Of Journals & Journeys (AU M/L, YTEEN) Ch. 62 Pg 22 - 12 / 29 [COMPLETE]

[keepsmiling7]

NO.....NO Max, don't betray Liz Parker!
Thanks,
Carolyn

[begonia9508]

Hey Misha,

It's been a few weeks and I was wondering what's happened to your story? Are you still writing?

Would be nice to read what's happen next!

Thanks EVE

[Misha]

Ah! We're now entering the beginning of the end But don't worry, it's all mapped out



Journal entry #20, September 1st, 2011


It’s been three weeks since Max walked out that door, and soon after, Alex and John went their separate ways as well. I don't know if I've become an adrenaline junkie, or if it's just that I miss having friends around, but with Alex back in Norway and John back with his wife, it's become painfully obvious that Max is not coming back. This chapter of my life is over. I have to let it go, treasure it in the back of my mind, never to speak of it ever again.

But the truth is, I don't want to let go.



Chapter Forty-Five
Shattered


Something was wrong.

She didn't know what, but the feeling was growing. For the hundredth time that night, she bit her lip.

Looking at the doorframe, she hoped against hope that Max would be there. Or that Max would call her. Or John. Or someone. It was a depressing thought to know Max could disappear from everyone's life without a trace.

She stood up and walked to the window. Starbucks was about to close and nothing looked out of place—yet something was. In any case, it didn't look as if Max was there.

Of course he isn't, silly. He's fine. He has to be.

She kept watching, hugging herself.

Funny how things she took for granted had changed so drastically, and still had left her life intact. How aliens were real, but she still had to go grocery shopping and pay the bills. How Alex had hacked one of the most classified projects ever, and yet he flew coach to Norway because his business partners' were starting to get angsty at his prolonged absence. How John had all these incredible powers, but still had bought a dozen red roses on his way to his wife, who had the amazing mundane power of banishing him to the couch.

These thoughts did little to distract her. Rationally, she had a million reasons to be worried about Max: he could be on the other side of the world being shot at. He could be dying of a reaction to her counter-drug. He could be lying on a metal table somewhere, being dissected by that sadistic Summers.

Stop it, she ordered herself, closing her eyes. The tug in her mind didn't stop, feeble as it was. Maybe all she needed was to go home, take a shower, and go to bed. Max would be fine. Life would go on. It was time for her life to do the same.

Finally, she left the lab, the clock reading 10:31 p.m. She got into her car in a hurry, a growing sense of dread filling her. Her stomach ached and her heartbeat accelerated—she just didn't know why.

Still parked, she turned to look around. Part of her wanted to run; part of her wanted to fight. The more she looked on Max's direction, the more she wanted to go there.

Be realistic. What are you going to do? Storm a military base all by yourself? Because you think something is wrong with Max? For real?

Gripping the wheel, she started her drive home at barely 10 miles per hour. The lab building and Starbucks were still visible in her rearview mirror when she stopped. She bit her lip once more, and made a decision. A stupid one, maybe, but she had to know if this tug was real.

Cutting a U-turn, she headed in the opposite direction from her apartment, and in the general direction of Max’s base. Just a few miles, she promised herself. Whatever she felt, it was coming from that direction, and damn if she was not going to check it out.

Driving slowly, Liz scanned the road illuminated by the headlights, trying to peer past their limits into the darkness that obscured the woods beyond. One mile became two, became four, became ten. A few cars passed her by.

At a random point, she pulled over and stopped. She'd arrived to nowhere, logic told her, but that mental tug was strongest here. Stop, it seemed to tell her, stop right here.

Cold sweat broke on her forehead. I'm not imagining things, she told herself, her knuckles turning white on the wheel. Nodding once, she got out of the car with her flashlight, her breath condensing.

The only rational explanation to why she was here had a name, and she whispered it now:

"Max?"

She looked straight ahead at the dark road. "If you're there, I'm here..." She stood still, straining her senses to catch anything, but heard nothing, saw nothing. The silence oppressed her.

"Max!" she shouted, wanting to reach him on some level and only knowing her powerless voice. "It's me! Liz!—Parker!" she amended. The day Max said her name was the day hell would freeze over.

She pointed her flashlight everywhere. Right, left, up, and down. Overhead, rainy clouds collided, full of cold and misery.

"Max!" she shouted again, desperation taking hold of her. Was he really calling her? Could he even do that?

Was she losing her mind?

She barely heard it then: a branch breaking. Please don't be a bear, she thought as she turned the flashlight in the direction of the sound.

Another branch broke at her right. Eagerly, she spun her flashlight there, and promptly found what she was looking for: Max.

Hardly able to stand against a tree trunk, he was completely disoriented, barely able to close his eyes at the glaring light. His breathing was labored, and he looked lost and exhausted. She scrambled frantically to reach him, as a few falling drops gave warning that the clouds were about to burst.

"Oh my God, Max! Max! What happened to you?!"

Before, Liz would never have dared to touch him without permission, but right now, that was the furthest thing from her mind. Her hands went to his cold cheeks to get his attention, calling his name. He was disoriented, like someone with a concussion. Or someone who's been drugged, she thought with mounting fear. His eyes could not focus on her, even if he was trying his hardest. When she touched him, her stomach clenched, nausea overcoming her.

She let Max go, and the feeling receded. "We have to get you out of here," she stated, draping his arm over her shoulders. She knew it was going to be difficult, but she wasn't anticipating Max's almost dead weight on her a moment later. She stumbled, her back and knees protesting the sudden burden.

Ten agonizing steps later, she opened the passenger door. Once Max was seated, she went around the front of the car and got into the driver's seat. The door made a thunderous sound when she closed it, but as Liz placed her hands on the wheel, she realized something was on them. Something dark.

Blood.

"Oh my—" she didn't finish her thought, turning to look at Max who stared blindly ahead. Her eyes went to his hands, and sure enough, blood coated them, too. She reached for his chest, opening his jacket.

"Please, tell me this isn't your blood, please, please, please." She couldn't find the source of the bleeding. Maybe on his back, maybe on his legs.

Maybe whoever did it is still out there.

The thought paralyzed her searching fingers, crystalizing her priorities in a second: Get him out of danger, get him to safety. If he was bleeding, the last place he was going to get help was in the middle of the road in the middle of the night.

Cutting another U-turn and flooring it, Liz went as fast as she could, not caring about how Max's body slid to the right, leaning against the door. He didn't even grunt.

"Once we're out off this road, we'll get you checked, okay?"

No answer. She looked at his profile, willing him to voice what had happened, who had done it. How had he called her?

She didn't know what to do. "Think, Liz. Think!" she told herself through clenched teeth, devouring the miles she'd covered not ten minutes ago.

Rain fell harder, giving everything a sense of urgency. The wipers that hypnotized Max's eyes were the only sound her nerves could stand right now.

The Starbucks logo was of little comfort as she zoomed past it, leaving behind her building, her job, her life—all part of some world where aliens didn't exist and she wasn't carrying a hybrid into the vast unknown.

"What they did to you?" she asked in despair. Max turned to look in her general direction.

"Are you a dream?" he asked slowly, almost slurring.

"More like a nightmare," she muttered, shaking her head. "I knew something was wrong with you, and I just went looking on your direction. I didn't know you were there—I mean, I did know, sort of… Maybe like a hunch? I—I hoped you would be there, and that it wasn't all in my head. And you—you were there, except—except I didn't really know—"

She stopped. Max closed his eyes and winced. If I keep babbling my mind out, he's not going to understand a thing.

"Sorry. Max, can you tell me why you were out there?"

"No," he said, opening his eyes and looking at his lap. "Well..." he thought harder, making an incredible effort to hold on to his thoughts. "Maggs... she said to wait for her..." A beat, "Are you Maggs?"

"I'm Parker," she stated. The girl you spied on, bullied into helping you, and who ultimately gave you the magic cure. She laughed at that, and felt rather silly doing it, too. "I'm Liz Parker, your friend." Max would probably recognize her better as Dr. Parker, but if this was their last conversation, she wanted him to know her as something more personal than a lab technician. "We've had Thai food together," she added. It seemed to ring a bell somewhere in his foggy brain.

"I don't... want food," he said, getting slightly pale.

"Did someone hit you?" she asked, reading the sign for the interstate. If you have a concussion, I should be driving you to the nearest hospital. She mentally checked his symptoms, and whatever this was, it wasn't pretty.

"They tried," Max said with a sincerity that didn't leave any room for doubt. "I hit them instead."

Screw this, Liz thought, veering to the right and parking the car, its flashers ticking as she unbuckled Max's seatbelt. Miles away, lightning stroke.

"Here, let me see," she said, reaching for the back of his head. With light fingers, she prodded his skin looking for any lumps or—worse—any blood. As she went from one side to the other, she watched him carefully for any reaction. He complied without saying a word, without wincing, without doing much of anything really, except blinking lethargically.

Finding nothing, her hands explored down his torso.

"Okay, help me out here, Max," she said, unzipping his leather jacket. "We have to get this off you," she murmured, as Max strained feebly to comply while she fought with the sleeves in the constricted space. He leaned his forehead on hers as she gave one last pulled on his sleeve, and Liz froze.

"I'm so tired," he murmured, the words sending her vivid images of a lab that wasn't her own, of a man she'd never seen but knew immediately was the Summers he'd talked about a few times. He'd done something to him.

Other images came, faster and faster, emotions and memories colliding in a dizzying carrousel. Duty and secrecy warred with the need to escape and leave this place. She felt his fierce loyalty and his deeper isolation, the conflict of wanting to belong to his life and the need to find what love really was about. He was so tired of being lied to, of being used. He was so tired of believing he had nothing good to offer—so tired of wanting to have a normal life.

She pressed Max's chest gently back to the seat, barely nodding. Her mind was stretched in ten different directions, trying to understand how Max's mind worked, what kind of life he had, and what to do with all this information now. Most importantly, she needed to know where they should go.

Concentrating on the first image, she finally understood what his mind had told her first: "It was Summers," she whispered, feeling Max's muscles tense. "Max... what did he do to you? All this time?" she asked, for one moment looking at his face. He didn't just look tired, he looked exhausted to the point of oblivion.

His shirt had bloody spots all over, and she hastily lifted it so she could take a good look at his body. The blood had stained his skin, but no wounds were open, nothing bleeding. At least nothing vital, she thought, taking a look at his arms. She patted him down the legs to look for fresh blood, but everything seemed to be good.

No concussion, no loss of blood. All good news, yes, but that left her with an unknown drug running in his system. Another unknown drug, that is, she thought with despair. When had he had his last dose? Was he off the original drug? No, no, that would be too soon.

Maybe Maggs improved my formula... It didn't matter. She needed Max coherent to answer these questions, which was the furthest from happening right about now.

"Okay, okay..." she said to herself, looking at the emergency flashers, as if somehow the answer to her problems lay there.

"Max?" she asked, still looking at the display, "Do you know what drug they gave you?"

"I don't… remember. I've never... felt this way... before..." She turned to look at him, and caught him before he could hit the dashboard in front.

"I think you need to buckle up again," she said, some part of her finding this both incredibly stupid and absurd. Once she grabbed him images came back. She saw Maggs, urging him to get out. She saw soldiers, maybe doing a perimeter, maybe coming for him. She broke the connection when she was about to see how Max had dealt with that particular problem.

At least now I know who this blood belongs to, she thought, as she carefully avoided touching Max again.

"It hurt," Max said, trying his hardest to keep his head up.

"When they drugged you?" she asked, safely on her side of the car. She turned the emergency lights off, and pulled onto the road again.

"When they shot you," he stated simply. She hit the breaks of the car abruptly enough to leave marks on the pavement.

"What?"

"They shot you," he said, signaling his abdomen, roughly around where she'd been shot a lifetime ago.

"How do you know that?"

"I had a flash... I do that now," he explained, frowning.

Of course, if I could see something from him, he could see something from me. She blushed at some of the things she had thought over the months. What if he saw some of that and totally misunderstood it?

"What else... did you see?" she asked tentatively, resuming their trip. The silent road was eerie enough without having an alien confessing his mind-reading abilities via touch.

"Cupcakes," he murmured, frowning. "Boy, you were embarrassed." The ghost of a smile came with that memory, and Liz's heart sang at that. Maybe the effect of the drug was starting to wear off. Keep him talking.

"I was, God, I hated that dress," but I was 5 years-old, how long ago did you see?

"You're scared of me," he said then, turning to look at her, for the first time almost looking at her eyes.

She shook her head. "I was in the beginning. Who wouldn't be? And that's what you wanted, right? Me, out of my wits, unable to refuse your offer?"

"I would have left you alone," he whispered, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah well, no alien powers here. I had nothing to go on but your words. You can be pretty scary when you want to be." She glanced at him, seeing if he was smiling at her joke, but his eyes were glazy again, hardly any awareness left.

"Max... it might be wrong, but you really do need a hospital. Whatever they gave you—I don't want you to die..." she whispered. She turned to look at him, to hear him say that it was okay, that he understood. That going to an ER and being tested and his secret blown wide open was worth the risk. Unfortunately, he was already unconscious, leaving the decision-making to her. What would you do in this situation? She was no spy, she was no special black ops agent. She didn't deal with this kind of stuff.

John did. Maybe I don't know how to call you, but I sure as hell know where you might be.

In her mind, a plan formed. Taking a right, she went into the interstate. Last he'd told her, John's home was in Oregon. She might not know how to find him, but with a little luck, she was going to find Mrs. Herschel.

[begonia9508]

Hey Misha, fantastic part, it was worse the waiting!

Loved that Liz has a semblant of connection with Max, which brought her where he was hidding!

And the idea to search for John could be of some help for Max, if she found him...
I hope that he killed these people who heinously abused him and John!

Looking for more and thanks again! EVE

[keepsmiling7]

Well I was getting depressed too when I thought Max had left and wasn't coming back.
But, thanks for the connection Liz had she found him.
I'm still curious about Maggs.........looking forward to more.
Thanks for the new part.

[dreamon]

Amazing part! Looking forward to reading more soon!

[dreamon]

Missing this!

[begonia9508]

Missing this!

ME TOO! EVE

[Misha]

Hey!!!

I'm finally back on track with this story. Some plot bunnies brought confusing ideas, but they're all ironed out—the ideas, not the bunnies!

Thanks go to my fabulous beta, Michelle in LA, who had some interesting ideas where this should go.

Lastly, I've recently published a short novel called The Librarian on amazon, in case you'd like to check it out. I promise it has aliens




Journal entry #21, September 2nd, 2011

You know how they say the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray? Well, it's also true for half-aliens and their frantic friends.


Chapter Forty-Six
Vacancy


"No, Alex, I'm telling you, I'm fine. Just get me John's address!"

"I'm on it, no problem, but Liz! You don—"

She hung up. Not because she didn't want to keep talking to her friend—as if she didn't already know what he was going to say—but because she had far more troubling issues to deal with.

Max was trembling beside her. It had started as small tremors she had barely noticed, and had escalated to an uncontrollable shaking. When she touched him a minute ago, he'd been so cold she almost spun the car into a ditch.

"I need to warm you up," she said, not knowing if Max was awake enough to hear her or not. The problem was how.

The answer to her predicament came half a minute later. The neon sign above a motel proclaiming VACANCY was a godsend, even if the deserted parking lot gave her the creeps. It was close to 12:30 a.m. somewhere between Washington and Oregon, and the only thing surrounding this place was tress upon trees upon more trees. She was officially in the middle of nowhere.

The clerk was an old man who clearly didn't think much of her at first glance. Good, she thought. The best thing she could hope for was anonymity and invisibility. She paid in cash and left the office in a hurry.

The room was the farthest down the row, and by the time she reached it with her car, Max had stopped shaking. In fact, he'd stopped being awake altogether.

Please, don't die on me… please, please, please…

She got out of her car in a hurry, and opened the door to a dark, uninviting room. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but getting Max help. Returning, she opened the passenger door and stared at Max's unconscious form.

Come on, come on, Liz chanted in her mind as she studied the problem of moving a man twice her weight to a bed some ten feet away. She bit her lip and glanced at the clerk's office, wondering how she could explain this whole thing while preventing the man from calling an ambulance.

What if he does need an ambulance?

Her phone rang shattering the silence—and a good chunk of her sanity. Fumbling with her cell phone, she saw Max regaining some alertness.

"Alex!" she whispered, glancing at every corner, afraid the entire motel would wake up and shut her up.

"Liz! Where are you right now?"

"I'm at some motel on the road. Alex, I'm not sure what's going on with Max. He—I—Maybe I should be driving him to the closest ER," she confided in her best friend, her fear bleeding out.

A hand reached hers, and she jumped back. Max's grip held her wrist with a strength that was both reassuring and startling.

"No hospitals."

"Liz?!" Alex called her while she locked eyes with the man who had changed her life, for better or worse.

"I'm—I'm okay," she stammered, while Max's eyes became hazy, letting her go.

"I contacted John. He's on his way to you, just tell me where exactly you are."

She walked to the door while she tried to remember where exactly this place was. Opening it wide, she turned around to see Max getting out of the car, slowly and uncertainly, but definitely on his own.

"I honestly have no idea," she said in dismayed.

"Okay, listen, I'll just pinpoint your cell and let John know. Stay there. He might take a couple of hours. But Liz—"

"I'll be okay. You're the best friend ever, Alex, but I gotta help Max here. I'll call you once this is over."

She hung in time to see Max wearily entering the room.

"Here, come on," she instructed while she reached for the light switch, illuminating their room a moment later.

Their sanctuary consisted of two beds, one bathroom, one nightstand, green walls, dark rug, and stains all over the walls.

She turned to look at him, not sure if to apologize or commiserate. Either way, he didn't seem to care.

"I'm fine," he assured her, closing the door behind him, swaying on his feet for a moment before steadying himself on the wall. "It's passing… I think…"

"You're so cold," she said, standing beside him, trying to get a feeling of what he wanted to do.

"Am I?" he asked, raising a hand to his face. "Maybe?"

"Here, let me," she said, placing her hand to his icy forehead. "Maybe a hot shower would help?"

He shook his head. "I don't think I can stand for that long. I just want to lie down."

The twin beds had seen better days—a long time ago. She had a passing thought that she couldn't sleep right now even if she were at the Waldorf, much less here. Max didn't seem to mind, and he promptly collapsed on the closest bed, lying on his back with his eyes closed.

She stared at him, at his pale skin, his exhausted body—and at the blood stains. Without a word, she went into the bathroom in search of towels and water.

In the mirror, her reflection was equally pale and exhausted. What am I doing? The question hung between her and the mirror while the thin towel soaked in her hands.

She blinked and then avoided the mirror altogether.

In the room, Max was sitting up and reaching for his boots, a thoughtful look in his face. His hands rested on the laces but he wasn't untying them. He seemed to be frozen in thought.

"Max?"

"I didn't get my fix," he said in a flat tone, too tired to inflict the enormity of that statement in his voice.

"What? You—you mean you didn't get the drug? What about the counterdrug?"

He closed his eyes and stayed silent for so long she thought he'd fallen asleep. She stood there, towel dripping, completely helpless. We should really be heading to the hospital, not here while he—

"He didn't die," Max stated, not looking at her but finally doing something about the laces.

"Who?"

"John, he didn't die." He took his boots off and, after a moment, finally looked at her. "Maybe I won't either."

There's a thought.

"John's coming here, Alex contacted him. He might be here in the next hour and he can help—You should get below the covers." He'd started trembling again.

"It won't make any difference," he said, his eyes on her as serious as ever. "You should leave."

For an answer, she sat in the bed opposite to him. She reached for one bloodied hand and started to clean it. She braced for more images, but nothing happened.

"Did they hurt you?" she asked in a whisper as Max stopped her.

Max moved his hand over his clothes and body and the stains disappeared.

In another lifetime, she would have said show-off teasingly. Now, she stayed silent, sitting in front of him and letting the towel fell to the side. She waited for an answer that she didn't really want to hear. No one got that much blood on themselves without being hurt.

His hands trembled slightly, so he placed them at his side, where he could make them stop. Withdrawals were coming, and they both knew it.

What exactly should I expect? If Max thought there was a good chance his life was in danger—

"If I survive tonight, there's no going back," he stated, not looking at her. Tiredness colored his every word and every breath, and he finally lay back on top of the bed.

"Good. You shouldn't be there," she said, contemplating how to help him get more comfortable.

"Parker. You should leave." He said it with so little conviction she had to smile.

"You don't want me to," she countered, forgetting the absurdity of it all.

"No… But you should."

"What kind of friend walks away from something like this?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, trying to find some ray of sunshine in this whole mess. Trying to make him smile for once.

He didn't. He just looked miserable.

"I don't think you fully grasp what's happening here," he said at length, staring at the ceiling.

"That withdrawals—"

"That I'm an addict."

She blinked. What is that supposed to mean?

"Max. Don't—"

"—say that?"

"Don't blame yourself for that! You didn't choose—"

"I'm not saying I'm sorry I'm an addict. Parker, it doesn't matter how you got addicted in the first place. The fact is, I'll do anything—anything, to get my dose."

He looked at her then, vulnerable for the first time since she'd met him. She barely heard his whispered words: "I don’t want to hurt you."

Something in his voice broke a piece of her soul. Outside, the storm grew harsher, and a small part of her wondered if Max was subconsciously doing that. There was so much she didn’t know about him. That not even he knew about himself, really.

"You won't ever hurt me, Max. Come on."

He trembled again, though he tried to disguise it this time. "Parker—"

"Think about it: I have nothing in my possession that would be useful to you. I have no way of getting the drug. I have nothing you would hurt me for."

Doubt crossed his eyes, and he bit his lower lip in the same way she did when she was worried.

Did he just copy my—

"Okay… Okay," he finally gave in.

She nodded with him, assuring them both this was the right decision.

"How about we talk about something else, huh?" she proposed, hoping to get that gray cloud of his dissolved.

"Something else?"

"Anything."

"In that case, I want to know all about those cupcakes," he said, slightly lightening up.

So she told him. She talked and talked and talked until he finally fell asleep, thinking all the time that she truly didn't have anything his addict mind could want.

He'd thought the same thing.

They were both wrong.

[begonia9508]

Hey Misha!

So happy to read another part which I was expecting every day to read!

It is difficult to understand addiction, especially if you never had one! But it must be something painful, when your body have pain and you don't know what to do to stop this unwellness...

And I am looking for another part, to learn what Liz can do to help him or even John, if he finally arrives...

Thanks - looking impatiently for more! EVE