The Fall Read Online Free Page B

“Madeline, Madeline, Madeline!”
    Terrified, I prop the torch on a pile of stones and rush back to the sarcophagus, to Roderick’s muffled panic. Using both hands, I try to pull the lid back, but it still won’t move.
    â€œMadeline!” He calls my name again and again. Tears blur my vision, making it even harder to see in the murk of the crypt. I reposition myself and heave with all my strength, but nothing happens. Desperately, I run my hands over the lid, trying to find a latch or a handle.
    â€œI’m going to get you out,” I promise. “I’ll save you.”
    The torch sputters.
    The ceiling creaks.
    I try not to let Roderick’s fear overwhelm me. The house led us here. Surely it won’t let us die here.
    Behind me, the iron gate slides open with a loud grating sound. I grab the torch and spin. Father stands on the threshold. His hair is wild and his eyes unfocused. Maniacal. Is he in the middle of one of his fits?
    â€œFather?” My voice wavers.
    He is holding his own torch, which he hands to me, and then he leans over the sarcophagus.
    â€œRoderick is inside?” It isn’t really a question. If he can hear anything, he can hear Roderick screaming, but I answer anyway.
    â€œYes. Please get him out, please.”
    â€œThere’s a latch on the side.” Father is feeling the stone, searching with his delicate musician’s fingers. “I know it’s here.” He finds it. The lid makes a terrible sound as it slides back.
    Roderick throws himself forward, eyes wide and frightened. I lean in to embrace him and help him out, but I have a torch in each hand. So I have to watch as Father pulls Roderick into his arms and attempts to soothe him. Jealousy twists inside me. I should have been the one to save Roderick. But then I hear the house murmuring. It knows that I was brave. That I am stronger than Roderick. The house loves me.

12
M ADELINE I S F IFTEEN
    S eated in an armchair before a brick fireplace, in the tower occupied by the doctors, I ignore the fire crackling behind me, except to vaguely appreciate the warmth.
    Roderick fumbles with the buttons on his white shirt. Our eyes meet, and he freezes, his fingers on the last shiny button. I drop my gaze to my lap, and after a noticeable pause, his shirt falls to the floor. He’s teasing the doctors. He’ll let them examine him, but he won’t act as if any of this is more than a silly joke designed to waste his time.
    â€œGood, good,” Dr. Peridue says, writing something in his ledger. Father invited him first, years ago, to study, and perhaps cure, Mother’s illness. Dr. Paul came later, repeating Peridue’s original promises, but then Father got sick. Neither of them could be saved, despite the doctor’s assurances.
    Dr. Peridue appealed to Father’s pride in the Usher lineage, saying how he wanted to study us, to learn all he can about our ancient aristocratic diseases. But the doctors stayed because of Mother’s desperation for some way to escape the curse.
    â€œYour father was extremely healthy in his youth,” Dr. Paul remarks.
    With sudden vividness I remember Father convulsing on the floor, foaming at the mouth, when Roderick and I were very young.
    â€œPerhaps you will be lucky, like your father,” he tells Roderick, then the doctors’ eyes shift over to me. Not so lucky. Not so healthy.
    Roderick puts out his arm, and both doctors hover, preparing the silver needle, greedy for his blood. He is not usually so compliant; there are shadows under his eyes.
    â€œDidn’t you sleep well?” My voice startles everyone, even me.
    â€œNo,” he says. “I dreamed unsavory dreams. I dreamed of suffocation.”
    Dr. Paul hands Roderick his shirt. “No reason to fear suffocation. Your lungs are as healthy as the rest of you.”
    So far, Roderick’s mind seems unaffected too. At least most of the time. Mother was right,