Sage's Eyes by V.C. Andrews Page A

closed. I concentrated hard on it.”
    He was just staring at me coldly now, wearing an expression I had not seen, a face full of just as much worry as my father’s, the face of someone who was waiting to hear terrible news. I was sorry I had even mentioned the drawer, but it was too late.
    â€œAnd?” he asked again when I still didn’t speak.
    â€œIt closed. I kept questioning myself about it, wondering if I had closed it without realizing it when I was finished looking at the contents.”
    â€œSo you did go into the drawer, searched the contents?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut you’re sure it was open? You didn’t do anything to open it?”
    â€œNo, but like I said, after I pictured it closed, I thought I heard it close. In fact, I thought my parentsmight have returned, seen it open, and closed it, but when I looked, no one was there. But the drawer was closed.”
    â€œAnd you think that’s how I moved the marble, by thinking hard about it?”
    I nodded. He continued walking.
    â€œHave you ever heard of telekinesis, the movement of objects with the mind?”
    â€œI did read about it,” I said, “after I had this experience, but I didn’t get deeply into it.”
    â€œSome people have the ability to do that more than others, or they learn to do it faster,” he said.
    â€œAnd you can do that?”
    â€œDon’t make me tell you my secrets,” he said. “Maybe you can do it, and that’s what happened with the file drawer. As I said, there are many people who can do that. It’s not voodoo. You didn’t ask your parents about this?”
    â€œNo!” I said emphatically. “And I hope you don’t mention it. I never told them I looked into that drawer. My mother came to my room and asked if I had been snooping in my father’s office. I denied it. Everything about it remains confusing to me, but I know she and my father would be upset.”
    He nodded. “I see how frightened you are of what they think of you, Sage. Is that what troubles you the most these days?”
    â€œIt’s not just these days,” I said. “There have always been too many secrets in our home,” I said.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œAbout me. And about them. They don’t tell mestories about their youth like the parents of other girls and boys my age do. It’s almost as if . . .”
    â€œAlmost as if what?”
    â€œAlmost as if they were just here,” I said, and he stopped. I thought he was going to talk about what I had said, but instead, he looked out across the lake as if he saw something. His eyes grew dark, the muscles in his face tightening. I looked in the same direction.
    â€œDo you come out here yourself a lot?” he asked, still concentrating on a portion of the woods. He seemed very worried suddenly.
    â€œI used to, but not lately, no. Why? Do you see something out there?”
    â€œNo.” He looked around. “My brother found a very isolated place to live. Just be careful.”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œOf everyone and everything. The world looks hopeful and promising to you now, as it should, but let your third eye look into the darkness, too.” He shivered as if he suddenly had a bad chill.
    â€œAre you all right?” I asked.
    â€œYes, fine. Let’s go back. I should spend more time with them. I don’t see them that often,” he added. He turned toward the house.
    I looked again in the direction that had captured his attention. The shadows moved, but the wind had started again.
    It’s just tree branches swinging , I told myself.
    But I knew there was something more, something I didn’t want to see. I turned and quickly caught upwith him. He looked so troubled now. Had I said all the wrong things? Was I wrong to admit lying to my mother and snooping in my father’s drawer? Did he think much less of me because of that? He spoke