“Hello, Huldah,” Carolyn called, standing. She reached into her bag and withdrew a folder, placing it on the chaise next to Diana. “Here are some photocopies of some of the reports from previous investigators. There are also photographs of the room, of the house, of the cliffs. We can talk more on the flight up to Maine.”
“Sounds good,” Diana said.
“Rack your brain,” Carolyn said. “See if there’s anything we can do to protect the family in case we aren’t successful with persuading the ghosts to back off.”
“If you go in with doubts about your mission, sweetie, then you’re doomed to fail.”
Carolyn sighed. “I just worry that we’re simply repeating steps Kip already took. They thought they had succeeded. Beatrice was free. But still the killing took place.”
“She may have been free,” Diana said, as Huldah came into the room with a specially designed prop that she set on the disabled woman’s chest. “But whatever keeps her wandering between worlds was not addressed. The reason for her grief was not assuaged.” Twisting her torso, she grabbed the folder Carolyn had placed beside her with her teeth, maneuvering it onto the prop Huldah had placed on her chest. Again using her teeth, she opened the folder and glanced down at the first page. “I’ll start reading right away, sweetie. I promise you I’ll think of whatever I can.”
“Thank you,” Carolyn said, stooping down to kiss her on the forehead.
“We’ll do our best to save your young man,” Diana said. “It would be nice if you could finally move beyond the past and forget that horrible experience.”
Carolyn just smiled. Diana knew all about David Cooke. Some of it Carolyn had shared; some of it Diana had picked up, without even trying too hard to read Carolyn’s mind.
She said good-bye to Huldah, who gave her a grunt that seemed a little cheerier than usual. Maybe she was looking forward to taking a trip. Carolyn let herself out of the apartment and headed back down the crooked staircase into the gathering purple evening of the city.
The meeting with Diana had gone well. It should have made her optimistic. But suddenly the sounds and the hustle-bustle of the city no longer felt comforting to Carolyn. Making her way back across town, she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over her. She felt cold, shaky, even though the night was warm. She felt as if strangers were looking at her, their sharp eyes burning holes into her face. A bus backfired, and Carolyn jumped, letting out a small cry. This is crazy, she thought. Why am I so jittery all of a sudden?
Heading down into the subway, she had the distinct sense that someone was watching her. Following her. She looked up and down the platform, but saw no one overtly suspect. But she distrusted everyone. The man with the backpack and the shifty eyes. The woman carrying the Macy’s shopping bag. The lanky teenager with the sagging jeans and exposed checkered underwear. The heavyset man with the red splotches on his face. The girl with the iPod plugged into her ears.
Getting onto the train, Carolyn clung tightly to the bar. Her heart was racing. Why am I suddenly so frightened?
The train lurched and began to move, twisting its way along the underground tracks. Someone was on the train who wanted to kill her. Suddenly she knew that as clearly as anything she’d ever known in her life. She was being stalked. She was the prey, and the killer had her in his sights.
Or her sights.
Or its sights.
The entire subway trip was a nightmare of nerves and terror. Every person who pressed against her caused her to recoil. Her hands had broken out into clammy sweat. When she finally reached her destination, she walked quickly out into the night, hoping the sights and sounds of her neighborhood would reassure her. They did not. Walking past the convenience store just a few doors down from her apartment, she decided to pop inside for a moment, hoping some of her usual banter with the clerk, an Indian man with kind eyes, would calm her nerves. But to her dismay, there was a different clerk behind the counter this night, a hard-eyed man who frowned when she looked over at him. Outside she noticed a figure pause outside the store window. The darkness precluded her from getting a look at the figure’s face. Was this who was stalking her?
Stop it, Carolyn, she scolded herself. You are letting your fears run away with all sense and reason.
This had never happened before. She had been frightened at times. The night seeing George Grant on the pier had been one of those times; the bloody message on the wall in that basement room in Mr. Young’s house had occasioned another. But never had she been paranoid. Never had she felt an irrational sense of danger.
That’s why she took the emotion seriously.
Someone-something-was out there. She knew that was a fact.
Taking a deep breath, she headed out of the bright lights of the store and back into the purple night. Whoever had paused outside the store was gone. Fighting off a shudder, she hurried around the block and let herself into her apartment, climbing the steps to the second floor. Carolyn unlocked her door and quickly shut it behind her, sliding the bolt firmly in place. She let out a long breath of relief. She was safe here.
But the fear still ate away at her.
He’s outside, she thought.
She moved over to her window. Leaving the lights off, she opened the Venetian blinds just a pinch and glanced down at the street.
There was indeed a man standing down there, looking up at her window.
Carolyn gasped.
She knew who it was.
It was no pitchfork-wielding ghost.
It was a far more human, but no less dangerous foe.
It was David Cooke.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’d like to leave the kids with Linda’s mother,” Dean told her. “I don’t want to bring them… I mean if something were to happen…”
Paula understood. But sitting across from her brother, glancing out the window at Zac and Callie playing in the yard, she wasn’t sure it was a good idea.
“We always went to the reunions as kids,” she said. “Mother and Dad always took us. For as long as the lottery has been held, the children have always been in the house. None of us knew about the lottery, of course, until we were older, but we were always there. Not bringing Zac and Callie would be breaking tradition, wouldn’t it? Against the rules?”
“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “Uncle Howard doesn’t know either.”
Paula took another sip of her coffee. She’d headed out to her brother’s house this morning because she’d spent another sleepless night, dreaming of that baby. The baby who taunted her. Her eyes were puffy and dark with circles. She needed to talk to Dean. He was the only one she could talk to.
“What pisses me off is that we don’t even know what the rules are, or who laid them down,” Paula said. “It’s obscene. Unjust. That some unknown force dictates the rules by which we live and die.”
Linda came by to refill both their cups. “I wake up every morning crying,” she said. “Thinking that this time, maybe…” She couldn’t say the words.
“I hope it’s me,” Paula said. “I hope I’m the one chosen for the lottery.”
“Stop it, Paula,” Dean said.
“Oh, Paula, no, you can’t mean that,” Linda said.
She frowned. “Of course I mean it. I have no one now. Since Karen left, there’s no one who needs me.” She looked out the window again at Zac and Callie.
“I hope it’s going to be none of us,” Dean said. “Uncle Howard sounded optimistic that this Carolyn Cartwright could-”
“Could what? Oh, Dean,” Paula said. “He was optimistic about Kip Hobart, too. And whatever the man’s name he had the time before that.”
Linda had moved out of the room, her emotions getting the best of her. Brother and sister sat in silence for a while, just staring down at their coffee cups.
Finally Dean reached into a large manila envelope sitting on the table and withdrew the scan he had printed from his computer. He hadn’t even shown it to Linda. For some reason, he wanted Paula to be the first to see it. After all, she had been with him the day he had taken it all those years ago.