Part 2

Michael oriented himself towards his desired destination—June 21, 2002, Roswell, New Mexico, USA, Earth.  He had no idea how interplanetary transport worked, just that he had the ability to do so, and if he didn't do it now, his life was over.  The choice was simple—jump or die.  Michael jumped.

Not literally, although his feet did make the motion of hopping on the floor of his cell as he mentally tore a hole in the fabric of time and leapt into the dark void it created.  He kept repeating the date he wanted to travel to over and over in his mind—June 21st, June 21st, June 21st.  It was the day everything had unraveled, the day his life had veered off in a new direction no one could have predicted.  Well, maybe one person could have predicted it, but he was dead now, at Michael's hands.

He wasn't sure how far he had to travel, in distance or time.  The distance from Antar to Earth was immeasurable except in light years, and saying he had traveled a couple of those really didn't put it into a meaningful perspective.  As for time, it had lost all meaning a long time ago; he had no idea of the date from which he came, only the date he needed to arrive on—June 21st.  Any earlier and he would risk meeting up with his former self, not something he thought he could handle even now, let alone at 18.  Any later and it wouldn't matter anyway, the path to their eventual destruction already set in motion.

Before he was able to comprehend any movement of his body, he felt a jarring thud vibrate through his bones and fell to his knees.  He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to believe that the officers had broken through so quickly.  His stubbornness kicked into overdrive almost immediately and he rose to his feet, swaying on aching bones as he turned around to face his captors.  Opening his eyes he stared straight ahead… directly at a rock wall.

Whirling his body around rapidly, Michael allowed himself an uncharacteristic yelp of satisfaction when he recognized his surroundings as the desert just outside of the Granolith chamber.  He contemplated using his newfound ability to propel him directly into the town, but stopped when he remembered that he had been aiming for Maria's house, and ended up here, 10 miles away.  Considering the distance he had traveled, he decided to take missing by such a small margin as a good thing and not risk another trip; aiming for the Deluca's would probably send him flying into the middle of a neighbor's swimming pool—not a classy landing.

He set off at a run, reaching the road 20 minutes later and catching the first ride he found directly to her front door.  He had no fear of meeting his former self here; he remembered vividly where he had spent this day so many years ago, and it wasn't anywhere near Maria's.  Telling her that under absolutely no circumstances was she giving up her life to follow them around the world, had effectively sealed his status of 'scum-of-the-earth' in her eyes and he regretfully recalled not even stopping to say good bye to her as they had left that night.

Now, his task was made all the harder for his inarguable resolve of so long ago, as he had to convince her to first talk to him, and then do what he asked.  Maybe he should have brought flowers.

Yanking a handful of gardenias from the garden next door, he ran to the front door and pounded loudly.  It was opened almost immediately by a woman he didn't recognize.

"May I help you?" she asked, obviously surprised to see the disheveled man standing before her.

"Um…" Michael stammered, his brain racing to comprehend the presence of this strange woman in Maria's house.  "Is Maria here?"

The woman tilted her head at him strangely.  "Yes," she said slowly.  "And you would be?"

"Michael," he said impatiently.  "I need to talk to her," he added, stepping forward to push his way into the house.

"Whoa," she said, holding her hand up to stop him.  "I'm afraid that's impossible."

"What?" he asked incredulously.  "Why?"

"Because Miss Deluca hasn't spoken a word in nearly a year."

~~~~~

Maria crouched in the dark corner, pulling the absence of light tightly around her like a blanket.  This was the only place she was safe, the only place the men couldn't reach her.  They had tried, oh how they had tried, but each time the walls of her house had withstood their advances.

Her house.  She couldn't remember when she had started calling it her house, only that it felt like hers and so she did.  She had been here for a while now, the passage of time immeasurable, huddled so tightly in the corner that her muscles ached and she longed to move them.  She didn't dare though; she had tried once, venturing out into the dimly lit hallway to peer through the window.  The men were there, as always, waiting for her, their swords catching the moonlight, silver streaks slicing the darkness.

When they had first come it had also been night; maybe it was always night, she didn't know.  She hadn't been inside then, but out there, among them, on the road watching as the men of machine launched their assault.  She had watched, transfixed, as flames licked angrily from their hands, devouring the air until there was nothing left even to breathe.  Their warfare rained down upon the deserted highway, the agonizing screams of stolen life sending her own world into a blinding frenzy.

When she couldn't listen any longer, she had turned and ran, straight into the house.  It had just been there, on the side of the road waiting for her.  As she approached, its door had opened, and without hesitation, she had accepted the invitation, barricading herself within its walls.

She knew it wasn't enough just to be inside, the men would find her here, would burn her with their blazing fists of fire, and so she hid.  She crawled into the darkest recess she could find and pulled the welcoming shadows around her.

And she waited.

She sat in her corner and waited for the men to leave, for her hero to rescue her.

But they didn't leave, and her hero didn't come.

And so she stayed, and she waited.