September And Other Sorrows (AU,Max,YTEEN) - (COMPLETE)

[cherie]

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Author: Cherie
Title: September And Other Sorrows
Category: AU - Max and a kindred spirit
Rating: YTEEN
Disclaimer: Don't own nobody
Summary: Set fifty years in the future. This is a story about Max and a woman who learns a secret, and finds that magic place in her heart that we all have. And the wonder that all things are possible if only we believe.

September And Other Sorrows

Chapter One


When I was a child I believed in almost anything.

That moonlight danced on the water and faries lived in the lilacs. That somewhere in an enchanted forest the unicorns ran wild and free.

And aliens. The wonderful aliens.

In my fantasies I was an alien hunter. I made it my business to study people.

Searching for subtle differences, certain auras or nuances that would give their secret away.

I knew, just knew in my heart of hearts that Earth could not possibly be the only inhabited planet in the universe.

It was a game I played. Should I ever detect an alien, I would confront him.

"AHA!" I would say. "I knew it. You are not of this earth."

And after admitting I had discovered his true identity, my wonderful alien would sweep me off my feet and dance with me across the mountains of the moon.

Being my captive, he would reveal to me and me alone--

(because I was so observant and crafty enough to have caught him off guard)

--the secrets of the cosmos.

The only reason I'm telling you all this, is so you will understand that when I finally found my alien, I was the one caught completely off guard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FEDERAL INSTITUTION FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE

PHOENIX DIVISION

Sounds ominous, doesn't it?

Actually, it's just a fancy name for a nuthouse.

And I'm going to be working here. I'm a nurse with a psych-tech degree.

I flash my laminated name tag at the gate and the guard looks me over.

"Carla Williams." he says. "You new here?"

"Yes, this is my first day." I smile sweetly.

"Good luck." he says as the gate swings open and I drive inside to park my car.

I clock in. Monday, July 14,2053 7:59 AM

I congragulate myself. One minute to spare.

Nora, my supervisor hands me the charts. Three of them. She's still holding on to a fourth.

"These are the men you will be in charge of." she says. "They each get two hours a day of your time." She sounds very professional.

"These three," she says as I fan the charts, "are pretty lively. They'll talk your leg off. Tell you anything you want to hear."

We're walking down the hall while I scan their names quickly.

Nolan Sampson-65-murdered wife and two children.

Richard Long-72-murdered 3 policemen in armed robbery.

Frank Cardoza-67-murdered 3 rival gang members in drive-by-shooting.

I flip through the pages. Lots of info. I'll study them later.

"But this one," she says, handing me the fourth chart, "he won't give you any trouble. He hardly ever talks at all."

Max Evans-70-1200CC thorazine daily.

Holy shit, that's a heavy duty dose.

The farther we walk the darker the hallway becomes. This is a government facility. Couldn't they get better lighting?

Nora tells me the key codes for the four doors.

"Memorize them." she says.

I quickly commit them to my memory.

My first six hours go by. It's pretty routine. Nora was right. These men had done terrible things in the past, but the medications keep them pretty calm and docile. They like to talk about the old days. You know, when they were young. I listen.

I like hearing about the old days. Late 1990's, early 2000's. Stuff like that. I'm an antique junkie.

Last week in Albequerque I found this wonderful antique shop. I slide the hexagon shaped crystal back and forth across the chain of the necklace I bought there.

Mr. Cardoza drones on and on about his tatoos and the meaning of each one.

"Time's up, Mr. Cardoza." I say checking my watch. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He gives me a gold toothed grin. "Yeah." his eyes return to the belly dancer on his forearm.


Chapter Two


The door makes the clickwhoosh sound and I push it open, adjusting my eyes to the dimly lit room.

It's different than the others. There are no windows.

Mr. Evans is laying on the bed, his eyes closed.

"Hello." I say brightly. "My name is Carla. I'm your new nurse."

He doesn't move. Or even acknowledge that I'm in the room.

Okay, new approach. I move closer.

"Let me just.." I tell him as I lean over to give him his shot, "..give you your medication. Then I'll just sit with you."

The needle pierces his buttock as he lowers his pajama bottoms without question, shifting onto his side. He doesn't even flinch.

It's then that I notice the manacle on his ankle. It's attached to a huge iron rung jutting from the wall by a heavy chain.

Jesus, I think to myself, that's barbaric. Like something out of a medivial movie. Like a dungeon scene.

His ankle is scarred, and the skin is chafed and red. I wet a washcloth, folding it and dab the area, hoping the cold will ease the sting.

Tomorrow I'll bring neosporin.

He still doesn't flinch.

Once, I'm thinking as I study his face, he must have been very handsome. The kind of boy teenage girls would have oohed and aahed over.

He's still a fine specimen of a man, old as he is.

There's a horrible scar on his chest, looks like a bullet wound. One that wasn't properly taken care of.

I remove the cloth from his ankle and I sit on the edge of the bed to read his chart again.

One page. Max Evans-1200CC thorazine daily. Nothing else. I'll have to ask Nora about this.

This is going to be a long two hours.

I sit. I fiddle with my necklace. I walk the length of the room. I count the tiles on the floor. I check my watch. 30 more minutes.

I begin to hum. Sometimes I do that when I'm nervous. And this room is making me very nervous.

"That's a lovely tune." he says.

And I almost jump out of my skin.

His voice is soft and I turn sharply and fall into his eyes.

There are ghosts in his gaze. They dance and sway beneath his lashes to a melody I cannot hear. They are smoke and shadow as they whirl across the golden flames that threaten to consume them. And me.

I have to struggle for my senses.

"Jesus Christ!" I sputter. "They told me you didn't talk."

"Wasn't much to say." he tells me. "Till now."

"Why now?" I ask. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I've been waiting." he gives me a tiny smile.

"For what?" I'm suddenly wishing it weren't almost time to go.

"For you." he says simply.

"Oh, I bet you would have said that to any new nurse." I'm fluffing his pillow and trying to avert those eyes.

"No." he tells me. "I wouldn't have."

I'm not sure how to respond. I fiddle with my necklace.

"Your necklace is beautiful." he says in that soft voice.

"Really?' I gush. "Most everyone tells me it's guady and certainly not fashionable for this day and age. It's an antique."

"Can you keep a secret?" he's looking at me seriously, his voice almost a whisper.

"Sure. I love secrets." Gotta humor the old ones, you know.

"Please don't tell anyone I spoke to you." His haunted eyes find mine and lock me firmly in place.

The gulp in my throat slides downward into my windpipe.

"Is it important that I don't?" I find myself asking.

"My future depends on it." he tells me.

And strange as it sounds, I believe him.

TBC

[cherie]

Chapter Three


I know I should tell Nora that Mr. Evans talked to me, but I don't.

I can't seem to get the old man out of my head. It's like he's taken up permanent residence in a corner of my mind.

It's been three weeks now, and every day from two till four, I take care of him. I nurse his ankle, pump him full of thorazine and he hasn't said a damn word for three weeks.

Maybe it was a fluke. Because I was new. He just lies there for two hours while I hum to him and hold his hand.

He doesn't look at me directly but when I turn away I can feel his eyes following me.

And I catch him sometimes staring at my necklace.

"Nora." I catch her in the hall after my Thursday shift. "What's the story on Mr. Evans?"

She gives me a sharp look, a *not now* look.

There are two other nurses milling around.

So I decide to wait until tomorrow. "Bye." I tell her.

"See you tomorrow." she replies to my back.


Time clock. Friday, August 8,2053 7:58 AM

Wow! two minutes early. I'm getting better.

Nora greets me with a smile. I notice we're alone.

"So," she says, "what you asked me about yesterday?"

Her voice turns to a whisper. "I really don't know much, just bits and pieces. It's best not to ask questions where he's concerned."

I'm full of questions.

"Why doesn't it say on his chart what his crime was?"

"How long has he been here?"

"How come he's chained to the wall?"

"Whoa, slow down." she tells me, stopping me in the midst of my fast and furious tirade. "One at a time."

She gives me the skinny on what she knows. Or has heard.

"He's been here thirty years, never even been outside. He was twenty years somewhere else before he was brought here." she says.

"And you know what's strange?" she continues almost falling in my ear. "He's got some sort of blood disorder, but there's no medication prescribed for it."

"Yeah." I respond. "About medication. He's prescribed way more thorazine than any normal person should be able to handle without being comatose. What's up with that?"

Nora shrugs her shoulders. "Never been able to figure that one out myself. It's just the standing orders--comes from the higher ups."

She's rolling her eyes. "You know, the powers that be."

"What was his crime?" I ask again.

"Well," she says, "I heard, but I don't know how true it is, that he killed seven FBI agents."

She pauses for a moment, remembering. "Back in 2003. Bank robbery, something like that."

"What the fu..." I stop myself. "That gentle old man? He doesn't look like he'd hurt a fly."

"I don't know." Nora says. "I've always felt real bad about the chain though. But it's never supposed to come off."

I push my chair real close to hers. "Where are his records?" I whisper. "I'd like to read them."

"Wouldn't we all?" she says. "Scuttlebut was they just disappeared...I'd say about twenty years ago."

"Does he have visitors? Letters?" I question.

Nora shakes her head sadly. "Nothing."

Two nurses saunter toward the desk.

I rise quickly. We laugh like we've just shared a good joke for their benefit.

It's 1:40. Mr. Cardoza is revealing all his sexual conquests to me one detail at a time.

I'm counting the minutes till I can get to Mr. Evans' room. It's quiet there.

I like him very much. I don't care what he did.

And I think he likes me.

I know he likes me to hum.

Anyone who appreciates music should also love words.

So today I'm going to read him some poetry.

I read him Frost. And Dickinson. And Dorothy Parker.

He keeps his eyes closed but I know he's listening. His fingers make tiny circles on the back of my hand as I read.

He has such a gentle touch.

It's almost four. "One more quick one," I say, "then I have to leave."


There was a time of love for him, they say.
Before September's shadows slipped away.
She gathered summer stars to hold her hair,
Before she said goodbye, and left him there.

God, I've made him cry. I kick my ass all the way home.

[cherie]

Chapter Four


Time clock. Friday, August 5, 2053 8:02 AM

Shit, docking time. 1/2 hours pay lost.

Nora hands me September's schedule. I glance at it.

"What's this?" I ask. "I only have six hours a day in September? 8 till 2? What about Mr. Evans?"

"Oh," Nora says, "I forgot to tell you. Mr. Evans is never here in September."

Now I'm confused. "What do you mean he's never here in September? He's been here thirty years."

"I know." she whispers as she pulls me into the janitor's closet. "The big muckymucks come and take him away. He's gone the whole month."

I stare at her. Her eyes are sad.

"I think they take him downstairs to the padded room." she confides in me. "Years ago one of the techs told me he goes absolutely crazy in September."

"You mean like really crazy? Lunatic crazy?" I ask.

"Completely out of his mind." I hear. "No control whatever. When he comes back in October his eyes are so empty. Almost like his soul has vacated his body."

Nora sighs. "Takes two, maybe three weeks for him to get back to normal."

"God, Nora, nothing about Mr. Evans is normal. Not even the way they treat him here." I say in disgust.


Time clock. Monday, August 18, 2053 7:56 AM

Damn. Wish those two minutes could be used to replace the two I lost last week.

8-10. Nolan's complaining about the food again. I try to explain I don't have any say on what they bring up from the kitchen.

10-12. Richard says the voices in his head are getting louder. I suggest earplugs. He agrees.

12-2. Frank is up to number thirty-two on his list of virgins he's despoiled. I am now privy to every sexual position he's ever been in.

Two o'clock. Mr. Evan's is sitting in the chair.

I try not to show my surprise.

He stands and lowers his pajamas as I head toward him with the needle, thrusting his hip out to accept the jab.

We sit quiet for awhile.

"Carla," he says, "how old are you?"

"Twenty seven." I tell him, as if we talk all the time.

I decide to exchange pleasantries.

"How old are you?" I ask.

He looks like he's mentally punching a calculator in his head.

"1947 to 2053, that makes me 106. Or 1983 to 2053, that makes me 70."

He's still figuring. "Or 1989 to 2053, I'm 64. But I died once when I was young and was ressurected. And I faded away into nothingness once, so I guess that doesn't count."

My mouth is wide open.

"I don't know when I was born in my previous life or the date of my death. Actually," he says, continuing, "I was adopted, and technically I was never born."

He's laughing softly at my look of consternation.

"Therefore, I don't exist now." he finishes with a flair.

Okay, I could be wrong. Maybe he is looney-tunes. I expect him to do the thorazine shuffle any moment now.

I figure he's funning with me. "You're 70. It says so on your chart." I tell him triumphantly.

"Tabasco sauce." he says suddenly.

"What?" I stutter.

"Can you get me some?" he asks.

"Maybe." I consider my position of authority.

"I'll trade you a jar of tobasco sauce for some stories about your life." I say.

He ponders my proposition.

I wait anxiously.

"Okay.." he says, "..if you bring it tomorrow. With chocolate cake."

It's 4:00. I turn to leave, nodding yes.

"Carla." he calls as I punch the code in the door. "I was going to tell you anyway."


I watch in absolute horror as he douses the piece of chocolate cake with the tobasco sauce.

"Mr. Evans, that's just creepy. Just gross." I tell him.

The look of ecstacy on his face is almost the same as Frank Cardoza's when he's talking about blowjobs.

"Is that a sexual fetish?" I ask flippantly.

"No," he says with his mouth full of cake, "it's better than sex."

I snort in disgust.

He laughs, savoring the taste.

"Just kidding." he says, raking the last few crumbs off the paper plate.

I wish I had known him when he was young.

Before the magic went away.

Before the world wiped it's feet on the doorstep of his life.

"I'm waiting." I say, tapping my fingers against the crystal of my necklace.

"Right." he answers. "For stories about the old days."

TBC

[cherie]

Chapter Five


There's something different about the way he's looking at me.

"I'm not from around here." he says, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Phoenix, you mean? I'm not either." I tell him.

"No." He's shaking his head making the grin dance a little more.

"From Earth, this planet. I'm an alien." he says slowly.

Just like that.

He's waiting for my reaction.

I'm digesting his words as we both put our guard up.

Humming isn't going to help me now. Nervous has turned to fear.

I don't really know this man. He could kill me. Has killed before, according to Nora.

I begin to scoot backwards slowly and I feel the wall against my back as he advances towards me.

"I could tell you my story," he says softly as he approaches, "but it would be simpler to just show you."

I open my mouth. "Mr. Evans..."

And he puts his finger to my lips to shush me.

And something in his eyes shushes me real quick.

We're standing inches apart now, and I can smell the chocolate and tobasco mixture on his breath.

And he's holding my head in his large hands.

I'm thinking the last sound I'm going to hear is the snap of my neck when he breaks it.

I close my eyes.

"Just let your mind go blank," he says in a whisper, "and look at me."

His touch is gentle as he tilts my head up.

I lift my gaze to his no longer afraid.

And I'm falling. Into the fire of his eyes. And beyond.

I'm sliding into his soul.

I'm walking the dusty trails of his heart, the long ago days of his youth, skipping the sidewalks and turning the corners of his life.

My body sparkles. I can feel the current from his fingers running like electricity through my bones as he fuses our thoughts together.

The doorway to his memory swings open and I walk inside.

It's dark, and he's very small. He's struggling to free himself from the pod, a slick residue clinging to his body as he emerges. There are two others, a boy and a girl. They do not speak.

He seems to know instinctivly how to slide the rock aside by placing his hand against it. The silver handprint glows.

He shivers as the desert air touches his naked skin. The three of them walking together in the dark. Then the other boy is running, frightened by the headlights of an oncoming car. The other boy hides. He and the girl turn to face the lights and are taken away by the grownups.

He's in the third grade, stepping off a bus. Watching a small girl with long brown hair skip rope.

He's a teenager and he knows he's different. He has powers, as do Isabelle and Michael. There's just the three of them and the secret that binds them together. They hide in plain sight.

Until the morning in September when he saves Liz Parker from dying in the Crashdown Cafe from a bullet wound.

I know their names. Liz, Kyle, Maria, Isabelle, Michael, Alex, Tess. Sherrif Valenti and the parents. Nasedo, the shapeshifter.

Flashes-images-feelings. Not always in order. Scraps.

His love for Liz. Her deception with Kyle. Skins and Dupes, orbs and the Granolith. A future version of himself. FBI. The horror of the white room.

His anguish at the ultimate betrayal against Liz. Sleeping with Tess.

I feel his sorrow the day he gives up his son for adoption.

My mind is chasing his thoughts, like one of those old video tapes on fast forward.

The pod chamber, Antar. He's a King, a leader. He's dying. Dust. Another man's body. Alex is dead. Tess is dead. The UFO Center.

Graduation day 2002. He's in danger. They all are. They're leaving Roswell, six of them. Hiding, just trying to survive.

A chapel. He's marrying Liz and they're happy. They're signing the license. Laramie, Wyoming. September 19, 2003.

The images stop suddenly, like a black curtain being drawn across the stage on the last scene of play.

He releases me but I'm fighting against the return to reality. It's too soon. The play's not over.

"Do you believe me now?" he asks quietly.

I nod my head , not looking up.

"You're holding something back." I say accusingly.

I know this because we seem to have some sort of connection. Like I'm still inside his head but he's blocking me.

His voice is ragged. "Another day, soon. I promise."

"Mr. Evans," I ask quietly, "if you have all these powers why do you stay here? Why do you let them do this to you?"

"I told you," he says, the weariness showing in his voice, "I've been waiting. For you."

"But it's almost September," I hear myself protesting, "they'll be coming for you."

"They'll come," he says, "but I'm not going with them this time."

I make a life altering decision. "How can I help?"

I'm part of his secret now. He needs me. I'm not sure why yet, but I trust him to tell me when the time is right.

"No more thorazine." he says. "My body has built up some immunity to it, but it still weakens me. I'm going to need all my strength."

For the next four days, I jab the needle into the mattress. We talk a little but I don't push him.

He's making plans and so am I.

It's Friday, August 22nd. My shift is over. The weekend belongs to me.

I don't go home. I aim my car for Roswell, New Mexico.

Sometimes you just have to find answers on your own. There are things I need to see.

Not through his eyes, but my own.



TBC

[cherie]

Chapter Six


It's not a very large town compared to some of the big cities I've been in. I'm reading the tour guide as I sip my coffee in a small resturant on Main Street.

UFO Center
Open daily 8-5
Admission free. Donations always welcome.
Brody Davis, owner and manager.

I step inside. The displays are laid out nicely. I read some articles and wander around some while I'm gathering my courage to approach the white haired old man hunched behind the large desk.

"Mr. Davis.." I say, offering my hand."..Brody Davis?"

He accepts the handshake with a puzzled look.

"And you would be?" he questions.

He has an accent. English. No, more like Australian, I think.

"Carla Williams." I reply, talking very fast. "I'm doing research on the effect the crash of 1947 has had in this area for the last 50 years."

He's eager to talk. I think he must spend alot of days alone here. People just aren't interested in this sort of stuff anymore. What with space travel being a pretty common thing. Man has advanced and there is a colony on the moon.

So he starts off on this long tale about how business has fallen off and he's going to close the UFO Center. And how he misses the hustle and bustle of the way it used to be. He gets a faraway look in his eyes.

"I've been abducted several times," he says, "you know, by aliens."

And I know he has. I've seen this person through Mr. Evans' eyes. But I can't let him know that.

"Really?" I say, acting surprised. "When?"

"It used to happen quite frequently. Just Zap." he tells me, snapping his fingers. "I'd zone out for two or three days and wake up in a city and couldn't remember how I got there. And they cured my cancer." he adds, almost as an afterthought.

I can tell he likes to talk about this, so I urge him on.

"Does anyone else know?" I ask.

He leans forward and puts his elbows on the desk.

"No," not anymore." He shrugs. "Anyway, it's been maybe fifty years since it happened. Stopped right about the time those six kids were killed in a car crash in Wyoming."

Mr. Davis has managed to get my full attention. I suck in my breath.

"What six kids?' I ask.

"In my opinion.." he says, his voice trailing off and I realize he's not really talking to me, "..it was bullshit. Those were great kids and I'll never believe they robbed a bank.." he pauses.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asks as if he suddenly remembered he had manners.

"Sure." I tell him. I'm trying not to act eager for the rest of his story.

"See," he begins again as we sip our tea, "there was this young man used to work for me. Max Evans. Kind of a strange reserved type. Around the spring of 2002 there was an incident. Supposedly two planes collided in the desert not far from here. Then there was that huge explosion at Roger's Air Force Base."

He takes another sip of tea. "The town was crawling with FBI. After graduation, Max and the other five kids just disappeared..a little over a year later.." he hesitates, remembering.

"September, I think. Yeah. September, 2003."

I bite my lower lip waiting for him to continue.

"Anyway," he says, looking directly into my eyes, "up in Laramie, Wyoming, there's a bank robbery. Cops start chasing the blue van with the six kids inside. FBI's called in and all six of them are killed in a high speed chase."

His voice is hushed. "They cremated the bodies before they sent them home to be taken care of. Said the parent's shouldn't see them the way their bodies were so disfigureed and all that."

He's searching through the drawer of the big desk, finally finding what he's looking for.

He hands me a yellowed newspaper clipping.

Pictures. Small, like postage stamps. And a name underneath to match each one.

Max Evans. Isabelle Evans Rameriz. Maria DeLuca. Michael Guerin. Kyle Valenti. Elizabeth Parker.

Six local teens killed in car accident in Wyoming.
September 19, 2003.
Memorial to be held September 24 at Roswell Unified Church.

My heart is racing as I hand the clipping back to Mr. Davis.

This was the same day Mr. Evans married Liz.

As I thank Mr. Davis for his hospitality I'm praying he won't notice how my hands are shaking.

"Miss Williams." he calls as I turn to leave. "I forgot to tell you. About six months ago I was found wandering in the desert. I don't know how I got there."

I don't understand why I feel like he's telling me something I need to know, but I do. It's a vital piece of information and I tuck it safely away in my mind.

Time is crawling. Monday seems like a million miles away.

"Hang on. Mr. Evans. I whisper to myself. "Hang on."

TBC

[cherie]

Chapter Seven

It's almost 9:00 by the time I get home Sunday night.

The shower water isn't even hot before there's a knock on the door.

It's a knock that fills me with a wave of love followed by a ripple of apprehension.

It's my Grandmother's knock.

"Grams--" I barely get the word out before she's lunging through the door, plopping down on the couch.

"Carla," she says in exasperation, "where you been?"

I love Grams. She's just hard. Eccentric. I never know when she's going to show up. Like tonight. I haven't seen her in over a year. And she's wondering where I've been?

"I just took a drive for the weekend." I tell her weakly.

She lowers her sunglasses deftly onto the bridge of her nose, her icy blue eyes glaring at me over the rims.

I wait. For the colorful expletives that seem to leap from her tongue with a life of their own.

She's a real garbage mouth. With a New York accent.

But she's not saying anything. She's staring at my necklace.

And I'm doing a double take as I look into her eyes.

I have never seen a picture of my Grams when she was young--but suddenly I know exactly what she looked like.

The flash hits me with such intensity that I can feel my knuckles grow white as my fingernails dig into my palms.

Bobbed hair, pink. Piercings, a short leather skirt.

This is not my memory I realize with a start. It belongs to Mr. Evans.

She's off the couch before I have time to open my mouth, her fingers on the crystal that hangs around my neck.

"Where did you get this?" she hisses at me, her voice barely audible.

Not once in my life have I ever seen fear in her. Or this much anger. Until now.

I'm frightened, too. "At an antique shope in Albequerque." I tell her, my voice shaking. "Why? Does it mean something to you?"

Mr. Evans is crawling in my mind peeking out from behind the curtain.

I'm watching her, waiting for an answer.

Silence. She doesn't know what to say.

I do.

"It was yours, wasn't it? When you were young?" I ask her.

Silence. Those icy blue eyes are melting, dripping onto her cheeks.

"Wasn't it..Ava?" I spit my last word out and watch my Grams crumble.

If there was once air in this room it's gone now.

I can't breathe. Grams is holding my face in her hands.

And for the second time, I find myself walking in someone else's mind.

She's young and alone. Zan was already dead when she found out she was pregnant. My Father's birth. She knows he's human. The DNA factor.

My birth. She's leaning over my bassinet checking for signs that prove I'm human as well.

The secret she's hidden for years. She's an alien.

Wait. Brody Davis. She's in the desert with him, but it's not Mr. Davis. Larek.

It's dark. I'm falling.

I hear Mr. Evans call my name.

"Carla." his voice follows me down the void I'm slipping into. "Trust her." he says from far away.

Blackness.

The hottest flame is not red, but blue.

That's what I see when I return from the void.

The bunson blue flame of my Grandmother's alien eyes.

I'm on the floor and Grams is kneeling beside me. Her face is filled with anguish and pain.

"Tell me everything." she says, rubbing my cheek with the palm of her hand as she holds me prisoner with her gaze.

So I do.

I tell her about Mr. Evans, my trip to Roswell. Mr. Davis.

She's angry again as she helps me up. "Goddamn Larek." she seethes. "Dirty sonofabitch."

Well, that's refreshing. She still has a way with words.

She's pacing the floor. "The necklace, did you pick it out yourself? Or was it good salesmanship on the dealer's part?"

I recall the day I bought it. "I don't know, Grams, I just couldn't resist it." I say. "The guy was a little persuasive though."

Grams is cursing now. "Piece of shit Larek." She collapses onto the couch crying. I sit beside her.

"I didn't know the Bastard would pick you." she sobs into her hands.

"It's okay," I soothe her pulling her close, "I love you. It doesn't matter who or what you are."

She raises her tear stained face to mine. "We need to get Max out of there." Her voice is strong.

TBC

[cherie]

Chapter Eight


Time clock. Monday, August 25, 2053 7:59 AM

Good. Business as usual. Stay calm.

To say I am on edge would be an understatement.

Hanging by my fingers from a cliff would be a better description.

I fuss over my first three patients like a mother hen.

Normal. Act normal. Smile. Chit-chat with Nora. Small talk. I'd kill for a valium right now.

2:00. I'm at the door to his room. I suck all the air around me into my lungs and step inside.

He's standing by the chair waiting for me. I push the plunger down on the hypodermic, sending the thorazine into the mattress before I turn to face him.

I can tell by the look in his eyes he knows that I know.

"Help me." I say, clutching his hands and placing them on my face. "Show me what really happened that day."

He hesitates, not sure if I'm ready.

I signal him with my look that I am.

"I'm sorry," he tells me sadly, "that you have to see this."


I'm in the blue van. There's music playing and everyone is laughing as they cruise along the mountain highway. Mr. Evans is at the wheel, Liz is by his side still dressed in her wedding clothes. She has white roses laced in her hair.

Sirens. The van is speeding up. Fear, they're scared, boxed in. Surrounded by a multitude of vehicles and men with guns.

"It's hopeless." I hear Mr. Evans say. "We have to give up."

Bullets. The men are shooting them. There's blood everywhere. All of them are running, falling.

Mr. Evans is holding Liz's body in his arms as the roses from her hair fall to the ground.

I feel the bullet rip through his chest throwing him backwards. He struggles to his knees, his arms outstretched. He's begging them to kill him.

But they don't kill him. They check the others making sure they're dead. One of the men raises Liz's head and studies her face.

Rage. It fills him, surges through Max Evans' bones as he raises his hand and suddenly bodies are flying everywhere. He kills seven of them before he collapses.


The images come so fast I'm shaking, sobbing. He's crying in despair. Trying to remove his hands from my face. To break the connection.

I hold his hands fast pleading for him to show me. "Please." I tell him. "All of it. I have to see the rest."

Twenty years in hell, that's what he shows me. They experiment on him, torture him, hurt him.

Watch and laugh as he heals himself. All but the bullet wound. He wants a reminder. He refuses to heal it.

He finally shuts himself down. Literally. He closes his mind and fuses his vocal chords. They become bored with him.

Only one kind person takes pity on him and he's moved to this place in 2023. He's not a danger anymore. He's been broken.


Mr. Evans pulls his hands away. He's exhausted as he stumbles backwards, his chest heaving as he fights to control the ragged sounds that are coming from his throat.

I can barely stand up myself. Jesus, I hear a voice saying. Jesus. Then I recognize the voice. It's mine.

An eternity passes before I speak. "So there was no bank robbery. The government just made that up to cover for what really happened."

It's not a question. It's a statement.

He nods his head finally finding his voice. "They brought me here and over the years I was forgotten. The man who sent me here managed to destroy most of my records. But he couldn't help me with this.." he says, rattling the chain. "Or stop the daily dose of thorazine."

"Tell me about September." I ask. "What happens then?"

"It's my punishment." he whispers. "For being what I am. For getting them all killed. For staying alive."

"There was nothing to go back to anyway." he tells me with such sorrow in his voice I want to hold him, comfort him.

I move toward him.

"They wanted crazy, I gave it to them. Once a year. Until now." he says, looking into my heart. "Until you."

The tables turn quickly. Now he's the one with questions.

"You know about your Grandmother..and Zan?" he asks me quietly.

"Yes." I answer.

"And Larek?" he says.

"Yes." I repeat. "And the necklace. I know what it's purpose is."

"Grams..uh, Ava, I mean, says we have to get to the pod chamber. Larek has left the device there for you."

I twirl the crystal in my fingers as I lean over to whisper in his ear.

"Tomorrow." I say. "My Grandmother says to be ready tomorrow."

His eyes light up. The shadows of yesterday are dancing away replaced by a glimmer of hope.

4:00. Time to go. I leave reluctantly.

I'm recalling what Grams told me as I drive home. Larek had gone to Mr. Evans using the body of the former nurse telling him to watch for the woman with the crystal necklace.

Larek had also used the body of the antique dealer to get the crystal to me after Grams told him where it was. She had sold it to rid herself of memories of who she was.

Grams just didn't know that I would be the one Larek chose to free Mr. Evans.

Family honor, I suppose. Or alien pride.

"Tomorrow." I say as I grip the wheel tightly going over the plan in my head.

There's a feeling building inside me. Strong. Different.

I don't think my Grams checked me close enough when I was small. I'm beginning to feel powerful. Like a part of me is waking up.

TBC

[cherie]

Chapter Nine


Third generation hybrid. Alien hybrid.

That's what I see as I look in the mirror.

Grams stands beside me explaining mindwarps and fluxes in time.

She's repressed her powers over the years preferring to embrace her human side.

But today she's coming out of the closet. She's going to help me rescue Mr. Evans.

I try hard not to think of him as my Grandfather. Because he's not.
Zan was. And I have to seperate the two.

We may share the same genes, or DNA, but it was created by a race of beings over a hundred years ago. I am only residue. A leftover fragment of the massive screwup engineered by a people whose plans and hopes never came to fruition.

I can't mindwarp. I tried.

But I can heal. I watch in wonder as the small self inflicted cut on my arm disappears while my hand pulses with an uneartly glow.

Grams says my power will manifest itself slowly, having just been awakened. It's lain dormant all these years, she explains, until Mr. Evans touched me.

I'll worry about that later, I decide. Grams will help me.

"Timestreams are not totally fixed, nothing is frozen in time." Grams is telling me. "And it can be altered, diverted."

My eyes are fixed on the road as we drive toward the gate. "Are you sure no one can see you?" I interrupt.

She's sensing the fear in my voice. "They will not." she assures me in a confident tone.

She pats my hand, resuming her explanation of manipulating time.

"There is no one certain future. Induvidual decisions can change the outcome." she's telling me as I pull the car up to the gate. "The choices we make account for how we shape our lives. Our destiny."

The guard smiles while waving me through. I breathe a sigh of relief. He really didn't see her.

Grams voice is firm. "You must do exactly as I instructed." she reminds me as we walk through the doors.

I grit my teeth against the rumbling in my gut and give her a nod. "I'll see you later in the desert." I mouth in a whisper.

I watch as she walks towards Mr. Evans' door and I punch my card to clock in.


Time clock. Tuesday, August 26, 2053 7:59 AM

Time. It's flowing, I think as I stare at my Grandmother's back entering his room.

I will myself to be calm. Normal. To function.

8-10. Nolan has a cold and isn't complaining about the food.

Faith. I'm going on blind faith. I want to go to his room now--I want to hear their conversation. The one between Mr. Evans and Grams. I hum to myself.

10-12. Richard is having his own conversation with the people that inhabit his mind. It's one of those days when I can't penetrate his thoughts.

Just as well, I muse. There is probably as many people inside my head as there is in his.

Will it work? Can Grams do it? The dull throb behind my eyes is getting louder. Please, please, I pray. Let it work.

12-2. Frank is making the belly dancer on his forearm do gyrations that make me dizzy. Is it the dancer or the throbbing in my head?

Time. It's almost time. I check my watch. 2:00.

The fire alarm jolts me, even though I knew it was coming. I quickly punch the code into the door and when it swings open I see the smoke.

Nora's running around frantically.

"Out. out. Get everyone out." she's screaming.

The other two nurses scramble to obey.

I glance towards Mr. Evans' room. To the last door in the hallway. It's engulfed in flames.

I know they're gone. Safe. But this fire is real. It had to be so nothing would be left of that horrible room.

I snap back to reality.

We quickly escort the patients to the stairway, orderlies coming from the ground floor to take them to safety.

I'm running down the hallway after Nora. Sweet gentle Nora who is trying so desperatley to get beyond the wall of flames to help Mr. Evans.

I grab her firmly by the shoulders and swing her around to face me.

"It's too late." I tell her, looking directly into her glazed eyes. "You can't help him now."

Nora slumps against my shoulder as I take the stairs slowly. Firemen are rushing up as we go down. I comfort her as we fall onto the couch in the nurse's lounge.

Forever. That's how long it seems as the men in suits question us.

We have no answers. We just work here.

The second floor is shut down completely after the fire is contained.

Faulty electrical wiring, it's decided. That's what the papers will say.

One casualty. Max Evans. I wonder vaguely if they'll even print that.

I smile inwardly as we're all dismissed. We're told to take the remainder of the week off with pay until we're reassigned.

I don't even look back as I leave the parking lot for the last time.

I won't ever set foot in that place again.

TBC

[cherie]

Chapter Ten (Conclusion)


There's a blanket of stars covering the desert as I drive the long forgotten road towards Vasquez Rocks. It's 4:00 in the morning but I'm not tired.

Adrenaline and blood are pumping furiously through my veins as I bring the car to a halt, exiting it as quickly as I can.

I look up and beneath the moon's glow I see them silhouetted against the sky.

Mr. Evans, Grams and a third person. I climb the path and stumble a little in my haste, falling. Mr. Davis reaches down and pulls me to my feet.

His eyes are different. Darker. Deeper.

"Larek?" I ask, curious.

"In the flesh, so to speak." he answers with a smile.

My eyes dart to Mr. Evans and he opens his arms as I rush inside them.

He pulls me close placing a kiss on my forehead.

I can feel my Grandmother watching us and I turn around.

I cannot describe the look she's wearing. It's sad and full of memories. Of another man, much like this one that she once loved.

She lowers her head and walks toward Mr. Davis and the two of them move away, leaving me alone with Mr. Evans.

His mouth opens slightly.

I put my fingers to his lips to shush him.

"I'll miss you, you know." I tell him softly.

He nods his head, his eyes brimming with tears.

I'm crying too as he takes my shoulders in his hands, pushing me back just far enough to gaze into my eyes.

There are moments when there are no need for words. This is one of them.

It's broken as Grams and Mr. Davis return.

"It's time." Grams says.

I release the clasp from my necklace and place it in Mr. Evans' hand.

"If this doesn't work," I whisper, "what will happen?"

Mr. Evans places his hand on the wall and the rock slides back.

"I will die here." he says. "Where I was born."

But there is no regret in his voice.

Mr. Davis.. Larek, I suppose for the moment steps forward and hands Mr. Evans a small hexagon shaped device.

He's explaining to Mr. Evans where to insert the crystal.

"New technology." I hear him say. "This should get you back."

Snippets. "Because once we were great friends."

"I'm sorry it took so long."

"Thank you for your kindness." I hear Mr. Evans say to Mr. Davis.

He turns to my Grandmother.

"Ava, I'm sorry about Zan. About the way things turned out." he tells her.

My Grandmother gives him such a reverent look it surprises me.

"Destiny, Max." she tells him, a hint of a smile on her face. "Make it work for you this time."

Grams and Mr. Davis are standing side by side. And I catch my breath as both of them bow to Mr. Evans.

"Your Majesty." my Grandmother says. "Safe Journey."

"And long life." Mr. Davis adds.

I am witnessing some sort of ritual, but oddly enough I don't bow.

Instead I take his hand in mine and place it on my cheek. "I love you."

There's nothing more to say. He knows that. He smiles for me. Only me.

The stone rolls and closes the entrance.

Grams and I take Mr. Davis back to Roswell. We do not speak. Each of us seems to be lost in our own thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been a year now.

I no longer work for the government. I took a job in the pediatric ward at Phoenix General.

People say I have a magic touch. A special way with youngsters.

The children respond well to me and I do what I can to comfort them. To ease their pain.

Some I can heal. Some I cannot.

But I try to use my gift wisely.

To do Mr. Evans justice. To honor his memory.

I think about Mr. Evans alot. Where is he now? Did he die in that chamber? Or did he cheat time? I wish I knew.

The phone jars me back from my reverie.

It's Grams. "I thought you'd like to know Mr. Davis passed away two days ago. The funeral's tomorrow."

"Will you be going?" I ask, knowing she won't. She's in Paris.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Mr. Davis was laid to rest, I found myself in a different part of the graveyard looking for ghosts. And my search is successful.

I look down at the weatherbeaten stone that bears the six names and I kneel to place the fragrant roses amongst the dry and brittle weeds that have covered the memorial where they rest.

It startles me when I feel the tap on my shoulder.

"Miss Williams?" the girl asks. "Carla Williams?"

"Yes." I reply, staring at her. She's young and she's holding a shoebox underneath her arm.

"Ramona, my name is Ramona." she says, offering her hand. "Mr. Davis was my Great-Grandfather."

"I saw your name in the guestbook," she continues, "and I followed you."

"Why?" I ask, confused.

"On the night he died he told me you would be here." she says, handing me the box. "He said to give this to you personally."

I take the box from her.

"He was a kind man." she says. "Did you know him well?"

"He was a friend of my Grandmother's." I reply. "And yes, he was a kind man."

"Well, thank you for coming." she tells me as she turns and walks away.


There's a hush in the air and the world stops for me as I open the box.

Inside is a smaller box wrapped in brown paper. It's postmarked like it's been mailed once but never reached it's destination.

It's addressed to me. September 19, 2010.

I open it.

The sunlight catches the crystal as I pull my necklace from the package. My knees weaken and I drop to the ground.

There are pictures. Of Michael and Maria. And Kyle and Isabelle. They're standing beneath the saucer that says Crashdown Cafe.

But it's the picture I find next that is my treasure.

It is the girl with summer stars scattered in her hair. Liz.

And my Mr. Evans. Max. Young and handsome, his eyes smiling at me across a sea of time and space.

Between them sits a beautiful child, a little girl maybe four or five.

I turn the picture over.

Six words that tell me all I need to know.

*Her name is Carla. Thank you.*


It doesn't really matter if you believe my story or not. I only know that once in my life I gave a kind and gentle soul a gift.

And I wrapped it in the shadows of September.


THE END