For a moment, Michael just stood there, his mind grappling with what had just happened. He had to be dreaming, that was it. He was still asleep, caught up in some bizarre 'Luke, I am your father' Star Wars mind trip. Only this guy looked nothing like Darth Vader. Besides, Max would be a better Luke Skywalker, what with the Jedi powers and stuff. That would make Isabel Princess Leia...Huh. There was no way he was gonna play Han Solo to her Leia, even in a dream. Maria would probably make some crack about his hair making him a better candidate for Chewbacca, anyway, so--Shut the fuck up. Here he was, freaking out like Maria, all because this guy just told him--Oh god. He hadn't actually heard that. Had he?
"What?" he said hoarsely.
"Come say hello to your father, boy."
Yeah, that's what he thought he heard. What the hell was this, old home week? The way his long-lost relatives kept popping up, you'd think he won the lottery or something.... This was bullshit. "You're not my father. I don't have a father."
"Oh, I beg to differ." The alien's voice grew colder. "Come here, boy," he ordered.
Michael didn't so much as budge. "I don't think so. I don't know what you want, but you're not gonna get it. Get the hell out of this house."
"But it's such a lovely house. And I've been made to feel so...welcome."
"Welcome?" Amy burst out. "You broke in and held us at gunpoint!"
"Yes, a fact you'd be wise to remember before you open your mouth again. I believe I already warned you once," the alien said, his tone remaining affable. How could he sound so friendly while making threats?
Something was very wrong here. Other than the man with the gun. Without taking his eyes off the man before him, Michael said softly, "Maria. Mrs. DeLuca. Get out of here."
They didn't even get the chance to stand up before the other alien spoke. "But they're so nice to have around. You certainly seemed to think so, the way you and the dream-girl were going at it the last time I saw you. So I think we'll keep them here. After all, nothing brightens up a dull room like a hostage or two. A quiet hostage or two," he warned, then smiled. Michael noticed that the emotion never reached his blank eyes. "You may as well sit down. You can't protect them."
The hell he couldn't. "I'm not gonna let you hurt them," Michael vowed. He didn't budge.
"You can't stop me. In fact, standing in front of them isn't the brightest move, boy. All I have to do is shoot through you to get to them."
Michael shrugged. "So shoot me."
Behind him, Maria cried out his name, and Mrs. DeLuca sucked in her breath. But his challenge went unanswered. With narrowed eyes, he continued, "If you wanted me dead, you'd have killed me already. So what do you really want?"
Instead of taking offense, the older alien actually seemed pleased by this response. "I knew you would be a delight!" he chortled. "Stubborn and willful...altogether amusing. What do I want? Why, you, of course. It's time to take your place at my side. The game begins."
There was that game thing again, the one from the dream room. This guy was obsessed with it. And it was a sure bet he wasn't talking about Monopoly. "What game?"
"A lovely little exercise I like to call 'Kill-a-King'. The name of the game is regicide, and you, my boy, are the prime contestant."
* * * * *
"Can I get you anything else, sir?" Liz asked with a smile as she moved to the booth, pad in hand.
"Another cherry cola would be great," Max said absently, his mind obviously elsewhere.
"Certainly. Coming right up. Did you actually want to drink this one, or should I go ahead and pour in pre-melted ice?"
Max shook off his abstraction. "Sorry, Liz. I'm just...I'm trying to figure things out, that's all."
"I know." She looked around the caf�. "So where is everybody, anyway? I thought there were all supposed to be here by 4:30."
For the first time that afternoon, a smile crept onto Max's lips. "Liz, it's only 4:28. They'll be here. Isabel took the Jeep and went home to make our excuses to Mom, and Maria's picking Alex up in the Jetta, right?"
Liz nodded, privately wondering if Alex would be able to alleviate their best friend's current gloomy mood. She herself hadn't had any luck with it at school. If only Maria would tell her what was wrong; she knew Maria, and this seemed like more than the current Michael-centric angst.
"So they should get here soon. That just leaves Kyle and Tess." Max hesitated for a moment, then spoke again. "Liz, you know Kyle better than I do. Have you noticed anything...weird about him?"
"Weird?"
"The way he's been acting towards Tess."
"You mean other than the fact that they suddenly seem joined at the hip?"
Max nodded.
"Why, Max? Jealous?" she said, shocked at her own outspokenness. After a summer apart, they'd begun to talk again over the fall, but she'd never been this blunt. How could she be? She'd been the one to pull away from him, not the other way around.
Max met her question with total honesty. "No, I'm not jealous. I keep telling you I don't feel that way about her. I love you, Liz." He reached out and took her hand, still holding the order pad. "And someday you're going to have to accept that."
Her eyes met his, and for a moment the rest of the world disappeared. There was no restaurant, no customers, nothing but the two of them, together. Then the bell over the door rang as new customers entered, and Liz came back to the Crashdown. Reddening, she pulled her hand away.
The new customers weren't exactly customers after all; they were Kyle and Tess. Sliding into the booth opposite Max, Tess smiled cautiously at Liz. Kyle was a little less careful.
"Hey, Liz. Max." Liz raised surprised eyebrows. This was the first time she'd ever heard Kyle refer to Max as just that, 'Max'. No last name, no sneering. Would wonders never cease?
"Can I get you two anything?" she asked, and carefully wrote down the order for one Alien Smoothie and one iced tea. Bringing back the two beverages plus Max's cherry cola, she said, "I've got to get back to work. When everyone else gets here, I'll take a break, and we can talk in the back room."
But forty-five minutes later, there was still no sign of Alex, Isabel or Maria.
* * * * *
Michael paled. "You want me to...to...." He couldn't bring himself to say it.
"Find the king and annihilate him. It's why you're here, what you've been...shall we say programmed to do. And on top of everything else, it will be rather amusing."
Michael's voice shook, just the slightest bit, as he protested, "I'm not gonna kill anybody!" His jaw clenched.
A knowing smile graced the man's lips. "Whyever not? You've done it before."
Through his shock, Michael heard a sudden intake of breath from behind him. Probably Mrs. DeLuca; Maria already knew of his shame. But how did the alien know?
Bob nodded in satisfaction. "I certainly scored a hit with that one, didn't I? Though I believe I'll have to work on your squeamishness. The king is nearby, or was six months ago. I know you know him; the four of you would have had to be together to activate the signal. So he's nearby, even if I can't find him the way I found you."
"Like...like you found me?" Michael had trouble getting the words out.
"I followed you, boy. Every time you used your powers, I got closer, or so I thought. The joke was on me, though. Here I thought I was sensing you, and I was sensing this instead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object. Holding it tantalizingly between two fingers, he swung it back and forth in front of Michael's eyes.
Shit. The crystal he'd given Maria. "Where did you get that?" Michael snapped.
"From your little friend. Quite a sentimental little thing, isn't she, wearing it around her neck." Tossing the small blue sphere into the air, he moved to catch it. Michael got there first, his hand shooting out to intercept it in mid-air.
"That doesn't belong to you," he growled.
"Well, I don't need it, do I? Not when I have you to carry out my wishes. You'll lead me to the king."
"You don't have me! I am not gonna do what you want. I won't betray--" With a sudden realization, he cut off before he said Max's name. Slowly he continued, "You don't know who he is, do you? You didn't know who any of us were. If you did, you wouldn't have had to track me; you could've come straight to my door. And if you didn't know who your own...your own son was," he continued, stumbling over the phrase, "there's no way you'd be able to pick the king out of the billions of people on the planet." He could tell from the other alien's expression that he was right. Max was still safely hidden from him. And Michael wasn't about to give his best friend away. His jaw set firmly, he stated, "I won't do what you want. You're wasting your time."
"I am your father, and you'll do what I say. You don't seem to realize that you have no choice."
Michael frantically tried to keep a grip on his rising temper, in fear of totally losing it and ending up doing something that could put the DeLucas in an even more precarious position. But his rage continued to grow, gnawing at his stomach and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. How dare the other alien come in and threaten Maria and her mother? It was bad enough that he seemed to believe he could force Michael to destroy Max, but to involve the others--Mrs. DeLuca, who didn't even know anything about his otherworldly origins, and Maria, his Maria, who should never have been put in such danger. If he'd only listened to his gut and not his heart, he would never have gotten involved with her, and there wouldn't be an extraterrestrial maniac in her living room. If only he wasn't such a failure, if he had any sort of control over his powers, maybe he could do something about it, but as it was....
Wait. Maybe he still could.
The one thing he'd always been good at, the one thing he'd been able to do when his powers actually worked, was to blow things up. Sure, it was usually when he was trying to do something else, and even this power had been maddeningly inconsistent over the last few months, but he'd managed to blow up that cactus last week, hadn't he?
He couldn't go directly for the gun, though. Its explosion could seriously hurt someone, and he couldn't control its direction. But if he aimed for something else, maybe he could cause a diversion and distract the other alien, at least long enough for Maria and Mrs. DeLuca to get out.
Mrs. DeLuca. Who didn't know who--or what--he was. Who would definitely find out if he used his powers in front of her.
Well, so what if she did? She wasn't stupid, and she'd already be asking questions about the things she'd heard. The word 'alien' hadn't been used, but 'planet' had, and the word 'human'. The implications were pretty clear. If not human, then non-human. Inhuman? Unhuman? Whatever. The words didn't matter; the idea did. They were in Roswell, New Mexico--what was the logical guess? Unless Mrs. DeLuca was a fantasy buff who'd decide he was some kind of troll or fairy or something--not likely--it wasn't going to be much of a stretch for her to determine what he really was. Alien.
His so-called father said he had no choice. But he did have one, and he made it. Shifting the crystal to his left hand, he let his right arm drop unobtrusively to his side. He couldn't let on what he was doing; he'd need the element of surprise. Eyes shifting, he took in the bookcase behind Bob. One shelf had a bunch of glass knick-knacky looking things and pictures instead of books. He'd aim for that, then. It should make a big enough crash to startle the alien, and maybe he could get a jump on him....
Balancing carefully on the balls of his feet, he tried to summon his powers. The energy built up, surprising him with its mass and force. He'd never felt it this tangibly before. His whole body buzzed. He let it build until he felt ready to burst from the pressure, then snapped his right arm out, fingers spread, to release the excess energy and send it shooting towards the bookcase.
But even as he swung his arm up, a heavy object smashed into his left hand, and he staggered to the side. The power he'd been building vanished--not slowly dissipating, but blinking out of existence like it had never been there.
Behind him, there was a moan as if someone was trying to stifle a cry for help.
Dammit! Defiantly, Michael raised his chin and looked Bob straight in the eye. The other alien no longer seemed quite so affable. Truth to tell, he looked pretty pissed. Taking a step nearer to Michael, he kicked away the crystal that lay where Michael had dropped it, and shifted his grip on the gun. Michael suddenly realized that the powerful blow to his hand had come from the gun, used like a club rather than the projectile weapon it was. He surreptitiously wriggled his numb fingers, hoping that nothing was broken.
Bob got right in his face. "I just told you I tracked you through the sphere. Are you so stupid you didn't realize I'd feel it when you used in right in front of me?"
Ignoring the pain in his hand as best he could, Michael tried to understand what the alien was blathering on about. His puzzlement must have shown in his eyes, because Bob took a step backwards and gave a bark of laughter.
"How did you end up so slow?" he exclaimed. "You're accessing the power you stored in the sphere and you don't even realize what you're doing?"
"What?" Michael said dumbly.
The other alien gave him a chiding look. "Hello? Round blue thing, sound familiar? The power sphere? Think of it as an alien battery cell. You can access the energy stored to increase the range of your powers."
There was a muffled gasp, and Bob swung his head around to look at the two women who were huddled on the couch. The younger one shot him a look every bit as defiant as the one Michael had given him a few moments earlier; however, Amy DeLuca had a panicked look, and clutched her daughter tightly.
"I'm sorry," Bob said snidely to the woman. "Perhaps a few introductions are in order. I'd like you to meet my son Michael. Your daughter's been dating a creature from outer space."
Her eyes got even bigger, if possible, and flickered over to Michael, who was cradling his wounded hand against his chest. He hung his head; he didn't even try to meet her glance.
"Mom," Maria begged. "Calm down. I'll explain all this later, I promise."
"I don't want explanations later. I want them now," her mother said, her voice surprisingly firm. "Michael...is what this man says true? You are an...an alien?"
He held perfectly still for a moment. He'd never actually told anyone. Max had told Liz, and she had told Maria and Alex; Sheriff Valenti had figured it out himself and had told Kyle. But Michael had never done it. He raised his eyes to Mrs. DeLuca's. "Yeah," he stated baldly.
She stared at him for a moment, and he tried to school his expression. Then he turned his head, not wanting to see the fear and hate that would flood her face. Swallowing, he looked over towards Bob, who was watching him with a malicious smirk.
"So if the crystal is a power cell," Michael began hoarsely, "why didn't you use it when you had it?"
"It's attuned to you, not me. I can't use it. No one else can except you. To the rest of us it's just a big glass marble."
Michael frowned. Bob had said he tracked the crystal, thinking Michael was using his powers. But Michael certainly hadn't used it--it had been in Maria's possession. How was she able to access power that supposedly only he was able to use? Because she must have done just that. How else could you explain her dreamwalking him, and being able to heal Isabel like she'd told him about?
Dammit. He didn't want her any more involved than she already was. So he wouldn't point it out to Bob. And he certainly wasn't gonna tell the other alien that there were eleven more power crystals stashed in his apartment. He had to change the subject, and fast.
"Too bad then," Michael drawled. "Because I'm not gonna help you out. You're on your own, buddy."
"You don't seem to understand." Bob laughed then, a low mocking sound. "I'm your father, boy. I control you. And I believe it's time to begin your re-education."
Faster than anyone could have imagined, his hand flickered out and clamped onto Michael's face. Michael reached up to throw him off, but couldn't; though his muscles strained against the other alien's arm, he was slowly forced to his knees. Nor could he protect himself from the connection that was forced upon him, brutally slicing into his mind and ripping away barriers he'd never known were there. A rush of images and sounds overwhelmed him, too fast for his brain to process. He managed to take one hastily-drawn breath.
And then his mind split open.
CHAPTER 20
Impatiently, Isabel pulled the Jeep up in front of the Whitman house. It was just like Maria to cause all this bother, she thought, scowling, then shook her head. Actually, it wasn't like Maria at all. For all her surface flakiness, Maria usually went out of her way to help, not the other way around. Isabel was just so tied up in knots about the Michael situation that she wasn't even thinking straight.
So Maria hadn't come by to pick Alex up, and hadn't answered the phone when he called. It was okay; he'd called the Evanses' house and caught Isabel on her way out the door. She was easily able to swing by his house and pick him up. Maria would meet them at the Crashdown, and things would be fine.
They'd just be a little late, that's all.
Evidently Alex had been watching from the window, because he loped out the front door and was climbing into the Jeep before Isabel even took the key out of the ignition. "Thanks for picking me up," he said.
"No problem," Isabel responded with a smile. She watched as Alex fastened his seat belt. "So what happened with Maria, anyway?"
"I'm not sure," Alex answered. "Maybe when she went to her mother's shop to borrow the car, Mrs. DeLuca needed her help or something. I don't know why she didn't call me about it," he added, his brow crinkling in thought.
"She wasn't exactly herself today," Isabel pointed out as she pulled out from the curb. "She was actually..." Here she searched for the correct word, finally settling on "...quiet."
"No, it's more than that," Alex said. "I've never seen her like this before. Heartbroken, yes. Royally ticked, yes. But not this...not this morose." He shook his head. "I hoped maybe she'd tell me what's wrong on the way to the Crashdown. But she didn't show."
"Look on the bright side. This way, you get to ride with me," Isabel teased with a smile. "So what would you have done if I hadn't still been home?"
"There's always my bike," riposted Alex. "And I do know how to walk."
"Well, cheer up. Maybe you can talk to Maria after our meeting," suggested Isabel. "Speaking of which," she continued, "we're late. My cell phone's in my bag; why don't you call the Crashdown and let them know we're on the way?"
Obligingly, Alex reached down for the bag and began rummaging through it for the phone. "I'm kind of disappointed. You have the same girlie things in here that Liz and Maria cart around with them. I at least expected a ray gun or something," he quipped.
Isabel couldn't help but smile. "I'll bet you did." She saw out of the corner of her eye that he'd found her phone. He turned it on and glanced down at the LCD display.
"You've got a message," he told her. "Maybe we're meeting someplace else."
"It must have come when I was in the house," Isabel said absently. "I left my bag in the Jeep." She took the phone and punched in the code to access her voice mail. Lifting the phone to her ear, she listened as she drove. A moment later Alex pitched violently to the side as she dropped the phone and made a sudden hard left turn. Thank god he'd fastened his seat belt; he could have fallen out of the vehicle. She didn't even have the top up.
"What's going on?" Alex asked, alarmed.
When she answered, her voice was as grim as her mood. "That was Michael. There's an alien at Maria's. She needs help."
*****
For one interminable moment, Maria watched in horror as Bob forced Michael to his knees. She couldn't see Michael's face, only his bowed shoulders and back; she wasn't sure what was happening to him, but she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Michael seemed frozen in place, and Maria echoed his stillness without really realizing what she was doing. All she knew was that she couldn't seem to move, although she suspected it was due to fear and panic and not directly to whatever the alien was doing to Michael.
After what seemed like forever but in reality was probably only a few seconds, the encroaching hand was withdrawn, and Michael collapsed forward, catching himself on unsteady hands.
An odd smell filled the air, rather like the time Maria had left the teakettle on the stove too long and the bottom had burned through. Smoky with a metallic tang.
Suddenly able to move again, she leapt to her feet, only to find the gun pointed straight at her face, mere inches away. Once again fear froze her in place, only faintly aware of Amy's clutching hands trying to pull her back away from the deadly weapon. Or maybe away from Michael.
Gesturing for her to sit back down, Bob brushed aside her concern. "He'll be fine. He doesn't need you," he told her.
Fine? She didn't buy it. She wouldn't until she heard it from Michael himself. "Michael?" she cried out, forcing the word through the lump in her throat.
For one horrible moment, she wasn't sure if he was even breathing; then she heard a choking sound as he sucked in a lungful of air. She held her own breath, as if only one of them could breathe at a time. Finally his harsh gulping of air faded, becoming merely a faint murmur of sound, and she realized the sound carried words on it, barely loud enough to be heard. "Oh god," he muttered brokenly, over and over. "Oh god...oh god...oh god...."
Tears ran unchecked down Maria's cheeks. Her whole being strained with the need to rush to his side. But she didn't move. She couldn't; the gun was still aimed at her. Instead, Michael's father did.
Reaching out with his free hand, he grabbed the back of Michael's jacket and yanked roughly upwards, giving a little shake as he did so. His voice was harsh. "Up now, boy. Shake it off."
Somehow through his daze, Michael managed to hear. With an obvious effort, he pushed himself to his feet and stood there, swaying slightly. From the back, he didn't look any different, not really; but Maria could sense something off about him. He seemed smaller somehow, beaten down by whatever he'd just experienced. There was something of the helpless child about his bearing; at that moment he bore very little resemblance to the cocky and rebellious Michael she'd grown to love. "What did you do to him?" she demanded.
"Just opened his eyes up to who and what he is. Necessary preparation for what lies ahead."
"If you hurt him, I swear I'll--" she began, only to be cut off by her mother.
"Maria." Just her name, spoken softly. But it was enough to stop the ineffectual tirade she was on the brink of delivering. Taking a deep breath, she reached up and wiped her tear-dampened cheeks with the palm of her hand. Her mother was right. It was stupid to make threats--even empty ones--to a crazy gun-wielding alien. She needed to be smarter than that, to help get Michael away from his so-called father. Not to mention freeing her mother and herself, too. But first, for her heart's sake, she had to know if Michael was all right.
"Please," she said, forcing a conciliatory expression onto her face. "Just let me make sure he's okay."
"He doesn't need to be babied. He'll live through this, and be stronger for it."
Maria glanced over at the spiky-haired alien. He hadn't spoken one word or turned since he'd gotten to his feet. She wasn't even sure if he was really there any more. What if he'd locked himself inside his own head again? Fighting a rising tide of panic, she begged, "Please."
"Oh, very well," the older alien said rather petulantly. "But don't try anything stupid now, hear me? I'll be aiming this lovely pistol at your mother, and we wouldn't want it to go off accidentally, now would we?"
Well, of course not. No bullet holes in her loved ones today, thank you very much. She shook her head in agreement and then took a few hesitant steps toward Michael, all the while under Bob's watchful eye.
"Michael?" she said as she neared him. She reached out, but stopped her hand scant inches from his back. She was almost afraid of what she would find.
He didn't respond.
Again she said his name, louder this time, putting all her strength into willing him to be all right. Still no response from Michael, although the other alien looked like he was perversely enjoying her worry. A note of panic burst through her rapidly fading self-control, and her voice wavered as she cried softly, "Spaceboy?"
That seemed to get through to him. He made a slight movement of rejection--not of her, but of what he'd been through. She could tell he was glancing wildly around, disoriented. Had he forgotten what was happening? Had the other alien somehow wiped his brain of who he was? Stepping forward again, she placed a trembling hand on his back.
"Michael?"
Without warning, he spun around, his arm thrusting defensively towards her, fingers spread. Startled, she stumbled backwards, only partially aware of Bob's mocking laugh. Then she saw Michael, really saw him, and let out a hiss of dismay.
His brown eyes were filled with confusion and pain. He looked at her like he'd never seen her before, never fought sometimes pitched and sometimes only pretend battles with her. Never held her, kissed her, touched her. Loved her.
And, just as bad--or was it worse?--on his right cheek, seared into the angry flesh, was an oddly-shaped mark. It reminded her of the alien symbol on the necklace Isabel had found at Atherton's dome, but it wasn't the same. And it had been burned into his skin. By his father's own hand. Maria felt sick.
After a moment, Michael seemed to lose some of his disorientation. He started to shake his head, but stopped at the first motion. The blistering on his cheek must have been hurting, because he became very still. At least a spark of recognition finally worked its way back into his blank eyes.
His mouth worked, but it took a few attempts for him to get her name out. "Ma...Maria?"
She could do nothing but stare, shocked speechless. The recognition in his expression seemed to grow, and she could almost see him remembering, realizing. A terrible knowledge shone through his eyes and his jaw grew tense. He evidently didn't like what he saw on her face, either.
"What?" he ground out. She gaped at him, not sure how to begin. "What?"
Her hand flew to her own cheek. "Your...your face," she whispered. But even as she watched, the angry red faded and the sigil darkened to black, looking less like a burn and more like an ebony tattoo.
His hand came up, but seemed to sense no difference in his skin. Glowering at her, he waited for her to explain. The explanation, however, came from his father.
"He's marked. So all who see him know who he is."
"Oh, that's just great," Maria snapped, losing all sense of self-preservation. "Why didn't you just rent a billboard and put his picture on it? 'Michael Guerin is an alien.' That's a great slogan."
"He will hardly have to worry about being found out now. He can protect himself from you feeble humans now that he finally knows who he is, and what he's capable of," Bob sneered.
"I don't care what he's capable of, he's not going to do what you want!" Maria shouted back. "Tell him, Michael!"
For a moment his eyes burned into hers, almost seeking something. What, she had no idea. But she gave a fierce nod. Whatever he had to do, she'd support him.
But it was Maria who needed the support a moment later. At least physically. Because her knees buckled under her when she heard Michael say coolly to the other alien, "I got a job to do, right? So let's get outta here so I can do it."
*****
"So are we waiting for the others, or are we going ahead with it?" Kyle asked bluntly.
Max and Liz looked across her rooftop patio at each other. Max hoped his face didn't show reluctance as strongly as Liz's did, but dammit, he was worried. It wasn't like Alex, Isabel or Maria to be this late. They'd tried to track their missing friends down by phone, with little success; Mrs. Evans told Tess that Isabel had left some time ago and Mrs. Whitman told Liz that Alex had been picked up by a blonde girl in a Jeep. And there had been no answer at either Maria's house or her mother's shop. Kyle had called the Sheriff's office and spoken to his father, but no auto accidents involving a Jeep or a Jetta had been reported that afternoon.
The three were now over an hour and a half late. Not that long in the human scheme of things, but extremely distressing when the Royal Four's alien enemies were taken into consideration. So Liz, Max, Tess and Kyle had moved up to the patio outside Liz's bedroom window to decide what to do.
"We'll be short-handed if we try to do this ourselves," Tess pointed out from her perch on the low ledge that ringed the patio. "We need more people to keep an eye out for Nasedo. I'm not sure where he went, and we don't know how long he'll be gone."
"I only wish he'd agreed to meet with me again," Max said with a sigh. "If I could have gotten him out of the way, we wouldn't have to worry so much about being caught."
Liz smiled reassuringly at Max, and Tess shook her head. "It's not your fault, Max," the blonde alien said. "Nasedo's not stupid. You've already had one meeting with him, and he came back to find someone had tried to break into his hidden room."
"He knows?" Max asked, alarmed. Isabel had assured him that the handprint she'd left on the wall had been covered up; he'd hoped that it would remain hidden longer than this.
"He hasn't said anything, but he's not stupid," Tess repeated. "I don't think he would have missed that the painting was hanging lower than before. He would have found the handprint. He's got to know that at least one of us was snooping around."
"Then we need to try again, before he has a chance to move whatever it is," Liz said determinedly. "If he hasn't moved it already."
Max shook his head in disagreement, mentally apologizing to Michael for postponing the alien artifact hunt. "We need to find Isabel, Maria and Alex first," he objected. "They're more important than whatever Nasedo's got hidden. We need to make sure they're all right before we do anything else."
Liz gripped her hands together tightly. "Do you think I'm not worried about them?" she asked softly. "Do you think I don't care that my two best friends and your sister are missing? Well, I do. But I also care about the fact that another friend--your best friend--is in trouble, and whatever is in that secret room may help him. And if we wait too long, we may lose any chance of ever finding out what it is." Her voice grew louder and more intense. "If Maria were here, she would be the first to say it, but she's not. So I will. I'm doing what my best friend would want. I am going to Tess's house, I am going to get into that room and then get out of there so I can go find them!"
The other three stared at her silently for a moment; finally Kyle pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against. "Okay, then. Let's get going."
Without a word, Tess showed her support for the idea by moving over towards the metal fire ladder and clambering nimbly down it. Liz looked over at Max.
"Well?" she challenged, her eyebrows raised.
"Thank you," he answered softly.
Her nose wrinkled up. "What for?"
"For wanting to help Michael."
"Why wouldn't I?" She looked at him, her face intent. "I'm not doing it for you, you know. And not even for Maria. Not because he's anyone's best friend or boyfriend. I'm doing it because he's my friend. And he would do the same for me."
Max nodded. "I know. Thanks." Their eyes met, searching. Questioning.
From the fire ladder, Kyle drawled, "I hate to break up such a touching moment, but the sooner we get in, the sooner we get out."
"Right." Liz nodded briskly and headed towards the ladder. "So do you have it?"
"Yeah, it's in the trunk," said Kyle with a fierce grin. "This is gonna be fun."
*****
Michael shifted warily from foot to foot. His statement hadn't had quite the effect he'd wanted. He was trying to ignore Maria's reaction, afraid to let himself become distracted by it. He couldn't help but be worried, though. She couldn't really believe he'd take any part in hurting Max, could she? She knew him better than that. Didn't she? No, he had to forget her and concentrate on convincing Bob.
Who didn't seem to be buying it.
Michael knew he probably wasn't thinking straight. Hell, after the last few months he should be used to that by now. But he was having trouble focusing--it was as if he'd always been blind, and suddenly had his vision restored. He could see clearly, but his brain couldn't handle all the input. Only what was overloading his brain was nothing as innocent as mere sight. It was dark and bloodthirsty, screaming out for violence. Death. Max, lying in a bloody heap, racked with pain as he drew in his last breath. Staring into Michael's eyes, the eyes of his executioner. A thousand broken bodies piled haphazardly around a cairn of dark gray stone, rotting. The stench of decay--
No!
He had to hold it together. Had to focus. Somehow he had to keep control. Not let his desperation overwhelm him. The images were just in his head. They were three-dimensional and came equipped with scent and sound, but they weren't real. Max wasn't dead, and there weren't corpses littering the ground. He was at the DeLucas', with Maria and her mother and the alien. The other things weren't real. They were implanted pictures; they couldn't even be memories of the past life. Because if they were, Max wouldn't look like Max, right? He'd be bug-eyed and bald and have tentacles or something. The traditional alien image, how Maria had probably pictured them when she'd first found out. Because he'd bet she had.
Besides, one image that kept flashing in front of him was the one from his dream, when Bob had tried to get a head start on getting him ready for all this. The other alien had projected an image then, and Michael had made Maria wake up so she wouldn't see it. And he kept seeing it now. It hadn't been a monster or anything like that. Or maybe it had. What he'd seen, what had terrified him, had been himself. Michael Guerin, with blood on his hands and glory in his eyes....
His head hurt.
Whatever Bob had done to him, that was causing this. It wasn't real, it wasn't. It wasn't.
He had to focus. Had to keep it together. He was doing his best. He really was.
But he could almost feel it, circling through his veins, permeating each breath, infecting every cell. The miasma of death. Butchery. The slaughter of innocents, of the guilty, of...of the king. Of Max.
No, goddammit!
He hadn't been like this before, when he'd been second-in-command. At least he didn't think so. Someone had fucked him up, in the time between that former existence and this one. Someone had damaged him, put this need into him, this desire. Made him into their tool.
Was this where all his rage had been coming from? The anger that had made him slaughter Pierce, the time he'd almost choked that guy--what was his name, Kenny? Kevin? Something like that--for making that crack about Maria, the nastiness he'd discovered inside himself when he was starting the whole 'keep away from the others' fight in the school parking lot...was it all a part of him? Had it been part of him all along, just waiting to be wakened? Leaking out in bits and pieces, coloring his actions? A sort of dark side?
Who was Darth Vader now?
He was struggling with it, the fear for Maria and his own self-loathing and the sudden physical and emotional pain he was experiencing. It all welled up, looming over him, almost tangible. He had to get out of here, away from Maria and her mother, before it overwhelmed him completely. And he had to take the other alien with him. To keep everyone safe.
Before the monster inside him burst loose.
The things he was capable of.... They were horrifying. Violent.
And part of him--some small part, that had been closed off until Bob had unblocked the hidden cancer in his mind--some part of him welcomed it, relished it. Delighted in it.
He had to get the hell out of here.
So why wasn't the other alien cooperating? Did he think his little mind-tripping connection hadn't worked? Well, it hadn't, not all the way, but Michael was damned if he'd tell Bob that. Could Bob somehow see into his mind, sense what his real plan was?
Not to go and kill Max. He'd die first.
Max. If his best friend were there, he'd be the first to call it a true Michael plan. Rash and unthinking. Based too strongly on the need for swift action, and damn the consequences.
But Max had no idea what was really going on. He didn't know Michael, not really. He had no idea just how fucked up Michael really was. How could he? Michael himself hadn't known.
Rash or not, it was a plan. And Michael would carry it out, if Bob would just get off his ass and believe him already. Maybe he should have paid more attention to Maria when she'd talked about acting, because Bob sure didn't seem to be buying into his newly-found gung-ho 'get the job done' attitude.
He had to make the other alien believe.
He had to stop him, no matter the cost. And he had an idea of how to do it. His diversionary plot hadn't worked before, but this could. He wouldn't accidentally rev up any power-cell crystals now; he didn't even know where Maria's had gone. He'd have to rely on his own shaky powers, and pray to high heaven that they actually worked.
He'd get Bob into a car--he'd hijack the Jetta if he had to--and drive out of town, somewhere away from people. Then he'd focus all his powers into one last burst and detonate the gas tank. The resulting blast should be enough to destroy the car and everything--everyone--in it.
For a moment, it almost seemed funny. All those people who'd never thought he could amount to anything, never do anything right--they'd continue on in their insulated little lives, because of him. He'd be a fucking hero.
And nobody, not on this planet or his home planet, would ever realize it.
Because they had no idea of the fate that lay in store for them if his father got his way.
He had to do it. He had to take Bob out, and himself with him, before either of them could hurt anybody.
He swallowed, feeling suddenly nauseated. The sickening knowledge of what he was about to do battled with a fierce need for violence. Hell, he'd already killed once; what was a little patricide-suicide on top of that?
continue to chapters 21 and 22
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