There was I.V equipment, curtains between the beds, and trays full of old-fashioned medical equipment that Isabel did not recognize. As she took in the room, she was vaguely aware of Max and Michael closing a window. They also wrestled with a shutter or something that must have been making the noise.
The room could not have looked more out of place in the house, which for all of its dark wood, heavy drapes, and thick carpet was still a place that Isabel could imagine a family living in. Suddenly she realized something and felt a sharp stab in her stomach.
"They died here," Isabel said.
"Who died?" Liz said from beside her.
"The family, I think they all died in here," she answered. Though she had used the word "think," she meant "know." She felt it somehow, with a dread certainty that pained her. Suddenly she didn't want to be in this room anymore, and quickly stepped back into the kitchen.
"Well, mystery solved," Michael said, his voice light. Isabel couldn't understand it. Hadn't he felt anything in there? How could he have missed it?
She felt Max's hand on her shoulder. "Iz, are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm going to sleep," she said. She was looking forward to going back into the master bedroom. The feeling she had gotten there had been good… the opposite of the feeling she had gotten in the infirmary.
She started toward the front of the house.
"Wait, we'll all go," Max said, following her.
When they reached the fireplace, Isabel found herself putting more logs on the fire.
"Isabel, what are you doing?" Max asked. "We're going to sleep."
"Oh, just a habit," she said.
Max gave her a strange look. Of course, it couldn't have been a habit. They didn't have a fireplace at home. Still, to her it had felt like a natural thing to do, like something she had done before.
Silly, she thought. I must be tired.
Isabel collected her things and was about to go when Max said, "I don't think we should sleep alone."
"Right, that's how the teenagers always get it in the movies. They separate and then, WHAM," Maria said.
"First of all," Isabel said, "this is not some stupid movie. And second, we've been sharing a single motel room for how many days now? Well, extra rooms won't cost us anything tonight. I'm sleeping alone."
"I was thinking we could all pair up," Max said.
Maria sighed and shook her head.
"Kyle could bunk with you. I just think it would be safer if none of us were alone," Max said to Isabel. "Okay?" he asked, turning to Kyle.
Kyle looked uncomfortable and said, "Sure." Then noticed the look on Isabel's face and said, "Look, Max is right. I'll sleep on the floor."
"No," Isabel said firmly. "I'm sleeping alone tonight, for the first time in two weeks. I'm sorry if that bothers you Max, but this isn't something we're going to vote on."
Isabel turned and headed up the stairs.
9
Isabel entered the bedroom and immediately felt herself relaxing. She realized that she felt at home. It was silly, she knew. This house was nothing like her home in Roswell. Nevertheless, it did feel… comfortable.
She turned on the lights and saw something she hadn't noticed before: an oil painting in a sitting area off to the right. It was a family portrait. There was a couple in their thirties. The woman was wearing a white dress. She was beautiful, Isabel saw, with long, curly blond hair. The man was handsome and wearing a suit. They both had broad smiles on their faces.
The mother held a baby in her arms, and two more children posed in front of the parents. One of them was a blond girl of about six. Suddenly Isabel was sure that the room with the rocking horse had belonged to her. Next to the girl was a boy who was maybe a year older. They all looked happy… very happy… she realized.
That's because they were, she thought. Five happy people living in this house full oj toys and children and life.
Suddenly, Isabel had an image of the house as it had been when the family was here. Bustling with activity, with children running down the hallway, household staff in the kitchen and tending the grounds. She saw extravagant birthday parties for the children, and smiled. The images should have been alien to her. Her own father was a lawyer and they lived comfortably, but they were nowhere near as wealthy as the former occupants of this house. Yet the house and the images seemed familiar to her.
Happy children and beaming parents.
Maybe that was it. She knew she and Max had been lucky to have been found and raised by their parents. Their childhoods had been normal and happy… almost surprisingly so, considering the secret that they carried.
These five people had been happy in a way she understood… in a way that had little to do with money, she realized.
Five.
Then Isabel felt a chill as she remembered the five beds in the infirmary downstairs, and she saw the horrible truth: They must have gotten sick, she realized. Isabel felt her face go flush and her throat begin to constrict.
Then there was noise from outside. It was her friends finding their own rooms. Isabel knew that Max and Liz would be staying together. And she had a feeling that Maria and Michael would put aside their differences for the night… especially given how scared Maria had been since they'd arrived.
Kyle didn't have anyone, but she thought he would be all right on his own for the night. He was single. He hadn't lost anyone. Like I have, she thought.
Alex.
What about Jesse? a part of her mind protested.
But it was different. She had left Jesse and she had done it because she was able to. She had not left Alex. She had lost him. Alex had been taken from her the way those five people must have been taken from one another. What had become of their happiness? Had they died together, or one at a time? Isabel couldn't decide which was more horrible.
More noise from outside. Laughter this time. To Isabel, laughter seemed inappropriate now, given what she was feeling. Quickly, she strode over to the door and slammed it closed. The crash of the door against the frame was satisfying. Immediately, a small thump sounded on the other side of the room. In the sitting area, a book lay facedown and open on the ground, and Isabel realized the slamming of the door must have knocked the book off the shelf.
She reached down to pick it up and saw that it was a black, leather-bound book that read "1948" on its spine. On the shelf above were a series of similar books that went back to 1938. Picking up the book, she saw that it was a hand-written journal, and the front of the book identified it as belonging to Robert Benton. The date of the entry that the book had opened to was March 15, 1938. Isabel got a chill and realized that the room seemed measurably colder all of a sudden.