My son thinks I've finally lost it
My Little Girl

Disclaimer: Roswell's not mine, but if someone wanted to give it to me, I certainly wouldn't object…

Author's Note: Part seven in my 'Lost' series. Written in Jim's POV, takes place six days after "Departure." And, as always, I LOVE feedback.

My son thinks I've finally lost it. That I've gone off the deep end. He tip-toes around the house and pretends he doesn't notice the empty liquor bottles in the front porch. His head pops out of doorways if I so much as knock a pencil off the table. He's hidden my gun collection.

Sometimes, in my saner moments, I wonder if he's right. I don't think so, not really. Temporarily insane, maybe, but nothing permanent – I hope. Most of the time, though, I just fall into our usual pattern and pretend I don't notice what he's doing.

But I do notice. I always have, and I always will. As hard as it is for him to believe sometimes, I love him more than anything else in this world. Hell, my son is the only thing I've ever done right – even though I've come pretty close to destroying both of us on occasion.

Kyle thinks I care more about Max Evans than I do about him. That's crap. My son is my number-one priority. Even when I'm pushing him away to keep him safe, he's always in my mind. I'd be lost without him.

Just like we've lost Tess.

The night after she left, I drove out into the desert and stared up at the sky. There were millions of stars sparkling down at me, and I could easily pick out the V-shaped constellation she showed me one night last winter, the stars that was her home, once upon a time. The stars that will be her home from now on.

I stared up at the sky for hours that night, and even more in the nights since. I wonder where she is, up there. I wonder if she's found her real family, her real home. I wonder if she's happy.

I wonder if she misses us as much as we miss her.

It's tearing me up inside to see Kyle like this. He looks broken, beaten, defeated. I'm worried about him. What happened to the happy little boy who wanted to play catch with me in the backyard? Who met me in the driveway when I came home from work every night? I haven't seen him in a long time, and it's my own fault.

My son's become a man in the last two years, and I was too busy and too stupid to see most of it. I'm proud of the man he's become. I just wish I had spent more time with the boy he was.

I thought I was proud of the woman the girl I thought of as my daughter had become. Guess I was wrong.

I never thought I wanted a daughter. But then Tess came to live with us. She made us a family again. She helped me find the woman I love. She brought me joy and tears, just as my son has. When she came, I began to have images in my head of a young Kyle playing with a little blonde girl. I remember wishing they had grown up together, that I had seen all of their firsts. She made me realize how important my family is to me. My son is my pride and joy. I might act tough, but my daughter would've been daddy's little girl, I just know it. Tess almost was.

Nobody knows – not even Tess or Kyle – but I went to see Philip Evans a few days after Alex died. Seeing that boy, lying there, dead…it made me realize how important it is to show the people in your life how much they mean to you. They could be gone in an instant. I even remember thinking, 'It could've been my kids. It could've been Kyle or Tess.' That's what made me go to see Phil Evans. I asked him to start the adoption process. I wanted Tess to be my little girl.

Maybe it would've been different if I had told her. Maybe it would've been different if she'd known she had a family that loved her.

I use to be the sheriff. I like to think I was a good one. I always made a point to know everything that happened in this town. Hell, I even figured out that my father wasn't a kook, that aliens were in my kid's gym class. So how did I miss the fact that my daughter murdered someone in this very house?

Tess. I thought she was your ordinary, misunderstood, normal – albeit alien – teenager. Sure she was troubled – she was raised by a murdering, shape-shifting maniac who thought humans were worthless toys, after all – but it never even crossed my mind that Nasedo might've taught her a trick or two. That growing up with that thing as her only influence might've permanently warped her mind. That she was as insane as my son now fears I am. I'd have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to know a murderer was living under my roof, right?

Apparently not.

I like to think I'm a good father. The kind of father I never had. The kind of father who knows what's happening in his children's lives. I'm probably kidding myself. But I do love my kids. The weekend they went missing, I nearly went out of my mind with worry. For all I knew, the skins were back and had taken them hostage. When I found out they'd skipped school and taken off for a weekend of fun in Vegas, I was ready to strangle them, I was so relieved that they were safe. I thought I'd lost them.

Max and I set it up to look like she lost control of the jeep and died in a tragic accident. We held a funeral, scattered ashes in the desert…and we cried. Kyle and I. To the rest of the world, she's dead, but to us…she's alive, and the pain from her betrayal eats away at us, just as much as we wish she was still here. She was part of my family, and I love her, no matter what she did. I don't like her, I may even hate her sometimes, but I do love her. And I always will. Because I'm her father, and that's what fathers do. Love their kids no matter what they do. Unconditionally.

It seems incomprehensible, doesn't it? That one small girl could cause so much damage? Destroy so many lives?

We're moving, Kyle and I. Every place I look in this house reminds me of her. I stand in the kitchen and stare at the chair she sat in, the chair we got just for her. I can almost see her, grinning at me, teasing Kyle. I sit on the couch and listen. I can almost hear her laughter. I lay down on my bed and I think. I remember her.

Her spirit is lurking here, teasing me, talking to me, making me see her everywhere I turn.

The day after the funeral, I went into her room – Kyle's room – and cleared out all her things. I even stripped the blankets off the bed and tossed them in the trash. I smashed the mirror in a moment of fury. Or anguish. I'm not really sure which, and I don't care all that much. I don't think Kyle knows that I got rid of her things yet, though. He hasn't even tried to go in there. Not that I blame him. I don't want to go in there, either.

But I'm drawn there, no matter how much I try to stay away. I sit on the bed that I bought for my son when he was three years old and I stare at the spot where I stood when she called me Dad for the first and last time. When she said that, I felt this spark run though me. This spark of acceptance, of pure love for the little girl that came into our lives and turned them upside down. My heart actually skipped a beat. It was kind of like how I felt the first time Kyle said 'da-da,' all those years ago. It was like I'd found a piece of me that I'd never known I'd lost. The little girl that became my daughter and gave me back my son called me dad. No word had ever sounded sweeter to me. When she said she thought it sounded too weird, I was crushed, but of course, I didn't tell her that.

I wish I had. Maybe it would've made a difference. Maybe it wasn't too late.

Amy keeps telling me that I'm okay, that everything's going to be fine. I wish I could tell her that nothing's ever going to be okay again. I wish I could tell her that I'll never be able to look Gloria Whitman in the eye again, knowing what my daughter did to her son. I wish I could tell her that Phil and Diane Evans don't know how lucky they are to still have their children. I wish I could tell her that her daughter's dating an alien and that my daughter was an alien, too.

But I can't tell her any of that. I don't even try. I just hold her and let her take the shakes away. I just lose myself in her body and her eyes. When I'm in her arms, I feel like there will be a tomorrow.

Amy and Kyle are my only reasons to be here right now. I feel like I'm wandering around in a daze, that I've lost touch with reality. Sometimes, I think this is all a dream, that Isabel Evans is playing a cruel trick on me and locking me in a dream world. That this has all just been a nightmare. That someone's going to scream "April Fools!" any minute.

But it's May. April Fool's Day is over. Alex Whitman is dead. And Tess is gone and she's never coming back.

So I try to cope.

I drink a lot. Too much, I know. It doesn't help, but at least I can drink enough to make me pass out.

I haven't really slept since my son told me the truth. Every time I close my eyes, I see springy blonde curls and big blue eyes.

I've come to the conclusion that May is just not a good month for me. Kyle's mother left me in May. Last year, my son was nearly killed and Max Evans was hunted down like an animal by the F.B.I. in May.

Maybe next May, I'll take a vacation. I'll go far, far away – somewhere that's never even heard of aliens. Or else I'll hide under my bed and not poke my nose out until June.

I think I'm going to ask Amy to marry me. She and Kyle are my shining lights, piercing through the darkness to save me. I've been offered a job doing security work, and I'm working on getting my old job back – Phil Evans thinks I've got a case of wrongful dismissal that would hold up in court. Hell, if it would get me my job back, I'd wear a tutu to work every day. But I'm not kidding anyone, not even myself. It's all a part of a plan to keep busy, keep moving, to try and keep my mind off of everything that's happened. To move on, with Amy and Kyle standing next to me. I want to give my son, the woman I love, and her daughter everything they deserve and more. Maybe Amy and I can even have a child of our own someday. Maybe this time I won't screw it all up.

Kyle doesn't think I know how much time he's spending in the cemetery. Of course I know. I'm his father; it's my job to know. I've driven there and sat in my truck and watched him kneel next to the grave. I've cried for him.

My little boy is so lost right now. I wish he was six years old again. I wish I could give him a hug and an ice cream Sunday and make everything all better for him.

But I can't. I can't even help myself. And I obviously couldn't help my little girl.

I feel like I've failed every task set for a parent. Kyle turned out great, but I'm well aware that very little of that is because of me. And Tess? Well, I won't even go there. I'm not even sure how to describe her anymore.

I found a bag of empty Tabasco bottles this morning. Kyle must've gotten rid of them. I don't know if I'll ever be able to eat macaroni and cheese again. It won't taste right unless she's cooked it, covered with Tabasco.

Who would've guessed that Tabasco sauce tastes great in just about everything?

I keep wondering if I should've seen it coming. If there were hints, signs, that it would all lead to this. But as hard as I try, as much as I examine the past eight months, I can't see any.

What happened to her? What made her so twisted? What did that bastard do to my little girl?

I keep remembering that last hug she gave me, out in the desert, when I thought the Alex's death was a suicide and that they were all going to leave. I remember how tiny she felt in my arms. So small, so delicate. So easily broken. I remember giving her an extra squeeze, hoping she knew how much I loved her. And I remember her letting go, and me wishing that I could hold her for just a little while longer.

I knew I'd have to let go of my kids eventually. Every parent knows that the day will come, just as every parent dreads that day. They'd be going off to college next year, anyway, and soon they'd be married with children and lives of their own. So I told myself that letting go a little early shouldn't be that hard.

But it was. Letting her leave the safety of my arms was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It didn't seem fair. I'd only gotten her for eight lousy months…I should've had more time with my little girl. I wanted it all, what ever dad dreams of for his daughter. I wanted to see her graduate high school, go to college. I wanted to walk her down the aisle and hold my first grandchild in my arms.

I guess it wasn't meant to be.

I wish I'd brought them to the pod chamber, but Max had insisted that I go home, man the fort, and listen to the police scanner to make sure no one knew anything weird was going on. I figured it was the last thing I'd ever be able to do to help them, so of course I agreed.

Now I regret every last second that I missed with her.

Sometimes, I wonder if she'll come home. I don't think so. It's probably best if she doesn't.

So why do I want to see her face just one more time? Just for a minute?

Tess was going to have a baby of her own. When they told me, I was pissed, like any father whose teenaged daughter tells him she's pregnant would be, but I was also a tiny bit excited. I wouldn't mind having a baby around again. I told her that there would always be a place in our home for her child, and I meant it. I still do. I hope Max succeeds, that he gets his son back one day. I'd like to meet the child I will always think of as my grandson.

Sometimes, in my drunken stupor, I wonder if I could've done something to stop this from happening, or if it was all destined, just like the alien's mission to free their planet. My brain says I couldn't have done anything, but my heart tells me otherwise.

My heart is breaking. For me, for my son…and for my daughter. Because that's what she'll always be, no matter how much trouble she left behind or how much damage she caused. I wish I could've helped her. I wish I could've made everything okay for her. I wish I had more time.

I didn't. But she'll always be my little girl.