The Killing Room

by John Manning

  “And so Carolyn Cartwright has a better chance, you think?”

  “Possibly. The spirit of Beatrice may allow her to see things that she kept guarded from the men. She has a weakness for her own kind.” He moved his yellow, watery eyes to meet Philip’s. “Remember, she didn’t kill Jeanette.”

  The mention of his sister’s name stabbed Philip’s heart, as it always did. “One could argue what she did to Jeanette was even worse.”

  “Still, she was disinclined to see her die, and that’s something.” The old man looked back across the grounds. Hummingbirds flitted around the rosebushes. The tall violet cleomes swayed in the soft breeze. “I have great faith in Carolyn. I will finally see an end to this madness before I die.”

  And when will that be, exactly? Philip’s mind raced with the thought. And who have you decided shall get the bulk of your fortune?

  Just then, as if on cue, a hand was placed on Philip’s shoulder.

  “Hello, Uncle Philip.”

  He turned. Douglas had come outside. As usual, the punk looked disheveled and unruly. His hair was straggly, his face unshaven. He wore an Obama HOPE T-shirt. He looked like a filthy hippie.

  “Douglas,” Philip said, shaking the young man’s hand. “And what corner of the world have you blown in from this time?”

  “My last address was in Syracuse, but I’m thinking of putting some roots down here in Maine. Come back to my roots, so to speak.”

  The little sneak, Philip thought. Douglas was implying that he was to be the chief beneficiary of Uncle Howard’s will. He probably expected to live in this very house.

  “My little hoodlum has visions of opening his own carpentry shop in Youngsport,” Uncle Howard said with obvious affection.

  Philip stewed. He hated when the old man called Douglas his “little hoodlum.” He had no such special nickname for Ryan.

  Douglas sat down on the back step at Uncle Howard’s feet. The old man placed a gnarled hand on his shoulder.

  Any flicker of guilt Philip had been harboring disappeared in that moment. When it came time to draw up the lottery, the names of himself and his children would not be entered. Instead, there would be three additional slips of paper bearing the name “Douglas.”

  Standing there looking at the old man’s hand on Douglas’s shoulder, Philip did not feel even the slightest twinge of guilt.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Carolyn had expected there might be a curious reaction to Diana from the family, but she could hardly have anticipated Chelsea’s scream.

  “Oh my God!” she cried. “What is it?”

  “It’s only what you would look like, my dear,” Diana replied, “if you were thirty years older and had had your arms and legs chopped off.”

  That shut the girl up.

  Diana was strapped into a specially designed motorized wheelchair with a long lever that she could operate with her chin, if need be. But at the moment Huldah was behind her, her hands grasping the handles of the chair tightly, her hard German eyes glaring at Chelsea.

  “I apologize for my niece,” Mr. Young said, bowing slightly at his waist. Chelsea, meanwhile, was slinking back into the parlor, whether humiliated, revolted, or chagrined, Carolyn couldn’t tell. Philip Young stood staring wide-eyed, his look matched by his son Ryan. Douglas stood beside Carolyn. She wondered what thoughts were going through his mind.

  “Welcome to my home,” Mr. Young was continuing. “And thank you for your assistance with our terrible curse.”

  “I’m here to do what I can,” Diana said. “And one thing that I cannot do is make any promise.”

  “Understood,” Mr. Young said.

  “Carolyn has told me of your experience,” Douglas managed to say. “Have you ever encountered anything like this?”

  “No,” Diana told him. “Nothing. But I hope to learn something if I can be brought down into the room. I have a certain…knack.”

  Carolyn turned as she heard Philip Young chuckle. “And what kind of knack would that be?” he asked.

  Diana stared at him. “A knack that tells me who I can trust and who I can’t.”

  Carolyn noticed the smile quickly fade from Philip’s face.

  She didn’t like Philip Young any more than she liked his children. She’d known him for just a few minutes, but she’d already marked him as smarmy and untrustworthy. Even without Diana’s ability to read minds, Carolyn had known right away that she’d have to keep an eye on him. She’d have to ask Diana later if she had seen anything specific in Philip’s thoughts that she should be aware of.

  It had been an unsettling few days. Ever since seeing David Cooke on the street outside her apartment, Carolyn had been constantly looking over her shoulder. She had called the police, of course. A massive manhunt was immediately enacted. Guards were stationed outside her house and followed her at a discreet distance for the rest of her time in New York. They had accompanied her and Diana and Huldah to the airport and were with them until just moments before they boarded Mr. Young’s private plane. There was no way David could follow them here. He had no idea where she was going. In a strange twist of fate, she suddenly felt safer coming back to Maine than she had when she left it.

  They all dispersed to their rooms so they could clean up after their trip. Huldah wheeled Diana into a room on the first floor. Carolyn headed up the stairs to her own room.

  “Carolyn, wait,” Douglas said behind her.

  She paused. Her heart was racing. She turned and looked at him.

  They were alone in the foyer. He approached her.

  “I just wanted to say…” His voice faltered. “That I missed you.”

  “Oh, Douglas,” she said in a small voice.

  Before she knew it, they were kissing. They came together without consideration for who might see them and embraced each other tightly. His lips tasted sweet. It took some effort to break away.

  “Not here,” Carolyn said.

  Douglas took her hand and led her to the study. He closed the doors behind them. Once again they fell into each other’s arms with a hunger that surprised Carolyn.

  “I wanted to do this so much before you left,” Douglas said, moving his lips off hers just long enough to speak.

  She smiled. “Oh, Douglas, I’m so glad to be back here. Even with all of the terrors here…to be with you…”

  He stroked her hair. “What is it, Carolyn? What’s happened?”

  She told him about seeing David Cooke outside her window.

  “Christ,” Douglas said, gripping her by the shoulders. “I wish I had gone with you to New York! Do you think he could have followed you here?”

  “No, there’s no way he could have known where I was going.” She smiled wryly. “Even David can’t follow an airplane.”

  She let herself take comfort in Douglas’s embrace, resting her head against his chest. Once again, the irony of feeling safe in a place that held only danger for Douglas struck her.

  “I think Diana can help us,” she said, looking up at Douglas.

  His reply was to kiss her again.

  “All I want,” he said, moving his lips to her ear, “is to spend my life with you. Even if that life just lasts another week…”

  “Don’t say that,” Carolyn said.

  “But it may be the case,” Douglas said.

  Their eyes held each other.

  Without saying another word, they turned and left the study. They walked silently up the stairs to Carolyn’s room. Once inside, the door locked behind them, Carolyn unbuttoned Douglas’s shirt, She ran her hands over his chiseled chest. The light blond hairs there seemed to electrify at her touch. He kissed her neck, her ears, her throat. He unbuttoned her blouse, letting it drop to the floor. He kissed her shoulders. He reached around and unsnapped her bra, letting it, too, fall away. Cupping her breasts in each hand, he kissed them tenderly. Then they lay gently down upon the bed.

  When they had finished making love, Carolyn sat up, cradling Douglas’s head in her lap. It
had felt good. Very good. Douglas was a kind, considerate lover. He had made sure she was satisfied before thinking about any kind of satisfaction for himself. Now, in that dreamy state after sex, Carolyn realized she’d never had such an experience. She had thought David had been a good lover. He had been exciting. But she realized now she could never have called him considerate.

  She reached down and kissed the top of Douglas’s head. He made a sound of contentment.

  Once again, Carolyn’s thoughts turned to that room in the basement. She hoped fervently that Diana could help her find a way to put an end to the cycle of death.

  And failing that…

  She knew it wasn’t right.

  But if the lottery went on as scheduled, she hoped it wouldn’t be Douglas who was chosen. Let it be any of the others.

  Just not Douglas.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Douglas couldn’t take his eyes off Carolyn. If he had been looking for sparks, he had found them. Now he understood what Dad had meant when he described falling in love with Mom. Finally Douglas knew what it felt like to be in love. He found himself in the bizarre situation of feeling giddy and joyful-even as he might be facing the most terrible death in just a week’s time.

  “You’ll be all right carrying her?” Carolyn asked.

  He beamed. He would do anything she wanted him to. He nodded.

  “I don’t weigh very much,” Diana said, her blue eyes looking up at Douglas.

  He smiled down at her. “I’m sure I can manage,” he assured her.

  With ease, he lifted the small woman in his arms. She couldn’t be more than fifty pounds. He held her carefully, like a baby.

  “Huldah used to carry me around,” Diana said. “But she’s got a bad back these days.”

  The German woman just grunted.

  Then they all fell silent, one by one filing out of the parlor and across the foyer to the door to the basement.

  Uncle Howie went first, moving slowly down the stairs. Ryan followed, insisting he would be there in case the old man stumbled. Then came Uncle Philip, with a skittish Chelsea close behind. Carolyn went next, followed by Douglas and Diana. Huldah took up the rear, keeping her eyes on the precious cargo Douglas carried in his arms.

  The basement was dark and damp. But there was nothing at first glance that gave evidence of the dangers that lurked down there. Douglas looked around at the boxes and cobwebs, the open doors to the various storerooms that had once been servants’ bedrooms. But then his eyes fell on the one door that was closed. Uncle Howie was nearing that door now. The keys jingled in his trembling hand.

  Off to his right Douglas saw an old sink, and beyond that, an archway that had been sealed over with cement. At one time, Douglas realized, that had been the servants’ entrance. And the sink was where Harry Noons had stood, where he had watched as Beatrice and Clem had argued, right in front of that room. Then Noons had left, and Clem had taken Beatrice inside the room and impaled her to the wall with his pitchfork.

  Instinctively, Douglas shuddered.

  Diana felt it.

  “You have reason to be afraid,” the woman in his arms told him. “The closer we come to that door, the stronger I feel the force.”

  “Is it Beatrice?” he asked.

  “I cannot tell.”

  Uncle Howard had managed to unlock the door. With a creak, it swung inward.

  The one small window high on the wall gave the room its only light. A shaft of sunshine pierced the dark shadows.

  “Place me on the couch there,” Diana instructed.

  “What is it that you intend to do here?” Philip asked, the impatience obvious in his voice. Douglas knew that his uncle was not used to taking direction-especially not from some strange armless and legless woman who lived in a crumbling tenement on the Lower East Side. But for now Diana was calling the shots. Douglas placed her carefully on the dusty, moldy couch, where, with her remarkable shoulders, she propped herself up against a pillow. Huldah was quickly on hand to make the necessary adjustments.

  “I am here to get a reading on the energy in this room,” Diana said, her eyes moving all around the place.

  “Then why were we all required to come along?” Philip asked.

  Douglas looked at the older man. He was clearly uncomfortable being in the room where so many of his family had died.

  “You needn’t fear, Philip,” Uncle Howie said. “No harm has ever come to any of us in this place except on the night of the lottery.”

  “Then why did you never let us into the basement as children?” Chelsea asked, near tears, hugging herself.

  Her uncle looked over at her. “Because I did not want you to see anything that may frighten you.” He moved his eyes to the far wall. “Like that.”

  Douglas gasped. On the wall two words were written in fresh, shiny blood.

  ABANDON HOPE.

  Chelsea screamed.

  “Dear God,” Philip uttered.

  The blood dripped down the wall.

  “It’s what I saw the first time I came in here,” Carolyn said.

  Douglas moved closer to her.

  “Who is doing it?” Ryan asked. “Beatrice?”

  “No,” Diana said, her eyes closed. “It’s not Beatrice. She’s not here. Kip Hobart was successful in walking her out of this room. She’s no longer here.”

  “Then it’s Clem,” Douglas said.

  Diana just shook her head. “I don’t get the energy of a man.”

  “Then was there another woman involved?” Douglas asked. “Someone besides Beatrice?”

  Diana opened her eyes. “Perhaps.”

  Philip made a sound of exasperation. “This is going nowhere!”

  Diana looked at him sternly. “This is why I asked you all to accompany me here. We must together summon the forces of this room. Carolyn, will you close the door?”

  “Close the door?” Ryan asked. “What if we can’t get back out?”

  “We will be able to get back out,” Diana assured him.

  “Please do as the lady says, Carolyn,” Uncle Howie said.

  Carolyn closed the door. Douglas admitted that being closed off in this room unnerved him, but he said nothing.

  “Ideally, we need all of those who will participate in the lottery to take part in this ritual,” Diana said.

  “But my niece Paula and nephew Dean have not yet arrived,” Uncle Howie said.

  Diana sighed. “Then we must make do with what we have.”

  “What is the first thing we must do?” Carolyn asked.

  “You place one hand on my shoulder, Carolyn, and Mr. Young, you place your hand on my other shoulder. Then the rest of you join hands in a circle.”

  Huldah made a sound in her throat.

  “Yes, you too, Huldah,” Diana instructed. “We need all the psychic energy we can get.” She paused. “Even yours.”

  Douglas watched as Carolyn stood beside Diana and placed her hand on her shoulder. Then her beautiful eyes found Douglas, and he gripped her other hand tightly.

  Chelsea took his other hand, and on the other side linked hands with her brother, who held hands with his father, who reluctantly took the hand of Huldah. The German woman made the circle complete by holding Uncle Howie’s hand.

  “Now we must free our minds of extraneous thought,” Diana said. “Concentrate on feelings of compassion.” Douglas thought her eyes moved over to Philip and his children. “Do the best you can to feel nothing but compassion.”

  “Should we be directing our compassion toward someone?” Carolyn asked. “Beatrice?”

  “Just feel compassion,” Diana said. “Open your hearts and practice the feeling of love for all the world.”

  “Dear God,” Philip groaned. “Shall we start singing ‘Kumbaya’ as well?”

  “Philip,” Uncle Howie reprimanded. “Let us please give this a try. Nothing else has worked.”

  Philip merely huffed.

  “Compassion,” Diana said again. “Compassion for the sp
irits that reside here. For those who have died here. For those who go on living.”

  They were quiet. Douglas looked around. Most everyone had their eyes closed. He turned to Carolyn. She was looking at him. So much she was managing to say just with her eyes. She was worried for him. Douglas could see that. She feared he would be the one chosen to spend the night in the room. She wanted desperately for whatever Diana was doing here to work. He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand.

  Then he concentrated on compassion. It wasn’t always an easy emotion to summon. It was a cinch when thinking about Carolyn, of course, feeling the pain she had experienced surrounding her family, the fear and grief and wounded pride she had felt regarding David Cooke. It was easy when he looked over at Diana, thinking about the struggles she must have faced growing up. It was easy to feel for Uncle Howie, too, for watching a family member die every ten years as he went on living. But it wasn’t so easy when his thoughts moved to Uncle Philip and Ryan and Chelsea. Growing up, they had always been so much more privileged than Douglas’s family. And then how he’d envied his cousins for their two living, breathing parents. As adults, money and success had come easy to them, and they seemed to enjoy lording that fact over Douglas. He knew, for example, that they had only come early for the reunion because he was there, and they had their claws out, trying to do everything in their power to push him aside in Uncle Howie’s affections.

  But still Douglas managed to feel compassion for them. Surely they were as frightened as he was, even if they did their best to hide it. It might be one of them in this room a week from now. And Douglas wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not after seeing his father dead from spending a night here.

  He thought of his father then. Where exactly in this room had he died? Where had he struggled? And with whom? Who had tied that bag to his head? Or was he compelled to do it to himself? Douglas would never know. He felt a rush of sadness and love and indeed compassion for his father then. A good man. One of the best. He hadn’t been afraid to die, and so Douglas would not be either.