Shades

by Mel Odom

  Understanding his concern, River Dog shook his head. "She's alive. She just passed out."

  Drawn to the woman, Max leaned down. He studied the long tear on her face. Even with a good plastic surgeon, he knew the wound would leave a terrible scar, and she would be in horrible pain. He didn't want that for her. Mastering his energy, he placed his hand on her face.

  "What are you doing?" Grayhawk challenged behind him.

  "Silence," River Dog ordered.

  Max healed the woman, watching how the flesh knitted back together. In seconds, her breathing deepened and evened out, then there was not even a scratch to mark where the wound had been.

  Feeling drained, Max took his hand away. He glanced up at River Dog. "In a few days," he said, "she'll have a mark on her face. A silver imprint of my hand." He remembered the imprint Liz had shown him on her stomach. "It'll fade. It's nothing to worry about."

  "I understand," River Dog replied.

  Max nodded. "You'll probably have one on your chest from this morning."

  "Thank you," River Dog said.

  Slowly, afraid to make any sudden moves with Gray-hawk and his men standing so close behind him, Max stood. His knees trembled. He looked at River Dog. "I don't understand any of this."

  The shaman nodded. "We will. In time, we will. Help me with her."

  Before Max could step forward and help with the unconscious woman, Grayhawk shoved him aside and gathered Cathy Callingcrow into his arms. "I've got her," Grayhawk said to River Dog. "Get the Visitor out of our town. His presence here is making things worse."

  Stung, Max felt his face burn. All he wanted was to be out of the village and back in Roswell.

  "What happened here?"

  Michael looked up from the broom and dustpan he was using to sweep broken glass from the floor of the Crash-down Cafe. After the incident with Leroy Wilkins, Liz's parents had closed the cafe and assigned the crew to clean up. Michael wasn't particularly happy with the continued work, because he'd been looking forward to getting home and taking a nap. He still hadn't gotten quite caught up on sleep after working in the desert last week.

  Isabel stood only a few feet away looking around. She looked freshly dressed and smelled like soap and shampoo, like she'd just stepped out of a shower.

  "I thought you were working today," Michael said.

  "I was. I am." Isabel fixed him with one of those imperious looks he knew so well. "I'm kind of in a hurry here."

  "Me too," Michael said. "I was hoping to get off some time today." He waved the dustpan at the windows where shards of glass still clung to the frames. "The cafe's closed, but I'm going to be working harder than ever cleaning the place up."

  Isabel crossed her arms. "I heard some kind of freak dust devil trashed the cafe. I also heard that a poltergeist destroyed everything. I wanted to know which it was."

  "And if I told you it was a ghost?" Michael asked.

  "What kind of ghost?" Isabel asked.

  Looking over the destruction of the cafe, Michael said, "Well, it definitely wasn't the Casper the Friendly Ghost type. He was more like the Ghostly Trio, by way of Steven Spielberg."

  "I need more than that."

  Shrugging, Michael said, "It was the ghost of some old prospector named Swanson. Kind of a goofy-looking guy."

  "The ghost wasn't a little kid?"

  Michael stared at her, seeing that the veneer of calm and control was wearing thin. "You've seen a ghost."

  "I've seen something," Isabel agreed. "Although what we need to call it remains to be seen."

  "Where did you see your ghost?" Michael wasn't terribly interested, but at least now Maria would have to listen to Isabel talk about ghosts too.

  "Later," Isabel replied. "Look, we need to get together and talk. Do you know where Max is?"

  "No," Michael replied. "He hasn't been around."

  "Maybe we haven't been around for him." Isabel frowned and gave Michael a reproachful look.

  Michael didn't say anything. He didn't feel guilty. Max was a big boy. Max didn't have trouble seeking Michael out when he wanted something, and Max had developed a habit of doing his own thing whether Isabel or Michael approved. That tendency was one of the things Michael respected about Max.

  Isabel looked around. "Where's Liz?"

  "Hospital."

  Concern lit Isabel's features. "Was she hurt?"

  "No. Liz's dad had her go to the hospital and make sure everything is taken care of. She's a witness for the police reports on behalf of the cafe. Insurance and stuff like that in case the guy sues."

  "Good," Isabel said. "I want to go there myself. If you need me, that's where I'll be."

  Irritated, knowing Isabel had seen a ghost and hating the way she left him hanging even though she'd demanded answers to all her questions, Michael watched her go. If Isabel was interested in the ghosts, if she'd seen one as well, things were about to take another turn into the strange and unpredictable in Roswell.

  Across the street, a number of teenagers and townsfolk had gathered to gawk at the damage. Dozens of rumors were already making the rounds about the damage. There was even a suggestion that the Crashdown Cafe had been built over an old Indian burial ground.

  "Does that broom still fit your hands?"

  Turning at the sound of Maria's voice, Michael found her standing a few feet behind him. "I was talking to Isabel."

  Maria made a point of looking around. "She's gone now, so unless you're using telepathy, you're done."

  Recognizing the tone of disapproval in Maria's voice, Michael asked, "Are you mad about something?"

  "No," Maria answered flatly. "Should I be?"

  "No," Michael said. He gestured at the ruined state of the cafe. "I didn't do this."

  "There are a lot of things you don't do, Michael. There are a lot of thing you evidently don't even think about doing." Without another word, Maria turned and walked back into the kitchen area.

  Michael tried to get back to work, but he knew he couldn't. When he totally had no clue about what was upsetting Maria, Michael knew there was only one course of action. Sighing, he put his broom and dustpan down, then unknotted the strings of his apron and left it on a table.

  He walked through the door into the kitchen and found Maria scrubbing pots and pans in a sink full of soapy water. Soap and water splattered the floor around her work area, mute testimony to the fact that she'd gotten herself worked up before she'd come looking for him.

  Michael leaned a hip against the grill, crossed his arms over his chest, and prepared for the worst. Anytime Maria got this way, he knew she blamed him for something. The ghost wreaking havoc in the Crashdown Cafe was the biggest thing he could think of. And he wasn't responsible for that. "I didn't bring the ghost here," he said.

  Maria kept washing dishes.

  Michael prepared a mental list of things that had gone badly. "I didn't volunteer us for the cleanup detail."

  "No," Maria said in a cold, distant voice. "I did that. I knew we could both use the money, and Liz's parents could use the help."

  "You didn't ask me," Michael pointed out. "I could be mad about that."

  Maria looked at him. She'd been washing dishes with enough effort that small puffs of soap had splashed up into her hair. "Are you mad about that?"

  Wisely, based on considerable experience with that tone of voice and that look, Michael chose discretion as the better part of valor. "No. Extra money is good. Even though I've still got quite a bit put back from the work out in the desert."

  "So you didn't need this?"

  Michael sighed. This is going to be bad. As much as he racked his brain, though, he couldn't think of one thing he'd done wrong. There hadn't even been time, really.

  "Um, about not telling you about the ghost," Michael tried. "I was wrong about that. I should have told you."

  "I wouldn't have believed you," Maria said.

  Michael blinked in confusion. Had he missed something? "I don't understand why you're mad, then," he
admitted.

  Maria blew out her breath in obvious frustration.

  Michael cringed and took a step back. He hadn't backed away from the ghost of the old prospector even when lightning started striking inside the Crashdown Cafe, but he backed away from the wrath Maria exhibited.

  "Did you even think about what you did?" Maria asked.

  "I didn't do anything," Michael protested.

  "Yes, you did."

  "What?"

  "You saved Liz from the ghost," Maria said, "and I was standing right thereYou didn't think about saving me!"

  9

  Liz sat in the waiting area outside the hospital emergency room wing. She wanted out of the hospital, or at least to get out of the waiting room and outside for a couple minutes. But she had the feeling that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

  The waiting room was bright with early afternoon sunlight that poured in through the slatted blinds. People sat and talked, some of them acting like they'd had quite a bit of experience sitting in the hard, uncomfortable chairs. Others fidgeted or flipped through magazines without any real comprehension. A handful looked sick and nauseated, only inches away from being truly desperate.

  All things considered, Liz thought the hospital waiting room wasn't an ideal place to spend time worrying about someone. Even though she didn't know Wilkins, she thought enough of him that she felt guilty. Mostly, her thoughts were on Max, wondering where he was and why he hadn't come when he'd found out what had happened at the Crashdown.

  Unless he doesn't know, she told herself. Quickly she tried to cut down on that line of thinking because those thoughts got intense with a scary suddenness.

  Liz glanced at her father at the other end of the room. Jeff Parker was trim and driven. He cradled his cell phone to his ear, listening for a while, then talking rapidly, working out details with the insurance people. He often referred to the yellow legal pad and file he carried, making notes as he went along.

  Unable to sit any longer, Liz got up and walked over to her dad. When he looked up, she said, "I'll be right back. I'm going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?"

  "Coffee," her dad said. "Thanks." Then he turned his attention back to the phone conversation.

  Liz left the waiting room and walked to the small alcove filled with vending machines. She pushed a dollar in, then made her selection.

  A shadow slid across the vending machine's surface as Liz straightened with the soda can in hand. Startled, remembering how she hadn't seen the ghost back in the cafe and suddenly wondering if they left shadows or reflections, Liz spun around.

  "Are you all right?" Isabel asked.

  "I'm fine," Liz responded. "You startled me."

  "Sorry," Isabel apologized.

  "No harm done. What brings you here?"

  "I talked to Michael," Isabel explained. "I heard what happened at the Crashdown." She paused, looking around. "Isn't Max here?"

  Liz folded her arms self-consciously. "No."

  "Do you know where he is?" Isabel asked.

  "No," Liz answered.

  Irritation showed in Isabel’s eyes and face. "If you see him, tell him I need to talk to him."

  "Sure," Liz agreed, refraining from telling Isabel the same thing. She didn't want Max to think she was looking for him. If he came to her, she wanted him to come on his own, not because he thought she needed him. Then she realized that was exactly why she was faulting him for not being there at the hospital, for not coming when he knew she might need him. "Is something wrong?"

  Isabel hesitated, then said, "The ghost at the Crash-down Cafe hasn't been the only ghost sighting lately."

  "I know," Liz replied. "Michael said he saw one a few days ago when he was working in the desert." Understanding dawned in her as she watched Isabel. "You've seen a ghost too?"

  "I saw something," Isabel agreed. "That's why I need to talk to Max." She paused. "I need you to do another favor for me."

  Liz was instantly attentive. Isabel never asked for favors. "Sure," Liz said.

  "I don't think it will ever come up, but if it does, would you tell my dad that I came over to see how you were as soon as I heard about what happened at the Crashdown?"

  Liz blinked, waiting for an explanation. It didn't come. "Okay," she said, but she wondered what Isabel was hiding. Liz felt paranoid all of a sudden that all of them were keeping secrets from her.

  Isabel checked her watch. "When did you get here?"

  "I don't know. Maybe forty-five minutes ago."

  Isabel gave a short nod. "If my dad happens to ask you when I got here, can you tell him that I got here five minutes after you did?"

  "Sure," Liz replied. Straight-arrow Isabel? Wanting to lie to her parents? The world might be ending after all.

  "Thanks," Isabel said. "I've got to check on something. I'll be back in just a few minutes."

  "Okay." Liz stood there dumbfounded, feeling the cold soda can turning her hand numb. Isabel turned and walked down one of the hospital corridors like she knew where she was going.

  Terrific, Liz thought with a scowl. Now I'm Messenger Girl. She located the coffee machine and pushed in another dollar. She slipped the coffee cup from behind the protective plastic door and turned around to find Jim Valenti standing behind her. She was so startled, she almost dropped the coffee.

  "Something the matter?" Valenti asked. He was raw-boned and rangy, a product of the rawhide cowboy influence that lingered in New Mexico. He wore jeans and a white Western shirt, and a pair of hand-tooled cowboy boots. He carried a white hat in one hand that marked him as one of the good guys in an old TV Land Gunsmoke episode.

  "No," Liz replied, keeping control of the drinks she was carrying.

  "You look like you've seen a ghost," Valenti said.

  Liz shot him a wry look.

  "Sorry," Valenti apologized, with a small grin. "After I heard the story, I thought I'd drop by and see if it was true."

  "I didn't see a ghost," Liz said.

  Valenti nodded and twirled his hat on his finger. "I thought it was a bunch of hogwash, but I'm having trouble filling hours these days."

  A short time back, Valenti had been let go from his duties as sheriff. He'd been holding back information that would have exposed Max, Isabel, and Michael.

  "It's not all hogwash," Liz said. "There was"… she hesitated… "something. Michael saw it."

  Valenti's eyes narrowed, and his forehead wrinkled in thought. "The way I heard it, you and Maria were standing beside Wilkins when he went down."

  "We were," Liz agreed.

  "But you didn't see anything?"

  "No."

  Valenti sighed. "And Maria?"

  "Didn't see anything," Liz said.

  "What did Michael say he saw?"

  "A man." Liz tried to remember everything Michael had told her during the frantic and whispered conversation they'd managed to have before the ambulance arrived.

  "Someone Michael knew?"

  "No. Michael said this guy was tall and stooped, like he'd spent a lot of time hunched over so he wouldn't bump his head on things."

  "What about his eyes?" Valenti asked.

  The interest the ex-sheriff had in the matter was immediately apparent to Liz. "Michael said the ghost only had one eye. The other was covered by a patch."

  Valenti scratched his beard-stubbled chin with a thumbnail, sounding like sandpaper. "A one-eyed ghost, eh?"

  "Does that mean something to you?" Liz asked.

  "Maybe," Valenti admitted. "Thirty years ago, my dad started looking for Leroy Wilkins's partner. A one-eyed man named Terrell Swanson."

  A chill flashed through Liz. "Wilkins mentioned that name in the cafe. He said that was Swanson chasing him."

  Valenti twirled his hat again, his preoccupation evident. "My dad never found Terrell Swanson. He believed that Wilkins killed Swanson in a fight over a uranium strike back in the sixties, then hid the body."

  Liz stared into Valenti's blue eyes. "You think the ghost
is real?" she asked.

  "I think," Valenti said, "that I want to talk to Michael. He's still at the Crashdown?"

  "Yeah," Liz said.

  "How is Wilkins doing?"

  "I don't know. The EMTs who arrived at the cafe thought he was having a heart attack. I don't think they know if he's going to make it." Will that mean there’ll be one more ghost to haunt Roswell? The thought sent tiny goose bumps up the back of Liz's neck.

  "You going to be around for a while?"

  Liz nodded.

  Glancing back toward the ER proper, Valenti said, "Let me know if anything happens here that I need to know about."

  "Sure," Liz said.

  Valenti placed his cowboy hat back on, smoothing the brim with a forefinger. He gave Liz a solemn look. "I'll be in touch if this looks like something that might spill over on you and your friends." Then he was gone, striding back through the waiting room and hitting the crash bars on the doors to the main parking area.

  Mind racing, facing unwelcome thoughts and feeling the absence of Max, Liz returned to the waiting room and gave her father his coffee. He was so mired in his conversation with the insurance people that he barely acknowledged the coffee's delivery or her departure.

  Liz returned to her chair and held the soda can in her hands. She gazed out through the slatted windows.

  Oh Max, where are you?

  Max trudged back to his car with River Dog at his side. The hot sun beat down on him, sapping his reserves. He looked forward to the Cutlass's air-conditioning.

  "You should forgive George Grayhawk and the men with him," River Dog was saying. "Fear makes men do many strange things."

  Max stopped by his car and gazed back down at the Mesaliko city. During the walk back through the houses, he had seen a number of people staring at him. The weird thing was, he couldn't be certain how many of them were really alive and how many of them… weren't. "Something's wrong," Max said.

  "What do you mean?" River Dog asked.

  "If the ghosts really wanted you out of the area, why doesn't an army of them appear and chase your people out?"

  "There have been several appearances of the spirits, and this has been going on for days. They are gathering."