He kept thinking about a lot of movies. Now that he knew the world wasn’t going to end, he was anxious to get the hell out of here and get back to work. He didn’t know how long he’d been here—with the wacky time that seemed to affect this place, who could tell?—but even if it had just been a day or two, he needed to get back. He had things to do. He had the Taos festival to prepare for.

Had he been reported missing? he wondered. Were people looking for him? Would anybody be able to find him?

Doubtful. He didn’t know where he was himself. To paraphrase Dorothy, he had the feeling he wasn’t in Chicago anymore.

He wondered if the dead who had come back to life were still hanging around the reservation. Or if his return home and the fact that the House was once again occupied had put a stop to that. Had they disappeared, the living dead? Had they simply fallen in their tracks? Had they rotted away and turned to dust like Dracula?

He hoped Rodman had been out there with his camera, documenting it. It would make a hell of a film.

He had to get out of here. He had to escape.

But what if the butler was right? What if he was the only thing protecting the world, the universe, from demons and monsters, from this “Other Side.” Didn’t he owe it to… to humanity to do everything he could to—how did Billingham put it—“maintain the barrier”?

No.

There were bound to be people willing to give up their lives for this, to devote all of their time for the greater good. The same people who joined the Peace Corps and spent all of their free time helping the homeless.

But he was not one of them.

He knew it was selfish, but he had things he wanted to do, too. He had his own life to live. Let Billingham find someone else to staff his fucking House. From what Stormy could tell, all that was needed was a warm body. Anyone would do. It didn’t have to be him. He wasn’t bringing any special skills or abilities to the table.

Stormy glanced back toward the dining room. The first question he had to ask himself was: Did he believe Billingham about the House?

Yes.

He didn’t know why—he’d seen no evidence to support the butler’s wild claims—but he supposed it was because he’d experienced his own examples of that other world bleeding into this one. And Billingham offered an easy one-stop explanation.

Time for the next question: Who was Billingham? What was he?

That one was a little harder.

Maybe he was God.

God was his family’s servant? He found that hard to believe.