Roswell Fanatics

Title: Falling

Author: Greywolf
Couple: All CC mainly M/L
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell or any of the characters. Please don't sue me, I'm just having a little fun here.
started 12 June 2007

Summary: Becoming a teenager can be hard…puberty…going to new schools…wanting desperately to not be any different from the other kids. But what if you ARE different…and what if you are really only seven years old?


Sept 23, 1989: The Evans Residence, Roswell New Mexico

Dr. James Marquardt seldom left his office in Albuquerque anymore. The home visit and final approval for adoption was usually done by the local Department of Social Services Social Worker…but this case wasn’t quite what you’d call usual. And that was why Dr. James Marquardt, assistant director of the Department, the guy with the undergraduate degrees in cultural anthropology and early child development, and the PhD in child psychology had driven this far from his comfortable office to make the final approval on this case.

It wasn’t that there were doubts about the family…far from it. Two well-educated and reasonably prosperous lawyers, unable to have children of their own despite a stable and apparently quite loving marriage,.. no, the problem wasn’t with the foster parent who wanted to adopt…. The problem was that…well Doctor Marquardt wasn’t sure that the woman really knew what she was getting in to.

He’d watched her with them for three hours…clothing them…feeding them…trying to toilet train them…trying to teach them English…they at least responded to the names she had given them…that was somewhat encouraging. The woman seemed tireless, but then she’d only had them for a few weeks. How would she do for the next eleven or twelve years, Doctor Marquardt wondered? Finally she had put the children in the playroom…surrounded by a bewildering array of toys that they clearly didn’t understand. It wouldn’t appear that they had ever had toys…but they were at least curious about them…that was encouraging too, Doctor Marquardt supposed…although he really didn’t see much to be encouraged about.

As they sat at the kitchen table and looked at the two children in the playroom she poured him a cup of coffee….freshly brewed, and put out a plate of cookies….the woman was certainly doing her best to make a good impression…and she had. But did she really realize what she was letting herself in for? That was really what Doctor Marquardt wanted to know…the very reason he’d made the long drive south to Roswell.

“I’ve basically turned my caseload over to my husband,” she said. “I can certainly still help him…doing research and preparing briefs after Max and Isabel are in bed,..but I intend to be a stay-at-home Mom…at least until they are caught up and can go to school normally. My undergraduate degree was in history but I taught English to students as a volunteer during college.”

“Whoa…you don’t have to convince me Mrs. Evans…not really. I have little doubt that you and your husband are acceptable. What this was really about was…well to make sure you know a few things about the kids before you go through with the adoption.”

“Has the Sheriff’s office found anything…any clues to where they came from?”

“No, they combed the area thoroughly, but found nothing.” Not entirely true, Dr. Marquardt knew. The Sheriff’s office had in fact found a third child…but he was as puzzling as the first two….and as difficult as the child would be to place..six years old, knowing no English, not toilet-trained, and barely able to even feed himself, the last thing Diane Evans needed was a third foundling child, it’d be a minor miracle if she was successful with the two she and her husband had stumbled upon.

“But we do know some things from the testing we did on ..Maxwell and Isabel, you’ve decided to name them?”

“Yes..well, it’s Max and Izzy already,” she said with a smile.

“First of all…there were no signs of abuse….”

“Well that’s good at least…whoever deserted them at least didn’t traumatize them….that’s the term isn’t it, traumatize?”

“That’s the term..but there are worse things than physical abuse, Mrs. Evans…things far worse…and that’s what I’m afraid has somehow happened to these children. I was actually sort of hoping that some physical trauma had given them amnesia…unlikely as it was..particularly for it to happen to both of them…but that might have been better….”

“But….how could that have been…better?”

“In the old days…before political correctness, we called it maternal deprivation..a term coined from work in non-human primates, although certainly care-giving by the female rather than the male seems to be dominant in most species. But I digess…. The point I wish to make is that, normally, there is a good deal of imprinting on a child in the first two years of development..when the child is held..nursed…in the first year alone, it will generally have 1500 feedings when it has a chance to bond with its caregiver…to respond….to…well, we use the term imprint. You see, children aren’t born …well, I guess you might say they aren’t really born human…they become that way because of nurturing by the caregiver…typically the mother, hence the syndrome of maternal deprivation. But these two children…well, they apparently haven’t had that…they aren’t like that at all…”

”Doctor Marquardt, are you saying Max and Izzy aren’t human?”

“Well, of course they are human, Mrs. Evans…but they certainly aren’t normal…and you need to understand that. This is a bizarre case, we all have our theories on where the children come from, and I assure you there are some wild theories…the wildest being that someone kidnapped children to raise them to cut up for their organs…to part them out, so to speak, on the international black market. Well, that’s not so, perhaps the wildest is that they were abducted by aliens, and have now been brought back and dumped off…but the point is evan though they are an enigma, two healthy well nourished six year olds, it would appear that no one has ever taught them a language, taught them to dress, to use the toilet…they barely know how to eat. They walk..but that’s about it. It’s almost as if they were created as six year olds..new minds born into six year old bodies. I’m not sure you truly comprehend the depth of the input deprivation that means…or the damage that might have done. Earlier, I saw you hugging little Max…that was normal. But I could see Max…he was confused…didn’t have any idea what you were doing…or why you were doing it. He wasn’t opposed to it…you could tell in his expression as he looked at the girl..Isabel. She didn’t know what you were doing either. You could read it in her body language, almost as if she were saying… ‘Well, I don’t know..she doesn’t seem to be hurting him but…I wonder what she’s doing.’ My point is, that’s a profoundly unusual reaction in two six year olds, because six year olds understand what cuddling is….even a two year old understands that…they may not want to do it…but they understand the intent. Maxwell and Isabel do not. Tell me, Mrs. Evans,..have you ever heard of feral children?”

“You mean children that were raised by animals?”

“Well, that’s one form of feral children…and to an extent the most extreme form….feral children are children that don’t realy imprint as human because they never have social contacts with human society. The most extreme form, of course, is those that ARE raised by animals. They wind up imprinting…that is, trying to become part of the society…the culture if you will, of the animal that raises them. But many feral children have nothing to do with animals…they may be lost…abandoned…before they ever really know what human society is all about. They sometimes develop their own society if there are several individuals…structure seems to be important to people, and society provides that structure. And sometimes if they are just abandoned…and they are found before they are adopted by wolves or something…before they start to think of themselves as part of the pack…or as part of their own society…if they are found before they start to consider themselves…different…alone…sometimes these children can be reintegrated back into society…but it is never quick..and it is never easy and the process is rarely …complete. The situation with these two children is much like that…I don’t know how they were fed and kept physically healthy, but they certainly had no social input…not even the care of a mother gorilla like Edgar Rice Burrough’s Tarzan had…and even that…that was fiction. No child raised by animals was ever integrated back into society that well…and little Max and Isabel here…well, whoever or whatever raised them apparently gave them no social stimulus at all. Both children are at high risk…no…that’s not fair…both children are almost certain to develop something called reactive attachment disorder…I suppose they meet the criteria already since they are both older than five. These children are going to have very severe difficulties forming relationships…perhaps not with each other, but with other people.

By taking these children, Mrs. Evans…well, do you follow baseball at all?”

“Actually, I was on the women’s softball team in college, Doctor.”

“Well Mrs. Evans, by taking these two children you sort of put yourself in the position of a relief pitcher who is put in the game in the eighth inning with their team down 7 to 0. Even if they do everything right…everything perfect, ..well you are going to have to have a lot of help from the bench to win this game. Through no fault of your own these kids will be vulnerable to any little thing…a schoolyard bully, a poor teacher, a simple miscommunication about something…dozens of little things that children who have had a normal childhood still occasionally have problems dealing with, …any of those things might be devastating to these two children…and even if you do everything right…give the effort your entire heart and soul…even then, Mrs. Evans..the years of socializing these two have missed make it very possible that these two will never have good social relationships…they may not ever even really learn to return the affection you and your husband show to them.

I guess what I need to tell you is this, Mrs. Evans. You and your husband …I have no real doubts that you would make great parents for any of our kids. No one would think less of you if you opted to not take these two children…to wait until you had the opportunity to adopt children that were more normal. You are very close to the top of the list…you needn’t take these two just because you found them walking along a desert road.”

As he finished that statement he saw the look in the eyes of Diane Evans…and he involuntarily shrunk back against the seat back behind him. He’d seen that look only once before..when he’d been hiking as a teenager in the Gila River wilderness area. He had come between a mother bear and her two cubs, and that had been the expression on the bear as she’d charged him. Only the fast flowing river, his ability to swim underwater, and the reluctance of the mother bear to get too far from her cubs had let a seventeen year old James Marquardt live to tell the tale of that encounter. He knew the answer even before she said it.

“These children are just fine, doctor..”

There was little doubt in Doctor Marquardt’s mind that Diane Evans had bonded to these two quasi-feral children. Whether or not they would ever be able to bond to her…or any other normal people…well, that was the question.

The slam of the kitchen door brought both of their heads around as Philip Evans approached Marquardt, his hand outstretched.

“Hello Doctor Marquardt. I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t here…the court date was set before we found the children…but I want you to understand…they are as important to me as they are to Diane. I will be there when they need me…just as Diane will be there.”

He shook the outstretched hand. “I’m sure that’s the case, Mr. Evans. I have no doubt whatsoever that the children will get better care here than they would get anywhere else,” he said smiling at the man. ‘But the real question,’ he thought to himself, ‘…is whether that will be enough to offset all the years they’ve missed?’ Marquardt didn’t see how it could be…didn’t see how these two children…or the other one they’d found and named Michael, could possibly grow up…normal. But these two would certainly have the best chance they could have, if Diane Evans had anything to do with it. He finished his coffee and got up to go, already anticipating the long drive back to Albuquerque.

“Well good luck to you two…or more accurately to the four of you now, I guess. I hope everything goes well, but don’t expect there not to be some serious challenges along the way and whatever the result….I’m sure it won’t be for lack of trying on the part of either of you. Regrettably, I have a long drive..and better get going. Thanks for the coffee and cookies, Mrs. Evans. I pray it all works out. The department will forward the paperwork to you within the week.”

As they watched him drive off, Diane and Philip hugged each other..then looked back to the playroom. The four of them were now a family.

For three months it went much as Doctor Marquardt would have predicted..which is to say it went not well at all. For the fact is, no amount of care or even love will reverse six years of deprivation.

It wasn’t Diane’s fault that the children were like this. In a sense, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. The pods had been meant to transport the embryos on a trip that would last a half dozen earthly months, and then bring them to term. But after the crash….after he had hidden them in the pod chamber, their Guardian had not returned. As the decades passed the simple computer in each of the pods had needed to make a stark choice as the power gradually waned and it had done the best it could, bringing the children not just to term, but to the largest size …to be the most physically capable they could be, before releasing them, for to release babies onto the floor of the pod chamber would have been to condemn them to death by hunger and dehydration. The simple mechanical mind had created these feral children, because the alternatives were to kill them or to release newborns to die, and it’s programming had let it do neither. It was a problem that neither the pod designers nor the mission planners had ever anticipated. But reality is what it is, and the reality is that this situation was a tragedy that was really no ones fault.

And many people…most people…they would have accepted that. They would have given up on children who didn’t know how to love…children who didn’t know how to care for themselves, children that couldn’t speak and couldn’t relate to others….but Diane Evans couldn’t. Her two children became an obsession, working with them from early morning until late at night, and after they were in bed, reading everything she could about developmental psychology…perhaps finally even understanding the enormity of the task she had chosen for herself.

Indeed, her obsession consumed her, and she became in many ways like that mother bear…hard-wired to protect and nurture her cubs…heedless of case after case that said what she was trying simply couldn’t be done. She drove herself relentlessly, long past exhaustion, and then would fall into a fitful sleep where even in her dreams she was trying desperately to get them to understand. And in the end, that was the key..that..and little Isabel.

They’d slept those six years in the pods…six years when they should have been being nurtured….being loved…being turned into….if not humans, at least the alien equivalent of humankind. But even in their sleep in the pods…they’d known intuitively…there should have been interaction. But the pods had precluded that…the walls keeping them all from interacting with anyone…all except the one that was now named Isabel. She had never awakened…the pod would never have permitted it…that would have been too cruel, to awaken a child imprisoned in a fluid filled sarcophagus. But the children could dream…unformed dreams…because they had no real memories of any kind to base their dreams upon…just dreams of warmth and floating and aloneness…except she alone could move within the dreams….she alone could seek out the presence of each of the others…she alone could be with them…and they with her..just for those few dream moments they shared during those six long years of imprisonment.

And Isabel was the key now as she walked in her dreams and found the tortured dreams of Diane Evans. For within those dreams were not just the images..but the emotions. Isabel could feel the intensity of the woman…feel the desperation she felt ... saw the dreams she had for those children….felt the love that was there.

Even a six year old Isabel was sure the woman was wrong…that she and Max really weren’t the creatures that Diane believed them to be…that they could never really be those creatures…but even so, there was a resonance there…a communication at some nonverbal level … a bonding between the two, and in that bonding somehow Isabel Evans really did come to see herself as Diane Evans’ daughter.

It was harder for little Max…although she tried to share the images and feelings with him in his dreams…harder still for Michael…in the distant orphanage. But bit by bit the dreamwalking of Isabel started to carry to the others the obsession of Diane Evans…the obsession that was known as …family. Slowly, ever so slowly…and imperfectly at that, the children started to believe …not that this was their world…for they knew it wasn’t…but that there might be some small place for them in this world…at least, until they could find their own world. The catalyst for that change was the dreamwalking of Isabel, but its source was the obsession of Diane Evans.

It was four months, eighteen days after the adoption had become final that a tired Diane Evans was awakened by lightning at 2AM to find two children huddled together next to her bed looking at her and shaking with fright at the noise of the winter thunderstorm. That was strange, really. The two were locked into their bedrooms at night because they tended to wander off…she wasn’t sure how they’d gotten out.

When the thunder rolled again, Little Izzy took her brother’s hand and came closer.

“If you two would like to get in bed with Mommy and Daddy, ..that’s OK.”

Isabel had given a tug on her brother’s arm, and both had crawled in, Isabel nestling in against Diane..Max seeming a little uncertain about it, before finally laying down and watching the lightning through the window fearfully.

“Don’t worry children. Mommy will protect you.”

Max looked at Diane and Isabel somewhat doubtfully, but Isabel smiled up into Diane’s eyes.

“Mommmm-y” she said, as she nestled in closer.

Diane’s eyes filled with tears…it was the first word either child had spoken…and possibly the happiest moment of Diane Evans' life.

7:45 AM August 25, 1990 852 West Gayle, Roswell New Mexico

It was safe to say that this had NOT been a good year for Deputy Sheriff Jim Valenti. Yes, he had returned to Roswell…something he’d been wanting to do for four years, but this wasn’t exactly the way he’d wanted to do it. First his mother’s illness and death, followed shortly by his father’s Alzheimer’s worsening…leading to his having to be placed in a nursing home.

But those issues were really trivial..compared to what Michelle had done. He’s met Michelle in junior college, and they’d dated for almost six months before he’d been selected to attend the police academy. They’d married just after his return from the academy…when he’d been posted to Soccoro. Michelle had hated Socorro…and nagged him constantly to move somewhere…anywhere, besides Socorro New Mexico. Kyle had…actually, been Michelle’s idea…something to make life less boring in Socorro, and although he’d really been kind of ambivalent about the whole early fatherhood business, once Kyle had been born, Jim found that he really did enjoy being a father…perhaps as much as he’d ever enjoyed anything.

When the opening had occurred in the Roswell Sheriff’s office, he’d talked to her about it..and she’d practically demanded they move here. He applied for and got the job, happy to be back to his childhood home. Michelle had seemed happy too, until one morning six months ago when Jim had come home to a letter that said, ‘the baby’s at your sister’s, I’m off to California to start a new life.’

The divorce papers had come three months later by registered mail, with a note stating she’d found someone more attuned to the ‘new’ Michelle.

But the hard part hadn’t been giving her up…that actually had turned out to be pretty easy, really. And while the single-parent bit had rather unique challenges, particularly for a relatively junior deputy on the force, his sister and maternal aunt were helping with childcare,,,that part was going reasonably well. The hard part was explaining to a son who was about to enter the third grade why his mother had left,..why she never phoned, ..and why most recently Kyle’s birthday had passed without so much as a card from his mother who was ‘finding her true self’ with a series of beach boys out in Malibu.

Jim Valenti thought of his son…safe at home with his aunt Lara while Jim was doing undercover surveillance…in part because Monterrey Elementary School…where Kyle would soon be starting third grade…was only a half-block away. And that made Jim even more angry….angry at Arletha…but mostly angry at Walter Jameson, the guy he had under surveillance.

Deputy Sheriff Jim Valenti knew quite a lot about Walter Jameson. He knew that the man would make a trip south of the border every two or three weeks to drugstores in Juarez Mexico, just south of El Paso, where he would buy huge amounts of pseudoephedrine legally, bring it back across the border where he would steal a few gallons of anhydrous ammonia from some local farmer who used it as fertilizer, and would… in a lab off in the desert somewhere, produce Methamphetamine, which he would sell wholesale to drug houses like the one he was watching him go into right now….less than a block from Kyle’s elementary school. Unfortunately he knew this from a combination of experience, intuition, and tips given by a bunch of people he’d busted that were pretty shady in their own right.

The problem wasn’t what Jim Valenti knew….the problem was that he couldn’t prove it. More to the point, he didn’t have something the courts call ‘probable cause’ For that reason Jim Valenti had been tailing Walter Jameson in an unmarked car for most of the last five hours as he made his distributions…waiting…hoping…PRAYING, that Jameson would make some mistake…that he’d actually give Jim probable cause to arrest him, because if he could search the man…certainly if he could search the vehicle…Jim was quite sure he’d find the evidence he needed to put Walter away for a long long time. But it didn’t look like it was going to happen today.

Jameson had been casually making the rounds…never showing any drugs or weapons…never so much as getting a parking ticket that might give Jim an excuse to do a search and seizure. Jim had been hoping for anything…but there had been nothing…not so much as an equipment violation on the pickup truck the man drove. He’d even thought about arresting him for animal cruelty for leaving the huge pit bull in the cab of the pickup…no doubt to scare off anyone trying to get to his stash as he made deliveries to the drug houses…but even that wouldn’t work. By early afternoon the temperature would be nearly a hundred…but no judge would buy it if he tried to call it animal cruelty if all Jameson did was leave the big mutt in the cab of the pickup with both windows rolled halfway down in the cool morning hours. Hell, it wasn’t even 70 degrees yet.

No…as boring as surveillance was, he had to just sit there,,,,sit there knowing Jameson was wholesaling this filth to retailers who might well sell it to kids at Kyle’s school. So Jim just sat and watched…and thought about Kyle. ‘What if I get him a belated birthday card…put some money in it…sign ‘Mom' on it? Would that be good or bad?' No, it had been a bad year for Jim Valenti, and it didn’t appear today was going to be any better.



8:05 AM Monterrey Elementary School Parking lot 910 W. Gayle, Roswell New Mexico

“But I don’t want to go to school.” said Max.

“Max…it’s the law…you HAVE to go to school.”

“We haven’t gone to school for the last two years…why do we have to now? Why don’t you just ignore the law?”

“Max, your father and I are lawyers…we are officers of the court, we MUST respect the law You didn’t have to go to school for the last two years because I was home-schooling you…mentoring you…getting you caught up to your grade level so you COULD go to school.”

That wasn’t entirely correct, Diane knew. In fact, the state would have let her continue to home school Max and Isabel…and she would have enjoyed doing it. But every book she read about early child development stressed that they needed more interaction with kids their own age and with the real world, not just to sit home and study with their mother.

Oh, the tutoring had gone well…far better than anyone would have ever expected, once Isabel had finally started to come around. Max was still a problem at first, but once his sister had started to learn the language..learn to read…to do arithmetic, it looked like sibling rivalry was enough to get Max involved as well. He refused to let her outshine him.

And the kids were bright…damn near brilliant. Diane let the kids check out library books on her card and was stunned when the librarian expressed disapproval that both of them….especially Max, were checking out adult books. Diane had at first assumed that she meant books that were risque’…but that hadn’t been the case. They were books written for adults…some at the college level…and Max and Isabel plowed through them in only a few days. The librarian thought the kids were keeping the books from being read by adults, when they obviously couldn’t read the books themselves, and asked her to put a stop to it. She’d talked to the children who had become very defensive…then gave her the books to take back to the library. Max had been reading one on quantum mechanics…which being a history major, she had assumed was a manual for repairing old Volkswagens. Philip was no better, he’d been a Poli-Sci major…neither of them could follow the mathematics in the book. But she was pretty sure that Max could.

Yes, Max was bright enough…and so was Isabel…but neither was socially adept…no, they weren’t the basket cases depicted in the books about feral children... but even so…they shared some of the social deficiencies.
And that, much more than their academic studies, was why she wanted Max and Isabel in third grade in two weeks..and why she’d brought them to register at Monterrey Elementary School.

The path to getting them over there ...problem...their fixation...their...….well, whatever it was that made Max such a loner..and Isabel so superficial when it came to dealing with anyone other than her and Philip…and of course, Max,…that path involved them being around others their same age…it involved them understanding that they were really just like everyone else. And THAT was why Diane evans was going to give up the children she dearly loved to be near for eight hours a day…so they could be around those other kids and begin to understand they were actually part of this world.

Max was brought in first…given a few simple tests, which he passed easily enough. He was signed up for Mrs. Hotstetter’s third grade class. Then it was Isabel’s turn. It was school policy that siblings be put in different classes if possible. She would get the last seat in Mrs Gates’ class.

Max was looking uncomfortably at the adults in the office….Diane could tell he didn’t want to be there. He was sticking close by her side and Max…well…Max just never did that at home. Isabel would, but Max…Max still hadn’t really bonded even to her, despite two years of everything she could think of from attention paid to him to …well even buying him that little toy house to try to assuage his fears. The very fact that he would stay that close to her told Diane how profoundly uncomfortable the boy was.

“Max..,” she said. “I want you to go out into the playground…just play on the swings or the other equipment. Maybe you can meet a new friend there.”

As Max looked at her ..and then slowly went outside, Diane decided they must have Max’s age wrong. ‘He’s got to be a teenager at least,’ she thought to herself, shaking her head. ‘No eight year old could possibly be that sullen..’ She turned her head back to the paperwork she was filling out for both of the children.


“I’ll just be a minute,” said Nancy Parker to her daughter as she got out of the car. You can stay in the car…or go play on the playground. Which would you prefer?”

“The playground, Mommy,” said the young girl with the missing two front teeth, the adult tooth on the right side only just beginning to break through the gum line. But even at this age her appearance hinted at the beauty that would eventually be hers.

“OK, be careful, Liz…don’t break anything, and don’t leave the playground.”

“OK, Mommy.”

Nancy Parker really wasn’t too upset that Liz was signed up for Mrs. Hotstetter’s class, while Maria DeLuca and Alex Whitman were both in Mrs. Gates’ class. After all, the three were almost inseparable after school…it wouldn’t hurt any of them to make a few new friends.

Their second grade teacher had called them the Trio, because they seemed to do everything together. But Liz had asked and Liz…well, Liz WAS a pretty good kid, so Nancy had promised she’d ask if there were a way that she could be switched. Secretly though, she was hoping they’d say no. And they would. But she didn’t know that as she walked up to the door.

The small boy with the large brown eyes was just walking out…he held the door for her and she smiled. ‘Cute kid…and very good manners..’

The dog’s name was Brewster. It was a stray…oh it had a home..about two miles from the elementary school. But the 14 month old dog was a beagle mix…and when eight year-old Jami Rogers had not-quite closed the gate, the dog had found it’s way out and being part Beagle, had followed the first scent it came to. When that scent crossed another..even more interesting scent, it had followed the second. Within 15 minutes the dog had no idea where the Rogers residence was. Brewster had been on his own for three days…he was hungry..and tired…and scared. It had been able to drink from sprinklers, but despite its lineage as a hunting dog, it had never developed any skills at actually finding food that wasn’t placed in a bowl before it. More than anything else, Brewster probably wished to be home right now…back where Jami and her ten year-old brother Alan were crying themselves to sleep at night because Brewster was gone.

But as Brewster passed the pickup…well, he was still a Beagle..and the strange scents of the lab chemicals mixed with those of Walter Jameson and Lobo…they called to his nose…and a Beagle always follows its nose.

Lobo was four years old..and most of those had been pretty miserable. Lobo was a Pit Bull-Doberman mix, mostly..although three generations ago, there actually had been a Lobo…a Mexican wolf…in his lineage. Walter Jameson had bought a barely weaned Lobo on one of his forays to buy raw materials in Mexico. He had wanted a watchdog…fierce…vicious…one that was intimidated by no one but him. Walter had started early…beating the dog…just to make sure he knew who was boss. And indeed, in their small pack of two…Walter was clearly the alpha male. Walter also tended to starve the large dog…not that he couldn’t afford food…Walter made thousands of dollars a day…and paid taxes on none of it. It was just that Walter believed that keeping Lobo hungry would keep him more alert…make him a better watchdog. So Lobo supplemented his meager diet where he could..decimating the rabbit and even cat population around the ranch he guarded. He’d even eaten a stray dog or two that had wandered too close. But this morning he was once again on guard duty…protecting the cab of a pickup truck that had nearly $150,000 and two pounds of crystal meth in it, while Walter was in the drughouse selling meth to add to that cash total.

What happened next wasn’t planned…not by anyone…and certainly not by Brewster. As the Beagle wandered by, the smell of the truck attracted him, and he went up and sniffed the truck itself…then the right front tire…where Lobo had peed on it. Nothing malicious really…that’s just what Beagles do.

Lobo went wild when he saw the Beagle sniffing at the truck, barking and growling fiercely through the window…unable to squeeze through the narrow opening. Brewster leaped back in alarm, but it was apparent even to a Beagle that the big dog couldn’t get through the driver side window opening. So Brewster did what Beagles do…and went right back to his sniffing.

‘What the Hell is that damn dog doing?’ thought Walter Jameson as he looked out the window of the drug house. In fact he didn’t really care about the dog…there was a small fortune in cash in the golove compartment though…and almost as much in crystal meth. It had been a long morning but even so, he was only a little more than half way through his route. But it didn’t look like anyone was trying to break in to the truck..only that Lobo wanted desperately to get out. ‘Damn mutt…’ he thought, and then he saw Lobo come from the driver’s side window over to the passenger window…open just a little farther than the other one. Lobos head went through the opening, and the dog struggled to work his body through as well. The safety glass on the passenger side door cracked from the force of the dogs struggles, the shards still clinging safely to the central core of plastic but the window now bowing just enough for the dog’s body to squeeze through.

“Son of a bitch…,” said Roger, the irony of the statement lost on him as he tried to hurry the man counting out twenty-dollar bills. “I’ll beat that mutt senseless when I get hold of him..”


Brewster had found the smell of the pee on the tire fascinating, but he wasn’t entirely without a sense of self preservation. He heard Lobo growling as he came around the front of the pickup and the Beagle knew he was in serious trouble. If the dog would have been farther away, Brewster would have made a run for it..which likely would have been quickly fatal for him. But the dog was coming around the truck before Brewster could really react…there was little option but to back quickly under the pickup.

Lobo was enraged, and he got one quick bite at the Beagle as it backed under the pickup..ripping a tear in the animals ear. As Lobo smelled and tasted the blood, smelled the fear of the terrified housepet, what little control either Walter or Lobo himself had over the dog’s instincts was lost. He became a wolf going after his prey.

Just as he’d pushed his way through the window, Lobo now worked his way slowly..methodically…toward the Beagle. Lobo’s claws scratched against the pavement and his body struggled against the frame of the pickup as he slowly drew his jaws toward the frightened Beagle. Brewster was paralyzed with terror…which actually wound up helping him. The four or five seconds the Beagle was immobile with fear allowed Lobo to work his way almost directly under the pickup. But as the first snarling attack started…Brewster bolted…leaving Lobo behind as the animal had to laboriously extricate himself from the pickup. It was only a four or five second headstart...something the long loping stride of the larger animal would quickly eat up.

Brewster didn’t really have a plan…just to run…but when he saw the schoolyard…saw the kids…he had kids like that somewhere…kids who loved him…fed him…protected him…he ran toward the kids for protection…after all, in his pack..they seemed to be the alpha animals.

Jim Valenti was tired but he woke up quickly when he heard the commotion in the cab. When the Beagle ran off he felt sorry for it…but his job was Walter Jameson…not breaking up dog fights. He held his position and waited…watching Jameson run out to the pickup and take off in pursuit of the two dogs…praying…just praying that Jameson would do something…anything…to give him probable cause to search that truck. He started the engine and followed the pickup down toward the school playground.

Max was irritated...but mostly he was depressed. This wouldn't work...he couldn't go to a place where he was going to be surrounded by so many people...people made him uncomfortable. He knew the woman who considered herself his mother was doing what she thought would help him..he'd read many of those books of hers when she wasn't looking. What she didn't realize was that he not only felt different from kids who had been raised by their parents from infancy, but he...he WAS different. He knew that Izzy thought she could one day fit in...sometimes even wanted to tell her...Mom... the truth...but Max knew better. He knew that even the two who considered themselves his parents would reject him..if they found out what he really was. And his mother's pushing to make him feel accepted...it just made him more acutely aware that he was different.

And maybe that's why when he heard the dogfight..saw the little Beagle with it's tattered and bleeding ear come running fearfully onto the playground..maybe that's why he felt some empathy with the scared half-grown puppy. Like him, it seemed lost and alone...far from its home. He decided to comfort it...if it would accept him. Max saw the large dog following it..but it didn't matter. While he could easily defend himself and the Beagle with his powers...he wouldn't do that. The fact was that he didn't care if the large dog hurt him...didn't really care if he lived or died.

No, he wouldn't use his powers...his sister still had the delusion that she could find a place in this world..and maybe she could..pretending to be something she wasn't. But this world held nothing for Max,,and he had no way to get to a world of his own. But he did have empathy...empathy for that little puppy. He got off the merry-go-round and walked out toward the puppy.


Liz looked up when she heard the noise of the dogfight..only to then see Brewster running toward the playground. She'd met Brewster during a sleepover at Jami's three weeks ago, and talked on the phone to a tearful Jami only this morning, promising her to keep her eyes open for the lost dog. As she saw the puppy running onto the playground she left the swing and ran toward it, screaming, "Brewster...here boy...come here Brewster."

Brewster really didn't remember Liz by looking at her, although if he'd smelled her he would have recognized her instantly as a girl who'd given him popcorn one night. But she knew his name and at least seemed friendly, and with Cujo coming after him, Brewster decided he needed all the friends he could get. He ran as fast as his little beagle legs could carry him, straight at the girl.

As Walter Jameson got in his pickup truck and drove after Lobo, he was screaming and cussing. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with the dog...breaking the window...leaving the drugs and money unprotected, but it was clearly going to involve beating the damn dog to within an inch of its life. As he tore off after the dog, he didn't notice the Deputy Sheriff in the unmarked police car following him.

As Lobo closed on the Beagle..he saw the dog go to the girl. Lobo was in hot pursuit but the girl was an unknown factor...and that argued for caution, and he slowed as he approached her, still growling at the Beagle who seemed to be trying to climb up on the girl's shoulders in its terror. But as Lobo saw the look she had as he approached...saw her start to run...smelled the fear in the girl...the brain of the wolf-dog classified her as quarry, just like the fleeing Beagle had been. Instantly he was off chasing her, his quick loping strides eating up the distance between them. As he approached he gathered himself for the leap..aiming for the back of her neck, to bring her down so he could get to her throat or the soft abdomen. Lobo sprang as the girl seemed to stumble.

Momentarily, Liz froze with fear when she saw the large dog approach, but the whines from Brewster..the blood dripping from his torn ear…his attempts to climb even higher than the arms that held him told her the dog was terribly frightened, and that fear seemed contagious. After only the briefest of hesitations, she turned and ran back toward the playground, her efforts hampered by the struggling Beagle in her arms.

Walter Jameson got out of his pickup but halted as he saw Lobo start for the girl. Perhaps no one here even knew the dog was his. It wasn’t licensed…and the collar did not identify the owner or address of the large dog. ‘I think I’d better see how this plays out,’ he thought to himself. If the dog savaged the girl, he could simply drive off.

As Deputy Sheriff Jim Valenti saw the girl pick up the puppy his mind cried, ‘NO!’

For a few seconds he could have stopped this…broken up the two dogs, but he’d let the fight go on hoping that it would lead somehow to him being able to find probable cause to search Jameson’s truck. That decision, he knew, made it likely that the Beagle would be sacrificed…be killed by the large dog, when he might have otherwise stopped that by interfering with the fight. But that would have revealed himself to Jamieson, so without even admitting it to himself, he’d accepted the loss of the small dog. But as the young girl tried to do what he failed to do…rescue the animal. Jim knew all too well what would happen. The Pit Bull was on the attack…had injured the young dog, and was now totally submerged in the blood-lust of the hunt. The young girl was at huge risk…certainly to be mauled, possibly to be killed…and Jim Valenti knew that he could have prevented this.

‘If only she stands still…’ Valenti thought, ‘..she might have a chance.’ The Pit Bull seemed to be assessing the situation. ‘If she’d just drop the Beagle…let the big dog have him…’

When the girl broke for the playground and the school beyond it carrying the smaller dog, Jim Valenti knew what the big dog would do. The girl was going to be hurt…hurt badly…because of his mistake…because someone whose duty was to ‘serve and protect’ had forgotten that there was a school just down the street, with a playground where kids were enjoying their last few days of summer vacation and a school staff that was readying the school for the start of classes on Monday.

He reached for his gun but even as his hand touched it he stopped. The Pit Bull was a moving target, the girl beyond it, and a playground with children beyond that. At this distance he was more likely to miss than to hit the large dog, and even if he were lucky enough to hit the animal the bullet would likely pass through it…straight at the girl..or the playground full of kids beyond it. No, the mistake had been not stopping this before it happened. To fire his gun would only further compound that error..placing even more children at risk.

He left the car and raced toward the girl and dog, even though he realized he would get there far too late. He saw the Pit Bull crouch and spring..the girl falling just before the animal hit.

It had been about the little Beagle when Max started out..but as he saw the young girl grab it..then freeze in terror as the big dog had run toward her, that changed somewhat. It made no sense, really…the two animals were the same breed…and yet the young girl clearly cared enough for the Beagle, even though it wasn’t human, to risk injury…perhaps death…for a creature that was as alien to her as…well…as Max was.

So somehow it became about both of them. Max didn’t fear the big dog…in fact, he still didn’t really care if he lived or died personally…but somehow it had become important to him that the little girl and the Beagle survived. And when he saw her panic…turn and run…he had to do something. He couldn’t use his powers…not here in public…not really…or could he?

Liz was running as fast as an almost third-grader’s legs would carry her, but she heard the claws of the animal scrape on the pavement as the animal began closing in behind her in a fast loping gait. The pavement was clear before her…a few painted lines for playyard games…hopscotch…foursquare…basketball…nothing that would or should trip her as she ran. But suddenly both feet felt like they’d run into an obstruction and she fell forward, sensing the closeness of the leaping PitBull even without seeing it…feeling it’s jaws miss her neck…the teeth clacking just above her…one claw raking her right shoulder savagely as it missed her in its leap.

She hit the ground then..hit it from a full run..dropping the Beagle as the air was knocked from her..bruising her hands from the asphalt and skinning her knees even through her Levis.

Lobo had already launched into the air when the girl started to trip, and his momentum carried him above her. His jaws dipped but even so they closed viciously inches above her neck around nothing but flying strands of her long brown hair. Lobos left hind foot did rake her shoulder…but did little damage. As Lobo came down he didn’t try to stop but merely circled, conserving his speed to come back to the target that was itself on its hands and knees..immobilized by the impact of the fall.

The Beagle was there, huddling against the girl…but the girl herself was as much the target. Smeared with the dogs blood, bloody herself from the scrapes of the fall, and radiating terror…all of these things told the wolf-dog that the larger prey was now the better target. But as it circled to get back to her…there was another who now challenged it.

Max didn’t run…he didn’t need to. He had the inside position…keeping himself between the fallen girl and the large dog. He had used his power…just a little. When he’d seen the leap coming he’d tossed the small powerblast at her feet…no one could see it…they wouldn’t have been watching him in any event. But if the large dog wanted them…it would have to get past Max first.

Lobo was uncomfortable…very uncomfortable. The new creature had no fear of Lobo..none whatsoever, and even the old alpha male, Walter, had SOME fear of him. It was challenging him…moving to stand between Lobo and his prey…the defiance unmistakable…and yet there was no fear. Lobo had sensed the power that had caused his prey to stumble and fall..and he could tell it came from this new creature.

The logic of wolves is quite simple…if it has power…if it doesn’t fear your power…it is likely stronger…likely something to be feared itself. There were many creatures in the play yard…several of them running toward Lobo…and toward his prey. But Lobo sensed that only he really understood the power of the creature thwarting his path to his prey.

And then, in the way of the pack, he acknowledged that the creature was the new alpha…Lobo backed away and got down on his belly. He would not challenge this creature…it could eat first…he would accept only what the creature offered him.

The two women had come to motherhood in different ways, one carrying a child in her womb for nine months ...the other finding her child walking naked along a desert road ..but there was no difference in the fear that gripped the heart of each of the women as they saw the huge dog menace their children...and no difference in their actions as they ran for the door to join their child on the playground, oblivious to the fact that the large dog was almost as great a danger to them as it was to their children.

Deputy Jim Valenti 's despair as the dog lunged changed to the merest flicker of hope as the Pit Bull overshot his mark and started to circle back...he still couldn't safely get a shot off. And when he saw the second child the fear came to him again...but then he saw a miracle. The young boy didn't challenge the big dog...not really. He didn't approach it, but he kept himself between the big dog and it's quarry. Somehow that seemed to be confusing the big animal..making it lose track of what it was chasing, and concentrate on the boy. But unlike the small dog and the girl...the Pit Bull didn't seem to think of the young boy as prey...even though he was no older...no larger than the girl. Perhaps it was because he didn't run...but by paralleling the animal..by protecting the girl and Beagle...it was still a challenge to the large dog. But for whatever reason...the dog was declining to take the challenge as it backed off several steps and lay down on its belly, looking at the boy.

Jim slowed his pace as he approached the boy, the dog now looking at him...then back at the boy. "Get behind me, son..,"said Valenti, his gun out and pointed toward the dog.

Walter Jameson had walked onto the schoolyard to see how the drama was playing out...but he hadn't expected this..a man with a gun. There were only two possibilities...the man was most likely a cop, and if he'd seen Lobo in the truck...Walter would likely be under arrest for not controlling the dog...and when they searched his truck, they would find two pounds of meth. That would be bad. The other possibility was that he was a competitor. It was a tough business, that's why he had the guard dog. If the armed man was a competitor, he well might just shoot the damn dog and then come after Walter, his money, and the rest of his meth. That would be worse. Walter was scared...there were no good options...so true to form..his fear turned to violence.

Jim Valenti saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and instinct brought his eyes to look at the man, despite the nearness of the huge Pit Bull. He saw the pistol pointed at him...'Well Jimbo,' he told himself '..you've got your probable cause, if you live to use it...' Jameson was a convicted felon..he couldn't legally own a gun, and even if he could he couldn't have one here on a schoolyard. Jim didn't really know if he could bring the gun to bear on Jameson in time for it to make any difference...or what the dog would do if he did. He was stuck protecting the two children from the dog...unable to really counter the threat of Jameson.

"Drop the gun," screamed Jameson...uncertain whether he should just kill everyone who had gotten a good look at him..or whether he ought to just take the guy's gun...shoot him to keep him from following, and flee across the border. With the money he had with him...the money back at the ranch...he could live long and well in Mexico..and come back somewhere else and start up again if the money ran out.

Jim looked again at Jameson...they were in a schoolyard..Valenti wouldn't chance a shootout here. Even if he won, and with Jameson already aiming the gun at him, that didn't seem likely,..but even if he did..kids in the playground might die. He safetied the gun and dropped it to the asphalt of the playground, wondering as he did what would happen now. He probably couldn't have been more surprised.

The larger creature felt fear as he approached the new alpha...Lobo understood that. Lobo was afraid of the small creature as well. The creature had great power..and feared nothing. The shout from Jameson drew Lobo's attention to his old master....that creature suddenly radiated fear....and he was no longer the alpha. Hundreds of beatings by Jameson had intimidated Lobo...intimidated him from the time he was a newly weaned puppy. Lobo had never loved the man...only feared him. But there was a new alpha now...and the other positions in the pack were up for grabs. He looked once at the new alpha...backing away in deference so his aggressiveness would not be misinterpreted.

The fear that gripped Jameson decided it for him...it would be better if there were no witnesses. He brought the sights onto Jim Valenti...he'd die first...then the two kids. But before he could quite squeeze the trigger...the jaws clamped on his throat. The attack was about pecking order in the pack...and perhaps about an old grudge...or Jameson would have died almost at once. Instead he just went down...down hard, with his neck ripped open and one jugular vein emptying itself onto Walter's shirt.

The dog stood over Jameson..growling but doing nothing further as Jameson froze. grabbing his neck and screaming for help. As long as he was submissive...the fight would be over.

It was only a second before Jim Valenti retrieved his firearm and swiveled the barrel onto the dog. He had a clear shot finally...but couldn't bring himself to take it. Whatever else the dog had done..it had saved Jim Valenti's life. The dog looked down once more at Jameson...snorted his disgust, and crawled back into the pickup truck through the open door.

Jim picked up the revolver that had fallen from Jameson's hand and lowered the hammer..then put it in his pants. He closed the door of the pickup and came back quickly to Jameson...pulling his jacket off to use to dress the ugly neck wound.

Finally he had time to look at the two kids...the little girl crying...holding the Beagle...the boy...the boy's face was expressionless...like this happened to him all the time. Jim heard sirens in the background...squadcars and an ambulance were coming by the distinctive sounds of their sirens. But before they got there...two mothers did.

Roswell is not precisely what you’d call a huge city…all of Chaves County only has about 65,000 people. A bicycle getting stolen will often make the second page of the local newspaper. But even in Roswell, a dogfight might get overlooked…but a telephone report of a dog hurting a child had started the first patrol car and ambulance enroute to Monterrey Elementary School and the subsequent phone calls of two men with guns on the school premises sent all available Sheriff’s vehicles to the Elementary school…including one with the Sheriff himself in it. Deputy Valenti talked to the first officer that arrived and only just managed to stop things before the county SWAT team was called out.

Jameson hadn’t given Jim any trouble. Telling someone that if he moves he’s going to bleed to death has a certain logic to it that is understandable even to career sociopaths like Walter. He was going to jail…probably for quite awhile….but that was still better than bleeding to death.

Jim had seen the two women run from the school administration building to their kids…their reaction to the situation couldn’t have been any more similar…but he’d been kind of surprised by the difference in the reaction by the kids.

The girl was clinging to her mother, both shaking with fright, and drawing comfort from the presence of the other. There was no question that the close call…if the girl hadn’t stumbled when she did…the dog would have savaged her..probably far worse than it did Walter, and Walter would have a very impressive scar on his face and neck for the rest of his life. The girl was clutching her mother…probably not even noticing that one hand was still clutching the collar of the beagle…who seemed equally relieved to have the big dog safely locked away.

The boy…oh, his mother was clinging to him…just like the other mother was clinging to her child, but the boy was…well, tolerating it would probably best describe it. Jim had to wonder if the boy weren’t in shock. Sure, boys were supposed to be stoic….but not eight year-olds…not when they’d had to stand off a beast like that pit bull…not when they’d had guns waved in their face. If that had been Kyle out there, Jim would be clinging to him, just like the mothers were clinging to their children,…and Kyle would have been clinging right back.

Jim turned Walter over to the paramedics on the first ambulance. They took one look under the jacket…and pressed the jacket right back into place until they could get some sterile bandages to use to put pressure on the ugly gash…and just that quick they were enroute to Roswell General with Jameson on a gurney in back and the paramedic continuing to put pressure on a wad of gauze that was covering the right side of the man’s neck. After that an explanation to the Sheriff…explaining as he did so his part in this…the part that let the dog get to the girl.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Jim,” said Sheriff Pomeroy. “You couldn’t have known this would happen. At least we got the bastard, and no one was badly hurt…no one but the perp that is…”

Jim walked next over to see the girl..the second set of paramedics was with her. “The scratch doesn’t look serious, Ma’m,” said the paramedic to Nancy Parker. “The animal control people will put the dog in quarantine…we do occasionally have some rabid animals around here….rabies is endemic in Mexico…but with just a scratch…well, I doubt the doctor will start her on rabies treatment and even if he does, it’s not like the old days…just five shots…well six counting the gamma globulin, but the doc will probably hold off unless the animal gets sick. We really don’t need to take her in the ambulance, but you will have to get her in to be evaluated to see if the doc recommends rabies treatment.”

Nancy Parker was still physically shaking…she’d seen the dog lunge…and it had taken seconds for her to realize the dog had missed….that Liz’s fall was not due to the dog actually hitting her. But even after that..as she’d seen her daughter on the ground…crying…bleeding…frightened, as the dog circled. She couldn’t believe the young boy had done that…stood between Liz and that beast….she’d wanted to cheer when the animal had finally laid down on its stomach…of course, she’d been running hell bent toward it to smash it to death with her purse at the time…the monster would have been as impressed by her purse as he would have with a similar amount of beef jerky, she figured. And then the guns….but Liz was going to be alright…she held her daughter…sitting there in the corner of the playground…sitting on the asphalt holding her daughter and crying…sometimes shaking with fear. But she caught her breath finally and looked up at the couple only ten feet away….the boy and his mother. The boy was young…about the same as Lizzy,…Nancy couldn’t believe she owed him so much.

Diane held her son…shaking with little sobs…tears falling unashamedly. She thought she’d lost him…twice…the first time with that monster of a dog…the second time when the guns had come out. Diane knew that Max wasn’t hugging back…he never did. He just had such trouble showing emotion….who was she kidding…he had such trouble feeling emotion. Isabel could…oh, she wasn’t normal either…far from it….but little Max…he just couldn’t get it through his head that he was loved..and that it was safe to love back. But right now that didn’t matter, because Diane needed this hug…no matter if Max did or not.


Jimmy Redfeather got the pole snare over Lobo’s head and he and the other animal control officer fought to get the large dog into the cage in the trailer behind the animal control truck. This one was a big one, and even with two men it wasn’t going easy as the large animal fought against the nooses. Jim Valenti and another policeman came to help and with the two animal control officers controlling the head and the two policeman shoving the animal up and in to the cage, it was finally done. Jimmy released his noose from the animals neck and placed it through the bars and caught Lobo again…allowing the other animal control officer to get his snare off and close the door. Then Jimmy released his snare and pulled it back through the bars of the cage.

“So what happens to the dog?” asked Jim Valenti.

“Well quarantine for now…then if he stays healthy, there’s a guy who runs a pit bull rescue place…he’s got a big ranch north of here. He’ll probably be taken there. This guy’s too dangerous to ever be placed for adoption in a normal family.”

Jimmy Redfeather just worked summers for animal control….he was a veterinary student at Texas A&M, and would be graduating in two years. “A big animal like this…damn…he must way nearly 150 pounds. Those two kids over there are what…eight years old? The girl’s maybe 60 pounds soaking wet? The boy less than 70? This big guy would have snapped her neck like a twig if he’d have gotten her. Hell, he could have done a lot worse on the guy he did get if he had wanted to…he was just demonstrating dominance, is my guess.”

“And yet when the boy placed himself between the dog and the girl…when he purposely got in the way…the animal backed off…?”

“Hell, Deputy, animals are unpredictable that way. My people say that some people have great spirit power within them…and animals fear them…others can talk to the animals…reason with them…on the other hand, the kid was probably just lucky…real lucky.”

“I don’t know, the boy didn’t seem like he was at all afraid of the dog.”

“Sometimes that alone is enough. Dogs like this can really sense fear….that may be why he went after the girl when she ran…rather than just trying to get the Beagle. Sometimes if you just show no fear....as long as you’re not aggressive….they just don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe,” said Jim doubtfully, “..but he sure knew what to do with Jameson. Whatever else, I owe him for that. I might stop by later and bring him some dog biscuits…I’ll toss them through the bars from a safe distance. Even so..I think the dog would have likely killed the girl if that boy hadn’t somehow stopped him. It’s just too dangerous to ever be let loose.”

“You got that right, Deputy.”

The Paramedic finally came over to Diane and Max. Although the boy didn’t appear physically hurt, his flat affect worried the man.

“Your son seems really scared,…is he OK?”

Jim Valenti watched as Diane Evans wiped the tears from her eyes, and listened to her reply. “Max…Max isn’t very good at showing emotion…we adopted him and his sister two years ago…they’d been …well…neglected and we found them walking out in the desert. He’s OK…I mean…Max tell the man you are OK..”

The boy looked at the man with little interest…”I’m OK..” he said, and turned to look off in the distance.

“He’s not very talkative either…this is about how he usually is….but he’s getting better. He’s going to enter school next week…he’ll be in the third grade.”

Jim remembered the case….in fact, he was deputy commander of the Sheriff’s Search, Rescue, and Recovery Team…they’d combed the hills north of town two years ago, trying to find where the two children had come from…and found the other boy who..last Jim heard… was still in the orphanage. He was surprised this boy was even talking…let alone about to go to school.

He went up to the boy… smiled down at him. “That was brave of you…son, what you did with that big dog….protecting the girl and the puppy there…”

The boy continued to stare off at the distant low hills to the north.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff. He’s still quite…..shy. He just doesn’t talk to strangers at all….doesn’t talk very much even to his own family,” said Diane Evans, looking down at Max and shaking her head. But she smiled slightly as she looked back at Jim. “..but we are working on that…and going to regular school is going to help.”

Nancy Parker walked over toward the Sheriff and Diane, still holding her daughter who still clutched Brewster fiercely. “I don’t know what to say..,” Nancy started. “I was sure that dog was going to….can I thank your son…for helping Liz?”

Diane nodded, and Nancy embraced the boy. He tolerated it…much like he had tolerated his own mother’s embrace.

“He’s awful stoic for a third grader,” said Nancy.

“Don’t take it personally…Max is shy…real shy, He almost never talks to strangers.”

The little girl took a step toward Max and held out the puppy. “His name is Brewster…he belongs to my friend Jami. We are going to take him back to her. Would you like to go along?”

Max stared at the girl for a moment, then looked down at his shoes and shook his head.

“Liz is going to be in third grade too, Max,” said Nancy Parker. “Perhaps you can be friends.”

“I’d like that,” said Liz.

Max continued to look at the distant hills, not knowing what to say…knowing that this was all a lie…that he wasn’t what they thought he was….

Nancy and Diane talked for awhile, as Liz played with the puppy. Finally Diane said that she had to go back to the school, pick up her daughter..and the four of them walked together back toward the school as Jim Valenti helped secure an impressive amount of cash and at least two pounds of what looked suspiciously like methamphetamine from Jameson’s truck.

When he was done, he went back to the school to arrange a time to take statements from both of the women. He watched Diane Evans start to load her two children in a white minivan while Nancy Parker and her daughter were taking the Beagle to a small sedan.

The girl put the Beagle in the car….then went over to the minivan that the boy was about to enter.

Max was surprised when he felt the light touch on his arm, and as he turned and looked he saw the brown eyes,,,the long brown hair…and a smile that was mostly missing the two front teeth. Warmth seemed to emanate from his forearm where she touched him…diffusing out to his whole body.

“I forgot…I didn’t thank you for keeping the big dog away from me before….so ….thank you.”

Diane felt sorry for the young girl…knowing that Max wouldn’t respond. She struggled to find a way to tell her that …but before the words came out she saw a shy smile on her son’s face.

“You’re welcome..’ he said softly, “…and …and ..I’d like to be your friend too.”

Tears trickled down Diane Evans’ cheeks. It had been a terribly frightening day…but the last few seconds had made it all worthwhile.

1:00 AM August 26 1990

He was swinging on the swing beside her. Not the swing at the schoolyard…the swing at the small park where his mother would take Max and Isabel. One swing was shorter than the other…well, at least someone had flipped it over several times to twist the chains and shorten them. Because of that the two swings should have swung at a different rate, he realized, but he could use his mind to make them swing together…side by side. He could use his powers to push them...so they could both just sit and feel the air flow past them.

If the puppy could be her friend, why couldn’t he? They weren’t the same species…but she liked the puppy. And she didn’t need to know that he was…artificial…different…like that boy in the story with the whale and the puppet maker. Except he didn’t want to become human…not really. He knew he couldn’t…that none of them would ever accept him…so wanting it would just make it hurt that much more. So he wouldn’t ever want that, he decided.

He had wanted to go back…home, but Izzy had stopped him. But as he felt the air blow through his hair as the swing went back and force, saw her beside him…remembered the touch of her hand on his forearm….this was nice. Maybe they could always just be friends…he could keep the secret…he could keep her from ever finding out…..

He looked to his right to see her swinging beside him. She smiled…and he smiled back. Between the two of them they had one and a half-front teeth.

She woke up and saw the ceiling above her bed. Maybe this would work out. She wished she could tell Mommy…ask her opinion, but Mommy didn’t know about her and Max…Max insisted she not tell her.

Isabel still watched his dream-orb every night…he had such scary ..lonely… dreams usually. Sometimes he would cry out in his sleep, and she’d go in and cuddle him in his bedroom until almost dawn.

Once she hadn't been able to dreamwalk him and went in to look...he was missing from his bed....he had tried to walk back to the pod chamber at night… She’d found him almost three miles away…told him they were too big…they couldn’t fit…even if he piled rocks up the cliff to reach high enough to open the door…he wouldn’t fit. She'd brought him back.... told him that this was home now…but she knew he wouldn’t accept it.

But maybe today…maybe today was a start. Max was probably right…they could never really be accepted for what they were…but Mommy accepted them for what she wanted them to be….her children. It didn’t hurt Mommy and Daddy to lie to them about what they were…not if they never found out. And it wouldn’t hurt that girl…that Liz either…to think Max was human…to let him be her friend. Not as long as she never found out. And Max needed something. ‘You’ve got Mommy….she makes you feel…safe…Max needs someone too,' Isabel told herself.

She just wished she was in Mrs. Hotstetter’s class too. She knew that Max would never tell Liz but she’d read that children could sometimes be cruel to other children. She was sort of afraid of the girl. Life, for Max, was barely worth living…she knew he’d thought of killing himself before. She hoped having a friend would help him…but if Liz hurt him….

She’d have to get a picture of the girl….maybe an old class picture from school if they had one. Then she could dreamwalk her too… She was so worried about her brother...maybe this would help it be better for him....she hoped so anyway...but it was kind of scary too.

2:30 PM Monday September 17, 1990

As Nancy got out of the car she told Liz to go play in the playground until she was done with the conference with Mrs. Hotstetter. It was midway through the first quarter, and every child had a parent-teacher conference scheduled.

The sight of Liz going to the playground was disconcerting. Yes, Nancy realized that Liz played in that play yard every day, but even so,,,the memory of that day…that dog…how close Liz had come to being hurt or killed. But then Nancy saw him…little Max Evans…playing on the merry-go-round. He got off and went over to Liz…they talked for a moment, then went to the swingset. Nancy knew it was irrational to feel reassured because a 70# third grade boy was with Liz…but somehow she did feel reassured. She still had no idea how he’d kept that dog away from Liz…and he was a little strange…she’d gone to the library after that day and read the old newspapers about the discovery of Max and his sister. She guessed it made sense that the boy would be a little strange…although he seemed nice enough…mostly just shy. But he sure hadn’t been shy about confronting that vicious dog.

Nancy was surprised to see Diane Evans sitting next to the door into Mrs. Hotstetter’s room and checked her wristwatch to see if she was early, or if the teacher was running late.

“No…it’s me that’s early,” said Diane with a smile. “My conference isn’t until 3:00, but I had a conference with Mrs. Gates at 2:00 with Isabel. It didn’t make any sense to go home, so I thought I’d just hang out here and read until then.”

“That’s right…you have two in the same grade. I’d almost forgotten that. How is your daughter doing?”

“Izzy…well, she’s doing fine academically and..well, she’s adjusting to the other kids. She’s got a ways to go…but I think she’ll do fine in elementary school. It’s little Max that I’m worried about. He really did not want to go to school…argued about it all summer…I’m rather surprised that he hasn’t given me any grief since he started and…to tell the truth, I’m kind of dreading what Mrs. Hotstetter’s going to tell me. Max just doesn’t deal well with….well…people.”

“So where’s your daughter now?”

“Oh, she found a couple of her classmates. I think they are in the girls bathroom, trying on an old tube of my lipstick. Izzy loves to dress up…put on makeup…she’d wear it to school if I let her. Max…Max would hide under his desk if I let him…just trying not to be noticed.”

The door of Mrs. Hotstetter’s room opened and the mother of one of the students came out. As Mrs. Hotstetter appeared in the door she saw the two mothers talking to each other and shook her head and smiled, then sort of blushed.

”Well,” said Mrs Hotstetter, “..it’s probably just as well that the two of you are together so I can confess to you both at the same time about how badly I was mistaken.”

Diane and Nancy looked puzzled. “So neither of them even told you? Come on in and we’ll talk.”

Diane and Nancy felt a little awkward sitting in the diminutive chairs of the classroom, but Mrs. Hotstetter sat in one as well and shook her head.

“You know,” she said, “everyone brings their preconceived notions to their work…and I guess I’m no different. Liz was pretty well known from her first two years here as an excellent student and the student counselor had talked to me about the rather …unique…background of your son and daughter Mrs. Evans..the fact that two years ago they didn’t even speak. So I wasn’t surprised when Max didn’t participate in class activities much…wouldn’t even go out to recess because there were just too many people out there. In fact…Liz was the only one who could get him to participate in class at all. They wound up as kind of partners…I thought she was helping him with all of his studies. That seemed to be the only way he would look at them so…well, I didn’t discourage it until we had our first big test a week ago…a standardized test to see what level the kids were at in arithmetic to see who needed more help and who was already at standard.

Well no surprise with Liz…she scored a 95%...missing only two of the more difficult word problems. No one else in the class even came close except for Max…his test was identical…even to the same wrong answers on the word problems. They had sat right next to each other and I was pretty sure I saw him looking at her paper during the test, do I took Max aside and informed him that it was wrong to cheat…wrong to copy from Liz’s paper, and that he was going to be marked down in citizenship for that, and would have to repeat the test while the other children were at lunch.”

“What did Max say?” asked Diane.

“He really didn’t say anything…just looked kind of hurt and went back to his desk. When lunch came, Liz tried to get him to go eat with her…and I guess he told her what happened, then they came to see me…..in all my years teaching I have never been told off that badly by a third grader.”

“Max argued with you?” asked Diane.

“No, Max mainly seemed to be interested in the tops of his shoes. The perfect Miss Parker ……well, she didn’t so much argue with me, as she did tell me off…informed me that Max was a great student…that she was surprised he didn’t do even better than a 95. And that I had no business calling him a cheater.

Well, we redid the test, Liz skipped lunch…I think to give Max moral support…or maybe she just didn’t trust me to treat him fairly…anyway she was right…Max got 100% the second time through…he knew all the answers he’d originally gotten right and apparently had time to figure out the two word problems he missed…I apologized to Max…under the glaring eyes of Liz. To tell the truth, I’m not really sure he cared one way or another…except it made Liz happy.”

“Well everyone makes mistakes…Max really is quite good academically, it’s just that he’s socially…well…kind of inept. That’s why we enrolled him…so he has an opportunity to learn to socialize with other kids,” said Diane.

“Well so far the other kids are…well only Liz, although she’s trying to push him to be more sociable. If she wasn’t already dead set on a career as a scientist, Mrs. Parker, she’d be a great elementary school teacher.

Right now she’s the only one who can really get through to Max about learning to deal with people…I think he does it to please her...with me…well he does things to stop me from nagging him…but he really responds to her moods in a way he does to no one else…”

"Well," said Diane, "..don't feel like the Lone Ranger. Max pretty much does things to humor me as well."

The three women talked for another twenty-five minutes, Mrs. Hotstetter showing them Max and Liz’s work. Liz truly was ‘the perfect Miss Parker,’ as her first and second grade teachers had proclaimed. Max…well Max did well academically, but otherwise participated in class pretty much only to the extent that Liz could drag him in to the situation…but even there Max was making slow but steady improvement…due more to Liz’s efforts than anything Mrs. Hotstetter could motivate him to do, according to the teacher.

Outside in the playground, the two friends had found each other. They were on the swings…side by side.

“I bet she’s going to tell them about thinking you were copying my test,” said Liz. “I was so mad that she would think that..”

Max looked down at his shoes again, as he pumped the swing, saying nothing.

Somehow Liz interpreted his silence and embarrassment, even while swinging herself.

“What? Tell me what you aren’t telling me, Max.”

He swung a few more times and said softly, “I did copy from your test.”

“But why, Max? You are a good student…even better than me in word problems…Why did you copy my answers.”

“You’re the best student.”

The best human student, was what he was really thinking.

“It isn’t fair for me to take that away from you, so I copied your test so I wouldn’t do better.”

Max recoiled as he saw a flash of anger in those brown eyes, fearful that he’d just lost his only friend. Then she shook her head and gave him her gap-toothed grin, as she forgave him. “I don’t need for you to LET me be the best, Max. If you are better, I just need to try harder.”

Max seemed unsure…but at least she didn’t appear to be really mad at him.

“But math is hard for girls..,” he replied, earning another frown from Liz.

“Math is no harder for girls than it is for boys, Max. Who told you that?”

“My sister’s doll…”

“You think I’m a Barbie doll Max? That someone pulls a string on me and I say, 'Math class is tough?',” she asked wagging her head comically as she did so. “I’m as good a student as any boy, Max.”

“I’m better at word problems..”

“I’ll work harder at them….there’s nothing that you can do that I can’t do,” she said feigning anger. She couldn’t really be angry at Max, …after all, Max was her friend.

“Yes I can…,” he said, with a shy half-smile.

“Cannot,” said Liz, pumping her swing higher and smiling at him.

“Can too,..” said Max, pumping his swing to keep up, and giving his own shy half-smile back.

“Can not,” Liz said, sticking her tongue out at him…then giggling.

They really weren’t arguing…just two friends having fun. Max couldn’t remember ever being happier.

The swings continued to swing….…swinging in perfect synchrony. That such a thing was impossible…the chains of the swings being of different length…Liz didn’t know yet. The relationship between the period of a pendulum and its length is proportional to the square of the length…but that wasn’t covered in school until high school physics. That’s why pendulums had been used to regulate clocks since 1656. There was just no normal way that they could swing side by side like that.

Max actually did know….it took some effort…but there was no one around but the two of them..and it was unlikely to be noticed…and it kept him close to Liz side by side, rather than passing each other at different points of the arc. For the two of them to continue to swing…side by side…just wasn’t possible, since the length of their chains were unequal. At least..it was impossible if Max hadn’t been using his powers to alter the momentum of his swing continually…to keep it next to her. It let them be close and talk…and that was all Max cared about.
He had a friend.