It looked just as it had that day when they’d taken the Polaroid back to Dean’s room to look at it. A sofa, a table, and lots of cobwebs. But there had been something else, too. An image in the upper right corner. As kids, they’d enjoyed scaring themselves into believing it was a face. After they learned about the secret of the room, Dean had told investigators about what they had done and what they thought they had photographed-but by then, the relics of their childhood had been lost. Who kept old toys and forty-five records and comic books and Polaroids? The picture was gone, lost. Without it, none of those who tried to end the curse could ever say definitively what the image was. But a couple of weeks ago, going through a box of old school papers, Dean had found the Polaroid. He didn’t tell Paula. He didn’t tell anyone. He just brought it to his production department and asked them to scan it for him.

He hit the button on his screen to enlarge the image. And then he enlarged it again.

Dean sat back in his chair, his heart thudding in his chest.

All those years ago, he and Paula had been right.

Their childish imaginings had been absolutely on target.

The image in the corner of the photo was indeed a face.

The face of a crying baby.

Douglas watched with mounting annoyance as his cousins fluttered around Uncle Howie. Chelsea was adjusting the pillow behind his back as he sat reading in his chair. Ryan kept asking if him if he’d like a brandy, or maybe to share a cigar. They were wide-eyed and attentive to all his stories, asking him to repeat old tales about the family that they’d all heard dozens of times before, acting as if the stories were fresh and new, laughing and telling Uncle Howie how funny and how brilliant he was. It was making Douglas sick.

He knew why they were behaving that way. The old man’s will. They had rushed up here when they heard Douglas had arrived. They were afraid that Uncle Howie was going to leave everything to Douglas. They didn’t want to get cut out. So they were doing what they always did whenever they visited. They were kissing major ass.

Stretched out on the couch, Douglas just shook his head and went back to reading the notes Carolyn had left for him. He would have thought that finding out about the room-about the lottery, about the ten-year cycle of deaths-would have shaken some sense into Ryan and Chelsea, convinced them that some things were more important than money. Hell, who was to say that either of them would even be around to inherit anything Uncle Howie left them? What if one of them was chosen to spend the night in that room? So much for the old man’s will then.

But, no. Ryan and Chelsea went on as if unfazed. Oh, sure, that day when Uncle Howie told them the whole story, they had been terrified. Both had seen things that convinced them what their uncle was saying was true. Ryan babbled on about how the man with the pitchfork had tried to kill him. Both of them were shaking like the last leaves on a maple tree on a windy October day. But then they’d run outside to call Daddy on their cell phones. An hour later they’d come back inside with a sense of calm. “We trust you, Carolyn,” Ryan grandly announced, kissing the lady’s hand. “We trust you will deliver our family from this terrible curse.”

Again, Douglas tried to focus on the materials Carolyn had left for him to peruse. So apparently reassured were his cousins that they evinced no interest in reading any of the accounts that had been compiled about the room. They had no desire to help find the solution. They simply went on kissing Uncle Howie’s ass. Maybe, Douglas thought, their nonchalance stemmed from the fact that their side of the family had been largely spared any of the tragedies. The luck of the draw had always seemed to favor them. While Douglas’s father had died horrifically in that room, their father had survived, decade after decade. Maybe they were counting on that luck to continue.

“Uncle Howard,” Ryan was saying, “what do you say about you and I taking a little spin on the yacht? It’s still rigged up, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the old man said. “It’s down at the marina. But I’m afraid I get awfully tired these days…”

“Come on, Uncle Howie,” Ryan said, appropriating the nickname Douglas always used. “Just you and I. I’ve got some girl troubles I thought you might be able to counsel me on.” He shot a glance in Douglas’s direction. “Rest assured, I’ll be popping the question to a very desirable candidate very soon.”

Douglas groaned and sat up on the couch.

“Oh, Douglas,” Ryan said. “I wasn’t aware you were still here.”

“I’m heading out,” he said, standing. “The air’s getting a little soupy in here.”

“Will you be back for dinner, Douglas?” Uncle Howard asked.

He nodded. “Sure. I’m just going to take a little walk around the grounds.”

There was no way he could concentrate in there. In fact, what he needed to do was take a good long walk and clear his head. It wasn’t just his cousins’ rapacity that irked him. It was also the growing sense that time was slipping away from them and that they were still no closer to finding any kind of solution. Unless they discovered something, the lottery would have to be held exactly two weeks from now. One of them-possibly Douglas himself-would have to spend a night in that room.

Heading outside onto the great lawn, Douglas looked up at the sun, enjoying its warmth on his cheeks. He tried not to feel despair. They’d discovered quite a bit already; they could still discover more. Carolyn had returned to New York to meet with a couple of psychics with whom she’d worked in the past. There was talk of another séance when she returned, possibly conducted by one of her experts. Also being considered was a more powerful exorcism than the one Kip attempted. But Douglas couldn’t shake the feeling that they were just repeating the same steps, going through the same motions that had been tried by so many before. And none of them had ever succeeded.

The strangest sensation of all, however, was how much he missed Carolyn. In the last few days before she headed back to New York, they had spent a great deal of time together. On the night before she left, sitting on the stone bench out near the cliff, she had shared with Douglas the pain of her mother’s death. He’d learned of Carolyn’s sister, living in a home, and Carolyn’s deep sense of responsibility for her. But most significant was hearing about the horrible relationship Carolyn had endured. To think she had been sleeping next to a murderer. Douglas had been unable to restrain himself. He had reached over and placed his arms around Carolyn. She had seemed grateful for his embrace. Slowly, tenderly, he took her chin in his hand and moved his lips to kiss her…

But then a twig had snapped, and they had looked around. Chelsea and Ryan were heading toward them. They had separated quickly, moving apart on the bench. Douglas’s cousins were rattling on with questions about whether the curse would end if the house was razed. “I doubt it,” Carolyn told them. “Your uncle said he believes that if that were to happen, it would simply cause the kind of slaughter we’ve seen when periodically the strict rules of the lottery weren’t followed to the letter.”

“Well,” Chelsea said, impatiently, in a tone of voice she never used around Uncle Howard, “eventually, when our dear uncle is gone, someone will have to decide what to do with this house. I wouldn’t want it. So many horrific things have happened here.”

Douglas thought she spoke as if she had no fears at all about being chosen to enter that room. All she was concerned about was what happened after. As if she knew she’d come out just fine.

The worst part was that he and Carolyn never got to finish what they started. The next morning she was packed and heading out to the airport, being driven by one of Uncle Howie’s chauffeurs to the airport. Douglas had offered to take her on his bike, knowing how much she had enjoyed the ride before, but she declined briskly with a smile, saying her bag was too heavy. She seemed cool, a little distant, though she gave him her files to read while she was gone. They barely said good-bye. Uncle Howie was there, so Douglas couldn’t say what he wanted to say to her.