Part 10
When Michael walked into her house again, he headed straight for the bedroom where he'd left her, praying that whatever evil had caused her earlier outburst hadn't tortured her too much. Amy had forced food into his mouth until he could barely stand from the table but it was appreciated, his body now coursing with a newfound energy as he bounded up the stairs, already burning with anticipation that maybe this time he'd be able to convince her to come back with him, reenter the life she had left behind over a year before.
He ran directly into the bedroom, not noticing the figure sitting in the hallway outside the next room. He stopped when he noticed the vacant bed, calling out to her as he searched the room with his eyes, his voice betraying the worry that ran through his mind.
"Ria?"
"Out here," came the soft reply, so quiet that he almost didn't hear it, looking around as he wondered where the whisper had come from.
"In the hall," she hissed, holding her hand out in the direction from which he approached, not turning her gaze from the open bedroom door in front of her.
"What are you doing?" he asked breathlessly, stepping out of the room to hurry to her side. He stopped beside her, leaning over to follow the direction of her gaze, looking into the empty room in front of her. "What are…"
"Shh," she commanded, gesturing for him to take a seat on the floor.
He complied, sitting cross-legged beside her to stare into the bare room once more. "What are we looking at?" he said, following her lead to whisper this time.
She tilted her head slightly as she concentrated on the nothingness she stared at. "You," she said simply.
"I'm over here," he whispered.
"Not you you," she said, sighing as she shook her head at his stupidity. Pointing ahead of her, she continued, "The before you, or the now you, or… whatever… the you from the van I think, the you that was captured."
"The what me?"
"Just look," she hissed. "Can't you see it?"
"Maria," he said, forgetting her request to keep his voice quiet. "I see an empty room. No me's in there at all."
"You see…" she said, confusion evident both on her face and in her voice. "But you're right there."
"What are you talking about?" he said loudly, forcing her to turn her head to look at him.
Her lip quivered at the disbelief in his voice, the judgment on his face as he disproved the existence of the very sight before her eyes. "I… I…" she stammered. "I'm not crazy," she gasped, her voice threatening to break. "Am I?"
His face collapsed, reaching to pull her to his chest as he hurried to soothe her sanity. "No, no, you aren't crazy. I just don't see it. Can you tell me what it is?" he asked, tipping her face away from his to stare into her eyes.
"It… it's you," she began shakily. "I see you, in a white room, like a hospital." Her voice increased in strength as she turned back to peer at the vision before her, drawing on his willingness to listen to her as reason enough to believe that it could be real. "I see you lying there, on a bed. There are machines all around and a man that keeps giving you needles. You are hurting," she finished softly, pressing her hand to her heart. "I can feel it."
Michael's hand, rubbing small circles on her back, stilled, falling soundlessly to the floor as he turned once more to peer into the room that still looked vacant to him. Her description was so accurate, the details correct in all aspects that he knew she had somehow witnessed the very existence he had once led, but how?
"Maria," he said evenly, a calm he didn't feel supporting his words. "Can you tell me what the man looks like?"
"Sure," she replied quickly. "He's tall, dark hair, not too fat, could stand to lose a few pounds, although I mean really, couldn't we all…"
"Ria, please," he begged earnestly.
"Sorry," she said, blushing as she heard the desperation in his voice and knew that he needed to know as much about what she saw as possible. "Um, he has a moustache, glasses, and he's wearing a white lab coat. He… he keeps giving you needles, about every half hour and then asking you questions. Sometimes you'll fall asleep but then he'll give you another shot and you'll wake up again." Her voice faded as she turned to look at him, his face turned to the side, his eyes staring at the unseen image she painted. "Did it hurt?" she asked softly.
His chin trembled as he closed his eyes, swallowing heavily as he wished away the memories she yanked from the dark corners of his brain. "Did it hurt?" he repeated softly, letting his chin fall to his chest.
She straightened her body, this time pulling him to her, soothing his shaking shoulders with gentle strokes of her hand. She didn't speak, knowing he needed just a moment to deal with the turmoil she had obviously stirred up within him.
"I never wanted you to see that," he finally mumbled, his head still buried against her shoulder.
"No," she cried softly, pushing him away so she could meet his eyes once more. "Look at me," she commanded gently. "It's true? That… that's what happened?"
He nodded his head slightly.
Her breath expelled itself from her body in a slow sigh. "Then I can see you?"
Michael's head jerked up, his brow furrowing as his brain evaluated her conclusion. "No, I think… I think I just gave you the memory, the vision of it."
"No," she persisted, shaking her head resolutely. "It's happening right now, watch."
He grasped after her as she stood up and bounded into the bedroom. He could see her clearly, appearing almost comical as she moved about the barren room, stopping in front of an imaginary obstacle to bend over it. He saw the satisfied smile creep its way onto her face as she practically bounced from the room, her elation strangely fitting in the environment of the grief he exhibited.
"It's 11:29 am, June 22, 2003," she stated proudly, taking her seat beside him again.
"What? How did you..."
"The bastard," she said offhandedly, smiling sheepishly as the offensive word fell from her lips, "…his watch is digital."
The idea that she might actually be able to see something tangible in the room settled into Michael's brain, swirling his muddled thoughts into a cloudy hurricane as possible explanations were formed, examined, and rejected in rapid succession. He was about to question her further when he noticed the smile slip from her face and her lip tremble once more.
"What is it?" he asked quickly.
"I said 2003, didn't I?" she asked quietly.
He nodded tentatively, not sure yet why the date worried her. It was today's date, the day after he had returned… a year after she had entered the house.
"I've really been here for a year then?" She didn't need to hear his answer to know that it was true. She'd already known it, but irrefutable proof had just been placed before her and she now faced her sentence of confinement fully. "I've wasted a whole year," she whispered.
"Don't say that," he begged, smoothing her hair with his hand as he watched her fight not to shed tears.
It's true," she continued. "I am so weak," she muttered, her voice like venom as she spat the words from her mouth. She stood up, wrestling out of Michael's grasp as she faced the version of him lying on the bed before her. "I've been hiding in here, afraid of an evil I conjured all on my own, while he… you…" she gasped. "You've been there this whole time? Just lying there, waiting for someone to help you and I've been cowering… sickly, weak, cowardly, afraid."
"Maria, don't," he said softly, his breath surprising her as it tickled her neck from his place now standing behind her. "You thought I was dead, thought we all were. No one thinks you a coward."
"He does," she yelled, pointing to the room as she whirled away from his protective hold. "I can hear him, hear you, you're begging for me to find you, rescue you and I'm just…. I'm just sitting here."
Her widened eyes were rimmed red but no moisture fell from them. She despised herself at that moment, her hands pulling at her clothes uselessly as she fought the urge to rip them from her body, the need to cleanse herself of any reminders of her existence in the sanctuary overpowering.
Michael grabbed her arms in his hands tightly, forcing her to look at him as he repeated, "Don't. Don't do this to yourself. You didn't know, you couldn't."
"Yes I could have. If I'd stayed, fought, I could have known, I would have known that you were still alive, that you needed me. You know I would have known Michael," her voice broke as sobs she could no longer deny poured forth from her shaking body. "It's me and you, I would have known," she sobbed.
"Maria," he said sternly, swallowing his own tears as he fought to gain control of the situation, calm her before she ran into another hidden recess of the house and erected an even stronger barrier between them. "None of that matters now. You couldn't have stopped him from taking us, and you can't do anything about it now. You've just got to get yourself better."
"No," she whispered quietly, a flash brilliant green peering out at him from twin waterfalls on her face. "I need to rescue him, you."
"You need to rescue yourself," he objected quickly.
"No, I was left behind for a reason. I'm the one who's supposed to save everyone. I have to do this, it's why it's all happening, why I can see you."
"I don't think so," he replied slowly, loosening his hold on her as she calmed a little. He stared at the flames of determination evaporating the water in her eyes, her mouth setting itself in the firm line that said she had made up her mind and wasn't about to be swayed by anything he had to say. His objection ran on longer in his head but as he took in her appearance he stopped to think about why she was seeing this at all, how she was seeing it.
"Look, we don't even know what you're seeing. It could be just a memory, just something I left behind from visiting you."
"No Michael, the date, it's today."
"Still…"
"No," she repeated firmly, stomping her foot on the floor, the hollow sound of her high heeled sandal reverberating through the ancient construction. "It's today, it's you, and I'm going to save you. Now," she said seriously, placing one finger on her chin as she contemplated what her next move should be. "How the hell am I seeing you anyway?"
Michael couldn't help the laugh that escaped his mouth. He had connected with her only minutes before hoping that she wasn't permanently scarred from whatever outburst had occurred during Dr. Rose's session. Now here she was displaying a courage he had desperately missed in the past seven years, something he had been doubtful of ever seeing again after he'd found her here yesterday.
No matter how confused he was by how she was able to see what she described, or how saddened he was by the fact that she experienced the vision at all, he was overjoyed to see the spark of life emanating from within her, shining in her eyes, on her lips, through her voice. She was back, whether she had yet to enter the real world or not, he knew that she was back in spirit at least, an incredible accomplishment in itself.
"Okay," he said, smiling at the surprise she was unable to suppress on her face as he agreed with her. "I think that somehow you are connecting with him, with me. That's how you can see me."
"How can I do that? I can't do anything."
"Through me you can, you must. I'm connected with you now, all of my power is running through you right now. I don't know how but maybe your body is storing it up, saving it to use for this connection. I really can't explain it, but… but if you really can…"
"What?"
"Maria," he said slowly, pain etched on his features as he realized the implication of what she was obviously capable of doing—finding them, figuring out if they were still on this planet and where, something he hadn't the slightest clue how to do until now. If she really was coming back to the real world, then maybe, just maybe, she could bring a few of her friends back with her. "If you can really see me, see where I am… I don't have any idea where we are, but maybe, if you really are seeing me in that bed then we are still here, there, somewhere on Earth and we can come back."
At first she didn't know why the tears were falling from his eyes as he spoke, but watched as an emotion he had rarely expressed—hope—washed over his face and suddenly she knew the source of his anguish. Her hand snaked along his chest, tracing the path of the scar she knew lay hidden beneath his shirt. The reason his possible rescue meant so much to him, torture that he had neither the strength nor the words to articulate potentially being erased from his future even as they spoke.
"Will you let me help you now?" she whispered softly, keeping her hand pressed firmly against his chest as she raised her other hand to his face, wiping away the tears that dripped slowly but steadily from his sealed lids. "I can do it, let me rescue you."
He nodded his head, his eyes still closed as he bent down to seek out her waiting lips, smothering his sobs against her mouth as he released his worry, allowing himself to take in the naïve but comforting hope she offered. "Promise you'll come back to me," he murmured, burying his face into her neck as he hugged her tiny body close to his.
"I will," she sighed, squeezing the last ounce of courage she needed from his body as she prepared for a journey she had no idea how she would attempt let alone accomplish. She pushed away from his arms, stepping towards the bedroom door as she looked back at him longingly. "Meet you back here in an hour?" she asked.
He nodded, his hand lingering on hers as she pulled determinedly away. "Be safe."
"Always," she smiled, stepping into the room that still appeared empty to him, closing the door firmly behind her as she ventured forth into a universe seen only by her.
Michael stood in the hallway for a long moment, waiting to see if she would hurry back, turning away only when it was obvious that she wouldn't. He had no intention of leaving the house, knowing that he would only sit helplessly by her side waiting for a twitch or mumbled word to let him know that she was ready. He leaned against the stairwell railing across the hall from the bedroom door, using it as a much needed support as he slid to the floor. She was gone to save him, find out where he was so that an attempt could be made to prevent them from ever leaving the planet. Just the idea that there was a chance of preventing that world from ever being known by them, of reversing the senseless deaths of the people who had become a lifeline to him during that time, was crushing, shaming, and stirring, and he sat on the floor of her weathered house and cried.