The Salvation

by Melinda Metz

  “You’re right,” Michael agreed. It was possible that the consciousness could still hear what was going on around Max even if Max wasn’t actively listening. The guy could be nothing more than a radio wave transmitter at this point.

  Michael led the way into the kitchen and stood behind one of the chairs that surrounded the table.

  “Before we go on, there’s something I have to tell you,” Trevor said, standing across from Michael as the others pulled up chairs.

  Michael felt another wave of trepidation rush through him. Trevor’s tone had made it clear this was going to be big.

  “I know you all want to help shatter the consciousness because you think it will free Max.” Trevor shifted his weight uncomfortably. “That could happen. But it’s more likely Max will die.”

  “What?” Liz spat, her voice full of panic.

  “When the consciousness rips apart, the beings that form it probably aren’t going to survive,” Trevor continued, watching Liz carefully. “Since Max is on earth, maybe it will be different for him, but …”

  Michael sank down into the chair in front of him. He felt like he’d been kneecapped.

  “We can’t,” Isabel said, staring at Michael. “We can’t do that to him.”

  Maria touched Michael’s shoulder so quickly, he almost thought he’d imagined it. “We don’t really have a choice, do we?” she said, glancing from Isabel to Liz. “If Max was the way he was even a few days ago—sometimes totally absorbed in his connection to the consciousness, but sometimes not—then, well, then at least he’d be able to have some kind of life. But now …” She let her words trail off, and a heavy silence fell over the room.

  “Now he’s basically dead, anyway,” Isabel said tonelessly.

  “Iz—,” Michael began.

  “No, Michael, she’s right,” Isabel said, holding up her chin. “Shattering the consciousness might kill Max, but it’s also the only way we might be able to save him.”

  Her words came out sounding ice encrusted, but Michael knew her better than that. Inside, where no one could see, she was wailing and pulling out her hair. Michael knew that whatever they were going to do, they had to get it over with. None of them could live like this for very long—without knowing what was going to happen.

  “So what do we do? What’s the new plan?” Michael asked, ready for action.

  Trevor kicked the kitchen cabinet with one heel. “I don’t know,” he confessed.

  “Maybe there is some way we could boost the power of the two Stones we have,” Alex said, leaning his arms against the table. “Maybe we don’t even have to get the third one.”

  Isabel looked up at the clock above the stove and stood quickly. “I can’t do this now,” she said. “My parents are expecting me home for dinner. It’s family night. No missing it.” She let out a short burst of breath, and her eyes filled with tears. “I guess I’ll have to tell them Max is still working on his science project with Liz or something.” Isabel shook her head back as if she was trying to keep the tears inside. “It’s been three days of excuses for why he’s not home now.”

  “Maybe I should change my face and put in an appearance as Max,” Michael said. “We don’t know how long it’s going to take to figure out a way to shatter the consciousness. Max can’t be missing in action for weeks.”

  “I’ll do it,” Trevor volunteered, stepping forward. “That way you can stay with Max.”

  “Really?” Michael said. Trevor confirmed with a nod. “Thanks, man. You should plan on staying there for a while. Isabel can coach you.”

  “Maria and I are scheduled to work tonight,” Liz said. “Everyone try to come up with a plan, and we’ll talk at school tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Michael said as Isabel, Trevor, Maria, and Liz headed out.

  “Want me to hang out and keep you company?” Alex asked.

  Michael shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “At the risk of sounding like a feminine hygiene commercial or something, call me if you need to talk,” Alex said as he left the room.

  Michael continued to sit at the table, the silence wrapping around him, pressing down on him until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

  “It’s Max. It’s still Max,” he burst out. He slammed to his feet and strode to the bedroom, then sat down on the side of the bed next to Max.

  “Knock, knock.” Michael reached out and tapped gently on Max’s forehead. “Remember how you used to love those knock-knock jokes when I first met you? Some of them were really lame. I’ve got to tell you, I only laughed to be polite. You know what a polite guy I am.”

  Max’s eyes stared up at the ceiling, glassy and blank.

  Michael knocked on his head again, a little harder this time. “Knock, knock.” He waited a moment. “Okay, I’ll answer for you—who’s there?” Michael continued the joke, doing both parts himself. “Boo. Boo who? What are you crying for, you big baby?”

  He brushed Max’s hair off his forehead. “Remember that one?” he asked.

  There was no answer.

  Michael had the eerie feeling he was never going to hear Max’s voice again.

  “So, this is Max’s room,” Isabel told Trevor as she opened the door to the bedroom. “Pretty basic. Computer. Books. Clothes. Assorted Liz Ortecho memorabilia in a box in his closet he thinks I don’t know about.”

  An arrow of pain sliced through Isabel. Max was so different from the guy who had collected all the Liz stuff. Different. Yeah, right. That made it sound like he was just going through some guy testosterone surge and acting like a jerk or something.

  God, she wished that was all that was wrong with him.

  “Anything else I need to know?” Trevor asked.

  “Just try to act Max-like—responsible, logical, somewhat saintish, and … and …” Isabel swallowed hard. She glanced around the room, looking for something that needed straightening. Why did Max have to be so neat? She had to have something to occupy her hands, occupy her brain.

  Isabel spun toward Max’s bookshelf and started to rearrange the books by height. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she finished, eyes on her work.

  “Michael told me you always clean when you get scared,” Trevor commented matter-of-factly.

  “I’m not scared. And Michael should keep his big mouth shut,” Isabel answered automatically. She hesitated with her hand on one of the tallest books. Maybe she should be doing this by color.

  “You’re not scared?” Trevor asked. He leaned against the edge of the bookcase and raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, so I am,” Isabel confessed. She moved her hand from the tall book to one with a red binding, then back again. Which way was better—color or size? Or maybe author? She jerked her hand toward a book by Asimov.

  Trevor reached out and grabbed her by both wrists, tugging her over to the bed. He sat down and pulled her down next to him. “Talk to me,” he said, his gray eyes intent on her face.

  “I’m not in the mood,” Isabel snapped. She couldn’t believe this guy. They barely knew each other, and he was expecting her to let herself go all soft and squishy. Yes, they’d had one nice dance. Yes, he’d helped her get through her akino without connecting to the consciousness. But that didn’t mean she was going to serve her psyche to him on a plate. That was just not her style.

  She met his gaze with a challenging one of her own, waiting for him to apologize for getting all Montel on her. He just looked right back at her.

  “I was afraid most of the time I was with DuPris,” Trevor told her finally, breaking the silence. “Especially when I had to connect with him so we could combine powers. The stuff I saw in his head … I’m never going to be able to forget it.”

  Isabel studied him for a long moment. “How early on did you connect with him?”

  “Pretty much right away,” Trevor admitted.

  “And you stayed with him even after you knew what he was? Even after you knew he was evil?” I really
don’t know Trevor, she thought. The guy obviously had some serious issues. How could he have stayed on as DuPris’s little personal assistant, knowing the truth about him?

  A faint blush crept up Trevor’s throat. He ran his fingers over the redness. “This human body is way too affected by emotions.”

  “Answer the question,” Isabel snapped.

  “Yes, I stayed with him,” Trevor replied. He started to rub his throat, as if he was trying to erase the blush. “I was raised to believe that sacrifice to the cause—the rebellion against the collective consciousness—was an honor. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the honor.”

  “That doesn’t exactly explain.” Isabel crossed her arms over her leather jacket and leveled him with a glare. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook. This was too important.

  “When I linked up with DuPris, I saw images of torture, of hideous cruelty. But DuPris said that the acts were necessary sacrifices, vital to our cause,” Trevor explained. “It made me sick. But I believed nothing was more important than destroying the consciousness—no matter what it took.”

  He stood up and paced around the carpeted area between Max’s bed and his dresser. Then he turned and faced Isabel. “I stayed with him even after I knew he killed Michael’s and my parents,” he blurted out. “I still didn’t think DuPris was evil. Just determined. Willing to do whatever it took to end the control of the consciousness. Our parents had to be killed, or the Stone of Midnight would have been returned to the home planet and all chance of shattering the consciousness would have been lost.”

  Tears formed at the corners of Isabel’s eyes. Trevor wasn’t just talking about his parents. He was talking about her parents, too.

  Trevor started talking faster. “I thought the cause was worth even that sacrifice,” he said, stopping in front of her. “I thought no price was too high if it meant the consciousness would be shattered and the beings of our planet would be free again.”

  Isabel thought about Max. Unable to speak, unable to move unless the collective consciousness allowed it. She had risked death itself so she wouldn’t have to join the consciousness and end up like her brother. She could almost understand why Trevor was willing to accept even the murder of his parents as a necessary loss.

  She shifted on the bed, wiping her moist palms on the plaid comforter. “What changed your mind about DuPris?” she asked, eyeing Trevor.

  “When he killed Adam,” Trevor said, straightening his posture. “That was not necessary, not to shattering the consciousness, not to anything. That’s when I understood the truth about DuPris.”

  Greasy streaks of puke green shame began snaking through Trevor’s aura, along with splotches of crimson anger. Anger at himself. Isabel was sure of that.

  “You killed DuPris one instant after you realized the truth,” Isabel reminded him. “He was a hero to you, and you didn’t hesitate to take him down. Don’t forget that.” A couple of the shame streaks lightened.

  “Thanks,” Trevor muttered. He sat back down beside her. Isabel could feel the edge of his aura brushing against hers, although their bodies weren’t even touching. He’s one of the good guys, she thought.

  “I can’t go more than a couple of minutes without thinking about Max,” she said, surprising herself. She hadn’t planned to go there. Isabel shot a glance at the bookcase. The desire to get up and rearrange it was like an itch in her brain, but she refused to let herself do it. She moved a little closer to Trevor instead. He didn’t speak, didn’t press her.

  “If something happens to him …” She stopped and cleared her throat when she heard her voice crack. “Well, something’s already happened to him. But if—I don’t think I could—” She clenched a fistful of bedspread in each hand and shook her head, closing her eyes. “I just can’t talk about this.”

  “You don’t have to talk. But you don’t have to go through this alone, either. You have Michael and the others.” He hesitated, then took her hands. “You have me, if that means anything.”

  His hands felt warm and soft around hers. “It does,” she told him.

  They sat there side by side in silence as the late afternoon light faded and the room grew dim and then dark. Isabel heard the front door open, then the sound of her parents’ voices.

  “You better change,” she said. She reached over and flicked on the lamp on the nightstand. When she looked back at Trevor, his eyes had already lightened from gray to blue, his hair from brown to blond. A moment later Max was sitting beside her.

  Except it wasn’t really Max. It had been a long time since she’d really been with her brother.

  Liz tightened her grip on the paper bag in her hand as she climbed up the steps to Michael’s apartment. He opened the door before she had a chance to knock. “I thought I’d visit Max before school.”

  “You want company?” Michael asked.

  “No, I’m good,” Liz said. Michael stepped back to let her inside.

  “I’m going to head out, then. I want to make a stop at the doughnut place,” he said, hand on the doorknob.

  “Yeah, go, it’s fine,” she assured him, trying to act casual. “I’ll lock up when I leave.” As soon as the door closed, Liz hurried through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom. She took a moment to brace herself for the sight of Max’s lifeless face, then stepped inside.

  “Um, I made you some of those blueberry-and-jalapeÒo muffins you like,” she announced, her voice coming out too loud and phony. “I’ll just leave them on the dresser. I guess the consciousness will let you eat sometime.”

  Just to keep you alive in case it needs to use you for something, she added silently. She sat down gingerly on the side of the bed and gazed down at Max, forcing herself not to turn away at the sight of his slack mouth and dull eyes.

  “I know you’re in there somewhere, Max,” she said. “I’m just going to assume you can hear me.” Now what? Liz tilted her head from side to side, the bones in her neck cracking slightly. “So let me tell you what’s been going on. Elsevan DuPris is dead, so you don’t have to worry about that. I know how much you worry about things. We’re all safe. No crisis.”

  Except the crisis involving Max himself. She pushed away the thought and continued. “I do have some sad news about Adam. He’s dead, Max.” She struggled to control the tremor that had infected her voice. “DuPris killed him.”

  Liz checked Max’s eyes. Not a flicker of emotion or even awareness.

  “I don’t know if you ever noticed that Adam had a crush on me. And when you—when you weren’t around that much, I started spending more time with him. He made me feel good. Special, you know?” Tears burned her eyes as she remembered the time she spent with Adam. She twisted her hair into a knot, then let it fall back down her back, trying to keep her composure. It wasn’t going to help Max if she sat here sobbing.

  “I don’t know why I’m even telling you this,” she said. “No, that’s not true,” she corrected herself. “I’m telling you because I want you to know that although I really cared about Adam, I never fell in love with him. I’ve never loved anybody but you, Max. I don’t think I ever will.”

  Liz did another eye check. Nothing.

  “You might find it hard to accept that,” she continued, wanting to believe he was listening and praying he could. “I know I broke up with you. But that’s because you were so deeply connected to the consciousness that you weren’t even you anymore. The way I felt … the way I feel—it hasn’t changed. I love you. I love you so much.”

  She reached out and ran her fingers down his cheek. His skin felt warm and dry, but a chill ran through her.

  “I should go. School.” Liz stood up. “I’ll come back later.” She started for the door, then turned back, her breath coming in quick bursts. “We all heard you when you told us you were trapped that day in the hangar. We all heard you ask for help. I promise that we’re going to find a way to bring you back.”

  A gasp escaped her lips as she did one last eye check. Max�
�s gaze met hers directly, his eyes bright with life.

  He sat up, then swung himself out of bed and strode over to her, his eyes never leaving hers. Liz almost fell into his arms, but then he started talking, and his words made her freeze.

  “I was relieved that you broke up with me,” he told her. “It saved me the hassle of trying to come up with something to say to you.”

  “What?” Liz took an involuntary step backward and smacked into the door, the knob digging into her spine.

  “It was fun for a while—having a human girlfriend,” he continued. “But now, through the consciousness, I’ve gotten to see what life’s like at home, my real home. All I can think about is getting back there. And it’s not as if I can take you with me, so …” He shrugged. “It’s just as well we’re officially not together.”

  “What?” Liz said again. It was Max talking. She was sure of it. Whenever the consciousness was in control of him, his face was totally lifeless. But now his eyes were blinking and sparkling; his skin looked healthy. He was totally there. But how could he say these things to her?

  “What?” Max mocked with a smirk. “Listen. I’ll spell it out for you. I don’t love you. I never did. It was fun, but it’s time for me to go back where I belong. I need the Stones. With them I can open a wormhole for the return trip.”

  “You never loved me?” The words felt edged with razor blades as they came out of her mouth. She was almost surprised not to feel blood on her lips.

  “I. Never. Loved. You. Did I say it slowly enough for you to understand that time?” he asked. He was so close to her, she could feel his breath against her forehead as he spoke, smell the familiar Max smell of his body, see the subtle flecks of a deeper blue in his light blue eyes. Everything about him was so familiar. But it was as if he were a complete stranger.

  “You’re lying,” she said, determination settling over her face. “I don’t know why, but you’re lying. Are you trying to protect me from something? Because I know that you love me. There was no way you could have been pretending. I would have felt it.”