The Twilight Saga Collection part 1(124)

“So there’s no way it could be connected with you?” Alice asked intently.

“No, I don’t even think the same person owns it. I’m sure it’s just another dance studio, somewhere.”

“Where was the studio you went to?” Jasper asked in a casual voice.

“It was just around the corner from my mom’s house. I used to walk there after school . . . ,” I said, my voice trailing off. I didn’t miss the look they exchanged.

“Here in Phoenix, then?” His voice was still casual.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Fifty-eighth Street and Cactus.”

We all sat in silence, staring at the drawing.

“Alice, is that phone safe?”

“Yes,” she reassured me. “The number would just trace back to Washington.”

“Then I can use it to call my mom.”

“I thought she was in Florida.”

“She is — but she’s coming home soon, and she can’t come back to that house while . . .” My voice trembled. I was thinking about something Edward had said, about the red-haired female at Charlie’s house, at the school, where my records would be.

“How will you reach her?”

“They don’t have a permanent number except at the house — she’s supposed to check her messages regularly.”

“Jasper?” Alice asked.

He thought about it. “I don’t think there’s any way it could hurt — be sure you don’t say where you are, of course.”

I reached eagerly for the phone and dialed the familiar number. It rang four times, and then I heard my mom’s breezy voice telling me to leave a message.

“Mom,” I said after the beep, “it’s me. Listen, I need you to do something. It’s important. As soon as you get this message, call me at this number.” Alice was already at my side, writing the number for me on the bottom of her picture. I read it carefully, twice. “Please don’t go anywhere until you talk to me. Don’t worry, I’m okay, but I have to talk to you right away, no matter how late you get this call, all right? I love you, Mom. Bye.” I closed my eyes and prayed with all my might that no unforeseen change of plans would bring her home before she got my message.

I settled into the sofa, nibbling on a plate of leftover fruit, anticipating a long evening. I thought about calling Charlie, but I wasn’t sure if I should be home by now or not. I concentrated on the news, watching out for stories about Florida, or about spring training — strikes or hurricanes or terrorist attacks — anything that might send them home early.

Immortality must grant endless patience. Neither Jasper nor Alice seemed to feel the need to do anything at all. For a while, Alice sketched the vague outline of the dark room from her vision, as much as she could see in the light from the TV. But when she was done, she simply sat, looking at the blank walls with her timeless eyes. Jasper, too, seemed to have no urge to pace, or peek through the curtains, or run screaming out the door, the way I did.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring again. The touch of Alice’s cold hands woke me briefly as she carried me to the bed, but I was unconscious again before my head hit the pillow.





21. PHONE CALL


I COULD FEEL IT WAS TOO EARLY AGAIN WHEN I WOKE, and I knew I was getting the schedule of my days and nights slowly reversed. I lay in my bed and listened to the quiet voices of Alice and Jasper in the other room. That they were loud enough for me to hear at all was strange. I rolled till my feet touched the floor and then staggered to the living room.

The clock on the TV said it was just after two in the morning. Alice and Jasper were sitting together on the sofa, Alice sketching again while Jasper looked over her shoulder. They didn’t look up when I entered, too engrossed in Alice’s work.

I crept to Jasper’s side to peek.

“Did she see something more?” I asked him quietly.

“Yes. Something’s brought him back to the room with the VCR, but it’s light now.”

I watched as Alice drew a square room with dark beams across its low ceiling. The walls were paneled in wood, a little too dark, out of date. The floor had a dark carpet with a pattern in it. There was a large window against the south wall, and an opening through the west wall led to the living room. One side of that entrance was stone — a large tan stone fireplace that was open to both rooms. The focus of the room from this perspective, the TV and VCR, balanced on a too-small wooden stand, were in the southwest corner of the room. An aged sectional sofa curved around in front of the TV, a round coffee table in front of it.

“The phone goes there,” I whispered, pointing.