Part 2

"Max."

His voice is hushed, shocked, as though he is listening to a ghost over the line. Which he very nearly is. Max Evans has called him because there is no one else. To call the others would be the same as condemning them to death. He has suffered too much over the past years to allow that to happen now.

And, yet, he is free and he has to know. He must know that they are safe, that they are happy. That his captors kept their end of the bargain. He thinks they did. They never believed others existed anyway, never really threatened the others beyond their desire to control him. Once he knows, he will disappear forever; he will leave them all in peace.

But he cannot move on until he knows.

"It's me," he confirms again curtly. "Sheriff, I wouldn't be calling..."

"Tell me where you are," the sheriff orders, no hesitation, no games, as was always Valenti's way. Max still remembers the terror of the days when Valenti was his enemy, when he was always just two steps behind him. It is why Max trusts him now. When the sheriff changed his mind about him, Max knew it was for good, that he could never have a better ally. He never got a chance to thank the sheriff for trying to save him. He had risked his life and his career by doing so. Max hadn't even been sure that, when he called the sheriff's station in Roswell, Valenti would be there.

But he was still sheriff. They had not lied about that. They had told him that if he cooperated, if he gave them no more trouble, they would let the sheriff keep his job. They wouldn't pursue him for the raid on Eagle Rock. They didn't care about Valenti anyway. They did not understand the sheriff's obsession, his absolute determination to know the truth. He had looked for Max for years. Max knew it because they had told him, taunted him with it. But they still left Valenti alone, always staying one step ahead of him. Max understood very quickly that it was almost a game for Pierce, an amusing little past-time, when he wasn't engaging in his favorite hobby. When he wasn't torturing Max.

In the end, Valenti had failed anyway. Max was never found again, partly by his own choice. He shut his mind to Isabel's probes, determined to protect them all, obsessed with making sure that they never risked themselves again to save him.

The first attempt had killed Liz, after all. The one who mattered most to him was already lost. He would not allow any of the rest of them to suffer the same fate. Not for him.

This did not mean that he did not want to escape them. But he knew that the only way he would ever be free was if he saved himself. And the only way to do that was to convince them that he would never try. It had taken five years, but, in the end, it was what he had done. Gradually...very gradually...they became sure of him, thought that he was beyond the point where any sort of escape was likely. They lessened the guard, they became careless.

Now he was free, was ready to confirm that those he cared about were safe, and he could then live out his miserable life with at least that one peaceful thought.

"I won't tell you, sheriff," Max says now. "I just need you to tell me how they are."

"How are you?" the sheriff demands. "Max, let me come and bring you home. Please, son."

"No. Please, sheriff. Just tell me. And then forget I ever called." He should have hung up the instant the sheriff asked where he was. The sheriff is at work. He can trace this call if he wants to. He knows this, but he cannot hang up. Not yet. He is now pleading, hates the sound of it, has not begged in five years - not since he tried to save Liz's life - but he will do it now. He needs to know. If the sheriff bothers to trace the call, by the time he reaches where Max is, he will be long gone anyway.

He needs to know. He cannot survive a life alone unless they are well. He has never grown used to being lonely again. It should have been easy. His entire life he had been alone. But, after Liz, there was no going back. After trusting five people, he could not remember what it had been like before. He must worry about them and, so, he must know.

"They're all fine," the sheriff finally says gruffly. "Actually, they're all up in New York right now. Maria's doing a show up there."

"A show?" Max knows nothing and learning even the slightest little bit is like a man in the desert finding water. He drinks it in, sighs slightly with relief.

"You do know she's a singer?" the sheriff asks. "She's actually made a pretty nice little career for herself. Alex is going to school up there, so the whole gang headed up to have a little reunion at the concert. Kyle just called me a little while ago, actually. They're having a blast."

"Kyle's there?" Max asks, surprised. This is unexpected.

"After your protector..." The sheriff pauses, as though uncertain how much of what happened to Nasedo Max wants to remember. Finally he continues, seeming to realize that Max wants the truth, no matter how strange or painful. "After he died, Tess had nowhere to go. I took her in. She's like a sister to Kyle now. We had to tell him the truth, Max. He needed to know, for his own protection."

There is a long pause as Max absorbs this. The sheriff seems to understand that he needs a moment, or so Max thinks. But Valenti's next words prove him wrong. The sheriff has been building up to what he must believe is the worst news of all.

"Max, three years ago I told your sister that I found hard evidence that you were dead." The sheriff says it quickly, out of nowhere, like it is the worst thing he has ever done.

"I'm glad." Max says it firmly, because he is. He knows they stopped looking for him a long time ago. Isabel stopped coming in his dreams and he understands that she believes he is gone. It was the only explanation for her sudden absence. It was the conclusion he had made her come to, on purpose, by shutting her out. He has gained so much control over his own mind - had to simply to survive - and, so, finally, his sister could no longer fight her way in. He could not allow it. Isabel could not be allowed to know what had been happening to him. She could not suffer that. It reassures him that Isabel has not ever become strong enough to find him again. It means that she has never had to, that she is safe. At least that is what he has told himself over the past five years.

Yes, he is glad that the sheriff lied. It was right. They are better off without him.

"Max?" The sheriff's voice is not as he remembers it. It is tentative now, slightly fearful. Max cannot blame him. He is afraid that it is all going to start again. That Max's return will put Kyle and the others he works so hard to protect back into danger. Max is surprised that, again, he is wrong. "Tell me where you are. Come home, Max. They need you."

"No."

"Max." The sheriff is beginning to sound angry. "They are happy enough, but they have not gotten over it. They never will. Having you back will at least take away some of the pain."

"And put them in danger," Max snaps. He frowns, pauses briefly to let the words sink in, to remind the sheriff of how it used to be. Finally, he asks, because he wants to know exactly what they have suffered, "My parents...What...what do they think..." He trails off, his heart thundering. Because continuing will tell him exactly what [I]did[/I] happen. He will finally learn the truth about Liz's end. They told him what they did to her, but he wants the sheriff to reveal it for the lie he still feels it is, the lie that he saw in Pierce's eyes.

By the end, he knew Pierce's eyes, and how to read them, far better than anyone else's. It was what he had been forced to do, to survive. It was just one more reason that Max hated Pierce. He had not only stolen Liz Parker's young life; he had also stolen her rightful place as the person Max could read most easily.

"Your parents and the Parkers think you both died in a car crash," the sheriff explains quietly. "The Jetta was found in the river two days after you disappeared. There were no bodies. The investigation concluded that you were washed away in the deluge. The river was rough that night."

Max closes his eyes, leans his forehead against the pay-phone. He forces away his memories of the river. He makes himself forget how Liz was swept away from him the instant they plunged into the water. What happened in the river led to her death. He tortures himself with it regularly - with the thought of how she died for him. How he lived and she died and how he will never forgive himself. But, now is not the time. He will have plenty of time later. He will have all the lonely time in the world.

"What about the windshield?" Max asks, remembering the bullets that had blown it apart, a shudder running through him. The memories will not go away. "Wasn't that suspicious?"

"No one ever knew about that," the sheriff replies bitterly. "The cover-up was complete. They never let your parents anywhere near that car. I eventually found it, of course. I looked for you both for a long time, Max."

"I know, sheriff," Max says, understanding that it is he who must comfort the older man. "Thank you for that."

"I'm sorry I never found you." Valenti is almost crying, and is trying to hide it, but Max can tell. He understands that the sheriff has tortured himself with their disappearance for years. It was, of course, not his fault though. It was all Max's fault. It always had been. Who he was put them all in danger.

"You tried," Max tells him. "It's enough."

"Max, come home."

"I can't."

There is another long pause. Max is tempted to hang up. Because there is really nothing else to say. Yet, somehow, he knows that the sheriff is not finished. That Valenti needs closure.

"Max, if you don't come home, then they win." It is Valenti's last-ditch effort. It is a good effort, too. It is an argument that Max has used on himself on occasion, when the side of him that is selfish almost wins out over the side that isn't.

"Sheriff, they've already won," Max says, inexpressibly weary. "Liz is dead. There's nothing left to fight for."

With that, he gently replaces the receiver on the pay-phone.