Jim opened his book, ready to enjoy a story from his favorite author, but couldn't get any further than the first sentence.  He knew that his mother wasn't happy.  It was obvious by the way she spoke, and the look he saw just before he tried burying his face into the pages.  He sighed, and gently closed the book.  He took a moment to look at the cover, and traced his fingers over the golden letters.  With a force of will he put the book down, and gave it a pat.  It was the kind of pat a parent gave to child who was anxious to open their Christmas gift.  He might have been projecting.<br/><br/>"Hey mom."  He said as he pushed himself to his feet. "What's wrong."  He went over to stand by her.  "You haven't seemed the same since the others left, or is it this mansion?"  He frowned when he noticed the strange way her face went red, and she put the book down.  "Uhm.  Are you alright?  You look."  He had to pause to get the word out of the dusty shelves in his skull.  "Flustered."  He sat down on the armrest, where he feet ended.  "Well, whatever it is, would you like to talk about it?"  He paused to look at her legs, a bad habit he never seemed to stop.  "I promise I won't tell anyone anything."  He wasnt' sure why he said that, but he was certain it was the right thing to say.