ni glass on top. Considering what she had to work
with, the piano was starting to look pretty interest-
ing.
She walked past the baby grand and peered into the
small opening to her right. There were two empty
bookshelves pushed to one side, nothing interest-
ing.
Frowning, she stepped closer to the shelves. The
smaller one on the outside was empty, but the one
behind it.
She placed her hands on either side of the end piece
and pushed, sliding the outer shelf forward. It wasn't
heavy and moved easily, leaving a track in the dust on
the wood floor.
Rebecca scanned the hidden shelves, feeling disap-
pointed. A dented old bugle, a dusty glass candy dish,
a couple of knickknack vases-and some piano sheet
music propped up on a tiny holder. She peered down
at the title and felt a sudden rush of warm nostalgia
for when she used to play; it was Moonlight Sonata,
one of her favorite pieces.
She picked up the yellowing sheets, remembering
the hours she'd put in trying to learn it when she was
ten or eleven. In fact, it had been this very piece of
music that had made her realize she wasn't cut out to
be a pianist. It was a beautiful, delicate tune and she'd
pretty much butchered it every time she took the
bench.
Still holding the composition, she walked back
around the corner and gazed at the piano thought-
fully. It wasn't like she had anything better to do.
And besides, maybe one of the other team members
will hear it and come knocking, trying to track down
the source of the terrible noise.
Grinning, she dusted the bench off and sat down,
propping the sheets open on the music holder. Her
fingers found the correct positions almost automati-
cally as she read the opening notes, like she'd never
given it up. It was a comforting feeling, a welcome
change from the horrors inside the mansion.
Slowly, hesitantly, she started to play. As the first
melancholy sounds rose into the stillness, Rebecca
found herself relaxing, letting tension and fear slip
away. She still wasn't very good, her tempo as off as
ever-but she hit all the right notes, and the strength
of the melody more than made up for her lack of
finesse.
If only the keys weren't so stiff.
Something moved behind her.
Rebecca jumped up, knocking the bench over as she spun around, searching wildly for the attacker. What
she saw was so unexpected that she froze for a few
seconds, unable to comprehend what her senses were
telling her.
The wall is moving.
Even as the last notes lingered in the cool air, a
three-foot panel of the bare wall to her right slid
upwards into the ceiling, rumbling to a gentle halt.
For a moment she didn't move, waiting for some-
thing terrible to happen, but as the seconds ticked
past in silence, nothing else moved; the room was as
quiet and non-threatening as before.
Hidden sheet music. A strange stiffness to the
keys . . .
. . . like maybe they were connected to some kind of
a mechanism?
The narrow opening revealed a hidden chamber
about the size of a walk-in closet, as softly lit as the
rest of the room. Except for a bust and pedestal in the
back, it was empty.
She stepped toward the opening and then paused,
thoughts of death-traps and poison darts whirling
through her mind. What if she walked in and trig-
gered some kind of a catastrophe? What if the door
closed and she was trapped there, and Chris didn't
come back?
What if you were the only member of the S. T.A.R.S.
who didn't accomplish jack-shit on this entire mission?
Show some backbone.
Rebecca steeled herself against the consequences
and stepped inside, looking around cautiously. If
there was a threat here, she didn't see it. The plain
stucco walls were the color of coffee with cream, offset
by dark wood trim. The light in the small chamber
was provided by a window into a tiny greenhouse on
her right, a handful of dying plants behind the dirty
glass.
She moved closer to the pedestal at the back, noting
that the stone bust on top was of Beethoven; she
recognized the stern countenance and heavy brow of
the Moonlight Sonata's composer. The pedestal itself
boasted a thick gold emblem shaped like a shield or
coat of arms, about the size of a dinner plate.
Rebecca crouched down next to the simple pillar,
gazing at the emblem. It looked solid and thick, with a
vaguely royal design in a paler gold set across the top.
It looked familiar; she'd seen the same design some-
where else in the house.
In the dining room, over the fireplace!
Yes, that was it, only the piece over the mantle was made out of wood, she was sure of it. She'd noticed it while Chris was looking at the broken
statue.
Curious, she touched the emblem, tracing the pat-
tern across the front-and then grasped the slightly
raised edges with both hands and lifted. The heavy
emblem came away easily, almost as if it didn't belong
there and behind her the secret door rumbled down,
sealing her inside.
Without hesitating, she turned and placed the em-
blem back in its hollow-and the section of wall rose
again, sliding up smoothly on hidden tracks. Re-
lieved, she stared down at the heavy gold emblem,
thinking.
Someone had rigged all this up in order to keep the
medal hidden, so it had to be important-but how
was she supposed to remove it? Did the one over the
fireplace also reveal a secret passage?
Or... is the one over the fireplace the same size?
She couldn't be positive, but she thought it was-
and she knew instinctively that it was the right
answer. If she switched the two of them, using the
wood emblem to keep the door open and placing the
gold one over the mantle . . .
Rebecca headed back into the room, smiling. Chris
told her to stay put, but she wouldn't be gone more
than a minute or two-and perhaps when he got
back, she'd have something to show him, a real
contribution toward solving the secrets of the man-
sion.
And proof that she wasn't so useless after all.
ELEVEN
BARRY AND JILL STOOD IN THE COVERED
walkway by the puzzle lock, breathing the clean night
air. Beyond the high walls, the crickets and cicadas
hummed their ceaseless song, a soothing reminder
that there was still a sane world outside.
Jill's brush with disaster had left her light-headed
and somewhat nauseous, and Barry had gently led her
to the back door, suggesting that the fresh air would
do her good. He hadn't found Chris or Wesker,
though he seemed certain that they were still alive. He
brought her up to speed quickly, retracing his mean-
dering path through the house as Jill leaned against
the wall, still taking deep breaths of the warm air.
"... and when I heard the shots, I came running."
Barry rubbed absently at his short beard. He smiled
at her, a somewhat hesitant grin. "Lucky for you. Another couple of seconds, you would've been a Jill
sandwich."
Jill smiled back gratefully, nodding, but noticed
that he seemed a little . . . strained, the humor forced.
Odd. She wouldn't have figured Barry as the type to
tense up in the face of danger.
Is it any wonder? We're trapped here, we can't find
the team, and this entire mansion is out to get us. Not
exactly a laugh-riot.
"I hope I can return the favor if you ever get in a
tight spot," she said softly. "Really. You saved my
life."
Barry looked away, flushing slightly. "Glad I could help," he said gruffly. "Just be more careful. This place is dangerous."
She nodded again, thinking of how close she'd
come to dying. She shivered slightly, then forced the
thoughts away; they needed to be concentrating on
Chris and Wesker. "So you do think they're still alive?"
"Yeah. Besides the shell casings, there was a whole
trail of those ghouls in the other wing, all with clean
