Isabel entered the bedroom and immediately felt herself relaxing. She realized that she felt at home. It was silly, she knew. This house was nothing like her home in Roswell. Nevertheless, it did feel… comfortable.

She turned on the lights and saw something she hadn't noticed before: an oil painting in a sitting area off to the right. It was a family portrait. There was a couple in their thirties. The woman was wearing a white dress. She was beautiful, Isabel saw, with long, curly blond hair. The man was handsome and wearing a suit. They both had broad smiles on their faces.

The mother held a baby in her arms, and two more children posed in front of the parents. One of them was a blond girl of about six. Suddenly Isabel was sure that the room with the rocking horse had belonged to her. Next to the girl was a boy who was maybe a year older. They all looked happy… very happy… she realized.

That's because they were, she thought. Five happy people living in this house full oj toys and children and life.

Suddenly, Isabel had an image of the house as it had been when the family was here. Bustling with activity, with children running down the hallway, household staff in the kitchen and tending the grounds. She saw extravagant birthday parties for the children, and smiled. The images should have been alien to her. Her own father was a lawyer and they lived comfortably, but they were nowhere near as wealthy as the former occupants of this house. Yet the house and the images seemed familiar to her.

Happy children and beaming parents.

Maybe that was it. She knew she and Max had been lucky to have been found and raised by their parents. Their childhoods had been normal and happy… almost surprisingly so, considering the secret that they carried.

These five people had been happy in a way she understood… in a way that had little to do with money, she realized.

Five.

Then Isabel felt a chill as she remembered the five beds in the infirmary downstairs, and she saw the horrible truth: They must have gotten sick, she realized. Isabel felt her face go flush and her throat begin to constrict.

Then there was noise from outside. It was her friends finding their own rooms. Isabel knew that Max and Liz would be staying together. And she had a feeling that Maria and Michael would put aside their differences for the night… especially given how scared Maria had been since they'd arrived.

Kyle didn't have anyone, but she thought he would be all right on his own for the night. He was single. He hadn't lost anyone. Like I have, she thought.

Alex.

What about Jesse? a part of her mind protested.

But it was different. She had left Jesse and she had done it because she was able to. She had not left Alex. She had lost him. Alex had been taken from her the way those five people must have been taken from one another. What had become of their happiness? Had they died together, or one at a time? Isabel couldn't decide which was more horrible.

More noise from outside. Laughter this time. To Isabel, laughter seemed inappropriate now, given what she was feeling. Quickly, she strode over to the door and slammed it closed. The crash of the door against the frame was satisfying. Immediately, a small thump sounded on the other side of the room. In the sitting area, a book lay facedown and open on the ground, and Isabel realized the slamming of the door must have knocked the book off the shelf.

She reached down to pick it up and saw that it was a black, leather-bound book that read "1948" on its spine. On the shelf above were a series of similar books that went back to 1938. Picking up the book, she saw that it was a hand-written journal, and the front of the book identified it as belonging to Robert Benton. The date of the entry that the book had opened to was March 15, 1938. Isabel got a chill and realized that the room seemed measurably colder all of a sudden.

She found herself afraid to read any further. This was the last book on the shelf, and she was sure it held answers to the questions she had had since they arrived. Answers to the feelings that this house brought out in her. For a moment, Isabel thought about returning the book to the shelf and leaving this room. She could find Kyle and stay with him.

That would be hiding, the thought rose up on its own.

They want you to know. And you need these answers.

But Isabel had decided a long time ago that she wouldn't let fear rule her, so she held her place in the book with her finger and walked toward the bed. She propped up against the headboard, climbed under the covers, and began to read the March 15 entry.

Later, Isabel would wonder how things would have turned out if she had just put the book away. Certainly they would have been different, but whether they would have turned out better, she didn't know.

"Nice big bed," Michael said, smiling. "Cozy," he added.

Maria rolled her eyes and headed into the room's bathroom. Michael had never slept in a bedroom that had its own bathroom before… unless you counted motel rooms. This was, without a doubt, the nicest place Michael ever stayed. It was certainly light-years from Hank and the trailer park.

Maria came out of the bathroom dressed in her long T-shirt. It didn't reveal much except her lower legs, but on her, it drove him crazy. He smiled and raised his eyebrows at her.

"If we weren't in such a God-awful creepy place, you'd be sleeping somewhere else, buddy," she replied, climbing under the covers.

"You tell yourself whatever you want, if that makes you feel better," Michael said, joining her.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Maria said, annoyed.

"It means we need to stop kidding ourselves."

"You are so sure of yourself, aren't you?" she said.

He smiled again. "No, I'm sure of you."

"You arrogant bastard! You men are all alike… and it looks like that goes for aliens, too," Maria yelled.

Michael tried to restrain his smile. "Yeah, it's a real problem," he said, and then he leaned over and kissed her.

Despite her annoyance, Maria responded immediately, kissing him and pulling him closer.

For a moment, the last two-plus years melted away, and they were back at the Crashdown, together… in the janitors closet and eraser room at school… in her room when her mother was out. Everything before or since slipped from his consciousness. He was getting lost again, getting lost in her. There were no pods. No Hank. No trailer. No Skins. No one was chasing them. There was only Maria, and she was sweet.

Perfect.

The only perfect thing in his life. Probably the only perfect thing he had ever known. He came up for air and said, "I knew you would come around."

"Who says I'm coming around," Maria said, kissing him again.

A moment later, he came up again and said, "You know, about us."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Michael. Just chalk this one up to the spooky surroundings and the heat of the moment. Don't try to make it more than it is." She was looking at him with her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open. He knew what she was offering, and he wanted it.

But there was something he wanted more.

A voice in his head kept repeating, Don't blow this. Take what you can get. He knew that voice. He had listened to it almost all of his life.

But not this time.

"What if I want more?" Michael asked, pulling back slightly. Even as he did, his body protested and tried to move him forward on its own. The voice in his head wasn't whispering now, it was screaming.

"Are you serious?" Maria said. "Who are you, and what have you done to my rude, insensitive former boyfriend?"

"Maria, it isn't that I don't want you…," he faltered.

"Well, I'm here, buster," Maria said.

Michael looked into her eyes. He had once said to her, Ever since I kidnapped you and stole your car, I knew you were the girl for me. Then he tried to do what he had thought he had always been ready to do: leave, on his own, with just the clothes on his back. But she had called him back. And it had probably saved them all. She had certainly saved him, something inside of him that was much more important than just his life.

"One night isn't enough, Maria. I want it all."

The voice in his head was screaming and pounding on the floor now, but it was out there. The rest was up to her.

Disbelief flashed across her face. "Hang on here a minute," she said. "Are you saying that nothing is going to happen here tonight unless I'm ready for a relationship?"

"Yes," he said.

"You're bluffing," she challenged.

"Good night, Maria," he said as he turned his back to her and put his head on the pillow. He could feel the stunned silence emanating from her side of the bed. There was a similar stunned silence coming from the voice in his head.

"This can't be my life," Maria whispered.

Michael turned back to face her. "Look, Maria, I've been running my whole life. I've always been ready to pack up and go, ready to leave it all behind to protect myself. I thought I had finally done it on graduation day, but something called me back. That something was you. Now that we're on the run, I realize there are things I can't live without. People I can't live without." He paused and took a deep breath. "I finally know what I want, what I've always been looking for. I want you, Maria."

She had listened to him in silence, her face blank. When he finished, she seemed to be collecting herself, then she spoke. When she talked, her voice was tight.

"Well, call the media: Michael Guerin has figured out what he wants. It's a miracle," Maria said.

Michael was flummoxed. His stomach had been in knots during his speech. Now he wasn't sure how to react. "Look, I don't know if you think this is coming too late, or that I'm doing this wrong, but I know that I want you and I'll do whatever I have to do to make us happen again," he said.

"What about what I want?" Maria said.

"I thought we wanted each other," Michael said.

"What if I don't want youT Maria said, raising her voice.

For a second, the old feelings came back to him with incredible swiftness. Of course, she didn't want him. Why would she? He didn't deserve her. He didn't belong with her. He belonged with a drunken SOB named Hank in a tin box at the trailer park.

As Maria continued to yell at him, Michael felt the blood rush to his cheeks and his throat get tight.