September 14th, 2011 – Day 1796
Hope is such a dangerous thing.
It's been 1796 days since I started counting each and every day since the moment I became a slave to them, to the drug, to this life. That's almost five years to the date. I don't know why I started counting, really. I certainly don't understand why I keep doing it. But for the first time since Day 1, I feel like I can stop adding to the count.
I think—I hope—that I might be finally free.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Last Count
Three days was a long time for someone to be constantly looking at every shadow, jumping at every sound, and hoping for things to be over.
It was also how long it took for John to wake up for good. He'd been drifting in and out of a deep sleep, and as Max helped him to sit down in the kitchen pantry of his house, he couldn't help but wonder at all the things John could do and he couldn't—and at the perils they had just escaped from thanks to those powers.
They had changed cars five times and driven all the way to Portland despite the fact that he wanted to leave Parker and Whitman at her apartment. She needed to go back to work and pretend everything was normal in her life once more, and so did Alex. Neither listened to him.
Max needed to lie low and hope no one was looking for them. As much as he wanted to believe he'd had a clear exit, he knew better. Surely, someone would know they weren't dead. Surely, someone was already on their track.
Surely, this wasn't over.
Beside him, John tried to get his thoughts together while Max updated him on their situation. Besides, John needed to give one hell of an explanation to his wife.
"Where's Anne?" John asked as he tiredly ate some broth. He had dark circles under his eyes and had lost some weight. His powers were utterly wiped out, just like Max's.
"Grocery shopping with Parker."
"Right, right," John said, passing a hand over his hair, and then over his three-day beard. He winced. "I need to shave."
"Having no powers sucks," Max said, filling a glass with water and then sitting beside him.
"Tell me about it," John grumbled.
"Speaking of which…I need to learn what you can do. I mean, if my powers come back."
"Give your body a chance to properly heal. It's been what? Ten days since you got off that drug? And you've been under constant stress and no proper rest ever since. We're not Superman, you know?"
"Who's not Superman?" Whitman asked as he entered the kitchen, laptop in hand.
John raised a hand.
"Oh, well, you do kind of look like hell," Alex said, staring at him for a little too long. "Does this mean your powers don't come from the sun?"
"I doubt it," he answered, going back to his broth. "Though I think I now know how dealing with kryptonite feels like."
"Sounds like fun stuff," Alex said, sitting in front of them.
"What's going on at the base? How much has happened since we left?" John asked.
"They're still going through the collapse of the building," Alex explained. "There are more than twenty accounts of how they saw you two going into the ship before it blew up, so the alibi is sound."
"How did you manage to blow it up, anyway?" Max asked John, confused.
"I made them think they were under attack from the ship and made someone shoot some sensitive, volatile containers," John shrugged. "It was always my plan B, to blow it up to pieces, but I had no idea if it would really destroy the ship. I mean, it survived an interstellar trip and a horrendous crash."
"So? Was it destroyed?" Max asked Alex.
"Nothing I can find right now. There's plenty of blaming going around, and a lot of people are trying to piece the whole thing together. Two dozen investigations have been opened. No one wants to take responsibility."
"Destroyed or not, I wiped out the main control system," John said, serious for once. "No one is coming for us. At least no one from outer space."
Well, at least that's one less thing to worry about.
"I will keep an eye on things," Whitman promised, "but it's going to take a few months if not a couple of years before anything is concluded and buried."
"That sounds about right," Max said, sipping his water. A couple of years of fearing someone, somewhere, would tip them that he was still alive.
"Don't look so grim," John said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I've been out of their chains for a couple of decades. It really might be over now, Max. We'll just have to wait and see."
The three of them looked up at hearing a car parking nearby. Parker and Anne were back.
"Ok—ay," Whitman said, taking his laptop and standing up, "It was nice knowing you, man," he said, looking at John—and then scurrying away.
"Coward," John muttered, glaring at Alex's retreating back. Max had a similar idea of escaping because nobody but nobody ever wanted to see two lovers quarrel.
"Don't. You. Dare," John told him, the hand on Max's shoulder becoming a grip. "She can't kill me if there are witnesses, right?"
"I don't know, John. You haven't heard her rant for three days straight about the things she will do to you like the rest of us have."
John winced. The door flew open before Max had any chance to leave, and in stormed one furious Anne Herschel. "You have any idea what you've put me through?"
"I missed you, too," John said, heartfelt.
"No. You don't get to puppy-eyed me and make me fall in love all over you in ten seconds, you hear me? You can't just make these decisions and go get possibly killed while your clone rings my bell in the middle of the night. You just don't."
"I'm so, so, sorry," he said, standing up. She went to him before he could falter, but Max could also see the waves of anger and worry colliding in Anne's eyes. She wanted to forgive him and be happy, but he'd broken her trust and there had to be consequences.
Relationships were so weird.
By the door, Parker remained as silent as Max was. For a moment, he wished so much he could become invisible, to no avail.
John went down to one knee, and Anne followed him so he wouldn't fall to the floor. Max moved to help, and so did Parker—not that John needed any of them.
"Anne Serena Herschel, would you marry me?" he asked out of the blue—as if they weren't already married.
She punched him on the shoulder for an answer, glaring at his hazel eyes and his sweet, innocent smile. "You're lucky I'm not killing you right this moment."
"So romantic," he said, standing up.
"Could you take this seriously for once, please?" she asked, looking tired. After days of worrying about John escaping and then fully recovering, she was finally letting go of her worries, having nothing but exhaustion left.
Max took this as his cue to leave and quietly moved out of the kitchen and into the porch, where Parker had chosen to go as well.
"I think they—" Max started.
"—need their space?" Parker said, nodding.
"And to talk. I can't imagine what it must be like to care so much about someone just to see them running back into danger."
"Yeah, it kind of sucks," Parker said, glancing away. "But they're going to be okay," she said, smiling. "They've earned their happily ever after."
Max turned to look back, imagining a lifetime spent with someone who knew him and loved him despite what he was and what he'd done.
"So, what are you going to do next?" Parker asked, bringing his thoughts to the here and now.
"Lie low. Make sure they're not looking for us. I mean, John made them think he was dead for almost twenty years. They're not going to fall for it so easily this time around."
"Right, right. Any plans on how you're going to lie low?"
"No idea. But I imagine somewhere far from here. John and Anne are great people, but I can't stay living in their basement indefinitely. I don't know, I haven't really thought this through. I'm still expecting for snipers to show up out of nowhere."
She laughed, and he frowned.
"Sorry, sorry," she said, "It's just—you've been plotting and planning how to escape that base for five years, and did a whole lot of scheming in the last nine months alone. It's kind of ironic that you don't have a plan anymore, that's all."
"Freedom is a scary thing," Max said, half smiling. "I've been told what to do for so long that I'm not really sure what I want. What I'd like to do in the years to come."
"Didn't you mention something about teaching?" Parker asked.
"Maybe. I feel so out of my league right now," he confessed. "Did you always know you wanted to be a molecular biologist?"
"Oh yeah. I knew right away that I wanted to work in a lab the first day I walked into one. But…I'm kind of the exception. No one really knows for the longest time. Besides, you don't have to stick to one thing. I mean, look at me: not only a molecular biologist but an accessory to crimes against national security and your escape. That takes far more skills than looking into a microscope if you ask me."
He laughed, and it felt good and natural and like the one thing he wanted to do for the rest of his life.
She smiled, blushing. "It's so nice to hear you laughing."
"It is?"
She nodded. "You used to have this black cloud around you…" she said, trailing off.
"I did?" he asked, unsure where this was going.
She nodded again. "Every time you showed up at the lab, I pictured it above your head, sometimes it even was raining on you. You had so much to worry about, it was only natural."
"But it's not there anymore…" he slowly said, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion.
She smiled sheepishly.
"So, I'm officially cloudless?"
"Max Evans, I don't think it was ever your destiny to be under one of those clouds for the rest of your life," she said, and then thoughtfully added, "You're going to be okay, Max. John is already proof of that."
"If he survives," Max said, turning to look at the house.
"If he survives," she agreed.
"What about you? You're going to go back to your lab in Washington?"
Parker wrinkled her nose. "Anne made me a better offer. There's a lot I discovered while working with your cells, and she has the means of getting the research out there without giving you away."
"I feel so used," Max said, jokingly.
"In any case, I don't think I could ever go back, you know? To work and routine? At least with Anne, I have someone who understands what we're doing."
"I bet you two are going to be great friends."
"Yeah. I'm sure being around John will also help you get better with your powers."
Max looked at his hands—at his powerless hands—and sighed. "Even if my powers don't come back, I'm just happy to be out. There will always be a chance that they will find me, but…they can't take this away from me," he said, looking at the blue sky. "I've known freedom now, I'll never jeopardize it again."
He turned to look at Parker and quietly said, "Thank you. You should've said no the first time I went into your lab. You shouldn't have helped me, had no reason to do so, and yet I am here today because you decided to help a stranger. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you, Dr. Parker."
"Just—start over, Max. Leave these memories behind and have a life. It's the only thing I want as payment, really."
"Start over?"
"Yeah. Clean slate. Be anything you want. Be everything you want."
Max thought about it. About the choices ahead and the fears he needed to leave behind. Most of all, he thought about what he wanted to keep in his life—the people he'd come to known and cared about.
"In that case," he said, straightening up and clearing his throat. "Hi. I'm Max Evans."
"I—what?"
"I'm starting over, remember? So, I'm Max Evans," he repeated, extending a hand to shake hers.
"Oh—oh, of course! Hi, I'm Liz Parker."
"May I call you Liz?"
The question hung in the air filled with all kinds of meaning to both of them. Their twin grins grew so wide they could have lightened up the whole neighborhood.
"I think I'd like that, yeah."
"I think I'd like that, too."
September 14th, 2011 – Day 1 of the rest of my life.