Looking Through

by hallowgirlfrommars

Sequel to my fanfiction Looking On. Isabelle Henderson and her family survived the invasion. Now, it's nothing but a memory. Or so Isabelle would like to think. But strange things are happening in Bucks County. Things that bring back memories. Memories that Isabelle would prefer to forget. And as she investigates, she discovers something-the past may not want to be forgotten..

6. Silence Breaks Before It Mends

I've decided I'll post the soundtrack in full at the end of the story. Sorry this one took so long, there's been a lot of stuff, most of it writing-related going on.

Reviews give me incentive to write faster so leave me some.

Hannah knew what happened with friends who had boyfriends. They often disappeared on you, phone calls tailing away-sometimes refused to speak to you for weeks, then cried on your shoulder the second their other half descended into any argument with them, before making up and turning cold on you the next week. It was one of the many factors that had led her to conclude that boyfriends-serious ones, at the very least-were a huge waste of time.

But then, Isabelle wasn't most friends, and she supposed Merrill wasn't most boyfriends. And Isabelle didn't completely disappear on her when she started dating someone.

Hannah had known Isabelle as a kid, but had barely any memories of it; the Isabelle she knew, she'd met only a couple of years ago. Isabelle had been quieter than her, often with a book in her hands. Hannah had entered her college class, auburn streaked through her hair, eyes hard, determined to challenge anyone who stood in her way to getting the degree she needed. The last thing she planned to do was fall in love with anyone. She knew where that could lead-dropping out of school, getting pregnant, spending the rest of your life being shackled to a kitchen sink. That was not going to be her life.

Isabelle had seemed to feel the same way. It was the fact that, unlike many girls their age, she wasn't boy-crazy, that had drawn Hannah to her in the first place. The two had spent most of their lunchtimes in the library, slumped over books, but mostly passing the hours with gossip, and various details about each other. Hannah had spent most of her childhood in upstate New York, and it had been strange to get used to Bucks County, a place where everyone knew everyone else's business.

But Isabelle was one of the more private people she knew; or at least, it was sometimes difficult to draw her into conversation. Even Hannah, as her best friend, found it complicated-but in a way, it made her a breath of fresh air. At least, she didn't spend half her time crying over some boy.

But then the invasion had happened. And the first time she'd seen Isabelle afterwards-after they'd hugged each other for what seemed like hours, after Hannah had buried her face in Isabelle's hair, simply to reassure herself that the other girl was alive and well-Isabelle had seemed slightly preoccupied. Nothing serious, just a little distant-as though her thoughts were somewhere else. Hannah had wondered at it, but had put it down to simple shock-after what her nephew had been through, Hannah wouldn't have been surprised if her friend had been a gibbering wreck.

It had been the second time she'd seen her afterwards-when they were in Hannah's apartment, slumped in front of the TV-that Isabelle had turned to her and told her that she had something to tell her.

"What?" Hannah had turned the volume down on the TV, curiosity peaked. It was rare for Isabelle to volunteer information like this-it often took hours of coaxing from Hannah before she'd reveal much about herself.

"I'm-um-" Isabelle had fidgeted with the cushion, and avoided Hannah's eyes, her cheeks flushing scarlet. "Merrill-Merrill and-"

"Your brother-in-law, Merrill?" Hannah had echoed. She'd remembered Isabelle mentioning him a few times, even including him in her accounts of the invasion, but she hadn't said much else. Now, Hannah had time to wonder if her friend had been deliberately coy.

"Yeah, Merrill." Isabelle had taken a deep breath, though there'd been a small smirk twitching at the corners of her mouth. "We're-we're kind of-" She had trailed off again.

Hannah had known where this was going, without Isabelle having to finish. "Dating?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow. She'd suppressed her own cynicism, at least, for the moment.

Isabelle nodded rather fast, then looked at Hannah quickly, as if waiting for her opinion.

Hannah swallowed. "OK, first question." She leant forward, her eyes narrowed. "How hot is he? And if he's below nine, then he's not good enough for you."

Isabelle exhaled, then burst out laughing.

"Number two, how good is he in-"

Isabelle's laughter had ended Hannah's question, before she could even finish her sentence. "Wouldn't know."

Hannah raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't know?"

Isabelle had shaken her head. "We haven't-you know-yet." On this clear sentence, she had ended, sitting back on the couch and waiting for Hannah's comment.

Hannah had shaken her head. "Well, back to number one-how hot is he? And he'd better be impressive, because I'll be vetting him." She gave Isabelle a quick grin.

Isabelle shrugged. "Don't know what you'd think of him."

Hannah had raised an eyebrow. "You are not getting away with that."

Isabelle had shrugged. "More than nine." But she'd been looking down and her words had been interspersed with laughter. The last time Hannah had seen Isabelle laugh like that over a guy-well, she'd never seen Isabelle laugh like that over a guy.

"Oh, Jesus." Hannah had held up her hand. "OK, before you tell me everything about this guy, know there's one stipulation, OK?"

Isabelle had frowned, and Hannah had grinned. "If he ever hurts you, I will have to kill him. That's just the law."

Isabelle had broken into laughter and then all Hannah had heard for the next several hours was about how Merrill looked-what he was like-how funny he was-how sweet he was. Anyone else would have been told to shut up, but Hannah couldn't make herself do it, somehow. It seemed too cruel.

And when she'd met Merrill a few weeks later, she had to admit that if he and Isabelle weren't in love yet, they might as well have been, given by the way they behaved around each other. Merrill's eyes followed her around the room, and whenever Isabelle let her gaze drift, it inevitably wandered to him. When Isabelle was speaking, Hannah sometimes caught Merrill watching his girlfriend and then she'd have to look away-Merrill would be watching Isabelle with a look so utterly tender that Hannah felt as though she was intruding simply by watching him.

When Isabelle had moved in with him a few months later, Hannah hadn't been surprised. Isabelle and Merrill just went together-Hannah had never believed that gall about being completed by someone else and still wasn't sure she did, but she had to admit her friends seemed to give each other something no-one else did. They were different around each other-just something about the way they looked, the way they spoke. Hannah had to admit, they gave her pause for thought about the whole love-is-garbage theory she'd been carrying around for the last several years.

So, when the phone rang late one Wednesday night, and Hannah picked it up with an absent "Hello" she didn't expect to hear someone crying on the other end.

"Hello?" she said again, more urgently this time, scrabbling to mute the TV volume with one hand. "Hello? Who is this?"

There was a pause, someone gasping for breath, then "Hannah?"

Hannah froze for a moment before the voice continued "It's me. Isabelle."

Hannah went limp with relief for a moment before Isabelle's voice continued. "It's-" Her words were smothered by sobs.

"Isabelle?" Hannah's voice was sharp now, her hand already reaching for her car keys. "What's wrong? Is it Merrill? Have you had an-"

She trailed off. The mention of Merrill's name had produced another sob, and Hannah didn't think she had to guess what the problem was anymore.

"I know it's late-" Hannah was already reaching for her jacket as she listened to Isabelle. "I know, I'm sorry, but please, could you come over?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. As if she would have done anything else.

"It's OK if you can't-" Hannah was already halfway to the door.

"Hannah? It's OK if you can't."

Hannah lifted the phone to her ear, her hand on the front door. "Isabelle? Sit tight, I'll be there in ten minutes." With that, she hung up, dropping the cordless phone on the table, before stepping outside into the night, slamming the door behind her.

---

Morgan sat bolt upright, his heart pounding in his chest.

He closed his eyes and opened them again, the nightmare still screaming at the front of his mind. He pressed his hands against his eyes, as if he could will the images away, but they seared, as bright as ever, but strangely vague-no sooner did he make a determined grab at one to remember, did the image vanish between his fingers, like vapour or mist.

He sat upright, and it was then that he heard the noise again. His head turned towards the doorway, and the images from his nightmares flickered into his mind again-the little girl with her head hanging down, the mouth open in a scream, the feeling of struggling to draw breath and none coming, gasping, his lungs empty yet screaming for air...

He swung himself off the bed, half-tangled in the sheets. His pyjamas were twisted around him, drenched in sweat, his lungs aching, as if he really had been gasping for breath. The floor was cold under his feet as he made his way to the door.

He pulled it open and had to stifle a scream.

Bo was standing outside the door, her eyes huge. Morgan could feel his heart pounding against his chest. "Bo?"

She stared past him. Morgan glanced behind him involuntarily, his heart slamming itself against his chest. "Bo, what's wrong?"

She didn't speak. Resisting the urge to shriek for his father, Morgan gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Bo?"

Her eyes moved slowly to his. She blinked, her expression flickering. Then, her lips moved. "Morgan?" Her voice shook.

"Yeah?"

"I had a bad dream." Her hand slipped into his, the way it always had done when she was scared or needed assurance.

Morgan shook his head. "Come on. I'll take you back to bed."

He led her down the hall by the hand. He glanced nervously at his father's door as he did so, but there was no movement from within the room. Morgan briefly wondered if he should wake him up, but decided against it-Bo was quiet and peaceful now, and it would only get his father more worked up than necessary.

"Do you need anything?" he asked his sister, as they reached her bedroom door. "Bathroom? Water?"

She shook her head and pointed at her bed. Morgan took her hand, and when she didn't move, awkwardly lifted her. It took a moment, but her arms went around his neck, and he lifted her into the bed, tucking the covers over her gently. "There."

Her eyes rested on his face. They were huge in the darkness, pools of blue. "Stay."

Morgan stopped. "What?"

Bo didn't speak again, just patted the bed beside her and blinked up at him. Morgan sighed. He glanced at the door, and then back at his sister.

He pulled himself into the bed beside her, his arm around her shoulders. "It's OK" he murmured, letting her head rest against him. "It's gone now. The bad dream's gone."

A vague memory swam into his head-his mother doing the same for him, when he was smaller-younger than Bo. His mother, resting his head on her shoulder. It's OK, Morgan. It's OK. The bad dreams have gone away.

He bit his lip, and rested his head on top of his sister's. She was still now, her eyes closed, her breathing level. After several minutes, Morgan's own eyes closed, and the last thoughts he remembered were the same words he had just spoken to his sister.

---

Hannah leant her head against Isabelle's. "Jesus, Isabelle-" She didn't have any other words. She guessed there wasn't much she could say to comfort her friend at this point.

Isabelle had stopped crying by this point; she was now glaring at the TV, as though contemplating kicking it. "I could kill him. I mean, I don't want to kill him. I just want to-" She waved her hand in the air, as if there weren't enough words to describe how she wanted to deal with her boyfriend.

Hannah shrugged. "Sounds like he was being a jerk, to me."

"He was. But-"

"But what?" Hannah scanned her friend's face worriedly.

Isabelle pushed her hands through her hair, chewed at her lip. "I shouldn't have said it to him. I shouldn't have told him he was stupid."

"He was acting stupid."

Isabelle shook her head. "Not the point. It's just-there are things you don't, you know, say. And that's one of them."

Hannah bit her lip. "Isabelle-" But there seemed to be nothing to say. Studying Isabelle's face, she could see that there was something wrong. Not something you could say or something you could put a finger on but something inside and something a lot harder to fix.

"I love him." Isabelle was chewing her lip, staring at the television as though Merrill might be trapped inside. "And it sounds stupid right now, but I love him. And now we're mad at each other and I don't know where the hell he is, and to be honest, Hannah, I've got no idea if he'll come back or not."

Hannah couldn't think of anything to say to this. All she could do was slide her arms around her friend's shoulders, stroking her hair, as more tears slid out of Isabelle's eyes.

---

Merrill stared at the glass and debated how much he could drink and still be sober enough to drive home.

He'd driven here fast at first, his foot down on the accelerator, his teeth gritted, and his hands tense on the steering wheel, before forcing himself to slow down, reminding himself of his brother, of Colleen, of what had happened on a road...But it had still been an effort and it didn't matter how far he drove, he couldn't wipe Isabelle's face out of his mind.

All he could see was her staring up at him, her eyes huge, her face white, as he glared at her. He'd never felt that furious with any girl before, never wanted to scream at someone quite that badly. And he didn't know why, he didn't know why he'd felt like that with her, and that was the worst thing out of all of it.

And he could remember her words back and perhaps that was all. They didn't make him feel like he might kick something. They left a cold heaviness in his stomach, a constant low pounding in his head. He pressed his face into his hands a few times, but he couldn't forget the words or the look on her face, or the expression she'd worn as he walked out, letting the door slam behind him.

Everything seemed to be congealing in the pit of his stomach and as he'd slammed the car door behind him in the parking lot, he'd taken a moment to slam his foot equally hard into the tyre, earning himself a constant throbbing in his toe to add to his pains.

And now, he was sitting here, practically leaning his head on the bar and idly wondering what everyone else was doing here. Had they all had fights with their girlfriends, he wondered. Or were they just here because they had nowhere better to be, nothing better to do. He wondered which was more depressing.

"Get you anything else, Merrill?"

He looked up at Tracey Abernathy's voice. She was staring at him, her eyes wide, her lips thick under a slick of lipstick. It looked as though she'd applied another face over her own.

"I'm OK, Trace." The words came out as a low mumble, his eyes staring past her into the distance. Seeing her just reminded him of Isabelle-what she said about Tracey, how she'd known her as a kid. Tracey had been known to both of them-she fell between him and Isabelle, age-wise. Merrill remembered seeing Tracey at parties when they were both younger-her usually slung over some guy's lap, her hair coming down, her mouth wide in laughter she'd conjured up at whatever joke someone had just said. It was weird that she reminded him of Isabelle, when she was practically her opposite.

Tracey glanced up and down, checking to see no one could hear. She needn't have bothered-Merrill had seated himself at the far end of the bar intentionally, not wanting to be drawn into conversation with anyone. Tracey took full advantage of this, to lean forward and say "So where's Isabelle, tonight?"

Merrill didn't particularly feel like going into the details of his arguments with Isabelle to Tracey, so he shrugged, avoided her eyes. "Just busy."

Tracey raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. "Not like her. You two are usually joined at the hip."

Merrill thought that at this moment in time, Isabelle would be more likely to kick him in the hip. He settled for shrugging at Tracey, draining the last drops from his glass, deciding on the spur of the moment to leave it at that. He couldn't see getting pulled over for driving intoxicated having a positive effect on the situation.

"Not with you tonight, then?" Tracey raised an eyebrow with the subtlety of a truck.

Merrill glanced uneasily around. The bar was almost empty apart from him and Tracey. She came round to his side of the bar, perching herself on a chair beside him. "Are you sure you're OK?"

Merrill shrugged.

Tracey wasn't one to be defeated, however. She wasn't particularly bright, but she was persistent, as Isabelle had somewhat sardonically noted on several occasions.

"Did you and her have a fight or something?"

Merrill shrugged again. "Kind of."

Tracey sighed. "You'll make it up."

Merrill leaned his head on his hands. "I don't know." The fear lurking in the back of his mind was creeping to the surface and suddenly all he could think was that there was a chance they might not. They might not make it up. He might not be able to talk to her.

And he'd left her alone, and she'd be crying. And he didn't know what to do.

Merrill splayed his fingers over his face, squeezed his eyes shut but he couldn't get rid of Isabelle's eyes, Isabelle's voice, the look on her face when he'd flung words at her.

Screwed-up bullshit you've got in your head.

Merrill winced even at the memory. He pictured Isabelle's face right afterwards, and winced harder. She looked as if she'd been slapped. He closed his eyes but he could still picture her face.

And hear her words.

Are you really that stupid, Merrill?

The words felt like a slap, and he couldn't stop hearing them over and over again. They'd echoed in his head, over and over, the entire way here, no matter how fast he'd driven.

"I said some stuff to her." It took a moment for him to realise he'd spoken out loud.

Tracey sighed. "Sometimes, you say stuff, I guess. Stuff you don't mean."

He sighed, tugged at his hair for a moment. "I miss her." He stopped for a second. "God, I only fought with her an hour ago and I miss her."

Tracey nodded slowly.

"I love her." The words were quiet. "I love Izzy. But I get mad at her."

"Why?" Tracey was a little too close now, her breath tickling his neck. Perhaps another time Merrill would have leaned away, but now he stayed where he was. Something about the way she leaned towards him, the way she was listening to him. And these days, when he watched Izzy, she looked away. Looked away, her eyes lost in some silent meditation.

Screwed-up...

The word echoed inside his head again and he dug his teeth into his lip. "I don't know-it's just-it's difficult. She's difficult." He winced immediately. "Shit, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know."

"It's just-I want her to be happy and I want to look after her but sometimes she just gets-" He waved his hand, unable to put it into words.

He swallowed. "She just gets so-anxious about stuff. All the time."

Tracey nodded and Merrill swallowed again. "And I don't know how to stop it."

He closed his eyes. "And I said stuff to her-" He had no clue why he was telling Tracey all this, but it seemed to be working, in a way. She was listening and that was enough, and it didn't matter that she was leaning a little too close to him or that her mouth was so near his skin.

He ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know. I just think-"

"What?" Tracey's eyes widened rather gratifyingly.

Merrill shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know if she'll want to see me."

Tracey sighed, biting her own lip. "Sounds like a mess."

Merrill nodded in agreement, closing his eyes for a moment. "God, I shouldn't have said it to her-"

"Said what?"

Merrill shook his head. He couldn't say it again. So he settled for a shrug. "I just-shouldn't have taken it out on her."

"Taken what out?"

Merrill wished there was a way to put it into words. The unease that seemed to be lurking in the air, like some constant shadow, the things Bo had been saying, the fact his niece was in therapy at all, and the things that flickered in his dreams-images he couldn't get rid of, even during the day. And Isabelle's cries as she woke up-the way she'd scream for a short second, before she'd sit bolt upright, staring around as if she'd forgotten where she was.

The way she screamed stuck in his head, even when the nights were over.

"I don't know." He stared at Tracey. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make it right with her."

Tracey was silent for a long moment. "She'll listen to you."

Merrill shrugged again, and Tracey's hand brushed his. "I mean it." She stared at him. "She'll listen to you."

Merrill wished he could share this optimism, but was finding it difficult. "Hope so" he managed to say, before returning his gaze to his glass.

"Come on." Tracey touched his arm for a moment. "You need to get home." She indicated the empty glass. "Before you can't drive."

Merrill had to admit, Tracey Abernathy was smarter than she seemed.

Outside at his car, she stared up at him, blonde hair hanging limply about her face. He fidgeted with his keys, trying to look anywhere but at her. She was leaning against his car, almost leaning against him.

"Well-" He tried to make his voice sound light, optimistic. "Thanks." He had no idea what he was going to do now, but thought it might be best not to let Tracey get wind of that.

She stared up at him. "Isabelle's lucky." Her voice was soft, carried away on the night air, and Merrill suddenly had the feeling that this was something Tracey would never have said to anyone else.

"Maybe." He couldn't think of anything else to say, except for the obvious. That it was him who was lucky, not Isabelle. That he knew that she could choose someone else any time she wanted, that she could walk away whenever she liked. He was the one who was lucky to have her, not the other way round.

Tracey stared up at him. "It's true." Her arms slid around his shoulders and her head leaned against him for a moment, her cheek brushing his shirt. Merrill's heart felt as though it was skipping inside his chest, his brain flashing frantic warning signals to get out of here, now.

He patted her awkwardly on the back, darting an anxious look at his car. Then again, she had just listened to him for nearly an hour, whining on about his problems with Izzy. He gave her a quick hug, his eyes closing.

She stared up at him for a moment as they broke apart and her eyes looked strangely lost-strangely uncertain. Looking at her, a memory pushed at the edge of Merrill's consciousness-something years ago, something to do with her, a rainstorm-but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Tracey stepped closer to him. "Night, Merrill." Her voice was low, but Merrill could feel his heart thudding against his ribs.

"Night, Trace." The words came out in a low whisper and then she brought her mouth up to his.

Her lips were slicked with lip gloss and the sticky sweetness of it overwhelmed his mouth for the moment they stayed there, mouths pressed together, her lips moving over his, for the second it lasted before he stepped back, breaking away from her. "No. No, don't-" He pushed his hands through his hair. "Trace, don't." He met her eyes through the night. "Don't."

She bit her lip. "Merrill, I-" She dropped her eyes. "I-I'm sorry-I didn't mean to-" There were tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She avoided his gaze, her own hand running through her hair. "I shouldn't have." She bit her lip again. "I'm sorry." Her voice was barely a whisper as she turned away.

Merrill's hand caught her elbow. "Trace-"

He didn't know what he wanted to say. She turned back to look at him, her eyes wide and suddenly that memory that had been teasing at the edge of his thoughts burst into his mind with an almost explosive clarity.

He was seventeen, leaning against the wall, cigarette stuck between his lips. It had been just another party, another in a long line of parties, and he'd come outside, partly to smoke, partly to get some air.

He let his head lean against the wall, exhaled a cloud of smoke. He was bored, which was weird, and he felt down, which was weirder. It was a party. What was there to be down about?

His girlfriend was still inside, slumped on a couch. He'd told her he was going outside and she'd thrown her arms around his neck, locking him in a kiss that had lasted a good few minutes before he could pull away. Natalie, who he'd been dating for a couple of months. She was a cheerleader-blonde hair, with a constant sheen of make-up, and she waited around for him after baseball practice. They went to parties, and she'd wait for him at his locker, and they'd make out in the back of his car, which so far had just ended with her pushing his hands away after a certain amount of time.

She was nice-most of the time. She was pretty and she was hot, and she wasn't bad as a girlfriend. She liked him, which he knew because she made a point of telling him. "I really like you." "You're different from the others." "You're so sweet, Merrill."

The thing was, he was never sure what to say back. He always said something and she always liked it, but it always sounded false in his head, and he could never work out how she didn't see that.

The thing was, he liked Natalie enough-he didn't hate her, and he could spend time with her. She could be mildly amusing from time to time. She was hot and she was popular and she was someone he could date. But she wasn't-

And that was where Merrill came up blank because he could never figure out quite what she wasn't. There was just something-not there, as there had been with every other girl he'd dated-and this had lasted the longest of any of them.

The thing was, Merrill was never sure what to do with them. He could make out with them and whisper to them, and occasionally just hang out with them, but that was all it was. He didn't lie awake at night, dreaming about their smile or tell them everything, because they "got" him or something. There was nothing like that and Merrill wasn't sure if it was him or them or some mixture of both.

Anyway, he couldn't figure it out now and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to, any time soon. He turned away, stubbing his cigarette out under his foot. He had a curfew, and he was almost over it. Graham would be home and while he wouldn't freak if Merrill walked in half an hour late, he'd ask where he'd been. And something about the look in his eyes when Merrill mentioned Natalie or his partying-even leaving out the smoking and drinking-would just get under Merrill's skin, and he'd either end up getting mad or feeling like crap about it for the rest of the night.

Graham was married-had been for two or three years, Merrill could never remember which-but he still often came back to the house where Merrill lived with their dad. He said it was to keep an eye on his little brother, which Merrill thought was code for keeping him out of trouble. But Graham had his own place with Colleen and so he could never leave that for too long. Whenever Colleen came over, she and Graham would sometimes stare at each other-or at their new baby, four month old Morgan-so long, it seemed like they'd forgotten there was anyone else in the room. Merrill couldn't imagine looking at anyone like that.

There was a scuffle at the end of the alley and he turned round, frowning, glancing automatically at the door. He didn't think Graham would be thrilled if he got a call saying Merrill had been in a fight, not after the couple he'd already managed to get into this semester.

"I didn't mean it, OK-" It was a girl's voice and one that Merrill vaguely recognized.

He squinted around the corner, making sure to keep himself out of sight. A girl with faded blonde hair was standing in the alleyway, staring up at a guy around Merrill's own age. The girl looked younger though, maybe about fourteen. She had her arms crossed and was staring up, her eyes wide.

"Look, just-" She tried to move towards someone, then staggered as if she'd been pushed. Merrill was about to step out, then-Graham might not like his little brother getting into fights but he couldn't just let the girl get shoved about right in front of him-but then she stepped back, arms crossed defiantly over her chest. From this vantage point, Merrill could see that her eyes were smeared with mascara, and that she was biting her lip.

"Look, just-" She turned away, swallowing. "You promised, OK? You promised you'd take me home."

This time, Merrill heard her companion's retort loud and clear."And you didn't keep yours'." He saw the flick of a finger and Tracey winced, stepping back out of the way, her hand flying to her cheek. The other guy stepped forward, swaying slightly-he'd clearly had a good time at the party. "So why should I keep mine?"

Merrill took a step towards him then, and the guy turned round. His eyes were unfocused, and he took a step back at the sight of Merrill.

Merrill didn't look at him. He looked at the girl-Tracey, her name was. "You OK?" His own voice was low, and he determinedly avoided looking at the other guy.

Tracey didn't look back at him. She nodded slowly, keeping her eyes on her companion. "Please" she said, and it took Merrill a moment to realise she wasn't speaking to him. "Please, just give me a ride."

A shake of the head and Merrill had a sudden, fierce longing to sink his fist into the other guy's face. He stepped forward, but Tracey's voice brought him to a stop.

"Look-" He turned to see she was looking at him now. "Just go. I know you're trying to help but just go."

Merrill stared at her. "He can't talk to you like that."

"I can talk to her how I want-" This from the other guy who Merrill ignored. Tracey stared up at Merrill. "Please." Her eyes dropped. "You're just making it worse."

Another time, perhaps, Merrill would have stayed where he was. But something about Tracey's eyes made him turn away. They looked lost, like a ship without an anchor and something about that scared him.

He turned away, past the guy who already had his eyes fixed on Tracey again. As he stepped inside, he could hear Tracey's voice. "Please" and knew that things back there were going on. going on just the same way as before.

Tracey was staring up at him and he softened his voice. "Let's just-forget it, OK?" He looked at her, his hands on her arms. "It never happened."

She bit her lip and nodded. "I'm sorry." She stared down at her shoes. "I didn't-"

"Just forget it." He said the words more firmly this time as if they could make it untrue. "It never happened."

She nodded again, looking a little more certain this time. "OK." She tugged at a strand of hair. "I just-it just happened." She swallowed.

"Forget it. It's OK." Merrill turned back to the car.

Tracey was chewing her lip but she nodded. Looking at her, Merrill felt a wave of sympathy and he touched her shoulder. "Thanks for tonight." He wasn't sure what he was thanking her for, but he felt he should say it.

Tracey nodded. "You're welcome." Her voice was a whisper and Merrill got into the car, feeling as though he should do something else, but with no idea what.

---

He didn't even want to think about what time it was when he drew up in front of the small house that contained their apartment. Nearly every light in the building was out, and it took Merrill a few moments to realise that the car in front of his own looked strangely familiar. He squinted at it for a moment, then, deciding he couldn't really care, let himself in.

He was heading up the stairs when the door down the hallway opened. Merrill peered over the banister to see Mrs. Longdon staring out at him. Her eyes were wide and it took Merrill a moment to realise that there was a shotgun poking out from under her arm.

"What the hell-"

Mrs. Longdon visibly relaxed. "Oh. It's you, dear." She lowered the shotgun, much to Merrill's relief. "I thought we might have a break-in."

Merrill resisted the temptation to point out that not many burglars would have a key to the door. "No. Just me."

Mrs. Longdon nodded and Merrill sincerely hoped she knew how to use the gun. Calling out an ambulance because his landlady had accidentally shot her own foot would be the icing on the top of the cake.

"There was a bit of noise earlier." She squinted worriedly at Merrill and he avoided her eyes. "Were you OK?"

Merrill nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just-had the TV on too loud."

Mrs. Londgon looked sceptical, but Merrill had better things to do than worry about what his landlady was thinking about their arguments. He turned back to the stairs, as she withdrew into her apartment, still clutching the shotgun as if she thought there might be further intruders behind him.

Merrill turned down the hallway, and almost had a heart attack as their apartment door flew open.

A figure with auburn hair appeared and Merrill groaned inwardly at the sight of her. "Hannah."

Hannah marched down the hallway, turning to look behind her. "You OK, Iz?"

There was an answer from somewhere in the apartment. Merrill could guess Isabelle had answered in the affirmative because Hannah called out "See you tomorrow." She then quietly closed the door and turned away.

Any relief Merrill felt at this display of calm quickly dissipated as Hannah marched towards him. The look on her face was nothing short of murderous.

"You-"A sharp jab in his chest. Merrill glared down at her. The stress of the whole evening seemed to be building in his head and Hannah was the only person there to yell at. "What?"

Hannah glowered up at him. "You're a jerk, you know that?"

Merrill glared back at her. "Yeah. And you weren't here."

"I've been with your girlfriend all evening" Hannah shot back. "I know what you said to her." She gave him the sort of look usually reserved for a very small, slimy thing-perhaps an oozing slug that's crawled out from under a rock. "You know what, there's being a jerk and there's being plain screwed-up."

Merrill fought the impulse to shove her. "You don't even know what happened-"

"I know enough" Hannah interrupted him, "You actually said that to her? Jesus, you are one dick."

Merrill searched his memory. "This is because I told her-"

"That she was screwed-up? Essentially, yeah." Hannah stared up at him with folded arms. "You actually said that?"

Merrill pressed his fingers against his eyes. "Look-" The anger seemed to be leaving him as quickly as it had come. "I just-she said-"

Hannah shook her head. "You're meant to be her boyfriend." These words were quieter, sadder. "Why the hell would you say that?"

Merrill couldn't find an answer and after a moment, Hannah turned away, still shaking her head. "I wouldn't go in there" she called over her shoulder. "She's not exactly feeling like talking to you."

Merrill didn't have a chance to call back to her before she disappeared down the stairs. He shook his head, turning to the apartment door. Hannah's words reverberated inside his head. Why the hell would you say that?

Merrill could still remember the sensation of the words in his mouth, the look in Isabelle's eyes as he threw them at her. He closed his own eyes and slumped against the wall. He didn't need Hannah to tell him he'd screwed up.

But a small, nagging part of his mind was still wondering why Isabelle had said what she'd said to him.

He stepped inside cautiously, still debating whether to call out her name or not. He decided against it. He was sure Isabelle would have heard the debacle, anyway.

He closed the door quietly and glanced around the living room. It looked much the same way as it had when he left, hours before.

The door to the bedroom was closed and Merrill stood outside for several moments, wondering quite what Isabelle's reaction would be should he knock.

Eventually, he pushed the door open.

Isabelle was lying curled on her side in bed. Her hands clutched the sheets, and her eyes stared at the wall. She tensed when he took a step into the room but otherwise did not acknowledge his presence.

"Izzy-" He didn't even know what to say.

Isabelle saved him the trouble. "Just go away, Merrill."

"Izzy-"

"I don't want to speak to you. Go away." Her voice was muffled and he knew Isabelle well enough to know she was crying. He took a step towards her, the way she curled her arms around herself tugging somewhere inside his chest.

"Izzy, I'm-"

"Don't." She flinched away as he reached out to touch her, and he felt his heart twist. "Don't. Just leave me alone."

"You're crying."

"I just want you to leave me alone, OK?"

Merrill stood still for a moment and Isabelle's hands tightened their grip on the sheets. "Just go, OK?"

Merrill stared at her. "Fine." His voice was low, and as he turned towards the door, he heard her voice again. "Where are you going?"

Merrill threw up his hands. "You just told me to go."

Isabelle bit her lip, then lay down again. Merrill turned back to the bed and grabbed his pillow.

"Where are you going?"

"Long journey. Big trek to the couch." He knew the words were edged with sarcasm and Isabelle finally looked round at him. Her eyes met his, and they were harder than he was used to, and colder, too.

"Fine." She turned back, looking away from him again and Merrill gritted his teeth. He could have kicked something but settled for slamming the door behind him as he headed for the couch.

---

Staring up at the ceiling, yanking a throw blanket over him, Merrill lay still, his mind teeming with thoughts. He closed his eyes, wondering if he could force himself to sleep.

All his thoughts started with Izzy and ended with her, and it made forgetting that they were mad at each other more difficult than ever.

He remembered driving Isabelle home from their first date, and pulling up outside her house. She'd been laughing, playing with the radio, her eyes meeting his every now and again, and them both smiling. It had been July, less than a month after the invasion, and she'd been staying with her parents, the way she usually did when she wasn't at college.

She'd touched his arm as he brought the car to a stop. "Merrill."

"Yeah?" He'd stared across at her, the way she was watching him through a curtain of hair. He could see red in her hair now, faint streaks of it, the evening sunlight making them stand out and he wanted to touch her, run his fingers through the waves, taste her skin.

"Drive around the corner."

He'd blinked. "What?"

"Just drive around the corner. Trust me." She'd smiled, and her fingers had brushed his hand. "I'll tell you why then."

Merrill had shrugged and restarted the engine, driving round the corner with a confused glance at her. She'd grinned back, that crooked smile that made him feel almost dizzy and that he could never resist answering with a smile of his own.

Ever since the invasion had happened, Merrill had seen a lot of Isabelle but they'd always been surrounded by other people. The first few days afterwards, they hadn't left each other's sides, but Morgan and Bo had been there too, and when they'd returned to the Hess house, the only thing anyone had wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep. The house-which had been cleared up by that point, with help from Isabelle's parents-had seemed like some vague refuge again, and the first night they'd brought Morgan home, Merrill and Isabelle had both collapsed onto the couch and slept, their heads against each other's shoulders. The only thing they'd had time for was a brush of Merrill's lips against her hair before sleep had fallen over them both like a blanket.

The days and weeks afterwards had been spent learning and relearning what had happened, listening to the news and finding out who had survived along with them. Bucks County had lost less than many other places, but there had been losses and a couple of people that Isabelle, Merrill or one of the others had known by sight had died or been reported missing in the aftermath of the invasion.

But when they'd been alone together, Merrill had drunk in as much of her as he could, asking her endless questions, happily answering hers', and kissing her, his hands in her hair, tasting her lips with his. Every moment together had been something that had looked unlikely a few weeks beforehand, and each was determined to make the most of it.

Isabelle had stayed at the Hess house for a couple of weeks before returning to her parents' house for a while, but she'd still been at Graham's every other day, which Merrill welcomed. It had been on one of those visits, when Graham had been upstairs doing his nightly vigil of sitting with Bo-whose nightmares following the invasion regularly brought everyone out of their sleep-that Merrill had turned to Isabelle. They'd been slumped in front of a movie on the couch, and Isabelle's eyes had been idly tracking over the TV screen while Merrill traced her neck with his lips. She'd shivered under his mouth and it had been then that he'd kissed her cheek.

"I've been thinking." His fingers had braided with hers', her cheek leaning against his.

She'd brushed their lips together, a brief, warm kiss that made Merrill smile. "What about?"

"Remember what you asked me?" He'd moved closer to her, and she'd nuzzled his neck, prompting a small sound from his throat. He'd felt her smirk against his skin. "What was that, exactly?"

He'd moved back, struggling to clear his head. "During the-" He let his voice trail off, and her eyes had grown serious, as she nodded. "In the barn."

"When we were-" Isabelle's eyes closed as she tilted her head to the side and brought her mouth to his. Merrill's own eyes had closed as his hands slid into her hair and this kiss had lasted significantly longer than the previous one.

"What did I ask you?" she whispered, after they'd broken apart. Merrill had still been struggling for breath, and his eyes had opened to find hers' only inches away and it had been an effort not to grab her and kiss her again.

"If I'd like to go out sometime" he'd murmured, tracing her lips with one finger. "Might take you up on it."

Isabelle had smiled, tilting her mouth to his again. "Are you asking me out?" The words were whispered against his lips.

Merrill had drawn his head back and nodded.

Isabelle smiled and leant so close that her breath tickled his lips. "Here's my answer" she'd whispered, as she brought her mouth to his again.

And now here they were at the end of that night, and he was bringing the car to a stop round the corner. He couldn't stop grinning, could stop even less when Isabelle loosened her seatbelt, sliding across so that she could trace his cheek with one finger.

"I had a great time" she whispered, and her words tickled his skin again.

"So did I." He could barely get the words out, his brain too overwhelmed by how close she was, by the way her fingers were playing with the edge of his shirt. She was almost in his lap, by now, and his hand slid into hers', his fingers braiding themselves with hers'.

"You know-" Her voice was soft. "When I was thirteen, my mom told me to make sure I never kissed anyone on the first date."

Merrill brushed her hair back from her face, her eyes catching his again. "Did you do what she said?" His own voice was low.

"Oh, I'm good as gold." Isabelle's eyes seemed darker now and there was a smile playing at her lips as her hand slid into his hair. Merrill could feel his heart thudding against hers' as she leaned closer to him.

"But rules are made to be broken" she whispered and then she tilted her head, bringing her mouth gently to his.

Merrill closed his eyes, any semblance of thought dissolving as his hands slid around her, holding her to him. Her mouth opened against his, and he felt her gasp as he kissed her harder, her heart banging against his chest. Her mouth moved to his neck, below his ear and he heard himself moan as she traced her lips over his skin.

"Izzy-" The name cracked on his lips as she kissed him again. He fell back against the seat, Isabelle in his lap, her mouth hot and fierce and yet still somehow gentle against his.

Her legs were entwined with his and he could feel her heart pounding against his as he tasted the warmth of her mouth, felt her hands slide into his hair. Her mouth moved to his neck and he felt her smile against his skin.

"Merrill." His name was a simple whisper and he closed his eyes as she raked her lips over skin that was now pebbled in goosebumps. His hands were lost in her hair and he could feel his muscles tautening, heat roiling in his groin as her hips brushed his.

Her lips hit that one spot under his ear and what sounded almost like a whimper came from his throat. The sensation spread through his body, and he wondered how the hell Isabelle knew how to affect him like this, how she knew every weakness he had...

His hands tightened in her hair as he tilted her head, kissing her back in the same way, and she was the one who gasped now, as he let his fingers trace across her neck, making her jump, over the edge of her shirt, and her head fell onto his shoulder as she sighed his name. Merrill took the opportunity to nibble across her neck, smiling at the soft whimper of pleasure that produced, her hands tightening on his shirt. She shifted in his lap, so that she was pressed against him and the sensation swelled in his body, making him bury her face in her neck..

It was when his hand moved to the top of her shirt, his fingers stroking further down her skin, that Isabelle moved back. "Stop" she whispered, her hand closing around his. "Merrill, stop."

He did, with an effort-his whole body was begging him to continue. But Isabelle was staring at him and so he pulled his hand back with an effort. "What's wrong?" The kiss on her lips was gentle this time, and she sighed, laying her head on his shoulder. He curled his arm around her, understanding without words that something was bothering her.

"Is it-we don't have to go so fast-" He tilted her chin so that she was looking into his eyes. "We don't, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be sorry." She placed her finger to his lips. "I just-" She sighed, her fingers slipping in between his again. "I just-want to wait a bit. Is that OK?" She looked nervous, her eyes raising to meet his, as if he might say it wasn't.

"It's OK" he said, pressing his lips to her hair. It was kind of what he'd expected, if he was honest with himself. His body was still urging him on, wanting to kiss her again, but he held himself back, choosing instead to let her head lie on his shoulder. "It's fine. We'll take it slow, it's OK."

Isabelle visibly relaxed-it was clear she'd been worrying. "It's not that I don't-you know-want to" she said, avoiding his eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and that just made him want to kiss her even more. "It's just that-I want to wait. I mean, after the stuff that's happened to us-" She pressed her lips to his cheek. "I don't want us to mess anything up by rushing into things."

Merrill had nodded. "That's OK." He'd pressed another kiss to her hair. "I get it. I can wait. It's fine."

Isabelle had leaned against him. "Good." Her hair brushed his fingers, and she kissed him again-gentler this time.

"Izzy?" The name had come to him naturally a few nights before, and now Isabelle smiled as she tilted her head to his. "Yeah?"

He'd stared at her, wanting to tell her how he fell asleep thinking about her; how he wanted to listen to her all the time, to hear every crazy fact she knew; how sometimes when he was sitting there, with his arm around her and she was staring up at him like this, he thought there couldn't be anything better than this, anything at all.

But he settled for "You're beautiful."

Isabelle's smile grew as she tilted her mouth to his, her hands braiding into his hair. He closed his eyes as he fell into the kiss, his brain thinking the words he couldn't say to her yet, but that beat like a pulse beneath every one of their kisses. I love you. I love you.

It would be another month before he said it out loud.

---

Hannah was still fuming as she drove away, resisting the urge to glance back at the apartment building. She wondered if Isabelle and Merrill would just descend into another argument the second he got inside, and gritted her teeth. She remembered the look on Merrill's face in the hallway, and swallowed hard.

I shouldn't have said it to him...

Hannah shook her head. She wondered if she should have stayed. But Isabelle and Merrill had to figure it out for themselves-

A figure appeared in front of her car.

Hannah's feet slammed onto the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. She heard her own voice in a cry, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared through the windshield at the-now empty-road in front of her.

She sank back into her seat, her heart banging in her chest for only a second before she threw off her seatbelt, yanking at the door handle, and almost falling out onto the road. Her knees smacked into the gravel and her palms burnt as the skin was seared against the stones. She pulled herself upright anyway, staring in front of her vehicle, expecting to see a body lying still, a crumpled figure in front of the bonnet.

The road was empty.

Hannah staggered to the front of the car, dropping to her knees, her eyes peering frantically under the vehicle. There was no one there.

She scrambled to her feet again, her eyes darting around frantically. Her hands pressed against her temples and she wondered for a brief moment if all the weird stuff going on around her was finally causing her to crack up.

Something moved to the right of her vision.

Hannah's head spun towards the field on her left. The road wound between two fields-not corn, but some crops-in which plants stood at shoulder height, still with the lack of breeze. Something about that utter lack of motion made her shiver.

Still glancing about the road frantically, she turned back to her car. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she tried to ignore the sudden tingling at the back of her neck, the way her heart was throwing itself against her ribs.

It had to have been imagination. It had to have been.

She pulled at her door handle. It didn't budge.

Hannah tugged at it again. It didn't move.

The hairs on the back of her neck rising, she stared at the door. This had never happened before. She yanked at the handle viciously, yielding the same result.

The door was locked.

Hannah tensed at a slight movement behind her. She froze, her eyes focused only on the window of the car. Behind her, a twig cracked.

Hannah fought down a whimper climbing up her throat. Her fingers tightened on the handle as she wrenched at it, fingers clawing at the metal.

Then her eyes moved to the glass and she saw the figure standing behind her.

Hannah's scream lasted only a moment before her hand gave one last, frantic tug at the door handle, and the door fell open. She threw herself into the car, falling across the seat, her hand yanking the door shut behind her, staring out through the glass.

There was no one there.

Hannah twisted the keys into ignition. She drove as fast as safety would allow the whole way home, where she leapt out of the car, sprinted for her apartment building and once in the hallway, fumbled frantically with her keys to get inside the front door. Only once inside, with her door closed and securely locked behind her, did she slide down the wood, her arms wrapped around her legs and bury her face in her knees, half-sobbing into her hands.

It took at least ten minutes for her to be able to pick herself up off the floor and make her way to her bedroom-leaving every light on- get changed and crawl into bed. It took much longer for her to fall asleep.

His arms were around her shoulders and she was laughing as he moved the stalk over her lips. Her mouth pressed itself against his neck for a moment and he stiffened, a low moan coming from his lips.

She pulled herself on top of him, her smile an inch from his as she stroked her hand across his cheek. "You're a bad influence." Her voice was a whisper, each word stroking his cheek.

He tilted his head back, letting her lips wander to the space between his neck and shoulder. "That what you think?" He inhaled sharply as her hand moved over his hip, fingers grazing across his skin. "Izzy-"

Isabelle's lips moved into a soft smile. "What?" Deliberately, she repeated the movements, her eyes locked with his, until he moaned her name, dragging her mouth back to his.

It was several moments before they broke apart, and Merrill's eyes met hers'. "You're beautiful." His voice was hoarse as he spoke. The sunlight was warm on his face and his hand slid into her hair.

Her laughter was low, tickling his throat. "You've said. Several times."

He tilted his head to hers' again. She closed her eyes and whispered his name. Her hand stroked across the fabric of his shirt, before her eyes met his and she trailed her fingers slowly across his skin.

The corn crops were waving over his head, his hands running their way through her hair. Isabelle's mouth hovered over his. "We have to stop" she whispered. "They could hear."

Merrill pulled her down so that her head lay on his shoulder. "We could just go further in-"

He felt her shiver, and she raised her eyes to look at him. "I can't-" Her eyes darted to the tall crops. "Not further."

Merrill knew when to stop pushing. He had to admit, he hated being near the corn alone. He could never get rid of the sensation that there was someone watching him, a pair of eyes taking him in, everything he did. So he couldn't blame Isabelle for not being able to make herself travel any further in.

But he pressed another kiss to her mouth anyway. "I get it." He watched the relief in her eyes, as his hand moved over her cheek. Her head was cradled under his chin as his arms slid around her.

Her lips nudged his neck. "I love you." Her voice was soft.

Something clattered near his head and Merrill's eyes flew open.

He sat up, sinking his face into his hands. His neck ached from lying on the couch, and the dream still echoed in his head, if images could echo. He pushed his hands through his hair, and it was then that the same noise clattered again.

He looked up, dragging himself upright. Isabelle was standing in the kitchen area, her back to him. Just looking at the set of her shoulders was enough to tell him she hadn't forgotten the previous night's fight.

He closed his eyes again, leaning his head on his hands. "Izzy?"

No answer. Merrill had expected this but it was still a disappointment.

"Izzy?"

Apart from a slight stiffening of her shoulders, Isabelle gave no sign that she had heard him.

Merrill sighed, crossing the room to the counter and turning to the coffeemaker. "Isabelle?" He looked at her. "You're going to keep this up?"

A rise and fall of the shoulders.

Merrill sighed. "Look, Isabelle-"

Isabelle finally turned towards him. Merrill stared at her. Her arms were folded, her eyes harder than usual. She stared up at him.

"I need to go" she said. "I've got classes."

She tried to move past him, but he held out his arm. "Look, can't we just-"

Isabelle grasped his wrist with one hand and firmly moved his arm out of the way. "No, we can't. Not right now."

Merrill bit his lip. "Izzy-"

Isabelle shook her head. She ducked past him, leaving a half-eaten piece of toast lying on the plate. Merrill turned to stare after her. "Isabelle-"

His only answer was the sound of the bathroom door closing behind her.

Merrill turned back to the counter, and wondered just how long it was going to take them to speak to each other again.

---

Devon Pritchard kept his eyes on the doors of the school bus, and then glanced away again. He was slumped at the back, his jacket pulled up around his ears, and he had the double seat to himself. Then again, he always did.

He kept his eyes on the other end of the aisle, his hands shoved in his pockets. His fingers closed around the cigarette lighter and he turned it over out of sight, the case reassuringly smooth against his skin. He kept hold of it for a moment before releasing it as quickly as he'd first grabbed, as Morgan Hess stepped onto the bus.

Devon couldn't figure out what it was about Morgan Hess, but he kept watching him. Just something about the kid made Devon think about him. Something about the way he kept his head down as he walked, maybe, or the way he spent every break in the library, always with some encyclopaedia spread out in front of him.

He knew the other boy's mother was dead-the whole town knew-and he knew something had happened to him during the whole invasion last year. Devon felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and wished he had a cigarette to stick in his mouth, flood nicotine through his veins. He slid further down in his seat, and his eyebrows knotted for a moment, a darker scowl crossing his face.

And he knew that his family and Morgan Hess's had crossed paths before and weren't exactly best buddies round town.

Lionel had never exactly confided in Devon-he'd be more likely to give his brother a belt round the head than pour out his secrets to him-but once when they'd been sitting in their garage, Devon had swallowed and, sure he'd regret this in a few moments, asked "What the hell is up with you and Isabelle Henderson?"

Lionel had snorted, removing the cigarette from his mouth. "Stuck-up bitch." He spat, and Devon dodged out of the way.

"Why?"

Lionel had glared at him. "Always been like that. Since she was a kid. Thinks she's too good for everybody else." He took another drag off his cigarette. "Freaky kid, too. Always counting to herself and muttering. Like I said, freak." Another drag. "The lot of them are fucking crazy."

Devon could have told Lionel that the same was sometimes said about him, but he liked his head attached to his body. "What about her boyfriend?"

At that, Lionel's whole body stiffened for a moment-Devon made the mistake of staring and a glare from Lionel had Devon glancing quickly back at the bike he was working on. "Him?" Lionel glowered over the cigarette and Devon wondered if it had been a mistake to ask.

Lionel had muttered something and Devon had blinked. "What?"

"I said he's a loser." Lionel's voice was louder now and he glared at Devon. "Why do you care?"

Devon shrugged. "I don't. I just wondered." He'd considered telling his brother Morgan Hess was in his year, but decided against it-the last thing he needed was Lionel starting some other vendetta.

But now, watching Morgan Hess, he couldn't agree with his brother's sentiments. Devon Pritchard might have been held back a grade but he knew something.

Morgan Hess was slumped down in the seats at the front of the bus, and it was then that Devon saw a hand dart forward and grab at the other boy's shirt.

He rolled his own eyes. He'd told Hess to stand up for himself, for Christ's sake. What did the idiot expect, Devon holding his hand while these kids shoved him into the gutter? Devon had always reckoned Morgan Hess for intelligent, but now he was starting to wonder.

He watched as the kid-eighth grader, but another hold-back-muttered something to Morgan before letting go of him. Devon rolled his eyes.

Hess wasn't even saying anything. Just sitting there, like some puppy. Jesus Christ.

Devon glanced down the aisle, and then, without thinking about it, slid out of his seat. He headed down the aisle of the bus, keeping his head low, to avoid one of the tirades from the bus driver about students remaining seated while the vehicle was in motion. The last thing he needed was to be kicked off again.

"You." He shoved an eighth-grade arm out of the way as he slumped down next to Hess. A hand grabbed his collar, but Devon's fingers were faster.

He turned round to look Lucas directly in the eye. "Get your fucking hand off me" he said, rather evenly for him.

Morgan looked round, his eyes widening at the sight of Devon. "Pritchard-"

"What?" Devon didn't look at him. He shoved Lucas' hand off his shoulder. "Stay the fuck away from me" he said, looking the older boy straight in the eye. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest, his breath coming quicker, the way it always did before a fight.

Morgan was watching him. "Jesus, Devon-"

"What?" Devon turned to look at him. "He'll batter you to a pulp if you let him."

It was at that moment that Lucas' fist caught Devon on the chin.

Devon had sensed it coming towards him at the last second, and had twisted away, so the blow was weaker than it might have been, but it still stung. He threw himself upright, determined to land the next punch himself, to smash Lucas' whole fucking face to a pulp if he had to-

Another hand flew in between them and suddenly Lucas was slumped back against his seat, his hand covering his face. There didn't seem to be any blood, but the older boy's eyes were wide.

Devon glanced to his side to see Morgan standing still, breathing heavily. His fist hung clenched at his side. His eyes were huge, as if he'd never been in a fight before.

Which, Devon reflected, he probably hadn't.

He was still staring when Morgan stuck out his hand. "You OK?"

Devon realised with a sort of dazed aftershock that Morgan's hand was extended to him. He blinked, before slowly reaching out and taking it, his fingers slipping in between Morgan's. He allowed the other boy to pull him upright, his own breath suddenly harsher. He became aware that there was a very loud silence.

A hand fell onto his shoulder. "Right. Both of you off."

"What?" Devon stared up at him. "He was the one who fucking started it!" He pointed at Lucas.

The bus aide was glaring at him. "You two." A point at Morgan and Devon this time. "Off!"

"It wasn't his fault-" Morgan pointed at Devon.

"Off! NOW!"

Devon glowered at him. "Fine." He yanked up his backpack, kicking someone else's out of the way. He snatched a baseball cap as he went by, only to have it yanked out of his fingers by the bus aide. "Oh, for Christ's sake, I was only borrowing it."

Morgan was following him, his own backpack slung over his shoulders. Devon almost threw himself out the bus, letting his bag drag along the ground for good measure.

The doors closed the second Morgan had stepped onto the road, and both boys jumped as the bus roared off, leaving them stranded.

Devon glanced at Morgan, who was looking utterly bewildered. "You're kidding me?" He glanced at Devon. "They've just left us here?"

Devon shrugged. He turned in the direction of the departing bus and demonstrated his feelings clearly with the extension of one finger.

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Oh, nice going." He pushed his hands through his hair. "Brilliant. Brilliant. My dad is going to freaking kill me."

"Just stay out til he's in bed." Devon was dragging his backpack along the road, as he turned in the opposite direction. His hand travelled to his pocket, closed around his pack of cigarettes. He pulled out his lighter, fingers clenched tight around the smooth surface. At least now, he could have a cigarette in peace.

Morgan snorted. "That's your advice? We get kicked off the bus and that's your brilliant advice?"

Devon shrugged. "I'd say have a cigarette but I don't want you to choke on me."

Morgan muttered something under his breath. Devon grinned and turned back to his cigarette packet.

"And what do we do now?" Morgan was glaring at the road beneath them as though it were the sole cause of all his problems. "How the hell are we meant to get to school?"

Devon lit his cigarette, thumb flicking at the lighter. "Who says we're going?"

Morgan stared at him. "What?"

Devon let a smile flicker across his lips. Jesus, Hess, not like I suggested robbing a bank. "Who says we're going?"

Morgan swallowed. "So basically, you're saying let's just skive off?"

Devon thought for a moment, then nodded. "Pretty much, yeah."

He waited for Morgan's objection, for the shaking of the head, the insistence on finding an alternative mode of transport to school. He waited for Morgan to stare at him like he was insane.

Instead, Morgan nodded. "OK." He picked up his own schoolbag, slung it over his shoulders, and fell into step beside Devon."Fine."

Devon stared at him. He thought of asking if he was feeling OK. But there was something in Morgan's eyes-a glitter of something that hadn't been there before, something brighter, a flush to his cheeks-and Devon shrugged, deciding to let it go.

He sneaked another glance at Morgan Hess as the two made their way down the road together. There was definitely more to the Hess kid than he'd first thought.

---

Isabelle waited for Hannah in the corridor, leaning against the wall until she saw the other girl coming. Hannah had her head ducked down and Isabelle felt a stab of guilt for inviting her over the night before.

She pushed Merrill out of her head, digging her teeth into her lip. This was the first time in weeks she'd got the bus into school, refusing to even allow Merrill the chance to offer her a ride. A part of her brain told her this was stupid, and would just drag the whole thing out even more but another, more stubborn part, wanted to keep its' mouth shut, leave Merrill to brood on the whole issue as much as her.

She tried to force a smile to her lips as Hannah reached her. "Sorry about last night. I shouldn't have-"

Hannah didn't look up, and Isabelle frowned. "Hannah?"

Nothing. After a quick glance around, Isabelle reached out to touch her friend's shoulder. "Hannah?"

Hannah raised her head and her eyes met Isabelle's. Isabelle took an involuntary step back. Hannah was staring at her, her eyes huge, as if she'd just seen someone die.

"Isabelle." It seemed to take Hannah a while to say her name. She scrubbed her hand across her eyes, seeming to come back to herself a little. "Isabelle-"

Isabelle stared at her. "What?"

Hannah took a deep breath and let it out, her eyes darting back and forth. "I've got to tell you something."

Isabelle blinked. "OK."

"Not here." Hannah looked at her, eyes suddenly pleading. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but-can you skip class with me?"

Isabelle stared at her. "Why?"

"I'll tell you when we get out of here." Hannah pulled at her fringe, her eyes darting back and forth. "Please, Isabelle."

Isabelle opened her mouth to protest. But then her eyes met Hannah's and she swallowed hard.

"OK." The word was short, clipped and her hand closed around Hannah's elbow as she turned and headed for the nearest door. As the tide of students poured into the school, two figures detached from it, slipping out of the door, heading in the opposite direction, one with their head down, the other keeping her gaze straight ahead.

---

"I take it you've never skived school before?" Devon glanced at Morgan, who was dragging his own backpack along the ground.

Morgan shook his head. "Nope." He winced a second later, glancing at Devon as though he'd just realised something.

"What?" Devon asked, but Morgan shook his head, his gaze darting to the ground. He muttered something.

Devon sighed. "Dude, you're gonna have to talk louder. I can't hear, like, a word you're saying."

Morgan cleared his throat. "I said, have you?"

Up until fifth grade, Devon had probably spent more time out of school than in. However, he decided to tone the truth down a little. "A couple of times." He swung his backpack alongside him, choosing not to mention the times he hadn't had the option of coming to school, the various times he'd been told to stay away for three days, five days, a week. Devon's record was nine days. His brother hadn't cared, there'd been someone to help out with the chores, which Lionel never did, anyway.

Morgan shrugged, kicking at the sidewalk with his heels. The walk to town had taken longer than Devon had expected. Almost an hour after getting kicked off the bus, the option of heading for school that day had now completely vanished.

"What'd you wanna do?" Devon took a quick look at Morgan, feeling strangely obligated to make sure the other boy had a good time. It was Morgan's first time skipping school and Devon figured he should at least remember it.

Morgan shrugged. "What do you usually do?"

What Devon usually did was go and hang around the skate park a few miles away, or steal cigarettes but he sensed that neither of these activities would be particularly amusing to Morgan.

"Just hang out" he said instead, and with that the two of them continued down the street.

---

Hannah pushed her hands through her hair. "I know it sounds weird" she admitted. She stared at Isabelle over the cafe table, and wondered if anyone apart from her best friend would believe her, and then wondered if she'd been overconfident in estimating that.

Isabelle stared at her. "It sounds weird, Hannah, yeah, but it-" She sighed, wondering what the hell could possibly go wrong next. "But trust me, I'm pretty used to weird by now." She leant her head against her hand, her words to Merrill last night echoing in her mind again. She shoved them away, forcing herself to focus on Hannah.

"Did you tell anyone else?" she asked her friend, wondering quite what Caroline would say if confronted with this latest story.

Hannah shook her head. "You really think they'd believe me?" She sighed. "I almost didn't believe it. I was so busy worrying about you and Merrill, I thought maybe I'd imagined it or something."

Isabelle swallowed. "Take a lot to just imagine that." Her eyes roved over Hannah's face and she took a sip of the hot chocolate she'd ordered.

"Maybe you should call Darren" she suggested a second later. "Get him to come back early. You're his girlfriend."

Hannah stiffened, as she did when anyone mentioned that word in her hearing. "It's just casual" she muttered through gritted teeth.

Isabelle brushed this off with a wave of the hand. "Whatever. He still wouldn't want you freaking out, would he?"

Hannah shrugged. "I know Merrill'd come home if it was you, but-" Her eye caught Isabelle's and she winced. "Sorry."

For a moment, Isabelle wondered if the dig had been more heartfelt than she realised, if this was Hannah's way of getting her back for the comment about Darren. But she caught herself before she could snap back. She'd already had one fight, and she could do without another.

"It's fine" she said instead, and pushed her hand through her hair. "What do you think we should do, since we're-" She checked her watch. "Approximately an hour late for school?"

Hannah snorted. "Somehow, I don't think school matters much at the moment."

Isabelle leaned back in her chair. "Maybe you should stay with us" she said seriously. "Or with Carl. It freaks me out, thinking of you on your own."

Hannah laughed. "Isabelle, I'll be OK."

Isabelle frowned. "Where did this happen, exactly?"

Hannah shrugged. "Up on the road by yours'. A few miles down."

Isabelle nodded. "Maybe we should go and check it out."

---

Devon couldn't believe that, on his first time skipping school, his first time ever doing anything against the rules-that Devon knew of, anyway-Morgan Hess had chosen to read a newspaper.

"You're kidding, right?" he said when Morgan ducked into the shop, money in hand. "What's wrong with just nicking one?"

Morgan gave Devon a look as if Devon had just suggested kicking a puppy and Devon held up his hands. "Fine." He followed Morgan into the shop, resisting the urge to snatch a newspaper up anyway.

Morgan scanned the front page and Devon stifled a yawn. He might not have suggested skiving off if he'd known Hess was going to be as boring as this.

"Look." Morgan dug him in the ribs. "International crisis of government."

Devon closed his eyes for a moment. "Fascinating." He wondered how Morgan would react to him lighting up yet another cigarette. He'd been smoking one walking down the street, but had been forced to listen to a lecture on the various ailments smoking caused and had eventually been driven to put the thing out.

Morgan continued reading. "Debate over inflation."

Devon made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat.

"Argument over funeral arrangement causes coffin-side brawl."

Devon wondered how long it would take before he actually died of boredom.

It was then that Morgan grabbed his arm with a gasp. Devon almost jumped out of his skin. "What?"

Morgan pointed frantically at the headline of the page he'd just opened to, his eyes wide. Devon stared at him. Morgan was acting as if the economy had just gone down.

"What?" he said, more calmly this time, taking the paper from Morgan. "If you're acting this excited about a furniture sale or something-"

His own eyes fell on the headline: COMA CASES RISE BY ALMOST 30 %.

He turned to stare at Morgan. "That's what you freaked out about?"

Morgan stopped looking shocked and rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Devon, think about it." He tapped his hand to the side of his head. "Ray Reddy?"

Devon swallowed. "OK-what, all of these cases are like him?"

Morgan gave him a look that suggested he was sincerely questioning Devon's intelligence, took the paper back and began to read. "Doctors are baffled by numerous cases of patients lapsing into mysterious comas over the last few months..." He turned to stare at Devon, eyes wide, before they roamed further down the page. "Symptoms preceding the lapse into unconsciousness often include delirium, seizures, hallucinations, struggles for breath..." His eyes lifted to Devon's again. "That's what Ray Reddy was like."

Devon frowned, pushing his hand through his fringe. "Seriously?" He swallowed, his eyes on the photograph under the headline-a patient lying sprawled on a stretcher, clearly about to be ushered into the hospital.

Morgan swallowed. "But if it's happening all over the country-"

A hand was shoved across the counter, and Carl's face appeared behind the newspaper. "Are you boys going to pay for that or do you want to read the whole thing first?"

Devon rolled his eyes but Morgan just shoved the money across the counter. He didn't have any idea what was going on but if he had to pay a few bucks to get more information, he was willing to.

"Have you heard anything about that?" he said, pointing to the headline and making his eyes as wide as he could. He'd learnt from Bo that the younger you looked, the more willing people were to give information.

Carl took one look at him and snorted. "You can lay off with the eyes, Morgan."

Devon sniggered. Morgan scowled.

"And no, I haven't" Carl continued, handing him twenty five cents change. "Or no more than you have. All I know is what's in that paper, and what happened to Ray Reddy."

Morgan rested his chin on his hands and stared up at Carl. "How is he?"

Carl sucked in his breath. "Not too good. Your dad's been at his bedside almost every day."

Morgan swallowed. He'd seen the strain in his father's face, the lines that seemed to have appeared in only the last few weeks. He ducked his head, suddenly not wishing to hear any more.

"Let's go" he said, in an undertone to Devon; and with a quick nod to Carl, the two left the shop.

"What's going on?" Devon said, almost tripping on the sidewalk. "Why's everyone going into comas?"

Morgan swallowed. "I don't know. I'll bet it's not to give them a rest."

Devon snorted. "You think this could get worse?"

Morgan shrugged. "Perhaps. I can't remember anything like this happening, last time, though-"

"Last time?" Devon had stopped dead now and was staring, his eyes fixed on Morgan's face. "What do you mean, last time?"

Morgan didn't answer and Devon's eyes narrowed. "You mean, the invasion, right?"

Morgan nodded. "Nothing like this happened last time. But I guess-" His voice trailed off and Devon's eyes narrowed still more.

"Something else has happened, hasn't it?" he said, his voice sharp now. "Something you haven't told me?"

Morgan took a deep breath and took hold of Devon's wrist, yanking him along the sidewalk at a quicker pace. Devon stared at him. "Where are we going?"

Morgan sighed. "Look, there's some stuff-" His eyes met Devon's. "Some stuff I haven't told you."

"OK." Devon's eyes locked with his. He didn't pull his hand away from Morgan's. "Like what?"

Morgan took a deep breath and it was at that moment that a voice cut across the air. A voice Morgan knew very well.

"Why-" The figure moved to stand in front of them, her arms folded. "In the name of Christ, aren't you two in school?"

Morgan swallowed hard. Isabelle and Hannah were standing in front of them, both with their arms folded and Morgan suddenly found himself with the very definite feeling of one who had been cornered.

---

Isabelle had been treated to Morgan Hess's guilty look on a variety of occasions but never did she think it had been quite so obvious as it was now, his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes darting back and forth nervously. She thought she heard Hannah stifle a snort.

"We got kicked off the bus" he replied after a moment, and the boy beside him sniggered. Isabelle wanted to kick him, and glanced up.

The recognition was immediate, and she closed her eyes. "Not you" she said, pushing her hands through her hair. "No, really, not you."

Devon Pritchard raised an eyebrow. "Nice greeting."

Morgan's lip twitched, and Isabelle wondered if she'd done something particularly awful in a past life to be cursed with this situation.

"I can't believe this."

"We got kicked off the bus" said Morgan again, as if the meaning of the words would change this time around.

Isabelle raked her hands through her hair. "You know, Morgan, there's this weird invention. It's called a phone. You use it to ring someone and tell them you need a lift."

Morgan raised his eyebrow. "I don't have a cell phone."

Isabelle silently cursed Graham for being stubborn enough to wait until Christmas.

Hannah was smirking next to her and that was enough for Isabelle. Her hand closed around Morgan's wrist. "Right. School. Now."

Morgan stood still. Isabelle tried tugging his arm. "Move it, Morgan."

Morgan folded his arms, tilting his head to one side. "Hang on." His eyes met hers'. "Why aren't you two in school?"

Isabelle faltered, momentarily caught off-guard. "Because we-"

She glanced at Hannah, willing her to have some brilliant explanation. Hannah looked completely and utterly stumped. "Er-we-er-er-"

The look on Morgan's face was the same one that would appear on the face of a cat presented with a particularly large bowl of cream. "You know, that's setting a bad example."

Isabelle glared at him. "We had reasons for not going in."

"So did we." With that, Morgan held up the newspaper. Isabelle took it, squinting at the print. "40% off in shirt sales?"

Morgan made an impatient noise and pointed at the headline.

"Oh." Isabelle stared at the words. Devon watched as her lips moved silently. So this was Isabelle Henderson, the girl Lionel claimed was a stuck-up bitch. So far, she hadn't seemed too stuck-up to Devon. Then again, Lionel had once been fairly sure that Madrid was the capital of France, so what did he expect?

Isabelle pushed her hand through her hair, and Hannah squinted over her shoulder. "Whoa" she said, exhaling hard at the sight of the headline. "Kinda like Ray Reddy?"

Isabelle sighed, handing the paper back to Morgan. "You still need to be in school."

"So do you."

"We're older."

"We were mistreated. We got kicked off a bus."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Nice try."

"It was." Morgan tilted his head to the side, taking her in. "Where were you two going, anyway?"

Isabelle was about to warn him to drop the delaying tactics, they wouldn't work, but Hannah was already speaking. "To look at the road up by hers'." She pointed at Isabelle. Her tone had dropped and she was worrying at her lip with her teeth. Morgan frowned, his eyes narrowing.

"What's wrong?"

Hannah shook her head. Her arms folded.

Morgan's eyes strayed now to Isabelle's. "Did something happen?"

Isabelle sighed, and avoided his eyes. "It's nothing for you to worry about."

Morgan took a step closer to her. "Like all the weird stuff that's been happening recently?" He bit his lip. "Like with Bo?"

Isabelle winced and Morgan could see he'd touched a nerve. She swallowed and then her eyes met his again. "What do you want?"

Morgan sighed. "Let us come. We could help."

Isabelle snorted. "Oh, yeah. I can see your father's reaction, already."

"He won't know. No-one'll know." Morgan stared up at his sister-in-law. "I'm worried about her."

Isabelle knew that Morgan wanted a day off school but she also knew his concern for his sister was genuine. And she had to admit that things were getting weirder by the day. And now with this latest headline and what had happened to Hannah last night-

"You can't just skip school."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Devon does it all the time."

Devon raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, Hess."

Isabelle raked a hand through her hair. Hannah touched her shoulder. "Probably couldn't hurt" she said.

Isabelle stared at her. "What?"

Hannah shrugged. "There's weird stuff going on. It probably couldn't hurt to let them-"

Isabelle buried her face in her hands. "You're not serious."

Hannah shrugged. "Come on. This is some seriously weird shit. Anyway, we're already halfway through the day. No point in sending them in, now."

Morgan nodded, his eyes wide, blinking innocently. He elbowed Devon. Devon glanced at him, and then widened his eyes with an attempt at an ingratiating smile. This was somewhat less effective.

Hannah stared, eyebrow raised. Her own eyes were widened, blinking plaintively.

Isabelle knew when she was beaten.

"Fine" she said, through gritted teeth. "Let's get to my car. If this ever finds it's way back to Graham, I want it on record that this was not my idea."

---

Hannah swallowed nervously as Isabelle pulled the car to a stop. She wrapped her arms around herself.

Isabelle glanced at her. "You OK?"

Hannah shrugged, shrinking further into the seat. Her hands tightened on her upper arms. Isabelle gave her a sharp look. "We can go if you like. Or you can stay in the car."

But Hannah shook her head. "I want to see it." She couldn't explain why or how, but something in her wanted to be back on the road. Perhaps it was simply a desire to see something, some kind of proof. Perhaps she just wanted to know that, after all, it had happened. It had been real. She wasn't crazy.

Morgan slid out before anyone else, his feet touching the ground before the others had so much as unfastened a seatbelt. Isabelle rolled her eyes, but followed him. "Slow down, Morgan."

Devon muttered something, throwing himself out of the car. Hannah stared at him for a moment, before following. She'd never spoken to Devon Pritchard before and to the best of her knowledge, neither had Isabelle. For someone she didn't know, however, Isabelle had been fairly calm about letting him in her car, and about seeing him with Morgan. Another time, Hannah would have been curious.

Right now, however, she was more preoccupied with staying upright. As her feet touched the ground, a wave of dizziness hit her. She caught at the side of the car. If she fainted, she was pretty sure she'd never hear the end of it from Morgan-or for that matter, Isabelle.

Isabelle touched her arm. "You OK?"

Hannah nodded. She pushed her hands through her hair, trying to breathe slowly. Isabelle glanced around. "Where did it happen, exactly?"

Hannah closed her eyes, struggling to concentrate. "Around here" she said, after a moment. "I remember that it was around here. The car stopped."

Morgan actually dropped to his knees and crawled along the road, peering for tyre marks. Hannah thanked God the road was deserted.

"Morgan-" Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Morgan, get up."

"I'm investigating."

Isabelle sighed, turning to look at Hannah. "Now do you see why this was a bad idea?"

Hannah swallowed, and it was then that Isabelle took a closer look at her friend. She closed her eyes for a moment. "Look, I'm sorry" she said in a lower voice. "It's just that I didn't want him-" She glanced at Morgan. "Thinking more about this stuff."

Hannah looked away and Isabelle leaned closer. "Can you remember what it looked like? Anything?"

Hannah's brow furrowed. "It was tall" she said. "It looked like a guy. I only got a glimpse for a second, I was trying to get into the car." She hesitated, teeth digging into her lip.

Isabelle frowned. "What?"

Hannah swallowed. "It'll sound stupid."

"What, Hannah?"

Hannah sighed and turned to look at her. "It didn't look human" she said. "Not in the way it looked, just-something about it-it didn't feel human. Like a person."

She trailed off. Devon Pritchard was staring at her, eyes wide, the way one might look at a senile old woman.

She glared back at him. "What?"

Devon shrugged and looked away, muttering "Nothing, nothing..."

Several more minutes of searching followed-but no results were produced and Hannah wrapped her arms around herself. She was starting to shiver, despite the fact it was still only October.

Isabelle, taking a look at her and perhaps starting to shiver herself, called Morgan and Devon back to the car, telling them it was time to leave-and only raising her voice when Morgan rolled his eyes in complaint. Hannah barely listened as Isabelle persuaded her nephew to get into the car, using the threat of Graham's wrath to motivate him.

It was only once the doors had shut behind them, that Hannah remembered the whole reason she'd been out last night in the first place. "So" she said, turning to look at Isabelle, with a glance towards the back seat. "You OK?"

Isabelle swallowed. Her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip and she too stole a glance towards the back seat. Fortunately, Morgan appeared too engrossed in explaining to Devon why they should have conducted a longer search to notice his aunt's concerns.

"Mostly." Isabelle's jaw was tight as she turned back to face the road.

Hannah sighed. "You and Merrill talked about it yet?"

Isabelle shook her head. Her eyes narrowed, ostensibly focusing on the road ahead.

Hannah bit her lip. "You'll need to, you know."

Isabelle sighed and seemed on the point of speaking, when Morgan suddenly shouted.

Isabelle spun round in her seat. "What?"

Morgan exhaled. "Nothing. Thought I saw something."

Isabelle shook her head, turning back to the road. "God, Morgan."

Hannah watched her friend, wondering if she should repeat the question. But she took in Isabelle's eyes, the way her fingers fastened tightly on the steering wheel, and thought better of it.

---

Merrill had been pretty sure Isabelle'd be keeping up the vow of silence that night but it still felt like a stab in the chest when he walked through the door and she barely acknowledged him.

She was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, though she didn't appear to be taking much in. She was biting her lip and she studiously avoided looking at him as he entered the room.

"Hey, Izzy."

The look Isabelle gave him was enough to silence any further attempts at conversation.

The rest of the evening passed in much the same way. He and Isabelle said precisely two things to each other. "Not hungry" and "Fine" when he asked her if she wanted to eat something and if she was OK. Apart from that, there'd been nothing but silence between them, but a silence so thick you could practically hear a knife slicing through it.

It was when Isabelle got up and headed for the bedroom that Merrill figured out he was spending another night on the couch. He wondered if the living room would eventually just become a second bedroom.

Isabelle appeared in the doorway again. "This is yours" she announced without preamble, holding up his shirt from the day before. "Don't just leave it lying around when you get-"

She paused, her eyes skimming over the material. "What-" Her voice trailed off and then her eyes slowly moved to meet his. "Merrill?" Her voice was uncertain now, shaky, and something about the way it sounded pulled his eyes up to meet hers. "What?"

She held up his shirt in answer. Merrill frowned, swinging himself round so that he slid off the couch. "What?"

She held out the shirt now, forcing him to take a step towards her. "What is it?" He took another and another until he was close enough to reach out, his fingers closing around the material.

In answer, Isabelle's finger jabbed firmly at one spot on the material.

There was what looked like pink glitter smeared on his shirt. For a moment, Merrill wondered if he'd somehow gone sleepwalking and smeared Isabelle's make-up on by mistake, and then realised Isabelle would never own something containing pink glitter.

And then he remembered Tracey Abernathy.

He felt his own eyes widen, just as hers raised to look at him. "Izzy-" He was already shaking his head, forgetting any anger in a moment, forgetting anything but the need to make her realize, make her see..."Izzy, no-I didn't-"

"I didn't know you'd taken to wearing lipstick, Merrill." Isabelle's voice was barely above a whisper. "If I'd known, I would have bought you some."

Merrill swallowed. Her eyes were still locked with his. There were no tears, but there was a look there, a look that sent a shiver down Merrill's spine-a blank look, as if all emotion had been wiped away.

"Izzy-" He reached out to touch her but she stepped away.

"Izzy, listen, it's not like that-"

"Not like what?" She stopped dead, her eyes watching him over her shoulder. "What's it not like?"

Merrill pushed his hands through his hair. "I didn't cheat on you, OK? I've never cheated on you-"

In answer, Isabelle held up the shirt. Merrill closed his eyes. "I can explain that-"

He fell silent. Isabelle, noticing the pause, raised an eyebrow. "OK, then. Explain."

Merrill opened his mouth and promptly fell silent again. What was he meant to say to that? Tracey Abernathy had kissed him but he didn't kiss her back?

He pushed his hands through his hair. "Isabelle-"

Isabelle shook her head. "Yeah. That's what I thought." She turned towards the bedroom door, her arms crossed over her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself, and Merrill caught sight of teeth digging into her lip.

"Izzy-" He called after her, only to be met with the door being closed firmly in his face.

Merrill let his head drop into his hands. Things were never so bad, they couldn't get worse.

---

Isabelle curled up under the bedcovers, her hand reaching out to turn out the light. She pulled the covers over her head, squeezing her eyes shut. She presumed Merrill was sleeping on the couch again. She didn't much care.

She tried to push every image of Merrill's shirt out of her head, tried to push every single detail of it away. Her hands tightened on the duvet cover.

She buried her face in the pillow. She hated the thought of Merrill's hand cupping some other girl's chin, the way he'd tilt her face to look at him, his eyes staring into some other girl's, the same look he gave her, as if she was the only thing in the world to him, his lips brushing gently across some other girl's-the way his mouth touched hers, the way things would start, feather-light kisses, then building deeper and deeper, his hands stroking her skin, her arms wrapped around his neck as if she could lose herself in him...

Isabelle shook her head violently. She clutched the pillow. She found herself wishing, bizarrely, for the teddy she'd had as a child. She wanted something to hold, something to curl up with, something to let her know things were going to be OK.

Because now, she didn't know if they could be.

She couldn't phone anyone. Not Hannah-she'd dragged her out the night before. Not her mother-it was too late, she couldn't justify waking her up.

And obviously, Merrill was out of the question.

Isabelle rolled onto her side, and buried her face in the sheets. It was a while before she slipped into sleep. The fabric of the pillow beneath her face was still dotted with tears.

---

"Get in." Isabelle's voice was terser than usual as she spoke to Morgan-she had been charged with giving him and his sister a lift home from school. She aimed a smile at Bo though, who returned it, if faintly.

"Where's Uncle Merrill?" Morgan asked absently, his thoughts already drifting ahead to the events he'd read about in the newspaper that morning; an upsurge in the amount of comas across the nation, concern that this might be an epidemic.

There was a moment of silence and he glanced up. He thought he saw Isabelle's shoulders tense for a moment, her hands suddenly grip the wheel tighter.

"Isabelle?" he said, leaning forward.

There was no answer.

"Isabelle?" Morgan glanced anxiously at Bo before sinking back into his seat. He didn't want to be inconsiderate, but he'd really prefer Isabelle not to collapse at the wheel. He liked to get home in one-generally alive-piece.

He watched the movement of Isabelle's throat as she swallowed. "I'm fine" she said, though he hadn't asked. He watched as she pushed her hand through her hair. "Merrill's just-busy today."

"Oh. He's working?"

Isabelle gave one small nod. Morgan watched her curiously then turned back to Bo, who was engaged in staring out of the window. But he couldn't help noticing that Isabelle didn't speak another word the whole way home, and that her grip on the steering wheel remained tight, her eyes fixed firmly on the windshield.

---

Devon was dragging his feet as he walked home. The conversation he'd had with Lionel when he arrived home the night before hadn't been the highlight of his week, and when he'd been asked who he'd been hanging out with, he hadn't really had an answer.

"Just someone" he said, dodging the question. "Guy from school."

Lionel kicked the table leg. Devon flinched and regretted telling him at all. "You couldn't just make it in?" he hissed, and Devon leaned away. "I swear to God, if I get one phone call from your school dragging me in again-"

Devon leaned back in his chair, keeping his face carefully clear of emotion. "What?" he said. "You'll batter me."

Lionel looked as if that might be exactly the course of action he'd like to take, but he settled for gritting his teeth. "Don't give me grief" he'd hissed, his face an inch from Devon's. "I don't need it right now."

Devon wondered what the school would think if they did decide to call home and found themselves speaking to his brother, again. He had the feeling that they'd prefer to speak to a parent. But it wasn't as if that was an option.

Devon sighed as he turned down the lane towards their house. It wasn't a bad place to live. It was small and Lionel took up the whole garage with the truck he insisted on working on. He'd thought Lionel would join the army at one stage, but that hadn't come about.

"Why didn't you?" Devon had asked him.

Lionel looked at him. "Cos I'm stuck with you."

His voice hadn't been as harsh as usual when he said it, though. Devon sometimes thought about it, when it seemed that Lionel couldn't stand the sight of him.

There was a crack behind him.

Devon spun around, his heart lurching. He remembered what Isabelle's friend-Hannah, that was her name-had said when they'd been checking out that spot on the road the day before.

There was nothing there.

Heart pounding, Devon turned and faced the other way, determinedly keeping his pace the same speed as before. His teeth dug into his lip, his breath tearing at his throat. His fists were shoved into his pockets and his backpack had come loose, hitting his hip with each step.

There was another sound behind him. Devon stopped.

He could hear something. Something moving along the road behind him. Something creeping. The sound of feet dragging themselves along the road. Something moving closer and closer.

Devon came to a halt. His heart was beating so fast it hurt. His breath was aching in his lungs. He could feel it behind him, something, coming closer, it, it...

There was a rush of warm breath on the skin of his neck. The world seemed to swim before his eyes.

He felt the hand move towards his shoulder, moved a second before it made contact, sprinting towards the house, his feet hammering the ground, panting too hard to scream. He careened towards the house, his feet slipping out from under him. His shins slammed into the gravel but he pushed himself upwards before he could feel the pain, only becoming conscious of the searing sting across his skin seconds before he reached the front door. His hands crashed into it, and he shoved his key into the hole, frantically twisting it this way and that. The door opened and Devon half-fell inside.

He lost his balance, slumping onto the floor. For a second, his head turned and he glanced back. His eyes fixed on the road, and he scanned the place frantically, barely aware of his own trembling, his whole frame shaking so violently that he could barely reach to close the door.

The road was deserted, empty. It was clear of anything, any sight-except for that of a shadow, a shadow moving quickly over the gravel.

That was the last thing Devon saw before he managed to grip the edge of the door and push it hard. The door slammed shut and he leaned against it for a moment, his eyes closed, still trembling.

It took a long time before he could persuade himself to get up and move to the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around himself and, for the first time in a long time, wished his brother was around.

---

Merrill had never liked hospitals. He'd spent enough time in them as a kid, taken in for one accident after another-Graham had once remarked that his little brother should really have been given a loyalty card-and he'd taken enough care to avoid them from then on.

But a hospital was where he found himself now, sitting with Morgan and Isabelle, while Graham and Bo sat inside an examination room.

"What are they doing with her?" Morgan asked for the umpteenth time. Merrill opened his mouth but Isabelle was already speaking.

"They're just running some tests, Morgan. On her blood and stuff. To see if there's any chemical imbalances."

"And she's having a scan, right?"

"Yeah, on her-" Isabelle swallowed. "On her brain" she said, her voice softer now, her eyes avoiding her nephew's. Merrill saw Morgan bite his lip.

"But it's unlikely, right?" he said a second later, looking quickly back to Isabelle. "I mean-that Bo's got something wrong in her brain. Right?"

Isabelle didn't look at Morgan for a moment. "Yeah." She swallowed, then looked at him quickly. "Yeah, it's unlikely. It's probably a psychological thing. They'll probably be able to sort her out better at the counselling."

"Right." Morgan kicked his legs back and forth for a moment. For a second, he looked much younger than he was, like a little boy-almost as young as Bo. Merrill watched his nephew and tried to think of something to say, but there didn't seem to be anything.

Instead, he looked at Isabelle. Isabelle steadfastly refused to look back. They hadn't spoken since Isabelle had seen his shirt, and Merrill was getting fed up of sleeping on the couch. He rubbed his neck, wincing.

But more than that, he was fed up of not speaking to Isabelle. Or rather, Isabelle not speaking to him.

He and Isabelle had gone several days without speaking before. But it had always been over something smaller, something they could forget-something he'd been able to make up to her, whispering into her ear, kissing her neck, his skin against hers'. This wasn't in the same category. He missed her.

"Izzy-" It took him a moment to realise he'd said her name aloud. She turned towards him and for a moment, her eyes widened. She tugged at a strand of hair. Her eyes met his.

"What?" she said, her voice cooler than he remembered-flatter, too, as if everything had been drained away.

He looked away. "Nothing." He knew the only reason she'd answered him was because Morgan was there, and she didn't want to go into the specifics of the argument in front of him.

Fortunately, at that moment, the door opened. Graham appeared, his face paler than usual, his arms wrapped around himself. Isabelle stood up immediately.

"What's wrong?" she said, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Graham, what's wrong?"

Graham pushed his hands through his hair. "Nothing's wrong" he said, though the look in his eyes told them otherwise. "They're just getting her ready for the MRI, and she's a little-" He waved his hand in the air.

Isabelle nodded. "You want me to talk to her?"

Merrill stared at her. Izzy's arms were crossed over her chest, her lips pursed but her cheeks were paler than usual. Graham nodded and Isabelle stepped into the room.

Morgan stared at his father as he sat down next to him. "She's scared?"

Graham nodded, without looking at his son. Merrill stared at him over Morgan's head. "Graham?"

Graham swallowed and looked up. "She wants Isabelle." He pushed his hand over his eyes. "Right now, just Isabelle."

---

When Isabelle stepped into the room, the first thing she saw was Bo sitting on a chair. A nurse stood by her, a hand on the little girl's shoulder, but Bo ignored her, her gaze locked, staring straight ahead.

"Bo?" said Isabelle slowly, taking a seat next to her.

It took a moment for Bo to look round, her eyes settling on Isabelle's face. "Isabelle?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Isabelle's arm slid around her shoulders. "Hey." She kissed Bo's hair quickly. "Your dad said you wanted to speak to me."

Bo nodded and moved into Isabelle's arms. Isabelle held her for a moment, a small amount of relief filtering through her. This old gesture of Bo's, a movement towards someone for comfort, for contact, reassured her-there was something of Bo still in there.

"I'm scared." Bo's mouth found Isabelle's ear. "I'm scared, Isabelle."

"It's OK, sweetie-"

"They want to put me in the machine." Bo's eyes found Isabelle's, wide and scared. "A machine."

"It's OK, sweetheart. It's not like a normal machine. It's perfectly safe. You'll be safe. It's so we can get a few pictures of the inside of your head, so that we can know you're OK. It's to help you." Isabelle touched her cheek. "OK?"

Bo thought for a moment. "Will Daddy be there?"

"I think they can let your dad in, yeah."

Bo looked at Isabelle. "Will you be there?"

Isabelle blinked. "If you want."

Bo nodded and wound her arms around her aunt's neck. Isabelle kissed her cheek, her hands stroking Bo's hair. "Bo?"

Bo swallowed and said nothing. Isabelle held her for a moment, feeling how small she was. Bo seemed thinner than usual, and it made Isabelle close her eyes for a moment.

"I wish Mommy was here." The words made Isabelle pull back and stare at her niece. Bo looked back at her, eyes huge and blue in her small face. "I wish Mommy was here."

---

It was several minutes later, watching Bo be slowly moved backwards so that her head lay under a scanner, that Isabelle told Graham what his daughter had said.

"She wants Colleen" were her words. "She wants Colleen. She hasn't talked about her in months."

Graham sighed. "I guess this was to be expected."

"Well, yeah. She's freaked out. She doesn't know what's going on. Of course she wants her mom back."

Graham nodded. "I'll talk to her." He swallowed, his face lined. Looking at him, Isabelle noticed how pale he seemed, how much older.

"You OK, Graham?"

Graham attempted a smile. "I'm OK." He sighed. "Just seen enough of this place lately."

Isabelle stared at him, and then, with a pang, remembered. "Ray's here?"

Graham nodded. "A few floors away but yeah."

Isabelle tugged at her hair, unsure of what to say. The thought that they'd be in the same hospital as Ray Reddy today, had never occurred to her. "Any change yet?" she asked.

Graham slowly shook his head. His fingers clenched on his jacket as he watched the machine, currently taking images of the inside of his daughter's skull.

---

Inside the machine, Bo stared at the ceiling. She knew there was nothing to be scared of. Isabelle had said there was nothing to be scared of. That it was safe in the machine. That she was safe there.

She could hear Daddy and Isabelle talking. She couldn't hear the words but she could guess. They were talking about her.

Bo stared up at the ceiling and squeezed the fabric of her dress between her fingers.

---

"The tests were all negative."

There was a fission of surprise through the room. Graham looked up at the doctor. "Negative?"

The doctor shook his head. "There's no indication of brain damage. Nor of any illness which would cause this behaviour-physical, at least. Look." He pointed to a scan pinned to the wall. "Her temporal lobe's clear. There's no sign of any trauma or lesions on her brain. No sign of any damage or unusual activity that would indicate nerve damage or physical impact."

Merrill stared at him. "In English?"

"He means there's nothing physically wrong with Bo's brain." Morgan and Merrill both stared at Isabelle, who had clearly spoken automatically, forgetting to keep up her show of silence for a moment. Her cheeks flushed as her eyes met Merrill's for a second, before she turned back to the doctor. "No sign of epilepsy? Anything?"

The doctor shook his head. "None that I could find."

"Right." Isabelle closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, turning her head to stare at Bo. "Right."

"So what do we do now?" asked Graham, his hands knotted together. Bo stared at her lap, her eyes glazed, distant. "Anything else we test for?"

The doctor spread his hands. "You mentioned she was seeing a child psychologist. I'd suggest continuing there. The root of the problem to me, seems more likely to be mental than physical."

Merrill sighed and let his hair brush his hands. "Jesus Christ."

Isabelle rolled her eyes but reached out to touch Bo's arm. "You're saying that she needs to keep on with the psychologist sessions? You can't figure out what the problem is?"

The doctor opened his mouth-then closed it again. "That would be my advice, yes."

Isabelle stared at him as Graham climbed to his feet. "Thank you for your time." He shook the doctor's hand, lifting Bo into his arms. Bo's head nestled into her father's shoulder. Morgan too, slid off the chair, his head ducked forwards, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Isabelle, however, stopped, close to the doctor. "Can I ask you something?"

Merrill paused at the door, sure he was the only one who'd heard her. The doctor nodded. "Well, certainly."

Isabelle swallowed. "What were you going to say?"

The doctor frowned. "I don't-"

"You started to say something earlier, then stopped. I just thought-what were you going to say?"

For a moment, Isabelle thought the doctor was going to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about or simply send her on her way. But then he sighed and looked at her. "I was going to say-that I've been hearing reports" he said, his eyes darting away for a moment.

Isabelle nodded slowly. "Reports" she repeated, for something to say.

The doctor nodded. "Reports-not in this hospital-but in others" he said. "Of similar-" He busied himself with peeling down the pictures of the scans, the images of Bo's skull slipping over his fingers. "Similar cases."

"You mean other children?"

The doctor, still looking away from her, nodded.

Isabelle exhaled slowly. "You think they could be connected?"

The doctor took a moment but met her eyes, this time. "It's a possibility." He didn't look away and neither did she. "It's a possibility."

Isabelle nodded again, slowly. "Thank you" she said, her voice a breath, and turned to the door. The doctor watched her go for a moment, and then turned away. Merrill noticed his fingers were white as he gripped the pictures, and he frowned as Isabelle turned towards the door, her hair falling over her face as she walked.

Isabelle stopped for a moment when she saw Merrill standing there. Her eyes met his and she seemed on the brink of saying something. Merrill opened his own mouth, the words forming without thought. "Are you going to tell Graham?"

Isabelle's eyes widened for a moment. Then, she gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

Before Merrill could realise she'd acknowledged his words, she was already turning away, her footsteps faster now, as she followed the others, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. Merrill stood still, watching the sway of her hips, the fall of her hair for a long moment, before slowly walking after her.

---

Graham kept glancing in the rear view mirror at his daughter as he drove. Bo stared out of the window, her long hair hanging over her face. Isabelle's hand brushed her shoulder occasionally but Bo offered no response, instead continuing to stare out of the window, her attention seemingly riveted elsewhere.

Graham had run his eyes over the scans several times, determined to find something, some cause the doctors must have missed. But there'd been nothing-with each glimpse, nothing-and finally, he'd been forced to concede to the doctor's opinion-that the cause of Bo's behaviour was more likely to be psychological than physical.

"Dad?" Graham barely registered Morgan's voice at first. His son was slumped in the seat next to his sister, with Isabelle on his other side. Merrill sat next to Graham, his own eyes absorbed in their surroundings though Graham was sure he was listening.

"Dad?" Graham glanced at his son. "Yeah?"

"Can I have someone over on Friday?"

Isabelle glanced quickly at Morgan. Graham swallowed. "I'll have to think about it, Morgan." He glanced at Bo quickly, and watched as his daughter stared out the window again.

"Why?" Morgan's eyes met Graham's in the rear view mirror. Graham stared at him. "Because I need to make sure we're not busy. You need to make sure he's not busy. You need to ask him-"

"He won't be busy" said Morgan confidently.

"Well, let me think about it."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ."

"Morgan!" Graham's foot slammed on the brakes as he brought the car to a stop and turned to face his son. "You want to think about your language, young man. If you keep it up, you won't be having anyone over at all."

Morgan threw up his hands but fell silent at the look on his father's face. Isabelle stared at him. Graham looked to his right to see Merrill's eyes fixed on his face. He stared at his younger brother. "What?"

Merrill shook his head and looked away. Graham turned to stare through the windshield, trying to ignore Morgan's accusing gaze on the back of his head, trying to ignore the fact that while everyone else in the car was staring at him, his daughter hadn't looked away from the window once.

---

The previous few nights, Merrill and Isabelle had gone to bed without saying a word to each other. But tonight, that changed.

Merrill wasn't aware he was being watched for a moment. Then, he looked up and saw Isabelle standing in the doorway. A dressing gown was draped around her shoulders and she was watching him, a distant look in her eyes. But there was a sadness to the expression, too and something about it made him feel strangely alone. Isabelle was only on the other side of the room but she might as well have been on the other side of the country for all that they'd spoken to each other.

"What?" His voice was low, and caught in his throat. His eyes travelled up and down her for a moment and there was an ache through his whole body. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more to have her lay her head on his shoulder, run his hands through her hair, whisper kisses against her skin, tell her it would be OK, somehow.

Isabelle's eyes met his and something flickered in them for a moment. There was a second of time in which the two stared at each other-just stared. And there was a moment where either one of them might have moved towards the other, might have reached out towards the other, traced their skin. Isabelle's eyes closed for a moment, her lips slightly parted, a second where she wavered on the edge of saying something.

And then her eyes opened and the moment passed and she stared at the floor again. "Nothing. Goodnight."

Merrill sat up. "Wait. Izzy."

The touch of the nickname on his lips brought her to a stop and she waited a moment, hand on the door frame. Merrill watched her, the way she stayed tensed, the way she waited.

"It's-" Now that he had her attention, his voice died away.

"What?" It was her turn to ask this time, turning to look at him.

Merrill looked away. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Isabelle stood still for a moment, then pushed open the bedroom door. "Night, Merrill" she said, her voice so soft Merrill almost didn't hear it. The door closed after her, before he had a chance to reply.

He swallowed. "Night, Izzy" he whispered, knowing she wouldn't hear.

---

Morgan looked up from the magazine at his father's knock. He didn't say anything. Graham stood in the doorway, watching his son. "Can I come in?"

Morgan shrugged, and Graham took it as permission. He sank onto the end of his son's bed. "Morgan-"

Morgan lowered the magazine slowly with the expression of one being forced to undertake a great task.

Graham looked at him. "Morgan, I'm sorry if I yelled in the car."

Morgan shrugged and lifted the magazine again. "Doesn't matter."

"Put that down a second." Morgan would have ignored him but there was something in his father's voice that made him look up. Graham was staring at him, and something about the look in his eyes made Morgan swallow, lowering the magazine slowly once again.

Graham sighed. He rested his forehead on his hand. For a moment, Morgan felt a pang in his chest. His father looked older than he remembered.

"Look-" Graham fixed his eyes on his son's. "I know it must be difficult for you right now, with your sister."

Morgan resisted the urge to reply "Well done."

Graham sighed. "And I shouldn't have yelled at you in the car. I'm sorry, OK?"

Morgan swallowed. He waited, letting the moment stretch out before he opened his mouth. "I guess."

Graham looked at his son. "And I appreciate how you've been with her in the last few weeks. You've been good with her. OK?"

Morgan nodded slowly. "So...can I have someone over?"

Graham thought for a moment. "Next Friday night?"

Morgan shrugged. "I guess."

Graham nodded. "Well, I don't see a problem."

"Great." Morgan looked at him. "Thanks, Dad."

A year or so ago, he'd have put his arms around his father's neck, in a hug-now, he merely gave him a small smile before returning to his magazine. Graham hesitated for a moment, then touched his son's shoulder for a second, before getting to his feet and leaving the room.

---

Morgan waited until he was sure his father was down the stairs, before he slid out of bed. He waited at his bedroom door, until he was sure he could hear the sounds of the television echoing from downstairs, before he slipped down the hallway.

Bo's door stood ajar and Morgan pushed it open slowly. He held his breath, hoping the light filtering into the room wouldn't wake his sister...but as he stepped into the doorway, he got a clear glimpse of her face, eyes closed, lost in sleep.

Morgan looked at her for a moment. He couldn't explain the sudden urge to check on her, or the strange reluctance he had to leave the room. But he stood there, a second more, his eyes on his sister's face.

She shifted slightly in her sleep. Her lips moved as she whispered something. Morgan stared at her.

"Back." The word was a whisper and Morgan leaned closer. Bo shifted, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks. "Coming back.."

"What?" Morgan whispered. "Who's coming back? Bo?"

There was no answer. Bo's eyes remained closed, as she lay curled up under the duvet.

"Bo?"

But Bo's whispering had died away and she lay still, her eyes still closed. Morgan bit his lip for a moment. Then, he stepped forward, pressed his hand to his lips and gently touched his fingers to her cheek before he stepped out of the room, pulling the door ajar once again.

---

"You want to come over?" Morgan asked the next morning as he slumped down next to Devon. It was now a matter of routine for the two boys to sit together.

When he didn't receive an answer, Morgan looked up. Devon was staring into the distance. His eyes were glazed. He wasn't even touching his cigarette lighter.

Morgan waved his hand in front of his face. "Hello? Pritchard?"

Devon blinked. "What?" He turned to face Morgan. Close up, Morgan flinched. Devon's skin was paler than usual and there were what looked like shadows under his eyes.

Morgan stared at him. "What happened to you?"

For a moment, Devon stared at him, his lips moving soundlessly. Then, he shook his head. "It's nothing. I was just-up late, that's all." He swallowed. "I can come over. I think. When?"

Morgan stared at him for a second. "Er-Friday" he said, his eyes still on Devon's face. "Next week."

Devon thought for a moment. "Yeah. I can come." There was still something off about the words.

Morgan frowned. "You don't have to."

"I want to." Devon pushed his hands through his hair. "Sorry. Just tired."

A hand shoved into Morgan's shoulder, and he flinched again. Lucas was standing above him, his eyes narrowed. "You're dead." The words were a hiss and Morgan leaned back involuntarily. Devon leaned round him, glaring.

Lucas had his minions grouped around him, his blond hair brushing his chin. "You're dead, Hess" he repeated, with more conviction this time. "And you-" this to Devon.

Devon looked utterly uninterested. "Why don't you go and suck someone's dick?"

Morgan closed his eyes in despair.

Lucas leaned closer to them now, his fist under Morgan's chin. "You listening to me?" he said. Morgan's eyes opened to find Lucas' less than an inch away.

"'Cos, I swear-" Lucas' hand tightened on Morgan's shoulder. "One day, I'll get you alone. And I can't wait. 'Cos then, I swear to Christ, I will crack every one of your fucking ribs in two." With that, Lucas swung upright, heading off up the bus aisle without another glance back.

Devon glared after him. "Fuck, what a dickhead."

Morgan didn't answer. He couldn't help thinking that the only bright side of all this was that Isabelle's alien theories worried him less-the aliens couldn't get to him if Lucas had killed him first.

---

Isabelle stepped out of the car, brushing her hair off her face as she walked towards her parent's house. She'd left Merrill a note telling him where she was going-not that she supposed he'd care, at the minute, anyway.

She fixed a smile on her lips as she reached the front door. She wasn't going to tell her mother anything about what had happened with her and Merrill. Nothing. She was just going to eat a meal, catch up with her parents, then leave. Nothing else. Nothing.

The door opened. Her mother's face appeared. "Isabelle." Her mother's eyes scrutinized her face, taking her in.

Isabelle forced a smile. "Hi, Mom."

Her mother frowned. "What's wrong?"

Isabelle opened her mouth and immediately burst into tears.

There was a long moment of silence before her mother's arms travelled around her shoulders. "Come on." Her mother led her inside, her arms still around Isabelle's shoulders, effortlessly lifting her bag away from her. "Tell me what happened."

It took a long time and several cups of tea for Isabelle to tell her mother what had happened. Then, it took several more cups of tea for Isabelle to explain what was still happening. She would have asked for vodka but this was her mother.

Her mother listened in silence. When Isabelle had finished speaking, she said nothing. Instead, she merely stared at her daughter for a long moment, before reaching out and smoothing the hair off her face.

Isabelle stared at her. "What do you think?"

Her mother sighed, and let her hand fall to Isabelle's shoulder. "To be honest? I don't know, Isabelle."

Isabelle closed her eyes. "I don't want to break up with him" she said, before her mother could suggest it. "I know I don't."

Her mother looked at her. "If you don't want to break up with him-you have to talk to him."

Isabelle looked away. "I don't-" Her gaze drifted around the kitchen, landing on various sights-the kitchen table, the pens shoved into the counter, the glare of the TV screen in the next room. All were the sights and sounds she knew-everything she remembered. It was like a glimpse of years ago, tucked here in the corner of this house.

She looked back up at her mother. "I don't know what to say" she admitted, her voice trailing away.

Her mother sighed and touched her cheek. "I know. And I know I couldn't tell you. Because it has to come from you."

Isabelle closed her eyes and leaned her head into her hands. "I know. And I still don't have a clue what to say to him. Because I'm still mad at him."

Her mother's lips thinned, into one long line. "You've got a right to be."

"I know. But-"

"But?"

Isabelle sighed. "But I miss him." And only now that she'd allowed herself to say the words out loud, the words she'd been fighting against for days, did she realise how true they were. She wanted Merrill near her. She wanted him close. She didn't want this.

"I know, my love." Her mother's lips brushed her forehead. "And I know nothing I can say right now will make it any easier."

Isabelle leaned back. "It's all this stuff that's going on with Bo" she said, her own hand pushing through her hair. "And everything's just weird and turning upside down and-"

She bit her lip. She wanted to tell her mother about Hannah's encounter but didn't dare. She'd asked Hannah about it several times since, even suggesting they tell the police but Hannah closed up every time the topic was mentioned and Isabelle had stopped bringing it up.

Her mother sighed. There was noise at the door. Isabelle's father stood there, presumably having decided it was safe to enter now that the conversation about boyfriends appeared to be at an end.

"Isabelle." He stood still for a moment. Isabelle avoided his eyes. "Hi, Dad."

Her mother swallowed. "We were just having a talk."

"I could hear." Her father was glancing around the kitchen, avoiding his daughter's gaze. His hand reached out and squeezed her shoulder awkwardly. "You OK?"

Isabelle looked at him. "I guess." The words were low in her throat and after a moment, she looked away, preferring to gaze at the floor instead.

"Good." Her father glanced away, too, apparently preferring to ignore the evidence that Isabelle was, at that moment, not good. "That's good." He tugged at his sleeve, and then turned back to the door. "Well, just thought I'd check."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. She waited until he'd left the room to speak. "He doesn't know what to say to me, does he?"

"Of course not, sweetheart." Her mother kissed her on the cheek. "You're talking about boys. It's like kryptonite to fathers."

For the first time in several days, Isabelle laughed.

---

It was when Isabelle was leaving, that her mother touched her shoulder and said "Isabelle."

"What?"

"You and Merrill-" Her mother sighed and swallowed. "You need to work things out."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "I know, Mom. That's why I came over here."

"Yes, sweetheart, I know, but-" Her mother sighed. "Listen, Isabelle. Sometimes, things are worth fighting for. Sometimes, they're not and sometimes, they are. And it's up to you to decide which is which."

Isabelle looked at her. "And how can you tell the difference?"

Her mother looked back. "I can't. Not for you. You have to."

Isabelle stared at her. Her mother leaned in to hug her. "Just be careful, Isabelle, promise that? Be careful?"

Isabelle frowned. "Mom?"

Her mother drew back. "Just promise me."

Isabelle nodded slowly. "I promise."

Her mother nodded. Isabelle looked down. "I'd better go" she said, after a moment. "Haven't been getting much sleep."

Her mother frowned. "What do you mean?"

Isabelle hesitated, but briefly explained about the nightmares. The figure in her room, that she'd wake up to, the way she'd sit up and there'd be nothing there. "It's a night terror" she shrugged. "It must be. Bo's been waking up in the night, too."

"Like when you were little?"

"What?"

"When you were a little girl. You used to come running in." Her mother leaned against the door frame. "You used to be absolutely convinced there was a monster in your room. A man. I always went and checked but there was nothing there."

Isabelle's teeth dug into her lip. "That is weird" she muttered. "Maybe it's a-tic or something."

Her mother frowned. "Maybe." But she didn't look convinced and as she turned away to climb into the car, Isabelle had to admit she wasn't entirely convinced, either.

---

The next week passed slowly. Isabelle spent as much time as she could in the library, away from home and the awkwardness of her and Merrill completely ignoring each other. Some part of her mind vaguely wondered how long this could go on for. She was pretty sure they couldn't ignore each other indefinitely.

But the rest of her mind pushed those thoughts away, preferring to focus on the research she was now occupying herself with. Accompanied by Hannah, who now spent most afternoons alternately throwing herself into research with as much gusto as Isabelle or telling Isabelle she was working too hard, she was spending most afternoons looking up cases of comas across the country, dead birds, and other peculiarities.

Some of her searching yielded results. It transpired that there'd been cases of dead birds turning up in Indiana and Ohio, as far-flung as California and Connecticut. And there were cases of comas, too-patients remaining unconscious for weeks at a time at an increased amount. There didn't seem to be one particular area where the activity increased. The events almost seemed to be unrelated, as though a series of places had been chosen at random.

Isabelle couldn't understand it. She couldn't find any links between the incidents-for that, she'd need something more specific. And she couldn't get rid of the idea that no matter how much time she spent researching the problem, there was still a chance it wouldn't help Bo at all.

---

When the door opened and Bo emerged, Graham had already resigned himself to the fact his daughter would be completely silent, and today, she didn't disappoint. He stood up from the chair, discarding the magazine he'd been flicking through on the table.

"OK, baby?"

Bo nodded and trotted quietly to a chair. She promptly sank down on the seat, tucking her hair behind her ears. Graham stared at her. "No, sweetheart, it's time to go-"

"Actually, Father-"

Graham turned to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway, watching him. "Can I have a quick word? Before you take Bo home?"

Graham nodded, turning once again to Bo. "You OK on your own, baby?"

Bo nodded, already picking up a magazine. She let the cover fall open, her eyes skimming over the pages. Graham nodded and stepped into the room, frowning.

Elizabeth closed the door behind him, taking a seat behind her desk. "I just wanted to keep you updated on Bo's progress" she said evenly. "Obviously, I can't discuss what she says, unless I believe she's in danger-"

"So she's not, then?" Graham said the words too quickly, but it was a relief to hear. If Bo wasn't in immediate danger, if this was something that could be cured...

"I don't believe her to be" was Elizabeth's answer. "However, I just wanted to ask you something."

Graham spread his hands. "Anything."

Elizabeth tilted her head to the side. "Does Bo speak at home?"

Graham stared at her. "Why?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment. "Because sometimes, it's difficult to get her to speak here. Sometimes, she prefers simply to draw. Or not respond at all."

Graham leaned forward. "How often does she speak here?"

Elizabeth met his gaze. "She's had four conversations with me. In nearly three weeks of therapy."

Graham swallowed. "She speaks at home." He leaned back in his chair. "I know how it sounds but she does speak at home. Not much, at the moment, but she does."

Elizabeth sighed. "Then it would seem that this is a therapy-related issue."

Graham opened his mouth but she already held up her hand. "Don't apologize. This is common in young children, especially ones that may be traumatized."

Graham winced on the word traumatized.

Elizabeth looked at him. "The physical tests came back negative, correct?"

Graham nodded. "I don't know what it is."

"Well, that's what we're trying to find out." Elizabeth moved forward slightly. "So we can do our best to help her. I'll continue seeing her. I think, based on some of the things she has said, it would be beneficial for her."

She looked at Graham. "And no. I can't repeat anything Bo has said. Not unless she gives permission."

Graham thought the idea of a six-year-old giving permission for anything a little insane, but said nothing. He stood up.

"And Father?" He looked back to Elizabeth. She too had stood and was looking at him with a hint of concern.

"Yes?"

"Try not to worry." Elizabeth's lip twitched slightly. "I know that's easier said than done, but if you get worried, that'll do nothing to help Bo."

Graham nodded. "I understand." He hesitated before he said "Elizabeth? Thank you for doing this."

Elizabeth smiled. "It's my job. And please tell Bo that I hope she has a good week."

Graham nodded. Then, with one last smile, he turned to the door.

---

It was in the car, on the way home, that he spoke to Bo. "You know, you can tell me anything, baby."

Bo's eyes met his in the rear view mirror but she said nothing.

"Anything. I promise, I won't get mad."

Bo nodded once, slowly, but still didn't speak.

"And sweetheart-" Graham sighed. "I know it might be scary sometimes to talk to Elizabeth, but I promise, it's to help you. She wants you to get better. We all do."

Still nothing. Just another silent nod and Bo turned away to gaze out of the window.

Graham sighed. "And Morgan's got a friend coming over tomorrow, remember."

Bo nodded again. Graham turned to look at her for a moment, then slowly turned his eyes back to the road.

Headlights blared in front of his and there was a squeal of brakes. Graham yanked the wheel to one side, and felt the entire car lurch as he did so. He almost fell against the steering wheel, his heart throwing itself against his ribs, his stomach surging with sudden nausea.

The car he'd nearly crashed into sped past, the driver issuing a torrent of abuse as they did so. Graham barely noticed. Bo's white face stared at him from the back seat.

Graham took a deep breath, then another one. Then, very carefully, he turned the wheel, pulling the car into the side of the road. He leaned his head against the wheel, breathing slowly.

He'd never had an accident driving before. Never, not even as a teenager when he'd been taking his parents' car out for the first time, with three-year-old Merrill yelling from the porch, chubby arms out as he begged to be taken along, too. He'd certainly never come near a crash. He'd got less than three tickets in his life.

The only car accident he'd known had been one involving Ray Reddy.

Graham kept his face down for a moment. He tried to breathe slowly.

"Daddy?" The sound of Bo's voice from the back seat had him turning round slowly to face her.

Bo was staring at him, her face white. Her eyes, huge and darker than he remembered, stared at him.

"It's OK, baby." Graham swallowed and, reaching out, found her hand. "We're OK."

Bo stared at him. He nodded and slowly pulled himself upright in his seat. "It's OK" he said again.

Bo's voice was quiet, soft through the dark. "I love you, Daddy."

Graham turned to look at her. "I love you too, baby."

Bo stared at him for a moment before she turned back to stare out of the window.

Graham swallowed again, focused his attention on the road, and turned the key in the ignition. He moved the wheel carefully, steering the car back out onto the road, in the direction of home.

The rest of the drive home was uneventful. Graham kept his eyes on the road, drove slowly, and they met with no accidents. Bo continued with her silent staring out of the window. Only someone with very sharp eyes would have noticed that the little girl's gaze occasionally strayed to the front of the car, and in particular, to the steering wheel where her father's hands gripped, gripped so hard that the skin stretched white over the bones.

---

Morgan waited a few moments before opening the front door that evening. He counted to five, swallowed hard and then stepped out into the hallway and turned the knob.

Devon Pritchard was standing on the doorstep. Morgan was relieved to see he was not smoking a cigarette.

"Hey" he said, unsure of what other greeting to use.

Devon shrugged. "Hey."

Morgan stepped back. "Want to come in?"

Devon stepped inside the hall, his eyes widening as he looked around. "Nice place" he said, after a moment. He was lounging against the wall, as casual as ever, but Morgan could see the darting of his eyes, the tension in his arms, and it was reassuring to know Devon was as nervous about this as he was.

"My dad's through there" he said, struggling to sound as casual as he could. He was all too aware of the fact he hadn't told his father that his dinner guest was Lionel Pritchard's younger brother.

His father was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Through the window, Bo was visible, sitting on the edge of the jungle gym, her legs dangling. Isabelle sat on the porch, watching her. Merrill stood close by, though Morgan couldn't help noticing that neither exchanged a word with the other.

"Dad?"

His father turned to look at him. His eyes fell on Devon and for a moment, his mouth opened and closed silently.

"Dad, this is Devon" Morgan said before his father could humiliate him. "Devon Pritchard."

His father, to his credit, recovered from his surprise quite admirably. "Hi, Devon." He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Devon, for his part, kept up his end. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Hess." He shook his hand slowly, pulling away at the right moment. "Thanks for having me over" he said, as an afterthought.

Graham shook his head. "No problem" he said, though he shot Morgan a quick glance as he did so. "Why don't you-" He glanced outside and his eyes fell on Merrill. He swallowed, but even as he turned back to the boys, Morgan had cut in with "Why don't you see my room?"

As the two left the kitchen, Graham swallowed. He hadn't been prepared for his son's surprise guest-he wondered how his brother would react.

---

Outside, Isabelle watched Bo who stood on the jungle gym, silently absorbed in her own meditations. She sighed. No matter what they said to Bo today, very little seemed to break through.

Merrill was leaning against a pillar supporting the porch roof. It was a struggle for Isabelle to keep her eyes away from his. But each time she glanced towards him, he looked away, as if the very act of meeting her gaze was painful. She tried to feel happy about that.

There was the sound of the door pushing open and Isabelle turned to see Graham standing on the porch. He looked, oddly for Graham, nervous, his eyes straying from one to the other, lingering on Merrill. "Morgan's friend's here" he said, after a moment. Across the lawn, Bo silently sat down and pushed herself down the slide, her legs brushing the ground as she landed.

"Great." Isabelle stood up, wondering why this was such a big deal. Graham's eyes, however, remained focused on Merrill, who was staring into space, sipping a glass of water.

Graham swallowed. "It's Devon Pritchard."

Merrill choked. He spluttered on his water, turning to look at his brother as if Graham had just announced that Morgan had brought home a serial killer as his best friend.

"What-Devon-" Merrill swallowed, almost dropping the glass. Another time, Isabelle would have found the whole thing funny. Now, she barely cracked a smile.

Graham nodded. "Merrill, listen."

"Why-" Merrill looked as if he couldn't find words adequate to express his indignation. "Why is he friends with Devon Pritchard?"

Isabelle shrugged. "Apparently, he is" she said coolly, in a tone that made both Graham and Merrill stare at her.

"Isabelle-"

She cut Graham off before he could say any more. "Yes, Morgan's mentioned him a few times."

Graham rolled his eyes. "And nobody thought to tell me?"

"I didn't know." Merrill was looking at Isabelle as though she'd betrayed him, somehow. "You didn't tell me."

"I don't tell you a lot of things." Isabelle avoided his gaze, keeping her eyes purposefully averted. She missed the flicker of hurt that passed briefly over his face.

Graham stared at them both, a quizzical expression in his eyes now. "Is there something-"

The slamming of the screen door cut off further conversation. All three turned towards the house in time to see a small, brown head retreating inside, apparently bored with the conversation.

Graham sighed as he turned back to them. "And Bo's keeping up the silent act."

---

"Your house is cool."

Morgan looked up as Devon gazed about his bedroom. "It's good" he admitted, not pointing out that to Devon, any house might seem cool.

Devon nodded, staring around Morgan's bedroom. "Lot of books" he pointed out rather needlessly.

Morgan nodded. "Yeah. Some of them are Bo's, she leaves them in here." He didn't want Devon Pritchard to believe his favourite book was A Hundred and One Fairy Tales for Children.

At that moment, there was a tap at the door. Morgan gritted his teeth. "What?"

The door was slowly pushed open and Morgan sighed, expecting to see his father preparing to interrogate Devon on his role in Morgan's life. However, it came as a surprise, when it was not his father, but Bo who appeared, her eyes wide and downcast.

"Bo?"

"I came to say hi" she said, after a moment, and it was such a surprise to hear her volunteer information that Morgan almost slid off the bed.

He recovered himself, staring at his younger sister. "Bo, this is-" His voice trailed off. He stared at his sister, still trying to recover from the idea of her willingly speaking, especially given her behaviour of late.

"Devon" prompted Devon. "Devon Pritchard." He held out his hand.

Bo stared up at him for a long moment and Devon's hand dropped an inch. However, just as it looked as though he was going to pull away altogether, Bo reached out. Her fingers closed around his wrist and for a moment, her eyes looked into his, as she gravely lifted his hand up and down.

Morgan realised his mouth was open and closed it rather hastily.

Bo looked up at Devon. It took a moment before she replied "Hi."

Her voice was small and the word was quiet but it was a voice and it was a word. Morgan's jaw dropped again and this time, he didn't bother to pull it up.

He glanced at Devon, wondering whether or not to persuade Bo to go downstairs. But Devon was watching her, his head tipped to one side. "Who are you?" The voice wasn't sharp. It was softer than Morgan was used to, with a gentler edge to the words.

"Bo." Bo glanced quickly at Morgan, before looking back at Devon. "You're Morgan's friend."

Morgan felt his cheeks flush. Devon swallowed for a moment but answered her. "Yeah, I guess so."

Bo nodded again and looked up at him. "Devon." She said his name slowly.

Devon nodded. "Yeah."

Bo stared up at him for another moment and then glanced at Morgan. "I'm going to draw a picture" she said quietly, and then turned to the door without another word.

Devon didn't say anything but Morgan turned to him, anyway. "Sorry. She gets a bit wound up, sometimes."

Devon shrugged. "It's-fine." He shot another glance at Morgan. "She's sweet."

Morgan did not let his jaw drop this time, but it was safe to say he had never pictured Devon Pritchard using the word "sweet" about anything or anyone.

"You know" said Devon, before Morgan could change the topic of conversation. "You really should deal with Lucas."

"I'm not the one who belted him in the face."

Devon tilted his head. "And if I hadn't, he'd have bashed you to a freaking pulp."

Morgan had to admit this would quite probably have been the case. "Still doesn't tell me what to do about him."

Devon shrugged, slumping onto Morgan's bed. He was holding one of Morgan's books, flicking through the pages. "What you've gotta do is show him you're not scared."

"What, when he's stamping on my face?"

Devon rolled his eyes. "You've got to be ready. Don't go looking for him, he'll just start something back. You've got to be waiting all the time for him to come to you."

Morgan looked at him and Devon stood up. "Look, make a fist for me."

Morgan made one.

"Now, move the thumb. It's got to go on the outside. See, look." Devon made one. "If you punch someone with the thumb tucked in, bone's gonna break. You need to make sure he's the one who gets hurt, not you. And don't go for the mouth, you're gonna split your skin on his teeth. Go for the nose, it breaks easier."

Morgan looked at him. He opened and closed his own fist, copying the movements. It took a moment for him to ask the question. "Where'd you even learn this stuff?"

For a moment, Devon looked at him as if he were stupid. Then, he caught sight of Morgan's face. He looked away. "My dad."

Morgan frowned. "Your dad?"

"Yeah. He used to. When I was younger." Devon stepped behind Morgan, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Here, and you jab forward like-" He pushed Morgan's fist forward, his fingers closing over Morgan's. "Right, if you pretend his face is there-"

He pushed Morgan's hand forward one more time, then stepped back. Morgan repeated the gesture. "When you were younger?" he echoed, simply to fill the silence.

Devon didn't answer, and after a moment, Morgan glanced at him. The other boy was looking at the ground, brow furrowed. "Sorry-"

Devon shook his head. "It's OK. I just-" He swallowed. "Haven't seen him as much lately."

There was a moment of silence; and when Devon didn't speak again, Morgan judged the matter to be closed. He turned round, and jabbed his fist into the air again.

This time, Devon nodded. "Yeah. That time, you got it."

---

Isabelle found herself seated across from Devon Pritchard at the dinner table-which made it all the more difficult to pretend she'd never seen him in her life before. Every so often, their eyes would meet across the table. Devon raised an eyebrow and inclined his head quickly, but apart from that neither gave a sign they had ever met the other first. Right now, explaining how they already knew each other would be one more complication on top of everything else-and right now, that complication was one they didn't need.

Another complication was the fact that she and Merrill were seated next to one another-and after a week of avoiding each other, conversation between them was slightly awkward. Bo, on Isabelle's other side, was her usual silent self, and across the table, Morgan varied between talking to Devon and remaining quiet himself-and so it was primarily left to Graham to make conversation.

He cast several glances in Merrill and Isabelle's direction, but didn't press the issue; instead, he focused most of his attention on Devon.

"How's your dad?" he asked, at one point. "Haven't seen him in a while."

For a moment, Morgan was sure he saw Devon still. But then he pushed his hand through his hair. "Fine, I think" he answered. "Just been busy lately."

Morgan frowned, but didn't open his mouth. Instead, he nodded, chewing his mouthful of fried chicken harder, to delay having to say anything.

Bo kept her eyes on her plate. So did Merrill-though Morgan noticed him staring at Devon a couple of times, his gaze fierce, as though it could burn a hole in Devon's forehead.

On the other side of the table, Isabelle had also noticed.

She debated whether to say anything-maybe even give Merrill a kick under the table. But then Bo took hold of her hand and leaned her head against her arm for a moment, and Isabelle decided against it, turning instead to her niece. "You OK?" she asked.

Bo looked at her for a long moment. Her face seemed to have thinned out more in the recent weeks, and her eyes looked wider, bigger, under hair which seemed darker. Isabelle touched her shoulder. "Bo?"

Bo watched for a long moment before she gave a slow nod and turned back to her plate. She slid the French fries off one by one, inserting each slowly into her mouth, her gaze never lifting from the table.

"Anyway" Graham continued, as though completely unaware of the atmosphere thick enough to cut. "Tell him to give me a call, sometime."

"If he has a phone." This was muttered by Merrill, low enough so that only Isabelle and Graham caught it.

Graham's eyes flickered to his brother's face and stayed fixed there for a long moment. Not a word was spoken, but Merrill lowered his gaze after a moment, a hint of shame in his eyes, though a trace of defiance lingered too. Looking at his younger brother, Graham was reminded more than ever of how Merrill had looked as a child, bringing home a bad report card, sitting slumped at the table while their mother lectured him on making an effort to obtain at least a few Cs the next semester.

Isabelle, on the other hand, openly glared at Merrill. She took a glance at Devon and Morgan and pressed her lips firmly together. But her eyes remained narrowed and she glared at Merrill who returned the look.

Graham let his eyes flicker back to Devon, who seemed unaware that anything untoward had occurred. "You and Morgan have any of the same classes together?"

Morgan and Devon exchanged a glance. It was Devon who answered. "A few" he replied. "Phys ed and shop."

Graham nodded. "You like them?"

Devon shrugged. "I guess. Phys ed's OK."

"Anything else?"

Devon shook his head, and Graham smiled wryly. "Not a school person?"

Devon shook his head again, more vehemently this time. Morgan grimaced and turned back to his food.

Graham turned back to Merrill. "You weren't, either, were you?"

Merrill shook his head, with a grimace similar to Morgan's. He caught a grin flickering at Devon's lips and avoided the younger boy's gaze.

Isabelle shrugged. "Well, you know how it is" she said, reaching for another piece of chicken. "Some people are good at other stuff." She glanced at Devon. "Like you and phys ed."

Devon nodded. Merrill looked at Isabelle, who looked back. "Or at least" she said, quietly. "Most people have something else they're good at."

Merrill's eyes narrowed. If they'd been alone, he'd have said something back, but as it was, they were met with several pairs of curious eyes-and one pair that glared. Graham looked at Merrill and Isabelle in turn, and then let his gaze swing back to Devon.

Bo was sitting very still next to Isabelle, her back ramrod straight for once. She kept her eyes on Devon's face, now, and it was a moment before her lips parted.

"Devon?"

Morgan's eyes widened. He wondered when he'd last seen his sister so talkative with a stranger and decided probably never.

Devon, however, perceived nothing unusual. "Yeah?"

"I nearly finished my picture of you."

"Oh?" Devon transferred a bite of chicken to his mouth, his eyes still on Bo. "Sounds cool. Can I see it?"

"When it's done." Bo lifted another fry to her mouth. "I still have to colour it all in."

"Sounds good." Devon gave her a smile, the corner of his mouth quirking upright. "Thanks."

It took a moment but then Bo's lips spread in a small smile of her own. It was small but for a moment, her face seemed fuller, lighter.

"Elizabeth says it's good for me to colour" she announced, turning back to her plate of food.

Merrill's shoulders stiffened and Graham coughed. "Bo-"

"Who's Elizabeth?" asked Devon, apparently either missing or ignoring the sudden tension around the table.

"The lady I go to talk to." Bo pushed a bite of chicken around her plate. "Therapist."

Merrill choked on a bite of food. Morgan almost knocked over his juice and only caught it at the last minute. Graham froze, his eyes on his daughter's face.

But Devon didn't react at all. "Oh" he said, as casually as if Bo had said "Dentist." "Right."

Bo smiled, apparently unaware of the frisson caused by her revelation. "Isabelle used to go to one, as well" she said, cheerfully, reaching for another fry. "Didn't you, Isabelle?"

Isabelle spluttered through a mouthful of water, and Morgan bit back a grin. "Er-yeah" she said, deciding at the last moment it was better not to lie. "Yeah, Bo."

Devon looked at her for the first time since sitting down, their eyes meeting. "Oh" he said, and Isabelle knew he was remembering something, something Morgan or Lionel had told him but something. "Right."

Bo leaned back in her chair. "They think I'm scared" she continued, as if she and Devon were alone at the table.

"Well-" Devon shrugged. "Everyone's scared. All the weird stuff going on at the minute."

"You've heard about that?" Isabelle met his gaze and Devon fought back a smirk.

"A little." He shrugged, turning back to his plate. "People talking in town. Some of them getting scared." He looked up. "Probably just a coincidence."

The memory of what had happened a week before lingered in the back of his mind and he shoved it quickly away.

"Oh." Merrill leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow arching. "You know how it is. Some people manage to get themselves worked up over anything." He darted a quick look at Isabelle. Isabelle's eyes had narrowed to slits.

Graham, this time, put down his knife and fork and glared directly at his brother. Merrill ignored him.

Devon and Morgan exchanged glances.

Isabelle, however, didn't look at him. "People are scared?" she said to Devon.

Devon nodded. "Yeah, some. Some of them won't listen to it."

"Well, you get people like that, Devon." Isabelle avoided his eyes, keeping her gaze fixed on her plate. "Some people can't stand listening to other people. In fact, you'd think they were stu-"

Her words were cut off by Graham's glass banging down hard on the table. Five pairs of eyes swivelled to the head of the table, where Graham sat, his eyes on Isabelle and Merrill.

"We need more juice." For someone whose eyes were iron, Graham's voice was remarkably calm. "Could you two give me a hand?" He pointed at Isabelle and Merrill, so there could be no mistake about just whose help he required.

Morgan couldn't help it. "I'll give you a hand, Dad-"

"No, Morgan." Graham kept his eyes firmly on Merrill. "I'd really prefer it if Isabelle and Merrill helped me." He stood upright, and headed towards the kitchen.

After a long moment, both Isabelle and Merrill slid from their chairs and followed him. Morgan, Devon and Bo all stared after them. Bo leaned her elbow on the table. "Will they be sent to bed early?"

---

Graham waited until the kitchen door was closed before he turned to Isabelle and Merrill. "I don't know what's going on" he said, keeping his voice low. "But I know that all three of them-" and here, he pointed towards the door. "Are picking up on it."

Merrill shrugged. Isabelle glanced away.

Graham stared at the pair of them. "That's it? You're not going to say anything?"

It was a moment before Merrill replied. "We get it." His tone was shorter, clipped. "We'll shut up."

Graham's hand closed on his arm, preventing him from leaving. "Hold on."

Merrill rolled his eyes. Isabelle had a sudden vision of him as a child, struggling to pull away from an older brother.

Graham looked at him. "What is it with you and Devon Pritchard?"

Merrill stared at him. "Come on."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Nothing's up with Devon Pritchard. Oh, but he's Lionel Pritchard's brother, so he's obviously a criminal or something." This accompanied with a jab to Merrill's ribs with a sharp elbow.

Merrill rolled his eyes and threw his arms up. "Oh, well, sure. Why don't we just welcome him in? Get out a little banner, paint a You're Welcome sign on the front door-"

"Oh, well done, Merrill." Isabelle gave him a quick clap. "Well done, fantastic open-mindedness, Merrill. See, it's that kind of attitude that makes it easy for you to go into a bar and-"

"Enough."

Merrill's mouth, which had already been opening in a retort, snapped shut. Isabelle's sentence cut off sharply halfway through, her lips compressing into a thin line. Both turned to look at Graham. Isabelle glanced through the archway to the dining room. She couldn't get a glimpse of the table but she was suddenly strongly aware of the silence emanating from the room. Then again, with Morgan and Bo, that wasn't exactly abnormal anyway.

Graham was staring at them both. His arms were crossed over his chest, his lips pressed together. He glanced from one to the other, his eyes narrowed. "What-" and here his voice dropped. "The hell is going on with you two?"

Isabelle opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. Merrill swallowed, then looked away.

Graham looked from one to the other, then, when he received no answer, threw up his hands. "Right. I don't care what it is, but-" And here he pointed a finger at them. "You two need to sort it out. I don't care how you do it, but with the way things are at the moment, I'm not going to have you two fighting, not in front of the kids."

Isabelle half expected Morgan's voice to call out at that moment, reminding his father that he wasn't a kid, but there was dead silence from the dining room.

Merrill avoided his brother's eyes, and he turned away. "Fine" he said after a moment, his voice almost inaudible.

Graham stared at his younger brother for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable. Then he turned to look at Isabelle. "Right" he said quietly. "We are going to go back inside and we're just going to act like nothing happened. OK?"

Isabelle glared at the floor and Merrill avoided his brother's gaze.

Graham rolled his eyes. "OK?"

It was a moment before both of them muttered "Yes."

Graham bit his lip and motioned them back towards the dining room. "And Merrill-" he said in a low voice. "I think it might be best if you have a word with Devon after tea. Make sure he knows there's nothing against him."

Merrill rolled his eyes as his brother stepped back into the dining room ahead of him. For a moment, he and Isabelle stood in the kitchen, alone.

"Do you think he ever gets tired of treating us like two extra kids?"

Isabelle turned at the sound of his voice. Merrill's eyes widened slightly, betraying his own surprise at the words that had come out of his mouth.

Isabelle was more surprised to find her own had opened to reply, almost before thinking. She snapped her mouth shut as quickly as possible, folding her arms across her chest.

Somehow, as she turned to go through the door, Merrill stepped forward. For a moment, the two stood next to each other. She heard her own sharp inhalation at the same moment as she felt the rush of warmth from Merrill's skin, as her eyes flickered up to his. His own eyes were on her, and then Isabelle felt that same heat-that sweeping heat through her whole body. Her eyes moved over his face and for a moment, her breath stuttered in her throat.

They stood together for a second, a second where they could have moved closer, and then Isabelle stepped away, pushing her hands through her hair. She swallowed, her heart suddenly pounding against her chest, hard enough to hurt. She pushed her hand against her shirt for a moment, closed her eyes and then turned back to the doorway.

She didn't look at Merrill. As she headed back into the dining room, she missed his gaze on her back, his cheeks flushed, and his hands clenched on the end of his shirt which her hands had nearly brushed.

---

Merrill ate the rest of his meal in relative silence, too preoccupied with avoiding the eyes of Isabelle, Graham and Devon Pritchard. Since this left him with only Morgan and Bo to look at and he quickly tired of trying to grin every time they glanced at him, he soon resorted to keeping his eyes on his plate.

He tried to keep his mind on the few limited attempts at conversation Graham was making, but it was more difficult when he was trying to keep his arm away from Isabelle's, his hand clenched around his fork as he tried to ignore how close she was to him, the heat of her skin so near to his. Her hair hung down over her shoulders, chocolate with those tiny lighter streaks that turned auburn whenever they caught the light.

By the time the dessert plates had been cleared, Morgan and Devon were sliding out of their seats and heading for the garden. Bo trotted after them, apparently oblivious to Morgan's glares.

Isabelle skidded her chair back from the table and headed outside after them, her feet hitting the floor so rapidly that Merrill wondered for a moment if she was on skates. He straightened himself up, aware of Graham's eyes on him.

"You going to talk to him?"

Merrill rolled his eyes.

"Well?" Graham was eyeing him closely, an eyebrow raised, and Merrill was reminded of when he was a kid and had strenuously denied being the one to go into Graham's bedroom and mess up his action figures.

Merrill sighed and turned to the door. "Fine."

Graham glanced away but as Merrill looked, he caught a small smile playing around his brother's lips.

Morgan glanced at Devon quickly as they sat down on the porch outside. "Sorry about-" he muttered, jerking his head back towards the house.

Devon shrugged. "Compared to some meals I've had, that was a fu-" He caught sight of Bo standing nearby, staring at them, wide-eyed. "Er, a party."

Morgan smirked. Bo, watching the two with her head tilted to one side, frowned for a moment. Then, her lips broke into a smile. "Don't worry" she said to Devon. "Uncle Merrill said that word when he was moving that box and he dropped it on his foot. He stopped when he saw me." She smiled wider, her eyes blinking innocently. "Then he said I must never say that word, and that it would be best if I didn't tell Isabelle or Daddy that he'd said it. Then, he gave me two dollars to help me remember."

Morgan and Devon exchanged glances, both of their lips pressed together. Bo was already turning away towards the climbing frame, and Devon ducked his head forward, his shoulders shaking.

"Seriously, sorry" said Morgan, wrapping his arms around his knees, as he turned to face out over the fields. "They're not usually like that."

Devon shook his head. "They were fine. Seriously, it was OK." His eyes followed Bo as she scurried to the bottom of the ladder. "Your sister's sweet" he said, rather gruffly, his eyes dropping down to his feet. Morgan looked at him, his eyes widening for a moment.

"She's OK" he said, after a second's silence.

"She's been better tonight" he said, keeping his eyes on his sister. "Think she-" He swallowed. "Think she likes you."

Devon's lip twitched into a smirk. The two turned at the sound of footsteps across the porch and Devon swallowed at the sight of Merrill Hess standing over him.

"Hey." Merrill wasn't glaring at Devon, which reassured him a little, but he remained still anyway, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"Hey, Uncle Merrill." Morgan didn't seem to notice anything unusual but Devon looked away, preferring to leave with his head on his shoulders rather than off.

Merrill seemed to be struggling to decide something. He shifted from one foot to the other for a few moments, before his eyes flickered to his nephew. "Morgan, can you, um-" Merrill's gaze fell on Bo. "Check on Bo a tick, would you?"

Morgan looked at his sister, frowning, then turned to Merrill. "She's fine."

Devon could almost swear he saw Merrill roll his eyes. "Check, anyway." When Morgan didn't move, Merrill glanced at Devon briefly.

"I just-" He swallowed. "I want to have a word with Devon. Just for a second."

Morgan's eyes narrowed and Merrill sighed. "Your dad asked me to. OK?"

It took a second but Morgan nodded and slid off the porch. He headed towards his sister, though he glanced suspiciously back at his uncle and Devon over his shoulder as he went.

Devon looked away as Merrill Hess stood over him. He hadn't spoken more than two words to the man, but he already had a sense it might be better if he kept it that way.

But Merrill wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was glancing at his hands, before using one to tug at his sleeve. "Can I sit down?"

Devon felt exceptionally odd-it wasn't his house, after all-but he nodded, anyway. Merrill sank down beside him and Devon shifted uncomfortably.

"Look-" said Merrill after a moment and Devon determinedly kept his gaze on his knees.

"Look-" Merrill sighed and shifted his gaze so that he was addressing the cornfields rather than the boy next to him. "During dinner-"

Devon jerked his head in an approximation of a nod rather than look.

"Look, I wasn't-" Merrill sighed and raked his hands through his hair. "I wasn't ignoring you. OK?"

Devon shrugged. The impression he'd got throughout the meal was mostly that everyone was ignoring each other.

"I'm not-" Merrill lifted his hand. "I don't have a problem with you, OK?"

Devon swallowed. "Why should you have a problem with me?"

After a moment's silence, he turned to look at Merrill. Merrill was watching him, his eyes narrowed. Devon couldn't have said what expression was on his face.

"I guess I shouldn't" said Merrill after a moment. "Why do you think I would have, though?"

Devon frowned, wondering if they were talking at cross-purposes. "I-don't know" he said.

Merrill raised an eyebrow.

Devon returned the look. "Because of my brother?" he ventured, wondering how Lionel had managed to follow him here, as well.

Merrill nodded. "Good guess" he said, rather sardonically.

Devon nodded back, wondering what Merrill expected him to say. Sorry, for having Lionel as a brother?

Eventually, he simply remained silent. He figured that Merrill couldn't have anything against him if he didn't say anything and wondered if he could employ that strategy every time he visited the Hess farm. If he were ever invited back.

Merrill looked at him. "Your brother" he said, suddenly.

Devon nodded and swallowed.

Merrill kept looking at him. "He talk about us?"

Devon wondered if Merrill actually wanted honesty, or if this was some ploy to yell at him. He decided to go in between.

"Sometimes. Kind of." He looked away.

Merrill wasn't giving up. "So, what's he say?"

Devon sighed, deciding on the less controversial topics of conversation. "That you used to play baseball. That Isabelle's in grad school. That sort of stuff."

Devon could tell Merrill didn't believe him. "Nothing else?"

Devon met his gaze. "Not really." He knew enough not to chip in Lionel's editorials.

Merrill nodded slowly. "Good." He looked away, then back again. "Right. Good." His gaze met Devon's. "Just so you know."

Devon blinked. "Just so I know what?"

Merrill didn't look away from him. "That I'm not ignoring you." He watched Devon for another moment and then got up, giving the boy a quick pat on the shoulder.

Devon sat still for a moment, before turning back to face Morgan, now approaching the porch again, musing on all the variations of just what not ignoring could mean.

---

When Merrill re-entered the kitchen, Graham was leaning against the counter, watching him.

"Did you speak to him?"

Merrill settled for a nod. Graham looked at him. "How did it go?"

"Fine." Merrill turned away, his tone brisker than usual. Graham nodded, as though this was mostly what he'd expected.

"So-" He kept his eyes away from his younger brother's. Merrill pretended to be preoccupied with pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket.

"What's going on with you and Isabelle?"

Merrill stiffened for a moment. He rolled a cigarette out of the packet, but didn't light it.

"Merrill?"

Merrill shrugged. "Just...been fighting."

Graham looked at him. "You two haven't spoken to each other for a week."

Merrill shrugged again. Graham looked at him and, this time, didn't say anything for a long moment.

"Usually, you two can't keep your eyes off each other."

"Thanks for the reminder." The words came out harsher than Merrill intended and he winced. He swallowed hard, leaned his head against the wall.

Graham didn't remark on the tone, instead stepping closer to his younger brother. He didn't touch him but instead watched for a long moment, until Merrill raised his gaze to meet Graham's.

Graham sighed. Looking at Merrill now, a sudden memory flickered in his mind like a lightbulb-himself holding six-year-old Merrill's hand, leading him back to bed after finding him down in the kitchen gorging himself on the Oreo cookies. He remembered Merrill's eyes, still crinkled in a grin, meeting Graham's as Graham tucked him back into bed.

What happens when we go to sleep, Graham? he'd asked, his head nestled on the pillow, eyes half-closed. Does the rest of the world just stop?

Now, Graham watched as his younger brother looked back at him. "You miss her?" He kept his eyes on Merrill's, and his brother's gaze darted away.

Instead of answering Graham, Merrill chose to stare out of the window. His eyes settled on Isabelle, who had disappeared to fetch something from the car during Merrill's chat with Devon and was now sitting out on the porch, having apparently travelled the long way around. She was bent over a book, hand tucking her hair behind her ears, eyes resting on the pages. She was sitting a few feet away from the house but there was something sad about the tension of her shoulders, the set of her lips, the look in her eyes. Merrill swallowed as he watched her.

Graham watched Merrill for another moment, as his brother bit his lip. "You miss her" he said quietly, and this time Merrill's gaze didn't move. His eyes stayed on Isabelle and his teeth dug into his lip, as Graham's hand reached out, and rested for a moment on his brother's shoulder.

---

It was several hours later, after a film with Devon, Morgan and Bo sprawled in front of the TV, that Graham switched the set off and said "Let's be getting you home."

Devon scrambled upright. "I can get home by myself."

Graham glanced out of the window. It was pitch black outside. "No, you can't. It's half nine at night. We'll give you a lift."

"Oh." Devon blinked in surprise. "Thanks."

Outside, Isabelle stood by her and Merrill's car. "Nice to meet you, Devon." Only Devon saw the quick flicker of her eyelid in a wink as she shook his hand which he returned with a grin.

"Bye" he said, raising a hand at Merrill, who gave him a quick nod. He turned and scrambled into the car after Morgan, sparing a smile for Bo who was lifted up next to him.

"See you" said Graham as he climbed into the front, his eyes on his younger brother. Merrill raised his own hand in farewell as Isabelle pulled herself into the passenger seat.

Graham watched them go and wondered just how much talking his brother and Isabelle would get done that night.

---

Merrill drove in silence, avoiding Isabelle's gaze. He kept his eyes on the road, his hands clenched tight on the steering wheel. He didn't look at Isabelle. He didn't know what he'd want to do if she did; yell at her, tell her to look at him, talk to him, or pull her towards him and kiss her, and keep kissing her until she was speaking to him, until she was back, and this whole silence between them had been broken away.

Isabelle didn't look at him, either. Instead, she kept her gaze out of the window, her fingers playing distractedly against the dashboard. Merrill risked one glance at her, and stared for a second. While she was turned towards the window, her face was reflected in the glass and there was a strange, aching look in her face-a sadness caught in her eyes, in the way she stared away from him as though it hurt more than anything to look away but she couldn't make herself stop.

Merrill swallowed and yanked his gaze back to the road.

It was several minutes later that Isabelle said "Merrill, can you let me out here?"

They were the first words she'd spoken since entering the car, and Merrill turned to stare at her. "It's ten at night."

Isabelle nodded. "I just want to go somewhere."

Merrill stared at her. "I'm going with you."

"No, you're not." Isabelle turned to look at him now, and her eyes met his. "Just let me out here."

Merrill pulled himself round in his seat to stare out of the window. "What are you-Izzy-"

"I'll be fine" she said, and her tone was more brittle at the use of her nickname.

Merrill shook his head and Isabelle's hand slammed into the dashboard. "Jesus, Merrill-"

He shook his head and pulled the car into the side of the road. "What the hell have you got to do that's so important?"

She shook her head as she yanked the car door open. "It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, it does." Something in his voice stopped her still where she was. It took a moment but she glanced at him. Her eyes met his and Merrill swallowed.

Something in the air had changed. Something, and that same feeling-the same as back in the kitchen-was hovering between them. Merrill's hands tightened on the wheel, his eyes on Isabelle's face. That same heat was in the air between them, drawing it taut like a wire.

Isabelle was the first to look away. "I'll be back home later" she said, ducking out of the car. "Don't wait for me, I'll be a while."

Merrill stared after her. "Izzy-"

And then she was gone, onto the sidewalk before he could get a clear view of her, and then ducking past a stranger-Merrill could follow her with his eyes for a moment-and then she slipped through a small group of over-excited teenagers and was gone.

Merrill stared after her. Then, he reached out and switched the engine off. He didn't care what Isabelle said.

He waited. He waited for a while. Then, finally, as the clock crept round to half ten, he reached out and twisted the key in the ignition, pulling the car back out into the street, resigned to the fact that Isabelle had meant what she'd said.

---

"I'll walk you in if you want." Graham glanced over his shoulder at Devon, who was already pulling at the car door.

"It's fine" shrugged the boy, already scrambling out the car. "It's only up the driveway."

"If you're sure."

Devon nodded and then turned to Morgan. "Thanks" he said, rather quickly, and then hastily added "You know, for the lift. And having me over. Thanks."

Morgan grinned, then caught his father's eye in the mirror. "You're welcome" he said before, "We can do it again. If you want."

Devon nodded. "Yeah. That'd be cool." He leaned over Morgan's shoulder. "Bye, Bo."

Bo, strapped in on Morgan's other side, waved, her starfish hand moving from side to side. "Bye, Devon."

Devon turned to Graham. "Thanks, Mr. Hess. For the lift. And tea and everything."

"You're welcome." Graham looked at Devon, amusement curling his lip slightly. "You're sure you'll be OK?"

"Yeah." Devon pushed his cap further onto his head. "I come home by myself all the time."

"Have a good night." Graham raised his hand in farewell at Devon, who pushed the car door shut and returned the gesture, before turning and jogging up the driveway towards the house.

Graham watched him go through the window.

"Daddy, why aren't we going?"

Graham leaned closer to the window. "I'm waiting 'til he gets in" he muttered. "I'm not having anything happen to him."

Morgan snorted. "Dad, he does this all the time."

"I don't care." Graham gave Morgan a stern look. "We're waiting."

Morgan rolled his eyes but turned back to the window. And they waited. Waited and waited, until they saw a light flicker on in the house and the front door open wide, as Devon stepped in. His hand stretched in a wave, a wave that the three of them returned, as they started the engine, and drove away, as Devon closed the front door behind him.

---

The nurse looked at Isabelle cautiously over her clipboard. "You do know he's comatose, right?"

Isabelle nodded. "Yeah, I get that."

"So-" The nurse looked down, then up again. "He's probably not hearing what you're saying?"

Isabelle gritted her teeth. "I know" she said. "I just want to see him, that's all."

The nurse sighed. "You know, visiting time's nearly over."

"I don't care." Isabelle's voice was louder than she'd expected. "I just want to see him."

The nurse eyed her for a moment, then sighed. "Fine." She picked up her clipboard and, turning, beckoned Isabelle to follow her. Isabelle did so, glancing rather warily around the hospital corridors, crossing her arms over her chest as she walked. For all her grad school studying, the last time she'd been in a hospital had been with Bo for her tests-and before that, with Morgan, when he'd been lying in a bed, recovering from a near-fatal asthma attack.

The room the nurse led her to was quieter than the others, private, away from the wards. The nurse opened the door slowly and Isabelle took a small step inside.

"He's there" said the nurse. She looked at Isabelle with something a little more like sympathy. "Don't worry if you can't make him hear you. You hear these stories, but trust me, a lot of coma patients can't hear."

And with that, she left the room. Isabelle was unsure whether to be cheered or disappointed by this information.

She sighed and swallowed hard. She'd insisted on Merrill dropping her off here for a reason. She wasn't going to forget it now.

She took a step closer to the bed.

Ray Reddy was lying still, his head tilted to one side on the pillow. Tubes spilt out of his arms and skin, and Isabelle's hands clenched into fists at the sight. His eyes were closed, however, his face peaceful. If not for the odd surroundings and medical equipment, he could almost have been sleeping.

Isabelle sat down in the chair next to the bed. She closed her eyes for a moment.

"Um" she said. "Hi."

There was no response, but then Isabelle hadn't really expected one.

She pushed her hands through her hair. "I probably shouldn't even be talking to you" she said. "I should probably be talking to Hannah or someone."

No response. Isabelle sighed and stared at him.

"Things are a mess" she said. "Everything's screwed-up. And I don't know why I'm saying it but I'm saying it to you."

She closed her eyes again. Faces danced in her mind-Morgan, Bo, Hannah, Merrill. She heard her mother's voice again in her head: Sometimes, things are worth fighting for. Sometimes, they're not, and sometimes, they are. And it's up to you to decide which is which.

She sighed and opened her eyes. "I'm just going to start. Sorry if you can hear me, Ray-" She swallowed on his name. "And if it's boring you to death or something but I've just got to say it. Because the truth is, there's-there's been crazy stuff happening ever since you ended up in here."

Isabelle started to talk. She wasn't really aware of it at first, the words just spilling out of her mouth. But they kept spilling and she kept going, saying everything, everything that came into her head. Bo and the birds. Bo and the screaming. Hannah by the car. Devon and Morgan hanging out. The weird stuff happening all over the country. Her and Merrill arguing. Bo's tests. Her and Merrill not speaking, still not speaking...And the constant shadow that seemed to hang over everything, a constant feeling of something bad, something dark, hovering over their heads, something there, that she couldn't see but instead, felt as surely and sharply as she knew her own name.

She was leaning her head on her hands by this point and it took a while before the stream of words pouring out of her mouth began to dry up. "And I don't know what's going on" she said simply. "And I don't know what happened to you. And I wish to God I knew. But I don't. And that scares me. I'm scared out of my freaking mind."

She pressed her hands against her eyes. The last thing she needed was to break down crying now in the middle of the hospital room.

"Graham comes to see you every day" she said. "Did you know that? He comes every day. He wants you to get better."

Ray didn't move. Isabelle sighed and leaned forward. "I don't know what I'm waiting for" she said, her voice lower now, quieter. "I know you're not going to speak."

Ray lay there silently. Isabelle sighed. "I don't even know why I said all this" she said. "Just that you're the only one who wouldn't answer back."

She sighed. Her hands fastened on the ends of her hair. She stood up. "I guess I'd better get back" she said. "It's probably late enough that Merrill's started freaking out that I've been abducted or something."

Her face clouded over. Maybe Merrill wouldn't be freaking out. Maybe he'd have just shrugged and gone to bed.

She sighed and looked at Ray Reddy. "How do I say goodbye to someone who never heard me?"

But still, she shifted from foot to foot and looked at him. "Bye" she said, awkwardly at first.

But then she looked at him. Properly looked. The lines of his face. The unnatural stillness of his whole body as he lay there. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She looked at him and she swallowed.

She had a vague memory of those hands, holding a hamster. She, at age six, staring up at Ray Reddy, who was gently inserting a needle into the hamster's fur. Her mother's hand, wrapped tight around hers'. Ray's eyes, as he smiled at her. Try not to worry he'd said. All it is is a long sleep. A break from the rest of the world.

Isabelle looked at Ray now. She let out a long, shaky sigh, and let her eyes fall shut for a moment. It took a moment of blinking before she opened them again.

"Bye, Ray" she said softly, before she turned away. Then, she paused. She turned back.

Her hand reached out and touched his cheek for a moment. Then, she bent down and brushed her lips over his forehead. She stood up and stared down at him. His face hadn't changed.

"Sweet dreams" she whispered, and then turned towards the door. She took one last glance as she left the room. Ray was still lying there silently, looking for all the world as if he'd just fallen asleep.

It was halfway down the corridor that Isabelle bumped into the nurse.

"Did you speak to him?" The question was asked without looking up.

Isabelle nodded. "Yeah."

The nurse looked up. "Did he answer?"

A second of silence before Isabelle shook her head. "No."

The nurse looked at her for a long moment. Then, she reached out and pressed her thumb against Isabelle's cheek. It came away wet.

Isabelle put up her hand. She hadn't even noticed tears.

She opened her mouth but the nurse shook her head. "I can't tell you it will be all right" she said. She shook her head again at the expression on Isabelle's face. "I can't. I don't know if it's true. But I'll tell you this. We'll try our best. We'll try."

Isabelle looked at her. "Thank you." Her voice was softer now and she swallowed. "I mean it. Thank you."

The nurse touched her arm. "Go home, sweetheart." The voice was gentler than Isabelle had heard all evening. "It's past eleven at night. Go home and get some rest."

Isabelle swallowed, smiled and nodded.

---

After a fifteen minute wait at the bus stop during which Isabelle anxiously ran over any moves she remembered from the self-defence classes her mother had made her take as a teenager, the bus pulled up. Isabelle stepped on, her arms wrapped around herself, shoving some money across the counter, the driver barely acknowledging her as he handed her a ticket. The buses were almost deserted this time of night, and Isabelle scrambled into a window seat, her head leaning against the glass. She shivered, thinking longingly of the warm bed at home, but those thoughts reminded her of the fact that Merrill had spent the last two weeks on the couch.

She sat up and curled tighter into the seat. She didn't know what was going to happen with her and Merrill. She didn't know what she was going to do. She didn't know any of it. She leaned her head on her hand.

"Hey. Hey, you, girlie." Isabelle looked up. The voice came from across the aisle, and after a moment, she turned to look, tucking her hair behind her ears.

A woman, who looked to be in her sixties or even seventies was sitting across the aisle from Isabelle. She was watching Isabelle with a shrewd expression, her head tilted to the side. "Why's your face so glum?"

Isabelle stared at her. She rarely rode the bus at night. Maybe it was considered customary to make conversation with complete strangers.

Then again, Isabelle had to admit, this wasn't exactly a normal night.

"A lot of things" she answered, turning around in her seat to face the woman.

The woman tutted. "A lot of things. Too young to be saying something like that."

Isabelle's lips twitched in spite of herself. The woman nodded at her. "You wait until you're my age. Then, you can talk like that."

Isabelle smiled. It was a small smile, but it was a smile, nonetheless. "What're you doing out so late?"

"Been visiting my son." The woman sighed, stretched out a little. "He'd insist on taking me home but I won't have that. I'm sixty nine, I say, not incompetent."

Isabelle laughed. The woman looked at her. "What about you? Young pretty girl like you, out on her own-you gotta be careful, even in Bucks County."

Isabelle sighed. "Been visiting someone in hospital."

The woman closed her eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that. Any improvements?"

Isabelle shook her head. The woman followed suit. "Well, I'm sorry."

Isabelle smiled. "Thanks."

"That all that's giving you a face like a regular wet weekend?"

Isabelle shook her head and the woman widened her eyes, indicating her to go on.

Isabelle sighed. "Boyfriend problems. We're not speaking at the minute and-" She held her hand up, letting the sentence trail off into thin air.

The woman nodded sagely. "Ah. Young men. Think they know everything but know absolutely nothing."

Isabelle laughed and the woman nodded. "You wait and see, dear. If he's worth hanging onto, he'll come around. You'll see. The best ones always do. They'll see it's not worth fighting over, soon enough."

Isabelle's smile grew. "I wish I shared your optimism but thanks for that."

The woman shook her head and, reaching across the aisle, tapped Isabelle's hand. "I've been around for sixty nine years, my dear, and I've seen a fair number of men in my time. Trust me. If he's a keeper, he'll come back."

Isabelle smiled. This time, it was stronger. "Thanks."

The bus pulled into a stop and the woman stood up. "Thank goodness for that" she said, rooting in her pocket for something. "I was gasping for one of these." She held up a packet of cigarettes to Isabelle.

Isabelle laughed this time and the woman tossed her a quick wink. "Don't you worry, young lady. These things always come out in the wash."

She trotted up to the front of the bus and stepped off. Isabelle peered out of the window in time to see the woman light up a cigarette with a small smirk, her hand raising to wave to Isabelle as the bus moved off down the road. Isabelle waved back, her own smile brighter, feeling as if the weight on her shoulders had lifted slightly.

---

Isabelle's own stop was at the bottom of the road leading to her and Merrill's apartment block. Stepping off, she kept her head up high and walked fast, making sure to step as quickly as possible over the sidewalk. She swallowed hard, running her tongue over her lips, and reached the parking lot with a sigh of relief. She turned towards the building, noting the few lights that were still on. They burned, golden rectangles through the dark. Isabelle kept her eyes on them as she made her way towards the building, her arms still wrapped around herself, her eyes darting from side to side, despite the proximity of home.

It was halfway across the parking lot that she heard something.

She froze. It had sounded like the skittering of gravel. Like a footstep. Isabelle listened, her ears straining for any sound.

Nothing else moved and she took another few steps forward, her pace quickening this time.

Another sound and she stopped again, this time, turning to stare into the bushes that bordered the parking lot. Her hand crept into her pocket, finding her keys, as she stared into the dark, eyes scanning for any sign of movement.

None, and Isabelle turned back to the building, her pace rapid now, counting the steps as she went, twenty paces to go, almost there, come on, come on...

There was another noise-another dragging sound over the ground-and Isabelle stopped dead. Just for a moment. The dragging noise increased very suddenly and she started to turn around.

And then she saw something move, something dark and large move, and she ran. She ran towards the front door, a scream ripping out of her own throat, and she jammed her keys into the hole, twisting and turning until the door stuck and she had to yank them out and try again, half-sobbing now, and twisting and turning again until finally, finally, the door fell inwards and she fell with it, turning frantically, hand already against the door to slam it shut, eyes searching the darkness for the figure-

It was gone. There was nothing there.

Isabelle only got a brief glimpse of the darkness before she slammed the door shut, but she saw there was nothing there. She stood, staring agape at the wood of the front door. How could-how had-

She turned to the hallway, her heart still pounding against her chest.

"Freeze! Get your hands in the air!"

Isabelle almost collapsed, spinning round to see Mrs. Longdon, standing in her dressing gown in the doorway to her apartment at the end of the corridor, with what was very definitely a rifle pointed at Isabelle's chest.

Isabelle's hands flew up, even as her mouth formed the words. "Mrs. Longdon, it's me-"

Mrs. Longdon squinted at her for another second, as if determining whether or not she was telling the truth. "Isabelle?"

Isabelle nodded. "Yeah."

There was another long pause before Mrs. Longdon lowered the rifle. "Isabelle-" She pushed her hands across her eyes. "Gosh, you gave me a fright."

"Sorry, Mrs. Longdon. It's just we've been-" Isabelle realised she was shaking and pushed her hands into her eyes. "I was-outside, coming in, and-I thought there was something-chasing me."

Mrs. Longdon stared at her. Then, abruptly, she crossed to the window and peered outside, rifle at the ready.

"I think it's gone now" said Isabelle, hoping to pacify the woman. "I might have imagined it anyway."

Mrs. Longdon still peered doubtfully out the window. "Maybe I should get the cops out, have them take a look around-"

Isabelle shook her head. "When I got in, there was nothing behind me. I really think it's gone, Mrs. Longdon. It was probably-" She doubted the truth of her own words, but had a feeling that calling the cops wouldn't do much good. "It was probably imagination."

Mrs. Longdon still looked doubtful but she'd lowered the rifle now, at least. "If you're sure-"

Isabelle nodded, her heart still hammering against her ribs. "I am." She could feel her breathing slowing down now, though her skin still felt clammy and shivers still racked her body. She exhaled slowly, turning towards the stairs.

"Night, Mrs. Longdon" she said, peering over the banisters.

"Morning, rather" answered her landlady. "It's past midnight."

Isabelle winced. "Sorry" she added, gritting her teeth as she reached the top of the stairs.

"Be a wonder if that boyfriend of yours' isn't waiting up for you" called the landlady from the doorway of her own apartment. "Came home a couple of hours ago, he did."

Isabelle swallowed. "Probably" she said, with an arched eyebrow invisible to the woman below. As she stepped towards their apartment and slid her keys into the hole, she wondered if Merrill would have cared where she was at all.

---

Merrill was pacing up and down in front of the TV, running his hands through his hair. It had been more than two hours since he'd last seen Isabelle and he'd spent most of that time cursing himself for dropping her off.

He sank down on the couch for a moment and buried his face in his hands. He'd waited half an hour before ringing her cell phone, only to hear the ringtone echoing in the bedroom and realise Isabelle had managed to leave the thing behind. He'd had a job not to throw his own across the room.

And so then, he'd waited. And waited, image after image flowing through his head. He'd been tempted to pull a bottle of vodka out of the cupboard, try to chase some of the images away, but if Isabelle called him stuck somewhere, it wasn't going to help her if he couldn't drive. He'd settled for smoking cigarette after cigarette instead, an attempt to calm his thoughts which were rioting in a frantic blur of worry and pictures and in the last hour, fear.

He glanced at the clock. If she wasn't back by half twelve, he decided, he was going out to look for her. And that was it. He'd leave her a note, but he wasn't going to just go to bed and leave her. He couldn't.

Izzy.. Merrill got up and resumed the pacing, his hands gripping his hair now. He felt like tearing it out. He should have never stopped. He should have just driven her home, anyway, and insisted she could do whatever it was in the morning. He didn't even know where she'd gone.

He thought he heard a sound outside and looked up, hope flooding his chest for a moment. But there was no sound at the door, and he kept moving, hands knotting the fabric of his shirt between his fingers.

Izzy, where are you...

He dug his fingers into his hair, almost stabbing into his skin. Stupid. Why had he let her go? What if something had happened to her?

An image of Isabelle lying somewhere, lost somewhere, hurt and scared and alone, filled his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut, his face screwed up, shoving the picture away. Please, God, please, say she's OK...Jesus, I'll-I don't know, I'll do anything, if she's OK...

He paced up and down more. He glanced at the clock. 12:17. Screw half twelve, he'd give it five more minutes then go. He'd go then. Five more minutes.

He paced, back and forth, back and forth. She had to be OK. She had to be OK. Something seemed to be twisting itself in two in his chest.

He glanced at the clock. How long now? Still 12:17.

He paced back, staring at the window, the door, as if watching would magically make Isabelle appear. Where was she? What had been so urgent that she'd had to leave for?

Jesus, Izzy...

He glanced at the clock, about to watch it turn to 12:18. There was a small sound nearby, somewhere.

He turned, saw nothing, turned back to the clock.

And then there was a noise at the door. Merrill spun around, almost falling over, half-sprinting into the small hallway, to see the front door opening, someone stepping inside...and then Isabelle was there, standing in the hallway, her hair falling over her face, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes lifting to meet his, widening slightly as she took in his face.

All of Merrill's waiting and worrying and downright freaking terror for the past two and a bit hours exploded out of him. "Where the hell have you been?" His hand fastened on the wall as the relief-sheer, overwhelming relief-seemed to pour through his whole body, flooding him with a falling sensation, his legs somehow weaker than usual.

Isabelle pushed the door closed, carefully making sure it was locked before she turned to face Merrill. "Out" she said, and slid off her coat, hanging it up on the hook.

Merrill shook his head. "No."

Isabelle stared at him. "What?"

"No." He shook his head and moved back, allowing her to follow him towards the living room. "No, Isabelle. I've sat there for two hours-" His hands bit into his hair. "Two freaking hours, I've been going out of my mind, I was about to come out looking for you, for Christ's sake and you just say you've been out?"

Something flickered in Isabelle's eyes then, something that wasn't anger, wasn't anger at all. She stared at him for a moment, her lips parting slightly-and then she said "Well, I was out."

Merrill was ready to throw something. "Where?"

Isabelle stared at him. "You haven't spoken to me for two weeks, and now you want to know where I've been?"

Merrill actually turned away from her, then. "Jesus, Isabelle-" He turned to stare at her, his hands still running through his hair. "I thought you were hurt, I thought you were lost somewhere-I thought you were dead, for Christ's sakes."

The words hung between them. Isabelle's eyes were wide now, staring at him. "Why would I have been hurt?"

Merrill threw up his hands. "I don't know! You left your cell here, I didn't know what was wrong-" He broke off, gasping for breath. "Seriously, Isabelle, where the hell were you?"

Isabelle stared at him. "That's my business."

Merrill could have screamed. Instead, he took a step towards her and gritted his teeth. "No. You know what, Isabelle? When someone stays up, waiting for you, and worrying and thinking you were dead and when someone has to wait two fucking hours to find out someone else was still alive? Then guess what. It's their business, too. OK?"

Isabelle's own brow was furrowed now. "Fine." The word was bitten out of her mouth with enough venom that Merrill moved back a step. "I was with Ray Reddy. In the hospital."

Merrill blinked. Whatever he'd been expecting to hear, it wasn't that. "Seriously?"

Isabelle nodded. "Where'd you think I was, sitting in a bar somewhere? Where you met your-" Her voice trailed off, but Merrill had already stepped forward.

"Where I met who?"

Isabelle stared up at him. "You know. Lipstick Girl."

Merrill actually buried his head in his hands in frustration. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Izzy, I told you, I did not cheat on you. I have never cheated on you."

Isabelle's eyes looked unsure now, her teeth digging into her lip. But she stood still. "How am I supposed to trust that?"

Merrill threw up his hands. "Because I never would! I wouldn't want to!" His drew in a deep breath, only just taking in how much he was shaking. "I don't want anyone else but you" he said quietly, and it was only now that he realised just how desperate his voice sounded, just how desperate he felt.

Isabelle stared at him, her own gaze wavering now, her voice uncertain. "Then how did the lipstick-"

Merrill stared at her. "You want the story? You want it now? OK." He pushed his hands through his hair. "That night, I went out to a bar. Tracey Abernathy was there, she's a bartender. She talked to me. I walked out to the car, she walked with me. I said bye to her. She tried to kiss me, I pushed her away. That's what happened."

Isabelle tilted her head to the side. "What you say happened."

Merrill stared at her. "Now, you don't trust me?"

Isabelle shrugged and turned away. Merrill stared after her. "Oh, well, thanks, Isabelle, that really means a lot." He stood up, turning away from her. He didn't know where he was going to go, the bedroom, the couch, out, he had no idea..He stood still for a moment and then Isabelle turned around.

He heard her turn and began to move a step away, and then he saw her face and he stopped. It was torn in two, almost, her eyes flooded with tears, her mouth crumpling. "You know I trust you!" she half-screamed at him, her voice shrill, not Izzy's voice at all, echoing off the walls. "Why do you think I was so mad?"

Merrill stood still, staring at her, as she stared back. "You know I trust you" she repeated, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself, hugging herself. "I trust you more than anyone else in the frigging world, Merrill, I trust you more than I trust me, sometimes, and why else do you think I couldn't even talk to you?"

Merrill's own voice was rising again now. "How am I meant to know? You wouldn't talk to me! You've acted like I'm not here for the last two weeks!"

"You've done the same-"

Merrill shook his head. "You expect me to know all this stuff. How do you expect me to know if you don't tell me?"

Isabelle shook her head. "I don't know" and her voice was a whisper. "I don't know." And she was crying and she looked away from him.

Merrill closed his eyes. "Izzy-"

"Do you know what just happened, outside?" and the shout forced his eyes open again. "Do you know what just happened? Something chased me, Merrill! Something was there and then it vanished-and you can say it's just imagination if you want to, you can say that, but there was something there, and I don't know what's going on and-" Isabelle's hair fell forward, hiding her face. "I'm scared, Merrill." Her voice was a whisper. "I'm so freaking scared."

Merrill stared at her. "You think I'm not?" The confession was bitten out in a fierce whisper. "You think I'm not scared?" He pressed his hands against his temples, the familiar headache throbbing from nights of disturbed sleep on the couch, nights of pain through his neck. "I'm sitting there, the entire time-the entire time all this is going on, and you know what I'm thinking? All I'm thinking is that it's my job to protect you, my job to protect you and everyone else, and all I'm thinking is that I'm going to screw that up, and you could get hurt, and that's all I'm thinking, with all this crazy shit about things and comas and freaking birds, and I don't know, I don't know anymore, Izzy-" He found, to his shame, that his voice had cut off in his throat, and he looked away from her, hoping she'd take the moisture below his eyes to be sweat.

Isabelle was staring at him, moving a step closer. "Why don't you say?" Her voice was just above a whisper. "Why don't you ever say?"

Merrill shook his head, his words inaudible for a moment. "Because-because I've got to make sure you're OK-and there's no-there's no room for making sure I'm-" The anger was making a reappearance. "There's no room for making sure I'm OK, don't you see, Izzy? I have to be OK-I have to-" His words were tailing off again and he found that he'd moved closer to her, closer without realizing it, close enough to almost touch her.

Isabelle was moving too, stepping closer to him. "You don't have to be OK" she whispered. "You don't."

Merrill shook his head. "Who'd listen if I wasn't?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think about it and his eyes widened as they hung in the air between him and Isabelle.

Isabelle took a step closer to him. "Then why were you yelling at me all week?"

Merrill's fists clenched. "Because I didn't know what else to do! All I could see was this weird freaking shit going on around us-and I just-I don't know, I wanted it to stop, I wanted it to go away-"

"How could ignoring it make it stop?"

"I'm not saying it was smart, for Christ's sake-"

"But how could ignoring it just make it go away-

"I don't know! I don't know, I just wanted it to, I wanted it to stop, I wanted it all to-because I-" He was gasping for breath, now and so was Isabelle, and that heat was between them, that longing-not like that strange, weird longing they'd felt before those fights, but that heat he'd felt earlier-that desperation to touch her, hold her, that desperate longing to have her near him-

"I don't know, either" she whispered and he looked up to find her eyes staring into his. "I don't know, either, Merrill. I don't know what's going on. And I hate it. I really hate it."

Merrill lifted his hands then dropped them again. "I just-God, Izzy, all I try to do is stop everyone getting hurt, stop you getting hurt and I just, I-"

"You think I don't do the same?"

"I just-I just-" His fists clenched. "I just want people to stop getting hurt, I just want it to stop-" He'd moved closer to her now, without realising and he was standing inches away from her and she was so close, so close he could feel her, feel her, and she was moving towards him.

The word teetered in her mouth. "Merrill" she whispered and his heart seemed to double in speed, throwing itself against his ribs. He stared at her, feeling the blood rush to his skin, every part of his body feeling alive, conscious of how close he was to her, of how she was moving towards him, her hair almost brushing his shirt-

That heat was back and he could see that Isabelle was as affected by it as strongly as he was, her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and he couldn't look away from her, he couldn't...

His feet moved him forward another step and they were about to touch now, and there was a moment, a moment in which he could feel the heat of her skin, the touch of her hair, all of her, just an inch away and her eyes, those eyes he could fall into, stared up into his and there was a moment where they stared at each other, both of their hearts pounding...

And then one or the other of them moved and he wasn't sure which but it didn't matter because that brought their mouths together and then there was a moment or half a breath that they stood still, the heat flooding their whole bodies and then, then one of them moved and then, and then, and then Isabelle's mouth, warm and soft was touching, pushing gently into his own and then he was kissing her.

His whole body came alive-his arms wound around her shoulders, one hand in her hair, and he closed his eyes, pulling her closer, melting into the kiss, her whole body leaning into his, her hands sliding into his hair. He pulled her in again, his mouth opening against hers', his whole body absorbed and humming and reeling in delight from the sensation of her entwined with him.

Their mouths broke apart for an instant and he gasped her name. "Izzy-" He shook his head. "God, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry for everything, Izzy-"

Something seemed to crack then, crack in her eyes and her arms yanked herself to him, her mouth finding his cheek. "I'm sorry, too" she whispered. "God, Merrill, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry-"

Her mouth found Merrill's again, warm and soft and Merrill let his hands slide down so that they held her around her waist. "Did you get hurt?" he whispered, brushing her hair off her face now. "Tonight. Did you get hurt?"

Isabelle shook her head, dragging his mouth back to hers'. "No. No, I just-I-" She closed her eyes and kissed him again, a long moment of sensation and no thought, before she leaned back to stare at him. "I love you" she whispered and the words sent a thrill through him.

"I love you, too." The words were a whisper and he tilted his head and lost himself again, kissing her, words lost in amongst the feeling of their mouths together, the feeling of Isabelle's body wound around his, her eyes opening to look into his-"

His hands slid down, under her shirt, against her skin, and when hers' followed suit, Merrill's eyes closed, a moan breaking free from his throat. Izzy stared up at him, her hands trailing across his skin. His head fell back, losing himself in the sensation, his whole body enjoying it.

Izzy sighed his name, a sigh that quickly became a soft moan of pleasure as his hands skated back and forth, and Merrill drew his head back. "Do you-" His words were breathless, his hands tight around her and Isabelle's smile made him feel as if he were spinning.

She nodded. "Bedroom" she whispered in his ear, and Merrill found the time to grin before he pulled his mouth back to Isabelle's and her arms wound their way around his neck, him pulling her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and them moving across the floor slowly, until Merrill's arms slid around her and he carried her the last few yards, one hand reaching out the moment they were over the threshold to push the door closed behind them.

Merrill and Izzy, what are they like? If you enjoyed it, leave a review.