by John Manning
But the problem was: there was no blood in Cooke’s body.
That’s when Carolyn had her former superior at the FBI give the sheriff’s department a call. Carolyn’s credibility was vouched for, and it was explained, as carefully as possible, that some of the cases she investigated were, to say the least, unusual. The Youngsport sheriff wasn’t about to buck the word of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. So he closed the case, classifying the murders as the work of David Cooke. He accepted the survivors’ contention that Cooke was killed in self-defense.
But the sheriff would never understand why there wasn’t a single drop of blood in Cooke’s body.
Of course, there had been blood everywhere else. The bodies were removed and buried. Dean’s funeral was especially sad, the sight of Zac and Callie clinging to their mother breaking everyone’s hearts. On the fourth day after the terror had ended, Sid arrived at the house. He had with him Howard Young’s will. Seated at the old man’s desk in the study, Sid read the will to Douglas, Carolyn, Paula, Karen, Jeanette, and Michael. The bulk of the estate had been left to Douglas over a year before, with generous bequests to Jeanette, Paula, and Dean. Dean’s share would now go to Linda and his children. Sid explained there was nothing in the will for Philip’s family, so they didn’t have to worry about his widow trying to grab anything.
“I don’t really care about any of it,” Douglas said afterward, as the six of them sat on the benches overlooking the cliffs. “I’d still rather just have a little house by a river as I’d imagined. Run a little carpentry shop.”
“Then that’s where we’ll live,” Carolyn said, taking his hand, kissing his cheek.
Paula smiled. “We could donate the house to the state. Turn the grounds into a park.”
“And bring the kids here to play,” Karen said.
They exchanged a smile. Paula had already arranged for a donor and hoped to be pregnant within a few months. She’d be forty in a few weeks, after all; she had no time to lose. She had told them she was praying for twins, since they ran in the family. A boy and a girl. And she’d name them Dean and Chelsea.
Paula took Karen’s hand. She would forever be grateful to her brother for risking his life to save her, and to her cousin for giving her life to save Karen’s. In the end, Chelsea hadn’t been so selfish after all.
“Well, I’ve finally agreed to marry Michael,” Jeanette announced. “I figure a forty-one-year engagement was long enough to make him wait.”
They all smiled, looking out over the cliffs.
That sat there in silence for a while. Finally Douglas asked, “We’re sure it’s over, right?”
“Of course it is,” Jeanette said. “They’re all at rest now.”
“Of course it’s over,” Paula echoed. “Uncle Howard reunited Beatrice and Malcolm. And he paid for his crime with his death.” She shuddered. “It’s got to be over.”
They were all looking at Carolyn for affirmation.
“It’s over,” she told them.
They seemed to be reassured by her words. Douglas squeezed her hand.
After all they’d been through, it was natural to wonder. It was perfectly understandable that they’d fear this time ten years from now. For the first time in ninety years, no lottery would take place in the house behind them. Carolyn believed it wouldn’t matter, that danger no longer threatened them. They’d discover that nothing bad would occur as a result of skipping the lottery. There would be no dead bodies in the morning. They’d know that the curse finally and truly was over.
But still.
Ten years.
It was a long time to wait.
***
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