to place the face with the name to the left. All of the smiling face leered back at him from beneath the gloss of the page as he inspected them one by one. But nothing jumped out at him.
Moving on to the right page, he began to scan once again, caressing each of the faces with his gentle stare. One by one they passed, the names lining up with the faces, until…
Something on the page jumped, he caught the movement from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t see it right off, but he was sure that he had seen something on the right page. Glancing towards the bottom right side of the page, he scanned the pictures, waiting for whatever had happened to do so again. Finally, his patience was rewarded.
A tiny, almost unnoticeable flash of red caught his eye as it immediately focused in on the picture of its origin. Choosing not even to steer his gaze from the picture long enough to read the name for fear whatever was happening might stop, he stared deeply into the picture, watching as the crimson flashes started appearing with more regularity.
The picture was of a young man, fairly attractive in the grand scheme of things, but nothing incredibly out of the ordinary for that age group. Whatever color his hair had been was now replaced with a deep red, the hair matted damply to the arch of the skull. The face was different from all of the others, as the expression that haunted the face was nothing even close to the smiles that ripped across all of the others. This particular boy wore would could only be described as a grimace, his tightly stretched lips peeled back from his clenched, grinding teeth. His eyes were mere slits, his brow knit tightly below the taut skin of his forehead. Thin lines of red ran vertically down his neck, diffusing into the white color of his shirt, spreading in an oblong arc like a sweat stain across his chest beneath his black tie.
Harry’s eyes darted to the left side of the page, quickly finding the name and reading it aloud.
“Corso, Shane.”
His eyes shot back to the picture before the name had even fully rolled off the tip of his tongue, but by the time his gaze had settled onto the picture, it had returned to normal. The only red in the picture now was the two small circles in the center of each eye. The grimace had been replaced by a warm smile; the light hair combed back into place, and the white shirt almost glowing beneath the dark jacket.
Reading the name one last time, Harry closed the book with a loud clap and slid it across the floor of the room beneath the love seat across the room from him.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway upstairs as Scott appeared rounding the corner just above the staircase. Harry’s head jerked to the side as Scott could see immediately the startled look on the man’s pale face as he crouched on the ground.
“What’s going on?” Scott asked as he bounded down the stairs. His damp hair bounced slightly as he descended.
Harry just stared up at him from the floor, his jaw hanging open.
The dark blue sweatshirt featuring the old Denver Broncos logo in the center brought out his eyes from behind the thick bags that encircled them as he crossed the entryway into the living room. Thrusting his right hand into the pocket of his faded jeans, he hovered over Harry, the carpet seeping between his bare toes.
Harry just stared up at him for a moment, his brow knit tightly over his eyes, before finally he spoke.
“Do you know Shane Corso?” he asked, rising from the floor and settling back onto the couch.
“Sure,” Scott replied, bewildered. “But I haven’t seen him since high school.”
Harry stared at the dark line beneath the love seat where the yearbook had slipped beneath.
“I think we should try to get in touch with him.”
“What’s going on?”
“I was looking through that old yearbook of yours and…”
“And what?”
“And I think that he’s going to be the next to die.”
The ringing phone startled both of them as Scott looked to Harry to elaborate briefly before walking from the room and into the kitchen. He grabbed the receiver from the rechargeable stand and pressed the “talk” button.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Ramsey?” the voice on the other end asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Bob Goode with the People Network.”
“Oh, hi.”
“I just wanted to call to let you know that I have been assigned to the location that you requested.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to go ahead and give you my phone number and extension where I can be reached should you have any questions or any information that you may find pertinent to the situation.”
“All right,” Scott said, pulling a pen and a small notepad from the top drawer of the cabinet beneath. “Go ahead.”
“Area code 206, 541, 2064, extension 302,” he said, pausing briefly. “Did you get that?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then, Mr. Ramsey, I look forward to helping you, and thank you for choosing the People Network.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Scott muttered into the phone as the he heard a click at the other end of the line.
Replacing the cordless unit atop the charger, he walked back towards the living room.
“It seems almost silly to have them look for the kid you pulled out of that house, but I didn’t know exactly what to say.”
Harry was standing in front of the couch staring out the window as the snow multiplied, a white sheet of the enormous flakes hammering into the large picture window.
“Do you have any way of getting in touch with your old friend Shane?” he asked without turning around. Some of the color had returned to his cheeks, but he still looked quite pale, the lines of age clearly defined across his face.
“I don’t have a phone number or anything, but I think his parents still live in the same house and I doubt they would mind giving me his number.”
“Good.”
He still stared out into the storm.
“But I don’t remember their phone number so I’m going to have to go look in the phone book.”
“Why don’t we just stop by, there’s something else I would like to take a look at while we’re out.”
Harry finally peeked back at Scott, but only long enough to give him a worn smile of reassurance, returning his gaze to row of spruces in the front yard, and the yellow, glowing eyes of the stag that stared back at him from within the branches of the trees.
XV
Tuesday, November 15th
Noon
The forest green Cherokee rolled to a stop against the curb in front of the house. A large “For Sale” sign was staked in the lawn in the front yard just to the right of the driveway. In the right corner was a picture of the smiling Realtor, her pseudo- smile so large it threatened to rip her face in two.
Scott stared up at the vacant house for a moment. He had more than his share of memories within this house. He could remember so many afternoons where they had gone one on one in the driveway beneath that freestanding basket that had been painted green to match the house. There had been the times where they had brought girls over to bounce on the trampoline in the back yard for no other reason than the bounce.
All of the window coverings had been removed, and even through the second story windows he could tell that the house was completely barren. From what he understood, the house had changed hands close to a half dozen times over the last decade plus, with none of the owners staying lone enough to even trim back the Mugho Pines that crowded the front walkway, covering the slate.
Opening the door, he climbed out of the Jeep, his feet sinking well past his ankles into the deepening snow. Closing the door, he could hear the echo of Harry doing the same as he walked up the pristine snow that
