Roswell Fanatics

Title - Forging the Sword
Author - trulov
Rating - Mature (some swearing and mature content. No sex.)
Pairing - CC Future Fic
Banner - By dreamer19 - thank you for this amazing beautiful work.
Summary - Every tragedy has a purpose. Even the unthinkable, the unimaginable. Especially those.



Warning - This will be a sad story. It will involve a character's death. I'm hoping it will end on a peaceful, hopeful note, however.

Prologue

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.



There was a lot I didn’t know before I died.

Like the true meaning of eternity. Forever.

Its not an idea the human mind is capable of understanding. Not really.

Human lives are like threads on a tapestry. Entwined - each one connected to the next. Some threads, like mine, are short. Some, like Tess’s, are twisted and frayed. Others, like Max’s, are strong and thick.

But every thread - from the tiniest to the longest is important. Vital - to the masterpiece on the other side. Remove one and the work is ruined. Incomplete.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is - we all have our part to play.

And every part has a purpose.

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

Chapter 1


Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.



Alexander Charles Whitman Evans was born on a Sunday.

When Liz discovered she was pregnant, just six months after leaving Roswell, there had been fear and concern amongst the motley crew of fugitives. After-all, running from the law was hard enough - running with a baby in tow seemed near to impossible.

But, after the shock had worn off, there had been pleasure. Hope. Excitement and anticipation.

When they knew a boy was coming, there hadn’t been much debate over his name. It seemed natural, to honor their fallen friend. To give this child his name, as he would never have a child of his own to carry it on.

But after he was born, no one in the group could bring themselves to call him Alex.

For them, there was only one Alex - and Alexander was quite a mouthful.

So they took to calling the infant Charlie.

The name suited him - with his cherub cheeks, his father’s eyes and his mother’s smile, and dark thick hair that never seemed to stay where it was supposed to.

He was a happy baby. A blessing. Calm and content.

Even still, the first few months were difficult. Full of upheaval and change.

With Liz breastfeeding, both Michael and Kyle saw more of her bare breasts then either had ever wanted. For them it was awkward - but Liz didn’t really care. Once you had a baby, things like modesty and privacy sort of fell by the wayside.

They say it takes a village to raise a child - and in this case, truer words were never spoken. Given their circumstances, they each had a hand in caring for the sweet baby boy.

It was Isabel who nursed him through his first sickness. Pacing back and forth in the cramped apartment, which was home for the moment, as the tiny infant sniffled and burned with fever. And in the morning, when she awoke with him on her chest, his eyes clear and smiling, she had never felt such a sense of accomplishment and completion.

Michael and Maria tried to be the disciplinarians - but it didn’t exactly work out like they’d planned.

Charlie was three when he broke a window with a ball, after being told repeatedly not to play with it in the house. So Michael sat him down to discuss his punishment. But when his big amber eyes filled with remorseful tears, Maria rushed to his side and broke down in tears of her own. And Michael caved - telling the boy that, from then on, he could play ball any damn place he wanted to.

Kyle took up the role of spiritual adviser. And friend. By Charlie’s fourth birthday, he could recite the meditative Buddhist Chants almost as well as he could throw a football. Just as Kyle had taught him.

And Max and Liz…

Well, it was a shock to no one that their son was the light of their lives. Their love for each other second only to their adoration of him.

He was their joy…their everything.

And so it happened that Alexander Charles Whitman Evans became the center of the small band of teenagers. They all felt like he belonged to them - even the ones who didn't actually have a role in creating him.

He was their sun - their warmth - and they all happily revolved around him.

Charlie Evans would die on a Wednesday.

At the park, at the tender age of five. He would be struck by a an out of control car - his life gone from his fragile little body even before he hit the ground.

No power on earth - or Antar - would be able to bring him back.

There would be no punishment for Charlie’s death - no one to blame. The driver of the car was a seemingly healthy grandfather of four in the midsts of a heart attack - and he would perish that same day.

It would all look so senselessly tragic. So heartbreakingly useless.

But looks are deceiving.

My name is Alex Whitman. The first one.

And this isn’t Charlie’s story.

This is the story of the world.

And how the seemingly pointless death of one special, innocent boy, would save it.

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

Finally...

Thank you for all the comments and encouragement. I'm working on chapter 3 right now, so there's a good chance it won't take another seven months to get the next part posted.

If anyone read this over on Write On - I've rewritten in. Changed several things - added some new info.

This style is quite different from what i've been writing in the Tangled stories, but I hope you enjoy it.

And away we go...


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

Chapter 2



They say you’re supposed to live every day like its your last. And I guess, in theory, they’re right. But in reality - it just doesn’t work that way.

If it did, nothing would get accomplished. Every person would spend every one of their days skydiving or bull riding, or completely absorbed in the quiet presence of the ones they love most.

That’s what I would’ve done - if I had known.

But we don’t know. None of us do - not the cancer patient in a hospital room, or the stroke victim in the shower. No one knows when their time is up. When their time will run out.

And that ignorance truly is bliss.

It keeps the world turning. It keeps us functioning, without fear, without regret, without the distracting knowledge of just how short our time on earth really is.

Or how quickly life can change - what an enormous difference one day can make. Maybe it’s winning the lottery, or a suicide bomber. Maybe it’s a loss so great, you can’t even entertain the thought.

The point is - the one unifying truth - is whatever form the change takes?

None of us see it coming.

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

Max Evans was staring at her again.

It was the same way he’d looked at her for years - from a chair in a classroom and a Crashdown booth.

She knew it before she opened her eyes. She felt it.

His warmth. His strength. His love.

Liz was already smiling as she slowly opened her eyes, “What are you doing?”

Her husband smiled in return, “Watching you. And trying to avoid our son‘s lethal feet.”

Charlie had always been a kicker. Even while in the womb Liz had frequently been awoken, in the middle of the night, by the feeling that her infant was waging a one man game of soccer inside her.

She glanced down at the dark haired boy who slept between them.

Their dark haired boy.

His eyes were closed, his thumb securely in his mouth. Yes, Charlie Evans was five years old and still sucked his thumb while he slept. The habit made him look innocent - babyish - and no one in his family was in any hurry to break him of it.

Because, in truth, it was the only time he seemed that way.

Their lives, fate, destiny, had forced each of them to grow up well before their time. And despite their best efforts, Charlie was no exception.

The way he spoke, how he thought, the perceptive analytical manner in which he sized up a stranger or observed a situation - always on the lookout for danger. All things he’d learned from them - out of necessity. Like a child raised on a crime infested street, or a war zone. Charlie was an old soul.

At least…most of the time he was.

Liz stretched, and her eyes returned to Max, conveying a hidden meaning beneath her words, “I’m going to take a shower.”

Max’s smile widened. “Your powers must be evolving, Mrs. Evans. I’m pretty sure you just read my mind.”

She loved it when he called her that. Mrs. Evans. It was probable that Max would be the only person who ever would.

Depending on the day and their place of residence, she was always someone else - Lynn Johnson, Sara Roberts, Jane Taylor - the list was endless. Liz Evans existed only in her heart, and here, in the home they had made together.

Max leaned over and brought his lips to hers. The kiss was deep - meaningful - as every part of their relationship had always been. And it told her without words how privileged he still felt to be the man who got to wake up beside her.

And then a tiny voice piped up between them, effectively, as Max had once put it, ‘killing the buzz.’

“Ugg. You’re kissing again.“

They pulled apart, still looking into each other’s eyes, chuckling. Then simultaneously, they turned towards their son.

“Good morning mini-Maria.”

Charlie’s brow wrinkled disapprovingly, as he looked back and forth between his parents, “I thought we agreed to no kissing around the child. It’s yucky.”

Liz gently pushed his hair back off his forehead, “You don‘t think it’s yucky when I kiss you.”

Charlie thought about it a moment, “That‘s different. When you kiss me, it‘s not all sloppy.”

Max looked at Liz, “Sloppy? I think I’m offended.”

“Why do you do it, anyway?”

Max Evans was a young father by anyone’s standards - but he was still a father. And like all parents, he had perfected the standard one liners that were most effective in situations like this.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Charlie shook his head with adamant denial, “No I won’t. No matter how old I get, I’m never gonna get all slurpy with a girl. Not even if I’m like…thirty.”

Liz grinned, “Thirty, huh? That is old.”

Charlie’s head bobbed in agreement.

And Max ruffled his son’s hair, “Let’s revisit this conversation in about eight years? We’ll see where you stand then, okay?”

“Okay.”

Liz’s fingers slowly crept up her son’s sides, “Until then…I’ll give you sloppy…” And she proceeded to tickle him unmercifully, peppering his neck with raspberries, while he shrieked with childish delight.

After the laughter died down, the young family snuggled back under the covers. Max stretched his arm across Charlie, resting his hand on Liz’s hip, encircling them both - stealing just a few more moments together, before the demands of the day would separate them.

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

As any couple living with a small child will tell you, moments for intimacy need to be seized not merely when the mood strikes, but when the opportunity is presented. Sometimes, those opportunities come in the most unusual of places - walk in closets, tree houses, automobile backseats…bathrooms.

And so, a while later when Max and Liz walked into the kitchen, both wet haired and smiling, there was little doubt about just what they had been up to.

Kyle wagged his finger, “That shower was running for awhile, you two. And we’re in the middle of a drought. For shame.”

Max poured himself a cup of coffee, “Which is why we showered together - to conserve water. The environment is very important to me.”

Michael smirked from his seat at the table, “Yeah - you’re a regular tree hugger, Maxwell.” He cocked his head toward Charlie, “That’s how he got here, remember?”

Remember, he did.

It had been four months since they’d fled Roswell. Three weeks after Max and Liz had exchanged vows in a tiny Kansas Church.

In those days their trail was still fresh, so they avoided populated areas at all costs. Their sleeping accommodations, when they allowed themselves the privilege, were restricted to the dirtiest, cheapest, pay by the hour, roach infested motels.

Then Max had an idea - a way to drop off the grid completely. They would infiltrate Yellowstone National Park. With it’s dense forest and bountiful lakes, they could camp, rest, undetected for weeks. Maybe months.

Once they arrived, Max announced that he and Liz would set up their own camp, just a mile or two away. He knew this would likely be their only chance for some privacy - for any semblance of a normal honeymoon.

And despite Liz’s claims to the contrary, that was still what he wanted most to give her.

Normal.

No one objected, as long as they checked in daily via walkie-talkie. Other than those brief communications, Max and Liz were alone.

And they were together.

And it was perfect - like it always should’ve been. Like it was in the beginning, before Tess and Nasedo had come and changed things.

They held hands and walked in the wilderness. They snuggled in front of the campfire and swam in the cool lake waters. They made sweet love in their tent, and passionate love outside of it. They laughed and they talked and they…cemented…their relationship.

Ten days later they returned to the rest of the group. Five weeks after that, Liz’s morning sickness began. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Maria brought Charlie over a plate of scrambled eggs, fresh from the stove. And then stopped short as he shoveled a spoonful of Tabasco covered Fruity Pebbles into his little mouth, “Who made that for you?”

With his mouth still full, he answered, “Uncle Michael.”

She shook her head, “That‘s disgusting.”

Michael nudged the boy, “Don’t pay any attention to her. She’s just bitter because her taste buds aren’t as evolved as ours.”

Charlie's eyes sparkled as his uncle tapped their spoons together in the universal gesture of ‘cheers.’

But Maria persisted, “He’s a growing boy, Michael. He needs a hot breakfast, not empty calories and sugar.”

Michael shrugged, “I lived on this stuff growing up and I turned out fine.”

Her eyes narrowed, “That’s debatable.”

It was then that Charlie defused the situation - as only a child could.

“You wanna talk about disgusting, Aunt Maria? You should’ve seen mommy and daddy this morning. It looked like he was trying to pick food out of her teeth with his tongue.”

Max choked on his coffee.

Isabel pushed her half full plate away from her, “Okay, I’m done now.”

Liz just shook her head at her son, “What are we going to do with you?”

Maria suggested, “Maybe it’s time we get him his own bed?”

Charlie had never had a bed of his own. They moved so often, it was just easier for him to share one of the others‘.

Sometimes he slept with Uncle Michael and Aunt Maria - she sang the best lullabies. Other times he crawled in with Uncle Kyle - he told great bedtime stories. Aunt Isabel would lull him to sleep by running her fingers through his hair - and she always smelled so good. And nothing, nothing made him feel safer than squeezing in-between his parents as they held each other close.

No, Charlie liked the sleeping arrangements just fine the way they were.

He held up his small hands, “Hold on. Let’s not get crazy now. Maybe we could, like, pick a room - and make it the kissing room.”

Kyle readily agreed, “Oohh, a Love Shack - I’m liking this idea.”

“We don’t have enough space for a Love Shack,” Isabel pointed out, rolling her eyes.

Charlie continued, “We could put a sign on the door.”

Kyle laughed, “Yeah - ‘if this door’s a knockin’ don’t come a rockin’”

His brow wrinkled, realizing his error, “Wait, I said that wrong. This is just sad. Its been so long since I got any, I can’t even get the innuendoes right.”

Charlie’s head tilted to the side, “Since you got any what?”

No one answered.

And then Max cleared his throat, “O-kay…so what’s the plan for today?”

It was a morning ritual. Laying out their schedules for the day, so there were no misunderstandings. So everyone was on the same page.

Liz sat down next to Max with her own coffee, “Maria and I have the breakfast and lunch shifts at the diner. We’ll be home by four.”

Isabel added, “Kyle has off from the garage today, so he’ll be home with Charlie and I. Then, I have to work at the library from five to eleven.”

“And I’ll go with Isabel then too. Catch up on my sleep in the stacks,” Kyle said with a yawn.

Max nodded, “Michael and I will be done at the construction site at six.”

They always traveled in two’s. Pairs. Safety in numbers. They’d long ago worked out a system for alerting one another to any hint of trouble. A text of 711 on their prepaid cell phones meant be on guard. 811 meant get ready, we’re leaving tonight. And 911 meant run. Run for your lives.

They’d established safe houses - meeting places - all over the country. Some were in bustling cities, others were in tiny towns barely on the map. All of them were chosen randomly, and changed with each new relocation.

One might think after five years such meticulous planning and strategy would be unwarranted. Maybe even a bit paranoid.

It wasn’t.

In fact, the Special Unit’s pursuit was even more concentrated now, than it had been on that Graduation night. Two specific events ensured that.

The first was Charlie’s birth.

When surveillance intel. and near-miss reports confirmed that six aliens had become seven, the federally funded bounty hunters salivated over the prospect an alien child. Of capturing it, studying it, harnessing its power for their own designs. It was an opportunity too tempting to ever pass up.

The second event was September 11, 2001.

After that day, all branches of the government went into overdrive. High alert. And the buzz word of the decade was Homeland Security.

The other-worldly aspects of their targets was known only to those on the front line - to those men who would actually come into direct contact during capture.

To other branches of authority, Max Evans, his wife, his sister and their friends were simply…terrorists. Illegals, who were already connected to the destruction of a federal facility. That designation gave the men who hunted them unlimited access to funds and manpower.

And what of the individuals who made a career out of stalking a group of the small town teens? Were they evil men? Malicious? Sadists?

No. They were much more dangerous than that.

They were patriots. Military specialists who truly believed they were serving their country - protecting their very world from the vilest of threats.

“Uncle Kyle? Can we go to the park today? Bring the football and work on my arm?”

“Sure champ - we‘ll make a Joe Namath out of you yet.”

Isabel intervened, “We’ll go around twelve - after your schoolwork’s done.”

Charlie was a bright child - reading by age three, writing full sentences at four. Schoolwork gave him structure and helped to break up the seemingly endless hours in the van that were simply a part of life for him.

He’d never known anything else.

Place to place, trip to trip - staying in one area for no more than four weeks at a time. Complacency was not a luxury they could afford.

For a five year old the constant traveling was an adventure. But they all knew the day would come when the excitement of exploring, gave way to the ache of loneliness. Though none of them dwelled too much on that fact - they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

For the moment, Charlie was happy and content with the life they’d made for him - and therefore so were they.

Max stood up from the table, “It's after six - we should get going.”

Maria and Liz grabbed their purses and double checked their cell phones.

In the hustle and bustle of every day life, it's easy to take things for granted. Things like saying good bye. When a husband who’s late for work calls out to his wife with a flippant, ’see you later,’ it’s because he’s certain that he actually will be seeing her later.

That was not the case for this group.

For them, every moment was precious and every good bye had meaning. Because they truly didn’t know if a separation would last a day, or a month…or much longer.

It was four years ago, on a humid summer morning, when Michael implied - in his own diplomatic way - that Maria had put on a little weight. She did not take the suggestion well. In fact, she stomped out the front door without a word, leaving Michael bewilderedly staring after her.

The text came in two hours later.

911.

And they scattered. Two in the van, two on foot, three on a greyhound bus. It would be seven days before they were all together again - reuniting at a popular pier in Santa Monica. And for those seven days Maria tortured herself, because her last words to Michael had been no words at all.

It was a lesson they all took to heart.

Not that living together was always sweetness and light. There were arguments and disagreements and lost tempers. But they didn’t hold grudges. They never allowed trivial annoyances to come between them. Their trust in one another was unshakable, their devotion and affection - unwavering.

Michael swung Charlie up over his back, holding him upside down by his ankles as the child laughed. “Hey Max, you wanna take a look at this thing growing on my back?”

He jostled and shook the boy, before setting him back on his feet with an affectionate high five. “You and me rug rat - X-box tournament tonight.”

Charlie nodded his head confidently, “Oh yeah.”

Then Max picked his son up for a tight hug and kiss on the cheek. “Have a good day, buddy. I love you.”

Charlie squeezed his father with all his might, “Bye Daddy. Love you too.”

Next came Maria, who pinched his cheeks and rained kisses all over his face. Kisses which Charlie playfully wiped away.

She brushed his bangs off his forehead, “You need a haircut sweetie. I’ll do it tonight, okay?”

“Okay.”

It would have been easier using powers to trim Charlie’s hair, but for Maria, performing the task herself was an act of caring - of love.

And then Liz embraced her boy warmly and kissed his forehead, “Be good Charlie.”

Isabel smiled, “He’s always good.”

Kyle added, “Of course he is. I think he gets that from me.”

And with that, four of the seven walked towards the door. Liz was just about to cross the threshold, when her son’s voice stopped her.

“Mommy?”

She turned back towards her son and found him suddenly staring at her longingly - almost fearfully.

“What is it Charlie?”

The small boy just stood there for a moment, his face pale, his brow wrinkled in slight confusion, as if he was trying to explain a dream he couldn’t quite remember upon waking.

And then he ran to her. He wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist and buried his face against her stomach.

Liz’s hands went around the boy’s shoulders and her worried eyes immediately found Max’s.

Then she knelt down in front of him.

She touched his face, and stroked his hair, “What’s wrong honey? What is it?”

Charlie looked deep into Liz's eyes and whispered, “I...I love you Mommy.”

Liz smiled. And her eyes misted. And in the very same way she had responded to his father's declaration, in a mangled bus on that night so long ago, she told him, “I love you.”

The spike of panic that had swamped Charlie at his mother’s departure disappeared as quickly as it came on. And he grinned. He quickly kissed Liz’s cheek, before scampering off to the corner where his toys were stacked.

Rising from her knees, Liz again looked to Max questioningly.

He shrugged. Charlie was a good kid - a great kid - affectionate and kind. That he had wanted one more good-bye kiss from his mother was nothing to get excited about.

Max held out his hand to his wife. She took it, and they walked out the door.

And so the day began, just like any one of the thousands before it.

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

Howdy all!

Well, here we go again.

It seems as through my writer's block is finally lifting!! I am determined to finish this story by the end of June. That being said, the hubby has off next week so it will probably be two weeks unitl Chapter 4 is up.

For those of you who read this part over on Write On - there's not really new ground here. But this is revised - more fleshed out - and there's many new details that I think make the story more well rounded.

Anyway, if anyone is still out there, thank you for reading. Personally, I don't think this part is my best work, and for that I'm sorry - but I am determined to move this story along.

Also - I'll bake some cookies for anyone who knows what the name of the town means and where it is mentioned in this chapter. Just keeping you on your toes.

Also - for any Tangled/Twisted/Tied fans - do not despair. Once this is complete I fully intend to pick that back up. I won't leave you hanging.

Thanks so much to all the readers, lurkers, mods and admins out there. I love that this board is still here!




Chapter 3
-



Control. Self determination.

We spend all our days thinking we possess it - we drive the car, fly the plane, chart the course.

But the truth is - freewill is a myth - the master magician’s illusion. We are powerless to alter the events that have the most impact on our lives.

It‘s a frightening prospect.

So we pretend.

We tell ourselves that the choices we make matter.

I could give you examples. Tess, Future Max, even Liz, all thought they were changing the future. Shifting the outcome.

But they were wrong.

In the end, they did no more than follow the path that had already been laid out before them. As I’ve said before, we all have our role to play. A duty.

A destiny.

Whether we like it or not.

Whether we know it or not.

Some are meant to lead, others are here to heal. And some of us…some of us are born to die.

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

The town of Bello Sueno wasn’t really a town at all. It was a village - population two thousand seven hundred forty three.

Bello Sueno’s founder, a man by the name of Louis Sonador, came to California in search of fortune…in search of gold.

But along the way he found something much more valuable.

His wife’s name was Martha, a simple but beautiful woman - a merchant’s daughter. At sixteen she married Louis against the wishes of her parents - an act that was almost unheard of in that era. It was a gamble that would reward her handsomely - not in terms of wealth - but in love and happiness.

When Martha told her husband a child was coming Louis gave up his pursuit of gold. They settled on fertile piece of land in a pristine valley twenty miles north of what would one day become Wine Country. There, they built a home and eventually a store - catering to the needs of the never-ending stream of gold seekers passing by.

As time went on, other disillusioned panners and their families joined them. First a blacksmith, a teacher, then a doctor, and before long the solitary homesteads became a community, and Bello Sueno was born.

Over one hundred years later, not much had changed in village. They had all the modern day conveniences now - cable, internet, cell phone service. But the heart and the aspirations of the people who inhabited it, was very much the same.

For the most part, the one light-stop town was self-contained. It had a small but adequate hospital, a four man police force, a school that served children from their first through twelfth grades, a bar, a casual diner and a fancier restaurant with candle lit tables for those special occasions.

The village no longer catered to gold hungry 49ers, but it didn’t lack for passer-throughs either. Some were adventurous college students backpacking cross country. Others were tourists lost on their way to Napa. And, of course, there was the small band of alien hybrids seeking a temporary shelter from the storm that was their lives.

Though no one from the latter group voiced it, Bello Sueno felt different…safer…than any of the other towns they had briefly stayed before.

Despite half the group’s not of this earth’s origins - deep down, they were all just small town kids. Born - or hatched as the case may be - and raised on an awning covered Main Street just like this one.

Though none of them said so, for the first time since leaving Roswell, they had found a place that felt familiar…that felt like home.

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

“…and so I said, ‘Really? Extra Bacon?’ I mean the last thing that guy’s arteries needed was an extra serving of saturated animal fat.”

Maria waited for Liz to chuckle with her, but all she got was a vacant nod - a sure sign that her friend hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

They sat on a sidewalk bench, in the warmth of the early afternoon sun, enjoying their home made sandwiches before rush of the diner’s lunch crowd arrived.

Maria waved her open palm in front of Liz’s face, “Earth to Liz…”

She blinked, and smiled apologetically, “I’m sorry.”

Maria tilted her head, “You okay, chica?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just…thinking.”

“About?”

Liz sighed, “Life.”

Maria’s eye widened, “That’s a pretty heavy topic to be thinking about over tuna.”

This time Liz did chuckle. And then she asked, “Do you remember that time capsule we made? You and me and Alex, when we were eight?”

“The one we buried behind Mr. Delgado’s hardware store - and then couldn’t find again because Alex’s mutant dog ate the map?”

Liz smiled, “Yeah, that one.”

“I remember.”

Liz went on, “Remember how we wrote down what we wanted to be when we grew up?”

Maria smirked, thinking back.

“I wanted to sell more records than Madonna. And you wanted to be the world’s top molecular biologist. And Alex wanted to be the first First Man…”

They mimicked in unison, “All the glory of the president and none of the responsibility!”

They laughed together.

And then the sound trailed off to a reverent hush - a moment of silence - the way it always did when they thought of Alex.

Liz whispered, “We would have opened it this year. Fifteen years. And the thing I was thinking about was - my life is nothing like I thought it would be. None of my plans turned out like I’d hoped.”

She paused a moment, her brown eyes meeting Maria’s green ones, and then she said earnestly, “But I’m still so…happy. I love my life. Marrying Max, having Charlie, all of us living together…it’s nothing like I ever imagined it would be…but…I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Maria smiled softly - because she felt the exact same way.

Liz’s brow wrinkled in confusion, “I mean - is that weird? Like some form of Stockholm Syndrome, or a coping mechanism?”

Maria put her hand on Liz’s shoulder, “No - there’s nothing weird or dysfunctional about it.”

She took a breath, and explained, “You know, when I went to New York to get my singing career going, I thought it was going to be amazing - it was everything I’d ever wanted. And by the time I left, I realized there are things we think we want…and then there are things we need. And if you have the things you need…the things you thought you wanted…just don’t seem so important anymore.”

Liz nodded her head, grateful not for the first time, that Maria was her best friend.

“You are a wise woman, Maria Deluca.”

Maria threw up her hands, “I know. That’s what I’ve been telling Spaceboy for years - but he stubbornly refuses to accept the truth.”

Liz was about to tell Maria that she would point out to Michael just how knowledgeable his girlfriend was.

She was about to…but she never got the chance.

Because a second later, her back arched. And her eyes rolled closed.

And the most powerful premonition of her life overtook her.

Usually, Liz had to be “touching people” to initiate a flash.

But this was different.

Because the bond between a mother and her child is not bound by distance, not weakened by time. It is unbreakable and everlasting.

After a few moments Liz’s eyes opened and refocused. Her hands trembled and her face was pale.

She couldn’t speak.

She could barely breathe.

Because of the things she had seen…

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

Just a few miles away, Michael and Max sat on a beam of the new building that was being constructed, silently eating their own tuna sandwiches.

Until Michael took a bite and broke the silence, “So, we’re coming up on four weeks…”

Max squinted his eyes against the sun, and said nothing.

“Time to break out the trusty map…”

Max nodded slowly, but still offered no response.

So Michael asked, “Got something you want to share with the class, Maxwell?”

Michael Guerin had never been big on talking. He had no interest in the deep, emotional conversations that Maria had always craved.

But that didn’t mean he was insensitive to the feelings of those around him - of those he cared about most. In fact, talking less gave him more time to observe, to watch. So although he was no mind reader like Kyle, Michael knew something was bothering Max - had been bothering him for a few days now.

Max smirked and looked at the ground.

Then he turned to Michael and asked, “What would you say if I told you I thought we should try staying here longer than four weeks? Maybe permanently?”

Michael’s eyes hardened, remembering the worst night of his life - the sound of the screams, the smell of the blood.

“I’d say we tried that once. Didn’t work out.”

Charlie had just turned two, and like any toddler he wanted to be able to run, to climb. He had been cranky almost constantly - tired of being confined in a van for hours. And he wasn’t the only one. They were all tired - tired of looking over their shoulders, of searching for new places to hide.

So they’d picked Chicago - they‘d all agreed to try. For two months they had gone unnoticed in the urban jungle - blending in. The problem with a city however, is you can never tell who else is blending. Who’s walking behind you, who’s watching you from a crowd of faceless strangers.

And someone had been watching.

They came at two in the morning. 2:04 to be exact.

At 2:02 Liz had rolled over in her sleep, her hand naturally searching for her husband. And when she found him, the flash had come - waking her.

Ninety seconds later half of them were already out, onto the fire escape. Michael had turned around, to push Maria through the window, but when he reached for her, his hand had grabbed only air.

Because they had left everything behind, including Alex’s guitar. It was the only thing she had left of him - something that he had actually touched - and she couldn’t bring herself to leave without it.

Michael had found her in the bedroom, dragging the guitar out from under the bed.

Three seconds later the windows exploded - blown out by tear gas canisters. Two seconds after that, the front door collapsed - and men with gas masks and guns charged inside.

One of them fired, and Maria went down, her abdomen torn open by the bullet.

Michael raised his hand and blasted, killing the man who had shot her, and possibly the others behind him.

He’d dragged Maria to the window, and carried her down the fire escape. By some miracle they’d made it to the van, and escaped.

Max healed Maria that night, ensuring that every human in their group had been touched - changed - by alien power.

Max stared into Michael’s eyes, “It’ll be different this time.”

Michael snapped, “You don’t know that.”

Max looked away, and his voice strained, pleading for Michael to understand, “Charlie’s five now. He should be starting school, he should have a home of his own - friends his own age.”

Michael scoffed, “He’s got Kyle.”

Max ignored the attempted joke.

“He deserves more than this Michael. He deserves…a life…we owe it to him to try. I see the way he looks at other kids…like he wants to be them. Don’t you think we owe it to him to at least try?”

Michael shook his head, “It sounds like you’ve already made the decision. Why are you even asking me?”

“Because I’ve thought about it over and over. I’ve looked at it from all the angles and I think this town is a good place - a safe place. But I don’t want to confuse what I want to be true, with what is true.”

Michael's head turned sharply, hearing the same words he had spoken to Max years ago.

And Max shook his head and swore, “Not ever again.”

He paused a moment and then went on, “So I’m asking you. What do you think?”

Michael pushed a frustrated hand through his hair.

He tried to distance himself, to look at the situation without emotion. He tried to think like the Second in Command he had once been.

“I think the size is good. Bello Sueno’s big enough for us to fade into, but small enough to know if someone comes into town asking questions. It’s off the beaten path, but close to major highways - good escape routes.”

He thought a moment more, and then said begrudgingly, “I think it’s as safe a place as we‘re gonna get.”

Max started to smile.

Then Michael continued, “But if we’re gonna do this, we need to do it right. And that means splitting up.”

Max stuttered, shocked “I…I don’t think…”

“I don’t mean moving out state or anything, but I think we should get our own places. A bunch of kids renting a house - a party of seven - that stands out.”

He gestured to himself, “But a couple living in sin,” he pointed to Max, “two kids with a kid of their own, or two single friends rooming together - no one remembers that.”

Max thought about it, and agreed, “You’re right.”

Then Michael insisted, “But I want joint custody.”

Max’s eyebrows rose, “Joint custody? Like in a divorce?”

“Exactly. And none of that weekend crap. I want...summers. The whole summer. You and Liz can stop by once in a while, but from June to August Charlie stays with me and Maria. Kyle and Isabel can split winter. You and Liz get him in fall and spring.”

Max paused to see if Michael was serious.

He was.

Then Max scratched behind his ear nervously, “I don’t…I don’t know if Liz is gonna agree to our son not living with us for half the year.

Michael was unconcerned.

He took a bite of his sandwich and said, “Which is why I'm glad that's your problem, not mine.”

Max chuckled, “We’ll figure something out. We’ll talk about it with the others tonight - put it to a vote.”

It was the way the did things now. Even though Max Evans was the uncontested leader, they were a democracy, not a dictatorship.

For the moment, Max was just happy to have Michael’s support. And he let himself imagine what it would be like to have a real home. A calm life with Liz and his son. And for the first time in years he thought about the future and felt hopeful.

In his mind he could already see it - Liz walking across the near-by community college campus, an eager grin on her lips, a leather backpack slung over her shoulder.

Charlie stepping off the school bus, his face flush with excitement, his latest art project in his little hands.

The three of them sitting at a kitchen table night after night, doing homework, laughing, and sharing the events of their day.

It was a perfect picture. A heartwarming image. It was a beautiful dream.

And then his cell phone rang.

Max glanced at the screen and showed it to Michael - still smiling.

Still unaware.

He pressed the receive button and brought the phone to his ear, “Hey Maria, we were just…”

Hearing the voice on the other end, Max’s words faded away.

And his stomach lurched, and his limbs grew weak - and he was freefalling - like a bottomless cavern had opened up beneath his feet, pulling him down.

Since leaving Roswell, every one of them had changed in some intrinsic way. Constantly being on guard, on the move - it was inevitable.

But none of them had changed so much as Maria Deluca.

The evening six teenagers slipped away in a van was the same night Hurricane Deluca was laid to rest.

None of them could afford to panic. Hysterics had consequences - deadly ones. Whatever came their way, composure had to be maintained.

And in all their time as fugitives, Maria had never wavered - never once failed to keep a clear head.

And so it wasn't her words that shook Max to his very soul...it was the way she was saying them.

She was screaming.

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

Hi everyone. Thanks for you patience and for reading. I'm sorry if there's errors - it's really late here...or early. Hope to be back next week with Chapter 5



Chapter 4



-




Orson Wells once said ‘we all die alone.’

It’s easy to understand the sentiment. Because death is the ultimate unknown, the darkest of black holes. And the process of death is unique for every individual - some accept that the end has come, some struggle violently against it.

But no one - no one - goes through it alone.

Because we are important. We are dear. We are cherished.

And it is only after our human coils have been severed that we can truly understand what that means.

There is a poem, that ends with the line: “My precious, precious child, I love you and would never leave you. When you saw only one set of footprints, it was then…that I carried you."

When the threshold from life to death is passed, every one of us is carried over it.

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

The sound of Charlie’s laughter danced in the sunlight and echoed across the field. It was a joyous sound, a beautiful melody, like the chimes of the most delicate bell.

They were at the park, as promised. Though Isabel was no sports enthusiast, for her nephew, she made an exception. Two cell phones laid forgotten on the blanket, their ringing unheard and unanswered. Typically the devices were attached like an extra body part, but the illusion of safety this small town provided made Kyle and Isabel feel comfortable and carefree.

It made them careless.

Kyle put his hands on Charlie’s shoulders, “Okay, you’ve got twenty seconds left on the clock, you’re down by five. This is the last play, so you’ve gotta make it count. Let me see the growl.”

Charlie clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, “Grrrr…”

Kyle waved his hand dismissively, “Pft. That’s Chua Wawa. I wanna see pit bull!”

Charlie’s tiny face scrunched up as he tried harder, “GGGrrrrrr!”

Isabel covered her mouth and laughed at the picture he made.

And a memory flashed in her mind.

The memory of another time, of another boy, with the same sweet countenance as her nephew, who had somehow always managed to make her smile through even the worst of times.

A boy who shared Charlie’s name.

In the beginning, Isabel refused to let herself think of Roswell. It was too difficult - too distracting - to remember the mistakes that were made, and the people that were left behind.

For her, those early days were the darkest. Not exactly living, merely existing, forcing herself to make it through one moment at a time.

But Charlie’s birth had changed everything. He had given her a reason to plan for the future. To hope. A good, bright life was no less than that little boy deserved, and Isabel Evans was determined to give it to him.

No one can plan a future, however, without contemplating their past. So around the time Charlie was three months old, Isabel had been able to admit some hard truths to herself - about the person she was, the decisions she had made, and the life she had once led.

She accepted that although she cared deeply for Jesse Ramirez, she did not love him. Not the way Max and Liz or Michael and Maria loved each other. Not the way she had loved Alex Whitman. Her marriage to Jesse was an attempt to move on, move past Alex’s death.

And the attempt was unsuccessful.

Isabel acknowledged that it was fear that had kept her from forming a deeper connection with Alex - fear of rejection and the pain of separation if she became too attached. She had seen Max’s despair first hand when Liz had left for Florida, and she refused to doom herself to a similar fate.

At the time Isabel had thought she was being strong - smart.

She had been a fool.

Because as fate would have it, her separation from Alex would end up being much more permanent and painful when it came. She also had to live with the regret - the constant questioning of what could have been - should have been - had she been braver.

Lastly there was the guilt, the responsibility for Alex’s death, which Isabel put on no one’s shoulders but her own.

It was she who had pushed for Tess to be a part of their group, to fulfill her own selfish need for female companionship, when her brother had wanted nothing to do with her. And it was she who had failed to see the signs of Alex’s suffering, dismissing his absences as disinterest, once again because of her own fear.

Isabel would never forgive herself for Alex. But she would also never let herself forget. And so, in his honor, she let go of her fear and opened herself fully to his namesake. She gave her whole heart to Charlie, held nothing back. She would care for him and protect him with her dying breath.

Because she had learned from her mistakes.

“Go long Aunt Iz!” Charlie yelled, his small hands gripping the leather ball.

Isabel turned her back and ran towards the goal line, with Kyle several yards behind, giving her a pity lead. She faked left, then right, her longer legs giving her a slight advantage.

Then she turned and held out her hands, “I’m open!”

Charlie’s arm arched back, and he used his full body weight to pull it forward and throw the football. It was a perfect pass, astounding in fact for a boy his size. It sailed through the air spiraling and landing right in his aunt’s hands.

Isabel’s smile was a mixture of surprise and pride.

“I caught it!”

She held the ball above her head, and jumped in place.

Charlie smiled at first. Then his eyes widened in panic as he watched his uncle charge towards Isabel.

He waved his hands, “Run! You’re supposed to run!”

It was then that Isabel caught sight of Kyle as well.

“Oh….run…right…”

She turned and sprinted past the goal line.

And Charlie yelled, “Yeah! Touchdown!”

He wiggled his knees in an absurdly adorable victory dance. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth so his aunt could hear him.

“Spike it Aunt Isabel!”

Isabel threw the ball at the ground, as was tradition. It bounced awkwardly and then rolled into a thick mass of bushes behind her.

She was still smiling, as a winded Kyle jogged up, shaking his head in mock disgust.

“Beat by a prom queen and a kid…I demand a rematch.”

Isabel hooked her thumb over her shoulder, “Come on loser, help me find the ball.”

They turned and searched through the greenery.

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

As Charlie waited across the field something caught his eye.

Someone.

It was a man, though no adult at the park that day would have called him that. He was actually a boy - no more that sixteen or seventeen years old. But to Charlie, a child who had been raised by a family of teenagers, he was a man - tall and lanky with dark hair and a warm smile.

The man waved.

And Charlie waved back.

Then Charlie did something unusual. He walked towards the man.

All children are taught at a young age not to talk to strangers - and that lesson had been drilled into Charlie Evans more so than the average child. But still…Charlie was drawn to him.

Because there was something…familiar…about him.

Charlie stopped two feet in front of the man, and tilted his head with curiosity.

He smiled shyly, “I think I know you.”

The man crouched down, so his kind blue eyes were level with Charlie’s soft hazel ones.

He held out his hand, “Alexander Charles Whitman at your service, young sir.”

Charlie giggled, and took the offered hand. It was warm…comforting.

“Alexander Charles Whitman Evans, nice to meet you. But you can call me Charlie.”

Alex smiled.

And Charlie explained in a soft voice, “I was named after you.”

Alex brushed the hair back from Charlie’s eyes reverently, “Yes, you were.”

Charlie went on a little more excitedly, “You’re Mommy’s best friend, you and Aunt Maria. I saw pictures. She said you had to go to a different place, a better place. But you’re here now.”

Alex gazed affectionately at Charlie, “That’s right.”

“How come you came back?”

Alex’s asked with a hushed voice, “Charlie, do you remember what your Mommy told you about your family? About you?”

Charlie nodded, and although he would never have divulged the information to anyone else, he answered Alex honestly, because Charlie felt safe with him. It was as if he was talking to any one of his other uncles - it was as if he had known him his whole life.

“Special. She said we were special…but we couldn’t let anyone else know it because they might be afraid.”

Alex nodded and placed his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. His touch was gentle, like he was making contact with a fragile priceless treasure.

“That’s right. You are special. And you, Charlie, you are the most special of all.”

Charlie looked surprised, and pointed to himself, “Me?”

Alex nodded again, “Yes…you. Because your family…your Daddy…has a very important job to do, but he can’t do it without you. He needs your help. You don’t have to - it’s your decision. Will you help him Charlie?”

There was no pause. No questions. No hesitation.

“Yes. Yes I’ll help my Daddy.”

Alex took a deep breath and smiled. Then he stood up, and Charlie naturally took his hand in his own.

“Let’s go see Uncle Kyle and Aunt Isabel. She’s gonna be so happy to see you.”

For just a moment, sadness filled Alex’s eyes, because more than anything he wished that that was true.

And then Charlie turned around.

And he took in the scene before him.

And he froze.

His small brow wrinkled in confusion, “What’s…what’s happening?”

Alex wrapped his arm around Charlie’s shoulders and held him closed to his side.

His voice was soothing and sincere, “Don’t be afraid Charlie. I’m here with you. I’m going to stay with you. And I promise, everything will be alright.”

Charlie looked up into Alex’s eyes.

And he wasn’t afraid.

There was no pain. No uncertainty.

He knew without a doubt that Alex Whitman was telling him the truth.

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

I'm sorry this is so late. I don't want to make promises I can't keep, but I will get chapter 6 out as soon as possible.

I found this chapter difficult to write - particularly in terms of describing the actions - but at last it's done. It's fairly long and wordy - but try not to skim too much. There are some clues throughout that hint about what's going on, and what will happen.

This is the last chapter telling the "how." The next two chapters will explain the "why."

Thanks to each of you who left feedback. Your comments are very inspiring.




Chapter 5


The human mind is a miraculous thing. It is the only organ capable of lying to itself.

When the appendix is inflamed, the host feels it - knows it - understands that something is very, very wrong.

There are times however, when the brain senses pain - agony so horrific - it cannot be endured.

So the brain conceals the injury. Hides the aching truth. Numbs the host to the reality of the situation.

Professionals refer to this state as shock or denial.

Others just call it hope.

It’s not religious in nature - it’s self preservative. The brain’s evolutionary instinct to keep functioning in the face of catastrophic circumstances.

And so we carry on.

The soldier keeps fighting, the wanderer keeps searching, regardless of hunger or fear. We focus on the positive - on the idea that we will make it out, make it through, no matter how infinitesimal the odds.

Our minds make us believe that eventually all will turn out as we want it to be - as we need it to be.

We stretch our hands out and reach for a happy ending - despite overwhelming evidence that the end has already come, and that happiness was simply too far to grasp.

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

Kyle Valenti wasn‘t a complicated guy. His tastes and needs were simple. He enjoyed watching a good football game, a cold beer on a Sunday afternoon, a soft place to lay his head after a hard day’s work.

Even as a boy, his aspirations weren’t lofty. He’d always imagined himself growing up, going to college, settling down with a wife and a few kids. Maybe a dog.

And then he’d been thrust into the world of intergalactic intrigue. Of aliens and alien hunters, shape shifters and spaceships, of betrayals and murders and mind warps.

And through it all Kyle’s convictions had never wavered. His choices were true unto himself. Because as Liz had once said, ’there’s a right side and a wrong side,’ and Kyle knew which side he wanted to be on.

But that didn’t mean it was easy. Doing the right thing usually isn’t.

Leaving Roswell - his father - that had been difficult. It solidified his association with wanted fugitives and dashed any possibility of a simple life.

And at times, Kyle felt it had doomed him to a life of solitude - not unlike one of the Buddhist monks whose teaching he still studied. There had been the occasional date over the years, and even a few one night stands. But the opportunity for a relationship, the chance to really get to know someone - that took time. And time was always in short supply.

There was Isabel of course. More often than not, she and Kyle were paired together. They were best friends, partners in crime. And there had been moments - fleeting moments - similar to that New Years Eve so long ago, when Kyle was sure they could be more.

But he had never pursued it - never put himself out there to see if she felt it too. It wasn’t just the potential for awkwardness that held him back. More, it was the quiet voice that would always wonder if their feelings for each other were genuine, or just the inevitable by-product of proximity and convenience.

Despite his personal loneliness, Kyle had never regretted his decision to join the others. And he was never more grateful for his friends presence than when his powers had surfaced.

It had happened when Charlie was nine months old - Kyle started ‘buzzing and crackling like tin foil in a microwave.’ For three days he felt detached from his own body - out of sync - out of control.

They all sympathized, they had all been there in one way or another. But surprisingly it was Michael - whose own powers had always been volatile - that was most helpful. He worked with Kyle patiently everyday, practicing and honing his new found alien ability.

And what an ability it was.

Kyle could read minds.

Just as Isabel could creep into a person’s dream, Kyle could hear their waking thoughts.

It wasn’t like in the movies - there were no barrage of voices, no deafening drone of opinions. Once in a while, if a person was in a highly emotional state, a sentence or two would burst into Kyle’s mind unexpectedly. But usually, it required focus and concentration on his part towards a particular individual.

Kyle’s talent came in quite handy if the group thought they were being followed. It was yet another tool that had helped them stay ahead of those that hunted them - that had helped them stay alive.

And given Kyle’s playful nature, it gave him ample opportunity to tease his friends regarding their less than pure musings.

Liz was a particularly easy target in that regard.

Maria had taken to calling him Eddie Cullen, after the vampire who shared Kyle’s ability. Which had in turn led to an all night discussion about the Stephanie Myer novels, until each of them were convinced that she was familiar with their alien mythology.

All in all, Kyle was satisfied with his life. Yes, there was danger - extreme peril - at times. But Kyle just wasn’t the type of person to let that get to him. He chose instead, to focus on his blessings - he had a roof over his head, food in his belly, and friends to watch his back. And he had joy.

That’s where Charlie came in. His presence had sated Kyle’s desire for the simple.

Children were like that. Easy, uncomplicated.

They had no hidden motives, no alternate plans. Love them, listen to them, teach them and they repaid your efforts with unconditional love and unlimited joy.

So everyday, Kyle took sweet pleasure in teaching Charlie the little things - like how to burp the alphabet, or throw a football - in the same way his own father had taught him.

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

Kyle kneeled down and parted the bush with his hands, peering inside to find the lost pig skin. He reached his arm into the bush, and his hand made contact with the familiar leather.

“Got it.”

It had only taken them a minute to find the ball.

It would be a minute that would change their lives forever.

As he and Isabel stood up, their backs to Charlie, a voice resonated in Kyle’s head - one that was not his own.

It was laced with fear, coated with panic.

“My chest…

“…too tight…can’t breathe”

“ …help…”

Kyle whipped around, looking for the source of the voice. And at that moment the car crashed through the gate surrounding the park. It was coming fast.

And a small five year old boy was standing right in its path.

It happened quickly, just as they always say it does. And yet, like a slow motion movie, Kyle was aware of every millisecond. He observed every detail.

Isabel screamed, and raised her hand to blast the automobile. But Charlie was in the way. She couldn’t hit the car, without hitting her nephew as well.

Kyle saw Charlie’s face. He hadn’t turned around when the car smashed through the iron gate. He was looking to the side - focused on something in the distance.

Kyle ran.

He pushed his legs, and he pumped his arms, and he prayed to any God who was listening that he would get to Charlie in time.

Even though his mind already knew he wouldn’t.

The car struck Charlie in the back. His body arched and flew up and forward.

It was violent and awful.

Isabel screamed again.

And still Kyle ran.

For a moment Charlie was suspended in the air, his face turned upward, eyes closed, his limbs limp.

And then he fell.

He hit the ground hard, his head bouncing once against the concrete with a sickening crack.

It was a sound that would haunt Kyle for the rest of his days.

The car veered off to the right, and collided with a tree. It‘s long hood and bumper wrapped around the trunk like some obscene mechanical embrace.

At last, Kyle reached Charlie. He scooped him up into his arms, and cradled his head against his shoulder.

“You’re okay…I got you buddy…you’re okay…you’re okay…”

Kyle rocked back and forth gently, and smoothed Charlie’s hair down the back of his head.

But when his hand came away, it was covered in blood - warm, and wet, and sticky.

“Oh God…”

Officially, Kyle Valenti was an alien-hybrid - he had been one for the last few years. But he had been human for many more years before that. And so his response to the injuries of a boy he loved was purely human.

He yelled, his voice high pitched and desperate, “Someone help me! Help me! Call 911!”

Isabel watched from a few feet away. Weak kneed and immobile. When a great trauma occurs, the popular belief is that there are two responses - fight or flight.

But there is another one.

Frozen.

That’s what Isabel was - incapable of moving or saying a word - as her worst nightmare unfolded before her eyes.

Bystanders began to spring into action. Some pulling out their cell phones, one approaching the smoking shattered car to check on the driver, others holding their own children close - grateful that they were unharmed.

Before the first good Samaritan could get to Kyle and Charlie, a dark haired woman sprinted across the park, and skidded to the ground at Kyle’s side scraping her knees raw in the process.

It was Liz.

Breathing heavy, she took her son from Kyle, “Is he alright?”

“No,” Kyle whispered, “He’s bleeding.”

Liz pressed the apron of her uniform to the back of Charlie’s head, “I’m here, Charlie. Mommy’s here…I’ll make it better.”

She raised her head, searching for the only person she knew who could make this okay.

“Max!! Max!”

And suddenly, Max was there.

He had driven from the construction site like a man possessed. Only on the night Nasedo had died in his room, had time moved so slowly for Max Evans. As he had run across town to the Crashdown, terrified that he would be too late to warn them - to save them - every second had felt like a eternity.

But this…this had been much worse.

“I’m here Liz. I’m here.”

Max flinched as he took in Charlie‘s pale face and Liz’s blood stained clothes. As Liz held him, Max cupped the back of his son’s head with one hand, and put the other on his chest.

He took a deep breath. He focused.

And his hand began to glow.

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

With all their attention on the injured boy, on the terrible accident, no one noticed the unremarkable tan sedan parked across the street.

Or the man inside it.

He lowered the tinted window, and aimed a long range digital camera lens across the road.

The shutter clicked continuously - capturing every action.

And each frame was immediately emailed to the man’s employer, who sat in an office nearly four hundred miles away.

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

As Max attempted to use his powers to revive his son, another member of their group was also using her power.

But she didn’t know she was doing it.

When Charlie was three and a half years old Maria’s ability had emerged. She immediately hated it - rejected any cajoling to practice it.

Because Maria’s power was mind warping.

It made her feel contaminated - evil. It made her feel related to Tess.

Maria vowed never to use it, no matter the situation.

But the brain doesn’t really care about vows. And given the right set of circumstances, the mind bypasses morals all together. And the baser instincts take over.

Instincts are actions without thought. A wolf doesn’t weigh the options of sniffing the ground for a prey’s scent. It just knows it has to be done.

Max didn’t purposely create his shield that day at the school - he didn’t even know he was capable of it. But it happened all the same.

A small crowd of strangers had gathered around the accident site. But none of them observed the light from Max’s hand. None of them knew they were in the presence of an other worldly power.

They saw only what Maria’s mind needed them to see.

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

It wasn’t working.

Max didn’t understand it - couldn’t admit it - but as hard as he tried he was unable to form the familiar connection that was required to heal his son.

“I need you to look at me Charlie. Open your eyes, please open your eyes.”

Charlie’s face remained slack, his eyes closed.

The sun felt too hot on Max’s skin, the air too close. He was starting to weaken. He was starting to panic.

Liz’s eyes were wide and frantic, “Why isn’t it working?”

Max shook his head, “I don’t know.”

He tried again, as sirens pierced the air.

One paramedic ran to the car, while the other, a thirty year old man named Billy Wheeler, pushed his way through the crowd to get to the boy.

Billy crouched on the ground, across from Max and moved to take the youngster from Liz’s arms.

Liz tightened her hold, and Max growled, “Don’t.”

Billy had worked as a paramedic for seven years. Although Bello Suerno was a quiet town, he had seen his share of tragedies and had dealt with more traumatized loved ones then he cared to remember.

He raised his hands slowly, in a gesture of surrender. And his voice was low and soothing, as if he was trying to calm an injured animal, “Is this…is this your little brother?”

Liz never took her eyes off Charlie, “No…he’s our son. He’s our baby.”

Billy nodded.

“I have a little guy at home about his age. Always on the move, always getting into trouble.”

He put his hand on Liz’s arm, and she looked up.

“So you can believe me when I tell you I’m going to everything I can to help your boy. But you have let me look at him. You have to let him go, just for a little while. Okay?”

Liz had always thought like a scientist. And any good scientist knows, if an experiment doesn’t turn out the way it was hypothesized, the procedure must be altered.

Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome is quite literally the definition of insanity.

Max was doing all he could - but Charlie wasn’t getting better. Something was wrong. They had to do something else - anything else.

She leaned towards her husband, “Max…Charlie needs help. What you’re doing isn’t working. Maybe…maybe he needs medical help.”

Max breathed hard. And he looked deep into Liz’s eyes.

She’d said the word medical, but he knew, what she really meant was human.

He didn’t want to let Charlie go. He didn’t want to hand over his little boy to a man he didn’t know - a man he didn’t trust.

But Max trusted Liz.

It was a lesson he had learned in the worst of ways - but one he had learned well. And so, if Liz thought Charlie needed more…more than what he could give…then he would follow her lead.

He nodded slowly and together they lowered Charlie onto the ground.

“Please make him alright,” Max whispered brokenly. “He…he means everything to us.”

Billy leaned over and went to work.

Tubes were inserted, CPR was administered, medicine was pumped into Charlie‘s veins and an oxygen mask was placed over his face. But twenty minutes later - nothing about his condition had changed.

Billy Wheeler knew the chances for recovery were slim - but he refused to give up. Refused to declare this small child who looked so much like his own Timmy, dead on the scene.

And so Charlie was placed on a gurney and loaded into the ambulance, with Max and Liz at his side. The others followed in the van to the hospital.

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

They weren’t allowed to stay with him. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, Charlie was whisked into the back, surround by medical personnel barking orders and scrambling for equipment.

And the group of six were ushered into the waiting room where they’d remained for ninety minutes.

Michael thought the term waiting room was completely inappropriate. They should call it purgatory - limbo - the torture room.

Removed from the panic of the park, doubt began to creep in regarding their actions, and the decision to allow Charlie to be brought here.

“It’s taking too long,” Michael snapped. “What the hell are they doing in there?”

At first, no one answered.

Then Kyle offered, “Maybe they’re…like…moving him to his own room. That’s what they always do on those medical shows, right?”

Maria agreed hopefully, “Yeah. They have to put that bracelet on him, take x-rays. Maybe he’ll have a cast or something. That takes time.”

Max shuddered at the mention of x-rays. It made him think of what other tests could be performed. Or experiments.

He forced himself to stay calm.

But Michael’s patience had run out, “Screw this.”

He took a step towards the Emergency Room doors, but Max’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Five minutes,” He ordered. “We’ll give them five more minutes and then we’ll go in.”

It turned out they didn’t have to wait that long.

A gray haired doctor, eyes downcast and grim faced, walked towards them, “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson?” Liz stood up next to Max. “My name is Dr. Woodruff.”

Johnson was Max and Liz’s current alias. When she had first filled out the medical forms with shaking hands, Liz had inadvertently written ‘Evans,’ but Michael had had the awareness to correct her.

“I’m the resident who treated your son when he was brought in.”

Liz didn‘t like the doctor‘s expression, his body language. Her stomach clenched, and her arms wrapped around her torso - holding herself together.

“Where is Charlie? Can we see him?”

The doctor made eye contact with Max, then Liz, “Charlie sustained massive internal injuries. We did everything we could - utilized every known medical technology. But…we were unable to revive him.”

Liz shook her head slightly, like she didn’t understand the words.

But her voice was strong - urgent, “You have to take us to him right away. We need to see him.”

Dr. Woodruff nodded, but went on gently, “Do you understand what I’ve just told you Mrs. Johnson? Your son passed away. He died. I’m very sorry.”

Liz’s face hardened. And her chin rose.

It was the same expression she’d worn in the days after Alex’s death - determined and unwavering, “Yes. Yes, we understand. Now take us to Charlie. Now.”

The doctor dropped his eyes, “Of course.”

There were no tears - not yet. No grief, or mourning, or devastation at the doctor’s words.

Because despite all that had happened, in spite of all they knew, not one of them believed that Charlie was truly gone. That he wouldn’t, one way or another, be healed and return to them the same perfect exuberant boy he had been just a few hours before.

Each of them feared for his safety, they were concerned about his pain, but the idea that Charlie was already beyond saving never entered their heads.

Because the mind is a pathological liar.

Doctor Woodruff turned and began to lead the way. But when all six young people followed him, he paused, “Typically, only family is allowed…”

Max cut him off, “They are family.”

The doctor acquiesced, understanding the need for closure. He brought them through the ER, to a door in the back corner. He opened the door, and they slowly filed into a small private exam room. It was dimly lit, and quiet.

In the center of that room was Charlie.

Pale and motionless, on a gurney with a sheet pulled up to his chin.

He’s so still, Maria thought.

Charlie was always talking, questioning, running, laughing. And Maria just couldn’t comprehend how he could ever be so still.

For the first time, a memory flashed in each of their minds.

For Max it was cold white skin and congealed blood.

For the others, it was Isabel’s voice.

“He'll need to use his power to open the doors. He'll take a deep breath, put his hand on his chest, and bring him back to life.”

“And Alex will sit up suddenly, and Max will jump back, and the whole wagon will shake a little.”

“The whole…the whole wagon will shake and…and they'll come running back here with big goofy grins on their faces…”

In unison, they pushed the memories down.

The doctor cleared his throat, “Take as much time as you need. No one will disturb you.”

He turned, and left and shut the door behind him.

Without a word they moved. As one.

With the same goal, one purpose.

Michael locked the door with his powers. Maria closed the shades. Kyle removed the offending intubation tube from Charlie’s mouth. Liz and Isabel turned down the sheet and peeled the electrodes off of Charlie’s chest that had hoped to detect a rhythm.

Max approached the table. He looked at his son. And gently brushed the hair back from Charlie’s face.

And he knew - he believed - that this time it would work.

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

Thirty minutes later a man came into the hospital and walked up to the information desk. He was short of stature, with a hat on his head and dark glasses covering his eyes.

This man knew how to read people, knew what to say and how to say it to get what he wanted.

He saw a blond nurse, on the young side, with a sweet smile and eager-to-please eyes.

Perfect, he thought.

The man schooled his features and in a rapid voices asked, “My nephew, Alexander Johnson was brought in earlier. He’s been in some kind of car accident. Please, tell me how he is?”

The nurse bit her lip, knowing exactly which case he was referring to. Her heart went out to the obviously distraught man.

But she steeled herself and broke the news, “I’m terribly sorry sir…but he…he didn’t make it. He’s passed on. I’m so sorry.”

The words hit the man hard.

He put a hand on the desk and bent at the waist.

The boy is dead.

The man had always known this day would come, but now that it actually had, he couldn’t quite believe it.

The son of Max Evans and Liz Parker was dead.

It had begun.

The young nurse patted the top of the man’s hand with her own, and he noticed the engangement ring sparkling on her finger. It was tasteful - much nicer than anything he’d expect from a resident of this podunk town.

Pity, he thought, Odds are she won’t live long enough to make it down the aisle.

The man straightened up, regaining his composure, “The boy’s parents. Where are they?”

“Oh,” she replied sadly, “They’re in with him now…saying their goodbyes. Would you like me to bring you in?”

He nodded, “Absolutely. But first, I need you to gather any paperwork, release forms, medical bills and such - I’ll be taking care of all that. A private funeral home will arrive within the hour to retrieve the…remains. No need to draw this out for longer than necessary.”

The nurse tilted her head. Something about the man’s demeanor, his tone, suddenly seemed…off.

Cold.

But she brushed the thoughts away. Everyone reacted to tragedy differently.

“Yes sir, I’ll get that for you right away. And, I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

I didn’t, the man thought.

Then he removed a business card from his wallet and held it out to her, “Kal Langley.”

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

Thank you all for your patience.

Just want to take a moment to remind everyone to have a peek at the awesome banner, by dreamer19, on page 1. I think it's very moving, and really represents all that this story is about. I mention it also because in this chapter the meaning of the title will be explained.

There will also be more answers in chapter 7. After that, only the epilogue is left, so we're almost at the end.

For my generous and wonderful feedbackers:

nibbles - thank you. coming from you, tears are quite the compliment. And yes - they all read the Twilight novels - there's been lots of time to kill in that van.

Alien Friend - Thank you so much. The little beginning parts are my favorite to write - I try and use them as a little foreshadowing as to what's coming in the actual "meat" of the chapter. And you made perfect sense! It is a tremendous compliment that reading this makes you want to create again - thank you. Also, glad you enjoyed the "layers" - that's just what I was going for. As for what it all means - this part will begin to explain that and Ch 7 will fill in all the other missing details.

keepsmiling7 - thanks for you feedback. As for the car and Kal - that will be explained here. The rest will be tied up in Chapter 7.

Smac - excellent deduction dear Watson. This part will answer many of the questions, and Chapter 7 will fill in the rest of the blanks. We knew the "what" of this story from the fist chapter - these two chapters will explain the more important "why". Thanks so much.

Much gratitude to all who are still reading.






Chapter 6



In the days of old, before electricity, before machines, sword making was the most coveted of skills. It was a delicate talent, an art form.

A well made sword meant the difference between victory or defeat - life and death. The blades were forged in fire, shaped with mallets, then blazed again.

The hotter the fire, the stronger the sword.

There is no greater pain than the death of a child. It is the hottest of flames, a searing wound that does not heal, suffering that never ends. Like an amputee victim there is no true recovery - one must simply get used to living each day with the loss.

Two paths are opened for loved ones left behind. Some buckle under the pressure, and like an ill formed sword they crack and splinter.

But for others - others like my dear friends - grief forms a unique connection, a welding of souls.

There would never again be talk of separating. Before, they had been joined by secrecy, loyalty, but loss and anguish are infinitely stronger bonds.

None of them would ever again look to an outsider for comfort or counsel.

No one on earth would ever understand them as they understood each other - because no one on earth loved Charlie Evans as they did.

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

They tried everything.

Holding hands, forming a circle, merging their powers. They discussed the healing stones destroyed that night in the desert, they contemplated going to the house to retrieve the book translation. Max tried again and again to heal him, but Charlie had yet to stir.

“Maybe we should try drinking water from the same cup?” Maria suggested.

It sounded so simple, almost foolish, but they were desperate, “When Michael was sick, that’s what Riverdog said, remember? That water connected us.”

Max wiped the sweat from his forehead, “Yeah. Let’s try that.”

Maria turned towards the sink across the room. But a voice from the doorway stopped her, startling them all.

“That won‘t work.”

Six stunned faces snapped towards the owner of the voice.

“Langley,” Max whispered.

“Langley?” Michael asked. “The shape shifter from LA?”

Kal’s gaze was trained on Max. “Yes.”

Isabel uttered her first words since the park.

Her voice was rushed and hopeful, “Oh thank God. You’re here. You can tell us how to help Charlie.”

Kal turned toward the beleaguered blond, and his expression softened, “There is no helping him, Princess.”

Isabel’s eyes squinted, “But there must…there must be a way…”

Max moved forward, putting himself between Langley and the others, knowing exactly what the shifter was capable of.

In a strong voice he demanded, “Tell me how to heal my son. And don’t lie.”

Kal’s expression turned blank, without sympathy, without malice. “You can’t heal him.”

Max staggered back, the words striking him like a blow to the chest, knowing Langley couldn’t defy a direct order.

But still he tried again, “Then you heal him.”

Langley shook his head, “I can’t.”

Max racked his brain, searching for the magic phrase, feeling like he was trapped in some morbid cat and mouse game of words.

“Tell me the name of someone who can. Anyone…anything…I‘ll do anything to save him.”

“The dead can‘t be healed, your majesty. It’s beyond even our capabilities.”

“No…” Liz moved in front of Max, chin high, eyes blazing. “No, you’re lying. You hate Max. You said you’d never stop hating him.”

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the fact…”

“You’re just trying to hurt us.”

Kal glanced beyond Max and Liz, at the small boy laying on the table.

He’d never liked children - selfish, needy little things. But he felt a camaraderie for the young Evans - almost an affection. Not unlike himself, the child’s fate was subject to the whim of greater forces - a pawn on a chessboard. Innocent…innocuous…helpless.

And so his words were sincere, “Truly, Elizabeth, I’m not. If it were in my power to change these things, I would.”

Liz clenched her jaw, “I don’t believe you.”

She turned her back on the shape shifter and said to Max, “Try again.”

Max nodded. He resumed his place at Charlie’s bedside and placed a glowing hand upon his chest.

Kal took a moment to observe each of them - reading their expressions - sizing up their place in the group. Elizabeth was the key. Max Evans was the leader, but it was she who pulled the strings. Where she followed, Max - and in turn the others - would go.

“Your child is dead Elizabeth.”

Liz closed her eyes against the words, “No.”

“He’s gone. There’s no spark. What’s laying on that table is just a body…a husk.”

This time she yelled, “Don’t call him that!”

“Max can’t bring him back. You know this, you’ve been here before. He couldn’t save Alexander Whitman and he cannot save your son.”

Liz shook her head, “We waited too long with Alex…he was too…this is different.”

Kal‘s voice lowered, insistent but not cruel. “He’ll die Liz. He’ll pour all of his energy, every ounce of his life force into that…empty vessel…and it will kill him. He’ll know it’s happening. He’ll feel his heartbeat slowing, his vision clouding, but he won’t stop. He’ll keep going. For you. Because his greatest fear is failing you again. You‘ve already lost your son, are you really so eager to make yourself a widow?”

Just then, Max collapsed. His knees gave out, and the steel table behind him crashed to the floor. Michael and Kyle came to his side, supporting him, holding him up by his arms.

And for the first time since it all began Liz looked at her husband - really looked at him. She saw his ashen skin, his sunken eyes, and a blanket of dread fell over her.

Because in that moment she knew Kal Langley spoke the truth.

About everything.

Somewhere, deep down, she’d known all along.

“I’m okay,” Max gasped. “I just…I just need a minute.”

Liz’s eyes found Langley’s once more. Searching for the tinest sliver of hope.

But there was none to be found.

“For what it’s worth,” He told her, “I am sorry.”

Shakily, Max stood. But before he could touch Charlie again Liz called to him brokenly.

“Max…”

He saw her face, her despair, her eyes already welling with grief. And he wanted to reassure her, to take her pain away. He wanted that so much.

“I can do it, Liz. I’ll try again.”

She couldn’t speak.

The lump in her throat was strangling, making words impossible. She could only shake her head.

Max closed his eyes and his face crumpled. Slowly, he lowered his hand.

“What are you doing?” Maria asked in a shrill voice, coming closer.

Her accusing stare flickered between Max and Liz, “Don’t tell me you believe him? You can’t just give up. This is Charlie. He’s right here.”

“Maria…” Michael began, but she didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to hear the defeat in his tone, the bitter acceptance.

She leaned over Charlie, caressing his face, squeezing his hand, “Charlie..honey…it’s Aunt Maria, we’re all here. Uncle Michael, Mommy and Daddy, Aunt Isabel and Uncle Kyle. We all love you so much. Just…just come back to us. Wake up honey. Please just wake up.”

Maria covered her face with her hands and cried. Deep wracking sobs that were muffled by Michael’s chest as he pulled her against him.

As the horrifying truth breached the defenses of their minds they all gathered close, needing to look at Charlie - to touch him. One last time.

Maria couldn’t believe this was happening. She felt like she was losing her mind, and part of her actually wished that was the case. This was wrong. The word repeated in her mind like a mantra. A prayer. Just that morning Charlie had been with them. Vibrant and beautiful and so very much alive. And now…now he wasn’t.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Kyle didn’t understand. Everything he’d always known to be true, everything he’d ever believed in was shaken. He‘d read stories in the paper, saw them on the news. Unexpected tragedies and freak accidents. But that wasn’t supposed to happen to Charlie - never to him. He was everything that was good in the world - that was good in them. What kind of higher being would allow that to be taken away? He didn’t understand.

Isabel understood. And she knew who was responsible. Kyle would’ve called it karma, but she had a simpler term. Payback. She had been a terrible person in her past life, and this was her penance. To lose those she loved most. Over and over again. Alex, Charlie, her brother and the others, they were just collateral damage, caught in the crossfire of her punishment.

Michael was angry. There had been many moments in his life when he had been furious - but this - this was different. The hands that held Maria began to tremble, needing a target to unleash their wrath on. In the waiting room, a nurse had explained that the driver of the car hadn’t survived. At the time Michael had been glad that he was dead - it was no less than he deserved. But now Michael wished that the man had lived. So he’d be able to kill him with his own hands.

Liz wasn’t thinking about guilt or revenge. She was lost in an sea of memories, of moments. Precious moments. The first time she had held Charlie, when Max had placed him in her arms, and she had opened her eyes and knew what perfection looked like.

His first smile, his first step, his first word.

Momma.

So many firsts. And even more nevers.

It was the nevers that taunted Max. That simmered in his mind and squeezed his heart.

Charlie would never ride a bike.

Never go to school.

He would never have a best friend.

Charlie would never catch a fish, or see a falling star.

He would never kiss a girl, or fall in love.

Charlie would never know the uniquivocable elation of having a child of his own.

So many dreams - so many joys that made life worth living. And Max had wanted them all for his son. He had thought he’d have the time to give them to him. But time had run out.

“Max.”

Langley’s adamant tone pulled them from their thoughts.

“There are things you need to know, things we have to discuss. You can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

“But we can’t just go.” Isabel said in a small voice.

She ran her fingers through Charlie’s soft hair. “He doesn’t like to sleep by himself. We can’t just leave him here all alone.”

“We won’t,” Kal assured her. “I have men coming.”

“What men?” Michael challenged.

“Trusted men,” Kal replied. And then clarified his definition of trust. “Men who do what they’re told and know enough not to ask questions.”

In a hollow voice, Kyle asked, “Where will they take him?”

“Somewhere safe. We won’t be far behind.”

No one addressed Langley’s use of the word ‘we’ for the second time, implying that they were united, that he had somehow, in the minutes since his arrival, interwoven himself into the fabric of their family.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

But they were all too grief stricken to point it out.

There was a knock at the door. Langley opened it and the light haired nurse stood nervously on the other side.

“Mr. Langley, the men from the funeral parlor are here. Should I have them wait?”

Kal turned and watched the group huddled around the lifeless child, their pain on display for all to see.

Dying with dignity. He’d never really understood the concept, it was a uniquely human notion. Death was the enemy. It was unrealized aptitude, wasted potential. It was putrid and foul and rotten.

There would never be anything dignified about it.

“No. Send them in. We’re ready now.”

Two men with subdued expressions and muted colored clothing entered the room, pushing a cloth covered gurney between them.

Liz leaned over, pressed her lips to Charlie’s forehead, and inhaled his sweet scent. She grasped the edge of the sheet and brought it up to his chin - tucking him in - as she had done a thousand times before.

But it was Max who picked him up, cradling him close to his chest.

It seemed fitting that Max, who had been the first person to hold the precious boy would also be the last.

He smiled, despite the tears that burned his eyes, as he gazed at the delicate features of his son’s face - wanting to make sure they were committed to memory.

As if he could ever forget.

Lovingly, Max placed Charlie on the table.

Like a funeral procession, they walked down the halls of the hospital, three on each side, each holding on - unable to release the child just yet.

Until they reached the outside and were faced with the open back door of a black hearse.

Charlie was placed inside, and each of them were forced to let him go.

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

They walked into the rented house silent and stone faced.

Even in the most desperate of times, there had a youthful purity, a playful energy surrounding them. But that was gone.

Now they resembled soldiers who had not only lost the war but couldn’t remember why they had ever fought in the first place.

Liz didn’t pause in the living room. She walked straight down the hall to her bedroom and closed the door loudly behind her.

Max followed her with his eyes, wanting to go with her.

But he knew he couldn’t - there were things he had to deal with first.

Things like Kal Langley.

“How did you know?” He asked, turning swiftly towards the shape shifter.

Maria and Isabel sat beside one another on the couch, with Michael and Kyle flanking them.

Kal smirked as he answered, “It’s my job to know, remember? I came as soon as my man notified me of the accident.”

“Your man?” Michael repeated. “You mean…you had us followed?”

Kal nodded.

Max‘s hands fisted at his sides, “How long?”

Kal shrugged, “You were able to lose them once or twice - you got that good at hiding. But for the most part, I’ve had you under surveillance since you left Roswell.”

“All this time…” Kyle thought out loud. “Why didn’t you help us?”

“I did, when it was necessary. You really think you made it out of Chicago on your own?”

“But you were supposed to…” Maria stuttered. “You were supposed to protect them. If you had done your job Charlie wouldn’t have been in that park today!”

Langley was unflinching in the face of her reproach, “If I had done my job, Miss Deluca, Charlie never would have existed.”

He didn’t mean it to sound menacing. It was just a fact.

If Kal had fully followed his duties, Max and Liz most likely would have never met. Charlie, certainly, wouldn’t have been conceived.

For Max, however, it still didn’t add up, “But why are you here? You didn’t care about Charlie, you don’t care about us. Why make contact now?”

Langley pursed his lips and began to explain.

“There is a prophecy. It was written eons ago, by the first Antarians. They had the gift of foresight and they were extremely powerful. A once fallen king shall rise again and pull his bride from death’s clutches.”

“We know this already.” Isabel cut in, her tone disgusted. “Ava told us.”

“There’s more.” Kal responded. “And their love shall become flesh and blood. When that flesh is torn, and blood spilled out, the dragon will descend and darkness will fall. Only the King’s Sword can pierce the dragon and restore the light.”

“The dragon?” Isabel asked quietly. “That’s Kivar, isn‘t it?”

In answer, Langley only nodded.

“And the King’s Sword?” Kyle questioned. “What is that? A relic?”

“It’s you.” Kal said, looking to each of them. “The six of you. You are the King’s Sword.”

“Like the four square.” Michael said.

“No.” Kal shook his head. “Nothing like the four square.”

He paced as he spoke, “They were nobles…powerful, selfish…undeserving but lucky enough to have been dropped out of a royal crotch. The six of you would give your lives for one another. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do or sacrifice. You're bonded. You move as one, your powers compliment each other. Together, with the right guidance, you are undefeatable.”

“Guidence?” Max laughed bitterly. “And I suppose you think you’ll be the one guiding us?”

Kal stopped mid step, “Someone will have to. You’ll need supplies, manpower, a base to plan from and train. Trust me, kid, you need me.”

“I don‘t think so,” Max sneered. “I think we’ve fought enough. I think we’ve…sacrificed…enough. Maybe we’ll just sit this one out.”

Kal tsked, “Now’s really not the time for a temper tantrum. The war is coming. Kivar is coming, and he‘s got the might of five planets behind him.”

“I don’t care!” Max shouted.

No good had ever come from knowing his alien side. It had only brought them misery and pain.

And Max was done. Done with all of it.

“If Kivar wants earth he can have it. If he wants me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Langley tilted his head as he perused his king. If it was one thing Kal Langley knew how to do, it was survive. Come hell or high water, whatever he had to do or say, he would be on the winning side.

“Liz only had one child, right Max? But not you. Before you hand over earth on a silver platter, you just might want to think about how your actions will effect your firstborn. Remember him? Cute kid, goes by the name of Zan.”

It was the one subject they had never talked about. It was off limits, taboo, by silent agreement.

Max couldn’t admit it - not to Liz - or even to himself, but after Charlie had been born, he shamefully realized that his feelings for his first son were different.

Less.

Max loved Zan - he did - but it was a love similar to that for a neice or nephew.

Someone else’s child.

Whereas Charlie had always been his - theirs - to Max it felt as if Zan had always belonged to someone else.

He looked down at the shape shifter with hard eyes, “Zan has parents who will protect him. I’m not one of them.”

“And what about all the others? Millions of children just like Charlie. Innocent children who will die because you did nothing to save them. You don’t care about them either?”

And the boy who had risked his life to heal a dozen children that he'd never met in a hospital cancer ward, shook his head and said sadly, “No, I don’t care about them. Not anymore.”

With that, Max walked away.

He opened the door to the bedroom and found Liz curled around Charlie’s pillow. She wiped at her tear stained face, careful not to wash away the scent from the fabric.

Max knelt beside the bed, like a sinner in a confessional.

He bowed his head and let his tears flow freely. Liz touched his head and opened her arms, beckoning him.

Wordlessly he went to her, wrapping her in his embrace.

They lay twined together, and together they wept.

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

Out in the living room, Kal rubbed his eyes wearily and muttered, “He’ll change his mind.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

Kal pinned Michael with his stare. “Then change it for him.”

Michael stood, “We’ve faced Kivar before. I really wasn’t impressed.”

“That was not Kivar,” Kal snorted. “That was a piece, a small sliver bound by the constraints of a human host. The Kivar that’s coming here is a monster. And he’s not looking to recapture the attention of some lost paramour. He’s coming to rip, and burn, and decimate.”

Michael pushed a hand through his hair.

And then his eyes found the lonely pile of toys in the corner of the room. Charlie’s toys.

And he felt empty all over again. Gutted.

“Maybe Max is right. Maybe none of it matters anymore.”

Langley stepped forward, his voice intense.

“In a day, maybe two, you’re going to dig a hole and you’re going to bury that boy. It’s a done deal. The only question up for grabs is how many holes are you going to dig next to him.”

He gestured towards Kyle, “You want to dig one for him?” He pointed at Isabel, “Or her?”

He motioned towards the bedroom down the hall, “Or them?”

Lastly, he pointed at Maria, “Or her?”

After a moment of silence, Kal lowered his hand. “You’ve lost something precious. I won’t insult your intelligence and tell you that I know how you feel, or that I sympathize with your pain. I don’t, I can’t. But I will tell you this - if you don’t stand up - if you don’t fight, then everyone you’ve ever known, anyone you’ve ever cared about, will die screaming.”

He paused and looked each of them in the eyes.

“That prophecy was written for you. Because someone, somewhere wanted you to know and be ready. But a sign is only worth something if it’s heeded. If you ignore this, then that boy died for nothing. You don’t like me? I’m fine with that. But you all claim to have loved Charlie Evans. And if that’s true, then for God’s sakes, honor him. Make his loss mean something.”

They were quiet for several minutes, absorbing the words.

Then Michael sat down.

And Kal saw the action for what it was. Surrender. Acceptance.

He sighed, “There are arrangements that need to be made. I’ll be back at dawn. Take only what you want - what’s important to you. Everything else will be provided.”

Then Kal Langley slipped out the door, giving his newly recovered young charges privacy to grieve.

To mourn all that had been, was now, and soon would be.

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

Hi all,

Slight change in plans.

I've decided to split chapter 7 into two chapters. I'll post chapter 7 now, and chapter 8 & the epilogue will post tomorrow evening. I don't want to drag this story out - but I don't want to try and pack too much into one part either. I think it's better for the story that way and my beta agreed.

angiebrenna - thank you. sorry I made you sad. thank you for sticking with me - I know it's not an easy read.

Alien Friend - thank you. I agree, it sucks so bad that they are forced to deal with so much in such a short time. As for the length of the story - I'd always intended it to only be 7-8 chapters. I really just wanted an intense focus on this particular point in their lives. I think there will be enough info for you all to fill in the missing years thought. And by the end there will most certainly be a sense of closure.

Smac - thank you. Okay - NOW there will only be one more part and the epi. LIke you said, there was a lot to cover. As for happiness - this part will give a glimpse into what the future holds for the pod squad. I definately believe there will be some happy times - but their not the ones mentioned here. Those, I will leave to you imaginations. But when people love each other this much, there is bound to be lighter moments.

Karen O - thank you so much. And as I said - there will be more tomorrow.

keepsmiling6 - thank you very much. I don't think anything from this point on, will be easy for our group. And Kal - being the least emotional - has the most likelihood at being logical. Remember - more tomorrow.

nibbles - thank you so much - that was my favorite line as well. And thanks for responding to my question thread about chapter length. As you can see, I've decided to split mine. THough this part isn't too long, there's a lot going on.

A/N - you'll notice a slight form change in this part. It's all Alex. You'll see why in a moment. Also, there's some tense jumping - I'm pretty sure I've written it correctly, but forgive me if there's any errors.

Finally - the quote at the opening of this chapter is one of my favorite songs of all time. I think it's beautiful and moving and I just get goose bumps every time I hear it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oni0tO_HN30 I don't recomment listening to it while reading - it won't really add anything to the chapter, but I just wanted to post link b/c it's just that lovely.

Thanks to all who are reading and who left feedback



Chapter 7
The human view of time is simplistic. Past, present, future - before, now, after.

But time is not linear.

In truth, it branches out like a spider web, an endless array of choices and possibilities.

In death, we have the privelage of knowing not only what has been, what is, and what will be - but what could have been.

The death of Charlie Evans was not merely a warning of impending doom. Nor did it serve only as a call to Kal Langley to perform his duties.

Losing Charlie will alter the members of his family in profound and vital ways. These will be his legacy - strength, protection, resolve, power, love and faith - gifts that could only be bestowed by his passing.

I know the reasons. I know why these gifts will be sorely needed.

And I will share them.

But be warned, there is no solace to be found in the knowing.

Charlie’s death was the lesser of a myriad of evils, as plentiful as grains of sand on the shore.

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

Langley was correct, in the words he spoke to Max that day. The war was indeed coming.

Four months and two days after Charlie was laid to rest, the war would arrive.

Despite the prophecy that foretold Kivar’s defeat, the battle would be long and painful and not without casualties.

Isabel - my beloved Isabel - would be the first to fall.

Three months after the war began, Isabel and a small team will be in a dense forest, on a recon mission. A unit of skins will find them and spread over them like ants on sweet candy.

All will be slaughtered, except the Princess.

She, they will keep for a time. For their own perverse pleasure and twisted entertainment. They will violate her, humiliate and abuse her, cut her hair and slice her skin.

Several hours after her capture, Max and Michael will sweep in and reduce her tormentors to dust. But by then the damage will be done. Max will heal the wounds of her body, but he will be unable to mend the ravages of her soul.

If that day in the park had not occurred Isabel would not be able to go on. Like Hamlet’s Ophelia she would lose her sanity and take her own life.

But now, Isabel will rise anew. Like an avenging phoenix from the ashes - she will be stronger and more determined.

She will do this because pain is subjective, and the level of agony one can stand is based on past experiences.

And so even though the trauma Isabel will suffer at the Skins’ hands will be devastating, it will pale in comparison to watching the child she thought of as her own die before her eyes.

That first deepest cut, will make all that come after bearable.

***

Maria will be next.

One year, seven months and thirteen days after losing Charlie, she too will fall into enemy hands.

Tortured.

Strapped to a steel table and mind raped by Nicolas himself.

But memories are powerful, and when new ones cannot be made they become even more precious.

During her confinment, Maria will retreat into her mind and she will relive every moment she had with the little boy who held her heart.

Every kiss, every smile.

And those memories will shield her - protect all of them - because they are all that Nicolas will be able to see.

He will gain no information, no strategic base locations, no attack plans. And by keeping that knowledge from him, the resistance will be allowed to live on and thrive.


***

War is not for the passive, or the kind. It is not black and white. War is an ugly, gray, brutal business, saturated in moral dilemmas and questionable choices.

If Charlie had lived, Kyle would be ineffectual as a member of an army, as an instrument of war.

But Kyle will no longer be the bright eyed young man who had taught Charlie to play football. The one who laughed so easily, who believed in inherent goodness, and in right and wrong.

Charlie‘s death will fracture his faith, shatter his compassion, and give him the resolve to fight any who stand against them.

He will become hardened. Decisive.

He will order young men and women into battle, all the while knowing that the majority of them will not make it back alive.

He will command the destruction of buildings where the enemy lies, even at the cost of civilian fatalities.

And he will execute his adversaries, even as they fall to their knees and beg for a mercy that will not come.

He will do these things because Kyle’s mission will be to make Charlie’s death meaningful, to honor his sacrifice. He will not allow Charlie’s loss be in vain.

Three years into the conflict, Kyle Valenti will be a true warrior.

And his battle cry will be Charlie Evans’ name.

***

Michael Guerin’s powers had always been tied to his emotions. This was no secret.

As was his way, in the months after Charlie’s death, Michael will internalize his pain. His rage at the injustice of it all - his anger over the death of a boy taken too soon - will cause his abilities to expand exponentially.

Four years and twenty two days after Charlie’s burial, Michael will be able to bring down ships, collapse structures, and wipe out entire battalions of Skins, all with the flick of his hand.

He will unleash his pain on the enemy, pour it out like acid, annihilating any and all in its path.

He will make them suffer, as he was suffering.

And each time he calls upon his devastating ability, it will be Charlie’s face - pale and lifeless - that will be at the forefront of his mind.

***

A mother’s love is a unique and remarkable thing. It has the power to uplift, transform, give inspiration to an otherwise uninspired existence.

Had Charlie survived to see the war, he would have been Liz’s top priority. His health and well being, in body, mind and spirit, would have been her main concern.

Without him, Liz will have no outlet for her maternal instincts. No subject to shower her unconditional love upon.

But that will change.

They will be the lost ones. The forgotten.

The most innocent victims of war.

Orphans. Children whose parents and families will be killed in the raging battles.

They will flock to the hidden compound where Liz and the other members of her family will make their base.

They will have no one.

No one, except Liz Evans.

She will take them in, open her arms, and literally change the course of their lives. She will instill in tens - hundreds - the feeling of belonging, the feeling that they matter, that they can accomplish anything.

Without her, these children would have succumbed to the most heinous of society’s pitfalls - drugs, alcohol, murder, abuse, suicide.

But because of her, they will be saved. They will flourish beneath her nurturing. They will become leaders, teachers, healers - the most shining of stars.

They will do this with Liz’s encouraging eyes and soft smile in their memories. They will do this because they will want to make her, their surrogate mother, proud.

Charlie Evans will be the only child to ever come from Liz’s body, but many more will find their way into her heart.

***

Six years, four months and two days after Charlie’s death, the Antarian prophecy written so long ago will be fulfilled.

The dragon, cornered by all six together, will at long last fall and threaten earth no more.

But that will not be the end for Max Evans.

Because some serpents, when you strike off their head, grow a new one to take its place.

Though Kivar will be dead, those who supported him will not give up the fight. Much work will still be needed to ensure that earth would recover and its inhabitants prosper.

For a leader, it is not the injuries to his own person that do the most damage. It is the wounds inflicted on those who follow him that are most difficult to bear.

Thirty six days after Kivar’s demise, a final blow - a mortal wound - will befall Max.

It will come in the form of a sniper’s bullet that will find its mark and take Liz from him.

He will be too far away to heal her, but near enough to know that his name will be the last word to pass her lips.

If Charlie had lived, Max would be too consumed with his own pain and guilt to comfort him. He would push his son away - distance himself - in the same way he had once done to the boy’s mother. Max would believe Charlie was better off without him.

Liz was his only reason, and without his reason, Max would give up, give in, and the earth that they had all fought so hard to save, would fall to ruin.

But now, because of this night, Max will carry on.

Though there will not be a moment - a second - that he will not feel the anguish of Liz’s loss, he will persevere. He will see the earth renewed and reborn.

Max had once told Liz that he did not believe in God.

But after tonight he will.

He will have faith in a higher power and the reward of an afterlife. He will know that Liz, though gone from the earth, will be reunited with their son.

And that they, together, will be waiting for him to earn his own place beside them.

The Bible says, “…and a little child shall lead them.”

Charlie Evans will be that child.

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

As promised - here is the conclusion of Forging the Sword.

I want to extend my gratitude to all those who left comments - I really don't think I would have finished this without your continued interest, and I feel such a sense of accomplishment now that this is complete.

Thanks to all of you who left feedback and to those who continued to read. I know this was not an easy fic to get through. Thank you so much for taking this journey with me. I really hope I hit the right note at the end - and that you are left with a sense of closure and satisfaction.

Alien Friend - thank you so much for your continued support and feedback.

keepsmiling7 - You got it all. As for what is left? Only the "job" that Alex asked Charlie to do and the reasons why Max will from this point believe. Thank you for sticking with this story.

nibbles - yep - didn't hold back on the angst. Poor Max is right. What's that saying? Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Thank you for all your comments and support.

A/N - A few lines from the films City of Angels and Beaches were borrowed for this chapter.




Chapter 8





The house was still, silent. Its occupants - exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day - had fallen into a deep but troubled slumber.

Isabel whimpered against Kyle’s shoulder where her head rested. Michael’s legs kicked and he reached out for Maria who slept on the couch beside him.

Down the hall in the bedroom, Max and Liz lay facing each other, their fingers folded together.

Small hands pushed at Max’s bicep. And a voice he would hear no matter where he was or what he was doing, called him softly.

“Daddy. Wake up Daddy.”

Max’s brow furrowed.

“Daddy wake up.”

Slowly, Max’s eyes opened, and found his own eyes staring back at him from his child’s face.

He sat up quickly. He pulled Charlie into his arms and crushed him against him. He buried his face in Charlie’s unruly hair and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Because he was warm, and whole, and real.

“Charlie…God…I thought…” But it had just been a dream. An awful dream.

And then Max turned his head and opened his eyes. And he saw a somber faced Alex Whitman standing in the corner. And he knew then that it hadn’t been a dream at all.

He knew the nightmare was reality.

Max swallowed hard and dismissed Alex for the moment. He leaned back to gaze at his son.

Charlie smiled.

He touched the stubble on Max’s jaw and told him, “You’re a really good Daddy.”

Tears flooded Max’s eyes. But he forced himself to stay composed.

He cupped Charlie’s cheek and whispered, “Only because you are such a good boy.”

Again, Max pulled Charlie close, and nestled the boy’s head against his shoulder.

His gaze found Alex and his voice was imploring.

“Alex, I didn’t save you. I should have…I should have known what she was doing, but I didn’t want to see. And I’m so sorry, more sorry than I can ever say. But…please don’t do this. Take me. I’m the one to blame. Take me and leave Charlie here with Liz. Please Alex.”

Before Max had finished speaking, Alex was shaking his head. He stepped forward and looked down with compassion on his blood brother.

“No Max…this isn’t about that. This isn’t a punishment. This is how things are supposed to be.”

“No,” Max choked. “None of this is how it’s supposed to be.”

In a way, Max was right. The young are supposed to bury the old, not the other way around.

But the universe’s plan cares not for age, nor does it consistently follow the accepted laws of nature. It is a rule only unto itself.

Remembering Liz, Max turned towards her, “You’re mother…she’ll want…”

But Charlie‘s voice made him pause, “She already knows. It’s you who had to see. It’s you who has to believe Daddy.”

Again, the boy’s small hands found their way to his father’s face, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not hurt, or alone, or scared. I’m not missing anything. Everything I ever wanted you gave me - you all did.”

Max could no longer keep his tears at bay. They fell from his eyes and streaked his face.

Charlie wiped them with his thumbs, “Don’t cry Daddy. I’m not gone, not really. I’ll just be in another place - waiting for you. One day Mommy and I will both be waiting for you.”

In the years to come, Max would relive this conversation in his mind over and over again. And these will be the only words he won’t relay to Liz, but keep to himself. Words he will be unable to truly accept until the day Liz is laid low.

Charlie’s voice grew hushed, and his eyes shined with a wisdom well beyond his five years.

“Bad things are going to happen. Terrible things. But you have to keep going. They need you to save them. You can’t give up - even when you’re sad. And when you’re finished, we can all to be together again.”

In his short life, there had rarely been a time when Max had denied his son anything.

His voice was hoarse as he swore, “I won’t Charlie. I won’t give up. I promise.”

Charlie wrapped his arms around his father’s strong shoulders and squeezed.

“I love you Daddy.”

Max heard more than just the profession of love.

There was something else in his son’s tone. Something Max dreaded.

It was goodbye.

“Don’t go Charlie. We love you so much. Please, baby, please stay…just a little longer.”

One more day.

One more minute.

One more hug, or kiss, or touch.

It is the psalm of all parents everywhere who have lost a child.

But one more would never be enough.

Alex stood next to Max and placed his hand on his head.

“Rest Max. Dream calm, quiet dreams.”

Max’s arms fell away, and his tears slowed. He laid back on the bed beside Liz, sleeping once more, as if he had never been awoken.

******

Charlie watched over his loved ones. He wiped his eyes and sniffled “They still won’t understand.”

Alex placed a hand on his shoulder, “They will Charlie. One day they all will.”

Several quiet moments later, Alex asked, “Are you ready?”

Charlie looked up and nodded.

They turned and began to walk.

After a few paces Charlie asked, “So…do they have Tabasco there?”

Alex laughed, “Oh yes, little man. There are rivers of Tabasco, and ice cream sundaes as far as the eye can see.”

Charlie’s eyebrows rose, “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Alex nodded. Then he pointed to himself, “Look at this face. Is this a face that can lie? I used to wish it was, but it’s not.”

“I know,” Charlie giggled. “Aunt Maria told me that story when you got caught booby-trapping your teacher’s chair.”

“Yeah. But did Aunt Maria tell you she was the one who put me up to it?”

Charlie shook his head, “Nope.”

“Of course not. You want stories? I’ll tell you stories buddy. Great ones - about all of them. My memory is long.”

And with that, Alex Whitman and Charlie Evans walked hand in hand into the light.

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

Epilogue





Six decades after the loss of his son, Max Evans - a healer, a leader, a forefather of the New Earth - will close his eyes in death. And when he opens them, it will be Liz and Charlie’s smiling faces that welcome him home to eternity.

So do you understand now?

Can you see the masterpiece? How all the threads of life are indeed connected?

Each soul has purpose, every moment has meaning.

And there truly is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. There is a time to be born and a time to die, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

Perhaps you still think it’s unfair.

Unjust.

Why were my friends chosen to suffer so? Why did Charlie and I have to die so that so many others could live?

Not even I can answer that.

All I can tell you is, in the end, after all the struggles and questions have been laid to rest… there’s peace.

In the end there’s peace for all of us.