If only that were the worst of our problems, Isabel thought morosely. Not for the first time, she wished she could have a normal life, with normal teenage dilemmas, instead of the fraught existence she seemed doomed to live. Mentally increasing the volume of the music playing in her ear, she surveyed the scene around her, taking stock of their latest sorry situation.
Although they had indeed rented two rooms, for propriety's sake, everyone was crowded into the girls' room for the moment, waiting in unbearable suspense for Max and Michael to get back from Slaughter Canyon. Maria sat at the head of the same bed as Isabel, dutifully placating her mom, while Liz rested in the next bed over, her back against the headboard, her knees tented beneath the frayed cotton sheets. Aside from a brief call to her folks, which she had somehow managed to garner enough composure to fake her way through, the shell-shocked brunette had barely said five words all evening, still locked in what Alex had labeled post-traumatic stress disorder. Unable to sleep, Liz just sat up in bed, her arms locked around her knees in a quasi-fetal position, while her haunted brown eyes watched the front door, counting the seconds until Max's return. Her face was ashen, and dark purple shadows collected beneath her eyes, making her look positively gaunt and spectral, like the crazy wife in some old Bronte novel.
She needs a makeover, big time, Isabel thought, but she knew that Liz's troubles ran much deeper than that. A pang of sympathy pierced Isabel's heart. If truth be told, liz Parker was not always her favorite person; through, admittedly, no fault of her own, the loose-lipped, lovestruck human girl had severely complicated Isabel's life by discovering the Big Secret, and broken her brother's heart on more than one occasion. Even still, it was impossible to look at Liz now, so frail and washed-out, and not feel sorry for her. Besides, Isabel kept looking at the front door, too; if nothing else, she and Liz were united by their common love for Max.
"I don't believe this," Alex griped close by. He squatted cross-legged at the end of Liz's bed, channel-surfing with the aid of a remote he had found on the end table. "Eighty-plus channels, and nothing decent to watch. Just infomer- cials and movies that were bad the first ten times you watched them." He leaned toward the unimpressive twelve-inch screen provided by the motel, his thumb relentlessly working the remote. "Have you ever noticed how Earth Girls Are Easy always seems to be playing on cable somewhere?"Speaking on behalf of Earth girls everywhere," Maria quipped, finally putting down the phone, "I object to that characterization, no matter what Michael might have told any of you." She yawned and looked at her watch. "Ohmigosh, they're not back yet?" The blond teenager joined Liz and Isabel in the Door-Watchers Club, her glib repartee failing to conceal that she was just as scared and worried as the rest of them. "What could they possibly be doing all night in a place called Slaughter Canyon? On second thought, don't answer that."Catching the somber vibe in the room, Alex felt obliged to do something. "Hang on," he said, putting aside the remote and hopping off the bed. "Let me take another look outside."Be careful, Alex," Isabel urged him once more, putting down her CD. Alex had no special powers to protect him if that Joe Morton character, or even Lieutenant Ramirez, somehow managed to trace Liz to this motel room. I'm giving Max and Michael until 2 am., she resolved, then I'm going after them in the jetta. The only reason she let Alex act as lookout here at the motel was because the danger seemed minimal, and she knew that Alex needed something to do. As is, his ardent need to be of use to her and other women was, to be honest, already getting on her nerves.
"Never fear," he told her, stepping out of the room. A gust of warm air penetrated the air-conditioned motel room. "I'll be back right away."In fact, he was gone less than ten minutes before the doot swung open again and he lunged back into the room. She could tell by the look on his boyish face that he had something to tell them. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the worst. "What is it?" she asked in a whisper.
Alex hesitated, unsure where to begin. "Well, the good news is that Morton's blue Chevy is back at the Motel 6, parked outside his room." He tapped one foot repeatedly against the floor, full of nervous energy. "The bad news is, I don't see any sign of the Jeep."What does this mean? Isabel wondered. Making a deliberate effort to curb her fears, she forced herself to think through the implications of Alex's discovery "Max and Michael wouldn't leave the park until Morton did," she speculated, "so maybe they're just hanging back now, putting a little time and distance between them and Morton."You really think so?" Liz asked plaintively, desperate for reassurance. Her journal rested on the bed next to her, next to a ballpoint pen. Isabel hoped that writing down her turbulent thoughts had helped Liz get some perspective on the traumatic memories and feelings eating away at her. Judging from her hollow eyes and pitiful tone, however, her private scribblings had provided Liz with little relief so far.
"Sure, that sounds right," Maria chimed in promptly. She uncapped a tiny brown vial and treated Liz to a therapeutic sniff of Cyprus oil. "I'm positive they'll be back any minute."Unless something terrible has happened to them, Isabel thought silently. Worst- case scenarios rose unbeckoned from her wayward imagination. For all we know, Max and Michael mi$it already be buried in the desert somewhere; with all these caverns and uninhabited wilderness around here, it could be years before anyone found their bodies…
"No," Isabel said softly, not allowing herself to succumb to such nightmarish imaginings. Max sometimes accused her of being too pessimistic, of always seeing the Tabasco bottle as half-empty, but she refused to give up hope just yet. "Come on, Max, Michael. Where are you?"Over fifteen excruciating minutes later, there was still no sign of their missing friends. "That's it," Isabel declared, rising from the bed and extending an open hand toward Maria. "Give me the keys to the Jetta, I'm going to look for them."I'm going with you," Alex insisted, a little too hastily. He sprang to his feet and hustled to Isabel's side. His determined eyes and stubborn expression virtually dared her to leave him behind.
This isn't about us, Alex, she thought, with a flash of irritation. It's about locating Max and Michael.
On the other hand, she really didn't want to do this alone. "Okay," she said, recognizing that, deep down inside, she could use the company. "Thanks." Taking the car keys from Maria, she paused by the door long enough to look back at the other two women. "Will you be okay on your own?"Sure," Maria pledged. Moving over to the other bed, she draped her arm over Liz like a mother hen, then stared up at Isabel with anxious green eyes. "Find them, okay?"Ill do my best, Isabel thought, uncomfortable with the thought that everyone was depending on her. Before she and Alex could embark on their possibly hopeless mission, however, a sudden knock at the door electrified everyone in the room.
Could it be? "Oh, thank goodness!" Isabel exclaimed, rushing to the door and placing her eye against the security peephole. To her vast relief, the minuscule spyglass presented a fish-eye view of both Max and Michael, apparently alive and well. Expelling a grateful sigh, she quickly undid the chain and let the returnees stagger in, sweaty and disheveled but each, thankfully, still in one piece.
"Where have you been?" she asked eventually, after heartfelt hugs and greetings all around. She paced back and forth between the TV and the beds, too keyed up and adrenalized to sit down, like she was still strapped into some sort of emotional roller coaster. "We were so worried!"While Michael helped himself to a glass of cold water from the bathroom sink, Max told them all about what had taken place in Slaughter Canyon. Twigs and tiny flecks of gravel clung to his jeans and T-shirt, which also bore large, reddish- brown dirt stains. Isabel lovingly passed her hand in front of her brother, miraculously cleansing him of the most obvious evidence of his adventure even as he continued his exhausted account of his and Michael's close call.