Scars of White (AA, CC, MATURE) Part 49 1/29/09(WIP)

This is the place where fics that have not been updated in the past three months will be moved until the author asks a mod to move them back to an active board.

Moderators: Anniepoo98, ISLANDGIRL5, truelovepooh, Forum Moderators

User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

A/N: I added more previously's than initially intended for this part, due to the sheer length of time between this update and the last. Again my apologies for that. So if you feel you don't need all of them, just skim after the first one. ;)

The song (in violet italics) included will have its beginning part repeated to reflect the two scenes occurring simultaneously.

Reminder-- when Michael is in disguise-- he has short black hair, when Liz and Isabel are in disguise-- they have matching dark blonde hair with hazel eyes.



Previously…

[From The End of the World]
Needing a break of seeing Tess’ all too revealing black top, Liz glanced up at her once future husband. He remained silent at the moment, a certain intensity smoldering in his eyes. Her mouth becoming dry under his gaze, she breathed out, “What?”

He blinked, breaking the powerful connection that had been building. He seemed embarrassed, a slight blush settling on his unshaven cheeks. “Nothing. It’s just…seeing you at seventeen again is making it all come flooding back to me.” His pause was barely longer than a breath. But in that brief moment the intensity returned, reawakening something deep within her—something that she had hidden for months. His voice was low and passionate. “How my stomach used to rumble every time I saw you.”
~ ~ ~

[From Part 14]
The young ex-agent sat before the hearth, gathering the warmth spilling from its flames. In his hand twirled a small white card, one that he had glanced upon often in the past three weeks. A phone number and the letters L, A, N and G were printed on it. He had gotten it three weeks ago; on the day he had been fired.

“True justice” the man had said. Was that necessarily a better thing than what the Unit was doing to handle the enemy? Would it be to free him, possibly putting the nation in danger? Would it be to kill him, putting him out of misery, but then committing cold-blooded murder? Would he have to be the one to do that? Could he do that?

Perhaps he had been part of the wrong side all along—nothing about the Unit felt patriotic, just terrifying. Terror was exactly what he had seen in the eyes of the prisoner…
~ ~ ~

[From Part 27]
Liz turned to him, lowering her glass to the nearby table. Her lips had turned up into a seductive smile as her eyes shone with a secretive delight.

However as she drew closer to him her features began to waver, their outlines softening…blurring. Reaching out with worry he whispered, “Liz?”

But then her face disappeared.

“Liz? Liz!” he shouted with growing panic as the calm setting around him spiraled away into a black abyss.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 38]
Two shadowed figures returned to their car, one pulling out a cell. “It’s done,” he spoke as soon as the call was answered.

Good. Continue to follow them. Let me know their location when they stop for the night.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 40]
Michael watched Isabel fight her exhaustion. For minutes her eyes had been fluttering closed, before her head lightly jerked back, alertness briefly returning. Each time she awoke, her grip would strengthen around Max’s lax hand and a soft sniffle would escape her. But soon after, her eyelids would become heavy again, gradually lowering.

Though he knew he risked her wrath, he decided to take the choice out of her hands. They needed her rested, and her powers replenished. As her eyelashes lightly grazed her cheeks, he softly touched her head.

A minute later, her hand had relaxed around Max’s and her face leaned to the side, serene.
~ ~ ~

He couldn’t sleep.

He tensely sat in the chair facing the wall—the wall he was sure had had a large crack in it. He had initially dismissed it as a dream, but when he heard the screams…

No amount of exhaustion could put him to sleep then.



Needing to know what was happening next door, he quietly left his room.

Crouching, he attempted to peek through the window. He nearly lost his balance at the sudden vibration in his side pants pocket.

Clamping a hand over his mouth he released several gasps, struggling for control over his breath. The buzzing continued, so hesitantly he reached for it, stealing away from the window to answer.

Sitting in the shadows of the parked cars, he accepted the call, whispering a hello. So focused on the room before him and the call, he never noticed what car stood behind him.

Finally arrived?

The General. Of course. “Uh… yeah.”

Good. Get as much rest as you can, you’ll be leaving before 6. If you’re hungry, there’s a diner across the street open 24 hours. It has parking. Remember, be ready to leave at any moment.

“Um… right.”

And you might want to wear something warmer, it’s pretty chilly outside.



PART FORTY-ONE

A day and a half later
At the Canadian Border


The screams continued to haunt him.

For the past thirty-six hours he had been fighting to quiet the chilling screams resounding in his head. But he had waged a losing battle. There was a familiarity to the screams that captured all his thoughts, prickling with a need to be identified.

Tired from the hours of driving and weary from his fearful thoughts, his attempt to merge was too slow and a jeep cut him off.

Instantly the agonized screams in his mind transformed into furious curses. His hand just seconds from slamming the car horn, rational thought interrupted his explosive tirade.

He needed to keep his low profile. Gritting his teeth, he channeled his anger into his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. His narrowed eyes, observing his clenched hands, snapped wide open. He knew where he had heard that scream before.

The prisoner.

His grip on the wheel had slackened in his shock, his mind reeling. He was hardly aware of where he was anymore, or even if he was still breathing.

He jerked forward at a startling honk.

His face flushed with embarrassment as he released the brake and edged forward, once more closer to that infernal jeep. But his focus was no longer stolen by the arrogant jackass driving the jeep, but by the hidden passengers of the SUV a few cars ahead.

Had that poor soul finally escaped?

But what connection did that artist have with the prisoner?

And why did he still scream with such pain if he was free?

Were the ones in that car helping him? And if they really were…was that actually a good thing?

He couldn’t help the doubt that shrouded his guilt for his part in ‘interrogating’ the prisoner. All the files he had been privy to, had been instructed to memorize, still caused his stomach to squirm with dread of alien invasions and more corpses seared by silver. This internal war had been raging within him for nine months now, and he still had found no resolution.

Perhaps if he came face to face with the alien, he would know.

But a part of him was afraid he wouldn’t live past hello. Hell, he probably wouldn’t be granted the chance to utter a word.

His car edged closer to the toll booth.

He wearily ran a hand through his tawny brown hair, flatter than usual from the lack of attention for days. For a fleeting moment he almost missed the spikes he used to have in college, but then his eyes focused on movement by the SUV.

One window was open.

Blonde hair flitted out, long and silky. Curious, he reached for his binoculars and focused on the floating strands. Gradually the profile in the window sharpened, revealing an angelic face. She was beautiful and young, but as he continued to adjust the lenses, he noticed tears welling up in her eyes. She slowly blinked and the tears were gone, but the shadow of sorrow remained cast upon her face.

Slowly, he lowered the binoculars, his gaze already lowered in sympathy and… shame. For hours he had been thinking the worst of the ones he followed, and though he had learned time and again looks were deceiving, there was something so vulnerable on the girl’s face—something that tugged painfully at his heart.

God, how he missed his wife… his son.

He blinked a few times himself ridding his eyes of the building mist. As his sight cleared he noticed the SUV now stood before the booth, the officer approaching.

His fingers drummed against his steering wheel as he waited, his thoughts drifting to the girl’s face. She had seemed so familiar, but his mind had yet to form the connection to who she could be. A small smile briefly lit his face as he thought of his little sister, the dark eyes of the girl so similar.

The prisoner’s face flashed in his mind again. His eyes too were very similar…

Could it be?

Had he found the other… targets?

His breaths became shallow. Shakily, his hand patted his jacket checking his gun was still there. His stomach clenched and his heart squeezed painfully at the thought of causing any harm against the occupants of the car…against kids.

He had to do what was right… what was for the greater good.

The frightened eyes of the prisoner flashed yet again in his mind, followed by the tearful face of the girl in the window. Returning to the present, he narrowed his eyes at the car clock, realizing they were taking far too much time at the booth. Lifting his binoculars once more he saw the suspiciousness in the officer’s eyes.

The harsh reprimand from his ex-superior cut through his thoughts.

It is a merciless killer, do not forget that.

His face hardening with determination, he exited his car, and ignored the shouts and honks as he walked towards the SUV.
~ ~ ~ ~

Twenty-five minutes earlier
Approaching the Canadian Border

Music playing on car radio: Tears for Fears' Mad World covered by Gary Jules

The trees were thick and lush on either side of the road, causing the passing scenery to appear as a dark green blur. Kyle had to turn away from the window, unable to focus and continue his avid watch for pursuers. Though his stomach had stopped grumbling, a dull ache remained, leaving him weak and listless.

His gaze was now trained at his feet where the crumpled takeout bag from the lunch they had bought a few hours back lay. None of them had had much appetite since they had found Max, but they knew they needed to replenish their strength to keep going. Unfortunately, Isabel was still angry about being induced to sleep at the motel—too angry to listen to reason. It seemed only Max waking up would pierce through her stubbornness. Taking a longing glance at her, Kyle saw that that still held true.

All around me are familiar faces

He refused to give up on any of his friends. However, the unspoken vow of silence they all seemed to have taken made it difficult for him to help them. This whole ordeal had overwhelmed them all, and everyone’s stubborn need to stay strong for everyone else was keeping them just at the precipice of a complete breakdown. The silence and tension in the car weighed heavily on them all, oppressing any emotion, any stray thought. If something didn’t change soon… he dreaded to think what would happen.

Worn out places, worn out faces

So he did the only thing he knew to do.

In times of major of brooding, all you need is to laugh, he thought. It wasn’t some wise saying by Buddha, but it had worked to cheer up Isabel and Liz before. Releasing a short breath, he hoped it would work this time.

“So what do you guys think Mounties like mounting most?”

He saw Michael choke on a laugh at the steering wheel, while darting a nervous, wary glance at Maria. Fortunately, she was too shocked to return the usual lightning-fast slap to the arm or back of the head. Liz mirrored Maria’s open-mouthed expression of surprise, but he could see amusement starting to glimmer in her eyes. Turning to Isabel he saw her head slowly lift from its bent position.

Her laugh was hesitant and soft at first, a mere breath. But despite the lack of use, it soon strengthened into that beautiful deep laugh he treasured. Tears still came to her eyes, but they no longer fell down her smooth cheeks. Instead sorrow mixed with relief tumbled out in her laughs.

The dam had finally broken.

A smile crept on his face at the sound, and though a part of him sensed similar smiles of relief on his friends, he remained focused on Isabel. He could see that her laughs were dangerously close to turning hysterical. So, treading carefully, he lightly gibed, “Careful Isabel, you’re going to ruin your reputation of being the boring, broody alien.”

Her laughter instantly halted, her mouth hanging open. But a second later, her infamous haughty expression took over, and feigning coldness, stated, “I have never been boring.”

“We’ll just have to see.” Deciding to take a chance, though he knew he was treading on very thin ice, he turned away for a moment reaching for the crumpled takeout bag. Lifting it up he reached in and holding a burger out to her, “Eating contest?”

After a deafening second of silence he heard light giggling behind him. He felt it had been years since he last heard Liz laugh. But his gaze remained trained on Isabel, an eyebrow raised, unfazed by her deathly glare. Finally, dripping with disdain she retorted, “You have got to be kidding.”

“Hey, as Buddha says—”

“I swear, Kyle! Quote one word of that fat, bald man—” Her voice rose, as if lightning gathering to strike, but with a concerned glance at Max, she lowered it to a threatening hiss. It almost sounded like the distant rumbling of a coming storm, but Michael’s low voice cut it short.

“Actually Buddha wasn’t fat, he was just depicted that way in Chinese art,” Michael casually mumbled as he took the turn towards the border. With only his necessary brief glances at the rearview mirror he missed Isabel’s wrathful glare and Kyle’s grateful smile.

Kyle’s smile widened further as he commented, “Guess that makes that threat null and void!”

By this point most of the tension had been effectively diffused. All in the car, save one, rolled their eyes and lightly laughed at Kyle’s remarks. But he still wasn’t done. He had purposely taken the burger out to convince Isabel to eat something. Not only for her own good, but for his as well—he had taken it upon himself that he wouldn’t eat until she did. But she had barely been aware of what else was going on around her, her attention solely on her unconscious brother. Even if she had eaten before, he doubted he would have been able to eat much, his stomach felt like one completely twisted knot.

So with a cleansing breath, his eyes briefly closing, he offered her the burger once more. “So are we on?” His voice was gentle, but a wicked, competitive glint remained in his eye.

Bright and early for the daily races

Her facial expression was softer, understanding of what he really was doing shining through her eyes. For a brief moment she seemed to silently urge him to go ahead and just eat himself, but he would not be denied. Focusing her gaze on the burger, she wrinkled her nose. “It’s been sitting out for awhile...”

“Ah but you forget, that won’t stop us! There was one thing you guys taught me—” He broke off, narrowing his eyes in concentration at the burger, hovering a hand over it. His hands shook slightly from the irritating itching sensation of blood rushing through his veins. Again it escaped his awareness that there was a faint green light to those veins. A moment later the light was gone and the crave-inducing scent of the burger filled the car.

Before Isabel or Liz could make any comment about his hand, Kyle spoke, “Voila!” And with a mock bow he continued, “Lunch is served.” With a wink at Isabel, he whispered, “Yeah, I know, I’m good.”

Unable to help herself she let herself respond freely to his antics, her brilliant smile lighting up her weary, sorrowful face. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Shifting Max to lean against her shoulder, she finally took the burger. She bit into it gratefully, savoring the taste. A minute later it was gone.

Kyle having just heated his own burger, blinked in shock. “Guess that means I lost.”

Isabel only responded with a triumphant smile and a single raised eyebrow.

But the moment was soon gone, her focus automatically returning to Max. She gently lowered him back into her lap, and wiped his forehead with a cool cloth. So intent on her brother’s closed eyes, urging them to open, she didn’t realize Kyle had reached out, until he started waving his burger under Max’s nose.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, batting his hand away.

A deep rumble sickeningly reverberated in the car.

Kyle had yet to answer, but he was frozen in place, his hand holding the burger still hovering by Max’s face. He tried to work his mouth, but no words came out. All he could think was: had his idea actually worked?

Isabel leaned down, stroking Max’s cheek. Her voice was a tenuous whisper, gently calling out, “Max?”

No answer, no response, not even the churning protest of his empty stomach, met her call.

Her emotions still too close to the surface, she immediately broke down, tears filling her eyes. She lifted him slightly, holding him close and desperately whispered into his ear, “Max… Please Max… wake up… please wake up...”

Going nowhere, going nowhere

~ ~ ~ ~

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, Worn out faces


Voices resounded around him, blurring into each other. Sitting amidst idle chatter of several teens, all voices were indistinguishable to Max—except for hers. He searched through the throng of colorful tank tops and t-shirts in the Crashdown Café for the familiar turquoise dress lined with silver.

Bright and early for the daily races

Though his senses were assaulted by the noise of the crowd, the strong scent of burgers on the grill, and the intruding warmth of the day’s heat wave, Max remained unperturbed by it all. He was content to sit silently, leather jacket still on, seeking a glimpse of his living dream.

Going nowhere, Going nowhere

A lanky jock lowered into a booth filled with his friends, and finally she came into view. She was laughing, her ponytail of shiny brown hair bobbing with excitement and happiness. She couldn’t look more beautiful.

His stomach rumbled.

The sensation was familiar, one that always accompanied each cherished sight of her. The noisy churn of his stomach came not from a hunger satiated by food, but one that desired… yearned for even the briefest touch, the briefest connection with her.

For years he had lived his dream vicariously through others—those who were normal…human, like Kyle. Another peal of laughter tore through the café’s din as she responded to yet another one of Kyle’s jokes. But soon she was called away.

Their tears are filling up their glasses

She was moving towards him.

Each step she took, he felt his heartbeat quicken, his breath and senses leaving him. Soon the world seemed to fall away, save for her face, that sweet smile, those soft lips…

Max, wake up!

His head jerked to the right, facing his sister once more. His face was sheepish for having been caught staring…again. But before he could utter an apology, even a word, her facial features began to blur, gradually dissipating into utterly smooth skin.

No expression, No expression

Alarmed, he frantically searched the café for help, but the same blank, smooth faces were all he saw. Except… for Liz’s.

He tried to stand to move towards her, not understanding how she still hadn’t reached his side. But he couldn’t move.

Hide my head I want to drown my sorrows
No tomorrow, No tomorrow


It’ll be better this way

Max shuddered at the low, deep voice—a voice that signified only pain for him. He shook his head, hysteria building within his chest as the faceless crowd began to swirl around him, soon swallowing up the sight of his beloved. Desperate in his futile struggles to move, he gasped out, “Why—why?”

And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
These dreams in which I’m dying, Are the best I've ever had


He stopped cold at the reply.

Weaknesses must be eliminated

“No, NO! LIZ!!!”

For a fleeting moment he thought he saw her, her wide brown eyes filled with tears. But they soon melted into nothingness, her face as blank as the others and her body becoming shrouded by darkness.

I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it’s a very, very
Mad World, Mad World


As he was captured once more by absolute blackness, he heard her husky whisper, Max?

~ ~ ~ ~
“Max?!” Liz cried out, leaning over Kyle, her hand reaching towards Max’s face. He had called her name, she was sure of it.

But her hand was caught before she could touch his cheek.

“What are you doing?” Isabel asked, though her voice was soft and concerned, she couldn’t stop the harsh edge coming through, her panic building. Liz only blinked at Isabel in shock, a tear escaping swiftly down her cheek. Isabel though forged on, “You were the one that pointed out it’s dangerous. I know it sounded like your name, but it might not have been. He’ll wake up. He just needs time to...” she paused to take a deep breath, suppressing the sob in her throat, “…to heal.”

Liz roughly pulled her hand from Isabel’s grip, stung by the reminder that her touch would hurt Max. She hoped that Isabel was right, that Max would wake up, would somehow manage to heal.

Slowly she pushed herself back into her seat, glancing at Kyle in apology. But he was sadly staring at his feet.

Kyle inwardly sighed, staring at his fallen and crushed burger, And then again, there were some things powers couldn’t save. At that thought he gazed over his shoulder at Isabel and Max. He had been trying to lighten things up, trying too hard. He knew to leave it alone now, knowing the only real thing that would help was if Max woke up. Leaving him again with the question plaguing him since they were at the motel, how?

He had no chance to come up with another idea as the toll booth came into view. They were almost home free. But his chest remained constricted with dread at the possibility of an agent still appearing…or even a freaky, alien light show.

Again he darted a glance behind him, just to reassure himself. As he turned to face forward, he noticed Isabel had pushed her window back, her tearful face bathed in sunlight. The golden rays gently kissed her cheeks and caressed her hair, making her appear as a mournful angel. Feeling a sudden heat building within his body, he forced himself to face forward, bringing to mind his Buddha statue to calm him down.

All was quiet in the car, Kyle finally realizing that the radio had been shut off. Apparently, Michael had reached his limit of the pop station. Looking past him and Maria, Kyle saw that they would be at the toll booth soon. With perfect timing, Maria reminded, “Guys, get your passports ready.”

“Right,” Isabel immediately responded, sounding prepared as always. Kyle turned back at her voice, seeing not a tear on her face, but much sorrow still hiding just beneath the surface. Her hair soon shrouded her face as she pulled out her passport. Suddenly, she gasped, her head jerking up, and leaning back against her seat. She quickly followed that with a curse, “Oh shit…” In a panic she called out, “How much longer ‘til we’re at the booth?”

“The car just left. One more and it’s us,” Michael answered.

“Oh God…” she softly groaned. “I need…” she trailed off desperately looking for something. Coming upon the takeout menu they had used the day before for lunch, she folded it and holding her own passport closed her eyes concentrating hard.

Just as Michael called over his shoulder to hurry up, she broke out of her seeming trance. Breathing heavily, she swiped away the beads of sweat upon her forehead, and looked down at what now lay in her clenched hand. With a sigh of relief, she saw that she held a passport identical to hers. Swallowing to catch her breath, she waved her hand over the first page, smiling when it reflected the name of her brother—‘Zachary Carter’ and his picture with the dark blonde hair she and Liz sported. Overwhelmed with relief that she had created the passport in time, she did not think twice about Max’s presently short, dark brown hair. “Ok…” she breathed in deeply once more, calming her frayed nerves. “Ready.”

“Passports please.”

Wordlessly they passed their passports forward, and all in hand, Maria handed them to the guard, answering, “Sure thing, officer.” She flashed a bright smile, receiving one back.

Still observing their passports, the officer casually asked, “What is the purpose of your visit?”

“Visiting friends,” Maria quickly replied. Realizing her nerves were getting the better of her, she paused to take a breath and glancing back, continued, “Their house actually, they’re returning home.”

The officer gently nodded, slight amusement appearing on his face. He quickly returned Michael’s and Maria’s passports, but unable to see too clearly, he moved towards the back of their SUV to look through Isabel’s still open window. He smiled at her too, returning her passport, as well as Liz and Kyle’s. However, he paused at Max’s. “Um… Miss, would you mind waking him up?”

Isabel froze for a brief moment, darting a nervous glance at Max and then Michael. Slightly stuttering, she replied, “Um… I- I’m really sorry sir… my brother actually took uh…” she darted another glance at Max, momentarily distracted by his shiver. “…some medicine that knocked him out.” As she turned back to the officer, she spied Kyle’s crushed burger on the floor, an idea sparking in her mind. Meeting the officer’s gaze, she swallowed thickly, her throat drying rapidly in her panic, and completed her lie, “He’s recovering from… food poisoning.”

The officer narrowed his eyes for a moment, but taking in Isabel’s sincere, beautiful face, he seemed swayed to believe her. Gently he requested, “Then could you lower his hood, so I could see his face better? Just for procedure.”

With a nervous smile, she turned towards Max in compliance. Just as her hand touched the edge of his hood, her eyes widened. The burn marks on Max’s head were still prominent. Why hadn’t she changed his hair before they arrived?, she mentally berated herself.

Turning back to the officer, a shaky smile on her face, she tried to come up with some excuse, but for once was at a loss. She could see the hardened look of suspicion in the earlier kind eyes of the officer.

Get off the road, moron! Idiot! Go back to your car!

Isabel jerked her head to the right looking for the source of the sudden shouting and honking behind them. The officer too had instantly turned. Still holding Max’s passport he moved away, out of sight.

Fear building within her, she whispered out, “Oh God, what are we going to do?”

“What we have to,” Michael steely stated. He called over his shoulder, “Kyle, get ready.”

Michael was ready to floor it out of there, but Maria’s hand stopped him. “Just wait a few minutes.” She addressed both him and Kyle. “It may not be as bad as we think.”

“Yeah, it could be worse,” Michael muttered, running a hand through his short black hair.

Just then the officer came back. Quickly handing Isabel Max’s passport, he said, “You’re all set, have a good rest of the summer kids.”

There was no time to question the slight irritation in the officer’s voice, and his distracted demeanor. Michael drove off, not giving any chance for anything to go wrong. But all in the car silently thought the same thing—just what had happened back there?

~ ~ ~ ~
Several cars behind
Inside a black sedan


What happened?

“He distracted the guard. The Royals are safe.”

The officer didn’t make any calls?

The shadowed figure turned to his companion who had continued to observe all occurring by the toll booth. Receiving a slow shake of the head, he answered into the phone, “None that we saw. The others are still monitoring the lines.”

Good. When you cross the border, head to the next rendezvous point. It seems we can trust him after all.

“We could offer further persuasion,” the figure commented, his eyes turning dark with his need to protect the Royals, particularly his commander. Even though the man had acted without any coercion, it wasn’t enough for him to believe in the supposed good of humanity. The daily destruction of their own planet was argument enough to convince him otherwise. And ever since he saw this man snooping around the Royals’ room, he certainly did not trust him.

That won’t be necessary.

The call ended abruptly, but it did not affect the figure at all. Wordlessly, he turned to his companion, nodding. His companion signaled, and releasing the hand break, turned back into traffic, merging into line, to enter Canada.
Last edited by behrinthecity on Tue Jan 30, 2007 9:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.
User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

I would just like to thank you all again for still being here to read this story. It still amazes me that people read this story and that after such a long gap, are still here reading, and that there are new readers too!

I have actually had this part ready for two days-- [all due to the amazing speediness of LTF-- MANY THANKS to her!!!], but just haven't had the time to get back over here. I also did debate to hold it a little longer so that my posts can be more even, but with two exams next week and one soon after that in the following week, I thought I better post this now and promise you that the next part will be up in about two weeks. I have that part about 3/4 done, and will do my best to use study breaks to finish it and get it for beta-ing.

So though it's a tad short, I hope you all enjoy it.

Thank you again LTF for beta-ing.

Thank you all again for reading.

clueless- Thank you dear! I hope this wasn't too long. ;)

sprayadhesive- Thank you for your comments as always! :D About the guy-- he was very conflicted in the beginning of that part, but he's getting clearer about his priorities and beliefs. So only briefly did he consider having to use his gun.

I love Gary Jules' version-- the way he's simplified it makes it that much more powerful and poignant. Absolutely beautiful. Apparently there's a video of him performing it live on youtube too! :D

Also, thank you so much for recommending this story... that just makes me... :oops: :D... it's just... wow.

Gnomie- :D Thank you!!! Sorry again for the LOOOOOOONG wait. I'm working on that not happening again! As for getting Max back... the gang is working on it. ;)

Flamehair- Aww loved the hugging smiley! Hugs back! I say your description for this ex-agent following them is as good as any! :)

AND CONGRATULATIONS to you!!!!! That's wonderful that you're going to have a baby-- the little timeline you have there is adorable by the way! And that's a lovely name you have chosen.

Scottie- Awww thank you so much for commenting on the song. The use of that song is actually partially due to a CSI episode that I caught when I was visiting back home during the summer. It used this song at the end of it... and the scene with Max just instantly came to me-- and I knew it was the perfect fit. :D

As for answers... you know what I always say-- that'll come later. :twisted:

Hugs back!

Augustus Snodgrass- Welcome and thank you so much!! I am very happy to hear you've enjoyed the story so much so far! Hope you like this part!

dreamon- Thank you dear. It's really nice to hear that. :) Hope this is soon enough! ;)

jbangelo- Thank you!! And I can't remember now if I congratulated you-- so CONGRATS again! Also for your nomination at Roswellian Chronicles! And yep, saved their butts he did! ;)

Realistic Dreamer- you read this story?! :shock: Wow! I am very happy and surprised to see you over here (so nice and exciting to have another one of my favorite authors actually reading my story, and also to have another reader as well!!) Welcome and thank you for your comments. I am really glad to hear you liked Michael's comments about Buddha. I definitely liked those moments in the show that revealed the very intelligent side to Michael. Just because he ditched school, doesn't mean he doesn't know things. :) ahh that scene when he quoted Ulysses was great. And specific to the how Buddha is depicted in Chinese art... that's just somewhat of my own pet peeve that people only think of Buddha in that form, when if you trace back to his origins in India you'll see a much closer (thin) version to what he looked like when he lived-- especially since for a large period of his life he was an ascetic. Well that and in Southeast Asia (especially Thailand-- beautiful statues there in the temples).

All right I won't let you guys have to wait any longer. On to the part!


A/N: No previously's for this one.



PART FORTY-TWO

Hours later

Dead grass crunched beneath her feet.

Her steps were slow, hesitating at the distant sound of faint rumbling. She halted at a sudden white crack splitting the dark grey sky, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

Moments later she could hear the rush of rain. She glanced around at the moss covered graves becoming drenched in the steady downpour, then down at her own clothes, appearing in dark shades of grey, clinging to her body. Yet, she did not feel the cold, harsh drops upon her skin.

All she felt were the warm, gentle streams of tears running down her cheeks.

Bright white light flashed around her. Her eyes shut instantly and her shoulders tensed. With eyes still closed she could hear the rumbling grow louder, but failed to hear a faint crunching nearby.

She continued to hold herself tighter, trying to remember why she was there…

A familiar touch stroked her cheeks, wiping her tears away.

Her eyes fluttered open, taking in a most welcome sight. With a relieved smile, she threw herself upon him, holding his tall frame close.

“You came back.”

His comment was matter-of-fact, no hint of surprise in it. But the gentleness he always used with her, still clearly rang through.

She shifted away slightly, looking up into his serious and eternally youthful face. Long bangs still shrouded his forehead, just as he had worn it after returning from Sweden… just as the last time she ever saw him. She tried to ground herself in his comforting dark eyes, but she was far too strained and shattered by her emotions. Thickly, she whispered, “I…I feel so lost.” Turning away to stare out into the wet, grey graveyard, she continued, “We’re all… lost.”

Alex said nothing, but continued to hold onto her. She turned back to him, speaking her next words urgently. “Max won’t wake up. I’m afraid…” Her breath hitched. “…he never will.”

Again his hand gently wiped away her tears. “There’s something else,” he quietly prodded.

She nodded slightly, moving out of his embrace. Unable to take his unwavering gaze, she stepped farther down the path, staring at the black marble of his headstone. She hugged herself, one hand rubbing her arm unconsciously. Still without a word, she slowly lowered to the ground, lightly brushing the soaked, curled, black petals of desiccated roses. She picked one up, its rain drenched head wilting against her palm. Staring at the sopping mess of black in her hand, she whispered, “We were too late to save you.”

She looked over her shoulder, surprised to see him standing right behind her. Shifting on the soft, muddy ground, she rose to stand, dropping the rose. Forlornly gazing at it, she continued, “And back then…we had Max. We had hope that maybe he could do something.” Her eyes suddenly lifted to meet his. “He’s the only one of us who possibly could!” Tears of despair streamed down her cheeks once more.

Again he gently wiped them away and then moved to pick up the fallen rose. He lifted her hand and held the rose between their palms. She watched him, not understanding. With a deep breath, she softly added, “But now…”

She trailed off as the wet, shriveled head of black, blossomed into a deep crimson.

“How do you save the savior?”

Her eyes darted to his, wide. She stood frozen in place, blinking against the gradually slowing rain, her hand still intertwined in his, surrounding the resurrected rose. Swallowing thickly, she questioned back, “How do you—I help him?”

Desperation taking over, she clung tighter to his hand, ignoring the small stab of a thorn in her palm. “How do I bring him back?” she cried out, her voice breaking.

With his other hand, he gently loosened her grip, leaving the rose in her hand. Taking hold of her free hand, he intertwined their fingers. Looking down at their joined hands, he slowly lifted his head, her gaze following his, until their eyes met once more. With a small, encouraging smile he answered, “How did you last time?”

She regarded his question with confusion, her weary mind unable to make the connection. Her mouth moved slightly trying to utter her question, but if any word had escaped, it was lost in a sudden intense growl resounding around her. Startled, her head jerked to the side, only to be met with the sight of her house, tinted through the SUV’s window.

She blinked several times, not understanding what just happened.

“Isabel?”

She turned, spying Kyle watching her with concern. He glanced down at her lap, then, holding her gaze asked, “Are you okay?”

She hesitantly nodded, her mind still lost in a grey, dreamy fog. Gradually she took in her clenched fist by Max’s side. Lifting it up, she stiffly opened it, spying where her nails had bitten sharply into her palm. Running a finger along the bloody punctures, she blinked slowly a few more times, an image of a rose newly revived, flashing before her.

Starting at a gentle touch to her shoulder, she took in Kyle’s concerned face once more. This time, he gestured to the open car door where she could see everyone already stood, waiting for her.

With a curt nod, she quickly swiped at her dampened cheeks and gently helped shift Max into Kyle and Michael’s waiting arms. After he was safely bundled in Michael’s arms, she picked up her bag, shifting to exit the car. As she stepped down, she lost her balance, ungracefully falling into Kyle’s arms.

“Whoa!” he called out at the impact. But as she tried to push him away with embarrassment and clumsily regain her footing, he whispered, “Don’t worry, I’m holding on… I’ve got you.”

If I’m holding on to you, maybe you won’t get lost.

Her eyes briefly widened, lit with realization. A smile flittered upon her face, as she turned from Kyle to gaze at Max’s bundled form in Michael’s arms. Maybe all was not lost.

But before she could broach her idea to the others, Michael muttered, “All right, let’s get inside before it starts raining again.”

Liz quickly ran up to the door, key already in hand. With everyone piling in through the doorway, she just waved her hand in the general direction of the lights to turn them on.

Everyone froze.

On the couch sat a short, stocky man in a designer suit. With a sneering smile he greeted them: “Welcome home, kids.”
- -

Note: One line taken from The White Room
Last edited by behrinthecity on Fri Feb 02, 2007 3:29 am, edited 1 time in total.
User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

Previously…

[From Part 28]
“This whole freezing time concept… it just…,” Kyle’s voice rose with his frustration. Lost in his emotions, the sudden charge in the air, and the accompanying crackling went unnoticed by him.

Liz attempted to call his attention to the change, moving forward to tug at his arm, but she too was ignored. Her eyes continued to widen as she saw his hand begin to glow. However, she was unable to speak one word as Kyle bit out, “I can’t get it to work when I want it to!” Liz hardly heard the angry words though as she jumped away, taken aback by the painful shock in her hand and the sight of a bolt of green lightening hurtling towards the floor.

Had he taken a step forward, he would have fallen through the hole burned into the floor.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 40]
Seeing the door still closed, Liz turned back to the others, finally registering the words coming from the TV.

…there has been an explosion in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. This does not appear to be a terrorist action; however authorities haven’t completely ruled out foul play and have raised the security alert to orange. The explosion is currently believed to have been caused by a gas leak. Authorities assure the town that there is no present danger; however they urge people to proceed with caution until the leak has been confirmed and cleared. More updates on that in an hour.

A gas leak? Liz’s eyebrows rose when she heard that, her back tensing. Something was wrong… how could there have been a leak?
~ ~ ~

[From Part 42]
On the couch sat a short, stocky man in a designer suit. With a sneering smile he greeted them: “Welcome home, kids.”


PART FORTY-THREE

In a matter of seconds Michael had pushed the others behind him, lifting his blasting hand while calling out to Kyle, who in response lifted his hand to freeze the intruder only to find himself awkwardly cradling Max in his arms. But before Michael could utter a word, or even a frustrated curse at Isabel’s stubbornness to remain by his side, Liz had called out behind them: “You’re Cal. Cal Langley.”

Having stood up, an eyebrow arched at the past few chaotic seconds, Cal gazed between the raised arms of Michael and Isabel at Liz, his sneer widening into a cold smile. “And you’re Liz. Liz Parker.”

Liz swallowed nervously, remembering the murderous fire Cal had set all those years back, and his own attempt on Max’s life as well. Her wide eyes remained focused on Cal, but cut instantly to Michael as he shouted, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Cal coolly turned to Michael, eyeing Michael’s still raised hand. But then his gaze shifted to the oddly shaped bundle of clothes in Kyle’s arms… to Max. Clearing his throat of a sudden knot, he answered, “Just wanted to ensure you all arrived safely.”

A snort escaped Isabel, while Michael retorted, “Oh now you want to play protector?”

After a brief glare at Michael, Cal returned his gaze to Max. In a quiet, controlled voice, he asked, “How is he?”

With a look of disbelief, Isabel cried out, “How do you think he is?!” Pointing at Max’s form, which Kyle clumsily tried to shift to properly hold him, “He has been unconscious for three days! God knows when the last time he ate—”

“He was given a meal the morning you rescued him. Granted much before then had been through an IV drip, and what he managed from it—”

“You were there? You were a part of this?!” Michael exploded, the frames on the wall clattering against the wall, threatening to fall and shatter at any moment.

“I was there. But to help you save him. Trust me, he would have already been killed if I hadn’t shown up when I did.”

“He wouldn’t have even been in danger, if you had done your job,” Liz coldly and succinctly stated. She still held much residual anger and fear toward this ‘protector’ and shapeshifters in general.

Bristling with decades of resentment, Cal snapped, “I never considered it a job. It was an imposition. But… as much as I resented… all right, I’ll admit it—hated Max and the monarchy, I couldn’t leave him there. No one…” he faltered briefly, as his anger shifted to the now destroyed Special Unit, “No one deserves what they did to him.”

Michael and Isabel’s arms wavered slightly, at Cal’s reply. Behind them, the others bit their lips as their stinging eyes darted glances at Max, who now lay on the couch. Though Kyle had been able to support Max’s weight easily (far too easily), his height, even in a slightly curled up position, proved a challenge to hold. Having maneuvered him along the edges of the room, he had snuck up to the couch, gently lowering Max. Turning to Cal, he questioned, “What about the bomb? If you were there, why didn’t you remove it?”

Briefly startled, Cal took a moment to answer. Then with a shrug he replied, “It wasn’t real. I ensured things only looked real. Nothing more.” Having turned back to the others, Cal missed the steely glare upon Kyle’s dark, reddening face, as well as the clenched fists by Kyle’s sides.

Her eyes narrowing in thought, Liz mused out loud, “So… you set up the gas leak?”

With a short nod, Cal replied, “I arranged it.”

Shaking her head slightly in confusion, Liz asked, “Why?”

“To give you guys more time to get out. Once you were outside again, it started.”

Seeing another accusatory retort about to burst forth from Michael, Cal added, “If I could have found a quicker and easier way, I would have done it. But what occurred was what allowed for all of you and your families to remain safe. Believe me, if that hadn’t been a factor, Max could have been rescued far earlier… damn covering tracks!” His gaze bore into Isabel and Michael’s, watching with satisfaction as their arms finally lowered to their sides.

Michael and Isabel shared a quick, uncertain glance, before Michael addressed Cal, his restless hands retreating to his pockets. “Thank you.”

Cal seemed genuinely taken aback at the soft utterance. After an extended silence, he nodded curtly, straightening his posture and regaining his cool composure. He strode forward to the door, the gang stepping out of his way, each uncertain of what else to say or do. With his hand on the doorknob and his foot in the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder, stating, “I’ll be in touch.”

The door shut with a definitive click reverberating in the silent house.

The click brought them out of their collective stupor. Kyle was the first to move, rushing out the door without a word. Running down the pathway, he turned his head from side to side searching for Cal.

He was gone.

“Da—” He cut off his frustrated yell, suddenly aware of how quiet the street was, thunder rumbling in the distance. Breathing heavily, he lowered his arm. His fists clenched tightly as he suppressed his anger at Cal. With an exasperated huff, he stalked back into the house, past his confused friends and out into the backyard.

Releasing his fists slowly, he finally noticed a few sparks of green. Satisfied that he would have some release, a cold smile crept upon his infuriated face. Taking in the brick wall at the back of the yard, he raised his hand, palm out.

Nothing happened.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He let out the expletive cry he’d cut short earlier, falling to his knees, pounding a fist into the mucky ground. All that worry… all his energy focused on… on… nothing! As he thought again of Cal's deception, his eyes narrowed, the fury no less abated.

Heavy breaths escaping him, he rose, lifting his muddied hand. Envisioning Cal standing before him, he concentrated. As if meditating, his breaths evened out and his focus sharpened. Everything else faded from awareness.

The lightning and rumbling echoes in the distance went unnoticed by Kyle. He was fortunate for the late hour, the threatening storm, and the tall trees that bordered Isabel and Liz’s house. With the charged air, no one would have thought much of the absolute stillness of the trees, not a leaf rustling. All on the street were safely tucked into bed, unaware of the disrupted flight of an owl now frozen in the air.

All but one, were also unaware of the green light sparking in Kyle’s outstretched hand.

~ ~ ~ ~
Back in the house
Minutes before


All four of them stopped to stare towards the backdoor, baffled by Kyle’s behavior. Michael and Isabel were mid-way up the stairs, cradling Max between their arms to carefully maneuver him up the carpeted steps. Downstairs, by the couches, were Maria and Liz. At Max’s shiver, Michael and Isabel finally moved back into action, continuing up the stairs.

At the top, Isabel gestured toward Liz’s room with her head, breathing out, “Liz’s room. It’s closest.”

With a short nod, Michael shifted Max further into his arms, allowing Isabel to lead them into the room. Fumbling at the wall, her eyes on Max, she switched on the light and then moved to pull back the covers. In seconds, they had tucked Max beneath Liz’s comforter, Isabel immediately sitting beside him.

Michael stood awkwardly at the door, watching his siblings with pained eyes. He saw her gently push back the hood and cradle Max’s head, her other hand hovering over it. Moments later, as a soft glow dissipated, he saw the sickening burn marks were hidden behind dark locks, though those locks were still no where near the thickness or length of just a year before. He cleared his throat, attempting to say something, but stopped at the sound of Isabel’s voice.

“I know it’s… selfish.” She sniffed. “But…” Trailing off, she stared at the curtained window with an unfocused gaze. “I just needed him to look like… Max.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Every time I look at him, all I can see is what they did to him… what he suffered…” Her gaze trailed away from the window lowering to the floor as her chin rested lightly on her chest. Struggling against the soft sobs bubbling within her, she whispered “… all I see is that we lost him.”

She turned to Michael then, a sudden determination to her glistening eyes. “But I was thinking… maybe we’re not too late. Maybe I can get through.” A teary smile appeared as she spoke.

Michael’s eyes briefly widened in comprehension, his feet shifting in place.

“I just…” She faltered, the hopeful, desperate smile wavering. “There has to be some use for our powers, right? Something… good?” Her wide brown eyes pleaded for affirmation.

Michael lowered his head staring at his hands for a long moment. Lifting his gaze to Isabel, he quietly answered, “I hope so.”

She could only nod in response, her gaze drifting to Max.

Lifting a hand to his eyebrow, lightly scratching at it, Michael asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

Nodding a few times, her gaze darting between Max and Michael, she replied, “Yeah, could you bring my bag? I dropped it on the living room floor, when…” she trailed off not yet ready to discuss what just happened with Cal.

Following her train of thought, Michael abruptly straightened, turning to leave the room, “Yeah.”

A minute later he handed her bag to her. Their gazes held for a long moment. “Um, so I’ll just be outside.”

Again, she could only nod in response, watching as he softly closed the door. Slowly, she turned back to Max. She glanced at his face and then at the bag on her lap, she clawed through her bag, pulling out a small book. In seconds she had extracted the photo hidden in its pages. At the sight of his smiling, creased-over face, she calmed a little, unaware of her bag slipping to the floor.

Just in time, she caught her bag. Her hand violently gripped it as she struggled to control her easily agitated emotions. Stiffly, she lowered it to the floor. Only when it touched the floor, did she peel her hand away. Straightening up, she released a few slow breaths, silently commanding herself to get a grip. Nervous energy running rampant in her system, she began to fidget. Flipping the photo in her hands several times, she stared at Max, her silent breaths synchronizing with Max’s soft, shallow, raspy ones. Running a shaky hand through her hair, she released a harsh, cleansing breath, her eyes briefly shutting.

She snapped her fingers. Flames sprung from the few candles scattered about the room in an assortment of candle holders. Simultaneously, the ceiling light turned off. The flickering shadows gave a slight golden tint to Max’s sallow skin, and helped to hide some of the bruises. Despite the injuries being less visible, her stomach clenched. Her nerves once more on edge she nervously pushed at Max’s newly grown hair, smoothing it lightly over his forehead. Biting her lip, she turned back to the photo tightly clenched in her other hand.

Her eyes darted from the image of a vibrant, smiling Max in the creased photo, to the frail, battered man lying beside her. Earlier, she'd had doubts that she would be strong enough to forge the connection between them. Without the aid of the photograph, she was unsure of her ability to maintain her concentration when confronted with the brutality of his appearance. Straightening with resolve, she set the photo on the bedside table and blindly searched under the comforter for Max’s hand.

His clammy hand weighed heavily in hers—still limp... seemingly devoid of life… until a shiver ran through his body.

She closed her eyes tightly, releasing a long breath, preempting the ever-threatening sobs within her. In her firm grip, she gently stroked Max’s hand with her thumb, wishing the mere touch would be enough to rouse him. With each soft stroke she breathed out a plea to Max to let her in, her forehead scrunching with concentration.

It instantly smoothed as she broke out of her trance with frustration. Lifting a hand to push back her hair, she gazed at Max with disappointment. Their bond had been severed for far too long. Glancing at the photo on the bedside table, she latched onto the idea that maybe if she could focus on a time when their bond had been at its strongest—not a shred of doubt between them… just maybe the connection could be restored. With that hope in mind, she snatched the photo from the table. Smoothing it against her leg, and with a deep breath, focusing on that memory, she placed her finger lightly on Max’s smiling image. Lowering her eyelids, she reached for Max’s hand at the last second—a physical reminder that he really was there. Silently she prayed that she could reach out to wherever his mind was lost to.

A soft white glow briefly flowed from her finger.

Moments passed by, only the rise and fall of their chests showing both Evans’ still lived.

Lost in utter darkness, Isabel never realized the objects in the room slowly lifting into the air.

~ ~ ~ ~
The hallway


As soon as Michael had closed the door he was captured by Maria’s uneasy gaze. They stood for over a minute on opposite sides of the hallway, silent.

In that minute, Maria saw the hauntingly familiar lost look in Michael’s eyes. The hunched shoulders as his hands jammed further into his pockets. All that was missing was the rain that had soaked him all those years back, standing outside her window. Her voice was lost to the weariness emanating from Michael, and her own fatigued body was too sluggish to move. Somehow her hands lifted out towards him, offering and beckoning at the same time.

In seconds, they clung to each other, seeking strength from one another. Their lips gravitated towards each other, filled with need. They were driven by their instincts—a primal need to know, through touch, the other was truly there. Through desperate caresses of fingertips and lips, comfort was given and taken.

Breaking apart, their breathing heavy, and their exhaustion slightly relieved, they shared a sad smile.

Michael’s lips motioned to talk, but no word escaped. Maria softly assured him, “It’s okay, we don’t have to say anything. Just…” her teary eyes darted to the closed door, “are they okay? Are… you?” Her voice started to shake.

Michael choked out, “I hope so.”

Exhausted both physically and emotionally, they sank to the floor together, refusing to let go. They leaned against each other, their thoughts on the two occupants inside Liz’s bedroom, barely aware of the loud rumbling outside. So lost in their thoughts, they hardly realized Liz and Kyle had yet to make an appearance.

At a thunderous crack, sounding far closer than the others, Michael stiffened, uneasiness prickling in his weary mind. Remembering Kyle had gone to the backyard he asked, “Where’s Liz?”

~ ~ ~ ~
At the same time
The backyard


Liz pensively watched Kyle, gingerly stepping on the softened ground. She noticed his body did not seem as tense as before, but there was still a frightening intensity emanating from him. It was as if at any moment he would explode.

She stopped a few feet away from him, staring at the back of his outstretched hand. The shifting pattern of green light, flowing over its surface, entranced her.

Slightly breathless, she asked, “What are you doing?”

Without a glance he tautly answered, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Spurred by his question, she tore her gaze from his glowing hand to the wall before them. It looked like it always had. In confusion she broached, “Freezing a wall?”

Receiving no response from Kyle, she shifted in place, one foot sinking lower in the muddy ground, and continued in a dead-pan voice, “Unless you plan on encapsulating it in ice, I think that’s as frozen as it’s going to get.”

She saw his hand flinch, struggling against its instinct to compact into a fist. She knew she was getting through. She stepped closer, only hesitating at a startling crack of thunder. She ignored the warning tone of Kyle’s call, “Liz…,” her hand settling on his upper-arm.

Her arm burned, the pain so shocking and intense she lost all awareness around her and crumpled to the ground, clutching her hand.

Unintelligible syllables escaped her as Kyle leaned over, checking her over for any physical damage. He lightly patted at her cheek, inadvertently leaving thin smears of mud, to help shock her back to her senses. Her eyelids fluttered, “Wh—Ky—Wha—”

Relief flooding his panicked eyes, he leaned back, his face briefly wincing at the squishy sound beneath him. “I have no idea,” he breathed out his answer, still catching his own breath.

Having regained her bearings, Liz sat up looking around her soon finding the aftermath of the last few seconds.

Bricks were littered around the wall on either side of a gaping hole, right in the center.

“Oh my go—” she gasped. Sharply turning to Kyle, she demanded, “How?” Quickly remembering another time Kyle had blasted a hole through her floor, she switched, “What the hell were you thinking Kyle?! We’re not that safe! You don’t just go around blasting holes, because you’re pissed off!”

“Hey! I think I’ve been dealing with things way better than most people would be expected to with all the crap that’s been going on! And just to let you know, that,” he paused, emphatically pointing at the hole, “was not all me!

“What?” Liz breathed out in a huff.

“I have been out here this whole time, trying to blast that wall, just to feel something, to get some satisfaction from pretending that pile of bricks is Cal Langley. But it was only when you touched my arm that I felt energy actually shoot directly at it. And after that, I noticed… I had frozen things before…” Seeing that Liz was about to ask, he stopped her, “Don’t worry, they’re not frozen anymore.” Sighing, he finished, “I realized I can’t blast without your help. Don’t you see? That hole in your floor, the one in this wall…” he shook his head. “…It’s your power, not mine.”

Liz bit her lip, her thoughts racing. Musing out loud, she whispered, “It’s like when I dreamwalk with Isabel…”

“What?” Kyle interrupted.

Focusing on Kyle, Liz clarified, “Maybe we only have certain powers that we can do best… and to access the other types we need to connect to the specific people with those powers.” Seeing Kyle’s raised eyebrow, she continued, “Like… I can’t dreamwalk without connecting to Isabel and well maybe even to just you. While for blasting you have to connect to me, and maybe Michael.”

Completing the thought, Kyle added, “And to heal one of us has to connect to Max.”

Liz commenced biting her lip, her gaze lowering to the ground. Softly she spoke, “Maybe Isabel can manage a connection…”

“Did she think of another idea?” Kyle asked hopefully.

Nodding, Liz answered, “She’s trying to dreamwalk him right now.”

“D’oh! That was simple!” Kyle lightly jested, his muddy hand gesturing to his forehead in Homer Simpson fashion.

Before Liz could giggle in response, a shriek cut through the air, answered only by the constant rumbling of the stormy sky and the mucky steps of Liz and Kyle running to the house.

*No infringement intended on The Simpsons
Last edited by behrinthecity on Sun Apr 01, 2007 9:28 pm, edited 2 times in total.
User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

Ok, good news and bad news. I'm back with Part 43A, but... 43B and C are STILL not ready... I actually held back on posting 43A this weekend, trying to get those two written, but I did not manage to get very far with them. I'm hoping I can come back in a week with 43B... Right now I think I'm just too worried about keeping the timing among these three parts accurate that it's breaking the flow. Anyway, sorry I can't give you three parts very quickly as I was hoping to. But I do hope you can enjoy this one! :)

Thanks clueless, spray, Flamehair and Scottie for checking in!

awww spray, I hope you didn't wear out your thumbs too much! :P ;)

thank you dreamon for the bump!

Many thanks again to LTF!


Previously…

[From Part 42]
Her eyes darted to his, wide. She stood frozen in place, blinking against the gradually slowing rain, her hand still intertwined in his, surrounding the resurrected rose. Swallowing thickly, she questioned back, “How do you—I help him?”

Desperation taking over, she clung tighter to his hand, ignoring the small stab of a thorn in her palm. “How do I bring him back?” she cried out, her voice breaking.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 43]
Glancing at the photo on the bedside table, Isabel grasped at the idea that maybe if she could focus on the time their bond had been at its strongest—not a shred of doubt between them… just maybe the connection would be restored. With that hope, she snatched the photo from the table, smoothing it against her leg. With a deep breath, she focused on that memory, her finger placed lightly on Max’s smiling image. Her eyelids lowering, she reached for Max’s hand at the last second—a physical reminder that he really was there. Silently she prayed that she could reach wherever his mind was lost to.

A soft white glow briefly flowed from her finger.

Moments passed by, only the rise and fall of their chests showing both Evans’ still lived.

Lost in utter darkness, Isabel never realized the objects in the room slowly lifting into the air.

Before Liz could giggle in response to Kyle’s antics, a shriek cut through the air, answered only by the constant rumbling of the stormy sky and the mucky steps of Liz and Kyle running to the house.


PART FORTY-THREE A

Lightning periodically flashed in the stormy night sky, the only movement outside. The trees outside Liz’s room were utterly still, a stark contrast to the whirlwind inside. A blurry ring of yellow light of flying candles circled the bed, broken by the dark heavy objects also caught up in the powerful current—Liz’s books and picture frames.

The cause of this tempest sat hunched over still clinging to her brother’s clammy hand, deep in concentration. Her face was flushed, too dehydrated to sweat from the exertion of forging a connection took. Since she had shut her eyes, soft whispers had intermittently escaped her, as one did now: “Please Max…”

Please Max, listen to me!

Isabel had been trapped in the memory of the day the photo was taken of Max spinning the basketball, the form of the younger Max paying her no heed. The memory looped for a third time as she ran her hands through her hair and released a soft growl of frustration.

It started with the dribbling of a basketball.

“Max Evans passes the opposing team with ease,” a 14-year-old Max commentated as he pointedly dribbled right past a 14-year-old Isabel, smirking. He appeared to halt, and the young Isabel reached out to steal—“He fakes!” Max shifted around and, with flourish, spun in the air, smoothly releasing the ball to swish through the net seconds later. All the while, Max shouted over the young Isabel’s protests, “He shoots, he scores!”

“Enough with the play-by-play!” shrieked the young Isabel now fed up, her hands on her hips.

Collecting the ball, Max dribbled around Isabel, boasting again, “The crowd goes wild!” Max, caught up in his excitement missed the devious glint in his sibling’s eye. Moving forward, he did an easy lay-up over Isabel’s raised arms, only to watch open-mouthed as the ball suddenly switched paths to fall into Isabel’s waiting arms.

Isabel mimicking Max’s play-by-play boasts, “Iz Evans gains the rebound with finesse. The crowd is going even crazier!” She easily sank the ball and did a victory lap around Max, dribbling, and echoing the pretend crowd’s chants, “Is-a-bel! Is-a-bel!”

“Cheater!” he cried.

“Am not!” she retorted back, adding with smug satisfaction, “It’s a natural talent.”

His eyes darkening, he muttered, “So that’s how you want to play it. I’ve got talents too.”

Catching his comment, her smugness was replaced with uncertainty, and she started to back away slowly, hugging the ball to her stomach. But he was too quick and in seconds she dissolved into shrieking laughter as he tickled her relentlessly. Only when she released the ball, did he stop to scoop it up.

Before the game could continue, with a breathless Isabel running after Max, their mother stepped out asking, “What is all this noise?”

Sheepish, the two young siblings pointed to the other, stating it’s the other’s fault.

Diane sighed, shaking her head at the two, never noticing the present Isabel frantically calling to gain anyone’s attention. She did notice the basketball that Max was casually doing tricks with now and so excitedly told her children, “Oh! Stay right there, I’ll be right back.”

The two siblings looked at each other with that knowing look, groaning. “Again?”

What seemed like seconds, Diane was back with her camera, having the kids pose. Max first.

Isabel laughed, standing to the side, while Max grimaced and muttered to Isabel, “How does she find it so fast?”

Isabel giggled as she replied, “Maybe she has one permanently on stand-by!”

A rare, natural and carefree smile sprang to Max’s face at the comment, causing Diane to ignore her children’s comments and squeal, “Perfect! Keep spinning that ball, dear!”

Clicks later, Diane ushered Isabel over, instructing, “Both of you together now!”

As the camera continued to flash, its light catching a still unheeded Isabel, she groaned as she realized the loop was about to restart.

She decided to physically intervene in the replayed memory, stepping between the two younger versions of herself and her brother, but they seemed to side-step her without actually acknowledging her presence. Just as the memory of using her power to make Max miss the net started, she noticed him looking directly at her.

But his words halted her step towards him.

“You betrayed me.”

What?

He said no more, ignoring her surprised question. He stalked away from her into the middle of the street, where she could hear the roar of an approaching car. She continued to cry out that she didn’t, that this wasn’t right, stumbling after him to stop him.

The car kept coming and he remained right in the center, his accusing eyes turning black.

Max! Please, come back!!

“It’s too late,” he coldly stated.

In horror she watched the car come at him, barely breathing, a silent scream already escaping her.


Her eyes flew open as a sky-splitting crack resounded outside, her distressed mind believing it to be a haunting remnant of the ‘dreamwalk’—if that’s what it was.

The flying objects landed with a definite thud to their respective places. Only the hairline cracks in the glass covers over the candles reflected the earlier show of Isabel’s power.

Isabel barely acknowledged the various objects dropping noisily around her, consumed by the sobs wracking her body. Choked sounds escaped her as her body rocked jerkily over Max’s prone body. “N…n…no….”

Driven by the hysteria behind her sobs, she began to shake Max, her hands gripping his arms. “Wake up, Max! You have to wake up! You have to… you…” animalistic sounds of distress escaped her between her cries, “come back… just…”

The utter lack of response from Max, not even a shiver, slowly pulled Isabel from her emotional breakdown, her cries quieted and her hands went limp upon Max’s arms. Her eyes refocused, and she jerkily removed her hands in shock of what she had done. One hand shakily motioned towards her face, unable to complete the motion to cover the shamed expression there. The other hand attempted to smooth the covers around Max, but the tentative strokes were small and ineffectual. Still reeling in her shock, Isabel stood up, unaware of what she was doing. The photo that had settled upon her lap in the aftermath of the dreamwalk fell to the floor near the foot of the bed, unnoticed. She glanced around the room helplessly, pleading for the shadowed walls to reveal the answer for saving her brother. Finding nothing she stumbled out of the room and headed down the hallway towards her own room.

As she waved her door open, she never registered the raised voices of Maria and Michael.

Stepping into her room, she was captured by her reflection in the mirror. Though she remained shadowed, with only the hallway light spilling into the room, she could clearly see the defeat on her face. Her body shook and lips trembled as the dry sobs bubbled up again. Her gaze lowered, soon captured by the glint of light reflected on a glass toy house.

Close to ten months ago she and Liz had been buying things for their apartment when she discovered a little glass figurine shop. With childhood nostalgia, she gazed at the various figurines on display, a faint smile on her then permanently saddened face. But when she happened upon the small house, a genuine smile crept upward—a bittersweet memory of her brother coming to mind. In that moment, the glass house became the fragile embodiment of her hope that her brother was still alive. She clung to the promise of the story their mother had told to Max, that his toy house would magically take him home. She too wished this glass toy house held the same magic. For the next month she would clutch the house in her nightly attempts to contact her brother. And often, her frustration at full force, she would smash the glass against the wall, her hope dying a little more each time it shattered. But every time, she would cup the tiny shards and send whatever hope she still clung to through her alien energy to rebuild the tiny house. This time, however, she saw no hope in the translucent house. Another sob caught in her throat, she gripped the glass house feeling its cool edges against her palm, and hurled it against the wall, shrieking.

As the glass littered the floor, she fell heavily her palms splayed in front of her. High-pitched sobs roughly escaped her, her breaths becoming rapid and shallow—she was beginning to hyperventilate. It was barely two minutes later when Michael finally found her in this same position.

~ ~ ~ ~
Two minutes before
Downstairs


A shriek cut through the entire house, accompanied by the shattering of glass.

Michael and Maria’s heads jerked toward the upstairs landing, their argument forgotten. Their mouths opened in silent shock. Without a word, Michael ran back up, the blood rushing in his head. With each stumble upward, his heart pounded faster, echoing in his ears. All other sounds muted, only the slightest part of his consciousness acknowledging the panicked voices of Maria, Liz and Kyle.

Reaching the top he raised his hand towards Liz’s door, mentally shoving it open. It banged against the wall as he rushed in, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. His head jerked in all directions searching the candle-lit haze for Isabel. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion and after a brief hesitation, he leaned close to Max to see if anything had happened to him.

The same shallow breaths reached his ears, but there had been a slight change. Although still pale, some color and warmth had returned to Max’s skin. His shoulders drooped in relief at the sight as he uttered a silent prayer of thanks, his eyes shifting towards the ceiling. Catching the closed bathroom door he assumed Isabel had gone in there, mistaking the rain outside for running water from the tap. Starting to adjust the blanket around Max, he finally registered the other sounds beyond Max’s soft breaths.

Maria, Liz and Kyle approached Liz’s room, their voices lower but still filled with concern. But through the murmurs, his ears caught something else. Ignoring their confused glances he slowly made his way to Isabel’s room, the knot in his stomach tightening.

The door was wide open, allowing a solid beam of light to reveal a hunched over Isabel, her palms flat against the ground in front of her. Steadily Michael approached her, hearing her barely audible sobs, the hitches in her breaths. Lowering himself beside her, he reached around her, and just held her.

He felt her shift in his arms, her face buried in his chest. He bit his tongue, his face stoic as he felt each shuddering sob reverberate against his body. Registering how cold she was, he held on tighter. Every few seconds he would awkwardly stroke her hair and back in an attempt to comfort, while silently fighting with himself to not ask what happened before Isabel could even catch her breath. He heard the others gingerly approach, but only turned to look at them when they came to stand by them. He could feel that Isabel had noticed their presence too, her body no longer shuddering, her back incredibly tense. But soft sniffles still escaped her, the sound muted against his chest.

No one said anything, still in shock from Isabel’s apparent outburst. Walking toward the litter of glass, Maria carefully picked up a piece and without realizing breathed out the question on everyone’s minds, “What happened?”

All eyes trailed back to Isabel’s fallen figure. After a lengthy moment, her head moved back from Michael’s chest, revealing an ashen face and red-rimmed eyes. In a low voice she answered, “I can’t… fix it.”

Thinking Isabel was referring to all the glass, Maria gently encouraged her, “Sure you can. You’ve fixed more difficult things than this,” she gestured to the scattered shards. “You just need to rest, recharge your powers or whatever—”

“No!” Isabel began to vehemently shake her head, her hands wringing at her sides. “I can’t fix it! No amount of power… no…” as the sobs began once more she started to hyperventilate again, just managing to squeak out a few haunting words— “It’s too late… it’s too late!” Ignoring Michael’s attempt to comfort her again, her hands covered her face as she breathed out in bitter despair, “I failed.”

Everyone tried to keep their emotions in check as they saw Isabel completely fall apart. Doing the only thing she knew how to, Liz mused out alternative plans. “Maybe there’s something that happened to him before we showed up that’s stopping it from working.” Releasing a frustrated breath, she berated herself, “I should have asked Cal about that when he was here.”

Kyle’s jaw clenched at the mention of that shapeshifter’s name, but his anger was replaced with a glimmer of hope and excitement as another memory came to mind. “Wait. What about the stuff you took from the computer there?”

Isabel’s hands gradually slipped from her face as she looked up at him, her tired, anguished eyes filling with relief, gratitude and the slightest of hope. Her breathing starting to normalize, she replied, though talking more to herself, “Oh God… I totally forgot…” A self-deprecating smile caused her lips to twitch upward ever so slightly.

Relieved that Isabel had finally calmed down, Michael took charge of the situation. “All right, we’ll check it out now, figure out some ideas to try next. It’ll be fine,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, lowering his voice, “he already looks… better.”

Isabel’s eyes mirrored the silent question on her lips, Really? A curt nod from Michael was enough to give back her resolve. “I’ll get the USB flash drive, take my laptop to the living room, I’ll be right down.”

Isabel slowly stood up with a helping hand from Michael. The others moved around her, retrieving her laptop then heading downstairs. She kept her head bent as they did, suddenly self-conscious of her red, puffy, tear-stained face. Though the USB drive was safely tucked in her pants pocket as it had been since Virginia, Isabel lingered behind. She took a brief moment to splash cool water on her face, taking a deep breath as the water dripped from her face into the sink. Leaning against the edge of the counter, she shook her head slightly. As much as Michael’s words had mended her broken spirit, she had to know for herself.

She quickly made her way to Max’s room, only slowing as she stepped through the doorway. Swallowing thickly, she approached the bed, leaning over to touch Max’s forehead. A soft gasp escaped her at the pleasantly surprising warmth to Max’s skin. A small smile shakily appeared on her face as she properly adjusted the comforter on Max, lowering it slightly down his chest. As her hands left the covers she froze momentarily at the thought that Max was developing a fever. But after watching him carefully for a long moment, she was relieved to see Max’s body remain serene, not a shiver or convulsion. The same earlier smile wavered as she backed out of the room, her gaze remaining trained on Max. She pulled the door toward herself as she exited, leaving it ajar. Before turning to join the others downstairs, she paused in the doorway. Her eyes briefly closing, she silently prayed that they’d find something in those files.

~ ~ ~ ~
Minutes later
Living room


They all crammed together on the main couch, Maria sitting on Michael’s lap, his hand gently resting on her right hip. Liz and Kyle had hesitated to sit down at first, realizing they were covered in mud. Despite the situation, they worried about Isabel’s wrath when she eventually noticed it too. But for the time being Isabel seemed completely unaware, her focus on the portable USB drive, downloading its zipped files onto the computer. With her alien power, she helped to speed up the process. Since she was nearly sapped of her energy, she held Michael’s hand receiving a few boosts of power to continue.

Staring at the screen in awe, Kyle asked, “How did you manage to zip the files too?”

Isabel shrugged as she answered nonchalantly, “I just pretended I was actually using a zipping program while I was doing it. I didn’t even know if it really worked at the time, I just… hoped.” A smile briefly touched her lips.

A matching smile momentarily reflected on Liz’s face too as she thought how cool Alex would have thought that use of alien power was.

Michael though was becoming increasingly restless, especially with the distraction of Maria sitting right on his lap. He softly growled out, “Is it done, or what?”

Isabel turned to glare at Michael, but her eyes lit with amusement as she noticed him squirming slightly under Maria. She turned back to the screen and noticed that there was still a whole other section left to unzip and that it was actually a rather large zipped file. So as she clicked along she commented, “It’s pretty much done. There’s one more thing, but that’ll take some more time, so we can check this stuff out while that’s unzipping.”

As a window popped up, Liz leaned forward her eyes instantly caught by the phrase—genomic structure. In disbelief she cried out, “Oh my god! They… they sequenced Max’s DNA?!”

Everyone instantly turned to Liz in confusion, all wondering if that was possible… he was half alien after all. Taking control of the mouse, she opened that portion of the document and another window popped up scrolling numerous DNA base codes. When it finished, she scanned through it, noticing certain sections of code that were highlighted where the base coding was matched irregularly. Reading the side comment in the other window on this, referencing reports of sequencing DNA in 1999 (and again later in 2002) from the remains of the alien autopsied in 1947, she gasped realizing what she was looking at—pure sections of Antarian DNA.

Instantly, the premonition she’d had months ago flashed in her mind. Could it be? Could they have already started their army of cloned Maxes? Her stomach tensing with the implications, she hesitantly turned to the others, saying, “They figured out Max’s genetic makeup. With that knowledge they could engineer chemicals to affect him… effectively, they could create those… clones… God… who knows what else they could do or already have done!” A part of her was fascinated by the biotechnology that could lead to it, but the rest of her was horrified knowing that in the hands of the US government sector that supported the Special Unit, nothing good could come of this.

She could hear the just barely audible curses coming from Michael. Even Kyle cursed under his breath, not entirely sure what all this meant, just that it was bad. Fortunately, Maria broke the possibly escalating emotions among the group with her question, “Maybe one of those chemicals could be why Max still hasn’t woken up?”

Isabel and Liz nodded their heads almost in unison, both turning to search the opened documents for further information on such chemicals. They noticed mention of various endurance and medical tests performed on Max, but before they could decide which to start with, a message popped up on the screen: Extraction complete.

Without pause Isabel quickly opened up that larger file, sensing that it held the most information on Max’s capture. She never expected how true that was.

As a long list of dates starting with June 2, 2002 appeared on the screen, she heard Liz gasp at her side.

“Oh my god… they’re surveillance videos.”
User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

Sorry all for the LONG wait! Much thanks to sprayadhesive, Scottie, Gnomie, clueless, Flamehair, sunshine6258 and LTF for checking in with me!

Thank you elodie, clueless, sprayadhesive, Flamehair, Timelord31 and Scottie for the comments! I'll try and come back soon to reply to those properly. In the meantime, hope you like the new part. :)

LTF- hee hee :D Thanks for that bump ;), and all your amazing speedy help!


Previously…

[From Who Died and Made You King]
Jesse sightlessly watched the TV, drained from his induction into the alien abyss, while Isabel cleaned up behind him. On the screen a chef rambled on as he poured rice into a skillet, “…we’re going to add about a cup of risotto…”
~ ~ ~

[From Graduation]
Seeing the fear and indecision in everyone's eyes, Michael made his decision. "I've got a better idea. Why don't we get outta Dodge before they land on us? We leave."



Having pushed Max against the cushions on her bed, Liz leaned down for a passion filled kiss to end their flirtatious talk of the last few minutes. With their eyes closed, she suddenly heard the loud crack of a gunshot and watched, horrified, as Max fell onto his back, blood trickling from his mouth, his lifeless eyes wide open.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 25]
The older agent came into view again. “You’re right.” His tone was ominous as he raised a gun upon the dark-haired man who spoke, shooting him twice in the chest.

Kyle gasped as he focused once more on his surroundings. His father and Maria rushed over to him to see if he was all right. “It’s not Max. I saw… it was a flash.” The words rushed out of Kyle as he tried to control his breathing. “The body… it’s an agent. He argued with one of them, I think the guy was of higher rank, because he shot him. He shot him the same way Max had been, and then right in the face. The agent looked enough like Max to be passed off as… they killed one of their own...”

By this time, Kyle’s voice had trailed off into a mere whisper as he realized how ruthless the agents were. No one was safe from them.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 28]
Kyle heard the door slam open. He whipped his head around to that corner seeing the man, the one who had shot the agent now buried in Max’s grave and he looked furious. The agent strode in and within a few steps stood menacingly over a now hysterical Max. His piercing cold eyes had no effect on Max, but as they turned to the wall behind Kyle, Kyle gasped and stumbled back. This man killed and tortured without thoughts of consequence; he worked above the law. Kyle was even more in awe that Max had survived under the hand of the killer before him.

Kyle watched the agent lightly tap Max’s cheek; then proceed to check the restraints, tightening them. Kyle wished he could materialize long enough to knock that son-of-a-bitch out.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 41]
A deep rumble sickeningly reverberated in the car.

Kyle had yet to answer Isabel’s question, but he was frozen in place, his hand holding the burger still hovering by Max’s face. He tried to work his mouth, but no words came out. All he could think was: had his idea actually worked?

“Max?!” Liz cried out, leaning over Kyle, her hand reaching towards Max’s face. Max had called her name, she was sure of it.

But her hand was caught before she could touch his cheek.

“What are you doing?” Isabel asked, though her voice was soft and concerned, she couldn’t stop the harsh edge coming through, her panic building. Liz only blinked at Isabel in shock, a tear escaping swiftly down her cheek. Isabel though forged on, “You were the one that pointed out it’s dangerous. I know it sounded like your name, but it might not have been. He’ll wake up. He just needs time to...” she paused to take a deep breath, suppressing the sob in her throat, “…to heal.”

Liz roughly pulled her hand from Isabel’s grip, stung by the reminder that her touch would hurt Max. She hoped that Isabel was right, that Max would wake up, would somehow manage to heal.

Slowly she pushed herself back into her seat, glancing at Kyle in apology. But he was sadly staring at his feet.

Kyle inwardly sighed, staring at his fallen and crushed burger, And then again, there were some things powers couldn’t save. At that thought he gazed over his shoulder at Isabel and Max. He had been trying to lighten things up, trying too hard. He knew to leave it alone now, knowing the only real thing that would help was if Max woke up. Leaving him again with the question plaguing him since they were at the motel, how?
~ ~ ~

[From Part 43A]
They all crammed together on the main couch, Maria sitting on Michael’s lap, his hand gently resting on her right hip. Liz and Kyle had hesitated to sit down at first, realizing they were covered in mud. Despite the situation, they worried about Isabel’s wrath when she eventually noticed it too.

Michael became increasingly restless with the distraction of Maria sitting right on his lap. He softly growled out, “Is it done, or what?”

Isabel turned to glare at Michael, but her eyes lit with amusement as she noticed him squirming slightly under Maria. She turned back to the screen

A message popped up on the screen: Extraction complete.

Without pause Isabel quickly opened up that larger file, sensing that it held the most information on Max’s capture. She never expected how true that was. As a long list of dates starting with June 2, 2002 appeared on the screen, she heard Liz gasp at her side. “Oh my god… they’re surveillance videos.”



PART FORTY-THREE B

Everyone stared at the computer screen, mouths partially opened. Before them was the answer in complete graphic detail to what had happened to Max. All their stomachs clenched as their minds spun with horrific images of what these videos may hold.

Then as if a switch had been flipped on within them all, they all started talking and moving. Maria yelped at Michael standing up without warning. Michael, ignoring her protests, paced agitatedly (while ensuring he kept his back to everyone) mumbling about how the girls should take a break and that he and Kyle would continue to search for information. Instantly, Kyle agreed, while simultaneously Liz and Maria refused.

Isabel though had turned still and silent on the couch, after cutting herself off at Maria’s startled cry. Closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples, she started to softly ground out, “Stop it.” Of course in the heated argument occurring over her head she went unheeded. Repeating the demand a few more times, she drew on whatever strength she still had and shouted, “STOP IT!”

The heated words turned to angry murmurs before finally silencing. All turned to Isabel, though their demeanors remained contentious. Her head shaking slightly, Isabel decisively told them, “We are not looking at them.” Her voice thickened. “None of us. Even if we could bear to see these sick videos—” she shook her head more violently, interrupting her more rational point of not knowing where to even start to look among a year’s worth of 24-hour surveillance, “no… no we can’t. There has to be something useful in the other files. We’ll just… keep… looking …there.” Her throat had become constricted, causing her to choke on her words.

Fortunately, no one fought her on this decision, and she managed to retain her tentative control over her emotions. She moved to close the list, but in her haste to close it, clicked too soon. A new screen appeared revealing a running time signature accompanied by the date of their fateful graduation.

With the same heart-stopping dread of watching an unpreventable horrific accident, they froze, eyes trained wide on the chaotic scene unfolding in a very white room.

A flurry of grey men met a gurney being hastily pushed into the room. The scene was utter chaos as the medics fired questions and vital stats at each other, while leaning over their patient. Only the limp folds of a graduation robe (appearing black in the video’s black and white format) peeking between their harried bodies made it clear who lay dying below their gloved hands. The medics’ shouting died suddenly at the frustrated answer to why Max had yet to be intubated.

“We didn’t have any of the equipment! It was supposed to be just a pick up…there was gauze and body bags, we were lucky we even had that” the one applying pressure to Max’s wounds replied, gesturing to the pump with his head.

All breath caught in the gang’s throats, the only movement among them was Michael moving closer in a trance and sinking to the floor. In the silence of the living room, they heard the snaps of the straps being removed from Max’s body and the snips as the medics cut off his blood soaked robe and shirt. As the clothes were bundled and carried off, they noticed the black smears on the white gloves of the medics. Their throats tightened further.

They watched as the medics quickly transferred Max to a new, clean gurney and heard the high-pitched beeps of a heart monitor springing to hopeful life.

Yet none of them could take relief at the sound, knowing that any moment Max would wake up to his worst nightmare. The irony never hit them though that while they all prayed for Max to wake up upstairs, a part of them futilely wished that the Max on the small screen would not be revived by the medics. Their breaths were shallow as they listened to the quiet arguing of the medic intubating Max, amidst the slow beeps.

The last beep stretched out, deafening in its mournful wail.

Weird guttural noises were heard among the gang, but the shock was too strong for any of them to turn and figure out the source. True they had lived with the knowledge of Max’s death for months, but to see this…

“Clear!”

Max’s body lurched, propelled by the electrical shock administered. Those sitting in the living room shuddered in sympathetic pain. Trained only on Max’s face, as the second shock was administered, none of the gang noticed the brief glow from Max’s hands. None of the medics seemed to notice it either, instead, their focus on the equipment and on completing intubation. Fortunately, the second defibrillation was enough to return the slow steady beats and soon Max was successfully intubated and the bullets removed from his chest. They caught the murmured amazement from the surgeon at the lack of internal damage in Max, but could not share the emotion. Out of the group, Liz was the only one who could stomach open surgery, but not when she knew the patient… not when she still remembered the angry red line threatening to split open Max’s chest, all those years back.

The doctors hooked Max up to an IV with a clear liquid. Confused at why it wasn’t blood (though that also was worrisome since it wouldn’t be hybrid-alien blood) everyone turned to Liz for guidance. But she was still too lost to the memory of discovering the brutality inflicted on Max both times he was captured to tell them about the common use of Lactated Ringer’s Solution for blood loss.

Turning back, they finally received a clear, extended view of Max. His eyes were mercifully closed. But a black trail by the side of his mouth of what they assumed was caked blood, made their clenched stomachs churn painfully. A sudden chill filled Liz at the sense of déjà vu the sight of the dried blood trail caused. Had she any control over her body she would have stopped the video at this point, but as with the others she remained in her petrified state on the couch.

As the beeps from the heart monitor settled into a slow steady rhythm, the medics slowed their movements, calmly cleaning up the area. The rest of Max’s clothes were gently removed, replaced with a sheet over his lower body. Removing any blood still encrusted on his skin, gauze and bandages were then applied to Max’s head and gun wounds.

Just as they finished, an agent strode in, brushed past the few medics still around Max and started to cuff him. The surgeon turned to this agent and after a moment of harsh whispering, humane restraints were brought in to strap Max down at the wrists and ankles. The agent suddenly held a finger to his ear, and with a gesture to the surgeon, the two men walked out of the room together. Two medics remained to finish cleaning; the only sound the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

Suddenly, it spiked.

All but Isabel leaned forward, the stupor they were all in starting to lift. Liz’s arm slowly reached out to the laptop about to finally stop the video, but at the entrance of another agent, Kyle’s hand clamped on her arm. She turned to him questioningly, but he couldn’t say a word. Only the fear and hatred in his eyes made her retract her arm, wondering what Kyle knew about this agent…

“Welcome back, Mr. Evans.”

They could not see the expression on the agent’s face, but the smugness was evident in his scornful tone. Their eyes remained wide on the screen as the agent removed Max’s ventilation tube. But then their vision blurred at Max’s first, strangled word: “Why?”

“You mean why we didn’t leave you for dead?”

At the blatant pain and disbelief in Max’s question, Isabel’s fragile spirit broke. His slight nod at the agent’s question only ensured that the pieces of her soul remained shattered, held apart by one recurring thought: Max had never wanted to be saved. As the realization sunk deeper into her, she suddenly felt bereft of air. She couldn’t handle anymore… and stay strong. Stiffening in her seat, her whole demeanor changed, a blank expression taking over her face. Without a word she reached out to her computer and slowly lowered the lid.

The sudden absence of the horrific video, snapped everyone back to the present. They all gazed at Isabel, anticipating another meltdown.

Looking at the closed laptop, her hands still touching it, she spoke, “That’s enough for now.” She couldn’t say anymore about what they saw, or what she felt, afraid of falling apart again. She wanted so much to save her brother, but it appeared that Max himself was an obstacle to that.

A defense mechanism she had formed early on in her childhood was to lose herself to mindless domestic activities. As her mother had always cooked when their father was away on business trips, Isabel had learned to pitch in on such distracting endeavors. The simple tasks gave her the sense of normalcy she craved. It was why, when she married Jesse, she always insisted on being the one to cook and only when the food was approaching inedible did she rely on her powers. Even her acts of community service provided her escape from her inner turmoil, allowing her to focus solely on others. And now, unable to handle her emotions she turned her focus to her friends and such simple, external things.

She pasted the familiar perfect hostess smile upon her face, her tired lifeless eyes hiding the raw pain aching within her, and continued, “We can try and connect to Max again later. But to do so, some food and rest are certainly in order.” She abruptly stood up and started making her way to the kitchen, only glancing back at Liz’s soft calling of her name. Seeing the mud caked on Liz and Kyle, a disapproving frown briefly appeared on her face, her eyebrows furrowing, “Why don’t you two wash up. I’ll get to the…” she trailed off with a soft groan at the mud stains around the house, her nose wrinkling, “… couch, carpet, stairs??” She cleared her throat, covering her muttering about regretting not going for hardwood floors, “…later.”

“Let us help you,” Maria gently broached.

But Isabel only shooed the offer away, quoting some idiom about too many cooks in the kitchen.

Liz slowly glanced down at herself, her earlier self-consciousness of her muddied state gradually overcoming the emotional aftermath of watching the video and all the scarring memories it brought back. Without a word she headed to her room in a daze, her steps stunted. Kyle soon followed, but turned towards the kitchen instead. In the living room, Maria had slid down by Michael, her hand lightly trailing up his upper arm until it rested on his cheek. He did not move.

“Mich—”

“I shouldn’t have left.”

His barely audible words cut her off, leading her to ask, “What?”

But he seemed lost in his own world of guilt. “Why did I leave? Why?”

Placing both her hands on his face, Maria tried to get his attention. “Michael?” she whispered, laced with panic. The hysteria she had suppressed for days was clamoring for release. But then his dark eyes refocused on her. Her presence of mind had waned too much for her to understand what determined fire lit his ‘soulful’ eyes. He held her close, whispering in her ear that she should go rest.

“There’s something I need to do. What I should have done from the beginning.”

He helped her up, but before he could take a step, she held onto his arm. “Do what?”

“My duty.”

Had Maria been less drained, she might have picked up on the change in Michael’s demeanor and tone—a commanding aura and a stubbornness reflecting beyond that of his usual overprotective attitude. She just blinked a few times and wandered into the guest room, barely noticing Kyle exiting the kitchen, his face filled with concern.
~ ~ ~ ~

Minutes before
In the kitchen


Kyle watched Isabel bustle around the kitchen, his eyebrows rising at her muttered listing of utensils and ingredients. When she finally took notice of him, the far too bright smile reappeared, making him tense with unease. “Jesse always told me he liked my risotto. Well… he had a cooking show on once and I picked it up… but oh, there’s no cheese. Umm… how about fried rice?”

“Uhh..” Kyle was speechless at Isabel’s babbling. The last time she was like this was at New Year’s and she was trying to get him to watch that Rudolph movie.

“Oh!! I know, I can try paella! You like that, right?”

“Well I—”

“What am I saying, you must be starving! Especially after your burger…” The smile briefly dimmed. “I’ll make both!” she suddenly declared, clapping her hands as if signaling the decision was final.

Kyle was barely keeping up with Isabel’s frantic pace, the lack of food in his system not helping. “Iz, that’s not necessary—“

“Nonsense,” she gently ignored his feeble protest, her attention solely on the food she was preparing. Walking by him, she wrinkled her nose and commented, “Why don’t you wash up? By the time you’re done, the food will be ready.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her in this state, he gave in and meandered out of the kitchen. But he could not help the deep concern he felt for Isabel; worried that the strong, beautiful women he had often verbally sparred with would be reduced to the bereaved, fragmented soul they had found on the floor of her room.

Grabbing a towel from the hallway closet, he stepped into the guest bathroom hoping to gain a few blissful minutes of not thinking, and feeling only the pounding heat of water.
~ ~ ~ ~

Upstairs in Liz’s bedroom

Despite all that had happened in the past few days, even just the past hour, Liz could not help but revel in the refreshing feel of her shower. Padding lightly on the carpet, barefoot and wrapped in only a towel, she cast longing side glances at Max. Soon reaching her walk-in-closet, she quickly grabbed a few clothes, not caring what they were. Throwing them upon herself, she draped the towel over her arm and stepped out. “Ahh!”

Her whole body shuddered, startled at Michael’s presence. “What are you doing here?” she gasped, her arms reflexively wrapping around her body.

Michael paid no notice to Liz’s violated reaction, his gaze remaining on Max as it had for several minutes. “He shouldn’t be alone.”

Liz had calmed enough to catch the guilt and concern poured into Michael’s few words. She offered him a small tender smile. “I’m here. He’s not alone.”

Finally Michael’s eyes met Liz’s. He flashed an apologetic look as he hesitated at revealing his response to that. But Liz caught on, her head bowing to the side.

“I learned my lesson. I’m not going to touch him. Even if doing that didn’t hurt him, I just… I don’t know if I can handle seeing anything else that happened to him. I…” A harsh breath escaped her as she fought the catch in her throat. “I want to be strong for him, but… I’m not that strong.”

Michael held her gaze for a long moment, the expression unreadable. Abruptly he stood up and walked up to her. She took a step back surprised by the sudden movement, but stopped as he stood over her. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” Without waiting for a response, he turned, opening the door. Before stepping out he mumbled, “Wake me up in a few hours and I’ll take over. You could use some rest too.”

She smiled at the brotherly tenderness in his words. Heading towards the bathroom, she did not pay attention to where she stepped and slipped on the photo Isabel had dropped earlier. The towel fell to the floor covering the photo and tripping her further, causing her to fall onto the bed face first, her hands splayed. It took her seconds to shoot off of it in a panic of having touched Max. Breathing hard she stared at his face, praying that maybe the painful connection between them required skin contact. Two long minutes passed by without a glow in sight.

Relieved that she hadn’t hurt him, she gently smoothed the comforter over him. Noticing his cheeks looking flushed and thinking that as long as she only touched his clothes nothing would happen, she gingerly removed his sweatshirt. She never realized their hands briefly brushed during it, a tiny silvery glow passing between them. Adjusting the comforter again, she smiled at the ease of Max’s breathing. About to settle into the chair she had found Michael in earlier, she heard Isabel call out to her. With a quick glance at Max, she left the room, thinking she wouldn’t be gone too long.
~ ~ ~ ~

A few hours later
Isabel and Liz’s house

Song: The Long Day is Over by Norah Jones

Feeling tired
By the fire
The long day is over


Had Kyle not scooped her up from the chair in her room, Liz would have been waking Michael at this time. But not knowing of the deal between Michael and Liz, Kyle had chivalrously taken Liz to Isabel’s room, placing her on the sofa bed he had taken the week before. Beside her Isabel was fast asleep as well, her tear soaked pillow slowly drying.

The wind is gone
Asleep at dawn
The embers burn on


Kyle collapsed onto the couch with no thought to the mud stains, allowing his exhaustion to finally claim him. The warmth emanating from the fireplace facing him gently wrapped around him, compensating for the missing throw. His slumber came quick and heavy, tuning out any noise. He never picked up on the soft snoring coming from the guestroom where Michael and Maria laid together. Nor did he hear Max’s soft breaths speed up as a white glow with a blue tinge gradually intensified throughout his body.

With no reprise
The sun will rise
The long day is over
Last edited by behrinthecity on Fri Jun 01, 2007 1:13 am, edited 3 times in total.
User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

And FINALLY Part 43C...

A/N: A little key for the italicized parts. As always the song is in violet italics (save for one word). The blue italics are what's happening to Max outside of his mind. Italics that are separated into their own lines are of the "voice". Rest should be pretty self-explanatory in their usage... :P

Enjoy!


Previously...

[From Part 41]
Alarmed, Max frantically searched the café for help, but the same blank, smooth faces were all he saw. Except… for Liz’s.

He tried to stand to move towards her, not understanding how she still hadn’t reached his side. But he couldn’t move.

It’ll be better this way

Max shuddered at the low, deep voice—a voice that signified only pain for him. He shook his head, hysteria building within his chest as the faceless crowd began to swirl around him, soon swallowing up the sight of his beloved. Desperate in his futile struggles to move, he gasped out, “Why—why?”

He stopped cold at the reply.

Weaknesses must be eliminated

“No, NO! LIZ!!!”

For a fleeting moment he thought he saw her, her wide brown eyes filled with tears. But they soon melted into nothingness, her face as blank as the others and her body becoming shrouded by darkness.

As he was captured once more by absolute blackness, he heard her husky whisper, Max?



PART FORTY-THREE C
Song: Sister Morphine by The Rolling Stones

At his sweet love’s call, Max screamed back. His desperate cry of her name soon transformed into a nonsensical syllable of agony from the overwhelming pain of being ripped away from his Crashdown haven.

A black abyss engulfed him, crushing his weak, yearning spirit. His strained scream was all that reminded him of his existence in the suffocating dark. But that began to die. In the growing silence, panic of having returned to the dreaded deprivation tank crowded out all thought of Liz. For a few moments he thought water had entered his mouth, but he could barely protest to its invasion, his fragmented mind slipping from his control. At the slightest edge of his consciousness he realized that his human side—the Max he had always wished to be, the Max that had fought against alien destiny —was facing imminent elimination. Slowly losing awareness of what was happening with his body, he refocused on the thought of his love—the center of his life—Liz.

A distant light flickered in the darkness. On the mere wisp of hope of it being Liz or at least a memory of her, he struggled one last time to be.

White light gradually bathed him, bringing a stronger but still faint awareness to his waning soul. In the light’s growing intensity, he registered the unyielding metal table he lay on, immobilized. He could not sense what type of bonds held him down. All he felt was an overwhelming coldness, his body meekly protesting with intermittent shivers. He breathed uneasily, an oppressive weight upon his body as if crushing him into oblivion.

Here I lie
In my hospital bed


The intense white light soon transformed as grey shadows blurred before him, reenacting his lifetime in hell. Completely lost to the pain of the torture, and the disturbingly familiar feel of memories being forced from his mind his tentative slice of control slipped from him.

Tell me… Sister Morphine
When are you coming around again?


Captured by faceless men, glinting scalpels and frigid water, Max did not notice the building heat of new energy running through his body. Nor did he notice the harsh, icy white setting weakening in definition, an image of a driveway briefly appearing in its place.

Oh… and I don’t think I can wait that long…
For you see, that I’m not that strong…


You betrayed me.

The low, deep voice pulled Max from the memories of torture, bringing a new wave of pain and panic for him. What was happening now?

For a brief moment he thought he heard Isabel’s voice, though he could not make out a word. Focusing on the new development he summoned the energy to turn away from the horrifying grey shadows above him. His tired eyes, opened in tiny slits, caught a frantic Isabel in the far corner of his white cell. Her form was translucent, and though her mouth moved rapidly, not a sound escaped her. Spurred by the sight of her, Max struggled further to regain control, attempting to cry out to her.

It’s too late.

His mouth opening in a silent scream, matching that of his sister’s, he watched in despair as Isabel’s ghostly form was torn from sight.

The scream of the ambulance is sounded in my ears
Tell me, Sister Morphine
How long have I been lying here?


Despite the healing warmth flowing through his system, Max could not feel any relief from his pain. With no hope, no strength to continue his fight, he succumbed to the rape upon his soul. Each battering memory of his capture and his too short life before it sped by in a dizzying rush. Each blow—emotional and physical— dealt by those memories swept away another piece of his shattered soul. The mere trace of Max that remained still searched for one last glimpse of Liz—one last chance to live.

What am I doing in this place?
Why… does the doctor have no face?

Oh I can crawl across the floor…
Oh can’t you see? Sister Morphine…
I’m trying to score…

Well it just goes to show
Thing are not quite they seem
Please Sister Morphine, turn my nightmares into dreams


Silver light flowed into his white prison, its brilliant glow overtaking the shadowy grey blur. The silver stream gently reached out to him, caressing his face. At its brief touch, he reconnected to his body, able to receive some of the energy boost that had helped to initiate his internal healing. Momentarily revived, he faced the nightmarish images once more; determined to not be affected; to not be swayed from his search for a reason to live. But the horror and suffering he expected no longer played before him. Instead the brown eyes that had captivated him since the third grade gazed back at him, filled with wonder, trust and love.

Oh can’t you see I’m fading fast
And for this shot…
Will be my last.


And then? Her voice was sultry, the memory pulling him as strongly as her presence had that magical night they had shared their first kiss. The feeling was so strong, he paid no mind to the invisible bonds that had held him to the cold, metal slab, straining for his soul to touch hers once more. His eyes closed as he anticipated their union...

Sweet cousin cocaine
Lay your cool, cool hand on my head
Ah, come on, sister morphine, you better make up my bed

‘Cause you know, and I know in the morning I'll be dead
Yeah, and you can sit around, yeah and you can watch all the
Clean white sheets stained
red.


A bright spotlight pierced through the blackness.

He jerked his head to the sides, taken aback at the sudden change and seeking Liz with growing trepidation. But darkness was all that surrounded him outside the sphere of light he stood in. Slowly, he realized he was on a stage, a red robe gracing his body... he was back at graduation. Taking in the breath he had been denied before, he squinted in the bright light searching one last time for her. He released the breath raggedly, his eyes glistening in disappointment and resignation.

It was time to say goodbye.

A gasp escaped Max, his chest convulsing momentarily, before his body settled peacefully against the sheets once more.

His wavering words softened as his apprehension slowly consumed him. Any moment a bullet would sail through the darkness with one sole purpose… to end his life. Swallowing, he began his farewell to his parents, to Roswell…to his home, all the while desperately searching through the blinding spotlight for his inevitable killer. His eyes were wide with a plea to be saved. Still speaking, still searching, he almost thought he saw something glint in the distance, its edges sharp and fatal. His hands were sweaty as he clung to the podium, seeking the strength to wait for his death.

Max’s body had tensed, his hands gripping the soft sheets. His lips twitched before smoothing into a still line once more.

Between the rapid thumps of his heart he could almost believe he heard its flight. The high-pitched whine approached closer and closer, aimed for his heart. Their sounds filled his ears, until suddenly, silence fell upon him and…

His eyes opened.
Last edited by behrinthecity on Thu Jun 21, 2007 7:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

Much thanks to LTF, Misha and lazy summer days for getting this part to come out so soon!

Hope you guys enjoy!

But first...

sprayadhesive- Well I did manage to have some "major time on my hands" so here I am in *gasp* less than a week! heh heh I'm shocked at myself. ;) Thank you so much for your amazing and entertaining feedback. All I am left wondering is should I tell you what's right and wrong in your theory/decoding so far? ;)

And again your comment about my music taste leaves me totally blushing-- :oops: Thank you.

clueless- Glad I could make you happy. :) I wonder what this part will do though... Thanks for the bump!

thetvgeneral- :lol: yes they certainly are entertaining! Thanks for reading and hope you like this one!

Misha- Honey-- again thanks so much for all your feedback-- live and through here. But really ease up on the throat, I'd hate to be the cause of you ruining it! ;) Thanks also for the quick last minute glance before I posted this and calming my sudden insecurities over it. Now one question for you-- Am I still mean? ;)

Flamehair- heh I've been told this part is short too, so I will keep working at more parts and see if I can come back soon again. ;p Glad to hear all is well!

cardinalgirl- Aww dear I hope you quickly read on to the next part to allay your fears! But yes I totally agree with you on just how possible it is for Michael to get an accident on that motorcycle-- it's why I just had to put that in. ;p

Glad you like Kyle's powers! (And I just realized you probably won't read these replies to your feedback until much later... hmm)

And now....



Previously...

[From Part 43C]
Swallowing, Max began his farewell to his parents, to Roswell…to his home, all the while desperately searching through the blinding spotlight for his inevitable killer. His eyes were wide with a plea to be saved. Still speaking, still searching, he almost thought he saw something glint in the distance, its edges sharp and fatal. His hands were sweaty as he clung to the podium, seeking the strength to wait for his death.

Max’s body had tensed, his hands gripping the soft sheets. His lips twitched before smoothing into a still line once more.

Between the rapid thumps of his heart he could almost believe he heard its flight. The high-pitched whine approached closer and closer, aimed for his heart. Their sounds filled his ears, until suddenly, silence fell upon him and…

His eyes opened.


PART FORTY-FOUR

Liz's bedroom

Max softly gasped, his hands flying to his upper chest. Still in shock, he could not look down at the wound he was sure was there. He could feel each rapid thump of his heart, imagining its pulse deserting him as he bled. But he soon registered the lack of stickiness he had come to expect from bleeding bullet wounds, relief taking over. A soft self-deprecating laugh escaped him at his overreaction to his dream. That’s all it was, he reassured himself, a dream stemming from Liz’s frightful premonition. He needed to get a grip. The hands that had frantically covered his chest lifted, running through his hair as he took a deep breath.

The familiar scent of smoky vanilla filled his lungs, bringing a contented smile to his face. His wish to wake up everyday with Liz would soon be a reality...

He sat up suddenly, searching for Liz. Dawning light filtered into the room revealing a place he no longer knew. Squinting, he searched for any sign of the fateful balcony outside the window, but saw only gently swaying trees filled with dampened leaves. Returning his gaze to where he sat on the bed, he saw that the comforter he last remembered seeing—the colorful patchwork—had changed to a simpler, pastel design. Perplexed at his environment, he attempted to comfort himself that maybe he was still asleep... still dreaming. His hands moved upward again, this time roughly rubbing his eyes. As his frantic hands slid from his face, he saw that the foreign room still remained. Shaking his head, he moved towards the bathroom, hoping some cold water could shock him back to reality. Still in a confused daze, he hesitated before entering, a part of him sure the locations of the bathroom, closet and doorway had been reversed.

As cold water flowed onto his cupped hands, all his muscles tensed, his nerves firing and bracing for the icy onslaught. He ignored the odd fearful sensation the cold water caused within his body and splashed the water upward onto his face. He sputtered slightly, shuddering at the disturbing sense of being unable to escape the cold... of being unable to breathe. Gripping the edges of the counter, he coughed, suddenly feeling the burning sensation of a far too dry throat. Shaking his head, cold droplets flying onto the counter and mirror, he tried to clear his mind of the pain and fear.

Somewhat calmer, he straightened up knowing he needed to get ready and out of there as soon as possible. But such thoughts left him at the sight of his reflection. He stared back, disconcerted. His cheeks had a sunken look to them, and his shirt just hung on him... Even the times he had been forced to borrow clothes from Michael, it hadn’t been this bad. With dismay, he quickly inspected his arms and, by pulling at his collar, his chest, to find the muscles he had solidly trained for the past couple of years were suddenly gone. Though he took slight comfort that he wasn’t completely emaciated, he was baffled at his state. Had he really been so wrapped up in the alien madness to not realize what his mother had always been saying? Chagrined, he sighed, wondering for seemingly the infinite time what Liz saw in him.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help the smile that sprang upon his gaunt face at the thought of Liz accepting... the heartwarming memory still fresh in his mind. Reliving the moment again in his mind, while absentmindedly picking at his t-shirt, his eyes widened. Hadn’t his shirt been different—the color... the sleeves?

Unable to ignore the mysterious changes, Max’s paranoia turned on full force. His body tensed, he cautiously exited the bathroom, listening and looking out for... he didn’t even know.

He certainly never expected to see his sister.

Isabel stood, frozen in the doorway. Her mouth was slightly opened in surprise, her lips trembling in position. Unshed tears wavered in her eyes, as more rose to join them. And though her vision was increasingly blurrier, the form of her brother—awake, standing, moving—remained stark clear in her mind.

“Iz?”

Max’s voice was hesitant and somewhat scratchy. He started to clear his throat, and seemed about to say something else, but Isabel didn’t hear it. At the softly uttered syllable of her name she launched herself at him, holding on tighter than she ever had before. She needed to feel that he was really there, that this wasn’t a cruel dream she would wake from any moment. Her hands couldn’t stop moving—from running through his hair (carefully, to check again and again that the burns were truly gone), to cupping his face, and back to fully embracing him. Her brother was back, and she still couldn’t believe it.

“Is-abel?” Max whispered, taken aback at her reaction. “Are...are you okay?”

Isabel buried her head into Max’s still too lean chest, her whole body shaking. The tears began to spill down her cheeks, but even she couldn’t tell if they fell from relief, happiness, or disbelief, especially over Max’s question. After all he had been through... he still was concerned for her. She held onto him even tighter, smiling through her tears. Barely audible words escaped her, broken by high-pitched gasps, “you’re back... you’re ... awake...n’... back...”

Her brother was back.

Sounding as if he was trying to release a laugh, Max chortled out, “Iz... let a... guy... breathe?”

Instantly registering Max’s request, Isabel jumped back, panicked, concerned and mad at herself. “Oh my god! I’m sorry...” She reached out to his arm, and held his gaze. “Are you all right? Is there anything I can get you—”

She was broken off by Max’s exasperated assertion, “Iz... I’m fine!”

Her hand was shrugged aside as he started to look around the room in confusion. Though she could no longer see the bruises and cuts on his body, he still looked far from fine. But remembering the summer of his nightmarish, scream-filled nights, she knew she had to tread carefully.

His voice wavered as he still looked around the room, “Just... what—” He stilled suddenly, staring in surprise at something behind her. Isabel turned following Max’s gaze, to find an equally shocked expression on Michael’s face.

Only shallow breaths were heard.

Isabel remained rooted to her spot, watching as Michael slowly made his way into the room. Michael’s step was hesitant as he passed Isabel, but he continued forward, surprising everyone in the room as he pulled Max into a rare embrace. More tears sprang to Isabel’s eyes at Michael’s soft utterance, “Maxwell.”

Biting her lip, she watched her two brothers, reminded of when they had saved Michael in that cave. She found it even harder to hold back her tears at Max’s reaction—his eyes wide, searching her teary ones for some explanation.

The moment didn’t last long as the two brothers separated, one unable to believe his eyes, the other uncertain of everything.

“Okay, this is getting really weird now.” Max commented, stepping a little away from his siblings. He ran a shaky hand through his hair as if trying to comb his memories for an answer, seeing as Michael and Isabel weren’t in any state to give one. Recalling no clue, he turned to face them, poised to ask, but filled with too many questions. He didn’t know where to start.

“Max?” Isabel asked, sharing a concerned glance with Michael.

“Where’s Liz?” Max blurted out.

Both siblings were taken aback at the abruptness of the question. But they quickly recovered, not too surprised by the question itself. Pointing slightly at the hallway, in the direction of her room, Isabel answered, “She’s in—”

But Max didn’t wait for her to complete her reply. With one last uncertain look at Michael and Isabel, he strode out. He stumbled a couple of times on the carpeting catching himself with his hand flat against the hallway wall. He heard Isabel call out in concern, she and Michael following after him. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Kyle and Maria coming up the stairs. But he continued on, searching for the one person he had expected to wake up to... the only person who could possibly tell him what happened.

He didn’t have to wait long.

He stopped short, stumbling again at the sight of his love, his angel, in the doorway just before him. Her rich brown hair was tousled, her face pink and bleary-eyed. Finally, what he saw matched what his mind had been searching for since he woke up. Needing to anchor himself, to feel something real, he crossed the small gap between them and pulled her into a soul connecting kiss. He saw no flashes, but he did feel her—her lips... her hair... her skin—all familiar, soft and heavenly.

As he left her lips for air, he heard her breathe out his name. Her eyes were still closed, a small smile lighting up her tired face. His hands cradled her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek. Just as he had before they had fallen asleep...

Her eyes shot open, panicked. Frantically she retracted her arms that had wrapped around his neck and stepped back away from him.

Confused, he tried to follow her, but she kept her distance. “Max... I’m sorry. Are... are you okay?” She tucked her hands under her arms, but held his gaze with wide, luminous eyes.

He blinked, stunned by her reaction. Unsure what to answer, he sensed the others behind him, watching him. Then he heard for the third time since he’d woken up, someone asking, “Max, are you okay?”

Anger rose within him, from his frustration and fear of what could have happened, causing him to blow up. “No! I’m not. I don’t understand what’s going on, why you guys are acting like this, or why most of you are even here... and... where is here?!”

He saw everyone flinch as he spoke, but he could not calm down. He was seriously freaked out. He noticed Michael was about to say something, but he was stopped by Maria’s well-timed hold on his arm. Instead Isabel calmly answered, “You’re at Liz’s and my place. After what happened at graduation... we drove up to Canada and decided to settle here.”

Max glanced back at Liz before turning back to his sister. Just as he was about to repeat her statement about being in Canada in disbelief, he registered another thing Isabel had said. “Ca—wai—After graduation?! What are you talking about? We haven’t graduated.”

Kyle spoke up then, muttering, “Well if you want to be technical about not receiving diplomas, then I guess you guys didn’t.”

With eyes narrowed in suspicion, Max briefly glared at Kyle. Before answering in irritation, “No, that’s not what I meant.”

At his statement, they all shared confused glances toward Max. In the meantime, unbeknownst to Max, Liz seemed to momentarily reach for him, ready to respond, but stopped herself just an inch before touching his arm. Fortunately, Maria spoke up, voicing everyone’s suspicions. “Um... Max what... what’s the last thing you remember?”

With a sigh, he tilted his head back and pushed his hand through his hair, thinking out loud, “Proposing to Liz last night...”

He was about to continue, but the dead silence around him drew his unfocused gaze from the ceiling, back to the others, who were all staring at him, their mouths agape.
Last edited by behrinthecity on Thu Jun 28, 2007 2:45 am, edited 2 times in total.
User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

Note: This part temporally overlaps with Part 44.

Previously...

[From Part 38]
Focusing completely on Max’s peaceful face, she leaned closer. She heard a hitch in his breathing, which began to steadily speed up. Wondering if he was waking up, Liz’s fingers finally met Max’s skin, caressing his cheek as she whispered, “Max?”

A soft gasp escaped him.

Holding Max’s head in her hands, forgetting her fear that her mere touch would cause pain in him, she called out again. “Max!”

His head began to shift then, his breaths even faster. Liz leaned closer to his ear, mustering her strength to keep her voice steady as she spoke. “Come back to us. Come back to me.”

Completely focused on Max’s face, she started at Michael’s light touch on her shoulder. Her head jerking towards him, she breathlessly asked, “What?”

Michael could only motion with his head for her to look back deeper into the car. He watched her apprehensively turn and gasp at the brilliant light building in Max’s hands. She became rooted in place, her mouth still open in shock.

It was her.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 43C]
A gasp escaped Max, his chest convulsing momentarily, before his body settled peacefully against the sheets once more. Max’s body had tensed, his hands gripping the soft sheets. His lips twitched before smoothing into a still line once more.

His eyes opened.



PART FORTY-FIVE

Isabel's bedroom
Moments before (around 5:40 a.m.)


Peeking just above the horizon, the sun reached out, breaking into glittering rays as it touched the soaked leaves outside Isabel's window. The pale, slender beams danced onto Liz's face, but with her hair strewn across her tear-glued eyes she was unaware of their gentle rousing. Instead she remained lost to a dream... a memory...

Liz shifted in her sleep, a small part of her consciousness stirring from the dawning light’s caresses. Yet she stubbornly fought the urge to wake, relishing the warmth she was enveloped in. But a coolness intruded on her comforting cocoon sending an icy alarm through her hazy, dream-filled mind. Her panic was enough for her to momentarily forget her parents would be waking earlier today (in about twenty minutes, unbeknownst to Liz) to compensate for closing the Crash to attend her graduation that evening. She was driven by only her base needs, her desires. Unable to lift her heavy eyes, she blindly reached out to the retreating warmth, murmuring, “Don’t leave me.”

Though her voice was weighed down by sleepiness, her words almost slurred, her desperate fear of the premonitions coming true... of losing Max...was clearly heard.

Hearing Max’s rare soft laughter, she eagerly welcomed the return of his warm, strong arms. A smile touched her lips at the ticklish feel of his breath against her neck as his warm, honeyed voice whispered with quiet amusement, “It’s just for a few hours...” But then a lower, assertive tone took over as he vowed, “but after today...after it’s official...” He had captured her now open, alert eyes, “... never.

Her fear assuaged for the moment, she sought further comfort from his presence reaching up to stroke his cheek. But, as her fingers touched his skin, his face contorted with pain, a scream tearing from his lips. Her vision filling with blinding, jagged light, Liz instantly recoiled...


With a soft gasp, her petite body shuddering against the bed, Liz’s eyes opened warily. She struggled against rough, dried tears and the heavy pull of sleep, but finally managed to take in her surroundings, tiredly brushing her hair away. A light pale fog greeted her bleary eyes.

She slowly forced herself to sit up and feebly rubbed at her eyes, still exhausted. An unsettled feeling took over as she gradually awoke. Had someone actually cried out? Blinking a few times, her gaze roved over Isabel’s empty, rumpled bed and to the open bedroom door. With one last futile swipe at her blurry eyes, she stood up.

She stumbled, unbalanced by her fogged up mind. Regaining her footing, she stopped at a dull thump from the hallway. Her steps hesitant, she moved towards the doorway, hands reaching out for some means of support. Touching the door, she inadvertently pushed it further away; but captured by an astonishing sight, she gave no thought to its abandonment.

With her vision blurred, the tall figure before her wavered like a ghostly oasis. But she had no time to register what his presence meant.

As if she had breathed him in, the familiar warm arms enveloped her, sliding up her back, and with gentle firmness pulled her body upward to allow their lips to meet. She closed her eyes easily, relishing the sweet caressing she had missed for over a year—the same caressing she had just reminisced about in her dreams. Unwilling to open her eyes to possibly find she was indeed still dreaming she remained lost in the passion and longing each touch of his brought. His fingers lightly brushed her neck as they tangled within her hair, gliding to cradle her head in familiar reverence. The tender lips she had longed to kiss again remained steady upon hers, holding onto their reviving, long-lost connection.

Warmth flowed between their lips, awakening her senses. All she knew was... Max, and could spare no thought to whether he was real or a dream.

The connection broke.

Max’s lips ripped from hers, replaced by the coarse, muggy sensation of his desperately taken breath struggling against overwhelming passion. Eyes still dreamily shut, her head bobbed back and forth in the wake of the separation. Trailing after his lips, she regained her own breaths, exhaling his name with plaintive need, “Max...

A gentle stroke brushed the upper crest of her cheek, one that set her nerves instantly tingling, one she had felt many times before, one she had even done herself to him... with disastrous consequences...

Her eyes shot open with panic.

In seconds she registered that she wasn’t dreaming, that Max had miraculously woken up, and that she was currently cozily wrapped in his arms. As if burned, she whipped her arms from their intertwined position around his neck, praying she hadn’t brushed his skin, and roughly stumbled back, tucking her offending hands tightly under her arms.

Having trouble breathing, she struggled with her words. “Max...” Her breath momentarily caught at his confused gaze and the hesitant pause in his step. “...I’m sorry. Are...” Her eyes quickly roved his body, searching for the bruises, burns and cuts she had cried over for days. Despite finding none, tears automatically welled up, driven by an uncertain emotion. “...are you okay?”

She cringed inwardly at his stunned reaction. She hated to cause him any pain, but how could she explain what her touch did to him? And so, she remained silent, tearfully staring up at him. She was briefly grateful at the others’ presence, but gasped inaudibly at Max’s vehement reaction when Maria repeated her own question to him.

“Max, are you okay?”

“No! I’m not. I don’t understand what’s going on, why you guys are acting like this, or why most of you are even here... and... where is here?!”

Unable to find her voice, Liz’s lip trembled in its slightly open position. Fortunately, Isabel answered. “You’re at Liz’s and my place. After what happened at graduation... we drove up to Canada and decided to settle here.”

Liz tried to nod in affirmation, but once again, captured by Max’s perplexed gaze, stayed still. Frozen, she watched him turn away again, her sight refocusing on his tense back, or rather, his jutting shoulder blades knitting close together under his t-shirt. She stared in awed horror at the blades shifting in his agitation as he cried out, “Ca-wai-After graduation?! What are you talking about? We haven’t graduated.”

Lost in abject thoughts over Max’s state, Liz did not register what Kyle had muttered.

But she did catch Max’s response, only barely picking up on the irritation in his voice, “No, that’s not what I meant.”

Unable to help herself, she reached out to call his attention, wanting to know what he did mean. The movement was natural to her, wanting to place a hand of comfort on his arm. But just as she sensed the tingling sensation of the touch about to occur, she stopped. Before she could move or speak, Maria asked, “Um... Max what... what’s the last thing you remember?”

Liz gazed curiously and apprehensively at his shoulder blades knitting even closer together as Max tilted his head back, his spindly arm reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Proposing to Liz last night...”

She stopped breathing.

Her mouth was opened in shock, but air seemed to only leave her... deserting her along with her capacity to think. Instinct to instantly seek a logical answer allowed her to grasp her thoughts, but only a few: Max is awake... He kissed me... sigh that kiss... he remembers nothing of the past year... nothing.

The shock of all those things left her mind stalled. Any thought to the cause of Max’s amnesia—stress disorders, chemical imbalances, or possibly being a consequence of those electrical shocks she had caused in him— remained elusive to her stunned mind. Were she able to move past her last thought: "nothing”, she might have even wondered if Kyle had frozen them all.

Max moved.

She saw those seemingly painful, sharp shoulder blades shift first; instinctively clutching her hands tighter beneath her arms, denying their desire to connect with Max. Her sudden movement coincided with Max turning to gaze questioningly at her. As she stared up at him, still wide-eyed, she was no longer sure if he sought an answer for everyone’s silence or her reaction.

Having received no response from any of them, including herself, Max softly implored her, “I did... right?” There was such vulnerability in his wavering voice, and in the way he briefly glanced at her hidden hands, searching for any glinting trace of the ring.

Her mind thrown back into gear by his words, she rushed to reassure him. Her arms flinched as she fought the instinct to reach out to him, to show she remembered that amazing night, and that she still had the ring. Instead she nodded vigorously, offering him an affirming smile, “Yeah...” A blush crept upon her cheeks as she remembered that night... and how close they had come to finally cementing, only Max’s determination to do right by her by marrying first stopping them.

She saw a small smile twitch upon his face, of relief and sweet remembrance.

But his confusion was too overbearing and he darted glances at everyone, asking, pleading to know, “Then... what happened?”

Though they weren’t silent, none of the gang could find the words to explain what horror Max had suffered throughout the past year. Each of them made murmuring noises of discomfort, none able to meet his beseeching gaze.

With his back briefly to her, Liz watched Max’s shoulders slump warily, only the edges of his shoulder blades hinting at the tension he still held, while he awaited an answer. Moments passing without an answer, Liz could see Max’s shirt pull inward, drawn towards his tensing back muscles by his building emotions. Hoping to stem another outburst, she softly called to him, “Max...”

As if honing in on a beacon his eyes shot to hers filled with expectation. But under his gaze Liz could not find the heart, the strength to start his lost, hellish tale. So she tried to distract him for the moment, hoping that one of them could figure out a way to begin the painful story. “There’s a lot...to...talk about. I think... maybe...”

Her gaze trailed down his chest despondently, barely registering on the edges of her consciousness how his shirt swallowed his starved body whole. Instead, in her mind’s eye, she saw a mass of scar tissue on his upper left chest, and even a haunting blood-red line down his sternum. With great effort, she dragged her eyes back upward to meet Max’s conflicted gaze and finished her thought, “...you should eat something first.”

All of them could sense the instant protest rising in Max’s throat, though only Liz could see the hardened edge of anger in his eyes. However, with all of them springing into action, Max was unable to respond, caught off guard. Isabel and Michael had smoothly reached out to him, steering him towards the stairway, as Isabel went on about choices for him to eat.

Kyle and Maria quickly flanked Liz, all three of them staring after Max, who kept trying to look over his shoulder to catch Liz’s eye. As their three alien friends descended the stairs, Liz had to fight a sudden feeling of helplessness; but the image of the last time she had seen Isabel and Michael bodily move Max away from her, his eyes desperately seeking to catch her gaze over his shoulder, only strengthened the emotion crashing over her. Her voice thick, she questioned, “How are we going to tell him?” Tears welled up in her eyes, one of her well-tucked hands escaping to hastily swipe them away. “How do you tell someone... how do we tell him... he was shot and... tortured for... a year?”

Maria rubbed her arm in comfort, while Kyle absentmindedly responded, “Guess that’s one way.”

At the two glares he received, he quickly apologized, sighing inwardly at their latest obstacle. “We can’t actually tell him what happened.”

Maria instantly objected, “What? We have to! We can’t just let Max go around with a year of his life lost!” In the heat of the moment, it didn’t immediately register how either way Max had lost a year of his life... at the very least.

Keeping his voice just barely controlled, mindful of Max possibly overhearing them, he clarified, “No, I mean... he needs to remember himself. You were in the same g.e. psych class as me, he’s gotta have PTSD or something.”

Maria remained quiet for a moment, calling on her memories of the class. Technically, if they were going to diagnose Max’s condition it would be Acute Stress Disorder. Max would have to suffer symptoms such as this current memory loss, and maybe flashbacks, for longer than three months to be accurately diagnosed with PTSD. She hoped he would be able to heal before then, but judging by the severity of his torture, she wasn’t too optimistic about it. Nodding slightly in agreement she added, “Yeah that’s probably it. But who knows how long it’ll take for him to get it all back? And... just based on how he looked when we found... God, even how he is now... I don’t know if we should wait for him to suddenly remember it all on his own. We needto help him remember... gradually... but what... how... do we do that?”

As soon as the question left her lips, Maria and Kyle turned to Liz in-synch. A little surprised, Liz stared back, realization about what their silent gazes meant slowly dawning in her eyes. But plagued with self-doubt, she faltered in her agreement. Holding her hands out, almost wringing them, she lamented, “But... I can’t even touch him.”

While Maria immediately started suggesting that they start with broad questions that could possibly spur a memory, Kyle smirked. Noticing his reaction, both girls turned to him, ready to pick a fight, a dangerous edge to their tones—“What?

Breathing out a laugh, his hands up and opened in a defensive shield, Kyle commented, “Hey... all I’m saying is... if Max survived that...” He raised his eyebrows at Liz, “...kiss, I’m pretty sure he can handle more touching—Ow!” Kyle slowly rubbed the back of his head where Maria just whacked him, wincing slightly. How did Michael put up with that?, he wondered. It’s not as if he had said that judging by the way Max was looking at Liz, (and not even accounting for the fact Max’s last memory was proposing to her) he definitely wanted more than that one kiss.

But fortunately, his comment had the desired effect. While Maria rolled her eyes, huffing at him, Liz had a contemplative look on her face, a flicker of hope lighting her eyes.

Absentmindedly chewing on her lip, Liz thought back to how Max had scooped her up into the kiss, a kiss that could only be rivaled in intensity by their connection literally flinging her mind through galaxies. She had to admit there was no way she had avoided touching his skin. After all, weren't their lips made of the most sensitive skin and they had certainly touched. Even following the theory that her powers were reacting violently to Max once again, where only her hands were the perpetrators, she would have at least brushed up against his neck, if not his arms or cheek. And the only pain she had seen in the aftermath was emotional... the heartbreaking look of hurt in his eyes as she had stepped back, refusing him... as she had too many times before. She hated herself for once again denying her heart, denying Max, all because her deductive mind had reached the wrong conclusion. Steeling herself against the arguments her mind would most easily conjure up to doubt her sudden determination, she nodded slightly, her eyes meeting Kyle’s. They shared small smiles, and finally she conceded. “You’re right. I’ll...” she trailed off, a sudden heat stealing across her cheeks.

With a short, self-deprecating laugh, she suggested, “Let’s go downstai—”

A sudden crash stole her attention, but before she could collect her thoughts, a nerve-shattering wail, that easily covered the shouts of Isabel and Michael, pierced through her. At its endless agony, Liz was sure that not only had she stopped breathing, her heart had stopped too.

~ ~ ~ ~
Minutes before
Downstairs


As soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs, Max shrugged off Isabel and Michael. He took a few shaky steps away from them, anger and confusion pulsing through him. The turbulent emotions were so strong he thought nothing of his weakened state. All he could focus on was how they all reacted. Why were they all acting like this? And Liz... why was she so scared...of him? His head shook slightly as his mind raced, internally protesting to the thought. He was unwilling to believe after such a perfect night... after finally starting to live out his dream with Liz— a long imagined fantasy world where he was wholly accepted and forgiven— that everything had changed so drastically in a matter of hours— overnight. But after what he had experienced since waking up a short time ago, the doubts that had plagued him all his life strengthened. Only Liz’s soft assurance about his proposal kept him from believing it had all been a dream. Still everyone’s strange behavior had him wondering: What had happened? What were they hiding? At the last question, he sharply turned back to his siblings.

Isabel and Michael flinched from his sudden movement, quickly followed by Michael’s instinctual protective stance, a restraining yet soothing hand on Isabel’s trembling arm.

Overwhelmed by anger, Max observed them, stone-faced; never realizing an all-consuming blackness flickered in his burning eyes.

Isabel’s soft voice broke through his haze of fury. “Max...?”

His eyes refocused on Isabel’s concerned and sorrowful face, his confusion taking over anger. Was that fear he saw in his sister’s eyes? His lips seemed to motion the many questions spinning in his mind, each fighting to be uttered first and rendering him unable to speak.

His life lost!

Max’s eyes instantly darted up the stairs, drawn by Maria’s raised voice. Hearing nothing more, he returned to his silent siblings. Squaring his shoulders as much as he could and mustering the strength to hear whatever horror they hid from him. “What does she...mean?” He cringed at the waver in his voice, becoming acutely aware of the tremors quaking through his weak limbs. He wanted to say more, but again was at a loss for words, his mind dizzily rushing forward to answer his own question with increasingly terrifying scenarios. And so he waited for their response, his eyes wide and imploring.

They only looked at each other, silently communicating and only intensifying his panic.

His chest about to burst with frustration and fear, he bit out, “Tell me! What happened to me?!” Had his voice not been so hoarse, the others upstairs would certainly have heard him.

Isabel was on the verge of tears, unable to respond, unintelligible murmurs escaping her. Squeezing his hand once on her arm, Michael answered, “A lot has happened.” Noticing that Max was barely holding in a retort, Michael forged on, “Look, you were unconscious for three days. The thing to focus on is you’re okay. You are...?”

“Three day—And yes, I’m fine!” Max was shocked to hear he’d been unconscious for so long; but was quickly distracted by Michael’s attempt to ask him if he was okay. After being asked multiple times in such a short period, and perturbed by his own weakened state, Max irritably muttered his lying retort.

Despite the tense and isolating atmosphere, Isabel finally composed herself enough to speak. Pushing Michael’s rigid arm aside to step forward she pleaded for peace and sanity, “Max please... just... you need to eat and drink something first, all right?”

Max sighed, acquiescing begrudgingly, though he still wished to push them until he had the whole truth of what had happened to him... if the Skins or some other enemy had done something to him... he briefly shuddered at the thought that he might have been mindraped... what else could explain his memory loss?...

Following them into the kitchen, Max dragged his feet. He didn’t feel hungry, just sick with uncertainty. He hated that feeling, because it meant he had no control. And his lack of control at the moment was the only thing he was certain of. Nearing the bar stools at the counter, he was amazed how fast Isabel started whipping something up for him on the stove. A small smile touched his lips at the hope she didn’t burn anything.

His smile instantly dissolved into open horror, as the sizzling sound of the heating oil reached his ears. His wide eyes saw nothing but blinding white. His senses overloaded with pain, he did not feel his knees connecting with the floor or the splinters from the bar stool’s legs piercing his hands as he blindly grappled for balance, toppling it to the floor.

The only sounds he could hear in this moment were his own agonized screams.
Last edited by behrinthecity on Sun Aug 26, 2007 6:24 am, edited 5 times in total.
User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

:lol: :lol: Wow, spray! Going to kick my butt, eh? ;) [[I just realized that rhymed... :? Anyway... :roll: ]] Well you'll just have to see if Max really does become unconscious... :twisted:

I'll try to finish the next part soon, I know what I want to happen, just got to get it down. :P

Thanks to sprayadhesive and clueless for your comments! You guys sure are fast too! :D

And now the reason I stopped by the thread so soon...

Image

For:
Favorite Lead Portrayal of Isabel Evans
Favorite Lead Portrayal of Michael Guerin
Favorite Lead Portrayal of Kyle Valenti
Favorite Portrayal of Sheriff Valenti
Best Villain- Agent Felding


:shock:

I'm overwhelmed right now... I mean... character portrayals?! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :oops: :D

A huge thank you again to all who nominated me. I'm kind of speechless right now... but just know I greatly appreciate it.
User avatar
behrinthecity
Addicted Roswellian
Posts: 124
Joined: Fri Aug 20, 2004 11:14 pm

Post by behrinthecity »

sprayadhesive wrote: (Perhaps a bit premature, since you haven't posted an AN about it or not yet, but still... it needed to be said!) :D
:lol: spray!! Thank you so much to both you and cardinalgirl for letting me know with such lovely wishes!! Oh! and thank you Flamehair for the wishes too! (got your message while I was composing this :))

And yes... to make it official:

Image

Image


Thank you again to all those who nominated and voted for me. I'm so touched... and right now I'm still in my shocked, disbelieving stage... not sure how long it'll take for this to sink in! :D

And to top that off, more ( :shock: ) nominations...

Feedbacker You Follow Around the Board (All right, who's been stalking me? ;) :lol: )
Funniest Feedbacker
The "Come Back! You Can't Leave it There!" Award (Best Cliffhangers)
Story with the Best Twist
Best Fanfic No One's Reading, but Everyone Should Be
Fic With the Best Musical Use
Most Suspenseful Fanfic
Fic That Made You Cry the Hardest


Thank you all again... you guys have given me the biggest grin. :D

OH... and since this is the A/N of happy news... (at least I hope you guys find this good...) I am finally halfway done with the next part, and am really trying hard to get the rest of it done before I fly back for school in a few days and have to fight jetlag all over again! :P So... I'll keep you guys updated on that!

Thanks and hugs to you all!! :D

ETA: In my excitement I forgot again to mention to you all that I finally figured out how to link a picture of Michael's artist insignia from Part 13, so for anyone curious to how it looks, it's on page 2. :)
Locked