::This story takes place partly in an alternate universe, partlyin the Roswell that we all know and love.::
He grew up in Roswell; if you could call it that. After all, being "created"
at the age of 7 wasn't exactly what anybody could call normal. But to Max,
Michael, and Isabelle, that was exactly what it was; normal. Michael and
Isabelle got the good stuff; adopted by the Evans, they had everything
a kid could ask for.
And then Max got Hank. A no-account, good-for-nothing
drunk who only kept him around for the check that came rolling in month
after month.
People thought that he kept fit and muscled to look
good, to get the girls. The real reason? So that when Hank hit him, it
didn't hurt so much. So that people would thinkt hat he got the bruises
and scrapes from working out, not getting thrown around by a man he could
knock out with one punch. Or one twitch of his alien powers, if the truth
be told.
Maybe that was why he spent so much time at the
Evans'. Their mother didn't like him very much; thought he was just a no-account
bully. But she never said anything; didn't want to upset Michael. He was
like a lit fuse sometimes, the smallest thing able to set him off. So she
was careful, always overly polite to Max. But he knew that he wasn't wanted.
Her husdband was just the same; the guy knew, from
experience, how much trouble Max got into, and he didn't like the fact
that Max seemed to spend most of his time, not in Michael's bedroom, but
in Isabelle's.
He slept there sometimes; of course, if her parents
knew about it, they'd flip. But he did it anyway, a matress pushed under
her bed pulled out whenever heneeded to crash there for the night.
Sometimes he'd be half-drunk when he got there,
an dshe'd j ust calm him down abotu whatevefr he was angry about, make
him take a shoer, have a glass of warm milk, a nd then stay awake with
him until he'd dozed off ........ or dropped unconsious. sometimes she
even took the shower with him, to make sure that he didn't pass out on
the floor. He'd done that a couple of times, and scared her half to death.
He stayed away from everybody except Michael and
Isabelle. If they were sitting with other friends at lunch, he'd just mak
hi mself scarce ........ maybe take his lunch (if he had any) to a corner
of the football field, eat it alone. If he didn't have any, he'd just go
and sit there. Sometimes with a book.
That was one thing that told you that Maxwell Geruin
wasn't as though as he pretended to be. He buried himself in books, especially
the fantasy & scifi ones. If all else failed, he'd turn to books. He
wasn't as obsessed with them as he was at a younger age, but they could
still be classified as an obsession. A way out. An escape from the real
world.
Michael, larely, had been trying to figure out the
purpose of the Granolith. And warning Max to stay away from Liz Parker.
He'd been eyeing her lately, and she'd been returning the favor. And Michael
was worried; worried about other people finding out about their secret.
So that was why he was here with Michael. To make
sure he didn't go and talk tot he chick. Max had to admit, he felt like
he was being babysat, but it was better than sitting in that damned trailer,
waiting for Hank to make his way home. Not much better, though. Michael
could be really boring when he wanted to be; and obviosly, today, that
was exactly what he wanted to be.
He was fiddling with the thing, running his hands
over and around it, when the flash came. A flash of blinding pure light,
and he was thrown halfway across the room, feeling like his body was being
sucked out of itself, twisted this way and that.
A scream erupted from mazx's lips, and he thought
he heard ichael elling at him, telling him to let go. Let go? Of what?
He was nowhere near the gRanolith.
Yes, he was. The Granolith had gone with him, he
was holding it in his hands.
And then, utter and complete blackness. Max slid
fully onto the floor, unconscious. He never even noticed the change that
took place.Never noticed the switch of realities, the switch of identities
and bodies.