Chosen (Second Sight) by Hazel Hunter Page B

was thinking of leaving. In fact, her last words had been that she hoped to see her again. Geoffrey was waiting patiently and looking down at her. Isabelle took in a deep breath.
    “Well,” she said, trying not to let her voice show the tension she felt. “That’s too bad because I thought that, if I joined, I might have a friend here.”
    Geoffrey laughed out loud, a deeply musical and resonant sound.
    “Oh you’ll have friends,” he said, beaming at her. “No doubt of that.”
    She glanced at the buildings to the left and right of the main house.  
    “And, if one were to join,” she said, teasingly. “Where would one sleep?”
    “Well,” he said, conspiratorially, leaning closer. “It depends on whether you’re a man or a woman.”
    Isabelle felt her skin crawl.
    “Just for the sake of argument,” she said. “Let’s say I’m a woman.”
    Geoffrey grinned like a schoolboy.
    “In that case,” he said. “In the women’s dorm.”  
    He nodded at the building on the right.
    “Do you think I might be able to get a tour?”
    He virtually raced along the branching, gray gravel path as an answer. Unlike the main house, it was only one story but it had the same bright, white paint and green, shingled roof. It was a long building and narrow and, as Geoffrey held the door for her and she stepped inside, she could see why. Though it was well lit and the beds were covered with beautiful quilts, it was more like a barracks than a dormitory. Two rows of beds lined each wall. At the foot of each was a wood chest as wide as the narrow bed. Two of the beds near the far end were occupied–possibly women who weren’t feeling well. But as Isabelle looked more closely, she realized they were both pregnant. Maybe they’d needed bed rest. As Geoffrey escorted her down the middle, he lowered his voice.
    “We emphasize a life of minimalism,” he whispered. “Our members give up most of their worldly possessions when they join. The commune takes care of its own.”
    I’ll bet they do , Isabelle thought.
    “Where did Kayla sleep?” Isabelle asked.
    “Oh,” said Geoffrey, waving his hand in the air. “I have no idea. Honestly, men aren’t generally permitted in here. I don’t know that I ever saw where she slept.”
    Isabelle frowned at the two long rows of beds. There were simply too many to read, not that she could with Geoffrey’s hand clamped over hers.
    But as they crossed the midpoint of the building where two doors on either side separated the two halves, one of the women called out.
    “Geoffrey,” she said, smiling weakly. “Is that you?”
    Like a deer caught in headlights, he stopped. He glanced from Isabelle to her and back again. Then he patted Isabelle’s hand.
    “Would you be a dear and wait here?” he said. “I’ll just be a moment.”
    “Of course,” Isabelle said, sounding too cheery. “Take your time,” she said more calmly.
    As Geoffrey hurried over to the woman, Isabelle frantically looked around for any clue about Kayla. Though the patterns of the quilts changed from bed to bed, the arrangements were are all similar. Some of the nightstands held small picture frames or cell phones but there were no lamps or books. Various types of sandals and shoes were stored under the bed frames. But every bed was neatly made. The wood floors gleamed with a high polish. And not a single item seemed to be out of place.  
    Nor any sign of Kayla.
    Isabelle moved slowly along the side of the last bed in the first section and saw a trash can near the door. She glanced quickly back the way they’d come. With a quick check on Geoffrey, who’d seated himself on the edge of the woman’s bed, Isabelle strolled casually toward the trash can without looking at it. She checked Geoffrey again as he leaned down over the woman. Quickly, she glanced down into the trash. It was a large, wooden receptacle but lined with a white plastic bag. Used facial tissue, an empty bottle of shampoo. A few Q-tips. Isabelle