Hi everyone!
So it's still Wednesday night here, so I'm finally right on time! Hope you guys enjoy the part, there are a lot of previouslys given how long it has been since the early parts of the story, but if you don't need them, feel free to skip after the first two.
I do want to credit a song that inspired me while I wrote the part, and I think it's something that needs to be heard rather than read. So for once I'll leave the lyrics out.
Enjoy.
Previously…
[From Destiny]
Liz’s hand was amazingly steady around his, urging Max to make each seemingly impossible step forward. Not even the force of crashing into the flowing river was able to deter her hand from its protective, guiding purpose.
Max focused whatever strength he had to hold on to her hand, letting her blindly lead him towards a shadowed, rusty shelter. He could not stop shivering from the frigid water, and the recent memory it dredged up. He was utterly exhausted and unable to speak. He had long given up his meek fight with Liz, where he had repeatedly pleaded with her to leave him behind and run to safety with a desperate “go.” But now, he wished she would never let go.
Now he was too tired to quash his fantasy of Liz fully accepting and loving him.
Now all he hoped for was a blissful moment of being with her, and pretending the harsh, cold world he lived in didn’t exist.
Such hope was the only positive thought he could hold on to, his capture too horrifying to suppress so soon. Maintaining his hope took away any ability of his to register the fortunate provision of a blanket or the meaning of Liz’s breathy words: a temporary haven.
“I think we’ll be safe in here for awhile. They don’t know how far down river we got.”
He did hear her call his name, his eyes refocusing on her wide, tearful ones, before falling to her trembling lips. Each small tremor betrayed that she too was cold, and begged for the warmth of another’s touch—his touch.
As soon as their lips met, he was roughly thrown back into absolute whiteness, pain filling every nerve in his body. He tried to pull away, but she was in control, being now physically stronger, and held on for far too long. In a moment she learned all the dark secrets he hoped no one would ever have to know… least of all her.
~ ~ ~
[From Baby, It’s You]
After all of Tess’ wallowing during the past months, and the awkwardness of the morning, Kyle had reached his limit. “You know what? You aliens are the most pathetic group of people that I ever met.”
As soon as the words left his lips, a part of him instantly regretted it, knowing he was approaching a very dangerous situation.
But it was finally his time to vent, and so he ignored Isabel’s icy dismissal, mimicking the ‘aliens’ motto’: “Oh, we've got to keep our secret safe. We've got to be boring and brooding.” Turning somewhat serious, part wistful… part devious, he gazed past Isabel and mused, “If I had one tenth of your power...”
“What would you do?” Isabel’s asked; her exasperated voice now tinged with bemusement and much curiosity, though an edge of imminent danger remained.
Not missing a beat, he gave her a wide, naïve grin, his voice leaping with exuberance at the thought, “I’d have fun!”
~ ~ ~
[From Part 7]
Kyle stared off unseeing for a moment, “... I must say it took a long while before I came around to singing any of your praises. I know you saved my life, and I was obligated, but I never was truly grateful. I didn’t fully understand what it took for you to do that. And I guess, better late than never,” tears started to sting at his eyes, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “Thank you.” He released a shuddering breath, “thank you for putting yourself on the line all those times. Thank you for saving Liz. Me. My dad. All of us. I know you said you weren’t a king, well maybe not, but you’re definitely one thing… you’re a hero, Max. A real hero. And I finally understand what Alex meant that it is worth knowing. It was worth knowing you, the kind of person,
human, you were.” Kyle stood up, a tear slowly trailing down his cheek. He placed a hand on top of the grave. “I’m not sure I’ll be back again, but I said what I wanted to say.”
~ ~ ~
[From Part 20]
“Max was strapped down on a table… naked.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself to the image he was about to relate to his dad and Maria. Especially after hearing her gasp at what he just said. Even his dad turned in astonishment. “They had him hooked up to these machines, one was to measure brain waves and the other...” his voice faltered, this was getting too hard. “And the other had a heart-rate monitor and…” he bit his lip; his leg was jumping up and down like crazy in his anxiety.
“What? What did it have?” Maria finally managed to spit out, though her voice was low and trembling in its tautness, as if she were bracing herself for what she was about to hear.
“Dials. And these wires with electrodes to… that were… attached to his body.”
“Did they… electrocute him, son?” his dad asked as gently as he could, tears already forming in his eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah they did. Just before I woke up, they started.”
~ ~ ~
[From Part 25]
“I heard something really strange going on in my latest dreamwalk with Max,” Kyle began to explain. As soon as he mentioned the words ‘dream’ and ‘walk’ Maria made a face of impatient disbelief. Kyle ignored it and continued, “It sounded like his parents’ voices. I had my suspicions and this morning I went over to the cemetery and I found the bug hidden right behind his tombstone.”
~ ~ ~
[From Part 36]
It was eerie stepping into the room.
Though each had seen glimpses of it either through dreamwalks, flashes, or from the last time, actually being here caused a strong, unsettling feeling within them. The first thing they noticed was the whiteness of the room, floor to ceiling: every tile was a sterile, blinding and cold white. In the center was a solid metal table, the restraints open. Each thick, exposed cuff gleamed in the light, its sharp edges filled with menace.
The four of them slowed their steps, remaining huddled by the doorway. Their breath lodged in their throats as they stared at the horrific image, but soon they registered the fact that the table was empty. Desperately they began to spread out, their eyes sweeping the corners of the room. A moment later, their eyes fell upon a gut-wrenching sight.
There shivering in the far right corner, partially hidden by the gurney, his shackled hands holding his head, was Max.
~ ~ ~
[From Part 37]
All this time Maria had known Michael, she hadn’t realized how much he spoke with his eyes. How many messages of love and assurance had she missed, too focused on his gruff voice and tense stance? Now though… all she could focus on in that brief moment were his eyes. Though she had almost completely lost it at the deep pain, frustration and helplessness she initially saw in them, the spark of hope that ignited as their gazes held on to each other was enough to allow her to keep breathing. The tension in her shoulders lessened, the pain in her chest dissipating. Her mind cleared of dark thoughts about any pursuing agent appearing to end their permanent memberships in the ‘I Know an Alien Club’. Instead, she kept Michael’s eyes in mind as she continued to search the road for the exit.
…
Jerking her head to him to see if he was all right, Liz saw Max wincing in pain. With dread she looked down at Max’s hands again. Gold and blue danced on the surface of his pallid skin in a seeming fight to dominate, the sight beautiful and terrible. Within moments, the colors blended into green light, running up and down his arms in painful, jagged lines.
~ ~ ~
[From Part 46]
“You died! All right?! That bald headed, sci-fi geek was at graduation!
They were there!
They SHOT you! They... took… “
Michael broke off, his throat suddenly tight. Breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring, he stared at Max, who had (if possible) turned paler.
Max stood stock-still, mouth slightly open, his eyes wide and bright in the strengthening morning light. Only the presence of the others spilling through the backdoor caused him to move. He stumbled backwards, clumsily stopping as his back hit one of the porch’s supporting posts. His hands reached behind him to grip it for support as his eyes darted to everyone’s faces. His fear of having relived his worst nightmare blocked out all that the others said—their calls to him, and their berating of Michael for telling him like he did.
Feeling once again suffocated under their forlorn gazes, he searched for a momentary escape. But he was in a strange town, and had no idea how safe they really were.
…
Max needed to be alone.
“I can’t talk about this right now.” As much as he wanted to know the whole truth, he just couldn’t bear to look into any of their faces and find out what else the government could have done to him… how much worse they might have been than Pierce. How he had ended up unconscious, powerless… useless.
“But Max—” his sister started to protest.
“Just… give me…” Time was what he needed… but did he even really have that? Maria had said he'd lost a year of his life… was that all? “I need to…” God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to drive into the desert to clear his head, or even hole up in his room and crowd out his thoughts with Counting Crows lyrics. “…lie down.”
As he hoped, nobody protested his request. He knew how weak he looked… and though he hated being weak… at least it gave him his escape.
The others filed back in, hanging around in the kitchen, as he silently made his way to the bedroom he had woken up in, the one room he had found some familiarity in… in the faint smoky scent of vanilla.
…
In Max’s wake, the others picked up their berating again, though careful to keep their voices low. “What the hell were you thinking, Michael?”
“He wasn’t thinking.”
“You don’t just go up to a person and say: ‘you died’...”
“It was supposed to be
gradual!”
“He’s not even listening…”
“I told you guys before… a tat saying ‘I’m sorry’ would solve everything…”
But Michael didn’t answer any of them. He let the verbal abuse wash over him, his guilt back at full force, as he stared up the stairs at Liz’s closed bedroom door. He had said everything to Max except what he really wanted to say.
Note: A couple of lines taken from Graduation
Song: 'Letting the Cables Sleep' by Bush
PART FORTY-SEVEN
Liz’s bedroom
Max’s arms trembled as he concentrated on not slamming the door. The knuckles of his right hand were a glaring white against his already pale skin as his grip remained tight around the doorknob. All his energy was focused on suppressing his emotions, to not panic, to not escape out the window. But it was hard not to when he seemed on the verge of hyperventilating. With each laborious breath he forced out, he lessened his hold on the knob, turning it a few degrees towards the locked position. Six painful breaths later, it clicked shut.
His body collapsed against the door in response, his head seeming to futilely bury itself in the obstinate wood, his lax hands sliding from the door to his sides. His chest heaved, fueled by panic no longer restrained. As his breathing sped up, his chest tightened, air leaving his lungs faster than it returned. Somehow he managed to push himself off the door, stumbling a few steps back. He gulped, craving air, his head jerking wildly in all directions.
Until he registered the sight of Liz’s bed.
Still regulating his breaths, he stared at the crumpled sheets he had woken up in. But he did not take in the pastel colors blurring together as his vision swam. Instead he saw a bright light—a spotlight bearing down on him— and for a brief moment, he believed he saw something sharp and silver barreling towards him.
He gasped violently.
Clutching at his shirt, he no longer registered Liz’s room, lost to what he now knew to be a memory…
He clawed at his shirt searching for the wounds he knew had to be there. His movements were almost feral, his eyes wild and unseeing. He tore a few uneven holes, but not enough to allow him see what he desperately sought. His desperation skyrocketing, he started to change tactics, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to yank it off. But his hands still seemed intent on burrowing through, preventing him from fully removing the shirt. The fabric clung to his face, shrouding him from the brightening sunlight and rapidly robbing him of the air he had struggled to breathe in just moments before. Twisting in alarm, he ended up falling to his knees before the shirt fell forward, settling against his thin chest, with a soft flop. Little did he know, the culprit behind his fall was a photograph of his distant, innocent past. In his hysteria, it had slid to a stop by the closed bedroom door.
Head bent and his eyes squeezed shut, he drew in rapid, deep breaths. His hands, no longer driven with desperate purpose, lay slowly clenching in his lap.
Exhausted and lightheaded, he fell onto his right side. Then, a few more stuttered breaths later, he shifted until he sat up, leaning against the bed, knees drawn up to his chest.
Weary from his prior frenzy, he wrapped his hands around his knees, soon burying his head in them. Unbeknownst to him, he mirrored the same position he had often curled into over the past year. For several moments he shook, silent sobs bubbling out. Ever since his first capture, he lived in constant fear of reliving it all again, or the possibility of any of his friends and family suffering a similar fate. It was why he tried so desperately to keep them close, and controlled. But all that seemed to do was drive them away.
And then… he had ‘died’.
And when he had returned from Vermont, it seemed that all was to be forgotten, or at least not talked about. The new plan worked so well, he almost started to believe he could live an almost normal existence, where his only worry was his and Liz’s parents interfering with them being together. An existence that didn’t seek to destroy him—mentally, emotionally, and physically.
The lie could only last so long… sadly, not long enough for him to even experience one normal childhood’s rite of passage—high school graduation.
He slowly lifted his head, wiping at his reddened eyes. Staring off into the corner he concentrated trying to remember graduation, hopefully spurring all that he had lost.
I have to be who I really am…
He blinked a few times, surprised at the familiarity of the words. Refocusing, he realized he was staring at his chest, where he had clawed into his shirt. Fingering the shredded cloth, he gasped, jerking back against the bed.
…and let fate take care of the rest…
He could have sworn he heard screams follow those words, and felt the bullets penetrating his chest. But once again refocusing on the shirt that denied him sight of the bullet wounds, he renewed his search. This time though, he intently scrutinized through the holes in the shirt, rather than attempting to gouge them further apart.
With the morning sunlight now hidden by dark grey clouds, the room grew darker, further helped by the drawn curtains. The few vanilla-scented candles were the main source of light. Without thought to the comfort of their scent, Max reached out to the closest one. Holding it close, he hoped it would help him find what he was missing.
The back porch
Maria stood on the back porch watching Michael forlornly as he skulked by the newly repaired wall. His prior sense of purpose and strength were missing from his entire being as he paced slowly in the muck.
For the past several minutes Maria had tried to catch his attention, but had been shrugged off when she had actually joined him by the wall. And even though she had angrily stalked off at his snub, she remained on the porch, watching him in concern. He hadn’t said a word since Max had gone upstairs—not when they had berated him for minutes after, not even when Liz had changed the subject, suddenly remembering the hole blasted in the wall outside. Instead, he had silently walked out, his decisive steps denying anyone to follow.
After he had finished his task easily, Maria had hoped to coax him back inside, to let him know they had calmed down and were sorry for their earlier reactions. True, they had hoped to handle telling Max better, but at least he knew now… the hardest part of telling had to be over. All he had to do now was connect with Liz, and he could start healing. The constant churning in her stomach made her question her optimism on it being that easy, but after all they had been through, things
had to get better.
Now if only she could get Michael to meet her gaze.
He stood still now, looking up at the darkening sky, his shoulders once more slumped and hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Only the inevitable rain was needed to match the present scene to one of her most treasured memories of Michael.
“He still won’t come in?”
Maria briefly started at Liz’s softly asked question. Recovering easily, she faced her friend, shaking her head sadly. Turning back to gaze at Michael, she commented absentmindedly, “Sorry, I didn’t help much with cleaning up.”
“It’s fine, there wasn’t that much, we just felt like doing it the slow,
human way to keep us from checking on Max every minute,” Liz replied with a small, wry smile.
At the mention of Max, Maria faced her best friend again, her concern refocusing on him. “It’s been pretty long hasn’t it? Should we—”
“Isabel is on her way up now.” Liz seemed about to say more, but bit her lip instead. Maria knew she was deeply concerned about Max—on his physical state since it had been far too long since he had eaten or even drunk anything, let alone truly rested. And she was concerned about how he’d react when he remembered everything as well. Maria was sure it was weighing heavily on Liz’s mind that she would be the one to give him back those horrifying memories, to re-inflict their deep scarring pain.
Maria had wondered if it had been Michael instead, whether she would be able to do such a thing. Deep down she knew she would, because it wasn’t her right to keep that from him—it was his secret, and his choice to share it with her. And perhaps were she given the chance, she could lessen the burden of such memories. Spurred by her earlier thoughts, she offered their slight comfort to Liz, “It’s his right to know. Let
him make the decision.”
Liz glanced away, but Maria caught the flash of guilt in her eyes. Maria had never agreed with Liz’s decision to leave that summer, but as her best friend she supported Liz in doing so, while every so often urging her to talk to Max, as futile as that was. She hoped, after all they had been through, Liz knew not to repeat that mistake, that instead she’d face the pain together with Max, for once
sharing the burden. “And with you there, it may not be as frightening or hurtful. Because this time… he won’t be alone.”
Liz faced Maria in surprise, holding her gaze steady as the words sunk in. A small smile tugged at her lips in gratitude. “You’re right.” Reaching for Maria’s hand, Liz lightly squeezed it. “ Thanks.”
The two lapsed into a comfortable silence, when Liz finally broached her other reason for coming out to the porch. “So, I was planning to return the car today, and was wondering if you wanted to follow with mine?”
Already nodding her head, Maria replied, “Sure.” But after a short pause she added, “But wait, shouldn’t we hold on to it… just in case?” Despite that shapeshifter’s assurances, Maria, like all the others, didn’t trust him.
Acknowledging the unspoken fear with a nod, Liz responded, “If we need to run, we can use our own. Because, if they find us here, having a different car won’t make it any more difficult to trace us. And now we won’t have to worry about altering the GPS to reflect a different route—that took a lot out of Isabel when we first started out, remember?”
“Oh yeah… so that definitely worked?”
“I’m going to double check before we head out,” Liz gestured with her hand, referring to her newly realized power. “But we should go soon—”
“Yeah, I can be ready in a few minutes—”
“No, I’ll go,” Michael interjected.
Startled, both girls jerked their heads towards him, unable to get their questions out: How had he snuck up on them? How long had he been listening? Had Maria been less shocked, she may have caught the answer to the latter in the intensity of Michael’s loving gaze upon her. Unfortunately, his gaze lingered ever so briefly, retreating into the typical closed-off look as he met Liz’s.
“You ready?” he asked Liz, an eyebrow raised.
“Um, yeah,” she replied, sharing an uncertain look with Maria.
“Then let’s go,” he stated walking past them into the house.
With a quick shrug, Maria gestured for Liz to go ahead with Michael. Following after them, Maria raised her eyebrows at seeing the front door already closing, surprised at how quickly Michael and Liz had exited the house. She shared a look with Kyle, who shrugged then gestured to the spot next to him on the couch. With a tired smile, she flopped onto the couch, hearing the muted revving of the cars as Liz and Michael took off. Settling against the soft cushions, she began to sigh only to gasp as she jerked upright at a loud cry from upstairs.
Upstairs landing
Minutes earlier
Poised to knock on Liz’s door, Isabel hesitated. She didn’t want to disturb Max if he was actually sleeping—he certainly needed the rest. But then again… if he had passed out…
She gently rapped on the door three times.
Immediately, she pressed her ear to the door straining to hear any response. After a lengthy moment, her hand hovered over the knob, again hesitating. But her fear of having Max lapse back into a coma fueled the small surge of power it took to unlock the door. At the click, she briefly closed her eyes, releasing a long, deep breath. Then, with a slight tremor of the hand, each movement controlled and conscious of making no sound, she slowly opened the door.
The room had significantly darkened since the hour before, when she had found Max awake. Peering through the candlelit haze, she was dismayed to find only crumpled bed sheets, still untouched from earlier. She stepped further into the room, pausing when her foot registered something much smoother than the carpet. Bending down, she picked up the item that she’d stepped on, surprised to find it was her cherished photograph of her brother. She gently held it at its sides, a sad smile tugging at her pursed lips. The past reflected in the image was becoming more distant. The easy smile on the younger Max’s face becoming nearly impossible to ever hope to see again. But she was determined to try and give that smile back to him, even if it meant first giving back his nightmares.
Holding the photo in one hand, she continued into the room, heading toward the closed bathroom door, hoping Max was there. She softly called out his name as she approached.
She froze at a sudden hiss to her left.
Turning back to the bed, her stomach clenched in fear, she called out again, her voice taut, “Max?” After a brief pause and just about to ask if that noise had come from him, she stopped when she spied a tuft of his dark brown hair on the other side of the bed.
Her steps almost silent on the carpet, she moved to where he was, pausing at an unsettlingly familiar sight.
He was curled up against the bed, just as he had been when they found him in the corner of that white room. His head was bent, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge her presence, but for once she didn’t mind. Instead, she felt her heart break again.
She lowered herself onto the bed, gently placing the photo to the side of her. All the while she watched him silently, waiting for him to speak first.
Moments passed in silence.
Isabel gripped the edges of the bed to stop herself from forcing Max to look at her. She had to be patient, to be strong for him. But she certainly wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of the silent treatment; not that that was what Max was doing. And it didn’t help that her eyes kept playing tricks on her. She was certain she saw a flame flickering within Max’s encircling arms. Unable to outlast Max, and wanting to complete her earlier attempt to give him a proper meal, she broke the silence. “Do you want to eat anything? I can bring it up here, if you’d rather not come down right now.”
His head briefly lifted, turning slightly towards her. With a gentle shake, he answered in a scratchy voice, “No, it’s okay.”
“Well what about—”
“Iz, just stop.” His words were bitterly tired. “When I want something, I’ll come get it. I’m not
that helpless.” Already returning his head to its prior bent state he added under his breath, “am I?”
“Max, that’s not what I meant—” Isabel rushed to assure him.
“I know,” he stated with finality. Offering a grimacing smile, he shifted, drawing further into a curled ball. He hissed in pain.
In seconds, Isabel had slid down from the bed to Max’s side, attempting to gently pull apart Max’s arms to find out what had happened.
“Iz, no!”
“Max… what? Oh my god!” She gasped at the stiffening mess where hot liquid wax had spilled onto his shirt, clinging to his exposed chest. Her eyes darted up to meet his, hoping to glean a reason for this, but she was unable to catch their gaze. Blinking back tears, she waved her hand, quickly removing the white wax, revealing the bright pink skin peeking through the rips in Max’s t-shirt. Moving her hand a little closer, she healed the scalded tissue and repaired the holes. She leaned back and spied one of Liz’s candles in Max’s trembling right hand. Reaching over, she wrestled it out of his weakening grip and returned it to Liz’s bedside table.
Isabel settled back into her spot on the floor and stared at Max, her eyes wide, imploring him to explain. But he continued to avoid her gaze, his hands pulling his knees as close as possible to his chest.
A few tears spilled down her cheeks, unable to keep her emotions in check as she spoke, “Max, what were you doing? Why would you…?” She roughly wiped away the tears, before reaching out to hold Max’s hands. “Why?” she implored.
Gently removing his hands from hers, Max lowered his knees and gestured to the left side of his chest. “Something’s missing…”
Isabel bit her lip to stop more tears from falling. She correctly assumed he was referring to his gunshot wounds, having realized herself that his skin was no longer scarred beneath the slight wax burns he had accidentally given himself. Though part of her wondered, if he meant something more…
“I don’t know how… or why… but I know…
something’s missing,” he continued in a confused, broken whisper.
Isabel nodded, still biting her lip to stem the tide of building tears. After a moment she gained enough control over emotions to speak, “We can help you find out. Maybe if you and Liz connected… you might get flashes or—”
“No!!! Liz is NOT… NOT EVER going to find out what happened to me!!”
Isabel leaned back, taken aback at the vehemence in Max’s voice, and how he was able to gather the strength in his voice to shout. “But Max—”
“NO! She already saw too much the first time, because I couldn’t control it.” Shaking his head, he pushed against the bed to stand up. His whole body wavered, partially from physical weakness, partially from fear and anger. Isabel stood up too. But before she could speak again, Max cried out, “I WON’T LET HER!”
Knowing there was no way to convince Max otherwise, Isabel attempted another suggestion. “All right…” Her hands were lifted in a gesture of surrender, as she slowly spoke, “…you don’t have to do that Max. But… what if I dreamwalked you, I could help you locate those memories…” Noticing the same panicked-stricken face that had appeared at the mention of Liz connecting to him, Isabel hastily added, “…or you know maybe Kyle could do it.”
“NOBODY is connecting with me.”
“But Max, there’s no other way we can help you get your memories back!” Isabel argued for him to see reason.
“There has to be another way! I’m not letting anyone get into my head! Just stay out, I don’t need your help! I…” Max broke off coughing, his throat far too dry to handle any more outbursts.
Isabel was instantly at his side, trying to help, but he shrugged her off. Regaining his breath, he continued softly, “Look, I know you want to help. But please don’t.” He paused, his eyes pleading for Isabel to agree. “Not with this.”
Not one to back down, but realizing she wouldn’t get much farther right now, Isabel responded, “We’ll talk about this later. Let’s get you some food and water first.”
“I’m not hungry,” Max stubbornly mumbled in instant reply.
“Fine, water then.” Isabel retorted, losing her tentative control. She quickly exited the room, before she broke down in front of Max. She just barely registered his attempt at apologizing, but she knew if she turned around she’d start crying and she didn’t want to give him yet another burden. She quickened her steps even more, unsure if she was relieved he didn’t follow.
Only when she got to the kitchen, did she cover her face with her hands allowing the welled-up tears to flow.
“Iz?”
Her hands lowered at Kyle’s tentative call. She couldn’t face him, though, and so took the last two steps towards the sink, reaching for a glass on the shelf above and filling it with water. When he called her name again, she lowered the glass onto the counter, and replied in a low voice, cringing at her evident vulnerability. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?” he asked softly, his hand on her arm urging her to face him.
Despite herself, she met his gaze, still blinking away her tears. “He… he won’t let us help him. He… God… things are just… a mess. And I can’t do anything about it…”
She started to wring her hands, but Kyle quickly took them in his and assured her, “Let me talk to him.”
There were a number of arguments on the tip of Isabel’s tongue, but she was so tired, and desperate to help Max heal, that she just nodded and handed Kyle the glass.
Taking the glass, Kyle rubbed Isabel’s arm briefly in comfort and softly told her to go sit on the couch and rest. She easily complied, joining Maria, who he had spent the last few minutes calming down as well. The hysteria that she’d been holding back this entire time had finally broken through after Max’s outcry upstairs. Something needed to change soon, or they all would soon be pushed over the edge.
Stepping onto the upstairs landing, he tripped, just barely catching himself. The water in the glass sloshed upward a little bit spilling over the edge. Switching hands, he wiped his wet hand against his pants and stepped into Liz’s bedroom.
In the flickering glow of candlelight and grey natural light seeping in from the hallway, Kyle saw Max sitting on the bed, head bent, his elbows propped up on his knees as he peered intently at a creased photograph. Though the door was ajar, Kyle lightly knocked, not wanting to startle Max out of his reverie.
Max’s head shot up, already uttering his apology, “Iz, look, I’m sorry—” he abruptly cut himself off upon seeing Kyle.
His hands settling in his lap, the photo now at his side, Max stared at Kyle uneasily. Though they had been on amicable terms last he remembered, his mind recoiled every time he saw Kyle now—he just couldn’t figure out why.
Kyle handed Max the glass of water. “Here you go.”
Max silently accepted, nodding in thanks. He began to slowly sip the water, his eyes closing as he relished in the cool relief it brought. But soon he was desperately chugging down the glass, as if it might be taken away from him at any moment. Once done, his chest heaved as he caught his breath, a few small coughs escaping him.
Though Kyle’s eyes had widened at first in surprise, his gaze shifted into a morose understanding. Taking the glass from Max, he offered, “I can get more, if you’d like.”
The water settling uneasily in his stomach, Max shook his head, “No, that’s ok.”
With a short nod, Kyle placed the glass on Liz’s desk, then stuffed his hands in his pockets, leaning against the desk. He stood in awkward silence, unsure what to say.
After a long stretch of silence, Max questioned, “What do you want, Kyle?”
Startled, Kyle knocked the glass with his elbow, but managed to freeze it just as it rolled off the table. Gingerly plucking it from the air, he placed it upright in the center of the desk, out of harm’s way. Turning back to Max, he saw the shocked look on his friend’s gaunt face. Gradually, Max’s eyes moved from the glass to Kyle.
Seeing the unspoken question in his gaze, Kyle confirmed, “Yeah, I’ve turned green too.” He lifted his hand, but the green light had already dissipated. With a shrug, he continued, his hand falling to his side as he confessed, “To think I had once wanted to have your powers.”
“Kyle… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“Stop right there, Max. You saved my life… and I don’t know if you never got to hear it or you just don’t remember it, but… when I thought you were gone…” He ran a hand through his hair, still awkward about expressing his feelings. With a brief wry smile he continued, “… well… it was hard enough saying it that time…” Holding Max’s gaze he tried to convey his gratitude and sincerity, “…so just know, I’ll never thank you enough for saving my life, my dad’s… Liz’s… all of us. Not even finding you seems enough… not when it took this long.” He shook his head slowly, weighed down by guilt.
After a long pause, Max asked in awe, “You found me?”
Kyle affirmed with a nod, a pained expression crossing his face. “Ever since Isabel let me have a taste of her power, I prayed to be able to enter that playmate’s dreams again…” Rolling his eyes, a self-deprecating smile graced his face, “I was an idiot. Telling Isabel to have fun with her powers, that there was no need to brood when you wielded that kind of power.” He shook his head sadly, “I was so wrong. Fate sure knows how to kick you in the ass in style.” The comment came from his memory of joking with Liz that ever since he was healed he had gotten flashes of Max naked. He no longer saw the humor in that anymore. Unwilling to elaborate on his comment, Kyle continued on in a different vein, “But I’m glad I got that power after all. Because you’re here now. Well, most of you anyway.” A smirk flashed on his weary, concerned face.
Max’s eyebrows rose at Kyle’s little jibe at his amnesia. With a sigh, he disclosed, “I do want to know… as bad as it is… I just don’t want anybody else to suffer it too, not even by observing it.”
“Yeah, well I already saw it. Well… that is what I hope is the worst of it. I’m guessing that’s how I was able to connect at all to you… no way you could stay in control of your mind through all that…” Kyle trailed off at Max’s extended wince.
After a long, awkward silence Kyle tried to assure Max, “I never told the others exact… details about them… just a few basics to get them to believe me that I did actually dreamwalk you. And I promise… if you agree… no one will know what I see from you. Hell, I hope that I don’t actually have to see it for you to get them back, but I’m ready to help any time.”
Max regarded Kyle for a moment, his lips tugging upward at the corners ever so slightly. “You’re a good guy, Kyle.”
Kyle remained silent, sensing Max was about to agree.
Max looked out the door for a moment, his eyes unfocused. Then lowering his head, he refocused on the photo to the side of him. Releasing a deep breath, Max nodded once. Lifting his head to hold Kyle’s expectant gaze he finally verbally answered, “All right.”
Needing to be absolutely sure, Kyle repeated, “All right?”
Max nodded again.
Relieved, but still wary, Kyle asked, “Okay… um… when do you want to—”
His lips quirking into a wry smile, his widest smile since he realized he had lost his memory, Max answered, “Now. Before I change my mind.”
In Liz’s car
Liz continued to dart glances at Michael as he drove them back to the house, observing the physical change in him.
The most obvious was his return to his guise of black short hair and grey eyes. The look suited him, but every time their eyes met Liz felt a chill run down her spine. They just seemed unnatural and more closed off than usual—as if the stonewall Maria often described him as having was reflected in their gaze.
But what concerned Liz at the moment was the hopelessness emanating from Michael. She would take his anger and gruffness any day over this pained silence, since she knew how to handle that. For several minutes she wondered how to get him to talk again, to accept the apology she and Maria had tried to give him earlier.
They passed through a ray of sunshine, breaking through the moving, stormy clouds. Smiling at the brief respite from the cold grey, the solution suddenly hit her. A question she had always wanted to ask him, but never felt the moment was appropriate, finally begged to be asked.
“So why did you pick Ray?”
The car drifted slightly at Michael’s sudden turn to look at Liz. He quickly straightened the wheel and then a fortunate red light allowed him to fully turn to Liz to regard her question. “What do you mean?”
“Well… Ray was what Alex called himself in Las Cruces…” Liz clarified, surprised that Michael didn’t remember that. The realization dawning in his grey eyes confirmed that he truly had forgotten.
“I… I don’t know why. When I was filling out an application to work in construction… I had to come up with another name and that was the first thing I thought of. And it seemed to work, so I went with it.” He shrugged then faced the road again. Releasing the brake at the now green light, he darted a glance at Liz, then mumbled, “I don’t have to keep it if it bothers you…”
Liz studied Michael for a moment before answering, “It doesn’t.” She offered him a smile, “And you’re right… it does suit you.”
Michael briefly turned to Liz again. The steely grey of his gaze appearing softer, he offered her a small smile.
To Liz, that smile was more welcomed and warmer than the few rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds.
Liz’s bedroom
The bedroom door was closed, returning the room to its prior darkness. The boys didn’t bother about the dim light of the candles, more concerned with how to go about giving Max his memories back.
After a few awkward attempts to position themselves to hold hands for the connection, Max finally settled back to where he was sitting on the bed, and Kyle sitting in front of him in Liz’s desk chair. Their bodies still mimicked their discomfort, both their backs tense and upright, theirs arms taut as they reached forward. Just as Kyle was about to reach for Max’s hands, he realized Max was holding a photo.
Looking down at it, he questioned, “What’s that for?”
Scrunching his eyebrows in confusion, Max queried, “Don’t you need it? Isabel always used a photo.”
Shaking his head, Kyle told him, “No. I never used one. And, since you’re right in front of me, I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
Max released a soft, huff-like laugh and placed the photo aside again. But just as he was about to grip Kyle’s hand, he asked, “So how will this work, exactly?”
Flopping his hands back at his sides with an exasperated sigh, Kyle answered, “I don’t know exactly… it’s not like there was a manual.” With another softer, more understanding sigh, Kyle went on, “Look… one of the times I dreamwalked you in there… you… weren’t responding… even when you didn’t believe I was really in there, you at least looked at me and talked to me… but this…” He shook his head. “I thought maybe if I suggested through the connection about thinking of when Liz was shot in the Crash—that is, I tried to show you how I always imagined it—so I thought it might shock you enough to snap you out of whatever you were in…” Kyle’s eyes seemed unfocused at this point, as he revealed, “the thing is… some other memory… of
yours appeared… “
“Wow,” Max breathed.
Returning to the present, Kyle agreed, “Yeah.” After a beat, he added, " So… ready to try this?”
Still astonished at Kyle’s abilities, Max nodded slowly, “Yeah.”
This time, with no awkwardness, the boys joined hands. In-synch, they closed their eyes, and took deep breaths.
~ ~ ~ ~
Though darkness surrounded him, Kyle felt the familiar sensation of a successful dreamwalk. Max? His call resounded in his mind.
Only whimpers answered his call.
He called again. Max!
Let me out...
Recognizing the plea, Kyle quickly figured out which memory of Max’s he seemed trapped in. He tried to calm Max down, telling him he wasn’t in that coffin-like thing, and urging him to think of something else to move beyond this one portion of hell he had endured. But all he heard was a muted, low voice repeating the same plea:
Let me out...
~ ~ ~ ~
Lost to the dreamwalk, Max and Kyle were unaware of a golden glow building from Kyle’s stomach. It continued to brighten in intensity, then it seemed to dim for a moment. Then suddenly, it shifted towards their linked hands, instantly flickering out.
~ ~ ~ ~
After several more attempts to calm Max, a whirlwind of white images flashed by. The only sounds Kyle heard then were Max’s intermittent screams. Deeply concerned they were going too fast for Max, Kyle tried to pull out of the connection. He was so focused on ending the dreamwalk, he didn’t register a faint blue light crackling within the blinding blur of white. Only a whisper cutting through the connection pulled him from his purpose.
Don’t let go
Immediately, Kyle concentrated on strengthening the connection, drawing on a memory of Max. Initially, it was one he always used to dreamwalk him, but realizing Max needed to remember what happened to him after graduation, Kyle decided to start from his own memory of graduation—Max taking the stage and extinguishing the lights.
Darkness surrounded him again.
But this time there was a bright spotlight piercing through it, revealing a terrified, younger Max dressed in the red West Roswell High graduation robe.
Kyle watched fascinated as Max gave his speech—his farewell to his family, his friends, his home. The slight waver in Max’s words deeply affected Kyle. He shared in the anger and fear Max had felt at that moment, knowing his death was imminent—all because they didn’t understand who Max really was; a transgression Kyle himself was once guilty of. He vowed that once Max had his memories back, he would try his hardest to encourage Max to live his life to the fullest and be who he really was.
Thank you for letting me live…
Max’s words became muted after that last line. The gradual silence was quickly broken by the resounding thump of Max falling to the ground and the high pitched screams of the panicked audience.
But Kyle was given no moment to dwell on the scene or even confirm that Max was all right through the connection. A searing heat flowed into him, causing him to scream out in pain. He sensed his eyes were squeezed shut in pain. As he tried to physically pull away, he found himself catapulted through the air—the chair breaking against the door, and his own back crashing flat against the wall.
It took him several moments to become aware of where he was, his head lolling in a daze. When he did, he stared blankly at Liz’s closed, intact bedroom door, never noticing the faint green trails flickering out in his hands.
~ ~ ~ ~
Downstairs
Moments before
Neither Isabel nor Maria had realized they had drifted off, until an agonized scream shocked them awake, their bodies lunging forward. They mirrored each other’s shocked faces, their eyes and mouth opened wide. At the resounding thud seconds later, their minds regained control, and sent them running up the stairs
As their feet hit the first step, the front door opened, Liz and Michael filing in. But their thoughts were so focused on reaching upstairs that they didn’t even acknowledge their arrival.
“What happened?” Liz asked in panic, quickly following after them, alongside Michael.
In seconds, all four had reached the upstairs landing instantly running to Liz’s room. Finding the door locked, Michael’s hand started to glow around the knob.
“Kyle?” Liz gasped.
Everyone distracted by Liz’s call, they turned away from the now unlocked door, finding Kyle’s crumpled form against the wall facing Liz’s bedroom. They all moved forward as Liz and Maria settled on either side of Kyle, helping him to sit up further, both asking if he was all right.
“I… Max…” Kyle was still too dazed to order his thoughts. He lifted a shaky hand to the back of his head, wincing.
At Kyle’s incomplete reply, Michael followed through with his earlier instinct to shove open Liz’s bedroom door, his palm already lifted towards it. All but Maria (who kept darting concerned glances at the bedroom door and Kyle) instantly filed in after Michael. They paused at finding the room deserted, and seeing the mess of splintered wood that was once Liz’s chair. Spying the open bathroom door, they cautiously stepped towards it.
Curled up in the corner of the bathtub, Max continuously shook, his hands covered, once more, by jagged green light, struggling to still his jerking head.
All three of them called out to him but only Michael’s voice was strong enough for Max to hear. With great difficulty, Max lifted his head, his hands lowering to hug his knees.
His eyes were completely black.
Michael gasped along with Isabel and Liz, soon following it with a barely audible curse. Having somewhat expected this, he recovered faster than the girls. Stepping forward, he never registered the slight physical change in Max—the regal lifting of his chin, the narrowing of his eyes and the raising of his left hand.
Michael flew back, accosted by a shimmering green shield. He landed heavily against the bed, quickly helped to his feet by Isabel and Liz.
“What the hell was that?” Maria cried out, having just joined the others in the room with Kyle.
All three turned to her, their eyes filled with fear. Only Michael’s was devoid of confusion. With another glance at the energy shield flickering in intensity, its shade turning increasingly blue, he answered, “That’s not Max.”
Thanks for the comments on my song choices. 
And actually for the ones following the gang... he's conflicted... but based on what he did at the border he's starting to lean away from the Unit's views on things...
you are too cute! 
