Driving the Jetta, Michael headed across town, his mind only half-aware of where he was going. The other half was on Max, who'd finally gotten the car running again, its slashed tires restored.
The spike-headed alien was very aware that he hadn't been much help that afternoon. Twice his focus had been pulled away from his surroundings by--He gritted his teeth. No, he wasn't going to think about the voice or its message right now. Thinking about it might lead to losing himself in it again; not a good idea while driving. And already twice that afternoon he'd zoned, both times pulling himself together at the sound of Max's voice quietly saying his name. Max hadn't pressed him to talk, even though Michael could tell he had wanted to.
Then again, maybe his friend wasn't ready to risk becoming a flaming shish kebab, and had decided not to take any chances with Michael's admittedly unreliable powers. Instead, he'd concentrated on repairing the Jetta.
When Max was done, Michael--somewhat reluctantly--drove it back to the DeLuca house. Following in the Jeep, Max gave a light tap on the horn before heading home. Leaving the car in the driveway, Michael knocked tentatively on the front door, hoping Maria would answer and not Mrs. DeLuca. He didn't want to have to explain just how he'd been able to drive the car without the keys. Somehow he felt a strong reluctance to give the only explanation he could think of, that he'd hot-wired it. And he could hardly tell the woman that his friend had used his alien superpowers to start it, could he?
On the other hand, he didn't really want to see Maria either, still mentally chastising himself for connecting with her and showing her...well, whatever he'd shown her. His insane need to know exactly what she'd seen battled with an equally strong desire to never have to deal with the subject.
And so he felt a strong sense of relief when neither of the DeLucas came to the door, and quickly moved away from the house, leaving the repaired Jetta sitting peacefully in the driveway. Heading on foot through the growing darkness back towards his apartment, he tried not to dwell on much of anything.
Almost unconsciously, his feet turned and took him past the Crashdown. Maybe Maria was at work, since she hadn't been home. He hesitated. Max had probably found her and told her he'd been able to get the car fixed; he might even have taken over guard duty from Isabel. Certainly Michael wasn't needed.
His eyes flickered. There was something he could do, though. He could try and get a vision of whoever had been threatening Maria. Sure, the sketch hadn't been any help, but maybe one of the notes would work. Only problem was, he'd have to talk to her to get them. Bracing for a confrontation, he found himself pushing the restaurant door open and stepping inside.
No sign of Maria, but his eyes immediately spotted Liz. Heading over to the counter where she was refilling sugars, he said diffidently, "Hey."
Liz's eyes flew towards him, startled, but she smiled. "Hi, Michael." A pause, and then she continued, "I'm a little surprised to see you. Aren't you on your way to meet Maria?"
Michael's eyes narrowed. Was he that obvious? "What?"
"To meet Maria, like you said in your note," she explained.
"What?" he repeated, a furrow appearing between his eyes. "I didn't leave her a note."
Liz blanched, and immediately crossed to the phone where she dialed Isabel's cell phone number. When the blonde picked up, Liz burst out, "Isabel? Are you and Maria at the park yet?" A dismayed look crossed her face as she listened to the response. Michael watched her intently, noting her growing look of concern. Finally she told Isabel, "I'm sure it's all right. Michael's here; we'll get everything straightened out." Another moment, and she continued, "Yeah, we'll let you know," before hanging abruptly up.
Michael, who had barely suppressed the urge to grab the phone from her, barked, "What's going on?"
Liz bit her lip before replying, "Maria found a note in her locker this afternoon. She thought it was from you." He opened his mouth to speak, but she forestalled him. "It said to meet you at 9:00 in the park, by the swings. Isabel was going to go with her, but Maria told her she'd be safe with you, that she didn't need to be handed off like a package. And then she just took off--"
Michael cut in tersely. "What time is it?" he demanded.
Looking at her watch, Liz responded shakily, "8:57. Michael, I--"
With a curse, he was out the door, running flat out towards the park.
* * * * *
Eight and a half interminable minutes later, he sped into the park, looking wildly around for Maria. Spotting a small figure sitting on one of the swings, he raced over, all the while searching the darkness for a threat of some kind.
"You're late, Spaceboy," Maria said cheerfully. "You're lucky I--"
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he burst out.
"What?" she answered, taken aback by his brusqueness. "Waiting for you, as a matter of fact," she added pointedly.
"You're not supposed to be," he shot back, his fists clenched.
"What? Of course I am. You said to meet you here," Maria responded in confusion.
"No, I didn't," he corrected coldly. "Come on, I'm getting you out of here."
Maria shook her head in protest. "Not until you explain what's going on."
His mouth tight, he answered, "I didn't leave you a note. Someone else did, to lure you here. So unless you want to sit around and wait for whoever or whatever did, I suggest you get your butt out of that swing and get the hell out of here."
Open mouthed in shock--and disappointment--Maria just stared at him. He rolled his eyes, then reached out and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her off the swing.
She recovered herself enough to blurt, "What? What are you doing?"
Still holding her arm, he looked her directly in the eye before saying sternly, "Are you coming, or am I gonna have to carry you?"
She studied his stormy expression for a moment before her lips began to twitch. "Who knew you could be both a Czechoslovakian and a Neanderthal?" she laughed. His mouth tightened, and she hurried on, "No, okay, okay. I'm coming, all right? I'm coming."
He nodded, dropping her arm, then turned to scan the park around them. Once satisfied that no one was lurking in wait, he muttered, "Come on, then," and started back across the grass. Maria scooted to his side and matched her stride to his longer one as best she could.
This was not exactly how she'd pictured her evening. Sure, she was with Michael, but somehow she'd pictured them sitting on the swings and talking, not him yelling at her and ordering her around. She didn't know why she'd gotten such an unlikely picture stuck in her head, anyway; it certainly wasn't from past experience.
They quickly reached the edge of the park and Michael hesitated. "Where do you want to go?" he asked. "Home? Liz's?"
Maria considered for a moment. The idea that someone other than Michael had purposely lured her to the park was beginning to set in, and she was developing a strong case of the willies about it. She didn't want to go home. After she'd found what she thought was Michael's note, she'd made happy arrangements to spend the night at Liz's, so they could indulge in some sorely-missed ice cream and girl talk. So her mother wasn't expecting her at home--and she didn't want to deal with the explanations her showing up would necessitate.
If she went to Liz's, it would entail inviting Isabel, or else Michael would end up spending another sleepless night lurking around in the darkness. And while she was enjoying her blossoming friendship with the blonde alien, she really craved some one-on-one time with her best friend. But the only way to get that, it seemed, would be at Michael's expense. Unless Max wanted to stay up all night...
Michael interrupted her thoughts. "So where?" he repeated impatiently, his eyes constantly scanning the area around them.
Maria suddenly realized just where she wanted to go. "Come on," she said decisively, and headed down the sidewalk in the direction of the Crashdown. Michael followed, relaxing just a bit now that they were once more on the move.
His uneasiness returned in full measure, however, as Maria passed the alley leading to the back door of the Parkers' restaurant and kept moving forward without slowing. Where the hell was she going? There was nothing in this direction except--
He quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. She turned a pleading glance up to him, but his face was stony. "Just where are you going?" he asked in a gravely voice, already knowing the answer.
Maria didn't try to fool him. "To your place," she answered honestly.
His jaw clenched. "That's not such a good idea."
"Please?" she begged. "I don't know why, but I feel safe there."
Was she crazy? She could be hurt by him just as easily as by anyone else. If not more so. He searched for a good excuse. "Your mother--"
"Thinks I'm spending the night at Liz's," she finished for him.
"Then you should be there," he stated firmly.
"And if I spend the night at Liz's, what are you going to do?" she demanded. His eyes shifted away from hers. "Look, Michael, if you lurk outside the Crashdown all night, you're not going to get any rest, and then I won't either, because I'll be up worrying about you. So if we're going to worry about each other, why not do it together? We could both use some sleep."
He didn't budge.
"Come on, Michael," she begged. "I promise I won't hound you to talk to me or anything, if that's what's bothering you. I won't even make a sound." He looked at her skeptically. "Well, I'll try, anyway," she amended. "Please, Michael?" Green eyes looked unflinchingly into brown ones. His flicked away first.
"If your mother finds out, it won't be a newspaper she comes after me with this time," he said grudgingly.
"Well then, we won't tell her," she answered, a sparkle entering her eyes. Starting once more down the sidewalk, she turned back to him. "Coming, Spaceboy?"
With a sigh, he followed her.
CHAPTER 35
Shaking, Maria wrapped her arms around herself and waited for Michael to unlock his apartment door. Reaction was finally setting in, and she shivered as she thought about the danger she could have been in. Why had she been so quick to head out into the night by herself? She didn't want to live her life in fear, but common sense should have kicked in before she got three steps out of the house. Anything could have happened to her. She grimaced--Michael's paranoia was beginning to rub off.
Shutting the door behind them, Michael pointed her towards the couch and she sank down onto it. Without looking at her, he pulled a faded blanket from the back of the couch and tossed it to her. She wrapped it around herself, snuggled into it and tried to stop shaking. She watched as Michael tossed his jacket on the kitchen counter and ran a hand through his hair before heading towards his phone. He looked particularly tense.
Avoiding her eyes, he dialed. It was picked up halfway through the first ring. "Maria?" Liz said anxiously.
"She's fine."
"Thank God," she breathed in relief. Michael could hear voices in the background, and then Liz saying, "Michael found her. He says she's fine." Isabel said something unintelligible, just barely loud enough to hear her frustration and not the words, and then Liz was back speaking with him. "So where are you?"
He gripped the phone tightly before replying, "My place."
"Well, are you bringing her back here, or do you want us to come pick her up?"
"No."
There was a moment of silence on the other end before Liz said, "Michael?"
He shot a quick glance at Maria, then turned away from her. "If you can get her out of here, she's all yours," he said into the phone. "But I don't think she's gonna--"
The receiver was taken out of his hand. He turned to see Maria standing there, still enveloped in the blanket. "Liz?" she said. "I'm fine, okay?" A moment of silence as she listened to her friend. "No, I wanted to come here. It feels safe, you know?" She listened again. "No, you don't need to come. Believe me, I'm perfectly all right. Our Czechoslovakian knight errant was back on the job, wasn't he?" Evidently Liz was still not satisfied, because Maria continued, "Fine, come over if you want. Bring the whole gang. Bring the whole town if you want to. But if you're coming over just to yell at me for being stupid, I think you'll have to get in line," she finished with a sigh, studying Michael's taut expression. "Okay, see you in a bit."
She replaced the receiver and looked up at Michael for a moment before crossing back to the couch and plopping down. "They're coming over," she said unnecessarily, since he'd been standing right there the whole conversation. Wordlessly, Michael crossed over to the counter and leaned against it, arms folded across his chest. He didn't speak.
Maria watched him. He was obviously struggling to keep a rein on his anger, and she wished he'd just go ahead and say whatever it was he had to say and get it over with. Kind of like ripping a Band-Aid off really quick. But she wasn't going to prod him into it--after all, she had promised she wouldn't make a sound, hadn't she? And she was going to do her darndest to keep that promise. At least until the others got there. That is, unless he spoke first.
But of course, he didn't, so she just sat there wrapped in the blanket, looking at him. Well, there were worse things. After all, she could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere...
A frown appeared on her expressive face, causing a matching one on Michael's. "What?" he said roughly.
Maria's only answer was a half-hearted shrug. Michael immediately knew what she was doing. "You know your little vow of silence isn't going to last," he told her. "So you might as well talk."
She looked at him indignantly and kept her mouth shut.
"You only promised you wouldn't talk so you wouldn't bother me, and I'd let you come here, remember? Well, surprise! You're not talking, and you're bothering me anyway. You got what you wanted--you're here, aren't you? So say something already!"
"And just what do you expect me to say?" she asked icily.
"How about an explanation of why the hell you were out there in the first place?" he shouted in exasperation.
"Well, obviously because I thought you wanted me to meet you there!" she shouted back. "I actually thought you wanted to talk! Stupid, huh?" She gave a bitter little laugh and clutched the blanket even tighter, as if it were a security blanket. Or her flannel sheep pajamas.
"For god's sake, I've been busting my ass trying to keep you out of trouble! Why the hell would I want you to put yourself in danger by waiting for me in a deserted park?"
She tried to defend herself. "Well, the note--"
His voice was even louder as he cut her off. "And that's another thing. How could you think I'd leave you a note in your locker like that? I mean, I know I'm not all Mr. Sensitive Wuss like Max or Alex--hell, Kyle Valenti probably ranks higher on that scale than I do--but for christ's sake, even I wouldn't be stupid enough to do that to you!"
"I know that, Michael, I do. I just..." Her voice trailed off and he couldn't make out what she mumbled.
"You just what?" he snapped.
She raised miserable eyes to his. "I wanted it to have been from you," she admitted softly. "I really wanted it."
He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, his anger deflated by her honesty. He understood what she meant. "I know," he told her. "But I can't...I'm not...Hell, I suck at this," he said, half to himself. Rubbing a hand across his face, he began to pace across the tiny room. His voice was hesitant, as if searching for words. "I'm not good at this stuff. Letting people in, I mean. There's too much I don't want anyone to see. And you--" He looked at her, then away, before continuing. "You've already seen a lot. Maybe too much. So I...push you away. I push everyone away. And..." He stopped pacing and stared down at his hands. "And I don't know if that will ever change."
Maria bit down on her lip. Whether or not he realized it, this was about as open and honest as she'd ever seen him. She spoke, not to reassure him or let him off the hook, but from the heart. "I know you're an intensely private person, Michael. You've had to be. And I don't mean to push you to do things you're not comfortable with, really I don't. I'm not asking you to tell me everything. You don't even have to tell me anything. Just...just don't close off completely, okay?"
He was still focused down on his hands. For a moment she thought he'd gone off into another trance-like state. Then he spoke, eyes downcast. His voice was harsh and regretful at the same time. "I can't promise that. I can't promise anything."
"I don't need a promise, Michael. Just think about it, that's all. And if you feel like I'm putting too much pressure on you, don't pull away from me, okay? Just tell me, and I'll stop." Understanding how acutely uncomfortable he was, she went on in a lighter tone. "Like now, for instance. That's enough serious talk, don't you think? So..." She looked around the room for inspiration. "Seen any good hockey games lately?"
He lifted his head and stared at her, disarmed by her sudden change of mood. "You're kidding me. You are actually trying to start a conversation about hockey?" Collapsing onto the far end of the couch, he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. "You're seriously warped, you know that. I don't know if it's 'cause you're human, or what, but I just don't get you."
A twinkle began to shine in Maria's eyes. "You don't?" she asked innocently.
He rolled his head over to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "Nope."
"You're right. You don't get me," she drawled. Ha! If only Liz were here to see her. Now this was flirting. She smiled saucily and added, "Well, not unless you're very, very good."
For a split second she saw pain in his eyes and then he looked back up at the ceiling. With a sharp pang, Maria remembered. She could hear Michael clearly in her head, the day he'd killed Pierce, as he'd told Max, 'You're good and I'm bad.' Shit. Oh, shit shit shit. In one movement she was on her knees next to him on the couch. She placed one hand tentatively on his shoulder. "Michael? I didn't mean it like that." He didn't look at her. "I was just trying to...be funny, I guess, and I didn't think. I am so sorry."
"No problem," he said in a low voice, not looking at her.
"It is a problem. A big problem. And the biggest problem of all is my big fat mouth. I am really, really sorry."
He shrugged it off, but she was still angry with herself. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Michael," she began.
He turned his head towards her. "Will you shut up already?"
"But I--" His mouth descending on hers cut her off short. A split second of shock and then she returned his kiss, reveling in the sorely-missed feeling of his lips on hers. Her hands crept up to cradle his shoulders and he put his arms around her and began to pull her closer...
...only to spring backwards from her, half falling off the couch at the sound of a knock on the door and a rattle of the door handle. By the time the door was open, he was standing on the other side of the room, trying to look casual and failing miserably. At least from Maria's perspective. The four people who entered didn't seem to notice anything.
"'Ria!" cried Liz, rushing to her side. She put her arms around her friend and hugged her tightly in relief.
"It's okay, Lizzy. I mean, I'm okay," babbled Maria, unsure of whether she was more shaken from the kiss or from its being so abruptly broken off. "No harm done."
"No thanks to you," put in Isabel fiercely. "I shouldn't have let you go on your own in the first place."
What? Maria bristled and stood. "You don't let me do anything, Isabel. I do what I want to do, and I'll take responsibility for it." Her chin rose defiantly. "I'm sorry for worrying you all. It was my mistake, and I apologize. But frankly, I think I've been yelled at enough already, thank you very much."
Four pairs of eyes shot over to Michael, who stood uneasily in the corner. "You yelled at her, huh?" asked Alex, repressing a grin.
That wasn't all he'd done. Michael's jaw clenched, and he managed a gruff "Yeah."
"Way to go, man." Alex let his grin out, ignoring Maria's vexed look. "Nice to have you back."
Michael blinked a few times, not quite sure of how to respond.
Max focused on the sulky blonde. "No yelling," he promised, "since Michael's evidently taken care of that already. But can we at least talk about it?"
Maria nodded contritely. "Yeah." She sat back down on the couch. Liz settled beside her, holding her hand, and the others took places nearby. Except for Michael, who remained standing stubbornly in place.
"Liz said you got another note," Max prompted.
"Yeah, I did." Maria reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Max.
Isabel leaned over to read it with him. "This isn't even Michael's handwriting," she pointed out. "It's way too neat."
Maria flushed. "Well, how should I know that? We're not pen pals. I mean, I've gotten exactly one note from him, with the napkin holder he made. And that was printed pretty neatly."
"What exactly does it say?" Alex asked. "I'm out of the loop on this one, remember?"
Isabel read the note aloud.
We need to talk. Meet me at the
swings in the park at 9:00.
--M
She burst into laughter. "Yes, I suppose it's abrupt enough to sound like Michael, but really, Maria. M? Give me a break."
"I think you're missing the point here," said Liz. "Someone wanted to get Maria into the park for some reason, and knew enough to use Michael to do it. That's scary."
"But there wasn't anyone there," objected Maria. "I didn't see anyone, did you, Michael?"
He shook his head. "Didn't see anything, didn't feel anything."
"So what if the point wasn't to get you there, but to get you away from someplace else?" said Alex slowly.
"Like where? I wasn't working, and until I got the note this afternoon I wasn't supposed to spend the night at Liz's. I was just going to be home." Maria turned white. "My mother," she blurted. "What if--?" She scrambled towards Michael's phone and dialed her own number with shaking fingers. "Come on, pick up, pick up," she muttered, gripping the receiver tightly.
"Mom?" she said, her voice cracking in relief. "Yeah, yeah, it's me. Ummm, no I'm still spending the night at Liz's," she said, avoiding looking either Liz or Michael in the eye. "I just...I was just calling to tell you..." she looked around, searching her mind for a reasonable excuse.
A wave from Isabel brought her attention to the taller girl, who mouthed the words "The Jetta" at her. Maria shook her head and mouthed "What?" back, and Isabel repeated the phrase, along with a few car-driving gestures thrown in. A look of comprehension appeared on Maria's face. "I was calling to tell you about the Jetta," Maria said into the phone. She listened for a moment and then repeated her mother's question. "Yeah, I know it's in the driveway, so what did I want to tell you about it?"
Isabel gestured again--a steering wheel and then a big thumbs-up, Alex-style. "It's working?" blurted Maria, startled. "I mean, yeah, Mom, it's working. My friend Max was able to fix it." She listened for a minute, and then laughed. "Okay, I'll tell him when I see him. See you tomorrow, Mom."
Plunking the receiver down, she turned to Max. "Congratulations! For fixing the Jetta, you are the proud recipient of an Amy DeLuca homemade pie, your choice of flavors. She thinks you're great. Thanks, Max."
"You're welcome," he answered. "I'm glad I could help. But half of it goes to Michael--he helped me with it. Plus it was his idea in the first place."
Maria's eyes brightened at this piece of information. "Actually, there's no need to share," she said, then turned to Michael. "My mom said there'd be one waiting for Mr. Chivalry here, too." For the first time since he'd kissed her, he met her eyes squarely. She smiled at him, then moved back to the couch. "So," she said, pulling the subject back to the note. "Nothing's wrong at home, and there wasn't any trap waiting in the park. So why send me the note in the first place?"
Everyone mulled it over, but no one came to a good answer.
"Maybe someone just wanted you to get some fresh air," joked Alex finally. "You know, thought you'd been stuck indoors too long. Or maybe they just have a swing fetish."
"Fantastic," snorted Maria. "Note to self: avoid parks, playgrounds, and trees with tire swings." She looked around. "Well, whatever their plan was, I'm thinking it didn't work, right? Everything seems okay."
"We have no way of knowing what the note was trying to accomplish; it's not giving us any clues," Liz pointed out. "Unless one of you wants to try and get a vision from it," she said to the three aliens.
"It's worth a try. But Michael's the best at it," said Max supportively. "How about it, Michael?"
Maria turned to look at the spiky-haired alien, inwardly pleased that he was still watching her. Or wait--no, he wasn't. His eyes were fixated on something just past her, and he wasn't moving, just breathing shallowly. "He's gone again," she reported. "Michael?"
He didn't respond, and she scrambled off the couch and over to him. She said his name again, reaching out to touch his cheek gently, so as not to startle him. It took a moment, but eventually he blinked and focused on her. His eyes were haunted.
"Hey," she said quietly. "You okay?" She knew what he would say, that he was fine.
He didn't.
Moving to the kitchenette, he turned on the cold water and splashed his face before pulling up the hem of his shirt and using it to dry off. Then, bracing his hands on the counter, he leaned forward for a moment, trying to collect himself before he had to face them all.
Finally he turned, his arms folded across his chest and his face closed off.
"Michael," Max began. "I don't want to push you about this. I mean, I never know where the dividing line is with you anymore. But that's the third time today you've...zoned out like that. What's going on? Is something wrong?"
Michael looked around at the others. Three faces, like Max's, showed concern and worry. The fourth showed only support and determination. He tore his eyes away from Maria's and tried not to feel like he was an insect pinned up for study. Maybe this would be easier if he didn't actually look at them. "Yeah. Something's wrong," he managed, only to have his throat close off and block any other words.
"What? Are you sick? Is it like before?" Isabel burst out, moving to his side. "Please let us help you, Michael," she begged. He closed his eyes. Isabel shouldn't have to sound like that. She was strong and proud; she shouldn't have to sound so upset. He swallowed.
"Not like before," he said hoarsely. "It...it just happens. Ever since I came back." He lifted his eyes. Maria nodded at him. He went on, a little less hesitantly, "I lose track of what's going on or where I am. And when I come out of it, time has passed without my knowing it."
"How much time?" asked Liz.
"Depends. A few minutes maybe. Longer sometimes. And once..." Michael swallowed again. "The first time it happened, it was a day and a half."
Alex put two and two together. "That was why you didn't watch Maria, and why you weren't in school on Monday," he stated.
"Yeah."
"I knew there had to be a good reason. You wouldn't just give up, not when you were that determined about something," the teen said in satisfaction.
"Do you think it's physical?" Liz asked. "Maybe it's a chemical imbalance or something."
Isabel leapt on this. "If it's an imbalance, we need to use the balancing stones again. They helped before."
"Michael, would you let me scan you?" asked Max. "Maybe I can tell something from that."
Michael looked Max in the eye, obviously hating this idea. What he saw there evidently reassured him somewhat; he assented, though somewhat unwillingly. As Max crossed to him, he heard Michael mutter, "But you're not going to find anything in there." Max wasn't sure if he was supposed to overhear, so didn't respond.
Standing in front of his reluctant friend, Max put his hands out and made the connection. Closing his eyes, he tried to sense what was wrong. The others remained silent. A few minutes later, Max opened his eyes.
"Well, Dr. Evans, what's the diagnosis?" quipped Alex.
Max looked at Michael. "I don't think anything's physically wrong that can't be blamed on not getting enough sleep," he told him.
Michael's eyes narrowed. "But..." he prompted.
"But I felt something else. Isabel, when you healed Michael's arm you said that he felt 'shadowed'. I felt it too."
"I thought we decided that was the other Michael," Liz mused. "No, wait," she corrected herself. "That was because we didn't know Michael was himself again. But he was by that point."
Maria watched Michael in concern. This was a lot for him. Maybe it was time to do what she'd promised and back off a little, taking the others with her. "I think this discussion can wait until later, don't you? I mean, he seems okay. And it's been a long day. I for one am very tired."
Isabel looked at her in shock. "How can you say that he seems okay? We don't know what's going on, why this keeps happening. God, Michael didn't give up on helping you just because he was tired. I can't believe you would. So much for caring about someone, huh?"
Maria bit her lip, but refused to defend herself or explain her real motives. She just shrugged, accepting the rebuke.
"No," said Michael abruptly. "She doesn't really think that. She's just trying to make this easier on me." The others turned to him. "I knew you wouldn't find anything wrong, Max. Because the problem isn't physical. It's something else altogether."
CHAPTER 36
"What do you mean, Michael?" Isabel blurted.
He swallowed and avoided her eyes. "I mean that the problem is mental," he told her roughly. "I'm cracking up, okay?"
Maria snorted. "You are not cracking up, Michael," she objected.
He looked at her. "Well, what would you call it?"
"I don't know. Lack of sleep? Some sort of alien post-traumatic stress syndrome?" she sighed, then turned to the others. "Okay, Michael thinks he's losing his admittedly screwy mind. I disagree. What do you think?"
Max looked at the tight-lipped alien who stood there so uneasily. "What's going on, Michael? We can't know if you don't tell us."
Maria silently sent a message. Just tell them, Michael. Let them ask, so I don't have to. As if he could actually hear her, his eyes met hers and his jaw clenched.
He slowly turned to Max, his voice cracking. "I'm hearing things, okay? I've got this voice stuck in my head. That's what's going on. I am totally fucked up. Happy now?" His burning eyes met those of his leader.
"A voice?" Isabel said intently. "Like the one we heard when we dreamwalked you?"
He shrugged, and Maria spoke up. "Yeah. The same voice."
"Whose voice?" Isabel questioned.
"I don't know, all right? I don't know anything any more," he barked. Reaching over, he grabbed his jacket from the counter.
"Michael!" cried Isabel.
"Just...gotta get some air," he managed, pushing past her to the door. His hand on the knob, he kept his back turned as he spoke to Max and Isabel. "Will one of you stay with Maria?"
"Sure, Michael," Max answered without hesitation.
Michael ducked his head in thanks. He paused, teeth gritted, and then turned to Maria, muttering, "You can go ahead and tell them. I don't care. I just...I gotta go." Raising miserable eyes to hers for one fleeting moment, he bolted out the door.
Maria frowned. He very obviously did care. A hell of a lot. He seemed to want them to know, but at the same time he couldn't bear to face them knowing. And whatever he felt, as usual he couldn't bring himself to find the words. "Okay," she said to the door where he had disappeared. She could at least save him from the struggle to tell the others.
"You may as well sit back down," she told the two aliens.
"But Michael..." Isabel whispered.
Maria's voice was confident. "He'll be back. He just needs a little time. And we were kind of closing in on him, so his instinct was to run. But he'll be back."
Realization dawned in Isabel's eyes, and she spoke softly. "You knew he felt like that. That's why you were trying to get us to stop talking about it." It wasn't a question, but Maria nodded. "I'm sorry, Maria. I should have known better, but I--"
"You were just worried about him," Maria finished for her. "We all are."
"So what about this voice?" asked Alex, getting to the point.
"He doesn't know who or what it is," Maria explained. "But it's in his head all the time. Sometimes he can drown it out, and other times...I think that's what happens when he zones out. The voice overpowers him, and he can't handle it." She bit her lip. "On top of all that, he hasn't really been able to deal with killing Agent Pierce, you know? Well, the voice...it calls him a killer."
There was silence from the other four, then "Oh god," whispered Isabel.
Max shut his eyes. Why did this have to happen? Wasn't it enough for Michael to have to deal with his entrapment in his own mind, and the danger Maria was in, not to mention all the problems with Pierce and the FBI last spring? His friend didn't deserve any of that, and now this voice...Max felt a sudden need to destroy something. Anything. Just blast it out of oblivion. Instead he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. They had to do something. Figure this out, and fix it. If Michael would let them.
* * * * *
Hands in his jacket pockets, Michael wandered aimlessly down the chilly streets of Roswell. He felt able to breathe again, after the claustrophobia that had swarmed over him in his apartment. He kicked himself mentally for once again having run out on them. It seemed that, no matter what his intentions, he couldn't help but flee whenever things got too hard or too difficult. And he couldn't bear to stand there and see pity in their eyes. So he ran, like the coward he was.
Trudging along, he allowed his thoughts to drift to Maria. She was the one who'd gotten him to open up as much as he had, so he could say it was all her fault he'd had to leave. His lip curled up in a sneer. Yeah, all her fault and not his own. Sure. God, he couldn't even face himself with the blame. He was weak enough to try and lay it on her. But that was just an excuse. He knew better.
It was his own fault, his own weakness. He'd hidden it from all of them for so long that it had almost become part of who he was. He'd bluffed and blustered through his whole life, hiding his self-doubt under a thick layer of rash action and unconcern. Not even Max and Isabel, who'd known him longer than anyone, had really seen him. And now, with so much out in the open, how could he face them? Who would he be?
A car horn in the distance brought his head up, and he finally noticed his surroundings. He had passed the Crashdown, now closed down for the night, retracing the steps he'd taken earlier that evening. Somehow, without intending to, he'd brought himself back to the park.
* * * * *
Five people sat in an uncomfortable silence in Michael's small apartment, searching for answers. "What do we do, Max?" Isabel asked her bother in a shaky voice.
"I don't know," he answered regretfully. "I'm scared to push him any more, Izzy. I don't know how much more he can take."
"But we have to do something. We can't just let him..." Her voice trailed off, scared to finish the thought.
"We need to find out more about what's going on," he said, "Before we can help him. But I don't know how much more he's going to be able to tell us. If he's even willing to in the first place."
Liz tried to take what little information they had and pull it together into a logical explanation. She didn't get far. "As usual, we don't know enough to get any answers. All we have are bits and pieces that don't make sense," she complained.
"Welcome to Czechoslovakia," Maria put in dryly. "You're the experts here," she said, turning to the two aliens. "Or at least the closest thing we have. So what do you really think?"
Max's forehead wrinkled as he attempted to sort out his thoughts. "I don't know what to think," he admitted. "We've never faced anything like this before."
Alex spoke up thoughtfully. "Well, either Michael's hallucinating, in which case maybe he is cracking up, or else the voice is real. In which case, who is it and where did it come from?"
"I don't think it's a hallucination, Alex," Maria said firmly. "I mean, he didn't tell me about it--Michael just doesn't tell you things, you know?--I heard it myself. In the dreamwalk, and then...well, it was in one of the flashes I got when he connected to me the other night. It felt...let's just say it felt very, very real."
* * * * *
Michael lowered himself into the same swing that Maria sat in earlier that evening, waiting for him. Sometime during then and now, the bulb in the closest street lamp had burned out, leaving the swings sitting in darkness. He didn't mind; the night almost seemed to welcome him.
He wasn't ready to go back and face them all, though he knew he would have to eventually. But for now, he wanted to just sit and be. Not to worry about Maria, or Max and Isabel and his destiny to help them fight for their planet, or his crazy brain that was persisting in dredging up every last bit of guilt and horror and shame over what he was and what he had become. Not to have to think about anything. He just wanted to sit and let the night enfold him in a dark cloak, hiding him from everything and everyone.
He was only partially successful, though. His contrary mind refused to oblige him; it kept winging its way back to the note that Maria had received. To whoever had sent it. Gazing into the darkness, he wrestled with it, trying to define its purpose.
Something about it was bothering him. Contrary to Maria's worries, it had to be targeting her, and not the three aliens. After all, if it were some sort of an alien enemy plot, why would they have bothered to send any sort of a warning? Why not just sneak into town and take the three of them out? Letting your targets know you're there didn't seem like sound military strategy to him. Not that he would know.
So it just seemed to make sense that whoever sent the notes was after Maria, and not Max, Isabel and him.
But if the notes were really directed towards Maria, why? Who could dislike her that much? She couldn't possibly have done anything to hurt someone so badly that they would come after her in this way. As best as he could tell, she was a good, though quirky, person. Not that he was equipped to judge. He frowned. Anyway, there was no reason for her to be a target.
And who would write her a note and sign it 'M'? He didn't buy into the idea that she was intended to think the note was from him. No one except an over-hopeful Maria could possibly take that as his style. So that left everyone else with names beginning with M as suspects, which didn't narrow down the pool all that much. Face it, M was a pretty damn common initial.
He began to run through a list in his head, discarding the obvious rejects. Max wouldn't take a risk with her safety any more than Michael would. And Maria certainly hadn't left it for herself. M could stand for Mom, except that Mrs. DeLuca could have talked to her daughter at home any time; no need to meet in the park of all places. Who else? Michael's jaw clenched as a name popped into his head. A name he had been trying to avoid.
Mark. Mark Blumenthal, the guy in Maria's play. The guy who'd sought her out at lunch, not just today, but the day that his emotionless half had fought with Maria in the middle of the quad. Michael had been across the courtyard, sitting leaning against a tree, keeping away from the whole bunch of them, and she'd crossed over to get him, to talk about making another dreamwalk attempt. He'd been very aware that Mark had stopped her on the way. He remembered it very well--how conscious he'd been of where she was, the emotion that he hadn't wanted to feel breaking through from his other self when she headed towards him...only to be stopped. By Mark.
The guy who'd kissed her. Who she'd kissed back. Even though it was just part of the play. The guy who seemed a little too friendly for Michael's taste.
The guy Michael didn't trust.
Abandoning his speculation, Michael clenched his fists. He needed to get back to the apartment, and see what he could pick up from the note. To see if his suspicions were correct. He had to try the vision thing, even if it meant facing them all first.
He ran a hand across his face, trying to wipe away his reluctance to go back. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and then got up off of the swing determinedly. He had only taken a few steps when a movement across the park stopped him in his tracks. Someone else was in the park.
Slinking back into the pool of darkness surrounding the swings, Michael peered through the night at the tall figure that moved slowly across the grass. He let out a breath as the figure moved close enough into the light of a street lamp to be distinguished.
It was Mark. And he wasn't alone.
Continue to CHAPTERS 37, 38 and 39
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