He heard the little ping on his computer that announced the delivery of a new e-mail. He instantly clicked on it, opening the e-mail and downloading the attached file. As he’d requested, it was a big file. The image had been scanned at a high resolution by the firm’s production department. Dean was very curious if such enlargement might allow him to discern something he had long wondered about.
When he and Paula had been young, probably no older than eight and ten, they had broken a very strict rule of Uncle Howard’s. While visiting him one weekend, they had snuck down into the basement. That was the one part of the house that was forbidden to them, which of course only made them want to see it more. They were innocent back then, unaware of the dangers and the tragedies of that locked room. But they’d found a set of keys, and while Uncle Howard was in his study, they’d unlocked the door in the foyer that led to the basement and crept down the stairs. They discovered many rooms in the basement, only one of which was locked. All of the rest were open, packed high with crates and boxes. In and out of these rooms Dean and Paula had tiptoed. Nothing exciting to be found. But perhaps in the one room that was locked? The key ring in Dean’s hand jingled. They decided to see if they could find the key to the one room they’d been unable to explore. And, after four tries, they’d found the key that fit…
Dean opened the image on his computer.
That day in the basement, they’d recorded their undercover work with a Polaroid camera, a gift Dean had recently gotten from Mom and Dad for his birthday. They’d snapped pictures of the basement staircase and of the various storerooms. They wanted proof that they’d actually made it into forbidden territory. As each photograph slid out of the camera, Dean would hand it to Paula, who would hold it as it dried and the images took shape. But as the door to the locked room creaked open before them, they heard footsteps from above. Uncle Howard was emerging from his study. They would have to forget about exploring the room and hurry back upstairs-but still Dean had time to snap a fast picture of the inside of the room before locking the door again.
That image revealed itself on his computer screen now.
It looked just as it had that day when they’d taken the Polaroid back to Dean’s room to look at it. A sofa, a table, and lots of cobwebs. But there had been something else, too. An image in the upper right corner. As kids, they’d enjoyed scaring themselves into believing it was a face. After they learned about the secret of the room, Dean had told investigators about what they had done and what they thought they had photographed-but by then, the relics of their childhood had been lost. Who kept old toys and forty-five records and comic books and Polaroids? The picture was gone, lost. Without it, none of those who tried to end the curse could ever say definitively what the image was. But a couple of weeks ago, going through a box of old school papers, Dean had found the Polaroid. He didn’t tell Paula. He didn’t tell anyone. He just brought it to his production department and asked them to scan it for him.
He hit the button on his screen to enlarge the image. And then he enlarged it again.
Dean sat back in his chair, his heart thudding in his chest.
All those years ago, he and Paula had been right.
Their childish imaginings had been absolutely on target.
The image in the corner of the photo was indeed a face.
The face of a crying baby.
Chapter Fourteen
Douglas watched with mounting annoyance as his cousins fluttered around Uncle Howie. Chelsea was adjusting the pillow behind his back as he sat reading in his chair. Ryan kept asking if him if he’d like a brandy, or maybe to share a cigar. They were wide-eyed and attentive to all his stories, asking him to repeat old tales about the family that they’d all heard dozens of times before, acting as if the stories were fresh and new, laughing and telling Uncle Howie how funny and how brilliant he was. It was making Douglas sick.
He knew why they were behaving that way. The old man’s will. They had rushed up here when they heard Douglas had arrived. They were afraid that Uncle Howie was going to leave everything to Douglas. They didn’t want to get cut out. So they were doing what they always did whenever they visited. They were kissing major ass.
Stretched out on the couch, Douglas just shook his head and went back to reading the notes Carolyn had left for him. He would have thought that finding out about the room-about the lottery, about the ten-year cycle of deaths-would have shaken some sense into Ryan and Chelsea, convinced them that some things were more important than money. Hell, who was to say that either of them would even be around to inherit anything Uncle Howie left them? What if one of them was chosen to spend the night in that room? So much for the old man’s will then.
But, no. Ryan and Chelsea went on as if unfazed. Oh, sure, that day when Uncle Howie told them the whole story, they had been terrified. Both had seen things that convinced them what their uncle was saying was true. Ryan babbled on about how the man with the pitchfork had tried to kill him. Both of them were shaking like the last leaves on a maple tree on a windy October day. But then they’d run outside to call Daddy on their cell phones. An hour later they’d come back inside with a sense of calm. “We trust you, Carolyn,” Ryan grandly announced, kissing the lady’s hand. “We trust you will deliver our family from this terrible curse.”
Again, Douglas tried to focus on the materials Carolyn had left for him to peruse. So apparently reassured were his cousins that they evinced no interest in reading any of the accounts that had been compiled about the room. They had no desire to help find the solution. They simply went on kissing Uncle Howie’s ass. Maybe, Douglas thought, their nonchalance stemmed from the fact that their side of the family had been largely spared any of the tragedies. The luck of the draw had always seemed to favor them. While Douglas’s father had died horrifically in that room, their father had survived, decade after decade. Maybe they were counting on that luck to continue.
“Uncle Howard,” Ryan was saying, “what do you say about you and I taking a little spin on the yacht? It’s still rigged up, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the old man said. “It’s down at the marina. But I’m afraid I get awfully tired these days…”
“Come on, Uncle Howie,” Ryan said, appropriating the nickname Douglas always used. “Just you and I. I’ve got some girl troubles I thought you might be able to counsel me on.” He shot a glance in Douglas’s direction. “Rest assured, I’ll be popping the question to a very desirable candidate very soon.”
Douglas groaned and sat up on the couch.
“Oh, Douglas,” Ryan said. “I wasn’t aware you were still here.”
“I’m heading out,” he said, standing. “The air’s getting a little soupy in here.”
“Will you be back for dinner, Douglas?” Uncle Howard asked.
He nodded. “Sure. I’m just going to take a little walk around the grounds.”
There was no way he could concentrate in there. In fact, what he needed to do was take a good long walk and clear his head. It wasn’t just his cousins’ rapacity that irked him. It was also the growing sense that time was slipping away from them and that they were still no closer to finding any kind of solution. Unless they discovered something, the lottery would have to be held exactly two weeks from now. One of them-possibly Douglas himself-would have to spend a night in that room.
Heading outside onto the great lawn, Douglas looked up at the sun, enjoying its warmth on his cheeks. He tried not to feel despair. They’d discovered quite a bit already; they could still discover more. Carolyn had returned to New York to meet with a couple of psychics with whom she’d worked in the past. There was talk of another séance when she returned, possibly conducted by one of her experts. Also being considered was a more powerful exorcism than the one Kip attempted. But Douglas couldn’t shake the feeling that they were just repeating the same steps, going through the same motions that had been tried by so many before. And none of them had ever succeeded.