The room was empty. Darkness and cobwebs covered the corners. It was not a place you wanted to linger.
After a quick scan of the room, she moved on. It had to be here somewhere, but where?
Room after room, she searched unsuccessfully.
Perhaps it was lost to time much like this house had been. At one time, there were people here. The house bore witness to their joys and sorrows, triumphs and tragedies.
The people were long gone. The house fell into disrepair, a lone sentinel to a life forgotten.
Standing in the empty living room, tracing patterns in the dust, she wondered if any of it was real. The stories she had heard, the dreams she harbored about this place seemed to fall flat.
The empty house had no secrets to tell, no answers to give. She felt childish for holding out hope.
At the door, she turned back. One last glance, one last flicker of hope made her linger there. She half expected someone to come running down the stairs waiving a book, a photograph. Something. Anything.
But there was nothing.
She closed the door, walked down the porch stairs and go into her rental car. She drove away empty handed, empty hearted.