Roswell Fanatics

Hello to everyone reading!

keepsmiling7 wrote:I loved the list Liz pulled out in Pilot too......that and the color chart she prepared for the Crashdown staff!

The chart was a hoot! I recall studying it at one point, and I didn't get it. Guess I'm not as smart as Liz.

XAF RU208 wrote:Liz has good instincts …

She does indeed.

It would be nice if the adult protectors (human and alien) actually started to protect before Pierce does damage.

Unfortunately Jaddo is the only one who has an inkling that Pierce exists, and he ain't telling. (Yet.)





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT



December 3, 1999, 8:30 a.m.

Artesia, New Mexico





"Go to school," Jaddo repeated. "Now."

Brivari watched Ava...or rather, "Tess"....shake her head slowly, never taking her eyes off him. "No way," she whispered.

"You said you were going to be late."

"Not that late," Tess protested. "Only one period."

"This is not a request," Jaddo said firmly. "Get to school. You have that math test to make up."

"But—"

"Now," Jaddo ordered. "Or no more memory sessions."

Ava's eyes flared, that familiar defiance usually seen in Rath. But whatever a "memory session" was, it proved an effective carrot....or stick. She left the room and the house with all the objection she could muster, leaving a cloud of disapproval in her wake.

"School?" Brivari said with amusement, rising from his chair to inspect the room. "Math test? You're worse than domestic; you're positively parental—"

*Use telepathic speech,* Jaddo broke in. *I guarantee she'll be eavesdropping.*

Brivari smiled faintly. *Will she? Good for her. She tried to lock me out, you know. Cheeky little thing. Where'd you get the name 'Tess'?*

*She picked it,* Jaddo said impatiently. *What in God's name are you doing here, Brivari? We had a deal.*

*One you violated, as I recall.*

*I never walked into Zan's living room—*

*No, you walked into mine.*

*That was the back yard, and it was yours!* Jaddo said hotly. *I never entered a hybrid's home, not even my own Ward's. We had an agreement!*

*Stop posturing,* Brivari retorted, brandishing a photograph. *You may not have landed in their living rooms, but you were pretty damned close.*

Jaddo expression clouded when he saw the picture of Zan, Rath, and Vilandra he was holding. *Where did you get that?*

*Three guesses. Do you really think that knock on your front door was my first approach? Her room is covered with these. I gather that was the purpose of the camera you were sporting last time we met?*

Jaddo plucked the picture from Brivari's hand. *But I never approached them. I never spoke to them. I kept my distance, as promised. You didn't.*

*She answered the door. If you don't want anyone talking to her, answer your own door. What's a 'memory session'?*

*None of your business!* Jaddo exclaimed. *And you still haven't told me what's caused you to break our agreement, whether or not you agree you've actually broken it, which, by the way, you have.*

*I should think that would be obvious,* Brivari said. *I'm surprised you didn't make the first move under the circumstances.*

Jaddo frowned. *What 'circumstances'?*

Brivari stared at him a moment before breaking into a smile. *Do you mean to tell me you haven't heard?*

*Heard what?*

*My, but your information is tardy,* Brivari said casually, taking a seat on the couch. *I hope you're not paying through the nose for it—*

*Heard what?* Jaddo demanded.

Brivari paused, enjoying watching Jaddo smolder. Jaddo always prided himself on being the master of Special Unit information, and as he apparently had a contact there, he usually was. Not this time, though, something that would be helpful to highlight, especially in light of how he knew Jaddo would react to what he'd come here to tell him.

*The Unit has pulled out of Roswell,* Brivari said mere seconds before Jaddo erupted, a skill he'd acquired from years of practice. *Topolsky and her agents are gone.*

Jaddo blinked. *What? Why?*

*They were exposed.*

*By whom?*

*This is where it gets interesting,* Brivari said. *Have a seat.*

*By whom, Brivari?* Jaddo repeated, not budging.

Brivari sighed. *By our Wards.*

*By....* Jaddo paused, digesting that. *You mean accidentally? They accidentally exposed her?*

Brivari regarded him levelly for a moment. *No.*

There was a very long pause where time seemed to stand still. Jaddo didn't move, and Brivari waited, bracing himself in this last bit of silence before the storm. He'd successfully kept the hybrids' growing awareness from Jaddo for months now, and Jaddo wouldn't be happy about that.

At least he wouldn't be happy when he came to, that is. At the moment he was taking the seat Brivari had suggested earlier, his head shaking slowly from side to side. *I....I don't understand,* he said. *How could they have knowingly exposed the Unit?*

*Because they know someone's after them,* Brivari answered. *And they know why.*

*They've remembered?* Jaddo whispered.

*No. But they're aware they're not human.*

*And what else are they aware of?*

Plenty, Brivari thought privately. *Details later,* he said cryptically. *I'm here with a request—*

*Details now, Brivari.*

*—from Lieutenant White,* Brivari finished. *Will you hear it....or shall I leave?*

Jaddo, who had been about to protest further, stopped short. *The Healer? What does she have to do with this?*

Brivari looked at his hands. *Three days ago, Zan was in a car accident. And yes, it was an accident,* he added when Jaddo's eyes flared, *not the Unit. He wasn't injured, but he did spent a few hours in the hospital. His foster mother was concerned enough that she called the lieutenant, the lieutenant called Dee for more information....and you can just imagine how that conversation went. So she flew out here. She wants to talk to you, and....she wants to meet Ava.*

Jaddo's eyebrows rose. *And why would she want that? What are you not telling me?*

*She's at the Starbucks about a half mile from here,* Brivari continued. *Will you meet with her?*

*If I go, will you answer my questions?*

*Only if you'll answer mine. Like why you took all those photos. And what a 'memory session' is.* Brivari paused. *The Lieutenant and I will confer with or without you. Are you coming?*




******************************************************



Roswell




Another day, another dilemma, Jim Valenti thought as he hit the road in his cruiser. He hadn't slept much last night what with pondering his latest dilemma, that of the lovely Kathleen Topolsky, West Roswell's ersatz guidance counselor. Ever since he'd collared her after using Main Street for drag racing, she'd jumped out of her skin every single time she'd seen him, and she'd seen a lot of him—he'd seen to that. There was something deliciously satisfying, something mischievously Machiavellian in watching her stumble, stutter, and sweat every time she spied him. He'd backed her into a corner, she knew it, and he'd been biding his time, waiting to see what she'd do and pondering her most generous offer, one he was quite certain she'd have to break all kinds of laws to fulfill. He'd spent many an hour poring over the relative benefits and risks of taking her up on it versus going straight for the jugular and blowing her in, basically coming down on the side of taking her up on it for no better reason than he had nothing to lose; were she to produce nothing of value, which is what he expected, he could always blow her in later. But he'd been having so much fun watching her do a double take every time she saw him that he'd put it off, resolving to enjoy her discomfiture just a bit longer.

All of that had changed two days ago, the first time Topolsky hadn't freaked out at the sight of him. On the contrary, she'd been positively serene, calm, cool, collected, and utterly uninterested in the fact that he could yell "FBI!" at any moment. Something had changed, something that made her happy, and that, by definition, made him unhappy. Time to move. His first stop this morning would be the school, where he'd give her until this evening to pony up before he called her superiors. Originally he'd been going to offer twenty-four hours, but in light of her greatly improved mood, he decided he'd better keep her on a short leash. His drive to school took him past her apartment, an end unit near the road, and he glanced toward it as he passed. Then looked back. Then turned onto the nearest side street, did a U-ie, and headed back for the apartment complex, parking a few doors down and climbing slowly out of his car.

There was a man standing on Topolsky's stoop, a somewhat nebbishy, middle-aged, partly balding man in a cheap suit pounding on her door. Even before Valenti had parked, Topolsky's visitor had grown impatient and begun rattling the doorknob and peering through windows, his hands cupped around his eyes. Apparently unsatisfied, he now returned to the door, hesitated, and pulled out a key, which he managed to insert halfway into the lock before it stopped, producing a burst of profanity.

"Can I help you?" Valenti said.

The man glanced up, startled, and the instant relief which flooded his face was telling. As a general rule, criminals did not look relieved to find law enforcement mere feet away.

"Thank God!" the man exclaimed. "Did the super call you? I've been after him for the past half hour, but he won't do anything."

"And you are......?"

"Oh...sorry. Steve Sommers. I'm a teacher at West Roswell. Kyle is in one of my classes."

"Ah," Valenti said, suddenly realizing why he recognized the man's name and resolving never to tell him what his son had been saying about him. "So is there a problem?"

"You bet there's a problem!" Sommers declared. "Kathleen.....Miss Topolsky didn't report for work today, and I'm afraid something's happened to her."

"Why would you think something happened to her?"

"She didn't call," Sommers said. "Kathleen...Miss Topolsky is meticulous. She hasn't missed a day since she started, not till she called in sick yesterday."

No, I don't imagine she has, Valenti thought. The FBI probably didn't offer much in the way of time off. "Maybe she's still sick," he suggested.

"So sick she couldn't call?" Sommers said doubtfully. "She was fine two days ago. I've asked the superintendent to open the door, but he won't do it. Says it's against the law. I just know something's wrong because Kathleen...Miss Topolsky wouldn't just not show up. I'm terribly afraid something's happened to her."

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself," Valenti said soothingly. "Maybe she just overslept. That would explain why she hasn't called."

"But it doesn't explain why her car is gone. Can you help me, sheriff?" Sommers pleaded as Valenti's eyes raked the parking lot for signs of Topolsky's car. "Kathleen....Miss Topolsky would never just blow off her job. She's far too dedicated to her work, one of the most dedicated professionals I've had the privilege to work with. I—"

Valenti held up a hand. "Say no more. Let me make a few phone calls and see if I can't figure out what happened to....'Kathleen-Miss-Topolsky'."

Sommers blushed furiously, and Valenti pretended not to notice as he headed back to his cruiser, nursing a smile. Talk about a schoolboy crush. It had been difficult not to burst out laughing at the "dedicated professional" part. Poor Steve Sommers had no idea just how dedicated and professional Kathleen-Miss-Topolsky really was. But despite his gushing, he had a point; it was odd that Topolsky wouldn't show up for work, and further odd that her car was indeed missing. Reaching through his car window, he grabbed his radio and began making some calls.

A few minutes later, he hung up the handset. "What'd you find out?" Sommers demanded, having abandoned his station by the front door in favor of one nearer Valenti's cruiser. "Did you find her?"

"No," Valenti admitted. "She still hasn't reported for work, but she's not at the hospital, and there haven't been any accidents in the area."

"Then what do we do?" Sommers fretted. "What if she's fallen and hit her head? What if she accidentally took too many pills? What if—"

"Steady there," Valenti said. "Let me talk to the super. He and I go back a ways. Maybe I can get somewhere."

"Oh, thank you, sheriff!" Sommers exclaimed. "Thank you so much—"

"Don't thank me yet," Valenti cautioned. "Stay here."

The superintendent of the Grecian Garden apartments was behind the desk when Valenti entered the office, and his look of exasperation was telling. "Oh, good grief!" he exclaimed. "Did that nutty teacher go and call you? I already told him it was against the law for me to open the apartment. What part of that doesn't he understand?"

"All of it, I'd imagine," Valenti chuckled. "Mornin', Nate. Good to see you again."

"Good to see you, too, Jim, but you know my hands are tied. That tenant called in sick just yesterday, so she's hardly a 'missing person'—"

"Easy there," Valenti said. "For the record, the teacher didn't call me; I saw him looking in the windows, and stopped to see what was going on. I gather he's sweet on your tenant, which is why he's so worried about her."

"If you ask me, she's probably inside hiding from him," Nate grumbled. "And I wouldn't blame her."

"Me neither," Valenti smiled. "But the man has a point; it's mighty odd that someone like Miss Topolsky would skip work without calling, and her car's gone."

"Which could mean anything," Nate insisted, "and none of it is my business. Hell, none of it is your business, so it's definitely not anyone else's."

"I agree," Valenti admitted. "But I've got a proposal for you that may settle this for everyone. Why don't you unlock the door and we'll have a look around. I know, I know, it's technically illegal," he went on when Nate began to protest. "But it is legal for you to enter a tenant's property without notice if there's an emergency, and this might be an emergency. I won't touch a thing, I promise, and I'm sure you won't either."

"Aw, c'mon, Jim, that's stretching it," Nate complained. "What proof do we have that this is an emergency?"

"Her work habits and her missing car," Valenti said. "Thin, I know. But you and I both know that Romeo isn't going to just give up; he'll camp on her doorstep and light candles if he has to. Do you want to get rid of him, or don't you?"

Valenti waited while Nate glanced out his office window, where Steve Sommers could be clearly seen dithering away. He was on awfully thin ice here, but Sommers wasn't the only one who wanted to know why Kathleen-Miss-Topolsky hadn't reported for work today. And a peek at her apartment could tell him all sorts of interesting things about her even if he never laid a hand on a thing.

"All right," Nate said finally. "But I don't want any lawsuits over this, you hear? Have you got my back?"

"Absolutely," Valenti assured him. "We'll just say Romeo drove us to it, and I doubt he'll do or say anything to disprove that."

Nate shook his head in disgust, but grabbed a set of keys and made his way out to Topolsky's apartment, where "Romeo" greeted him with a chorus of gratitude which only seemed to make Nate more disgusted than ever. "You," Nate said severely to Sommers, "wait out here, understand? You do not cross this threshold, or I swear, I'll put you in leg irons."

"No, no, of course not," Sommers babbled, relieved that someone, anyone, was checking on his beloved. "I'll wait here. I won't move a muscle."

"I'll go in first," Nate said to Valenti, "just in case she's in there."

"Of course," Valenti said.

The door was duly unlocked, and Nate disappeared inside. Valenti and Sommers waited, calmly and nervously, respectively, for him to reappear, which didn't take long.

"Uh....sheriff?" Nate said uncertainly. "You'd better come in."

"Why?" Valenti asked. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm....not sure."

"What is it?" Sommers demanded. "Is she there? Is she okay?"

"She's not here," Nate said.

"Stay here," Valenti ordered Sommers. "I said here," he added sternly when Sommers twitched, resisting the urge to add the word "heel". "I'll tell you what I've found when I come back out, but only if you behave yourself."

Sommers' head bobbed up and down, albeit reluctantly. Valenti went inside....and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Jesus H. Christ," he muttered.

"Exactly," Nate said in disgust, gazing at the completely empty apartment. "Exactly when did she manage to move out without telling me?"




******************************************************




Starbucks,

Artesia, New Mexico




*Are you okay?* Brivari asked as he and Jaddo waited for the barista to make their second lattes.

*Oh, of course,* Jaddo said darkly. *I've just discovered that you've been keeping important information regarding my Ward from me, and that he's eagerly trying to get himself and his king killed. Couldn't be better.*

*What about at home? It seemed you and Ava were having words when I arrived.*

*We're always 'having words'.*

*Ah. So your relationship with her mirrors your relationship with me?*

*Is this an attempt at humor? Because it's not working.*

*Jaddo, I warned you on the way here that the lieutenant had aged considerably,* Brivari said. *I know it's a shock; it was for me too. But her mind is as sound as it ever was. Don't let appearances fool you.*

Jaddo said nothing, confirming that Brivari had correctly pinpointed at least one of the reasons he was so upset. They had just finished round one of their latest boxing match, where he'd given Jaddo a run down of the hybrids various shenanigans and near misses, while Jaddo had finally detailed the purpose of a "memory session". Telling their various tales in front of the lieutenant had given the proceedings the form of a debate with her as moderator, and greatly toned the whole thing down. But as much as Jaddo was upset at hearing what had been withheld from him, that didn't fully explain his mood. Brivari had tried to prepare him for the decline in the lieutenant's physical condition, but there was no way to cushion the fact that the young and vibrant nurse they had met decades ago was not only an old woman, but an old woman with an ill mate. If the sight of the Healer's condition had upset Jaddo, he'd been even more upset by the news that Captain Spade was effectively no longer with them. Jaddo had always prided himself on not getting attached, but he'd never managed to follow his own advice where the Healer was concerned.

"Here you go!" the cheerful barista said, producing two steaming lattes. "With extra milk for yours," she added to Jaddo. "Just the way you like it."

*Just the way you like it?* Brivari murmured. *How often do you come here?*

*Often,* Jaddo said shortly. "Keep the change," he added to the barista, setting bills on the counter.

*I never would have figured you for a big tipper,* Brivari chuckled as they headed back to their table. *No wonder she added extra milk. I'm surprised she didn't throw in an entire cow.*

*Can we drop the needless prattle and stay on the subject?* Jaddo said irritably.

"Something wrong?"

They had arrived at the table, where Lieutenant White continued to nurse her first latte. The lieutenant had been able to communicate with them using telepathic speech when Jaddo had been captive, but, unlike Dee, she'd lost that ability later in her life. She had not, however, lost the ability to read both his and Jaddo's moods, telepathic speech or no telepathic speech.

"You're needling him, Brivari," she said dryly. "Is this really the best time?"

"I was merely pointing out that I hadn't expected him to be such a good tipper," Brivari said. "Just like I hadn't expected him to sound like daddy, sending Ava off to school and missed math tests."

"You have no idea what my life has been like these past ten years," Jaddo retorted. "While you partied hearty in your mansion, I was raising a child."

"And you shouldn't have been," Brivari said. "You should have left the raising to others."

"This isn't productive," Lieutenant White broke in. "What's done is done. What happened, happened. We need to figure out what to do now that they're asking questions and actively looking for answers."

"I'll say," Jaddo grumbled. "Climbing through the sheriff's window? Breaking into a Special Unit agent's motel room? Sniffing around the Indian reservation? Outing Topolsky? Honestly, it's a wonder they haven't been killed."

"That sounds suspiciously like disapproval," Brivari commented.

"Because it is disapproval. Their behavior is reckless, to say the least."

"On that, at least, we agree," Brivari said. "Wonders never cease."

"They did manage to switch the blood samples at the hospital," Lieutenant White noted. "I wouldn't call that 'reckless', just self preservation."

"Granted, that was admirable," Jaddo allowed. "But involving yet another human? That was not."

"That human saved Max's life," Lieutenant White said.

"And revealed Topolsky, along with the girl Zan healed," Brivari added.

"Which is exactly my point," Jaddo said. "Why were the humans doing that? Rath should be doing that. Zan should be doing that."

Lieutenant White arched an eyebrow. "And Vilandra?"

"Vilandra should be staying out of their way," Jaddo said sharply. "It's the responsibility of the King and his Second to deal with their enemies—"

"Which they did," Lieutenant White broke in, "and quite brilliantly, I might add. Honestly, you act like you never made use of allies. You do remember the years between '47 and '50, don't you?"

Jaddo's expression softened ever so slightly. "Of course I do. And I will always be grateful for your loyalty, which remains unwavering. I'm not as certain of the loyalty of the hybrids' allies."

"Zan was always good at choosing allies," Brivari noted. "It was one of his true gifts."

"Then why don't we leave that to the hybrids?" Lieutenant White suggested. "What we can be certain of is that they're looking for answers, and they're willing to go to some lengths to get them. Brivari tells me the three in Roswell don't appear to have much in the way of memory. What about Ava? You told us you were attempting to awaken her memory, but you didn't say exactly how or whether it had worked."

Jaddo fell silent for a moment. "She remembers nothing without prompting," he said finally. "She needs a push."

"Interesting," Lieutenant White murmured. "With the others we always attributed it to their breakdown when they were young, but Ava never had a similar episode, so maybe not. Maybe something was wrong with their memories all along."

"Or maybe we need to jump start the process," Jaddo said. "Which is exactly what we successfully did with the others. I still maintain it would have worked if Zan hadn't pushed it too far."

"Do you mean you're connecting with her?" Brivari said in surprise. "I thought you told me you were careful to never do that."

"I was," Jaddo insisted. "But I needed to rein her in, and the best way to do that was to offer her information. Nothing else—verbal descriptions, pictures, whatever—has had any effect at all, so a connection was the only thing left. I've only done it a couple of times, and only for a moment, seconds, really, and always with something mundane, like the number of moons or the color of the sky. And she's followed the same pattern as the others; I show her something, and she remembers something else all on her own."

"And what happens when she remembers she was murdered?" Brivari demanded. "Or that she lost a child?"

"We never get anywhere near that," Jaddo retorted.

"Calm down," Lieutenant White advised. "They're not small children any more, and we all knew this day would come. Eventually they'll learn what happened to them; they have to. The question is how to get them to that point."

"We shouldn't," Jaddo said.

Brivari blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said we shouldn't," Jaddo repeated. "We shouldn't tell them a thing."

Brivari's eyes narrowed. "Who are you, and what have you done with Jaddo?"

"Unfortunately we have to," Jaddo went on, ignoring him. "Given the way they're behaving, we should tell them as quickly as possible. At the rate they're going, they'll be dead by Christmas."

"Ah, there you are," Brivari said dryly. "For a moment, I was afraid hell had frozen over, or something."

"Would you stop joking?" Jaddo demanded. "This is serious!"

"Of course it's serious," Brivari said. "It's also serious when I'm ready to act and you aren't, not to mention backwards. I thought you'd be thrilled to hear that Rath was on the hunt. I thought you'd be proud of him."

"Proud of what?" Jaddo said bitterly. "The way he put them all in danger? The way he took off for Atherton's house without telling anyone, and with a human in tow? It was bad enough that Zan used his powers in public, and on a human, no less, but now Rath? His behavior is reckless and indiscriminate. That's not Rath."

"It may well be an adolescent Rath," Lieutenant White noted. "Keep in mind that all of them are human teenagers, subject to the raging hormones and risky behaviors all teenagers are prone to."

"Which is precisely why they shouldn't be told," Jaddo said. "I have zero confidence they'll use that information wisely. But like I said, we don't have a choice. It's clear they will continue to stumble and bumble around, and they've already put themselves in harm's way far too many times for my comfort. They need to know what they're up against so they'll have a reason to keep their heads down and their mouths shut."

"I'm afraid there's no guarantee of that," Lieutenant White sighed. "There's no telling how they'll react to the truth. I certainly don't expect what happened when they were children to happen again, but given the nature of what they'll be learning, I still think we should do this in increments."

"We don't have the luxury of 'increments'," Jaddo argued. "The Unit is breathing down their necks, and everything they're doing only makes it worse."

"Correction: The Unit was breathing down their necks," Brivari said. "It pulled out, remember? And given Agent Stevens' opinion of the whole operation, I doubt they'll be sending anyone else. It's been two months, and they have precisely nothing to show for it except an outed agent."

"The Unit is not going to let this go," Jaddo said. "They may have pulled out for now, but they'll be back, and next time, they're unlikely to send an untried agent like Topolsky. She was the bottom of the heap. You don't want to know what's at the top."

Brivari paused as a prickle of unease stirred. "Jaddo," he said warily, "is there something about the Unit you're not telling me?"

"Of course not," Jaddo said quickly. "I'm just concerned. You should be too."

"He is," Lieutenant White said patiently. "And so am I. That's why we're here. So.....when do I get to meet Ava?"




*****************************************************




2:30 p.m.




"Tess, wait up!" Amanda called as Tess hopscotched through the crowds down the front steps of the school mere minutes after the final bell had rung. "We're going to the mall. Come with?"

"No, thanks," Tess said. "Gotta run."

Amanda frowned. "You sure? You'll miss all the Christmas decorations."

"It's only December 2nd," Tess said. "They'll be there till New Years."

"But we're shopping for Christmas dresses," Amanda pouted. "And we were going to visit Santa."

Good God, Tess groaned. "Some other time," she said out loud, hurrying away before Amanda could complain further. Humans had the strangest customs, and one of the strangest had to be the one with the jolly fat man in the red suit upon whose lap thousands of small children were plopped every year, only to burst into tears. And no wonder—what child in their right mind wouldn't cry when deposited on a loud stranger's lap? The fiction that this actor hired to dress up in a red suit was "real" was even more maddening, and human parents were so addicted to it that they became downright militant if faced with the prospect of their little precious finding out they had been lied to by the very people they trusted to tell them the truth. She'd discovered this the hard way while baby sitting when her charges had asked her about Santa and she'd matter-of-factly replied that Santa was a story, a conglomeration of various traditions and myths, actually, and that the guy at the mall wasn't really Santa. The kids took it well, having already pretty much figured it out, but their parents were another matter. They'd carried on like she'd ruined their children's childhoods and never hired her again. Not only that, but word had spread, effectively ending her babysitting career. Stupid humans, she thought darkly. Sometimes she thought Nasedo was right to hold them in such low regard.

But humans were not what was on her mind this sunny afternoon. What was on her mind was the man at the door this morning, or what had looked like a man, anyway, life with Nasedo having taught her that looks could be more than just merely deceiving. She had never, not once, heard anyone talk to Nasedo the way that man had talked to him, and she had never, not once, seen Nasedo behave the way he had this morning. He'd basically thrown her out of the house, and after she'd warned him that she could have sworn something had blocked her powers when she'd tried to lock the stranger out. Had that actually happened? Maybe she'd just been upset after yet another argument with Nasedo and misfired? Or maybe the stranger had had the door open by the time she'd tried to lock it? Whatever, one thing was clear: The stranger knew Nasedo. Imagine you doing domestic. Who would have thought? That was the sort of thing someone who knew you would say, and not just knew you, but had a long history with you, long enough that they would know that applying the word "domestic" to Nasedo was something of a joke. To make matters even more mysterious, she'd hung around after supposedly going to school, meaning to eavesdrop on their conversation.....only they didn't have one. They'd stayed in the same room for several minutes, Nasedo scowling, the stranger alternately calm and amused, but hadn't said a single word to each other. And when they'd left, she'd tried to follow them, but she'd lost them. They'd just....disappeared. She was used to Nasedo being able to do that, but why would this man be able to do that as well? Because he's another shapeshifter, she thought grimly. There was someone else from their world on this planet besides the others, and Nasedo hadn't told her. Why was she not surprised? He's going to tell me now, she thought fiercely as she threw open their front door and charged into the house.....only to stop dead in the living room doorway.

A woman was sitting in the living room, an old woman with silvery white hair. She looked like someone's grandmother straight out of a storybook, and she smiled at Tess as though she'd been expecting her.

"Hello, Tess," the woman said.

Tess blinked. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded. "And how do you know my name?"

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


I'll post Chapter 29 next Sunday.

Hello to everyone reading!

keepsmiling7 wrote:Guess "they" were surprised that the humans exposed Miss Toposky, and that the humans were doing things that Zan and Rath should be taking care of.

Those pesky aliens never have enough respect for the resourcefulness of we humans.




CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE



December 3, 1999, 2:20 p.m.

Artesia, New Mexico



Tess let her backpack slip to the floor as she stared at what must be an octogenarian sitting in her living room. Nasedo had taught her to keep careful track of the humans they encountered in case one of them turned out to be trailing them, and she could say with absolute certainty that she'd never seen this woman before in her life. And yet the woman certainly seemed to know her, which was extremely disquieting. It didn't do to be "known" when you lived the life she lived.

"I said, how do know who I am?" Tess repeated.

"Your father told me," the woman answered.

"And how do you know my father?"

"He's a friend of mine."

All of Tess's alarms went off. " 'Friend'?" she repeated coldly. "My father doesn't have 'friends'."

"Not many," the woman allowed. "But he does have a few, and I'm one of them."

Liar! Tess's hands clenched at her sides as she called up her power, poised to strike. Nasedo always teased her that she shouldn't need to use her hands to use her powers, but she found it helped her "aim", as it were. And it was his fault, really; he'd started teaching her to aim with her hands when she was very young, and she'd just never stopped. But if this was really an enemy, as it appeared to be, the finer points wouldn't matter....

"Tess!"

Startled, Tess's head jerked sideways. Nasedo was standing in the kitchen doorway holding a tray containing a teapot, two cups and saucers, and a plate of cookies. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I...this woman says she's a friend of yours," Tess said accusingly.

"She is."

Tess's mouth opened and closed. "But....you don't have friends."

Nasedo set the tray down on the coffee table. "This is Marie," he announced as he poured a cup of tea and handed it to the woman. "She is indeed a friend of mine."

"And what about the man this morning? Was he a friend of yours too?"

"Yes."

"No, he wasn't!" Tess exclaimed. "Do you really think I'm so stupid that I can't tell when you're fighting with someone? God knows I do it enough that I should know."

"Who he is is not important," Nasedo said impatiently. "I brought Marie here because she wanted to meet you."

"Well, I don't want to meet her," Tess announced angrily. "Not until you start giving me some answers." She shouldered her backpack and stalked out of the room, only to be hauled by one arm into the kitchen, the door of which was promptly shut.

"You listen to me," Nasedo hissed. "You will display the utmost courtesy to our guest—"

" 'Guest'? We don't have 'guests'."

"Don't interrupt. You will display the utmost courtesy to our guest while she is in our house, or suffer the consequences. And you know what those consequences will be."

"You know, you actually have to do memory sessions with me in order to make them an effective threat," Tess retorted. "Threatening to take away something I don't have anyway won't get you very far. So who is that, really?" she continued. "Is it someone from school? Because my grades haven't been anywhere near low enough to—"

"She's not from school," Nasedo said in exasperation. "I told you, she's a friend of mine."

"I know perfectly well that you don't have 'friends', so that little fiction isn't going to fly," Tess said darkly.

"It's not a fiction," Nasedo argued. "Just because you haven't met any of my friends until now doesn't mean they don't exist."

"Great. So you've never had friends before, but today you've had not one, but two show up? Let me ask you this—is she human?"

"Yes."

"Okay, now I know you're lying," Tess declared. "You having a friend is bad enough, but being friends with a human? You'd have better luck trying to tell me you're friends with an Ewok."

"Enough!" Nasedo said severely. "Behave yourself, and don't embarrass me."

" 'Embarrass' you?" Tess echoed incredulously. "Since when are you 'embarrassed' by anything, never mind anything with a human?"

"Since you started acting like a rude, loud-mouthed, ill-tempered clod," Nasedo retorted. "You know how to behave; I know you do. Now get in there and make some small talk while I start dinner."

Tess gaped at him. "Dinner? She's staying for dinner?" She glanced around, spying pans on the stove, an open cookbook. "Oh. My. God. You're cooking! You're actually cooking for her!"

"So?"

"So you never do that!" Tess exclaimed. "I don't even need all my fingers and toes to count the number of times I've actually seen you cook!"

"I cooked all the time when you were little," Nasedo protested. "And besides, it's a roast; they're hard to hurt. And they take a while to cook, so I need to get it started. Go back in there and be civil."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on," Tess said hotly. "This morning some strange man waltzed in here and spoke to you like no one has ever spoken to you before, and now there's some old human woman in there that you're tap dancing around with tea and cookies and dinner. It doesn't make any sense!"

"It doesn't have to make sense," Nasedo said. "Just do it. Consider it....an audition."

Suddenly it was so quiet in the kitchen that one could have heard a pin drop. "An audition?" Tess repeated blankly. "For what?"

"You want to know more, don't you? About where you came from? About the others?"

"Yeah," Tess said warily. "So?"

"That 'old human woman' in there is the one who will decide if you're ready to know more. And if she thinks you're not....then we wait."

Tess blinked. Never in a million years would she have expected a decision like that to be handed to anyone else, never mind a human. "Why?" she demanded. "Why does she get to decide—"

"That's not important," Nasedo interrupted. "She just does. And given how badly you want to know, that's really all you need to hear. Now if I were you, I'd toddle along and do some damage control because I'm guessing you haven't made a very good first impression. Or second or third impression, for that matter."

Tess stared at him, stunned, for a good long minute before leaving the kitchen without a word, leaning against the wall outside and breathing hard. The whole world had just turned upside down, and now it appeared she'd blown a chance to find out what she wanted to know more than anything else in the world. But along with a crushing sense of dismay there was something else: Curiosity. Who was this person Nasedo thought so highly of? When had he met her? What did she know about him? And more importantly, would she be willing to share any of that with Tess?

Sounds drifted from the kitchen, pots and pans rattling, cupboard doors opening. It was clear she wasn't going to get anywhere with Nasedo, so she may as well try to get somewhere with Mystery Woman. She made a quick stop in the bathroom to wash her face and comb her hair before returning to the living room, where "Marie" was calmly sipping tea as though she hadn't overheard one hell of an argument, which she must have.

"Hello," Tess said uncertainly.

"Hello again," the woman said warmly.

After a few awkward seconds passed in silence, Tess lowered herself into a chair. "I....I'm sorry about....before," she stammered. "I was just.....confused."

"Understandably," the woman said gently.

A loud bang came from the kitchen, and Tess winced when it was followed by an expletive. Great—now she was the one who was embarrassed. "My dad doesn't cook very often," she explained hastily. "He gets....frustrated."

"Tell me about it," the woman chuckled. "But in his defense, it must be tough to cook when you can't taste or smell."

Tess's heart began to pound. No one knew that about Nasedo. No one knew he couldn't taste or smell except her, and even she didn't know why. That meant this woman knew Nasedo wasn't human. And that meant....

That means she knows I'm not human either.




****************************************************




West Roswell High




"I want to tell ya, Liz....but it's not my secret to tell."

Alex Whitman ignored the crushed look on Liz Parker's face as he climbed on his bicycle. A short time ago, he would have been horrified if he'd caused her to look like that. A short time ago, he would have decked anyone who made her look like that. Then again, as he'd pointed out mere seconds ago, a short time ago he would have named her as the one he'd trust with his life....until now. Until she'd turned into someone else, someone who lied, and used people, and made promises she didn't keep.

It was that last one that really had Alex's dander up as he pedaled down the high school's wide curving driveway. For a brief moment there after he'd hacked Topolsky's e-mail, he'd felt on top of the world. Granted he'd also needed clean shorts, but still, he'd felt like James Bond. Surely Liz would tell him the truth. Now that he'd proved his mettle by providing both blood and brains, surely she'd tell him whatever deep, dark secret had stayed her tongue and loosened Kyle's. Surely he deserved it. Surely she'd see that. And she'd promised, so surely she'd keep her promise.

Only she hadn't. He was every bit as much in the dark now as he'd been before, and mad as a hornet to boot. Add to that the interrogation this morning with Sheriff Valenti and the assistant principal, and he was even madder. Why was it always him on the hot seat? Because you're a chump, he told himself darkly. A wimp. An easy mark. Christ, if this were elementary school, they'd still be stealing his milk money, only they wouldn't have to steal it—he'd be giving it to them. Why was he such a pushover? Because Liz has always been such a good friend, he admitted reluctantly. Part of him simply didn't want to acknowledge that, all of a sudden, she was using him. Regretfully, perhaps, but using him all the same, and all because she was starry-eyed over some hunk, even if Max Evans wasn't exactly what came to mind when he heard the word "hunk".....

Alex slammed on his brakes and swerved, narrowly missing the sheriff, who had just stepped squarely into his path. "Hey!" he sputtered. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry," Valenti said. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"Yeah, well, walking in front of a moving bike is bound to startle anyone," Alex said.

"Like I said, I'm sorry," Valenti repeated. "You okay, son? Anything on your mind?"

Alex blinked. "So you just walked in front of my hurtling bicycle to ask if I have anything 'on my mind'?"

Valenti smiled faintly. "No. I was trying to flag you down before you left for the day because I have a couple more questions for you about Miss Topolsky. Got a second?"

"I already answered your questions," Alex said warily. "What now?"

"I just had a couple more," Valenti shrugged. "I've been tracking down her last movements, and a few more things came up. Shouldn't take long."

Sure, Alex thought wearily, climbing off his bike and following the sheriff back inside. Just what he wanted, to be back in the Max Evans/Liz Parker crosshairs. "Bring the bike in with you," Valenti advised, holding the door open for him. "I'd hate to make you lock it up again."

The bike safely stowed against a wall, Alex took a seat in the very same room he'd been in earlier today, minus the vice principal this time. It was odd, but somehow he felt less safe with only Valenti in the room. Like he needed a witness. Or maybe Valenti needed a moderator.

"Okay, so, the last day Miss Topolsky was here," Valenti began, pulling out a sheaf of papers covered with what looked like illegible scribbles. "You said you met with her and went over your schedule for next semester."

"Right."

"And you also discussed an AP computer tutorial she'd suggested you take."

"I already told you all this," Alex said. "So what's changed?"

Valenti fanned himself with the top paper on the stack. "Man, but it's hot in here. Mind if I readjust the fan?"

Alex shrugged, and Valenti took his time turning the fan to "high" before resuming his seat. "The school and I have been going over Miss Topolsky's notes," Valenti went on, "and we noticed a couple of things we couldn't figure out. Like the fact that Miss Topolsky was absolutely meticulous about her record keeping, and yet she didn't take a single note about your schedule for next semester. Not one."

Alex felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "So?"

"So it's odd that she would meet with you and not write anything down. Nothing in the school's computer, nothing in her office. She has notes on every other conversation she had with a student...except for yours."

Because we didn't discuss my schedule. "Sheriff, I have no idea what she did or didn't write down," Alex replied. "It's not exactly considered good manners to look over a teacher's shoulder when they're writing."

"So she was writing?" Valenti asked.

"Yeah," Alex said quickly.

"On what?"

"What do you mean, 'on what'?"

"What was she writing on?" Valenti explained. "Or in? Was it a notebook, or a pad of paper, or....what?"

"I....I don't know," Alex said, trying not to sound as flustered as he felt. "I wasn't really paying attention."

"But she was writing," Valenti clarified.

"She had a pencil in her hand, and it was moving."

"Pencil?" Valenti paused. "Interesting. All the notes we found were in pen."

Alex began to sweat, not hard in this heat wave, even easier now. This is exactly how they got you, with little details like this. They got you talking, and then you walked right into it. Like he just had.

"Look, I don't know why she didn't....why you didn't find what she wrote down," Alex said. "Why would I?"

"Right," Valenti said slowly. "Right. But you're sure you discussed next semester's schedule with her?"

"I told you that," Alex said irritably, "like, a million times."

"True," Valenti agreed. "And you talked about the AP Computer Tutorial?"

"I told you that too."

"Yes, you did," Valenti said, plucking a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the sweat off his neck. "You did. But funny thing is, she signed you up for that AP computer tutorial several days ago. Everything's all signed, sealed, and delivered. Application even has your signature on it. So it looks like you already knew about that tutorial....right?"

Damn. "Of course I knew about it," Alex said. "Supposedly you have to be a junior to take it, so it was a real feat that she managed to get a sophomore into it. I've talked to her about it lots of times. Does signing up for it mean I can't talk to her about it anymore?"

"No, no," Valenti said quickly. "I was just curious as to why you'd be discussing it after it was a done deal."

Alex was quiet for a minute. "You know what I'm curious about, sheriff? I'm curious as to where all this is going. Because I already told you about the last time I saw Miss Topolsky, but you're still fishing. Why don't you save us both a lot of time, and just come out and ask me whatever it is you want to ask me?"

Alex forced himself to look Valenti straight in the eye, and the sheriff returned his stare without flinching. He hadn't the faintest idea what the sheriff could have on him unless Miss Topolsky had brought him in on the blood sample business. She'd said no police, but that had been something of a lie because it had turned out she was federal police. Whatever was going on, it was to his advantage to stop Valenti's patient needling before he inadvertently blurted out something he shouldn't. Although he had to admit that, right about now, he was so sick of this "hide Max Evans" business that he wouldn't have minded just spilling if it didn't mean he'd go to jail for impersonating an accident victim.

"Okay," Valenti said. "Here's the thing. You said you met with Miss Topolsky to discuss your schedule, but she didn't have you listed in her appointment book—"

"I didn't make an appointment. She called me down."

"Uh huh. That was the first time you saw her. What about the second?"

Alex's throat constricted. "What 'second'?"

Valenti leaned across the table. "Miss Topolsky was seen leaving the school at about 4:15 p.m. that day....just a few minutes after someone saw you go into her office."

Alex clamped his mouth shut and thought furiously. He hadn't mentioned that second visit to Valenti because he thought no one had seen him. Obviously he'd thought wrong. But it wouldn't do to suddenly do an about face now, so he'd just have to stick to the story.

"I wasn't in school then," Alex said, hoping desperately that it was truly just a some "one" who had seen him and not a whole pile of someones. "I left school right after the last bell."

"Where'd you go?"

Should I lie? Alex thought. He could say he'd gone straight home, but if anyone had seen him.....

"I went to the Crashdown," he answered.

"The Crashdown was closed that afternoon."

"Yes, it was."

"So why'd you go there?"

"To meet a friend."

"And who was that?"

Alex's jaw clenched. "Unless you're charging me with a crime, how is this any of your business?"

"I know this sounds like prying, son, but I'm just doing my job," Valenti said gently. "I've got conflicting stories here, and even though it's probably just a bunch of honest mistakes, I need to sort this out. Whoever saw Miss Topolsky right before she left might be able to shed some light on where she is and why she hasn't come back. Now....who were you meeting?"

Ever-so-slightly mollified, Alex answered, "Liz Parker."

Valenti's eyes flicked up. "Liz Parker?"

"Yes, Liz Parker," Alex repeated. "The Liz Parker whose parents own the Crashdown. The Liz Parker who's a classmate of mine."

"I see," Valenti said slowly. "So....she was there? You and Liz Parker were both at the Crashdown after school?"

"Yes," Alex said impatiently.

"For how long?"

"I don't know....a couple of hours? I didn't time it. I usually don't when I'm hanging with friends. Do you?"

"No; no, I don't," Valenti answered, unruffled by his temper. "But here's the thing; the witness who saw you—"

"Thought they saw me," Alex corrected.

"Right. The witness who 'thought' they saw you here around the time Miss Topolsky left also saw Liz Parker. She said the two of you arrived together."

Alex felt his fists clench beneath the table. "Well, that can't be, can it? Because Liz and I were at the Crashdown together. So whoever you're talking to either got the people wrong or the time wrong."

"Perhaps," Valenti allowed.

"Not perhaps—they did," Alex insisted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get home. If you want to keep talking, you're welcome to follow me. I'm sure my mom wouldn't mind."

Valenti's eyes dropped. "No, that's all right. You've been very helpful, Alex, very patient. I appreciate it." He paused. "Guess I'll have to talk to Liz."

"Yeah," Alex said without batting an eyelash. "You should."

Alex felt Valenti's eyes on him as he walked out of the office, retrieved his bike, and rolled it outside; he even would have sworn the sheriff was watching him out the window as he pedaled off. That last remark about talking to Liz had been meant to scare him, but he'd managed to scare the sheriff as well; he hadn't missed how Valenti had dropped the whole thing just as soon as he'd mentioned his parents. The sheriff suspected, but he didn't have anything that would pass parental muster—yet. Although that could change, Alex thought, spying Liz in the distance as he reached the road. If Valenti got to her, she might tell a very different story. He really should let her know what had just happened because what Liz said could affect him too.

He really should.....but he wouldn't.




****************************************************




Artesia, New Mexico




"Don't reach," Jaddo said sternly. "Ask if you want something, and we'll pass it."

Marie kept her eyes on her plate as Tess flinched, having been caught in the middle of a boarding house reach to retrieve the green beans. Wordlessly, Marie fetched the bowl and handed it across the table.

"What do you say?" Jaddo prompted.

"Thank you," Tess said faintly.

"You're welcome, dear," Marie answered.

A pained silence followed, the latest in a long line of pained silences. It was clear that Jaddo and Tess didn't do much in the way of entertaining judging from the way both had scurried around and bickered with each other over everything from the pot roast to the napkins. In the end they'd done an admirable job, producing a beautifully set table complete with candles and a tasty meal. But through it all ran a thread of uneasiness, of panic, almost. Jaddo was panicking because he wanted his charge to be a credit to him, and Tess was panicking because she didn't want her guardian to be unhappy with her, which it seemed he usually was.

"So did Tessie tell you about her grades?" Jaddo asked. "She's one of the top scorers in her class."

"That's wonderful," Marie smiled. "What's your favorite subject, Tess?"

Tess kept her eyes on her plate. "Myself."

Jaddo broke into a nervous laugh. "What a kidder! Always has a joke, my Tessie."

"How do you mean?" Marie asked, knowing perfectly well that the girl wasn't joking.

"Well....I guess you could call it genealogy," Tess answered. "That's what Amanda calls it. She's a friend of mine, and her family came over on the Mayflower, or something. She's really into her family tree."

"And is that what you're into?" Marie asked. "Your family tree?"

"I—"

"How about some dessert?" Jaddo suggested, cutting her off.

"We're not done eating dinner," Tess protested.

"But it will take awhile to pull it out of the fridge and get it ready, so I think you should start now," Jaddo said in a steely tone.

"I'm not done eating dinner," Tess said in a no less steely tone.

Jaddo's expression darkened. "Why don't you—"

"Why don't you let her finish?" Marie interrupted. "What she was saying, I mean. I asked her a question, and I'd like to hear the answer."

A silent battle of wills ensued as Marie gave Jaddo a pointed look, Tess glared at Jaddo, and Jaddo glared at both of them. God, but this brings back memories, Marie thought. How many times had she sat in that awful white room amidst a three-way boxing match between Jaddo, Pierce, and herself? And now here she was in a similar situation with two of the same participants and a worthy stand-in for the third, minus his psychosis, of course. It was downright weird.

"You were saying?" Marie prompted. "About your family tree?"

Tess glanced at Jaddo, who gave her a don't-you-dare look, a useless gesture as it turned out. "I don't know the first thing about my family tree," she said, ignoring him. "And I want to."

"Of course you do," Marie said. "We all want to know that."

"Sometimes one shouldn't know certain things," Jaddo declared.

"True," Marie agreed. "But it's awfully hard to wait....isn't it?"

Tess's eyes swung to Marie, and the look she gave her was heartbreaking; had it been anyone else, Marie wouldn't have been surprised if she'd burst into tears. Instead, Tess nodded mutely, reached for her glass....and knocked it over. Milk splashed everywhere, soaking the tablecloth, the remains of the roast, the beans, even the candlesticks.

"Oh, God, I'm....sorry," Tess stammered, grabbing her napkin. "I....I'm so sorry."

"No harm done," Marie said as Tess frantically tried to soak up the mess with her napkin. "I expect we'll have better luck with paper towels. I'll get some from the kitchen."

"I'll get them," Jaddo offered.

"I'm really sorry," Tess said as he disappeared into the kitchen. "I...we....don't usually have guests, and my glass isn't where it usually is, and...." She stopped, flushing furiously.

"No need to apologize," Marie said, using her own napkin as a dam for an advancing tide of milk. "It was an accident."

"Try telling him that," Tess muttered.

"I will," Marie replied. "Just watch me."

Tess shot her a curious look, then glanced toward the kitchen door. "You're not afraid of him, are you?"

"No. Why?"

"Everyone's afraid of Nasedo," Tess said. "Even me." She paused. "Especially me."

Marie nodded. "He's difficult to live with, isn't he?" she said softly. "I know. Believe me, I know. I lived with him for years."

"When?" Tess asked eagerly.

"When he was held prisoner by the army, and I was a nurse stationed at the base where he was captive."

Tess's eyes widened, and she dropped into her chair. "So that's how he knows you! I knew he was a prisoner, but he never talks about it. Ever."

"I imagine it's not a fond memory," Marie said. "It certainly isn't for me."

"But how did you—"

The kitchen door flew open behind them. "You used the last of the paper towels and didn't replace the role," Jaddo accused. "Don't do that, especially if you plan on being clumsy."

"I didn't 'plan' on being clumsy," Tess retorted. "It was an accident."

"An avoidable one," Jaddo said.

"And a harmless one," Marie added. "Let's not cry over spilled milk, shall we?"

"Clean it up," Jaddo ordered, handing the paper towels to Tess.

Tess's eyes flashed. "I have a better idea. Why don't you fess up? What's really going on here? Because this has nothing to do with spilled milk."

"I'll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it," Jaddo said severely. "Until then, you'll just have to wait."

"I'm always waiting!" Tess exclaimed angrily. "And your nurse here just told me more in one sentence than you've told me in my entire life!"

Tess slammed the paper towels down on the table and stalked out of the room, closing her bedroom door with a bang that rattled the house. "Nicely done," Marie said dryly.

"I'm sorry," Jaddo said self-consciously. "She's behaving—"

"The way she always behaves," Marie finished. "Because you're behaving the way you always behave. Some things never change, do they?"

"I just wanted to have a nice dinner," Jaddo complained. "She ought to be able to behave herself for one dinner."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about the dinner," Marie said in exasperation. "I never asked or expected you to go to all this trouble. This is about you wanting to prove that you've raised her right, to be vindicated for taking her when she was little."

Jaddo sank back into his chair as he threw her a look that could have frozen boiling water, a look with which she was very familiar and ignored completely. "I'm not here to judge what you did," Maria went on, "and it wouldn't do any good anyway because there's no undoing it. I'm here to assess her readiness to handle the whole story."

"And?"

"And you shouldn't be so hard on her. It's possible to sympathize with her wanting to know while still not telling her. The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"I thought you weren't here to judge," Jaddo grumbled.

"I said I wasn't here to judge you taking her," Maria corrected, "although that should never be taken to mean I don't have an opinion on the subject. I am here to judge her current circumstances, and I'm afraid those circumstances are more likely to make her do something she shouldn't."

"I have to be hard on her!" Jaddo insisted. "The Special Unit has been literally breathing down our necks. She needs to know how to recognize them, how to run, how to hide, how to defend herself."

"And why exactly was the Special Unit 'breathing down your necks'? If you'd disappeared, the odds that the Unit would have ever come near you are practically nil. They were 'breathing down your necks' because you were pursuing them."

"Now you sound like Brivari," Jaddo said in disgust. "But I don't cut our enemies a pass. I don't ignore them and allow them to multiply like rabbits. That was the choice he made. I made a different choice."

"Yes," Marie said, "and that choice put Tess in danger. She's had to run and hide because you put her in a position to do that. The other three didn't have to."

"Until now," Jaddo said, "when they put themselves in danger and found themselves ill-equipped to handle it. So all four hybrids wound up pursued by the Unit, but only mine knows how to handle herself. And your point was....what?"

"My point was that the others haven't had to do that until now," Marie said patiently, "when they're arguably better prepared to understand why it's happening and successfully manage it. Tess has had to hide since childhood...and that takes a toll on a person. She's never lived in one place for any length of time. She has no family, no other adults she can talk to, no roots, no home base, no long term relationships other than you. These are the things that give us stability and a sense of perspective. They're not luxuries, they're absolutely essential....and you haven't provided them."

"Fine," Jaddo said crossly. "So I'm not perfect, and never claimed to be. But what about what I have provided? Tess knows she's special; I've told her since childhood that she has a higher purpose. She knows her time here is merely a prelude to something bigger, and when the time comes, she'll be able to leave this all behind because she never became attached to it in the first place. She knows how to use her powers; it takes practice, you know, and all the more so for the hybrids because they're technically more powerful than Brivari and I are."

"Does she knows that?" Marie asked.

"Of course not. I'm not stupid; I would never give a child that kind of leverage. My point is there are gaps in the others' lives as well."

"I agree," Marie said. "Which is precisely why I think you should—"

"Wait even longer," Jaddo grumbled.

"—bring them together," Marie finished. "We should come up with a strategy as soon as possible."

"Thank God!" Jaddo said with obvious relief. "Waiting could have been catastrophic."

Marie was quiet for a minute. "You know," she said finally, "that's the second time you referenced waiting being dangerous."

"Because of what they're doing," Jaddo said, "what they're willing to risk to get answers. They're a danger to themselves. Surely you see that."

"In some ways," Marie agreed. "But it's more than that." She leaned in closer. "I know you," she said firmly, "almost as well as Brivari. I'll wager I spent more time with you than he ever has....and I know when you're hiding something. And so I'll ask you the same question he asked: Is there something you're not telling us?"




*****************************************************



11 p.m.

FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.





"Goodnight, Mr. Freeh."

"Goodnight, Al," Freeh called to the parking attendant.

"Sure you don't want me to pull your car around?" Al asked.

"No, thanks," Freeh said. "Even the FBI director has to do some things for himself, or he gets lazy."

Al chuckled behind him as Freeh made the short walk to his car. Oh, to be a parking attendant. There were days when he'd kill to have nothing more on his mind than whether or not the garage was full or if there were enough small bills in the cash register. That was simplifying things, of course; at that wage grade, Al was probably worried about making his mortgage payments and putting his kids through college, two things that never even crossed Freeh's mind.

His parking space was close, almost too close; he would have enjoyed a longer walk free of the confines of his office, the always ringing phone, and the never empty in-basket. The button on his fob produced the familiar squawk and flash of lights, and he climbed into the driver's seat, ready to blare the radio all the way home and think of nothing more than whatever cheesy song was playing at the moment.

"Working late?"

With an instinct honed by years of training, Freeh flattened himself on the front seat, pulled his weapon, and spun around, his foot on the alarm. He was just about to push it when his pupils adjusted and he saw his uninvited guest clearly.

"Pierce?" he said in disbelief. "What in God's name are you doing in my car?"





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


I'll post Chapter 30 next Sunday.

Hello everyone! Thanks for reading, and thanks for the feedback!

Misha wrote:Gaaaahhhhh!!!! Why couldn't he shoot first and ask questions later?!? No one was going to miss Pierce at all!!!

Michelle in LA wrote:What a simpler universe that would have been. And this time, the agent would have been shot by his own kind, so there would be no fuel to the fire.

As satisfying as it was to see Pierce offed, I've always wished Vanessa had figured it out and done it herself. I think she would have done a much more interesting job.

keepsmiling7 wrote:It makes me unhappy that Liz won't tell Alex the truth.....I know she's loyal to Max, but Alex has done so much for Liz and the group.

I felt so bad for Alex. It seemed like he gave and gave and gave, and didn't get anything in return for the longest time. I understand the reasoning, but I still felt bad for him.




CHAPTER THIRTY



December 3, 1999, 11:10 p.m.

FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.




"Evening, director," Pierce said blandly as though they'd just bumped into each other at a D.C. café. "You really shouldn't keep such long hours; it's bad for the psyche."

"Cut the small talk and tell me what the hell you're doing in the back seat of my car at 11 o'clock at night," Freeh said tersely without lowering his weapon.

"I might be more forthcoming if you weren't pointing a gun at me."

"And I might not be so twitchy if you hadn't just jumped out of the proverbial bushes," Freeh retorted. "This goes way beyond hoodwinking my secretary. This is stalking."

"Very dramatic," Pierce commented.

"Very accurate," Freeh corrected. "Answer my question or I'll press this alarm, which will have the entire security detail of J. Edgar's building come running, not to mention the parking attendant over there who's the spitting image of 'Lovin' Al' from Working. Which is to say he takes his job very seriously."

"So you're well versed in musicals. Gotta love a man with culture."

"I'm warning you, Pierce—"

"You know why I'm here, Director," Pierce said. "You won't see me, so I decided to get....creative."

"You call breaking into my car 'creative'?"

"I didn't break into anything. It was unlocked."

"You call scaring the ever-loving shit out of me 'creative'?"

"I call it getting your attention. And it appears I have. So are you going to listen to the Special Unit's most experienced agent, or are you going to blow him off again?"

Silence. Freeh's gun lowered slightly, then the rest of the way. "You've got five minutes. Talk fast."

"Topolsky blew it. Roswell's empty. I want to take her place. There—three sentences. Is that fast enough for you?"

"About as fast as you got back from Santa Fe," Freeh answered. "I sincerely hope you're wracking up some serious frequent flyer miles, agent, and being mindful of your health. Sitting for long periods can cause blood clots, or so they say."

"If I'm a stalker, you're a comedian," Pierce said darkly. "This isn't funny, Director. We've already had one greenhorn in there, so the last thing we should be doing is sending yet another untried, inexperienced agent...."

Pierce stopped when Freeh held up a hand. "I gather Agent Stevens blew you off? Well, of course he did. I gave the order to pull out of Roswell. Permanently."

Now it was Pierce's turn to look blank. "You....permanently?" he repeated, that apparently being the part which caught his attention the most. "You mean you're not sending anyone to replace Topolsky?"

"No. Not even an untried, inexperienced agent. Happy?"

"You can't be serious!" Pierce exclaimed. "You can't—"

"I can, and I have," Freeh broke in. "Let's inventory. This all started with a kid named Max Evans allegedly healing a gunshot wound in September. The report came from Sheriff Valenti, who got it from two dubious sources he was eager to believe and a blood-stained uniform which didn't contain enough blood to indicate a gunshot wound. We've been squatting in Roswell for the past two months and despite all the surveillance, Max Evans has done precisely nothing to indicate that he's anything other than what he appears to be—an American teenager. And don't start on me about Marathon," Freeh went on, interrupting Pierce as he started to protest. "There are scads of people, hundreds, no, thousands of people who would have loved to find what James Atherton had stashed in his basement. That field trip doesn't make Evans an alien. Topolsky thought his blood sample was switched, but she couldn't prove it. Hell, even if the sample was switched, that doesn't make him an alien. So we basically have squat to show for our presence in Roswell. Is that a fair assessment, agent?"

Pierce stared at him a moment in shock. "So that's how this is going down," he said finally. "This is the argument Stevens is using to bury his embarrassment and shut the whole thing down....and you're buying it. You've drunk the Kool Aid. Instead of admitting Agent Topolsky screwed up, you're claiming there's nothing there anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," Freeh said sharply. "It always matters when an agent's cover is blown. And before you go off on Kathleen Topolsky again, may I remind you it was Agent Summers who hired her, the very Agent Summers whom you hold in such high regard? If she's such a screw-up, what does that make Summers?"

"She wasn't properly trained!" Pierce objected. "You gutted the Unit after Summers died—"

"Oh, so this is my fault?" Freeh said. "Well, of course it is. It's always my fault, isn't it?"

"Yes!" Pierce said fiercely, vaulting forward in his seat. "The Unit can't function properly without a leader, and you are not behaving as a leader!"

"Given that I didn't even know it existed to be led until Summers died—"

"Don't give me that," Pierce retorted. "You're the Director of the FBI, for God's sake. Black ops is our stock in trade. Don't sound so surprised. I'll bet there are other Unit's out there with other mandates that you haven't even discovered yet."

"Tell me about it," Freeh said darkly. "And when I find them, they'll be met with the same hearty welcome as yours."

"What makes you think you'll find them?" Pierce asked bitterly. "Now that they've seen what you've done to my Unit, they'll never rear their heads."

"Which might be just as well," Freeh said angrily. "Listen to yourself, agent—'my' Unit? My Unit? Since when is it your Unit? This is what happens when there's no oversight, no accountability to anyone, even the country you purport to serve; the resulting sense of entitlement overwhelms every ounce of judgment you may have once possessed. I don't give a damn about your pedigree, or your tenure, or any other statistics you care to wave in my face. The Unit is not 'yours'. It belongs to the FBI, which belongs to the United States Government, which belongs to the people of the United States....and that's an equation you forgot how to do a long time ago."

Pierce's expression clouded. "I apologize; I misspoke. I'm just so concerned—"

"Save it," Freeh snapped. "This is the last, I repeat, the last time you and I will discuss this subject. I am the head of the Special Unit, and I will make any and all decisions regarding it. If and when I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. If I haven't asked for it, I don't want it. And if I ever catch you lurking around my office, my car, my home, or anywhere within a mile of wherever I happen to be at the moment, I'll fire your ass from this agency and make certain no other is stupid enough to hire you. Are we clear?"

Pierce stared at him, stony- faced. "Clear," he ground out.

"Good. Now get out of my car before I have you arrested for anything and everything I can think of."

Smoldering, Pierce climbed out of the car. "You'll regret this, Director."

"Is that a threat, agent?" Freeh demanded.

"It's a simple statement of fact," Pierce retorted. "You've got a monster on the loose in Roswell, and you're not doing a thing about it. You're supposed to protect the American people, not go off on some hissy fit because you were late to the lunch table."

"Agent Pierce," Freeh said deliberately, "I firmly believe you represent as big a threat to the American people as any alien who's walked this planet, maybe bigger....because you should know better. Now get out of my sight, and stay out."




***************************************************




December 4, 1999, 5 p.m.

Valenti residence




Pick it up.

Jim Valenti sat on his living room couch, staring at the telephone in front of him like it might eat him. This was absolutely ridiculous. He was a grown man, for heavens' sake, and not just any grown man, but a sheriff, a law enforcement officer. He'd chased down burglars, arsonists, wife beaters, and even had a bona fide terrorist pass through town once. He was known for running an extremely tight ship at Roswell's many tourist events just like his father had. He was an old hand at tricking people into revealing more than they'd intended to. This should be easy.

But it wasn't. He continued to stare at the telephone, his hands knotted in front of him, finally resorting to pacing while throwing furtive glances in the infernal appliance's direction. He hadn't felt this nervous since he'd dropped his dad off at the nursing home ten years ago. His palms were actually sweating and, passing the mirror, he realized with horror that there were large sweat stains beneath the arms of his shirt. Granted it was sweltering outside, but still, this was nuts.

Maybe it'll help if I change, he thought, hurrying to the bedroom, grateful for any excuse to separate him from that accusatory phone. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe being in uniform was messing with his mojo. This wasn't sheriff's business, it was regular guy business, so dressing like a regular guy might help. So would a little practice, he admitted ruefully as he stripped off his uniform. Regular guy business this may be, but he was dreadfully out of practice. This was one aspect of being a regular guy which had passed him by for far too long.

Now much more comfortable in a tee shirt and shorts, he reluctantly renewed his position in front of the phone and found there to be no improvement; he was every bit as nervous, and even felt a bit naked with his knees hanging out. Another trip to the bedroom to change into blue jeans fixed the knee problem, but not the nerves problem. For God's sake, just do it! he admonished himself harshly. There was no way to make this "comfortable". Less uncomfortable, perhaps, but that was about as good as it was going to get. Impulsively he reached for the receiver and lifted it to his ear, one finger going for the buttons even before it got there. He'd better do this fast before he lost his nerve.....

"Hello?"

Valenti was so surprised, he nearly dropped the phone. "Hello?" he said startled. "Who's this?"

"It's Hanson, sir," Hanson said, sounding faintly put out that Valenti hadn't recognized him.

"Oh....sorry, Hanson. I....I was just about to make a call, and the line didn't ring."

"Didn't ring on this end either, sir. You must have picked it up at just the right moment."

"Right," Valenti said doubtfully, all his gumption gone right out the window. "What'd you want?"

"Well, you told me to let you know right away when I was done looking into the Kathleen Topolsky business."

"And?"

"And she literally just disappeared. Her cell phone hasn't been used since she left, no one saw or heard anything the night she moved out, she hasn't used a credit card anywhere....she's just gone."

"About what I expected," Valenti murmured.

"You did, sir? Why's that?"

"Never mind. Thanks for looking into that, Hanson. If there's nothing else—"

"One more thing, sir. I re-interviewed Annette, and—"

"Who?"

"Annette Wilson. One of the receptionists at the high school?"

"Oh, right....right," Valenti said, passing a hand across his forehead.

"Mrs. Wilson insists she saw Alex Whitman and Liz Parker in the hallway after school on the day Miss Topolsky was last seen."

"No surprise there," Valenti muttered.

"But Kristin, her co-worker, wasn't sure," Hanson went on. "She was there at the same time, and she didn't see them."

"Either of them?"

"Either of them, sir. Annette claims that Kristin was in the hallway only briefly and just missed them. And then Kristin got all huffy, and—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Valenti broke in. "We can't confirm it. No need to go into girl talk."

"Uh....right, sir. Just trying to be thorough."

"I know you are. Look, Hanson, I'm kinda in the middle of something, but I appreciate you letting me know. Anything else you may find out can probably wait until tomorrow morning."

There was a pause before Hanson said, "Sure, sir. You have a good night now."

"You too," Valenti said before hanging up the phone and resuming his fretting. It certainly wasn't news to him that Alex Whitman had been lying to him; Alex had the kind of poker face that could lose a man a lot of money. The problem was he couldn't prove Alex was lying, but that problem would have to wait; a more pressing one presented itself at the moment. It took him another five minutes to muster the courage to pick up the phone again.

Slam!

"Jesus!" Valenti swore, nearly dropping the phone again before hastily replacing it in its cradle.

"Dad?" Kyle said warily, car keys dangling from one hand. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Valenti said wearily. "Just please don't slam the door like that. You scared the shi—stuffing out of me."

Kyle smiled faintly. "You do know I hear far worse things than 'shit' in the first hour of school each day, right?"

"Not from your old man, you don't," Valenti said.

"Is anything wrong?" Kyle asked. "You sound upset."

"I am upset!" Valenti exclaimed. "I keep trying to do something, and I keep getting interrupted."

"What is it you're trying to do? Can I help?" Kyle's eyes narrowed as Valenti shook his head vigorously. "Okay, now I know something's wrong. You sound weird, you're acting weird, and you look....."

"What?" Valenti demanded. "I look what?"

"Flushed," Kyle finished. "Embarrassed. Caught with your pants down. So what's up?"

"Nothing's 'up'," Valenti said irritably. "Would you please just move along and let me get on with it?"

Kyle shrugged slightly. "Sure. Whatever."

Valenti waited until Kyle was in the kitchen before reaching for the phone again. In a way, it was good that Kyle was home; now that he had a semi audience, he'd have to finish what he'd started. The phone rang just before he picked it up.

"Hello?" Hanson's voice came again. "Is that you, sir?"

"Hanson, what the hell are you doing on the line again?" Valenti demanded in exasperation. "This is the second time I've gone to make a phone call only to find you here!"

"Weird, ain't it, sir?" Hanson said cheerfully. "I mean, what are the odds? I mean, if we tried to pull off something like this, actually tried, you know, like, practiced it or something, I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts that we couldn't—"

"What did you want?" Valenti snapped.

Hanson stopped mid-sentence. "Oh. Right. Sure. Well, there was one more thing....."

A couple of minutes later, Valenti hung up the phone. "Kyle!"

No answer. "Kyle, I know you're eavesdropping in the kitchen," Valenti said. "Come on out here before I drag you out."

There was a pause before Kyle's hand-in-the-cookie-jar face appeared in the kitchen doorway. "That was Hanson, my chief deputy," Valenti said. "Hanson tells me there's a rumor about a party being held this weekend in an abandoned building. You know anything about that?"

"No," Kyle said quickly.

Valenti's eyebrows rose. "Kyle, believe me when I say that I know what it's like to be the sheriff's kid. But I also know how dangerous abandoned buildings can be. They might not be structurally sound, might be fire hazards, might be full of asbestos, might be harboring wild animals. Sheriff's kid or no, I'm sure you wouldn't want it on your conscience if someone were to fall through a floor or get bitten by a coyote. Just tell me the truth, and I won't rat you out."

Kyle shrugged. "Sorry, Dad. Haven't heard a thing."

Valenti eyed his son for a moment. "Uh huh," he said finally. "Well....if that changes, make sure you spill. Parties are fine, but not when they involve dangerous conditions and trespassing."

"Of course. Sure thing. I'll let you know," Kyle said in a rush, escaping to his room as fast as his feet would carry him. Which was just as well because it left Valenti alone with the phone once again and the privacy to finally place his call. This time he actually managed to lift the receiver and dial the number without incident, the other end ringing once, twice, three times, four. What if no one answers? he thought, sweating all over again. Should he leave a message? He hadn't considered that. Maybe he could just ask her to call him back? But what if her daughter answered? That would be awkward....

"Hello?"

"Amy!" Valenti exclaimed with a little too much enthusiasm. "It's you!

"Which shouldn't come as a shock," Amy's voice said dryly," because I live here. Who's this?"

"What? Oh! It's Jim," Valenti babbled. "You know, Jim Valenti?"

"The Jim Valenti who arrested me and tossed me in jail because he thought I was cute?"

"Uh....yeah," Valenti said, blushing furiously. This wasn't going well. Why on earth did she have to bring that up? Why on earth had he told her about it at all?

"So, Jim-Jim-Valenti," Amy went on in a faintly amused tone, "what can I do for you?"

"You....can go to dinner with me tomorrow night," Valenti said in a rush. "You know, just two old friends catching up. That sorta thing."

There was a pause which Valenti could have sworn lasted at least a year but was probably only a couple of seconds. "Dinner?" Amy blurted, suddenly sounding about as flustered as he felt. "I'd...I'd love to! Uh....what time were you thinking?"

"I could pick you up around 7 or so," Valenti said. "I know what it's like to get home from work and have to reconnect with your kid and just chill for a little while, so why don't we both take the time to do that, and then go have a bite."

"That would be wonderful, Jim," Amy said, sounding like she meant it. "I'll look forward to it."

"So will I," Valenti said. "See you then."

"See you then. Goodbye, Jim."

"Goodbye, Amy. Hope you have a good day tomorrow."

"You too."

Valenti hung up the phone and sagged onto the couch. His heart was pounding, his palms were sweating, and he was dearly wishing he could take back that last bit. Have a good day? Honestly, what had he been thinking? That's the sort of thing you said to your dentist or your drycleaner, not your date. There was nothing like asking a girl for a date to make you feel like you were fifteen again, and he hadn't asked anyone on a date for a couple of decades. But she'd said "yes", so he couldn't have screwed things up too badly, and he tried to remember that as he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. By the time he hit the kitchen to make dinner, he was feeling pretty good about the whole thing, so good that he forgot all about Hanson's tip about an illegal party.




*****************************************************




Evans residence




"Where is it?" Isabel muttered, kneeling down in front of her closet. The box she'd grabbed caught the edge of a dress, pulling a number of others along with it as she hauled it out. "Damn!" she exclaimed, spending the next couple of minutes untangling several hangers' worth of clothing. One of these days, she was going to have a walk-in closet, a really big one that could store all of her clothes, or at least one season's worth....

"Isabel! Max! Where are you?"

"In my room, Mom," Isabel called.

"Dinner's in ten minutes."

"Okay."

"I mean it. Ten minutes. Don't be late."

"All right, already!" Isabel said in exasperation. "I'll be there! Where is it?" she added to herself as she rifled through the closet. She'd had it just a few weeks ago when she'd needed it for Maria, and it didn't have legs, or so she thought....

"Isabel?"

Now what? "Don't you ever knock?" Isabel said to her brother, who was standing right behind her.

"The door was open—"

"People still knock, Max. It's what they do. Even people like us."

"Sorry." Max sank down on the bed, watched her paw through another box. "Something wrong?"

"I lost something. Or misplaced it, rather. I couldn't have lost it; it never left the room."

"Lost what?"

"I'll find it. Did you want something?"

"You sure you're okay?"

"Fine," Isabel said shortly. "Just great. The FBI is chasing us, but whatever. No worries."

"It's been a couple of days, and nothing's happened," Max pointed out. "They haven't sent anyone else—"

"You mean you think they haven't sent anyone else. How would we know? We didn't know about Topolsky until Maria and Michael went poking around motel rooms."

"She didn't have anything on us, Iz," Max said gently. "That's why she was leaning on Alex so hard, to get something."

"And she came this close," Isabel said, holding up a thumb and forefinger. "As usual, all that separates us from disaster is a nearly invisible thread."

"As long as something does, I'm okay with that," Max said. He was quiet for a moment, staring at his hands. "Actually, Michael and Maria are kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What about them?" Isabel asked absently, nearing the bottom of another box.

"I was talking to Michael today, and he said that he and Maria....."

Isabel stopped rifling and looked up at her brother. "That he and Maria....what?"

Max's hands worked in his lap. "It seems that he and Maria have a....'thing' going."

Isabel blinked. "A 'thing'? Max, what is a 'thing'?"

"Well...I gather they're....seeing a lot of each other," Max said uncomfortably.

"Which means what, exactly?" Isabel demanded. "Which parts of each other are they seeing?"

"C'mon, Iz—"

"No, answer me, Max! What's going on?"

Max hesitated, pinking slightly. "I guess they've been....making out a lot lately," he said finally, deliberately avoiding Isabel's gaze. "Liz saw them in the Crashdown. I saw them go in the eraser room—"

"The eraser room?!" Isabel exclaimed. "And just how far did it go in the eraser room?"

"He didn't say," Max admitted, "although he did say it was more than just kissing."

"Good God," Isabel breathed, abandoning the box and rocking back on her knees. "I hope you told him to stop."

"I reminded him that we were supposed to talk to each other before acting on any urges," Max said.

"And what did he say?"

"That I'm not the first person he thinks of when he has urges."

"But that's not the point," Isabel said in exasperation. "We don't know what will happen when we do....that....with a human. To us or the human. God, I don't believe it!" she added in disgust. "You and Liz, I would have believed, but Michael?"

"Well, that was kinda the second thing I wanted to talk to you about," Max said. "There's this party at the old soap factory, and I thought....well, I thought Liz and I might....um....might go and...."

Isabel's eyebrows rose. "See more of each other's parts?"

"That is not what I meant," Max said reproachfully.

"But you were heading in that direction," Isabel said, her voice rising. "I don't believe this! We've got the Federal Bureau of Investigation—federal police—after us, and you're asking for permission to suck face with Liz at some party?"

"I wasn't looking for 'permission'," Max said.

"Then why did you bring it up?" Isabel demanded. "Why ask me? I mean, Michael's out there going for his 'urges', and you look ready to go for yours, so why even bring me into it at all?"

"Because I wanted to talk to someone first," Max said, rising from the bed and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Michael and Maria have been....you know....and nothing bad has happened. No one got sick, or exploded, or whatever. I always thought maybe it might be dangerous, like we weren't compatible, or something, but maybe—"

"Maybe we should keep our minds on the subject," Isabel said crossly, "which is us being chased by the FBI. That's way more important than parties, or....or...." She stopped, gazing at the latest box at her feet. "There it is!" she exclaimed, plucking something out. "I must have put it back in the wrong place."

"What did you want with last year's yearbook?"

"Nothing," Isabel said evasively.

Max frowned. "You're dreamwalking again, aren't you?"

"No."

"Iz, don't lie to me—"

"I'm not lying. I haven't dreamwalked anyone since Maria."

"Fine," Max sighed, "so you're going to dreamwalk someone. Someone like....Alex?"

Isabel tucked the book under her arm. "So what if I am?"

"So you shouldn't do that. It's dangerous."

"No, Max, it's dangerous not to," Isabel corrected. "The only reason Topolsky didn't get what she wanted was because of Alex; if he caves, we're toast, and given how angry he is with Liz and Maria, he might very well cave. Someone has to find out how close he is to doing that, and since he's not talking to either Liz or Maria, they can't find out. And I find it more than a little ironic that I'm the only one doing anything at all about this while you and Michael go cavorting—"

"We're not 'cavorting'," Max protested.

"Who's cavorting?"

It was their mother, standing in Isabel's bedroom doorway and looking quizzically at both of them. "Doesn't anyone in this house knock?" Isabel sighed.

"You should close your door if you want privacy, sweetheart," Diane said.

"You try," Max muttered.

"And it's dinner time," Diane went on. "I said ten minutes, I meant ten minutes. It's been ten minutes."

"All right, we'll be there in just a minute," Isabel said, throwing a murderous look at her brother.

"No, you'll be there now," Diane said firmly. "And we'll discuss 'cavorting' later."

"Great," Isabel said in disgust after she left. "Now I'll have Mom on my case."

"Only because you don't shut your door," Max said. "Which we should, because some day she might hear about more than just 'cavorting'. C'mon—we'd better get to dinner before she comes back. And leave Alex alone," he added, tossing the yearbook back in the box. "If you're so sure he's hanging by a thread, the last thing you want to do is give him nightmares about us."

"I don't give people nightmares," Isabel protested. "And Mom doesn't count; I was new at it. I've perfected the technique since then. I just observe. That's all."

"You're spying on people," Max said bluntly. "That's not cool, Isabel."

"Says the one who put us all in danger by healing Liz Parker," Isabel retorted.

"I saved her life," Max pointed out. "You're snooping."

"To save ours," Isabel argued. "And I wouldn't have to if you hadn't—"

"Kids?" a voice called.

Isabel stopped abruptly in mid-sentence, and a moment later, Grandma Dee appeared in the doorway. "I just thought I'd give you a heads up," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Your mother is fretting because you're not out there, but she's got her hands in the dinner, so your next visitor will be your dad."

"We're coming," Max said immediately, Isabel following. Both of them knew that life would get much gnarlier if their punctilious father got involved. "What's Mom on about anyway? Are she and dad going somewhere tonight?"

"No, you have a guest," Grandma said as they walked down the hallway. "And I don't mean me."

"Guest?" Isabel said. "What guest? Mom didn't say anything about a guest."

"She's an old friend of the family," Grandma explained., "and she's only in town for a short while. You know how your mother gets when she has to cook on short notice."

"Yeah, it can get a little hairy," Max agreed. "Maybe we can....Iz? What's wrong?"

Isabel had stopped, her eyes wide. "Are you all right, honey?" Grandma asked. "You look terrified."

"She's fine," Max said quickly. "I'll handle it. Go tell Mom and Dad we're coming. Please, before they come looking for us."

Grandma hesitated for a moment before nodding and walking off, throwing a concerned look in Isabel's direction as she rounded the corner. "What is it?" Max whispered as soon as she was out of earshot. "What's wrong now?"

"Max, don't you get it?" Isabel whispered. "An 'old family friend' turning up now, right now?"

"So?"

"So it's probably another FBI agent!" Isabel exclaimed.

"Isabel, calm down," Max ordered. "If it's an old friend, then Mom and Dad know her, so unless the FBI has been after us for a very long time, she can't be an FBI agent."

Isabel considered that for a moment. "Maybe," she said finally. "But we can't be too careful. We have to suspect every single new person who comes into our lives."

"No," Max said firmly. "We can't live in fear. I don't want to live my life in fear, and you shouldn't either."

"Easy for you to say," Isabel retorted, "with your head full of parties and propositioning and—"

"Kids!" Diane called in exasperation. "Now!"

"Don't make me come back there," Philip warned.

"C'mon," Max said, taking her arm and steering her down the hall. "We don't want Dad out here. And what are we gonna do? Even if it was Topolsky, we'd still have to go out there and act like regular kids."

But it was no leggy blonde sitting at the dinner table with their parents and grandparents, rather an old woman with gray hair. "There...see?" Max whispered. "It's just an old lady. The FBI doesn't hire anyone that old."

"Finally," Diane sighed. "Max, Isabel....I'd like you to meet Dr. Johnson."

"So nice to see you again," the old lady smiled.

Isabel stiffened as all of her alarms went off. " 'Again'?"


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


Family stuff next weekend, so I'll be posting Chapter 31 on Sunday, April 3.

Hello to everyone reading!




CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

-

December 4, 1999, 10:45 p.m.

Evans residence



"And then Philip signed the charge slip with a stick figure," Diane said. "A whole line of stick figures, actually. And no one noticed. He just handed them the charge slip for thousands of dollars worth of airline tickets, and they said, 'Thank you, sir,' and never even noticed."

Laughter erupted around the living room. "My goodness," Marie chuckled. "Did they ever figure out he hadn't actually signed anything?"

"I don't think anyone even looks at those," Philip said. "Guess not, because no one ever called me on it."

"And if they did, as soon as they found out he was a lawyer, they probably wouldn't bother making an issue of it," Anthony added.

"My goodness, but you're becoming quite the graffiti artist," Dee said dryly. "My son? Who would have thought?"

"You always wanted me to lighten up, Mom," Philip said. "You always thought I was too serious and straight-laced."

"The kids cured you of that," Diane said. "It's hard to be that serious around children."

"I'm often asked if I regret not having children," Marie remarked. "And I do sometimes. Although I certainly wouldn't have had the career I've had if I'd been a parent, and neither would Steven." She paused as an awkward hush fell over the room. "Ah, I'm sorry," Marie went on. "I didn't mean to be a wet blanket."

"No, no!" Diane protested. "It's just....well, we're all still a little in shock over what happened to your husband. I'm so sorry, Dr. Johnson. Is there anything you need, anything we can do for you?"

"That's very kind, but no," Marie answered. "I have access to the finest medical care available. Steven had a long, full life. We all have to go somehow, and I daresay this way is far easier on him then it is on me."

"I'd agree with that," Dee said. "My mother's mind is going, and sometimes she knows it. There are many days I think it would be better for her if she didn't."

"Well, I appreciate you taking some time to come see us," Diane said warmly. "I honestly wasn't expecting you to traipse all the way across the country. I just wanted someone I trusted to take a look at Max's medical records and reassure me that our little hospital didn't miss anything. I'm sure they could have mailed them to you, or e-mailed them, or something."

"That's quite all right," Marie said. "I'd prefer to see them in person. And you needn't worry; Max appears to have come through his accident completely unscathed."

"Thank goodness," Philip said. "By the time I heard about it, it was all over, but Diane was scared half to death."

"Between that and the house being robbed, we've had quite a time these past months," Diane added.

"Eh, they didn't take much of anything," Philip shrugged. "They missed all the really good stuff. It was almost as if they were after something else and just wanted to make it look like a run-of-the-mill robbery."

Three pairs of eyes flicked toward each other, unnoticed by either Philip or Diane, who was patting her husband's hand. "It would have taken several trips to cart both the TV and the stereo out," she noted, "so whoever did was determined."

"Mom? Did you—"

Heads turned. Isabel was standing in the living room doorway in her pajamas. "Oh," she said, taken aback when she spied Marie. "You're still here?"

"Gracious, Isabel, manners!" Diane admonished. "She's an old friend; of course she's still here."

Isabel flushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course you didn't," Marie said. "No harm done."

"What did you want, honey?" Philip asked.

"I just wanted to know if Mom signed that permission slip I left on the kitchen counter," Isabel said, never taking her eyes off Marie.

"I not only signed it, I put in your room," Diane said. "Which is probably why you didn't find it."

"Oh....right. I'll go look for it." Isabel paused awkwardly for a moment. "Well.... g'night. Nice to meet you."

"And you too, Isabel," Marie said.

"Gosh, I'm sorry about that," Diane said to Marie after Isabel left. "I don't know why she's so twitchy these days."

"Me either," Philip murmured. "Max isn't."

"Probably something at school," Dee said lightly. "She's a teenager. Who knows?"

"But that wouldn't explain why she's jumpy around Dr. Marie," Philip said. "Mom, you never explained why you didn't want us to tell the kids that Marie was here when they were found. Maybe telling them that would help?"

"I doubt it," Dee said quickly. "I think it would just make them more self-conscious."

"Have they been asking about that period in their lives?" Marie asked.

Philip and Diane exchanged glances. "No," Philip admitted. "They haven't."

"Best to leave it be until they do, then," Marie advised. "It's always better to let the children bring it up."

"Then that's what we'll do," Philip agreed as Diane nodded.

Dodged that one, Dee thought, letting out a private sigh of relief as Philip's damnably accurate radar swung elsewhere. He'd honed in twice in the past five minutes, and that didn't count the number of times he'd noted Isabel's odd demeanor at dinner. And odd was the word for it; in a weird sort of reversal, it had been Max who had been friendly and talkative while Isabel had been silent and suspicious, casting not-so-furtive glances in Marie's direction and reluctantly answering even the simplest of questions. She'd fled the table early, even skipping dessert, which was practically unheard of, while Max had lingered and chatted. Talk about backwards.

"Oops, there's the phone," Diane sighed as the phone jangled in the kitchen. "Who could that be at this time of night?"

"Probably for me," Philip said. "I'll get it."

"Diane, I was wondering if I could see some pictures of the children when they were younger?" Marie asked as Philip left the room. "Maybe some photo albums or school pictures? I feel like I missed so much, seeing them so young and now almost all grown up. If you wouldn't mind."

"Of course I don't mind," Diane said. "I'm just sorry I didn't think of that sooner. Excuse me for a minute; the albums are in our bedroom, I think."

"Take your time," Marie smiled.

Lots and lots of time, Dee added, resisting the urge to push her daughter-in-law out of the room. This was the first time she'd seen Marie since she'd left to visit Jaddo, and she was dying to know what happened. "Finally!" Dee whispered, scooting closer as Diane disappeared down the hallway. "I thought we'd never get a minute alone. What happened yesterday? Did you meet Ava? Did you see Jaddo? I haven't laid eyes on him since '89. What do you think of Max and Isabel? Did you—"

"Slow down, dear," Anthony advised. "She can't answer everything at once."

"Yes, I saw Jaddo," Marie answered, unruffled by Dee's impatience. "And I met Ava. Or 'Tess', rather. That's what he calls her."

Anthony blinked. " 'Tess'? Where'd that come from?"

" 'Tess' is ten times better than 'Isabel', and a hundred times better than 'Maximillion'," Dee said dryly.

"Thank God Philip and Diane agreed to use 'Max'," Anthony agreed.

"I have no idea where the name came from, but he can't very well go around calling her by her real name," Marie said. "They're living in Artesia."

"That's close!" Dee said. "I didn't know he was so close. So what's she like?"

"Smart," Marie said. "Beautiful. Curious. And suspicious, defiant, and prone to fighting with her foster father."

"Good Lord," Dee groaned. "He made a 'Mini-Me'."

"She knows what she is," Marie went on, "or at least knows she isn't human. She also knows she has powers; she tried to use them to lock Brivari out of their house."

"Max and Isabel also know they're not human and that they have powers," Anthony noted.

"And Michael," Dee added.

"Then they're all at the same point as far as that goes," Marie said. "And they're all curious and looking for answers, sometimes in dangerous ways. Unsurprising since they're also all adolescents."

"But does Ava...I mean 'Tess'....remember anything?" Dee asked. "That was the big question, whether Jaddo's way of raising her was better than Brivari's way of raising the others."

"Depends," Marie answered. "On the subject of sheer memory, Jaddo appears to have called that one because Tess hasn't remembered on her own. It would appear some kind of 'jump start' is needed, just as he suspected."

"I sense a 'but' coming," Anthony said.

"But Brivari's prediction that life with Jaddo would be less than uplifting proved correct," Marie continued. "I know Michael's foster family didn't last, but it was good for several years, and Max and Isabel obviously have a stable, loving home. Tess has spent her life running from the Special Unit, and it shows."

"Oh, dear," Anthony said sadly.

"But they are who they are," Marie went on, "and given their behavior, we need to bring them back together. Right now the plan is to let them all finish the school year where they are; Tess, in particular, needs stability in her life. Then she and Jaddo will move here next summer, introductions will ensue, and they'll attend school together in the fall. And somewhere along the way, we'll have to tell them the truth, or part of it, anyway."

"Who will tell them the truth?" Anthony asked. "I'm assuming the Warders still can't get near Max."

"I wouldn't," Marie advised. "Not yet. Not until he realizes the extent of his power and how seriously it can be misused."

"We can talk to Max," Dee said, looking at Anthony. "He can't order us around."

"And the Warders can talk to any of the others," Marie said. "I don't know exactly how we're going to do this, but we have time to figure it out."

"Assuming Isabel doesn't explode, that is," Anthony sighed. "It's upsetting to see her so suspicious."

"What did you expect?" Dee asked. "They just discovered their guidance counselor was an FBI agent."

"Which is no doubt why she's so skeptical of me," Marie added. "They'll be skeptical of anyone now, and under the circumstances, I can't blame them."

Footsteps approached. "Found them!" Diane called, appearing in the living room, arms laden with photo albums. "Or some of them, anyway. These will get you started, and I'll grab a few more. There's at least one more in Isabel's closet; I stopped by her room, but she's already asleep, and I didn't want to wake her. It was funny," she went on depositing the albums on the coffee table, "but she fell asleep with her yearbook open beside her. Like she was reading and just...conked out."

"What page was it open to?" Dee asked.

"It was just class pictures," Diane answered. "Maybe she's got a crush on someone. Back in a sec."

She disappeared down the hall again as Marie arched an eyebrow at Dee. "What's going on?"

"She's in someone's dream," Dee sighed. "I caught her doing it once before. Urza used to be able to do that. He came into my dream right before he died."

"Urza," Marie murmured. "I'll never forget her Warder. He was the first alien I met."

"Is it wise to wait until next summer?" Anthony said doubtfully. "Max healed someone in public, they found that message left in the cave, Isabel's 'dreamwalking', the FBI is hovering. How can we be sure they'll last that long?"

"We can't," Marie sighed. "And you weren't the only one who noticed that."




*****************************************************



Artesia, New Mexico




"Next summer!" Jaddo exclaimed. "That's months away! We can't hold off the FBI for that length of time!"

"The Unit is gone, remember?" Brivari said. "And speaking of 'gone', where's Ava?"

"At a friend's house for a 'sleepover'," Jaddo answered. "She's still angry with me after last night."

"Perhaps using Lieutenant White as a threat wasn't the best of ideas," Brivari suggested.

"Yes, well, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, isn't it?" Jaddo said sourly. "The prospect of meeting the others is the only thing that keeps her in check these days."

"Which is how you can 'hold her off' until summer," Brivari noted. "If she knows you're moving to Roswell and sees progress toward that goal, that will keep her behavior in check."

"On the contrary, if she knows we're moving, she'll take that as license to do whatever she wants," Jaddo countered.

"Always thinking the best of everyone, aren't you?" Brivari said dryly. "Request her help developing a strategy for meeting the rest of them, and rescind that if she misbehaves. Happy?"

"Not even remotely," Jaddo groused. "We're waiting much too long. Again. Here I thought the lieutenant had grasped the urgency of the situation when she said they should be reunited 'as soon as possible', and then it turns out she wants to wait half a year."

"Which is as soon as she feels it's possible," Brivari said. "She's already making a huge concession; remember, she wanted to wait until they were 18 or 20 before bringing this up."

"Yes, but her 'huge concession' doesn't make it any safer to wait."

"You keep saying that, that it's not 'safe'," Brivari said. "But why isn't it safe? The Unit has retreated, after finding nothing of substance and being exposed, no less. What makes you think they're going to rush back in? Is that what you've heard from your contacts?"

Jaddo flopped down on the sofa opposite Brivari and sighed. "No. My contact says Topolsky was discovered by Valenti, who threatened to expose her."

"Quite possible," Brivari allowed, "although we know that's not what happened, or at least not all that happened."

"He also says that Agent Stevens argued against any further Unit presence in Roswell for the same reason you just gave—Topolsky didn't find anything, or anything concrete. Supposedly Freeh bought it."

"Louis Freeh? What does he have to do with this?"

"He's the Director of the FBI," Jaddo answered.

"I know that," Brivari said, "but why is he weighing in on a Unit matter? The Special Unit has always operated independently; even if the Bureau's director was aware of their existence, he was never in charge of it. Who's directing the Unit now?"

"The way I understand it, Freeh is."

Brivari frowned. "That's odd. Do you mean to tell me they never replaced Agent Summers after you offed him last spring?"

Jaddo arched an eyebrow. " 'Offed' him? I would prefer the term 'executed'."

"Whatever you call it, the point is, he's dead. Dead and not replaced. Why not?"

"He was replaced," Jaddo said, "with Freeh."

"But it's never been done that way before," Brivari persisted. "Why now?"

"How should I know? Maybe they're still looking for a suitable candidate."

"They shouldn't have to look; he should be right there," Brivari said. "The successor was always waiting in the wings, hand-picked by the current Unit head and typically his right-hand man, or second, if you will. Who was that?"

"Summers kept everything very close to the vest," Jaddo said. "I don't think he had a second, not the way the others did."

Brivari was quiet for a moment, fingering a coaster on the table nearby. "You've set up quite the household," he said at length. "Newspapers. Flowers along the front walk. Cute little towels in the kitchen. The only thing missing is the white picket fence. But don't think for one minute that I don't know this is just a façade, a part you're playing. You know how the Unit operates, so I shouldn't have to tell you that Agent Summers' successor should have taken his place immediately upon his death. Why didn't he? Did you kill both of them?"

Jaddo eyed him for a moment in silence. "I killed Summers and whomever was in the room with him at the time," he answered finally. "If that was the successor, that would explain it."

"Yes," Brivari said doubtfully. "Although that doesn't explain why you don't seem to know who his successor was. Either that, or you just don't feel like sharing."

"Here we go," Jaddo said in disgust. "Conspiracy theories."

"In which case," Brivari went on, ignoring him, "I'll have to wonder....again.....what it is you're not telling me about the Unit. Because it's clear there's something you're not telling me."

"This isn't about the Unit, Brivari; it's about my Ward. I know Rath. I may not have known him as a child, but everything I know about him as adult tells me that Rath won't wait politely to find answers. He won't put his questions on a shelf to await our convenience. He's already acted foolishly several times—"

"And appropriately," Brivari broke in.

"When a crisis presented itself," Jaddo said. "Admirable, yes, but that's a crisis, which will hopefully remain rare. I'm more concerned about the day-to-day idiocy that has him running off with humans or climbing into sheriff's offices, all without telling his king. Do you really think he's just going to give up his quest to find out who he really is?"

"He might now that he knows who's been following them."

"Maybe," Jaddo allowed. "Or that may just galvanize him further. Rath's instinct will be to hunt down their enemies, not avoid them. That's you. Rath is more like me."

"Is that supposed to make feel better?"

"Very funny, and no," Jaddo said sharply, "it's not. It's supposed to make you realize how dangerous it is to leave them hanging for any length of time. Tess and I should move to Roswell immediately."

"The Healer—"

"Wants us to wait," Jaddo interrupted. "Yes, I know."

"—feels that Ava needs more stability in her life than you've given her," Brivari finished. "She fears the effect of uprooting her so soon after she was already uprooted."

"Whatever that effect may be, it will a damn sight better than the 'effect' of having the Unit catch up with them while they're napping," Jaddo argued.

" 'Napping'? I thought the hybrids weren't napping. I thought that's why you were upset."

"You know what I mean," Jaddo said impatiently. "Tess's 'stability' is not our top priority, not with the Unit in the picture."

Brivari regarded Jaddo levelly for a moment. "And there we have it again," he said softly. "Fear of the Unit. The Unit that failed to produce useable evidence, the Unit that just had one of its agents outed, the Unit which, by your own admission, has retreated. And yet still you fear it....and you won't say why. Are you sure there isn't something you want to tell me?"

Jaddo stared at him hard for several long seconds. "I'm sure," he said finally.

Brivari nodded. "I see." He rose from his chair. "One of these days, Jaddo, I'm going to find out what you're hiding from me. And when I do.....it had better not be anything dire."





*****************************************************




December 5, 1999, 5:30 p.m.

Valenti residence




"Where is it?" Jim Valenti muttered, pawing through the medicine cabinet with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. He managed to knock over three bottles of pills, a plastic cup filled with disposable razors, and two tubes of acne cream before coming up short and heading for the cupboard under the sink. When a cursory examination produced nothing, things came flying out: Toilet paper, mouthwash, shampoo, bar soap, toilet bowl cleaner, conditioner....conditioner? Who on Earth used conditioner? He and Kyle didn't even bother with hair dryers, and the shampoo they used could strip oil off an engine chassis. What else was in here that he didn't know about?

The bathroom door opened, knocking over a row of bottles domino style. "What's all this?" Kyle asked in bewilderment as Valenti caught the nearest bottle.

"Don't you knock?" Valenti asked irritably, holding up the bottle of conditioner. "And what's this?"

"You were making an awful lot of noise, and it's....hair conditioner," Kyle answered, pinking.

"I can see that," Valenti said with exaggerated patience. "What's it doing in here?"

"Well, Dad, I would imagine it's in here because this is where people wash their hair."

Valenti's eyes narrowed. "Really?" he said in mock surprise. "I had no idea. And here I thought you didn't like girlie hair products."

"It's not 'girlie'!" Kyle protested. "It's just that that stuff you buy, that shampoo, is really....harsh."

" 'Harsh'?"

"It makes my hair all dry," Kyle complained. "So I bought the conditioner to fix that."

Valenti glanced at the bottle, which sported a voluptuous blonde wearing little more than her hair. "Sure you didn't just like the model?"

"I'm sure," Kyle said, snatching the bottle out of his hand. "I bought it with my own money, so it's really none of your business. How about you? Why is all the stuff in the bathroom on the floor?"

Now it was Valenti's turn to blush. "I was....ah....looking for something."

"Really?" Kyle said in mock surprise. "I had no idea! And here I thought you were just bored."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Kyle," Valenti said darkly.

"It doesn't become you either," Kyle retorted, bending down and plucking something out of the pile. "You're pulling my chain about 'girlie', but isn't this yours?"

"There it is!" Valenti exclaimed. "I couldn't imagine where that had gotten to...."

He stopped as Kyle stared at him. "I'm all set," Valenti said brightly, piling the contents of the cupboard back inside. "Thanks for your help."

"Help?" Kyle repeated blankly. "Why were you looking for cologne? Since when do you use smelly stuff?" He paused, eyeing his father. "And why are you all dressed up?" he added suspiciously. "You haven't worn that shirt in ages."

"It's just a shirt," Valenti said. "I would hardly call this 'dressed up'."

"It's a shirt that needs ironing," Kyle clarified. "I know because I had to iron it the last time you wore it, oh, about a year and a half ago. You're wearing a fussy shirt and crawling around on the bathroom floor looking for your Brut? What's up?"

"Nothing's 'up'," Valenti said irritably. "Is there a law against looking nice once in a while? Guess not, because you don't look so bad yourself. One might even think you were dressed for a party, say, one in an illegal location that you don't know anything about?"

Bingo. Kyle's eyes flared in alarm, then dropped. "Out with it," Valenti said severely. "What's going on this weekend?"

"Okay, just so we're clear, what happened to, 'Gee, son, I remember how hard it was to be a sheriff's kid'?" Kyle demanded. "I thought you weren't going to put me in this position?"

"You may as well tell me now because I'm going to find out anyway," Valenti persisted.

"You sure about that? Teenagers can be pretty stealthy. Look, I'm not trying to get snotty," Kyle added quickly when Valenti's expression darkened. "I'm just saying don't go looking for trouble where there isn't any. Whatever it is you think is 'going on', it's no problem if there's no trouble.....right?"

"Whatever is going on hadn't better be going on tonight," Valenti said. "This is one night I don't want to be interrupted."

"Why not?" Kyle asked innocently. "Does this have anything to do with your fancy shirt and cologne?"

Valenti's mouth opened, then closed. "If I get the call," he said firmly, "I hadn't better find you there. Or even find out you were there."

Kyle nodded slightly. "Noted." He walked away, paused, looked back. "Have a good time."

Valenti felt himself flush, and the mischievous smile on Kyle's face made it clear he'd seen it. He looked down at the bottle of cologne in his hand, his fingers leaving prints in the dust which gave away how seldom it had been used. He really, really wanted his dinner with Amy tonight to go well, and the fastest way to have it not go well was to have to traipse off in the middle of it. But his staff should be able to handle just about anything, right? He should call Hanson and make sure he wouldn't be disturbed for anything but something truly important.

Jesus, but I'm out of practice at this, he thought heavily, sinking down on the toilet seat. No amount of ironing or cologne would be able to cover up the fact that he hadn't been on a date in years.




*****************************************************




Evans residence





I've never been on a date.

That simple fact clanged like a bell in Max Evan's mind as he surveyed the shirts laid out on his bed, trying to choose one to wear to the party tonight. Unlike his sister, whose closet was stuffed to the gills, clothing wasn't exactly his strong suit. There were precisely four shirts to choose from, three button-downs and one polo, a birthday gift which he'd never really liked. There was something about the floppy fabric combined with the buttons at the top that made it look like the polo just couldn't make up its mind as to whether it was formal or casual. Rejecting that one left him with the button-downs in black, white, and a navy so dark it may as well have been black. White was too stark and formal; that left navy or black. Was black too....black? Did it matter since the navy was almost black anyway? Was there any rational reason he should be quibbling over colors?

Because I've never been on a date, he thought, answering his own question, nor would he have envisioned himself ever being on a date. Being on a date meant letting someone get close to you, something he never would have thought he'd be comfortable doing. Isabel dated all the time, of course, with the line of potentials stretching around the block at least twice. But it was all very casual, and no one ever got close to her, not really. Max wasn't certain he could do that. Anyone he didn't want to get close to, he also didn't want to date. Anyone he wanted to date was someone who, by definition, he wanted to get close to....and he couldn't. It was a conundrum from which he had never escaped, and since he had no comparable line of interested girls stretching around the block, he hadn't had to.

And then the unthinkable had happened: He'd saved Liz Parker, effectively outing himself and what he was....or wasn't....and not only had she not freaked, but she actually liked him. The girl he'd watched from afar for years now knew what he was, wasn't frightened by it, and liked him. If you'd asked him back when school started about the odds of that happening, he'd have said there were no odds because things like that never happened. But then Michael and Maria had taken the next logical step, and all of a sudden a world of possibilities had opened up. Even as he'd been taking Michael to task for doing exactly what he wanted to do with Liz, he'd been thinking inside, is it possible? And if it was possible, should he? Wasn't it irresponsible for them to get involved with someone, knowing what they were? But what if that someone already knew what they were, like Liz and Maria? Did that make a difference?

"And somewhere down the line, we're gonna get hurt," he'd told Liz. "I can live with that. I just couldn't bear to hurt you."

"But that's not your decision, is it?" she'd asked.

I guess not, he'd answered. And now here he was, all excited and nervous and stuck between black and navy. He wouldn't have said this out loud for any amount of money, but it was worth it, all of it, Topolsky and Valenti and the FBI, just to find himself facing his first date. Well, not exactly a date; more like they were both just going to the same party. Maybe it would help if he thought of it that way. Maybe that would quiet the part of him which thought he might be making a huge mistake that Liz would have to pay for. Hell, it might even help him pick out a shirt.

"Do I know her?"

Max jumped. His mother was standing in the doorway with a small smile on her face. "I....what?" he stammered.

"I was just wondering," Diane said, gesturing toward the shirts on the bed. "Who's the lucky girl?"




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



I'll post Chapter 32 next Sunday.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


December 5, 1999, 7:30 p.m.

Evans residence



"Girl?" Max repeated stupidly. "What girl?"

"The one you're getting all dressed up for," his mother answered.

"I'm not getting 'all dressed up'."

Diane gave him a knowing smile. "Honey, I know you, and you're not the type to fuss over clothing. Agonizing over which shirt to wear? That's Isabel's territory. For a minute there, I had to double check that I hadn't stopped at the wrong room."

"I still wouldn't call picking a shirt getting 'all dressed up'," Max protested.

"Poor choice of words," Diane said lightly. "But....do I know her?"

"You've probably seen her.....around," Max allowed. "But we're not....we're just going to be in the same place at the same time."

Diane nodded sagely. "Okay. Well, this is further than I got with your sister. She wouldn't even give me that much."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm guessing Isabel is going wherever you're going," Diane replied, "and whoever she's going with must be a doozy because she's dressed to the nines."

Max blinked. "She is?"

"Oh, yeah. Red sequins for miles. Okay, well....Isabel's waiting for you in the driveway. Have fun wherever you're going....and with whoever you're not going with. Oh, and....the blue one."

"What?"

"The blue shirt," Diane clarified. "It goes better with your eyes. and the black is just too....black."

Exactly what I was thinking, Max thought as his mother left the room, hanging the rejected shirts in his closet before heading outside. Isabel was already in the jeep, and his mother hadn't done her justice. From the va-va-voom dress to the mane of hair, she had done some serious fussing.

"Why are you all dressed up?" Isabel asked when she saw him.

"Me?" Max said in disbelief. "What about you? You look you're in a beauty pageant."

"Gee, thanks, brother dear," Isabel said dryly. "I'm just going to a party."

"This is way more than 'just going to a party'."

"No, it isn't," Isabel protested. "I just wanted to look....nice."

Max's eyes narrowed. "Does this have something to do with Alex? Because if this is your idea of 'old fashioned charm', it's not. Old fashioned or charming."

"Good thing I don't rely on you for my self esteem," Isabel said tartly. "Can we go now, please?"

Max sighed and climbed into the driver's seat. "I didn't mean to say you don't look nice because you do. It just seems a bit....much."

"Well, maybe I'm in a 'much' kind of mood," Isabel said breezily. "Girls are like that; we like to dress up. Unlike guys, who struggle to grasp the concept of bathing and shaving. Not you," she added quickly when Max raised an eyebrow. "I didn't mean you."

"I didn't think you did," Max answered. "I was just hoping this wasn't part of the way you intended to 'take care of the Alex situation'."

"Relax, Max," Isabel said. "I know where the lines are, even if Michael doesn't."

"Michael's having second thoughts," Max said as he backed out of the driveway.

Isabel's head whipped around. "He is? He said that? Thank God," she sighed when he nodded. "One less thing to worry about. Unless....you and Liz....?"

"It's not a date," Max said firmly. "We're just going to be at the same party. Everybody's going to be there."

Isabel's eyes flicked down to his mother-approved shirt, then up again. "Right. Everybody."

They rode in silence the rest of the way. The old soap factory looked dead when they got there save for the vehicles parked haphazardly around it, and it wasn't until they got inside that a wall of noise hit them. Not music, though, not yet; that project was underway off to one side, where a few guys were kluging a sound system together...and one of them was chatting up Liz.

"I'll see you later," Isabel said.

"Yeah. Later," Max answered tonelessly, his eyes fastened on Liz. God, but she was pretty.

"Max?" Isabel said, her eyes having followed his. "You know where the boundaries are, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. Because the last thing we need tonight is more trouble."

Isabel took off in the opposite direction, and Max waited until she was out of sight. Sorry, Iz, he thought. I'm not looking for trouble, but....I've been waiting for this for a long time.




*****************************************************




The Lamplighter Restaurant




I've been waiting for this for a long time.

"Jim?"

Jim Valenti abruptly snapped back to the present; his glass was in mid-air, and Amy DeLuca was gazing at him curiously. "I'm sorry," he said, abashed. "I must have zoned for a moment."

"Really?" she teased. "So what's more interesting than me?"

Valenti smiled. "Absolutely nothing."

Amy blinked, reached for her water glass, took a sip. "That's sweet," she said after she'd recovered. "But something must be, or you wouldn't be zoning."

"No; no, I was zoning because I was thinking...." Valenti stopped, shook his head. "Nah."

"Thinking what?" Amy asked. "What were you thinking?"

"It's silly," Valenti insisted. "You'd laugh."

"James Valenti, don't tell me what I will or will not do," Amy said tartly. "Keep it to yourself if you must, but not because you think I'll laugh, because I won't."

Valenti smiled faintly. "Okay. I was just thinking that I've been waiting for this for a long time."

"Waiting for what?"

"For a pleasant conversation with a beautiful woman," Valenti said. "One who isn't throwing things at me."

Amy's eyes widened, and for a moment, time stood absolutely still. Then she burst out laughing, one hand to her mouth, the other clutching her water glass. "Told ya you'd laugh," Valenti said.

"No!" Amy protested. "No, I'm not....well, I mean, I am, but....it's not what you think."

"Oh? So what is it?"

Amy flushed wildly, her face suddenly matching her dress. "I have to confess that the notion of me being 'beautiful' is pretty darned funny."

"Really? I thought it was the 'throwing things at me' part."

"That's pretty funny too," Amy admitted. "I could hurl a roll at you if that'd make you feel more at home."

Now it was Valenti's turn to blink; Amy looked and sounded deadly serious, clutching a roll the way a pitcher holds a baseball. And then, as if on cue, they both burst out laughing, leaning over their dinner plates and giggling like teenagers, drawing curious stares from every direction including that of their waiter, who glided over as though sensing trouble.

"Do you need anything?" he asked suspiciously.

"No, thank you," Valenti chuckled. "We're fine."

"Maybe some more rolls?" Amy asked innocently.

They both lost it again, drawing a pointed stare from the waiter this time, who nonetheless reappeared a minute later with another basket of rolls, prompting a fresh round of giggles just as they'd managed to stem the tide of the first. The waiter withdrew, scowling.

"Oh, my," Amy said, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. "I don't think he's happy with us."

"Too bad," Valenti said. "I haven't laughed like that in....well....a long time. Too long."

"Me neither," Amy smiled.

"So were you gonna chuck that?"

"Only if you wanted me to. For old time's sake."

"Nah. Michelle never threw anything that soft."

They collapsed into chuckles again, but milder this time. Amy stopped first and suddenly became serious.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you ever...miss her?"

"Who? Michelle?"

"Yeah."

Valenti looked at his plate. "Sometimes I miss her on Kyle's behalf. But not mine."

"See, that's the way I am too," Amy said. "I don't miss Maria's father, I just miss Maria having a father. And then I remember he was never much of a husband or a father, so what is it I'm missing, exactly?"

"You're missing what you wanted it to be," Valenti said. "What you wish it could have been."

"Yeah," Amy agreed softly. "I guess." She stirred her soup for a moment in silence. "It's nice having someone I can say that to. When you're a single parent, sometimes it seems like you forget how to be around other adults."

"I hear you," Valenti agreed.

"Of course the trade off is that you get your kid all to yourself," Amy went on. "Which is great when they want to be around you, but....well, I just got a reminder that things aren't what they used to be. The truth is, I think I was just a bit upset when that Topolsky person called me. Maria and I aren't as close as we used to be."

You would have been even more upset if you knew who Topolsky really was, Valenti thought. "I'm never sure what's going on with Kyle these days," he said. "I mean there was a time before Michelle and I broke up...."

"I know, I know!" Amy exclaimed. "Maria used to tell me every single detail of her life! We'd have these long, intense conversations and....You know, now she's just so guarded! Take the whole Alex situation...."

Valenti's ears pricked. "Alex?"

"Alex Whitman," Amy explained. "Maria, Liz, and Alex used to be inseparable. They'd go everywhere together, do everything. She hardly even speaks to him now. She has not seen him in weeks, and she won't tell me what it's about."

Three guesses, Valenti thought. So others were starting to notice the same behavior. What else had Amy noticed? She was smart and observant, so it was quite possible she'd....

A second later, Valenti was kicking himself. What was he thinking? Had he seriously just considered using his date as a spy? Source, he corrected severely. He was merely doing what every investigator did: Investigating. It's not like he was pumping her for information; she'd offered. She'd raised the subject herself, so if he merely....

Valenti's heart sank when he saw a waiter heading toward him. He'd deliberately turned off his cell phone, but had left the restaurant's number with the station just in case. That meant they'd think twice before calling him, and, judging by the phone in the waiter's hand and the grave look on his face, it appeared they had. Now what? he thought wearily. One night. Just one night. Couldn't he have just one night without interruptions?

"Sheriff...uh, there's a phone call for you," the waiter said apologetically. "It's an emergency."

Isn't it always? Valenti thought, taking the phone. "Yeah?"

"Sheriff, I am so sorry," Owen Blackwood's voice said, "but alarms just went off at the old soap factory, a whole bunch of 'em. And if the fire's that big, we might have to evacuate a section of town."

"All right," Valenti sighed. "I'm on my way." He switched the phone off and plucked his napkin off his lap. "Amy, I am so sorry about this. There's been a disturbance across town."

"Oh, it's okay!" Amy said with false cheerfulness.

Damn, Valenti thought, walking away quickly because he couldn't think of what else to say to a beautiful woman you were abandoning in the middle of a meal. Meal? Oh, shit....

"Excuse me," Valenti said, catching their waiter on the way out. "Can you be certain my check is sent to me at the station? I don't want my....guest....stuck with the check."

"Of course not, sheriff," the waiter said smoothly, having apparently forgiven the giggle fest. "I'll see to it."

"Thanks," Valenti said, hurrying outside and into his car, consoling himself on the drive that at least his dinner was being interrupted for something important. This was law enforcements' job, after all, to respond in situations like this, and his responsibilities didn't stop just because he was having a good time. It was kind of ironic that all those nights spent eating ice cream alone on the sofa had gone off with nary a hitch while his first date in decades was torpedoed, but......

He saw the cars first, a stream of cars moving away from where he was headed. Then he started looking inside the cars, and by the time he pulled up outside the soap factory, he was fuming. Kyle, I'm gonna kill you.....

"It's a party, sir," Owen called as Valenti climbed out of his car.

"You think?" Valenti said darkly.

"The fire department's checking," Owen continued. "Anyone who drove a car is making a run for it—"

"I noticed," Valenti muttered.

"—but there are still a bunch inside," Owen went on. "What do you want to do?"

"Round'em up," Valenti said. "Anyone whose feet aren't nailed down. Have you seen Kyle?"

"No, sir. We'll let you know if we do."

"Negative. If you find him, haul him in with the rest of them."

Owen blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. Haul him in, and I'll talk to him there."

Owen paused. "Okay," he said finally. "If you're sure."

Damned straight I'm sure, Valenti thought sourly as he entered the factory with Owen on his heels. The one time he'd wanted some honesty from his son, he hadn't gotten it. Teenagers were fleeing everywhere as they strode through the crowd, the haze hanging in the air making it difficult to see, but not so difficult that he couldn't make out two very familiar faces only a few yards away. He lost no time in getting there.

"I need you two to come with me," Valenti announced.

The stricken looks on Liz Parker's and Alex Whitman's faces was standard issue for good students who never got in trouble, in sharp contrast to the group nearby wearing huge grins as they were collared by his deputies. Liz and Alex exchanged frantic glances, and then Liz's gaze drifted sideways to where Max Evans was watching her anxiously.

"Go on, get'em out of here," Valenti barked just as Evans disappeared out the side door. "Don't forget these two," he added as Liz looked longingly after Max.

"Uh...sir? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure," Valenti said, moving aside. "What's up, Owen?"

"Well....I'm not sure why you want us to arrest them," Owen whispered, glancing at Liz and Alex, who stood miserably to one side watching the others being handcuffed.

"You're not sure?" Valenti repeated. "They were trespassing, Deputy, and they were holding bottles of alcohol."

"Which we both saw handed to them by this lot," Owen replied, nodding toward the grinning miscreants. "They were just trying to offload—"

"I know what they were doing," Valenti said sharply. "And that has nothing to do with the trespassing bit."

Owen leaned in closer. "Sir, I know you want to make an example of these kids, but with all due respect, we've already got some. These other two are good kids. Why give them a record?"

"Who said anything about a record?" Valenti asked. "There were lots of kids here tonight, and it stands to reason that a certain percentage of them were 'good kids'. I just want to put the fear of God in them, and who better to do that than two fine, upstanding Roswell High students? No one's going to blink when we arrest the riffraff, but Parker and Whitman? That'll give everyone pause. You don't have to write them up. Just take them in and make it clear we don't put up with this nonsense. They'll spread the word."

And I want those two, Valenti added silently as his deputies led tonight's catch away. The silver lining to having his dinner with Amy interrupted was that two people he strongly suspected of hiding something had been placed squarely in his path.

Small compensation, maybe....but he'd take it.




****************************************************



Evans residence




Isabel was miserably silent as Max pulled the jeep into the driveway and shut off the engine. Her shoes were on the floor, having been discarded because her feet were killing her, and her dress was so tight that it was cutting off her circulation. Kind of a necessity with a strapless unless you wanted to flash everyone, but a real pain now, especially when she was finding it hard to breath anyway. It was something of an understatement that tonight hadn't exactly gone as planned.

And here she'd felt so much better this morning, so much steadier. Her visit to Alex's dream had been....disconcerting....but on balance, it made fixing their problem so much easier. Alex obviously had a crush on her, and like she'd told Max this morning, that meant she was the one who could control him. That was good news because it also meant she could finally stop worrying about what he was going to say about the hospital, about Topolsky, about everything. She'd spent the entire day carefully choosing what to wear tonight—red was a no-brainer, but her closet had a lot of red—and she'd gone to that party fully convinced that by the time she got home tonight, she'd have Alex wrapped around her little finger.

Or that had been the plan. She hadn't factored in his damnable sixth sense, which had honed in on her motives with an accuracy which was frightening. Or his sudden burst of independence, rendering him blind to both her red dress and peeking cleavage. Or the morons who'd started a fire in the soap factory, bringing fire trucks and sheriff's deputies and, worst of all, the sheriff himself, who already knew more than he should and saw his chance to cart two others who knew more than they should off to the station, one of those being none other than Alex. Valenti had let the other kids he'd rounded up go, but he'd kept Liz and Alex, and now that Alex was mad at her, he'd probably be only too glad to chat up a storm. And that was her fault, the result of her hamfisted attempt to steer a teenaged boy's hormones in the right direction. When they came for her, it would be her own fault.

"So do you think we should tell Mom and Dad before they get here?" she asked Max, who was sitting quietly in the driver's seat.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, c'mon, Max," Isabel sighed. "It's over. Valenti's got Alex, Alex will talk, and then Valenti will be on our doorstep. If we're lucky he'll wait till morning, but I wouldn't bet on it."

"Valenti has Alex and Liz," Max corrected. "Liz won't talk, and I really don't think Alex will either."

"Yes, he will," Isabel whispered. "I know he will."

"He hasn't talked before. What makes you think he'll talk now?"

Isabel swallowed hard. "Because I pissed him off tonight. I pissed him off, and then Valenti nabbed him. Talk about bad timing."

Max frowned. "Pissed him off how?"

Isabel kept her eyes on one of the bushes beneath the front window. "His dream last night....it was about me. We were on a date—"

"You and Alex?"

"Yeah. And he had me wearing this red dress, and we were dancing, and....and I thought I could use that."

"I take it it didn't work?" Max said.

"It did at first. But then he figured it out. He figured out what I was up to, and he got mad and stalked off, and...."

"And?"

"….and I felt terrible," Isabel whispered. "I'd just told him he was a really good guy, and that we could trust him, and then he figured it out. And he thought I was just giving him a line. But I wasn't," she went on miserably. "He is a good guy, and I think we can trust him. I just treated a really good guy, one of the few out there, like a piece of garbage, and now he's going to go spill it all to Valenti, and like I said before....it's over."

"Isabel...."

"I should have told him!" she went on in an anguished tone. "I should have just laid it out for him! Why didn't I do that? He's a nice guy, a smart guy, so why didn't I just tell him the truth?"

"Because you were scared," Max said gently. "Because that's hard. Believe me, I know."

"But....you said you trusted Liz."

"I do," Max said. "And I kinda had to anyway. But saying those words....'I'm an alien'....it was still really hard. At least at first. And then it was a relief."

"A relief?"

"Yeah. That someone else knew. And not only knew, but was okay with it. That there was someone else to talk to about it, someone I didn't have to hide from."

"How come I don't feel 'relieved'?" Isabel asked faintly.

"Because you haven't let yourself get that far," Max answered. "You have to get through the scary part first. You're still stuck there."

"I'm worse than 'stuck'," Isabel said as she climbed out of the jeep. "Because now Alex is mad at me, and he's going to tell Valenti everything, and I'm guessing neither of us is going to get to the 'relieved' part with the sheriff."

"Don't just assume that," Max called after her, following her inside. "Alex hasn't said anything before, and there must be a reason for that. And if he talks, he just implicates himself. He'd be in trouble too."

"And whose fault is that?" Isabel demanded. "Alex is a nice guy, Max, and we put him in a crummy position. So now he stands to get in trouble, and that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No!" Max exclaimed. "Of course not. I was just pointing out that—"

"That we're toxic," Isabel muttered. "Or at least I am."

"Back so soon?"

Isabel pulled up short. She hadn't realized that they'd blundered right into the living room, where Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, and "Dr. Johnson", the family friend, were looking at the photo albums splayed over every available surface. Or rather, had been looking at photo albums. Now they were all staring curiously at her and Max.

"The party wasn't all that great," Max answered their Dad. "So we left early."

"Did you hurt yourself?" Diane asked, staring at the shoes dangling from Isabel's hand.

"No!" Isabel said hurriedly. "No, my feet just hurt."

"Love the dress," Grandma Dee added. "Too bad the party didn't work out."

"Yeah, well....it happens," Isabel said brightly. "Nice to see you again," she added to Dr. Johnson before fleeing down the hall into Max's bedroom. "Wonderful," she grumbled when he joined her. "Now it's not just Mom and Dad, it's Grandma and Grandpa, and Mom and Dad's friend. Why don't we just invite the whole neighborhood over? We'll have a 'coming out' party."

"Calm down, Isabel," Max said. "The worst anyone could get us for is being at the party. The whole school was at that party, so that's a lot of people to go after."

"How can you be so calm?" Isabel demanded. "Valenti's got Liz! Aren't you the least bit worried about that?"

"Of course I am," Max said patiently. "But there's nothing I can do about it now that wouldn't make it worse, and like I said, the whole school was there. It'll be hard to go after her without going after everyone else too."

"Don't bet on it," Isabel said. "I wouldn't put it past Valenti to find a way. He didn't just grab some random partygoers, he took them because of us. He's just itching for—"

There was a faint knock at the window. "Probably Michael," Max said. "I didn't see him when we left, but....."

He stopped, having opened the window. Liz was outside, her carefully curled hair looking a bit bedraggled. "Liz!" Isabel exclaimed, vaulting to the window. "You're out! He let you go?"

"He sort of had to," Liz said.

"What about Alex?" Isabel went on. "Did he let him go too?"

"Yeah," Liz nodded. "Can I come in?"

The window wasn't easy to navigate in a dress, but Liz grabbed each of their hands to steady herself and made it in without incident, her shoes leaving pieces of grass on the carpet. "So what happened?" Isabel demanded. "Did Alex talk?"

"Are you in trouble?" Max asked gently.

Isabel felt herself flushing; she was so concerned about herself that she hadn't even considered that. "No," Liz said to Max. "And no," she added to Isabel. "Alex didn't talk. He said he was going to, but I talked him out of it."

"How?"

Liz hesitated. "I....I told him the truth."

"About us?" Isabel asked anxiously. "You told him the truth about us? Oh, thank God," she added when Liz nodded. "Thank God."

Liz blinked, looked at Max. "Um....I thought you'd be mad."

"We're not mad," Max said. "I'm just glad you're okay. What happened with Valenti? Why did he let you go?"

"It was Alex," Liz said. "He was just phenomenal. He threatened to sue Valenti if he didn't let us go."

"Did he call your parents?" Isabel asked.

"I'll find out for sure when I go home, but I don't think so," Liz answered.

"The other guys' parents came for them," Max said. "The fact that yours didn't means he probably didn't call them."

"The way he just crumbled when Alex went after him, I think he knew he was on shaky ground," Liz said.

"Liz, I'm really sorry," Max said.

"It's not your fault," Liz said. "We all went to the party knowing it was somewhere it shouldn't be."

"But Valenti targeted you and Alex because of us," Isabel said.

"Yeah, I know," Liz agreed. "But some good came out of it. I feel better now because Alex knows. Lying to him was killing me, and he didn't deserve it."

Isabel shook her head. "No, he didn't."

Liz's eyes widened. "What did you do, Isabel? He asked me if I had anything to do with it, and I didn't know what he was talking about."

"Long story," Isabel said self consciously, not wanting to go into it.

"Oh. Well....I don't think he really believed me. He was feeling better when I left him, but he says he doesn't believe in aliens. I think one of you are going to have to talk to him."

"I'll—"

"I'll do it," Isabel said, cutting Max off.

"You sure?" Max asked.

Isabel nodded. "Very sure. I need to make it up to him."

"Everything okay in here?"

Isabel's heart nearly burst out of her chest as she whirled around. Grandma Dee was standing in the doorway, gazing at them curiously. "I was using the bathroom, and I heard voices," Grandma explained. "Hello," she added to Liz, who was standing there in her grassy shoes, staring at her.

"Hi," Liz said faintly.

"Maybe I should close the door," Grandma suggested.

"Good idea," Max agreed. "Oh, and Grandma...."

"Don't worry," Grandma said innocently. "I never saw a thing."

The door closed gently, and Isabel let out a long slow breath. "Thank God it was her," she said, collapsing on the bed. "Can you imagine if it had been Mom?"

"She won't tell," Liz said.

They both looked her, surprised. "I know she won't," Liz said confidently. "Grandma Claudia wouldn't have either."




****************************************************



Valenti residence




Kyle Valenti's stomach clutched when he heard the car in the driveway, and he closed his book with a heavy sigh. Actually, it was something of a relief; he'd been home for several hours now, trying to while away the time until his dad got home and the fireworks would commence. Unsuccessfully, he might add, because it turned out that whiling away time before one's execution, or at least multi-week grounding, was harder than one might expect. Snacking? He wasn't hungry; knowledge of impending doom turned out to be a real appetite killer. TV? Couldn't concentrate, even though football was blessedly simple; you either had the ball or you didn't. Emptying the dishwasher? He'd found himself putting the silverware in the waste basket. Laundry? With the state he was in, everything would come out pink. No, it turned out that the only thing capable of taking his mind off the oncoming storm was.....math homework. Next Monday would mark the first time in...well....forever that he'd have his math homework correct. He knew it was correct because it also turned out that checking his work had proven to be curiously soothing, or at least numbing, a sharp contrast to English, where one had to actually think. Too bad he hadn't discovered this sooner or he might have had it not only correct, but complete.

A car door slammed, and footsteps started up the front walk. Time to man up, Kyle thought sadly. He wasn't looking forward to this. It was bad enough that the party had been discovered, but those goons had started a fire which had pulled in every emergency service in Roswell. His dad would be absolutely furious about not getting a heads up, and given how much equipment had rolled, Kyle really couldn't blame him. He braced himself as he heard the front door open, the chunk of his father's gun hitting the table in the front hall, the footsteps heading for the kitchen.

"Hi."

Kyle forced himself to look up, to look at his father, and when he did, he was surprised. Because his dad didn't look angry, he looked....tired. Flattened, even.

"Hi," Kyle said warily.

"You okay?"

"Uh....yeah."

"Good."

His dad head for the fridge, pulled out of a quart of OJ, took a swig. Kyle waited for the other shoe to drop, almost wishing it would so he could get it over with. This waiting was pure torture. In fact....maybe he should just end it.

"Dad, I—"

"Do you happen to know—"

They both stopped, having both spoken at once. "You first," Kyle said quickly.

His dad shrugged. "Okay. Do you happen to know Alex's parents?"

"Who?"

"Alex Whitman. Friend of yours from school."

"Friend? Uh....no."

"Classmate, then," his dad corrected. "Have you ever met his parents?"

"Um...I think I saw his dad once....at a science fair. I think."

"And?"

"And…..he's every bit as dweeby as his kid."

"Dweeby?"

"Yeah, you know....big glasses, buttoned up shirts, sensible shoes. Probably hasn't pitched a ball in his life. That type."

"Mmm." His father took another swig of orange juice before tossing the carton in the trash. "All right. Thanks. I'm hittin' the hay."

Kyle stared at him in disbelief. "Uh....Dad?" he called after him. "Are you okay?"

His father stopped, but didn't turn around. "Yeah. I'm just real tired."

"Okay," Kyle said uncertainly. "Oh, one more thing; there's a message for you on the machine. A woman....she didn't leave her name."

His father's shoulders seemed to sag. "Right. Thanks."

He walked off, leaving Kyle stunned and silent in the kitchen. What on earth had that been about? Alex Whitman's dad? How did his father even know about Alex Whitman? Whitman was one of the biggest dweebs there was; the only thing he was missing was the horn-rimmed glasses and the pocket protector. Of what possible interest could he be to his father?

Don't care, Kyle decided, breathing deeply for the first time in hours. Dweebs usually did nothing but get in the way, so if karma had seen fit to have one cross his path at exactly the right moment, so be it.



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


I'll post Chapter 33 next Sunday.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE



December 10, 1999, 12:30 p.m.

West Roswell High School






"Alex? Alex! Alex!"

Alex Whitman stopped reluctantly and turned in the direction of his name. Liz Parker and Maria DeLuca were at the other end of the cafeteria line, each waving frantically, each wearing a wide smile. Alex managed a smile and wave of his own before hurrying toward the cash register, trying hard not to spill his soup. Liquids were treacherous when you were jogging.

"One bean burrito, one chicken noodle, one muffin, one milk," the cafeteria lady at the register intoned. "Milk. Imagine that. All everybody drinks nowadays is soda. Probably why they're so hyper."

"Yeah, I guess," Alex said absentmindedly, watching Liz's progress through the food line. "How much do I owe you?"

"Mind you, I think pop should just be banned from schools," the cafeteria lady went on, scratching at the greasy polyester uniform all cafeteria workers seemed to be required by law to wear. "In my day, we drank milk. At every single meal. No exceptions, and nowhere near as many hyper kids."

"Someone should do a study on that," Alex agreed, holding out a five dollar bill. "This enough?"

"Not a bad idea!" Miss Budding Social Worker exclaimed. "That would be a good one for the guidance counselor. Or would be, if we still had any. I hear one of them quit today, and another up and left a couple of weeks ago, no warning. Word is they were having an affair."

Alex blinked. "I doubt it. And I very much doubt the administration would appreciate you making a comment like that to a student. Could I have my change, please?"

Miss Social Worker pinked. "Sure," she mumbled, giving him his change in record time. "Next?"

Alex stuffed the change in his pocket and left in an even bigger hurry, his soup sloshing dangerously. Where to sit? There was nowhere safe from the onslaught of Parker and DeLuca, neither of whom he was ready to talk to. Despite the past few days spent pondering and weighing and even flow-charting, he was still in a quandary as to exactly what was going on and whether he should anonymously refer Liz to the school psychiatrist or just be grateful she'd finally told him the truth. If it was the truth, that is, which was an awfully tall tale to swallow. Aliens, real aliens, in Roswell? Ridiculous.

One thing was certain: Liz believed it. That had been obvious in Valenti's jail cell because, while Liz Parker was many things, a great actress wasn't one of them. All that stammering and shaking and finger pointing, albeit at the ceiling, had been the real deal, as had her obvious relief afterward. From that moment on she had displayed all the signs of someone who had unburdened themselves, from whom a great weight had been lifted, with not so much as a hint of someone who had just spun a tale. And if she were to spin a tale, why spin a tale he was certain to reject? And to be fair, she'd hadn't ever spun a tale, not really; she had simply refused to answer his questions, telling him over and over that she couldn't, that it wasn't her secret to tell. I'll say, Alex thought as he headed down the hallway, searching for an empty classroom where he could eat in peace. This would have to be the mother of all secrets that weren't "mine to tell".

Jesus, Whitman, you're buying it, he chastised himself. He'd sworn to himself that he was going to maintain an open mind, that he'd work the problem until he came up with a reasonable answer. Unfortunately, a week's worth of working the problem had netted only two possible answers, neither of them reasonable: Either Liz was crazy....or Liz was right. As C.S. Lewis had said of Jesus Christ, the claims in question were so outrageous that he was either mad or who he said he was. He'd never thought he'd find himself applying something from an English essay to Liz Parker, but the same held true for her; her claims were so outrageous that she was either mad or the people in question were what she said they were. He'd actually taken pen to paper to list everything that had happened in the previous weird weeks and decide which way that event had pointed, and almost every single time, another tick wound up in the "alien" column. Liz and Maria's weird behavior? Tick. The blood switch? Tick. The FBI's involvement? Tick. Valenti's interest? Tick. And the way Valenti had just caved last weekend was doubly weird. He'd honestly not expected that little tirade of his to work, but Valenti had backed up so fast, he'd nearly bumped into the wall. Great for the ego, but one more tick in the "alien" column that was leading to a conclusion he simply couldn't accept. There was no greater annoyance for a native Roswellian than a native Roswellian who believed aliens were real, and Liz knew that too. Tick.

Later, Alex thought, settling into a seat in an empty classroom. It was a beautiful day, and he'd love to eat outside, but do that, and Parker and DeLuca would be on him in moments. So far he'd successfully walked a wide circle around every participant in this drama, including any and all alleged aliens; Liz and Maria were one thing, but the others were another matter entirely. Heck, they're a whole other species, he chuckled, pausing just before biting into his burrito. God, but he was doing it again.

"Hi."

Alex was so startled, he dropped his burrito. It fell apart on the way down, hitting the plate with a squishy sound and splashing all over everything, including him.

"Sorry," Isabel said. "I wasn't trying to startle you."

"I....you're.....you didn't. Okay, you did," Alex amended when she turned a pointed stare at his splashed shirt. "I didn't hear you."

"It's not like I was tiptoeing," Isabel said. "Why are you hiding in here?"

"I'm not hiding," Alex said, shaking his head vigorously. "I was just looking for somewhere to be....alone."

Isabel sighed and plopped her books down on a desk in the row to his left. Alex instinctively backed away, the desk he was sitting at scraping loudly against the floor as it traveled halfway toward the row to his right. Now it was Isabel's turn to look startled.

"Are you....afraid of me?"

"No! Of course not."

Isabel blinked, nodded, looked away....and for a second, Alex thought she was going to cry. But she recovered, mercifully settling into a desk two rows over while he busied himself mopping up his burrito and trying to look nonchalant when he really just wanted to stare and stare. God knows he'd spent plenty of time staring at Isabel Evans, but now he wanted to stare for an entirely different reason.

"Liz says you've been avoiding her," Isabel announced.

"No, I haven't," Alex said quickly.

"Maria says the same thing."

A prickle of annoyance stirred in Alex. "Well, that's interesting given that both of them have been avoiding me like the plague since September. Except when they want something. Then I'm the man."

Isabel's eyes widened, then dropped, and she looked away even as Alex was kicking himself for having said that. He was no longer mad at either Liz or Maria, not even as he thrashed over whether to believe them, but he'd just sounded like he was. "I....I didn't mean that quite the way it came out," he said uncomfortably. "I was just pointing out that sometimes, people need to be alone. Liz and Maria needed to be alone with....whatever.....and now I need to be alone. That's all."

" 'Whatever'?" Isabel repeated with a brittle smile. "Great. So now I'm a 'whatever'."

"That is not what I meant—"

"Liz said you didn't believe her. You still don't, do you?"

"I...no. I mean maybe. I mean....I don't know," Alex said in frustration. "I don't know what I believe, Isabel. I know what Liz believes. What I believe is like this whole other subject."

"Right," Isabel said briskly. "You need proof. I can prove it to you."

"That's okay," Alex said quickly. "That's not necessary."

"But why not? I can prove it to you, and end this right now."

"You really don't need to," Alex said. "I'm sure you've got lunch to eat."

"I already ate."

"Well, I haven't—"

"This'll only take a minute."

"—and I'd rather not lose my appetite," Alex finished in a rush. "Please. No 'proving'."

"What is it you think I'm going to do?" Isabel asked.

"I don't know what you're going to do!" Alex exclaimed. "I don't know anything any more! I don't know my friends, I don't know my guidance counselor, who wasn't really a guidance counselor, I don't know my sheriff, not that I every really wanted to anyway, and that giant flushing noise in the background is everything I thought I knew about life on this planet going right down the toilet! I just need some time to think, which is why I'm in here eating by myself, and why I don't want to talk to Liz, or Maria, or anyone. Not now."

Isabel nodded slowly. "Okay. When, then?"

"I don't know," Alex said desperately. "When I get to that point, I'll let....someone....know."

"I hope it's me."

Alex blinked. "What?"

"I'm not just saying that," Isabel went on, her eyes carefully focused on some point to the side. "This isn't a come on, this is...." She stopped, her hands knotting in her lap. "An apology. It's an apology, Alex. I'm really, really sorry I did....what I did....at the party. I was....I was just....."

"Scared?" Alex suggested.

Isabel's eyes met his. "Terrified," she whispered. "We never tell. We never tell anyone, and suddenly it seemed like all these people knew. First Liz, and then Maria, and then you—"

"Okay, just for the record, I didn't 'know' anything until I landed in jail," Alex broke in. "I kept trying to find out, and no one would tell me, remember?"

"And we should have," Isabel said soberly. "We should have told you the truth, and I'm sorry about that, but when Liz called you when Max was in the hospital, we didn't know what to do. We knew the blood test would give him away because of that whole cells-under-the-microscope thing Liz did, and we had to move fast, and....frankly, you wouldn't have believed us if we'd told you then. And we were desperate. We were...." She stopped, her voice threatening to break. "I'm sorry. It's just really hard. It's really hard to keep that secret for so long and then have it dangling in the breeze. Or that's what it feels like, anyway. And then Valenti suspected, and we found out the FBI was after us, and....it's been a tough time."

Alex didn't move, didn't say anything, didn't dare to because Isabel looked seriously close to bursting into tears. And she knew it, judging by the way she gathered up her books and started backing toward the door. "Anyway, I just wanted to say I was sorry. And to thank you for not ratting us out to Valenti. Twice. And to say that eventually you've got to come out of the classroom and talk to somebody, and when you do, I hope you'll talk to me. Max has Liz, and Michael has Maria....sort of....and it seems like that's the one bright spot in all of this, that we get somebody to talk to. So since you'll need somebody to talk to.....I really hope that somebody will be me."

She disappeared into the hallway, and Alex stared after her for a moment, looked down at his cold burrito....and vaulted out of his seat. "Isabel!" he called to the open doorway. "Isabel, wait!"

But she was already down the hall, and who should emerge from a nearby classroom but Sheriff Valenti. Valenti stopped, Isabel stopped, and down the hall, Alex stopped.

"Miss Evans," Valenti said uncomfortably.

"Hi," Isabel said faintly.

She fled, but not before Alex got a look at her face. Terrified. She'd said they were terrified. You could use that word here, but it didn't do it justice. Valenti saw it too, and may have pondered that far longer if he hadn't glanced down the hall, seen Alex....and beat a hasty retreat.

Alex walked slowly back into the classroom and sank into his seat. Here he was walking a wide circle around Liz, Maria, and any alleged aliens, and it appeared the sheriff was walking a wide circle around him. And if that wasn't disturbing enough, another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. He'd been wondering why Liz had believed this incredible story. She claimed to have been shot and that Max had healed her, but what if she'd just thought she was shot? What if she really had just broken a bottle of ketchup and romanticized the whole thing, as much as it was possible to "romanticize" an assault? Granted that wasn't like Liz, but nor was it like to her to simply buy a tall tale of that magnitude. Liz would have wanted proof. Liz would have demanded proof.

"We knew the blood test would give him away because of that whole cells-under-the-microscope thing Liz did...."

So Liz had gone after proof. She'd looked at Max's cells under a microscope—a very Liz thing to do—and apparently what she'd seen had tipped the scale. So this wasn't just some high school crush or an emotional reaction to a traumatic event. This had biology behind it. It was no longer merely a question of what Liz believed.

Alex gathered up the remains of his lunch and looked at the clock. One more period.....and then it was time to come out of the classroom.




******************************************************




Proctor residence



"That's it?" Dee said. "That's all you could find out?"

"You have no idea how difficult it was to acquire even that much information," Brivari said. "The sheriff is keeping this very quiet. Very quiet."

Dee uttered a sound of disgust as she placed a pitcher of iced tea on the table in her childhood home, now hers. "He can't keep it that quiet," she grumbled. "He's got a staff, and staffs talk. And there must have been lots of deputies around, what with the party and all."

"And that appears to have played in the sheriff's favor," Brivari said, pouring himself a glass of tea. "There were so much going on and so many youths taken to the station that even his closest deputies aren't quite sure what happened. Do you have any lemon?"

Dee gave him a puzzled look before fetching the squeeze bottle of lemon juice from the fridge. "But he only arrested six. Not twenty-six, six, and two of those were bogus. How do hide that?"

"He jailed six," Brivari corrected. "It's my understanding that no formal charges were filed, not for those or the several others who were only questioned. Do you have any fresh lemon?"

"No," Dee said crossly. "And stop changing the subject. Formal charges or no, he locked up six people."

"And released all of them," Brivari noted, helping himself to a generous squeeze of bottled lemon. "No one was charged or even held overnight. There were so many of the town's teenagers at that party that he feared an outcry if he arrested only a handful. Word is the sheriff's own son was there, which would have prompted an even bigger outcry if that son had gotten a free ride while others were formally charged."

"You're not the least bit concerned about this, are you?" Dee demanded. "You know perfectly well that Valenti grabbed Liz Parker and Alex Whitman for reasons that had nothing to do with that party, and he would have grabbed Max and Isabel if he'd had the chance."

"But he didn't," Brivari said calmly. "Look, I'm sorry I couldn't intervene, but I simply can't be everywhere at once, and my primary concern is a threat to my Wards. Rath left the party before Valenti's arrival, and Zan and Vilandra were not apprehended. I know you said they were upset, but the object of Zan's affection—"

"You mean Liz?"

"—very well then, 'Liz', has proven herself loyal in previous encounters with the sheriff. The other was the blood donor when Zan was hospitalized, the one who fended off Topolsky and ultimately helped expose her. Zan has always chosen his allies well. I saw little chance they would betray him, and they didn't. And even if they had, the sheriff's own behavior would likely have trumped anything they said. Am I right?"

"Oh, he would have been in so much trouble," Dee said darkly. "Jailing minors and not contacting their parents? Big no-no. He might have been able to write it off to 'trying to scare them', or something like that, but even that would have been a tough sell when he'd already contacted the others' parents. Philip would have had him in a virtual head lock in minutes."

"Which is further reason why any fantastic claims would likely not have been believed," Brivari said.

"But that doesn't matter," Dee argued. "What would have mattered is that Valenti would have believed those fantastic claims and pursued them. You know that. He may not have nabbed Max and Isabel, but nabbing someone else to get to them is almost as bad." She paused. "Maybe we should tell him."

"Tell him what?"

"The truth, of course. Like I did with his father. I plopped a trithium generator right in front of him and turned it on—"

"Because Courtney had been abducted," Brivari said, "and you couldn't locate Jaddo and me. You were desperate. We're not desperate, not to mention that we had a sense for the elder Valenti's likely reaction given his experiences with your family. We have no idea how his son would react, especially since he blames his father's decline on his passion for chasing aliens."

"Something I may have very well contributed to," Dee sighed. "I've always wondered if I tripped the switch by telling him he was right."

"He already knew he was right," Brivari noted. "You're not responsible for another man's choices."

"Maybe not, but I still can't help but feel we'd be better off with Valenti on our side," Dee said. "Think about it—he could help deflect the FBI, or at least keep us up to speed on what they're doing. He could—"

"No," Brivari said firmly. "There are already enough people who know about my Wards, and keeping track of all of them is increasingly difficult. There's a reason each royal was assigned their own Warder. One to three is not a good ratio."

"Then let Jaddo help," Dee suggested. "He's only got one. That ratio should be two to four, not one to three."

"I'd tell Valenti before I'd let Jaddo anywhere near them," Brivari said darkly. "His own twisted version of 'parenthood' has mellowed him somewhat, but entrusting him with responsibility for them? I'm not there yet. He'll be here next summer, so I have until then to get there."

"You really think he'll wait that long?"

"Lieutenant White asked him to wait, so he'll wait. He'd do anything she asked no matter how much he hated it, which is precisely why I asked her to deliver that particular bit of news."

" 'Lieutenant White'," Dee chuckled. "You always called her 'The Healer'. When did that change?"

Brivari stared into space for a moment. "When 'healer' began to sound....archaic."

"Good gracious, we've humanized you," Dee said dryly. "Took us a half century, but then you're slow." She paused, ignoring the look he gave her. "Before 'Lieutenant White' flew back, she said she was considering spending some time out here next summer. Something about you maybe needing her when you try to integrate Ava into the group, but I suspect...."

Brivari raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Dee hesitated. "I imagine you've already considered this, but—"

"There's nothing I can do for the captain," Brivari said quietly. "You and I went over this regarding your parents. I can heal wounds, set bones, or remove foreign substances like bacteria. What the captain and your parents have is simply age-related degeneration. I can't reset the clock."

"Right," Dee nodded. "Right. Just.....just checking. Well....it would be good to have her out here, especially if you're so sure Jaddo still listens to her. That's one worry we won't have."

"No, we'll have another," Brivari sighed. "Jaddo isn't my only worry. If what he tells me is true, we have a new one."




*****************************************************




Artesia, New Mexico




"Afternoon, Mr. Hartman!"

Rolling his eyes, Jaddo paused on the front porch, his key in the lock, his hand on the doorknob. It would be so easy to pretend he hadn't heard that, so easy to pretend his portly neighbor's call had somehow been carried away on the passing breeze. He was so close.....

"Mr. Hartman? Mr. Hartman! I said 'afternoon'!"

But not close enough, he thought, reluctantly letting the doorknob slip back. His next door neighbor, a female of at least 250 pounds, was standing beside, or perhaps leaning on, the fence which separated their yards, gushing hose in one hand, small yappy dog in the other. This woman appeared to have no hobbies besides watering the myriad flowers in her yard and carrying around the yappy dog, whose feet may have never touched the ground. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if the woman's arm was permanently bent and the dog's legs permanently atrophied.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Macklin," Jaddo said. "I see you're drowning—I mean watering—your lovely flowers."

Mrs. Macklin's face lit up with a wide smile. "I do so love my flowers!" she exclaimed. "And it's so kind of you to complement them, bless your heart!"

You could if I had one, Jaddo thought. "Don't know what I'd do without my flowers," Mrs. Macklin went on, having mistaken him for someone who was interested. "Jippy loves them too, can't keep him out of them."

" 'Jippy'?"

A flurry of barking identified the owner of the name. Jaddo remained on the porch, well aware that animals, especially high strung dogs, seemed to sense there was something different about him. Keeping his distance was always advisable and fine with him anyway, as he detested the things. "Yes, Mama's little snoogums loves them, doesn't he!" Mrs. Macklin crooned to her critter. "Yes, he duzzy wuzzy! Snoogums loves to get some exercise in Mama's wuvley garden...."

Jaddo tuned out the rest as Mrs. Macklin continued to talk nonsense, itching to get back inside. He'd always avoided humans as much as possible, not terribly difficult since he and Tess had moved around so much. Early on he'd kept so much to himself that he'd aroused suspicion; since then he'd learned that a certain amount of interaction was necessary to avoid that. But contact had been kept to an absolute minimum, only that which was necessary to appear a concerned parent at her school and reassure the neighbors that he wasn't harboring bodies in the basement. Now that they were moving to Roswell next summer and reuniting the hybrids, he'd have to change that. Both the Healer and Brivari had impressed upon him the need to interact—politely—with the hybrids' human guardians and Roswell citizens in general. That would mean a higher level of exposure than he'd like, something that would take some getting used to. May as well start here, with his fat neighbor and her annoying little dog.

".....and I'm so glad we could chat before you leave," Mrs. Macklin was saying. "I've barely spoken to you while you were here, but maybe we can make up for lost time before you—"

"What?" Jaddo broke in sharply. "Who told you that?"

"Well....Tessie said something," Mrs. Macklin answered. "She said you were moving at the end of the school year."

"Oh, she did, did she?"

"Yes! To Roswell," Mrs. Macklin added. "She was all excited. Lovely girl, your Tessie. Did you know she comes over and plays with Jippy?"

"Apparently there a lot of things I don't know," Jaddo said darkly. "Excuse me."

He'd no sooner reached for the front door when it opened and Tess appeared with one of her friends from school, whose eyes widened when she saw him. "Okay, well....see you later," the friend said self-consciously to Tess as she edged past Jaddo. "That's great news! I mean, it's bad news for me, but I'm so happy for you. Hi, Mr. Hartman. Bye, Mr. Hartman."

"If I don't see you again, good luck!" Mrs. Macklin called. "And if you need any help—"

"Inside," Jaddo growled, grabbing Tess by the arm and hauling her inside the house as the friend scurried down the front walk. He'd no sooner closed the door on Mrs. Macklin's continued bleatings when Tess rounded on him.

"Rude, much?" she demanded.

"Just what exactly do you think you're doing?" Jaddo retorted.

"I was saying goodbye to Amanda," Tess answered. "That's generally what you do when friends leave; you say goodbye. And you generally don't shut the door in a neighbor's face when she's talking to you."

"It wasn't in her face, and don't change the subject. What did you tell her about us moving?"

"Is that what this is about?" Tess exclaimed. "You just blew off Mrs. Macklin and scared Amanda to death—again—over that? Honestly, you are such an embarrassment! I can't go anywhere without apologizing for you—"

"This isn't about your school friend!" Jaddo said angrily. "Or our fat neighbor, or Bippy—"

"Jippy."

"Whatever! Mrs. Macklin knows we're moving, and from the sounds of things, so does Amanda."

"So what? I can't tell my friends the most exciting news of my life?"

Jaddo raised an eyebrow. "Since when is Mrs. Macklin your 'friend'? Or perhaps it's the dog?"

"Trust me, that dog is more of a friend to me that you'll ever be," Tess muttered.

"Perhaps you can explain why Mrs. Macklin also knows where we're moving."

Some of the fire went out of Tess's eyes. "She....she does?"

"Yes, she does," Jaddo said stonily. "Let me guess—the dog told her?"

"I...may....have mentioned that," Tess allowed. "Maybe."

"Tess, what has gotten into you?" Jaddo demanded in exasperation. "You don't give away information like that! We're only moving a short ways away; what if someone comes looking for you? We'll have new names, new personal histories....have you any idea how strange that will look?"

"Look, I'm sorry!" Tess exclaimed. "It must have just slipped out."

" 'Just slipped out'?" Jaddo repeated in astonishment. "What else 'just slipped out'? Your true identity? Mine?"

"No need to fret there because that can't slip out," Tess said sourly. "I don't know who I am, and I certainly don't know who you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just exactly what I said," Tess shot back. "Who was that man last week? Why couldn't I keep him out of the house? Was that woman really your 'nurse'? And why weren't they afraid of you? Everyone's afraid of you, but not them. You scare the ever-loving shit out of everyone, but not them."

"Enough," Jaddo said severely. "Who they are is not important. What is important is your shocking lack of discretion. Have I not taught you how careful we need to be? Have you forgotten who could be listening? If the others—"

"Have you forgotten how often you dangle 'the others' in front of my nose?" Tess interrupted. "I hear about them constantly, but you never told me anything about them until I made you....and then I find out they're family! And not only family, but one of them is my husband!"

"Was your husband," Jaddo corrected. "Was. He has no memory of that, just like you don't. None of them remember."

"But they will," Tess said eagerly. "They have to. They'll want to. They must know they're different, and when they see there's someone else like them—"

"You don't know what they'll do," Jaddo said. "No one knows what they'll do. They're living with humans, in human families."

"But why? Why aren't they with us?"

"That's not important. What is important—"

"How can you say that's not important?" Tess demanded. "We're family, and we were separated, and that's not important? How can that not be important?"

"—is that you exercise better judgment, or you'll never get to meet them because the Special Unit will get there first," Jaddo finished. "You will tell anyone to whom you've mentioned moving that you misunderstood, that it's merely a possibility. Which might be a true statement."

Tess's eyes widened in alarm. "What's that supposed to mean? I passed that woman's test! You said she said I was ready!"

"And I even argued for moving sooner," Jaddo said. "But....God, I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but I'm having second thoughts. If you're blathering sensitive information to all and sundry, I can't take you there."

"That is not fair!" Tess shouted. "Not after you—"

"Don't you get it?" Jaddo hissed, grabbing her by the shoulders. "You are the experienced one. You are the one who knows the most. So if I can't count on you to provide an example, if you're nothing but a liability, I can't risk it. I can't risk you bringing all of you down!"

Tess wrenched out of his grip, her eyes burning. "Don't you worry about me," she said tightly. "I won't disappoint you in front of those people you're afraid of. Yeah, that's right—I noticed. Not only were they not afraid of you, you were afraid of them. That's a first. Nice to know that someone makes you sweat because God knows...."

She stopped, pitching sideways as the ground beneath her feet heaved suddenly. Sprawled on the floor, she glared up at him with a look he'd seen far too many times.

"I've had quite enough of this," Jaddo said in a deadly voice. "Whatever our visitor thought of you, you will have to prove yourself to me, and your inexcusable lack of judgment does exactly the opposite. If you want to meet the others so badly, you'll have to do better."

Tess pushed herself to her feet, and stalked off to her room, slamming her door behind her as Jaddo leaned against the wall and sighed. God, but she was a handful. He'd never laid a hand on her, but then he didn't have to; power had its privileges. He had no idea how she was going to behave when the time came to reunite the hybrids, but if this was any indication, it was not encouraging. At this rate, the Special Unit would have them for lunch.

Or will they? So far, the Unit's response had been lackluster, and no wonder—it lacked a head. For reasons Jaddo could not fathom, the Unit head he'd executed last spring, Agent Summers, had not been replaced. Good news for the hybrids, perhaps, because it meant their antics were not attracting the kind of focused attention they would have had Summers still been alive. But as Brivari had pointed out, the fact that Summers' second had not stepped into his shoes was troubling because it was a different pattern than the Unit usually displayed, meaning it was unpredictable. And the last thing they needed now was for the Unit to become unpredictable.

Sighing, Jaddo went out to the kitchen and poured himself a drink. He'd never told Brivari what he'd learned back when he'd first left Roswell with Tess. He'd never told him because, even now, he wasn't certain it was true. His contact at the time had told him that a Pierce had just appeared in the Unit in possession of a serum which could control aliens. That something had happened was clear because the Unit had subsequently undergone a shake-up which had cost that contact his job. A couple of years had passed before he acquired a new contact, and that new source had no knowledge of a Pierce or a serum. At the time that had seemed like good news, and as the years went by, he'd begun to question his information. The Unit knew Pierce was dead and had never found his serum; perhaps the contact had merely overheard a discussion and muddled the details?

But a niggling feeling that something was wrong continued to hound him as he pursued Summers like he'd pursued all Unit heads, a task which had taken a decade because the Unit had gotten smarter, and no Unit head had been as smart as Daniel Summers....and that left him wondering. If another Pierce did exist, Summers would have been savvy enough to hide him. If the serum had been found, Summers would have been savvy enough to keep that to himself unless and until it was needed. So when the Unit had resurfaced in Roswell this fall, he'd kept a close ear to the ground for any sign of a Pierce, but heard nothing, and nothing about Summer's replacement either. He'd been honest with Brivari when he'd said he'd taken out everyone around Summers at the time of the execution, but he'd never really believed any of them were Summers' second. Much as it pained him to admit it, Summers was smarter than that.

But maybe not smart enough, Jaddo thought. It was quite possible Summers had finally been caught with his pants down, and with still no hint of a Pierce on the scene, getting Brivari all riled up about the possibility seemed premature. He needed evidence before he said anything, and the way the Unit was blissfully bungling their latest lead certainly didn't suggest a Pierce at work. Perhaps he was worrying for nothing, and if so, it was best he worry alone.

An ear-splitting blast of music suddenly emanated from Tess's room; Jaddo winced and placed a hand on the wall separating her bedroom from the kitchen, making it soundproof. This was what she did when she got angry with him, which seemed to be all the time now. Their Wards were taking turns behaving irresponsibly, including, embarrassingly, his own. What he wouldn't give if they would all just back off and take a break from doing stupid things.




*****************************************************



Roswell




The truck driver leaned out the window, his expression wary. "Where to?"

"South."

"How far south?"

"Few miles. Ten, maybe?"

The driver looked him up and down carefully. "Okay. Get in."

The cab smelled like cigarettes, lots and lots of cigarettes. The driver headed through town, going straight down the main drag. "So what's ten miles or so down the road?"

"The Indian reservation."

"I can let you off at the edge. Won't drive all the way in."

"That'll be great. Thanks."

The driver relaxed now that he knew exactly when he'd be rid of his hitchhiker, and Michael perched an arm on the window of the cab. Up ahead he spied a familiar jeep, and when he looked in the window of the restaurant it was parked outside of, he could just barely see two familiar figures at the pool table.

Enjoy your date while you can, Maxwell, Michael thought. Because when I find out what those cave symbols mean....date's over.


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


Easter is next week, so I'll be posting Chapter 34 on Sunday, May 1st. Happy Easter to all who celebrate it!

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!

squishypunk wrote:Fantastic as usual! Always save it to read just before bed

Thank you, and I hope it never gives you nightmares!

keepsmiling7 wrote:Michael.....don't know what to think about him now.....

This chapter might settle that for you!






CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR



December 10, 1999, 7 p.m.

Evans residence



Liz Parker steeled herself as the door swung open—would it be Isabel? But it was Mrs. Evans, who broke into a wide smile.

"Liz! How nice to see you again. And under better circumstances, I'm glad to say."

"Just about anything would be better than a car accident," Liz agreed. "I was looking for Max?"

"Oh, sure, sure, come on in," Mrs. Evans said, waving her inside. "Let me call him. Max, honey? Liz is here! Go on down if you want," she added to Liz. "I think he's just in his room."

"No, that's okay," Liz answered. "I'll just wait for him here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Here's fine."

"Okay," Mrs. Evans said. "But go fish him out if he takes too long."

Take your time, Max, Liz thought, wanting to savor the moment while she had it. This was the first time she and Max would be going out together, just the two of them; not a study session, not a party, not an alien crisis, just them. A week ago this had seemed unlikely, a couple of weeks before that, downright impossible. The realization that he was being followed had been upsetting enough, but finding out who had been doing the following had been flabbergasting, and not just to Max. Liz could still see the look on Alex's face when Topolsky had burst in on him. Topolsky had probably read it as merely being startled, but Liz knew Alex almost as well as she knew herself, and she knew he was way more than startled...and he wasn't the only one. When he'd turned that laptop around, she'd been speechless. Here she'd thought it was someone Valenti had hired, like a private investigator. Never in a million years had she even considered that anything like the FBI would be chasing them, and the magnitude of that knowledge had caused another twinge of guilt. This was because of her. Max had saved her life, and because of that, he now had not only the sheriff after him, but the freaking Federal Bureau of Investigation. It had been enough to make her think, and not for the first time, that maybe, just maybe, it would have been better if Max had let her take her chances with the paramedics.

But she'd reconsidered by the time the heat wave had hit. Topolsky had turned tail and run, making it clear she had nothing of any value on them. Michael and Maria had been necking anywhere and everywhere. Heck, just about everyone had, and the absence of an immediate threat coupled with the sight of Maria and Michael in the throes of passion had prompted her question to Max, Why is it okay for them, but it's not okay for us? How was it up to him to decide what risks she was willing to take? It hadn't helped that she'd been miserable because Alex had been furious with her. Every single time she'd seen him, the expression on his face had put a knife through her heart because he was right; she'd used him. She'd used his friendship, and his kind heart, and his unwillingness to believe she would shut him out. But shut him out she had, painful as it had been, because she'd already told Maria. Max had rationalized that as her need to share her incredible secret, and she hadn't pointed out that he was wrong—she'd told Maria not to unburden herself, but because Maria had threatened to go to Valenti, something Max may have understood, but not Michael and Isabel. Telling anyone else might push them all over the edge. As it was, Isabel had been making Liz nervous. Though she'd softened somewhat—who would have thought she'd find herself talking nail polish with Isabel Evans?—her fixation on Alex had been unnerving. It had almost been a relief to find herself in that jail cell with a good excuse at last to tell him the truth and to have that truth come directly from her.

It was funny sometimes how things worked out. She'd entered the sheriff's station that night with a friend who was mad at her, terrified that he might tell what he knew, and left a couple of hours later with such a tremendous weight lifted from her shoulders that she'd had half a mind to thank Valenti for arresting her. Alex wasn't mad at her any more…he might not exactly believe her, but at least he wasn't mad…and Valenti had backed away so quickly that it was clear he didn't have anything on them either. And then to have Isabel be okay with her telling Alex, and Michael grudgingly accept that it had been necessary had just been the icing on the cake. When she and Max had finally kissed, it had been so much better than it would have been at the party, so much more private and so much more satisfying because that knife had been removed from her heart. She'd spent the past week walking on air, having managed to, throw off their tails, be honest with one of her best friends, kiss Max, and not tick anyone off in the process. And just before she'd left, her one remaining worry had evaporated when Maria had told her that Alex had actually engaged her in conversation on the subject. He was coming around. And now she had a date with Max, a real date. Life just didn't get any better than this.

"Hey."

Okay, maybe it does, Liz amended as she gazed at Max, unable to suppress a smile. God, she could melt into those eyes, and tonight she might actually have time to.

"Hey," she answered. "Are we…are you still good with this?"

Max smiled and leaned in closer. "I couldn't wait for this all week. Let's go."

He slipped his hand into hers, and Liz closed her own around it, almost not breathing. He was going to hold her hand in public? This was even better than she'd hoped, and her hopes had been running pretty high. Her feet barely touched the ground as they went down the front walk until she glimpsed Michael climbing out of Max's bedroom window, disappearing around the back of the house.

"Um…Max? Are Michael and Isabel still upset about the cave drawings?"

She could feel him tense a little even through his hand. "Michael is. Isabel's not thrilled either, but I think she understands why I did it."

Liz nodded slowly, that having been the reason she'd been hoping Isabel wouldn't answer the door. "Liz, I couldn't tell him," Max went on. "Not with someone watching us. And now I know that someone was the FBI, I'm really glad I didn't. He wouldn't have been able to leave it alone."

Liz looked in the direction Michael had taken. "And now?"

"I told him we'd go to River Dog together. We're going to talk about it later tonight."

They headed for the jeep, and Liz stopped beside it. "He's mad at me, isn't he? He's mad that I knew and he didn't."

Max sighed. "I won't lie to you; he's not happy about that. But—"

"It's okay," Liz said quickly. "He has a right to feel that way."

"—we would never have known about the cave at all if you hadn't taken the risk of going out there in the first place," Max finished. "He forgot that. I haven't. And you shouldn't either." He opened the door for her, and she climbed inside. "Look, don't let Michael get to you. I know he's intense, but—"

"It's okay," Liz repeated. "I owe him. He's the reason we're here tonight."

Max looked puzzled. "He is?"

"Sure. Michael and Maria? That's what changed your mind, wasn't it? Seeing them together, seeing that nothing bad happened, nothing exploded?"

"Actually, I think they broke up," Max said.

"It'll work out," Liz said confidently. "Maria can be every bit as intense as Michael, so put the two of them together, and it can get....complicated. But if they didn't explode, no one will." She paused. "Are you sure we should be going out tonight? I mean, because they just found about it…maybe you should be...."

"I'm doing exactly what I should be doing," Max said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We've earned this. I'll talk to Michael later tonight. He'll wait."




*****************************************************




Mescalero Indian Reservation




"And while we're gone, we're thinking about asking your uncle to stop by once or twice."

Eddie looked up from his plate. "Why?"

"Just to check on the house," his mother said.

" 'Check on the house'?" Eddie repeated. "Mom, I'm here. There's no need for anyone to check on it if I'm here."

"It would just be a little extra insurance," his mother said. "Don't get all upset over it."

Eddie looked back and forth from his mother to his father, now both studiously studying their vegetables. "This is about grandfather, isn't it? This is about you not trusting me with grandfather."

"Don't be silly," his mother admonished. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Then why the babysitter? You've never done this before."

"I would hardly refer to your uncle as a 'babysitter'," his mother said reprovingly. "And you shouldn't either."

"Okay, what then? Chaperone? Nanny? Spy?"

"Calm down, son," his father ordered. "We're just trying to help you."

"Help me?" Eddie echoed, confused. "Help me do what?"

"We know how your grandfather can be," his mother explained. "And he's more likely to listen to your uncle than you. So if River Dog gets any strange ideas in his head while we're gone, your uncle can—"

"Oh, so it's grandfather you don't trust," Eddie interrupted. "My grandfather, who's—"

"Don't interrupt your mother," his father admonished.

"—been living his own life way longer than any of us and presumably knows how to do that. It's grandfather you want babysat."

"We're not blaming you," his mother said soothingly, reaching out to pat a hand which Eddie pulled away. "You didn't know how he could be. But your uncle does, so—"

"I don't believe this," Eddie muttered, pushing his chair away from the table.

"Eddie, wait!" his mother called.

But Eddie ignored her, walking onto the back porch and taking a deep breath of the December air. It was dark out here and quiet, just the antidote for his rising head of steam. His mother was partially right—River Dog had officially taken responsibility for the whole walk in the woods thing, telling his parents that he'd insisted on his grandson accompanying him, and officially his parents believed that because, officially, they pretty much had to. How they really felt was another matter entirely, and it was hardly a secret they felt Eddie should have put a stop to it. How he was supposed to have done that short of physically tying his grandfather to a chair was a bit of a mystery to him, but his parents seemed to have settled that question by deciding he should have sought the intercession of an older relative, something they had thoughtfully supplied him with now that they were leaving town again. But they needn't have worried; Eddie had heard nothing further about the cave, or the two kids who had visited, or strange signs in the sky, or busted jewelry, or anything. River Dog, for his part, never spoke of what happened at the cave nor went near it, and neither had he; that creepy feeling he'd had last time he'd visited coupled with his grandfather's warnings about enemies had dampened any enthusiasm to learn more about the mysterious "Nasedo". If not for the fact that Jackie's grandmother still growled at River Dog and Jackie avoided his entire family like the plague, he might have convinced himself he'd dreamed the whole thing.

"Eddie?"

Eddie glanced sideways; there was a shadowy figure off to the left motioning to him. It was so dark that he had to move all the way to edge of the porch before he was close enough to see who it was.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie asked warily. "Peeking in our windows so you can report to your grandmother?"

Jackie's eyes closed briefly. "Please. I wouldn't have needed to get your attention to do that."

"True," Eddie allowed. "Sorry to disappoint, but River Dog's not here. Your grandmother will have to wait for her latest field report."

"Eddie, would you stop it?" Jackie exclaimed. "I said I was sorry!"

"Yeah, well, sorry doesn't cut it when I'm still catching hell for it. And refusing to speak to me hardly makes you look 'sorry'."

Jackie looked away. "I…I didn't know what to say. I felt bad about what happened, and I didn't know how to make it up to you. But I do now." She glanced inside, where his parents were still at the table and engaged in a heated discussion. "Come around to the front. They might hear us."

Eddie snorted softly. "Wouldn't that save all kinds of time? You had to make a phone call last time. This time you can just yell it from the back porch."

"I'm trying to make amends," Jackie said crossly. "Stop being a jackass and get out here."

Jackie stalked off toward the front of the house, or rather, her silhouette did. Curious, Eddie followed. "Okay, so what's so important you couldn't tell me—"

"He's back," Jackie interrupted.

"Who's back?"

"That kid," Jackie answered, "the boy who was here before. He's back. He's down by the carts, asking for River Dog."

An involuntary shiver ran up Eddie's spine. "Is the girl with him?" he asked.

Jackie shook her head. "No. He's alone. And very insistent. I told him I'd find out where River Dog was just to shut him up, and then I came straight here."

Eddie frowned. That didn't sound like Max, who had done less talking than Liz. "Who else knows?" he asked.

"No one. He came to me first—I seem to be the reservation receptionist, or something—and I managed to hush him up before anyone else heard him. I didn't tell my grandmother, or your parents, or anyone else, Eddie; I told you."

Eddie nodded slowly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Jackie paused. "You know why he's here, don't you?"

Eddie hesitated, then nodded. Jackie's eyes widened slightly, and she looked rattled, but she held herself together. "Okay. Okay," she repeated, as though saying it would make it so. "I'll take you to him, and then I'm out of it. Completely out of it, no matter who tries to drag me into it. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

He fell in step beside her, saying nothing, the clouds of apprehension wafting off her practically palpable. "I hope you know what you're doing," she muttered.

"Not completely," Eddie admitted. "But River Dog will."

"Good luck with that one. He's in the sweat lodge."

"Really?"

"Really. Been in there for a couple of hours now."

"God, don't tell my parents," Eddie groaned. "Ever since…you know…River Dog's been acting like he's a couple of decades younger."

"I know," Jackie said thoughtfully. "That's what made me think that maybe my grandmother didn't know as much as she thought she did. She's always going on about danger, and evil, and playing with fire, but whatever happened out there seems to have done River Dog a world of good."

"I've thought a lot about what your grandmother said about playing with fire," Eddie admitted.

Jackie looked at him in surprise. "You have?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And she's half right. Fire can burn you. It can destroy you. But it's warmth can also save your life. We'd all be dead without it." Eddie stopped walking, and Jackie stopped beside him. "River Dog told me that what your grandmother calls 'evil' saved both his father's life and his own. I have a hard time seeing that as 'evil'."

"Maybe," Jackie said doubtfully.

"I'm not burned," Eddie pointed out. "And River Dog certainly isn't. He's better than ever; you said so yourself."

"For the moment," Jackie allowed. "But my grandmother says it always comes back, and now he's back. What about this time?"

Eddie resumed walking. "Guess we'll find out."

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the carts, passing the sweat lodge on the way. Eddie could feel the heat as they passed, smell the sweet smell of peyote. The chanting from the sweat participants had dulled to a low buzz by the time they saw Jackie's cart in the distance.

"There he is," she whispered.

"Where?"

"There," Jackie said, pointing.

Eddie peered through the darkness. "That's not him," he said faintly.

"What?"

"That's not him," Eddie repeated. "That's not the kid who was here before."

"I know he was here with a girl—"

"Yeah, there was a girl and a boy, but that's not the boy."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Are you sure?"

"He asked for River Dog," Jackie said. "Loudly. Several times. I'm sure."

Eddie's heart pounded as he gazed at the unfamiliar boy pacing impatiently near Jackie's cart. He looked about the same age as Max, but the features were sharper, the stance more aggressive. Not all of Nasedo's enemies were human, River Dog had told him. Was this one of the enemies? Was this a human enemy, or the other variety?

"If that's not the kid who was here before, then who is it?" Jackie asked apprehensively.

"I don't know," Eddie answered.

"Then what do we do?"

"I don't know that either," Eddie admitted. "But grandfather will. Wait here."

"What? Why?"

"I'm going to talk to River Dog. Keep an eye on him. Just watch him," Eddie added when Jackie began to protest. "Don't go near him, and if he does anything weird…yell."

" 'Yell'?" Jackie echoed in disbelief. "That's your advice? Yell?"

But Eddie had already taken off, back toward the sweat lodge, hoping that Jackie was right about River Dog being there because he hadn't the faintest idea what to do with the stranger prowling by Jackie's cart or what the stranger would do if he got angry. The chanting grew louder as he approached the lodge, building to a crescendo when he pulled back the tent flap and nearly staggered from the blast of heat which hit him like a wave. God, but he hated sweats; they were noisy, smelly, suffocating things that made him feel like he was being cooked alive. River Dog was on the far side of the circle, of course, meaning Eddie had to wend his way all the way to the other side of the tent.

"Someone's here," Eddie whispered to River Dog, wondering if his voice would be audible above the drums and chanting.

But River Dog's eyes snapped around. "Max?"

Eddie shook his head. "No. It's a boy about the same age, but it's not Max."

"The girl?"

"Nope. This one's alone, and he's pushy. He knew your name, and he's asking where to find you. What should I do?"

River Dog's expression hardened. "Bring him here."

Eddie blinked. "What…here? Into the sweat?"

"Yes."

"But...what if he won't come?"

"He will."

"But—"

"Bring him here now," River Dog said firmly. "Bring him in, and sit him by the fire."

"Okay," Eddie said slowly. "And then what?"

"Leave the rest to me."

River Dog went back to the chant. A moment later Eddie crawled outside, taking a deep gulp of night air, and almost ran into Jackie.

"What's wrong?" he asked, plucking his damp shirt off his chest.

"He got impatient and walked further in," Jackie said in alarm. "Now he's asking anyone and everyone where River Dog is. Eddie, who is that? What does he want?"

Eddie looked past her to where the interloper was loudly questioning an old woman who was ignoring him. "Apparently he wants to find River Dog," Eddie answered. "And I say let's give him what he wants."





******************************************************




Heat.

That was what Michael noticed first when Eddie pulled aside the flap on the tent where he said River Dog was. Not the roaring fire, or the chanting, which grew louder, or the throb of the drums, or the suspicious faces turned his way. All of that faded as he hit a wall of heat so solid it may as well have been a real wall. The effect was similar also, and he staggered to a sitting position beside Eddie, who was already stripping his shirt off. Good idea, Michael thought, stripping off his own, surprised at how much of a difference it made.

Something hit the fire, and it hissed and crackled, spitting smoke into the air. Peering through the haze, Michael took note of his audience, all of whom were taking note of him. Especially the old Indian directly across from him, whose eyes were boring into him like drill bits.

"Is that River Dog?" Michael asked.

"Don't worry; he knows you're here," Eddie answered. "No talking right now. Just follow the chant."

Not exactly an answer, Michael thought. But the might-be-River Dog never took his eyes off him as he held up a bowl, drank from it, gestured to Michael, then the others, and passed the bowl to his right. One by one the Indians drank from the bowl, including Eddie, and Michael braced himself as Eddie passed it to him. What was in there? Alcohol? Maybe blood? But whatever it was was clear, and taking a tentative sip, he was surprised to find it was…water. Not a bad idea in this steam bath, and he was tempted to gulp the whole thing down. But everyone else had taken a polite little sip, so he reluctantly passed the bowl on and resumed the staring contest with his target. Minutes passed, and River Dog still didn't take his eyes off him as sweat poured down his arms, his front, his back, soaking his pants. God, it was hot in here, so hot it seemed virtually airless, but if this is what it took to talk to River Dog, he'd sit here until he melted like the Wicked Witch of the West. Smoke billowed from the fire, and Michael coughed, a hacking cough which only served to pull more smoke into his lungs. They call this 'cleansing'? he thought, turning his head from side to side in a vain effort to find something vaguely resembling clear air. Someone hadn't told these guys about the Surgeon General's warning that smoke was bad for you.

Then River Dog reached into a bowl beside him and threw a handful of something on the fire, causing it to hiss and spit with a vengeance. Michael wasn't ready for it; it billowed up just as he was inhaling, drawing a huge breath of whatever it was deep into his lungs. This time it burned as he coughed; his whole chest was on fire, inside and out. Everyone stared, not burning, not coughing, and across the circle, River Dog frowned at him. Or Michael thought he did, anyway; it was hard to tell. At first he thought it was the haze, but then he realized his vision was blurring and he felt light-headed. No! Michael thought fiercely. He may not be accustomed to being cooked like a pot roast, that not being a useful skill where he came from, but he was not leaving this place without talking to River Dog. No possible way.

Grim-faced, River Dog reached into his bowl and threw another handful of the nasty stuff onto the fire, causing yet another plume of hissing, spitting smoke which sent Michael into yet another coughing fit. Then another. River Dog's disapproving glare wavered; there seemed to be two of him now, maybe because he wasn't getting enough oxygen. His lungs stubbornly refused to inflate, and he wasn't certain he wanted them to anyway because whatever was in the fire was making them worse by the second, burning them, paralyzing them. Moments away from passing out, he scrambled to his feet and back outside, Eddie following.

The night air was every bit as much of a wall as the heat had been, only welcome this time; after the sweat, it felt like a refrigerator. Eddie handed him a bowl of water which he drank immediately and splashed over his face, drawing deep gulps of clean air into lungs that still weren't happy with him.

"I told you it was intense," Eddie said.

"What the hell was that?" Michael demanded.

"I told you; it was a sweat. It's a spiritual—"

"Cleansing. Yeah, I remember. Curious how you get 'cleansed' with all that smoke and dirt. What I meant was, what was that stuff he was throwing on the fire?"

Eddie smiled faintly. "A lot of people can't take it."

"I can take it," Michael snapped.

"No, you can't," Eddie said calmly. "That's why you're out here instead of in there."

"Look, I came here to see River Dog, not get roasted on a spit," Michael retorted. "He needs to come out here."

"You saw him," Eddie said. "He's busy."

Michael walked straight up to Eddie. It was better when he was closer; there were only one and a half Eddie's instead of two. "Then he needs to get unbusy. Now."

Eddie regarded him levelly. "I'll give him the message."

"It's not a message," Michael said sharply. "I need to talk to him. Tonight."

"And you can't. Talk to him tonight, that is," Eddie said. "I'll tell him what you said, and if he wants to talk to you, I'll be in touch."

"You don't even know who I am," Michael said impatiently.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "And whose fault is that?"

"And you don't know where to find me," Michael added, ignoring him.

"I found Liz," Eddie said. "I'll find you."

Liz. Goddammit, why did Liz Parker have to barge in even when she wasn't here? "This isn't about Liz," Michael said angrily. "This has nothing to do with her."

"That's not what Max thought," Eddie said.

Michael snapped, lunging at Eddie. But hands grabbed him from behind, and he was still dizzy; a moment later he was on the ground, surrounded by suspicious young Indians who stared down at him with expressions ranging from distaste to outright disgust.

"Go home," Eddie ordered. "If River Dog wants to talk to you, I'll let you know."

"And if he doesn't?" Michael asked in a ragged voice.

"Then you don't talk to him," Eddie answered. "Period. End of discussion."

"That's not gonna work for me," Michael panted.

"That's gonna have to," Eddie replied. "Now get out of here before we throw you out."

Michael looked up at the faces ringing him; there must be a half dozen of them, all of whom he'd dearly love to beat the crap out of. But his head was still spinning, his lungs were still burning, and it was all he could do to climb to his feet and stagger out of there with some semblance of dignity, coughing furiously. No one relented, or followed him, or asked if he was okay; it was like they didn't care if he lived or died, and it was a curiously comforting slight. He made it out to the road, stuck his thumb out, and was rewarded almost immediately when a Chevy Impala pulled over. There was never any shortage of cars going to Roswell.

"You okay?" chirped a grandmotherly sort as she leaned out the window.

"Just looking for a ride into town," Michael answered, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Get in, get in," the woman ordered. "No, the front, where I can keep an eye on you. You don't look so good. Have you been…what's that smell?" she asked suddenly, taking a deep sniff. "Have you been smoking that marijuana?"

Don't I wish, Michael thought, closing the car door and rolling down the window, still not able to get enough clean air. He was all ready to bite her head off when he got a good look at her with eyes that were slowly steadying and was suddenly reminded of Max's grandmother.

"I don't do drugs, ma'am," he answered. "I was…trying one of the Indians' 'sweats'. In the sweat lodge. You probably smell the smoke from the fire."

"Ah," the woman said knowingly. "Heard about those. Heard they're pretty rough." He stared straight ahead as she examined him closely. "Are you sure you're all right? You look more than just sweaty. More like feverish—"

"I'm fine," Michael said, jerking away from the hand reaching for his forehead. "Please, I'd just…I'd just like to go home."

"Yes," she said slowly, putting the car in gear. "Maybe that would be best. And I'm thinking I'll run the air on the way there. You look like you could use it."




******************************************************



"What did he want?"

Eddie gazed at the circle of people who had materialized out of nowhere. "I'm not sure," he answered. "Thanks, guys. I appreciate it."

One of them shrugged. "Any time."

They wandered away, some throwing him curious looks. A moment later the only people left outside the sweat lodge were Eddie…and Jackie.

"Was that your doing?" he asked.

"I was worried he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer," she said.

Eddie nodded slowly. "Yeah, well...thanks."

"I didn't tell anyone why he was here," she added. "And I won't. Not even my grandmother. But I don't like this, Eddie. I don't like it at all."

Eddie nodded again. "Neither do I."

He walked away then before she could say anything else, could ask him anything else. He hadn't told her why he didn't like it either, that he'd caught River Dog's eye just before he and the strange kid had left the tent…and River Dog had solemnly shaken his head from side to side. No. Meaning the kid was not one of the others.

Meaning he might be an enemy.


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


I'll post Chapter 35 next Sunday.

^ Good old Eddie.


CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE



December 10, 1999, 9:00 p.m.

Crashdown Café





"So what exactly did you do to that? Is it really mustard, or is it just yellow ketchup?"

"It's mustard, Alex," Isabel replied, folding up the paper with the cave symbols Max had neglected to mention he'd found and slipping it into her purse.

"Real mustard?"

"Real mustard."

"So…you didn't just change the color, you actually changed the chemical composition?"

"Right."

"But how do you know for sure it's mustard?"

Isabel grabbed the ketchup bottle, unscrewed the lid, and stuck her finger inside. "Here," she said. "Taste."

Alex stared at her finger with a good deal more alarm than he'd been staring at her. "I'll be your taster," Isabel said teasingly, dipping her other finger in the mustard and placing it on her tongue. "Yep…mustard. And I'm still alive. Your turn."

Alex flushed, as though embarrassed that he hadn't been able to summon the wherewithal to go first. He touched her mustard-laden finger tentatively with his own and placed it on his tongue even more tentatively.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with surprise. "That is mustard!"

"Of course it's mustard. I know what mustard tastes like."

"Well, sure you do, but…how'd you do that? I mean, how did you turn it into mustard, and not something else?"

Isabel sighed as she wiped off her finger. "I don't know. I just…thought about mustard, and it turned into mustard."

"So...did this take practice? Was there a trial and error period where ketchup turned into…I don't know, say, olive oil?"

Isabel blinked. " 'Olive oil'? I have no idea what olive oil tastes like, if anything."

"Something else then," Alex clarified. "Something other than what you'd intended."

"Maybe. I don't know," Isabel amended. "I…I really don't know exactly how I do it. I just think of what I want the end result to be, and then…it happens."

"Do us all a favor, and don't think of nuclear meltdowns," Alex chuckled.

Isabel arched an eyebrow. "Very funny."

"Sorry," Alex said quickly. "I just can't help noticing the parallel with all those fairy tales where you wish for something and it comes true."

"I didn't 'wish'," Isabel said. "I consciously chose to turn that into mustard."

"I know, and I'm still trying to figure out the mechanism. Can you only change it into something you know? What if you tried to change it into something you've never tasted?"

"Why would I want to change it into something I've never tasted?"

"It's a hypothetical question," Alex said patiently. "I was just wondering if you could."

"I have no idea," Isabel answered. "I've never tried."

"Well, aren't you curious?"

"I guess," Isabel allowed. "We just…we don't experiment much with our powers because it's too dangerous."

"Then how did Max know he could save Liz? Did someone else get shot, and I missed it?"

Isabel's eyes dropped. "He didn't know. That he could do that, I mean. He's done little things like cuts or bruises, but never anything like that."

"So he just tried, and it worked?"

"Apparently."

Alex glanced around the diner. "Ever use that?" he asked, pointing to a bottle of brown mustard on another table.

Isabel shook her head. "No."

"Really? I'm surprised. It's pretty spicy."

"We use Tabasco. Nothing's spicier than that. The only reason we use ketchup and mustard is so we don't look weird."

"Right. Well…" Alex reached over the back of his seat and plucked something off the table behind them. "Try this," he said, setting another bottle of ketchup in front of her. "Try turning this into that brown mustard over there."

"What…here?"

"Yes, 'here'. You just changed the other one 'here'."

"But—"

"The only other people are all the way on the other side of the diner," Alex noted. "And it's almost closing time; Maria's already setting up for breakfast. No one will see."

Isabel looked uncertainly at the unfamiliar bottle. "But what for?"

"So you can learn something about yourself. You wanted to, right? You said you probably had more questions about yourself than I did."

"I do," Isabel said. "I'm just not sure if it's such a great time to go on a journey of self-discovery when we have the FBI watching us."

"That's 'watching' past tense," Alex reminded her. "Topolsky's gone."

"For the moment," Isabel countered.

"Making this the perfect time," Alex said. "Look, you'll never learn the answers to those questions unless you do a little probing…sorry, bad choice of words. Unless you do some experimenting…okay, you know what I mean," he finished when her eyebrows rose even further. "You have to push the limits so you know where the limits are."

"Forgive me if I'm not exactly in a 'limit-pushing' mood," Isabel said crossly. "I'm not some circus freak who's here to perform for your amusement, or—" She stopped when she saw the look on his face. "I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't mean that quite the way it came out."

"No, no, I deserved it," Alex said. "And I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I'm just…excited."

"Excited?"

"Yes!" Alex exclaimed. "Very! This is exciting, Isabel. It's the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me, probably the most exciting thing that ever will happen to me."

"Is that so?" Isabel said dryly. "Funny you didn't seem 'excited' earlier today when I offered to prove it to you."

"No," Alex allowed, "I…I wasn't, and all I can say is…what exactly were you going to do, anyway? By way of 'proof', that is."

Isabel thought for a moment. "Clean off your shirt," she said finally. "It's the least I could do after making you spill your burrito."

" 'Clean off my shirt'?"

"Yeah. You know, get the stain out?"

"So you wouldn't have changed my burrito into a T-bone? Bummer."

He smiled then, and she couldn't resist returning it. "I admit this whole thing is…unnerving," he continued. "But it's also terribly exciting. This changes everything. You change everything. The possibilities are endless."

Isabel blinked. "Wow. The usual reaction is more like Maria's: Run screaming."

"Yeah, well, I considered that," Alex said with a perfectly straight face. "But you know what? I don't want to run. I don't want to run because I want to know, and I'll never know if I don't ask. And neither will you."

Isabel looked at the bottle of ketchup in front of her, then at the bottle of brown mustard. She'd never thought of what she was as "exciting"; it had always been something dangerous, something disturbing, and judging by the reactions of those who had learned the truth, they'd agree with that assessment. That Alex didn't was something she'd hadn't anticipated. And they really didn't know the limits of their powers. Part of her terror over Max healing Liz had nothing to do with the public nature of it; she would have been terrified even if he'd done it in a back room with no witnesses just because he'd done something so huge, so unexpected, so…impossible. What else could they do?

The last remaining couple in the café paid their bill and left, and with them went her last excuse for not trying this. They were truly alone now except for Maria, who was politely ignoring them. Hesitantly, Isabel put a hand on the ketchup bottle and closed her eyes.

A moment later, she opened them. The "ketchup" now looked exactly like the brown mustard, and Alex was eagerly opening the bottle and pouring some onto a spoon.

"Well?" Isabel prompted.

"It's ketchup," he reported.

"It is?" Isabel grabbed the spoon and tasted it, heedless of the fact that spoon had just been in Alex's mouth. "Oh my God, it is," she breathed. "I only changed the color!"

"And really well, too," Alex said thoughtfully. "You even got the little brown bits in there. But it's still ketchup."

"So...does this mean we can only change what we know?" Isabel asked, confused. "But then how did Max heal Liz? He's not a doctor."

Alex shook his head. "I have no idea."

Isabel set the spoon down and recapped the bottle, not voicing her other question: What happens when we screw up? What if Max had screwed up when he'd healed Liz? What if he'd fused her lungs together, or tangled her blood vessels, or something like that? What if he'd only made things worse?

"You look upset."

"Yeah, that's the trouble with learning stuff," Isabel sighed. "It's not all good stuff."

"I wouldn't call this 'bad'," Alex countered. "Just...informative. You could taste the brown mustard and try again."

"What for?"

"To continue the experiment," Alex answered.

"Now you sound like Liz. I'm not an 'experiment', Alex."

"No, that's an experiment," Alex said patiently, pointing to the bottle. "You are a person. A wonderful person who can do some really cool things, even if you don't see it that way."

"Oh, my God," Maria said suddenly. "Is that Michael?"

Isabel, who had been all ready to relent, spun in her seat. There was a figure outside, near enough to be illuminated by the streetlights, and it was moving unsteadily toward the cafe. When it reached the door, it leaned heavily against it as though the act of opening it was just too much.

Maria got there first. Michael nearly fell inside when she opened the door, and Isabel caught him, would have dropped him if not for Alex. "Michael?" Isabel said in alarm. "What's wrong?"

Michael mumbled something unintelligible. "He looks like he has a fever," Maria said.

She was right. Michael was hot, way too hot, and he was shaking. "Why is he shivering?" Isabel asked anxiously. "If he's hot, he shouldn't be shivering."

"That's what you do when you have a fever," Maria said, using the towel in her uniform pocket on Michael's forehead. "You're really hot, but you feel really cold.

"Go get Max," Isabel said to Maria. "He said he was—"

"—at the Chinese place; I know," Maria finished. "But if it's just a fever—"

"Go get Max," Isabel insisted. "I don't care what he's doing, just go get him."

Maria took one look at her face, and left. Alex hovered anxiously as Isabel cradled Michael's head in her lap, having not divulged the real reason she was so upset: They didn't get sick. Ever. She had no idea what happened when you had a fever because she'd never had one. None of them had. "Michael?" Isabel whispered, stroking his hair. "Michael, what happened? Are you okay? Talk to me!"

"Maybe some water?" Alex ventured.

"Yeah," Isabel said anxiously. "Maybe."

Alex disappeared, reappearing a minute later with a glass of water. Michael wouldn't drink it, so Isabel used it on his face and neck instead. She was just drying him off when Max and Liz came in.

"Something's wrong, Max," Isabel said. "He's really sick."

"Sick?" Max repeated. "How could he be sick?"

"I don't know," Isabel said, anguished. "I don't even know where he was because he won't say anything. He just showed up here and collapsed."

"How much water has he had?" Maria asked.

"None," Alex answered. "He wouldn't drink any."

"He has to," Maria said firmly. "You get dehydrated when you have a fever, and that makes you even sicker."

"Well, he won't drink it," Isabel said, trying again, only to have Michael turn his head away.

"Then I think we need to explain a few things to him," Maria said, taking the glass from Isabel's hand and holding it up to Michael's lips. "Michael? Listen to me. I need you to drink this. No, you have to," she insisted, holding his head as he tried to turn away. "I didn't ask you if you wanted to, I said you have to. C'mon…that's it…swallow…swallow, darn it!"

It took a minute, but no one had ever accused Maria of not being the persistent sort. All it took was one good gulp, and then suddenly Michael stopped fighting and kept gulping. Alex was dispatched for another glass, then a pitcher, and four glasses of water later, Michael had largely recovered.

"What happened?" Max asked.

"I don't know," Michael answered. "I just started feeling...crappy."

"For no reason?" Isabel said. "But that doesn't happen to us."

"Well, it did now," Michael said. "Guess there really is a first time for everything."

"We should get him in the back," Liz said, looking around. "Just in case my parents come down."

Michael shook off all attempts to help him, walking slowly toward the back with Maria, Liz, and Alex trailing behind. "What the hell was that?" Isabel whispered.

Max shook his head. "I have no idea."

"We can't leave him alone tonight, Max. What if he gets sick again?"

"I'm sure Mom won't be thrilled if we bring him home," Max said.

"I'd rather have her unthrilled then…" Isabel stopped. "Wait. I've got a better idea."

"What?"

"Not now. When we leave. Let's make sure he's okay, and then I'll tell you in the car."




*****************************************************




Proctor residence




"Stupid thing," Dee muttered, stabbing the end of the thread at the needle for the fifth time. "When did they start making needle eyes so tiny?"

"About the time your eyes started going," Anthony said dryly. "I keep telling you, you need glasses."

"I have glasses."

"For distance. Now you need them for close-up."

"Nonsense," Dee scoffed. "I've been near-sighted since I was twelve."

"And now you're 61," Anthony reminded her. "You started having trouble reading the newspaper a good decade ago."

"So glad you can still count," Dee said tartly. "I don't want new glasses, I just want to thread the needle."

"My point is that you need new glasses in order to thread the needle," Anthony said patiently. "Unless you'd like to continue insulting it in the hopes it will get dejected and let the thread go through."

"You know, you could help me," Dee said crossly. "Unless you'd like to continue insulting me in the hopes I'll get dejected and give up."

Anthony sighed and put the newspaper down on the table. Dee waited sullenly while he turned up the lamp, adjusted his bifocals, and coaxed the thread through the cantankerous needle.

"Thank you," Dee said stiffly.

"You need new glasses," Anthony said firmly. "You can't spend the rest of your life parking your old ones on your head and complaining you can't see."

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Dee retorted.

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "You know who you sound like don't you?"

Dee blanched. "Don't—"

"Your mother."

"—you dare!" she finished. "I am not my mother!"

Anthony shrugged and gave up like he always did, retreating to his recliner and the rest of the paper. Dee tied a knot in the end of the thread, and as she leaned over it, the glasses she had indeed perched on her head flipped down, completely blurring her vision. Annoyed, she whipped them off and deposited them on the nearby table with a thunk which her husband studiously ignored. Damned eyeballs, she thought sourly. When had that happened? She'd worn glasses for distance since childhood, and she'd always been able to keep them on when doing things like reading or threading needles. Some time in her fifties that had changed, and she'd developed the habit of perching them on her head for close work because she couldn't see a blessed thing through them close-up. It was maddening to have to keep putting them on and taking them off, like in a store, where she had to wear them to navigate the aisles but remove them in order to read packages or price tags. Now it appeared even her close-up vision was failing. Anthony's already had, hence the bifocals, but then Anthony seemed to just accept life's vicissitudes, large and small, while she came out swinging. Like my mother, she admitted silently. Her father insisted that one of the main reasons Emily was still alive was her tendency to do exactly the same thing. Which bodes well for me if I want to live to a ripe old age as a grumpy old woman, Dee thought, throwing a guilty look in her husband's direction. She often felt sorry for what her father had to put up with, and now Anthony was in exactly the same boat, and in the same house, even.

"I'm sorry," she said after a few minutes. "It's not your fault my eyes don't work the way they used to."

"Nothing works the way it used to," Anthony said. "And don't be. No one enjoys watching their body fall apart."

"Some of us just accept it better than others," Dee sighed. "They' say it's better to light a candle than curse the darkness."

"Perhaps," Anthony agreed. "Although I suspect it's those of us who curse the darkness who wind up making the advances which allow each passing generation to put it off a bit longer."

"And driving our loved ones crazy," Dee murmured.

"I'm not crazy yet," Anthony said lightly. "Try harder."

Dee smiled. "I'll need a new thread color in a few minutes, so I could have another go at you…" She paused. "Is that a car in the driveway?"

Anthony glanced at the clock. "Who could that be at this hour?" he wondered, going to the front door. "Maybe just someone turning around? Oh, it's...it's Max and Isabel."

Dee nearly dropped her mending, she stood up so quickly. Max's jeep was indeed in the driveway, and climbing out were not only Max and Isabel, but Michael.

"Hi, Grandma," Isabel called when they opened the door. "Did we wake you up?"

"Heavens, no," Dee answered. "I'm still an owl. But what are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"Something was wrong," Isabel said, glancing at Michael, who hung back, scowling. "Michael got…sick. We were wondering if he could stay with you tonight, just in case."

"Of course he can," Dee said, stepping back so they could come inside. "Come on in."

But Michael didn't budge. "I'm okay now," he said. "I don't need to stay here."

"But it would make me feel better," Isabel said. "I don't want you going home to Hank. You could be dead, and he wouldn't even notice."

"He'd notice," Michael said ironically. "He wants his check."

"Good point," Anthony chuckled.

"Grandpa, you are not helping," Isabel said severely.

"Sorry," Anthony said quickly.

"Let's not argue about this on the front porch," Dee suggested. "Come on in, and we'll sort it out. Go on," she prodded when Michael hung back, watching her warily. "You're bigger than both of us, so it's not like we can tie you to a chair. Get in here."

They trooped into the house, Michael hovering near the door as though he wanted to be near an escape route. "Michael had a really high fever an hour or so ago," Isabel reported. "He was burning up."

"What happened?" Dee asked.

"He looks fine now," Anthony noted.

"I am fine now," Michael insisted. "And I don't know what happened. I was feeling crappy, and then I wasn't. That's all I know, and I'm good with that."

"Well, I'm not," Isabel said firmly. "Can he sleep in your spare bedroom, Grandma?"

"We have two," Dee replied. "Take your pick."

"Why don't we get one ready?" Anthony suggested to Isabel, winking at Dee as Isabel happily skipped up the stairs at that suggestion.

"Okay, what's really going on?" Dee whispered after Isabel had been removed from the equation.

"What's going on is that she went all mother hen on me," Michael said irritably. "Say something, Maxwell."

Max, who had indeed not spoken a word during this entire exchange, slowly shook his head. "She's right, Michael—you were burning up. I'd take you home, but—"

"But your mother hates me. I get it."

"—I think you'd be more comfortable here," Max finished diplomatically. "And it's not necessarily a bad idea to spend the night here."

"I can't believe this," Michael muttered.

"I think what Max means is that spending the night here will set Isabel's mind at ease," Dee translated. "And then he won't have to listen to her."

"That too," Max admitted.

"So I'm supposed to have a babysitter because Isabel's freaking out?" Michael demanded. "That blows."

"It does," Dee agreed. "But you know how she is, Michael; if you don't stay here, she'll probably follow you home and sleep outside Hank's door, and that'll be worse. Besides, we're not going to 'babysit' you. You're welcome to the fridge and the TV, and I promise we'll only bug you if you stop breathing."

"That's reasonable," Max said. "Please, Michael? Just to be on the safe side?"

Isabel came skipping down the stairs, Anthony behind her. "All set," she chirped. "I'll feel so much better knowing there's someone with you." She paused, taking in Michael's stony expression. "Everything okay here?"

"Whatever," Michael muttered, pushing past her up the stairs.

Max looked uncomfortable, but Michael's mood didn't even register with Isabel. "First door on the left!" she called after him before turning to Dee and Anthony. "Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa," she said, kissing both of them. "I'd love to take him home with us, but you know how Mom gets about Michael."

"We'll keep an eye on him," Dee promised. "And you might want to back off on the mothering so he doesn't strangle you."

Max smiled faintly as Isabel blinked. "Thanks, guys," Max said. "We owe you one."

"You have no idea," Anthony deadpanned.

"Oh, hush," Dee said sharply. "Run along, you two, before Michael changes his mind."

Max hustled his sister out, and Dee rounded on Anthony. "I was only joking," Anthony said before she could light into him. "I was just thinking that this isn't the first time Michael's been here, is it?"

"No," Dee admitted. "But he was only a fetus in a pod then." She glanced up the stairs. "He'll come down when he's ready. I should make a phone call."

Dee retreated to the kitchen and pulled our her cell phone. "What?" Brivari's voice said distractedly when he answered.

"Missing something?" Dee asked.

There was a pause. "Yes," he answered warily. "Why?"

"Because they were just here, at my house."

"Good Lord," Brivari grumbled. "I can never tell which one to leash on any given night. Tonight I followed Zan first, only to find he was on a date with the Parker girl."

"Good for him," Dee said.

"Then Vilandra was talking to the boy who helped reveal Topolsky. By the time I got to Rath, I couldn't find him, and by the time I gave up looking for him, I couldn't find any of them. What were they doing at your house?"

"Isabel wanted Michael to stay here tonight because he'd been sick."

"Sick?" Brivari repeated. "Sick how?"

"She said he'd had a fever, although he's okay now," Dee reported.

There was a long pause. "That shouldn't happen," Brivari said finally.

"Why not?"

"The hybrids have enhanced immune systems. Didn't you notice that Zan and Vilandra didn't have the usual parade of human childhood illnesses?"

"Well, yes, but…" But what? Dee thought. Max and Isabel had been remarkably healthy, something she'd always written off to good luck. "They didn't get chicken pox, or colds, or anything like that," she allowed. "But Max sprained his ankle on one of their vacations when they were little, and Isabel kept getting sunburned—"

"That's different. Those are physical injuries, and I'll bet they healed faster than ordinary humans. A fever implies an infection of some sort, something Rath should be able to resist."

"Look, I don't know what it was," Dee sighed. "Maybe she's wrong; maybe it wasn't a fever after all. He's fine now, and I'll keep an eye on him and let you know if that changes."

There was another long pause. "All right," Brivari said reluctantly.

"What's the matter?" Dee demanded. "Don't you think I can tell a fever when I see one?"

"No, I think Vilandra can. And that's what worries me. Call me if you see anything—anything—unusual."

"Of course," Dee promised.

She clicked the phone off and went into the dining room just as Michael was coming down the stairs, his hands awkwardly in his pocket. "Yes, it's safe to come out now," Dee said dryly. "Isabel's gone. Hungry?"

"Starving," Michael answered.

"Help yourself to anything in the kitchen," Dee said.

"Thanks." Michael paused in the dining room doorway, staring across the room. "What's that?"

Dee smiled faintly. "That, Michael, is a bullet hole."

Michael blinked. "Really? You have a bullet hole in your wall?"

"I do indeed."

"How'd that get here?"

"My father put it there," Dee answered. "This is the house I grew up in. You're staying in my old bedroom."

"So why'd your father shoot a gun in the dining room?"

Dee considered a moment. "He was trying to bring down an alien."

Michael's eyes locked on hers for a moment, and then he smiled and shook his head. "I've heard an even ton of alien stories, but that's a new one. Good for you."

And a true one, Dee thought privately. "Go get yourself a snack," she said lightly. "I usually watch TV pretty late if you'd like to join me. Grandpa turns in earlier."

"I'm surprised you're up now," Michael said. "I thought grandparents went to bed at, like, dinner time." He paused, shifting awkwardly. "I just insulted you, didn't I? I'm not doing well with senior citizens tonight."

"You didn't insult me, but it appears I'm not the first in line," Dee chuckled. "What other 'senior citizens' have you been terrorizing tonight?"

Michael gave her a strange look before shrugging his shoulders. "Never mind."




*****************************************************




Mescalero Indian Reservation




"G'night, guys," Eddie called when he reached his house. "Thanks for your help earlier tonight."

"Yeah, who was that guy?" one of them asked.

"Long story," Eddie said evasively.

Thankfully they took his word for it, as it was a story he couldn't tell. And that I don't have an ending for, he added silently, and wouldn't, not until the sweat was over. The drums had still been beating as of just a few minutes ago, so he'd probably have to wait until tomorrow for an explanation.

The front door banged open ahead of him and his mother appeared, hands on hips. "I just know you've got something to do with this," she announced grimly.

Eddie stopped. "With what?"

"Your grandfather," his mother declared. "What did you do to River Dog?"


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


I'll post Chapter 36 next Sunday.

^ I'd love an alien immune system. I can live with avoiding sweats, and alcohol already has the same effect on me--one little sip, and I'm gone.


Thanks to everyone reading, and thanks for the feedback!





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX



December 10, 1999, 11:30 p.m.

Mescalero Indian Reservation



Eddie stared at his mother, alarm rising in him like a wave. " 'Do' to him?" he echoed. "What do you mean? Where is grandfather? Is he here? Is he—"

"Of course he's here," his mother interrupted impatiently. "He's packing."

" 'Packing'?"

"Yes, packing," his mother repeated. "He says he's leaving, and he won't say where he's going or when he'll be back."

Oh, is that all, Eddie thought, nearly collapsing with relief. For a moment he'd thought something awful had happened to River Dog, that their newest visitor had truly been an enemy and had harmed him in some way. If he was packing, he must be okay.

But try explaining that to his mother. "Out with it," she declared, coming outside to meet him. "He was fine earlier, and now he's leaving. What happened?"

"I don't know," Eddie said with absolute honesty because he had no idea why his grandfather would be leaving. "Why would I know? Did you ask him?"

"Of course I asked him. He wouldn't say. Which is why I'm asking you."

"If grandfather didn't answer you, then he didn't want to," Eddie said. "And that has nothing to do with me."

Eddie brushed past her, ignoring her continued protests. He knew his mother was upset because she and his father were leaving town for a few days, and now she'd have to leave not knowing what was going on with his grandfather. Understandable, but he hadn't lied; he hadn't the faintest idea what River Dog was up to. He did, however, have a hunch that his grandfather might talk to him instead of his mother.

He found River Dog right where his mother had said he would: Packing. His expressionless face belied his quick, sharp movements, and his mouth was set in a thin line. River Dog wasn't the demonstrative type, but Eddie had seen this combination before. He was angry.

"Mother told me you're leaving," Eddie said.

"I am," River Dog confirmed.

"Why?"

"That does not concern you."

Eddie closed the door behind him. "It doesn't concern her," he said in a low voice, "but I'm betting it concerns me. Why are you so angry?"

River Dog stopped packing. "I never said I was angry."

"You didn't have to," Eddie noted. "Are you angry with me?"

"No."

"Then who?"

"Max," River Dog said, stuffing a shirt savagely into his pack for extra emphasis. "I'm angry with Max."

"Max?" Eddie said, confused. "He wasn't even here tonight. What did he do?"

"I told him to tell no one what I showed him in that cave," River Dog said. "Just like I said to you, it is a secret, one all our lives could depend on. Nasedo had enemies, and those enemies pursued not only him, but those who helped him as well. It is very important that the cave and whatever message it contains be kept secret."

"But…didn't you tell me that you were guarding the cave for the 'others'? That means there's more than one. How can you be sure this new kid wasn't also an 'other'?"

"He was not," River Dog declared. "I know he wasn't. I tested him."

Eddie blinked. "You did? When? He was on the other side of the fire the whole time he was in the sweat, and I never saw you ask him to make light, or—"

"There are other ways to test them," River Dog said darkly, "and one occurred to me when you came to tell me he was here. That's why I had you bring him to the sweat, to confirm that he wasn't one of them. I suspected as much."

"Why? You hadn't even seen him yet."

"Because you said he was asking for me. You said he was very insistent. If he were truly one of them, he would know better than to do that so publicly. He would know enough to be careful."

"Maybe," Eddie said doubtfully. "Maybe not. All of them have acted just like the kids they look like. Maybe they don't realize the danger."

River Dog stopped, one hand inside his pack, and then suddenly sank down on the bed. "But I do," he said quietly. "I do realize the danger. So it's me I should be angry with. This is my fault."

Eddie sat down beside him. "How is this your fault?"

"Nasedo told me that when the others appeared—if they appeared—they may not be themselves. He told me to test them, and if they passed, to show them the cave painting, but he wouldn't tell me what it meant. He said they should remember, and if they didn't, it was best that they not know."

"And that's exactly what you did, grandfather," Eddie said patiently. "That was your promise, and you did exactly what you promised. You showed them, and—"

"And told them," River Dog said, shaking his head sadly. "I showed them the painting and told them about Nasedo…and I shouldn't have. I should have tested them, and made them leave. I should have waited to see if they were capable of keeping the secret, and if they weren't, told them nothing."

"So you think Max blabbed to this new kid?"

"And told him about me," River Dog nodded. "It's the only way he could have known."

Eddie's eyes dropped. "Not the 'only' way. He could be an enemy."

River Dog sighed deeply. "That is a possibility," he conceded. "The other two may have told exactly the wrong people."

"But he was a kid," Eddie pointed out. "Not a man in a suit with a gun."

"Max also resembles a 'kid'," River Dog noted. "And not all Nasedo's enemies were human. Appearances can be deceiving. Do not be blinded by them."

"Okay, so, Max, or Liz, or both, told this new kid about you," Eddie said, working the problem chronologically instead of dwelling on that last implication. "And he comes here looking for you. And you test him somehow, and he fails, so he's not an 'other', at least not the like the other...others. What does this mean about you going away?"

River Dog rose from the bed. "I have to. For your protection."

" 'Protection'?"

"The boy and the girl came looking for me. Now another boy, or what looks like a boy, also came looking for me. There may be more, so it would be best if I am not here."

Eddie's chest constricted. "You think they're dangerous?"

"I know they're dangerous," River Dog corrected.

"Like Nasedo was dangerous?"

"No, not like that. Worse."

" 'Worse'?" Eddie echoed. "Nasedo killed someone. I'd call that dangerous."

"Nasedo harmed those who intended to harm him," River Dog said. "He did not kill indiscriminately. Those who come after him may not be so circumspect."

River Dog slung the pack over his shoulder. "Are you going to the cave?" Eddie asked.

River Dog leaned in suddenly, taking him by the shoulders. "Listen to me," he said firmly. "No one should go near that cave. No one. Not you, not me, not anyone. That was true before, but it is more true than ever now that we know someone else is watching."

"What about Max? He's already seen the cave. What if he wants to see it again?"

"He can't," River Dog said intently. "He, of all people, must avoid the cave at all costs. If the boy who was here tonight is an enemy, he is Max's enemy as well, and if Max were to go to the cave, he could lead that enemy right to it…and then many more might be in danger."

"Right," Eddie said slowly. "So…where will you go?"

"Where no one can find me," River Dog said soberly. "All of you can honestly say you have no idea where I am. You will tell anyone who comes asking for me that I am gone, and you don't know when I will be back."

River Dog opened the door slightly. Through the thin crack, Eddie could see his mother standing guard.

"Stay here for several minutes," he instructed.

Eddie nodded mutely as his grandfather slipped out of the room. His mother never heard a thing, not until Eddie left the bedroom a good fifteen minutes later.

"What did he tell you?" she demanded.

"Nothing."

"Well, where is he?" she asked, looking past Eddie.

"He left already," Eddie said. "Didn't you see him go?"

What followed was a good hour of panicking, and hand-wringing, and running to neighbors to see if they'd seen him leave, but Eddie knew they hadn't. River Dog could be invisible when he wanted to be, could walk with almost absolute silence, skills which were waning among Eddie's parents' generation and waning further still among his own. Time to rectify that, perhaps, although he was already on the way. A month ago he wouldn't have been able to tell which way his grandfather had gone. But his senses were heightened now, his ability to observe even tiny details sharper than before. He hadn't been able to see anything in the bedroom, but his ears had still been working; he'd recognized the few sounds his grandfather had made as he left, and the sounds he hadn't made. And that's how he knew that his mother's frantic attempts to find out where his grandfather had gone were futile.

River Dog had gone into the woods.




******************************************************




The next day

December 11, 1999, 10:30 a.m.

UFO Center, Roswell



"C'mon, pick up," Isabel muttered, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk outside the UFO center as the phone rang for the fourth time. Another couple of rings, and it would go to voicemail...again. She wasn't sure she could take that.

The line clicked. "Isabel!" Grandma's voice said. "Michael's fine. Just fine."

Isabel leaned against the wall with relief. "He is? You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I would have noticed if he was anything like what you described last night."

"Did he eat breakfast?"

"No, I pitched him out hungry," Grandma deadpanned. "Of course he ate breakfast. Slept in late, ate like a hog, and left over an hour ago the very picture of health."

"Thank God," Isabel sighed. "I was so worried. You didn't call, and I thought…I was just worried."

"I didn't think I needed to call unless something was wrong," Grandma said. "But if you were worried, why didn't you call?"

"I've been calling. I left three messages. Don't you carry your phone with you?"

"I've only been out in the garden for the past thirty minutes," Grandma said dryly. "And no, I don't carry my phone everywhere. Most people my age don't even have a cell phone, never mind carry it around with them. It's almost lunch time; why didn't you call me earlier?"

"Because Mom was around," Isabel answered. "I couldn't get rid of her this morning, and I didn't want her to hear. She'd probably try to tell me Michael is a drug addict, or something."

"You may be right," Grandma agreed. "Probably better to leave her out of this. Well, I'm sorry you were worried, but Michael didn't get sick again. What was he doing last night, anyway? He wouldn't tell me."

"He wouldn't tell me either," Isabel said, putting a finger in her other ear as a truck roared by. "And I have no idea. If Michael's not talking, he's not talking."

"Where are you? Was that a truck?"

"I'm on Main Street outside the UFO Center," Isabel answered. "I'm meeting someone."

"A date?" Grandma suggested.

"No," Isabel said quickly. "Just a friend."

"Ah. What's his name?"

"It's…wait. When did I say it was a guy?"

"You didn't have to," Grandma chuckled. "No one ever says 'it's just a friend' when it's another girl."

"Well, it is just a friend," Isabel said self-consciously. "And believe me, if it were a date, it wouldn't be here."

"I believe you," Grandma said with absolute conviction. "I guess I was thinking of Max's date with Liz last night. Did he have a good time?"

Isabel blinked. "He told you about that?"

There was a pause. "Well…yes," Grandma said after a moment.

"When? Oh, right," Isabel added. "When I went upstairs with Grandpa. What did he say?"

"Not much. Just that he and Liz had been on a date."

Isabel closed her eyes. "Was he mad at me?"

"I don't think so. Does he have a reason to be?"

Isabel opened her mouth to answer, closed it, bit her lip. She'd been so rude to Max last night, and rude to Liz too. "Isabel," Grandma's voice said gently, "please take this in the spirit it's meant. You're a young woman now, and you enjoy the company of young men. You have to realize that your brother is a young man, and he's enjoying the company of a young woman. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know," Isabel said tonelessly, unable to explain to her grandmother just how very wrong it was when Max's desire to enjoy Liz's company brought the FBI to their doorstep. "I just…I don't know. It's weird. Max being with a girl, I mean. He's never dated before."

"I never dated at all," Grandma said. "Neither did your grandfather. We met when we were children and married when we were in college. Your brother is just very…careful," she went on. "He's not one to let just anyone in. If he's found someone he can be honest with, be himself with, that's very special. I say let him enjoy it. And if you find the same, then the same goes for you."

"Right," Isabel said, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Thanks for taking care of Michael, Grandma. I think you were the only one he'd let take care of him."

"Michael doesn't suffer fools gladly," Grandma noted. "And neither do I. We have that in common. Go enjoy your friend, dear. And don't be too hard on your brother when he enjoys his."

"Yeah. Bye, Grandma."

Isabel clicked her phone off and rested it against her forehead as a wave of guilt washed over her. Enjoy your friend… That's exactly what Max had been doing when Michael had burst in last night, all feverish and sweaty. And then she'd barked at Max when they'd left for Grandma and Grandpa's house as though she was blaming him for what had happened to Michael when the truth was that she'd been doing exactly the same thing. If he's found someone he can be honest with, be himself with, that's very special. Max had told her that having someone to share their secret with was a powerful thing, and she hadn't understood…until last night. Granted she hadn't been on a date with Alex, but there was no question that her blood pressure must have dropped a good twenty points because of him. All the staring and puppy-dog eagerness aside, there was something about Alex, something scientific, and analytical, and calming. Even though that scientific side had been bugging her last night, it had had its effect; late last night, all alone in the dark kitchen and reaching into the pantry for a snack, she'd spied a bottle of brown mustard way in the back and been overcome with a sudden urge to experiment. A moment later their ketchup had become the spitting image of the mustard, but still tasted like ketchup, just like in the diner. Then she'd tasted the mustard, tried again…and it had worked. Alex had been right; some kind of experience was necessary to get all the parameters right. It had been hard to sleep last night with her head buzzing about both Michael and her newfound knowledge, but there was no doubt that learning something new had changed the way she thought of herself and whetted her appetite to know more. And it certainly didn't hurt that Alex thought her deep dark secret was the coolest thing ever. She'd grown up thinking herself a freak of nature, so to have someone actually be excited over it was new. Last night marked the first time in her life that what she was had seemed special. And Alex is a lot like Liz, she thought. No wonder Max enjoyed this. She liked it too.

"Hey."

Isabel's head jerked up. "Max! What are you doing here?"

"I work here, remember?" Max said dryly. "Last I knew, it was a source of embarrassment for you."

"Of course I remember," Isabel said, tucking her phone in her bag. "I meant, what are you doing out here? It's too early for lunch."

"Break time," Max said, leaning against the wall of the building. "Nice to see the sun; it's a bit of a pit in there. Why are you here?"

"Waiting for someone," Isabel said evasively. "I called Grandma," she went on, changing the subject. "She says Michael left this morning, and he was fine."

"Good."

"I wish I knew what happened," Isabel went on. "We don't get sick like that. None of us have."

Max shook his head. "I have no idea. But with the way Michael's been all worked up lately, it could have been anything." He paused. "I was going to talk to both of you about the cave painting last night, but then…well, you know. We'll talk tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Isabel agreed, fiddling with her purse strap. "So…how was your date with Liz?"

There was a long pause. "Why would you want to know that?" Max asked finally.

"I was just…just feeling bad that you got...you know…interrupted," Isabel said, keeping her eyes fixed on a point across the street.

"You were?" Max said warily.

"Yeah. And I think you should go on another one. Another date, that is. To make up for the one you didn't get to finish."

Max shook his head. "Okay, who are you, and what have you done with my sister?"

"Very funny," Isabel said crossly. " I'm just trying to be nice. Is that such a bad thing?"

"No," Max allowed. "It's just not your typical reaction. It certainly wasn't your reaction last night."

"Well, maybe I've re-thought things since then," Isabel said. "I'm a woman; I'm allowed to change my mind. Go on another date, and we'll try not to have any crises this time."

Max studied her in silence for so long that she began to squirm. "Okay," he said finally, still sounding uncertain. "Well…I've gotta get back."

"Max?" Isabel called after him. "Does this mean you're actually admitting that it was a date?"

Her brother smiled faintly before going inside without answering. The door had barely closed behind him when she spied Alex in the distance, walking toward her with that big smile on his face that made him seem excited just to be breathing. "You came!" he said when he reached her. "I wasn't sure you would."

"I told you I would," Isabel answered. "You were all mysterious on the phone. Why did you want to meet me?"

"I thought of something last night," Alex said. "A lot of something's, actually. Actually, I couldn't sleep; my head just kept spinning around."

"Sorry," Isabel said awkwardly.

"No! No, I meant that in a good way," Alex assured her. "It's just everything looks different now. There are so many things I've never paid attention to, or just discounted. I've got to re-evaluate all of it; guess it'll take a while."

"Yeah…me too," Isabel admitted, glancing at the door through which her brother had just walked. "So what's up?"

Alex gestured toward the door of the UFO center. "Like I said, I thought of something, and I want to show you."

"Here?" Isabel doubtfully.

"Yeah," Alex said. "If we go in now, we'll beat the lunch crowd."

Isabel hesitated, then reluctantly followed Alex inside as he cheerfully forged ahead, unaware of her discomfiture. She'd been hoping that the UFO center had just been a convenient meeting place, but apparently not. Darkness closed in as the door closed behind her, and she shivered involuntarily; "bit of a pit" was a bit of an understatement for this place. Being here always made her feel trapped, like she was moments away from dissection. She had no idea how her brother could stand it.

"Wait," she said suddenly, stopping on the stairs.

"What?" Alex asked.

Isabel hesitated. "Nothing," she said finally. "For a minute there, I thought I saw Michael."




*****************************************************




Crashdown Café




"You're certain he was all right?" Brivari asked.

"Didn't I just say that?" Dee's exasperated voice came over the phone. "Honestly, you're the second person today to question my eyeballs. I'll grant they aren't what they used to be, but I can still tell if someone's sick, thank you very much."

" 'Second person'? Who else asked?"

"Isabel, of course. Who else?"

"I was thinking maybe Zan," Brivari murmured.

"Haven't heard a word from Max. But then I wouldn't. This is Isabel's territory. She'd do the checking and report back to Max. Where are you now?"

"At the Crashdown," Brivari answered. "Zan is working at the UFO Center across the street—for the life of me, I'll never understand why he took a job there, of all places—and Vilandra went in a few minutes ago."

"With a boy," Dee finished.

"How did you know that?"

"Because I just got off the phone with her. I told you you're not the only one snooping. And don't get all high and mighty on me about calling it 'snooping'; that's what it is, even if you do glorify it with a different word. So who did she meet?"

" 'Glorify'?" Brivari muttered. "You do recall my Ward ruled a planet, don't you?"

"Perfectly. You didn't tell me who she met."

"Just a minute."

Brivari pulled the phone away from his ear as his waitress approached. "One Galaxy Burger, one Crater Coffee," she announced, setting both down with a flourish. "Anything else?"

"Miss!" a woman across the aisle called imperiously. "This brown mustard tastes like ketchup!"

"Was that Maria?" Dee's voice asked when he returned the phone to his ear.

"It was, indeed," Brivari replied, watching the disagreement unfold ten feet away. "She and the Parker girl are working today. Here I thought my head count had gone down with the Bureau gone, but I'm finding the best way to keep track of the hybrids is to keep track of their friends, or at least the friends 'in the know'. Including the latest acquisition, which, by the way, is who Vilandra was waiting for."

"Alex?" Dee said. "Good! Maybe now she'll have someone to talk to like Max has with Liz."

"And Rath with 'Maria'," Brivari said. "Although I must say talking isn't their strong suit."

"What's this?" Dee said avidly. "I hadn't heard this! Are Michael and Maria an item?"

"If that's what you call necking in the 'janitor's closet' at school."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Brivari said in a pained tone. "I have to watch him, at least when I can find him, no matter what he's doing or who he's doing it with. What's so funny?" he added crossly when Dee burst out laughing. "Surveiling an adolescent sex drive is hardly my idea of fun."

"If you say so," Dee chuckled. "So…Michael and Maria. Interesting choice."

"Very," Brivari agreed. "And one I can't fault. She's a far better match for him than Vilandra ever was."

"I'm kind of doubting that will happen," Dee said. "They've been raised as almost brother and sister this time around. But…" She paused. "Brivari," she said slowly, "what happens when Ava arrives?"

"Jaddo and I start fighting again. Any other questions?"

"That's not what I meant. What happens if Max is dating someone when Ava gets here? I mean, even if she doesn't know he used to be her husband, she's bound to find out. Then what?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Brivari advised. "The first order of business is to keep them all alive long enough to be reunited …." He stopped, his eyes fixed on the door behind the counter.

"What?" Dee said.

"I'll have to call you back."

Brivari clicked his phone shut and rose from his seat. He could have sworn he'd just seen Zan poke his head through the door which led to the back of the restaurant, a suspicion confirmed when both the Parker girl and her friend disappeared into the back. He left bills on the table and went around to the back door, slipping inside noiselessly. Pots rattled in the kitchen and other servers came and went, but there was no sign of his Wards or their friends until he heard voices upstairs.

Cautiously, Brivari climbed part way up the stairs. "Do you have a thermometer?" he heard Vilandra's anxious voice ask.

"In the bathroom," the Parker girl answered. "Come with me."

Alarmed now, Brivari climbed the rest of the way. Fever. That was the way Vilandra had described Rath's illness last night, and it made absolutely no sense; the hybrids' superior immune systems should be able to fight off anything this planet could throw at them. He'd consoled himself by reasoning that Rath's brief illness had been just that, his hybrid immune system doing its job, albeit more slowly than he would have guessed, but that was only marginally comforting. This was a brand new species, and that brand new species undoubtedly had weaknesses he was unaware of.

Brivari shrank back into the shadows as Zan appeared in a doorway off the upstairs hallway. "Where did Isabel go?" he asked someone inside the room in a tone Brivari recognized as only inches from panic.

"With Liz," the DeLuca girl's voice answered. "She's getting a thermometer so we can take his temperature. C'mon, I'll show you."

Zan and the DeLuca girl left the room, disappearing around the corner just as Brivari reached the doorway. Rath was lying on the bed, shaking violently, his arms crossed in front of himself in an eerie reminder of the way Quanah's body had been laid out so many years ago. What in blazes is going on? Brivari wondered, pulling out the healing stone he always carried with him. Whatever it was, diagnosis would have to wait. The stone glowed, and he closed his eyes, concentrating.

A minute later, he opened them in frustration. Nothing had happened. His energy had hit an impenetrable wall so solid, he couldn't even tell what was on the other side. "What did you step in this time?" Brivari muttered, trying again. Still nothing.

Voices sounded outside. Cursing, Brivari withdrew as everyone reappeared, Vilandra wielding a thermometer which she promptly parked in Rath's mouth and withdrew a couple of minutes later. He could tell from the look on her face that the news wasn't good.

"It only goes up to 112," she said haltingly.

"We're gonna need some ice and towels," the DeLuca girl announced. "We need to cool him down."

"Um…they're in the kitchen," the Parker girl answered, "and then there's some in the bathroom, too."

The DeLuca girl left, passing within inches of Brivari. "Are you okay?" he heard Zan ask.

"Has this ever happened before?" the Parker girl asked. "I mean, to you?"

"Never," Zan replied.

And it shouldn't be happening now, Brivari thought, thoroughly alarmed now. But it was, and all the ice and towels in the world weren't going to be enough. Rath needed more than that, and whatever it took to fix it, he might not be able to do it alone; he might have to either enlist Jaddo's aid or reveal himself to the hybrids in order to right this, disturbing thoughts both.

"What's he saying?" Vilandra's voice floated out of the bedroom.

"I don't…I don't know," Zan answered. "It's some kind of chant. Michael, can you hear me? What are you saying? What…"

But Brivari ignored the rest of it. Chant… There was one other time when chanting and illness had walked hand in hand, a memory so distant, he'd completely forgotten it. But he remembered it now, and was on his way out, almost missing Rath's ragged reply.

"River Dog."




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

I'll post Chapter 37 next Sunday.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


December 11, 1999, 11:45 a.m.

Mescalero Indian Reservation




"You must know something!" Eddie's mother exclaimed in exasperation. "You were the last person to speak to him!"

"I already told you a million times, he wouldn't tell me where he was going," Eddie said.

"Then do you have any ideas?" his father asked. "Any at all?"

"I already told you a million times, I don't," Eddie said tersely. "How many times do I have to say the same thing before you believe me?"

More, Eddie thought, answering his own question as both parents once again started in on him. River Dog's disappearance last night had upset both of them so much that they'd stayed home, combing the village for information, for anyone who may have seen anything at all. But no one had, a combination of the fact that it had been late, dark, and River Dog hadn't wanted to be seen. When morning had come and his grandfather hadn't reappeared, his parents had gone into full out crisis mode.

"No cars or trucks are missing," his father was saying, "which means he probably went on foot. I'll round up some people to help look for him."

"On foot," his mother moaned. "Is he trying to kill himself?"

"Don't fret," his father soothed. "He can't have gotten far."

Don't count on it, Eddie thought. He'd watched his grandfather hike the forest to the cave, moving so fast that his own grandson had to hurry to keep up with him. And if the woods hadn't been his real destination, all he would have had to do was reach the road and hitchhike. He could be miles away by now.

A shadow moved outside, paused by the window, vanished. Eddie left his parents to their rescue planning and slipped outside, knowing that arguing with them would only make things worse. They had the entire village in an uproar, which may have been the point all along; if anyone came looking for River Dog, everyone would be in agreement that he wasn't here. He found Jackie waiting for him a few doors down.

"Rough morning?" she asked.

"Loud," Eddie clarified. "I assume you heard?"

"Everyone heard. I thought it was better if I didn't knock."

"Wise choice," Eddie sighed.

"So do you know where he went?"

Yes. "No," he answered. "And I'm glad I don't."

"But you know why he went, don't you?"

Eddie hesitated. "Let's just call it personal reasons, and leave it at that, shall we?"

"I can't leave it at that, Eddie. Because that 'personal reason' just came back."

"Who came back?" Eddie asked sharply.

"The boy," Jackie answered. "Not the one from last night, the one who was here the first time, the one with the girl who had the broken necklace. I saw them drive by in a black jeep."

Max, Eddie thought darkly. This was all his fault; if not for Max's big mouth, River Dog wouldn't have felt the need to leave, and Eddie wouldn't be catching crap from his parents. "Where are you going?" Jackie demanded when he turned abruptly and stalked away.

"Where do you think?" Eddie said tightly.

"Eddie, don't," Jackie begged, scrambling after him. "Don't get involved this time. Everyone will tell them River Dog's not here; just leave it at that."

"I don't want to leave it at that," Eddie said angrily. "I have a thing or two to say to that kid."

Jackie kept protesting, but it turned out they didn't have far to go. Only a short ways down the road, a black jeep came around the corner and pulled to a stop. Max and Liz climbed out just as Eddie reached them.

"You're not welcome here anymore," Eddie declared as the two spun around to face him.

"We just want to find out what happened," Max said.

"You told someone what you found here!" Eddie exclaimed. "River Dog is really angry!"

"It's really important that we talk to him about what he did to Michael," Liz said.

A small crowd was gathering. Eddie saw Jackie hanging back, her eyes wide. "He tested him," Eddie said. "Your friend didn't pass."

"What do you mean?" Max asked warily.

"That's all I know," Eddie said.

"That's not enough," Max declared. "I want to know exactly what River Dog did to him."

"He wants nothing to do with you," Eddie retorted. "You betrayed his trust, and that's something he won't forgive."

Eddie stiffened as Max grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him forward. "I don't want forgiveness!" he snapped. "I want answers before my friend dies!"

Eddie held Max's gaze as they stood nose to nose, the crowd pressing in all around them, every pair of eyes on Max. Liz looked alarmed, and behind everyone, Jackie had backed up further. Max released him but held his ground, not the least bit disturbed that he was surrounded by a dozen angry people. His eyes were locked on Eddie's, and as Eddie gazed into them, he caught a whiff of something dangerous percolating just beneath the surface, held barely in check.

"Max…Max," Liz said softly, one hand on the boy who looked ready to explode. "Michael's really sick, Eddie," she went on, "and we don't know what to do. We need River Dog."

Sick? Eddie looked from one to the other, confused. This was the second reference to illness, and it made no sense. River Dog hadn't said anything about anyone being sick, and if "Michael" was the boy who had been here last night, he'd been fine when he left.

"I'm sorry," Eddie said, "but he's gone."

"Then I'm waiting here until he comes back," Max said.

Max retreated to the jeep, folding his arms in front of himself and glaring at everyone around them. Liz hesitated, looking back and forth from Eddie to Max as though hoping Eddie would come up with a different answer before joining Max beside the jeep. The crowd was also looking back and forth, but their problem was curiosity, a curiosity he wasn't in a position to satisfy. After a brief nod to everyone, Eddie walked out of the crowd, passing Jackie, who followed him at a discreet distance.

"Eddie, what was that all about?" Jackie hissed, catching up with him when they were out of earshot.

"Not sure," Eddie said shortly. "I need to get out of here."

"Maybe we all need to get out of here," Jackie said, glancing back toward Max and Liz. "We can't just leave them there."

"We have to," Eddie said. "He's not leaving, and it wouldn't be wise to try and make him."

Jackie grabbed him by the arm, spun him around. "What's that supposed to mean? Is he dangerous?"

"He may be if we try and make him leave," Eddie said. "Look, I need to go," he added urgently. "I said some things…I was angry. I said some things I shouldn't have, and everyone's going to want to know what I meant. And I can't tell them."

Jackie raised an eyebrow. "Like what it was that kid 'found' here? And how River Dog 'tested' the other one? Because I'd like to know those things too, Eddie."

Eddie looked away. "Yeah. That. And I can't tell you either. I'm not sure you even want to know."

Jackie glanced back; the crowd was beginning to disperse. "My house," she said. "My grandmother is with my parents down at the carts. The house should be empty."

"Your house? That's the first place they'll look after mine."

"And I'll tell them you're not there," Jackie said. "Everyone still thinks we're not speaking to each other, remember? Come on."

They walked quickly, looking carefully around to be certain no one was watching before slipping in the back door of Jackie's house. "Thanks," Eddie said gratefully, sinking into a chair. "I know you didn't want to get involved with this, and here you've gotten involved twice now."

"Three times, if you count the one that made you mad," Jackie said dryly. "But enough times that I think I deserve a better explanation than…."

She stopped, her eyes widening, much wider than they'd been during the scuffle with Max. Eddie stared at her a moment before turning around to see what she was looking at, and what he found had him out of his chair in a big hurry. The strange man facing them only feet away looked like a perfectly normal white man; blue jeans, leather jacket, bald head, but there was something about him, something beyond the fact that he was here, in this kitchen, when he shouldn't be.

"Do…you know him?" Eddie whispered.

"She does not," the man answered before Jackie could. "And neither do you. I'm looking for River Dog. Where is he?"

Holy shit, Eddie thought as he felt Jackie stiffen beside him. River Dog's whereabouts seemed to be the question on everyone's mind, but this wasn't some teenager asking the question. "I…don't know," he stammered. "He's not here."

"Then where is he?"

"I don't know," Eddie repeated. "He left last night," he added hastily when the stranger took a small but clear step forward. "He didn't say where he was going."

"But you're his grandson," the stranger said. "You have an idea."

Eddie's heart began to pound so hard, he could have sworn it was visible through his shirt. How on earth did this man know that River Dog was his grandfather? This is why he left, Eddie thought. This is exactly why River Dog had left, because he knew what would be coming for him…and here it was. He felt Jackie's hand slip into his, grip it hard.

"I don't know where he went," Eddie said in a voice as firm as he could muster. "He didn't tell me, and that was the point. He didn't want anyone to know, and he didn't want me to have to hide anything."

The man paused, his head bowed as he looked at the floor as though considering this. Eddie waited, Jackie barely breathing beside him, hoping the fact that he didn't know anything would make whoever—whatever—this was go away, just as River Dog had hoped.

And then the man slowly, deliberately, looked up. Jackie gasped. Eddie's heart went from pounding to nearly stopping.

"With all due respect to your grandfather," the stranger said, "I still need to know where he is."

The tone was calm, deliberate, even courtly. All of which belied the fact that his eyes had gone completely, utterly black.




*****************************************************




Crashdown Café




"Order up!" the cook bellowed. "C'mon, kid, let's get a move on!"

Flustered, Alex jammed his pencil and pad in his pocket. "Sorry, can you hold on a sec? I'll be right back."

He fled quickly, leaving the table of four who had been waiting patiently for him to take their order with their mouths open. When he reached the window, the cook was scowling so deeply, it looked like his face hurt.

"See, the idea behind me making hot food is that you deliver it hot, or at least warm," the cook fumed. "I don't set these plates out here for decoration, you know. You're supposed to deliver them."

"You got mine?" a voice asked behind him.

"Yeah, I just don't have anywhere to put them," the cook groused. "This one hasn't picked up his orders yet."

The exceptionally grumpy Agnes looked Alex up and down like he was some sort of bug. "So load me up," she said in martyred tones. "I'm not getting in trouble because of him."

"I'm not trying to get anyone in trouble," Alex protested. "I'm just trying to help out a friend."

"A friend who walked out on her shift," Agnes sniffed. "I know Liz said she had to leave, but where's Maria?"

"Busy," Alex retorted. "Kind of like you were busy that night when all the orthodontists hit and you left Maria alone to take your break. Frankly, you owe her."

If looks could kill, the one Agnes shot him would have dropped him faster than that bullet had dropped Liz. Agnes's mouth set in a grim line as she loaded up both arms with an impressive number of plates and stormed off. Great, Alex thought. Another enemy. Just what he needed. He was batting zero today for sure.

"Not bad," the cook chuckled. "Maybe I was wrong about you, kid. Takes balls to tangle with that one."

Alex blinked. Okay, maybe not zero; just close. "Look, I'm really sorry," he said to the cook. "I've never done this before—"

"No, really?"

"—but I'm trying to learn fast," Alex finished, ignoring him. "I'd learn even faster with a little help."

"All right, all right," the cook sighed. "You've got four orders here. That's the most you can take in one go, so this'll be good practice—"

"Four?" Alex echoed incredulously. "How am I supposed to carry four plates?"

"One on each arm, one in each hand. One, two, three, four. You can count, can't you?"

"Of course I can count," Alex said crossly. "This isn't about math, it's about balance."

"Here, give me your arm," the cook coaxed. "One there and there. Now grab one with each hand. Roll your arms in toward each other a little so they support each other—not too much, or you'll spill everything, and…there! Off you go. Don't bump anything."

Terrified, Alex looked down at the four plates of steaming hot, greasy food and nearly fainted. Don't bump anything? How in the world was he supposed to get all this to the table, any table, without spilling it all? You can do this! he told himself fiercely. He was an honor student, for Christ's sake. He could handle AP Math, so he should be able to balance a few plates. Looking out at the restaurant, he spied his target table; mercifully, it was relatively close. Moving very slowly, he crept his way over, coming to a careful stop at the end of the table.

"Okay!" he said with completely false cheerfulness. "Let's see...here's the Galaxy Burger, and the Men in Blackberry pie…" One by one he divested himself of each plate, after which there was a brief pause, a flurry of confused looks…and then everyone exchanged plates with everyone else in a culinary version of a Chinese fire drill.

"Oh," Alex said, mortified. "Sorry."

"No harm done, son," one of the customers assured him. "Everything's here, it just needed…rearranging."

"Right. Thanks. Well…anything else I can get you?"

A bottle of ketchup later, Alex returned to the table of four who deserved a medal for their patience. That order was clipped to the turntable just as another one came up, this one only two plates, which felt like nothing after four. This time he managed to deliver the right plates to the right customers, after which a miracle occurred: There was a lull, with everyone seated either eating or having ordered, and no new customers in sight. Agnes was still glaring at him, the cook was his new best friend for having told her off, and Alex took advantage of the precious few free minutes to slip into the back and lean against the wall, absolutely exhausted. He'd honestly had no idea that waiting tables was so hard.

Penance, Alex thought, enjoying the cooler air in the back. Perhaps he should think of this as penance because God knows he had some penance to do. He still couldn't believe he'd blurted out what he'd blurted out back at the UFO Center, and he wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Isabel never, ever spoke to him again. He'd been over the moon when the most beautiful…well, "girl"…in school had talked to him for so long last night and then agreed to meet him this morning that he'd just lost his marbles. There was no other explanation for having said what he'd said. And then before he could make it right, Michael had gotten sick, and Isabel had yelled at him to leave them alone. In a funk, Alex had crossed the street to the Crashdown, meaning to unburden himself to Maria. But he hadn't been able to find her, and it wasn't until he'd spied her, harried and arguing with Agnes, that he realized why: They'd brought Michael here. He'd figured they'd bring him home or to the doctor, but how stupid was that? Michael was an alien; he couldn't go to the doctor any more than Max could, and his stepfather was a known lush. Sneaking into the back when Agnes wasn't looking, he'd found Maria just as she was heading upstairs.

"He's here, isn't he? Is he okay?"

"Yes…and no," Maria had answered, her face a mask of worry. "We don't know what's wrong. They don't know what's wrong."

"Okay, what can I do to help?" Alex had asked.

Maria's eyes had widened. "Oh, God, Alex, would you wait tables? We're gonna be up and down, and—"

"Say no more," Alex had instructed her firmly. "Where do you want me to start?"

Five minutes later, pencil and pad in hand, he'd walked into the restaurant absolutely delighted to be useful. He'd never waited tables in his life, but how hard could it be? Take the order, pass the order to the kitchen, bring the food to the table, get them anything else they needed, add up the bill, deliver it, move on. Piece of cake, right? Wrong, Alex thought heavily. It was downright embarrassing to find out how tough this was. Pre-calc was a breeze compared to waiting tables, plus it only left you with a headache, not sore feet, a sore back, and a headache. He'd made one friend, one enemy, he had no idea what was going on upstairs, or if Isabel would ever speak to him again…nope. Still batting zero, or darned closed to it.

Muffled voices floated down from upstairs. Alex peeked back into the restaurant; the lull continued, and he saw a chance to improve his dismal batting average. Climbing the stairs, he found the door at the top locked but the key still under the mat. The voices were clearer up here and coming from a room on the right.

"…I had a really high fever, and my mom had to put me in an ice bath," Maria was saying.

"This isn't the chicken pox, and he was fine," Isabel protested.

"Knock, knock," Alex said, poking his head in the door.

The look Isabel shot him was pure panic. "I thought you said you locked the door," she said accusingly to Maria.

"The key's always under the mat," Alex said hastily. "Hey, look, everything's going fine downstairs. I just wanted to come up…see if there's anything that I could do."

"Yes, there's something you could do," Isabel said in a ragged voice. "You can get out of here, both of you, and let me take care of Michael! God, he needs me right now, not strangers!"

Alex stiffened like he'd been slapped. He'd gone and done it again! Twice in one day had to be a record. But Maria didn't react, didn't say a word to either him or Isabel, merely ushered him outside and back downstairs, locking the door behind her and pocketing the key which had been under the mat.

"God, I...I'm sorry," Alex stammered. "I didn't mean to piss her off all over again, or to—"

"Alex, Alex; don't worry," Maria said soothingly. "It's not you. She was already mad at me, and then you showed up—"

"No, it was me," Alex said, anguished. "I…I did...said…something really stupid over in the UFO center right before Michael got sick, and Isabel got really mad at me...completely understandable, I know, but still—"

"It's okay," Maria said. "It's not your fault."

"How do you know that?" Alex demanded. "You don't even know what I said!"

"And I don't have to," Maria said. "Look, you just found out three of your classmates are aliens. That's enough to boggle anyone's mind, and it takes some getting used to. Give yourself a break; you'll get the hang of it. After what you've done for them, they owe you one hell of a lot of slack."

"But it was really stupid—"

"So?" Maria interrupted. "When I found out, I ran screaming into the road. Literally. I'm not proud of that, but that's what happened. Don't worry about Isabel; she'll get over it. Besides, she's got a much bigger problem on her mind now."

Alex glanced back up the stairs. "He's no better, is he?"

Maria shook her head. "No. Max and Liz went to see if they could find out how he got this way, so in the meantime, it's just us. I don't care what Isabel thinks, I am so grateful you're here. It means so much to me that you're willing to just pitch in like this, and when this is over, it will to her too."

The kitchen door opened abruptly, and the cook appeared. "Order up!" he told Alex enthusiastically. "I like this one," he added to Maria. "He's got stones."

Maria raised an eyebrow as Alex felt his face warming. "Oh, really?"

"Really," the cook answered. "Ask Agnes."

"Agnes giving you trouble?" Maria asked as the kitchen door swung closed.

"I've got it," Alex assured her. "Don't worry about me."

"Oh, I won't," Maria smiled. "I already knew you had stones."




*****************************************************



Mescalero Indian Reservation




Eddie's heart had given up trying to decide what to do; it had gone from pounding to nearly stopping and back again in such a short space of time that it seemed to have seized in a staccato, irregular rhythm. Jackie had slipped almost completely behind him, her hand gripping his so tightly that it was growing numb. The stranger's eyes were normal now, having been black only for a few seconds, but that had been plenty long enough to get the point across: This was a visitor. The question was, what kind?

"With all due respect," Eddie echoed in a voice that shook, "I told you, I don't know where River Dog is. He deliberately didn't tell me."

The visitor sighed a deceptively human sigh. "Then tell me what happened with…'Michael'," he finished, speaking the name with an edge to his voice. "He came here didn't he? When?" he added when Eddie nodded. "And with whom?"

"Last night," Eddie answered, deciding this was safe information to give, as River Dog hadn't told him not to. "And he was alone. Assuming that was 'Michael'. He wouldn't tell me his name."

"A brief burst of sanity," the visitor muttered. "Imagine that."

Eddie blinked; the visitor's tone was a dead ringer for that of his parents this morning, equal parts exasperation and disappointment. "He just said he was looking for River Dog," Eddie went on. "That's all. He was very insistent."

"Oh, I'll bet," the visitor said darkly. "And he went into the sweat, didn't he?"

"How did you know that?"

"Because he's ill," the visitor answered. "Was he ill when he left last night?"

"No," Eddie answered. "And he was only in there for a few minutes."

"So was I," the visitor said. "And I became so ill, I would have died if not for your grandfather."

Died…. Eddie's mind raced back to the stories River Dog had told him, over a month ago now. His grandfather claimed the visitor had saved his life and the life of his great-grandfather, Quanah…and at some point, River Dog had saved the visitor's. He'd never understood how River Dog could have saved a visitor's life or why that would have been necessary, and River Dog hadn't provided details, but no matter. A piece of the puzzle suddenly clicked into place.

"Are you…are you Nasedo?"

The visitor gave him a measured stare. "Where did you hear that name?"

"From my grandfather," Eddie answered. "And you haven't answered my question."

Silence. Behind him, Jackie had stiffened all over again. The visitor was eyeing him closely as though trying to decide whether to answer.

"I am the one your grandfather knew as 'Nasedo'," he said finally.

Eddie nodded slowly "Then I should tell you he kept his promise to you."

"I know," Nasedo answered. "And you helped him keep it. I saw you. At the cave. Even after River Dog told you to stay away from it."

"River Dog also told me Nasedo had enemies," Eddie said. "That's why he didn't tell me where he was going, in case an enemy came looking for him. How do I know you're not an enemy?"

Nasedo considered that for a moment before shrugging slightly. "I guess you don't."

Another long silence stretched. Eddie got the distinct impression that the next move was his as he watched Nasedo, who returned his stare with no malice, but offered nothing by way of proof of his identity. Then again, what did he have to offer? How could a visitor prove he was the same visitor who had been here forty years ago?

"My grandfather made a promise to you," Eddie said suddenly. "He promised to administer a test. What was that test?"

"If anyone came to him, he was to bring them far enough into the cave that they were in total darkness," Nasedo replied promptly. "They had to produce their own light. Only then was he to show them the markings on the wall."

Eddie felt himself sag slightly with relief. Granted it remained unnerving to have a visitor standing in front of him, but now the odds were good that this was the same visitor River Dog had trusted all those years ago. "I gather the first one who came passed the test," Nasedo went on. "And your grandfather showed him the markings."

"The boy passed," Eddie nodded. "The girl didn't. River Dog said she wasn't one of them."

"He was right," Nasedo agreed. "And did the boy show any recognition when he saw the markings?"

Eddie shook his head. "No. He was fascinated, but he didn't know what they meant. He seemed…."

"What?" Nasedo prompted.

"Really new at it," Eddie admitted. "He was upset that the cave painting didn't mean anything to him, as though he knew it should, but just couldn't remember. And he seemed surprised by the light he made, like he hadn't done that before, surprised and…winded. It seemed to take a lot of effort."

Nasedo said nothing. Eddie risked a peek at Jackie, who still looked scared, but was gazing intently at the visitor, who looked…disturbed? Disappointed? Upset, definitely, as though Max's behavior was not up to snuff. "I see," he said heavily. "What about Michael? Did he see the markings?"

"We were never anywhere near the cave," Eddie answered. "When he showed up asking for River Dog, grandfather said to bring him into the sweat, so I did. He was only in there about ten minutes before he left."

"And that's when it started," Nasedo murmured. "How was he afterwards?"

"Mad," Eddie said. "He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer when I told him River Dog wouldn't talk to him. He needed some convincing."

"No doubt," Nasedo said dryly. "But he wasn't visibly ill?"

Eddie shook his head. "No. Coughing, but not sick. And Grandfather was angry because he said Michael wasn't one of them, and he thought Max had told someone about this place after he'd warned him not to. He left last night because he was afraid others would come. He thought it was safer for everyone if he wasn't here."

Nasedo considered this in silence for a moment. "Here's the thing," he said finally. "Your grandfather was mistaken; Michael is one of us, which is why he's ill, likely the same way I was. It took longer to show up than it did with me, but I have to expect it will take the same course…and I almost died. I need your grandfather to help heal him."

"You need the healing stones," Eddie nodded. "I know where they are—"

"Healing stones will not be enough. I need your grandfather."

"Bu why?" Eddie asked, perplexed. "Grandfather said he helped you all by himself."

"He did. But that won't work this time, and I don't have time to explain why. I need to know where he is."

"And I told you, I don't know!" Eddie exclaimed in frustration. "I said the same thing to Max, and he's parked down there, waiting for grandfather to come back."

"As he should be," Nasedo said. "He will wait as long as it takes because he has no other options…but such is not the case with me."

The tone was calm, more statement than threat, but the meaning was unmistakable, and the atmosphere in the room changed abruptly. Everyone felt it, including Jackie, who shot Eddie an alarmed look. "I will ask you again," Nasedo said deliberately. "Where is your grandfather? You must know something of where he was headed when he left. I need to know where to start looking. A life depends on it."

Eddie looked back and forth from Nasedo to Jackie, the latter shaking her head ever so slightly, the former's expression making it clear that refusing to answer would result in something a good deal less pleasant than merely waiting like Max. River Dog had been certain that Michael was not a visitor, and it appeared he'd been wrong. He certainly wouldn't have wanted to put anyone's life in danger, but it appeared he had.

"If you find him," Eddie said warily, "what will you do with him?"

" 'Do with him'?" Nasedo repeated. "You think I would harm him? Why would I do that? Your grandfather is an ally."

"So was the man you killed. The one with the broken necklace, the necklace you gave him."

"Ah," Nasedo said softly. "Yes. James." He paused. "James was also an ally. But he threatened to expose me, and very soon after meeting me. In all the years I've known River Dog, he's never done that. He knows the value of discretion, as did his father, and he still does, as evidenced by the fact that he left; his absence would protect me as well as you. But the only enemy currently to hand is illness, and for that, I need your grandfather. I will find him without your assistance but I will find him faster with it, and speed is of the essence. I don't have much time."

He walked closer. Jackie backed up, but Eddie stood his ground as Nasedo came face to face with him, held his gaze. "For the last time…where is he?"




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River Dog threw another log on the fire, the flames leaping and snapping. It was cold; he'd had to wait until the searchers, no doubt assembled by his son, had migrated to another section of the woods before starting a fire, and even now he was ready to abandon it at a moment's notice. Fortunately he'd brought provisions for several days, but he might have to visit his son in secret just to reassure him he lived and get him to call off the search. They must not find him. No one must find him. Too many were looking for him, and for all the wrong reasons. With a heavy sigh, he settled down on the ground…and gaped when he looked across the fire.

"When last we parted, you asked if you would ever see me again," said the man sitting across from him. "At the time, I would have said 'no'. And I would have been wrong."

River Dog leaned closer, peering through the smoke. "Nasedo?"




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Next week is Memorial Day weekend, so I'll post Chapter 38 on Sunday, June 5th.