Shining Hill

Chapter 3

Annette's new room was bare, except for a bed in the corner and her luggage on the floor. It was a nice room, larger than the one she had, but it was foreign to her. She did not feel safe in the cozy room that was lit from the light of the setting sun that streamed from the window. There was a window seat there and, if it was any other place or time, Annette would have been thrilled at having a comfortable place to read. The cushion-less widow seat just reminded her of her old home and the boxes of stuff that held memories of her old life. It reminded her of the events that led her to be in that moment, staring into the room, listening to the happy chatter downstairs.

Annette closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She didn't want to go into the room, it wasn't her room, she didn't think it would ever be her room, but she didn't want to go back downstairs.

Mr. Warren was just as bubbly and cheerful as his daughter, while Mrs. Warren was subdued and sullen, her eyes having dark things swimming in them as they passed between Annette and Zander.

Zander had sat uncomfortably on the couch next to Annette, him shifting and twitching as he tapped his fingers on his knee, not really looking at the people in the room as his eyes darted to his surroundings. Zander mostly ignored everyone except for short, quick responses, unless Rosalie said something, in which his replies were more of a playful jab before anxiously looking around the room again. Annette sat quietly, smiling and nodding politely as someone addressed her, adding something here and there whenever the need arose, trying to ignore the stare of Mrs. Warren as the woman studied the children.

Zander felt like his skin was crawling. The living room was weird, with skulls and bones of long dead animals placed all over the shelves, next to old tomes with the titles on the spines worn away with age. Dried plants were pressed in frames that hung among the pictures of people that Zander recognized and didn't. Shadow boxes hung on one wall, strange things in them, such as pinned butterflies and other insects. A few of the shadow boxes held small, dead animals in them.

There was a large bay window that faced the street. The long, maroon curtain pulled away to show the window seat with fluffy cushions and pillows so that the person who sat there would be comfortable. Over the fire place was a portrait of a family in very old clothing, probably their ancestors.

The middle of the room didn't match the rest of the room. The couches that they sat on had floral patterns on them and the coffee table in the middle had a lacey white cloth over it, with lavender smelling potpourri in a crystal bowl in the center. Food covered this table, as well as saucers with cups full of tea.

Zander's jittery eyes glanced at Annette, but she wasn't looking at the room. She was studying the people.

Annette supposed Mr. Warren was nice, him joking and laughing with his daughter, but Annette already knew that there was something darker in Diana. Annette didn't trust the ray of sunshine, it seemed too bright to be real.

Mr. Warren had lighter hair than his daughter, which Annette hadn't thought was possible, but their eyes were the same. This close to the two of them, Annette noticed their eyes seemed to be illuminated from within. Annette had decided that this was a trick of the light.

Mr. Warren was consciously making sure he didn't look at Annette or Zander too long, unlike his wife who stared at them with piercing eyes.

Where Mr. Warren and Diana was light, Mrs. Warren was dark. Her short hair curled inward to frame her face, and her dark eyes held the secrets of the universe in them. There was no resemblance of this woman in Diana's face or features, her having a more solid built like her father than the stick-like build of her mother. Annette wondered if Diana was a child of a past marriage. She wouldn't ask about it, of course, that would be rude.