CHAPTER 8
Alex followed close on Max's heels as they climbed the stairs in Michael's apartment building. They had to find Maria, and fast. And then they had to figure out what was wrong with Michael, not just for Maria's sake, but for Michael's. Alex had actually grown to like the stubborn loner, whose wry sense of humor meshed surprisingly well with his own more playful style. Plus, all appearances aside, Michael really cared for Maria, probably as much as, and maybe even more than, she for him. Alex had never seen her as alive as she had seemed since she'd fallen for Michael. At times she practically glowed with happiness around him. And Michael had become much less prickly around her. Well, around all of them, really. At least until the whole destiny fiasco last May.
He just hoped that Maria's peril would pull the taciturn alien out of whatever mental quagmire he was wallowing in, because, frankly, Alex was at a loss as to what to do next. Computer hacking, fine. Hooking up spy equipment, no problem. But people who vanish right in front of you? Maybe he should have asked for a Junior Magician kit for his eleventh birthday instead of that DOOM video game cartridge...
Reaching the top of the stairs, the pair moved swiftly towards Michael's apartment. Alex nodded his readiness when Max glanced at him, and then watched his friend as he set his shoulders before tapping lightly on the door. Alex found himself clenching his fists with tension as they waited. And waited. Max whispered, "I don't want to be too loud. We have enough to deal with without trouble from Michael's neighbors," but he knocked a little harder anyway. There was still no response. Finally, Alex gestured suggestively towards the door, and Max used his powers to unlock it.
The room was dark, with only enough moonlight streaming through the window for Alex to make out a still form sitting on the worn couch. He gave no sign of having noticed them.
"Michael?" said Max softly.
Slowly Michael's head turned towards them and he seemed to finally take them in. His voice when he spoke was as unemotional as the expression on his still face. "Funny. I don't remember requesting visitors at three in the morning." Turning back, he resumed staring at the faded wallpaper across the room.
A silent conversation passed between Alex and Max, and then the alien stepped forward to take charge of the situation. "We have a problem."
"And why exactly do you think I care?" was the response, maddening because of its evenness.
Max tried to be reasonable. "This affects you, Michael. It affects all of us. Something happened tonight."
"So?"
"If you would just listen for a minute--"
"I don't think so, Max. Now why don't the two of you get out? Feel free to lock the door behind you."
Alex felt his little-used temper begin to boil. "Would you just listen to him? We need to tell you something, so listen up, or--"
"Or?" Michael raised one eyebrow sardonically.
Alex lost it. "Or I will personally pound you until you are nothing but a little pile of teeny tiny alien bits!" he shouted, leaning over Michael and practically spitting in his face. Michael didn't even blink.
"Calm down, Alex," said Max, pulling him away. "You're not helping. Michael, just listen to us. Please. It's important. You have to listen," he continued in desperation as his remote friend made no response.
Michael turned and looked him in the eye. "And then you'll leave?"
"If you still want us to go once you hear us out, we'll go."
"Fine. You have five minutes."
Maria leaned against the wall, idly fingering the butterfly-shaped hair clip she'd put on so many hours ago. Michael hadn't spoken since his terse proclamation about being stuck here for three weeks, instead prowling restlessly around the room. Maria hadn't pressed him, hoping he would soon work through whatever idea was percolating in his brain. Sighing, she rubbed her temples, and then looked up, surprised, as he spoke.
"Tell me what's been going on for the last few weeks."
"Well," she answered, "you've been acting really strangely, even for you. You know how you have a tendency to be Mr. 'Back Off From Anything Even Remotely Intense'?" He had the grace to look discomfited. "Well, once again you've been pulling your famous little running game, but it's more than that this time. You're there and not there at the same time, if you know what I mean. I see you in school, and you ignore me completely--which, by the way, drives me absolutely nuts, buddy. And it's not like you're purposely avoiding me, it's more like I don't even exist."
She could see his jaw clench. "Maria, I..." he began.
"No, it's all right, Michael. That doesn't matter right now. We have more important things to worry about. Things like, oh, I don't know, getting you out of here so you can go save your home planet, and stuff like that." She heard a tremor creep into her voice and smothered it immediately. "Sorry. Anyway, what's important right now is you and Max and Isabel. You need each other now, more than ever, but Isabel says you've been using the gas station as an excuse not to spend any time at all with her and Max. You've totally cut yourself off. She's really worried about you." She paused, and then commented, "You know, I think we already had this conversation. In your apartment, as a matter of fact."
"I've been there. In Roswell. You've seen me at school and stuff." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah."
"It wasn't me."
"Of course it was you. I saw you."
"You can't have seen me 'cause I wasn't there."
"Yes, you were," Maria doggedly insisted.
He resumed his frenetic pacing. "If I was there, then why don't I remember any of it?"
"Gee, I don't know, Michael. Maybe you were sleepwalking. Maybe you're suffering from some sort of alien-based amnesia. But you were definitely there. Believe me, that I do know."
Michael's eyes narrowed. "You know. What's that supposed to mean?"
She flushed uncomfortably. She did not want to get into this. "It doesn't matter. Just take my word for it, okay?" He stared intently at her. "What?" she exclaimed defensively, "You're allowed to be all closed off and have secrets, and I'm not, is that it?"
"That's right," he said firmly. "Now talk."
She gave in with ill-mannered grace. "Okay, but you owe me. Got that?" He nodded reluctantly and she admitted, gazing at the floor, "I can tell when you're around." His eyes narrowed even further as he continued to stare intently at her. "Whenever you're near, I get this...I feel...Look, let's just say I know, okay? I've got 100% Grade A Michael radar. That's why Isabel brought me into your dream in the first place. She couldn't find you in your dream and we thought maybe I could track you down, and I did and it worked and here we are," she finished in a rush of air.
Michael looked totally taken aback as he stood there in shock. Finally, he tried to pull his few fragments of thought together into a coherent sentence, and managed to stutter out, "You can..."
"Yeah."
Once again, he ran his hand distractedly through his disheveled hair. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure, Michael."
"Well, maybe it's an alien thing. What about Max and Isabel? Can you sense them?" he asked, grasping at straws.
"Just you, Michael. Look, it's not like I'm purposely invading your privacy or anything, you know. I can't read your mind. I just know when you're around, that's all."
He nodded hesitantly.
"Makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it?" she asked.
"Well, yeah."
"Why?" He looked panicky at the question and she decided to let him off the hook. "Never mind. Just accept it and move on. I have."
"Okay," he said uncertainly, and once again began to pace across the room, more slowly this time. "I still don't remember any of it, though. I just remember this room."
Maria tried to come up with an explanation, with little success. "I don't get it, either, Michael. Hey, maybe you did sleepwalk," she added with a chuckle.
"Can't sleepwalk if I don't sleep," he muttered.
Her ears pricked up, and she demanded, "You don't sleep? At all?"
"No. Not in here."
"Don't you get tired?"
"Of course I get tired," Michael snapped, irritated. "I just can't sleep, that's all."
"Well, what do you do then?" Looking around, she commented, "You're not exactly flush for entertainment in here."
"I don't do anything."
"You don't do anything?" she repeated with a disbelieving laugh. "Michael Guerin sitting in a room doing nothing. Boy, that's got to be just killing you." A thought struck her. "You don't do anything? You haven't done anything at all for three weeks?"
"I didn't know it was three weeks until you showed up and told me. It's hard to keep track of time in here. One day runs into another until you can't tell when one begins and the other ends. Nothing changes. It's always exactly the same."
"Nothing changes? At all?"
"Well, nothing changed until someone dropped a shoe on my head--" he began pointedly.
"Sorry about that."
He shrugged. "And then you were there."
"Well, at least you've got me to entertain you now," she said brightly. "Things are looking up!"
Looming over her in exasperation, he shouted, "Things are not 'looking up', Maria. It's bad enough that I'm stuck in here, but now I have to deal with you, too?"
She flinched and looked away. Contrite, he dropped to his knees by her side and said, "I didn't mean it, Maria. Not that way. I just...Hell, I don't know what I meant."
She nodded and looked down at her hands. He tentatively reached out and covered them with his. "Look, I'm...sorry," he said quietly. "Sorry for shooting my mouth off, sorry for not being able to talk to you about things, hell, sorry for getting you into this whole mess in the first place."
Maria looked at him, surprised. He had used the word 'sorry'. Four times in one little speech. This was probably a record for him. Wait a minute; maybe this wasn't such a good reaction. It was too unlike him. What was going on in that warped brain of his? She shook her head, feeling a little dizzy for a moment, then shook off his hands and rose to her feet. "Actually, I think that was Liz, not you. Well, Liz and Max. You didn't get shot; you didn't heal Liz; you didn't drag your wacky best friend kicking and screaming into the secret of the century. It's not your fault, Michael."
"It's my fault that you're stuck here," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.
"Michael, I'm here because I chose to be here. I knew it was risky, but I made the choice. It was my decision."
"Yeah?" he asked, rising, "And exactly why did you make that decision?"
"Because I...Because we were all worried about you!"
"You see? My fault," he stated matter-of-factly.
Maria reached up and, grabbing his chin, turned his face so he was looking her directly in the eye. "For the last time, it is not your fault, Michael! I do what I want to do. You do not control my actions, not any more. And if I want to go on a wild alien-hunting safari, then I will! So shut up with the blame. It...is...not...your...fault! Got it?" In her rage, she stumbled a bit. He caught her and kept her from plummeting to the floor.
"Hey, watch it."
She shook her head in exasperation and said crossly, "I've just been really clumsy tonight. It's nothing."
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing in concern as he took in her suddenly pale face and glassy eyes. "Are you sure? You--"
"Yes, I am sure, Michael. God! You'd think you were my mother or something," she said, pulling away from him.
He smirked and shot back, "Your mother? I don't think so." Suddenly reaching out, he caught her again as she swayed. "Something is wrong, Maria."
"I'm okay...I just feel really tired all of a sudden. Well, it's got to be like four in the morning, so I guess that's no surprise."
"Why don't you try to get some rest? I'll keep an eye out in case anything happens. Not like I'm gonna be able to sleep anyway." He led her back over to the wall and helped her to sit, leaning against it. He hesitated, and then sat next to her. Putting an arm around her, he said softly, "Here. Lean on me."
Smiling, she relaxed into his embrace, feeling strangely at home. Moments like this were few with Michael. Even when they had been together, they'd usually spent most of their time either arguing or making out. This was nice. "Thanks," she said sleepily and then chuckled quietly.
"What?" he asked.
"This has got to be the longest conversation we've ever had."
"Yeah," he answered. His arm tightened around her.
And Michael Guerin sat, watching, as she fell asleep in his arms.
TBC...