Dead and Alive

CHAPTER 34

Christine, head housekeeper at the Helios mansion, was afflicted by a most peculiar condition. For six days, she had been confused about her identity.

Much of the time, she knew perfectly well who and what she was: Christine, a Beta, one of the New Race. She managed the house staff with efficiency, and was number two in authority, after the butler.

But there were moments when she believed she was someone else entirely, when she did not even remember that she was Christine or that she had been manufactured at the Hands of Mercy.

And, as a third condition, there were times when she remembered that she had been living here as Christine, a Beta, housekeeper to Mr. Helios, but also remembered the other and more exciting identity into which she now and then entirely submerged.

Being one or the other, she could cope. But when aware of both existences, she became confused and anxious. As she was now.

Only a short while ago, she had been in the staff dormitory, at the back of the property, where she belonged at this hour.

But a few minutes ago, she found herself here in the library, not attending to any chore that was her responsibility, but browsing as though the book collection were hers. Indeed, she thought: I must find a book that Mrs. Van Hopper might like and send it to her with a warm note. It’s not right that I seldom correspond with her. She’s a difficult person, yes, but she was also kind to me in her way.

She felt comfortable in the library, choosing a book for Mrs. Van Hopper, until she realized that she wore a maid’s uniform and rubber-soled work shoes. Under no circumstances could this be proper attire for the wife of Maxim de Winter and the mistress of Manderley.

If members of the staff encountered her in this costume, they would think Maxim’s predicament had overstressed her. Already, some thought she was too young for him and not of a suitable social class.

Oh, and she would be mortified if Mrs. Danvers discovered her in this outfit, and not merely mortified but finished. Mrs. Danvers would whisper “mental breakdown” to anyone who would listen, and all would listen. Mrs. Danvers, the head housekeeper, remained loyal to the previous Mrs. de Winter and schemed to undermine the new wife’s position in the house.

Head housekeeper?

Christine blinked, blinked, surveyed the library, blinked, and realized that she was the head housekeeper, not Mrs. Danvers.

And this wasn’t Manderley, not a great house in the west country of England, but a big house without a name in the Garden District of New Orleans.

Her identity confusion had begun when the New Race’s primary mechanism for the release of stress — urgent, violent, multi-partner sex — ceased to provide her with any relief from her anxiety. Instead, the brutal orgies began to increase her anxiety.

The staff dormitory had television, which in theory could distract you from your worries, but the programming produced by the Old Race was so relentlessly stupid that it had little appeal to any member of the New Race above the level of an Epsilon.

In the dormitory, they could also download movies from the Internet. Most were no better than the TV shows, though once in a while you found a gem. The magnificent Hannibal Lecter could bring the entire staff to their feet, cheering till they were hoarse. And his nemesis, FBI agent Clarice Starling, was such an officious little meddling busybody that everyone enjoyed hissing at her.

Nine days ago, desperate for distraction from anxiety and despair, Christine downloaded Alfred Hitchcock’s Rebecca. The film mesmerized her. Ostensibly, it was a romance, even a love story.

Love was a myth. Even if it wasn’t a myth, it was stupid. Love represented the triumph of feeling over intellect. It distracted from achievement. It led to all kinds of social ills, such as family units to which people pledged greater allegiance than to their rulers. Love was a myth and it was evil, love was evil.

The film mesmerized her not because of the romance, but because everyone in the story had deep, dark secrets. The insane Mrs. Danvers had secrets. Maxim de Winter had secrets that might destroy him. Rebecca, the first Mrs. de Winter, kept secrets. The second Mrs. de Winter started out as an idiot goody-goody, but by the end of the movie, she had a dark secret, because she collaborated to conceal a crime, all in the name of — no surprise — love.

Christine related to the movie because, like all of the New Race, she had secrets. Actually she was a deep, dark secret, walking among the Old Race, appearing innocent, but waiting impatiently to be told that she could kill as many of them as she wished.

The movie enchanted her also because the first Mrs. de Winter deserved to die, like all the Old Race deserved to die. Crazy Mrs. Danvers deserved to die — and burned to death in Manderley. Even the Old Race thought they deserved to die, and they were so right.

In spite of the reasons the movie enthralled Christine, it might not have led her into identity confusion if she had not been almost a twin to Joan Fontaine, the actress playing the second Mrs. de Winter. The resemblance was uncanny. Even on the first viewing, Christine at times seemed to be experiencing the story from inside the movie.

She watched Rebecca five times that first night. And five times the following night. And five times the night after that.

Six days previously, after fifteen viewings, Christine began to experience identity confusion. She immersed herself in the film six times that night.

One thing that was so wonderful about being the second Mrs. de Winter was that by the time Manderley burned to the ground, all the woman’s problems were gone. Her life with Maxim would be troubled by no further drama or worry; and ahead were years of cozy routine….

How wonderful. Lovely, peaceful years. Tea every afternoon with little sandwiches and biscuits …

Manderley would be lost, and that was sad, but knowing that all would be well eventually, she should enjoy Manderley now as much as possible with Mrs. Danvers always scheming.

She selected a suitable volume for Mrs. Van Hopper, Jamaica Inn, which seemed to be a work of fiction, a light entertainment.

In a library-desk drawer, she found a selection of stationery for a variety of special occasions. She chose a cream-colored linen paper with a nosegay of colorful ribbons at the top.

She wrote a lovely note to Mrs. Van Hopper, signed it “Mrs. Maxim de Winter,” inserted it in a matching envelope, sealed the flap, and put the envelope with Jamaica Inn. She would ask Christine to wrap and mail the package first thing in the morning.