Part 5
"It's called catatonia."
Michael stared at the man sitting across from him, unsure if he was supposed to understand what that meant or not. "And…" he prompted.
Jim sighed heavily, having all the words necessary to explain it in his head, but unsure which ones he could use for the obviously fragile psyche before him. "Well, it's kind of hard to explain. It's like she just decided not to do it anymore, just shut the world out and live only in her head. She's still in there, but we can't reach her, or at least she doesn't respond."
"I don't get it," Michael said quickly, his hand thumping nervously against his leg as he waited, if somewhat impatiently, for Jim to make clear exactly what was wrong with her. "She's not in a coma or anything, can she hear you?"
"We think so, at least that's what Dr. Rose says. Her condition is called catatonic stupor; it just means that she doesn't exhibit motor functions. She'll do stuff if we want her to, like eat or go to the bathroom, but you've got to put the food in her mouth or carry her to the washroom. She doesn't speak at all and she only moves in the positions you place her, like a doll."
"How'd she get like this?"
Jim's hesitation was visible and Michael slowly repeated his words with greater force, "Tell me how she got like this?"
"She was there."
The question formed on Michael's lips instantly but even before he could voice the words, the realization of what the other man meant hit him and he closed his eyes slowly. "No," he whispered.
"I'm sorry, son. She was there that night, with me. She wanted to go with you; she came to me begging me to take her out to wherever you were leaving from. I did, but when I got out of the truck to see Kyle, she stayed. It wasn't until you were gone that I even realized she was still sitting there."
Jim paused briefly, if only to check if the younger man was still breathing. Satisfied that he was, he continued, "She hopped into the driver's seat and took off after the van as soon as you pulled away. I was running after her, foolishly, when I heard the explosion myself. I ran up to the crash but by the time I got there the van was engulfed in flames and she was lying on the road outside the truck. I thought she'd been hurt at first, but there was no sign of injury, just this… this look on her face."
He paused again to draw a shaky breath, fighting not to relive the events of that night himself. "She looked like her soul had been sucked out of her, I've never seen… not in all my years..."
Michael let the words floating through the warm air in the kitchen wrap around his mind. They stung, sharp thorns on what should have been a beautiful rose pricking at his heart, blood from the fresh wounds he unquestionably deserved dripping slowly down his chest. He'd done this to her, maybe not directly, but there was not one other person to blame for her illness. All she'd wanted was to go with them, to be with her friends if not with him, and he'd been the one to say no, fighting with Liz about it before finally pointing out the utter waste of a promising life Maria would be committing to get her agreement.
That alone must have nearly killed her – to be left behind, excluded, when for so long their tiny group was the only security any of them really had. And then… to watch nearly every person you held dear in the entire world die in front of your eyes… he was suddenly surprised that she was exhibiting any signs of life at all.
He opened his eyes, wet with tears he didn't know had spilled, and stared at Valenti. "So that's it then," he said softly. "For all intents and purposes she's dead."
"How dare you come into this home and say that?" a feminine voice from behind him snarled.
He turned quickly, standing to meet the petite woman advancing upon him.
"I should send you to a fiery death for putting her life in…" Amy's hand was poised to strike just in front of Michael's cheek as angry words she had been rehearsing for a year spilled from her lips when she stopped suddenly. Her eyes traveled his body, taking in the aged appearance of a man she had only recently known to be a boy. His hair was long, caught in a small elastic at the base of his neck and trailing down his back. His clothes were worn, holes along the cuffs of his jacket indicating years of use. His tattered T-shirt was misshapen and falling from his shoulders, his jeans barely holding their resting place upon his hips. Dirt caked his body, from his hairline down to the tips of his scuffed boots. She would've sworn they were the same boots she fought with him to remove whenever he entered her home only a year ago. But he had been gone for more than a year, his face revealed the truth of that matter. The skin around his eyes crinkled just slightly, and, beneath the jungle of beard framing his face, his jaw was more clearly defined.
"Where did you come from?" she whispered raggedly.
There was no possible answer to give except the truth and in an instant he decided that it was time to let one more person in on his secret. "The future," he replied.
Amy nodded slowly. "Well then you must be famished."
~~~~~
Jim eventually managed to convince Amy that Michael may indeed have been famished, but right now there were other things on his mind. Then, he quickly explained to Michael that he had told Amy everything about the aliens her daughter had befriended after their deaths.
"She deserved to know," he said, and Michael offered no objection.
Understanding that while his presence was not easily explained, it really was Michael Guerin sitting before her, and Amy sat at the table, wringing her hands nervously as she stared at the boy become man.
"So you just… you just came back for her? To help her?"
Michael looked pained as he stammered to admit that his goal wasn't originally to help Maria, but everyone else. "No, not… not exactly."
Jim squeezed her hand gently in a silent reassurance that he would explain everything to her later. "He was aiming for a year ago, trying to prevent the whole thing," he said.
"Of course," she gushed. "Kyle, the others, I'm so sorry," she whispered, looking at Jim ashamedly.
"It's okay honey," he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips across hers.
It was the first time that Michael knew for sure that they were a couple and he had to admit that through the sheer terror gripping his heart at that moment, the thought of them finally finding love gave him no small amount of joy.
"Why don't we talk about the others later?" Jim offered, recovering from his own near brush with tears at the mention of Kyle's name. "Right now I think Michael should talk to Maria."
"I don't know if I…" Michael started, obvious fear at facing the shell of the once vibrant girl creeping into his voice.
"It's okay, maybe you can use some of your spells on her," Amy suggested hopefully.
"My what?"
"Your powers," Jim explained, unable to keep the smile off his face as he pictured Michael mixing potions and ripping the legs off of toads for a boiling caldron. Breaking down doors and blowing up obstacles was much more his style.
"Well I don't have… I mean there aren't really powers for this. Like, I can't heal her, she's not sick, she just seems… sorta lost," he said shakily.
"Well then maybe you can try to find her," Amy offered, standing up to wrap her arms tightly around his neck. "Just try… please," she begged softly.
Tears pricked at his eyes as he nodded slightly. 'Of course,' he wanted to say. 'Of course I'll try, 'til the end of my days.' But what was the right thing to do? Stay here and try to change this future for her, or continue on his mission to 2002 and try to prevent it from happening at all.
He continued the debate in his mind even as Amy dragged him from the chair and led him to Maria's bedroom. Motioning to the doctor to leave, she barricaded Michael inside, fearing that if she waited a second longer he would bolt from the house forever.
Michael looked around the familiar room that had become a tomb to his former love. Even among the light-catching bottles of aromatherapy fragrances and brightly colored walls, the atmosphere was dull without her smile. He took tentative steps towards the bed where she now lay. He remembered Jim's words about having to carry her everywhere and knew that Dr. Rose had moved her here alone.
"She must weigh next to nothing," he mumbled softly, staring at the skeletal outline of her ribs through the thin top she wore. "What happened to you?" he asked, taking a seat beside her.
He head was turned slightly to the side, but not enough for him to even imagine that she was looking at him. He reached out slowly to clasp her hand, blinking through tears he didn't know had started. "Maria," he breathed.
His eyes blinked for a split second and he opened them to look around an unfamiliar scene. He was standing on a dirt road, a river running along it just ahead. Turning to either side, he saw the same endless scene stretching in both directions, the dirt road and copycat river cutting the expanse of green fields, the landscape dotted with a sparse sprinkling of trees.
He turned around in a slow circle, taking in the azure sky covering the picture-perfect scene like a comforting blanket. When he dropped his head he saw the house standing just a few feet in front of him. It was obviously old, yet not run down. The siding was wood, painted in chipped white with a cracked green trim. Without questioning how he knew what to do, he reached inside to unlatch the gate in its surrounding fence, and entered the flawlessly manicured lawn. The same flower grew along the entire circumference of the house, and Michael at first passed it off as yet another aspect of the storybook image, when suddenly the scent caught his nose and he stopped to stare at them.
Yellow roses.
Maria's favorite.
He bent down to grasp one in his hand, pulling it from its roots with a quick tug of his arm. Bringing it to his face, he inhaled deeply, letting the scent that would always bring her face to his mind wash over him.
What was this place? Was it connected to Maria? Was HE connected to Maria?
Michael stood up, the flower clutched tightly in his hand. This had to be her place. Jim had said she had shut herself off from everyone, it made sense that if she wanted to live inside her mind she would create a place to live in.
So they were connected. It didn't feel like the usual connection, although it had been quite a few years since he had connected with anyone. What else could it be? A dream? He had never dreamwalked anyone, but only recently learned that he did indeed have the ability. Was that what this was then? Was he in Maria's dream? Her mind?
Whatever it was, he had to find out as much as he could about why she was like this before it ended. He stood up, knocking on the door of the house before feeling incredibly foolish and just pushing his way inside. The house was just as old on the inside as out, but just as beautiful. He had to duck as he passed through the doorway, noting with surprise that the ceilings were much lower than normal, about 7 feet. He entered a large room that he supposed was a kitchen, set off by a polished black wood burning stove. It was surrounded by rustic wood furniture no doubt created by hand. There was no lack of light entering through the large windows facing the road, but Michael noticed that there were no light fixtures in the ceiling and no outlets on the wall; no electricity – made sense if the house really was as old as it seemed.
He had no idea what significance this particular house held for Maria, or even if it was hers at all, but he walked on, leaving the kitchen to explore the remainder of the dwelling. He passed through a narrow hallway, stairs on his left leading to a second level and continued into a tiny living room. There was no sign of her in the place, no distinct Maria-touches among the decorations, just the eerie feeling that she was there, just not seen.
He backed up into the hallway again, pausing before climbing the stairs. He noticed a bookshelf next to the staircase that he had bypassed on his first trip. It held countless picture frames, all of the same people, a family he didn't know. Bu there, on the middle shelf, tucked safely between a picture of a grandfather and grandson, and one of women making bread, was a picture of the six of them. He remembered it vividly, it having been taken on the last day they spent together. It was a Graduation, the five graduates looking proud in their royal blue robes, with a smiling Isabel looking over their shoulders.
He remembered arguing with her about not going to the ceremony at all, but she insisted that he had earned his diploma and he would need it if he ever hoped to get a job. He had sulked his was through the entire evening, staring at the back of Maria's brown hair as the only thought in his mind was leaving the cursed town before he gave in to his temptation and took her with him.
"I should have," he mumbled softly. "Having her with me would have been better than this."
He didn't mean that, he knew it as soon as he spoke the words, but this enigma that she had created for herself was just too puzzling and painful. Where was she, did she live here?
"Maria," he called finally, hoping that through some barrier of mind and spirit she could hear him and respond. "Maria, are you here?"
"Go away," the small voice responded, and Michael almost dropped the picture frame he was holding.
Placing it carefully back on its shelf, he turned towards the sound of the voice, the living room. "Maria?" he called again.
"Go away," the voice repeated, this time a little more forcefully.
He whirled around, facing the kitchen, struggling to determine where it had come from. "Maria it's me. It's Michael. I just came… I just came to talk to you."
"Michael's dead," the voice moaned sadly. "I want you to leave," it added, puncturing the air with the shrillness of its words.
"Sh!t," he mumbled, rubbing his hand across his hair as he turned around in the tiny hallway helplessly. The voice was coming from somewhere nearby, he knew it, but he couldn't see her. Where was she?
He turned once again, his eyes scanning the staircase and bookshelf nearby. He was just turning to the living room again when he saw it. A board near the floor tilting slightly off from its intended placement. He stepped forward carefully, reaching out to touch the it, somehow not surprised at all when it swung back easily.
He bent down, peering into the darkness behind the false wall and said softly, "Maria? I'm not… I didn't die. I'm here. I just want to talk."
"You are not Michael," the voice said clearly, and he knew without a doubt that this was indeed her hiding place. There was a shuffle beyond the brief light penetrating into the dark corner, and a pale face suddenly popped into view.
"Ria," Michael breathed quickly. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at the intricate pattern of anguish drawn on her face in haggard lines.
"You look like him," she said slowly, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the much older Michael. "But it's not the same. He died, I watched him die, and you think you are going to trick me into coming out, but you're not. I'm staying in here and there's nothing you can do about it. Now leave."
"Maria…"
"Leave," she said loudly.
"Ria, please."
"Leave, leave, leave, leave, LEAVE!!!" she shouted, her voice growing into a deafening crescendo that sent him reeling back from the wall, the board slamming back into place.
His eyes closed as his head banged against the far wall and when he blinked them open he was back in her bedroom, lying on his back in the floor, the chair he had been sitting on obviously having toppled over with him in it.
He struggled to his feet, righting the chair to take another tentative seat on it. He stared at the face of the girl lying on the bed before him and sharp tears teased his eyes at her vision.
She was no longer lying on her back, her head tilted slightly, but had curled herself into a ball as if she were crouched on her knees, peering out through an unseen opening at something.
"You're in there, aren't you?" he whispered softly. Leaning down to brush his lips lightly across her face, he added, "Hang on baby. I'm coming to get you."