CHAPTER 13

Even on the small black-and-white video monitor, Maria could see Michael turn stark white. His face went slack, and he looked like he would have fallen if he had been able to move.

"He's got my cell phone. Somebody give me theirs so I can get him out of there!" Maria cried out. Her eyes never left the screen.

Something was placed in her hand. Liz's phone. Without looking away from Michael's image, Maria punched in her own number.

"Come on, Michael. Pick up," she muttered, then growled and thrust the phone into Liz's hands when the call went unanswered. "Call him again. Keep calling until you get through," she ordered, starting off in a run towards the door.

"Maria, wh--"

"I'm going to go get him," was the all-too-obvious reply.

"We can't let you go alone," Liz burst out. "Nasedo is dangerous. We should come too."

"I don't care who comes, but I'm going now."

"Maria--," Alex began.

"No. I am not leaving him there," the blonde said firmly.

"That's not what I meant. But the point is moot, I think. He's leaving." All eyes fixed on the screen where Nasedo watched Michael turn stiffly and move out of the camera's view.


*****

He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to remember it. All he wanted was to go back to before, when this horrible gutwrenching knowledge wasn't his, when the air didn't sit leadenly in his chest. When he could breathe.

Somehow he was able to turn and stumble from the house, the muscles in his legs managing to repeat their customary ambulatory actions and carry him even though his brain hadn't consciously given them that instruction. Hadn't been able to.

He didn't notice the red convertible that pulled up in front of the house, and he didn't hear his name called. Small hands clutched at his sleeve, just as they had earlier that evening; like before, he pulled away jerkily. Tess said his name again, sounding oddly distressed this time, but he didn't listen. A stocky form planted itself in front of him, and he didn't see.

"Guerin. Hey, Guerin. Michael!" shouted Kyle, but the alien didn't respond. He just brushed by the Sheriff's son as if he weren't there and stumbled down the sidewalk.

He moved faster then, picking up speed in a futile attempt to outrun the knowledge that chased him, ready to pounce and gnaw ravenously at him if he gave it the chance. He wasn't aware of where he was or where he was heading--none of that mattered. He just had to go. To let the thud of his feet hitting the pavement and the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears drown out the sound of Nasedo's voice, saying it. Telling him that.

But long before his strong body could give in, the shaky wall he tried to erect in his mind collapsed. His body followed suit, and he fell to his knees on the sidewalk, panting.

He'd had a sister.

And he'd killed her.

His mind frantically tried to deny it, to protest that Nasedo couldn't be trusted and had almost certainly lied in an attempt to...disconcert him? Distract him? Something. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't believe it. In his gut, in his bones, in his very soul--if he had such a thing--he knew the truth. Knew it with a certainty and conviction he'd never felt before.

There on the dark and silent street, Michael Guerin tilted his head back and let out a wordless cry of grief and rage and horror. Heedless of who might be near, he buried his face in his hands and shook, unable to move, unable to cry. Shattered.


*****

The sound intruded again, tickling the edges of his consciousness over and over before his ears were able to convince his brain to process. He had no idea how long he'd huddled there on the unlit pavement, only that there was no one else around him. And somewhere nearby there was music.

He pushed himself slowly to his feet, still trembling, before he realized just where the noise came from. It was the ringing of Maria's cell phone, tucked carefully into his jacket pocket.

And then it hit him. He'd abandoned them all, hadn't even given them a thought when he'd run from Tess. Instead of following the plan and calling to warn them she was on the way, he'd left them on their own. And Nasedo--he'd already been there when Michael arrived at the house, stupidly intent on his damn question. If they'd been caught--god knows what happened to them--

The phone sang again, shrilly, and he fumbled in his pocket for it, scrambling to turn it on.

"Michael! Michael, are you all right?"

Maria's voice. He let out a deep breath he hadn't been aware of holding and tried to speak. Nothing came out, his throat as raw as if his earlier anguished cry had stolen his ability to make a sound.

"Michael! Michael? You're scaring me. Are you there?" the frantic voice on the other end continued.

Swallowing, he tried again. This time his voice came, but it sounded unfamiliar in his ears. "I'm...I'm here. You okay?"

He relaxed just the slightest bit when she answered. "We're fine. We got the camera set up, and we're all at the warehouse. Where are you?"

Where was he? He had no idea. Looking around dazedly, he took in his surroundings. A couple of dilapidated buildings in a seedy part of town. He wasn't that far from the trailer park where he'd lived with Hank--a long way from the others. Literally and metaphorically...

Maria said his name again, and he managed, "I'm across town. I'm...I'm not gonna come to the warehouse, I...I got some things to do."

She must have picked up on the strangeness in his voice, or she knew him better than he wanted her to. Maybe both. "What's wrong?" she said immediately.

He grimaced. What was wrong? Try everything. But he said, steadily this time, "Nothing."

"Michael! We got the camera hooked up; we saw you with Nasedo, but we couldn't hear anything. What happened? What--"

Shit. He was completely unable to deal with this. Not that he could tell her about it anyway, with the agreement he'd made. "Look, I can't talk now. I'll...I gotta go," he said in desperation, and cut the connection.

It took him a moment to realize he'd just hung up on her. She was gonna be pissed, that was for sure...but he wasn't certain he could have held himself together much longer, not against the obvious concern in her voice. He looked down at the small phone in his hand, and then deliberately turned it off. When she called again--and he knew she would--she wouldn't be able to get through at all. She'd be even more pissed, and he'd pay for it later. If he gave her the chance...

She might even be angry enough to track him down to give him a piece of her mind in person. The obvious thing to do was to find somewhere to hide out until he could think things through. His apartment wasn't a good choice; she might drag Max or Isabel along with her, and he was powerless to keep either of them out. Maria's house was out of the question for a huge number of reasons, as was the Evanses' and even Liz's or Alex's. Hell, even the pod cave was too obvious. He had to face it; he had nowhere to go.

Not until he figured out how to handle keeping away from Max and Isabel for an entire week. Tess wouldn't be a problem, but his two oldest friends definitely would. He supposed he could just blow town for a while. Get away from everyone and everything, escape from his whole fucked-up life, if only for a while.

Except he couldn't miss out on school. He gave a bark of laughter: who'd have ever thought he would be so adamant about attending West Roswell High? But he'd promised himself he would do whatever it took to win his bet with Maria, and he wasn't going to be pulling up any grades if he wasn't there. He'd show up if it killed him--

Goddammit! Why was he even thinking about a stupid bet right now? How could he bother with such trivialities with something so horrendous hovering over him? He needed quiet, a place to focus and deal with the blow he'd been struck that evening. He wasn't worried about a repeat of his own mental entrapment; the pain and self-doubt after killing Pierce was nothing compared to this. Sure, that had broken him, shutting him into his own mind in a mad attempt not to feel. But this--the knowledge that he'd killed his sister--was far too raw to allow his mind to slip away into isolation.

Hesitating, he looked around him for some hint of where to go, what to do. He was very well aware that he wasn't exactly thinking clearly. Hell, he hadn't been since Tess dropped her little bomb on him and then Nasedo finished up the job...

His fingers tightened on the cell phone, the case digging into the palm of his hand. His eyes dropped to it. He might not know where to go, but wherever he ended up, he had a stop to make first.


*****

There was a light on in the kitchen as he slowly approached the house, mentally gearing himself up. Deliberately putting on as casual an air as he could manage, he knocked on the door and waited.

He could hear someone moving inside before a face peeked out of the window. A moment later, Amy DeLuca swung the door open.

"Oh, Michael," she said in surprise. "I'm sorry, Maria's not here."

"I know. The car's not in the drive," he answered, amazed he could sound so calm. "I just came to drop this off." He held out the cell phone, and Mrs. DeLuca took it, giving him an inquiring look. "She let me borrow it," he added, but left the explanation to that.

"Oh. Okay." He turned to go, but she spoke again before he'd taken more than a step. "I'm sorry for kicking you out of the store so rudely the other day. I did appreciate your help."

"No problem," he responded with a shrug. That was the least of his worries at the moment.

She evidently wasn't satisfied with that, though, because she continued, "It just wasn't my best day. I...uh...had kind of a shock."

With a nod, Michael solemnly assured her, "Yeah, I kinda got that."

"I suppose it would have been hard to miss," she acknowledged. Her tone lightened. "I was just about to try making some tea. Do you want to come in and wait for Maria?"

"No!" was his immediate reaction. She looked at him, startled, and his eyes dropped away from hers, focusing instead on her arm. She was still wearing the vibrantly-colored sling from the other day. He didn't know what possessed him, but suddenly he found himself saying, "I mean, no, I have some things I gotta do. Uh, homework and stuff. But I could make the tea for you first. If you want."

She smiled warmly at him. "That would be very nice, Michael. It hasn't even been a week and already I'm dying to get this cast off. You don't realize how much you use two hands until you can't." Sitting at the kitchen table, she watched as he filled the kettle and set it on the stove. "The tea's in the cupboard next to the fridge," she instructed, then gave a sigh of contentment. "It's actually rather nice to be waited on."

He didn't really know, but he nodded anyway, then stood there fiddling with his rings as he waited for the kettle to boil. Finally he broke the silence. "Mrs. DeLuca?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

She tilted her head appraisingly. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

"The other day, at dinner...you mentioned a brother. Maria's never talked about him."

With a nod, she said, "Teddy. Theodore. My younger brother."

"What...what's it like? Having a brother?" He didn't look up at her, not wanting to see any sign of sympathy or compassion or pity. But when she answered, it was straightforward.

"I suppose that depends on how old you are. When I was growing up, it was the worst thing in the world, or at least I thought so then. Teddy is three years younger than I am, and was a pretty crazy kid. The last thing a teenage girl wants around is a troublemaking brat of a little brother, getting into her stuff and embarrassing her in front of her friends." She laughed. "He was forever getting himself into trouble, and most of the time he took me right along with him. Now, though, I look back on those days and think that they were pretty great."

He absorbed this silently, no expression on his face, and she ventured, "Why? Are you interested in finding out about your own family?"

"What? No," he protested. "I just...I wondered, that's all."

She wasn't taken in. "You might try Social Services. I don't know what they are legally allowed to tell you, but it might be a start."

"They can't tell me what they don't know. And I don't care anyway," he bit out. To his relief, the kettle began to whistle, and he moved to finish making the tea. Moments later, he shrugged off her thanks and was out the door, glad that she hadn't pressed him any further. Not that he would have said anything more even if she had. She couldn't make him talk when he didn't want to--she wasn't Maria. And even Maria was only successful part of the time.

He didn't know why he'd even asked about her brother in the first place. It had just popped into his head as he stood there wishing he'd never opened his big mouth and volunteered to help. He was getting soft. He should have just dropped the phone off and left, the way he'd planned.

He wondered if having a sister was anything like Mrs. DeLuca had described. If his was a pest, like Mrs. DeLuca's brother. Maybe she'd tagged along wherever her big brother went, annoying the crap out of him. Or maybe she'd been the big sister, and he'd been the one to do the annoying. Izzy probably wouldn't put that past him. Maybe they'd been really close, instinctively understanding and supporting each other. Standing up for each other against all odds.

Or maybe they'd hated each other. He swallowed. After all, he'd killed her. And how could he have done that to someone he'd loved?


*****

Leaning wearily over the sink, Michael splashed the cool water on his face, the liquid trickling down his wrists and soaking into the cotton knit of his long-sleeved T-shirt. He didn't bother reaching for a towel, but pulled up the hem of the shirt and roughly dried his face and hands. He wasn't sure what time it was, but the lateness of the hour--maybe that should be the earlyness--and the strain of the evening had combined to leave him feeling bone-weary. Useless.

He'd finally given in and gone back to his apartment, once he was sure that all of his friends would be home rather than out looking for him. This was after several hours of aimless wandering through the dark town, trying not to be too conspicuous. Once a turning car had pinned him in the glow of its headlights, but he'd managed to keep moving at an even pace and the car had turned away and continued its journey, unconcerned with one insignificant alien. And now, here he was, back home. If he could call it that.

The display on his second-hand answering machine was blinking, telling him that eleven messages awaited him. Maria had been busy. Although a couple could be from Max or Isabel. But he didn't play them back. He didn't want to hear them just then.

Kicking off his worn boots, he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to sleep, he just wanted to rest a little while before he decided what he was going to do.

Or at least that was the plan. His tired mind and body didn't give him much choice, and he was quickly adrift in a sea of dreams. Strangely enough, they weren't the violent and bloody nightmares he might have expected, that he was used to.

Instead, he dreamed of her. She was tall for a girl, almost his own height, with brown tousled hair and hazel eyes that sparkled merrily at him. She had his own defined cheekbones and full lips, and she was smiling at him. She looked like him, but everything about her was brighter, more joyful, as if some glow of inner happiness lit her up so radiantly that the light carried out further than the puny limitations of her body.

She was his sister, and she was glad to see him.

Even in the dream, Michael realized that it was stupid to picture her like this. She had lived and died light years away on another planet; she had never been human. And yet something in his soul took comfort from this human form his sleeping mind had given her. She was a part of him, and she looked it.

She didn't speak, but held out an inviting hand. Hesitantly he reached out and took it, feeling the clasp of her long fingers against his own. And then he was pulling her close, reveling in the warmth of her arms as she held him tightly. Maybe even with love. With a sigh, he rested his forehead on her shoulder, closed his eyes, and just let himself--and her--exist.

Of course, nothing wonderful ever seems to last as long as anyone would like it to, and this dream was no exception. He could feel a change in the air around him, not good or bad but different. He gripped his sister more tightly, refusing to let her go, but she seemed somehow less substantial in his arms. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

There in front of him was a familiar cream-colored wall. He blinked at it for a moment before remembering where it was: the dream room where he and Maria kept finding themselves.

His sister began to pull back from him, and he shook his head and clutched at her, not wanting to lose her. Once again she put out her hand, even as she faded away into nothingness, leaving him standing there alone with empty arms and the feel of phantom fingertips on his cheek.

"Michael."

Or maybe not so alone.


*****

Maria watched with a catch in her throat as the remnant of Michael's dream disappeared and he shrank into himself. She couldn't keep the love and concern out of her voice as she said his name--not that she would have tried. But she was very aware of the things that one word, spoken softly, gave away.

His back still to her, Michael froze for a moment, then squared his shoulders and turned slowly around. There was no expression on his carefully schooled face. "Hey," was all he said.

"Hey?" she echoed. "You disappear on us, you shut off my cell phone, and you don't return any of my calls--and all you can say is 'hey'?" He shrugged, and she rolled her eyes. "Okay, so none of that really matters right now. You're okay, right?"

He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Yeah." Her eyes narrowed. She didn't buy it. She had seen him earlier, on the video screen. Something had happened, something big. And from the way Michael stood there in front of her, defenses readily at hand, probably something bad. She had a strong urge to wrap her arms around him and hold him tightly, much like the girl in his fading dream had.

The girl. She'd looked kind of familiar, in the quick glimpse Maria had gotten of her, but she couldn't place why. She'd been about Isabel's height, but it wasn't the blonde alien, and it certainly wasn't a dream-Maria. Exactly why was Michael dreaming about some other girl? And why was she feeling jealous of some dream image, anyway? It wasn't like Michael was going to cheat on her. It had taken her far too long to break down those walls of his; there was no way someone else could step in and grab his affections, just like that. Maybe it was just one of those guy dreams, with a cookie-cutter bimbo in it. At least it was pretty tame, and not one of those sex dreams Michael had hinted he'd had about Maria herself. And suddenly she wasn't sure if she was glad or disappointed that it wasn't.

With a sudden realization that she was standing there caught up in her own thoughts and Michael was staring at her oddly, Maria stepped forward and took his hand. "Come on," she instructed, pulling him over to the blue brocade fainting couch. He followed with no hint of reluctance, but didn't speak as he sat there. Finally, she'd had enough.

"Look, Spaceboy, something's up with you. Something happened tonight. We saw you with Nasedo, remember?" A hint of pain came into his eyes, and she reached up to smooth away the worry on his forehead. "'Sokay. You don't have to tell me right now. Unless you want to?" she added, giving him an opening. After all, he had agreed that it was easier to talk in here than in the real world...

He didn't take it, merely shaking his head and looking away from her.

"Okay then, I'll tell you what happened to me. I told the others--well, Isabel and Alex already knew, because they were there, but I told Max and Liz. It was very weird. Kind of creeped me out, as a matter of fact," she mused, half to herself, then shook her head slightly as if to clear it. She studied him. "But first things first."

Leaning forward, Maria touched her lips softly to his, trying to convey all her love and concern for him through a simple, gentle kiss. Smiling, she told him, "You looked like you needed that." His eyes focused on her mouth, and he leaned in, too. His mouth brushed lightly across hers once and then again, sending shivers down her spine. "Actually," she breathed, "I think I needed that, too."

And then he was kissing her again, not so lightly. In fact not lightly at all--deeply and passionately, as if she could fill up some sort of desperate need. As if he could lose himself in her and forget everything else. His hands gripped her tightly as he plundered her soft mouth, clutching her. She kissed back, caught up in a rush of emotion, not sure if it was from him or her or from both of them. Her hands crept around his back and up under his shirt, soaking up the warmth of his skin.

"Really, boy. Is this all you dream about?"

In a split second, Maria was alone on the couch. Michael stood in front of her, looking wildly around the room for the source of the voice. He didn't seem to relax when he didn't find it.

"Don't bother looking for me. I'm not there yet," the voice said maddeningly. "I'm just taking the opportunity to check up on you, and what do I find? Once again you're wasting your energy on some silly little imaginary girl, when there are much more important things to be dealing with."

What? Silly little imaginary girl? She was very real, thank you very much, which was more than she could say for this weird androgynous voice that kept cropping up in the middle of Michael's dream, and interrupting at the most inconvenient moments. But Michael was talking now, eyes still sweeping the space around them for any hint of danger.

"More important things? Like what?" he asked, not letting his tension show in his tone.

"Power. Conquest. Playing the role you were born for, living your destiny."

"Around here, we're not too fond of the word 'destiny'," Michael spat. "And we don't waste our energy paying attention to voices that aren't even real."

Maria couldn't help but smile, just the tiniest bit. Chalk one up for Spaceboy.

"Oh, I'm very real," the voice sing-songed.

"Then who the hell are you?"

"You may call me...Bob."

Bob? Maria snickered, her fear lessening. "Real scary name there, Bob," she commented. "But at least it makes it clear that you're a guy. You are a guy, right? I mean, there's the whole name thing, plus guys have no imagination..."

Michael turned to glare at her. "Shut up, Maria."

Ooops. Sorry. But really, Bob?

"Okay, Bob. If you're so real, what do you want with me? Why do you keep invading my dreams?" Michael asked.

The voice changed, became less affable. "I'm here to see that you get ready. That you stop wasting time with all these human pursuits. You know what you have to do. Prepare for it."

"What the hell are you talking about? Prepare for what?"

There was a silence, and then an amused laugh. "You don't remember, do you? They really scrambled your brain, didn't they, boy? Well, never you fear. We'll take care of that when I get there."

"Remember what? And you're not gonna do a damn thing to me."

"Ahhh, I do believe I denote a slight bit of reluctance. Must be the human contamination--best get rid of that. Whether you like it or not, the game awaits."

"I don't want any part of your 'game', whatever it is. Leave me the hell alone."

"Oh, I'm afraid I can't do that. You have a very large part to play, whether you want to or not. You won't be able to help it--it's what you are. You will see. But perhaps you need a little something to...put you in the right mood, shall we say? I think we can handle that, even at this stage of the proceedings. Consider this a little warmup gift." The room went silent.

Baffled, Maria looked around her. What was it talking about? What gift? She looked at Michael, who didn't seem any less confused than she was. His eyes met hers, and he shook his head slightly, poised for action. Then his gaze moved past her, and he tensed.

"What?" she blurted.

She started to turn to look, but he reached out and took hold of her shoulders. "Maria," he whispered urgently, "wake yourself up. Now."

"Michael, what is it?"

"Never mind. Just wake up. Do it now," he ordered.

"But--"

"For god's sake, Maria, do it!" he hissed, giving her a little shake. She took one glance at the look in his eyes, and closed hers, commanding herself to wake.

She could still feel his hands gripping her shoulders as she opened her eyes again, but he wasn't there, only the familiar surroundings of her darkened room. Sitting up in bed, she scrambled for the phone.

But no matter how many times she tried calling, Michael didn't pick up. All she got was the terse recording on his answering machine. Three words, no more, no less: "Leave a message."