Disclaimer: Roswell, and its characters do not belong to me. Melinda Metz, Jason Katims and 20th Century Fox have that particular pleasure. I'm simply borrowing them until the Season 2 DVD's get released.

Tomorrow's Yet to Come

Chapter Nine The Guerin Code

Michael entered the small room, just as the sun broke on the horizon. Two walls of windows, and a large skylight ensured that the room would be filled with light. Michael, however, didn't want to wait for the morning light. He stood before four canvases and stared thoughtfully for a while. Finally, he picked up his easel, and began to mix colors on the palette.

"I need to get this just right," he said to the empty room. "I don't want to give it away to whomever is watching us. But, it has to be something meaningful to everyone. Something they'll be able to figure out in a second."

He allowed his mind to drift back over the past several years, searching for one image that would tell everyone where to go if there was danger. Suddenly, his mind focused on one image, and he reached for his brush and began to paint, feverishly.

Under his skilled hand, the image appeared, and was duplicated three times, on the three other canvases. He stood back, sweat soaked from his painting and surveyed the pictures.

"Perfect," he said out loud. "Nobody, and I mean nobody will ever figure out what these pictures mean."

A sudden knock at the door caused him to spin around, his hand raised in a protective stance.

"Maintenance," called a voice from the other side of the door. "Is there anybody in there?"

"I'm coming," said Michael, lowering his hand, and walking towards the door. He pulled the door halfway open and growled, "What do you want?"

"Hey, sorry to disturb you, sir, but the building owner got a complaint of roaches on this floor. I have to stick these stupid traps in every office."

"I don't have any roaches," snapped Michael. "So I don't need any roach motels, or whatever."

"Aw, come on, give a guy a break," said the maintenance worker. "Do you really think I want to be doing this? My boss will have a cow if it doesn't get done. I came in early cause I didn't think there'd be anybody here this early."

"Find, come in," said Michael, grudgingly. He pushed the door open and stepped back, allowing the maintenance man access to the room. He quickly dispensed his roach motels and turned to Michael.

"Thanks a million, guy. I really appreciate this."

"Sure, no problem," said Michael, holding the door open, trying to hasten the workers departure.

"Say, those sure are some beautiful paintings," said the other man. "Nice colors and such. What are they?"

"Nothing," said Michael. "Their nothing at all, just a reminder of home."

"Well, they ain't like any home I've ever seen, but what do I know about art? You have a good day now," said the man. He walked out the open door, and Michael closed and locked it behind him.

He walked back over to the paintings, and carefully removed the first one from the easel. On the back, he carefully wrote the number to the new cell phone he picked up last night. He returned the picture to its stand, and carefully repeated the procedure three more times.

He looked around the room, and went to the windows and pulled all the blinds. Then he stood on a table, and touched the glass in the skylights, turning it black, shrouding the room in total darkness. He went to each picture, and passed his hand over it, quickly drying the paint. He carefully wrapped them in plain brown paper, and gathered them up.

Michael left his makeshift studio, using his powers to make the lock on the door impenetrable. From there, he made his way to the elevator, down to the first floor and out on to the teaming city street. He walked a short distance to a Mailboxes etc. and made arrangements to have two of the paintings shipped overnight delivery. One to Max and Liz in California, and the other to Kyle and Ava back in Roswell.

From there, he made his way to Isabel and Alex's apartment. He knocked, but nobody was home. He used his powers to unlock the door and left the picture sitting on the sofa. Grabbing a pen from the nearby desk, he wrote: Here is your surprise. If things get bad, go to the picture.

Michael picked up the last painting and headed home, hoping to arrive before Maria awoke. His luck, however, had run out. Maria was waiting for him when he opened the door, and from the expression on her face, he knew he was in for a world of hurt.

"Hi," he said after he shut the door behind him. "When did you get up?"

"About forty five minutes ago," said Maria. "And imagine my surprise, no husband, no note, it was like you were abducted by aliens or something."

"I'm sorry, Maria I should have left a note," said Michael.

Maria stopped dead, her mouth hung open as she stared in surprise at her husband.

"You apologized and said I was right?" she asked incredulously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong that I know of," said Michael. "But I had to go do something. Now I have to do the rest of something, but I need your help with that. First though, I want you to see something." He handed Maria the picture and waited.

"Well, I guess I can rule out bagels and cream cheese," she said, placing it on the coffee table in front of her. She pulled at the wrapping and slowly the picture was revealed. "Oh God, Michael, it's beautiful. It's perfect. It's us."

"You like it then?" Michael asked, nervously.

"Like it, I love it," said Maria. It's perfect. We can hang it right over here," she said, carrying to a wall across the apartment.

"No, we can't," said Michael. "If you want to keep it, we need to ship it to your mom or something," he said.

"What! Why!" shouted Maria. "You paint me this beautiful picture and then tell me we can't keep it. Michael Guerin, are you insane?"

"Well, maybe, if you shut up and listen," said Michael. "I can explain it all to you."

"Fine," said Maria, throwing herself on the couch in a huff. "I'm listening. Her foot tapped impatiently, and she drummed her fingers on her leg.

"I gave one to Kyle and Iz, and I shipped one to Max and Liz, and one to Kyle and Ava," he explained.

"That's nice, why can't I keep mine?" snapped Maria.

"Look on the back, will you, Maria?"

Maria sat on the edge of the sofa, and picked up the picture and turned it over. On the back she saw the phone number Michael had written. She didn't say anything, just raised and eyebrow, and looked at him enquiringly.

"That number is for this phone," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a phone. "I want you to keep it with you at all times, if it rings, I want you to answer and say this." He reached into his pocket again, and pulled out another piece of paper with some words written on it.

"Hi, you have reached WRComet Enterprises," read Maria. . If you are calling about classes, press 1. If you are calling about your picture, please press 2. Michael, what kind of game is this? You want me to answer it and tell people to punch buttons. This is stupid!"

"Look, Maria, I think we're in danger. Max and Kyle will find the number on the back of the picture, they're not stupid. But we can't take any chances. I'm betting whoever is following us isn't stupid either. If they find the number, answering like that may throw them off track."

"And if it's Kyle, or Max," said Maria, realization dawning on her. "They'll know it's us because we went to West Roswell High, home of the Comets. Not bad Guerin, not bad at all. And what do I tell our callers, if I may ask?"

"Go to the picture," said Michael. "They'll know what you're talking about, right away."

"Well, I have to admit, it's pretty clever," said Maria, looking at her husband with admiration. "The only thing that would have been better is if you brought bagels."

With a mock growl, Michael crossed the room, and swung Maria up in his arms. He walked towards their bedroom and pushed the door open with his foot. He placed Maria on the bed, and lay down beside her and began to kiss her. Maria lifted one hand off his back and waved it, and the room turned dark.

Disclaimer: Roswell, and its characters do not belong to me. Melinda Metz, Jason Katims and 20th Century Fox have that particular pleasure. I'm simply borrowing them until the Season 2 DVD's get released.

Tomorrow's Yet to Come

Chapter Ten Familiar Stranger

Isabel walked down the street, looking in the windows of the various department stores, admiring the clothes that were displayed there. One particularly beautiful outfit caught her eye, and she stopped to look at it, trying to decide if it was a good style for her. As she looked, she became aware of someone standing beside her. She pulled her focus away from the clothing display, and tried to find the person's reflection in the glass. She put her hand to her mouth to hold back the screams that threatened to erupt. Standing next to her in the reflection was Max. She looked out of the corner of her eye to where the stranger stood, but it wasn't Max. She knew it wouldn't be, but she had to check. She turned slightly preparing to take flight, when the stranger looked directly at her. It was the man in the Armani suit that had bumped into her the week before.

"We meet again," said the man.

"Ex-excuse me," said Isabel. "I'm late for an appointment." She started to walk away, but the stranger grabbed her.

"Lonnie," he said.

Isabel felt the blood leave her face when she heard that hateful name. "I'm sorry, you made a mistake," she said. She pulled her hand away, and ran down the street. She jumped into a miraculously empty taxi, and gave her home address. As soon as the taxi began to move, she got her cell phone and called Alex.

"Come home, right now," she said. "I need you!" She hung up the phone and wrapped on the glass separating her from the driver. "Turn down here," she instructed.

"Lady, that ain't the way to the address you gave me," he complained.

"I know," said Isabel. "I forgot, I have an errand to run."

The taxi made the turn, and drove down the street for several blocks. Again Isabel knocked on the glass, and asked the driver to pull over. She paid the fare, and included a healthy tip, and disappeared into the crowd that was headed down to the subway.

Alex arrived home before Isabel in a complete panic. He ran through the empty apartment calling her name. After he realized that she wasn't there, he went back to the living room and saw the package waiting on the couch. "Here is your surprise. If things get bad, go to the picture," he read.

He knew he should wait for Isabel, but he pulled the wrappings off to reveal the picture.

"Oh wow," he said. "Oh wow." He turned to the sound of the door behind him opening, and Isabel rushed in.

"Isabel, what's wrong, what happened?" he demanded, before she even made it into the apartment.

"We have to go, we have to leave here," she said. "Alex, someone is after us, and it's someone who knows who we are, who I am."

"Slow down, Sweetie, and tell me what happened," said Alex.

"I was looking in a store window," began Isabel, "And I became aware of someone standing beside me." She took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself before continuing. "Alex," she said, her voice shaking. "When I looked at his reflection in the window, it was Max, but I knew it couldn't be him. So I turned to look, and it was that guy from the other night, the one in the Armani suit. He reached out and grabbed my hand. Alex, he called me Lonnie," she cried."

"Fine, we're out of here," said Alex. "And I already know where we're going." He picked up the picture and handed it to Isabel. "Michael was here, and he left us something." He gave her the note, and she read it with a small smile.

"What do you know," she said softly. "The General has a plan." She put the picture back on the sofa. She walked to the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase and began to pack methodically.

"What do you want to do about our stuff?" asked Alex. "We don't want to leave anything important here, do we?"

"We'll take what we can pack," said Isabel, "Including our laptops. The rest, we'll destroy.

"Destroy?" said Alex. "Isabel, you worked so hard picking out the stuff for this apartment. Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

"They're only things," said Isabel, unexpectedly. "Things can be replaced. But the picture's coming with us."

Alex stopped walking towards the door, and stopped in amazement. "Everything else can be destroyed, but the picture comes?"

"Yes," said Isabel, her voice resolute.

"Okay," said Alex. "But, maybe we could ship it to your parents, or mine, rather than try and lug it cross country?"

"Okay," Isabel conceded, "But before we ship it, I want to go over it with a fine tooth comb."

Michael led Maria down the bustling street to the building that housed his makeshift studio.

"I don't understand why you couldn't just do this at home?" she said. "Why rent a whole other space?"

"It's hard to explain," said Michael. "But home is our space with our energy. Painting comes from inside me, and I kind of needed my space to figure out what I was going to make and how I was going to make it. I'm sure that bugs you."

"No, actually, it doesn't," said Maria. "I get it totally. I'm not crazy about the fact that you couldn't tell me about it right away, but you've opened up so much in so many ways already Space Boy, I'm not going to complain about anything."

Michael looked at Maria in amazement. The Maria of a few years ago would have been bugging him to let her in, and open himself up to her. Maybe they had both changed, for the better.

"Come on, let's go inside," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. They walked into the building and stepped into the elevator. When the elevator ground to a halt, they climbed out and the couple walked down the hallway. Michael stopped at the doorway located at the end of the hall, and used his powers to unlock the door.

"Security," he said to Maria. "Nobody's getting in here without my knowing about it. They'd have to take the door off the hinges to get in."

"Michael, don't you think you're being just a tad over protective," said Maria as Michael pushed the door open. Michael flipped on the light switch and the couple walked into the room. "Or, not," continued Maria, after she looked at the vandalized room.

"Shit," said Michael. He spun around, looking at the overturned easels, the pushed in ceiling tiles, and the paint strewn over the floor. "Who the hell did this?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I think they know you," said Maria, pointing to one of the walls that wasn't covered by windows.

Why, Rath was painted in blood red letters on the wall.

"That's it, we're out of here," said Michael. He grabbed Maria by the hand, and the two ran.