Page 95 of Dead Mountain

Corrie took a step forward, then halted in amazement. Their lights revealed an elegant marble hallway, its walls lined with gilded mirrors. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, refracting their headlamp beams and casting rainbowed flecks of light in all directions.

The corridor ran perhaps thirty feet before ending in a T. On the far wall of the T stood a niche with a plinth that had apparently once contained a statue, now empty. There were additional plinths on either side of the corridor that were similarly empty, along with blank rectangles on the walls between the mirrors, where paintings had evidently hung. Dust lay on every surface and motes drifted in the beams of light.

“Looks like they emptied the joint when they shut it down,” said Corrie. “This must’ve been quite a place.”

“Fit for a president,” said Nora.

They left the door open and moved to the end of the hallway. A perpendicular corridor, also decorated with marble and chandeliers, led both left and right. Elegant doors lined either side, and gilt-covered benches, upholstered in red brocade, stood at intervals against the walls.

“It’s the White House!” Corrie exclaimed.

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Nora. “Just like pictures I’ve seen of the White House, only smaller. So the president would feel at home, I guess.”

Corrie picked the right-hand corridor. “Let’s try this one first.”

This corridor had three doors on both sides, all shut, and ended in another empty niche. Corrie stopped at the first door on the left, grasped the knob, then opened it. A small shower of dust settled onto their shoulders. The lights revealed a small sitting room, with gilded chairs, brocaded sofas, an antique sideboard—and at the far end, an upturned tea table and two chairs that appeared to have been deliberately broken up, the legs and arms removed and stacked nearby. Strewn on the floor were pieces of a china teapot and some broken cups.

“Rats?” Corrie asked.

“No sign of rats,” said Nora. “Or any animals. And rats don’t break up chairs like that.”

They both fell silent and retreated back into the main corridor.

Corrie opened the next door, revealing what appeared to be a dining room. This, too, had been trashed. The chandelier had fallen from the ceiling onto the table, splitting it in two. Shattered china plates and wineglasses lay scattered on the carpeted floor. Once again, the chairs had been broken into pieces, arms and legs and fragments of gilded wood lying everywhere. The sumptuous wallpaper was peeling and dangling off the walls, and in some areas it looked as if it had been deliberately stripped off and taken away.

“This looks more like vandalism than furniture removal,” Nora observed.

Corrie said nothing.

They shut the door and proceeded to the third and last room on the left side of the hall. It was a small annex, ending in an archway that opened onto a kitchen.

“Jesus, what a disaster,” said Nora.

The kitchen looked as if a cyclone had come through. All the cupboards had been thrown open, drawers pulled out, knives, silverware, pots, and pans scattered across the floor—along with a single tin of food, its top cut open. An old bulbous refrigerator had been thrown to the floor, where it lay open and vacant.

Corrie felt an unpleasant creeping sensation in her gut.

“It looks like somebody searched this in a great rush,” said Nora. “Or maybe in a panic.”

“Yeah,” said Corrie, “as if desperate for food.” She bent down and picked up the tin can. “Peas.” She dropped it with a clatter and looked around for more, but there was nothing—no other sign of food, no cans, flour sacks, or tins. Nothing beyond the single can of peas. A small pantry lay beyond, but it was empty.

“But when they got there, the cupboard was bare,” Nora murmured.

“When they shut the place down, they clearly took every last bit of food and perishable items. Missed a can, it seems, and all those mirrors—but that’s it.” She took a deep breath. The more they explored, the more she was formulating a mental picture of what must have happened here, fifteen years before.

They returned to the hall and opened the door directly across. It gave onto a living room, spacious and grand. Unlike the kitchen and dining room, it was in a decent state of preservation, with no broken chairs or vandalized wallpaper. A marble fireplace stood against the far wall, and a sofa had been pulled up close to it.

“Looks like somebody used that sofa for a bed,” said Nora quietly.

Corrie shone her light on it. Two pillows had been propped against the sofa’s arm and two blankets lay crumpled nearby, one on the sofa itself and the other on the floor next to it. Her eye moved to the fireplace. On the hearth, she could see the remains of a fire, made with partially burned pieces of gilded furniture: chair legs and arms, evidently wrenched from the broken chairs in the dining room. Next to the fireplace was a stack of chair legs and arms, ready to feed the fire.

On the opposite side of the living room, Corrie could see a set of closed double doors. “Let’s try those,” she whispered.

They walked across the thickly carpeted room and opened the matching doors. Another whisper of hinges. As Corrie swept her light around, she saw this was obviously the master bedroom. A king-sized bed dominated the center of the far wall. The bed looked as if designed in a past century, with a tall frame and gossamer silk curtains drawn closed. On either side stood small tables, and opposite was a small secretary desk of polished wood with a closed hutch. Two closed doors were in the back. The walls were painted in light blue with white trim, and the floor was carpeted in dark blue with a yellow design.

Corrie stared at the bed with its drawn curtains, then glanced at Nora. She hesitated. Nora nodded encouragement.

“It’s your show,” she said.

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