Part 3
"What?"
Michael's shock at the woman's words wasn't unexpected. Dr. Margaret Rose had been treating patients like Maria Deluca for nearly 15 years and every time she had to explain the syndrome to someone new, the response was the same—shock, complete and utter incomprehension.
She explained, as patiently as she could to the man standing before her, that she was not at liberty to reveal details of Ms. Deluca's illness, just that she was not receiving visitors and if he would like to come back at a later time, he was welcome to take the matter up with Amy Deluca.
That he refused to leave also wasn't unexpected. Against her better judgment, she allowed him to wait in the living room, partly because she was expecting Amy home at any minute, and partly because she was moved by the obvious anguish on his face at not being able to reach Maria. She sat down across from him, intending to keep her eyes trained directly on him until Amy returned, when the phone suddenly rang.
Casting her eyes towards the only telephone nearby, out of sight in the kitchen, she warned him, "Stay here."
As soon as her back disappeared through the kitchen door, Michael was on his feet and practically running down the hallway towards Maria's room. He hadn't been able to get any information out of the woman, except that she was a doctor and that today was June 21, 2003. He had missed. By a full year. He wasn't sure what had happened, but somewhere in his light travel from Antar, he had miscalculated and transplaced himself 365 days ahead of his destination. That translated into being 365 days too late to change the future, 365 days too late to save his friends, and, it appeared, 365 days too late to save Maria.
What had happened to her? She wasn't speaking to anyone? What kind of illness caused that?
He reached her bedroom door and knocked softly as he pushed it open. Sunlight streamed in through her window and he noticed immediately that almost nothing had changed. All of the furniture was still in the same place, and he saw Maria sitting in her same favorite chair by the window.
She faced the window and didn't turn when he came in. He stared at her profile, noticing the extraordinary length of her hair. It was blonde again and long, cascading over her shoulders and falling across the arm of the chair. He cleared his throat roughly and shuffled his feet in place, waiting for any acknowledgement from her. When she still didn't turn, he walked across the room to stand before her, taking a tentative seat on the one new piece of furniture in the room, a chair directly facing her.
"Hello?"
'Hello,' he repeated in his brain. You go away for like 5 years and the first thing you can think to say to her is 'Hello'? Idiot.
"Ria?" he added softly.
Still, she made no move to look at him and he took the opportunity to stare at her face. It was impassive, eyes staring blankly out the window at some unseen picture. His heart skipped a brief beat as the thought flitted across his brain that she had died in the chair, that he was speaking to a shell of her.
He was right.
She hadn't died, but she was a shell.
He found this out when he reached out to touch her arm. He gently laid his hand upon hers, the weight of his arm pushing it off the armrest it lay on. It flopped to her lap and lay still, and yet, there was still no other response from her.
Fear now fully gripping his heart, he reached out and picked up the arm that had fallen. Lifting it up gently, he let go, expecting it to fall back to her lap. He was at once surprised and even more confused when it kept the position he gave it, poised above the chair exactly as he had left it.
"Maria?" he asked again, the panic flodding his body now evident in his voice. He reached out to wave his hand in front of her face, pulling it back quickly when she didn't so much as blink.
"Oh my God, Maria," he whispered, staring at the silent girl in front of him, her arm still arched crazily above her lap.
He was just reaching out to lay it back on the armrest when Dr. Rose entered.
"I didn't expect to still find you sitting there," she said sharply. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"What's the matter with her?" Michael asked.
"As I said, I'm not at…"
"Look," he growled, standing up to walk towards the woman. Keeping his voice low, he continued, "I don't give a sweet fvck what you are at liberty to discuss. You are going to tell me what is wrong with her, and I mean right now."
"Why don't you tell us something first?"
Michael looked up in surprise at the voice that came from the hallway outside. His face paled as he saw the familiar figure standing there and he swallowed heavily. Landing a year ahead of what he had planned wasn't going to go over well with the citizens of Roswell, New Mexico; especially not when they were directly affected by his disappearance in the first place.
"Sheriff," he mumbled, nodding his head in Jim Valenti's direction.
"Michael Guerin," came the reply. "You alone?"
"Yes."
"The others?"
Michael shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry…" he mumbled.
Jim nodded his head, biting his lip to suppress the emotions bubbling beneath the surface. "Margaret, would you excuse us for a moment?"
"Of course," Dr. Rose responded, stepping inside Maria's room and waiting until Michael followed Jim into the hallway.
Michael's body flinched at the click of the door behind him and he looked helplessly at the man standing before him. "Maria…" he started.
"In a minute, first you're going to answer a few questions for me."
~~~~~
"Michael?"
Inside the dark corner, Maria shouted to the figment of her imagination. It was her imagination right? He hadn't actually come?
She thought about that possibility for a moment, since that night, she had only been able to conjure him in her dreams. She didn't believe in angels and since Michael was dead it made sense that he didn't come.
He was dead, wasn't he?
Her head hurt to think about it and she felt the familiar cloud sliding over her mind again. Yes, he was dead. She had watched him die just before she came into the house, and the voice she heard was just in her head, reaching out from her dreams to speak to her.
But she wasn't asleep, she was awake. And Michael was… alive???
She shouted his name again and looked around the dark corner to find him. He had been here a moment ago, she was sure of it. She had even heard his voice, so clear that for a moment she thought he had finally come to the house to be with her. But now the voice was gone, and she couldn't even find him in her dreamscape.
She was sad.
It was so cold in the house, but she couldn't leave or else the men would burn her too. They had burned everyone else, she had watched them. Liz, Max, Isabel, Kyle, and… Michael? Had they burned Michael too? She wasn't sure again. She thought they had, but then she had heard his voice. Maybe they had tried and he had escaped, maybe that was why he wouldn't come to the house, maybe he was afraid.
"Don't be afraid," she called. "Come in the day time, they sleep in the day time."
There was no answer and she lowered her head to her knees again, dejected. She hadn't heard him, she decided. It had just been wishful thinking on her part that her life was not what it had become, that she wasn't left completely alone in her universe while every friend she had in the world was taken before her eyes, she wasn't living in the dark house afraid of the men waiting outside for her, and she wasn't hearing Michael's voice. He was dead, and she was alive.
If you could call this living.