by Melinda Metz
"There's nothing we can do," Liz said, hating to admit it. At that moment all she really wanted to do was run after Maria-get the heck out of here ASAP. "We just have to wait and hope Michael decides to contact us."
Adam took her hand and twined her fingers with his. Liz caught another flash of emotion from Max. She automatically started to pull her hand away. Max had enough to deal with right now.
But as she watched, his eyes went dull and lifeless, his mouth slackening. Liz tightened her fingers around Adam's and tried to think only about the feeling of his warm hand.
***
Maria pulled the Jeep up to the mall entrance closest to the movie theater, tires squealing.
"That's not a parking place," someone shouted. She didn't answer. She ran to the doors and burst into the mall, then raced down the walkway to the movie theater, through those doors, and straight past the usher.
"I didn't see a ticket," he called after her.
"I don't have one," Maria answered, heading toward the closest of the multiplex's screens. The usher snagged her by the elbow.
"You're not going anywhere without a ticket," he said.
Why couldn't it be someone from school? she thought. Why did it have to be some Guffman High guy who acted like having a flashlight was only one step down from a badge and a gun?
"Here's what's going to happen," Maria told him, going into full Arnold mode. "I'm checking each theater until I find my friend, then we are both leaving."
"You are not-" the movie cop began.
"If you don't let go of my arm, I'm going to start screaming about roaches in my popcorn and a rat tail in my Twizzlers and-"
The Guffman kid turned a red that perfectly matched his cheesy uniform vest. "Fine. Okay. You can go in," he said quickly, releasing her elbow. "But don't bother any of the other paying customers."
"Thanks, sweetie," Maria said over her shoulder. She plunged through the closest double doors and waited impatiently for her eyes to adjust. Then she scanned the rows for Alex. The theater was packed. It was going to take way too long.
Maria marched to the front of the theater and positioned herself in front of the screen, ignoring the popcorn, Hot Tamales, and Junior mints that immediately started flying at her. "Alex Manes, if you're in here, you have three seconds to get your butt into the lobby."
She didn't see anyone stand up, so she bolted back down the aisle, her feet making sucking sounds where someone had spilled a giant soda, and flew back into the lobby. The next auditorium was playing a Julia Roberts flick. Perfect date bait, she thought. This is where he'll be.
This time she didn't bother going to the front of the theater. She just swung open the doors and bellowed, "Alex Manes. I know you're in there. Get your skinny white butt out here-now!"
A tall figure in the back row stood up. "Maria?"
"That's right. I need to talk to you," she yelled.
"Is that your girlfriend or something?" a female voice asked over the shouts of "shut up" from the rest of the audience.
"No, I'm his mother," Maria called back. "And I'm taking him home."
Alex sidestepped out of the row of seats and reached Maria in four long strides. He propelled her back into the lobby and closed the door behind them.
"What is your problem?" he demanded.
"My problem is that just because you happen to have become a babe, you've totally forgotten who your friends really are," Maria snapped.
"And I should do what? Spend every second with the UFO-lovers club?" Alex demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What you should do is stop thinking with whatever it is you've been thinking with and start thinking with your brain." Maria roughly brushed some popcorn crumbs off the front of his sweater. "We need you, Alex."
He pulled two Hot Tamales out of her hair, not bothering to be gentle. "I'm not helping you go after DuPris, if that's what this is about," Alex answered, his voice low. "There is nothing we can do against his power. We-"
"This isn't about DuPris. It's about Isabel," Maria told him.
Some of the color instantly left Alex's face, and Maria knew she had his attention.
"Tell me," he demanded. He pulled her over to one of the padded benches in front of the bathrooms, as far away from the usher as they could get.
"She entered her akino, which you'd know if you hadn't decided to become Roswell's own sex bunny," Maria said.
"It's the girls who are the bunnies," Alex corrected, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did Isabel make the connection to the consciousness?"
"No. She refused." Maria felt un-Arnold tears sting her eyes. "Isabel and Michael took off somewhere without the communication crystals. She's out there someplace dying, and we don't know how to find her."
"Oh, my God," Alex said, his face almost completely white. "I still don't know what you want me to do, but I'm there."
Maria gave him a fast hug. "I knew you would be." She checked over her shoulder to make sure the usher wasn't listening. He was twirling his flashlight like a cowboy and replacing it in an imaginary holster. Not a problem.
"When we were trying to get you back from you know where, your father found DuPris before we did," Maria explained. "He must have some kind of Clean Slate tracking device. You've got to get it from him."
Alex nodded. "It's not going to be easy. My dad has refused to answer even one question about his connection to Clean Slate. But I'll get it done."
He stood up and pulled Maria to her feet, and they headed for the exit. "You'll have to drive me."
"Oh, your girls pick you up, huh, stud?" Maria teased, relief making her giddy. "Wait a sec," she said as they reached the doors. She hurried over to the concession stand and grabbed a handful of napkins. The usher looked like he wanted to say something but didn't.
Maria rushed back over to Alex and handed him the napkins. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"I know your dad well enough to be sure he's not going to want to listen to you if you have lipstick all over your face," she explained.
ELEVEN
Michael watched Isabel sleep, hoping it was only sleep, hoping she hadn't slipped into unconsciousness. His arm was numb beneath her shoulders, and his right leg was cramping from his awkward position lying on the edge of the twin bed, but he didn't move. He wanted to stay as close to Isabel as he could get. Just listening to her breathe those horrible wheezing breaths. Knowing she was still with him.
She rolled her head toward him, sending pins and needles through his numb arm.
"You awake?" he asked softly.
"Barely," she answered. "I was having this dream… where I was being buried… in the sand. At first it… was fun, but all the little grains kept… coming down, and then I could… hardly breathe."
"I want to connect with you. I know I can't really heal you, but maybe I can make you feel a little better," Michael told her. He wished he could somehow pull her pain into his own body. It hurt more to see Izzy hurting than it would to actually experience the physical sensations himself.
"Okay," Isabel answered. Michael inched his arm out from under her, then moved the covers down a little and placed his hands on her chest, just below her throat.
"Your hands are… like Trevor's," she murmured. She paused to take a breath. "Or his are… like yours. I noticed that… when we danced."
Was she totally out of it now? Did she even know what she was saying?
"At the party… in the museum," she continued. "I thought… maybe Trevor and I… he's like you… but without the… feels-like-my-brother thing."
"Don't waste your breath talking about that," Michael told her. "Don't talk at all right now. Let me make the connection."
All he had to do was think the name Isabel, and a rush of images swept over him. Many of the images were almost as familiar to him as those from his own life because so much of his life had been spent with Isabel.
A glistening ship with shimmering sides that looked almost liquid. Max laughing. A sizzling rainbow of au
ras in a cave. Michael running his hands through his hair. A burned doll.
And he was in. Connected. His second heartbeat was pounding so quickly, it scared him.
Slowly Michael used his mind to examine her body-their body. The contrast between her internal organs and his own was so huge that Michael almost had to break the connection. If she can feel it, you can look at it, he told himself.
The texture of her lungs looked like old paper. As if they might disintegrate into dust at a single touch. He didn't want to risk even brushing them with his mind. A survey of her other organs showed Michael they were all in a similar condition. He carefully allowed the connection to slip, splitting them into separate beings again.
"Couldn't do anything?" Isabel asked.
Michael shook his head. As he looked down at her, he also saw the little girl Isabel, the little girl who'd adored him, who'd been so sure he could do anything.
What a laugh, he thought.
"Not your fault… stupid," Isabel said.
She'd always been able to know pretty much what he was thinking. Today he didn't think that was a good thing. What she had to deal with was enough. She didn't need all his fear and garbage dumped on her.
"Think you could… find Trevor?" Isabel asked. "Maybe he could help."
"He's with DuPris," Michael reminded her.
"I know," Isabel answered. Her chapped lips began to bleed again. "But I need… I need you to… find him."
***
Alex hesitated outside the door to his father's study, his heart fluttering nervously.
"No guts, no glory," he muttered, lifting his hand and knocking confidently. When his father called, "Come in," Alex straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, shooting for the posture his military-man dad preferred. Well, preferred was an understatement. More like demanded. Then he stepped inside.
"I thought you were at the movies," his father said, glancing up at Alex.
"I was, but something came up," Alex answered. "Something I need to talk to you about."
The Major looked surprised-or what passed for surprised, considering the way he kept his emotions locked down. Alex understood why. He and the old man weren't exactly known for their heart-to-heart talks. They'd basically had one-when Alex made it back from the aliens' home planet. They'd had this short but intense conversation about how Alex's dad had been trying to bring him back. That revelation had totally blown Alex away-and not just because his dad had revealed that he was a Project Clean Slate agent-but because he'd revealed the depth of his love for Alex.
"Go ahead," the Major said. He gestured at the chair in front of his desk. Alex settled in, trying to keep from nervously jerking his leg up and down. This room and this chair gave him a Pavlov's-dog reaction. In the past he'd only been in this location when he'd been getting reamed by his dad for doing something wrong.
"You remember Isabel Evans, right? She came to dinner that one time?" Alex asked, veering away from the most direct route to what he needed to say.
"Charming girl," the Major replied.
Alex couldn't help smiling, remembering how Isabel had impressed the hell out of his father and two of his brothers. They couldn't believe little Alex had hooked up with a girl like her.
"Yeah. Well, when you were, uh, looking for me, I know you found out the, um, truth about her." Alex decided to avoid speaking the alien word. Project Clean Slate people probably didn't call them that, anyway. Alex figured they had to have an acronym. The military had an acronym for everything.
"I've told you that everything regarding that subject is classified to the highest level," Alex's father said. He sat up straighter than any human being with a spine made of bone should be able to sit.
"I know. And I respect that," Alex said quickly. "But Isabel-she's going to die if I don't help find her." He met his father's gaze steadily. The Major was almost as big on direct eye contact as he was on good posture. "And to find her, I need the tracking device you used to hunt down DuPris."
"That device does not exist," his father answered.
Alex gripped the arms of his chair with both hands. "It doesn't exist in reality, or it doesn't exist technically-because it's so top secret?"
"There's no difference," the Major replied.
"You know what? That's bull," Alex said, his voice calm.
"I won't have you use that kind of language when speaking to me," his father snapped, leaning across his desk to get right in Alex's face.
"I apologize," Alex told him, refusing to back away. "It's just that I know-we both know-that this device that doesn't exist was used, by you, to try to save my life. I doubt that mission was authorized."
For the first time in his life, Alex won a battle of the eyes with his father. The Major looked away first.
"It's the only time I've ever stepped outside the chain of command," he admitted.
"And you did that because-" Alex hesitated. It was one thing to know the reason, another thing to say it. "Because you love me."
Another first. Alex had never directed the L word toward his father. The Manes men did not speak that way.
His father gave a brusque nod.
"And I love Isabel," Alex continued. He rushed on before his father could comment. "We're not even a couple anymore. It's not that. The two of us, we've gone through a lot together. More than I can possibly explain. I know her soul." He winced at how gooey that sounded. His father had zero appreciation for goo. "I trust her completely. I know she would do anything to cover my back. You know that, too. You know she risked her life to bring me back to Earth."
Alex leaned forward, holding his father's gaze.
"I can't let her die, Dad. She's part of my unit or my squad or whatever I should be calling it." He wished he'd paid a little more attention when his dad and brothers got into one of their military conversations. "I'm responsible for her."
Alex's father didn't answer for a long moment, and Alex wasn't sure if this was a good sign or a bad one. His father was impossible to read.
"Dad, she's really sick," he started again. "She's going through something called the-"
"I don't need to know the details," the Major interrupted. He stood up, pulled a key out of his pocket, and set it precisely in the middle of the desk. "You probably don't know that I have a safe behind the family portrait."
He strode around the desk, clapped Alex on the shoulder, then headed for the door. "Good night, son." Then he glanced back quickly. "Good luck."
Alex waited until he heard the door click closed, then he picked up the key. "Thanks, Dad," he said into the empty room, studying the key. "I'm going to need it."
TWELVE
Relax, damn it. Just relax, Michael ordered himself. He needed to enter the dream plane. It was his only shot of finding Trevor, but he was too tense to concentrate. When he closed his eyes, the sound of Isabel's tortured breathing seemed to get louder until it filled the room. Her breaths were coming farther apart, so there were these heart-stopping moments of silence when Michael kept thinking Isabel had died.
Which was the big reason he couldn't remotely relax. Relax, hell, he could hardly stop himself from shoving his fist through the wall or ripping his hair out in bloody clumps. Isabel was dying. Isabel was dying. Isabel was dying. The thought flashed through his mind again and again, like a blinking neon billboard.
I need Maria. The realization surprised him, sneaking in between two of the Isabel-is-dying thoughts. But it was true. Maria could get him in the right mental state to enter the dream plane. She'd done it before.
Michael shoved his hands behind his head so he wouldn't be tempted to pick up the phone and dial Maria's number. It was too dangerous to call her. He was so close to breaking his promise to Isabel as it was, so close to teleporting to get the crystals and forcing them into her hand.
Yeah, it would be a walking, breathing nightmare to be connected to the consciousness. But at least Isabel would be alive, and as long as she was alive, there was hope, hope that maybe some
how they'd figure out how to break her-and Max-out of the connection.
He turned his head and glanced at Isabel. Her eyes were slitted open, and she was staring back at him. Her lips parted as she strained to say something.
"Tre… vor," she gasped.
"I'm going to find him," Michael promised her. He closed his eyes again.
What had Maria done that time he needed to get to the dream plane and couldn't? Michael let his mind go back to that night. First she'd made him smell some flower oil-lavender, he thought. It didn't do a thing except make his nose itch.
But then she'd talked to him. Just talked in a low, soft voice. Something about drawing everything with a purple crayon when she was a little girl.
Michael tried to imagine Maria was sitting next to him right there in the fleabag motel in Hobbs, talking to him. Gradually the sound of Isabel's ragged breathing faded into the background, overpowered by the imaginary Maria voice. A few minutes later Michael slipped into the dream plane.
The dream orbs whirled around him, glimmering with iridescent colors. Michael had never seen Trevor's dream orb. He didn't know what its music sounded like.
"So how am I supposed to find it?" he muttered, frustration slashing through him. The dream orbs started to fade when he distracted himself, and Michael quickly tightened his concentration on them, then began to hum the low note his own dream orb made. Trevor was his brother, however much Michael hated that fact. Maybe his dream orb was similar enough to Michael's that it would respond to the sound.
In the distance Michael saw a metallic gray orb moving toward him. The other orbs spun out of its way as it picked up speed, flying faster and faster. Michael jerked to the left too late-the orb whacked him on the side of the head and knocked him on his butt.
It doubled in size, without any prompting from Michael, and hovered above him, emitting a deep, resonating note of music. Michael had never seen a dream orb behave the way this one just had, and that made him pretty sure he'd found the one he was looking for. It made sense that Trevor's orb would be unlike that of anyone born on Earth.
