Paula took her in her arms. It was painful to move; the wound in her side was terribly sore, though she thought they’d stanched the bleeding. Her eyes moved across the room and caught Linda’s. Her sister-in-law gave her a small smile. Paula’s heart broke. She still had Karen, but Linda had lost her love and her soul mate.
The children remained clinging to their mother. Their tears had stopped for the moment, and they were silent. Paula thought if they were all to die, they should at least try to save Zac and Callie.
But another part of her felt hopeless. What would they save them for? They would inherit the curse.
Unless they could somehow end it this day.
Was it possible? Carolyn seemed to still think it was. She seemed to believe that Uncle Howard possessed some information that could be key. Paula wanted to believe she was right. But right now, hope was a fragile option.
Her eyes moved over to Chelsea. The girl was sitting on the sofa with her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself. She was still wearing her flimsy pink nightgown, and she was barefoot. Paula’s heart broke for her, too, even if she’d been party to a monstrous hoax the night before. She’d found her father’s mutilated body. The whereabouts of her brother were unknown. Chelsea was terrified. Alone among the people in the room, she had no one to console her.
From the foyer came a footstep.
“Douglas?” Paula whispered.
It had to be Douglas.
She and Karen took a step backward from the door. It was locked. If it was Douglas, he’d call to them to open it.
But the doorknob just turned. Whoever turned it grew angry when discovering it was locked. The doorknob began to rattle.
It wasn’t Douglas.
Suddenly fists were beating against the door.
“Oh God!” Chelsea cried out. The children, too, were crying again.
“Paula,” Karen said. “Look! The window!”
Paula turned. A window at the far side of the parlor was open. The frame had opened out. It would be easy to step through it and out onto the backyard.
“It might be a trick,” Paula said.
The banging continued against the parlor door.
“No,” Linda cried, suddenly. “It’s no trick! Look!”
Just beyond the window, standing in the bright sunshine on the grassy lawn, was Beatrice. Her long dark hair and filmy white dress blew in the wind. She was beckoning to them.
“Can we trust her?” Karen asked.
Paula wasn’t sure. Carolyn had seemed to think her spirit was benevolent. But she couldn’t know for sure.
Just then the banging on the door grew in greater intensity, and at last a fist came smashing through the heavy wood. Chelsea let out a scream.
There was no more time for delay. “Take the children out the window,” Paula shouted to Linda. “Go with Beatrice!”
Immediately Linda was pushing the children across the room. Chelsea ran in that direction, too.
“Let the children go first, Chelsea!” Paula commanded.
The girl relented, shaking her hands in frustration. Paula watched as first Callie and then Zac stepped over the windowsill and out onto the lawn. Linda followed, just as the great oak door buckled inward, broken off its hinges, crashing onto the floor.
And standing there was David Cooke, his chest and neck riddled with gaping dry holes made from gunshots. In his hands he held a length of rope.
“Go!” Paula shouted, backing up herself toward the window.
Chelsea was scrambling to get out, but in her terror, she slipped, falling backward on her butt. In that second, David Cooke lunged, grabbing hold of Karen by her right arm. He tackled her onto the ground, quickly and easily wrapping the rope around her neck. He began to strangle her. Karen’s eyes bulged, her mouth open as she tried to breathe. Her small hands clutched at the rope around her neck but to no avail.
Paula jumped onto the maniac’s back and began pummeling him with her fists.
“Help me!” she called over to Chelsea, who was once again attempting to step out of the window.
“Help me get him off of her!” Paula screamed. “Please!”
Chelsea looked back. For a second she hesitated. One foot was outside the window.
Paula was struggling now to push David Cooke off Karen. Her girlfriend’s face was turning blue.
“Help me!” she called again to Chelsea.
The girl lifted her leg back over the sill and ran to her cousin. Both of them shoved. Paula willed every muscle in her body to come to her aid. She let loose with a primal scream and pushed as hard as she could. With Chelsea pushing beside her, they were able to move the brute. It was just the slightest movement, but it was enough for his grip to loosen on the rope, enabling Karen to gulp down some air.
“Once more!” Paula shouted, and they pushed the creature again. This time he moved a fraction of an inch more, and Karen, small and agile, was able to wiggle out from under him.
“Get out of here!” Paula yelled. Karen, though woozy, managed to get to her feet and stumble over to the window.
Paula and Chelsea were fast on her heels. Paula practically threw Karen out on to the lawn, then turned to do the same to Chelsea. But by now David Cooke was on his feet-and on them. Paula felt his cold fingers brush her neck. With his other hand he was reaching for Chelsea. But Paula was just a little quicker than her cousin. She was able to pull away from the brute.
No such luck for Chelsea.
Paula watched in horror as David Cooke, enraged now, grabbed Chelsea in his dead hands and lifted her up over his head. With speed and strength that Paula didn’t believe possible, he tore Chelsea’s right arm off her shoulder, then her left. The girl screamed as blood spurted everywhere. Then the madman let out a loud roar and tore Chelsea in half, splitting her just above the waist. He tossed the bottom half of her body to the floor and raised the armless top half at Paula.
He was tossing the bloody stump at her when she leapt from the window. Out on the lawn Paula heard the sickening thud of her cousin’s remains hitting the glass.
Chapter Thirty-four
Douglas peered out of the door of the library into the corridor.
“I’m sure I heard something,” he said.
Carolyn looked from him back to Uncle Howie, who sat in his chair with his hands folded in his lap.
“David has probably revived,” she said to the old man. “He may be terrifying them in the parlor even as we speak. You must tell us what you know.”
“Yes, Uncle Howie,” Douglas said, closing the door and turning to face his uncle. “For God’s sake, no more stonewalling.”
He had finally admitted to himself that his uncle knew more than he was saying, that maybe in fact Uncle Howie had been suppressing information all along. Information that might have saved so many of the people who had died from this long curse. People like his father.
At the moment, his biggest worry was for the people he had left behind in the parlor, especially Zac and Callie. Douglas had taken the rifle with him. He knew bullets couldn’t stop David Cooke, but they could slow him down. The people in the parlor were therefore defenseless. He had seen the madman’s body sprawled on the floor of the study before he’d found Carolyn and Uncle Howie here in the library, and he saw that Carolyn had taken the knife. But Douglas knew it wouldn’t be long before the zombie was on its feet again, and finding another weapon wouldn’t be difficult for it. Even its bare hands were surely weapon enough. Douglas feared that the sounds he’d heard a moment ago had come from the direction of the parlor. Who else, he wondered, was going to die?
“You’ve got to speak,” Douglas shouted at his uncle. “How many more deaths? How many more deaths before you tell us what you know?”
“Are you somehow prevented from telling us?” Carolyn asked. “Is the force of that room so great?”