Ending Two, Part 13 (or Part 89)
Michael followed the path that had been worn down by repeated treks through the wooded area behind the high school. The full moon overhead cast enough light to allow him to move freely without risking detection by using a flashlight. He brushed a low-hanging branch aside and his ears easily picked up the sounds made by nocturnal creatures as they moved through the woods under cover of darkness.
A decent night of sleep had eluded him after the dream with the kids and he had finally decided to scout the area where the meeting might take place. He was aggravated that what little time he might be able to steal with Maria in the realm of dreams wasn't forthcoming. Once he spoke with the kids and they had been turned to the right path his mission would be over, he would cease to exist in his current form. He dreaded that moment as much as he anticipated it. As soon as his mission was complete he would have no place to call home.
Choices would be made, paths taken, and with that first alteration of the timeline he would simply fade from existence. He didn't understand it. On the one hand it made sense but on the other hand it was confusing as hell. He broke through the tree line and stood at the edge of a clearing that revealed railroad tracks and a few small outbuildings in the distance. He set off towards them, checking them over and quickly determining that they wouldn't pose a threat. They were abandoned and hadn't been in use for years.
He climbed up the rickety ladder attached to the side of one of the buildings and sat on the platform. He shrugged the shoulder strap off and placed the bag with his few belongings next to him. He wondered if the kids would sneak out here to play in the woods and around the old buildings. Max maybe, he decided. Isabel, unlikely. She probably tagged along with her brother to watch over him. Even as a child she struck him as protective. They both were really. He leaned back against the warped boards, washed gray from years in the elements, and let his head rest against the wall as he stared into the dark woods.
He had spent years working as a sniper. He had learned the art of silence, of stillness. He had used both to his advantage, professionally and personally, when it suited him. For the first time that he could remember he was unable to find solace in the silence. Now it was nothing more than a reminder of how empty his life was without Maria in it. He had grown accustomed to a different kind of silence with her. There had been plenty of times they had spent hours without talking, just being together, and he missed that.
His mind moved over everything that still had to happen for his mission to be complete. The most important thing at this point was to meet with the kids, make them understand what was needed of them. He sighed in frustration and rubbed a hand over his face. How was he going to explain their importance to the future to a couple of nine-year-olds? Yeah, they were hybrids, they had been engineered to one day lead the fight against Khivar, but when it all came down to it, at the present time they were still nine-year-olds.
They were advanced, but they had been raised as humans and combined with their current age, he believed their alien senses would be dulled. They had been adopted by Philip and Diane Evans and the couple cared for them, sheltered them, and protected them, possibly too much at times. For three years they had been part of a human family. He sat up straighter as a thought suddenly occurred to him. He had grown up in the orphanage and only had one person who had ever cared one way or the other about him. But Tom Gifford had come into his life when he was a teenager and by that time he had learned to control his alien behaviors around people.
For the past three years or so Max and Isabel had been close to their adoptive parents, they were thriving in their environment, and from everything he had learned from Maria and his own research, the two of them were very close to the couple. They had to have slipped up without even knowing or understanding what they were revealing. Philip and Diane had to know that their children were different. They couldn't not know. he realized.
The parents were the key.
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Philip Evans leaned back in his leather chair and stretched his arms high overhead. He had been reading case law and putting a brief together for most of the day. He rolled his shoulders and turned his head from one side to the other in an effort to loosen his muscles. He checked the time before getting to his feet and closing several of the thick hardbound books strewn across his desk. He cocked his head to one side when he heard something but after a moment he shrugged it off and went back to work.
The office had been closed for nearly an hour and he was taking advantage of the peace and quiet to get some work done. An extra hour or two at work meant he could focus on his family when he got home and whenever the opportunity presented itself he jumped on it. He pulled a reference book down and flipped through the pages until he found the section he was looking for.
His pen paused over the legal pad that was always at his fingertips and he glanced at the closed door to his office when something caught his attention. He couldn't say what it was exactly but he suddenly had the feeling that he wasn't alone.
He pushed himself to his feet and glanced across the room to the door that stood open. As quietly as possible he opened the top drawer of his desk and reached inside for the small handgun that he kept for emergency situations. Diane had never cared for having it around but once they had brought the children home she had insisted he keep it at the office if he just had to have it.
He glanced down the short hallway, advancing to the open reception area once he decided he was alone. He heard a small shuffling sound behind him and he swallowed hard before retracing his steps to peer into one of his colleague's offices. He lowered the gun and chuckled to himself, shaking his head at the nervous sound before turning and walking back down the hall.
Philip stepped into his office and his heart nearly stopped when he saw the dangerous looking man sitting behind his desk. He frowned when his gaze dropped to the man's hand and he saw the picture frame he held. A photograph of his wife and kids that normally sat on the credenza behind his desk. "How did you get in here?" he demanded, grateful when his voice didn't crack and reveal his nervousness. His right hand came up when he suddenly remembered the gun he held.
"Not the most pertinent question you could be asking at the moment." Michael shrugged and leaned forward to prop the frame up beside the keyboard. He moved his right hand, resting it close to the frame.
Philip's eyes flicked to the gun the stranger held, noting that he appeared completely comfortable with it in his grasp, as if it was an extension of his body. "What do you want?"
"That's more like it." His thumb stroked the weapon unconsciously. "We need to discuss Max and Isabel."
The lawyer tensed at the man's familiarity with his children and his eyes automatically flicked to the photograph. What could he want with them? "No."
"Contrary to what you see, to what you're thinkin' at this minute, I'm not a threat to your family." Michael shifted to lean forward, smirking inwardly when the man took a step back before he could stop himself. He may have a gun in his hand but he had never been put in a position where he had to actually use it. "Max and Isabel should've died after you fueled up and left the station where your tires were sabotaged."
Philip's eyes narrowed. How could he know about that? Unless he was the one who had done the damage. "What're you talking about?"
"You know they're not normal by Earth standards," Michael said as he met the man's gaze head-on. "You found them wandering in the desert and you could've turned them over to social services, let someone else deal with them, but you didn't. Even then you knew they were different. You didn't know how exactly, but you knew, and rather than pawn them off on others you took them into your own home to raise them. It was a commitment to keep them safe and not one you've taken lightly."
He shifted from one foot to the other as he tried to process what was happening. Sure, he knew they were somehow different; they hadn't been sick a day in their young lives, he had seen things that he had brushed off and attributed to fatigue rather than things actually moving without anyone touching them, and sometimes he thought just for a moment that he had caught sight of something flying around the room but put it down to his exhausted mind playing tricks on him when he later found the object on the floor. "Who are you?"
"What brought me here is irrelevant because we don't have time for me to explain it in a way you'd understand. I'm here because Max and Isabel are vitally important to the survival of this planet and to that end I prevented you from leaving from your fuel stop in order to ensure they didn't die in a car accident."
"You're implying you're from the future," Philip said slowly. He should be more shocked, he thought absently. He should be freaking out. He was being faced down by an armed man who was calmly talking about his children's narrow escape from a fatal car crash and he couldn't seem to react in a way that made sense. He was too calm.
"I'm not implying."
"And you're saying my children are in danger?"
"Your children will always be in danger because of who they are."
"They're just children," he insisted.
"Don't waste my time. You know they're different and you've protected them accordingly but at some point that won't be enough. They have to know how to protect themselves and others. It's important that they learn how to utilize their abilities and while you've done well so far, there will come a time when it won't be enough. You can't teach them what you don't know."
Philip studied the man, easily seeing the leashed strength, the controlled violence he was capable of, and the thought of this man handling his children was not something he was comfortable with. "But you can?"
"Yes and no." He launched into his explanation, revealing only what he felt was pertinent to the situation. As he introduced the plan to bring his younger self into contact with Max and Isabel he could see the wheels turning in the lawyer's head. He explained the necessity of them working together and the importance of the human contingent and he hid his surprise at the man's ability to stay focused on the problem at hand.
"So you're… he's 15 years old and he lives here, in Roswell?"
"Just outside of town in that piece of shit orphanage."
He nodded, easily understanding the hostility underlying the man's words. He was of the opinion that the orphanage should've been under better management for quite a few years now. "The man who took over a while back has been trying to restructure operations out there. He's making an effort to turn things around."
"He's the first to give a fuck about what happens out there."
Philip's expression turned speculative. "You said your name's Michael… last name Guerin?"
Michael crossed his arms over his chest and he stared at the other man. "Why?"
"Where you came from, or rather when, was he still alive?"
"No, he wasn't." He shifted slightly and stretched his right leg out. "Why?" he repeated.
"He left you something."
"What's your point?" He wasn't here to talk about things that no longer mattered.
"The point is I'm the one who drew up his will. You want me to believe you're who you say you are. What'd he leave you?"
Michael straightened up. He had never bothered to ask who Tom's lawyer was. He had refused to attend the reading of the will and had later received a box with a letter addressed to him from the director of the orphanage. "Books," he said slowly. "He left me the first five hard cover books in the Countdown to Extinction series. The set was incomplete at the time because the author was still working on it."
Philip moved carefully, certain any sudden movement would have him facing the business end of his uninvited guest's gun. He sat down in one of the chairs situated in front of his desk and propped his elbows on the arms, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "You've obviously done your homework so you know my children are only nine years old."
"Yes."
"While I believe that Max and Isabel are well ahead of their peers intellectually, I think it's important to remember that emotionally they are young children."
"This can't wait," he said, stressing every word. He went over what Maria had told him about Max and Isabel; their relationship to their parents, each other, as well as their strengths and weaknesses. "It has to be explained in a way they can understand, I get that, but there's less than two years for them to form a bond with my younger self."
"That's a lot to ask for such a short timeframe, especially when you're… he's six years older than they are." He rubbed his forehead. "To make this just a bit less strange can we just refer to your younger self as Michael?"
He rolled his right hand impatiently. "Whatever. I know what I'm asking. Michael has a history that isn't gonna allow him to be simply integrated into the all-American family with barbecues on the weekend and vacations with annoying relatives for the holidays. Matter of fact, it'll be your responsibility to find a balance because you immerse him in that environment and you'll cripple him. He has to maintain his edge while forming a connection to the people I've told you about. That edge is an essential component to making him successful in the field; it'll assure he earns his place in his future employment and receives the training necessary to hone his natural abilities."
Philip's gaze moved over the man before him. "I can only assume what you do is dangerous; an undercover agent, a soldier, maybe a mercenary. Whatever it is, it has the potential of tainting them through you."
Michael's jaw locked and his eyes hardened. "What it will do is ensure their survival and guarantee Michael's ability to provide them with the training they'll need for the coming war. I won't sit here and tell you what I've seen and done because it's none of your business and it doesn't matter anyway. It doesn't fall to you to approve or disapprove of his career path. I won't say choice because in many ways it isn't much of a choice; it's simply the lesser of two evils. What changes is his ability to connect with a select group of people, to have a reason to give a damn about what happens to anyone beyond himself, and his willingness to lead a fight that will hopefully be strong enough to save this planet."
"I can't just bring you home to my family. My children would be terrified of you."
He smirked and shook his head. "They already know who I am. They don't know the specifics, they don't know me, but they know bits and pieces about why I'm here, and they'll recognize me."
"I don't see how that's possible." Philip could only imagine his children's reaction to coming face-to-face with this man. "I'm sure you're aware that you have a rather threatening persona, and as I stated earlier, my children are nine years old."
"And as I stated earlier, they're not completely human. Max and Isabel are hybrids, they're half-alien, and they have abilities that right now you don't understand. You've accepted that they're different but you have no way of knowing what it is that separates them from everyone else. Your son has the ability to heal, did you know that? You've seen the video of him with the bird. Hell, you were there when it happened. It's hard to mistake a broken wing." He narrowed his eyes and scowled. "And it's impossible to fly with one."
Further proof that this man was who he said he was, Philip thought. How else could he know about the recording? He and Diane had destroyed it when they had gotten it home, afraid of what could happen if anyone ever found out about it. They had destroyed it. "How could you know about that?"
"Long story," he muttered. He had taken a gamble with that one, remembering one of the stories Maria had told him about Max healing a bird and his parents keeping the video. Stupid mistake. "What matters is that it's further evidence that they're different. Your daughter can get into people's dreams." He motioned to his head. "It's a mental ability but even as her age she's adept at connecting and getting into people's subconscious."
"And she's… made that connection with you?" he asked, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with that thought. While he didn't like the thought of his little girl seeing the things that he was certain were rolling around in this man's head at any given time, it was the thought of his nine-year-old daughter connecting with a man almost three times her age. It made him feel nauseous.
Michael shook his head. "She saw nothing disturbing and there was nothing perverse about her… visit."
"Talk to me when you have a nine-year-old daughter traipsing around in the head of a man such as yourself." He held his hands up. "It's not just that it's you," he clarified. "It's a matter of her being nine years old and you being a 25- or 26-year-old man."
"Let's table that thought," he snapped. "My time here is limited and they have to know what's expected of them. You have to find a way to introduce Michael into their lives and make sure they're encouraged to connect. All of this has to happen and you have to make sure they're there to save Maria Deluca and Liz Parker. It's imperative that they survive; they're necessary to the success of the coming war." And Maria was necessary to his younger self's personal survival. The thought of her dying was more than he could stomach. Oh, he would fight it tooth and nail, but one day he was going to realize just how necessary she was to his existence.
"I need time to talk to my wife so we can determine the best course of action for explaining the situation to our children."
Michael sighed impatiently. "We don't have much time!"
"And the longer it takes for me to explain this to my wife the longer it'll take for us to reach the point where we can actually introduce you and allow you to speak to them." He cleared his throat. "Now, how can I reach you?" He shook his head when the man's features expressed hesitation. "We both know I can't stop you from suddenly showing up and speaking to my children without my permission, but you've stressed that your time here is limited and there are quite a few pieces that have to fall into place otherwise this will have been for nothing. I know my family a lot better than you do, so if you want this to work, you're gonna have to give me the time to properly prepare them for this meeting." He pulled in a deep breath before speaking, certain he was taking his life in his own hands with his next words. "Do we understand each other?"
He leaned forward slowly and his hand rested over the gun that had been lying on the desk between them for some time. His fingertips caressed the cold steel, his eyes never leaving Philip's as he picked it up and stood. "Roswell Traveler's Inn, room 211." He stepped out from behind the desk and pocketed the gun as he crossed the room. "I'll expect to hear from you soon."