Posted: Wed Apr 26, 2006 11:33 am
Hi everyone. thanks for all the feedback and a huge thanks to everyone who has nominated me in the awards. I'm so honored. And just to clear up a small bit of confusion. Mrs. Whitman is an original charatcer not a supporting character so if you'd like to nominate her that's where she go's, but maybe to avoid further confusion just call her Grandma Whitman.
Hope you like this part.
ISLANDGIRL5 really bad. Thanks for being my beta.
Behrlyliz that’s a good point
Xmag no, the granolith did not create the lake
rar1942 as I didn’t even know what that was until you told me you can rule out diphtheria
pixiegirl712 or something!!
Lolita there’s nothing like a witch to create mass hysteria in the 17th century.
FaithfulAngel24 Thank you
Maya more bad than good though
RhondaAnn yeah that was a really bad day.
Doublestuf aw, thank you. Yeah, Liz wants to be able to rest in peace.
Emz80m thank you
Ellie thanks
Behrystrwbry thanks
Flamehair no, not good
Tiredmuse better late than never. lol
sylvia37 thank you
Itzstacie nice to see you here. Glad you like it.
Alienmom thanks
montee916 thank you
christmasnazi so glad you gave it a try.
nibbles2 pretty much
Eleven
My husband is dead. My child is without a father. Jeremiah was a good man, a loving husband and a doting father. He tended to his flock faithfully and without failure. His loss is a huge loss for this whole community. I am distraught at his death and will miss him terribly.
And yet, even though he still lies in wake on our bed, even though he is not yet in the ground. I cannot help but feel the first spark of hope, like the first glimmer of light at daybreak or the first bud on the rose tree. I find myself watching the hill, waiting for him to come to me.
Maria turned the page of the journal to read the next entry, but it was blank. There was nothing more to be read. She stared at the white page in shock. Then flipped through the remainder of the pages. There was nothing.
"What am I supposed to do know?" Maria asked the empty room. She threw the journal down on the floor in frustration.
How could there be nothing more? How was she supposed to help Liz now? What could have happened to Liz that prevented her from writing in her journal? Had she left Rosalind's Well? But it seemed unlikely that she would go without taking her journal with her. Unless she had been forced to flee in a hurry. Had she been killed perhaps? Hanged as a witch by the townspeople and Pierce?
Pierce
A light flicked in the back of Maria's brain. She knew that name from somewhere. It frightened her even though she didn't know why. She racked her mind, trying to recall where she had read it.
Maria was almost certain it had something to do with school. She flung back the covers of her bed and climbed out. Her head was still slightly woozy but much better than it had been before. She picked up her laptop, which was lying on top of her suitcase. Michael must have brought it back earlier too.
Wow, Maria reflected, she must have been really out of it if she hadn't even thought about bringing her laptop back to Roswell with her. It was her most prized possession. Not only had she worked long hard hours to save up for it, but also it contained all her notes from the classes that she had attended and the books she had read, as well as the first draft of her thesis.
She turned it on and searched through her notes for twenty minutes until she found the entry she was looking for.
At some period in the late 17th century a group was formed on the East Coast of America. It was a secret organization founded by church leaders and influential men. They made it their mission to investigate any reports of witchcraft, practicing of the black arts and devil worship.
There is very little evidence, either primary or secondary to furnish us with details of the work they carried out but a Reverend Jacob Wheeler, d 1698 had written a letter to a friend shortly before he died. It said,
My friend,
I have a confession to make. A number of
years ago, there was a young girl in town
whose behavior was frightening her parents.
They believed she had been possessed. I
sat with her for a short time and said prayers
from my bible. The next day she was much
improved.
A month later a man came to my house late
at night. He told me that he had heard reports
of the young girls possession and how I had
aided her. He said that he was a member of a
special group dedicated to the fight against the
devil and his followers. They asked me to join
them.
Over the next few years, I traveled frequently to
a number of towns and villages where there were
reports of possession. I carried out a number of
investigations of suspected witchcraft. I worked
with a number of different men. We believed that
we were carrying out God's Work and that what
we were doing was absolutely right. I regret a
number of people were killed or hanged when they
were found guilty as a result of our investigation.
I was not there myself, but I know that a number
of the group assisted in the investigations in Salem
in ‘92. There were three members on the jury. At the
time I was as fully convinced of the guilt of those
eleven people as the jury was. Then of course as
you know, it was later revealed that they were
the victims of slander and hysteria. They were
innocent. Our group had put innocent people
to death.
I was consumed with guilt and began to question my
actions of the previous years.
Last month I was contacted by the leader of the group,
a man named Pierce. He wanted me to carry out an
investigation in Pennington. His letter implied that the
man under investigation was guilty and that I should
persuade the people of the town to condemn him to
death. He himself had not been to Pennington and
therefore could not have ascertained whether this man
was guilty or not.
I myself traveled to Pennington and interviewed the
man. I found him a suspicious man, with secrets.
But I could not put my hand on the bible and swear
that he was a practitioner of the black arts. I directed
the jury to him not guilty. Which they did. Three days
after I had returned home I was visited by Pierce. He
is an intimidating man, with piercing blue eyes and a
manner of speaking that chills me to my bones. He
was furious that I had not done as he had instructed.
I told him that I wished to have no more part of his
organization. That I was finished with persecuting
innocent people.
He left in quiet a temper and swore that if I would
not do as he asked, then he would do it himself.
The following week, I learned that the man in
Pennington whom I had found not guilty had drowned.
It is my belief that Pierce played a role in his death.
I wrote to the Sheriff of the town to tell him of my fears.
I believe this was a grave mistake. The Sheriff is in
collusion with Pierce and now I fear for my life.
Pierce is a dangerous man and his organization is a
danger to all of society. They care not for the truth.
I will attempt to raise awareness of them by sending letters
to all my friends. We must work together to ensure that
they cannot continue this secret reign of terror.
Your friend,
J Wheeler.
This is the only primary source we have that mentions the special organization directly. We have a handful of contemporary sources that allude to a secret organization. We are not certain who Pierce is but we do know that he has been mentioned as a witness at several witch trials along the eastern seaboard around that time. He disappeared in 1699. His sent a message to a colleague shortly before disappearing in late September, early October saying that he had been asked to investigate a report of witchcraft in R.W.
Where R.W is, we do not know.
Maria slumped back into her chair and expelled her breath. Things were becoming clearer. Pierce had been invited to Rosalind's Well to investigate Liz and perhaps the aliens. At a guess somebody had been found guilty - Either Max or Liz and as a result Pierce had been killed and Rosalind's Well buried under a lake by aliens and hidden from the rest of the world.
"So what am I supposed to do Liz? What do you want from me?" Maria sighed. There was no answer from the empty room. "What do you want? Vengeance? From who, the aliens? Pierce? I can't do that for you. Do you want me to clear your name? How can I do that? Unless…the only way to clear your name is to publish your journal. Is that what you want?"
Maria bent down and picked up the journal from the floor.
"If I show this to anybody it will expose everyone in this town, Michael, Mrs. Whitman, Kyle, Reverend Rendell. I can't do that Liz. I won't,” Maria whispered.
Suddenly she felt the hairs on her arm stand on end and she knew without turning around that there was somebody behind her. She knew that if she turned around that there would be nobody behind her. But Liz was there, listening.
"I didn't get it at first, why you kept his secret from your husband and your family. I couldn't understand why you would chose to protect him instead of saving your own life. But I do now, I understand. So you must understand why I can't let anybody find out about them. About Michael.”
Knock knock
Maria jumped at the sound of gentle knocking on her door and glanced at it fearfully. She half expected to find Liz on the other side of the door.
It was opened slowly and quietly, as though the person on the other side was expecting Maria to be asleep. Michael’s shaggy brown hair poked through the opening. “You’re up.”
“Yeah, come in,” Maria smiled, casually pushing the journal under the duvet.
“How are you feeling?” Michael asked, entering the room and taking a seat at the foot of the bed. He narrowed his eyes when he spotted the open laptop. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am. I was. I just wanted to do some reading,” Maria covered. She stood up quickly with the intention of shutting the laptop down before Michael saw what she was reading. But when she stood up, her head swam and she stumbled forward.
Michael jumped up and caught her. “Sit down, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” he scolded, pulling her back down onto the bed.
“I’m fine, it was just a head rush,” Maria insisted, but she didn’t brush his arms away. She looked up at him and realized that there were only centimeters between them. Unconsciously, her tongue snaked out and moistened her lips.
“So are you here to arrest me?” She asked to break the silence.
“What?”
“You know…Courtney, is she pressing charges or whatever?”
“No, she uh…on mature recollection, she changed her version of events. She says it was an accident. As long as you don’t try to sue her she won’t take it any farther,” Michael told Maria, his eyes never wavering from her lips.
“That’s big of her,” Maria snorted.
“Mmhmm,” Michael, nodded his head ever so slightly, an action that brought his face closer to hers, so close that their lips were just about to touch.
“Mic-”
“Shh, don’t say anything,” He said gently, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.
“How are you feeling now dear, oh I’m so sorry!” Michael and Maria sprang apart as Mrs. Whitman came cheerily into the room. Nobody looked more disappointed that the kiss had been interrupted than she did. Maria couldn’t help but laugh, to see the expression on the old woman’s face.
“I’m fine,” Maria blushed. She stood up, slowly. “Actually, I’m kind of hungry.”
Mrs. Whitman clapped her hands. “I’ll make you something to eat. I have broth on the stove or would you prefer to have something more substantial?”
“I’ll have dinner, please. I hit my head but my stomach’s working fine,” Maria grinned. “I’ll just wash up first.”
“Alright, come down when you’re ready,” Mrs. Whitman smiled. She moved to block Michael’s exit from the room. A look passed between them and she sighed but moved aside to allow him out.
“Maria…” Mrs. Whitman hesitated, looked over her shoulder to see if Michael was out of hearing range. “I’m delighted that…I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Me too.” Maria smiled.
<center>~*~</center>
It was obvious by the way that Mrs. Whitman was loitering in the kitchen throughout dinner that she was trying her best to give Maria and Michael enough space to resume where she had interrupted earlier. They said little throughout the meal, conscious that they were under scrutiny, but exchanged smiles everytime Mrs. Whitman remembered something else she had to attend to it the kitchen.
When the phone rang while they were eating desert, Maria wasn’t surprised. She guessed that Mrs. Whitman had arranged for one of her friends to call her so she would have an excuse to leave the house for the evening. But when Mrs. Whitman came back into the dining room, her lips were pressed thinly together.
“It’s for you,” she told her grandson.
Michael excused himself and went to take the call. Mrs. Whitman went with him. Maria could hear Michael talk briefly on the phone. Then there was a furious whispered conversation between him and his grandmother before they returned. Michael was wearing his jacket.
“I have to go out for a while,” he said apologetically to Maria.
“Has something happened?” Maria asked in concern.
“No,” Mrs. Whitman sighed, digging her spoon into her apple pie with venom.
“Just something that came up. I probably won’t be back until late so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Michael told Maria. He kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “Don’t wait up. Goodnight grandma, Maria.”
“Goodnight.”
After dinner, Maria and Mrs. Whitman sat in the parlor for an hour. Their conversation was stilted, Maria was feeling drowsy now that she was full and Mrs. Whitman was clearly distracted by something, probably whatever it was that had called Michael away.
After a while Maria said goodnight and went to bed. She had wanted to go through her notes again to see if there were any other clues that could help her to help Liz. However after only five minutes of scrolling through her notes the screen began to blur and Maria realized that she was too tired, so she powered off her laptop and crawled into bed.
After pulling back the duvet Maria spotted the journal, lying open and face down in the bed where she had hidden it earlier that day. She picked it up to put it on the nightstand and as she did so, something in it caught her eye. She froze, afraid to open it up and see if it was really there. She could feel goosebumps forming on her arms again.
Reluctantly, Maria flipped over the journal. It fell open on the last entry, then by itself the page turned to reveal a new entry. It was in the same handwriting, but the ink was clearly fresh. She could smell its distinct aroma.
I have lain in my grave for three hundred years, but I have had no rest. I know only torment. I will never know rest until I am with him. Until we are together.
I beseech thee, my daughter, to help me. End my suffering and grant that I may finally rest in peace.
Maria wanted to scream. This is what Liz wanted of her? What did it mean exactly? Did she want Maria to dig up her body and bury it with Max’s? Because that was impossible, for many different reasons. Firstly, and most importantly, she had no clue where Liz’s body was buried or where to even begin looking for it. Though she had a gnawing feeling that she was probably buried in the graveyard beside her church which of course would be under Lake Rosalind. So even is somehow, Maria managed to find Liz's body she would then have to dig up Max’s grave, which was lying under stone slabs in the middle of the church.
“I’m really beginning to wish that I had never opened this thing,” Maria scowled. Knowing that she wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it tonight, Maria placed the journal on the nightstand and went to sleep.
<center>~*~</center>
That night she dreamed that she was in a wood. The sun was bright and the sky blue, but she had no idea what season it was. There were no leaves on the trees, but a blanket of white flowers. Their petals carpeted the ground and floated in the babbling stream. There was a man sitting on a fallen log on the opposite bank. At first she didn’t know him, but when he heard her approach he looked up and she saw that it was Michael. He held a white rose in his hand.
“Michael.” She was overjoyed to see him and ran towards him. She stopped when her feet splashed into the stream and she looked down to see how deep it was. When she looked back up, the stream had grown and now there was a lake between them.
Michael was a tiny figure on the far shore. Without thinking, Maria dived into the water, intending to swim to him but as soon as she hit the water she was sucked underneath and pulled down. She tried her best to return to the surface but she couldn’t. Her hands and feet were bound, her long skirt was heavy. Her lungs burned for air until she could take it no more and she took a gulp, instead of air she swallowed the dark, dirty water.
When she woke the duvet muffled her screams. She wrestled herself free of it and kicked it to the floor. Then she lay in the bed panting hard for air.
“Are you ok?” Michael was standing in the doorway, backlit by the hall light. He was still in the clothes he had been wearing when he had left that evening.
“I just had another bad dream,” Maria sat up and glanced at the clock. It was almost two thirty in the morning. “Did you just come in?”
“Yeah.”
“Is everything alright? Did something happen?” Maria asked.
Michael shook his head. “It was nothing. Mayor Harding had a few beefs he needed to air. It was to be expected I guess.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t exactly nice to his daughter today,” Michael laughed. “How’s the head?”
Maria touched her head. “It’s fine. I never said thanks to you, for helping me out today.”
“Just doing my job,” Michael shrugged.
“Well, thanks anyway,” Maria smiled. “So why weren’t you nice to Harding’s daughter?”
Michael looked at her like she was crazy. “Because she drove like a maniac and almost killed you then tried to say it was all your fault.”
Maria blinked, processing what Michael had just said. “Wait, Courtney is Mayor Harding’s daughter?”
“You didn’t know?” Michael said with surprise.
“No. Oh my God, that means she’s descended from Tess,” Maria gasped, speaking out loud without realizing it.
By the door, Michael froze. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing…I don’t know,” Maria was stammering, confused by the change in his manner. But her mind was racing, Courtney was descended from Tess, she had to be. They had so much in common, blonde hair, bitchy, murderous intentions. The words she had used to warn Maria off Michael were scarily similar to those that Tess used to warn Liz off. Maria looked up at Michael. His mother was a Whitman, probably descend from Alex Whitman, who had been married to Isabel Evans, Max’s sister. Did that mean that Max was an ancestor of Michael? Was that why Courtney was so possessive of him. Had it something to do with Max and Tess?
“I should go to bed,” Michael yawned, interrupting her thoughts.
Maria made a split second decision. “Michael, wait.” She crawled down to the end of the bed and gestured for him to come closer. He hesitated a moment before coming back into the room and standing at the foot of her bed. Maria took a deep breath. “I need your help.”
A look of concern passed over Michael’s face and he sat down on the bed. “What is it?”
“I don’t think it was accident that brought me to Roswell. I don’t think it was fate either. I don’t know why she picked me but I was brought here for a reason and I’m not going to be able to go until I’ve done what I’ve supposed to. She won’t let me go.”
“Who’s she?”
“Liz Parker.”
Michael shrugged. “Who’s Liz Parker?”
This was it, the moment of truth. Maria took a deep breath and stepped into the abyss. “Liz Parker is the girl that Max Evans brought back from the dead three hundred years ago, shortly before she died.”
A whole range of emotions flashed across Michael’s handsome face. He cleared his throat. “What…uh…what are you talking about?”
“I know Michael. I don’t know everything but I know most of it. I know that you’re all aliens.”
Michael laughed, a hollow fake laugh. “Maybe we should have taken you to the hospital today. You’ve hit your head and -”
Maria cut his denial off “You came here from Antar three hundred years ago. Because your home planet had been destroyed by an explosion. Something called the granolith saved your people and you fled to earth.”
“How…? Who are you?” Michael demanded, grabbing Maria’s forearms tightly and shaking her.
Before Maria could answer, they heard the sound of a door opening. Michael dropped his hold on Maria just as Mrs. Whitman appeared at the door of Maria’s bedroom. She peered in cautiously to make sure that she wasn’t interrupting another moment between them. “Michael, you’re back.”
“Yeah, just now,” Michael nodded, shooting a look of warning to Maria that made her swallow nervously. “I heard Maria up so I just wanted to make sure that she was alright.”
Mrs. Whitman smiled and ruffled his hair fondly. “Did everything go alright?”
“Yeah, it was just Harding blowing steam, nothing I couldn’t handle,” Michael assured her with a smile. He stood up and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to hit the sack now. Goodnight Grandma.” He nodded at Maria before leaving the room.
Mrs. Whitman shot a worried glance at Maria, clearly sensing the tension between her and Michael.
Maria gave her a small smile. “I’m fine,” she said before the older woman could ask.
“Good,” Mrs. Whitman laughed. “I’ll go back to bed. Sweet dreams dear.” She kissed Maria goodnight and went back to bed.
“That went well,” Maria snorted to herself. She buried her face in her hands, wondering what to do next. She knew that Michael wasn’t just going to go to bed and sleep after her revelation, and that he was probably waiting for his grandmother to go back to sleep before he came back to talk to her some more. At least that was the best case scenario. For all she knew he could have been marshalling the alien lynch mob at that very moment.
Well, whatever happened next, Maria didn’t want to do it in her yellow pyjamas so she quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. As she was lacing up her sneakers, there was a gentle tap on the door.
She opened it to find Michael on the other side. He took in her clothes briefly, before jerking his head to indicate that she was to follow him.
Thump
Maria glanced behind her and saw that the journal had fallen off the nightstand. Apparently, Liz thought it would be a good idea to bring it with her. So Maria picked it up and stuffed it into her pocket. Silently she followed Michael down the stairs and outside.
It was a clear night, but cold and Maria shivered as soon as the night air hit her. She looked up at Michael waiting to see what he wanted to do.
“C’mon,” he told her, walking quickly down the street. Maria had to jog to keep up with his long strides. He lead her to a street she hadn’t seen before though judging by the signs she could make out under the street lamps they were now in down town Roswell. The place was deserted, there was nobody around and all the shops were dark. For a girl who was so used to living in the city that never sleeps it was strange to see a place that shut down at night.
Michael walked up the steps of an old stone building. Like the others it was locked and darkened. It was only when Maria had climbed the steps that she noticed the sign. Roswell Sheriff’s Station. Michael fished a set of keys out of his pocket and opened the door. He led Maria through a maze of corridors and up the stairs before entering an office.
Sheriff Michael Guerin The placename on the desk read. Maria looked around in curiosity. It looked like any normal police station office. Desk, filing cabinets, lots of paper. On the wall behind the desk there was a large map, which Maria noted, was of Roswell and the surrounding area.
“So this is where you work?” Maria said. It was the first thing that she had said since they left the house.
“Yeah.” Michael took the seat behind the desk. He watched her carefully for a moment. “Who are you?”
“I’m Maria Deluca, I’m a student from New York. I got lost in a rainstorm and wound up here in Roswell,” Maria answered. “The same as I was this morning. I’m not pretending to be anybody that I’m not. I’ve never lied to you.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “How exactly did you get here?”
“There was a rainstorm. My route to Salem was flooded so I got diverted. Somehow, I took a wrong turn and I got lost. Then a girl appeared in the middle of the road. I stopped the car and got out but I couldn’t see her anywhere. So I got back into the car but it died. Then I noticed the lights of the town and followed them.”
“You didn’t notice the town when you were looking for the girl?” Michael asked.
Maria paused. “No, I didn’t. It wasn’t until I got back into the car. And the girl was Liz. She brought me here and she made my car break down. She did something to it so that Kyle couldn’t get it started again.”
“It’s just missing a part,” Michael interrupted.
“He can’t fix it because Liz is stopping him,” Maria insisted. “That’s why his powers don’t work on it. And she stopped him going to Safehaven to get a part because she doesn’t want me to leave. That’s why she stopped Courtney and I leaving today.”
Michael paused, apparently flummoxed that Maria had so casually mentioned Kyle’s powers. He shook his head. “What does she look like?”
“She’s beautiful, long brown hair. And she’s soaking wet, and her hands are tied together. That’s how she died, I’ve dreamt it. They tied her up and threw her in the lake.” Maria ran her hand through her won blonde hair. “I know this sounds crazy but that’s why she’s been haunting the lake.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Michael said at once, a reflex action.
“Yes there is. I’ve seen her Michael, several times. I’m not lying or crazy or concussed. I’m aware that I sound crazy or like a liar but I’m telling you the truth. How else would I know about you and Antar and everything?”
Michael looked away from Maria, she could see that he was debating with himself internally. Not wanting to believe her crazy story, but believing it anyway. After what seemed like an age, he turned back to her. “That day Kyle went to Safehaven, when he said that he swerved to avoid a dear on the road - What he really saw was a girl, like the one you’ve described.”
“See,” Maria exclaimed, pounding his desk with her fist. “Liz needs my help and she won’t let me go until I do whatever it is she wants.”
“What does she want?” Michael sighed. Then added hastily. “Hypothetically?”
Maria shrugged. “I’m not sure. Yesterday after the crash she played a song on the radio. I think there was a message in it.”
“What song?”
“Dido’s song, you know the one. I won’t go, I won’t leave until you’re resting here with me.” Maria sang the line of the song.
“You have a nice voice,” Michael commented bluntly, almost to himself.
Maria blushed. “Thanks.”
“So what does that mean?”
“I’m not an expert, but everyone says that ghosts only come back because they’ve left something undone in their past life or to seek revenge on the people who killed them. I think she drowns people in the lake as revenge for her murder, but there’s something else she wants that has to do with Max,” Maria sighed.
“But Max is dead, shouldn’t they be able to have out their little disagreement in the afterlife or whatever?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” Maria shook her head. “But I have to help her Michael.”
“Why should I help her. If you’re right she drowned my parents.”
Maria shrugged. “She was murdered and she’s spent three hundred years wandering Roswell, waiting for somebody to help her. She deserves to be able to rest in peace. And for some reason she’s picked me as the one to help her. Only, I don’t know what she wants me to do. Or even why she picked me.”
“There’s obviously something different about you. You can see ghosts and … aliens.”
“Kyle saw the ghost too and can’t everyone see you?” Maria frowned.
Michael hesitated before shaking his head. “No.”
Suddenly things were beginning to make a tiny bit of sense to Maria. “There’s a cloaking device or something on the town, isn’t there? That’s why there are no tourists and it’s not on any maps.”
“Something like that,” Michael scratched his eyebrow, a gesture that was becoming very familiar to Maria. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“I won’t breathe a word of it, I promise,” Maria told him solemnly. “Will you help me help Liz in return?”
It was a full minute before Michael nodded reluctantly. “I’ll help.”
“Thank you Michael,” Maria pulled the journal out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Read this. Maybe you’ll be able to figure out what Liz needs.”
Michael took the journal and examined it. “Where did you find this?”
“In a secret compartment in the chest in my room,” Maria told him about how she had woke up freezing in the middle of her first night in Roswell and got a blanket from the chest, about the voice that had scared her causing her to drop the lid and somehow open the compartment that she had been unable to open since.
Michael opened the book, picked out the flower and left it out onto the desk without taking any notice of it.
Maria picked it up and sniffed its sweet fragrance. “Is it true that white roses don’t grow in Roswell?”
“Apparently not, I’m not really into gardening.” Michael shrugged, already engrossed in the first entry.
While she waited for him to read, Maria glanced around the office again and spotted a computer in the corner. “Hey, can I use that to get online? My friend was supposed to do some research for me.”
“Did you tell your friend about this?” Michael asked in alarm.
“No, of course not,” Maria assured him. “Can I?”
“Sure, knock yourself out.”
“Thanks.” Maria powered up the machine and logged onto her email account. She had received an email from Bobby with an attachment.
Maria,
I knew that I’d heard something about Elizabeth Parker before and did a bit of digging. I found this. A professor at my college conducted a project in the 1940’s, he sent his students out to gather local stories and legends. This is one that had been passed down through the centuries. It’s an interesting story but that’s all. There’s no record of anyone from the story except one person and there’s no place in the USA called Rosalind’s Well.
But here’s what I have.
Bobby
She opened the attachment and felt as though the breath had been sucked from her body. The opening line read:
The trial of Elizabeth Parker, accused of the murder by witchcraft of her husband Jeremiah Parker.
<center>~*~</center>
Hope you like this part.
ISLANDGIRL5 really bad. Thanks for being my beta.
Behrlyliz that’s a good point
Xmag no, the granolith did not create the lake
rar1942 as I didn’t even know what that was until you told me you can rule out diphtheria
pixiegirl712 or something!!
Lolita there’s nothing like a witch to create mass hysteria in the 17th century.
FaithfulAngel24 Thank you
Maya more bad than good though
RhondaAnn yeah that was a really bad day.
Doublestuf aw, thank you. Yeah, Liz wants to be able to rest in peace.
Emz80m thank you
Ellie thanks
Behrystrwbry thanks
Flamehair no, not good
Tiredmuse better late than never. lol
sylvia37 thank you
Itzstacie nice to see you here. Glad you like it.
Alienmom thanks
montee916 thank you
christmasnazi so glad you gave it a try.
nibbles2 pretty much
Eleven
My husband is dead. My child is without a father. Jeremiah was a good man, a loving husband and a doting father. He tended to his flock faithfully and without failure. His loss is a huge loss for this whole community. I am distraught at his death and will miss him terribly.
And yet, even though he still lies in wake on our bed, even though he is not yet in the ground. I cannot help but feel the first spark of hope, like the first glimmer of light at daybreak or the first bud on the rose tree. I find myself watching the hill, waiting for him to come to me.
Maria turned the page of the journal to read the next entry, but it was blank. There was nothing more to be read. She stared at the white page in shock. Then flipped through the remainder of the pages. There was nothing.
"What am I supposed to do know?" Maria asked the empty room. She threw the journal down on the floor in frustration.
How could there be nothing more? How was she supposed to help Liz now? What could have happened to Liz that prevented her from writing in her journal? Had she left Rosalind's Well? But it seemed unlikely that she would go without taking her journal with her. Unless she had been forced to flee in a hurry. Had she been killed perhaps? Hanged as a witch by the townspeople and Pierce?
Pierce
A light flicked in the back of Maria's brain. She knew that name from somewhere. It frightened her even though she didn't know why. She racked her mind, trying to recall where she had read it.
Maria was almost certain it had something to do with school. She flung back the covers of her bed and climbed out. Her head was still slightly woozy but much better than it had been before. She picked up her laptop, which was lying on top of her suitcase. Michael must have brought it back earlier too.
Wow, Maria reflected, she must have been really out of it if she hadn't even thought about bringing her laptop back to Roswell with her. It was her most prized possession. Not only had she worked long hard hours to save up for it, but also it contained all her notes from the classes that she had attended and the books she had read, as well as the first draft of her thesis.
She turned it on and searched through her notes for twenty minutes until she found the entry she was looking for.
At some period in the late 17th century a group was formed on the East Coast of America. It was a secret organization founded by church leaders and influential men. They made it their mission to investigate any reports of witchcraft, practicing of the black arts and devil worship.
There is very little evidence, either primary or secondary to furnish us with details of the work they carried out but a Reverend Jacob Wheeler, d 1698 had written a letter to a friend shortly before he died. It said,
My friend,
I have a confession to make. A number of
years ago, there was a young girl in town
whose behavior was frightening her parents.
They believed she had been possessed. I
sat with her for a short time and said prayers
from my bible. The next day she was much
improved.
A month later a man came to my house late
at night. He told me that he had heard reports
of the young girls possession and how I had
aided her. He said that he was a member of a
special group dedicated to the fight against the
devil and his followers. They asked me to join
them.
Over the next few years, I traveled frequently to
a number of towns and villages where there were
reports of possession. I carried out a number of
investigations of suspected witchcraft. I worked
with a number of different men. We believed that
we were carrying out God's Work and that what
we were doing was absolutely right. I regret a
number of people were killed or hanged when they
were found guilty as a result of our investigation.
I was not there myself, but I know that a number
of the group assisted in the investigations in Salem
in ‘92. There were three members on the jury. At the
time I was as fully convinced of the guilt of those
eleven people as the jury was. Then of course as
you know, it was later revealed that they were
the victims of slander and hysteria. They were
innocent. Our group had put innocent people
to death.
I was consumed with guilt and began to question my
actions of the previous years.
Last month I was contacted by the leader of the group,
a man named Pierce. He wanted me to carry out an
investigation in Pennington. His letter implied that the
man under investigation was guilty and that I should
persuade the people of the town to condemn him to
death. He himself had not been to Pennington and
therefore could not have ascertained whether this man
was guilty or not.
I myself traveled to Pennington and interviewed the
man. I found him a suspicious man, with secrets.
But I could not put my hand on the bible and swear
that he was a practitioner of the black arts. I directed
the jury to him not guilty. Which they did. Three days
after I had returned home I was visited by Pierce. He
is an intimidating man, with piercing blue eyes and a
manner of speaking that chills me to my bones. He
was furious that I had not done as he had instructed.
I told him that I wished to have no more part of his
organization. That I was finished with persecuting
innocent people.
He left in quiet a temper and swore that if I would
not do as he asked, then he would do it himself.
The following week, I learned that the man in
Pennington whom I had found not guilty had drowned.
It is my belief that Pierce played a role in his death.
I wrote to the Sheriff of the town to tell him of my fears.
I believe this was a grave mistake. The Sheriff is in
collusion with Pierce and now I fear for my life.
Pierce is a dangerous man and his organization is a
danger to all of society. They care not for the truth.
I will attempt to raise awareness of them by sending letters
to all my friends. We must work together to ensure that
they cannot continue this secret reign of terror.
Your friend,
J Wheeler.
This is the only primary source we have that mentions the special organization directly. We have a handful of contemporary sources that allude to a secret organization. We are not certain who Pierce is but we do know that he has been mentioned as a witness at several witch trials along the eastern seaboard around that time. He disappeared in 1699. His sent a message to a colleague shortly before disappearing in late September, early October saying that he had been asked to investigate a report of witchcraft in R.W.
Where R.W is, we do not know.
Maria slumped back into her chair and expelled her breath. Things were becoming clearer. Pierce had been invited to Rosalind's Well to investigate Liz and perhaps the aliens. At a guess somebody had been found guilty - Either Max or Liz and as a result Pierce had been killed and Rosalind's Well buried under a lake by aliens and hidden from the rest of the world.
"So what am I supposed to do Liz? What do you want from me?" Maria sighed. There was no answer from the empty room. "What do you want? Vengeance? From who, the aliens? Pierce? I can't do that for you. Do you want me to clear your name? How can I do that? Unless…the only way to clear your name is to publish your journal. Is that what you want?"
Maria bent down and picked up the journal from the floor.
"If I show this to anybody it will expose everyone in this town, Michael, Mrs. Whitman, Kyle, Reverend Rendell. I can't do that Liz. I won't,” Maria whispered.
Suddenly she felt the hairs on her arm stand on end and she knew without turning around that there was somebody behind her. She knew that if she turned around that there would be nobody behind her. But Liz was there, listening.
"I didn't get it at first, why you kept his secret from your husband and your family. I couldn't understand why you would chose to protect him instead of saving your own life. But I do now, I understand. So you must understand why I can't let anybody find out about them. About Michael.”
Knock knock
Maria jumped at the sound of gentle knocking on her door and glanced at it fearfully. She half expected to find Liz on the other side of the door.
It was opened slowly and quietly, as though the person on the other side was expecting Maria to be asleep. Michael’s shaggy brown hair poked through the opening. “You’re up.”
“Yeah, come in,” Maria smiled, casually pushing the journal under the duvet.
“How are you feeling?” Michael asked, entering the room and taking a seat at the foot of the bed. He narrowed his eyes when he spotted the open laptop. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am. I was. I just wanted to do some reading,” Maria covered. She stood up quickly with the intention of shutting the laptop down before Michael saw what she was reading. But when she stood up, her head swam and she stumbled forward.
Michael jumped up and caught her. “Sit down, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” he scolded, pulling her back down onto the bed.
“I’m fine, it was just a head rush,” Maria insisted, but she didn’t brush his arms away. She looked up at him and realized that there were only centimeters between them. Unconsciously, her tongue snaked out and moistened her lips.
“So are you here to arrest me?” She asked to break the silence.
“What?”
“You know…Courtney, is she pressing charges or whatever?”
“No, she uh…on mature recollection, she changed her version of events. She says it was an accident. As long as you don’t try to sue her she won’t take it any farther,” Michael told Maria, his eyes never wavering from her lips.
“That’s big of her,” Maria snorted.
“Mmhmm,” Michael, nodded his head ever so slightly, an action that brought his face closer to hers, so close that their lips were just about to touch.
“Mic-”
“Shh, don’t say anything,” He said gently, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.
“How are you feeling now dear, oh I’m so sorry!” Michael and Maria sprang apart as Mrs. Whitman came cheerily into the room. Nobody looked more disappointed that the kiss had been interrupted than she did. Maria couldn’t help but laugh, to see the expression on the old woman’s face.
“I’m fine,” Maria blushed. She stood up, slowly. “Actually, I’m kind of hungry.”
Mrs. Whitman clapped her hands. “I’ll make you something to eat. I have broth on the stove or would you prefer to have something more substantial?”
“I’ll have dinner, please. I hit my head but my stomach’s working fine,” Maria grinned. “I’ll just wash up first.”
“Alright, come down when you’re ready,” Mrs. Whitman smiled. She moved to block Michael’s exit from the room. A look passed between them and she sighed but moved aside to allow him out.
“Maria…” Mrs. Whitman hesitated, looked over her shoulder to see if Michael was out of hearing range. “I’m delighted that…I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Me too.” Maria smiled.
<center>~*~</center>
It was obvious by the way that Mrs. Whitman was loitering in the kitchen throughout dinner that she was trying her best to give Maria and Michael enough space to resume where she had interrupted earlier. They said little throughout the meal, conscious that they were under scrutiny, but exchanged smiles everytime Mrs. Whitman remembered something else she had to attend to it the kitchen.
When the phone rang while they were eating desert, Maria wasn’t surprised. She guessed that Mrs. Whitman had arranged for one of her friends to call her so she would have an excuse to leave the house for the evening. But when Mrs. Whitman came back into the dining room, her lips were pressed thinly together.
“It’s for you,” she told her grandson.
Michael excused himself and went to take the call. Mrs. Whitman went with him. Maria could hear Michael talk briefly on the phone. Then there was a furious whispered conversation between him and his grandmother before they returned. Michael was wearing his jacket.
“I have to go out for a while,” he said apologetically to Maria.
“Has something happened?” Maria asked in concern.
“No,” Mrs. Whitman sighed, digging her spoon into her apple pie with venom.
“Just something that came up. I probably won’t be back until late so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Michael told Maria. He kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “Don’t wait up. Goodnight grandma, Maria.”
“Goodnight.”
After dinner, Maria and Mrs. Whitman sat in the parlor for an hour. Their conversation was stilted, Maria was feeling drowsy now that she was full and Mrs. Whitman was clearly distracted by something, probably whatever it was that had called Michael away.
After a while Maria said goodnight and went to bed. She had wanted to go through her notes again to see if there were any other clues that could help her to help Liz. However after only five minutes of scrolling through her notes the screen began to blur and Maria realized that she was too tired, so she powered off her laptop and crawled into bed.
After pulling back the duvet Maria spotted the journal, lying open and face down in the bed where she had hidden it earlier that day. She picked it up to put it on the nightstand and as she did so, something in it caught her eye. She froze, afraid to open it up and see if it was really there. She could feel goosebumps forming on her arms again.
Reluctantly, Maria flipped over the journal. It fell open on the last entry, then by itself the page turned to reveal a new entry. It was in the same handwriting, but the ink was clearly fresh. She could smell its distinct aroma.
I have lain in my grave for three hundred years, but I have had no rest. I know only torment. I will never know rest until I am with him. Until we are together.
I beseech thee, my daughter, to help me. End my suffering and grant that I may finally rest in peace.
Maria wanted to scream. This is what Liz wanted of her? What did it mean exactly? Did she want Maria to dig up her body and bury it with Max’s? Because that was impossible, for many different reasons. Firstly, and most importantly, she had no clue where Liz’s body was buried or where to even begin looking for it. Though she had a gnawing feeling that she was probably buried in the graveyard beside her church which of course would be under Lake Rosalind. So even is somehow, Maria managed to find Liz's body she would then have to dig up Max’s grave, which was lying under stone slabs in the middle of the church.
“I’m really beginning to wish that I had never opened this thing,” Maria scowled. Knowing that she wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it tonight, Maria placed the journal on the nightstand and went to sleep.
<center>~*~</center>
That night she dreamed that she was in a wood. The sun was bright and the sky blue, but she had no idea what season it was. There were no leaves on the trees, but a blanket of white flowers. Their petals carpeted the ground and floated in the babbling stream. There was a man sitting on a fallen log on the opposite bank. At first she didn’t know him, but when he heard her approach he looked up and she saw that it was Michael. He held a white rose in his hand.
“Michael.” She was overjoyed to see him and ran towards him. She stopped when her feet splashed into the stream and she looked down to see how deep it was. When she looked back up, the stream had grown and now there was a lake between them.
Michael was a tiny figure on the far shore. Without thinking, Maria dived into the water, intending to swim to him but as soon as she hit the water she was sucked underneath and pulled down. She tried her best to return to the surface but she couldn’t. Her hands and feet were bound, her long skirt was heavy. Her lungs burned for air until she could take it no more and she took a gulp, instead of air she swallowed the dark, dirty water.
When she woke the duvet muffled her screams. She wrestled herself free of it and kicked it to the floor. Then she lay in the bed panting hard for air.
“Are you ok?” Michael was standing in the doorway, backlit by the hall light. He was still in the clothes he had been wearing when he had left that evening.
“I just had another bad dream,” Maria sat up and glanced at the clock. It was almost two thirty in the morning. “Did you just come in?”
“Yeah.”
“Is everything alright? Did something happen?” Maria asked.
Michael shook his head. “It was nothing. Mayor Harding had a few beefs he needed to air. It was to be expected I guess.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t exactly nice to his daughter today,” Michael laughed. “How’s the head?”
Maria touched her head. “It’s fine. I never said thanks to you, for helping me out today.”
“Just doing my job,” Michael shrugged.
“Well, thanks anyway,” Maria smiled. “So why weren’t you nice to Harding’s daughter?”
Michael looked at her like she was crazy. “Because she drove like a maniac and almost killed you then tried to say it was all your fault.”
Maria blinked, processing what Michael had just said. “Wait, Courtney is Mayor Harding’s daughter?”
“You didn’t know?” Michael said with surprise.
“No. Oh my God, that means she’s descended from Tess,” Maria gasped, speaking out loud without realizing it.
By the door, Michael froze. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing…I don’t know,” Maria was stammering, confused by the change in his manner. But her mind was racing, Courtney was descended from Tess, she had to be. They had so much in common, blonde hair, bitchy, murderous intentions. The words she had used to warn Maria off Michael were scarily similar to those that Tess used to warn Liz off. Maria looked up at Michael. His mother was a Whitman, probably descend from Alex Whitman, who had been married to Isabel Evans, Max’s sister. Did that mean that Max was an ancestor of Michael? Was that why Courtney was so possessive of him. Had it something to do with Max and Tess?
“I should go to bed,” Michael yawned, interrupting her thoughts.
Maria made a split second decision. “Michael, wait.” She crawled down to the end of the bed and gestured for him to come closer. He hesitated a moment before coming back into the room and standing at the foot of her bed. Maria took a deep breath. “I need your help.”
A look of concern passed over Michael’s face and he sat down on the bed. “What is it?”
“I don’t think it was accident that brought me to Roswell. I don’t think it was fate either. I don’t know why she picked me but I was brought here for a reason and I’m not going to be able to go until I’ve done what I’ve supposed to. She won’t let me go.”
“Who’s she?”
“Liz Parker.”
Michael shrugged. “Who’s Liz Parker?”
This was it, the moment of truth. Maria took a deep breath and stepped into the abyss. “Liz Parker is the girl that Max Evans brought back from the dead three hundred years ago, shortly before she died.”
A whole range of emotions flashed across Michael’s handsome face. He cleared his throat. “What…uh…what are you talking about?”
“I know Michael. I don’t know everything but I know most of it. I know that you’re all aliens.”
Michael laughed, a hollow fake laugh. “Maybe we should have taken you to the hospital today. You’ve hit your head and -”
Maria cut his denial off “You came here from Antar three hundred years ago. Because your home planet had been destroyed by an explosion. Something called the granolith saved your people and you fled to earth.”
“How…? Who are you?” Michael demanded, grabbing Maria’s forearms tightly and shaking her.
Before Maria could answer, they heard the sound of a door opening. Michael dropped his hold on Maria just as Mrs. Whitman appeared at the door of Maria’s bedroom. She peered in cautiously to make sure that she wasn’t interrupting another moment between them. “Michael, you’re back.”
“Yeah, just now,” Michael nodded, shooting a look of warning to Maria that made her swallow nervously. “I heard Maria up so I just wanted to make sure that she was alright.”
Mrs. Whitman smiled and ruffled his hair fondly. “Did everything go alright?”
“Yeah, it was just Harding blowing steam, nothing I couldn’t handle,” Michael assured her with a smile. He stood up and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to hit the sack now. Goodnight Grandma.” He nodded at Maria before leaving the room.
Mrs. Whitman shot a worried glance at Maria, clearly sensing the tension between her and Michael.
Maria gave her a small smile. “I’m fine,” she said before the older woman could ask.
“Good,” Mrs. Whitman laughed. “I’ll go back to bed. Sweet dreams dear.” She kissed Maria goodnight and went back to bed.
“That went well,” Maria snorted to herself. She buried her face in her hands, wondering what to do next. She knew that Michael wasn’t just going to go to bed and sleep after her revelation, and that he was probably waiting for his grandmother to go back to sleep before he came back to talk to her some more. At least that was the best case scenario. For all she knew he could have been marshalling the alien lynch mob at that very moment.
Well, whatever happened next, Maria didn’t want to do it in her yellow pyjamas so she quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. As she was lacing up her sneakers, there was a gentle tap on the door.
She opened it to find Michael on the other side. He took in her clothes briefly, before jerking his head to indicate that she was to follow him.
Thump
Maria glanced behind her and saw that the journal had fallen off the nightstand. Apparently, Liz thought it would be a good idea to bring it with her. So Maria picked it up and stuffed it into her pocket. Silently she followed Michael down the stairs and outside.
It was a clear night, but cold and Maria shivered as soon as the night air hit her. She looked up at Michael waiting to see what he wanted to do.
“C’mon,” he told her, walking quickly down the street. Maria had to jog to keep up with his long strides. He lead her to a street she hadn’t seen before though judging by the signs she could make out under the street lamps they were now in down town Roswell. The place was deserted, there was nobody around and all the shops were dark. For a girl who was so used to living in the city that never sleeps it was strange to see a place that shut down at night.
Michael walked up the steps of an old stone building. Like the others it was locked and darkened. It was only when Maria had climbed the steps that she noticed the sign. Roswell Sheriff’s Station. Michael fished a set of keys out of his pocket and opened the door. He led Maria through a maze of corridors and up the stairs before entering an office.
Sheriff Michael Guerin The placename on the desk read. Maria looked around in curiosity. It looked like any normal police station office. Desk, filing cabinets, lots of paper. On the wall behind the desk there was a large map, which Maria noted, was of Roswell and the surrounding area.
“So this is where you work?” Maria said. It was the first thing that she had said since they left the house.
“Yeah.” Michael took the seat behind the desk. He watched her carefully for a moment. “Who are you?”
“I’m Maria Deluca, I’m a student from New York. I got lost in a rainstorm and wound up here in Roswell,” Maria answered. “The same as I was this morning. I’m not pretending to be anybody that I’m not. I’ve never lied to you.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “How exactly did you get here?”
“There was a rainstorm. My route to Salem was flooded so I got diverted. Somehow, I took a wrong turn and I got lost. Then a girl appeared in the middle of the road. I stopped the car and got out but I couldn’t see her anywhere. So I got back into the car but it died. Then I noticed the lights of the town and followed them.”
“You didn’t notice the town when you were looking for the girl?” Michael asked.
Maria paused. “No, I didn’t. It wasn’t until I got back into the car. And the girl was Liz. She brought me here and she made my car break down. She did something to it so that Kyle couldn’t get it started again.”
“It’s just missing a part,” Michael interrupted.
“He can’t fix it because Liz is stopping him,” Maria insisted. “That’s why his powers don’t work on it. And she stopped him going to Safehaven to get a part because she doesn’t want me to leave. That’s why she stopped Courtney and I leaving today.”
Michael paused, apparently flummoxed that Maria had so casually mentioned Kyle’s powers. He shook his head. “What does she look like?”
“She’s beautiful, long brown hair. And she’s soaking wet, and her hands are tied together. That’s how she died, I’ve dreamt it. They tied her up and threw her in the lake.” Maria ran her hand through her won blonde hair. “I know this sounds crazy but that’s why she’s been haunting the lake.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Michael said at once, a reflex action.
“Yes there is. I’ve seen her Michael, several times. I’m not lying or crazy or concussed. I’m aware that I sound crazy or like a liar but I’m telling you the truth. How else would I know about you and Antar and everything?”
Michael looked away from Maria, she could see that he was debating with himself internally. Not wanting to believe her crazy story, but believing it anyway. After what seemed like an age, he turned back to her. “That day Kyle went to Safehaven, when he said that he swerved to avoid a dear on the road - What he really saw was a girl, like the one you’ve described.”
“See,” Maria exclaimed, pounding his desk with her fist. “Liz needs my help and she won’t let me go until I do whatever it is she wants.”
“What does she want?” Michael sighed. Then added hastily. “Hypothetically?”
Maria shrugged. “I’m not sure. Yesterday after the crash she played a song on the radio. I think there was a message in it.”
“What song?”
“Dido’s song, you know the one. I won’t go, I won’t leave until you’re resting here with me.” Maria sang the line of the song.
“You have a nice voice,” Michael commented bluntly, almost to himself.
Maria blushed. “Thanks.”
“So what does that mean?”
“I’m not an expert, but everyone says that ghosts only come back because they’ve left something undone in their past life or to seek revenge on the people who killed them. I think she drowns people in the lake as revenge for her murder, but there’s something else she wants that has to do with Max,” Maria sighed.
“But Max is dead, shouldn’t they be able to have out their little disagreement in the afterlife or whatever?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” Maria shook her head. “But I have to help her Michael.”
“Why should I help her. If you’re right she drowned my parents.”
Maria shrugged. “She was murdered and she’s spent three hundred years wandering Roswell, waiting for somebody to help her. She deserves to be able to rest in peace. And for some reason she’s picked me as the one to help her. Only, I don’t know what she wants me to do. Or even why she picked me.”
“There’s obviously something different about you. You can see ghosts and … aliens.”
“Kyle saw the ghost too and can’t everyone see you?” Maria frowned.
Michael hesitated before shaking his head. “No.”
Suddenly things were beginning to make a tiny bit of sense to Maria. “There’s a cloaking device or something on the town, isn’t there? That’s why there are no tourists and it’s not on any maps.”
“Something like that,” Michael scratched his eyebrow, a gesture that was becoming very familiar to Maria. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“I won’t breathe a word of it, I promise,” Maria told him solemnly. “Will you help me help Liz in return?”
It was a full minute before Michael nodded reluctantly. “I’ll help.”
“Thank you Michael,” Maria pulled the journal out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Read this. Maybe you’ll be able to figure out what Liz needs.”
Michael took the journal and examined it. “Where did you find this?”
“In a secret compartment in the chest in my room,” Maria told him about how she had woke up freezing in the middle of her first night in Roswell and got a blanket from the chest, about the voice that had scared her causing her to drop the lid and somehow open the compartment that she had been unable to open since.
Michael opened the book, picked out the flower and left it out onto the desk without taking any notice of it.
Maria picked it up and sniffed its sweet fragrance. “Is it true that white roses don’t grow in Roswell?”
“Apparently not, I’m not really into gardening.” Michael shrugged, already engrossed in the first entry.
While she waited for him to read, Maria glanced around the office again and spotted a computer in the corner. “Hey, can I use that to get online? My friend was supposed to do some research for me.”
“Did you tell your friend about this?” Michael asked in alarm.
“No, of course not,” Maria assured him. “Can I?”
“Sure, knock yourself out.”
“Thanks.” Maria powered up the machine and logged onto her email account. She had received an email from Bobby with an attachment.
Maria,
I knew that I’d heard something about Elizabeth Parker before and did a bit of digging. I found this. A professor at my college conducted a project in the 1940’s, he sent his students out to gather local stories and legends. This is one that had been passed down through the centuries. It’s an interesting story but that’s all. There’s no record of anyone from the story except one person and there’s no place in the USA called Rosalind’s Well.
But here’s what I have.
Bobby
She opened the attachment and felt as though the breath had been sucked from her body. The opening line read:
The trial of Elizabeth Parker, accused of the murder by witchcraft of her husband Jeremiah Parker.
<center>~*~</center>