Shortly after nightfall, Rose attempted to settle in to her home. However, with the knowledge that Vivian and Christine had stepped foot in this house, lived in it, breathed its air and exhaled their air, and went about their daily lives in this house made Rose all the more resentful.
Soon after Vivian and Christine had left, Rose went upstairs to check the sealed room. She gasped with horror as she saw the door to the room had been left wide open and askew.
Oh no, Rose thought, my “trump card”!
The trunk lay before her with some of her most treasured valuables loosely scattered about and those included her opened diaries. Rose noticed the latches had been cut. She stepped into the room and scooped up a handful of gems.
Do they know? Rose thought. How much do they know? How much have they read? Did they call the police? Would they have? Would they dare? If they did, then the police would have been here already, and I would have been arrested and be sitting in jail. I would not be able to bear that, not after all the trouble I have gone through to ensure such secrecy. I was too sure of myself. So sure. I should have expected such a possibility. What happens now? What happens next? What shall I do?
Rose glanced around the room and grimaced at the yellowed walls with chips and fissures in them and the one window with spider-web cracks. She decided she would hire someone to help straighten up the mess and either have the trunk reinstalled in the mezzanine or placed elsewhere.
Rose looked in each room and disapproved of anything and everything within sight. She pointed a crude, accusatory finger here and there as she made snide comments to Iris about different things. The living room disgusted Rose with its ugly taupe carpeting. She would have every interior within the house redone.
“Look at this, Iris,” Rose said. “Just look at this. Every wall is punctured with nails. As for the cracks on the walls and other damages around the house, well . . . Mother Nature cannot be blamed, can she?”