Title: Malevolence
Author: Zia
Rating: Mature/Adult – Some Sexual content, and some dark images
Summary: Maria vanished ten months ago, and suddenly returns... seeking revenge.
Author's Note: I've had this in my head for a while now, and finally just now have gotten around to really working on it. I've rewritten it so many times already, that finally I think I am happy with it so far!
Prologue
Michael Guerin was angry. He'd always been an angry person. But for the last ten months everything had gotten worse. He'd just been emancipated, and he thought things were going alright. He had a sort of girlfriend, who was kooky, and strange, but she believed in him. She trusted him, and she wasn't afraid of the fact that he was an alien. It could have been something. It could have been real. And then, just a few days after he moved into his new apartment, his phone was ringing just as the sun came up. Liz was hysterical. When he'd arrived at the Crashdown everyone else was already there, Max and Liz and Alex and Isabel, except for her. Except for Maria.
//Someone grabbed Maria." Max said.
"Grabbed?" Michael asked.
"The FBI it looks like."
"Why would they want Maria?" Alex shook his head. "She isn't one of you."
"It may have been a mistake. They may have grabbed the wrong one, or they are counting on us going in after her, and it's a trap." Max said as he tried to comfort Liz.
"But we're going after her, right?" Alex asked looking around.
"No." Max shook his head. "They'll let her go when they realize we aren't coming, or that she isn't who they wanted."
"You're not serious." Michael crossed his arms over his chest. They were just going to leave Maria there to deal with the FBI?
"How do you expect us to get in there?"
"We figure something out."
"Look Michael, I know how you feel, but we just can't risk it."//
But Max didn't know how Michael felt. He couldn't even begin to comprehend it. Max had a family, his whole life, he'd had friends, and people who believed in him. His girlfriend hadn't been taken by the FBI, when it should have been him. So Max decided for all of them, they weren't going after Maria. That they would let her go, it was just a matter of time. And that Isabel wasn't allowed to try and dreamwalk her, just in case.
And then the months went by. At first everyone was sad, and depressed, but after a few more months, people moved on, they began to live their lives again. Michael didn't. Maria was in his mind all the time. Max and Liz were the happily dating couple, despite Tess, another alien, having come into the picture, and having eyes on Max. Isabel was dating Alex, and they seemed to be happy.
Maria was missing, and they didn't care anymore. The FBI had her, and she was probably dead. They had probably killed her because she didn't tell them anything. Because, if she had told them anything they would all be in some government facility right now.
But she couldn't have. Maria DeLuca, the woman that never shuts up, never said a word.
So Michael was angry. She was dead, and it was his fault. Their fault. Because of what they were, they got her killed. Michael wanted to be able to hope she was alive, but if she was, they would probably be hurting her in ways he couldn't imagine. So part of him, truthfully wished she had died soon after they had taken her. That they hadn't put her through much torture.
His friends, that was a joke, they were friends by default. Because of their secret. So his 'friends' tried to encourage him to do something with his life. He was going to school, going to work, then going home. Simply just going through the motions. Because part of him had died when they took Maria. The part of him that held out any tiny bit of hope that he might be able to have a semi normal life one day. That he could fall in love, and be with that one person, and make that one person happy for the rest of his life.
And that was gone now. Just like her.
Michael slammed his fist against the wall and welcomed the pain that shot through his wrist. He'd broken his own hand so many times in the last ten months he couldn't even remember when he didn't feel the pain of it. But it distracted him, and made him focus all at the same time. His powers had been even more out of control than usual since she had been gone. She had been a focus for him. But now he had pain. So he welcomed every bit of physical pain he could get in favor of any sort of emotion.
Emotions. That was even funnier. He'd never really had them, at least, he convinced himself he didn't. Until the introduction of That Maria Girl into his life. In the dark alley, dressed as an alien, looking quite intimidated. Sometimes he could swear he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his palm. Her intimidation of him didn't last long. They bickered, and flirted, and she sent off these vibes that made Michael feel.
And when things got to their worst for him, she was there, she had taken him in despite the fact that he was a jerk. Despite that he was mean, and rude, and he hurt her. She had taken him into her home, with open arms, and taken care of him.
And days later, she was gone. They had spent a good couple of hours on the couch, making out, with lots of heavy petting. Her hair had been sticking in every which direction as she tried to button her shirt back up, and Michael had just watched her. She was beautiful, even if she didn't know it. And he sure as hell wasn't going to say it, but she was. And then she had kissed him goodbye as she pulled on her shoes, and headed over to Liz's to stay the night. Michael had watched her as she walked out to her car, still trying to straighten herself out, and even as she drove away he watched until the red jetta was gone. He didn't realize that was the last time he would see her.
He didn't know. And if he could take it back, he would have held onto her. He would have made her stay with him, so that way, if they FBI had come, they would have gotten the one that deserved the pain.
Maria had to be dead. He couldn't handle it if she had to suffer through ten months of pain because of him.
---
Maria DeLuca had been to hell and back. Ten months of her life were gone. Wasted away. Spent being poked, and prodded and tested. She was human and they didn't care. Of course they hadn't wanted her in the first place. They had wanted Liz. Liz Parker. The one who had been shot back in September. The one that had been healed by an alien. Maria was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They got her, and now she had to suffer. She was in pain.
She had never liked the doctor, or needles. She would kick and scream when she was a child and had to get her shots. They would have to hold her down, her mother, and at least two nurses while the doctor stuck a needle in her. The whole time she was screaming. When she was in the big white room, they strapped her down to the table. They poked her with needles, they took her blood and injected things into her, just to see what would happen.
Torture. Pure and simple that is what it was. They left bruises and cuts, and scars. She was covered in them now. Her arms, and her stomach. They liked to play with her. She was their expendable toy. See how much she can handle before she breaks. Before she cracks and gives everything up. Everyone of the aliens up, hands them to the FBI on a silver platter. But she didn't. She never did.
She'd scream, and she would cry. Beg them not to hurt her. But whenever they would tell her they would stop, if only she would give them the answers they wanted to hear, she would close her mouth. Bite down hard on her tongue, and prepare herself for what was next, because she knew it would be worse than anything before.
Maria wanted to die, that was the honest truth. They kept her in that white room for a long time. All white, when the lights were on it was blinding, she could barely see anything. But when the lights were off it was so dark she couldn't see in front of her. Finally she was moved to another room in the building. This one had a cot for a bed, and a small bathroom attached. A toilet, and a sink and a small shower head that had terrible water pressure.
Every morning Maria would find a new pair of white scrubs, and a towel sitting on the floor by the entrance to her cell. One morning Maria went into the bathroom, and was determined not to come out alive. She closed the door behind her, and turned on the water in the shower like she always did. The white scrubs were tossed in the sink and she stared at the small mirror. She stared at herself. She wasn't sure how long she'd been in there, it felt like years, but she really didn't know. The mirror was small and she cut up her fingers trying to rip it off the wall. Finally she held the glass in her hand, but no sharp edges.
Maria slammed it against the edge of the sink and it broke. Pieces splintered all over the sink, and on the floor, landing on her bare feet, when she moved them the glass dug into her toes and she whimpered quietly. She picked up the biggest piece and looked at it for a moment. It had a long sharp edge. Perfect. She quickly dragged it across her wrists, and instantly felt sick. She hated blood. She hated the site of it, almost as much as she hated needles.
The water in the shower was hot, and steam quickly filled the room. She dropped the glass and walked over to sit beneath the spray of the shower head, to let the blood go down the drain. So she could finally be warm, and that would be how she'd die. She lost consciousness before they realized what she had done. They came in, and cleaned her up, bandaged her wounds, and stuck her in her bed.
They didn't give her another mirror.
They told her if she tried a stunt like that again she would be sorry, but Maria wondered what more could they do to her? What could possibly be worse than what she was already going through. She was taken by the FBI, and her friends had made no attempt to get her out. But she kept trying to convince herself they would come. That they would save her. That she really wasn't expendable.
After seven months, at least that is what they told her, they showed Maria some videos. Surveillance videos of her friends. Max and Liz were joking, out on a date and having fun. Dancing. Happy. Maria felt sick to her stomach. They showed her another one, Alex, playing in his band and hanging out with his friends, with Isabel. And Amy DeLuca, her own mother. At the Crashdown, flirting with the Roswell Sheriff, like she didn't have a care in the world.
That was the day Maria DeLuca cracked. Her whole world came crumbling, tumbling down around her.
They didn't care. No one did.
And then they showed her the final video. Michael Guerin. He was standing in the kitchen at the Crashdown, hunched over the grill. And then him grabbing stuff from his locker, a picture of herself fluttered out. She watched in awe as he picked it up, and gently traced her face. He sighed and tucked it back into his locker. And the video ended.
Maybe someone did.