John Manning - The Killing Room

Ryan leapt up from behind the desk. He saw Carolyn standing in the doorframe, the rifle in her hands still smoking.

“David Cooke had that coming from me for a long time,” she said.

Her words made no sense to Ryan. But no matter. He was on his feet and running. He wasted no time asking any more questions or thanking Carolyn for saving his life. He just wanted out of the house. There might be no place that was safe, but at the moment, all Ryan could do was run.

He bolted out of the study and down the hall, his footsteps echoing across the marble.

“Come with me,” Carolyn said to Howard Young. “He’ll soon be back on his feet. The bullets can knock him down, but they can’t kill him.”

“He’s not a ghost?” the old man asked.

Carolyn had stooped down beside the body of the man she had once loved. She had slept beside this creature. She had let him make love to her. She had trusted him.

“No,” she said. “He’s a zombie.”

She pried the knife from his cold hands.

“Might as well disarm him while we have the chance,” she said.

Standing, she motioned to Mr. Young to leave the room.

“There’s nowhere we can hide,” he told her.

“I’m aware of that. That’s why we need to have a little talk, you and me. Take advantage of David being out cold for a while.” Her eyes hardened. “It’s time you told me everything you know, Mr. Young.”

He looked away. “Who is still alive?”

“The only ones killed have been Dean and Philip. Everyone else is safe for the moment in the parlor.” She glanced out the door. “With the possible exception of Ryan.”

“Take me there then,” Howard Young said. “I would see my family.”

Carolyn shook her head. “Nope. You and I are heading over to the library. Where we can talk privately.”

He glared at her.

“Now move,” she said, nudging him with the rifle. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

She led him out of the room and down the corridor. Once inside the library, she locked the door behind them, even though she felt certain David Cooke could break it down if he wanted to. In life he’d been a very strong man. In death, he was even stronger.

“Sit,” she ordered Howard Young.

The old man took a seat in a high-backed chair. He looked so small and frail. Carolyn stood over him.

“What happened the night Beatrice was killed? Who else was involved? Who is the power in that room? Who is using David Cooke to try to kill us?”

“I don’t know,” Howard Young said.

“You’re lying. Dr. Fifer found out something, and for that, you fired him. What did he find out?”

The old man just covered his face in his gnarled, veiny hands.

“You claim to want to end all these deaths!” Carolyn said, her voice rising. “But you withhold information! I need to know everything! We may have only a few minutes! But if I could discover who was behind this, maybe we could make some kind of appeal-”

“It doesn’t understand logic,” Howard Young murmured into his hands. “It cannot be reasoned with.”

“Listen to me!” Carolyn shouted. She stooped down beside the chair so that her eyes were level with Howard Young’s. “You must tell me everything! Or else we all will die here in this house. One by one. Including you.”

“I welcome death,” the old man said. “But it will save for me for last. It will make me watch everyone I love die before me. That’s the way it has been for eighty years.”

“We can end it!” Carolyn insisted. “But first you must tell me everything you know!”

Their eyes held.

Then came the banging on the door.

Paula stood at the door of the parlor, listening. The house had once again fallen silent. When the screams had come from the direction of the study, Douglas had rushed out, assuming Carolyn was in danger. His passion to help the woman he loved was understandable-but his departure had left them without a rifle. Paula knew that bullets wouldn’t do much to defend them from an undead man. She’d seen that firsthand in the kitchen. But still she wished she were holding that shiny metal in her hands. It provided some comfort, at least.

Karen came up beside her.

“Baby, maybe you ought to come away from the doors,” she said, placing her hand on Paula’s shoulder.

Paula turned to her. In just the last couple of hours, their world had turned upside down, not once, but several times. She had woken up this morning not knowing what had happened in the room. Then she had learned that Douglas and Carolyn had survived, and for a few blessed moments she had thought them free of the terrors that had ruled their lives for so long. Then, wonder of wonders, Karen had shown up-and everything had indeed seemed right and good and hopeful in Paula’s world.

Then all hell had broken loose. Dean was dead. His children were traumatized. And a maniac was trying to kill them all.

“Karen,” Paula said. “You might have a chance to survive. End it with me again. Renounce what you said earlier. Take it all back. Then walk out of this house. It won’t touch you if you aren’t connected to the family.”

She smiled wryly. “I’m still adjusting to finding out about this madness. But from what I sense, it-whatever it is-would know I didn’t mean it. It would know I still loved you. Sorry, Paula. We’re in this together.” She took her hand. “As we should have been from the beginning.”

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!”