The Darkest Evening of the Year

When he got out there he found that he did not have to say anything. One look at his face told them all they needed to know. He saw Michael close his eyes in realisation; no one could meet his eyes… or was it that he could not meet their eyes? Valenti told them all to go home, but it was like they were all in shock. Max could hear movement behind him, he knew the paramedics or whoever were taking Alex’s body from the wagon to the morgue… it was then that it really began to sink in for the others. Maria was the first to crack… he wished he could say something to her, but she had Michael. It was Isabel and Liz he was more concerned with. Both looked stunned, stricken. What could he say to make it better for them? How could he face them after his failure?

Isabel ran… and he was torn. Part of him wanted to run after and comfort his sister, and part of him wanted to stay with Liz, whose wide brown eyes were staring stonily, but not taking anything in. despite everything he still loved her; but he had no idea how to help her.

Tess stepped forward. “Go after her.” He wanted to shut out the intrusive voice. Tess could not tell him who to comfort. But then Liz spoke up, as if galvanised by the sound of Tess’ voice. She wanted him to go after Isabel too. So Max turned and took off after his sister. He did not know how to help her, but he did not know how to help Liz either; at least Isabel would be more receptive to the attempt.

Max stopped on instinct and looked back at the hospital. He could see that Valenti had led Kyle and Tess off, obviously leading them home. But Liz was still standing there. He wanted so much to go back and help her, but somehow he knew she would shut him out. It did not appear to be sinking in for her, and he could not blame her for that. He supposed that if he had not been trying to bring Alex back he would find it hard to believe too.

How does one take the pain away?
How does one erase the memory of failure?
What good are special powers when you can’t save a friend?

Max wished that Liz would take the time out and let herself grieve. It was obvious that she had not done that yet. She probably hadn’t even let herself cry. She was obsessed with trying to find out what happened to Alex, she just could not conceive of it being a simple, tragic accident… or worse, a suicide. He had not wanted to believe it either; he had agreed with her that the idea was preposterous… until he confronted Valenti and read the file he and Hanson compiled. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but the evidence seemed pretty conclusive.

But Liz would not hear of it, and neither would the others, and Max could hardly blame them for that. Michael proposed that they knew it wasn’t suicide, and it did not matter what anyone else thought; but Liz would not leave it there. She just had to put forth her murder theories, each one more ludicrous than the last. She even theorised that it was alien-related; and when he tried to point out that she was taking it too far, she accused him of not wanting to consider it because if it were true, then he was the one who was responsible. That did not go down too well, resulting in an alien vs. human schism when they really ought to be supporting each other through their grief.

Max was angry that Liz could even think of blaming him for what happened. He did not like the suicide notion any better than anyone else, and thought Michael’s suggestion was a good one; but Liz just could not leave it alone. Her accusation echoed in his mind long after they left the Whitmans’, keeping his anger at her alive.