by Kevin Ryan
When they reached the fireplace, Isabel found herself putting more logs on the fire.
"Isabel, what are you doing?" Max asked. "We're going to sleep."
"Oh, just a habit," she said.
Max gave her a strange look. Of course, it couldn't have been a habit. They didn't have a fireplace at home. Still, to her it had felt like a natural thing to do, like something she had done before.
Silly, she thought. I must be tired.
Isabel collected her things and was about to go when Max said, "I don't think we should sleep alone."
"Right, that's how the teenagers always get it in the movies. They separate and then, WHAM," Maria said.
"First of all," Isabel said, "this is not some stupid movie. And second, we've been sharing a single motel room for how many days now? Well, extra rooms won't cost us anything tonight. I'm sleeping alone."
"I was thinking we could all pair up," Max said.
Maria sighed and shook her head.
"Kyle could bunk with you. I just think it would be safer if none of us were alone," Max said to Isabel. "Okay?" he asked, turning to Kyle.
Kyle looked uncomfortable and said, "Sure." Then noticed the look on Isabel's face and said, "Look, Max is right. I'll sleep on the floor."
"No," Isabel said firmly. "I'm sleeping alone tonight, for the first time in two weeks. I'm sorry if that bothers you Max, but this isn't something we're going to vote on."
Isabel turned and headed up the stairs.
9
Isabel entered the bedroom and immediately felt herself relaxing. She realized that she felt at home. It was silly, she knew. This house was nothing like her home in Roswell. Nevertheless, it did feel… comfortable.
She turned on the lights and saw something she hadn't noticed before: an oil painting in a sitting area off to the right. It was a family portrait. There was a couple in their thirties. The woman was wearing a white dress. She was beautiful, Isabel saw, with long, curly blond hair. The man was handsome and wearing a suit. They both had broad smiles on their faces.
The mother held a baby in her arms, and two more children posed in front of the parents. One of them was a blond girl of about six. Suddenly Isabel was sure that the room with the rocking horse had belonged to her. Next to the girl was a boy who was maybe a year older. They all looked happy… very happy… she realized.
That's because they were, she thought. Five happy people living in this house full oj toys and children and life.
Suddenly, Isabel had an image of the house as it had been when the family was here. Bustling with activity, with children running down the hallway, household staff in the kitchen and tending the grounds. She saw extravagant birthday parties for the children, and smiled. The images should have been alien to her. Her own father was a lawyer and they lived comfortably, but they were nowhere near as wealthy as the former occupants of this house. Yet the house and the images seemed familiar to her.
Happy children and beaming parents.
Maybe that was it. She knew she and Max had been lucky to have been found and raised by their parents. Their childhoods had been normal and happy… almost surprisingly so, considering the secret that they carried.
These five people had been happy in a way she understood… in a way that had little to do with money, she realized.
Five.
Then Isabel felt a chill as she remembered the five beds in the infirmary downstairs, and she saw the horrible truth: They must have gotten sick, she realized. Isabel felt her face go flush and her throat begin to constrict.
Then there was noise from outside. It was her friends finding their own rooms. Isabel knew that Max and Liz would be staying together. And she had a feeling that Maria and Michael would put aside their differences for the night… especially given how scared Maria had been since they'd arrived.
Kyle didn't have anyone, but she thought he would be all right on his own for the night. He was single. He hadn't lost anyone. Like I have, she thought.
Alex.
What about Jesse? a part of her mind protested.
But it was different. She had left Jesse and she had done it because she was able to. She had not left Alex. She had lost him. Alex had been taken from her the way those five people must have been taken from one another. What had become of their happiness? Had they died together, or one at a time? Isabel couldn't decide which was more horrible.
More noise from outside. Laughter this time. To Isabel, laughter seemed inappropriate now, given what she was feeling. Quickly, she strode over to the door and slammed it closed. The crash of the door against the frame was satisfying. Immediately, a small thump sounded on the other side of the room. In the sitting area, a book lay facedown and open on the ground, and Isabel realized the slamming of the door must have knocked the book off the shelf.
She reached down to pick it up and saw that it was a black, leather-bound book that read "1948" on its spine. On the shelf above were a series of similar books that went back to 1938. Picking up the book, she saw that it was a hand-written journal, and the front of the book identified it as belonging to Robert Benton. The date of the entry that the book had opened to was March 15, 1938. Isabel got a chill and realized that the room seemed measurably colder all of a sudden.
She found herself afraid to read any further. This was the last book on the shelf, and she was sure it held answers to the questions she had had since they arrived. Answers to the feelings that this house brought out in her. For a moment, Isabel thought about returning the book to the shelf and leaving this room. She could find Kyle and stay with him.
That would be hiding, the thought rose up on its own.
They want you to know. And you need these answers.
But Isabel had decided a long time ago that she wouldn't let fear rule her, so she held her place in the book with her finger and walked toward the bed. She propped up against the headboard, climbed under the covers, and began to read the March 15 entry.
Later, Isabel would wonder how things would have turned out if she had just put the book away. Certainly they would have been different, but whether they would have turned out better, she didn't know.
"Nice big bed," Michael said, smiling. "Cozy," he added.
Maria rolled her eyes and headed into the room's bathroom. Michael had never slept in a bedroom that had its own bathroom before… unless you counted motel rooms. This was, without a doubt, the nicest place Michael ever stayed. It was certainly light-years from Hank and the trailer park.
Maria came out of the bathroom dressed in her long T-shirt. It didn't reveal much except her lower legs, but on her, it drove him crazy. He smiled and raised his eyebrows at her.
"If we weren't in such a God-awful creepy place, you'd be sleeping somewhere else, buddy," she replied, climbing under the covers.
"You tell yourself whatever you want, if that makes you feel better," Michael said, joining her.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Maria said, annoyed.
"It means we need to stop kidding ourselves."
"You are so sure of yourself, aren't you?" she said.
He smiled again. "No, I'm sure of you."
"You arrogant bastard! You men are all alike… and it looks like that goes for aliens, too," Maria yelled.
Michael tried to restrain his smile. "Yeah, it's a real problem," he said, and then he leaned over and kissed her.
Despite her annoyance, Maria responded immediately, kissing him and pulling him closer.
For a moment, the last two-plus years melted away, and they were back at the Crashdown, together… in the janitors closet and eraser room at school… in her room when her mother was out. Everything before or since slipped from his consciousness. He was getting lost again, getting lost in her. There were no pods. No Hank. No trailer. No Skins. No one was chasing them. There was only Maria, and she was sweet.
Perfect.
The only perfect thing in his life. Probably the only perfect thing he had ever known. He came up for air and
said, "I knew you would come around."
"Who says I'm coming around," Maria said, kissing him again.
A moment later, he came up again and said, "You know, about us."
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Michael. Just chalk this one up to the spooky surroundings and the heat of the moment. Don't try to make it more than it is." She was looking at him with her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open. He knew what she was offering, and he wanted it.
But there was something he wanted more.
A voice in his head kept repeating, Don't blow this. Take what you can get. He knew that voice. He had listened to it almost all of his life.
But not this time.
"What if I want more?" Michael asked, pulling back slightly. Even as he did, his body protested and tried to move him forward on its own. The voice in his head wasn't whispering now, it was screaming.
"Are you serious?" Maria said. "Who are you, and what have you done to my rude, insensitive former boyfriend?"
"Maria, it isn't that I don't want you…," he faltered.
"Well, I'm here, buster," Maria said.
Michael looked into her eyes. He had once said to her, Ever since I kidnapped you and stole your car, I knew you were the girl for me. Then he tried to do what he had thought he had always been ready to do: leave, on his own, with just the clothes on his back. But she had called him back. And it had probably saved them all. She had certainly saved him, something inside of him that was much more important than just his life.
"One night isn't enough, Maria. I want it all."
The voice in his head was screaming and pounding on the floor now, but it was out there. The rest was up to her.
Disbelief flashed across her face. "Hang on here a minute," she said. "Are you saying that nothing is going to happen here tonight unless I'm ready for a relationship?"
"Yes," he said.
"You're bluffing," she challenged.
"Good night, Maria," he said as he turned his back to her and put his head on the pillow. He could feel the stunned silence emanating from her side of the bed. There was a similar stunned silence coming from the voice in his head.
"This can't be my life," Maria whispered.
Michael turned back to face her. "Look, Maria, I've been running my whole life. I've always been ready to pack up and go, ready to leave it all behind to protect myself. I thought I had finally done it on graduation day, but something called me back. That something was you. Now that we're on the run, I realize there are things I can't live without. People I can't live without." He paused and took a deep breath. "I finally know what I want, what I've always been looking for. I want you, Maria."
She had listened to him in silence, her face blank. When he finished, she seemed to be collecting herself, then she spoke. When she talked, her voice was tight.
"Well, call the media: Michael Guerin has figured out what he wants. It's a miracle," Maria said.
Michael was flummoxed. His stomach had been in knots during his speech. Now he wasn't sure how to react. "Look, I don't know if you think this is coming too late, or that I'm doing this wrong, but I know that I want you and I'll do whatever I have to do to make us happen again," he said.
"What about what I want?" Maria said.
"I thought we wanted each other," Michael said.
"What if I don't want youT Maria said, raising her voice.
For a second, the old feelings came back to him with incredible swiftness. Of course, she didn't want him. Why would she? He didn't deserve her. He didn't belong with her. He belonged with a drunken SOB named Hank in a tin box at the trailer park.
As Maria continued to yell at him, Michael felt the blood rush to his cheeks and his throat get tight.
"… it isn't always about you, you know," she was saying.
He put up his hands and shouted back, "Enough!" he said.
Michael couldn't wait any longer, he had to know. He had been patient while they were on the road. Maria had a lot to deal with, they all did. He was content to give her the time that she seemed to need. But this wasn't about time. This was about something else, something more basic and much more important.
Unconsciously, Michael felt himself pulling back from her, retreating to the edge of the bed. He stopped himself by force of will. She was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. He hesitated, drawing out the moment because he was afraid of what was going to happen next.
"All right, Maria. What do you want? Do you want what I want? Do you want me?"
She turned away. "Michael, everything is so complicated…"
Reaching out, he pulled on her shoulder so she was forced to face him. "No, it isn't. I used to tell myself that it was complicated, but you and I have never been complicated." He made himself continue without hesitating. "So Maria, tell me: Do you want me?"
She looked stricken for a moment, and he knew that he was giving away too much on his own face. For perhaps the first time in his life he found that he didn't care. She was about to answer the most important question he had asked in his life.
Her face softened, and she reached for his cheek with one hand. "Michael…," she began.
He had dreaded what she might say, but he needed to know the truth. "It's a simple question, Maria: yes or no?" he pressed, keeping his voice steady with effort. He held his eyes on hers. Whatever happened, he wanted to see it coming. For a moment, she was silent, and he felt his life hanging suspended on a wire, waiting.
He didn't have to wait long this time.
"No," she said in a soft voice.
Michael felt like he had been hit in the stomach by a truck. As he was still absorbing her answer, she said softly, "I'm sorry, Michael."
He wanted to say something, to change her mind, or maybe to hurt her, but his defenses were gone. All he could do was stare at her face as tears ran down her cheeks.
"I love you," he said, surprised that he could speak at all. He took a deep breath. "I would die for you."
Suddenly she screamed, reached out with both hands, and shoved him. Already close to the edge of the bed, he felt himself fall backward and landed hard on the wooden floor.
"What the…," he sputtered in surprise.
Maria peered over the bed, looking down at him. He tested his limbs to make sure he wasn't hurt.
Getting to his feet, he asked, "What? You're upset that I would die for you?" His momentary confusion was making him forget what had just happened between them.
"Why are you in such a rush to die, Michael?" Maria said, anger flashing across her face.
By the time Michael got to his feet, she was on hers and leaning into him.
"I'm not in a rush to die, but… "
"But you'd die for me?" she spat back at him.
"I would," he said.
"What about Max? Would you die for him?" she shouted.
"Yes, of course," he said, without thinking.
"Let's say you died for me, or Max, or some stray dog… where does that leave me, Michael?" Maria said.
"Well, I mean… I don't think it's going to come to that," he said, no less confused than he had been before this conversation had taken its bizarre turn.
"But it is, isn't it. You are going to die. Liz saw it in her vision," Maria said.
"She also saw you going over the balcony, but I told you I wouldn't let that happen."
"Let's say you don't. Then what? And let's say you prevent Liz's vision of you from coming true. You still don't get it. You think you're the tough one: Sonny Corleone, the hothead, the fighter. You've practically got 'Most Likely to Die' tattooed to your forehead," Maria said.
"Everybody dies, not everybody… "
She cut him off, tears running down her face. "I'm tired of this macho crap. What if I don't want a dead boyfriend?" she sobbed.
"Maria," he said, reaching out for her with both hands.
She pushed his hands away. "Get away from me. Get out of here," she said.
Michael felt anger replacing his c
onfusion. "You know, this is crazy… even for you." He turned and reached for the door.
"Don't think for a second that you're going to be leaving me alone in this room in this place."
Without turning around, he replied, "I thought you said… " He felt a pillow hit him in the back of the head.
"You can sleep on the floor, Spaceboy!" she said.
Michael wanted to rush out of the room. He didn't have to take this from her, but that would mean leaving her alone. And there was Liz's vision to consider. For a moment, he weighed his desire to storm out against the additional danger that that might mean for her.
It was close, but Michael decided to stay. His decision made, he slowly closed the door and turned out the light. When he turned around, he just caught the blanket that came sailing at him.
10
Kyle paced in his room. He didn't like the idea of Isabel being in her room all alone. The Special Unit might be on to them. And the house was creepy, over-the-top horror-movie creepy.
And wasn't that the first rule of horror movies: No matter what happened, you never went anywhere alone. Otherwise…
Then again, I'm alone, he thought. But that was different. It felt different, anyway. Maybe he had seen too many horror movies with his dad. Michael and Maria had argued about who died first: the smart aleck or the mean girl. From what he remembered, they both usually went pretty early.
What about the Buddhist ex-jocks? he wondered. And what about beautiful, half-human/half-alien hybrids?
Kyle found he couldn't even smile at that. Isabel was being foolish. If they stayed in pairs, they couldn't be taken one at a time… there would always be one person who could fight or call the others.
Taken by whom? he wondered. He didn't know, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were foolish to take
any chances. Then, before he was aware that he had even made a decision, he found himself grabbing a pillow and a blanket. By the time he reached the bedroom door, he knew what he was going to do.
Out in the hallway, he headed down to Isabel's room. Passing Michael and Maria's room, he heard shouting. Well, it's nice to see people sticking to their routines.
