The Vanished (8 page)

She had to rethink her whole game plan quickly. “Yes?” Mrs. Manes asked. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she'd been crying. “Oh, Isabel. I didn't recognize you for a second. I was — come on in.”

“If it's no trouble,” Isabel said. “I don't want to bother you — ”

“No trouble at all,” Mrs. Manes broke in. “Please. I could use the company.”

Mrs. Manes led Isabel through the wide foyer into the casual yet tastefully decorated living room. She sat in a short leather upholstered armchair and faced Isabel. “So, what can I do for you?”

“I can't stop thinking about Alex,” Isabel answered. Her voice squeaked a little as she said his name, but she steeled herself and plowed on. “I've been worried about him. I guess . . . I guess I just wanted to see how you've been holding up and if you've heard anything.”

Mrs. Manes picked at the seam of the leather armchair for a long moment, and when she looked up at Isabel again, her eyes glistened with tears. Her mouth twitched as she tried to reply. “I'm . . . I'm sorry,” she said finally. “It's just that, with you being so concerned, I suppose I was caught off guard.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. “I'm not usually like this,” Mrs. Manes explained. “I've been trying to be strong — ”

“You don't have to be strong,” Isabel said softly. “Nobody's asking that of you.”

“If only that were true,” Mrs. Manes replied. She rearranged herself on the chair and cleared her throat. “Listen, I've got one son in the marines and two in the air force. I've worked hard at preparing myself for any eventuality, no matter how grim. But this is
Alex
we're talking about. Alex is different. He's — ”

“Sweet,” Isabel supplied.

“Sweet,” Mrs. Manes agreed. “I know my youngest. He wouldn't have run away, not without leaving some sort of note. Which means something must have happened to him. . . .”

Mrs. Manes's face crumpled up, and the tears spilled over onto her pale cheeks.

Isabel knew she wasn't going to win any awards as the world's warmest person, but she had to do something. She stood up and walked over to Alex's mother and covered her hand with her own.

“Mrs. Manes,” Isabel said. “You don't know what's happened. Nobody does. He could walk through that door any minute.”

I wish, Isabel added silently.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Manes said, clinging to Isabel's hand. Isabel almost cringed. The woman's fingers were so cold — as if the life were seeping out of her. “Thank you for your kind words. It means a lot to me.”

“No problem,” Isabel said. “Can I get you a cup of tea or something? Or maybe you should lie down for a while? You don't look like you've slept since . . . in ages.”

“I could use a rest,” Mrs. Manes said. “But my husband has the police calling in on the hour, and he calls even more frequently than that. I've got to answer those calls — ”

“I'll handle it,” Isabel offered. “You go lie down and take a good nap, and I'll cover for you for an hour or so. Okay?”

“You're an angel,” Mrs. Manes said eagerly. “Now I know why my son thinks the world of you. But just for an hour or so. Promise you'll wake me then?”

Isabel nodded. “I'll just be here, watching TV,” she said as Mrs. Manes rose from her chair and headed down the hall.

When Mrs. Manes had left the living room, Isabel did turn on the television, but she turned the volume down low so she could hear Alex's mother moving through the house. Isabel flipped around for a while, stopping on the shopping network, which had a special on metallic nail polishes. She watched that impatiently, waiting for Mrs. Manes to fall asleep.

When Isabel couldn't stand waiting another second, she got up from the couch and crept down the hall, pausing outside Mrs. Manes's open bedroom door. Alex's mother's breathing was slow and regular — perfect.

Isabel hurried as fast and as silently as she could in the opposite direction. She had her destination firmly in mind from what she remembered from Alex's tour of the house.

Mr. Manes's office.

In the center of the room was a huge wooden desk with a laptop computer. Isabel sat down in the Major's leather chair and popped open the laptop, pushing the power switch. She found a half-empty box of disks and began to copy as many files as she could from a directory marked Private. As she copied, Isabel listened for any sign of movement outside the office. The Maneses' house was as silent as a tomb.

The whirring of the disk drive sounded awfully loud to Isabel's ears. What could she say to explain why she was using the computer if Mrs. Manes found her in there? She was looking for the latest version of
Doom
? I don't think so, Isabel thought.

If Mrs. Manes found her, Isabel would have to knock her out and try to scramble her memory. As distasteful as that idea was, she couldn't think of any other way to escape.

When the Private files were copied onto disk, Isabel clicked around for a few moments, looking for anything else that seemed appropriate. She passed up the Major's financial records and personal correspondence and left his Memos folder alone. Then, in a subdirectory marked Xtra, she found a folder titled
Tabula Rasa.

Vaguely Isabel recalled something from some PBS philosophy show her mom had on one night while Isabel was doing her homework. Apparently some philosophers thought that human children were born without any instincts or memories — just an empty brain. And that empty brain, if Isabel remembered correctly, was called a
tabula rasa.

The phrase was Latin. In English it roughly translated as “blank slate.”

A chill ran up Isabel's arms and down her spine. Blank slate. Clean slate. Bingo, she thought.

She inserted a fresh disk and copied and pasted the folder into the A drive. Now that Isabel might have found something important, the drive seemed to be taking forever to copy. Hurry up, she ordered it. Can't you go any faster?

Then the phone rang.

Isabel thought she was going to jump out of her skin. But she forced herself to calm down as she picked up the office extension.

“Hello?” she said as cheerfully as she could manage. “The Maneses' residence.”

“Who's this?” a gruff voice demanded. “Where's my wife?”

“This is Isabel,” she replied politely, although the bristling sound of the Major's voice set her teeth on edge. “I'm a friend of your son's. We met a few weeks ago? I'm answering the phone for Mrs. Manes while she rests.”

“Oh,” the Major said. “Thank you. Tell her I called when she gets up.”

“Of course,” Isabel said. “I certainly will.” Being so polite made her teeth ache.

“Good.” Mr. Manes coughed softly, and then he hung up without saying good-bye.

Isabel replaced the receiver and concentrated on listening, blood pounding in her temples. Had the phone call woken Mrs. Manes?

When she didn't hear anything for a few moments, Isabel sighed with relief and checked the computer's progress. The files were all copied. She pulled out the disk and added it to the two others she'd made.

Isabel checked her watch and quickly shut down the computer. Why did I tell her I'd stay? she thought nervously. She had to get out of here and bring these files to Max so he could sort through them. Part of her wanted to ditch, but she couldn't do that to Mrs. Manes. She could hang out and let the woman sleep — give Alex's mom a little comfort.

After everything Isabel had done to Alex, she figured she owed him that much.

Isabel burst into her family's kitchen and found Max sitting at the table. He was munching spicy tortilla chips and peanut butter, a snack they both loved. She waved the disks in front of him.

“Guess what I got?” she asked excitedly. It had taken forever for Mrs. Manes to get herself out of bed, and Isabel couldn't hold her news in any longer.

“Proof that aliens live among us?” Max guessed, dipping a chip.

“Such a comedic genius,” Isabel said, rolling her eyes. “On these disks I happen to have copies of Mr. Manes's private files. And get this — one of the files is named
Tabula Rasa!”

Max's eyes opened wide. “No way,” he said. “Where did you get those?”

“Reconnaissance mission to the Maneses' house,” Isabel informed him.

Max frowned. “Isabel,” he said in the big-brother voice that drove her up the wall, “are you out of your mind? I thought we decided that we'd leave the Major alone — ”

“Chill,” Isabel told him. “I knew you'd start freaking, but I got in and out, no problem.”

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Max continued. “Michael or I should have come along . . . as backup, at least. What if you'd gotten caught?”

“But I wasn't,” Isabel replied, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder. “Now, do you want to lecture me all day, or do you want to go up to your laptop and see what's in these files?”

Max heaved a big sigh as he started out of the kitchen. “Let's go see what you've got.”

“Wait,” Isabel said. “Bring the chips.”

Up in his room, Max took a seat at his desk, and Isabel hovered over his shoulder. “Forget the Personal disks,” Isabel suggested. “Go right for
Tabula Rasa.”

“Right,” Max said, clicking around with his mouse. The folder contained several files, all named with numbers. But when Max clicked open file 1.mxl, the screen filled with nonsense characters. Pure gibberish.

“This program doesn't support this type of file,” Max explained in frustration.

“Do you have a program that does?” Isabel asked.

“Maybe. I've got a translator that's pretty new.” Max started the program, but it crashed the system, causing the little hourglass cursor to spin endlessly in the center of the screen.

As Max rebooted, Isabel ground her teeth. “What's the matter?”

“I think they're encrypted,” Max said. “I'm not going to be able to open these files. Sorry, Iz. All that work for nothing.”

“Encrypted,” Isabel repeated. “If the Major's encrypting stuff, he's got to be hiding something, don't you think? He's got to be Clean Slate.”

“We shouldn't jump to any conclusions,” Max said.

But Isabel knew she was right. Encrypted files.
Tabula rasa.
The photograph of Mr. Manes shaking hands with the thankfully deceased Sheriff Valenti.

It all pointed to one inescapable conclusion. Valenti might be dead, but now they had a new force to contend with.

And Mr. Manes was just a little too close to Isabel and her friends for comfort. Make that a lot too close.

The Crashdown Café was a madhouse.

Maria had been working her butt off all afternoon, and she still had another half hour before her break. She navigated her way through the aisle of the Ortechos' diner with a teeming tray on her arm, sidestepping a little girl who was running back to her table. At least tips will be good, Maria reminded herself as she served three out-of-towners at a window table. The tourists who came to Roswell to check out UFO central might be annoying, but they usually tipped decently.

As Maria headed across the room to take the order of a couple who had just sat down, she glanced across the restaurant. Adam and Michael were hanging out in a booth in Liz's area. Liz hurried by them, rushing to the pick-up window, and Maria smiled to herself as she watched Adam following Liz with his eyes.

The boy had it bad. Maria had felt the same expression cross her face too many times when she looked at Michael. She could recognize a major crush when she saw one. She just hoped it didn't look as sweetly pathetic on her. But of course it probably did.

Michael, Maria thought as she half listened to the new couple's drink order. My good friend Michael.

“I'd like an iced tea, no sugar,” the woman said.

Maria nodded absently. It wasn't easy slipping back into thinking of Michael as just a friend. Understatement. It was one of the most painful processes of her entire life.

But that's the way Michael wanted it, so that's the way it would be.

Friends.

Good friends.

One of her best friends.

“Miss, are you even listening to me?” the man at the table in front of her asked.

“Oh,” Maria said. “Oh, sure. You wanted an ice-cream sundae, right? With a cherry?”

“No,” the man said. “I wanted a beer.”

“Right,” Maria replied. “Beer.”

As she bustled away to get the drinks, Maria caught a cute girl shooting Michael a flirty look. Please, just don't let him start bringing some girl around me, she thought. At least not for a while. Not until I've . . . mended a little more.

Maria filled a plastic tumbler with iced tea. When he does find some girl, some girl he looks at the way he looks at Cameron, Maria told herself sternly, you are not going to allow yourself to be pulverized again. You will still be Michael's buddy. Get used to the idea of him dating because it's going to happen.