Disclaimer 'n stuff : yeah, so, I don't know why, but.. I ended up trying
to rewrite this story. I wrote a bit more than this first part, but I'm
not posting it all yet. I don't know if I'll continue cuz.. well, I mean
look at it! Anyways. for the disclaimer part. if I owned Roswell, would I
be writing this shit? Didn't think so. ; D
Effie
Part 1
Michael Guerin sighed and twisted the key inserted in the ignition toward him, efficiently turning the machine off. Dully, he stared through the windshield at the dimly lit gas station a few yards from where he sat. This wasn't where he wanted to be.
He was tired. And it was late. And he was still a good hour from his warm apartment. But this was only the fourth time he had ventured out on one of his searching treks across the desert and neighboring cities in the exasperating state that he resided in labeled New Mexico. He knew that however much it tired him, though, he would never stop looking for her. The screams that echoed in the dark caverns of his nightmares were growing alarmingly worse, the cries for help that haunted his memory renewed his awareness that she was depending on him to find her. He couldn't let her down.
Michael's eyes began to close, not from his desire to sleep, but in an attempt to ward off the wail he could sense was approaching his mind. They were linked. Inside he knew it was a futile attempt. It never worked. He would still feel it in his head, no matter how hard he tried to reject the overwhelming rush of panic.
Reaching out blindly, his hand connected with and roughly gripped the door handle. He opened his eyes as he pushed himself out from within the vehicle. He couldn't keep a grimace from dashing across his features from the stiffness that impeded his legs while he ambled across the abused parking lot to the building, characteristically shoving his hands in his jean pockets and revealing his hands again only when he reached the glass double doors. Michael outstretched a hand toward the handle and suddenly froze. A whimper. It spiraled through his body and he felt the impression that it was racing through the breeze to him; that it wasn't just a voice echoing in his head. It sounded so... real.
But that was impossible. He only heard them in his mind. Never outside.
He once again turned toward the doors. This time he managed to decrease the distance between his body and the door waiting patiently before him by an entire two inches when the next agonized cry assaulted his ears and was hastily chased by a metallic thud.
He had been about to write it off as another plea resounding through the recesses of his mind until the metallic thud. That was real. It wasn't something he normally heard from her.
Releasing the silky door handle, Michael impulsively snaked his way through the dark along the side of the building. Curiosity charged the adrenaline his body craved and demanded as the air took on two attributes: one, it was thickening with an ominous warning of danger. Secondly, the smells permeating from the dumpster in the back lot were atrocious and he fought the urge to sneeze. Alerting his presence by sneezing would not be a good.
Instead, he announced it by tripping into the scene; a far more graceful route. The alley leading to the back lot was pitch black, so when he had reached the dumpster, he was completely unaware of the unconscious body sprawled against it. When he had been attempting to creep through the darkness using the monstrous garbage container as a guide, one palm against its surface to keep him from falling, his hand slipped away when it involuntarily discovered the dent caused by the weight of the body being thrown against it earlier. He stumbled when his hand lost contact and he began to sink forward into the abyss. only to trip over the body of a teenage boy.
The memory of hearing a metallic thud ripped through his mind as his sense of balance valiantly came to the rescue. He ducked back into the shadows to survey the mayhem being concocted and determine where the sobs of distress had been emitted from.
Not taking the unconscious body two feet away from him into account, there were only two other people. One was a male who appeared about 20 years old and the other, a young woman who was probably no older than Michael himself. The man, with a dusky brown mop of hair, towered over the injured girl. Michael's clumsy entrance had startled them enough that the messy haired boy was peering at his surroundings suspiciously. It gave the girl time to maneuver into a better stance and raise her arm expectantly, which also provided the light from the one weak yellow lamp to spread over her visage and illuminate the various lacerations. When the man rotated back into position to face her and resume his abuse, her eager fist solidly slammed into his nose. He jerked back, hands automatically snapping up to cover the smarting and gushing appendage.
His city accent flared to life as he squawked in obvious outrage, "You bitch!" One hand lashed out, fast as a whip, to grab a hold of her arm. He harshly yanked her closer and Michael hissed a gasp of sympathy when he saw that not only did she have cuts on her beautiful face, but lumpy bruises of various shades and sizes littered her skin, accompanied by a suspicious blotch of crimson that had run rampant over her blue sweater.
Michael took a deep breath, praying to a God he wasn't sure existed, and crept forward until he could reach the man's head. He planted his palm against the back of his scalp before he could react and made the connection all in the same steady breath. He could feel the man's heart contracting, sending waves of pulsating blood to his vital organs. He was incredibly tempted to just reach out with his mind and crush the pumping muscle into mush but murder was something he couldn't dare become involved in. He was already in for it as it was. He was revealing himself. Revealing his secret.
So he latched onto the man's spinal cord and followed it up into the soft gray matter of his brain. He sought out a plump nerve and imagined pinching it firmly. He pulled away from the collapsing human in time to find himself staring into green eyes. They were wide and frightened, the soft flesh surrounding them trembling with weakness. The fragile young woman wasn't screaming or running away from him, just staring up in dazed wonder. They stood mutely, accepting each other and the night's somersaulting events in stunned silence. As he watched her carefully, he suddenly realized that fatigue was slipping over her fluidly.
Gravity was pulling on her hard and though her brain was screaming to fight it and say something to the stranger who had defeated Ray, her body was already giving in to the fall. The chaos done to her body was overpowering her, rocking against her senses in a pounding, assaulting rhythm. In the end, her body won over her intellect and she sank into the numb, indifferent world of unconsciousness.
Effie
Part 1
Michael Guerin sighed and twisted the key inserted in the ignition toward him, efficiently turning the machine off. Dully, he stared through the windshield at the dimly lit gas station a few yards from where he sat. This wasn't where he wanted to be.
He was tired. And it was late. And he was still a good hour from his warm apartment. But this was only the fourth time he had ventured out on one of his searching treks across the desert and neighboring cities in the exasperating state that he resided in labeled New Mexico. He knew that however much it tired him, though, he would never stop looking for her. The screams that echoed in the dark caverns of his nightmares were growing alarmingly worse, the cries for help that haunted his memory renewed his awareness that she was depending on him to find her. He couldn't let her down.
Michael's eyes began to close, not from his desire to sleep, but in an attempt to ward off the wail he could sense was approaching his mind. They were linked. Inside he knew it was a futile attempt. It never worked. He would still feel it in his head, no matter how hard he tried to reject the overwhelming rush of panic.
Reaching out blindly, his hand connected with and roughly gripped the door handle. He opened his eyes as he pushed himself out from within the vehicle. He couldn't keep a grimace from dashing across his features from the stiffness that impeded his legs while he ambled across the abused parking lot to the building, characteristically shoving his hands in his jean pockets and revealing his hands again only when he reached the glass double doors. Michael outstretched a hand toward the handle and suddenly froze. A whimper. It spiraled through his body and he felt the impression that it was racing through the breeze to him; that it wasn't just a voice echoing in his head. It sounded so... real.
But that was impossible. He only heard them in his mind. Never outside.
He once again turned toward the doors. This time he managed to decrease the distance between his body and the door waiting patiently before him by an entire two inches when the next agonized cry assaulted his ears and was hastily chased by a metallic thud.
He had been about to write it off as another plea resounding through the recesses of his mind until the metallic thud. That was real. It wasn't something he normally heard from her.
Releasing the silky door handle, Michael impulsively snaked his way through the dark along the side of the building. Curiosity charged the adrenaline his body craved and demanded as the air took on two attributes: one, it was thickening with an ominous warning of danger. Secondly, the smells permeating from the dumpster in the back lot were atrocious and he fought the urge to sneeze. Alerting his presence by sneezing would not be a good.
Instead, he announced it by tripping into the scene; a far more graceful route. The alley leading to the back lot was pitch black, so when he had reached the dumpster, he was completely unaware of the unconscious body sprawled against it. When he had been attempting to creep through the darkness using the monstrous garbage container as a guide, one palm against its surface to keep him from falling, his hand slipped away when it involuntarily discovered the dent caused by the weight of the body being thrown against it earlier. He stumbled when his hand lost contact and he began to sink forward into the abyss. only to trip over the body of a teenage boy.
The memory of hearing a metallic thud ripped through his mind as his sense of balance valiantly came to the rescue. He ducked back into the shadows to survey the mayhem being concocted and determine where the sobs of distress had been emitted from.
Not taking the unconscious body two feet away from him into account, there were only two other people. One was a male who appeared about 20 years old and the other, a young woman who was probably no older than Michael himself. The man, with a dusky brown mop of hair, towered over the injured girl. Michael's clumsy entrance had startled them enough that the messy haired boy was peering at his surroundings suspiciously. It gave the girl time to maneuver into a better stance and raise her arm expectantly, which also provided the light from the one weak yellow lamp to spread over her visage and illuminate the various lacerations. When the man rotated back into position to face her and resume his abuse, her eager fist solidly slammed into his nose. He jerked back, hands automatically snapping up to cover the smarting and gushing appendage.
His city accent flared to life as he squawked in obvious outrage, "You bitch!" One hand lashed out, fast as a whip, to grab a hold of her arm. He harshly yanked her closer and Michael hissed a gasp of sympathy when he saw that not only did she have cuts on her beautiful face, but lumpy bruises of various shades and sizes littered her skin, accompanied by a suspicious blotch of crimson that had run rampant over her blue sweater.
Michael took a deep breath, praying to a God he wasn't sure existed, and crept forward until he could reach the man's head. He planted his palm against the back of his scalp before he could react and made the connection all in the same steady breath. He could feel the man's heart contracting, sending waves of pulsating blood to his vital organs. He was incredibly tempted to just reach out with his mind and crush the pumping muscle into mush but murder was something he couldn't dare become involved in. He was already in for it as it was. He was revealing himself. Revealing his secret.
So he latched onto the man's spinal cord and followed it up into the soft gray matter of his brain. He sought out a plump nerve and imagined pinching it firmly. He pulled away from the collapsing human in time to find himself staring into green eyes. They were wide and frightened, the soft flesh surrounding them trembling with weakness. The fragile young woman wasn't screaming or running away from him, just staring up in dazed wonder. They stood mutely, accepting each other and the night's somersaulting events in stunned silence. As he watched her carefully, he suddenly realized that fatigue was slipping over her fluidly.
Gravity was pulling on her hard and though her brain was screaming to fight it and say something to the stranger who had defeated Ray, her body was already giving in to the fall. The chaos done to her body was overpowering her, rocking against her senses in a pounding, assaulting rhythm. In the end, her body won over her intellect and she sank into the numb, indifferent world of unconsciousness.
