward him with except herself. The only thing she could think of at first was the food from the machine that was constantly on their minds; but that, of course, was not available to her.

But she refused to give up. Her hatred of the machine and, to her surprise, her concern for Peter, were too strong. She began going over in her mind everything Peter had done; and she realized that some kind of intangible reward really did exist, if only she could find it. Whatever it was had already helped him do several remarkable things: walk up the stairs alone to find her, break out of the dance himself and push her out of it, and resist Oliver. But what was it?

When she finally saw what it was she felt like a fool for not having known it all along. It was several things, all connected. It was the reward of winning over the machine, which he hated and feared; it was the reward of feeling strong and independent, of having his own ident.i.ty, a feeling he had never known; it was the reward of caring about her, of being essential to her plan and not letting her down; it was even the reward of her caring about him. In certain ways it was the same reward that moved her, but Peter, being weaker, needed to be reminded more. And so she began to remind him-but not all the time. For something inside her knew-though she was not really aware of it or of where the idea had come from-that the reward would only work if it was given at just the right time.

"Remember, Peter," she would say, whenever he had remained out of a trance for a certain length of time. "Remember fighting the machine. We're winning now, because of you. Remember how you felt after you climbed those steps, how strong you felt. You are strong, Peter. Remember it was you who got me to stop dancing. Without you it wouldn't have worked. I need you. I need your strength. And we're going to win, Peter. We're going to win; but only if you stay out of that room."

Whenever he had just come out of a trance she would turn coldly away and not speak to him at all, even when he begged for the words. She would reward him, not for coming out, but for staying staying out. And instinctively, without really thinking about it, as time went on she gradually lengthened the period he had to stay out before she would speak. out. And instinctively, without really thinking about it, as time went on she gradually lengthened the period he had to stay out before she would speak.

When it began to work, when the trances began to grow fewer and farther apart, then she rejoiced, with the little strength she had for it. And as the trances grew less, Peter's eyes began to take on a new expression, as though they had never really been open before. And at last he came out of a trance by himself, so quickly that she didn't even have time to shake him, and, spontaneously, she embraced him. She had never embraced anyone before.

And so she rea.s.sured him at the right times, and rejoiced in his change. And gradually his mind grew stronger as his body weakened.

And hour by hour, the hunger grew more terrible.

And then, how long after Blossom had left them they could not tell, the worst part began.

They had expected the others to keep coming back. They had dreaded it, trying to prepare themselves for more pleading from Abigail, more violence from Oliver, and more groveling and threats from Blossom. They had expected them to come back together, they had expected fights, and they had expected to be dragged down the stairs.

"Go limp," Lola said. "Just go limp when they grab you, then they won't be able to get us down there, they're just as weak as we are."

But strangely enough, no one came. As the endless hours, and then what seemed like days, dragged by, they began to long for the sight of one of the others on the stairs below. At first what they wanted was simply relief from the enervating boredom; but as more time went on, and still no one appeared, their minds filled with uneasy questions that soon began to torment them.

Why weren't they coming up? They couldn't have died of starvation so soon, and yet if they were hungry they certainly would be up here trying to get them to go back. Did it mean they had found some way to get food? Had the machine decided to work without Lola and Peter, or was there a new source other than the machine? Had Blossom and Oliver killed Abigail to eat her? Lola didn't doubt that, in the extremes of hunger, they would be capable of it. All they'd have to do would be to push her off the landing....

But there was another thought, the most likely possibility and the worst of all. Perhaps they weren't here anymore. Perhaps whoever had put them here had come and taken the three of them away, and Lola and Peter were alone among the stairs, starving needlessly.

And it was this thought that finally brought them back down. "Just to look," Lola insisted. "Not to stay or give in. Just to see what those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are up to." And Peter nodded miserably, wondering if this was the end of their plan, and they had failed.

It took much longer than they remembered, for they were weaker now, and their unsteady legs had lost the feel of the stairs. Lola's sense of direction too was stale from disuse, and they took many wrong flights. Nevertheless, as they drew nearer their progress became more direct, for something began to guide them. At first it was faint and they noticed it only subliminally; but gradually it grew stronger and more tantalizing until they were conscious of nothing else, and their feet followed it automatically.

"W-Wait," Peter said when they were very near, grabbing Lola's shoulder. "It's ... it's food, I smell food. Maybe we shouldn't, shouldn't get any closer."

"We've got to," Lola said. "We've got to get closer and not touch the filthy stuff and find out what the h.e.l.l is going on."

Finally they reached a stairway from which they could look down and see the whole landing: the colored screen that pulled at them even without flas.h.i.+ng, and the three familiar figures, each sitting on a different stairway.

And they were eating, but there was something different about it now. They were shoving the food down faster and more frantically than even Blossom ever had; and as they ate, each of them kept his eyes fastened so tensely on the other two that at first none of them even noticed Peter and Lola.

Lola's knees almost gave way and she swallowed dryly at the sight of those pellets, and the rich fragrance. She didn't trust herself to speak, and Peter was silent beside her; but the others caught sight of them as soon as they had finished eating.

"Look!" Blossom cried out, and pointed up at them, swallowing. Her face was round and pink again, and saliva dripped from her glistening lips. "Look who's here!"

A sudden shadow crossed Abigail's face, as though she were both embarra.s.sed and about to cry, and Lola noticed an ugly bruise on her forehead. Oliver grinned. "Oh, so you've given up, have you?" he called to them. "We knew you would."

Peter couldn't help it. "How ... how did you get it?" he stammered. "Where did it come from?"

"From the machine!" Blossom cried triumphantly. "From the machine! It works without you now, just like I said it would. We don't need you anymore. Go ahead and starve!"

Lola was holding herself stiffly, her mouth clamped shut. "But ...," said Peter. "But how ...?"

"Don't know how, Pete," Oliver sang out, chuckling. But his voice was strained and too loud, and the chuckle was more like a cough. "Don't know how or why. But it works. Want to come back? You can if you want to, you know." He shook his head mock-seriously, clucking his teeth. There were black s.p.a.ces where several were now missing. "You both look kind of thin and pale. Not taking good care of yourselves. You need some fattening up. We'll let them come back, won't we?"

"Well, I don't know about Lola ...," Blossom said.

"Oh, sure," Oliver said genially. "Let 'em both come back, even though we don't need them. We can afford to be generous. On one condition, that is." He paused for a moment, and his eyes were suspicious and hard. "On one condition. We don't want anybody interfering with the machine. If you want to come back, you'll have to follow the rules, like we do."

"Oh, cut the ...," Lola began, and then her voice trailed off. She was staring down at the slot in the landing. Peter could hardly believe it. Was she thinking of giving in?

Blossom's mouth curled up; Oliver's grin widened. Peter couldn't bear to see her humiliated in front of them. And at any moment the light and the voices might start, and then they would be helpless. There was only one thing to do, and he grabbed Lola and spun her around.

As they stumbled together up the steps, Blossom's voice floated harshly up to them. "You were right, Lola, you were right about what it wants us to do, you knew all along. But it doesn't care who we do it to, you know. And we're running out of things to do to each other. It won't do any good to starve yourselves, it won't make any difference now." Her voice grew fainter behind them. "All it means is you'll be hungrier and weaker when we come. And we'll be coming soon. Very soon...."

Chapter 18.

For Blossom, Abigail, and Oliver, the hunger hadn't lasted very long at all. Their successful new pattern had begun, in fact, just after Blossom had returned from her visit to Peter and Lola.

Oliver and Abigail, sitting on different stairways, had been waiting for her rather hopelessly. After all, if they had failed, then certainly Blossom wouldn't be able to do any good. Oliver had decided that their next move would be to go up there all together and just drag them down. It was three against two, and he was stronger than either of them. It would have been easier if they had ropes to tie them with, but however they did it, sitting on them or tying their feet together with his pants or whatever, they would just have to keep them down on the landing until the light and the voices began.

Oliver was sure that if that happened, they wouldn't be able to keep from dancing. The three of them, even though they knew it wouldn't do any good, had been dancing frantically every time the signals went on; it was as inevitable as if they were puppets being pulled by strings, and they were helpless against it. If they could only get Peter and Lola down there, and keep them from running away, then they would be just as helpless, and they would dance, and there would be food.

Blossom was about thirty feet away when the lights and voices began. It was amazing, Oliver noticed as he began to dance, how fast someone as fat as she was could move; she practically flowed down the stairs and was into her little path around the hole by the middle of the first repet.i.tion. And at the end of the second, a pellet rolled out.

They were too well trained by this time to be able to stop and grab for it, though each of them longed to; for mixed with their relief was the anxiety that this fortunate fluke of the machine would not last. They needn't have worried. The pellets rolled out for a good long time, and when they did stop there was enough, not to satisfy them, of course, for that it never did, but enough at least so that all three of them could alleviate in part the physical pain, and feel warmth in their stomachs once again.

"But why?" Oliver asked, swallowing his last piece. "We've got to figure out why it happened, so we can make it happen again."

"I don't understand," said Blossom, who was hungrily eyeing the five pellets still in Abigail's lap. Blossom always finished first, and Abigail had the annoying habit of eating very slowly, so that she usually still had food when everyone else was through.

"Maybe it was something you did," Oliver said. "What did you do up there, what did you say to them?"

Blossom gazed upward in thought, letting her fingers play with her lips. "Well ... first I just asked them to come down, I practically begged begged them." Her eyes slid over to Oliver for a moment, then away. "But no, they were too stupid and stubborn to pay any attention. So then I got mad, and I said we would get the machine to work.... Oh, isn't it wonderful! Oh, it feels so good to eat! Do you think it will work again?" them." Her eyes slid over to Oliver for a moment, then away. "But no, they were too stupid and stubborn to pay any attention. So then I got mad, and I said we would get the machine to work.... Oh, isn't it wonderful! Oh, it feels so good to eat! Do you think it will work again?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Go on, what else did you say?"

"Well, I said we would get the machine to work, without them, and that we would let them starve. And now we can!" She clapped her hands together in spontaneous, excited antic.i.p.ation. "And you know Lola thinks the machine wants us to hurt each other, so I said we'd do mean things to them them to make the machine give us food." to make the machine give us food."

"Good girl, Blossom!" said Oliver, beaming, and he stepped over to her and grasped her shoulder affectionately. "Good girl."

"What do you mean?" Abigail asked, looking rather frightened. "I don't know what you mean."

"It's very simple," Oliver said in a patronizing voice, returning to his place beside her. "Very simple." How wonderful it felt to be the smart one, the one with the ideas, the one in command! How wonderful to be rid of Lola and that horrible inadequate feeling she always gave him. He even felt strong enough now to be able to say, "Because Lola was was right, in her dumb hysterical way. The machine right, in her dumb hysterical way. The machine does does want us to hurt each other. For the last four times it's only worked when somebody made someone else feel rotten. It wants us to do that so much that it's even letting us get away with doing the dance without them. At last we really understand. Now we know what to do, and we don't have to worry about being hungry ever again." want us to hurt each other. For the last four times it's only worked when somebody made someone else feel rotten. It wants us to do that so much that it's even letting us get away with doing the dance without them. At last we really understand. Now we know what to do, and we don't have to worry about being hungry ever again."

Abigail clutched his arm. "But ... but how can you be so calm, and so ... so happy about it? Doesn't it scare you? What's going to happen, what kind of things are we going to have to do?"

"You'll find out soon enough," said Oliver, winking at Blossom. "Blossom's already good at it, and I can learn quick." Suddenly his voice was very serious. "And you will too, Abigail; you will too."

That was when it had begun, and there were so many possibilities just among the three of them that Peter and Lola were practically forgotten. Oliver, eager to test his ability to satisfy the machine, got off to a good start by taking Abigail right upstairs and kissing her. As soon as she really seemed to be getting lost in it, he stepped suddenly away from her and told her exactly how he felt. "I always hate you after I've kissed you. All I want is to get away from you, because you disgust me. The only time I can stand you is when I want to do it again. And if there was any other halfway bearable girl around I'd probably be with her instead of you."

The light and voices hadn't started immediately, as they had the last four times, but Oliver hadn't worried, because he knew it wasn't the machine's way to let them tell it when to work. Those last times it had only been teaching them; and now that they had learned, it would continue to perform as randomly as ever, as long as they kept on doing what it wanted. He understood perfectly. Not until several hours after his episode with Abigail did the lights and the voices come on; but the food, even with just the three of them dancing, was more plentiful than ever.

Blossom tried next, and again Abigail was the victim. It was just after they had been fed and, as usual, Blossom had finished while Abigail still had quite a substantial pile. Suddenly realizing that the machine would actually like like it if she did what she was so desperately longing to do, Blossom stood up, pretended briefly that she was simply wandering around, and then suddenly pounced on Abigail, scooped up everything she had left, and stuffed it into her mouth. it if she did what she was so desperately longing to do, Blossom stood up, pretended briefly that she was simply wandering around, and then suddenly pounced on Abigail, scooped up everything she had left, and stuffed it into her mouth.

"But you can't do that!" cried Abigail, leaping up. "Give them back! You can't do that!"

Blossom backed away, mumbling something unintelligible through her bulging cheeks, and Oliver grabbed Abigail's wrist sharply and pulled her back to the step. "Now, now," Oliver said, squeezing her wrist and smiling at her. "Temper, temper, Abigail. It's your own fault for eating so slow."

And it was not long before Abigail, inevitably, began doing her fair share. She felt so hungry and wretched that it had been a real blow when Blossom had taken away her food, and for the first time in her life she began holding a grudge. All day the resentment and anger grew inside her. All she could think about was how to get back at Blossom, and at last an idea came to her. When the others had fallen asleep, she got up and moved very quietly over to where Blossom lay on her stairway, her mouth open, snoring slightly. Abigail bent over and as gently as possible began tearing off the bottom ruffle of her skirt.

She had reached the third ruffle when Blossom s.h.i.+fted, wiped her nose vaguely, grunted, and sat up. Then she shrieked. "Hey! What are you doing doing?" she wailed. "My dress, what have you done to my dress, you ...?" In an instant she was on her feet, her hands around Abigail's neck, shaking her.

Abigail tried to push her away, but Blossom was surprisingly strong. "Oliver!" Abigail gasped. "Oliver, help me!"

But all Oliver did was rock back and forth on his step and laugh. Indeed, Blossom was quite a ludicrous sight, her face red and puffy, her teeth clenched, and her skirt hanging in loops and tatters from her hips, exposing her huge, jellylike thighs.

Of course Blossom did not soon forget Abigail's act. And Abigail soon learned to be extra careful at meals. There was no longer any orderly dividing up of the food. They would grab what they could get at the end of each dance, guarding it closely and keeping their eyes on the others as they ate.

They also explored the exciting possibilities of two against one. It was no longer very easy for one of them to grab another's food, for they were all guarding it so carefully now; but when both Blossom and Oliver attacked Abigail together, for example, each could get a substantially larger quant.i.ty than when trying it alone. Oliver and Abigail could then attack Blossom immediately afterwards; Oliver would get even more and Abigail could get back part of her share.

And as time went on they became interested in more elaborate plotting. Oliver began it by arranging with Blossom that she would hide herself above a particular landing at a certain time, pretending to Abigail that she was going to the toilet. He then very tenderly brought Abigail up to the landing, taking back what he had said before and telling her he really did care for her after all. And Abigail, though hardly dumb enough to believe him, nevertheless could not resist the chance for even a tiny morsel of affection, though she knew it would probably result in pain. And it did. Tender at first, he quickly became just as nasty as before; and while he was berating her, Blossom, who had been looking on the whole time, appeared, giggling as she watched Abigail's humiliation.

"She'll believe anything I tell her," Oliver said, beginning to laugh along with Blossom as Abigail hid her face in shame. "She'll believe anything. Whenever I want her I just give her some romantic c.r.a.p and she falls for it every time." Blossom was laughing so hard by now that tears were rolling down her cheeks.

But Abigail was growing tougher, there was no alternative, and as soon as she had gotten over her embarra.s.sment, she began her own arrangement with Blossom. She did not wait until they were alone, but began whispering and giggling with Blossom in front of Oliver, and when he demanded to know what they were saying she merely blushed and looked down. She kept it up for quite awhile, Oliver stiffly pretending to ignore them whenever he was able to control himself, and futilely resorting to violence when he was not.

Blossom went along with it gleefully, both of them watching him out of the corners of their eyes as they snickered together. Finally Oliver, in a rage, ran up to the toilet, and when he returned they were crouching above the landing, on a stairway from which they could see him clearly but were hidden from below. He looked around for awhile, obviously confused, calling their names. Abigail waited for a few minutes, doing her best to keep herself and Blossom from giving themselves away by laughing; and then, at a moment when Oliver's back was turned, simply dropped her shoe down onto the landing.

His reaction was even better than they had expected: With a terrified squeal he leaped into the air and was halfway up a stairway before he noticed their shrieks of laughter and turned around to see the harmless shoe lying there. He raced back and heaved the shoe out into the void, cursing; but it was well worth it to Abigail because from that point on she could drive him instantly into a rage simply by glancing over at Blossom, smiling, and making a remark like, "Remember how high he jumped? Lola must have been right about him after all."

That little trick of hiding above and dropping something on an unwary person, or persons, below, worked a few more times, in various combinations. Oliver once threw his his shoe with all the force he could manage down at Abigail, making a bruise on her forehead that lasted for many days; and another time he urinated down on both of them, to their intense disgust. But soon this particular device lost its savor, for they all became conscious of it, and looked above them frequently whenever anyone was missing, too wary to be surprised. shoe with all the force he could manage down at Abigail, making a bruise on her forehead that lasted for many days; and another time he urinated down on both of them, to their intense disgust. But soon this particular device lost its savor, for they all became conscious of it, and looked above them frequently whenever anyone was missing, too wary to be surprised.

And gradually something much deeper than just a tendency to trick and humiliate began to develop in all three of them. It was a total mistrust, an incessant wariness, like the constant expectation of a blow. They would flinch, both physically and mentally, whenever anyone approached, instantly planning a defense. When alone, they would be extrasensitive to even the slightest sound or movement, prepared to s.h.i.+eld themselves. But it was not simply being afraid, for aggression was just as important as self-protection, and they learned to detect quickly whenever anyone was in a vulnerable position, and then strike accordingly; to seek out and make use of any weak points. They no longer saw one another as people, but only as things to make use of. And, though there were many brief alliances due to the effectiveness of two against one, they nevertheless became more and more distant from one another. Any sign of closeness or affection, after all, only led inevitably to rejection and betrayal, and it was necessary to keep oneself as invulnerable as possible, to avoid exposing any soft spots. They regarded one another constantly with hard, glittering eyes, their faces expressionless, their movements sudden and furtive. And the more careful they became, the more difficult it became to find ways of hurting each other.