Chapter Four
By June Goddess
Images rushed past. So many images. They alternated between a happy, loving couple together, to a dark, depressed couple fighting. Some of the images were familiar to Isabel. Some were surprisingly new.
She saw Liz shot in the Crashdown. Max healed her. The unblinking eyes of Liz Parker watched as Max Evans ran out of the restaurant.
She saw Liz walk out on Max after he begged her not to tell anyone about his secret.
She saw the night after when Max forged a connection with Liz. She saw the wonder in Liz's eyes as she looked, and really saw, the boy before her.
She watched as Max walked away from Liz, leaving her alone at the Crash Festival.
She saw the kiss on the rooftop after the heat wave.
She saw the argument they had about Michael.
She saw the countless kisses from when they were searching for the orbs. She felt the helpless, desperate need Liz felt when she kissed Max.
She saw the kissing scene between Max and Tess in the rain outside the Crashdown.
She saw the two confess their love after saving Max from the White Room.
She saw Liz walk away from the pod chamber and Max after realizing his destiny.
She saw the fortune teller. She heard the strange woman say Max would marry her. He would choose love.
She saw the Max look-alike appear on Liz's balcony.
She saw Max serenade Liz and throw a bouquet of roses to her, changing the roses from red to white.
She saw Max's disbelief at seeing Liz and Kyle in bed together.
She saw Liz dancing with the Max look-alike.
She saw Max and Liz fighting.
She saw Max. She was stuck in Liz Parker's head and could do nothing but watch Max. She felt more and more the connection between the two. She felt the way they drew each other. She felt the obsession that had been there from the beginning. She felt the mindless need Liz felt for the alien hybrid. She felt the darkness swelling in her mind at every glare Max directed towards her.
Isabel's eyes snapped open. She could not breathe. She gasped for air. Being in Liz's mind this time had been like drowning. Awareness returned to her gradually, and she became aware that she was not alone in her room. The lights were on as well. Dimly, she heard her mother calling her name. Feeling like she was wrapped in cotton, she slowly focused on the worried figures of her parents. Max, dark and unblinking, watched from the doorway. She shuddered as she wrenched her eyes away from her brother's.
"I'm fine," she rasped. Her throat felt as though it had been turned into sandpaper.
"Izzy, honey," Diane tearfully began, "you gave us quite a scare. All that screaming and thrashing. Then, when you wouldn't breathe… Are you sure you're all right? Would you like to talk to a doctor?" Diane's hands restlessly smoothed her daughter's hair and clasped her cold, clammy hands.
"I'm sure a doctor won't be necessary, Mom." Max's words had a finality to them that brought Isabel around. Their dad was looking at Max. Max was looking at Isabel.
"Max, you should let your sister answer for herself," Philip admonished with a concerned frown.
"He's right, Dad. I don't want a doctor." Isabel forced a smile. "It was just a nightmare. I don't even remember it." She laughed slightly. It hurt to use her throat. She smiled wider to cover the wince of pain. "I'll just get a glass of milk, or something, and try to get some more sleep."
Diane pulled the covers up and pressed a hand firmly to Isabel's shoulder. "Don't you get up, sweetie. I'll get your milk for you. I'll heat it up and add a little sugar." The motherly smile twinkled from her face, and she bustled out the room. Philip followed. Max stayed.
He was still staring at her. His gaze was intense. She did not know how Liz could take such a gaze. She was suffocating again, just from him looking at her.
"What do you want, Max?" Her voice, no longer forced for her parents' sake, was harsh and grating. She waited for a response. When one was not forthcoming, she braved looking at him… and wished she had suppressed the urge.
His eyes were dark and cold. They swirled like deep ocean currents. "What were you doing?" His voice matched his eyes.
"What do you mean?" she asked lightly, masking the unease she felt.
"You were dreamwalking again, weren't you?" he demanded.
She laughed softly. "Of course not. It was just a nightmare. Some dark, twisted nightmare." She shivered for effect, resentful that the shiver was very real.
Max continued looking at her for long moments. She refused to meet his gaze again. It was too soon after the strange visit to Liz's head. Too soon after the piercing eyes had pinned her mind.
Diane came into the room again. "Here you are, honey. Drink up, and try to get some rest." She smiled tiredly. Turning, she saw Max. "Max? You should be in bed. I know you're worried about your sister, but the best thing for her now is rest." She took her son by the arm and led him from the room. Her voice drifted into the room. "You have a test tomorrow, don't you? Did you study for it? I'm sure you'll do great. Just don't let tonight worry you too much."
Isabel crawled from the bed and closed the door, cutting off the endless prattle. She loved her mother dearly, but sometimes… the woman was a complete chatterbox. Worse than Maria, even. She smiled at the thought before turning to her vanity. In the drawer, she had hidden her "Liz Journal" as a sheaf of stationary. She opened the journal and wrote.
After writing down the stream she had gotten from Liz's mind, she looked at the pages. She drew a quick slash across the page. Below it, she jotted her impressions, as well as some questions.
Why had Max tried to probe her mind? Why had he tried to force a connection with her? Why was Liz suffering from the connection she and Max had? Was Max able to hurt someone with a connection? And why were the intense looks she had seen for the past year between the two just a mask for a deep obsession? Why had it never been noticed before?
Tossing and turning in her sleep, Liz had no relief from the onslaught in her mind. She was helpless to turn off the barrage of images, helpless and frightened at the power of those images. Some part of herself that remained only hers was fighting. That part fought against the waves of despair resulting from those images, fought to free her mind from the strange painful connection deep in her mind.
Her window opened and a figure climbed down from her balcony. The man watched intently, moonlight silhouetting his tall form, as the girl continued to toss and turn, sweat beading down her face.
His silent footsteps closed the distance between them. He eased himself onto the edge of the girl's bed and reached out a hand to touch her face. As he let his hand rest against her cheek, his own face changed to become identical to Max Evans' face. The hand touching Liz began to glow.
The crease between her brows smoothed itself out, the tense lines of her body sank into the bed bonelessly, and her dark brown eyes languorously blinked open to look at the man next to her. She regarded him without speaking. He smiled down at her and she smiled tiredly back.
"Sleep, Liz," he whispered. His voice was kind and soft.
"Max?" Her hopeful tone was pleading.
"It's okay, Liz," he assured her. "I'll never leave you." He let his hand stroke her long, dark hair.
The girl yawned in response. She smiled sleepily and her eyes drifted shut. The man continued his quiet ministrations until dawn touched the sky. He blinked grainy eyes at the morning sky and turned back to Liz. He pressed a slight kiss to her forehead and noiselessly left the same way he had come.
Her alarm went off a bare thirty minutes after the young man had left. For the first time in ages, Liz awoke with a feeling of peace. She hummed as she showered and got ready to face a new school day. She did not remember her dreams, but she had a feeling she had had a good one.