Author: Alyssa
Rating: MATURE
Pairing: M/L
Disclaimer: Yet again, i am in no way affiliated with Roswell, nor its characters. >.<;;
Summary: Talking to ghosts... but is everything as it seems?
Author's Note: This is going to be an angst-filled, one parter~~
Future Fic. We are going to pretend that aliens can drink, and Isabel has the power to mind warp.
This idea just came to me.. okay lol, now that im done with this, im working on Part 3 of Narcissistic Decadence
wonderful banner by Babylisou ((thanks ^____^*))
Part 1 ((and only part))
A lone figure lay hunched over a pew, but his ragged hands are not clasped in prayer. A hand is clutching a near empty Corona bottle, fingers wound tightly around the neck of it. The figure arches his head back, revealing a smooth column of neck and a haggard, but obviously handsome face. As he tips his head back, he pours more of the cursed liquid down his [always] parched throat. His eyes are open, but he only sees unworldly things. He struggles off the pew, his arm wiping his slurring mouth. The figure lands on the cold, marble floor, and the green Corona bottle shatters. The amber liquid soaks into the knees of his jeans. The figure does not feel the sharp jagged edges of broken glass as they pierce through his thin clothes unto his flesh. The spilled drink runs into his cuts, and yet he does not encounter the sharp, viper pangs traveling through his body.
He furiously rubs his burning cheek over the cold floor, hoping to rub away the numbness. The marble warms from the overbearing friction. The figure reeks of blood and alcohol and guilt. A bloody hand reaches into the pocket of his coat to reveal a sleek gun. He reluctantly gets up, and staggers over to the altar of the church. His steps are slow, his moves sluggish and unenergetic. He limps on his right leg. The church is beautiful around him. There are no lights, except for the rays of broken and weak sunlight streaming from the stain glassed windows. High vaulted ceilings and crystalline chandeliers. Cherry wood furnishings and ivory decorations. Jeweled cups and a gold altar. ((the epitome of "holy church"))
The figure lies on top of the altar, the gun firmly in his hand. Shadows take shape on the contours and planes of his handsome face. His good leg is bent at the knee, while the awkward one lies off of the altar. His vision blurs as he fumbles with the gun. The figure roars with frustration as the gun lands on the floor, the loud sound hurting his sensitive ears. He sits up and slams his hand down on the gold, and the glass bites deeper into his skin. He pitifully digs the broken shards out of his flesh, miserable keens erupting from his throat. [but not from the pain]. The broken glass clatters as it hits the floor.
The figure stares at his hand. Blood leaks from the deep cuts, and spirals down his dirtied arm. He looks at the blood intently, and then turns to look at the statue of Jesus on the cross. Blood tears run down the porcelain of the smooth contours on his cheeks. ((was he crying for the figure?)) The man looks haunted. He slowly lowers his hand, and cradles it against himself. Horrible soft whimpering. ((no no no kings don't whimper)). The man bends and retrieves the gun. He cocks and readies it in trembling hands.
He points it at the sobbing statue.
"I once told her I didn't believe in You."
Tears are still steadily streaming down the statues cheeks.
"How do you expect me to believe in You now?" the figure asks incredulously, his voice shaking.
He gets no answer.
"You.. you.. you took away what I believed in.. you snatched her up right.. from my arms!" His voice gets louder with every syllable. The gun clatters onto the floor once again. The figure looks at his trembling hands confused.
"Why," his voice is low and broken, "why did you take her away? didn't you know how much I loved her?"
The troubled figure gets off the ((tainted)) altar, and leaves trails of blood as he approaches the weeping statue. One of his hands traces the contours of Jesus' face.
"How can somebody so peaceful looking take her away from me?"
The figure slides down the length of the statue, blood marks stain the pristine white. His arms wrap around the feet of the cross, and the figure gingerly caresses it. Sobs shake the man's body.
"Bring her back to me... Please? Pleaseeee? Oh God, please please please please. I want her, no need her back. pl-eas..ee"
His sobs echo through the vast hall.
Through his never ending sorrow, he did not notice a figure in white walking gracefully toward him. The angels on the ceilings held their breaths. The statue of the Crucifixion stopped weeping blood. All movement seemed to seize except for the steady, fluid like movement of the woman figure, and the wracking sobs of the man. The figure was a simple beauty, clothed in garbs of white silk and cloth. Her dark hair hung down her back, tied loosely at the nape of her neck with a white ribbon. She wore no shoes nor makeup. The words "Elizabeth Parker-Evans" was written on the palm of her hand.
Her steps which were once confident ((no, not Liz Parker)) turned tentative as she neared the man. Her hand visibly shook as she reached out to him.
"Max?"
The man immediately stopped sobbing. His back went absolutely rigid. Then his shoulders began to shake with hysterical laughter and mirth. The man looks up at the statue.
"Wow.. now i belie-" He erupts in laughter again. The man looks insane, his amber eyes glittering with mirth and maddening laughs coming from his mouth. The laughter died down and was replaced with hitching sobs.
"I never knew you were so *hiccup* cruel.."
"Max..?"
The man went rigid yet once again. He dared not to turn around and face the oh so familiar voice. The voice that rang through his dreams and gave him sharp pangs in his heart. The man closed his eyes shut, and turned around, his hand blindly reaching out.
The figure in white takes no time to grab it.
Max's eyes open slowly, carefully, his heart beating fast against his straining chest. His thumb tentatively rubs circles around Liz's hand.
"Liz..?" Max's voice is hopeful, pleading.
"Max." Liz cried out, and rushed into his arms, ignoring the blood and the gore and the alcohol stains. Max sat paralyzed, overcome with his emotions and the smell of Her that reached his nose. ((every night he would lay surrounded by her scent. her scent that still came from the sheets and her pillow. every night he would dream of her, and would wake up every morning thinking that she was still alive, all because of that damn smell))
Max didn't know how to react as Liz's achingly familiar arms went around his still body. He reacted the only way he knew how too. Max gently shrugged her off of him. Her hurt glance panged him.
"No.. please.. Liz don't.. don't touch me." Max looks away. His hair is longer now, and it halfway covers his face. ((and his eyes)).
"Max....?"
"No Liz. No.. you ... " he chokes back a sob "you.. *died*. I felt it. And.. even now.. i feel it.. you're dead."
His last word echoes down the church, and he flinches as he hears it over and over again. He can't look at her. He mustn't look at her. Looking at her.. looking at her would loop his mind into thinking she was real. And he would not let his mind rule over what his heart was telling him. No matter how horrible what his heart was saying. And right now, his heart was telling him that his soul mate was *gone*.
But.
Max peeked at Liz out of his peripheral vision. she looked just like Liz.. smelled like her.. acted like her.. maybe? No.. No.NO.
"Max.. talk to me baby," the common endearment that she spoke so softly rendered his heart. He had been longing to hear those words for so long.. he would have killed to hear those words..
"Liz..." her name seemed blasphemous on his tongue, "Liz.. I.. I'm sorry.."
"For what?"
"For.." everything. The word hung in the air.
"Max.." she sighs out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, ((she even had the same mannerisms)) but the strand fell back anyway. Max stares at her, mesmerized. His hand reaches automatically to tuck the stubborn strand away, and stops abruptly mid-raise. His amber eyes widen as he realizes what he is doing. He lowers his hand slowly.
"Liz I wanted to end the world for you." Max's tone is melancholic. "I tried to stop the world from spinning, because I thought, how could the world keep spinning even after you died?" His pins her with glowing and pleading eyes.
"I dug my hands into the earth, alien king hands, and willed the core of the earth to stop." his tone is now passion-filled. "My hands intertwined with the dirt and dust as i tried to keep the world from spinning. I imagined your ashes, I cremated you, you know.. I imagined your ashes underneath my fingers, and i just wanted the world to stop spinning! MY world stopped spinning, why shouldn't the planet stop spinning also?"
Max reaches out and grasps a jewel-plated goblet, and heaves it at the ground. Liz sits still on the floor next to him, and on her face was a shocked expression.
"I tried too.. Liz. But I failed."
Max looks down, tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. His wipes his nose with the sleeve of his coat. He looks up, heavenward. His hair brushes onto his forehead.
"You hear that Liz? I failed! I failed.. like I always do. I failed you so many times Liz. Over and over and over again. I wouldn't be able to count how many times I fell and I fell. But you, you Liz, you were always there.. always there. Where are you now? Liz, baby, I'm on my knees.. why aren't you helping me back up?"
His speech is heartbreaking.
"You promised me you would never leave me. You promised me you would always be here with me. You promised! Liz.. you promised.."
His tears are crystalline glass. They drop onto the floor and break into millions of shards. The glass tears were for her. Alien king tears, worth millions?
"I miss you, Liz." I love you
Max looks at Liz's aching beautiful face. His hand reaches, and caresses the planes of it. He memorizes again her features. Over and over, he strokes her familiar [but not] face. His hands know each and every contour. ((he memorized her body the first time they ever made love)). He lowers his face to hers, his lips trembling as he brushes them softly against hers.
He smiles.
Max looks to one of the pews in the far back of the church. He knows.
"Thank you Isabel."
The Liz apparition disappears.
A gunshot is heard.
She was always his beautiful martyr.
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