Max knocked and waited impatiently for Michael's apartment door to open. When it didn't, he frowned and knocked again, louder this time.
"You might as well come in," Michael called from inside. Max looked around the hallway to ensure it was empty before he waved a palm over the lock to disengage it.
Michael was sprawled on his couch; he looked up as Max entered.
"It was locked," the dark-haired alien said.
"Yeah, so?" Michael responded absently. "You got in, didn't you?"
Max shook his head as he reminded him, "Not everyone has powers, Michael."
"I knew it had to be you or Isabel. Maria's checking on her mother, and nobody else drops by."
Max nodded. His friend had a point. For the first time, he noticed the book Michael was holding. "What are you up to, Michael?"
"What does it look like? Studying," was the bland answer. "History test tomorrow."
Since when was Michael concerned about a test? And this was the second time this week he'd mentioned studying...would wonders never cease? Max's lips curled up in a smile.
"Do you really think Mrs. Lyons will be able to handle the shock?" he joked.
Michael kept a deadpan look on his face as he replied, "Well, it's gonna be fun to watch her head explode." He looked over at Max. "You didn't come over to check up on my study habits. What's going on?"
"I talked to Valenti. He's skeptical about using the FBI camera, since Nasedo found it before, but he's willing to let us try. We'll have to get it back afterwards at some point, though. I thought we'd all meet tomorrow and work out the logistics."
Michael studied his erstwhile leader. "You mean we're actually gonna do something for once?"
"Michael, I know you think we've been wasting time--"
"No, Maxwell, you don't know what I think. Things are getting worse. Something is coming--something bad--and we have no clue what. If we don't do something to get ready for it, we're sunk."
Max wrinkled his brow in concern. "You have a tendency to get worked up about things, not to trust--"
Michael sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. "You mean I'm just being paranoid, don't you? It's not the same as before, when I only used to trust you and Isabel. Now I trust three more people, and maybe Valenti. That's a really big change. Whether you can see it or not, I'm actually a whole lot less paranoid than I used to be. So if I say there's something wrong, you'd better be a whole hell of a lot more ready to believe it than you seem."
"Michael, don't get angry. It's not that I don't trust you, or what you're sensing. I just don't like risking your safety, or anyone else's, until we know more."
With a sigh, Michael relaxed back into the couch. "I'm not angry. I just wish we didn't always have to go through this shit, you know?"
Max nodded in perfect agreement. "I know."
Michael ran long fingers down the spine of the history text he was still holding, tracing the lettering. "I think someone's been watching me." He looked up at Max. "I'm not sure. Maybe it's more of my paranoia kicking in."
"But you don't think so," Max said evenly.
"There's a friggin' shapeshifter running around town and you expect me to pass this feeling off as nothing? Unlike you, he's the perfect spy. He could be anyone, and we'd never know it. Hell, Max, he could even be you."
Max looked at him oddly for a moment, then rattled off, "We met for the second time in Mrs. Ziff's class in third grade, when you showed up at Roswell Elementary. You'll eat almost anything, but you have a special passion for chocolate-covered doughnuts with Tabasco sauce. You call me 'Maxwell' and 'Maximillian'--oh, and for the nine days it took me to learn to ride a bike without falling over, 'Maccident.' You--"
Cutting him off with a smirk, Michael snorted, "Cool your jets, Maxwell. You don't have to prove it's you; I know it is. I'm just saying that we can't trust Nasedo, that's all. We don't know what he's up to. Now more than ever--he could be anyone, anywhere."
Max sat down on the other end of the worn couch. "So you think Nasedo's the one watching you?"
"Who else could it be? He's gotten the FBI off our backs, and Sheriff Valenti's on our side now...no one else has a reason to suspect me of anything. 'Cause I haven't done anything." He grew silent and gripped the History book more tightly. Finally he spoke again. "Do you ever wonder what things would be like if we were human?"
Max looked curiously at him. "Sometimes," he admitted.
His eyes on the floor in front of him, Michael slowly pressed on. "I always used to imagine a different life. One with no trailer park and no Hank. But it always used to be life on our own planet, if the ship had never crashed, if I had a family..."
Max made a sympathetic noise, not trusting himself to say more for fear of making Michael close off even more.
Michael shrugged. "Hell, with my luck I'd have gotten stuck with a whole family of Hanks. Ones who didn't even have to get liquored up to--" He cut himself off, suddenly realizing what he'd been about to share. It was well outside of the realm of things he wanted to admit to himself, much less discuss with someone else. Way, way too personal. God. Any more of this and he and Max would find themselves discussing feminine hygiene products and the status of their respective love lives over flavored International Coffees. Feeling a strong need to get back within more comfortable boundaries, he barked, "So we're meeting tomorrow night?"
"After school if it works for everybody," Max answered, gracefully ignoring the rapidity of the subject change.
"I gotta work at 4:00, but I'm free 'till then."
"We'll head out to the quarry after school, then. We can talk privately out there."
"Yeah."
Max studied his friend for a moment. The other alien looked relaxed, but there was an underlying tension about him that didn't bode well for whoever or whatever was causing his paranoia. The idea popped into Max's head that this time, Michael wasn't going to go down without a fight. Suddenly, the leader of the Royal Four was even more grateful that he and Michael were on the same team.
Torn between letting Michael know what his friendship meant and an unwillingness to make him as acutely uncomfortable as Max thought he would be, Max decided to keep his mouth shut. "See you tomorrow, then," was all he said.
"Yeah."
Max headed out the door, locking it behind him. For a moment, Michael gazed at the door; then he sprawled out once more on the couch and opened his History text. Time to deal with the past tonight; the future would wait until tomorrow.
* * * * *
The radio played softly as Maria reached into her drawer for night attire. Her hand hovered for a moment, then darted down to seize the faded comfort of her flannel sheep pajamas. She could use a little of their warm solace tonight.
Michael had been right. Her mother was definitely acting weird. Not that Maria had been able to get one word out of her about what was wrong, but she could tell. After seventeen years, she was pretty much used to her mother, and she'd never seen her like this before. Her mother had never had any trouble expressing just what was on her mind at any particular moment. In fact, most of the time she would be hard pressed to hold it in. To be fair, Maria was no different--it was a DeLuca family trait. But tonight was definitely atypical. Her mother was acting almost wooden. Sure, she put on a cheerful front, but Maria could tell something was wrong. The mother wasn't nearly as good a faker as the daughter.
So more to worry about, on top of the whole Nasedo thing. Not to mention the everyday things, like tomorrow's History test. Which she hadn't quite finished studying for. And it was one thing to push Michael to improve his grades, but if she didn't do as well on the test as he did, she'd never live it down. But she was simply too worn out tonight to read. She'd have to try and cram some more at lunch tomorrow.
Climbing into her pajamas, she moved towards her bed and then stopped as an impulse struck her. Quickly she headed back to her dresser, opening up the jewelry box that sat there. Her fingers searched the back recesses of the box until they found what she was looking for: a small pouch made of rose-colored watered silk.
Maria carefully loosened the drawstring and, holding her breath, poured its contents into her palm. A small, golden cufflink with the initial 'D' engraved on it. It had belonged to her father.
She could still remember the day she'd found it. It had been about a week after he'd walked out on them, and she had snuck into her parents'--now her mother's--room while her mother was making dinner. Maria had stretched out on the floor between the bed and the dresser, her eyes closed, and tried to pretend that he was actually there. That he hadn't left, and if she opened her eyes at just the right moment, he'd be there sitting on the bed, smiling down at her.
But of course he hadn't been. She'd turned her head away from the bed as silent tears ran down her cheeks and onto the carpet, and then she'd seen it. It was lying just under the edge of the dresser where the kickboard had long since fallen off, and it was glinting golden like some sort of magic talisman. He must have dropped it, not realizing, as he packed his belongings. Her small fingers darted out and clutched it, holding it so tightly that she'd ended up with its shape indented into her palm. Then she'd scrambled to her feet and fled the room.
She recalled digging in her treasure box for the silken pouch, although she couldn't remember what it had originally contained or why her mother had given it to a seven-year-old in the first place. But that hadn't mattered; it was to be the new home of this remnant of her father. Of proof that he had been there, that he existed. The small piece of silk would hide it away and keep it safe until he came back for it. For them.
She didn't know if her mother had ever seen it, secreted among her treasured possessions. If she had, she hadn't ever said anything. Maria herself hadn't looked at it in years, letting it rest untouched. Now she ran her fingers over it, noting the discoloration and the tarnish on the metal finish. It was no longer a magic talisman, sent to guide her father on his way home. It was just an old cheap cufflink, separated from its mate. Useless.
Her hands didn't shake as she carefully tucked the cufflink back into the corner of her jewelry box, without its protective pouch this time. She had a more important use for that. This time it would hold something that was given to her. Meant for her to have, not left in carelessness for her to find. The smooth fabric was just big enough to hold a tiny treasure. A thimble, or a ring, or a marble. Or a small crystalline sphere, made of a million shades of blue.
Picking up the blue rock from her dresser, she carefully enclosed it in the rosy silk and tightened the drawstring securely. That was a good place for it. It would be safe there. Another impulse struck her, and once more she was burrowing in a dresser drawer, this time for a length of sky-colored satin ribbon. Tying it tightly around the top of the pouch, she knotted the loose ends and slipped it over her head. She would look for some stronger cord, something she could permanently affix to the pouch, but this would do for tonight.
A yawn overcame her, and she gave a little half-laugh. Padding over to her bed, she climbed in and tried to relax. She curled up on her side, one hand under her cheek and one reaching up to grasp the pouch. Even through the fabric, she could feel the Michael-vibe which came from it. It was like having a little bit of him with her all the time. And he'd wanted her to have it. It had been his idea.
With a sleepy smile, she closed her eyes and felt herself drift off to sleep.
* * * * *
The dim hallway stretched out in front of her, further than her tired eyes could make out. The only light came from her upturned hand; the blue star clutched within it sent tendrils of light questing out into the dark, little flickers of blue flame creating shadows on the walls. Maria was vaguely aware that she was dreaming, but didn't let the thought disturb her. Instead, she moved slowly down the hallway, passing an occasional door in a seemingly endless expanse of wall.
She knew she was looking for something, although she couldn't say what it was. And she thought that she was supposed to be afraid of something else, but she couldn't say what that was either. So she kept walking steadily forward.
Several times she stopped in front of an ornate door, wondering if perhaps this was the one she was searching for; but every time she shook her head and moved on. It never felt quite right.
At the fourth such stop, though, it did feel right. Maria wasn't quite sure why. After all, this door looked exactly like the others she had considered, carved in dark wood with geometric shapes that almost made a picture...but not quite. The only problem was, she wasn't sure if behind this particular door was the something she needed or the something to fear.
Holding the star up higher now, she reached out with her other hand and turned the doorknob. Soundlessly the door swung open, only to reveal an expanse of velvety black that even the light of her star didn't penetrate. Something urged her forward, and she stepped over the sill. A shiver ran up her spine and out to the tips of her fingers.
She blinked.
She was in a room, big and empty except for pale walls and a lounge of some sort, covered in deep green brocade. She thought a hundred years earlier it would have been called a fainting couch, but she wasn't sure. The star was gone from her hand, but she could see clearly, even though she couldn't identify the source that lit up the room.
Turning around, she wasn't surprised to find that the door through which she had entered didn't exist. After all, this was a dream.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she started and swung around. Although the room had been empty earlier, Michael was there, standing just inches away. She smiled involuntarily. This dream was definitely looking up.
He didn't say anything, just stepped near her, pinning her gaze with his. Her hand snaked out to touch his cheek, and he grabbed it and held it tightly. Not taking his eyes from hers, he pulled her even closer, a wolfish grin sliding across his face. Deliberately he bent his head, avoiding her waiting mouth, and pressed hot lips to the side of her neck.
Her head tilted back to allow him room, and her free hand came up to tangle in the hair at the back of his head. Her pulse began to pound, and she managed a barely coherent, "Michael."
He chuckled against her skin, then pulled his head away so he could look down at her once more. For the first time, he seemed to notice the faded flannel pajamas she wore. "Well, this is different," she heard him mutter as he traced her neckline with one long finger. "Usually you're wearing a lot less."
She opened her mouth to question him, and he lowered his to cover hers. His tongue swept across her lips, and she shuddered before allowing him even deeper access. Senses swimming, she almost moaned a few moments later when his mouth pulled away, but the dream Michael rapidly began tasting her jaw.
"Michael," she breathed again, turning her head slightly towards him. He didn't answer, and she suddenly realized that his hands were between them, clumsily working on the buttons of her pajama top.
Oh. So this was going to be one of those dreams. She smiled ruefully. Who else would wear sheep pajamas for a--The thought stopped in her mind as she recalled what he'd muttered. Wait a minute. Usually she what? "Michael?" she said again, a question in her voice.
He pulled his mouth away from her long enough to murmur, "It's okay, baby," and then began teasing at her jawline again. His hands never stopped their fumbling.
Baby? "Baby?" she squeaked, her hands shooting down to cover his. "Since when have you called me 'baby', Michael?"
"Hmmmm? Don't worry about it," he said thickly, once more lowering his head towards the soft skin of her neck. Her hands tightened on his wrists.
"Michael Guerin! Did you pull me into your dream again?" she demanded fiercely.
"Wha--" His hands froze on her last button, and his eyes shot down to them, then up to the sliver of pale skin his unbuttoning had exposed. For the longest while, he didn't seem able to move, or tear his eyes away. Or come up with a coherent sentence, for that matter. Then he finally managed to look her in the eye. "Ma...Maria?" he stammered.
"Who'd you think it was, Spaceboy?" she countered.
With a yelp, he jumped back from her as if she were kryptonite, dropping the still-fastened final button and breaking her hold on his wrists. "Shit!" Hands clenched, he spun around, his back towards her.
"Nice," Maria commented dryly. "Nice reaction, Michael. One minute you're doing your best to get my clothes off, and the next I'm practically poison?"
"I didn't know it was you," he protested, still turned away.
"This just gets better and better. So you were cheating on me?" she demanded, enjoying his reaction. She never would have been able to picture him flustered, and the reality was...endearing.
He turned part way back around, speaking earnestly. "I wasn't cheating on you. I mean, I thought it was you, but not--I wasn't--" he floundered.
"You thought it was me, but that you were dreaming?" she offered coolly. Michael nodded without looking in her direction, and she added, "And what was that you said before? That I'm usually wearing a lot less? Do you have these dreams often, Michael?"
A tinge of red crept onto his cheekbones, and he snapped defensively back at her. "Half of me is human, remember? I'm a guy--what'd you expect?"
"Hey, Michael?" She noticed with amusement that he glanced at her and then immediately away before he spoke.
"Could you...Just button your shirt, okay?" he said gruffly, eyes to the side.
"You were the one who wanted it undone," she pointed out as she swiftly did up the buttons, much more smoothly than he'd unbuttoned them. "I should make you do it."
"Maria," he bit out. She was amazed that she felt so confident in teasing him. Must be because the dream world wasn't real, even if both of them were. Because in real life, she wasn't ready to be topless in front of him. Not yet. At the idea, she began to blush as well.
"All done," she announced. Michael hesitated, then slowly turned his head toward her. He let out a small breath of relief when he saw that she was, indeed, fully clothed.
"Uhhh...sorry about that," he muttered.
Maria studied him carefully. "Why? It's nice to know I'm wanted," she said honestly, smiling up at him.
He didn't respond to that, instead frowning a bit. "So did Isabel send you in here to spy on me, or what?"
"Uh, that would definitely be 'what', Michael. I haven't seen Isabel since lunch time."
"Well, how'd you get in here, then?"
"It's not the first time it's happened," she reminded him.
He scratched absently at one eyebrow. "Yeah, but we were in the same room then. So unless one of us has taken up sleepwalking--"
"Unlikely."
"--how'd you get in my dream?" he asked again.
"I don't know, Michael. You're the one with the alien powers, not me." Crossing to the fainting couch, Maria plopped down on it, stifling a laugh when she noticed that the brocade pattern was made of tiny spaceships and alien heads. She looked around. "Are you sure this is your dream? I mean, where's the desert?"
"I do occasionally dream about other stuff, you know."
"I noticed," she bantered, her eyes sparkling with humor.
"Quit it," he said, sounding a little annoyed. "And I haven't dreamt about the desert for a while. At least a couple of weeks."
"So instead you're dreaming of long hallways and lots of doors."
"What?"
"That's where we are. I was walking down this dark hallway, and I went through a door, and there you were."
"There weren't any doors. I was in the cave, the one out by the reservation, and when I went further into the back of the cave, it became this room. I saw you and I thought...well, you know what I thought."
"Where's the cave now, then?"
"I don't know. Where's your door?" he shot back.
"Michael," she said in exasperation. "I'm trying to figure things out here. Is this your dream or mine?"
"Actually," came a voice out of nowhere, "It would be mine."
CHAPTER 8
"What the hell?" Michael burst out. Glancing wildly around the room, he took in the pale walls and the couch on which Maria sat. No one else was there, not that he could see, anyway. The back of his neck prickled, and he moved to stand protectively in front of her. Alert and tense, he waited.
He heard nothing. Nothing except for his own harsh breathing and the pounding of his heart in his chest.
"Michael--"
"Shhhh!" he hissed, turning his head to glance back over his shoulder at the girl behind him. Another interminable period of silence.
Maybe he hadn't actually heard anything. Maybe it was just his imagination. But if so, why was every cell in his body suddenly on edge? "Who are you?" he finally demanded in a loud voice. The sound echoed back from the blank walls.
"Well now, that would be telling, wouldn't it?" the voice commented. It seemed to come from all directions at once, and Michael couldn't tell if it was male or female. Or even human.
Behind him, Maria stood and moved closer, tucking one hand into Michael's. Well, at least she'd left his right hand free, so maybe he could use his powers. Great. If the voice came from a cactus, they'd be set--he could just blow it up. Otherwise, they were in trouble.
Maria called out, her voice strong and true, and seemingly unshaken. Michael was proud of her. If she was feeling any of the dread and uneasiness he was feeling, it was a wonder she could get any words out at all, let alone sound so calm. And yet she did. "What do you want?"
"Now isn't this interesting?" the voice replied. "I'm surprised at you, boy. Not at all the companion I would have expected you to dream up. Somehow I pictured you with someone more...well, that sums it up, actually. Someone more."
Michael's hackles--and his temper--rose. Anger gleamed from his eyes, and would have erupted had Maria not squeezed his hand tightly in caution. So rather than shouting in her defense, he held it in, almost shaking from the effort. "You didn't answer her. What do you want?" he said tautly.
"Why, for you to come out and play, boy," came the voice again. "Leave your little dream friend and get ready. The game begins."
Game? What the hell was he talking about? "How about you make an appearance, and then we'll see?" Michael said steadily.
"Oh no, that wouldn't do at all, now would it? After all, I'm not really there." There was a sardonic little chuckle and then the voice continued, "Or am I? Perhaps I'm just a product of your fertile mind. Who's to say?"
"Stop talking in fucking riddles and get to the point!" shouted Michael, losing his shaky grasp on his temper. "Either tell us what's going on, or get the hell out of here!"
The voice answered with maddening calmness. "Very well," it said, and then went silent. The alien and the human held still, not trusting that it was really gone.
After a long while, they both started to relax and Maria spoke. "What was that?"
"How should I know?" answered Michael abruptly, freeing his hand from hers and rubbing the back of his neck.
"Was it real?" she persisted.
"I don't know, okay?" he snapped, then let out a deep breath. "I don't know," he repeated, more calmly this time.
Maria nodded, and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the sudden chill she was feeling. Placing an arm across her shoulders, Michael led her back to the couch. "Sit down," he suggested.
She did so, and he sat next to her, gazing at the wall in front of him as his mind raced.
"That wasn't the same voice you were hearing earlier this fall." It was a statement, not a question, but Michael answered anyway.
"No. That sounded like Topolsky, remember? This sounded like...I don't know what this sounded like. It just was." He ran a hand through his spiky hair. "I don't even know if it was real, or...This is just what I need. To start hearing voices again. Too bad I never got fitted for that straightjacket."
"Michael!" she scolded. "I heard it too, remember? We just need to figure out if it was real or part of your dream. If we're even in your dream, or in its dream, or what."
"And just how do you suggest we do that?" Michael demanded.
"Give me a minute, will you? I'll come up with something," she said in a determined tone. Her mind worked busily. Maybe they couldn't prove if the voice was real or not, but they might be able to determine if this was Michael's dream. That would be a start. Surely his alien half would be of some use...An idea popped into her head. "Wait a minute. When Isabel took me dreamwalking before, she couldn't change any of the dream. She could only use her powers on herself, and on me because she brought me in with her. So if you could use your powers to change something in this room, then we'd know this was your dream, right?"
"My powers suck, remember?" he said testily.
"Well, you can make blue rocks, right?" Maria sprang to her feet. "So make this couch into a big blue rock."
He looked up at her. "You want me to change the couch into a rock," he echoed blankly.
"That's what I just said, didn't I?" She grinned at him. "C'mon, Michael. You can do this."
He shook his head, but rose and dutifully put out his right hand. Frowning, he concentrated on the couch.
Nothing.
Folding his arms over his chest, he turned to Maria. "Try again," she instructed.
"It doesn't work like that. I can't do it on command. I don't just wave my hand and go 'Poof'."
"Well, how do you do it then?" she asked, not put off by his brusqueness.
"It's usually by accident, when I'm thinking about something else," he admitted. "I can't do it when I try to. It doesn't work."
"So think of something else, then." She waited expectantly for a moment before curiosity got the best of her. "What do you think about?"
His eyes flickered away from hers. "Stuff."
"Stuff? What stuff?"
"Just stuff," he answered, his jaw tightening.
Ahhh. There was the stone wall, trying to go up again. Nope--wasn't gonna happen. "Well, go ahead and think about 'just stuff', then," she said with a giggle. So he couldn't perform on command, huh? Then what he really needed was a distraction. She could handle that. Waiting until he'd knelt and placed a hand on the couch, she added, "So in these dreams of yours, Michael...what am I usually wearing, anyway?"
He swung his head around. "Would you drop it about the dreams already?"
"No, no, I really want to know. Tell me. T-e-l-l m-e-e-e-e!" she whined.
"No." He sounded adamant, but--
"That bad, huh? It'll be easy, Michael. Just close your eyes and picture it."
Almost without volition, his eyes snapped shut. "That's good," she encouraged. "Now describe it to me." And pray she didn't turn bright red on the hearing.
"Actually, right now I'm picturing you in a giant parka. And a couple of blankets. And maybe a tent," he groused, his eyes closed tightly.
"Hmmmm. I didn't know you had a cold weather fetish, Michael."
His eyes flew open. "I don't. But I'm also not telling you anything else."
"You don't have to," she answered triumphantly. "See?"
He turned back. There was no giant blue rock, to be sure. But the couch was no longer covered in dark green brocade aliens. Instead, the fabric was patterned in swirls of blues, a thousand shades that were eerily similar to the shifting colors in the crystal he'd given her. Michael was speechless.
"Well, if nothing else, you could always become an interior decorator," Maria teased. At his total lack of reaction, she added, "Sorry. Just channeling the Alex within. C'mon, Spaceboy, look a little happier, why don't you? This pretty much proves that we're in your dream, right?"
"Yeah. I guess so."
"So our little visitor could just be part of your dream too."
He didn't answer her, and she looked at him speculatively. Something was definitely going on in that alien head of his. "What?" she demanded. All she got for her pains was a shrug, which elicited a further "What, Michael?" from her.
He glanced over at her, almost shyly. "It...if it's not real, it could've been Tess."
Tess? How on earth had she forgotten about Tess? Mentally sorting through the events of the previous spring, Maria shook her head. "I thought she was surprised when Isabel told her about dreamwalking. You know, like she couldn't do it," she objected.
With a hesitant step towards her, Michael looked her directly in the eye. "I think she gave me those dreams last year. You know...the ones with me and...and Isabel."
Oh. Those dreams. Maria spoke, surprised at her own steadiness. "The ones where you were together? Where you were happy?"
"Yeah." He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "That wasn't real, though. I wasn't really happy, Tess just made me dream I was."
"But you were part of a family then, you and Isabel and...the baby," Maria said quietly. "I want you to have that." Seeing his expression, she rushed on, "Well, obviously not the being with Isabel part. And not the baby part either--I mean, you're seventeen years old. What I meant is--oh, I just wish you were part of something like that. You deserve a family." She grimaced. "It's not fair."
"What?"
"Max and Isabel got Mr. and Mrs. Evans. Alex and Liz both have parents. Even I have Mom." She frowned. "And when you finally heard from your planet, it was Max and Isabel's mother you saw. Not yours. It's not fair. Doesn't it make you angry?"
Ouch. She was cutting a little too closely to the bone here. Of course it made him angry, or upset or something. Why else had he always been so intent on finding out where they came from, if not to go home? But he certainly wasn't comfortable talking about it, especially not with Maria. She was already far too familiar with all his myriad hang-ups; she didn't need to be subjected to any more. Trying to play it cool, Michael shrugged. "Lots of people don't have a family. So what?"
"Oh, don't try and play stonewall with me, Michael!" Maria snapped. "You care about it, and since I care about you I guess I'm allowed to get angry! It's just...it's just..."
"Not fair?" he said helpfully.
Her eyes blazed into his for a full minute before she burst out laughing. "How can you take it like that?" she asked.
"Life sucks. You get used to it."
"Life does not suck," she lectured. "It just gets a little challenging once in a while, that's all." Heading to the now blue-covered couch, she sat and began to fiddle with the hem of her pajama top.
It was his turn to ask. "What?"
Maria looked up. "What do you mean, 'what'?"
"Something's going on in here," he said as he stepped closer and gently tapped her forehead. "What is it?"
She hesitated, then burst out, "Michael, I'll be your family."
"What?" he repeated, more confused than demanding this time.
"I mean, until you find your own family, your own parents."
If she expected some sort of sweeping romantic statement, all about how she already was his family, she was doomed to disappointment. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly as he crouched down in front of her. "Hate to break it to you, Princess, but I don't exactly picture you as my mother."
She ignored the hated nickname and said soberly, "You know that's not what I meant, Michael."
"Yeah, I know." Sitting on the floor, he leaned up against the couch, next to her legs.
"Well, then." She gave him an expectant look.
"Max and Izzy are closer to me than if they were really my brother and sister. I've got Liz and Alex as friends. And I've got you. I'm not alone, if that's what you're worried about."
"But you sometimes feel that way." A noncommittal shrug was all the answer she needed. "Then you need us. You've got a brother and a sister, and friends, and you've got a girlfriend who loves you, even when you're being a total idiot," she said fondly, running her hand through his hair. She brightened suddenly. "And until you find your real parents, you can share mine."
He looked up at her quizzically. "Yours?"
"Yep. Half of my mom is now yours."
"Uh...couple of problems with that. One, your mother hates me."
Leaning forward to stress her point, Maria began, "She does not--" Michael continued over her protest.
"Two, you can't just go dividing your mother in two like she was a...a Twinkie or something. Besides, if we had the same mother, wouldn't it be kind of gross? I mean, I couldn't kiss you or anything. It'd be incest."
Maria stared at his solemn face, wondering what he was talking about. Wait--was that the tiniest glint in his eye? Michael was being funny--or at least he thought he was. Well, two could play at this game.
"Well, it's not as if you didn't have experience with it," she said, doing her best to sound calm and reasonable and not break out into giggles. "I mean, you had that little dream fling with Isabel, didn't you? You must have a thing for your sisters. I just knew you were kinky, Michael!"
"That wasn't--I didn't--" he blustered.
Maria couldn't help it. One glance at his shocked expression, and she was off in a riotous giggle fit.
"If you...could just...see your face, Michael!" she wheezed between gusts of laughter. "Why don't I ever have a camera when I need one?"
Michael's deep sigh signified just how put-upon he was feeling. "Don't you think it's time to stop picking on the poor helpless alien, Maria?"
"Oh no, my extra-terrestrial friend. That day will never come," she teased, her eyes sparkling. "After all, someone has to loosen you up a little. You can self-combust from too much brooding, you know."
Michael scooched down, tilting his head back onto the couch to look up at her. "Is that a fact?"
"Yep." She lightly ran a finger down the bridge of his nose. "So I've elected myself Chief Loosener. Or something." Her hand moved to his forehead and brushed through his spiky hair. Michael closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingers. They sat like that for quite a while, Maria stroking his hair and Michael really relaxing for the first time in weeks. Months, maybe.
The comfortable silence was finally broken. Maria's hand stilled; without opening his eyes, Michael moved his head slightly in complaint. A squawked, "Michael?" brought him upright. He opened his eyes to see the once pale walls of the doorless room begin to darken, color leaching into them in eddies of changing intensity. From a creamy hue to the palest pink, past a rose that he absently noted was an exact match for the color of Maria's pouting lips. Then, still darkening, a ruddy shade, redder and redder, becoming for one heart-stopping moment the intense crimson of fresh blood, before darkening further to a red-black that almost shimmered with malevolence. Maria's hand withdrew from his hair, and he felt suddenly bereft. Unable to tear his eyes away from the bloody walls, he reached over to place a hand on her knee.
Instead, he touched fabric. Not the overly-washed softness of her flannel pajamas, but the ridged silkiness of brocade. The couch. He swung around, the bloody walls forgotten.
She was gone.
CHAPTER 9
Michael twiddled the pen between his fingers as he stared down at the final question on the History test in front of him. It had been surprisingly easy, probably because he'd taken the time to actually read the textbook beforehand. Of course, Mrs. Lyons hadn't come up with anything particularly difficult; it was her standard format of fill-in-the-blank, true/false and multiple choice questions. Not even a single essay question. Well, if all she wanted was a parroting of the facts, he could oblige. Since Maria had made him study for it in the first place.
He marked a firm 'B' down for the last answer, turned the test face-down on his desk, and looked around the classroom. Only a few people were finished. Across the aisle, Maria nibbled on the end of her pen as she read a question, her brow wrinkled in concentration.
Studying her face, Michael took note of how tired she looked. It wasn't really fair; after all, he'd wakened from the night's dream-laced sleep surprisingly well-rested. Of course, she hadn't gotten as much of it as he had. He remembered his panic when she'd disappeared from the dream without warning. It had been strong enough to shove him off the couch, heart racing. He'd been on his feet and across to the phone, pressing the numbers with a shaky finger, before he'd really known he was awake. And getting the busy signal hadn't helped any.
He'd had to try the DeLuca number twice more before it rang through on the other end. Too worried about Maria to care if Mrs. DeLuca was the one to answer, he barked his girlfriend's name the moment the phone was picked up.
"Michael?" he heard, and forced himself to start breathing again.
"Are you all right?" he demanded. "What happened?"
There was a pause on the other end, then Maria said, half to herself, "Then it was real."
"What? The dream? Of course it was real," Michael burst out, ignoring the illogic of that statement. "What happened? You disappeared so fast--"
"Oh, that." Her voice held more than a little amusement. "Actually, I set my alarm early so I could get up and do some studying."
"It's...five in the morning," Michael pointed out as he glanced over to his clock.
"I know. I was the one who set my alarm, remember?"
Michael's hand relaxed on the receiver. "So it just woke you up? You're okay? The line was busy when I called--"
Maria sounded amused. "Well of course it was busy, Spaceboy. I was trying to call you."
"Oh. I didn't think about that," he admitted sheepishly. "I uh...I guess I was a little..."
"Freaked out?" Maria suggested.
"Worried," he substituted. "You know, from everything."
"I'm sorry--was that actually my boyfriend, the big, tough Michael Guerin, admitting he was freaked out?" Maria teased.
He wasn't about to let her hold this over him. Best to bluff it out. "Yeah, so?"
She sobered, her mind flashing back to the dream they'd shared. "Michael, do you think the voice was real?"
"Why do you keep asking me that? I don't know. It felt real...but unreal, too." He paused, then said reluctantly, "I guess we should tell the others. In case it was."
"Of course we should tell the others! Why wouldn't we?" There was silence on the other end and Maria frowned. "Okay, Michael, what is going on with you?"
"If it was real, they need to know," he said slowly. "If not...then it's just another sign that I'm fucked up." It was Maria's turn to be silent, letting Michael work things out in his own mind. "But I guess it's more important for them to know than for me to avoid looking like a nutcase. We'll tell them."
"First of all, you're not 'fucked up'," Maria said forcefully. "Second, even if the voice wasn't real, then it was a part of a dream, you big dope. Although my mom would like to think differently, dreams don't have to mean anything. I mean, last week I dreamt that Liz and that dog from the Taco Bell commercials were dogsledding down Main Street. That doesn't mean I'm moving to Alaska." She pressed onward, her voice snapping out briskly. "So quit worrying about the status of your mental health, hang up the phone, and go back to sleep. I have to study. I'll see you at school. Oh--and I love you."
And with that, there was a click and she was gone. After standing there for a moment, Michael hung up the phone and dutifully crossed back to the couch. He'd do what she said and go back to sleep.
It hadn't taken more than two minutes for him to be dead to the world. Now, some nine hours or so later, the thought of her barked commands curled his mouth into a rueful smirk. Somehow she'd always seemed to get the best of him, whether by whining or teasing or yelling or doggedly refusing to give up--
A sudden shiver ran down his spine and pulled him out of his introspection. He was being watched--he could feel it. Glancing hurriedly around the room, he found it was only Mrs. Lyons, studying him from behind her desk. Michael allowed himself the unaccustomed luxury of staring defiantly back for a moment before lapsing into his more usual sullen shell. He dropped his eyes downward to the papers in front of him. The pristine whiteness of the back of the second page tempted him, and he almost uncapped his ballpoint in order to doodle. But he was well aware of the History teacher's penchant for marking down messy papers; determined not to let anything get in the way of winning the bet with Maria, he reluctantly refrained. Instead, he began twiddling the pen again, impatiently waiting for the class--and the school day--to be over.
* * * * *
It was an even more impatient Michael who roughly turned the key and swung open his apartment door late that night. The 'meeting' of the six had gone pretty well. No one had taken a pitying stance about his renewed tendency to hear voices. Sure, Max had looked concerned--but then, Max usually looked concerned about something or other, frequently Michael. The important thing was that the meeting hadn't disintegrated into some sort of 'Let's all feel sorry for Michael, the poor bastard has enough problems already' pity-fest. Instead, it had been fairly business-like.
Not that Michael was particularly pleased with the plan to infiltrate the Harding house. He'd liked his original plan better; it only risked the three aliens, and they could take care of themselves. Instead, the group had agreed to the amended plan--over Michael's vehement protests--and so tomorrow night he was going to have to lure Tess away from the house while Isabel took Alex and Maria in to plant the FBI camera and search for clues. Not that he didn't have faith in Isabel--her powers were far more controlled than his. She could protect the other two; Michael knew that. At least with his brain. His gut didn't seem quite so sure.
He just wanted this to be over.
And he had no idea how to get Tess away from the house, either. He hadn't been particularly amused by Alex's suggestion that he throw a sack over her head and just carry her off. The computer geek had ruined what had actually been a promising idea by going on to describe how Michael could then throw the other alien over the back of his black stallion, flip his cape over his shoulder, and gallop off into the New Mexican desert. Michael had hated Alex's lame 'Scourge of the Desert' joke when it had first surfaced; he didn't like it any better upon repetition. Besides, he kind of thought he might be afra--well, he might not like horses anyway. Because he'd never actually been near one.
The whole kidnapping thing wasn't such a bad idea, though. Because Tess sure wasn't going to go with him voluntarily. And she was little enough that it wouldn't be hard to just cart her off.
Except that they had no idea of the extent of her powers. She could make things very...difficult for her abductor. So he was gonna have to talk her into it.
And he was so good at verbal communication.
If only he had Maria's talent for voluble prattle, or Alex's lively sense of humor, or Liz's ability to lay things out clearly and rationally. Or even Isabel's ability to flat-out shovel the bullshit, smiling madly all the time. Even reserved, quiet Max was more persuasive than Michael. But Max had to pump Nasedo for details, none of the humans were likely to get anywhere with Tess, and Isabel could break into the house without actually breaking anything. Basically, Michael was stuck.
Grabbing a bowl and a box of generic cornflakes, Michael prepared a late dinner, eating the milk-and-Tabasco-laden cereal morosely. Oh well. In twenty-four hours, it would all be over, and he would have some answers. At least, he'd better have them.
* * * * *
"Hey, Spaceboy," Maria called from her comfortable position on the blue brocade fainting couch. Michael took one look at her and frowned.
"You've got to stop this. You should stay out of my dreams."
The happy expression on her face faded away, replaced by a mixture of annoyance and exasperation. "I'm not the one with the alien powers, Czech-boy. If anyone is doing this, it's you. Besides," she continued hotly, "what's so bad about it? Does it kill you to spend time with me?"
Michael rolled his eyes. "That's not why, and you know it. You just need to get some rest. You looked like hell today."
"First of all, thank you so much for your show of support. God, Michael, I know you don't have a lot of experience in the dating arena, but I'll give you a pointer: you don't go around telling your girlfriend she looks like hell, or things can get very frosty."
"I'm not gonna lie to you," he said stubbornly, not allowing her warning to sway him in the least. "Besides, I thought chicks liked all that honesty crap."
"Michael Guerin!" Maria sat upright. "There is a huge difference between being honest and telling someone she looks like hell. Especially when she knows it already. I do not need reinforcement on this, believe me." She softened a little. "It's nice that you're concerned about me, though. I think I like it."
He gave her a smirk and moved to sit beside her. "Don't get too excited. It's for purely selfish reasons."
"Selfish reasons?"
"Tired Maria equals cranky Maria. Cranky Maria equals picked-on boyfriend, namely me. I'm just trying to save myself the hassle, that's all."
"I am not cranky!" she snapped.
"See my point?"
She reached out and gave him a gentle swat. "You're insane," she commented in a fond tone. "And I was tired from getting up too early, not from visiting you. I mean, technically I'm still asleep, so I should be able to spend time with you and get rest at the same time. Besides, you were there, and you didn't look particularly tired today," she finished triumphantly.
"I don't need a lot of sleep. It's different."
"Different, schmifferent," she said waving her hands in dismissal. "I'm here, and nothing except the alarm clock is getting me out of here, so you're stuck with me, Spaceboy. You'll just have to suffer."
"Well, it is torture," he admitted, ignoring her startled gasp. "I guess I'll just have to find a way to pass the time, that's all." He studied her intently for a moment, then bent his head to feather soft kisses along her jawline before settling in on her neck. Maria smiled. Michael must have a vampire fetish or something; he was always going after her neck. Not that she minded in the least, especially since she wouldn't even have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow. That was one of the benefits of being in a dream world--no tell-tale hickeys afterwards.
Her breath caught as he found an especially sensitive spot under her left ear. He'd kissed her like that last night, too, when he--she stiffened. "Michael?"
"Mmmmm?"
"You do know it's me this time, not some dream Maria you've made up, right?"
He pulled away and looked her directly in the eye. "Yeah, of course I know it's you." His lips quirked upwards, just the slightest bit. "If you weren't real, you wouldn't be wearing this," he said, flipping up the collar of the flannel pajamas she'd worn again, "and you wouldn't talk nearly as much."
"I wouldn't, huh?" Her eyes sparkled.
"Nope," he answered confidently. He leaned in again, his lips scant tantalizing inches from hers.
"Then it's too bad you're stuck with the real thing, huh?" she laughed, wriggling out of his grasp and dancing over to stand beside the couch.
"Hey, I was just trying to pass a little time," Michael objected.
"Sorry, Spaceboy. I'm a talker, not a doer, remember?"
"You can't be both?" he asked hopefully, then sighed. "Fine. So talk." Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked at her warily.
It was her turn to be hopeful. "And you'll talk back?"
Hesitating, he finally replied. "Maybe. If I can."
"Well, you pick a topic then. We'll talk about that," she decided, sitting back down next to him on the couch.
Michael was silent, staring at the once again cream-colored walls around them.
"Michael? Why aren't you talking?"
"Because I have the feeling that you want to talk about stuff I don't," he growled.
Taking his hand in hers, Maria smiled gently at him. "No pushing, remember? I'm not going to force you to talk about anything you're uncomfortable with. I know it's hard for you." She looked down, more serious now. "I mean, maybe someday you'll be able to tell me about things. Or if not me, then...then someone else. When you decide you want to, or need to. But it doesn't have to be now. Or even me," she added in a small voice.
"Maria--" he began unsteadily.
"No, Michael. Not now. We can talk about anything. It doesn't have to be a world-shaking conversation, just two friends talking. About the weather. Or how you think you did on the history test today. Or...or anything."
"Maria..." Michael swallowed, then started again. "If I could talk to anyone, I think it would be you. Not even Max or Izzy know...There's so much...You might know me better than anyone else," he fumbled. "I don't know what you saw, when I...when I gave you the flashes before, but..."
She carefully did not look at his face, instead studying the hand that she still held. His long, blunt fingers had such power and such gentleness in them... After a moment, she spoke evenly. "Do you want to know what I saw?"
"Yes," he burst out before shaking his head furiously. "And no. If I don't know, then it's easier to pretend..." He ground to a halt, then said hoarsely, "One thing. Tell me one thing."
"Are you sure?" Maria asked, looking up at him. She thought she'd never seen such a desperate need in his eyes before.
His answer was short. "Yeah."
Rifling through her memories of that stressful day when Michael had lost control and forced the visions on her, Maria tried desperately to choose the right one. Obviously he realized what she was doing, because he bit out, "It doesn't matter which. Just tell me. I can take it. Hell, I lived through it once, didn't I?" But his fingers tightened around hers as he looked out across the room.
"Okay." She hesitated, then began. "Most of it wasn't very clear. I mean, it was all so fast...But I could feel what you were feeling, I think." His jaw clenched, and she went on, very quietly, "I saw Hank, hurting you. You must've been about eleven then, I guess, and you couldn't protect yourself from him. He just kept hitting you with something...I'm not sure what it was, something long and thin..."
"An old..." Michael stopped and cleared his throat. "An old fishing rod. I don't know why he had it, he never went fishing..."
Somehow Maria managed to keep on speaking. "He...hit you, and he kept telling you things. That you were nobody, that you were worthless."
"Yeah. I remember." Still staring at the wall in front of him, he ground out, "Was it all like that? Everything you saw? There wasn't anything--" He gave one bitter, painful bark of laughter. "No, I guess there wouldn't be, would there? Not exactly chock full of fun and laughter, my life."
"It was all pretty...well, dark, I guess. But Michael, you were just upset, that's all, and so the things I saw were...emotionally charged. I know not everything in your life has been like that. Some things have been better."
"Yeah, well, when I learn to control what I show you, you can see one of the better times," he shot back, then gave another laugh, less bitter this time. "Maybe I just won't bother. After all, you were there for most of them." He glanced at her, then back away. "So, we done pitying me now?"
"I don't pity you."
His voice was rough as he asked, "Yeah? Then why the tears?"
She put one hand up to her cheek, surprised to find it damp. She hadn't realized. "I don't pity you," she repeated firmly. "I wish you hadn't had to go through all that. I'm sorry you did, but I don't feel sorry for you. That's for someone weak, who can't pull themselves out of the situation they're stuck in. You're not like that. You're strong, Michael, maybe the strongest person I know." She smiled. "But you're definitely not worthy of pity. I don't know. I think mostly what I feel is just plain mad."
He turned toward her, startled. "Mad?"
"Yeah. It's a good thing Hank moved out of town, 'cause otherwise he'd be on my butt-kicking list."
"Great. Some strong person I am, needing a girl to protect me," Michael muttered.
"Hey, you don't need me to protect you, Spaceboy. Consider it a bonus."
"A bonus," he repeated drily.
"Yep." Her voice softened. "Hank was wrong. You know that, don't you? You are not worthless. You're very, very important."
"Watch it or I'll get a swelled head."
"I'm being serious here. You're one of the four most important people in my life. You, and Mom, and Liz and Alex. And if I had to choose just one of you...well, it probably wouldn't be Liz or Alex."
He paused for a moment, then ventured, "What about your father?"
"He left me. None of you did."
"I did, Maria. I didn't want to, but...I did it anyway."
"There's a difference, Michael. You came back; he didn't. And you left to protect me, because you thought it would be better for me. He left...I don't know for sure why he left. But I doubt it was for me." He laced his fingers through hers, and she looked down at their interlocked hands. "Do you know he never once called, or wrote, or anything? He was just gone. I was so sure that he would be back for my eighth birthday. I wouldn't open any of my presents, or cut the cake, or anything, until he got there." She smiled ruefully. "Mom eventually threw the cake out when it got moldy, and I think the presents are still stashed in a closet somewhere. I never opened them."
"He was stupid. Your father."
Maria gave a little nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, well, I like to think so."
"He was. He missed out on you, and even I'm not stupid enough to do that. And your mom...she's fierce, you know? Fierce about her family. If I had a family like that...well, he was just stupid, that's all."
Maria's eyes glinted. "Thank you, Michael."
"Yeah, whatever," he mumbled, uncomfortable with the direction this whole conversation had taken. "So...you done talking now?"
A chortle of laughter came from the girl next to him. "Do you really think I'll ever be done talking, Michael?"
"Well, I can always hope, can't I?" he answered glumly.
"You're the one who put the brakes on the other day," she reminded him. "Wanting to be friends and all, remember?"
"I didn't mean we should go cold turkey. When I...when I kiss you, I don't have to worry about saying the wrong thing all the time, I can show you how I feel...even when I can't always say it."
"I know how you feel. Not that it wouldn't be nice to hear you say it occasionally, but most of the time what you do shows how you really feel. You're not exactly a typical teenage guy, you know."
"No kidding. I'm an alien, Maria."
"Not that, silly. Most guys spend all their time thinking with their...their..."
"Their what?" he asked innocently.
Maria pouted, "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it," he smirked.
"Michael!"
"Go on," he taunted, grinning down at her.
Her heart skipped a beat. This was an expression she rarely saw on his face. A matching grin grew on hers. "As I was saying," she went on importantly, "most guys don't spend a lot of time using their brains--"
"And you think I do?" he interrupted.
"Fine, Michael. Most teenage boys spend all their time thinking about sex. Sex, sex, sex. There, you happy now?"
"And what do you think I am, a eunuch?"
Maria heaved a prolonged sigh. "You're not going to let me win this one, are you?"
"Nope."
"Look, all I meant is that I know you don't just like me for that, that you really...you really care about me, and it's nice."
His voice was low. "I do. Care about you."
"I know you do. You couldn't drive me this insane if you didn't." She smiled up at him. "How'd we get into all this deep conversation, anyway?"
"Don't look at me--it was your idea," he said quickly.
"It's just easy to talk in here, I think. Not that I ever have a problem with that," she admitted, "but..."
"Yeah. I guess it is. Easier."
"Then I hope I keep coming back," she announced firmly. "When you feel like talking, we'll talk. And when you don't, we'll...we'll play cards or something, and I'll do the talking. And sometimes..." She leaned closer to him. "Sometimes, Michael, I'll take a break from talking altogether."
He didn't take her hint, though. Instead, he stared out across the room, a furrow across his eyebrows. "How you get in bugs me. Not the fact that you're in my dream," he hastened to assure her, "but not knowing how or why." He frowned. "Do you think you could wake yourself up if you wanted to?"'
"I don't want to."
"But do you think you could?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"The dreams you've been in before...first the desert, with Isabel, and then without her, and now this room...they're not the only dreams I have. Some things...some things you shouldn't see."
"I've already seen--" she began.
He shook his head, carefully not looking at her. "I don't mean dreams about what Hank..." he faltered, but she got the message. "Or even about what I did to Pierce...hell, you probably already saw that, too."
Maria nodded once, and he seemed to brace himself against that knowledge. "There are other dreams...nightmares, I guess. I've had 'em all my life, and they're...I don't want you trapped in one of them, okay? They make the others seem..." He paused, searching for a word. "Pleasant."
"Do you..." Maria hesitated, then went on, "do you hear voices in them?"
"No. That just started after Pierce." For a moment, Maria thought he was about to say something else, but he clammed up.
"What, Michael?" she demanded.
"The voice I heard before--not the one from last night, the one that sounds like Topolsky? I...I still hear it."
She turned immediately towards him, latching onto his arm. "Don't listen to it, Michael. Don't believe what it tells you. You are not a killer."
He shook his head and looked down at her. "That's not what it says. I mean, that's what it says, 'Killer', but now it doesn't feel like it's calling me that. It feels like it's warning me."
"Warning you of what?" she gulped.
"Maybe that a killer is coming? Maybe that...maybe that I'll have to kill again? I don't know, Maria. But something is gonna happen, I can feel it."
She clutched at him even more tightly. "I'm not letting you get hurt, Michael. And I'm not letting you shove me aside, just because you think it might be safer."
"I didn't say that. But if something happens to you--"
Her reply was sharp. "It won't."
"You don't know that. You can't," he snapped, concern building in him.
"You are not going to push me away again, Michael. Promise me you won't push me away." Her voice trembled, but her gaze was firm.
"All right. I promise. But will you at least...at least see if you can wake yourself up from these dreams. That way if I'm having a nightmare and you get sucked into it...at least you can protect yourself from that. Since I can't."
"Michael..." She gave up. "Fine. I'll try. But even if it doesn't work...well, I'm not going to stop spending as much time with you as I can. Awake or asleep, got that? I love you."
"I know. You keep telling everybody."
"Michael!" Her embarrassment colored her cheeks.
Reaching out, Michael framed her face in his large hands and kissed her gently. "Ditto. Now go wake yourself up."
"If it works, I'll call you," she promised. "If it doesn't, I'll...well, I'll probably still be here, won't I?"
"Probably. Now go."
Michael watched as she scrunched her eyes up in concentration. She murmured something under her breath; he could barely make out what it was. His silly pixie-girl was chanting "There's no place like home, there's no place like home..."
Silly or not, it must have worked, because in one instant she was gone, and the walls and the couch started to dissolve around him and under him, and he was falling, falling through a void of time and space...
And then the phone rang.
continue to chapters 10, 11 and 12
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