CHAPTER 26
The other teens had long since left to go to their respective houses to get ready for school, but Maria lingered as long as possible in her room. The events of the preceding afternoon and the strain of the sleepless night hadn't left her in any shape for the mother-daughter talk that she knew was coming. That she dreaded, actually. When she finally left her room, she hoped to dart out through the kitchen and avoid the ruckus.
Unfortunately, leaving wasn't so easy. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in jeans and a baggy sweater. Her good hand was wrapped around a cup of herbal tea, but she wasn't drinking, just staring into space.
She didn't look like she'd gotten any more sleep than Maria had.
Clutching the strap of her book bag, Maria tried to brazen her way through like it was any other day. Casually she grabbed an apple from a bowl on the counter and headed to the door. She didn't get far.
"Maria."
She didn't turn back around. "I've got school, Mom."
"That can wait. I think we need to talk."
Maria faced her mother and shrugged. "Unless you're ready to let me help Michael, we don't have anything to talk about."
Amy sighed. "I think we do."
"I have English, Mom."
With a shake of her head, Amy said, "As a matter of fact, you don't. I already called the school and told them you'd be late this morning."
"Oh." Maria reluctantly plopped into a chair with a thud, setting her apple and book bag rather more gently on the table in front of her. She noticed in passing that they both had unconsciously avoided the chairs Michael had tied them to. A shiver ran down her spine.
Her mother seemed as reluctant to start the conversation as Maria was, but after a moment, she asked, "Do you want some breakfast?"
"I'm not hungry."
"No, I don't suppose you are." Amy toyed with her now lukewarm tea. "Is Isabel all right?"
"Shaken up, but she's okay," Maria said tersely. Her fingers played with the bracelet she wore, turning it around and around on her wrist. The repetitive motion should have been soothing, but wasn't.
Her mother was going to have to physically pry any more words from Maria. She certainly wasn't going to volunteer anything. And sure enough, Amy didn't back off. "Did she know where Michael was?" she asked evenly.
Maria felt pure defeat wash over her. "No. As far as the world is concerned, Michael's just reverting to type and is blowing off school." She heard the bitterness in her tone and clamped her lips together to keep from saying more.
Amy took a sip of tepid tea. "Actually, that's not true. I told the school he was home sick--stomach flu."
Maria's jaw dropped, and she stared numbly at her mother. "You what?"
"I had to call them about you, anyway."
There was a moment of silence, then Maria shook her head. "I don't get you, Mom."
"I've done a lot of thinking in the past...oh, eleven and a half hours. And what I finally came to, about four-thirty this morning, is that right now it doesn't matter what you feel about Michael, or how he's treated you."
"Mom--"
"No, let me finish. Sometimes you just have to do what's right. And I think, in this case, what is right is to help. Michael needs it; whether or not he deserves it is insignificant. I won't say this whole thing doesn't scare me to death; it does. By the very nature of what he is, Michael Guerin is dangerous, and he could wind up getting you--or someone else--killed. But he's also in trouble, and to ignore that--to sit blindly by--that would make us less human than he is."
"He does deserve help, Mom. He--"
"I'm not going to get in that discussion right now. Neither of us is ready to talk about it calmly, and I don't want to fight about it. I know what lies down that path, and it's losing you. I'm not going to let that happen to us."
Maria sat quietly for a moment, then said, "Like it did with your parents?"
Amy met her eyes honestly. "I wound up pregnant and married at eighteen, cut off from my family. I don't want that for you."
"I don't, either."
A tiny smile crossed Amy's face. "Good."
Maria looked down at the table. "So what does all of this mean?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Amy took a deep breath. "It means I'm not going to stand in the way of you helping Michael."
"Oh, Mom!" Maria burst out, moving to hug her.
Her mother put a hand out. "However, there are some conditions."
"What conditions?" Maria said suspiciously.
"You are not to go rushing off half-cocked without discussing it with Sheriff Valenti or me first. If either of us tells you to do something--or not to do something--you are to obey without argument. You are not to lie to me, or conveniently 'forget' to tell me what's going on. You are not to miss school. Above all, you are to be very, very careful. We'll get Michael out of this fix. Because if everything he said--and Max said--is true, then he needs help. But afterwards, the three of us need to talk," Amy warned.
"Okay," Maria answered, refusing to think about that at this point.
"Also," her mother added, "you're not doing any of this without me."
Maria looked at her in surprise. "Mom?" she squeaked.
Amy shrugged. "I figure Michael can't help but make it through with two DeLucas working on his behalf. Do we have a deal?"
In a bound, Maria was off the chair and in her mother's arms. "Thanks, Mom," she whispered.
Her mother's grip tightened. "Just be careful. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you." Maria nodded.
"I will. I promise."
Pulling back, Amy smoothed Maria's hair off her forehead. "It's hard for me to see how grown up you are sometimes. In less than a year, you'll be eighteen. I need to start trusting in your judgment a little." She smiled, a little sadly. "But that doesn't mean you won't always be my little girl."
"I know, Mom. I love you."
With a last squeeze, Amy released her daughter. "Now how about some breakfast with me? You have time before second period, and I think I can manage some one-handed waffles," she tempted.
Maria smiled. "Yeah. Waffles sound great."
*****
Almost immediately, Michael was on his feet. The door swung open, not enough to let him see outside the room, but enough for Bob to slip through. The alien was holding a brown paper sack which he tossed at Michael.
Michael caught it instinctively, but didn't take his eyes off the creature in front of him.
"It's just breakfast," Bob said cheerfully. "We have to keep your strength up for your training. So," he added, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "Did everyone sleep all right?"
From her seat on the bed, Isabel didn't answer. But almost unconsciousely, Michael's eyes flicked back to the spot on the concrete where his makeshift pillow still lay. Bob didn't miss it. "So, she made you sleep on the floor, did she?" he asked, sounding more than a little amused.
Michael allowed some of his annoyance to show on his face. "She wasn't real wild about being hit over the head and kidnapped," he grated out. He glanced over to the bed. Isabel was still sitting, wearing a peeved expression.
"So I see," returned Bob.
Michael decided it was now or never. "Look, we need to talk," he said, moving closer to the older alien, who didn't seem at all threatened by his approach. Michael lowered his voice. "There's something you should know about her," he said, trying his best to sound open and honest. "Taking her was a stupid move. She's Sheriff Valenti's daughter."
Bob raised one eyebrow speculatively. "You're dating the Sheriff's daughter?"
"Maybe I like to live dangerously," Michael said with a shrug.
"And why should her identity concern me?" Bob asked, seemingly unperturbed by the news.
"Because he's probably already got the whole department out looking for her," Michael explained, not too patiently. "They're gonna get in your way."
Bob studied him for a moment. "And that would probably be of concern if we were anywhere near Roswell," he said. He smiled mockingly. "But we're not."
They weren't? Just how long had he been unconscious, anyway? "Then where are we?"
"Oh, I don't think that really matters, does it? Once you've accepted your duties, you won't care; and until then, there's no reason to give you any unnecessary information, is there?"
Michael could feel his tension rising. "Just let her go. You don't need her, and I'm already sick of her whining."
Isabel spoke up for the first time. "You're sick of my whining? God, Michael, you should count yourself lucky that whining is all I've done. You've had some stupid ideas before, but if you think I'm going to spend another minute in this rattrap, you've got another think coming," she ranted. Queen Isabel in action. Michael was proud.
"Come on, let her go," he said. "She's gonna drive me crazy."
But Bob was shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. A hostage is a hostage. And somehow I don't think you're quite as willing to work with me as you seem."
Michael's fists clenched; he didn't even care that he was still holding the brown bag and that it was getting squashed. But again, Bob didn't miss it.
"Aren't you going to eat your breakfast, after I went to all that trouble?" Michael, feeling grim, didn't answer. He was seriously considering giving in to his ever-increasing need for violent action and jumping the guy, Isabel's safety be damned. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to pound that annoying smirk off the other alien's face.
But he couldn't chance it. Carefully, he bent down and placed the sack on the floor by his feet, then stood, arms crossed, and stared at Bob in defiance.
"No? Not hungry? Well then, you can leave it for your little girlfriend here," Bob said, still infuriatingly calm. He pointed at the faded wallpaper. "Up against the wall," he instructed. When Michael didn't budge, he shook his head. "Fine," he said, and with a quick movement pulled a small metallic device out of his pocket and aimed it. An arc of greenish light flickered from the device, and Michael collapsed to his knees, breathing hard. His heart pounded. He wasn't sure, but he felt like he'd just been electrocuted.
Within a matter of moments, Bob had hauled him to his feet, strong-armed him face-first towards the wall, and secured his hands behind his back. Michael recognized the feeling of cold metal on his wrists; he'd been handcuffed once before, when he'd been arrested for breaking into the UFO museum in his search for information on James Atherton. He hadn't liked it then, either.
"You really should have eaten," the other alien said as he pulled a black cloth sack over Michael's head, blinding him. Michael had a sudden claustrophobic understanding of how people felt before being put in front of a firing squad. "You'll be hungry before the day is over."
Michael didn't bother trying to struggle as Bob grabbed him by the back of the shirt and propelled him across the room, but he heard Isabel protest.
"Where are you taking him?" she demanded. "Hey, I am talking to you, you can't just--" and then her voice faded away into unintelligibility as a door slammed between them. Michael heard the tumblers of the lock click, and then he was pushed forward again. He could hear Isabel pounding on the door behind them. Bob had left her alone, not realizing that she, having powers that actually worked on command, would be able to get out of the locked room. He would just have to keep Bob distracted long enough for her to get out of there. And hope the alien was working alone.
Michael wasn't sure of how much time passed, but he guessed it was about nine or ten minutes before they got wherever they were going. A sudden strong push had him stumbling forward, and he barely had time to regain his balance before he felt the handcuff loosen on his left wrist. Instinctively he swung around, his right hand shooting out in front of him and his left darting up to rip the bag from his head.
Bob was standing several feet away from him, the same annoying smile on his face. "You can't hurt me, boy. A side benefit of the serum I gave you last night--it blocks your powers. And they'll stay that way until I decide otherwise." He smiled cunningly at Michael. "Go ahead. Try it."
Regarding him through narrowed eyes, Michael didn't move. He also didn't try to use his powers; they weren't reliable anyway, although he hoped to keep that fact from his father. And he wasn't going to give the other alien the malicious satisfaction of seeing him try and fail. Slowly he lowered his outstretched hand and looked around the room.
It had the same concrete floor as the room he'd awakened in, but the walls were also concrete. Even the ceiling. The one door was a thick, sturdily-made metal door with no handle. A faint hum from one of the overhead fluorescent tubes turned to a loud buzz as it flickered and died. The only piece of furniture in the large space was a slightly dented metal folding chair.
"Sit down," Bob instructed.
Michael raised his chin. "I'd rather stand."
"I'm sure you would. But you're not the one giving the orders, now are you?" Bob pulled the electroshock device he'd used on Michael out of his pocket and held it up. "Want to reconsider?"
Hell, yeah. Feeling his jaw tense, Michael moved slowly backward without taking his glance off the other alien. When he felt the chair hit the back of his legs, he sank into it.
"That's better," Bob said in satisfaction. Michael crossed his arms, ignoring the handcuffs that still dangled from his right wrist.
"So now what?" he demanded, refusing to show his apprehension.
The other alien looked down at him, his expression clearly indicating that he didn't consider Michael terribly bright. "Your training, of course."
Michael had seen that expression before, on a number of other faces. Usually teachers and school administrators, and the occasional student who'd bothered to look in his direction. He was used to it; it didn't particularly bother him now. "Which means what?"
"Which means I'm going to enjoy myself." His father leered down at him. "Somehow I don't particularly think you will, though."
*****
By mutual consent, the group gathered in the back of an empty classroom for lunch. None of them had stopped at the cafeteria, but enough of them had brown-bagged it for everyone to munch on something. Maria watched glumly as Alex grabbed a barbecue chip from the open bag in front of him and passed the bag to Kyle. How could they eat at a time like this? She turned back to Isabel.
"I told you last night," Isabel was saying. "I don't know what happened. Alex and I split up to flank the house, and the next thing I knew, I woke up stashed in somebody's trunk. It took a while to find the lock and open it. I went to Maria's as soon as I got out, but you all were already there."
"And you didn't see who hit you?" asked Kyle.
Isabel looked more than a little exasperated. "If I had, don't you think I would have told you?"
"It wasn't Michael," Maria put in firmly.
"No one is saying it was," Liz said soothingly. "I think it's more likely that it was Bob."
Max shook his had. "But then why didn't they take her with them? Maria, you said he had no problem with taking hostages."
"He didn't, not if he thought it would control Michael," Maria said, frowning. "But why wouldn't he want to take you, Isabel? If he's out to get Max, you'd be really valuable."
"You said he didn't know who Max was. Maybe he doesn't know who I am, either," Isabel replied.
Maria thought back to the previous afternoon. It was still so fresh in her mind, like it happened moments instead of hours earlier. Somehow Michael had convinced the other alien that she wasn't important to him, that someone else was. Unless Michael had a really vivid imagination, he probably was thinking about someone he knew. Which limited things to Liz, Tess and Isabel. She had her suspicions who he'd thought about. But she wasn't going to let it bother her. He thought of Isabel like a sister; she knew that. But still....
Tess spoke up. "The important question isn't who hit Isabel," she pointed out. "It's how we're going to find Michael."
The group lapsed into gloomy silence. Neither Maria nor Isabel had had any success dreamwalking the previous night, and they didn't have a license plate number for the Sheriff to trace.
"I'm afraid all we can do is keep trying to dreamwalk, and wait for Michael to get in touch with us," Max said finally. "It's like he's vanished off the face of the earth."
"Maybe he has," said Kyle, through a mouthful of sandwich. At their looks of confusion, he explained, "Maybe Bob took him on his spaceship or something."
The idea struck both Max and Liz, who looked at each other speculatively. "I'll head to the UFO museum after school," Max said. "See if there have been any recent sightings."
"That's assuming Bob showed up recently and that he hasn't been hanging around since 1947," Liz said.
Looking particularly grim, Max said, "Pierce told me there were two aliens who were captured back then. Nasedo was one, but he escaped; the other was held for three years. I thought he died." He turned to Tess. "Did Nasedo ever say anything about other aliens?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing concrete," she answered. "He mostly spoke about the three of you."
Maria abandoned her uneaten lunch and began to pace back and forth. "I can't stand this. How are we expected to just go to class and act like everything's all right? It isn't all right!"
"Too bad you just can't get a pack of bloodhounds to track him down," said Kyle off the cuff.
Maria froze in her tracks and slowly turned to Isabel, who was staring back at her. They spoke at the same time.
"Do you think--"
"That might--"
Cutting off, they both began to smile. With a happy skip, Maria ran over to Kyle and kissed him soundly on the lips.
"What was that for?" he asked in consternation.
"Because you're a genius!" she sang out. "We don't need to dreamwalk. If he's still on this planet, I can find him!"
*****
Hours later, Michael slumped forward in the chair, barely able to hold his head up. Bob hadn't lied when he'd told Michael he wasn't going to enjoy it. The bastard had seemed to take total pleasure in what he was putting Michael through.
He'd latched onto Michael's face, palm spread over the mark on his cheek, and ruthlessly forced Michael's mind open. It hadn't been quite as much of a shock as it had been the previous day, but it hadn't been fun. Or anything near fun. The pictures he'd seen, three-dimensional living images, had sickened him to his very soul. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what Bob thought he was going to accomplish by it. It wasn't making him want to go out and recreate what he saw; indeed, it had just the opposite effect.
Somehow, he'd managed to keep his mental wall built up, keeping the other alien from tromping about in his inner thoughts. Bob had looked at him rather oddly several times throughout the day, but had seemed tireless in pursuit of his goal. Frankly, Michael wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. But then again, Isabel had had plenty of time to escape.
He raised his eyes to look across the room at Bob. "So how much more of this can I expect?" he said, managing somehow to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.
He was pleased to see that, rather than wearing his self-confident, annoying smile, Bob looked a little unsure of himself. But the alien blustered on, "As long as it takes."
"Having problems getting me to cooperate?" Michael goaded him. "What a shame." He met Bob's eyes squarely. "Guess I'm not quite the chip off the old block you hoped for, huh?" Sometimes being a smartass just felt good.
And sometimes it paid off. Bob seemed more than a little put out. "Up against the wall," he ordered, his calm demeanor somewhat worse for wear.
Michael rose to his feet and moved slowly towards the wall in front of him, hoping he was hiding his weakness. He didn't protest when Bob pushed him rather roughly into the concrete.
"Arms," the alien barked, and Michael obediently put his arms behind him for the dangling handcuff to be fastened around his left wrist. He didn't struggle when the black bag was dropped over his head, either. Bob was probably taking him back to the other room. At least he hoped so. Then he could get some much-needed rest and try to regain enough energy to take the other alien on. Besides, he was kind of looking forward to seeing Bob's reaction when he realized Isabel was nowhere to be found.
Beneath the black cloth, his lips twitched upwards. He stumbled twice as he was propelled out of the room, but it didn't change his expression. Not even being shoved against a wall hard enough to bruise his cheek--the unmarked one--wiped the smirk off his face. However, he did school his features as the bag was pulled from his head. Blinking, he waited until the handcuffs were removed; then he turned around...
...and his heart sank.
Standing by the closet door was a rather apologetic-looking Isabel Evans, who should have been on her way to protect Max, to keep Maria away. Isabel Evans, who had not escaped.