her answer, because he'd known what it would be. He'd known exactly how to push her buttons.
Three
IF Meredith used to live here," Henry said, "where is she now?"
"She is in another part of the city," Preston said from the television. "Kevin was trying to go to her when he died."
Henry, still sitting at the kitchen table, shook his head. "Henry has to leave. Television said Meredith—Meredith took Henry's memory away. Meredith might come here. If Meredith found Henry—"
"If she comes here, it will not be for several days. Certainly not until the storm is over. She is ill and cannot travel on her own: that is why she called Kevin. You are perfectly safe here for the time being, Henry."
"Henry can't remember Meredith," Henry said. Sweat had broken out on his upper lip; he squeezed the cat on his lap so hard that it meowed in protest and wiggled away, jumping down onto the floor and fleeing into the living room. "Henry can't remember anything. Henry has to leave."
"You cannot leave until the storm is over, Henry. It is not safe. The former occupants of this house did you harm. Please allow the current ones to help you."
Henry shuddered. "Henry can't remember. House, is Television telling the truth?"
"I don't know," the house said. "I didn't know until a few hours ago that Kevin had ever been married. This is all as new to me as it is to you, Henry. But Preston's right that you can't go outside yet. It's not safe. And your mushroom soup is ready now. Please eat it before it gets cold."
"Henry has to leave."
"There will be no food in the Dumpsters tonight," Preston said. "You have to eat. Everyone who is alive needs to eat."
"It's good soup, Henry, made from the finest ingredients. You're hungry, aren't you? Fighting your way up the steps in this weather must have been very hard work."
Henry shuddered again. "Yes, Henry's hungry. All right, House. Henry will eat."
Henry drank his soup in noisy slurps at the kitchen table, bracing himself on the edge of his chair; whenever his head began falling forward he'd snap himself awake. After he ate, he got up and began pacing the living room, peering at Kevin's drawings, at the volumes in the bookshelf, at the framed prints on the walls. The wary kittens tracked his movements from underneath the couch. Outside, the wind howled and sent detritus flying through the air. So far, none of it had gone through the windows, but the house was worried about Henry, who kept walking around, and who might walk too close to a window and get hurt.
"Henry," said the house, "are you tired? You seem tired; you're moving more slowly than you were, and your eyelids keep drooping. You should lie down and sleep."
"Henry's scared," Henry said. "Scared to stay. Scared to go." But he sat down cautiously on Kevin's drafting chair, perching on the edge of it. "Television?"
"Yes, Henry. I am still here."
"Safe for Henry to sleep?"
"Yes, Henry. It is safe for you to sleep, I promise. Lie down on Kevin's bed."
Henry shook his head. "Bed's not Henry's. Nothing's Henry's. Storm's over, Henry goes."
"The storm will not be over for hours," Preston said. "Lie down and sleep, Henry."
"Just for a little while," Henry said, and lay down on the floor. The house wished he had gone to sleep on Kevin's bed, or even on the sofa, but it feared that if it woke him, he would resume wandering around the house, too close to the windows. So it let him stay where he was. Using one arm as a pillow, he lay on Kevin's thick area rug. Unlike Kevin, he didn't snore, but he twitched and moaned in his sleep. The kittens, who had crept into the bookcase, slept too, curled up together on top of Kevin's five-volume History of Architecture. The house wanted to talk to Preston; it had a lot of questions for him. But the only televisions were in
Three
IF Meredith used to live here," Henry said, "where is she now?"
"She is in another part of the city," Preston said from the television. "Kevin was trying to go to her when he died."
Henry, still sitting at the kitchen table, shook his head. "Henry has to leave. Television said Meredith—Meredith took Henry's memory away. Meredith might come here. If Meredith found Henry—"
"If she comes here, it will not be for several days. Certainly not until the storm is over. She is ill and cannot travel on her own: that is why she called Kevin. You are perfectly safe here for the time being, Henry."
"Henry can't remember Meredith," Henry said. Sweat had broken out on his upper lip; he squeezed the cat on his lap so hard that it meowed in protest and wiggled away, jumping down onto the floor and fleeing into the living room. "Henry can't remember anything. Henry has to leave."
"You cannot leave until the storm is over, Henry. It is not safe. The former occupants of this house did you harm. Please allow the current ones to help you."
Henry shuddered. "Henry can't remember. House, is Television telling the truth?"
"I don't know," the house said. "I didn't know until a few hours ago that Kevin had ever been married. This is all as new to me as it is to you, Henry. But Preston's right that you can't go outside yet. It's not safe. And your mushroom soup is ready now. Please eat it before it gets cold."
"Henry has to leave."
"There will be no food in the Dumpsters tonight," Preston said. "You have to eat. Everyone who is alive needs to eat."
"It's good soup, Henry, made from the finest ingredients. You're hungry, aren't you? Fighting your way up the steps in this weather must have been very hard work."
Henry shuddered again. "Yes, Henry's hungry. All right, House. Henry will eat."
Henry drank his soup in noisy slurps at the kitchen table, bracing himself on the edge of his chair; whenever his head began falling forward he'd snap himself awake. After he ate, he got up and began pacing the living room, peering at Kevin's drawings, at the volumes in the bookshelf, at the framed prints on the walls. The wary kittens tracked his movements from underneath the couch. Outside, the wind howled and sent detritus flying through the air. So far, none of it had gone through the windows, but the house was worried about Henry, who kept walking around, and who might walk too close to a window and get hurt.
"Henry," said the house, "are you tired? You seem tired; you're moving more slowly than you were, and your eyelids keep drooping. You should lie down and sleep."
"Henry's scared," Henry said. "Scared to stay. Scared to go." But he sat down cautiously on Kevin's drafting chair, perching on the edge of it. "Television?"
"Yes, Henry. I am still here."
"Safe for Henry to sleep?"
"Yes, Henry. It is safe for you to sleep, I promise. Lie down on Kevin's bed."
Henry shook his head. "Bed's not Henry's. Nothing's Henry's. Storm's over, Henry goes."
"The storm will not be over for hours," Preston said. "Lie down and sleep, Henry."
"Just for a little while," Henry said, and lay down on the floor. The house wished he had gone to sleep on Kevin's bed, or even on the sofa, but it feared that if it woke him, he would resume wandering around the house, too close to the windows. So it let him stay where he was. Using one arm as a pillow, he lay on Kevin's thick area rug. Unlike Kevin, he didn't snore, but he twitched and moaned in his sleep. The kittens, who had crept into the bookcase, slept too, curled up together on top of Kevin's five-volume History of Architecture. The house wanted to talk to Preston; it had a lot of questions for him. But the only televisions were in
Similar Books
