by Melinda Metz
Even so, he wished she'd stayed longer. Tortured him some more.
Maybe then he could have figured out what was bothering her. He knew something was, and not just the fact that Kyle Valenti had threatened the group.
Something was bothering her the other night when I went into her dream, too, he remembered. She'd been in the middle of a horrible nightmare.
Adam rolled over onto his side and peered at his watch. It was after one. Liz was probably already asleep. Was she having bad dreams again? Because if she was, it would be a friend kind of thing to go into her dream and stop it, right?
I'll just check on her, Adam decided. If she's okay, I'll leave.
He closed his eyes and allowed all the muscles in his body to relax and soften. A moment later the dream orbs appeared, whirling, translucent spheres of every color imaginable. They were all beautiful, but there was only one that held any attraction for Adam.
He whistled, long and low, and Liz's dream orb came to him. It circled around his head until he reached up and gently caught it between his hands. He pulled apart his palms, and the orb expanded to the size of a beach ball.
Just a quick look, Adam promised himself again, unable to completely get rid of the sweaty-guilty feeling that he was doing something wrong. He peered into the orb and saw Liz sitting at her desk. It looked like she was filling out college applications.
Not exactly a wonderful dream, but not a nightmare, either. Adam locked his eyes on Liz, wanting to soak up as many details as he could. The shape of the little hollow at the base of her throat. The way she'd tucked her hair behind her ear on one side and let it fall free on the other. The way the polish on her fingernails was a shade lighter than the polish on her toenails.
Wait. When he looked at her feet, he thought he saw something. Adam jerked apart his hands, forcing the walls of the orb out. His heart thudded hard against his chest. A couple of inches of water covered the floor, and the water level was rising. Fast.
Almost as soon as Adam realized this, the water was up to Liz's knees. She jumped up from the chair and started wading toward the door. Before she got halfway there, the water was to her waist, then her chest. Liz forced herself forward, using her arms to help propel herself through the water. She grabbed the door handle and pulled. But the pressure of the water was too strong. She couldn't get the door open.
Enough! Adam thought. He did the first thing he could think of. He used his mind to reconfigure Liz's body, turning her into a goldfish.
Liz immediately started darting around, exploring, enjoying her fish self. Adam let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. She was okay.
Adam knew he should go now. He'd done what he needed to do. But he couldn't resist turning her bed into one of those ceramic castles he'd seen in fishbowls at the pet store.
He smiled as she shimmied through one of the windows and then swam out the front door. She's all set, he thought. Just go.
But how much fun could a castle be for one fish all by herself? Adam said to himself. She needed a friend. There was nothing wrong with hanging out with Liz as friends, especially if they were both fish.
He stretched out his arms as far as they would go, expanding Liz's dream orb until it was large enough for him to step through. As soon as he was inside, he transformed himself into a goldfish, too.
Liz swam around one of the castle's turrets, spotted him, and then dove straight toward him.
When she reached him, she gave him a playful poke in the side with her goldfish snout. Then she flicked herself around and darted into the castle. A second later he spotted her looking out one of the windows. Looking for him.
Adam didn't need an engraved invitation. So what if they were both fish? So what if Liz had no idea who he was? They were together, and that was all he cared about.
THREE
Michael finished the last problem for his calc class and shut the book. Now what? He still had a few hours before he'd be ready to go to sleep.
He wandered into the living room. Adam was stretched out in the corner. He had the zonked-out, vacant expression that let Michael know he was off in the dream plane. Michael wondered whose orb he was in.
I should give him some suggestions later, Michael thought. He didn't know the orbs of practically everyone in town the way Isabel did, but he'd still managed to discover some that usually had some interesting stuff going on.
Michael headed down the spiral staircase that led to the museum and looked around. Pretty soon the place would be ready for a grand reopening. Smiling, Michael walked over to the information counter and grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. When the museum opened its doors again, he was going to be the boss. He was going to be Max's boss. Cool.
Leaning against the counter, Michael started a list. (1) Call old employees. (2) Go over account books. (3) Order supplies for coffee shop. Is there enough cash for a cappuccino machine? (4) Come up with killer display for front window.
He wanted something that would make everyone in town come in, even if they'd been to the museum a million times already. But what? He let out a snort. He'd be the best-possible display. He'd have lines out the wazoo if he put a real, live alien in the window. But obviously there were a few little problems with that idea. Like potential imprisonment. Like potential death.
Measurements. Before he could make any decisions, he needed measurements so he'd know exactly how much space he had to work with. He leaned across the counter and opened the long drawer in the middle, then rooted around until he found a tape measure.
Maybe I can set up some kind of multimedia deal, he thought as he made his way over to the window and stepped up into the narrow display area. A video loop. Maybe I could-
All his thoughts disappeared as he felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. The little hairs were standing on end, just the way they had at the game when Kyle Valenti was staring at him and Maria.
Slowly he turned his head and peered out at the dark, empty street. He actually saw a little better at night than he did in the day, so he instantly spotted the guy pressed up against the snow cone shack in the parking lot almost directly across from the museum.
The guy had his face angled away from Michael, but Michael recognized the build and the longish brown hair. It was Kyle Valenti.
Big mistake, rat boy, he thought. This is the perfect time and place for me to deal with you. Michael stepped out of the display window, trying to make it look natural.
As soon as he was out of Kyle's sight line, he sprinted to the back door and slipped outside. He circled behind the museum and the jewelry store next door, then inched up to the sidewalk and shot a look across the street. Kyle was still there.
"Ready or not, here I come," Michael whispered. He launched himself at Kyle, running full out. He lowered his shoulder and rammed Kyle to the ground before rat boy even had a chance to turn around.
Michael grabbed both of Kyle's wrists and pinned them behind his back.
"You just keep eating pavement until we're finished with our little chat. You got that, Kyle?" Michael demanded. He jabbed his knee into the loser's back just to make his point clear.
"I'm not Kyle," the guy said, his words muffled against the asphalt of the parking lot.
"What?" Michael grabbed the guy by the shoulders and flipped him over.
He wasn't lying. He definitely wasn't Kyle. This guy looked more like Michael than he did like Kyle. Michael shoved himself to his feet, then leaned down and helped the guy up.
"Sorry," he said. "Someones been following me, and I thought you were him. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," the guy answered, his gray eyes never leaving Michael's face.
What does he want from me? I said I was sorry, Michael thought.
"So, uh, are you waiting for the bus or something?" he asked. "The stop's a couple of blocks that way." He jerked his chin to the right.
"You're Michael Guerin, aren't you?" the guy asked.
The prickling started up at the back of Mi
chael's neck again, but this time it kept moving until it got all the way to his knees.
"That's right," Michael answered.
For another long moment the stranger just looked at him in silence, causing Michael's adrenaline to start pumping all over again. What did this guy want?
"I'm your brother," he finally said.
Michael's heart responded with a nervous thud, but he ignored it. The guy was obviously wacko.
"Brother," Michael repeated. Just forming the word felt awkward. It was as if his lips and tongue had been shot full of novocaine. "Bull," he exploded. "I don't have a brother."
Ray Iburg had told Michael that he didn't have any family on the home planet. No brothers, no sisters, no nothing.
The guy didn't answer, but a moment later Michael felt the sizzle of power in the air. He had to concentrate to keep his knees from buckling. Whoever this guy was, he had power.
That meant he was one of them.
The sizzling, electric sensation intensified. Michael started building a power ball of his own. He had to be ready for a counterattack.
"You want to play, we can play," Michael muttered.
A cracking sound filled the empty street. Michael jerked his head toward the noise and saw the three-foot-high alien on top of the snow cone shack pull free of the shack's roof. It shot straight up into the air, and it didn't come back down. It just kept on flying. Michael kept his eyes on it until it was out of sight.
"Impressive," he commented, making sure to keep his voice low and even. He continued to build up his power ball. He wasn't letting his guard down until he knew what the deal was here.
"You still don't believe me, do you?" the guy demanded. Before Michael could answer, the guy shot out his hand and grabbed Michael by the wrist.
The connection was instantaneous. But instead of the blast of images Michael usually got when he connected with someone, he found himself on the home planet. At least it matched up with the species memories of home that had always been a part of him.
He knew he wasn't actually there, but every sensation seemed completely authentic. The wisps of acidic mist coming off the lake sent tingles through his skin. The scent of the fruit from the nearby trees was thick and rich in his nose, making his mouth water. He could feel the slow beats of his primary heart and the faster, double thumps of his secondary appendage.
Wait. What? Secondary appendage. Michael didn't even know what that was.
No, that wasn't true. It was like he had two brains now. His Michael brain. And this other brain, a brain that knew exactly what a secondary appendage was, a brain that knew exactly where on the planet he was, a brain that even remembered diving into that lake over there with his father.
His father. Michael felt dizzy. He had no memories of his father. His father had died before Michael broke free of his pod.
What was going on?
He ran his hands down his body, realizing several things at once. His arms were much shorter, his fingers now tapered into hooked claws, and his skin was hard and bumpy. He glanced down at himself and saw what looked like rows and rows of metal rivets where his flesh should be.
What the hell was going on?
He heard the patter of light footsteps behind him, and he spun around. Two beings with small bodies, big heads, and dark, dark, pupil-less almond-shaped eyes approached him. The Michael part of his brain thought it recognized them from the hologram of the ship's crew Ray Iburg had once shown him. The non-Michael part of his brain recognized them, too-as its parents.
"We have to leave you now, my son," one of the beings said. The words weren't spoken in English, but the non-Michael part of the brain supplied the translation and identified the speaker-Father.
Michael felt a rush of grief that was from him but not from him. He told himself not to freak and to try to absorb everything being said.
"If it were known your father and I had produced another pod, it would be destroyed," the other being-Mother-told him. "We must find a safe place for your brother to be born, a place where our family will be able to live together without hiding."
"Why can't I come with you?" Michael asked, although he hadn't intended to speak the words, wouldn't have known how to speak them if he had wanted to.
"No one on the ship must know that the pod we bring with us is not our first. No one must know that we already have a child," Father explained. "But I promise that we will return for you as soon as we are able. And I promise that you will be safe with the members of the Kindred until then."
Father reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Mother ran two of her long fingers down his face. Then they were gone.
And Michael was back in his own body, back in front of the snow cone stand across the street from the museum. He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to get rid of the woozy, disoriented feeling swamping him.
The dark-haired guy was simply watching Michael, waiting.
Michael pressed his fingers against his forehead for a moment. He could almost feel his brain trying to process what he'd experienced.
"I-I was in you just then, you when you were a little kid, right?" Michael stammered.
"Yes," the guy answered, his gray eyes steady as they met Michael's.
"So, then…" Michael stopped, took a breath. Then he forced himself to spit out the words, the words he'd never imagined he would say to anyone. "So then you really are my brother."
***
Isabel was so bored, she could scream.
She still had a couple of hours to go before it was time for her two hours of sleep. She'd already reorganized the kitchen cabinets and done her nails-three times so she could decide which was exactly the right Isabel-esque shade of polish. She'd even used her power to soften the skin on her elbows and her knees, not that they needed it.
I could write another letter to Alex, she thought.
Another letter explaining how sorry she was about the nasty way she'd broken up with him. Another letter explaining how much she loved him, even though they weren't boyfriend and girlfriend anymore.
Another letter that he'd never get.
Isabel wrapped her arms around herself. She didn't want to think about Alex. Not now. Not in the middle of the night when she was all alone. She knew she'd only end up crying. And once she started, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to stop.
Usually on a night like this, she would insist that Max come downstairs and amuse her. But when she'd gone into Max's room an hour ago, he was bye-bye, off with the consciousness.
It was like her brother had joined a cult or something. And he couldn't wait for her to join, too. Maybe I should call one of those psychics and ask for advice, Isabel thought.
Or maybe she should just go upstairs and shake Max out of his trance. Yeah, he'd been talking to his little friends long enough. Isabel stood up and strolled down the hall and over to the stairs. She had her foot on the first step when she heard a soft knock on the door.
Yes! Michael or Adam had come to save her from terminal ennui. It had to be one of them-no one else would show up at this time of night.
She spun around, rushed back down the hall to the front door, and flung it open.
"Do you think you could have gotten here a little sooner?" she demanded.
And then she realized it wasn't Michael standing there. It wasn't Adam, either.
It was Alex.
Oh, God, it was Alex.
"Are you? What? I-" Isabel's brain was too scrambled to complete a thought. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trying to get a grip, then she opened them and a smile spread across her face, a smile so big, it felt like it was stretching all the way to the back of her head. "Just get in here," she said.
Alex took a step forward, then he did a slow crumple to the porch.
Isabel dropped to her knees beside him. She shoved her hands under his shirt and pressed them against his chest. Her heart gave a painful jerk as she realized how cold and moist his skin felt.
Just make the connection, s
he ordered herself. She stared down into Alex's green eyes, and she was in. But she couldn't focus on the images from Alex's life flying past her. She was freezing, her entire body so chilled, it almost burned-as if it had been rubbed with dry ice.
No, not her body. Their body. She and Alex had only one body now.
Why is he so cold? she thought. What's wrong? She explored their body slowly and methodically, ignoring the spikes of ice digging into her.
There were no foreign substances in the bloodstream. Alex didn't have a virus or anything that was giving him chills. Isabel directed her attention to his-their-brain, tracing the neural pathways.
Suddenly the images from Alex stopped coming. All she could see was blackness. Then a single image formed. Alex screaming, an endless scream, his face twisted in fear.
He's terrified, she realized. There was no external cause for the condition of his body. He'd been frightened so deeply that his internal systems had started to shut down.
What happened to him? What did he see? What did the beings do to him?
Not the time for questions, Isabel ordered herself. Alex needed her healing. But there wasn't a specific place to direct her powers.
Isabel drew as much strength and energy from herself as she could, then she let it fly into Alex. Was it enough? She pulled her hands away, breaking the connection.
She would have loved to stay connected, to stay that close to Alex. But she had to get Max.
"Can you stand up?" she asked. She brushed his hair off his forehead.
"Yeah." Alex shoved himself to his feet, and Isabel looped her arm around his waist and half carried him over to the sofa. It's Alex, her brain gibbered. It's Alex, Alex, Alex, it's my Alex.
"Just lie here for a minute." She grabbed the Indian blanket off the back of the chair and wrapped it tightly around him. "Don't move. I'll be right back," she whispered.
