Some sixteen hours later, Maria was no less exhausted. Shoving her antennae headband into her locker, she leaned against it and moaned.
"Remind me again why I work here," she muttered to herself.
"Purely for the company," Liz said behind her.
Maria didn't bother to respond to that one. She was too busy noticing how neat and tidy Liz looked, her hair smooth, her uniform spotless. Quite different from how frazzled Maria felt. Then again, Maria had just finished a hectic double shift, and Liz was only halfway through hers. Still, it wasn't fair. Throwing her apron into the locker after her headband, she complained, "Why is it that practically everyone in Roswell decided they had to eat out today? I mean, Christmas is like a week and a half away! Shouldn't they all be busy shopping or something?"
"Look on the bright side," her friend told her. "More customers means more tips, so we can go Christmas shopping."
"As if half of your tips didn't go straight into your Harvard fund. And my Christmas shopping isn't going to take long, anyway. It's not like I have a lot of people to shop for, just Mom and you and Alex and maybe something for Isabel and Max."
"You're not giving Michael a Christmas present? Are you two still fighting?"
Flopping down on the break room couch, Maria shook her head. "No, we're not fighting. I'm not sure what we're doing--sometimes with Michael it's hard to tell--but it's not fighting. It's just that Spaceboy 'doesn't do Christmas'. Max says he and Isabel always have to come up with an excuse to give Michael a present. And God forbid it should be referred to as a Christmas present." She airily waved a hand. "But Michael's going to get one from me, no matter what he calls it. I already have it. And I have all next week to figure out how to give it to him."
Liz gave her a knowing smile. "So you haven't even started shopping for your best friends or your mother, and yet you have Michael's present already? And with eight whole days left before Christmas. How very unlike you, Ms. DeLuca."
"Oh yeah? And what about you, Ms. Parker?" Maria said, cocking her head to one side. "Planning on purchasing a Christmas present for a certain Czechoslovakian?"
"Four of them, actually," Liz answered demurely. Maria didn't try to hide her surprise, and Liz explained, "I already bought Max's present. Plus one for Isabel and one for Michael. And one for Tess."
Maria could actually feel her jaw drop. Up until now, she'd thought that was just an expression. "Tess? Tess Harding? Tess 'Max Evans is My Destined Husband' Harding?" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch at each reiteration of the alien's name.
"Mm-hmmm," Liz said.
"Okay, forgetting the fact that you're organized enough to already have that much Christmas shopping done--which, although not surprising, is sickening, if you ask me--you got a present for Tess. What is it, a roach motel?"
Ignoring that suggestion, which Maria had to admit was just what it deserved, Liz said, "I found a bracelet with enameled stars on it that I thought was pretty. I didn't spend much; it was on sale."
"Whatever possessed you, Liz? Granted, she helped with Michael and all, but still. This is the girl who tried to steal your guy, remember?"
"Well, technically he was hers first," Liz began.
"And that's reason enough? Okay, that's just too much. I mean, you don't see me going around being all friendly with Michael's past-life ex, do you?" Maria heard what she'd just said and spoke over Liz's laugh. "Okay, so maybe you do. But that's a totally different situation, okay?"
"It's Christmas," Liz said succinctly.
Maria shook her head. "You're a better person than I am, chica. Either that, or you've completely lost your mind."
Rising, Liz smoothed out her uniform. "I'd better get back to the crowd before Dad comes looking for me. Do you have plans for tonight?"
"Sleep, sleep, and oh, if I can manage it, sleep. Unless Michael swings by to talk or something."
"Are you expecting him to? Swing by, I mean, not talk."
"No, but it's Michael. I'm never entirely sure what he's going to do." And she still owed him a complete explanation about her uncle. Which she wasn't looking forward to. But Liz didn't know about that.
Sure, she could tell her. Liz would even skip over the fact that she'd never mentioned anything about it in all the years they'd known each other, and be supportive. The best of friends. But, darn it, she didn't want to talk about it!
Of course, she didn't want to tell Michael about it, either. Knowing him, though, it was hopeless to think he'd let it slide much longer. It had been a shock--albeit a pleasant one--that he'd let her put it off this long. Not that he could just demand she tell him, and she would jump to obey. That was so not how their relationship was going to work. And she could outstubborn him any day, if she really wanted to...
But Liz was still watching her, a smile curving her lips upward. Hurriedly Maria pulled back the thread of conversation she'd left dangling and said, "I just hope that if he does, it's not too late--I want to be in good voice for our gig tomorrow."
"Now what am I supposed to say at times like these?" Liz teased. "Oh yeah, break a leg, 'Ria."
Maria gave Liz her best saucy smile. "Only if a certain Max Evans is nearby."
*****
Michael was too busy that day to even consider heading to Maria's, for talk or anything else. He'd woken early; too much was on his mind for him to stay on the couch trying to fall back to sleep. He managed to kill a little time by downing two bowls of cornflakes with milk and Tabasco sauce for breakfast, but it was still early when he headed to the Evanses' house.
Early enough to catch Max still sleeping the sleep of the untroubled. Okay, anyone who looked that peaceful deserved to be woken up.
Bolting awake at the sound of the window opening, Max groaned, "Oh, come on, Michael, it's Saturday." He glanced over at his clock. "It isn't even eight o'clock yet."
"I know," Michael said unrepentantly. "We're supposed to go to Tess's for the book, remember? The sooner we get today's colossal waste of time over with, the better."
"All right," Max said, climbing out of bed. "But one of these days we have to teach you about this thing called 'sleeping in'. It's something teenagers do on weekends."
"We don't need that much sleep," Michael pointed out, then gave a deprecating snort as the alarm clock on the nightstand rang. "What was that about sleeping in?" he said with a smirk.
Max reached out to turn the alarm off. "For that, you get to go wake Isabel up," he admonished.
Plopping down onto the desk chair, Michael said, "Uh-uh. You remember what your mother said last night? I'm not allowed in Iz's room, remember?"
Max looked at him for a moment, then shook his head in resignation. "Fine," he said. "I'll go wake Isabel up. But one of these days, we're also going to go over the whole role of the second-in-command. I'm sure there's something in the rulebook about stepping in to save the king from imminent peril. You know, bullets, assassins, sisters intent on beauty sleep, that sort of thing."
Michael leaned the chair back on its rear legs and nonchalantly propped his feet on the edge of the desk. "Sorry, Maxwell. You're on your own."
"I'll just grab a shower first," Max decided. "That'll free up the bathroom for Isabel." And with a yawn, he headed into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
Alone, Michael set his feet back down and tilted the chair forward until it rested on all its legs, then crossed to Max's dresser and looked in the simple wood-framed mirror that hung over it. The alien brand appeared incised into his cheek, as blackly fresh as a week ago. He'd spent quite a bit of the night coming to grips with the fact that he was stuck with it, but he'd avoided looking in his small bathroom mirror that morning. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn't be so bad. His friends would get used to seeing it on his face, and he didn't care what anyone else thought. He just had to avoid reflective surfaces, and eventually he might even forget it was there. If he tried hard enough.
The only problem would be if someone in the know saw the mark and deciphered its alien origin. The FBI or--although Nasedo seemed to think it wasn't likely--another alien. He turned his marked cheek to the mirror and leaned in to study it. Maybe he should go to a tattoo parlor and get it changed into something innocuous. A skull and crossbones would go over real well, just one more sign of the delinquent label that the world seemed bent on plastering him with. He was stuck on this planet now. With his fancy new face, he could look forward to a whole lifetime of biker bars and minimum wage jobs. If he was lucky.
God, he sounded like Maria on one of her 'You will succeed even if you don't want to' rampages. A good thing they'd made their bet. He was going to need to graduate high school, at the very least, before settling into a purposeless existence....
With a sigh, he pushed himself away from the dresser. He thought he'd done a decent job of hiding his depression from Max. Maybe made up a little for acting the whiner the night before. His friends didn't need to be exposed to his underlying moods--they'd put up with enough of that already. Part of him was even relieved about Max's continuing push to discover more, to save their planet, an imperative Michael had abandoned once he knew how hopeless it was. Keeping busy, keeping occupied, kept him from wallowing in the sinkmire of purposelessness. He could count on Max and Isabel's help with practicing his powers, too--maybe that would keep him distracted.
Or he could get a hobby. Yeah, right.
"Max, tell Mom and--oh, hi, Michael."
Evidently Max was to be spared waking up an irritable sister. From the look of it, she'd been up a while already. Long enough to get dressed and do whatever girly stuff she always did to her face.
"Hey."
"How did it go with Maria?"
Figured she'd cut right to it. After all, why waste time when she could be needling him about his love life? But she wouldn't get much out of him; he'd stick to the non-coupley parts. "The guy I saw is her uncle."
Isabel gave him a happy smile. "Oh, good. Nothing dangerous there."
He didn't remind her that his own uncle had proved to be quite dangerous, or that there was something Maria was keeping close to her chest. He just gave a grunt and let her interpret it as she chose.
"I was planning to get an early start on Christmas errands, but I guess you're here about the pages."
"We were going over to get the book," he reminded her.
She nodded decisively. "Right. Well, if we're barging in on Tess this early in the morning, we had better call ahead." Quickly picking up Max's phone, she said, "Number?"
What did she think he was, a telephone book? "I don't know it. You were her friend," he pointed out. Yeah, he had a knack for that kind of thing, but he'd never seen Tess's phone number written down, after all. He'd certainly never needed to call her.
Rolling her eyes, Isabel dialed directory assistance and asked for the number. Michael couldn't figure out why she just didn't go into her room and get her address book; he was pretty sure she'd have the phone number from Tess's short-lived friendship period, before the other alien had started sending misinformation directly into their brains with those stupid dreams. But she shortly was speaking to Tess, apologizing for calling so early and mentioning that the three of them would be dropping by that morning. Michael perked up at that. Maybe he could talk Max and Isabel into stopping to pick up breakfast on the way. Forget the two bowls of cereal he'd already eaten--he could always fit in a chocolate-covered doughnut or two.
*****
Tess was actually eager to see them. After the joint rescue efforts the previous weekend, she'd dropped back a bit, giving them the space she felt they probably needed. She needed it too, for that matter; she was still dealing with the disappointment that Michael wasn't her brother. She was on her own.
She hadn't realized just how much she'd grown to count on it, so quickly. It gave her validation for belonging with them. There was always her relationship with Max, or there should be, but the more time she'd spent observing Max, Liz Parker, or the two of them together, the more she began to doubt that things would ever be the way they were supposed to. She had to face it--he didn't want her, not like that. And where did it leave her? Connected by species, but not by any kind of relationship.
She rather thought that Michael would be able to come the closest to understanding how she felt: separated, not belonging. He hadn't landed in the same situation as the others, either. And she'd seen evidence that though he held his emotions inside as best as possible, he felt them deeply. But she wasn't his sister, and he had Max and Isabel, and he had Maria. He didn't need Tess.
And so she'd spent a rather lonely and aimless week, taking part in the Spirit Week activities, but not really part of them. She'd gone to school each day, done her classwork, chatted with the other students, and gone home to an empty house.
The one saving grace of the whole week had been Kyle Valenti. He'd been friendly, hanging around at lunchtime and joking with her during a shared math class. She wasn't entirely sure why he wanted to. Sure, she came in a nice package--she knew her petite blond looks tended to appeal to the male protective side--but Kyle wasn't stupid. He knew what she was. She'd basically used him at the start, to get Max's attention. And here he was, treating her like she was just a pretty girl, like what she was didn't matter. The unaccustomed feeling of friendship--something she'd been too busy faking for years, for her own protection--was becoming more and more important to her.
She was in the living room, making sure everything was perfectly in its place, when the doorbell rang. Smoothing her hands down the sides of her skirt, she went to answer it.
Fifteen minutes later, the house felt alive. Strange how three people could add so much--well, not noise, since none of them were particularly loud people--but so much presence. Tess looked around the living room. Michael, his worn boots on the coffee table, was halfway through a doughnut from the box they'd brought with them. Isabel was stirring sweetener into the coffee Tess had made in preparation for their arrival. Max was studying the metal sheets Nasedo had kept hidden, comparing them to the book.
"Take a look at this," he said. "This one looks familiar."
Michael leaned over to study the symbol. "Yeah, it does," he said before stuffing the last bite of doughnut into his mouth. Swallowing, he added, "I think it's in the book too, on the page with our pictures." He flipped through the book. "Here."
"We should make a list of the symbols and note how often and in what context they occur," Max said.
"That might be helpful if it were a code, Max," Isabel said. "But if it's a language, who's to say it's anything like English? The rules may be completely different."
"We have to translate it somehow."
"You mean you can't read it?" Tess asked. "Any of it?"
"If we could, do you think we'd be sitting on our butts trying to decipher it?" Michael asked smartly. "We'd be off on some wild-goose chase."
"Said the head goose," Isabel pointed out. Michael wadded up one of the paper napkins Tess had set out and chucked it at Isabel's head. She leaned over and it missed her, but her eyes danced.
"You can't read it?" Tess asked again. "I can."
Michael immediately dropped the horseplay. "You can?" he demanded, his interest surging upward.
"Well, some of it," Tess clarified. "A word or phrase here and there."
"Show us," Max directed. He held out the book.
*****
Several hours later, they'd extrapolated enough to be able to decipher about a quarter of the symbols. By connecting the one that Tess was sure meant 'the brother' with its appearance under the engraved picture that looked eerily like Michael, they were able to guess which symbols meant Max, Isabel, and Tess. Or, as the book probably put it, 'the King', 'the pod-mate', and 'the consort'. Michael himself thought of them as the Hopeless Dreamer, the Meddler, and the Other One. But that was just because he was frustrated with them all.
So maybe it wasn't 'nice' to assign those titles to them, even in the privacy of his own head. So what? 'Nice' wasn't anything he aspired to. And if Isabel didn't get off his case about Maria, he was going to have a fit. Maybe blow something up, just for the hell of it. Why the hell was she all caught up in his relationship, anyway? Why didn't she just go out and get one of her own? Michael was willing to bet that Alex Whitman would be more than happy to volunteer. Then again, this was Isabel. Any guy--except Max and Michael himself, for obvious reasons--would be happy to volunteer.
But while Max immersed himself in the alien language, looking for a clue to saving an entire world, Isabel split her attention between her brother's hopeless quest and Michael's love life. What was she trying to do, convince him that if he couldn't believe in his old dream of going home any more, at least he had something worthwhile on the planet where he was stuck? Because that would piss him off even more. Maria wasn't some consolation prize.
All in all, he found that he was preferring Tess's company to that of his oldest friends. At least for the time being. She was minding her own business. Helping with the attempted translation, sure, but not on his case about things, like the others were. She wasn't even trying to push herself at Max, for once.
And then, of course, there were the doughnuts. He'd already had four.
"Michael?" Max said, cutting into his brooding. "You're the artist. Copy this page, will you?"
Taking the proffered pencil and notepad, Michael dutifully began to re-create the metal sheet on paper. One of those squiggly ones that looked like a spiral, then the squarish one with the wavy diagonal line across it. A few more curvy ones with different shapes; then, further down the page, the symbol they'd figured meant him. A space next to it, then Max's symbol, Tess's, and Isabel's, all close to each other.
Another line and then--wait a minute.
He looked back at the line of symbols reflecting the four of them. The three, so close; and his, with them but separate. There was something oddly familiar about it.
Closing his eyes, Michael tried to summon up the image. He had to have seen it somewhere else, right? Maybe on one of the other sheets, the ones in the book. But he just couldn't picture it. With a hiss of annoyance, he grabbed the page Isabel was working on. He ignored her annoyed exclamation, skimming his eyes over the page. Nope, not there. He tossed it carelessly back to her and reached for the book that Max had spread open on the coffee table.
"What's going on?" Max demanded.
"Hold on," Michael bit out. "I'm looking for something." Flipping through the pages with some urgency, he searched for those symbols, in that juxtaposition.
Nothing.
"Dammit," Michael muttered, not really understanding his sudden unease. He looked up to find three sets of eyes gazing at him in consternation. Oh. Right.
"I was looking for this," he said, holding up the notepad and pointing to the four symbols in question. "It just seemed really familiar all of a sudden. Like I'd seen it before."
"You have," Tess pointed out. "Those are our symbols."
"No, I haven't," he denied. "I thought they were on one of the other pages, too, but they're not, not like that. And since there isn't a whole lotta alien writing plastered everywhere, I don't know where I got that from."
"Anybody else get the same feeling?" asked Max. The two girls shook their heads. Then Isabel blinked, and spoke.
"Do you remember your dreamscape, Michael? The one when you got so sick at the reservation, and we used the healing stones to bring you back? There were symbols there, weren't there?" Michael frowned and tried to picture it. So much of that time was hazy impressions, not the clear mental pictures he usually could pull back up. The thing he remembered most was his contact with the others--first Alex, then Maria, Isabel and Max, and finally Liz, as they'd stood in the circle with the healing stones and freed him from the smothering sickness that had swept over him. He could vaguely picture brick-red markings on the sand around them, but he didn't think they were what was nagging at him.
"No, not there. That's not it." He ignored Tess's look of confusion, concentrating on the niggling feeling in his brain.
"What about the cave itself, the one that we healed you in?" offered Max.
That wasn't it either. "Dammit, why couldn't Nasedo just teach you to read this stuff?" he shot at Tess. "It wasn't at the cave, it--"
He cut himself off. No, it wasn't that cave. It wasn't even the symbols themselves that were so familiar. It was their position: three grouped together and one slightly apart.
He'd seen it before, all right. The same spacing, in a series of handprints reflecting the light of a shining blue crystal.
Handprints on the wall of the pod cave.
CHAPTER 46
"What handprints?" asked Tess.
Max watched Michael visibly struggle to hold on to a semblance of patience. But Michael had just dropped this on them, and Tess hadn't been a part of things when he had discovered the markings, only a month or so ago. Michael should have known that blurting out "The handprints, they're like the handprints," wouldn't be enough explanation for her.
Michael evidently had figured that out. "They're in the pod cave," he said in a rush. "Three of them fit our hands. Tess, I'm guessing the other fits yours." He sprang to his feet. "Come on, better if we show you," he added, and headed for the door.
When no one jumped up to follow, he turned back. "C'mon. Our handprints, laid out just like the symbols on these pages? It's gotta mean something. We gotta check it out, the four of us."
It had been a while since Max had seen Michael exhibit such fevered excitement, excitement that always led to things like breaking into UFO museums or stealing people's cars. There was frequently a bad outcome to this particular mood of Michael's. So why did it make Max feel so happy?
He exchanged a glance with Isabel; they seemed to be on the same wavelength. "Sure. I'm in," he told his impatient best friend.
"Me too," said Isabel.
Tess looked confused, but went along with the plan. "We can come back here afterwards," she offered. "You know, to continue working on the translation."
"Actually, I have to work at the UFO museum this afternoon," Max said as they headed outside. He was pleased when the news didn't seem to phase Tess at all.
"Then it'll be the three of us," she said. "Unless you have to work too, Michael?"
"No job. Got fired," he tossed over his shoulder as he climbed into the back seat of the Jeep.
Tess followed him in, saying, "Oh. I'm sorry." Michael just shrugged.
Max waited for Isabel to buckle her seat belt, then started the Jeep and backed out of Tess's driveway.
"We need to stop by my place, Maxwell," Michael told him. "I need to get the crystals."
"Still keeping them in a cereal box?" Isabel asked lightly.
"Yeah, so?" was Michael's response. Max glanced into the rear view mirror for a glimpse of his friend. Michael's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, his gaze intent. What had happened to his insistence that translating the symbols was a waste of time? He didn't seem to think so now; in fact, he looked as if he'd like to be driving, just to get there faster.
Max himself didn't feel as driven as Michael did. He would have stayed to work on the book, if things had been normal. Better to gain a complete understanding of what the pages said before taking action. But if it meant giving Michael something to shoot for--if it kept that hopeless, lost look out of his eyes--it was well worth a side trip to the desert.
*****
Michael waited impatiently for Max to wave a hand over the pod chamber entrance. He wanted to see the handprints again, and he wanted to see them now. With a feeling of relief, he followed Max inside.
"Over here," he ordered, pushing past Max and leading them to the far wall of the cavern. Digging in his pockets, he pulled out a handful of blue crystal spheres and held them up. The crystals immediately began to glow, casting a bluish light over their faces. On the uneven wall, four handprints shone out.
Tess drew in a quick breath.
"See? It's the same positioning," Michael said. "My hand fits the print on the left. Max and Isabel have the ones on the outside of the other three, just like the symbols on the page."
"You're right," Max acknowledged, holding up the metal sheet and comparing the two.
"Try it, Tess. See if you fit the other print," suggested Isabel. Tess did so; like the others had a month earlier, she found the print was a perfect match. Fascinated, she stared at her hand against the rock.
"What did I tell you? It means something!" Michael exclaimed. He felt suddenly elated. It meant something. He had known it.
Isabel's voice cut off his moment of triumph. "It means something. But what?"
His mood plummeted back to a more usual level. "How the hell should I know? Do I look like the fricking Rosetta Stone?" Michael groused.
"Rosetta stone?" Isabel repeated.
"It was the key to translating ancient Egyptian hieratic," Max said. "But I didn't know you were interested in that, Michael."
Did everyone think he was stupid? Just because he didn't go all gaga over school didn't mean he couldn't know stuff. "Read it somewhere," Michael said crossly.
"I didn't--" Max began.
"Whatever. Look, we need to figure out what it means."
"Not just what it means," Isabel corrected. "Who put the prints there? How did they know what size our hands would be?"
"Or did the prints change size as our hands grew?" Max asked.
"And why do they only show up in the light of Michael's crystals?"
Michael looked over at Isabel. He'd been wondering the exact same thing. Had they been there all these years, just waiting, or had the energy stored in the crystals somehow created them? Too many damn questions, and no answers in sight.
With a frustrated grunt, he gave in to impulse and stepped closer to the wall, shifting the crystals to his left hand and placing his right palm against his handprint. Tess gave him a smile and looked back at her hand, still firmly in place against the stone. Wordlessly, Isabel and Max moved to join them. Their hands reached out and covered up the silvery glow of their prints.
A burst of light shot out from beneath Michael's hand, zooming to the right to illuminate Max's, Tess's, Isabel's; linking the four handprints together. Too fast for Michael to react, it shone reddish, then golden, and then, in a blinding glare, brilliant white. Then it blinked out, leaving only the shifting blue light from Michael's handful of crystals.
"What was that?" breathed Isabel as she slowly pulled her hand away from the cave wall. "Michael, what did you do?"
His eyes still affixed on his own hand, Michael answered, "Nothing. I didn't do anything." He swallowed. "That wasn't me."
*****
Leaning forward, Isabel adjusted the Jeep's heater, then glanced into the rear-view mirror at Michael. His eyes weren't focused on anything in particular, as far as she could tell; he was probably in some inner world, trying to put all the pieces of their latest puzzle together.
Not that she could blame him; if she hadn't been driving the Jeep so Max could hop out when they reached his workplace, she'd be lost in thought, too. Prudence and a taste for self-preservation kept her mind on the road.
Pulling up in front of the UFO museum, Isabel bid her brother goodbye and watched him walk casually into the building. Max couldn't fool her; he was just as interested as Michael in figuring out what was going on. The minute he got off work, he'd be heading back to Tess's house to join them. Maybe with a quick stop at the Crashdown first, if Liz was working.
Actually, the Crashdown wasn't a bad idea.
"Do you want to stop and get some lunch before we head back to the book?" she asked. She turned to look at her back-seat passengers, only to find that neither Tess nor Michael was paying her any heed. "Lunch? Crashdown?" she said, figuring that the mention of food or Maria's workplace would at least grab her almost-brother's attention.
Sure enough, it seemed to have an effect. "What?" Michael said, coming up out of whatever fog he was in.
Isabel managed to control her inner amusement. "I just asked if you wanted to get something to eat."
"What, the Crashdown?"
"Yes, the Crashdown. You could say hi to Maria if she's working."
Strangely enough, he hesitated. "She is, but..." his voice trailed off.
Tess spoke up. "We can always grab a bite to eat at my house, while we work," she offered. "I know I have some yogurt, and there's got to be something in the kitchen that will pass as guy food."
Michael grabbed onto that idea. "Yeah. I mean...whatever."
Since when was Michael avoiding Maria again? He'd just spoken with her last night, hadn't he? His avoidance of the restaurant had to have something to do with her, because there was no way Isabel would ever believe he had a hankering for yogurt. Sure, he'd eat almost anything, but even he had his limits. One of them was yogurt; no matter how hungry he was, she'd never gotten him to take more than one experimental test bite. After that, he'd avoided it like it wanted to sit down and have an in-depth, emotional conversation with him. She didn't know why; loaded up with a few sugar packets, it was pretty tasty, especially the fruit flavors.
As Isabel turned back to put the Jeep in gear, she caught Tess's gaze in the rear-view mirror. Tess shrugged. She didn't look like she had any insight into Michael's behavior either.
Isabel didn't let that bother her. She had all afternoon to worm what was going on out of Michael. But she hadn't driven more than four or five blocks before she was ordered to pull over.
"What?"
"Just stop the damn Jeep, Izzy!" Michael shouted. Startled, she did just that, coming to a sudden stop in the middle of the street. Luckily, the car behind them was far enough back to avoid a collision.
"Dammit, Michael! What was that for?" she yelled.
"Go on without me," he said as he clambered agilely out of the vehicle. "Gotta do something."
He had to do something? They'd spent all morning chasing after alien messages, when she'd planned to devote it to Christmas preparations, and now he was just taking off? With much exasperation and some trepidation, Isabel watched as Michael headed back the way they'd come.
*****
Fighting the urge to run, Michael casually sauntered down the sidewalk, carefully keeping a dark head in view. No need to attract attention; he just wanted to find out where the guy was going.
He'd seen him out of the corner of his eye as they'd passed in the Jeep, but he'd been so caught up in mentally rehashing what had happened at the pod cave that it had taken him a minute or two to realize just what he'd seen: a flash of familiar dark red jacket.
Maria's uncle Teddy, walking down the sidewalk like he had every right to be there.
Well, he didn't. Not if it was going to upset Maria any more than she already was. Michael hadn't stopped to give it any thought; he'd climbed out of the Jeep and was halfway down the block before he bothered to ask himself just what he was doing.
Maria was not going to be pleased. Not by her uncle's continued presence, and not by Michael's taking off after him. Then again, he'd promised her he wouldn't look the man up, wouldn't confront him, and he hadn't. Their paths happened to cross, that was all, and Michael was just following him to see where he was going.
And none of it would even be necessary if Maria had told him what was going on. Okay, so maybe that wasn't fair. She'd said she would tell him, hadn't she? She just couldn't--or wouldn't--talk about it around her mother for some reason. Besides, she'd looked really tired the night before. He'd been right not to press her.
It was too bad they hadn't met up in their dream room, though. He could've gotten some answers while Maria got some rest. Then again, they hadn't shared a dream in a while. Michael frowned. Not since Bob had taken Maria and her mother hostage. That was what, ten days ago? And no shared dreams.
He'd been glad at the time; he hadn't wanted any contact with her if it could put her in Bob's path again. Of course, that didn't stop her from stealing his power crystals and coming after him anyway.
Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the blue sphere he kept separate from the others, the one he carried with him all the time now. The one he'd given Maria on a whim. Wanting her safety hadn't kept her from throwing it back in his face, either. In fact, it was probably the direct cause of it.
Well, they'd made up, anyway. At least enough that they hadn't given up on each other. Or Maria hadn't given up on him; Michael wasn't sure he had that option any more, no matter how much better it might be for her. He needed her--he wanted her--and he wasn't going to give her up. Not any more. If that made him a selfish prick, well, he'd been called worse.
Things would be good for them, this time. He'd make it happen, if he could figure out how. Their movie date next week would be a start. He just had to get through the translation, Max's save-the-planet quest, and a lot of other crap first. Then things would be fine.
That is, unless she got pissed off because he was tailing her uncle.
Michael carefully kept half a block behind him, following him effortlessly through a few turns. The man moved down the sidewalk like he knew exactly where he was going. He never even looked behind him, though Michael wasn't willing to take this lack of overt suspicion as a sign of innocence. Not until he knew for sure what was going on.
Which might happen sooner than he expected, because the man walked briskly up to and through the door of Mrs. DeLuca's shop.
So he was going to visit Mrs. DeLuca. His sister, rather; it was a normal family visit. Nothing wrong with that, right?
Michael didn't stop moving, but he did slow down and nonchalantly glance in the window as he strolled past. There, behind all the cheesy alien-themed souvenir crap, was Maria's uncle, his back to the door. And facing him, behind the counter, stood Maria's mother.
Safely in front of the dry cleaners next door, Michael bent down to retie his bootlace. It wasn't loose, but he wanted an excuse to lurk while he thought things through.
Maria's mother hadn't looked unhappy or displeased to see her brother. She'd looked surprised, but pleased, too, like you were supposed to when you saw a relative you liked. And she did like him; Michael was sure of it. When she'd spoken of him before, when Michael had asked what it was like to have a brother, she'd sounded...well, fond.
And yet there had to be something off about the guy. Maria hated him. That was proof enough, wasn't it? Michael didn't know why she felt that way, not yet, but she did hate him. She'd said as much. And Maria wasn't the type to go around hating people. If she were, some of the stupid stuff he'd pulled in the past would have put him soundly on her list. Her uncle had to have done something bad to warrant that kind of feeling.
Michael took a few steps back towards the shop, then halted. What was he going to do, just barge in there and confront the guy? Well, why not? He'd just get everything out in the open and then he could go on his way.
Except that would really get Maria mad at him, especially if it turned out that all the trouble he was feeling in his gut was really in his head. Besides, he'd spent his whole life trying to keep out of entanglements, so why get enmeshed now?
Except whatever it was about her uncle that had Maria so upset might affect Mrs. DeLuca too, even if she didn't know it. And he kind of still owed her.
Well, hell! How was he supposed to know what to do? He sucked at this. It wasn't like hunting for clues about his alien background. This was all about understanding people, something he'd never been very good at. Especially people who were halfway another species.
He did his best to imagine what Max would do in his place. No, bad example. Max wouldn't feel comfortable acting until he had command of the entire situation. He'd just hang back and see, which didn't suit Michael. If he could do that, he wouldn't have followed Maria's uncle in the first place. Maybe he should try Alex as an example--no, that was even worse. Alex would just walk right in there, casual and friendly. He'd get introduced to Uncle Teddy, make cheerful, genuine conversation, and come out with all the answers. Alex was a lousy example, not because that was a bad plan but because Michael wasn't capable of doing that casual, friendly act that wasn't an act with Alex.
What could he do? Besides blow up the shop, which was not an option. There was just one other thing he had experience in that might come in handy in this situation.
He'd break in.
In a moment, he was striding briskly down the sidewalk, to the end of the row of shops. He'd sneak around to the back, and come in through the door to the alley. He'd hang in the back room until he knew what was going on. Find out everything, and then get involved or not, as he chose. Then he could leave without anyone ever knowing he'd been there.
The lock on the back door opened effortlessly under his palm. He hadn't been practicing, not really, but it looked like the sudden control he'd gained under Bob's perverse tutelage was going to stick. Good to know.
Silently, he moved towards the door to the shop proper. He could hear the murmur of voices, but couldn't make them out until he pushed the door slightly ajar.
"...did you come?" Mrs. DeLuca. Huh. For someone happy, she didn't sound all that welcoming.
Uncle Teddy obviously thought so, too. "Well, that's a nice greeting, Amy," he said. Amy? Oh. Mrs. DeLuca. Michael wasn't used to thinking of her as anything but 'Mrs. DeLuca' or 'Maria's mother'. Or 'newspaper-wielding maniac'. But her brother was continuing, "Aren't you going to wish me a happy holiday? 'Tis the Season, and all that."
"Of course, Teddy. I'm just surprised to see you, that's all. I didn't expect it, not after all this time."
"You sent someone to look for me, Amy. Was it really necessary to hire a P.I.?"
Michael tensed. She'd hired a detective? He'd been right to be suspicious.
"I didn't know how else to find you. You left Roswell and disappeared on me. It's been three years since I got so much as a postcard."
"I've been travelling. You know, the lure of the open road?"
There was a sigh, and then Mrs. DeLuca said, "Is that really all there is to it, Teddy?"
"What else would there be?" he asked. Michael was wondering the same thing.
"You told me you quit, years ago. I believed you."
"I did quit."
Michael frowned. Quit what? He leaned closer to the door.
"Then how did a certain box wind up in my stock room?"
Teddy sounded as confused as Michael felt. "What box?"
But suddenly, Michael knew. The box that had put Mrs. DeLuca into temporary shock when he'd found it in the midst of rearranging the stock room shelves for her. He glanced over to the stock room door. If it was still there, and she came in to get it--
Wheeling around, he started for the back door. Unfortunately, his haste made him careless, and his elbow struck the edge of a shelf. He threw out a hand to stop the resulting wobble and only succeeded in knocking an entire box onto the floor.
The crash was followed by a loud, "What the hell was that?" from the other room.
Dammit! He'd make a break for it--but the door was starting to swing open. So much for sneaking out without anyone knowing he'd been there.
Without wasting another fraction of a second, Michael crouched down by the box, as if to assess the damage. He was just in time. Mustering an apologetic half-smile, he looked up. There was Maria's mother, peering over the shoulder of Uncle Teddy. Uncle Teddy, who did not look pleased.
TBC...
continue to chapters 47 and 48
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