by Melinda Metz
Trevor kicked the kitchen cabinet with one heel. "I don't know," he confessed.
"Maybe there is some way we could boost the power of the two Stones we have," Alex said, leaning his arms against the table. "Maybe we don't even have to get the third one."
Isabel looked up at the clock above the stove and stood quickly. "I can't do this now," she said. "My parents are expecting me home for dinner. It's family night. No missing it." She let out a short burst of breath, and her eyes filled with tears. "I guess I'll have to tell them Max is still working on his science project with Liz or something." Isabel shook her head back as if she was trying to keep the tears inside. "It's been three days of excuses for why he's not home now."
"Maybe I should change my face and put in an appearance as Max," Michael said. "We don't know how long it's going to take to figure out a way to shatter the consciousness. Max can't be missing in action for weeks."
"I'll do it," Trevor volunteered, stepping forward. "That way you can stay with Max."
"Really?" Michael said. Trevor confirmed with a nod. "Thanks, man. You should plan on staying there for a while. Isabel can coach you."
"Maria and I are scheduled to work tonight," Liz said. "Everyone try to come up with a plan, and we'll talk at school tomorrow."
"Good," Michael said as Isabel, Trevor, Maria, and Liz headed out.
"Want me to hang out and keep you company?" Alex asked.
Michael shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Go. I'll see you tomorrow."
"At the risk of sounding like a feminine hygiene commercial or something, call me if you need to talk," Alex said as he left the room.
Michael continued to sit at the table, the silence wrapping around him, pressing down on him until he felt like he couldn't breathe.
"It's Max. It's still Max," he burst out. He slammed to his feet and strode to the bedroom, then sat down on the side of the bed next to Max.
"Knock, knock." Michael reached out and tapped gently on Max's forehead. "Remember how you used to love those knock-knock jokes when I first met you? Some of them were really lame. I've got to tell you, I only laughed to be polite. You know what a polite guy I am."
Max's eyes stared up at the ceiling, glassy and blank.
Michael knocked on his head again, a little harder this time. "Knock, knock." He waited a moment. "Okay, I'll answer for you-who's there?" Michael continued the joke, doing both parts himself. "Boo. Boo who? What are you crying for, you big baby?"
He brushed Max's hair off his forehead. "Remember that one?" he asked.
There was no answer.
Michael had the eerie feeling he was never going to hear Max's voice again.
TWO
"So, this is Max's room," Isabel told Trevor as she opened the door to the bedroom. "Pretty basic. Computer. Books. Clothes. Assorted Liz Ortecho memorabilia in a box in his closet he thinks I don't know about."
An arrow of pain sliced through Isabel. Max was so different from the guy who had collected all the Liz stuff. Different. Yeah, right. That made it sound like he was just going through some guy testosterone surge and acting like a jerk or something.
God, she wished that was all that was wrong with him.
"Anything else I need to know?" Trevor asked.
"Just try to act Max-like-responsible, logical, somewhat saintish, and… and…" Isabel swallowed hard. She glanced around the room, looking for something that needed straightening. Why did Max have to be so neat? She had to have something to occupy her hands, occupy her brain.
Isabel spun toward Max's bookshelf and started to rearrange the books by height. "I'm sure you'll be fine," she finished, eyes on her work.
"Michael told me you always clean when you get scared," Trevor commented matter-of-factly.
"I'm not scared. And Michael should keep his big mouth shut," Isabel answered automatically. She hesitated with her hand on one of the tallest books. Maybe she should be doing this by color.
"You're not scared?" Trevor asked. He leaned against the edge of the bookcase and raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, so I am," Isabel confessed. She moved her hand from the tall book to one with a red binding, then back again. Which way was better-color or size? Or maybe author? She jerked her hand toward a book by Asimov.
Trevor reached out and grabbed her by both wrists, tugging her over to the bed. He sat down and pulled her down next to him. "Talk to me," he said, his gray eyes intent on her face.
"I'm not in the mood," Isabel snapped. She couldn't believe this guy. They barely knew each other, and he was expecting her to let herself go all soft and squishy. Yes, they'd had one nice dance. Yes, he'd helped her get through her akino without connecting to the consciousness. But that didn't mean she was going to serve her psyche to him on a plate. That was just not her style.
She met his gaze with a challenging one of her own, waiting for him to apologize for getting all Montel on her. He just looked right back at her.
"I was afraid most of the time I was with DuPris," Trevor told her finally, breaking the silence. "Especially when I had to connect with him so we could combine powers. The stuff I saw in his head… I'm never going to be able to forget it."
Isabel studied him for a long moment. "How early on did you connect with him?"
"Pretty much right away," Trevor admitted.
"And you stayed with him even after you knew what he was? Even after you knew he was evil?" I really don't know Trevor, she thought. The guy obviously had some serious issues. How could he have stayed on as DuPris's little personal assistant, knowing the truth about him?
A faint blush crept up Trevors throat. He ran his fingers over the redness. "This human body is way too affected by emotions."
"Answer the question," Isabel snapped.
"Yes, I stayed with him," Trevor replied. He started to rub his throat, as if he was trying to erase the blush. "I was raised to believe that sacrifice to the cause-the rebellion against the collective consciousness-was an honor. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the honor."
"That doesn't exactly explain." Isabel crossed her arms over her leather jacket and leveled him with a glare. She wasn't going to let him off the hook. This was too important.
"When I linked up with DuPris, I saw images of torture, of hideous cruelty. But DuPris said that the acts were necessary sacrifices, vital to our cause," Trevor explained. "It made me sick. But I believed nothing was more important than destroying the consciousness-no matter what it took."
He stood up and paced around the carpeted area between Max's bed and his dresser. Then he turned and faced Isabel. "I stayed with him even after I knew he killed Michael's and my parents," he blurted out. "I still didn't think DuPris was evil. Just determined. Willing to do whatever it took to end the control of the consciousness. Our parents had to be killed, or the Stone of Midnight would have been returned to the home planet and all chance of shattering the consciousness would have been lost."
Tears formed at the corners of Isabel's eyes. Trevor wasn't just talking about his parents. He was talking about her parents, too.
Trevor started talking faster. "I thought the cause was worth even that sacrifice," he said, stopping in front of her. "I thought no price was too high if it meant the consciousness would be shattered and the beings of our planet would be free again."
Isabel thought about Max. Unable to speak, unable to move unless the collective consciousness allowed it. She had risked death itself so she wouldn't have to join the consciousness and end up like her brother. She could almost understand why Trevor was willing to accept even the murder of his parents as a necessary loss.
She shifted on the bed, wiping her moist palms on the plaid comforter. "What changed your mind about DuPris?" she asked, eyeing Trevor.
"When he killed Adam," Trevor said, straightening his posture. "That was not necessary, not to shattering the consciousness, not to anything. That's when I understood the truth about DuPris."
Greasy streaks of puke gree
n shame began snaking through Trevors aura, along with splotches of crimson anger. Anger at himself. Isabel was sure of that.
"You killed DuPris one instant after you realized the truth," Isabel reminded him. "He was a hero to you, and you didn't hesitate to take him down. Don't forget that." A couple of the shame streaks lightened.
"Thanks," Trevor muttered. He sat back down beside her. Isabel could feel the edge of his aura brushing against hers, although their bodies weren't even touching. He's one of the good guys, she thought.
"I can't go more than a couple of minutes without thinking about Max," she said, surprising herself. She hadn't planned to go there. Isabel shot a glance at the bookcase. The desire to get up and rearrange it was like an itch in her brain, but she refused to let herself do it. She moved a little closer to Trevor instead. He didn't speak, didn't press her.
"If something happens to him…" She stopped and cleared her throat when she heard her voice crack. "Well, something's already happened to him. But if-I don't think I could-" She clenched a fistful of bedspread in each hand and shook her head, closing her eyes. "I just can't talk about this."
"You don't have to talk. But you don't have to go through this alone, either. You have Michael and the others." He hesitated, then took her hands. "You have me, if that means anything."
His hands felt warm and soft around hers. "It does," she told him.
They sat there side by side in silence as the late afternoon light faded and the room grew dim and then dark. Isabel heard the front door open, then the sound of her parents' voices.
"You better change," she said. She reached over and flicked on the lamp on the nightstand. When she looked back at Trevor, his eyes had already lightened from gray to blue, his hair from brown to blond. A moment later Max was sitting beside her.
Except it wasn't really Max. It had been a long time since she'd really been with her brother.
***
Liz tightened her grip on the paper bag in her hand as she climbed up the steps to Michael's apartment. He opened the door before she had a chance to knock. "I thought I'd visit Max before school."
"You want company?" Michael asked.
"No, I'm good," Liz said. Michael stepped back to let her inside.
"I'm going to head out, then. I want to make a stop at the doughnut place," he said, hand on the doorknob.
"Yeah, go, it's fine," she assured him, trying to act casual. "I'll lock up when I leave." As soon as the door closed, Liz hurried through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom. She took a moment to brace herself for the sight of Max's lifeless face, then stepped inside.
"Um, I made you some of those blueberry-and-jalapeno muffins you like," she announced, her voice coming out too loud and phony. "I'll just leave them on the dresser. I guess the consciousness will let you eat sometime."
Just to keep you alive in case it needs to use you for something, she added silently. She sat down gingerly on the side of the bed and gazed down at Max, forcing herself not to turn away at the sight of his slack mouth and dull eyes.
"I know you're in there somewhere, Max," she said. "I'm just going to assume you can hear me." Now what? Liz tilted her head from side to side, the bones in her neck cracking slightly. "So let me tell you what's been going on. Elsevan DuPris is dead, so you don't have to worry about that. I know how much you worry about things. We're all safe. No crisis."
Except the crisis involving Max himself. She pushed away the thought and continued. "I do have some sad news about Adam. He's dead, Max." She struggled to control the tremor that had infected her voice. "DuPris killed him."
Liz checked Max's eyes. Not a flicker of emotion or even awareness.
"I don't know if you ever noticed that Adam had a crush on me. And when you-when you weren't around that much, I started spending more time with him. He made me feel good. Special, you know?" Tears burned her eyes as she remembered the time she spent with Adam. She twisted her hair into a knot, then let it fall back down her back, trying to keep her composure. It wasn't going to help Max if she sat here sobbing.
"I don't know why I'm even telling you this," she said. "No, that's not true," she corrected herself. "I'm telling you because I want you to know that although I really cared about Adam, I never fell in love with him. I've never loved anybody but you, Max. I don't think I ever will."
Liz did another eye check. Nothing.
"You might find it hard to accept that," she continued, wanting to believe he was listening and praying he could. "I know I broke up with you. But that's because you were so deeply connected to the consciousness that you weren't even you anymore. The way I felt… the way I feel-it hasn't changed. I love you. I love you so much."
She reached out and ran her fingers down his cheek. His skin felt warm and dry, but a chill ran through her.
"I should go. School." Liz stood up. "I'll come back later." She started for the door, then turned back, her breath coming in quick bursts. "We all heard you when you told us you were trapped that day in the hangar. We all heard you ask for help. I promise that we're going to find a way to bring you back."
A gasp escaped her lips as she did one last eye check. Max's gaze met hers directly, his eyes bright with life.
He sat up, then swung himself out of bed and strode over to her, his eyes never leaving hers. Liz almost fell into his arms, but then he started talking, and his words made her freeze.
"I was relieved that you broke up with me," he told her. "It saved me the hassle of trying to come up with something to say to you."
"What?" Liz took an involuntary step backward and smacked into the door, the knob digging into her spine.
"It was fun for a while-having a human girlfriend," he continued. "But now, through the consciousness, I've gotten to see what life's like at home, my real home. All I can think about is getting back there. And it's not as if I can take you with me, so…" He shrugged. "It's just as well we're officially not together."
"What?" Liz said again. It was Max talking. She was sure of it. Whenever the consciousness was in control of him, his face was totally lifeless. But now his eyes were blinking and sparkling; his skin looked healthy. He was totally there. But how could he say these things to her?
"What?" Max mocked with a smirk. "Listen. I'll spell it out for you. I don't love you. I never did. It was fun, but it's time for me to go back where I belong. I need the Stones. With them I can open a wormhole for the return trip."
"You never loved me?" The words felt edged with razor blades as they came out of her mouth. She was almost surprised not to feel blood on her lips.
"I. Never. Loved. You. Did I say it slowly enough for you to understand that time?" he asked. He was so close to her, she could feel his breath against her forehead as he spoke, smell the familiar Max smell of his body, see the subtle flecks of a deeper blue in his light blue eyes. Everything about him was so familiar. But it was as if he were a complete stranger.
"You're lying," she said, determination settling over her face. "I don't know why, but you're lying. Are you trying to protect me from something? Because I know that you love me. There was no way you could have been pretending. I would have felt it."
Max laughed, shaking his head as if she were a child. "There are a lot of girls who've said exactly those words to a lot of guys. What makes you think you're any smarter? Now, tell me where the Stones are, and I'll be out of your way."
Slowly Liz's brain regained some of its ability to function. The Stones. This was about the Stones. He'd said it twice now.
She narrowed her eyes and studied him. Yes, he looked awake, but she'd never seen his eyes so hard or his jaw so tight before. This wasn't Max standing in front of her, not really. It was the consciousness. The consciousness was trying to manipulate her emotions to get her to reveal the location of the Stones.
Liz was half relieved, half disgusted.
"I don't know where they are," she answered. Which was true. Not that she would have told the consciousness where to find th
em if she had.
"If you're thinking that you can change the way I feel about you by keeping me around, you're wrong," Max said harshly. "The longer I'm with you, the more clear it is to me that we could never have been anything more than short-term. My abilities, my capacities are so beyond yours that I'd never be satisfied by you."
It's not Max, she told herself. It's not him. But the words cut her to the bone.
"Tell me where the Stones are, Liz," Max pressed.
The sound of her name on his, no, its, lips sent a shudder through her. "I don't know!" she screamed.
Then the Max thing blinked and crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
***
Max fought against the ocean of auras above him. He had to break to the surface. He had to get to Liz.
But he wasn't strong enough. The auras bore down on him with the pressure of billions of gallons of water, pushing him deeper and deeper into the consciousness, farther and farther away from Liz.
"Liz!" he screamed with his mind. "Liz!"
But there could be no answer.
Max shot images out at the closest beings, images of pain and violation, trying to express how it felt for his body and brain to be used without his consent.
He felt some flickers of sympathy from the most distant beings. Clearly he was being kept away from any that might be tempted to help him. Then an image filled his mind-a picture of him using one of the Stones of Midnight to open a wormhole and return both Stones to his home planet. This image was immediately followed by another one-Liz's stricken face.
The image of Liz multiplied, each vision of her a knife slicing through his soul. The message was clear. Either Max returned the Stones to the home planet, or he would be made to hurt those he loved again and again.
Max let out a howl of fury. He hurled himself at the auras above him, using every ounce of energy and determination to fight his way through. He had to get out, find Liz, tell her he was sorry, tell her he loved her until his throat was raw.
But there were too many of them. Billions to his one. When they slammed him back down, he didn't bother trying to get up again.
