Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters. Just borrowing them. Don’t sue, please.
Rating: PG
Summery: Liz struggles to learn the truth while a fearful pod squad decides their next move.
Warning: If you can't tell by the title, this is a sequel. You must read the story When Realities Collide first, or you won't be able to understand this one.
Author’s Note 1: In case you missed it in the first story, when Max healed Liz for the second time in his life, they all kind of just forgot everything that happened in this 'other life,' since 'destiny was fulfilled.' The way I figured it, it would be really hard/confusing living with all these memories of a life that never even happened, to have so much history with these people and no real history. Things have been set back in place and the memories from the last story have been repressed. Just thought I'd clear things up . . .
Author's Note 2: I took some quotes from the Pilot episode because it only stands to reason that the same characters in nearly the same situation would act very simularly. So if a line here or there sounds familiar, there's a very good reason for that.
And now, without further ado . . .
Death is called a part of life. It is at the heart of our cultures, of our religions. It is called inevitable, unpredictable, inescapable. But every now and then, just every now and then, death is defeated. Liz Parker, for the second time in her life, cheated death. She could still feel it there, hanging in the air around her, as clear and present as the glowing handprint on her stomach.
She had found the handprint ten minutes after the incident that nearly took her life. Her mind had been still reeling from the shock of it all when she departed from her frantic parents, claiming she needed to go upstairs to change. Standing in front of the mirror now, she could only stare at her reflection. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Her hair was a mess; her eyes seemed to stand out from the rest of her face, wide and frightened. The dark circles under her eyes were even more noticeable with the luminescent glow beneath them. Her shirt was torn vertically down the center, exposing the mysterious silver handprint. It was also stained red, with ketchup . . . and blood.
It wasn’t easy to tell the difference between the blood and the ketchup, but if she looked close she could see that the blood was slightly darker. If Liz hadn’t lived through the experience herself of being shot and then healed, she might have believed the story she told her parents. It would have been easier than believing the truth.
The story she told her parents was a far cry from the real truth. Her story was simple, realistic. The man who shot her in September, causing her to slip into a coma for two months, had come back to finish the job. Liz had gotten scared. She had backed up and tripped over a broom, falling and thus saving herself from the gunshot that went off at the exact same moment. She had broken a bottle of ketchup in the fall and the contents had spilled onto her. The man had run off.
That was the story. This was the truth: She was shot, and Max Evans had healed her. It sounded impossible. It was impossible. However, there was no denying the fact that a bullet did in fact enter her body, and was later dissolved into nothing and the tear it left in her flawlessly sewn back together with magical thread. There was not a mark on her now, save the handprint. Proof enough for Liz that something miraculous had happened that night.
“Lizzie,” her mother called. There was a soft knocking on the door.
“Just a minute, Mom,” Liz said, throwing on some clean clothes. She wadded up the bloody/ketchup-y clothes into a tight ball and shoved them under her bed. She would figure out what to do with them later.
“Sheriff Valenti’s here. He wants to talk to you,” Nancy Parker said through the door.
“All right. I’ll be down in a minute.” Liz took one last look at herself in the mirror. She raised her hand to brush down her messy hair. Her clean shirt slipped up a little. The silver glow was exposed. Muttering a curse word she wouldn’t want her mother to hear, Liz quickly wiggled out of that shirt, opting instead for one whose loose, baggy nature practically guaranteed that it wouldn’t ride up enough to be a problem. Taking a deep, calming breath, Liz headed downstairs.
The Sheriff was making notes in a small notebook when Liz entered the Crashdown’s main room. Her parents, still clad in their nightclothes and bathrobes, looked uneasy and worried. Her mother’s arms were crossed in front of her chest and she looked as if she was ready to bolt from the room, if it would do any good. Her father didn’t look any better. He rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply.
All three looked up when Liz entered the room.
“Liz,” Valenti said, “there’s a few things I need to talk to you about.”
“Okay,” Liz said guardedly.
“Your parents told me what you said happened. I’d like to hear your side of it.”
“From the beginning?”
“Yes. As much as you can remember.”
Liz took a deep breath before she began. She told the same story she had told her parents, one that didn’t involve Max. The Sheriff nodded, making notes in his notebook, breaking in every now and then with a question to clarify what she was telling him. Liz voice shook just a little, but she got through it okay . . . so long as Valenti couldn’t hear how hard her heart was beating.
“Do you still have the shirt you were wearing? The one that got ketchup spilled on it?” the Sheriff asked.
“The shirt?” Liz asked. “Oh! Yeah, the, um, shirt. No, I . . . It’s in the hamper. Waiting to be cleaned. It wasn’t very interesting. Just a shirt.” Liz felt her cheeks grow warmer. She had stumbled through that and made a mess of things. But she couldn’t let Valenti see the shirt. Not with the blood stains in amongst the ketchup, and not with the big rip down the middle. She had barely kept her parents from noticing those not-so-tiny details.
“Not very interesting?” Valenti repeated, studying her. Liz looked away from his piercing gaze. “Can I see it anyway?”
Liz nodded, meeting his eyes again for a brief second. She saw she was trapped. “I’ll go get it.” She spun on her heels and half-ran up the stairs.
Back in her room, Liz swallowed thickly. She pulled the wad of her shirt and jeans (which also had red stains on them) from underneath her bed. There was no way she could show these to Sheriff Valenti. She looked frantically around the room for an alternative. The shirt she had worn to the party had been a soft gray color. Maybe if she found one that was similar . . .
Bingo! Liz grabbed at a shirt on top of her dresser. It was a little darker shade of gray, and the neck dipped down farther, but it had a passable resemblance to the original. She headed toward the Parker’s kitchen, hoping to God that the three stayed downstairs.
Sheriff Valenti was softly talking to Liz’s mom when she came back. Wordlessly, Liz handed the shirt at him. It was only at the last second that she realized the ketchup she had so quickly spread over the lower part of the sweater was still slightly chilled from being in the refrigerator. He studied it for a few moments, and Liz felt a stab of fear when he looked back at her. The expression on his face told her that he knew he was being duped, but he wasn’t going to say anything, not in front of her parents. Liz swallowed thickly.
“You were alone when this happened?” he asked. At Liz’s nod, he continued, “When did the last of the guests leave?”
“About ten minutes before it happened. Maybe twenty.”
“And you didn’t see anyone after that, with the obvious exception of the shooter, before your parents came into the room?”
Liz shook her head.
“Who were the last people to leave?”
“Alex Whitman, Maria DeLuca, and . . . Max Evans.”
The Sheriff seemed to note the pause. What he made of it, Liz couldn’t be sure.
“With all due respect, I’m not sure what this has to do with everything, Sheriff,” her father broke in.
“Perhaps nothing,” Valenti amended. “But I like to have all the facts when I work on a case.” He looked pointedly at Liz. Still, he flipped his notebook closed, and lifted his hat to his head. “That’s all I’ll be needed for tonight. You take care.”
Mr. Parker put a hand on Liz’s shoulder. “You just make sure to catch this SOB.” Liz looked at her father in surprise. She’d never heard him talk like that.
Valenti nodded on his way out. “Goodnight.”
The silence hung heavy in the air after the Sheriff departed. There was nothing to do but go to bed and at least pretend to try and sleep. So that’s what they did, parting silently at the top of the stairs.
Back in her room, Liz had trouble sleeping. Every time she closed her eyes it seemed the events of the night played over and over in her head like a broken record, making less sense each time. How could this be? the rational, scientific part of her mind cried, but no answers presented themselves in the dark night. Just when she thought sleep would never come, she started to drift off, finally.
“Where’ve you been?” Isabel asked, yawning sleepily from the top of the stairs as Max slowly trudged his way up to his room.
He eyed his sister wearily, mentally gauging what her reaction to his news might be. She would find out sooner or later, but the pit of worry in his stomach told him later might be better. “How’s your headache?” he asked, referring to Isabel’s excuse for leaving the party early and forcing him to find another way home.
“I don’t have a headache,” Isabel said, slightly guardedly. She seemed to be thinking deeply, trying to remember something.
Max looked sharply at her. “That’s not what you told me,” he reminded her.
Isabel felt a flutter in her chest. The answer seemed to be on the tip of her tongue, but equally out of her reach. She didn’t have a headache, not now and not earlier, but she couldn’t remember why she left the party. She pushed the thought aside. “Don’t change the subject,” she snapped. “Where have you been?” She hugged herself as though warding off a cold draft. She was unwilling to admit just yet how worried she had been about her brother. With school the next day, the party should have ended long before now.
“I walked home,” he told her, trying to slip past her to his bedroom.
Isabel grabbed his arm as he passed. “I thought Maria was bringing you home.”
Max shrugged, and not meeting her eyes said, “I just wanted to walk home instead.”
Some look in Max’s eyes bothered Isabel. He was keeping something from her, and though he may be secretive and shy to the world, Isabel liked to think there weren’t any secrets between them. But it was nearly one o’clock at night, and they had to get up early the next day. Isabel let him go reluctantly, whispering goodnight.
Max took a long look at Isabel’s retreating form before entering his room. He swallowed thickly and rubbed his tired eyes. He had wimped out, he knew, but of the three, Isabel was the most scared of what would happen if their secret was discovered. She loved her life, her normal, perfect life on 6025 Murray Lane. Only Max and Michael knew about the nightmares she had about alien autopsies and secret government agencies. What would she have to say when she learned that Max once more tried to put all of their lives in danger by exposing their secret . . . and this time succeeded?
Max didn’t want to deal with that at the moment. Right now, his blood, his alien blood, was still singing with the emotions Liz never failed to stir in him. The connection that had formed between them had been stronger than the first time they connected. He had gotten images from Liz, memories. He saw Liz as a little girl in a poofy cupcake-patterned dress, her young large eyes looking around embarrassed and uneasy. He saw two giggling nine-year-olds running through a park, silky brown hair and golden curls trailing behind them. He saw a younger Liz tugging impatiently on her father’s arm, an excited gleam in her eyes. He wondered what she had seen. He wondered what she was thinking right now . . .
Liz’s first thought upon awakening the next day was, unsurprisingly, about Max Evans. She hadn’t given much thought to the guy before last night. He was her lab partner, of course. Max’s mind was sharp, and they worked well together, though he didn’t share Liz’s borderline nerdy enthusiasm for science. Max was always quiet, secretive. Liz just had no idea before last night just how big his secret had been.
Overnight—no, in a matter of minutes—her entire attitude toward Max had changed. Something inside of her had been awakened. That was the only way that Liz could describe it, and even that description seemed lacking. He was no longer just her lab partner, no longer just some guy from school. Suddenly, she was remembering every look she saw in his eyes that made her look again. Every chill she felt when she passed him in the hall. Every flutter of excitement when Maria mentioned him. Every silly, meaningless feeling she felt in his presence and immediately afterward passed off and forgot. He was . . . He was a mystery Liz wanted desperately to uncover.
But part of her was scared, really, really scared. What happened last night was impossible, inhuman, unexplainable. Pick your SAT word. Part of her still wanted to believe that it never happened, that she could go to school and nothing will have changed because that miraculous thing had only been a dream after all. She could go about her schoolwork like normal and she could look Max in the eyes and he would still be just her lab partner, an ordinary teenager. She held the image in her mind for a moment, savoring the feeling of the ground firmly beneath her feet once more, but the image didn’t hold. Somehow, that daydream wasn’t very satisfying to Liz; her life seemed just a little lonelier and colder in that reality. The problem was that it was a perfectly normal and ordinary scene, and Liz had left normal the instant Max formed the connection that healed her. She knew there was no going back.
In the end, though, she didn’t go to school; her parents insisted that she stay home at least one more day. She suspected that last night’s incident had been the last straw with her parents. They practically refused to let her out of their sight. In any case, she was so behind in her schoolwork already that Liz supposed it wouldn’t hurt anything. Besides, it was Friday; she didn’t see much point in going back to school for only one day.
So she wasn’t there when Max Evans was pulled out of biology to talk to the Sheriff, or when Maria was pulled from gym class. Nor was she there later in the day when a life-altering decision was made between three scared teenagers. Those events were ones she would only learn about much later, when damage had already been done.
That morning Sheriff Valenti spent studying the notes he had taken the night before. He tapped his pen impatiently on the wooden desk, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. One line stood out on the page: “She’s hiding something.” What, he didn’t know.
It all just wasn’t adding up. Two months ago, Liz Parker was shot, and instead of dying from what should have been a fatal wound, she slipped into a coma. Max Evans had come up to her then in a vain attempt to help, and immediately after Liz started muttering Max’s name even though by then she should have been unconscious enough not to be aware of her surroundings. Also, Liz was muttering something about having spilled ketchup when there wasn’t even a ketchup bottle around her. Then, to top it all off, Liz is shot at for a second time, trips at the exact right moment, miraculously enough, and spills ketchup on herself. When the restaurant was closed and there was no reason for ketchup to be around to be knocked over. There was something fishy about the whole thing. Too many coincidences. Too many things that just didn’t add up.
In addition to all of that, Valenti had the unmistakable feeling that Liz was hiding something from him. It was more than just the fact that he was certain he had been given a decoy shirt, though that was the big one. The instincts that Valenti had spent years as Sheriff fine turning told him that she was covering for someone. Herself, perhaps, but Valenti didn’t think so. He wondered, not for the first time, what really happened that night.
There was a soft knock on his office door that momentarily broke his train of thoughts. When Valenti called out for the person to come in, Deputy Hansen poked his head in the door. He waved a manila folder at his boss. “I’ve got the medical records for that Parker girl,” he said, sliding the stack of papers across Valenti’s desk so that he could see them.
“Great,” Valenti said, flipping through the files. “Anything interesting?” he asked as casually as he could, glancing up at the deputy.
“I haven’t had much of a chance to go through it, but there was one thing.” He paused, and scratched his head in puzzlement. “The doctors said they couldn’t find the bullet when they first operated on the girl.”
The Sheriff raised his eyes, but didn’t comment. He waited for the rest of the story.
“Now that’s not terribly unusual, as I understand it. The only thing is, when they did x-rays later, it still didn’t show up, and there was no exit wound. It was the darnedest thing.” Deputy Hansen shrugged his shoulders. “It was like it just disappeared.”
This time, Valenti was speechless for a different reason. The deputy was slipping back out the door again before he regained his wits. “Wait, there was no bullet found from the shooting last night, either, was there?”
The deputy paused in the doorway. He shook his head. “Not yet, anyway. We’re still looking though, rest assured. If it’s there, we’ll find it.” He tipped his hat and left. If it’s there . . . If . . .
Once alone, Valenti sighed deeply. Well, this certainly puts a new twist on things, doesn’t it? he thought. The only thing he didn’t understand is why none of it surprised him. No bullet found . . . The phrase echoed in his head. No bullet found . . . Another voice echoed in his head now. It was Liz’s incoherent voice murmuring, Max . . . Just spilled ketchup . . . Max . . . It was then that the Sheriff realized he needed to talk to Max. In a matter of seconds, he was on his way.
“Max Evans?” A woman in her mid-thirties with mouse-brown hair pulled back from her face and bright red lipstick popped her head into Max’s third period biology class.
Max vaguely recognized her as the school guidance councilor as he rose from his seat to join her in the hall. He glanced at the biology teacher who waved him on dismissively, hardly even looking up from the book he was reading.
“Sheriff Valenti would like to see you,” the guidance councilor explained once they were out of earshot of the students who were still busily working inside. She led the way to the main office, her high heels making an echoing clip-clopping sound in the deserted hallway.
Max felt his stomach twist into a million knots as he saw Valenti waiting for him, his hat resting casually on his right knee. He looked up when Max entered the room. The guidance councilor slipped away unnoticed behind him.
“Mr. Evans,” the Sheriff began, rising from his chair in greeting. He gestured at Max to take a seat across from him as he lowered himself down again. “I just have a few questions for you,” he said, smiling easily at Max, as though to reassure him that nothing was wrong.
Max wasn’t fooled. He stayed on his guard. “About what, Sheriff?” he asked, sinking down into the chair.
“You were at Liz Parker’s homecoming party last night, weren’t you?”
Max could only nod.
Valenti told him the brisk facts about what happened after the party ended, since, of course, he would assume that word had not yet had a chance to spread around the school. As Valenti described Liz being shot at by her old enemy, Max hoped his eyes displayed the surprise he ought to have felt had he not actually been there when it happened.
That said, Valenti clicked open his pen, and shifted from reporter to investigator. “What time did you leave?”
“Some time around 12:00.”
Valenti nodded; the shooting had occurred closer to 12:20. “Who did you leave with?”
And so the questions went on. Max answered them all as truthfully as he could, since he knew Valenti would probably be talking to Maria and Alex next. The only difference between his answers and the truth was that he went straight home after the party. Valenti had no way of connecting Max to the shooting, and he knew it. But something made the Sheriff continue to suspect something of Max. He just didn’t know what.
The last question Valenti asked was this, “Why did you go up to Liz the day she was shot in September?”
It was the look on Max’s face that Valenti was really looking for. The worry seemed to increase for a moment before Max regained control of his features. “We’ve been through this before, Sheriff. I was just trying to help.”
The Sheriff couldn’t resist. “And did you?” he asked.
Something akin to panic flashed so quickly across Max’s face that Valenti wasn’t sure if he had seen it or just imagined he had. His face was now a mask of innocence. A mask . . . the little voice inside him whispered.
“Of course not,” Max said quickly. “I – I tried to stop the bleeding, but I couldn’t.” He looked at Valenti with wounded eyes, as though he were reliving that horrific moment once more, here and now. Max looked away again. Such a wide range of emotions for one person to have so quickly. There was a tenderness to his face now, as Max stared at his feet. He looked back up at Valenti and there was a luminescence to his eyes that could have been tears. “There was so much blood,” he whispered. “And then the paramedics arrived. That’s all that happened, Sheriff.”
Valenti nodded and smiled. “I know. Well, that’s all I wanted to know for now,” he said rising. He held out his hand. “Thanks for taking your time to answer my questions.”
Max looked wearily upon the Sheriff as he too stood. “No problem,” he said softly. He made a quick escape back to his biology class.
By mid-morning, Liz was finding her bedroom to be just as confining as the hospital room had been. Her mother had claimed Liz needed her rest, but as far as Liz was concerned, she had had enough rest in the last few weeks. That last few months, really.
She was sitting at her desk; the journal she had bought earlier that fall lay open in front of her. She had gotten as far as the date before she couldn’t think what to write next. Her pen tapped lightly on the blue-lined paper. She rubbed at the area between the bridge of her nose and her eyes and sighed. She couldn’t even think straight anymore; what made her think she could gather her thoughts well enough to write them down?
Liz paused a moment in the tapping of her pen to grab a ponytail holder. She threw her silky hair into a quick, slightly messy ponytail. For some absurd reason, she always thought better with her hair up and out of her face. Stupid, she knew, but it was the truth.
A minute later, she had her first line, at least. “November 26th, 1999. Last night I died, but then the really amazing thing happened: I came to life.” A good start perhaps, but that line needed an explanation, demanded an explanation, and Liz had none to offer. She went back to tapping her pencil. All she had was a list of things she didn’t know. She set the journal aside for now, and pulled out a piece of school paper. This is what she wrote:
Who is Max Evans?
What did he do to me?
How did he do it?
And finally:
Why me?
Why me? Liz crumpled the paper into a tight ball and hurled across the room to her trashcan. When it bounced off the side and landed next to the can instead, Liz only looked at it and looked away, propping her head on her hands. She looked back at her journal, and tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. She slammed the book closed.
A half hour later, the Sheriff worked at calming Maria’s quiet hysterics at the news that Liz’s shooter was back in town, and had nearly killed Liz once more.
Maria pulled a small vial from her purse with fumbling hands and inhaled its fumes deeply before realizing just how that might look to the Sheriff. “It’s cedar oil. Calms the nerves.” She smiled nervously before shoving the vial back in her purse. Maria closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
The Sheriff proceeded with his questioning as soon as he had enough of Maria’s attention. He quickly learned that as far as Maria knew Max had been telling him the truth. He probed down a few other paths before realizing that the questioning was pointless; Maria didn’t know anything of significance. He thanked her for her time and patience, and prepared to leave before one last question sprung to his mind.
“Have you ever noticed anything unusual about Max Evans?” Valenti asked suddenly.
Maria blinked in surprise. “Max Evans?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean. Unusual?”
“Anything out of the ordinary. Anything at all.”
Maria was puzzled, but her innate fear of the Sheriff, a powerful authority figure, kept her from voicing her confusion. “Not that I can think of, Sheriff,” she said.
“Nothing at all?
She thought a moment. There was something on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t figure it out. “No.”
“All right. Thanks again. Have a nice day.”
By lunchtime, word had traveled around school about the incident last night. It was, in fact, the topic of conversation at a small table away from the crowd where Max, Michael and Isabel sat.
For perhaps the first time in her life, Isabel was feeling sympathy toward Liz Parker of all people. The shooter who still haunted Liz’s life bore a disquieting resemblance to the faceless enemies of Isabel’s nightmares. Isabel picked at her pizza. “I can’t believe it,” she was saying. “After all this time, he comes back . . . It’s not like there’s even still an investigation going about the incident. I’ll bet that report has been filed away in the ‘unsolved’ cabinet for a while now.”
Michael half-grunted in reply. He didn’t seem terribly interested in what Isabel was saying. His eyes strayed around the cafeteria. Max was even worse. He hadn’t even looked up from his food since Isabel brought up the subject of Liz.
Isabel was starting to get frustrated by their lack of interest. There were plenty of people here who would be hanging on her every word if given the opportunity. One of which, perhaps, was Alex Whitman, who even now was sneaking quick glances in her direction from the table where he sat with Maria. But Isabel had wanted to eat lunch with her brothers today, brushing off her clique of airhead friends for one day. She sighed, and gave one last attempt at getting a real discussion going. “You know, it’s kind of strange that Liz just happened to trip at the right moment. A miracle or something.”
At that, Max winced, still not looking up from the food he had hardly even touched.
“Max, what’s wrong?” Isabel asked with a sigh, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, the memory of the night before surfaced. She had been certain Max had been hiding something from her, she recalled, but the late time had put off interrogation until later. Well, it was later. “Something happened last night, didn’t it?”
Max was silent.
“Max, if something happened, you have to tell us.” She gasped softly. She didn’t want to believe the idea that just sprang to her mind. “Liz didn’t just trip, did she?”
Max met her eyes finally. “No.”
This got Michael's attention. “What happened?”
“Oh, my God, Maria,” Alex said, patting her arm in a comforting, brotherly manner when she got finished telling her story of what happened with Sheriff Valenti.
“I know, I know,” Maria said, shaking her head. “I just keep thinking, what if she hadn’t tripped? She could—” She stopped and swallowed thickly, her emerald eyes looking across the table at Alex with a wide-eyed fear. “She could be dead right now. God, I thought this was all over, you know?” She rubbed her tired eyes.
“Okay, how about this?” Alex said. “How about we skip the last hour of school and go see Liz. You know, just make sure everything’s okay. See how she is.”
Maria laughed shakily. “Liz would kill us if we skipped.”
“Ah, that she might,” Alex laughed.
“Okay,” she said, giving Alex a watery smile.
“Meet me by the Jetta at 1:30.”
Maria nodded.
The silence was heavy at that small table after Max finished telling Michael and Isabel his story. Max couldn’t help but think of it as the calm before the storm. He was right.
“My God, Max!” Isabel said in a whispering screech. “How could you have been so stupid? You know, we all have a quasi-normal life here in Roswell, and you go and blow it with yet another act of lunacy.”
“I’m sorry, Isabel. You know I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Sorry’s not good enough,” Isabel said. “You broke the rules, the rules, if I remember right, that were your idea in the first place. You swore on it, Max. You swore this would never happen again.”
“Look, the Sheriff has no way of connecting me to the scene this time. Liz is the only one who knows, and we can trust her.”
“We can’t trust anyone,” Michael said.
“Michael’s right,” Isabel said. “We have to be careful.” She paused. “Maybe we can contain this. What are we going to say to her? She’s a scientist; she’s not going to just accept any explanation we give her.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Michael said. “Our cover’s blown. It’s time we leave Roswell.”
“We can’t just leave. Where would we go?” Max asked.
“Max is right,” Isabel said, feeling like she was the deciding vote, caught between two opposing opinions, neither of which was completely right. “Roswell’s home, Michael. We can’t pack up and leave our families.”
At the word ‘families,’ an image of his drunken foster father flashed through Michael’s mind. He repressed a shutter at the thought of calling Hank ‘family,’ instead focusing in on Isabel’s other word. “Roswell’s not home; it’s not even our solar system. We all knew this day would come eventually. Max?”
It took a moment for Max to answer. “Give me a chance. I’ll explain it to Liz. She won’t tell anyone.”
“What are you going to tell her?” Isabel said. “Everything? How do you think she’ll react?” Isabel’s voice dropped to a whisper to stop anyone from overhearing, and her blond hair spilled over her shoulder as she leaned forward as well. “‘Oh, you’re an alien? That’s great! Maybe you can take me for a ride in your spaceship!’ Face it, Max. That’s enough to freak anyone out. Even your precious Liz.” Isabel leaned back, and, flipping her long hair back over her shoulder, she came to a decision. “We have to leave Roswell.”
Max only nodded, his mind full of images of Liz’s beautiful face marred by horror and disgust. He didn’t trust himself to speak after that, if he could even get a coherent thought together.
“Can you be ready by today, after school?” Isabel asked, looking at each of her brothers in turn. They both nodded.
On the way back from West Roswell High, Sheriff Valenti decided to stop for a quick cup of coffee from the Crashdown Café. He could have gotten one from his office, but he wasn’t willing to head back just yet. Besides, another stop by the scene of the crime couldn’t hurt. He might even get a chance to talk to the Parkers again.
Since the lunch hour was just hitting its peak, the small café was crowded. He worked his way to the front counter and slid up on the stool, resting his hat on the counter next to him. While he waited for service, Valenti looked around him. It was hard to believe that this was the same place as last night. He could find no traces of the dark horrors the night before had seen; the broken ketchup bottle had long since been cleaned up.
“Sheriff! Sheriff Valenti!” The sound of his name being called out broke though his thoughts. Valenti turned to see the kooky UFO Museum owner walking quickly toward him, an anxious look on his face. Milton. That was his name, Valenti finally recalled.
Out of the corner of his eye, the Sheriff saw a waitress approach him, order book in hand. She placed a roll of silverware next to his placemat. “What can I get for you?” she drawled lazily. Her nametag read “Agnes.”
“A cup of coffee,” Valenti told her as Milton reached him. To Milton, he said, “What can I do for you?”
“Actually,” Milton replied, “The question is what I can do for you.”
“All right,” Valenti said, playing along. “What can you do for me?”
Milton licked his lips and looked around nervously, as though making sure no one was eavesdropping. “Well, I assume you’re the one handling the Parker case?”
“You assume right.” Milton had his attention now; the media hadn’t had a chance yet to report the incident of last night.
“I saw the whole thing from across the street. I was, um, working late last night. I could identify him.”
Valenti deflated a little. With a sigh, he told him, “We’re pretty sure we know who did it, but I’ll direct you to Deputy Hansen and you can tell him what you saw.”
Milton was taken aback for a moment. “Oh. So you talked to that Evans boy then?”
Valenti stiffened. “What Evans boy?”
“Oh, you know, Phillip’s boy. I can’t recall his first name. He showed up right after. Was it a robbery?”
Max.
At that moment, the waitress came back with his coffee. He threw a five-dollar bill down on the counter. “Make it to go,” he told her. He slid from his seat. “Can you come back to the station with me, tell me everything you know?” he asked, gripping Milton’s thin shoulder.
Milton nodded.
“Good. Good.” Inside, Valenti was bursting. Finally, he had a shred of evidence that might lead him to the truth behind this whole messy matter.
Alex, Maria and Liz were on Liz’s balcony when the time all three theoretically should have just been leaving school rolled around. They were sipping soda from alien-print plastic cups from Amy DeLuca’s store and reminiscing about old times. A million times in the course of the conversation, Liz had been tempted to spill everything about Max and about the healing. Two things stopped her.
First was that her friends seemed so happy. Liz had squelched their concerns when they first arrived, right after she, of course, scolded them for having skipped school just to see her. She was fine. She was completely and utterly fine. She didn’t really think they believed her, especially not Maria, but they had dropped the conversation and that was enough for now. After a few good conversations had gotten going, it was just like old times. They had been friends for years; it wasn’t hard to fall back into the old patterns. So now, with the dark cloud temporarily cast away, how could she bring it up again? Remember, she was fine. Just fine . . .
The second reason, was that every time the thought came into her mind, a sickening feeling that she would be betraying Max if she told followed it. Don’t say anything. Please. The pained look he wore as his face hovered inches above hers flashed through her mind again. She ached inside to tell her friends. She needed desperately to confide in someone. It was like the secret was growing inside her, bigger and bigger by the moment, and soon there wouldn’t be enough room for both her and the secret together and she would explode from the not telling. But that word stopped her. Please. Like his life was on the line. Please. Maybe it was.
So Liz didn’t say anything.
Alex gasped, and Liz focused back on her friends. Only then did she realize her attention had strayed in the last few minutes. “Oh, man, I gotta go,” Alex said, looking at his watch. “I promised the guys I’d meet them right after school. We’re going to start practicing some new songs Nicky wrote.”
Liz and Maria rose to walk him out.
The back of the jeep was packed with bags as Max, Isabel, and Michael headed down the main street of Roswell. Two of the bulky duffel bags belonged to Isabel, the third belonged to Max. None of the bags were Michael’s. To Isabel’s shock he had arrived with just the clothes on his back . . . and a worn notebook. He gave no explanation as to where the rest of his stuff was, and that made anger well up in Isabel once more at the man who claimed to be Michael’s foster father. She often forgot just how her picture-perfect life differed from Michael’s.
The silence stretched in the jeep. In their own way, each was saying goodbye to the place they almost called their home as they passed for the last time through Roswell’s streets. Isabel swallowed thickly, refusing to cry, and so she didn’t even allow thoughts of her parents to enter her mind. At least not too much. Max squeezed her shoulder with one hand as he drove with the other.
But while Isabel was grieving the soon-to-be loss of her normal life and her ‘fake family’ as Michael liked to think of it, Michael himself was feeling a thrill of excitement at the prospect of leaving. To get out of Roswell, to go into the great unknown . . . There must be something better out there for him than Roswell, New Mexico, and he would find it. Leaving hadn’t really been a sacrifice for him like it had for Izzie and Max. There wasn’t anything worthwhile to say goodbye to; he hadn’t even bothered with a note like Isabel had, propped up on her pillow. Everyone he could possibly care for anyway was in the jeep with him . . . except maybe . . . No! he told himself sternly. There wasn’t anyone he would miss. But that didn’t stop a fleeting image of a pixie girl with short blond hair, sparkling green eyes and glossy lips to flash through his mind.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut. Consequently, he felt the jeep slowing down more than he saw it. “Maxwell?” he said, opening his eyes again.
They were approaching the Crashdown Café.
“Max . . .” There was a note of warning in Isabel’s voice.
“What if we’re wrong?” Max asked, looking over at the Crashdown’s neon spaceship above the entrance to the café. He slowed the jeep even more and pulled into a parking spot in front of the Crashdown.
“Max, what are you doing?” Michael asked.
Max turned off the jeep, and pulled the keys from the ignition. “If we leave, there’s going to be no going back.” He looked at his sister, who winced and looked away.
“We’ve been through this, Maxwell,” Michael said. “We’re going.”
“No, Michael. Think about it. Staying here in Roswell is our only chance at finding out where we come from. If we leave . . . If we leave, we’ll never know.” It was the only card Max had to play with Michael, and he could tell from the expression on Michael’s face that he had succeeded in planted a seed of doubt.
“And if we stay, they’re going to hunt us down,” Isabel said.
“You don’t know that, Iz.” He sighed. “Look, this is my mess. Give me a chance to get out of it. I’ll talk to Liz.”
“But Max—”
“I’ll talk to Liz,” Max interrupted, “and if it doesn’t work out. If we can’t trust her . . . I’ll turn myself in. No one has to know about you two. It’ll just be me.”
“That is not an option,” Isabel said fiercely. She looked around for an ally. “Michael?”
“Isabel’s right,” Michael said. “Sacrificing yourself is not an option. And neither is trusting a human. It’s just us. That’s the way it’s got to be.”
“Leaving Roswell can’t be the only way,” Max said.
“This isn’t just your decision to make, Max,” Isabel said. “If it doesn’t work out with Liz—”
“It will,” Max interrupted.
“If it doesn’t,” Isabel repeated, “and you turn yourself in according to this twisted plan you have, what on Earth makes you think it ends there? How long do you think it’ll take them to figure out you’re not the only one?” Here, Isabel hesitated. Her next words were going to sting. She lifted her chin a little. “You’re right. This mess is your fault. So listen to me and Michael now when we say that we have to leave.” Her voice turned gentler, but with no less conviction. “We can’t stay here, and we’re not going to give you up either.”
Max didn’t move or speak for a moment. Then he wordlessly put the keys back in the ignition. Isabel breathed a sigh of relief.
She relaxed too soon.
At that moment, Liz burst through the Crashdown’s front door, laughing and tossing her silky hair over her shoulder and she looked back at the two who came behind her. As Maria and Alex came into view, Liz finally noticed the three in the gray jeep. Her laughter ended abruptly.
“Max,” Isabel whispered with urgency. She was afraid for one moment that the sight of Max’s puppy love would make him change his mind once more. Her fears proved wrong; Max started the engine and eased the jeep out of the parking spot. Though Isabel never again made direct eye contact, she knew Liz’s eyes stayed fixed on the retreating jeep.
They’re leaving. Liz didn’t know where that thought came from, but she knew it was true. She didn’t need to see the bags in the back of the jeep to know that they weren’t just leaving the Crashdown, but they were leaving Roswell. And they’re not coming back. Her heart seemed to stop beating at that thought.
“Liz?” Alex’s voice broke through her thoughts. “I’m leaving now.”
She forced a smile on her face. “Yeah, okay, so I’ll see you at school tomorrow, right?”
“Right.” Alex nodded, and headed toward his car. “Bye,” he called.
When he was out of earshot, Maria grabbed Liz’s shoulder and spun Liz around to face her. “All right, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“Today’s your day off, right?” she asked Maria.
“Yeah, but—”
Liz’s tone of voice became deadly serious. “Maria, if our friendship means anything to you at all, I want you to do everything I ask of you right now—without questions—and I promise you I will explain everything, okay? Please.”
Maria’s eyebrows drew together. She had never heard Liz talk like that before. Usually it was Maria herself who was accused of being the drama queen. “Liz—”
“We need to go. Now.” Already she was loosing sight of the jeep. “Follow the jeep.”
“But Liz—” Maria protested, even as she was grabbing the keys to the Jetta and yanking open the door. The jeep disappeared around the corner. Liz’s eyes begged her to go now before it was too late. She put the Jetta in reverse and, tires squealing, chased after them.
Maria sensed Liz’s anxiety enough to postpone her million questions for later. “Which way?” she asked when they reached the intersection where they had last seen the jeep.
“That way,” Liz said, pointing to the road out of town . . . in the direction of the Lift Off Gas Station. That it was also the direction of the interstate was not lost on Maria.
“North or South?” Maria asked when Liz’s dictation led them directly to the highway.
“South.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Maria eased the Jetta onto the entrance ramp and sped up as she entered. 285 South. Something nagged at her mind, whispering lost secrets. For a moment, she saw herself getting on the same highway, only this time in the passenger seat, someone who was definitely not Liz driving her car. But as quickly as it came it was gone. She returned to the present moment.
“Yeah, Mom, I know,” Liz was saying into her cell phone. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? . . . I will . . . Bye.” She broke the connection with her mother and handed Maria the phone. “Your turn,” she said. Remembering Maria was driving, Liz withdrew her hand and punched in the phone number for her. “Tell her your staying at my house tonight.”
Maria did as she asked and gave Liz the phone again when she was through. “All right,” Maria broke the silence that followed their calls. “I did everything you asked. Now tell me what’s going on.”
Liz didn’t seem to be in any hurry to answer her question. She was staring out the side window, and she didn’t even seem to react to Maria’s inquiry. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said softly, still engrossed in the desert landscape outside her window.
“Try me.”
Liz bit her lip. Her eyes met Maria’s, and Maria saw at once the pain behind them. “You have to promise me that you are not going to flip out.” Her voice was as serious as Maria had ever heard it.
She nodded, and to lighten the mood a little, said, “Flip out? Hey, it’s me.” She gave Liz an encouraging half smile. Inside, she’d gotten to the point where she wanted to know so bad what was haunting her best friend that she was almost scared to know.
“Max Evans isn’t who we think he is.”
Maria gave a short laugh. “And just who do we think he is?”
“Normal.”
“What are you saying Liz? Are you—are you saying that he’s . . . what? Gay? A druggie? A sicko? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“What? Maria, no!” Liz exclaimed, astonished at the suggestions that were coming out of Maria’s mouth. Until she realized that two days ago she would have believed any of those sooner than she would believe what she was about to tell Maria.
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that last night when that man came after me with that gun . . . Last night when that man shot at me . . . Maria, I didn’t trip.” She paused. “I was shot.”
“What?!?” Maria gave Liz a shocked look, or rather many quick glances between Liz and the road.
Liz went on as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “I was shot. And somehow—I don’t know how—Max Evans came up to me . . . and he brought me back to life.”
“What?!” Maria exclaimed again. This time she forgot about looking back at the road every now and then, and just stared dumbly at Liz, unable to fully absorb her friend’s words.
“Maria, look out!” Liz cried.
Liz’s warning came just in time for Maria to swerve out of the way of the on-coming traffic—a great big semi truck that honked loudly at the small red Jetta even as the car served off the shoulder of the road and came to a rest on top of a low wiry bush. “Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Maria whispered, whether from their near-collision or the shock of Liz’s words, Liz couldn’t tell.
When Maria got out to assess the damage, Liz followed. “What happened to you, Liz?” Maria muttered as she peered under her car. “You were, like, on this whole valedictorian path. You were gonna be this world famous scientist, and I—I was going to be your wacky friend.” She threw her arms up into the air. “I can’t be a wacky friend to someone who is already wacky! It would be, like, repetitious . . .”
Having seen all she wanted to see of the outside of her Jetta—or perhaps so focused on her words she forgot what she was doing—Maria headed back around to her side of the car. She yanked open the door, and plopped down in the seat. She rummaged through her purse until she found the small life-saving vial she’d been looking for, but even a few good, deep whiffs of the cedar oil didn’t calm Maria’s dazzled nerves.
“Maria, Maria,” Liz said gently. “I know this is all a lot to take in, but know this: I—I am just as confused as you are.” She paused. “But it happened. I know it did. Maria, there are bloodstains on my shirt, underneath the ketchup Max poured on me. I couldn’t have imagined that.” Her hand went to the bottom of her shirt. “. . . And there’s this.” She lifted the shirt to expose the glowing handprint underneath. “It appeared just after,” she said softly.
Maria inhaled sharply at the sight of the unearthly luminescent handprint on Liz’s stomach. She was so still in for that moment that Liz almost felt she needed to remind Maria to keep on breathing. When Maria’s eyes met Liz’s once more, there was fear in her expression, but Liz knew that there was also acceptance. Maria believed her.
“So what now?” Maria asked in a small voice.
“We follow Max. And we learn the truth.” No matter what it may be.
Maria nodded and gently eased her car back on the road, leaving behind a mangled, flattened bush and a world that made sense to her. A world that was logical and explainable.
Alex never made it home after practice with his band. Practice hadn’t been a long one. Evidently the great, new songs that Nicky wrote had only been one song . . . and it wasn’t so great. After running though it a couple times and reviewing some of their older pieces the band called it quits. It was when he was passing though town on his way home that Alex was pulled over by Sheriff Valenti.
“I wasn’t speeding, Sheriff,” Alex lied. He’d been going 5 mph over the speed limit, but he got the feeling that wasn’t why he was stopped.
“Alex Whitman?” the Sheriff asked, pulling his sunglasses down so he could see inside the small car better.
“Yes.”
“I’ve just got a few questions for you. If you’ll follow me back to the station, I’d appreciate it.”
Alex was more baffled by that than he would have been at a ticket for a mere 5 mph over. He nodded, and the Sheriff left to get back in his truck. They both started their engines once more and headed toward the police station.
When the questions began ten minutes later inside the Sheriff’s small office, it wasn’t at all what Alex had been expecting.
“How well do you know Max Evans?” was the first question.
Alex barely suppressed a ‘huh?’ at that question. “I don’t know. I’ve gone to school with the guy for years, but he’s so quiet that I can’t say I really know him very well.” He bit back a ‘why?’.
Sheriff Valenti nodded. Before he could ask his second question, though, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” the Sheriff called, a note of irritation in his voice.
Deputy Hanson poked his head in the room. “I’m going to be heading out in a few minutes. Is there anything you want me to do before I leave?”
“Actually, yes, there is,” Valenti replied. “Get hold of Liz Parker for me. Tell her there’s a few more questions I need to ask her.”
Deputy Hanson nodded and slipped back out. Valenti turned his attention once more to Alex. “You know Liz Parker, though, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course. She’s one of my best friends.”
“Have you seen her since the shooting last night?”
“Yeah, uh, Maria and I stopped by her place after school today,” Alex said.
“Was she feeling okay? I know that something like that can be really traumatizing.”
“Of course. She was fine.” When she was actually paying attention to what was going on and not lost in her own world . . . when she didn’t seem like she was lying to us . . .
Valenti must have picked up on the look on his face, for his next question was, “Is there something else?”
“No,” he responded automatically out of loyalty. “Well . . . yeah, maybe.”
The Sheriff nodded for him to continue.
“I’m sure it’s nothing, but . . . She did seem a little out of it. Unfocused, you know? But I guess that’s normal after something like that.”
“Did she mention Max Evans when we you were talking today?”
“No, no, he never came up.” But as Alex said those words, he remembered how Liz had abruptly stopped laughing at the site of Max, and how hard it had been to get her attention again after that. A cold feeling passed over him. “What did Max do?”
“That’s what I intend to find out,” Valenti replied.
There was a quick knock at the door. Deputy Hanson entered without waiting for permission this time. “I called the Parkers; Mrs. Parker claimed that Liz was staying with Maria DeLuca for the night.”
Valenti grew impatient. “So call—”
“I did. According to Amy DeLuca, the girls are staying at the Parkers. As far as where they really are, your guess is as good as mine.” He paused. “You’ve got a phone call. Line two. Diane Evans.”
Valenti dismissed him, reaching for the phone. Before punching the button for line two, he said to Alex, “That’s all I’ll be needing today. Thanks for taking the time to see me.”
“No problem,” Alex said, a very confused look on his face. He took his time in rising from his seat and heading for the door. Valenti ignored him after that. Consequently, he managed to hear snatches of the conversation as he stood just outside Valenti’s door.
“Now, Mrs. Evans, I need you to calm down,” Valenti was saying. “. . . yeah, I’ll put out an APB on them . . . A gray jeep? . . . Could you repeat that number? . . .”
“Something I can help you with?”
The voice caused Alex to jump. “No, no, I, uh . . . No, I was just leaving,” he told Deputy Hanson, making a quick retreat.
Back home, Alex wasted no time in calling Liz and Maria. He didn’t use their home phone numbers, like the deputy had; he had the prized knowledge of Maria’s cell phone number. They picked up after only a few rings.
“Hello?” came Liz’s voice from the other end of the line.
“Liz? It’s Alex.”
“Alex. H-Hi. How are you?”
“I'm good, Liz. I'm good.” He paused. “Listen, I need to talk to about something.” Before Alex could begin, though, he started to pick up unusual sounds . . . highway sounds. “Liz, where are you?”
“That's really . . . not important right now. What did you want to talk to me about?” Her upbeat tone sounded forced.
“I just got though talking to Sheriff Valenti. I want you to be careful around Max. Something’s up with the guy. Valenti was asking me about him. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise.” Her voice was soft.
“Seriously, Liz. We need to talk.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not over the phone. Where are you?”
There was a long pause. “Heading South on 285.” Then, “I know what I’m doing, Alex. Please don’t follow me.”
Pushing the button to end the conversation, Liz groaned out loud.
“What was that all about?” Maria asked, sneaking a quick glance at Liz’s aggravated expression.
Liz sighed. “It was Alex. He wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to know where we were. And I told him.” To herself more than Maria, “Why did I tell him?” She groaned again and rested her forehead against the palms of her hands.
“Hey,” Maria said gently. “It’s just Alex. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is, he can’t know about all this. I mean, it’s enough that I told you.”
“Well, maybe we need Alex. Did you ever think of that. I mean, he can give us a different perspective.”
“We can’t bring too many people into this.” She thought of Max again. Don’t tell anyone. Please . . . Please . . . She squeezed her eyes shut.
“What ‘this’? What is ‘this’? We don’t even know what we’re dealing with here. We need Alex.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” Liz sighed. “Maybe he’ll stay home,” she said, a very optimistic tone to her voice.
The two shared a knowing look, each mentally reviewing what they knew of their friend. “Maybe not,” Maria said with more certainty.
When Alex turned onto the highway a few minutes later, he didn’t notice the Sheriff’s truck, following behind at a safe distance. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts and worries.
From his truck, Valenti pulled out his radio. “Call Kyle. Tell him I’ll be late coming home today,” he said. He kept the gray Sedan in sight, though careful not to follow so closely as to attract the attention of the driver. He felt the truth nearing his grasp.
The sun was starting to set and Liz was starting to drift off, leaning against the window, when Maria’s voice roused her. “Liz. Liz.” Liz’s eyes fluttered open. “Look,” Maria said.
She looked. There was just enough light left to make out the gray jeep in the parking lot of a motel. “Sultan’s Hideaway Motel,” the neon sign proclaimed. And under that, “Vacancy.”
Maria didn’t need to be told to slow down and turn into the parking lot. She did so automatically. She shut off the engine, and looked to Liz for further instruction.
Liz swallowed thickly. “Okay, so we go in, and we find them.”
“Right.”
A minute passed. Neither moved.
“Are we going?” Maria asked.
Liz drew a deep breath. Her hand moved instinctively to where the bullet had entered her body, where even now there was a glowing reminder of the events of that night. “Yeah.” Her heart pounded wildly at the idea.
Isabel wrinkled her nose in distaste. A grand total of five stations available on the small fuzzy television, and nothing good—or even passably interesting—on any of them. She flipped the TV off, manually – there was no remote either. “This place is a dump,” she said. She looked to the Arabian-themed bed. “And I don’t even want to know where that bed’s been.” The whole place looked like a blend of eighties styles and Arabian décor mixed in with a heavy serving of bad taste.
“Well, get used to it, princess,” Michael commented. “Cuz thanks to our buddy Maximillian here, it’s the best we’ve got. Unless you want to sleep in the jeep.” Michael went back to pacing. Even though the room they were currently hanging out in – the one that they had rented out for Isabel to sleep in – was actually bigger than his room in Hank’s trailer, it felt small and confining. The place gave him an overall creepy feeling.
It wasn’t the foreignness of the cheap decorations of the place that got to him. It was the strange sense of familiarity that came along with them, even though he knew he’d never been there before. A voice in his head whispered, It’s like the porno version of Aladdin, but he didn’t recognize the voice. Didn’t want to really. Whatever this place made him feel wasn’t important now. What was important was that they get out of New Mexico now before it was too late.
“We should be across the border by tomorrow,” Max said, looking up from the map he had spread out on the motel floor. “I’m thinking we should head toward Tijuana once we’re in Mexico.”
Michael crouched down next to Max. He eyed the yellow path Max had created to show their planned line of travel. It had much the same look as what would be left by a highlighter, but none of them in that room needed any such thing. A brush of Max’s hand was all it took. He nodded his approval.
“But we’re not going to stay there, right?” Isabel asked. “The plan is still to come back after this has all died down, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” Max said. “But we can’t go back to Roswell.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Izzie.” He looked at Michael and then back at Isabel. “What would you say to the east coast?”
Max never got an answer to that question. At that moment there was a knock on the motel door. All three in the room froze and looked nervously at the closed door.
“Maybe it’s just a maid or room service or something,” Isabel said.
“In this place?” Michael retorted.
Max rose and moved toward the door. Isabel opened her mouth to tell him not to, but closed it again, uncertain. Max opened the door.
Light from the dim yellow bulbs of the cheap genie-style lamps spilled out onto the sidewalk outside of the motel room . . . and onto the faces of Liz Parker and Maria DeLuca. “Liz,” Max said, astonished.
Michael came to stand near Max, just behind his left shoulder. He crossed his arms across his chest and pinned the girls with a cold, protective look. Maria shrank back a little, but Liz merely raised her chin and met his gaze. Isabel stayed back. Her eyes were wide and frightened until she noticed the girls’ eyes falling on her. She set her face into the age-old ‘Ice Princess’ glare.
“You don’t belong here,” Michael said.
“How did you know where to find us?” Max asked before Liz had a chance to respond. He ushered the girls inside, closing and locking the door behind them.
“We slipped the guy at the desk a twenty,” Maria said, referring to their strategy of ascertaining which motel room was theirs from a crabby clerk who didn’t seem to appreciate having his late night shows interrupted. They had been surprised to find the trio had dished out the cash for two rooms instead of one. This was the second door they had tried.
“We saw you leave the Crashdown,” Liz told them, ignoring Maria’s failed attempt at lightening the mood.
“And you followed us?” Isabel asked, coming up beside her brothers.
“We didn’t—I didn’t—have much choice.” She lifted up her shirt enough to reveal the handprint. “I want some answers.”
“What is it?” Isabel breathed with an astonished look that was mirrored on her brothers’ faces.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” She looked at Max, and he just stared back. He was only inches away from her at that moment, and Liz could swear that she felt a connection to him. Slight, perhaps, but there still, like a rope of shimmering light binding them together. She forced herself to look away.
As her eyes darted back and forth between Isabel and Michael, the tension in the room was so heavy that she could almost reach out and touch it. Her eyes pleaded with Max.
“All right,” Max said. “But just you.” He looked pointedly at Maria.
“I don’t have any secrets from Maria.” His voice came back to her again. Don’t say anything. Please. “I’m sorry.”
Max nodded. Just once.
Liz licked her lips. “I was shot and there’s not a mark on me now.” She dared him to deny it. “Max, I could feel myself dying. Now, what you did in there . . . That’s, like, humanly impossible.” Her voice trailed off to nearly a whisper.
“Exactly,” Max said softly. Isabel shifted uneasily behind him, but made no move to interfere, and neither did Michael.
“What—what are you trying to tell me?” Even though this moment was what Liz had been waiting for, she felt a sudden burst of panic. Did she really want to know?
“I’m not human, Liz,” Max said softly.
Liz let out a shaky breath that she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. Her breath was shallow and quick now. “What are you?”
Max was silent for a moment. Liz couldn’t help but think he was trying to find the best way of telling her the horrible truth. A voice whispered in her head. I’m not from around here. Max’s voice. A vision of Max pointing up, high up, flashed through her head. “You’re not . . . I mean, you’re not an . . . an ali-alien,” Liz stammered. “Are you?”
Max nodded. “Yes, we are.”
“We?”
“All of us,” he said, indicating toward Michael and Isabel.
So when you healed me, you risked all of this getting out, didn’t you?
Yeah.
Why?
It was you . . .
“Why me?” Liz whispered. “I mean, how did you even know I was in trouble, Max?” It was the first time the thought had occurred to her. “The party ended twenty minutes before. How did you know?”
For a moment, Max was just as baffled as Liz was. How did he know? That memory, like so many others recently, seemed to be snatched from his mind. Or else buried so deeply he couldn’t reach it. Max! Oh, God, help me. Max!
“I heard you,” he said, a hint of wonder in his voice at the idea.
“Okay, okay,” Maria interrupted. Max and Liz had almost forgotten about her presence and everyone else’s in the room. “Time out.” She moved closer, but stopped at Liz’s side. She was brave, but not that brave. “You’re saying that aliens are real?! And what? You’ve been, like, hiding here all along, in plain sight? In Roswell, New Mexico. Why are you even here?”
“Look, we probably have more questions about ourselves than you do,” Isabel said. “All we know is that we emerged from these pods in the desert and we looked just like normal kids, grew up like normal kids. We’re just as human as you are.” She paused. “Only we can manipulate the molecular structure of things.”
“What does that mean?” Maria asked.
Isabel held her hand out to Maria, who tentatively placed her hand on Isabel’s open palm. With her free hand Isabel reached out and touched Maria’s purple painted nails. When she moved her hand away, the nail polish was pink. Maria quickly snatched her hand back. Oh, God, she thought. “Don’t ever do that again,” she said with every ounce of courage she had left. She was shaking inside.
Maria had never really believed in aliens. They were always some cheesy abstract idea that you could use to make a few quick bucks off gullible tourists, but now they were terrifyingly real . . . and in her own backyard. Visions of sickly green glowing spaceships and long needles held by slimy skinned, bug eyed creatures danced through her head. That they looked like humans now only added to her fear. The very real looking skin could only be a mask cloaking their true nature, making quite possible that anyone she passed on the street on any given day could really be an alien underneath.
And their powers? That alone was enough to stop her heart from beating at the thought. If they were powerful enough to heal, it wasn’t hard to imagine that they had the power of destruction as well. They might very well be able to squish any pesky little human they wanted.
Maria couldn’t believe how calmly Liz was handling all this. She was, in fact, giving moonstruck eyes at one of them right now. Liz, Liz what’s happened to you? she thought.
A memory, uncalled, bubbled to the surface. Give him a chance? Liz, what’s happened to you? Michael Guerin? Maria remembered the look of distaste that had been on her face. I wouldn’t ‘give him a chance’ if he were the last ali —guy on earth. Alien. Not guy, not human. Alien. She’d gone past disbelief into a fear so deep-rooted she didn’t know how she’d ever get past it.
“Come on, Liz,” she said, tugging on her friend’s arm. The sudden need to get out of that room had hit her hard.
“No, Maria—” Liz protested.
“Wait!” Max cried.
Maria reached the door, Liz in tow. She began fumbling with the cheap, aged chain lock. Her shaking, sweaty hands couldn’t quite get the blasted thing out. Then a hand reached out and gently, but firmly, pried her hand away.
“Stop,” Michael said. He rested his palm now against the door, completely barring her way. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His alien body. Completely unnerved by this, she backed up so quickly she nearly stumbled over Liz. To avoid collision, Maria turned to her right, colliding instead with a table. She reached back to regain her balance. One hand gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles must have gone white, while the other hand brushed against the surface of the table. A soft thud met her ears. She looked down.
A spiral bond notebook lay open on the floor.
A notebook lay in front of Michael on the Crashdown’s table and he was flipping rapidly through the lined pages. The flipping quickly stopped when he noticed Maria’s presence. The notebook was closed almost before Maria could see its contents. Almost. The glance she got inside was quick but it was enough to reveal pencil sketches of figures and faces and some other unidentifiable forms, but Michael had not lingered long enough on any one page for Maria to deduce any more than that.
It was the same notebook that she had seen at the Crashdown that day. She was sure of it. Only this time, she was able to see exactly what was inside of the mysterious notebook. No, not a notebook. A sketchbook. The pages were lined, but the thin blue lines faded into the background of the images on the pages. She lifted it up.
The page showed six people standing at the edge of a body of water, in a rough circle. She recognized Isabel’s long, light hair bound in a French braid resting against a stylish black coat. And, of course, Michael’s spiky hair was unmistakable . . . and so was the short cropped hair of a slender girl just beyond Michael, next to another girl with a long dark ponytail. Maria and Liz. There were two more dark haired guys, but the image was too small to determine who they were.
Maria flipped the page. She barely caught a glimpse of a girl with long golden curls amongst a starry background before the notebook was snatched from her hands.
“That’s private,” Michael growled, clutching the notebook to his chest.
Maria’s hands shook as she backed away from him. She tightened her hands into two small fists and pressed them against her side. It was all too much to take in. She cursed her overactive imagination at that moment. For an instant, she imagined Michael’s long arms twisting into a slimy, sickly gray tentacle that would reach out and strangle her. Concentrating fiercely on not passing out was the only thing that was keeping her conscious at that moment.
“What is that, Michael?” Isabel asked. She went to take the notebook from his hands, but Michael was too quick for her this time. “I’ve seen that before.” Her eyes narrowed in confusion.
“I think there’s some things you guys need to see,” Michael said, finally returning his attention to the other two. He opened the notebook and flipped through its contents before settling on a single page. He turned the notebook so it was visible to both Isabel and Max.
“What is this, Michael?” Isabel asked, unable to keep the shock out of her voice.
Before she was able to completely decipher the strange almost-memory, Isabel was jerked back to the present. It took her a moment to figure out why. Someone was knocking on the door.
Liz moved toward the door, since she was the closest at the moment.
“Wait,” Max said, putting a hand gently on her shoulder to stop her. “It might be dangerous. Let me.”
“Dangerous? How could it possibly—” Liz protested, but Max had already opened the door. “Alex!” she cried when she saw who was outside the motel room.
“Alex?” Maria said, moving up beside Liz.
“Great,” Michael said, shaking his head in dismay as Max ushered Alex inside, closing the door quickly behind him.
“Alex, I told you not to follow me,” Liz said.
“Yeah, since when did I ever listen to you?” Alex joked weakly, but he was unable to hide the worry and suspicion on his face and in his voice. He took in the five teens. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Liz said.
“You don’t have to cover for him.” He looked at Max. “What did he do? I swear if he’s hurt you . . .”
Liz forced a laugh. Shaking her head, she said, “Nothing. Max didn’t do anything to me. I promise you, Alex.”
“Then why is Sheriff Valenti investigating him?” Max’s eye’s widened in surprise, and Alex turned to him, pinning him with a fierce protective look. “Yeah. I just got through talking to him, before I came here. It was like he wasn’t even investigating the shooting, but something else all together. He was asking me about you. How well I knew you. What Liz said about you. Why was he asking me those questions? Why did Liz stop laughing as soon as she saw you earlier today?”
“He’s right,” Maria chimed in. “Valenti knows . . . something. He pulled me out of gym today. That’s when I found out about the shooting. At the end he asked me if I’ve ever noticed anything unusual about Max.”
Max and Isabel exchanged worried glances.
“Well, it’s been fun chatting with you, but we need to be leaving,” Michael interrupting. “Come on, Maxwell.”
“Michael! We can’t leave now!” Isabel exclaimed.
“We can and we will. You heard them. It’s worse than we thought.” He raised an eyebrow at Max. “No one can connect you to the scene of the crime, huh, Max?”
Liz grabbed Max’s arm. “You can’t leave.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Max would say before shying away from her grasp.
“If you leave, it’ll just make him think you’re guilty,” she protested.
“Guilty of what!?” Alex exclaimed.
They all ignored him. “Let me help you,” Liz said to Max. “Please. We can tell him something.” She racked her brain for an idea. “I don’t know what. Something brilliant. And he’ll leave you alone. You can’t leave now.”
There was another knock on the door. Liz felt her heart leap up into her throat. She could only imagine how Max, Michael and Isabel felt at that moment. The knock came again. It was brisk and authoritative. Nothing like the one she just heard. There was no doubt in her mind about who was on the other side of the door.
“It’s Valenti,” Liz whispered. The air in the room was tinged with the feel of growing panic. “I have an idea.”
She quickly told her plan, and though she couldn’t bring herself to look at Max just yet, she was able to see the other’s reaction to it. Maria whimpered with dread as everyone around her consented to the plan and finally gave in and nodded too. Isabel looked uneasy, and Alex looked nervous. Michael’s expression was unreadable. But they all agreed and that was the important thing. If only she could bring herself to look at Max once more . . .
It was after Valenti’s forth or fifth knock that the door finally opened. Even though the room was registered under Max Evans, he wasn’t a bit surprised to find that Liz Parker was the one to open the door. He had seen the red Jetta in the parking lot next to the Evans’ jeep, and he had recognized it immediately as Amy DeLuca’s car. It wasn’t hard to piece together that Liz and Maria were with the Evans kids. It was the ‘why’ that Valenti was still working on.
“Sheriff Valenti,” Liz greeted, a note of surprise in her voice that might have been faked. “What are you doing here?” Her hand still rested on the edge of the door, and she made no move to let him inside the room. He could not see beyond her. He did note, however, the slightly nervous, disheveled look about her.
“Can I come in for a moment?” Valenti asked.
“Um,” she said, looking behind her. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she turned back to the Sheriff. “Yeah,” she said, stepping aside to let him pass. The sight he saw was so unexpected, it left him momentarily speechless.
Immediately in his line of vision was an oversized motel bed on which sat both Isabel Evans and Alex Whitman, with very little space between them. Alex’s arm draped gently over the beautiful girl’s shoulders, and his fingers curled protectively around her bare arm. That Isabel didn’t seem to mind this made the scene even more amazing.
To top it all off, Maria DeLuca and Michael Guerin stood together a few feet away. Michael stood behind her, his arms looped around her slim waist, his chin fitting snuggly over the top of her head. Maria’s hands rested on top of his as she leaned back against his chest.
Valenti hadn’t been aware that there had ever been anything between either set of couples, not even faint ties of friendship. But based on the casual intimacy he was witnessing, obviously he had been wrong. Besides, it wasn’t as though he, as the town sheriff, had either the time or desire to keep up with the high school gossip.
“What’s going on here?” he asked finally.
“Nothing, Sheriff,” Isabel said, detaching herself from Alex’s grasp and rising. Her face was full of charm and cool beauty. She gave the Sheriff a bewitching smile. “We just needed to get away from it all. You know?” Her tongue flicked across her lips, betraying the fact that she wasn’t quite as at ease as she looked. But then the seductive smile was back in full force, and Valenti forgot that brief impression. “My parents . . . They’re so over-protective,” she said with a roll of her eyes and a quick shake of her head that sent her long blond hair tumbling over her shoulder. “And . . . I just—We just wanted to get away from all that—pressure.” Her eyes softened and silently begged for understanding, but the radiance of her smile didn’t diminish. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to escape?”
Max stood behind Liz, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s like she said, Sheriff,” he interrupted. “We just wanted to get away from it all, if only for a weekend.”
“What about your parents?” the Sheriff asked. “Did you ever consider what they might think?”
Valenti didn’t miss the flash of guilt that briefly crossed Isabel’s face before she turned and walked back to sit beside Alex.
“Of course,” Maria said, drawing Valenti’s attention back to that side of the room. “But my mom thinks I’m at Liz’s.” Her face gave away the worry and unease she felt and belied the casualness of her words.
“And mine thinks I’m at Maria’s,” Liz chimed in. “We didn’t . . . want to lie to them, but it was, like, the only way.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“That’s not illegal, Sheriff,” Max said. “Lying to your parents.”
“The only question is: what are you doing here? What’s going on?” Michael asked.
“I could ask you the same question,” the Sheriff said. He pinned Max with a look. “Lying to your parents is a family issue. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here because you’ve been doing more than lying to your mother. I have a witness that says you were at the Crashdown right after the shooter left.”
Max stiffened.
Liz laughed. “That’s ridiculous. I never saw anyone besides the shooter.”
“Milton who owns the UFO Museum places Max at the scene just after the shot was fired. So what else am I to conclude that either Max was there with you or Max was the shooter.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Liz said again, the tone of her voice bordering on shrill.
Valenti ignored her; his focus was on Max. “You went up to Liz that day two months ago. You did something to her, something that made the bullet inside of her disappear and made her survive a fatal gunshot wound. And last night, you came up to her again.” Valenti didn’t know what made him say those words. They sounded impossible, and he didn’t really want to believe them. He didn’t realize that’s what he had been thinking all along until he heard himself say it, and there was no way to snatch the words back again.
“I don’t understand,” Max lied. “How could I have done all that?”
“I don’t understand it either,” Valenti said, still unnerved by his latest conclusion. He jabbed a finger in Max’s direction. “But you can bet that I’m going to find out.” With that he turned and walked out of the motel room, leaving stunned silence in his wake.
The first thing Isabel did when the Sheriff walked out was to stand quickly and move to the other side of the room. She didn’t look at Alex again, and so she missed the brief hurt look that flashed across his face. She too caught up in her own emotions. Sitting so close to Alex, Isabel had felt some strange things. The presence of the Sheriff and her little act had pushed the mysterious emotion from her mind, but as soon as he left, it hit her hard.
“Max,” Isabel called, touching her brother’s arm to get his attention. When she had it, she said, “I think I’m going to head home now.”
Max turned from the small cluster of people near the counter of the Crashdown Café. “You’re leaving?” he asked.
“Yeah, I, uh, I have a headache,” Isabel said, raising a hand to her forehead to reinforce the lie. Her eyes strayed past her brother for a brief moment to the real reason she was leaving, and immediately she wished she hadn’t looked.
Alex was talking excitedly to a group of people in the corner. But for an instant that normal, happy scene was washed in sadness. For an instant she saw a casket covered in red roses. She saw Alex’s face solemn and sad and her own streaked with tears. She swallowed thickly. “You’ll be able to find a ride home, won’t you?” she asked Max.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Feel better, okay?”
“Bye, Max,” she said, making a quick retreat.
Isabel didn’t understand what that meant, but she didn’t have time to think about it. A cell phone was ringing. “Oh, man,” Alex said, fumbling around for his cell phone in his pant pocket. “Hello?” he said, when he finally managed to get it open. “Oh, hey, Markos . . . yeah, I know . . .” He took a quick look around at the rest of the group before deciding to relocate to the outside of the building.
“Valenti’s not going to give up,” Max said after Alex left. He walked over to the window and glanced out at Alex who was caught up in his conversation.
“No,” Liz responded softly.
Isabel raised her chin a little in defiance. “Neither are we,” she said. For a moment, she felt the invisible ties that connected all of them in that room. Running away would shatter the ties before they could fully develop, and that thought brought a stab of pain to her chest.
“Izzie,” Max said sharply, turning to her. “Are you saying we should stay in Roswell?” His face held both surprise at her words and hope. Isabel nodded. “Michael?”
“Yeah,” Michael said. He was no longer touching Maria, but he stayed at her side. “Running would be letting him win.”
The slow start of a smile curved Max’s lips. “So we’re staying.” It wasn’t a question.
“What about Valenti?” Liz asked. “He won’t ever leave you alone.” She swallowed thickly. She wanted Max to stay, but suddenly she was starting to realize just what that meant. “You shouldn’t have healed me, Max.” She raised a hand to her temple. A mixture of frustration and fear brought a tone of anxiety to her voice. “God, I mean, that’s what started all this. I should have died that day.”
“Liz!” Maria cried, astounded at her words.
But Liz continued, ignoring her. “Maybe I was supposed to! That’s why this nightmare isn’t over for you.”
“That’s not true,” Max broke in. When Liz wouldn’t meet his eyes, he gently lifted her chin. “If you had died that day, the real nightmare would just be beginning.” He allowed himself only the briefest thoughts of that terrifying reality before continuing. “You say I shouldn’t have healed you, Liz, but I don’t think so. I think you were meant to live.” He spoke to the group now. “I think we’re all supposed to be here together, right now.”
“But your life is in danger, now. Your secret’s out.”
“I don’t care, Liz.”
“You should!” Liz cried.
“We’ll come up with something to tell Valenti,” Max said. “Something brilliant,” he quoted her, a soft smile on his face. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Liz said softly.
“Right now all we have to deal with is what we’re going to say to our parents.”
“Oh, God,” Isabel cried, running to the phone, panic evident on her face.
“Iz?” Max called, confused.
We’re staying. The thought echoed through Michael’s head. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Scared. If he was honest with himself, Michael might just admit that the feeling was called ‘scared.’ He was hardly aware of anything save how close Maria stayed at his side. When Liz told them all her plan of confusing Valenti by acting like three boyfriend/girlfriend couples seeking a place to get away, Maria had made it clear enough after that she was only going to do that for Liz’s sake. He even suspected that she was scared of him. If anyone should be afraid, it ought to be Michael. With every minute in Maria he could feel another piece of the stone wall crumble, the wall that blocked out any desire to be like any other human guy and find love and happiness on this Earth. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied her.
While Michael was carefully studying Maria, though, Maria had her attention focused on Isabel as she made her phone call. Aside from perhaps what some might call an unusual amount of beauty, Isabel didn’t look any different than any other normal teenage girl. But she wasn’t normal, Maria reminded herself sternly, thinking of her now-pink nail polish. She had unearthly powers . . . and problems . . .
“. . . No, no, mom,” Isabel was saying. “I just found that note. Buried in my closet. Yeah, remember that time when I got so mad at you . . .” she continued, twisting the phone cord absently in her hand. How many other girls had to explain away a goodbye note left on her pillow because she decided to stick around and face the man who is trying to discover her deepest darkest secret – that she wasn’t from Earth? Maria couldn’t help but think, feeling a faint stab of sympathy.
Beside her, Michael shifted slightly, and Maria suddenly became aware that—despite the fact that as soon as Valenti left Michael had withdrew his arms from around her—neither had moved away from each other. She could even feel him watching her, even though she knew his eyes weren’t directly on her. She even felt ‘vibes’ radiating off him and coming directly toward her. Michael is the type of person my mom likes to refer to as a vibrator, her own voice whispered in her head.
She hugged herself and inched back away a bit, not knowing how to respond to the burst of emotions she was suddenly feeling. “I don’t understand why I got paired up with you, anyway,” Maria began, feeling the need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. “I mean, granted, Max and Liz can’t stop giving goo-goo eyes at each other long enough to pretend to be with anyone else. They’ve, like, hardly noticed anyone else all night. I mean look at that!” She gestured broadly to where Max and Liz stood on the other side of the room, oblivious to their surroundings. “It’s—It’s, like, nauseating. That’s what it is—”
“Do you ever shut up?” Michael said abruptly, cutting her off.
“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?” Maria couldn’t keep the shock at his words form her voice.
“Exactly what I said. Do you ever shut up?” Michael shot her an irritated look and pretended to be very interested in what the others in the room were up to, as though Maria was distracting him from his observations.
“Well, maybe I don’t,” Maria said, feeling a very familiar surge of annoyance.
“Well, maybe you should,” Michael retorted.
Maria growled in frustration, at a loss for words. Honestly, the guy was as prickly as the porcupine spikes of his hair! . . . Except maybe his hair wasn’t prickly, not if you get up real close and maybe even run your hands through it . . . It might even be soft, gentle, if you could get beyond its hard, unyielding appearance. She gave herself a mental shake. Her thoughts had wandered so far that she wasn’t quite sure if she was thinking about the man or his hair. With an exasperated sigh at how easily he was starting to affect her, she turned her attention back to the present moment.
Alex poked his head back in. Movement ceased in the room, and everyone seemed to be thinking one collective thought: How much should we tell him? as Alex walked back into the room.
Liz saved the day by stepping forward. “You know, Alex, it’s getting really late, and I have so much work to do this weekend, I was wondering if it would be all right if we leave now?”
Alex looked confused. “Liz, you haven’t been to school in over two months. How much work could you possibly have to do?”
For a moment, Liz was at a loss for words. “Exactly,” she said finally. “Maria got my make-up work for me, and I’m trying to catch up. You know that I only have another month before the end of the semester.”
Alex was baffled by how quickly they all decided to head home. He felt sure that this was all a way of distracting him from the questions they knew he had ready. The questions he deserved to have answered. Like, why were they here? What did Valenti want? What did Max do to Liz? Considering his part in the little performance they had just put on, Alex felt that he deserved to know those answers.
“Alex, how about I go home with you this time?” Maria said, stepping forward.
“Don’t you have the Jetta here?” Alex asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion.
“Yeah, I do,” Maria said quickly. “But I just thought you might want to talk.”
So that was how it’s going to be, Alex thought. Maria’s going to play ambassador for the group. As long as Alex heard something of the truth, he didn’t care. He allowed himself to be led back to the door, but he didn’t miss the look that Maria shot back at Liz. I know what I’m doing, the look seemed to say.
“Here, Liz, can you drive the Jetta home for me?” Maria said, tossing her the key chain before leaving.
“Sure,” Liz said to a closed door. She had caught the keys by one of the larger key chains, and she stared at it now in her open palm. It was a large oval-shaped alien head, green with slanting black pools for eyes. She bit her lip. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to look another alien image the same way again.
“Come on, Isabel,” Max said softly. He looked back at Liz. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay driving back by yourself?”
“Oh, yeah,” Liz answered quickly. “Of course. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
Liz nodded again. Then despite all the excitement of the night—or perhaps because of it—Liz yawned deeply. The exhaustion had hit her hard. She fought a flutter of dizziness that told her that perhaps she wasn’t as completely healed as she thought. I'm fine, she thought wearily, yeah, right.
“And that’s all there is?” Alex was saying, suspicion heavy in his voice.
“Yes, Alex, I promise you.” It was just a little fib, and Maria hoped God would forgive her for that one. Besides, it was for a good cause, wasn’t it? Oh, God, please, tell me I’m on the right side. Nothing was certain anymore. But Maria felt, whatever else might be true, that this newly formed bond between the five was right, and their secret must be protected. She felt it deep in her bones.
And that’s what made her lie to Alex just now. It’s what made her tell Alex that the only reason the Sheriff is investigating Max is because he found out that Max tried to help Liz out after the shooting. She told Alex that the Sheriff had a crazy idea that something more happened between Liz and Max, something extraordinary, perhaps. But that was silly, right?
“But what were you all doing on 285 this far south?”
Maria cringed inwardly. This was going to be harder to explain. “We, um,” Maria started. Then a stroke of brilliance hit her. “We were investigating a lead.”
“A lead?”
“Yeah. Today, after you left, we found this slip of paper on the floor of the Crashdown, right where the shooter had been standing. It had ‘Sultan’s Hideaway Motel’ on it. And Lizzie wouldn’t rest until she found out what it meant. You know how she gets when she has a theory about something. She can’t rest until she figures it out.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothing. Dead end.”
Alex nodded. Maria might have been lying, but Alex couldn’t tell. He would let it go for now, but not forever. One day he would extract the real truth behind this trip from one of them.
“You know you don’t have to do this,” Liz was protesting, as Max slid into the driver’s seat of the Jetta. They had just gotten through checking out of the motel and reloading the jeep with Max and Isabel’s bags. “I’ll be fine, really,” she insisted. She waited outside the passenger door, hoping her words would stick, but it was no use. Ever since Max saw that stray yawn of Liz’s, he had not swayed from the opinion that he should drive Liz home.
“You just got out of the hospital yesterday, Liz. It’s an hour drive at least. I’m driving. Come on; you’re exhausted.” He paused and waited as Liz grudgingly opened the door and got into the seat next to her.
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” She fought with all her might to fight back the yawn that belied her words. She sat back, defeated, and said no more as Max started the engine.
The silence stretched once they were on the road.
“What’s going to happen when we get back to Roswell, Max?”
“I don’t know, Liz.” Max kept his eyes on the road. “We’ll have to find a better way of dealing with Valenti.”
“No, I mean, what’s going to happen between . . . us.”
Max eased off the gas, slowing the car. He inwardly cringed, and hated the words he was about to say. “There is no ‘us,’ Liz. There . . . can’t be.” His voice was pained.
“If this is about Kyle,” Liz said. “There’s nothing between us anymore. I’m beginning to think there never was. I’m going to tell him that.”
“It’s not about Kyle.”
“It’s not?”
“We’re just too . . .”
“Different,” Liz finished for him, and felt herself deflate with that word. Though she was sure she’d never been in a similar situation, the whole thing seemed very familiar.
“Yeah,” Max whispered. They didn’t talk again after that.
Not, at least, until they entered Roswell.
“Maria!” Liz exclaimed when she and Max arrived at the Crashdown. She leapt out of the Jetta. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked Alex to drop me off here instead.” She paused. “I think we all need to talk.”
“I’m through with talking today, Maria,” Liz said with a sigh. The jeep pulled up next to her, and Michael and Isabel hopped out. “Do you guys want some ice-cream?” she asked as the two joined their little group. “No talking about dangers and plans and conspiracies. Just hanging out on a Friday night. Just . . . friends.”
Ten minutes later, the five of them sat at one of the Crashdown’s larger tables, a huge tub of ice cream in the center of the table. Liz had to cover her mouth to keep from spitting up a mouthful of fudge and ice cream as Maria performed a unique interpretation of the Mr. Hoffman’s voice as he yelled at the Alex about the electrified-desk incident. After the stress of the last twenty-four hours, this was exactly what she needed.
During a pause in the conversation, Liz took the time to look around the table at each of them, and seeing familiar faces in such a new way was startling to the senses. She almost felt as though by knowing their deepest secret, she was intruding upon their privacy as surly as if she had stolen their diary and read it. Studying them, Liz could see in the end how the secret had affected each of them.
Isabel, beautiful Isabel, whose looks could kill and whose words were biting. She was smiling now, and her eyes were bright as she listened to Alex. Liz saw now that the “Ice Princess” had been merely a false front, snobbery serving to hold the world at bay while she tried to play the role of a normal teenager, hiding within the scared little girl who cared deeply for her family, the little girl that just wanted to find her home and live her life with as much joy and normalcy as the world could offer for an alien teenager.
Michael, crude, uncouth Michael, who grew up on the wrong end of town and didn’t seem to need or want anybody. Though complete comprehension was beyond even Max and Isabel, Liz thought she understood him better now. Michael seemed to have put up a wall that shut everyone but Max and Isabel out, pretending not to care about anything or anyone of this world, immersing himself in the knowledge that there was a better life for him beyond Roswell, beyond Earth even. His life was far from perfect, and so he clung to the hope that someday, he could move beyond this backward, small town and this cold, unfeeling world that seemed to have rejected him.
And Max? Quiet, serious Max, whose single glance could say what a thousand words could not. He was their unspoken leader, taking charge of these two frightened teens, taking the weight of the world upon his shoulders. They both looked up to him, went to him for guidance. But with the rest of the world, he had hidden within, his shyness concealing his secret. Only his eyes, his beautiful, soulful eyes, betrayed the mysteries that lay beneath the surface.
How Liz came to know so much about them in such a short time, she would never know. It was pure and instinctual, like the flashes of almost-memories she got every now and then, but just as real as the ground beneath her feet and the sun in the sky.
Looking back, Liz realized that she had been wrong. It wasn’t death that was the heart of our culture and religions. It wasn’t death that was unpredictable and inevitable. It was love. And staring into Max’s eyes, she saw that this was one she could not so easily escape.
November 27th, 1999. My name’s Liz Parker, and two days ago I died. And then the really amazing thing happened: I came to life.
The End
Please send comments or questions to NicoleHazel416@hotmail.com.
Note: Another sequel is unlikely at this point. I just don’t have time. But the way I ended things, you can imagine that the group will go through much of what they did in first season.