Suddenly a sense of mania overwhelmed her. She'd sat back too long, watching her family disintegrate before her very eyes. She was going to fight. She stood up, shuffling through the papers on her husbands desk, looking for anything, or any reason for his present distance. Seeing nothing but client papers, her urgency increased. He could return at any moment and she doubted that he'd be glad to see her snooping around. Her eyes fell on his blackboard. What is this, she thought, moving towards it. She lifted it, slowly revealing the contents behind its anterior. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she swallowed hard as her eyes fell on pictures. These weren't just any pictures, these were pictures of her family . . . her son, her daughter, with words like "coconspirators" written in her husbands handwriting. What was happening here. A tiny noise alerted her to the presence of another in the room. She whirled around her heart leaping into her throat.

"Honey," she said, seeing her husband and not knowing what else to say. Her eyes fell on the dish she'd brought. "I just wanted to surprise you with your favorite dish. It's. . ." She trailed off as she saw that his gaze had not wavered from the board and her position in front of it. Silence enveloped them for a few moments before she decided to speak. "Honey, what is all of this? I don't understand what is happening here. I mean, you've been distant for several weeks now. I want to understand . . ." She trailed off again, waiting expectantly for his reply.

He sighed, finally moving over to the dish. "Hmmm, this is my favorite." He smiled, "what's the occasion." Mrs. Evans, closed her eyes. "Honey, don't do this. Not now. It's too late to act as if everything is normal. Everyone may think I'm blind, and that I don't see what's going on. But I'm not, and I do see . . . everything. Now, I want to know what you think is going on, and what you are planning to do about it?"

Mr. Evans was silent. Then slowly he turned to face his wife. His eyes held a wistful light as he said, "Do you remember when we first adopted them. We didn't know anything about their past, but we did know we could give them a future." The light faded from his eyes and he moved towards the board. "Over the years, I've ignored the strange events that happen. The inconsistencies, the lies, the disappearing acts. I'd convinced myself that all children go through phases, that all teenagers lie to their parents. But they're not kids anymore and I can't . . ." He sighed, looking down, "I can't let it go unnoticed anymore. If I do I won't be able to live with myself if they end up spending their lives in jail."

Mrs. Evans looked at her husband stunned. "Are you saying that you think our children are criminals?

"Our children," he laughed, "you do realize that they are not really ours." Mrs. Evans took a step back. "We have raised those children like our own. We have loved them like our own. We have done everything for them. They would never --"

"Open your eyes, Kate." He cut in, raising his voice slightly. "It doesn't matter what we've done for them. They still do not trust us." He fell back into his chair wearily. "Max moved out because he didn't want to tell me what was going on. Isabel married against our wishes. They don't listen to us. They don't trust us."

"What exactly do you think is happening here, Andy. Because, I don't think I understand why this is eating at you." "What is happening?" He said in a sing song voice. "I'm talking about murder."

Mrs. Evans stared at her husband. "Murder," she said flatly. "Okay, honey, maybe we should take a vacation, you know, go away for a while, let the kids live their lives. . . " she trailed off suddenly.

"Where's Tess honey? Hm?" "People move."

"I asked Max and he lied to me. I think maybe she's dead, and Max is responsible."

"Max could never kill anyone. Max is a healer, he . . ." Mrs. Evans closed her mouth quickly, realizing she was had just blurted out one of the ludicrous ideas that had been running around in her mind since Max was a child.

"Max is a what?" "Nothing."

"You said healer. Everyone is crazy here." "I am not crazy." She took a deep breath, then through caution to the wind. "When he was a child he healed a bird with a broken wing. And last summer when I started an oil fire he put it out and claimed that he'd thrown water over it."

"Yes, and he probably did."

"You can't put out an oil fire with water," Mrs. Evans said quietly.

"So your suggesting Max has some sort of , " he waved his hands about wildly, "supernatural powers?" He laughed.

"Oh, it's easier for you to believe he's a murderer, is it?"

"I don't believe in the supernatural."