The home in front them was a grim, sunset castle. The unhappy, neglected building was more like a mausoleum than a mansion. Its smooth palely stuccoed walls rose up in tall rectangles capped with pitched roofs as flat as crushed hats. The roof's red, hip-cast tiles were cracked and disheveled and piled several layers thick, while column-lined walkways and arched gallerias lurked along the walls, overlooking the overgrown, forgotten garden. The place had a defiance streak to it. Even though the years had left it beaten and bruised, the building's windows still looked time dead in the eye, as if daring it to take another swing.

The bulk of Dr. Rathpalla's encounters with Letty Kathaldri had consisted of him glancing at her comatose body in WeElMed's Quiet Ward when he passed by her room. And yet, her presence stuck to the structure like glue. With how much disdain the windows seemed to glare at him, they might as well have been her eyes.

The patio had a pool off to its side. The pool water was hidden beneath leaves and pond scum layered on its surface. There was a ghost of a frisbee court on the other side of the patio, across from the pool, whose ragged net sagged down toward leaf litter and faded markings on the court.

"What the hell…?" Larry whispered.

Both men ducked down behind the balustrade as a man and a woman walked out from under the arched portico that led into the back of the house.

The woman hid herself beneath a black mourner's veil, though, as the fabric swayed, Ibrahim occasionally caught glimpses of a lovely dress underneath it. She clutched a stack of… something close to her chest.

The tall, imposing man at her side was a stern-faced Polovian. Age might have taken most of his hair, but it did nothing to soften his demeanor, nor did the morbid, wax-dribbling, silver candelabra he held lit in his hand. Ibrahim recognized the man from his portrait up on the wall in the Quiet Ward.

"That's… that's Mr. Kathaldri, Letty's father," Ibrahim said. "And if that's Letty's father, then—"

—Looking up, the woman turned back to Mr. Kathaldri. The motion gave Ibrahim a quick look at her face, which was more than enough.

"That's Letty," Ibrahim said.

Ms. Kathaldri's mind-self was younger than the old crone she'd become, but still half a lifetime away from the days of her youth.

Father and daughter stood at the edge of the back lawn. There was an open coffin on the grass, next to a rectangular hole.

A grave.

And the coffin wasn't empty.

"Angel's breath, look!" Ibrahim hissed. "Is that…"

"…A monkey?" Larry said.

A shiver ran down Ibrahim's back. He shook his head. "She's burying a bonobo?"

"Don't look at me," Larry quipped. "You're the psychiatrist here."

"Wait, Doc, she's doing something."

Ibrahim turned back to face the scene.

With utmost solemnity, Letty walked up to the coffin and placed the stack of objects in the coffin, on top of the bonobo.

Are those…? Ibrahim wondered.

They were.

"Those are video discs," Ibrahim said.

"Video discs?"

"An antique media format," Ibrahim explained. "They were read using lasers." He narrowed his eyes. "Those look like movies."

Handing his daughter the candelabra, Mr. Kathaldri went away for a bit and came back with the coffin's lid.

Letty bent over the grave and then said, in a soft voice Ibrahim could only barely hear, "Goodbye Rudolph. You can have my dead career. You always did enjoy it."

Then Mr. Kathaldri set the lid onto the coffin and, with his daughter standing by, stepped into the grave and lowered the coffin into its resting place, video discs, Rudolph the Bonobo, and all.

Letty lowered herself to the ground and held her hand over the grave for a moment, to pay her respects, and then returned to the mansion with her father.

"Doc, did you see that, too? Or is it just me going crazy?"

"No, no," Ibrahim said, "I saw it, too."

Ibrahim and Larry looked at one another for a moment, and then peered over the balustrade, to make sure the Kathaldri's were gone. Once they were sure, they went down the stairs and walked up to the grave.

Larry jumped down into the hole, lifted up the coffin lid and pulled out some of its contents, raising them up out of the hole.

I was right, Ibrahim thought.

"Squares of Ice," he said, reading off the cases from the top of the pile, "The Fourth Woman, Dancin' in the Snow, Mr. Sheen Goes to Elpeck, The Tunnel Through Crusader Hill…" Ibrahim looked Larry in the eyes. "These are all old movies Letty featured in."

Ibrahim bent down and helped Larry up out of the hole.

"Doc," Larry said, dusting himself off, "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that she's out of her beasteaten mind. Why would you bury movies, let alone a chimp!"

"It's a bonobo," Ibrahim said, "but, never mind. People have done weirder things.

"You can't be serious."

"I wish I wasn't," Ibrahim said. He exhaled sharply and scratched his scalp through his hair. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he said.

It wasn't just Letty's madness. There was an ill wind blowing. Dr. Rathpalla felt a constant sense of unease, and worried it was just the calm before the storm.

And then, he heard a sound. For a second, Ibrahim thought it was wyrmsong, but then realized it was something more. He turned to face the veranda. "Is someone playing a pipe organ?" he asked.

Larry joined him in staring.

Ibrahim had to admit, Letty's battiness was perversely fascinating. This wasn't just your average madness. This was advanced madness.

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Larry walked inside. At first, Ibrahim thought to stop him, but then followed him in, anyway. As he stepped in, he saw Larry had, once again, set into a crouch, though this time behind a wrought iron railing. The railings stuck up from the edge of an elevated platform that led down to the resplendent parlor below, paved in terra-cotta hexagons. Arched entryways on either side of the parlor led to the rest of the house, behind more artfully cultivated wrought iron.

Ibrahim and Larry carefully crept down to the parlor and took cover behind one of the arches' marble columns. Off to the side, a tunnel burrowed through the wall to a luxurious foyer on the other side, emerging from a grand staircase that spilled down either side like arms, hugging the tunnel's opening.

Behind them, on the opposite side of the parlor, the house opened up to a two-story atrium, with an open area on the terra-cotta floor. It was the kind of place where people might dance. Mr. Kathaldri was in that back room, sitting on a bench in front of the pipe organ built into the wall. He played it magisterially.

"Genneth is gonna have a field day when he hears about this," Ibrahim whispered.

But then the conversation playing out in the room ahead of them caught Ibrahim's ears and drew all of his attention.

"What's—"

"—Quiet," Ibrahim hissed. "Listen."

Beyond the arches was a living room even more expansive and extravagant than the parlor. A film set would haven't been half as lushly furnished as this place was. Every piece of furniture was upholstered in fine fabrics, all the way down to the frilly bits. The thick curtains draped in front of every window choking out all light, perhaps to keep from fading the portraits—both painted and photograph—that cluttered up nearly every surface that wasn't for walking or sitting, and every last one of the portraits showed the same face, Letty's face. They chronicled her face across the ages, as if she'd shattered herself on the time-stream and framed the results.

In this mansion's thick, musty air, even the cobwebs had cobwebs.

One table, however, was completely bare, except for the antique laptop computer on it in use by the man seated beside it: Dr. Jonan Derric.

"There he is," Ibrahim whispered.

Like everyone else in this dream-world, Jonan was dressed in an old-fashioned style, though without a hat to cover up his handsome blond.

Letty stood off to the side, looming over Jonan like a fateful moon as he busily typed away. She'd removed her mourning veil, revealing her fiery looks. She was pompous and regal, with a wrapped-up dress a-twinkle with sequins. Beads and bracelets covered one of her arms like a gauntlet, and clacked and shook any time she moved. Her hair was done up in waves, while her lips were rubies underneath their thick coating of lipstick.

The aging woman slunk up to Jonan's side and then, to Ibrahim's horror, ran her finger down the younger man's ear.

Shit, was she flirting with him?

"How's it coming, Jonan, dear?".

"It isn't when you keep hounding me with questions like this," Jonan replied.

Letty backed away. She pressed her hand against her chest in a dramatic gesture of feigned offense

"I sense bitterness," she said.

Jonan glared at her for a moment, and then angrily slapped the laptop shut. "Listen, Ms. Kathaldri, you—"

"—I've pampered you like a prince," she said. "Room and board. All you can eat. I just need your help with my script. Whatever's the matter?"

"I have my own plans, Ms. Kathaldri," Jonan said. "I've been working on a new script. I think the studio will take it. If I can land a good deal, I'll finally have the income I need. I'll propose to my girl."

"Your girl?" Letty said. She slunk back toward him. "Why would you need anyone but me, Jonan, dear? We're a team, you know." She ran her hand through his hair. Her sharp, lacquered red nails were even bolder than her lipstick. "With your finishing touches, my return to the silver screen will be the event of the century! Mr. Towsend said as much." She grinned wryly. "I think he'll direct it, don't you?"

Jonan just stared at her.

"You don't need to worry about your plans," Letty said. "I'm your future. It's as fated as my own return. Forget about that girl of yours, you won't need her."

She leaned off to the side. "Isn't that right, Papa?" Letty said, loudly—trying to talk over the pipe organ music.

The music stopped.

"Quite so," Mr. Kathaldri said. "All the best for my princess!"

She turned back to Jonan. "You see, Jonan, dear? It's fated! Now, get back to work. Mr. Towsend won't keep waiting forever."

Letty started to walk off, but Jonan did not sit back down. Instead, he clenched his fist.

"No."

Letty stopped, caught off guard. "No?"

Jonan picked up the laptop and slung it under his arm. "That's it, Letty, I'm done."

"What?" She hurried back to him. "What are you doing, Jonan? What are you doing?" She put her hand on her chest again. "You're not leaving me… are you?"

He glared. "Yes, I am, Letty. I don't qualify for the job, not anymore," he added, snidely.

Something was about to go down, Ibrahim was sure of it.

He tapped Larry on the shoulder and then pointed to the tunnel into the foyer behind them. Larry nodded and followed as Ibrahim quickly but quietly crept into the foyer, and then up one arm of the grand stair and into the walkway on the second floor, overlooking the parlor, right as Letty and Jonan stepped into view.

"You can't do this!" Letty turned to the organ room. "Papa!" She yelled. "Papa!"

The organ music cut off, and Mr. Kathaldri came storming into the parlor.

Letty lunged at Jonan and grabbed him by the arm as.Jonan tried to walk away.

"You can't leave!" she said. "I can't face life without you."

"That's between you and yourself, Letty." He shook off her arm and stepped back.

And then she pulled out a revolver she'd been hiding behind her back.

"You think I made that up about the gun," she said.

Jonan's eyes widened, as did Mr. Kathaldri's.

"See," she said, "you didn't believe me!" She pointed the gun at her head. "I bet you thought I didn't have the courage!"

"Oh, sure," Jonan said, "if it would make a good scene."

Letty was aghast, or just doing an amazing job of pretending to be. "You don't care, do you? But hundreds of thousands of people will care!"

"Wake up, Letty," Jonan said. "You'd be killing yourself to an empty house. The audience left twenty years ago. Now face it."

"That's a lie!" she shrieked. "They still want me!" She made a flamboyant gesture with her free arm.

"No, they don't," Jonan said.

"What about the studio? What about Towsend?"

"He was trying to spare your feelings. The studio just wanted to rent your car."

Shock bulged Letty's eyes. "Wanted what?"

Jonan looked down in genuine guilt.

What the hell has she done to him? Ibrahim thought.

"Towsend didn't have the heart to tell you," Jonan said. He sighed. "None of us has had the heart."

Letty titled her face up, strutting out her nose. "That's a lie!" she snapped. "They want me, they want me!" She flung her hand in defiance. "I get letters every day!"

The Jonan turned to Letty's father, who stood beneath the arches to the organ room.

"You tell her, Mr. Kathaldri," he said. "Come on, do her that favor. Tell her there isn't going to be a movie, and that there aren't any fan letters, except the ones you write yourself."

He pointed at the bald man.

Letty stomped her foot on the terra-cotta "That isn't true!" She regarded her father in disbelief—or maybe she didn't.

It was a struggle for Ibrahim to tell what was real anymore.

"Papa?" she said, in a trembling voice.

Mr. Kathaldri spoke like a statue brought to life. "Letty is the greatest diva of them all." He turned to Jonan. "I will fetch Mr. Derric's bags."

Mr. Kathaldri trudged up the stairs in the back.

"You heard him," Letty yelled. "I'm a diva!"

"Letty, grow the fuck up," Jonan said. "You're a woman of sixty. There's nothing tragic about being sixty, not unless you try to be twenty-five!"

"I'm the greatest diva of them all," Letty said, barely above a whisper. She stared up at the iron wall sconces. The lights danced in her eyes.

"Goodbye, Letty," Jonan said. He marched off to the side, up the stairs to the backyard.

Letty glared at his passing. "No one leaves a diva," she muttered. "That's why we're divas!" She followed him up the steps. "You're not leaving me!" she yelled. "Jonan! Jonan!"

Ibrahim went through a door onto the second floor balcony. Larry followed. Outside, they had a clear view of the widely spaced wooden porch down below as Jonan emerged from out under the veranda and stepped onto the grass.

Letty stumbled off the veranda. Her dress' hem had twisted around her feet. "You're not leaving me!"

Ibrahim gasped as the actress stuck her arm out and shot Jonan in the back. The trapped soul stumbled forward, stepping onto the tiles around the swimming pool

As he neared the water's edge, Letty fired again.

Dumbfounded, Jonan staggered and turned to face his attacker.

Then she fired a third round, this time hitting him in the chest.

Jonan crumpled and fell backward. The laptop dropped from his arm, cracking like an egg on the flagstone, splitting apart right as Jonan's body hit the water.

All the melodrama in Letty's face fell away as Jonan's corpse bled out into the pool. Her expression became taut and austere. "I told you, didn't I?"

She grinned.

With a flick of her wrist, Jonan's body rose up from the water and floated toward her, drooping like a dead eel. "This was my life," she told him. "The suffocation. The broken dreams. And now, it's yours, too." She tapped him on the nose. "There's nothing else, just us and the cameras and those wonderful people, out there in the dark…" She gestured at their surroundings, and then chuckled. "Here we go again, Jonan, dear. I'm ready for my close-up; aren't you?"

Then she snapped her fingers, and everything changed.

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