Part Four - Sal's Pizzeria

Michael once asked me what it was about music that I loved so much. It was early morning and he had just gotten off work. It had the makings of a typical New Mexico day-the air was warm and there was no wind, minus the occasional fan-like swing of warmth. The sky was clear, a bleached blue that looked like a shirt my mother accidentally ruined in the wash, and the sun hung there, unchallenged as it expunged the remnants of night from view.

Michael did his usual grunt when he opened the door, kissing me quickly on the cheek, and resuming his domination of the toaster. His uniform shirt was unbuttoned and he stood in front of the small kitchen window, a portrait of cheap K-Mart shades reflecting on him. He smiled at me, the rare shit-eating grin that he usually saved for when he had won an argument (a rare occurrence although if you asked him, the number would be highly inflated), and pulled me closer to him.

It was so un-Michael, so different from his normal romantically challenged behavior, that for a minute I was scared that something had happened, or that another alien had inhabited his body. And, as if reading my mind, he abruptly stepped away, focused his attention on a moth darting around the ceiling fan, and asked about my night.

After explaining how I had locked myself up to write a new song, a triumph considering the slump I'd been suffering through, he had asked, "Maria, are you sure about music? How do you know that it's what you want? Are you sure it's a relationship worth having?"

I got the feeling he was talking more metaphoric than anything, but I ignored the subtext and went straight to the point. "It makes me happy," I had answered simply.

At the time, it was true. Nothing elated or provided me with more intense emotion than music, not even Michael. With the right ambiance, I could feel the words before they filtered out of my fingers. I channeled the legends at times, plucking strings with no real understanding of how it happened. It just did. There was something inside of me-magnetic force or gravity at work-that reacted to a catchy harmony and funky beat.

Michael's gaze had remained stoic, what he referred to as his "contemplative stance" but oddly resembled what I had coined as his "rat bastard brooding look." He sighed, sucking up the air between us, and said, "But how do you know there isn't something better for you out there? What if music is keeping you from finding what you really want?"

"But I won't know that if I don't see it through," I had replied before turning and walking out of his place. I didn't want to deal with something so deep, such philosophical questions, at seven in the morning on a school day. There was something about soul-searching before Biology class that made me sick to my stomach.

I thought a lot about that conversation after they left. I berated myself for not doing a better job of explaining it, of making sense of the things that moved me most like music and Michael. He had been fishing that morning, looking for some sort of reassurance that we weren't as fleeting as his numerous foster families or my father's presence in my life. He had looked to me for answers-me, not Max or Isabel, but me, something of a first-and I had denied him access to the truth.

My mother would excuse it as being seventeen and just figuring things out, but that was a cop out. It wasn't true. I knew what I felt. If witchcraft were real, I would think someone had put a spell on me, something that made me crazy, pulled me in every direction, churned my insides around, caused nerve-endings to fire so fast that it practically melted my skin off and exposed everything about me. One minute it was like I had sucked the helium out of a dozen balloons and everything was blurry and floaty and I was high on life, giggling and enjoying the moment.

"Enjoy the moment, Maria. Enjoy the moment."

A mantra to live by, a meditation I uttered to myself when I worried that Michael was going to leave me behind. I would try to prepare myself with practice sessions, like forcing myself to go two whole days without even calling him. I would imagine that he had disappeared and I was forced to make a go of things on my own. God, if twenty-four hours didn't seem like a lifetime to me. Like so much had changed since the last time I saw him, like I wouldn't recognize him when we were reunited, and I would break my own plans for a Michael-free record and show up at his door.

Forty-eight hours was my record-even when we weren't technically together-until the stupid FBI showed up and ruined everything.

Michael didn't seem to notice most of the time. He blew it off as a "you know Maria's crazy" thing, and when I finally appeared at his door, he was in the same place I left him, glued to the fucking television and oblivious to our separation. I would sit down next to him, drilling my eyes into his skull and waiting for a reaction, and he would say, "What did I do now?"

I shrugged. I always shrugged, afraid to explain to him what was going on or to make it anymore apparent that I was too attached to him. I was Saran Wrap, one of those cheerleaders at school that made her whole life about dating the captain of the basketball team. I wasn't about to admit that to Michael. It would shift the dynamic in our relationship; it would make me more pathetic than I already felt most of the time. So I shrugged because he wasn't allowed to know that he was, in essence, my whole life.

And thank god for music. Thank god for that momentary lapse into something non-Michael, even though he consumed that at times as well. Without music, I was sure that the only place I belonged was in a bathtub with blood dripping out of my wrists. Music was my refuge because I knew I couldn't let Michael be that for me.

I always knew that he was going to leave one day. I knew it when we first kissed in that cheap motel room with a lingering bug spray odor swirling in the air. I knew it when he saw me eating lunch with Brody and shot a this-is-for-the-best scowl in my direction on his way to relieve Carlos before the evening rush at the Crashdown. I even knew it when he seemed so hell-bent on making a go of our relationship like he was ready to be domesticated, as if either of us was equipped for the long haul and able to deny who he was.

I think subconsciously we both knew that our relationship was going to be short-lived. Neither of us was quite as naïve as Max and Liz. We weren't re-enacting Romeo and Juliet with the pining and desperate looks across crowded rooms. Michael and I accepted certain things. Love might move mountains, but it didn't prevent an avalanche of snow from destroying everything on the mountain around you, leaving nothing unscathed in its path.

Leaving

I hated that I left him. Technically, he and the others did the leaving, but I was the first to step away. I announced I couldn't go, making some absurd statement about a life in Roswell. I pivoted in the dirt, clouds of dust trailing the air and forming a wall between Michael and myself. I ignored the simultaneous thumping in my head and gut, and tried not to notice how my feet didn't want to move away from the van, how they simply refused to inch away. I disregarded my instincts for prudence and I was sure that it robbed me of any rights to misery. No mourning entitlements granted to those with choices, with options, but that was all I felt sometimes. Fucking miserable.

I tried to lose myself in my music. It worked for a while, calming my nerves and providing me with something to do. I formed a band, playing small gigs and always talking big, and put all my attention on that. Every song was about Michael. Every note came out half-wrong, like I wasn't completely there, like both my creativity and voice knew I belonged elsewhere. Every melody evoked a depressed longing. Every lyric was tainted with his personality until it became unbearable and I teetered with giving it up permanently.

I had been on my way to the coffee shop to tell Dotty that I wouldn't be performing anymore, to stop calling me when slots opened up, to no longer fill my head with ego inflating "you're amazing" compliments. I had rehearsed a speech about finding more in life, rediscovering a passion that wasn't linked to my past, etc, etc, etc.

Of course, Jesse's appearance had thwarted those plans and as I sat in the small pizzeria, the smell of a grease fire coalescing with dough baking in the oven thickening the air, I wanted to throw my diet coke in his face for getting me involved in this. I wanted to lean across the table and smack him in soap opera fashion for bringing Michael back to me. At the same time, I wanted to kiss him-in that brotherly way, not the Michael way because yuck-for giving me an opportunity to fix everything. The chance to finally offer Michael those reassurances he had been looking for so long ago.

Instead of either of those things, I sucked on my straw, swallowing large gulps of soda in the hopes that it would magically calm me down, and observed every movement in the place. I was ready to leap up at any second or hide under the booth, depending on which struck my fancy when the time arose.

Kyle had insisted on preparing Michael and Max, alerting them to our presence rather than enjoying a Jerry Springer "surprise" situation. He swore on Buddha that he would not ditch us. When neither Jesse nor myself was convinced by his less-than-believable oath, we pointed out that we knew where the key was and not to force our hand. That seemed to do the trick and we both felt confident-mixed with an extreme case of anxiety-that Kyle would not disappear.

I watched Jesse fiddle with the salt and peppershakers, moving them around, then back again, and then once again moving them around the faux-wooden tabletop. It went on for minutes, sometimes adding the sugar packets to the mix to make Portrait of Idiotic Man With Missing Alien Wife or something equally as ridiculous and annoying.

I grabbed the oregano before it could be victimized by Jesse's hands and said, "You need to get a grip. It's Max and Michael we're waiting for."

Jesse rolled his eyes and said, "Like you're not nervous."

"I'm not," I lied, more for my benefit than his. Jesse could think what he wanted about me. I barely knew the guy. We were two practically-strangers that had been thrown together due to a situation out of our control. We were tolerating each other-okay, I found myself semi-enjoying the non-loner lifestyle-for the greater purpose here.

"Liar."

I shrugged, "Whatever."

"You're going to freak out when Michael comes in here."

I folded my arms and replied, "No, I'm not. I'm always cool and collected."

"Right."

"Michael's presence won't do anything to me. You're forgetting that I dealt with him on a daily basis for nearly three years," I added.

"And from what I saw, the two of you were nothing if not calm," Jesse commented dryly.

"I was once nicknamed Maria the Composed."

"Maria the Great was taken, huh?" he quipped.

I lifted my straw out of my drink and pointed at him, spraying him with soda, "I don't know where this sudden level of comfort between us came from, but I wish it would go away. I liked you when you weren't so insolent."

"I was merely asking a question."

"Fine, Jesse the Jackass," I countered.

Jesse grinned. It was the first time I had seen a real smile from him. We had placated one another's nerves at times with weak upward turns of the lips, but there had never been an appropriate time for radiating happiness. He took a sip of his own drink and said, "Ten bucks says you faint."

"You're an annoyance."

"You wouldn't be the first person to tell me something like that, Maria," he answered.

I stared at him and joked, "Is that how you got Isabel to marry you? Exasperated her until she succumbed to your proposal?"

He chuckled inwardly, allowing his shoulders to shake, and said, "It's a shame that we didn't become friends before all this happened."

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. The truth was I hadn't considered Jesse a friend as much as an accomplice on our mission. We had the makings of a friendship, but so far we really hadn't talked much about ourselves, only concentrating on the others-if they were safe, if they needed help, if we would find them.

My stomach immediately dropped to my feet when I saw Kyle stand up. He nervously glanced in our direction, as if he was a government informant worried about the mob boss discovering his wire, and motioned to a table by the door. Kyle had explained that quick exits were always important for them and I couldn't help but think that he was trying to prepare me; that Michael would see me and bolt in typical fashion.

I watched, slumping down a little in our booth as not to draw attention to myself and provide Kyle with a chance to "prepare" Max and Michael. I tried to see over Jesse's big head, but at times, it was impossible. I saw only shadows as they slid into the booth across from Kyle. I leaned to the side, hoping for a glimpse of Michael and praying that would somehow be enough for me. That if I knew he was alright, saw his chest rising and falling (Something I had a habit of doing when I stayed at his place, watching him taking breathes until he would open his eyes and groggily say, "You're freaking me out, Maria."), I'd be able to stand up and walk out the door without any second thoughts.

It was a lie. I knew I wouldn't be able to do that again. Another round of separation would surely kill me.

There was suddenly a lot of loud noise, a pounding of the fist and a glass falling to the ground before Kyle's voice shouted, "Calm down."

I closed my eyes, knowing that this was it. I could feel Jesse staring at me curiously, fighting the urge to stand up and confront our alien amigos, but I didn't move. Paralyzed, that overdone saying of the deer caught in the headlights. Me equaled deer.

"Maria?" It was his voice. I'd recognize it anywhere. There were two things I always knew even when Jesse told me that our friends had been in Boston and thoughts of passing right by Michael ate at my insides.

His eyes. Michael had distinguishable eyes, pools of brown that couldn't seem to properly mask the pain that he was so good at playing off. And his voice. Sometimes raspy, always trying to conceal what he was really thinking, and probably my favorite sound to hear in the mornings. God, every girl needs to hear that perfect sound when they wake up in the morning, and I'm sure that's why on more than one occasion I fell back into things with Michael, stringing him along and fucking us both up, because his voice was like heroine. Strong, potent, and able to take me out of myself in ways I couldn't do on my own.

I finally fluttered my eyes open when I heard a scuffle of boots along the floor and Jesse being lifted out of his chair. I saw Michael in a baseball cap-laugh worthy had the situation not been reeking of tension-lifting Jesse up by his collar. He didn't look happy to see either of us. Quite the opposite. He looked ready to kill us, melt us down to puddles of goo.

I jumped out of the booth and tried to separate them, "Put him down! Put him down now!" When it didn't seem to work, I hissed, "You're drawing attention to yourself, moron! Put him down!"

Yes, the amorous reunion I had always imagined.

This seemed to penetrate Michael's thick skull and he dropped Jesse down. He fixed his eyes on me but they weren't how I had chosen to remember them. It was one of those stares I had tried to shake, like the first time we were ever forced together to keep Jim off the alien trail or during the heat wave when he had left me on a dance floor. I was pretty sure that this moment in the pizza place was what a painful death felt like.

"What the fuck are you doing, Maria? Why would you let this idiot drag you into this? Why are you here?"

Why was I here? At the moment, I was questioning that decision myself. I shrugged, a habit I had picked up over the past few years when I was no longer capable of articulating how I felt. I glanced around the restaurant, all eyes fixed on us, and I couldn't bring myself to say all those things I had planned to. Not with Michael shooting me daggers and giving off the vibe that I was the last person he wanted to see.

"Maria? What the hell is going on?" Michael replied, his voice growing even louder, clear and stiff.

"I needed to-" I stopped, censoring myself for old time's sake, and offered, "I was in the neighborhood?"

"You think this is funny?" Michael countered. He turned to Kyle, who had joined our little reunion to-do, and added, "So this is why you let them tag along, Kyle? Because they were in the neighborhood?"

"Hey," Jesse started to respond, but Max approached. He was a Max with long hair and a five o'clock shadow, resembling the description Liz had shared of future Max, and he once again possessed a knack for blending in with crowds. He was always good at quiet and controlled, something I envied at times. He had a talent for thinking outside the moment. It rarely worked for me.

As evident by my current predicament.

Max placed his hand on Michael's shoulder before shooting me a weak smile. I tried to smile back, but it struck me that Max was the one smiling while Michael looked ready to rip my hair out strand by strand. He said, "We should take this somewhere else, Michael."

"Yes, we should," Michael paused and waved his hand in Max and Kyle's directions. "The three of us. These two can go back to their lives now."

I folded my arms. I didn't deserve this crap. No matter what had happened or how estranged things between the two of us had been right before his departure. I wasn't going to let him talk to me like I was a five-year-old. I hauled back and shoved him in the stomach, "Nice to see some things don't change. You're still the biggest ass in the world."

I stormed off, wishing I could forget him and cursing myself for getting caught back up in the same old theatrics. God, it was like I never learned my lesson. Michael and I were incapable of a normal relationship and it wasn't because he was an alien or on the run from the government. We were still so damn afraid of each other.

Jesse reached me as I turned the corner, mumbling under my breath and looking for signs of a taxi to take me back to our hotel room long enough to pack and get back to my life in Boston.

Life in Boston, I thought mirthlessly. I had no life. I did things, but it was me going through the motions rather than actually living.

Jesse pulled on my arm, acting out some sort of soap opera drama on the streets of New York City. He said, "I'm sure he didn't mean it like it sounded, Maria."

"No, he did," I replied. I folded my arms, protectively hugging myself, and added, "The big jerk!"

"He's shocked to see you."

"Like that's an excuse," I muttered. I shook my head and said, "Jesse, it's not-Michael usually means what he says. He doesn't want me near him."

"That's a lie."

"I'm going home."

Jesse nodded down the block and said, "They're your home."

"No, they never were. It was a rest stop for me. Or vice versa. I don't know. It wasn't a permanent thing-Michael and I aren't like the rest of you. "

"If that were true, you wouldn't have come all this way with me or endured half the shit we have," Jesse stated.

I hated that he felt like he knew me well enough to do that, to call me on things and make me rethink my initial anger. I sighed, "Jesse, we found them. I helped you and now I can leave."

"You want to leave me with those three? None of them have ever liked me at all. I need you to see this through with me, Maria," Jesse replied.

"Do I look like a therapist to you?" I snapped as I lifted my hand to hail down a passing cab.

Jesse waved the cab on and I shoved him in the stomach, embracing my fury within, the overwhelming anger at the whole mess. Jesse winced slightly and replied, "Liz and Isabel are in trouble, Maria. They're still your friends and they need you too."

"Dammit, don't do this to me," I replied. I stepped away from the street, propping myself up against the brick wall and glancing up at the evening sky which was colored with flashing neon signs. I chewed at my bottom lip, refusing to let any of the agony leak out of me, and mustered, "I can't-you don't get this. I left this behind for a reason."

"And you came back into it because you sensed it too. You could feel that something wasn't right and it's not. There is a real threat and your friends need you right now."

The words caught in my throat, choking me until I managed to sputter out, "Fine."

Jesse put his arm over my shoulder as if he was worried I couldn't walk without someone propping me up. I smiled gratefully and he said, "I guess you won that bet. No fainting. Near bloodshed, but no fainting."

"Ha, ha."

We walked back toward the restaurant. Kyle came over to me and whispered, "Are you okay?"

I smiled, "Peachy."

His expression read that he didn't believe me, but he dropped it. Instead he said, "Any chance you'd be willing to buy dinner? My stomach is craving sustenance."

I pushed him away playfully and avoided meeting Michael's hardened face. Instead, I focused on Max and asked, "Are you hungry too? Café Maria is now taking orders."

Max nodded and said, "But not here. Too much attention on us already."

"Maria and I have a hotel room. We could go back and order room service."

"Too risky," Michael replied, "You could still have agents following you and not even know it. We'd walk right into a trap. I bet you're completely oblivious to other people around you."

"Hardly."

"Whatever," Michael answered brusquely. He faced Max and said, "I think this is a bad idea, Max. They don't belong here."

"Well, they're here, Michael, and we need all the help we can get right now."

"But-"

"We're not having this discussion here," Max replied.

"DinnerI've been living on scraps for the past few days and I can't be expected to function this way."

"There's a McDonalds down the block. Let's go there and you can fill us in on what you know," Max said.

Jesse nodded and I shrugged. Michael stalked off ahead of the rest of us and I purposely trailed way behind, as if putting a few yards between us would make everything much better. I wondered how I could ever have missed him. He was so damn infuriating, insufferable even.

"He's missed you," Max's voice filtered through my static, pulling me out of my inner-whine.

I glanced at him and replied, "It doesn't matter."

"It does. You know how he gets, Maria. Some things don't change."

"Tell me about it," I replied. I took a good look at Max and smiled, "You still have to explain everything, keep everyone happy."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"No, not at all."

"You look great. Boston agrees with you."

"How did you-"

"Jesse told us."

"Right."

"Liz has missed you so much. I've caught her by the phone on more than one occasion talking herself out of bothering you."

"It wouldn't have been a bother and I've missed her too. They don't make friends like her anymore," I replied, grateful for the change of topic. Liz was a safe subject. My feelings for her were quite clear, no pretense or posturing.

Max nodded, "We got married."

"What?" I exclaimed. I noticed the others turn to face me, but I ignored them and continued to squeal in delight. I hugged Max and said, "That is fantastic!"

Max returned the hug and said, "She wanted you there. Poor Isabel was well aware that she was the consolation maid of honor."

I chuckled, "I wish I could've been there."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"I don't know, anything."

"Not much to tell," I replied. I raced to the door of McDonalds that Jesse was holding open and stepped inside. I immediately felt the pores of my skin close up in the proximity of all the grease. After leaving the Crashdown, I had a strong aversion to all foods fatty. I gestured to an empty table, by a door to appease Kyle, and pulled my wallet out of my bag. I handed a twenty to Kyle and said, "If you could get me a Diet Coke, I'll claim a table."

"Thanks Maria."

I nodded, once again avoiding any contact with Michael, and made my way to the table. I fell into the chair like I was a British Royal that had no upper body muscle control and rested my head on the table. Probably not the most sanitary move, but I couldn't be concerned with such things. My lack of sleep over the past few weeks was catching up with me. I was exhausted, a balloon slowly deflating in a humid climate.

A tray slammed down and Michael sat down across from me. I glanced past him and saw the others were still in line. The masochist in me emerged and attempted to make conversation, "What did you get?"

He stared at me curiously before biting into his burger and between chews said, "Burger."

"Oh. Good choice," I replied. I wanted to flog myself. Why was I suddenly possessed by a moron? Why couldn't I talk to him? Why was he making this so damn hard on me?

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, "You shouldn't be here, Maria."

"So you've told me a hundred times already. Jesus Michael," I paused and laughed bitterly, "Missed me that much, huh?"

His face was neutral. I studied it for as long as I could muster without bursting into tears, looking for some sort of understanding. But it was gone. Absence did not make the heart grow fonder. It made it indecipherable. He took another bite of his sandwich and I wished I was anywhere but sitting across from him. I said, "Nice to see your conversational skills haven't improved."

His fist slammed down on the table, "What do you want from me, Maria? A big hug welcoming you to our world of danger?"

"A simple hello would be nice."

"Hi," he snapped as Jesse slid into the chair next to me.

Jesse handed me a soda and looked back and forth between Michael and myself. He asked, "Everything okay?"

"Fine," Michael answered, his eyes concentrated on his fries.

"Freaking fantastic," I replied.

"Am I missing something?" Kyle asked as he took his seat.

"Yes, we've all voted, Kyle, and you're the winner of the best Soul-Glow hair since Coming to America," I said.

Kyle shook his head, "Sure, mock me. As if I chose this look willingly."

"I told you we could've tried a Mohawk," Michael replied.

I nearly choked on my soda and laughed, "I would pay good money to see that."

"Don't say something like that unless you plan to follow through. Right about now I'd do almost anything for a hot shower and a coffee," Kyle said.

The ribbing passed and was replaced with a strained silence. My eyes wandered over the three of them, looking much older than they were, having surpassed me who still looked and felt fifteen. I would sneak peeks at Michael when he wasn't paying attention, when I thought it was safe, and somehow felt a bit better. He was alive. Sure, he was a jackass, but at least he was a living jackass.

He caught me staring and said, "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Maria-"

"I'm glad you're okay," I admitted, betraying my own decision to be as mean to him as he was acting toward me.

"Yeah," he said. Yeah? I wanted to strangle him. I tried to make a real connection to him, to somehow get him to talk to me, and he replied "yeah?" Did things like this happen to other people? Did other girls put up with this crap? Michael continued, "We need to make sure Isabel and Liz are okay too."

"Those two men are the answer," Jesse piped in.

Michael looked at us like we were crazy and asked, "What two guys?"

"We had a little run-in at your old apartment with these two creepy guys earlier," I replied.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked studying my face intently.

"I'm fine."

"What happened?" Max replied.

"They were looking for the key. They said that when they caught the girl she didn't have it on her like they hoped. Something about the key drawing unwanted attention," I replied, looking at Jesse to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything.

"Maria and I weren't able to stick around to find out anything more. We had to make a quick escape."

"You could've gotten her killed," Michael stated evenly. He glared at Jesse and said, "What if you had gotten caught? You had no one to protect you."

I wanted to reach over and hug him. Finally, a little bit of the Michael I knew was seeping through the obnoxious wall he had put up. Of course, he needed to stop acting like I couldn't take care of myself. I wasn't an invalid or completely stupid. "Don't freak out. We didn't get caught, so it doesn't matter."

"Did they see you?" Max asked.

"One of them," Jesse replied.

"He had this weird looking scar. I know I've seen him somewhere before, but I couldn't figure it out," I added.

"Great. They know what you look like. They could come after you now. Do you ever think about this stuff?" Michael questioned.

"Yes, it's all part of my clever ruse to get killed, Michael," I replied.

"This isn't funny, Maria."

"I know that. We didn't plan on bumping into your buddies. We had no idea what we were stumbling upon."

Michael stood up, "Exactly. No idea. You shouldn't have gotten involved in any of this. You should've left well enough alone."

"ENOUGH," Max replied. He pushed Michael back into his seat and said, "It doesn't matter now. They're here and they're the only two that have any idea what we're looking for. If these two men are holding Isabel and Liz hostage, we need to locate them before it's too late."

None of us tried to think about the "too late" that was lingering in the air around us. It was too much to process. Max looked almost green saying it.

"You need to explain this key to us. How does it work?"

"It doesn't work," Michael replied.

"What?"

He shrugged, "Well, we haven't been able to figure out anything. Isabel got it to glow a fluorescent green for about five minutes, but that's about it."

"Did Lonnie say anything when she gave it to you? Any instructions?"

"Don't you think we would've used them if she had?" Michael responded.

"No instructions. She was a blubbering mess when she found us. She told us it was the only thing that was going to save us and that it unlocked a power that was going to end all our troubles."

"And these two guys want it," I said, trying to work it all out in my head.

"And they're holding my wife hostage," Jesse replied.

"Mine too," Max said.

"Where do we go from here?"

"Max, Kyle, and I will go back to our place and try to lure the two men out of hiding."

"Maria and I are involved in this now. Whether you like it or not," Jesse replied. I was impressed. Not many people talked to Michael like that. He had a knack for intimidation.

"I'm not-"

Max cut him off, "Fine. They saw Maria and we can use that to our advantage."

"We're not using her as bait," Michael stated.

Max nodded, "It might work, Michael. That's if Maria is okay with it?"

I noticed the fury etched on Michael's face and my old stubborn streak, the part of me that almost enjoyed irritating Michael, took over. I replied, "If it will help save Liz and Isabel."

"Then I'm going with her. She's not going anywhere near that key without protection," Michael said.

"I wasn't going to send her in there all alone, Michael. We would have the rest of us positioned all around," Max replied.

"That's fine and dandy, but she's still not going into that room without me."

"Fine. I'm guessing they will give the two of you time to get to the room before following you. Jesse, Kyle, and I will follow them when they make their move. The three of us should be able to hold them off, no matter what type of powers they have. We get them to give us information. Make them tell us where the others are."

"Why do all of our plans sound good in theory?" Kyle asked.

"This will work," I said, putting on my best optimistic voice.

"It better," Michael replied.

to be continued...