Part 39
Charles stood on his front porch long after they were gone, his expression speculative as he stared into the distance where the sun was setting. He had spent most of his adult life trying to deal with being abducted and experimented on against his will; no one had believed his claims, he had been labeled as insane, he had eventually lost everything that had ever mattered to him, and over time he had found it easier to just hide from the world and everyone in it.
It wasn't until the wind began to blow that he registered the fact that his skin was cold and he turned to make his way back into the house. He moved through the rooms as he made his way to the door off of the kitchen that led down into the basement. He pulled the door open and reached in to flip the light switch before slowly taking the steps one at a time, descending into the area of the house where he had literally spent most of his time up until a few years ago. The agonizing pain of arthritis had started to take its toll on him and as a result he rarely went down into the basement any longer. He snorted as he stepped down onto the floor, pausing to rest his legs for a few moments when the constant, nagging pain in his joints flared up from the trip down the stairs.
The drive to find the answers to his abduction had driven him to the edge of insanity so many times over the years and there were times when he had questioned whether or not he had slipped over that razor-thin edge. He took a deep breath and looked around, taking in the literally hundreds of sketches, photographs, and maps that papered the walls. Everything in the basement reflected his obsession with extraterrestrials and even after several decades of poring over every single clue, every piece of information, every shred of evidence he had been able to locate, he hadn't found a single answer.
He had gotten more information in a few hours that afternoon than he had gotten after a lifetime of searching. He eased down into the chair behind the desk piled high with books and notepads and he looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand. It seemed impossible that the stories he had heard that afternoon could possibly be valid; what were the chances that what she had told him was true? That Michael Guerin had been essentially cloned from his genetic material… that she had traveled here from some parallel universe after losing her own version of the young man. It couldn't be true, he decided. It was incomprehensible that out of the billions of people on the planet that he would've been chosen to contribute to some alien race's last-ditch effort to save their royals. Why him? Why would he have been chosen for such a project?
Maria hadn't known why he had been chosen specifically, only that it had something to do with some genetic flaw that he had, some flaw that was rare, but necessary for the hybridization process. She was also adamant that the reason he had been taken had been a matter of survival for the Antarians. Antar… the place where he had been taken, the planet, it had a name. Its people had been on the brink of extinction because of a war that had broken out and he had been chosen to help save the royal lineage, to preserve one of the most important beings within their ranks.
He had spent a lifetime hating the aliens that had taken him, performed excruciating and at times humiliating experiments on him, and now, after decades of hatred and bitterness, he was suddenly faced with an explanation that seemed implausible: the aliens had never meant to harm him. They had needed human DNA in order to recreate someone whose importance to their cause was imperative, whose survival was a determining factor in their fight against a tyrant, and they had needed him to make that happen.
He sighed as he looked around at the things that comprised his entire life. This room held everything that had been left after his obsession had completely taken over. Decades of fruitless searches, millions of dollars wasted, the few people who had meant anything to him tossed by the wayside, and this was his legacy… this was all he had to show for his life.
His hand swept across the surface of the desk, clearing it with a single swipe. Sixty years wasted and he had finally started to accept that it had all been for nothing. Sixty years of insane ramblings, sketches of the beings who had taken him and the faces of others who had been abducted and held in the same place with him, memories and nightmares of tests and procedures that were too horrible to think about but that his mind couldn't shake, the anger and bitterness that had slowly taken over until nothing else remained.
But, it hadn't all been for nothing, he thought. Michael Guerin existed because of all that he had gone through. Antar and an entire civilization might one day be saved because of what had happened to him. He looked around at the mess he had made and he sighed raggedly as his gaze landed on the scattered newspaper articles that had fluttered to the ground. Was it worth it? he wondered. He had thrown his entire life away to pursue the truth and now that he had the truth, he had nothing else.
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Maria followed Michael into the hotel and watched him carefully as they rode up in the elevator. He hadn't said a word since leaving Dupree's house, but it was easy to see that he was agitated. He had brushed off every attempt she had made to talk to him and she could practically feel the maelstrom of emotions warring within him.
"You wanna get something for dinner?" she asked as they stepped out on the second floor and turned to walk to their rooms.
"No." He pulled his key card out of his pocket and slid it into the lock on the door, turning the knob and shoving the door inward when he heard the quiet snick indicating that the lock had released. He slammed the door shut before she had a chance to say another word and she jumped back to avoid being hit in the face.
Great, now he was gonna be in a bad mood for God only knew how long! She went to her own room and decided to take a shower before thinking about what she wanted to do for dinner. She started the water, adjusting the temperature before stripping out of her shirt and looking down at the wire taped to her body.
She shivered as she remembered his hands brushing against her skin, recalling the mixed emotions raging inside of her as he had taken every opportunity to touch her or brush up against her. He wasn't subtle in the least, but she wouldn't expect anything different from him no matter what he was doing. He didn't respect the boundaries she had set, but he always backed off as soon as she told him no; he didn't like being told no but at least in that situation he did listen.
She shifted her thoughts away from Michael and his hands and turned her attention to getting ready for her shower.
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Michael alternated between lying in bed and stalking around the room, overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings that he didn't want to deal with. Why had he come here? Why had he insisted on taking this trip to meet an old man who might or might not be his… his what? Father? Grandfather? He had no way of knowing how exactly this man was related to him, but it was kind of hard to ignore the similarities between them. It wasn't like he could pretend that the man had no connection to him; the physical resemblance was there, but there was also some… link, some kind of indefinable feeling of being connected to the old man.
That wasn't what he had been looking for when he had decided to look for Charles Dupree; he had just wanted some answers, he wasn't interested in anything else. It was all Maria's fault. Her and her damn stories! If she hadn't come here and started telling him all this stuff he wouldn't be here now. He wouldn't be tracking down an old, crazy man who obviously didn't want anything to do with him. This was a complication he didn't need or want, he thought as he threw the television remote across the room in a fit of temper.
He ran his hands through his hair as he stood and started pacing again. He didn't want to think about it anymore. Maybe a shower would help. It couldn't hurt, he mused, rolling his stiff shoulders back.
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After a hot shower Maria dressed and settled down on the bed to look over the menu provided by the hotel. She flipped the page and scanned over the items listed before her gaze settled on the side that listed the selection of steaks the kitchen offered. She knew without even checking that Michael hadn't eaten yet; he was upset by what he had heard and she had a feeling that he was shaken up by coming face to face with his human donor.
But, was he going to admit it? No.
She finished browsing the menu and reached for the phone, placing an order and asking to have it delivered to Michael's room. As soon as she had replaced the receiver she put the menu away and reached up to scrub her hands over her face. He was going to be an ass, she already knew it, but she couldn't in good conscience just let him suffer through it alone.
She waited another twenty minutes before getting up and leaving her room to walk next door and knock on the door to Michael's room. She wasn't surprised when he jerked the door open and glared at her, his dark gaze demanding to know why she was bothering him.
"Put some pants on," she ordered, moving past him and entering his room.
Michael glanced down at the towel he had wrapped around his hips when she had knocked on the door; he had just gotten out of the shower and he was dripping all over the plush carpet. "Did I ask you to come in?" he snarled, slamming the door and turning to face her.
"Not in so many words, no," she answered, dropping down to sit on the couch. She had no doubts that he was going to go out of his way to be a jerk, it was to be expected.
"Not in any words." He jerked the towel off as he stalked back through the room to the dressing area, too irritable to even enjoy the shock value of that move. "I could be busy doin' any one of a million things and your bein' here is - "
"Michael, you're not doing anything but stomping all over the room because you're pissed off and upset about what happened this afternoon." Maria had to force her eyes to stay focused straight ahead, but she didn't bother trying to avoid following his tall, naked body as his reflection crossed the television screen.
"Why don't you go analyze someone else for a change? I'm not in the mood for another lecture about how your Michael would've handled this so much better."
"Y'know, you need to get off of that and just let it go! I'm not gonna keep going over that, especially not right now. Why don't you just talk to me about what's bothering you for once, instead of acting like a child."
"I don't need you to come in here an' tell me how to act," he snapped walking back out into the sitting area wearing a pair of his favored cargo pants and nothing else. "It was a stupid idea to come here and I should have my head examined for listenin' to you in the first place." He was seething inside as he stalked around the room, wishing that he had something to throw.
"Oh, so now this is my fault?" she asked, annoyed that he was turning it around so he didn't have to deal with it.
"Of course it's your fault! It's always your fuckin' fault!"
"No way, buddy." Maria stood and turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest as she watched him pace back and forth. "I'm not the one who decided to look for Charles, I'm not the one who decided to fly to Nowhere, Texas when you located him, and I'm not the one who drove all the way into L.A. to ask someone that - "
"I did not ask you to go," he denied heatedly. "You invited yourself along like you had any right - " He stopped talking when someone knocked on the door and he pulled it open, furiously glaring at the poor man standing on the other side. "What?!"
"Room service," the hotel employee squeaked out.
"I didn't order any fuckin' room - "
"Michael, back off," Maria said, insinuating herself between him and the open door. She placed her right hand against his bare chest, knowing it would provide a momentary distraction. "Please, come in; you can set up over there." She motioned at the table by the windows and the man scurried to finish his task while she kept the rooms' occupant busy.
"I'm not hungry!" Michael snarled.
"You're pissed off, upset, and confused by everything that happened today, and if you don't wanna talk about it, that's fine, but you're gonna sit down and eat." If nothing else, it would calm him down fractionally. Maria looked up when the hotel employee finished and rushed back to the door, pausing at the threshold to glance at them.
"I hope you don't think I'm givin' you a fuckin' tip," Michael growled, taking a step closer to the nervous man. He backed off when Maria's nails lightly scratched down the center of his chest, but his dark eyes remained locked on the other man.
"Do you have any idea how rude that was?" she chastised once the poor man had taken off and Michael shoved the door shut behind him.
"Do you have any idea how much I don't fuckin' care?" He crossed the room and looked over the plates that had been set on the table before reaching for the bottle of imported non-alcoholic beer that had been placed next to what was obviously his plate. He twisted the cap off and threw it on the table before taking a long drink from the cold bottle. His gaze wandered over the food that Maria had ordered, taking in the prime rib steak, loaded baked potato, broccoli, dinner rolls, and salad.
"Sit down and eat." Maria took the chair on the opposite side of the table, glancing over the lasagna, garlic rolls, and salad. She reached for the glass of wine, taking a sip before setting it back on the table and picking up the cloth napkin and shaking it out.
As she had known he would, Michael slowly started to mellow out as he ate his meal. He was still avoiding every attempt she had made to shift the conversation back to Charles Dupree though. She frowned at him when he leaned over and cut off a sizable chunk of her lasagna before scooping it up. He shoveled the forkful of pasta into his mouth and chewed it slowly before washing it down with a swallow of beer.
"Not as good as yours," he muttered as he cut the last piece of his steak in half. "Look, I know you wanna talk about today, but I'm not interested; he's not gonna call so there's no reason to talk about it."
"Michael - "
"It's been several hours and if he was gonna call he would've already done it."
Hmmm, interesting, Michael seemed to be incredibly touchy about Charles Dupree; it was as if he were trying to avoid the disappointment of being rejected by his human donor by turning the tables and rejecting Charles first. Was is possible that he did, in fact, want Dupree to call? "It was a lot of information for him to take in, Michael. You've gotta give him some time to adjust and to process it all."
"I don't have to give him anything and I have no intention of waitin' around. We're leavin' first thing in the mornin'." Michael's mind was already set on his decision. The old guy didn't wanna deal with him? Fine, he'd just go; he'd take Maria with him and he'd never look back. Good riddance!
Maria rolled her eyes at his declaration as she finished her glass of wine. "You didn't exactly process this information on the spot either, y'know."
"I think sixty years should be plenty of time since he's believed in aliens and abductions his whole life." He was pacing again, his right hand dragging the identification tags he wore back and forth on their chain.
"Believing it and coming face to face with an alien-human hybrid carrying your DNA is two different things. Your existence is validation that he was right all along and that he's not insane regardless of what society thinks."
"He's not gonna call, and even if he does I don't have anything to say to him."
"Fine, Michael, continue living in your little fantasy world where you're unaffected by everything that goes on around you." She sat at the table, shredding her dinner roll into a pile of crumbs as she thought about the situation.
Across the room Michael watched her, sensing that she wasn't finished saying what she had to say. He didn't have to wait long to be proven right.
"No, you know what? You chose to come here and you're gonna take responsibility for that choice. That old man's gonna want to talk to you." She shook her head as she wiped her hands on a napkin and stood up. "He's lost everything in his pursuit of the truth, so you're not gonna just - "
What, and he was to blame for that? "That ain't got nothin' to do with me! He wasn't lookin' for me; he just wanted people to know that he wasn't insane! I'm not responsible for his delusions!"
"It wasn't a delusion though, was it? You're living proof that everything he's believed for the past sixty years is true. You can't just come here, tell him about it, and then just leave without giving him a chance to talk to you."
"He had his chance to talk to me!" he exploded, pissed that she kept pushing him when he had already made his position clear. "What the fuck was I thinkin' when I agreed to let you come with me?"
"Good question," she snapped, throwing the napkin on the table and crossing the room. "Why don't you think about it for a while?"
"Where're you goin'?"
"It was a long day for me too, Michael, and you don't wanna talk about this anyway." She pulled the door open and scowled when he shoved it shut again.
Michael met her irritated gaze when her head snapped up and she glared at him. She was exhausted, he realized as he noticed the tired slump to her shoulders and the shadows under her eyes.
"Let's watch a movie," he blurted out, not wanting her to leave but unwilling to ask her to stay.
"No, thanks." She rubbed her eyes and reached for the door again. "I'm tired; I think I'm just gonna go to bed early." She turned back to look at him from the hallway. "Don't be such a jerk when that guy comes back to clean up from dinner. And, Michael," she yawned, "give him a tip this time."
Michael threw himself down on the couch and stared at the dark television screen. At least watchin' a movie with her would've provided a distraction, he thought, annoyed that she was being so selfish. The least she could've done was keep him company and help him keep his mind off of the days events since it was all her fault anyway. What was the big deal? So, he didn't wanna wait around for a call that wasn't comin' anyway… why did it matter?
"Fuck it," he muttered, lifting his legs and propping his feet up on the coffee table.