As Leslie picked the camera up for a second time, she noticed a photograph on the floor under where it had lain. The photo must have come out of the slit just as she dropped the camera.
There had been no flash, so perhaps the picture had been inside and jarred loose when she dropped the camera. Then again, she had thrown the infernal thing against the wall and nothing had come out. The fact was that she had no idea how that picture had suddenly appeared face down on the floor.
She picked it up and put it on the table face down. She didn't want to look at it, but she couldn't take her eyes off of it. She left it there and took the pile of notes into the living room. She sat down in her big comfy arm chair and shuffled the notes, sorting them by the dates that were clearly marked on the upper right hand corner of each page. Alex had always been so organized that it sometimes drove her crazy when they were married.
When they were all sorted, she read them thoroughly one date at a time, starting with the earliest one. She tracked each suicide across the country as it got closer and closer to her village. The last one did not include Robert's death, because Alex had not yet investigated it. As she finished the last page, she heard a loud thump in the kitchen, as if the table had been lifted a couple of inches and allowed to fall back on the tile floor.
Leslie listened to see if it happened again, but it didn't. The silence was getting to her, so she peaked around the door jamb of the kitchen door. There was nothing there, but something had changed. The photograph was now face up! Almost in a trance, she walked to the table and picked it up.
The photograph showed a graphic scene of Robert in his chair with blood pouring from his slit throat. Behind him stood the man with the missing eyes. He was methodically ripping up a photograph into teeny tiny pieces, which showered down onto Robert's body.
Leslie screamed and dropped the photograph. The shock and horror suddenly became too much for her, and she fainted dead away.