Disclaimer: "Untouchable Face" is from Ani diFranco's album Dilate.
"Alex, where are your matches," Max said tersely.
"Uh, Max, I don't think that's the answer. Maybe we should think this through."
Max looked at the other boy shortly. He strode over to the painting in Liz's hands and held his hand hovering beside it. His hand glowed faintly and the panel burst into flame."
"Holy shit!" Liz shrieked as her hands were enveloped by flame. She had still been holding the panel.
Quickly, Alex tugged the dark girl so the painting fell from her grip. As it descended, it burned unnaturally quick to become, finally, a pile of harmless ash on his mom's favorite carpet. Liz was also on the carpet, rolling to smother the fire. Isabel helped her up and pressed her own silvery hands to Liz's for healing.
"What the hell are you thinking, Max? You could've killed her!"
Liz sat on the couch, staring at her hands. She sank against Alex, who was smoothing her hair gently.
"It was for Michael."
Isabel looked at him in shock, "That was your miracle cure?"
"I'm going to check on him," Max started up the stairs.
A hand on his shoulder spun him back around.
"That was really stupid." Liz's brown eyes held nothing of love.
"Look, it's not like I couldn't have healed you."
"This isn't about me. You don't know anything about what's happening to Michael. What if he's tied to the painting? You might walk into that room and find your best friend blackened to a crisp."
Max blanched, "Well, at least we'll know what's wrong and be able to fix it."
"And Maria? Will you be able to fix Maria, too? That is her father in that painting!"
"That's not her father, it's a painting, Liz, a stupid painting. And when it comes between Michael and a piece of colored cardboard, I'll pick the real person, the only one that matters, every time!
He turned back towards the stairs.
"Don't you see that it's not your choice?" Liz whispered, knowing that despite his actions Max would hear her. "This is between them. If you take Maria's father away, she'll fall apart. If you take Michael away, she'll fall apart. If you burn the painting don't you understand that we can't do anything?'
"Either way, she loses
***
"Maria, it's dinnertime. I hope you didn't stuff yourself at lunch. If I remember correctly, your father has a stomach of iron..."
Amy pushed the bedroom door open a little. She stopped to appreciate the mellow texture of her daughter's voice. It was quiet and gentle, almost like whispering.
"Think i'm going for a walk now
I feel a little unsteady
I don't want
nobody to follow me
'cept maybe you"
She smiled; singing the way Maria did should be fattening.
"I could do a lot of things
and I do"
So her daughter did have a love life. No amount of talent could instantly inject that amount of passion into the song. She wondered who it was and if trip to Europe would affect him. Ah, young love.
"Tell you the truth,
I prefer the worst of you"
Maria's feathery touch on the song slackened. Hurt was added to the music she kneaded with her husky crooning.
"you know I really don't look forward
to seeing you again soon
I won't
know what to do
I won't know what to say'
"See you and I'm so perplexed
What was I thinking
What will I think
next
Where can I hide"
Through the crack she'd opened in the doorway, Amy could see Maria perched on her bed, feet dangling. Her left elbow was on her knee, her left cradled her own soft face.
"There's a changing constellation
of balls as we are playing
I see
Orion and say nothing
the only thing I can think of saying"
She wanted to go in and hold her. Tell her, like a mother should, that no man was worth it. All men were inherently stupid.
Either that or find whoever was causing her daughter so much hurt and hang him on a wall by his own rotting innards.
"is fuck you...
and your untouchable face
fuck you
for existing in
the first place"
Maria's voice prowled low, low. The snarl of her cursing almost an admission of surrender.
"and who am I
that I should be vying for your touch
who am I
bet you
can't even tell me that much"
Amy DeLuca soundlessly slid the door shut, unable to bear the gnawing grief on her sixteen-year old daughter's face. So young to feel so much.
The unmuffled singing receded into sobs.
"somebody tell me that much
somebody, please
just tell me that much"
Maria's knees locked up and her throat clenched, strangling the lush murmur of her voice. Her body went boneless and she began to gag on her own tongue as she collapsed on the floor like ashes from a cigarette:
The emerald city crumbled above and below her. It fell, glass embedding itself in her flesh, purpling with her blood. She fled towards the crystal buildings, her bare feet catching sharp points of shattered green glass from the cobblestones. She pounded and scratched: no doors.
She collapsed against the painfully smooth crystal building, blood streaking down nose, legs, everything.
It all disappeared as she was heaved upright into the not.
Blood glass green tail tower howling waves salt blood. All gone except in her mind.
"My mind."
She scowled.
"This is so like you! Even when you invade me you have to cordon off your own private broody territory for assholes only. Well, I got something to tell you, buddy: It's done. I don't know what sort of cathartic Never-Ending Story moment you're trying to share with me, but damnit, Michael, can't you just leave it all alone? Leave me alone. I'm sick of this whole melodramatic angst-thing you're pulling."
She crossed her arms, warming to the subject.
"I'm happy! I've got...natural blonde hair!"
Hair? You can do better than that, Maria. Surely, she thought.
"I've got friends and clear skin, talent, and common sense! I have a clean place to live, good food to eat, and a family. A nuclear family even! My mom's got strings to pull with the law in this town, my dad's got shitloads of cash! He's taking me to Europe, you know. I'm his favorite daughter! He won't leave me, he will never leave me. We're going to Paris, Prague, and...and Reykjavík. Yes, Reykjavik. And I'll have fun. I'll learn how to order candied pears in Portuguese, pour boiling pitch over castle walls, and have hot, meaningful sex with my private ski instructor!'
"I'm happy!" She began to jump, up and down. Turned cartwheels in her hysteria. "Happy! Happy!"
"Happy? Happy, Maria?"
"HAPPY!" She paused in the not, catching her breath. "I'm so freaking happy I don't need you!"
***
"I don't understand," Max looked down at his hands helplessly. He was sitting in a folding chair next to Alex's bed.
Isabel looked at her brother, tears in her eyes. "Max, what are we gonna do?"
Liz was pressing cold cloths on Michael's forehead and bare chest. "Were we wrong? About the painting?" She sat next to Michael's still form.
"What else could it be?" Alex paced wearily, stopping only to comfort his girlfriend. "The idea that it's some random Czechoslovakian thing...it blows my mind! Because if that's what it is, how do we protect the two of you?"
Isabel pulled Alex down beside her and kissed him gently on the neck. "Shh, don't think like that. Not yet."
"Is, he's right. What if it could happen to us?"
"Let's think logically. Start over again. Maybe we're still right about the painting stuff, everything fits except..."
***
Maria careened into walls-split herself in halves and thirds-ripping like a plum-Maria bucked and reeling-Maria stood still. Pale pathways jerked in the surrounding air -one, she remembered vaguely. It had shot through her arm. It had shivered with the steadiness of her beating heart before sizzling away. There were also streams of silvery sand whipping in concentric circles as if she were the eye of a million tornadoes.She stood for a rather long time before everything but herself and the smell of crackling ozone.
Like a cornfield after lightning has burnt the stalks down
Suddenly, she was halved. Her right eye stared into the left one. Her left arm grabbed for her right but, unbalanced, her left side fell over. Slowly, it picked itself up and tried again. Her halves repelled like magnets.
"I'm sorry," Maria said.
"Not yet," came the reply.
***
The dream tore itself against Maria, embedding itself.
Hungry.
It crept into, became her flesh through mouth -between legs- hurting her- hurting her. Hungry, where there was no entry it furrowed into marrow. Her fingers and feet swelled and burst with a loud pop. Her skin shriveled and trailed down her belly in strips. She shook and bloody pieces slapped against each other.
***
When Maria stopped breathing, the dream took over.
Liz pulled Alex aside, leaving Isabel to follow her brother upstairs.
"Max is just worried," Alex began softly.
"I'm not worried about Max Evans right now. I'm worried about Maria. If we're right..."
"I know, I heard what you said. Either she loses." Alex brought his arm his friend's slim shoulders. Maria's outward attitude was one of independence and strength -she didn't anyone or anyone. But both her best friends knew there was a deep ache in her that she'd been trying to fill all her life. She had faulted herself for her father's abandonment, citing her imperfections and inadequacies in numbered lists she kept in her dresser.
Maria constantly strove to prove herself worthy of love, they'd hoped she'd seen her worth reflected in Michael's eyes. But Michael hadn't been ready to show her, he'd been scared to give and accept love.
Liz sighed, it wasn't supposed to be like this.
If only she'd tried a little harder to convince Maria that no matter how cherished she was it meant nothing if she didn't cherish herself. If, when they got through this she was going to make Maria see that she deserved to be loved. Even if she had to beat it into her.
And now...
Maria thought she'd finally been accepted by her father. But when she found it wasn't really father? That he was some figment of Michael's imagination?
Liz whispered. "How could he do this to her?"
"What?" Alex said, still cradling her.
Nothing, uh, someone should talk to Maria. Tell her what's going on."
"You're right. I'll go."
Only after Liz left did Alex realize he didn't know how Michael had been affected by the burnt painting.
He turned up the stairs, scared.
It was so quiet.
***
The siren song blasted her ears, boiling her brain. She drove her hands up against her, attempting to contain her sanity. It bled, sending pulses of angry beats through membranes through matter. It throbbed, it pounded."Gonna get you gonna get you gonna make you
so happy,
Gonna get you..."
It was one voice and many -Michael's and her father's.
Michael's.
And finally, it her own voice crooning madly.
"Not yet," the other Maria had promised. Not yet. So it was written in stone then, she'd be sorry?
Struggling to open her eyes, Maria felt her own body trembling with each accusation. Her skin chafed with every palpitation.
And then she saw that she had no eyes, no skin. She was tight, so tight, and everywhere. She became sound.
She became the dream.
She was light and dark and out of control.
God, it hurt, this freedom. This blindness. She was so confused.
What were they saying? Why couldn't she see?
And then Maria realized she was dying.
And maybe -if it meant silence, if it meant she didn't have to deal with dreaming- that was okay with her.
It was so loud.
Liz tried not to scream when she found Maria, her body at an impossible angle on the bed.
She tried. But this was her best friend and Maria wasn't breathing.
The scream was little as these things go, but full of fear.
She ran to Maria's side and slapped her face in a panic.
Her hands became sticky with the blood that seeped from the blonde's nose.
***
She had a body again and there was an ache in her center.It became a wick and she began to burn from the inside out. She could feel flames engulf her heart and liver, stomach and spleen. She labored to breath but the fire had reached her lungs and scorched them. Maria imagined the gaping, scraping cracks on the twin organs. She imagined the angry blue and white inferno.
Her skin remained a porcelein white as the blaze frenzied on.
Maria began to tremble with its fury, she couldn't contain the dream.
***
Liz unceremoniously dumped Maria into the shower stall, slamming her head against the glass. She slammed the dial to hot and eventually the water ran down Maria's face in rivulets, blurring her features.
***
She was no more a candle.
She was long arm, red wind, tongue of earth.
She and the dream
she became the dream
she was the dream
the dream ran on.Her tendrils felt the way through the black blackness towards orange towards angry towards hungry.
The dream had to eat before the dream went, before the dream died, before the dream lied.
Twirling like a tornado, like a grass fire, the dream hunted.
It came to Michael.
To his skeleton, to his skull, to his heap of broken bones.
***
She awoke to steam and strong, small arms that rocked her. She looked up in shock and surprise, "Liz, what are you doing here?"
The brunette brushed tears from her cheeks, "You were hurting."
"Just a dream, intense, but, you know, just a dream," Maria tried to shrug and smile.
Liz frowned and the steam seemed to form a halo above her head. She used the porcelein to hold herself up, "C'mon and lend me some clothes? There are some things you need to know."
Maria followed her quietly.
***
"I'm scared. I can't lose him," Max rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Michael was, somehow, still on the bed, alive or whatever. He was neither burnt to a crisp nor better. Max wished he could talk to Michael, though. Though the two were often at odds, Max knew they were brothers. For always. A loud sob escaped his throat as he tried again to touch's Michael's forehead.
"I love him, too," Isabel said. They were seated on Alex's bed, on either side of Michael. She laid her hand on her older brother's shoulder.
They were quiet for a moment. Isabel curled up, her face sad. "We can make it all right."
"I know I messed up," Max said. "I put him in danger. I won't do it again." He looked to Michael's fading form, "I promise, Michael
***
Alex leaned against his door, careful not to make it creak. He'd been waiting in the hall -eavesdropping- since Liz had left.
He knew what guys in school said about him, they thought he was this artsy fartsy empathetic girly-sensitive. Did he listen? Sure. Did he care about people? Sure. But Alex knew he wasn't he dealt with many things with humor, which wasn't a bad thing but-
What was he supposed to do? Bring Michael back to life with knock-knock jokes?
All he could do was take care of them. He had to keep it perspective, had to make sure they didn't break apart. Alex sighed; he wanted to cry.
Alex sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot.
***
The two girls sat on Maria's bed with towels on their heads. Liz pulled at hers nervously; she had borrowed jeans and a shirt from Maria.
This was so hard, Liz thought. She was remembering the look of agony on Maria's face, how the pain had bled into confusion.
"Michael...it has to do with Michael, doesn't it?" Maria's voice trembled.
"Yes."
"Is he okay?"
"He's...I don't know." Liz wanted to make her feel better, but she wouldn't lie.
"Take it slow," Maria said, as if she was calm.
"I, we all think he might be dying."
"Can't Max wiggle his fingers?"
"No," Liz paused. "There's more. But do you want me to tell you now?"
"Please."
"Do you remember a few weeks ago, when Michael could control his powers?"
She remembered the day she found out, her pride and then how he'd invaded her sanctuary. She remembered their last kiss. "Sure. I remember."
"He found something else, a power that Max and Isabel don't have. He can draw things, paint them and make them real."
Maria gasped.
Liz continued, "The only thing is that you can't make something from nothing. Life...reality, you can't conjure it from thin air."
Liz paused again. "I'm not saying this well, I'm not sure if I understand it myself. Mass is neither created nor destroyed. It's the Law of Conservation."
Maria didn't want to ask what Michael was using to make things real. She didn't have to think about it. "That's why he's dying...he's using his own..."
"Yes," Liz confirmed. "He's at Alex's right now. Will you come with me?"
"Of course."
"Tell me something first," Liz asked. "Is something going on with you? That wasn't just a dream, was it?"
"Of course it was."
Liz had her own suspicions but didn't want to press Maria. There would be time for that, later.
Liz had offered to drive the Jetta to Alex's. Maria let her drive. She never knew when the dream (nightmare?) would take her but she didn't tell Liz that. Maria claimed she was tired.
She still couldn't wrap her mind around what Michael had done. It was unreal.
It was stupid. What could be so important that he let it kill him?
That didn't sound like the Michael she knew. The Michael she knew desperately wanted to live, to survive.
She didn't talk to him much though. Not lately. But she still cared. Even her dad had been able to tell.
***
Alex was waiting outside when the girls arrived. Max and Isabel were going to try and feed Michael more power but they had agreed to wait until Liz returned with Maria.
"Hey," Alex moved to hug Maria.
"Any change?" Liz asked.
He shook his head, "Let's go upstairs. They're going to dreamwalk him again."
"Do you have any ice," Liz said. "Maybe we can keep from burning this time."
"Burning," Maria interrupted.
Maria watched them all prepare from the doorway. They ignored her.
Finally, Liz placed herself behind Max holding a pitcher of water. Isabel placed herself between her two brothers, guarding them protectively. Alex looked up suddenly and beckoned for Maria to-
She waded through milk, white and thick with cream.
A body swung to the rhythm of the wind, creaking. Wind whistled through the stab wounds, holes so big you could stick your head through them.
It hung from a noose, but the rope wasn't fraying so she didn't worry. It would be awful if the body fell, corrupting the milk. Who would drink it then?
There was still some flesh attached to the bones and she salivated.
Her hand ignited as she reached for a choice piece from the thigh. She couldn't grab it; it only burned and fell. The black ashes swirled briefly before sinking into the milk.
Angry, she torched the body. Each shred of skin and piece of bone dropped into the milk with a satisfying 'plop.'
Finally, only the head was left. It swung to face her. Michael's face slid off the head and winked at her before floating away.
Max opened his eyes in disbelief. He shut them again, but it wouldn't work.
"I can't reach him. It's like he never was."
"But-," Isabel pointed to Michael's steaming body. He was shaking all the towels from him. "It's just like before."
"Maria!" Alex screamed when he noticed her fallen form in the hallway, shaking and steaming just like Michael's.
***
The noose wasn't as tight as it looked. It was sort of enjoyable, swinging with the sweet breeze, she reflected.
When the first chunks of muscle and fat began to slide cleanly off the bone, she fancied that it was rather liberating.
The wind had started to whistle for her. She started to sing softly with it. She smiled.
She could just wait here forever, swinging.
Maria awoke to the sound of low gurgling murmurs. All eyes were on her and her arms were on Michael. Quietly, she slipped her arms away and let her eyes rise.
Max and Isabel sat in chairs on the other side of Alex's bed, next to Michael. Alex was at her side. Wonderful, she thought, racial segregation.
She let her gaze wander down to Michael. He was a shadow.
"What's going on?" Isabel asked softly. "Don't tell me, it's nothing. We have to know, Maria. Please." Isabel's face was sad, but compassionate. She didn't push, Maria almost wished she would push.
"I have these dream...snightmares," Maria swallowed painfully. "They are sharp, real. I can't stop them. Even if I'm not sleeping, they come. Everything is so vivid color, the coldThe dreams take me."
"At first, they were...oddities. Just weirdness. Nothing to fear," she continued. "They're dark now, fullI can't take them."
Liz moved her hand to enclose Maria's. "When I went to her house, I found Maria unconscious. Bleeding."
"It's never been that way before," Maria said. She looked down at Michael again, "He's always there."
She didn't name him. "I can never reach him. Sometimes he's asleep. But he's always there." She fell silent.
Max stood, thinking. "Could you have been sharing dreams
"I don't know...I'm not even sure who the dreams would belong to then."
Max paced, mind-work providing welcome relief from worry. "Okay. We know that Mar- whatever Michael created is somehow draining him so that it can live or whatever. We know that Michael can, or could bereplenished by Isabel and me. We've been calling it 'power,' I know I think of it as a 'life-force.'" Max paused in his long speech to take a breath. "What if it's his ability to dream?"
Liz picked up the thread of thought. "Dreaming -it's taken too much from him. He's dying. But he, it needs more."
"But that makes no sense why would it kill its source of life? When, if Michael can't dream anymore, it'll die."
Isabel interrupted, "Maybe it's unintentional."
Max looked at Maria, "Yeah, maybe it is."
Liz said, "Wait, we're missing something. If Michael can still dream, then why can't you or Max get in there with him?"
"And what does this have to do with my dreams?" Maria asked.
"Maybe," Isabel ventured, "you've got this bond. A connection. Michael in your dreams means he gets to live."
"Why me? Why not you? Or him," she pointed at Max.
"Maybe because he loves you," Alex said from the doorway.
"That's ridiculous," Maria hissed. "And none of you have mentioned how out of character this is! It's Michael, no way he'd let some Frankenstein creation use him
Alex and Isabel exchanged looks, "Maybe he can't stop itor doesn't want to."
Max remembered Michael's last words to them, I choose him. Michael had chosen Maria's father to make her happy. Max wondered at Michael's capacity for love, would he have done that? Max admitted he was too selfish. Michael was the one who went to extremity, who was able to give himself completely.
Max didn't want to lose him.
But Liz's words bit at him. What about Maria? He could understand what it was like not to have a father; he'd spent years wishing to know one. And Michael had made a conscious choice.
It wasn't his decision to make. As if he couldMax felt hopelessness well in him. Maybe it was a spark of premonition, but Max knew this could not end well.
Alex moved forward, "I went to your car to find some pills. I found this." He gestured to the package Mrs. Clarke had given to Maria for Michael. She'd never given it to him. "It's Michael's, some art thing or other."
Isabel ran towards the package and tore the wrapping off. She gasped. It was dated later than the other one, only two days before Maria started getting the phone calls.
Maria moved beside Isabel to see what was so urgent. "That's my dad -why was he painting my dad?"
Isabel stiffened and Maria looked at the others. Their faces were locked in various stages of shock, relief, and pity.
Happy, Maria?
Maybe he can't stop itor doesn't want to.
No. No. They were crazy-stupid. It was insane. It was no.
But she realized this was the answer to her questions: What was so important that Michael let it steal his life? What did this have to do with her dreams?
No. No.
He was real! He loved her! He was real!
"No!" She screamed and ran away from Alex's house and the boy in the bed.
Somehow she ended up at the Crashdown. Jeff Parker had found her on the curb and tried to talk to her. Maria remembered a time when he was the only father she had. She laughed bitterly after he'd gone.
She had worked past the emotional overload and was beginning to experience distinct emotions now: disbelief, anger, and betrayal.
Her shoe had broken along the way, Maria noticed for the first time.
"Maria," a hand brushed her shoulder.
"Go away, Alex." She couldn't believe they hadn't told her. They knew. They knew.
"I can't do that."
"Like you couldn't tell me, tell me-," Maria couldn't say it herself. They didn't tell her what? Tell her that her father not only was a construct, but one created by her dying alien ex-boyfriend. Because it's not like her real father loved her enough to come back -nope, only the programmed and created ones.
Alex could have made excuses: they'd only just found out or that Maria was hard to find. He wasn't going to. "We were scared."
"Me, too."
They sat quietly for a minute, holding hands.
"I was so happy, you know, when my dad came. It was really perfect. Him and my mom got along. And Europe, I mean, Europe...I guess that should have been my first clue. But me, no, I was too eager to hop on the first train to Fairy Tale Land."
Alex hated the sourness in her voice, but realized she needed to talk.
"Seriously, I would've been happy if he'd shown up on with nothing but a bad alibi and the clothes on his back. I mean, the only thing that mattered was that he was my dad and he was with me. It made me feel good. Better than good. It was something I've always wanted, it made me feel likelike I was worthy. Like my whole life wasn't going to be this continuous business of people abandoning me-," she choked up.
But this it's worse than know that my dad my real dad- is out there and he doesn't want me. Because I had...all these feelings and they weren't real and I don't know if I can ever feel them again. If I even want to. It's all fake. His stories and his laugh. I don't get it.'
"I feel so betrayed. He lied to me, Alex. I love him and he's not even real. I had a dad, I knew what it was like and it was so so good. It hurts, Alex, god, Alex. It hurts."
He held her while she cried; he cried with her. "I want to keep him, too. I want to have a dad. I need him. He's my dad," she cried as if her friend could do something about it.
"But Michaelhow could he do this to me? How could heI'm mad and I'm glad andhe's not real. Oh, god, he's not real. Not real. And I love him."
Alex wished he could take her pain away. But he was only human.
***
Her tears subsided around dusk but Alex could see the line of sadness written in her mouth.
Mr. Parker had called him, worried about Maria. Max had vowed to keep the painting safe so he had kissed Isabel goodbye and left.
"Can you take me to see my dad?" Maria asked in a shadowed voice.
"Of course," he led her to the Jetta.
"I just need a little more time," she whispered to herself and swallowed.
Ironically, it was Max who vowed to keep the portrait safe.
Max figured it for atonement, though lacking, and Alex had not insulted him by refusing.
In silent agreement, the three of them stayed in Alex's room. Max by the painting; Liz by the open window. Isabel lay beside Michael with a cold towel, replacing any and all happier memories made in Alex's bed.
An inappropriately warm breeze stirred the linen curtains the only movement, the only music.
***
"Baby!" Jeremy threw open the door to welcome his daughter into his hotel room. He enveloped her in a deep hug before greeting Alex. "Hail Noble Childhood Companion of the Clan DeLuca's Favorite Daughter!"
Alex smiled automatically. He flinched when he remembered that the man was not real. How could Maria's father be sohave so much personality then?
Oh, yes, Alex reflected. The power of Michael and his love. Mr. Deluca might not be real but he was altogether too human.
Alex sat silently in an overstuffed armchair while Maria crawled into her father's lap. Luckily, Jeremy was a big man or it would have been a ridiculous feat
"What's the matter?" Jeremy asked in a hushed and gentle voice.
"Nothing, Dad."
"Nothing I can fix, you mean?"
Alex flinched. Maria didn't.
Just a little tired, and excited. Tell me again about our trip?"
"Of course, Maria."
Alex noticed Jeremy said "Maria" the way most people say "gold" or "wish." He said "Maria" the way Michael did. The exact same way.
Maria's father moved her softly off his lap onto the spot beside him. He cradled her head beneath his arm and caressed her hair.
"Our journey will began in Britain, the old land of proud kings and prouder women."
Alex wished her father hadn't made it a fairy tale. He wished for a lot of things, like the ability to be angry with Michael. She was going to lose them both, Alex realized. Michael would die. Then her father would die. Or would Maria die first? Did it matter: the sequence
"Alex?"
Michael's creation and Maria's father looked at him questioningly. Alex realized the he saw the both of them in Jeremy.
"She fell asleep."
Alex looked down and saw that Maria was, in fact, asleep. He hoped it was dreamless.
"You should take her home now, Alex. It's getting late and tomorrow is a school day."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, c'mon. You grab my key card and I'll carry her out to the carry out to the car."
"Carry? Maybe we should wake her up..."
"No, Alex, she's tired. She said so." Jeremy lifted her in his arms, "I wish she would tell me what's wrong. It looks like she's got the whole world on her shoulders.
Her father shook his head, "We've said too many goodbyes; I don't need to say it again. She knows I love her. We'll see each other tomorrow."
Alex watched quietly as Jeremy kissed her on the forehead and shut the door.
Maria awoke to the vibration of the cell phone against her breast. She met Alex's eyes in the rearview mirror as she answered.
"Hello?"
"Maria," Liz's voice was frantic. "You two have to get back here right now!"
Alex grabbed the phone, "What's going on?"
"Michael's almost gone. I mean it, like, really gone. Isabel and Max tried to save him but they couldn't-," Liz broke off in sobs.
"We'll hurry." He shut off the phone and turned to Maria.
"I heard," she said. "So go."
Alex's mouth pressed into a thin line as he gunned the engine and tried to ignore the pain he felt coming off Maria in waves.
***
They were burning candles in Alex's room, tall pillars of white and cream wax. Liz had lit them when the sun set. She'd been the only one who noticed.
Isabel held Max in her arms as they both cried. One brother left, she thought.
She'd tried so hard-
Maria shot through the door and onto the bed, her eyes red and ragged.
"I'm sorry," Isabel said.
"It's not over," Maria said. "He can't die, not until I get my choice. This is my life; it's my decision. It's my life," she shouted. "Do you hear me?"
Liz moved forward, "No, Maria, it's too late. There's no dreaming left."
Then Maria remembered her falling asleep in her father's arms and waking refreshed for the first time in months. She hadn't dreamed. She hadn't dreamed for Michael and now he was going to die.
What was she supposed to feel?
Looking up through grief, Isabel opened her arm up to welcome Maria. Sisters by mourning, they grabbed each other. A fresh fall of sobbing welled up in Max's throat as he enclosed the two girls.
Alex entered his room with silent feet and tapped Liz on her shoulder. "Let them be," he said, leading her downstairs.
They whispered to each other carefully
"We can't leave them alone, Alex. This isn't the end. Is Maria going to die like that, fading?"
"What are we supposed to do? We couldn't save Michael and things haven't changed."
"There is...always the painting. We can still burn it, before Maria's drained."
"No," Maria's voice was strong from the foot of the staircase. She clutched a jar in her fist.
"Put me to sleep," she ordered. "I can dream. I've called him into my sleep before. I'll get him back. I can fix this."
Alex jumped to his feet, "Those are my mom's pills. Maria, those are prescribed."
Maria could tell that when Alex said prescriptive what he meant to say was, "This is stupid, you're doing this over my dead body."
"You have a choice. You can watch over me or you can stay down here."
Incongruously Liz pointed out, "But it's his room."
"I know," she answered. "But I have to make this right."
"It's not your fault, though, it was never your fault."
"I heard what you said earlier, you know, about me being next. Or last, or whatever. So don't think I'm being selfless. Survival, right?"
***
They lay her down where Michael had lain; where the weight of his body still made an impression on pillows and blanket.
Liz cradled her head while Alex sat at her feet. Isabel and Max sat on either side, neither one remarking on the familiarity of the situation.
Alex twisted off the cap of the Sonata and carefully counted out two pills before handing them to Maria. She dry-swallowed them.
***
She found herself in front of the library wall, the one made out of stained glass. But because it was a wall and not a window, no light shone through and the colors were dull.Squaring her shoulders, Maria placed her hands against the glass and pushed against it.
Nothing happened.
Relieving a little pressure, she lifted her head and began to sing.
"This little light of mine,
I'm gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine,
I'm gonna let it shine,
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine"As she sang, she felt a pulse and pull. The once random geometric glass pattern heaved together. The shards of butter and bone came together and parted to form Michael's face.
"Shine," she breathed at last.
A fine, pale light surged through the pane and Michael stepped out of the wall.
"What have you done?" He hissed at her.
She was supposed to be the angry one. Taken aback, she said, "Saving your life."
"I was fine where I was," Michael bit back.
"So you'd rather be dead than be with me."
"I'd rather you be happy."
"Happy? What makes you think I'm happy?"
"You have your father, Maria." He paused. "I gave him to you."
"You made him. He wasn't yours to give."
"Can't you just be pleased?" Michael was exasperated. I made him out of love, to love you. I chose him."
"What about my choices? You say love, but what you mean is a reasonable facsimile. He's not real, Michael. And neither is this," she gestured to the dream world.
"It's real, Maria, and I don't belong here. I've given up my place for someone else."
"You're proud of yourself!" It wasn't supposed to be like this, bickering pointlessly but Maria couldn't help herself.
"Shouldn't I be?"
"Don't you get it? He's not real. I don't want him!"
Michael shook a little, "I have nothing left to give you."
"And I don't want anything you can't give me." She tried to tame her voice, "Please, stop this."
"It's too late, Maria. I can't change it. And I wouldn't. He makes you happy; he has to. I know he does."
"Don't make me do this, Michael." The painting of her father appeared in her hands. She imagined a lighter and set it aflame.
Michael chuckled lightly, "Maria, you said this wasn't real, remember. It's just a dream, you can't change it."
He took the painting from her and doused the flames. He leaned into her, whispered into her ear, "Be happy."
And then he faded away and took all the light with him.
Alex thought he recognized the look on Maria's sleeping face. The upturn of her mouth, the scrunching of her eyes. It was the face she had when she was fighting with Michael. There was anger and passion and joy.
Then he noticed the little tears forming in the corners of her eyes. He saw Liz wipe one away.
He wanted to touch her, too, to make sure that Maria was okay.
When she opened her eyes, her whole face changed. It became dark and shadowed.
Max opened and closed his mouth, unwilling to ask questions
"Could I have a little time?"
Isabel's heart shattered more at the weak mewling quality of Maria's voice. It was never meant to sound that way.
Nodding assent for all of them, Liz led the way out of the room.
"Leave the painting, will you, please?"
Max tried to keep the pity out of his face as he put the portrait in her arms. Maria opened them wide, slowly, as if receiving a gift.
When the door shut firmly behind them, Maria moved quickly. She grabbed the matches from beside the candles and struck them. She let them fall onto the painting, but she refused to look at her father's face. She grabbed the jar of sleeping pills Alex had left on the nightstand.
One, three, fifteen. She swallowed them all without tasting them.
She sat in the curve of the rock covered by moss and smiling insects. She flicked her tongue out of her mouth and caught some of the smaller purple ones. She smiled before spitting them out on the toadstools and brown mushrooms."Don't you like the antennae," a boy asked from a low-hanging tree branch.
"Too troubled," she replied. "I like my food without issues."
"This the wrong dream," she shook her head.
"Beggars can't be choosers," he explained.
***
The open windows had been forgetten when Michael died. A gust stole inside as if seeking something. Finding nothing, it knocked one of the candles over and fled.
A tongue of candleflame licked out at the papers on Alex's desk. The pages browned and fell to the floor.
The plush carpet was lit and the fire spread with slow dedication.
But the painting on the sleeping girl's lap was quiet.
***
She sat in the curve of the throne covered by jewels and stiff satin. She gazed into her small silver-plate mirror and saw no imperfection. She smiled before taking out a comb and tortoise-shell hairpin."Don't you like the ribbon," a boy asked from a lower balcony.
"Too troubled," she replied. "I like my coiffeur without issues."
"Can't be choosy," he said. He opened his palm to reveal white capsules, "Airplane?"
"This the wrong dream," she shook her head.
"Beggars can't be choosers," he explained.
***
The fire seethed and the curtains caught on blue fire. It rang all along the walls and carpet in smoking sheets.
It flashed white before cradling and kissing the bed, curling it's body around the girl, the boy, and the painting like a salamander.
***
She sat in the shallow belly of the moonlit pool. She dove into the sweet green waves and made a small "oh" with her mouth. She smiled before drawing out the seawood and pearly pink coral.
"Don't you like the oysters," a boy asked from the back of a silvered bass.
"Too troubled," she replied. "I like my bivalves without issues."
"Can't be choosy," he said. He opened his palm to reveal white capsules, "Hippopotamus?"
"This the wrong dream," she shook her head.
"Beggars can't be choosers," he explained.
***
The flames continued to flicker effortlessly, even gently about the sleepers. It shifted to touch the golden strands of Maria's hair and slid along the locks happily.
***
She sat in the lambent incandescence of the burning bed. She looked up into the blackness and began to sing in soft words that never were. She smiled before calling Michael out of the ether.
"Don't you like your life," the boy asked.
"Too simple," she replied. "I like my existence with a little sincerity."
"Can't be choosy," he said. He opened his palm to reveal white capsules, "Reality?"
"That's what I want," she said. She held the pills for a moment, "I love you, you know."
"I know. Things will be different, though. Our lives will change."
"They already have."
"Do you want it this badly?"
"I've been looking for you."
"What about-"
"I don't want to talk about him. I'm still angry and I'm not making promises about us -but I do need you in my life."
"I'll stay on the periphery."
"You do that."
"You can't stay any longer, Maria. You don't belong here and you've taken too many pills."
"Then don't let me die."
He slipped his hand into hers and let himself fall in with her body. They pulsed together, coalesced into fire. As one, they plunged inside the portrait of her father and sunk.