Dropping her bookbag on the kitchen counter, Maria headed for the refrigerator and a glass of orange juice. She felt strangely positive about things, considering the current non-status of her relationship with Michael, the strange and rather unsettling powers she'd been manifesting, the prospect of all the assorted alien weirdness...but they had a plan of action to deal with part of said alien weirdness, even if it came from Kyle, of all people. Plus the others hadn't written Michael totally off. So what if he was going to have some serious fences to mend? He could do it. She had faith in him. He was going to have to work hard though, especially with her. But she would bet every last one of her aromatherapy bottles that he'd be able to do it. If he'd only just explain what was going on....
Juice in hand, she grabbed her books and headed out of the kitchen. She still had a couple of hours of homework left to do; that, on top of her waitressing shift and the impromptu planning meeting they'd had, was going to make for a very long evening.
"Hey, Mom," she called as she exited the room and headed towards her bedroom. "I'm home."
Amy greeted her, and Maria stepped into the doorway of the living room. Her mother was sitting on the couch, an open box on her lap and a peculiar expression on her face.
"Whatcha doin'?" Maria asked, taking in the far away look in her mother's eyes.
"Just looking at some old photos," Amy answered. She didn't quite seem herself, as if some long-forgotten emotion had her in its clutches. For a moment, Maria wondered if the box on her mother's lap had been the one Michael had told her about, the one that had freaked out her mother at the shop. But this was a shoe box, with faded print and a picture of a pair of high heels Maria could vaguely remember seeing Amy wear. She'd seen this box before, too, in its usual place on the shelf of the hall closet; she'd just never realized her mother kept photos in it. Not a big mystery though, not like the other box. A box that Maria was intensely curious about--but she wasn't sure if her mother would want to talk about it.
"Sit down for a minute, honey. I need to talk to you about something." Startled, Maria took a seat on the couch next to her. Was her mother reading her mind? Is this where she got her newly-found powers from? Did some sort of psychic ability run in their family?
She took a fortifying gulp of orange juice, then smiled rather shakily at her mother as she set down her glass. "Sure, Mom. What did you want to talk about?"
"About something I did," Amy answered, then hesitated.
Something she'd done? Suddenly realizing what this must be about, Maria smiled again, more widely this time. Of course. "I wondered when you were going to tell me," she said airily.
Her mother seemed a little taken aback. "Then you already know? How?...And you're happy about it?"
"Well, of course I'm happy about it. I don't know why you didn't already tell me. I mean, just because we aren't exactly getting along doesn't mean I don't want the best for him."
At this, her mother looked every bit as startled as Maria had a few moments earlier. "To be honest, I didn't think you'd react this way. I didn't think you were ready to be this...mature about it."
"Gee, Mom, thanks," said Maria, pretending to pout. "What did you expect me to do, sulk?" A glance at her mother confirmed that this guess wasn't as far off as she might have liked, and she grew a little more serious. "I'm really glad you did it, Mom. Michael doesn't have that many people who are willing to go to bat for him."
A look of dawning comprehension washed over Amy's face. "You thought I meant Michael?" she said softly.
"Well, yeah, how you got Michael readmitted to school. It meant a lot to me."
"I didn't do it for you, honey. I just thought he needed a break, that's all."
Maria leaned over and hugged her mother, taking care not to trap the woman's cast-covered arm between them. "That makes it even better," she said, her eyes growing just the slightest bit misty. "I know you're not exactly president of the Michael Guerin fan club, so that makes it mean even more. I really appreciate it, even if you didn't do it for me. Especially if you didn't do it for me."
"I didn't tell you about it before because I knew you two had broken up, and I didn't want to bring him up if you were angry with him. I didn't want to upset you," her mother said, watching Maria's face carefully for her reaction. But Maria didn't feel the least bit upset. She gave a reassuring smile, and her mother added softly, "You still care about him, don't you?"
Turning sideways, Maria leaned one shoulder against the back of the sofa and smiled. "Do you remember when I told you I loved him?" At her mother's nod, she continued, "I don't think that will ever change. No matter what happens to us, in some way, I'll always love him." It was said simply and honestly. Her mother reached out with her good hand and stroked Maria's cheek.
"Then Michael is very lucky," was all she said.
Maria grinned suddenly. "Yeah? Well tell him that the next time you see him, okay?" Picking up her juice glass, she took a sip of the golden liquid. "So if you weren't talking about helping Michael, what were you talking about?"
Watching her mother put the lid back on the shoe box of photos and set it carefully on the coffee table, Maria felt a chill wash over her. She had a strong premonition that she wasn't going to like what was coming.
Her mother seemed to sense this as well. Taking Maria's hand in hers, she said quietly, "I hired a detective to find your Uncle Teddy."
* * * * *
Not all that far away, on another couch, a sturdy teenager sat with his feet propped up and the TV remote in his hand. He wasn't having much luck finding anything to watch, but he didn't really care. He was too busy marveling over the fact that he'd spent the evening in the company of the local 'Aliens R Us' affiliate, and it had been okay. He hadn't felt any awkwardness, even with Evans, and they'd treated him like a member of the club. All he needed now was the secret handshake and the alien decoder ring and he'd fit right in. It felt significant, and important, in a way hanging with his usual jock and drinking buddies never had. And on top of it all, he'd been the one to come up with a workable solution to one of the many--what was the word Maria used?--Czechoslovakian problems that faced them, when Evans and even genius Liz couldn't. Score one for the C student--all in all, not a bad day's work.
It was strange, this sudden involvement in Evans's business. Not that he hadn't tried to force his way into what was going on the previous year, but that had been anger and jealousy about Liz, and it hadn't worked anyway. Things were different now. He felt like he'd been gradually changing ever since he'd been shot last spring. He and his dad had actually begun talking about things instead of merely co-existing in the same house. And once he'd actually gotten used to the idea that aliens were real and were attending West Roswell High, he'd started looking at things a little more clearly. Without being blurred by the rosy-hued filter of popularity, the one that made it so easy to ignore anything on the edges of his well-established life.
He'd finally gotten up the nerve to talk to Michael Guerin about it. On the surface, an odd choice, yeah, but at that point in time he'd still been too caught up in the whole hating Max Evans mindset, and he wasn't about to try and have a guy-to-guy--no, make that guy-to-ET--talk with Isabel or Tess. Besides, in a weird sort of way, he'd always kind of admired Guerin. The guy never seemed to give a damn what anyone thought about him, and deep down Kyle had always known that he himself cared far too much. Maybe the lack of attention from a long-gone mother and a father too wrapped up in his job had made him a little too dependent on his friends' approval. Luckily, his natural athletic ability and outgoing personality had quickly driven him to the top of the social scene. He'd found the acclaim and approval he needed there. Hell, he'd been more popular as a sophomore than most of the seniors.
And then he'd seen a little bit into Guerin's head and found out that the loser outcast was really a cover, a mask to hide all the guy's secrets. That when Guerin cared about something, he really cared about it. And who'd have figured that what Guerin would choose to care about would be ditzy Maria DeLuca?
The guy had problems, that was for sure. Problems beyond dealing with a human motormouth like Maria, even. A whole busload of crap having to do with who he was, or was supposed to be, all based on some moldy story about past lives and destined relationships. For that matter, Isabel and Tess had to deal with that stuff, too. And Evans, the poor son-of-an-alien, was supposed to lead them all through all the crap and save their home planet.
Like he'd told Tess, he didn't wish that on anyone, even Max Evans.
And yet knowing about it all somehow felt good. All the crap he'd gone through while watching himself lose Liz to another guy, and his father's obsession with first Evans and then the whole bunch of them--all that was worth it, because of the intergalactic importance of four everyday, normal-looking teenagers.
His priorities were shifting. Sure, he still got high on the physical exertion of each practice and game, the feeling of his well-trained body stretching itself to its limits. He still hung with his friends. He still goofed around and drove too fast and stopped to check out every hot girl who passed by....
But maybe there was more to life than that, than his established place in the pack. Maybe he could be a part of something vital.
He snorted. And maybe he was turning into a complete wuss.
* * * *
A third couch, a third teenager; although this one wasn't exactly human. Curled up with her feet tucked beneath her, Tess aimlessly tapped the cover of her Trig book with a perfectly manicured fingernail, her mind far from the angles and ratios of the day's lesson. It wasn't as if she was going to need it, once they got back to their real planet. Whoever heard of a Queen needing to calculate sines and cosines?
She idly pictured herself as that Queen, sitting in a marble-encrusted throne room, a tiara shining on her blonde curls and Max at her side. Then she shook her head in exasperation. There she was again, picturing her former life like it was some sort of medieval fairy-tale fantasy. She'd told Michael that Nasedo hadn't wasted time on fairy tales when she was growing up, so why was she so obsessed with their pastel Disney prettiness now?
Instead of fairy tales, she'd had the mission drilled into her head. Instead of glass slippers and ivory towers, she'd had hours spent practicing her powers. And she hadn't needed a Prince Charming. She'd had Max.
Of course, she hadn't known that was his name. She hadn't known who he was or what he looked like, only that she belonged to him and he to her and together they would rule an entire world. That was better than any childish fairy tale, anyway. Because it was true.
Odd, though. When she'd tried to picture her husband, he'd never looked like Max. His appearance had changed from daydream to daydream, sometimes sandy-haired, sometimes brunet, even redheaded...but somehow she'd never pictured him quite so tall.
Even when Nasedo had finally located the three others, returning with boxes of pictures of Max, she hadn't realized how he would tower over her. It wasn't as if she'd been disappointed by the image in the photos--Max was nothing if not attractive. Actually, all four of them were, by human standards: Max with his warm brown eyes and shy smile; Isabel with her proud carriage and supermodel looks; even Michael, beneath a thick layer of scruffiness, was attractive, with high, chiseled cheekbones and hazel eyes that sparked with an inner defiance. And she'd always known that her own perky cuteness was something that human boys found appealing. The four of them were definitely special, in more ways than just their origin. It seemed right that they would be joined together, fit partners in a four-person dance of destiny.
But that still didn't alter the fact that Max was so very, very tall. At least when compared to her own diminutive stature. Well, maybe it was appropriate: barred from expressing itself in a more obvious--and therefore potentially dangerous--way, the very essence of royal power manifesting itself in a physical trait. A ruler literally towering over her, extreme in height if not in power.
Of course, that didn't explain Michael, who was even taller than Max, so maybe it was just the luck of the human gene-pool draw. Besides, if Max had ever reached Michael's height, she would end up with a perpetual crick in her neck.
Thinking of her tall, broad-shouldered brother, she smiled. He was such a wonderful surprise, a bonus she'd never counted on. Her daydreams, growing up, had been filled with her husband or with his sister, who she'd always considered to be her best friend even though they hadn't met in this lifetime. She'd been certain they would come together, the only two on this temporary planet who could understand what it was like to be alien, and female, in a strange world. She'd always known they would be friends once they met.
But in the midst of dreams about her husband and sister-in-law, she'd never actually given much thought to her husband's second, her friend's betrothed. He was just there to complete the square. And when she'd met him, for a while she'd thought of him that way, just a necessary tool, albeit an untrusting and suspicious one.
And then she'd deciphered part of the book, retrieved from Michael after that wonderful and horrible day last spring when they'd received the message from home. She'd been idly flipping through its metal pages, staring at incomprehensible symbols she'd seen a million times before, it seemed; then all of a sudden a few of the symbols made sense, then a few more. It was as if a window in her brain opened, allowing a once-known language to spring up fresh in her mind. Well, partially anyway. She could only make out a few of the symbols, not all of them. But what they'd said....
They'd spoken of 'the brother' and she'd known. Ideas and concepts flooded into her mind, and she remembered. Somehow she knew bits and pieces of life on their home planet. That families always consisted of fours, a particularly strong and meaningful number in what might pass as a religion back there. That each set of parents had one viable chance of offspring and that the births were always twins, one male and one female. That the links between the pod-sibs were powerful, an instinctive connectedness that formed a bond as strong as the parent-child bond, as strong as the pair-bond of lifemates. That pod-sibs were so integrally connected, sometimes sharing each other's very thoughts, that one never survived the death of the other. They needed each other to exist. The sib-bond formed their entire society into a resilient lattice, a framework of connections and lives.
Two twins, connected with their parents into a family quad, each serving as a connector to a new quad as they grew to establish pair-bonds of their own, birthing twin children of their own. Quad upon quad, four upon four....
Four square.
Max and Isabel, Michael and Tess. Max and Tess, Michael and Isabel. A double bond as pod-sibs paired with pod-sibs. A connection so strong that no one would be able to defeat them.
Except they had been defeated. They'd all died, after all, and been reincarnated into their current mix of human and alien, sent to grow and learn so they could once again face that which had killed them. So they could free their planet.
That wasn't the most important thing, though. Strangely enough, after a lifetime of being taught that the mission--their very reason for being--was of primary importance, Tess had discovered that finding her brother superseded it. And even though these human-hybrid bodies weren't equipped to handle the almost spiritual strength of their sib-bond, she knew that once it had been there. And she would do whatever she needed to, for her brother.
She wondered rather cynically if the reason Nasedo had never told her of her familial relationship with her husband's second was because he was afraid of the power of the sib-bond. Afraid she would veer away from his teachings to follow her brother's wishes. She didn't know why the shapeshifter would fear this; she'd never questioned him before. She'd always done everything he'd asked of her. She'd never disobeyed, never doubted him.
Until now.
It didn't matter to her that Nasedo believed Michael to be some sort of threat to the mission. It didn't matter that he had told the others to sever their link with Michael. It certainly didn't matter that, for some reason, Michael had decamped first, or that he'd rejected her when he'd found out he was her brother. After all, she hadn't broken the news very well, and, without the glimpses of the past she'd gotten from the book, how could he be expected to know just how deep and abiding their bond was? It wasn't a natural part of their human halves.
What mattered was Michael. And the others thought so, too--not just Max and Isabel, but the humans. And so here she was, for the first time in an entire life devoted to one thing, on the necessity of her role in saving the planet, here she was doing something that just days ago would have been unthinkable.
She was going to work against Nasedo.
Well, not against him exactly, but with the others. For Michael. She was still going to do whatever Nasedo demanded; she was just going to do whatever she could to aid Michael as well.
Her pod-sib. Her brother.
She smiled then, strangely elated at the prospect. Surely once she'd had time to explain to him, once he'd seen how she'd worked to help him, surely Michael would understand, and accept what was.
"You look rather pleased with yourself."
Tess looked up to see her erstwhile guardian-cum-protector in the doorway. She hadn't heard him come in, although she'd venture to guess he'd pulled the car up to the house and walked casually in just like the innocuous human he was pretending to be.
"I am. Not with myself, but with the status of things. I believe they're beginning to go the way you wished," she said calmly, swinging her feet off the couch and setting her forgotten Trig book on the end table next to her.
"Oh?"
"There seems to be some trouble between Michael and Max," she reported dutifully. "The second-in-command is acting differently than the leader expects him to."
The expression on Nasedo's face did not shift, but somehow Tess could sense his alarm. "Acting differently how?" he asked, his outward manner as calm as hers.
"There was a rather public argument in the school parking lot the other morning. I wasn't near enough to hear what they were fighting about, but I think whatever it was put a strain on their friendship," she said truthfully, then embroidered, "Perhaps Max will be a little less blindly loyal and a little more ready to listen to you now."
The shapeshifter nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps. He will come to me when he is ready. In the meantime, take this opportunity to draw closer to them. Find out what they're thinking."
"I'm not sure I can. Max doesn't want to do what's right; he's still fixated on Liz Parker."
"Then you must get around that. Try one of the others in their group. Perhaps...perhaps the other human, the blonde girl."
"Maria DeLuca?" Tess said, startled.
"She doesn't seem terribly bright, but she got in the second's good graces somehow. If nothing else, she might have some insight on his sudden personality change, so I can assess the threat he presents more clearly."
Tess was fairly sure that this rather negative appraisal of Maria was incorrect, but she didn't say anything. She herself was curious to see just what the girl had in her to draw Michael so strongly into her grasp. And, although it was of small importance compared to the issue of assisting Michael, she was very interested in the sudden powers Maria displayed. Powers a human of this era shouldn't have access to. The others had glossed over them during the discussion, so she purposely hadn't made a fuss about it. But that didn't mean she wasn't interested.
With these thoughts running through her head, Tess gave an obedient nod. It certainly couldn't hurt to have an excuse to be near them, even if her true motivation was the opposite of Nasedo's, at least in respect to Michael. And that evening they'd been--well, if not exactly friendly, at least not cold. Even Liz Parker, who must be nothing if not resentful of Tess's presence, had been almost kind.
And if it laid the groundwork to wrangle information out of Nasedo, so much the better.
* * * * *
In a shabby apartment across town, a rather dilapidated couch went unused as Michael Guerin paced the night away. His mind was less on the break with the others, less on his sister's death than it had been. Instead, it was focused on the future. Something was coming. He'd been feeling it for a while, but in his gut he knew it was near. And whatever it was, it was going to be ugly.
CHAPTER 18
Juggling her keys, purse and the bakery bag with her good hand, Amy DeLuca opened the back door and stepped into her kitchen. The door hadn't been locked; Maria must be home. Rather relieved, Amy set the bag and purse down on the counter. She knew Maria wasn't scheduled to work that afternoon, but she hadn't been sure her daughter would want to be anywhere near the house today. Not that she would have expected Amy home at this hour; she'd closed up the shop early in the hope of finding Maria home and willing to talk.
Hence the bakery bag, a peace offering of sorts, containing two of New Mexico's richest, most sinfully creamy chocolate �clairs. Each as big as a moderately-sized sub sandwich, they were a particular favorite of Maria's. Amy had driven halfway to Hondo to get them. It wasn't often that the DeLuca women indulged, but when they did, they went all out.
A pang of guilt hit and hit hard. Amy was not unaware that it was rather pathetic to be trying to bribe her daughter to talk to her with baked goods, even decadent chocolate ones, but she couldn't keep herself from trying. After listening to her announcement about the detective the previous night, Maria had stood and moved silently to her room, not to appear again until this morning. She hadn't said a word then either, just made her way past Amy and out the door on her way to school.
And that worried Amy. Seeing her daughter, the chatterbox, either unable or unwilling to speak put an ache in her heart. Perhaps she should have tried to clear up this whole mess years ago, but it had been too painful, and she'd put it off. Elapsed time hadn't made it any easier, and now she was faced with a daughter who refused to even speak her uncle's name, let alone hammer out long-unresolved issues about him.
With a deep breath, she moved quietly out of the kitchen in search of her daughter. When she found her, she paused in the living-room doorway, her glance filled with a mixture of love and regret. Her beautiful daughter lay on the couch, an open textbook propped on her stomach. She was sound asleep.
Well, she wouldn't disturb her. She looked so tired, as if she hadn't been sleeping very well lately. Amy was willing to take some of the blame for any sleep lost on the previous night, but she suspected this lack of sleep wasn't new and that it usually centered around one Michael Guerin. Amy sighed. She could well remember the emotional vicissitudes of being seventeen, radiantly happy one moment and broken-hearted the next. At least Maria wasn't dealing with a teenage pregnancy on top of everything else, like Amy herself had. Then again, maybe some of her own emotional ups and downs back then had been exaggerated by the hormonal changes pregnancy had visited upon her.... But Maria wouldn't have to worry about that, since she wasn't having sex yet. Thank god. And if Amy had anything to say about it, she wouldn't until she was married. And at least thirty....
Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Amy headed back into the kitchen to make herself some tea. Time enough to talk when Maria awoke. Until then, she'd just let her sleep peacefully.
* * * * *
Maria's body may have been sleeping peacefully, but her mind probably wasn't all that surprised to find itself in a familiar room, with an all-too-familiar companion. Who she was evidently in no mood to see.
"Oh, it's you again," she said sourly, tromping over to the blue fainting couch and plopping onto it.
Michael looked at her in surprise. "You expecting someone else?" he asked.
"No, I guess not. But is it too much to ask to have one little moment of uninterrupted sleep?"
A hurt look appeared in Michael's eyes; luckily for him, she was too busy staring into space to notice. When he spoke, it was very calmly, though. "You're the only one who can get yourself out of here. So wake yourself up. When I wake up, too, I'll stay awake, and you can have this place all to yourself."
She didn't respond, nor did she make a move to wake herself. Instead she swung her feet up onto the couch and leaned back, her eyes closed. Ignoring him.
Michael watched her for a moment, concerned with her gloomy behavior. Hell, he'd seen thunderstorms that were sunnier. And the way she'd stalked over to the couch...he was surprised the floor hadn't cracked beneath her feet. "What's wrong?" he finally asked.
"What do you mean, what's wrong?" she shot back, her eyes still closed.
"Just what I said. You're acting weird."
"Oh, so now I'm acting weird," came the maddening reply. "God forbid anyone should act differently than you expect."
"Look," said Michael, carefully keeping his frustration in check, "I know you're mad at me for what I did the other morning, and for not telling you what's going on. And I guess you have a right to be. But is this still about that, or is there something else? 'Cause this seems different."
She didn't even look at him as she muttered, "Not everything is about you, Michael."
"I didn't say it was, okay? That's why I'm asking!" She was silent, and he moved to the side of the couch, continuing in exasperation, "I'm just trying to help here."
That finally had her sitting up and looking at him. "Well, I didn't ask for your help!"
"That doesn't mean you're not gonna get it!" he shouted back. Then he heard himself. He ran a hand through his hair and lowered his voice to a normal conversational level. "Maria, what's going on?"
The dam burst. "I know I'm being cranky, and I know you're just trying to help, but this isn't about you or about anything Czechoslovakian, and I just don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it. I just want to be left alone, so if I want to sulk I can sulk, and you do it all the time, so why shouldn't I, because I don't want to talk about it, and I...I just don't want to talk about it!"
A pause; then with a brusque nod, Michael sat on the end of the fainting couch, by her feet. "So I can't do anything," he said evenly.
It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway. "No."
Another nod. After a moment, he said, "You gonna tell me if I can?"
"Michael, there's...." she began, then gave in. "Yes. I'll tell you."
"Okay, then." He rose to his feet and crossed over to one of the pale walls, sitting and leaning against it. He tilted his head back and shut his eyes, breathing evenly.
"Michael?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He didn't have to ask for what. He knew, and he knew she knew: he was trying to give her whatever space the room allowed. "You do it for me all the time," was his only comment.
Resting his forearms on his bent knees, he tried to remain unobtrusive. Inside, however, he was going crazy, not being able to take action and put a stop to whatever it was that was bothering her. He hated seeing her like this. And he felt helpless to do anything about it. Even if she'd told him what was wrong, he still might not have been able to do anything about it. He wasn't good at that stuff. Fixing things. But he would have tried.
Instead, he got to sit there, as cut off from her in this dream as he was when awake. Only this time she was shutting him out, not the other way around. Even though he probably deserved it.
Maria must have made a sound then, or moved, because he looked up just in time to see her flicker and disappear. He had just enough time to realize that she must have woken up before he too was thrust out of the dream room and back into his empty apartment.
* * * * *
Maria wasn't sure what had awakened her. She knew she hadn't done it herself, so something outside her dream must be responsible for pulling her out. Blinking, she looked around the room, taking in the light that still poured in through the window and the French text that lay open across her stomach. She'd fallen asleep while trying to study. So much for improving her French grade. Gloomily, she focused back on the intransitive verb conjugation she'd been trying to memorize. Bouder: to pout or sulk. How appropriate. Je boude, tu boudes, il boude, elle boude...Yeah, elle boude all right.
A noise from the kitchen pulled her attention away from her book. Glancing at her watch, she realized it was only 4:13. She hadn't slept that long, then. But if it was only 4:13, who was making noise in the kitchen? "Mom?" she called, dropping the textbook on the couch as she rose. "Are you home early?"
She supposed she should talk to her mother. Apologize for her sullenness this morning, a mood she'd liberally bestowed on everyone that day. Heading towards the kitchen, she rubbed at her neck. She must've been lying funny as she slept, because she sure had a crick now. Great. Or maybe, in keeping with the French lesson, that should be formidable. Whatever. Reaching the doorway, she saw her mother standing by the sink with a teacup in her good hand.
"So how come you're alrea--" she began, then stopped abruptly.
Her mother wasn't alone. Amy DeLuca stood, holding the teacup so tightly it seemed it would shatter, her attention focused on the man by the back door.
The man holding the gun.
Frozen in place, Maria looked from the man to her mother and back again. "W...what's going on?" she managed to stammer.
The man glanced over at her, seeming unperturbed by her entrance. Then he took a closer look and gave a start of surprise. "And I thought he'd dreamed you up," he said dryly.
"What? Who?" Maria muttered, still staring at the stranger. He seemed familiar somehow, but she was sure she'd never seen him before. Tall and thin, he had sandy brown hair that was going silver at the temples. He wore khaki slacks and a blue polo shirt that echoed the color of his eyes. He looked totally innocuous.
Except he was standing in their kitchen, pointing a gun at her mother.
Amy finally managed to speak, her protective instincts overwhelming her obvious shock. "Who are you? What do you want?"
Maria, who was just beginning to have a horrible suspicion of the stranger's identity, of just why he seemed--no, make that sounded--so familiar, nevertheless didn't give up hope. Maybe this was just a break-in, a thief looking for a quick score on cash and jewelry. Well, unless he wanted her mother's collection of Looney Tunes glasses--which was missing Daffy Duck due to an unfortunate peanut butter incident--he was pretty much out of luck at this particular house. But since when did burglars dress this neatly?
But there could be other explanations. Maybe...maybe it was the private eye her mother had hired. But then why did she look so scared? Or it could be their not-so-friendly neighborhood shapeshifter. He was dangerous enough, but at least she had some idea as to his motives. Yes. Considering who she thought it might be, she was voting for the shapeshifter.
"N..Nasedo?" she stammered hopefully.
No such luck. The stranger shook his head. "Wrong. Try again."
Swallowing hard, Maria whispered, "Bob?"
"Bingo! Score one for the little lady."
"Maria, who is this?" Amy asked shakily.
"Mom, quiet," hissed Maria, never once taking her eyes off the stranger.
Her mother ignored her. "There isn't much money in the house, but you can have it. Just take it and leave us alone." Ah. Mom was going for the well-dressed burglar scenario. Not a bad choice, considering she had no idea that the man--creature--whatever was some dream-walking, Michael-taunting alien with god knows what powers who wanted to use her daughter's half-human boyfriend--no, ex-boyfriend, he'd broken up with her--as some sort of pawn in an unknown interplanetary power game....
Alien Bob paid just as much attention to her mother's statement as she'd paid to Maria's hushing. In other words, none. "Where is he?" he asked. His voice was calm, his tone reasonable, and yet it seemed like a demand.
Amy spoke again, before Maria could. "Who?" Once again she ignored Maria's shushing noises, and repeated, "Who?"
The stranger looked at her with amused contempt, then motioned with the gun towards Maria. "I think this one knows."
"What do you want with him?" Maria asked steadily, one small part of her brain carrying on staunchly while the rest contemplated jumping up and down in terror and screaming for cedar oil.
"I hardly think that's your worry. I know he's here--I can feel him."
What? This guy could sense Michael, like she could? She had something in common with Alien Bob? Ewww. "He's not here."
"Who's not here?" Amy burst in.
Glancing towards her mother, Maria said, "Michael." She lifted her chin defiantly and turned back to Alien Bob. "He's not here," she repeated.
"Michael? Maria, what kind of trouble is that boy in?"
"He's not in trouble. This isn't his fault."
Amy didn't seem to hear her. "Oh, god. What is he involved in now?" A horrified expression crossed her face. "This isn't about drugs, is it? God, I never liked him, but I never pegged him for--he hasn't got you caught up in it, has he?" she seethed over Maria's protests. Turning to the stranger, she snapped, "Who are you? His dealer? What?"
"Mom, Michael does not do drugs," Maria insisted at the top of her lungs, crossing over and grabbing her by her good arm. "He would never do that. He's a good guy, I promise you."
"Then why is there a strange man in my kitchen, pointing a gun at my daughter and looking for him?" her mother screeched. "I want the truth, Maria, and I want it now." Maria pressed her lips together firmly, refusing to answer. She couldn't.
Bob looked at the two women and cleared his throat. They turned back towards him, as if suddenly remembering his presence, and he gave a dry little chuckle. "She doesn't know, does she?" Wordlessly, Maria shook her head. He continued, "But you do. How very, very interesting."
"What don't I know?"
Ignoring her mother's question, Maria repeated it again: "He's not here."
"I hope you don't mind if I see for myself." He gestured with the gun. "Both of you. Go through that doorway. And don't try anything foolish. I'd hate to have to do something you'd regret." Keeping the gun trained on them, he followed them through the house. As they went from room to empty room, he lost his smile, and Maria grew more and more frightened. They ended up back in the living room, the two DeLucas sitting side by side on the couch as the alien paced back and forth.
"Where is he?" he demanded.
"I don't know," Maria whispered. "What do you want with him?"
"Let's just say it's...family business."
She frowned. "Michael doesn't have a family."
"Oh, doesn't he, though?" He seemed to grow more impatient then. "Why isn't he here? I felt him here. He led me here," the alien muttered to himself. "I can still feel him...." He turned sharply to Maria. "You. I can feel him on you. Come here."
"Maria!" Amy protested.
"It's okay, Mom," she said, pressing her mother's hand firmly. But her knees wobbled as she rose and moved towards him. She stopped several steps away, too afraid to go any nearer. He oozed forward.
Amy began to rise from the couch. "Leave my daughter alone," she shouted. The stranger shot her a cold look.
"Sit back down and keep quiet. You don't know anything, so you're of very little use to me. One more sound out of you, and you'll find yourself on the wrong end of a little target practice." She didn't comply until he added, "Unless you'd like me to aim for your darling daughter here instead. Yes, I thought that would get the job done," he sneered before turning back to Maria, who was making a vain attempt to control her trembling.
His eyes narrowed as he studied her, almost testing her aura for a hint of Michael. "I can practically smell him on you," he accused.
Maria turned her head and tried to smile reassuringly over her shoulder at her mother. "It's not as bad as it sounds, Mom, really." But she flinched as his hand darted out and grabbed at her chest, and she couldn't help but let out a little shriek. Her mother bit her lip to keep from crying out.
Bob evidently wasn't going for any sort of weird alien molestation, though, because his hand stopped at the neckline of her shirt. "What have we here?" he murmured, grabbing the sky-blue ribbon that hung around her neck. He slowly pulled it out from her shirt, revealing the silk pouch that hung from it, then gave a sharp tug. The ribbon broke. Maria let out a cry of pain, her hand flying up to the burning skin at the back of her neck. Thank goodness she'd never switched over to some sort of cord or chain, or she could be bleeding seriously right now.
Biting her lip, she watched as the alien pulled open the pouch and tilted its contents into his empty hand. The blue crystal lay, shining softly, on his palm.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded, studying its shifting blue colors.
"At the mall," she lied.
"I hardly think so. It reeks of him. Try again." He waggled the gun back and forth, as if to remind her of its presence. She wasn't an idiot; she hadn't forgotten it was there.
Maria's eyes dropped to the floor, and she admitted, "He gave it to me."
"So, I've been tracking this and not him." He eyed her appraisingly. "He doesn't live here, does he."
"No."
"Then I suggest you get on the phone and get him here."
She didn't even hesitate. "No."
He seemed rather amused by her audacity. "You do know what I can do to you, even without my metal friend here," he said, gesturing with the gun. "Don't you?"
"N..not exactly."
"Well, unless you want your mother to find out firsthand, I suggest you get him over here rather quickly."
Maria stared at him for a moment, her heart pounding. How could she put Michael in danger? He wouldn't know what was coming...But how could she let anything happen to her mother? But Michael....
The alien seemed to be losing patience. "Call him," he ordered. "And I think we'll let my presence be a nice little surprise. I'm sure you'll be able to come up with a good reason to get him here. Unless you prefer to have one less parent."
"He...he might not even be at home," she protested.
"You'd better hope he is."
Numbly, Maria moved towards the kitchen and the phone. She was vaguely aware of her mother and the alien following her. Her mind was jumbled with a thousand fears. If Michael were still home, would he answer the phone? After her sullen brush-off in the dream room, would he even talk to her, much less come over? And if he did, what would this creature do to him?
Maybe, just maybe, she could warn him that something was wrong, without letting on to Alien Bob. If she was very, very careful....
With trembling fingers, she reached for the telephone.
* * * * *
Struggling against the pull of sleep, Michael finally opened his eyes. He looked around his apartment, feeling edgy with distraction. She'd closed off from him, as efficiently as he had rebuilt his own stone wall so many times before. And he hated it.
He felt so very lonely, like he hadn't really felt since the three years after he'd come out of the pod. And like then, it was his own fault now. If he'd taken Max's hand instead of being so afraid back then...if he hadn't made the stupid deal with Nasedo.... He wasn't sure which was worse, the loneliness of the past where he didn't really understand what was going on within the strange world in which he found himself, or the loneliness of the present, where he knew exactly what he'd done.
He lay staring up at the ceiling for a while, not really feeling like moving. He had a little while before he had to leave for his shift at the Lift-Off; he was on closing that night. He supposed he could spend some time with his new-found buddies, his textbooks; but even winning his bet with Maria held no appeal for him just now.
And so he just lay there, a person-shaped lump on his ratty couch. Even the ringing of his phone didn't make him move, since nobody he knew would be calling him, and why bother with a wrong number? They'd realize once they got the answering machine.
And there it was, his own voice: "Leave a message."
But what he heard next had him sitting upright in a flash. Another voice, one he knew very well. Maria.
"Mike? It's Maria."
Well, he knew it was her. She didn't have to announce herself, like he wasn't gonna recognize her voice. But why was she calling him Mike? She knew how he felt about nicknames; was she purposely trying to piss him off? Get a little of her own back? Well, he didn't have to play her game; he just wouldn't pick up. And considering that she'd agreed to leave him alone, she shouldn't be calling him, anyway.
These thoughts flew rapidly through his head as Maria kept talking. "Yeah, good. We're all good." A brief pause. "Actually, Mom was saying it's been a while since she'd seen you, so I thought I'd call and see if you could come over for dinner." Another pause. "Yeah, tonight. I'm going to make lasagna again. You liked it the last time."
There was no other explanation for it. Maria had cracked up. For one thing, she couldn't cook. For another, why was she holding a one-sided conversation with his answering machine? He scrambled off the couch to the phone and picked up.
"Maria, what the hell's wrong with you?"
There was a startled pause, then she continued her conversation. "Sure, Mike. In fact, why don't you come over early, and we can do some studying while the lasagna cooks? We could get a head start on that joint English paper. I think we should do it on that 'road less traveled by' poem. You know, the Czechoslovakian one?"
"English paper?" he repeated in confusion. What the hell was she talking about? Yeah, they were in the middle of an interminably long poetry unit in English, but lately he'd been careful to pay close attention in class, and he couldn't remember any English paper. Much less a joint project. Unless it had been announced during his one-day expulsion.... No. Mrs. Gideon would have said something in class again yesterday or today. Maria was tripping. "That 'road less traveled by' poem", she'd said...did she mean 'The Road Not Taken'? It had only been last week that they'd read it, and he could easily picture it on the page:
...Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
So if there wasn't a project, why was she yammering on about some Robert Frost poem, anyway? And Frost was an American, not a Czechos--Goddammit. He was fucking stupid. Robert Frost...Czechoslovakian Robert...Alien Bob.
On the other end of the line, Maria was still talking. "So I'll see you soon, Mike?" Her voice wavered just the tiniest bit.
"Shit, he's there, isn't he? Hang on, Maria. I'm coming," he told her firmly. "I'll be there."
"Okay...bye." Then there was a click as she disconnected the other end of the line. Grabbing his jacket, Michael raced for the door. Fuck his plan to stay away from her. Maria was in trouble.
* * * * *
As he ran across town, Michael tried in vain to get a handle on the situation ahead. His heart was screaming at him to run even faster, to get there and help Maria, but his brain was objecting strenuously. He was going in blind, and that was stupid. Reckless. As much as he wanted to burst in and kick some alien butt, he wasn't about to take any chances with Maria's safety, not if he could help it.
Not unless he had backup.
He stopped in his tracks, and turned to look behind him at the pay phone he'd just passed. He fumbled in his pocket for change as he sped over to it. He had enough for one phone call.
The problem was, he didn't know who to call. And he didn't have much time to decide.
It had to be Max or Isabel. If he'd understood what Maria was trying to say, if that voice from his dream was really there, in her house, he would need all the help he could get. Definitely someone with alien powers, ones that actually worked. With Nasedo out-and-out against him and Tess having ambiguous and untrustworthy motives, he was left with Max or Isabel.
Neither of whom would want to talk to him right now.
Of the two, Max was normally the more reasonable. But Michael had centered most of the fight Monday on him, really pissing him off, so he was probably less likely to want to listen now. Plus who knew if he'd even be home to take the call? He could be at the UFO Center, or hanging around the Crashdown mooning over Liz. And while Isabel was likelier to react emotionally--she was a girl, after all--she had the cell phone, which she took everywhere. So she was more likely to answer. And so there wasn't really a choice.
He dropped the coins into the phone and dialed Isabel's number. It rang twice before it was picked up. Michael swore; he'd gotten her voice mail. Dammit! He waited impatiently for her message to end, then spoke swiftly, not bothering to identify himself. She'd know who it was. He just had to start it off so she would listen to the whole message and not cut it off when she realized it was him.
"Maria's in trouble. Alien at her house. I'm on my way there now. Help her.... Please."
There. That was all he had time for. Hopefully Isabel would check her messages soon. He was sure that she would help, for Maria's sake. If she got the message in time. He couldn't waste time worrying about it; he had to get to Maria.
As he neared the DeLuca house, he purposely slowed his steps down and attempted to catch his breath. Maria had tried to make it sound like he was just coming over for dinner; he would play that game until he could figure out what was going on.
Strolling casually up to their front door, Michael pressed the doorbell and stood, waiting, trying not to let his agitation show. A moment later, the door swung open, and there she was. To his relief, she didn't look hurt; but he could see the panic in her expression. Her eyes flickered to the left, and he got the sudden feeling someone was standing behind the door.
He'd play it cool. "Hey," he said.
"Hi, Mike," she said steadily, the calmness of her voice belying the look in her eyes. He didn't miss the nickname, and he gave her the tiniest nod, trying to tell her without words that it would be all right, that he was here.
"Thanks for the dinner invitation," he said. "So do I get to come in, or are we eating in the front yard?"
"What? Oh, yeah, come in," she said, backing away from the door.
He took a deep breath and followed her into the house, shutting the door behind him. No one was standing behind it, but a shiver crossed his spine and he knew that whatever it was he'd been dreading was upon him. For just a fraction of a second Maria hesitated in the living room doorway; then she moved in.
Michael followed.
Maria headed straight for the couch and sat next to her white-faced mother, grabbing her hand and clutching it tightly. Michael gave the older woman a brisk nod. "Hey, Mrs. DeLuca." He then turned to the man with the gun, deliberately placing himself between the stranger and the DeLuca women. He got straight to the point. "Who are you and what do you want?" he asked bluntly.
The stranger gave him a rather amused look. "Now, Michael--it is Michael you go by, isn't it?" Michael crossed his arms over his chest and didn't answer. "Really, Michael. Is this any way to treat your father?"
continue to chapters 19 and 20
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