Her hair shone red in the candlelight, playing softly on the breeze that wafted through one small window. In a vase a white rose dropped a petal. It fell to rest on the wooden desk, and Carlotta Fitzhugh caressed it between her fingers.

The paper read Lost Love. Carlotta’s pen lingered over the words, waving forward and back as the young woman tried desperately to arrange her thoughts. A drop of ink fell and splattered the paper. Then Carlotta thrust it aside and drew the rose again.

It had become her favorite pastime since she came to live in the new apartment. She could not write her memories as she intended, but instead her small room had become filled with sketches and paintings of flowers, usually red or white, reminiscent of her one passing love.

She would not call it sorrow, or dismay. It just so happened that her memories remained fresh in her mind, as fresh and vivid as if they had taken place only the day before.

The breeze fluttered the red candleflame, and it dwindled and went out. A wisp of white smoke curled skyward.

A knock on her door.

Carlotta flinched at the sound. It was long since she had any company.

The knock persisted. It was light, harmless. She opened the door.

“Hello,” said her relieved voice. A young police officer out of her memories, light brown hair and blue-gray eyes, smiled at her. “Jake. Nothing’s happened, has it?”

“Oh, no. Just on my way home and I wanted to stop by.”

“And you knew my apartment number?” Carlotta offered him half a smile.

“Well...” Jake laughed sheepishly. “I thought I might repeat the offer I once made to you. Will you join me for dinner? The Italian Diner, maybe?”

Carlotta froze. How could he have known? No, just simple coincidence.

She steadied herself. “It would be a pleasure.”

Jake’s smile broadened. “That’s good. Wasn’t sure if you’d want to or not. But it can’t be any fun, staying around your apartment all day. You need to get out a bit.”

-

“Hmm, well, except for my spice tea being a bit too spicy, it was lovely,” Carlotta laughed after Jake asked her how everything had been. “I can’t thank you enough, Jake. I really did need to get out of there.”

“My treat.”

Carlotta’s smile diminished as she sat in quiet thought.

Zeke Pellin, her thoughts told her. Remember when he proposed to you here? Dear, sweet Zeke...

No, Carlotta said to herself. I promised to let that go. I can’t bring him back, and I won’t live in misery.

Pictures flickered in her memory like the flame of a match hovering over a wick. Pictures of Zeke, dropping a diamond ring into her hand. Smiling, his brown eyes shining, as Carlotta said yes.

Carlotta shut her eyes, but the pictures came even more tangibly. A trembling rose. Zeke lying on her kitchen floor.

“Carlotta? Are you all right?”

Her brush of red lashes snapped up, her green, alert eyes focused on gentle Jake. She partially relaxed.

“Fine, I’m fine.” She cleared her whispering voice and stood up. “Here, let’s go for a walk.”

They walked together under the street lamps, away from the rushing cars to a quieter side of town, where the shops ended and a park began. Carlotta pressed her face against the cold wind, washing away her old thoughts in the stream of night air.

“You still miss him, don’t you?”

Carlotta looked back at Jake’s calm face, then down at the pavement.

“Yes, I--no. No, not in the way you would think. It’s become nearly haunting, now. Almost as if I can’t be allowed any pleasure when he’s gone. And I don’t know if I should.”

“You don’t take pleasure in his being gone. There’s nothing to scold yourself for. You can’t deny yourself any friends.”

Carlotta stopped at a fountain that crowned the city park. “You’re the only friend I’ve got, Jake.”

-

For the first time in nearly a month, Carlotta slept without dreams. No visions of Zeke passed through her mind, no rooms of red and white roses. When she awoke, sunlight was pouring brightly into her room.

She took down the paintings of the flowers and closed them up in a drawer. The last sketch of the white rose she crumpled and dropped in the waste basket. It was time for her to move on.

She touched the diamond ring on her finger, and then stopped. Its crystalline gem sparkled in the morning light.

Carlotta closed her hand over the ring as a tear slid down her face.

-

7206 Willmonte Manor

Jefferson Street, Lorague.

Dear M. Willmonte:

Your plan is under way. I think I have discovered the keeper of your plot. Such arrangements will be made as to secure it. I will soon speak directly to you on the matter. The station could be at stake.

Regards,

Jacob Pullingham

-

Crisp afternoon air was settling calmly in the park where Jake and Carlotta sat on an iron bench, their hands laced in each other’s. A dove was calling softly.

“I think I may go back to the flower shop,” Carlotta sighed. “I can’t live on what I’ve got much longer.”

“You could do what you first had a mind to do,” suggested Jake. “Set up your own shop, on this side of the city. Don’t worry about the money, Carlotta. If you need anything, I can help.”

Carlotta regarded him quietly. “You’re very kind.”

Jake smiled.

“To tell the truth,” Carlotta went on, growing more thoughtful with each word, “I’d like to be with you all the time, Jake. It would be wonderful to get out of this city, see the world...but it must sound foolish.” She laughed bitterly.

“It sounds beautiful.”

Carlotta bit her lip, swishing her foot through the dry grass. “I can’t, though. No matter how much I want to, it always leads back to the same thing. Zeke.” To say his name pained her. She studied her diamond ring. “I couldn’t get rid of it, the engagement ring. I couldn’t bring myself to take it off, to forget him. This ring must have been very dear to him, and he gave it to me.”

“Trust me, you will never forget him.” Jake squeezed her hand. “But remembering won’t bring him back.”

“I know.” Carlotta hugged him close. “I think I love you, Jake,” she whispered. “That’s the hardest part.”

Jake smiled, somewhat sadly. As Carlotta buried her face against his shoulder he took the thin ring between his fingers.

Carlotta suddenly drew back, smiling. “I’ll put it away,” she said decidedly. “It is time I let go.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Jake.”

-

Jake Pullingham checked his watch. The rondezvous point at the end of the alley was deserted, as it had been for the last two minutes.

He shifted restlessly, looking from the alleyway to the black sky, which hung in a narrow path between the towering walls of two tall brick buildings. Jake felt uneasy now more than ever before, and suddenly the rondezvous didn’t seem desirable in the least.

And besides, he’s late. I’m not going to wait around any longer. Nevertheless he stayed put.

The air seemed to grow icier, darker as he waited. Jake began to hear things in the night; sometimes voices, sometimes his own thoughts.

He began to step backward.

I shouldn’t be here.

Jake turned and ran out of the darkness.

-

They stood beside the rail of a white bridge overlooking a river that ran along the outskirts of the city. Jake had taken his leave from work without consent.

“Won’t you get into an awful lot of trouble, though?” asked Carlotta, worried.

“Probably,” Jake laughed. He was in a carefree, light mood, deeply in contrast to the night before. “It’s worth it, to be with you.” He was stung by the truth of the words.

“I love to be with you, too,” said Carlotta warmly as she laid her head against his shoulder. She gripped the guardrail with her left hand.

“Your ring.” Jake glanced down at it, still on her finger.

“Oh.” Carlotta stammered a bit. “I...I must have forgotten.”

She looked up at Jake fearfully, afraid she would see anger, but she was relieved to see the same concerned face. “I’m sorry, Jake. I promise, I’ll put it away, somewhere safe, so I won’t worry about it anymore.”

“If you want, I could--” Jake began, but he stopped himself.

“You could what?”

“I...could take you to lunch.” A shaky smile, and he took her hand, starting down the bridge.

Carlotta smiled sweetly, and she was at the most peace she had ever been.

-

611 Dobville, Lorague. Dobville Police Station.

To Mr. Jacob Pullingham:

It has come to my attention that certain difficulties have arisen between yourself and a third party. These difficulties will have to be eliminated, Mr. Pullingham, or else you will be removed from our services. This presents a rut in my original plan. Correct it.

I have arranged for you both to arrive at my Manor house, seeing as our first meeting was unfortunately cancelled. If you do not show up, I will send someone else.

I look forward to your arrival.

Cordially,

M. Alfred Willmonte

-

Jake paused for breath. After he entered, he would not be able to make a sound, even of his own breathing.

He had climbed five levels up a fire escape to a small glass door beside a balcony. It was midnight or later by now.

Jake knelt so the door’s lock was at eye level. He drew out what looked to be a small screwdriver, but if one looked closer it was clear that the edge was sharp enough to pierce hard wood.

A master key, thought Jake with a slight smile as he stuck it into the lock.

After some quick expert motions, the lock clicked out of place and Jake opened the door, concealing his tool.

He shut the door behind him before any unwanted sounds could leak inside. He moved soundlessly down the short hallway, peering into the quiet room where Carlotta slept. The moonlight glowed on her peaceful face. One hand was tucked behind her rosy-haired head.

Dear Carlotta... Jake pulled away. He wasn’t there to see her. He slid open a desk drawer and clicked on a tiny light.

-

At six o’ clock the next morning, Jake lay exhausted on his couch, deliriously tumbling in and out of deep-sleep dreams.

He jumped nearly a foot in the air when the phone rang. Gasping to catch his fleeting breath, he half regained his composure and picked up the phone.

“’Lo?...Willmonte!” He listened to the familiar commanding voice, dragging himself off the couch and running a hand through his light tousled hair. “I...no, nothing...Of course I got inside, I--”

“Did you find it?”

A sigh from Jake. “No.”

“I’ve a mind to believe you didn’t search.”

“I did! I told you I did, I searched all night, the entire apartment. I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

“Or you are denying that you found it. Is that your game, Pullingham, to keep it for yourself until we just give up and let you go?”

“What? I told you already--”

“I’m growing quite weary of you playing with my case. Perhaps when we next meet I will beat it off you myself. Your failures have already proved your incapability, Mr. Pullingham. Just bring it to me and I’ll let you off without further ceremony.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

Willmonte had hung up. Jake shouted in agitation and slammed the phone down. He threw himself back onto the couch, and lay there facedown until he fell once again into a troubled sleep.

-

“A party!” Carlotta wasn’t sure whether to laugh or protest. She gazed at Jake in full surprise. “I simply couldn’t. So soon...and I haven’t got a thing nearly nice enough to wear...”

“I can take care of all that,” Jake assured her. “Anyway, it’s hardly my choice in the first place. The Manor belongs to an old friend of mine, and he insisted that I bring you.”

“But a manor?"

“Don’t worry, Carlotta. We’ll have a great time. If you don’t have anything nice to wear, I don’t either.”

Carlotta laughed and hugged him, and he spun her around. “Wonderful,” Carlotta said.

Jake couldn’t help but wonder if any of his inward fear or shame shone on the outside. Apparently not, he decided, as Carlotta carried on in glee. Jake wished he could be certain that all he felt was as true as it appeared when he acted out his role, his part in a gruesome play that Alfred Willmonte had devised.

-

They arrived at the Willmonte Manor in a black taxicab. It was a dark November night, and a storm was boiling in the skies overhead. Once they entered the mansion, however, they were overwhelmed with yellow light, movement, and life. Carlotta very soon felt out of place among the rich, well-bred guests in flawless suits and flowing gowns. Her only comfort was Jake, who guided her along amid the sea of unfamiliar visitors. Music drifted loud and clear up to the high domed ceiling like twists of fog.

“I suppose I should be introduced to your friend first, right?” asked Carlotta, unsure of what to do.

“There will be plenty of time for that, soon enough.” Jake enveloped her small hand in his. “May I have this dance?”

They danced unnoticed, as if they were the only two people there. They danced as the exquisite orchestra played a song seemingly meant for them. And Jake knew that it was. It was all part of Willmonte’s scheme, and now Carlotta was unknowingly cast into it. Guilt was slowly trapping him in his own prison. Of course he cound not turn back now, it was too late for that. He wished with all his heart that he had not taken the assignment, but it changed nothing. As closer and closer they danced in the Manor, closer and closer they moved to the danger of discovery.

Carlotta knew none of this. No thought passed through her mind that it would be her last dance with Jake. It was only a party, an innocent party, and she was just a guest, invited by a friend. No thought in her mind of being a guest of honor--so to speak.

They were dancing near the staircase, dangerously close now, and Jake held Carlotta tightly against him.

“Jake, are you all right?”

Not long now...

Before he could respond they were both stopped. Alfred Willmonte stood between them.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your friend, Mr. Pullingham.” The voice was deep with a slight French accent. The man it belonged to was tall, with a gray suit and a trim goatee, and menacing dark eyes that glared underneath a heavy brow.

“Monsieur Willmonte,” said Jake with a small bow. He tried a smile but found it impossible. Instead he bit back the quiver in his voice and introduced his companion. “This is Carlotta Fitzhugh.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure.” Willmonte kissed Carlotta’s hand. “I am Alfred Willmonte, of the Willmonte Manor, as I am sure you have guessed.”

“Of course,” Carlotta managed to laugh.

“If you will be obliged, I would like to speak to Mr. Pullingham in my quarters. You may accompany us, if you wish.”

“No, thank you,” said Carlotta politely, though she could not imagine what he would want with Jake. “I’ll wait.”

“Very well. We will be back shortly.”

Jake walked alongside Willmonte for a moment, then he fell back and turned briskly to Carlotta.

“Go, Carlotta,” he hissed. “You must hurry, get out of here--”

“Mr. Pullingham?” Willmonte gripped him firmly on the shoulder. “Is there a problem?”

Carlotta stared worriedly at them.

“I am sorry, mademoiselle,” Willmonte apologized nobly. “Mr. Pullingham must not be feeling very well.”

“Oh--I--should I fetch him a glass of water?”

“Would you? That would be most kind.”

As Carlotta hurried off, Willmonte watched Jake with unmoving eyes, and an unmoving frown. “A delightful lady, no? Charming, quite charming. Now, why on earth would you bid her to leave my celebration, which I so kindly asked her to--”

“Stop,” Jake ordered. “Stop! What do you want me to do? It’s as simple as I say: she doesn’t have your money. Why did you have me bring her? I know what you want. You mean to do her harm.”

“Precisely, if it gets me what I want,” Willmonte answered smoothly. “I made it quite clear to you that this assignment would involve certain risks. Certain extremities, Mr. Pullingham, that may involve the departure of our third party.”

“I can’t kill her.”

“It hasn’t come to that yet. I should have known, though, not to hire one so young and inexperienced. You do not know brutality yet.” He shifted so that Jake could see the oblong object he hid behind his suit jacket. “I hope you will not have to face it at such a young age.”

“I’ve had enough of this--”

“I wouldn’t say anymore just now. Your lady approaches.” Willmonte softly walked away.

Carlotta came rushing to Jake. “Here you are. I’m sorry, it took me ages to find the kitchen. Are you feeling sick? My word, you’re terribly pale.”

“Am I? Nevermind, I probably just need some fresh air.”

“Jake, what was all that about?”

“What was what all about?” Jake droned absentmindedly, pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“You know. Willmonte.” Carlotta’s eyes turned stern.

Jake sighed. “Don’t mind it, Carlotta. It was nothing.”

Carlotta waited, then took the glass of water. “Here, I’ll take this back. Keep your secret to yourself, then. I won’t question why you bade me to leave this place.”

The irony of Carlotta’s words stung Jake like a knife. He sat down heavily at the foot of the staircase, running his hands through his hair. And as he waited he hoped in vain that Willmonte would not come back. He was trapped, he and Carlotta, like mice in an endless maze, and Willmonte watched all the while taking malicious pleasure. If one of his mice didn’t cooperate, he would easily smother out its life.

Or both their lives.

Carlotta did not know yet this danger in full, however she felt the same entrapment as Jake: two mice in a maze. She did not like the aura about Alfred Willmonte, and she was beginning to feel unsure of Jake. As she followed her former path to the kitchen, her own suspicions grew too strong for her liking, and through confusion of mind and of location, she lost her way in the spacious manor.

The number of the other passing guests in the corridors had started to dwindle, and suddenly Carlotta found herself completely alone in a short dead-end hall. Except for two lamps on either side of the hall’s entrance, there were no lights; as a result one could not see the end of the hall. Carlotta squinted into the darkness. The manor was officially beginning to unsettle her, but the mystery of the dark hallway sparked her curiosity. Looking over her shoulder to make certain she was alone, she carefully placed her glass on a narrow table and took the lamp in her hands. She walked with it as far as she could until its cord pulled taut. Luckily (or unfortunately; at the moment she could not tell which) for Carlotta, the light stretched as far as the bottom half of the opposite wall. An intricately carved doorframe could clearly be seen, and a door of thick gnarled wood. Carlotta replaced the lamp and crept up to the shadowy door. If anyone had walked by at that moment, they would have seen only a chink of light in the shadows as the young woman pulled the weighty door open, slipped inside, and shut it behind her.

Moonlight dropped into the place from a series of high barred windows. Down and down the passage wound, walled closely with stones. Carlotta found herself pattering swiftly and quietly down a great stairwell that wrapped itself in spirals as it cascaded deep under the mansion’s foundations. Here and there she would walk into a puddle of moonlight, bathing her in the eerie pallor of the night, but soon even these stopped and only scattered lanterns lit her way. Then all at once the hall opened up.

Carlotta’s fright had been steadily growing, and now she stopped dead in tremulous awe. The room--indeed, it was much more than just a room, thought Carlotta--was lit with many candles and lanterns, so that long ominous shadows shivered in and out. The ceiling rose even higher than the stairwell’s had. And all along the walls and floor, much to Carlotta’s terror, were instruments and devices of the cruelest pain and torture, beyond anything she could have imagined. Though outdated--ancient, even--the instruments were newly chilling. There was an iron maiden nearby, a rack in one corner, and twists of heavy rope upon the floor. Carlotta did not want to see what else lay in there, but the strangeness of the Manor was too suspicious, and she had gone too far to turn back. Something was compelling her to take those next few steps into the dungeon, deeper into the mystery that was unraveling before her.

She could not prepare herself for what she saw at the end of the room. Before she could say a word, or even utter a scream, she fainted in a heap.