"Yes, but we made it happen. If we hadn't been so harsh with her, she would never have driven off alone and been caught in the storm. No, Bob, don't try to shut me up; I want you to listen." Aunt Judith took a deep breath and continued. "It wasn't just today, either. Elena's been having problems for a long time, ever since school started, and somehow I've let the signs slip right past me. Because I've been too involved with myself—with us—to pay attention to them. I can see that now. And now that Elena's… gone… I don't want the same thing to happen with Margaret."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I can't marry you, not as soon as we planned. Maybe not ever." Without looking at him, she spoke softly.
"Margaret has lost too much already. I don't want her to feel she's losing me, too."
"She won't be losing you. If anything, she'll be gaining someone, because I'll be here more often. You know how I feel about her."
"I'm sorry, Bob; I just don't see it that way."
"You can't be serious. After all the time I've spent here—after all I've done…"
Aunt Judith's voice was drained and implacable. "I am serious."
From her perch outside the window, Elena eyed Robert curiously. A vein throbbed in his forehead, and his face had flushed red.
"You'll feel differently tomorrow," he said.
"No, I won't."
"You don't mean it—"
"I do mean it. Don't tell me that I'm going to change my mind, because I'm not."
For an instant, Robert looked around in helpless frustration; then, his expression darkened. When he spoke, his voice was flat and cold. "I see. Well, if that's your final answer, I'd better leave right now."
"Bob." Aunt Judith turned, startled, but he was already outside the door. She stood up, wavering, as if she were unsure whether or not to go after him. Her fingers kneaded at the red material she was holding. "Bob!" she called again, more urgently, and she turned to drop the kimono on Elena's bed before following him.
But as she turned she gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Her whole body stiffened. Her eyes stared into Elena's through the silvery pane of glass. For a long moment, they stared at each other that way, neither moving. Then Aunt Judith's hand came away from her mouth, and she began to shriek.
Something yanked Elena out of the tree and, yowling a protest, she fell and landed on her feet like a cat. Her knees hit the ground a second later and got bruised.
She reared back, fingers hooked into claws to attack whoever had done it. Damon slapped her hand away.
"Why did you grab me?" she demanded.
"Why didn't you stay where I put you?" he snapped.
They glared at each other, equally furious. Then Elena was distracted. The shrieking was still going on upstairs, augmented now by rattling and banging at the window. Damon nudged her against the house, where they couldn't be seen from above.
"Let's get away from this noise," he said fastidiously, looking up. Without waiting for a response, he caught her arm. Elena resisted.
"I have to go in there!"
"You can't." He gave her a wolfish smile. "I mean that literally. You can't go in that house. You haven't been invited."
Momentarily nonplussed, Elena let him tow her a few steps. Then she dug her heels in again.
"But I need my diary!"
"What?"
"It's in the closet, under the floorboards. And I need it. I can't go to sleep without my diary." Elena didn't know why she was making such a fuss, but it seemed important.
Damon looked exasperated; then, his face cleared. "Here," he said calmly, eyes glinting. He withdrew something from his jacket. "Take it."
Elena eyed his offering doubtfully.
"It's your diary, isn't it?"
"Yes, but it's my old one. I want my new one."
"This one will have to do, because this one is all you're getting. Come on before they wake up the whole neighborhood." His voice had turned cold and commanding again.
Elena considered the book he held. It was small, with a blue velvet cover and a brass lock. Not the newest edition perhaps, but it was familiar to her. She decided it was acceptable.
She let Damon lead her out into the night.
She didn't ask where they were going. She didn't much care. But she recognized the house on Magnolia Avenue; it was where Alaric Saltzman was staying.
And it was Alaric who opened the front door, beckoning Elena and Damon inside. The history teacher looked strange, though, and didn't really seem to see them. His eyes were glassy and he moved like an automaton.
Elena licked her lips.
"No," Damon said shortly. "This one's not for biting. There's something fishy about him, but you should be safe enough in the house. I've slept here before. Up here." He led her up a flight of stairs to an attic with one small window. It was crowded with stored objects: sleds, skis, a hammock. At the far end, an old mattress lay on the floor.
"He won't even know you're here in the morning. Lie down." Elena obeyed, assuming a position that seemed natural to her. She lay on her back, hands folded over the diary that she held to her breast.
Damon dropped a piece of oilcloth over her, covering her bare feet.
"Go to sleep, Elena," he said.
He bent over her, and for a moment she thought he was going to… do something. Her thoughts were too muddled. But his night black eyes filled her vision. Then he pulled back, and she could breathe again. The gloom of the attic settled in on her. Her eyes drifted shut and she slept.
She woke slowly, assembling information about where she was, piece by piece. Somebody's attic from the looks of it. What was she doing here?
Rats or mice were scuffling somewhere among the piles of oilcloth-draped objects, but the sound didn't bother her. The faintest trace of pale light showed around the edges of the shuttered window. Elena pushed her makeshift blanket off and got up to investigate.
It was definitely someone's attic, and not that of anyone she knew. She felt as if she had been sick for a long time and had just woken up from her illness. What day is it? she wondered.
She could hear voices below her. Downstairs. Something told her to be careful and quiet. She felt afraid of making any kind of disturbance. She eased the attic door open without a sound and cautiously descended to the landing. Looking down, she could see a living room. She recognized it; she'd sat on that ottoman when Alaric Saltzman had given a party. She was in the Ramsey house.
And Alaric Saltzman was down there; she could see the top of his sandy head. His voice puzzled her. After a moment she realized it was because he didn't sound fatuous or inane or any of the ways Alaric usually sounded in class. He wasn't spouting psycho-babble, either. He was speaking coolly and decisively to two other men.
"She might be anywhere, even right under our noses. More likely outside town, though. Maybe in the woods."