CHAPTER 37
A little while later, Alex was sitting on the floor, leaning against the faded couch and rattling off possible--though not very plausible--explanations for Michael's mysterious voice. "Maybe someone else is putting the voice inside his head. Like a ventriloquist with a hate for bad haircuts," he said, trying to break the somber mood. "Or maybe Michael's possessed. Enough bizarre things have happened around you guys that I'm almost willing to give in and accept the whole demonic possession thing. Or hey! How about a ghost? Maybe he's haunted."
Isabel didn't lose her grave expression. She shivered, thinking of what her almost-brother was going through. "Haunted? You mean...by Pierce?" Remembering the look on Michael's face when he had realized Pierce was dead, she pressed her lips together tightly. A furrow appeared on her brow.
"Well, I don't mean by the Ghost of Christmas Past," Alex told her in a last attempt to cut the tension. Becoming more serious, he continued, "You know, I'm a lot more willing to believe it's some sort of FBI trick. I mean, if they could plant that camera in his apartment, they could certainly rig up a miniaturized receiver and speaker there as well."
"I thought Nasedo was keeping a tight rein on the Special Unit," Liz pointed out. "Isn't he, Max?"
"I think so. Although he hasn't been in contact since he left," said Max. "So we can't be sure."
"No overt signs of an FBI presence, though, right?" asked Alex.
"No. Everything's been quiet on that front," Max assured him.
"The FBI doesn't make sense anyway, Alex," said Maria. "I mean, he hears the voice all the time. Everywhere. What do you think he's doing, carrying the FBI equipment around with him?"
"Well, not knowingly," Alex admitted, unwilling to give up on this explanation just yet.
"You think he just accidentally carries it around in his pocket without knowing it's there?" asked Isabel in an irritated tone. "Come on, Alex. He'd find it if it were there. Even Michael puts on clean clothes occasionally."
"Besides, nobody else can hear it," Maria objected, dismissing the idea.
Alex suggested, "Maybe it's in a frequency that we can't hear, but Michael can."
"What, you mean like a dog whistle?" Maria said in disbelief.
"Yeah, something like that. Too high or too low to be heard by the human ear."
"Oh, that's going to go over great," she sputtered. "I can't wait to see Michael's reaction when you start blowing dog whistles at him."
"Well, I didn't actually mean--"
"And besides," she continued, "if it were that, Max and Isabel should be able to hear it too, shouldn't they?"
The tension was beginning to wear at Isabel. "I did hear it," she reminded Maria, "but only in the dreamwalk. Never in real life." She rose abruptly and crossed to the kitchenette, feeling a sudden urge for activity. "This is all giving me a headache," she complained.
"I thought you didn't get sick," said Alex in surprise.
"We don't," she informed him. "Not the way you mean." Swinging open the refrigerator door, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. "God, hasn't Michael ever heard of baking soda?" She began to reach for a paper towel, but changed her mind with a shudder. "Forget it. He can clean his own refrigerator," she muttered, and began to rearrange the few possessions in Michael's cupboards.
Maria watched her stalk around the small kitchen, straightening things that weren't really all that out of place. It still amazed her that Isabel would turn to domestic tasks to help herself deal with stress. But there she was, lining up a half-empty cereal box so that it was perfectly even with the edge of a shelf. Not exactly what you'd expect from the high school social snob that Maria had thought Isabel to be just a year and a half ago, much less from someone from outer space.
Watching Isabel, her mind wandered back to a different alien. She hoped that Michael wasn't feeling so trapped, that getting out had helped him to clear his head a little. And that he wasn't standing in the middle of a street somewhere, stuck in another trance. She frowned. He was being tormented by this voice, thinking he was going crazy, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She didn't know how.
Her lack of knowledge was nothing new, though. She hadn't known what to do when he'd gotten so sick the year before, either, and he'd almost died from that. It had taken all five of them, plus River Dog, to get him back then. She gave herself a mental shake. He'd come out of that just fine. He would come out of this okay, too.
Muttering something under her breath, Isabel tightened the cap on a bottle of Tabasco. Maria watched her thoughtfully. Isabel, despite her current proclaimed headache, was never ill, and Max's few health problems had been either the result of that car accident or--Maria swallowed nervously--torture at Pierce's hands. They were both extraordinarily healthy. If this was due to their alien constitutions, then why was Michael so susceptible to things going wrong? Well sure, not normal human things, like colds or the flu, but bizarre stuff. Stuff that could only have to do with his Czechoslovakian status, like his self-immersion in webbing as he lay dying, and this voice only he could hear. And of course there was the whole Jeckyll & Hyde thing that he'd just come out of.
She sucked in a deep breath of air, and really thought about what had happened to him only five or six weeks earlier. She'd never taken the time to question just why his mind had split in two--she'd been too busy trying to get him back to worry about the reasons for it. Was it a species-wide problem, or peculiar to one stubborn, poorly groomed individual?
"Max? Isabel?" she asked. "What if all this stuff that's happening to Michael is a Czechoslovakian phenomenon? We don't know why it happens. What if it happens to you, too?"
The siblings looked at each other for a moment, "We've talked about that," said Max. "And we'll deal with it if it does."
"It might not happen, anyway. We don't know much about our prior existence, remember?" Isabel responded. "We don't have any idea how much variety there is within our kind. And then to change alien traits even further by mixing them with human DNA...who knows what kind of wild results you'd end up with?"
Alex frowned. "But I thought you were engineered. Designed to be germ-resistant and all that."
"We were," said Isabel with a shrug.
Something was nagging at Maria. The talk of being engineered sparked a memory for her. She knew something, but she didn't know what she knew. It was something Michael had said...She could almost hear his tone of voice, if not the words themselves. Something about...being broken?
Her eyes widened. "Do you remember the argument you and Michael had at my house, Max?" she said intently. "He said something about being flawed, remember? That he was born broken, or something like that." She looked at him, worry in her eyes. "What if he's right, that something went wrong when he was created? Maybe that's why he's had problems that the two of you don't."
Max leaned his chin on his hand as he considered. Finally he spoke. "Maybe. We don't know enough to tell. But I hope not, for his sake."
Isabel clenched her fingers tightly together. "Maybe he was supposed to be different from us. Maybe it's for a reason. Max, what if he was wrong?"
Liz, who had been quietly observing their discussion, chuckled suddenly. At Max's questioning look, she explained, "I know--this isn't funny at all. But I was just thinking that...I never thought I'd say it, but I was thinking how much I wished Nasedo was here."
Isabel paused in straightening Michael's scanty collection of silverware and raised one eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like him."
"I don't. He seems very...alien to me, in a way the three of you never have. He scares me, actually. But he may know more than he's told you. He might be able to help us figure out how to help Michael."
"I'm not sure Michael would let him help," Max said frankly.
"Why not?"
"Because Michael doesn't trust him."
Isabel rolled her eyes. "Michael has a hard time trusting anybody. He always has."
"But once the shock of getting the whole message from our mother began to wear off, he started questioning everything. You saw him, Isabel. His paranoia hit redline."
"What?" cried Maria in outrage. "You mean I spent the whole summer moping about him, breaking my heart that he left me to follow his so-called destiny, and the whole time he didn't even believe it?" Her voice rose to a shriek. "He was avoiding me for nothing?"
"It wasn't nothing," Isabel said fiercely. "He really wanted to believe that he had a destiny, you know. Not to be with me, but to have a purpose. A reason for existing. He could have just happily accepted it." Her voice softened. "But he didn't. He made the choice not to believe, Maria. He chose against destiny."
"But he talks about helping Max win your war..." Maria started.
"You know Michael. What he says and what he does and what he really thinks are not always the same thing. In fact, they're quite often radically different." Isabel smiled sympathetically. "I wouldn't worry so much about what he says. It's much more interesting why he says it."
"What do you mean?"
Isabel smiled widely at her. "Well, duh. Think about it for a minute. Why wouldn't he want to accept his destiny? What would he rather be doing?"
"You mean..." Maria's voice got stuck in her throat and she was unable to finish the hopeful question.
Nor was Isabel given the chance to answer it. All five of them jerked in surprise as the apartment door was flung back on its hinges. Before Maria had time to so much as blink, Michael rushed into the room.
"God, Michael," said Isabel, recovering first. "I know it's your apartment, but you don't need to--"
He interrupted her. "Let me see the note," he demanded, looking down at Maria.
"What? What for?" she asked.
"C'mon, the note. The one you got today. Just let me see it, all right?" he rushed on, his hand outstretched.
Pulling it out of her pocket, she placed it in his hand. His fingers trembled for a moment and he seemed almost to hesitate; then he closed them tightly around the paper, shutting his eyes in concentration. Maria, watching as his brow wrinkled and his jaw clenched, realized he must be trying to get a vision, to pick something up from the note. She put a gentle hand on his arm, silently giving him support. With a sudden jerk, Michael stumbled a bit, his equilibrium lost. He somehow managed to catch himself, and stood holding the note loosely. Letting out a deep breath, he shook his head as if to clear it and then looked down at Maria, his eyes full of confusion.
Alex coughed.
It was only then that Michael seemed to realize that there were four other people in the room. And they were watching him. Maybe judging him. And, thinking back to his earlier confession, probably feeling sorry for--His face closed off.
Thrusting the note back into Maria's hands, he took a step back and looked around at them, before heading back to the apartment door and rushing through it. The door slammed behind him.
"What was that all about?" asked Max.
"I don't know," said Maria. She stood for a moment, unsure, and then grabbed the faded blanket from its place on the back of the couch and headed for the door.
Michael didn't have to hear the step on the sidewalk to know that Maria was nearby. He could almost feel her following before she stepped out of the apartment building and looked around. Trying to find him, probably.
"You shouldn't be out here without Isabel or Max," he said gruffly. She started and turned towards where he was standing, leaning against the brick of the apartment building.
Her voice was calm. "I'm sure they're happy to have a break from the baby-sitting." Wrapping the blanket she held in her arms around her for the second time that evening, she joined him in leaning against the building. She tilted her head back against the chilly brick and looked up towards the stars.
Staring into the night, Michael frowned. "So did you come out here to pump me, or what?"
"Nope," she said, with a laugh in her voice. "Don't you think I know better than that by now? I just came to get some fresh air." She continued to gaze at the tiny specks in the night sky.
He turned his head to study her in the dimness. "You shouldn't be out here," he repeated stubbornly. "That fresh air you want? It's too cold."
It was too cold for her but not for him? He just wanted to be alone, that was all. Besides, she could hack it if he could. "I've got your blanket, Spaceboy. I'm fine." She gave a half smile at her inadvertent use of his usual word.
Fiddling with one of his silver rings, Michael turned it around and around on his finger, not wanting to ask what he knew he was about to ask. He told himself to just suck it up and ask. He might as well know the worst. When he spoke, his voice was husky. "So did you tell them?"
"Yeah." He nodded and stared down at his feet. She continued, "It's all right, Michael. It's good that they know. They don't feel any differently about you, though, you know. And neither do I, for that matter."
He continued to fiddle with his ring. After a moment, he said, half to himself, "Yeah, well, I'm not sure I do either."
Maria gave a tiny little Michael-style smirk into the darkness. That was just like him. "Of course not. That would be too simple, wouldn't it?" she teased. But she remembered what Isabel had said, that what Michael said and what he really thought weren't necessarily the same thing. "I'm going back in," she decided. "You coming?"
"Yeah. I guess." Silently he followed her back into the building and up the stairs. He seemed to brace himself for a moment before he stepped back into the apartment.
Once inside, he headed directly over to a plastic crate in the corner of the room and rifled through it, finally pulling out a small sketch pad and pencil. Ignoring the others, he sat down at the counter that doubled as a table and opened up the pad, flipping through it until he found a blank page. He closed his eyes for a minute, as if to try and recapture an image in his head, before beginning to make tentative lines on the paper in front of him.
Maria watched him with interest. "What are you drawing, Michael?"
Focused on the page in front of him, he answered absently, "Don't know."
She moved over to stand looking over his shoulder. There were a few curved lines and some shading marring the pristine whiteness of the paper, but she couldn't for the life of her make out what she was seeing. Was he into abstract art or something?
Hunching over the sketch pad, Michael looked up at her. "Do you mind?" he said in a rather rude tone.
"No, I don't mind," she answered blithely. "Not as long as you tell me what you're doing."
He gave a quick roll of his eyes at the ceiling, but gave in with ill-mannered grace. "I told you, I don't know what it is. I'm trying to figure out what I saw when I held the note, okay? I'll let you know when I know."
So he had seen something. Well, she could wait. She wasn't going anywhere.
"Okay," she said, reining in her curiosity. She glanced over to the others. None of them had done more than glance up quickly when she and Michael had returned, and now they still seemed rather intent on their conversation. Well, on Max and Liz's conversation, that is. Her eyebrows raised. If she didn't know better, she would almost think that the two were having an argument. Of course, being Max and Liz, it was conducted quite politely and at a reasonable volume.
Moving to Alex's side, she asked him what was going on. "They're...disagreeing about Tess," he told her.
She nodded her head wisely. "That again, huh?"
Alex shook his head. "Not in the way you think. Liz wants to bring her in on this, to see if Nasedo's been in contact. Max doesn't want her involved."
This was a surprise. "Liz wants to call in Tess?" she blurted in amazement.
"Yep," Alex said with a nod. Maria focused with interest on her best friend.
"It's a matter of priorities, Max," the brown-haired girl was saying. "All we do is complain about not having enough information. I for one think it's time to do something about that."
"You sound like Michael," said Max, frowning.
"I heard that," came a gravely voice from over by the kitchen counter.
Max ignored it. "I realize that we don't know enough. But it's not worth taking any chances. If we keep calm and be careful, no one will get hurt. We can't rush into anything."
"It's been months since we've heard anything at all from him!" protested Isabel. "We are not rushing. This is long overdue. And if he can help with Michael--"
"If who can help with what?" said Michael abruptly.
"Nasedo. Liz thinks maybe he can help us figure out why you're hearing the voice," Maria explained. "And she wants to talk to Tess to figure out the best way to contact him."
"No. No way," he said, his voice rising.
"But Michael," Liz said in a reasonable tone, "We need to talk to him. He might hold the key to what's been happening to you."
"He might, and he might not," he told her stiffly. "But we're not gonna ask him."
Isabel and Maria exchanged a pointed glance. "See?" said the taller girl. "We told you he didn't trust Nasedo."
"You told them..." Michael began, rising from his seat in exasperation. "Does the whole world have to know everything about me? What the hell are you going to do next--read them my diary?"
"You have a diary?" asked Alex, momentarily diverted.
"No, I do not have a diary," roared Michael. "That's not the point! The point is, since when does everyone have to know my business?"
"Since the day you became our friend," said Maria heatedly. "God alone knows why, but some of us are stupid enough to care about what happens to you!"
"We are obviously not going to come to an agreement about this tonight," Max cut in smoothly. "Why don't we all take some time to cool our heads? We can talk about it tomorrow."
Liz looked cautiously over at the spiky-haired alien. "Michael? It's your problem we're dealing with here. At least in part. What do you want us to do?"
His eyes met hers coldly. "Why don't you stop butting in and just go home? You heard our fearless leader--Max will decide what to do and tell us tomorrow," he said in a harsh voice. "It's late. You better all get home before your mommies and daddies start to worry about you."
He ignored the hurt look in her brown eyes--a look he was much more used to seeing in Maria's. "All right," Liz said evenly. "We'll talk about it tomorrow." She paused by the door. "Michael?"
"What?" he snapped.
"Get some rest, okay?" She turned to the others. "I'll wait for you outside."
Max crossed to his second-in-command. "That wasn't necessary," he said in a voice shaky with controlled anger. "She was just trying to help."
Michael refused to look at him.
Allowing Alex to take her hand and pull her up from the couch, Isabel chimed in. "You've been hanging around us for eight years, Michael. You'd think that in that time even you would have picked up some rudimentary manners." She gave him a pointed look. "Major apologies are due here, brother. I suggest you start practicing."
"Not a good move, man," said Alex quietly enough so only Michael could hear. "A pissed off Isabel is not a fun Isabel." His voice got even quieter. "And you hurt Liz's feelings like that again and you're going to have me to deal with. Actually, that goes for any of my ladies. Got it?"
Michael didn't answer, but his eyes met Alex's for a brief moment. Evidently satisfied with what he saw there, Alex relaxed and turned to the small blonde still standing defiantly across the room. "Coming, Maria?"
"I don't think so," she answered slowly. "I already told Liz I was staying here tonight. Besides, I think Michael and I need to have a little talk." A pair of intense brown eyes shot over to meet hers.
"All right," answered Alex. "Your choice. But call us if you change your mind." With that, he followed the two aliens to the door, leaving Michael and Maria alone to stare at each other in silence.
TBC...