by Melinda Metz
“How about some antistress tea?” Maria asked, not wanting to even go near Michael’s tucking-in question.
“Not right now.” Michael flopped down on the couch, and Maria happily joined him. Even if Michael didn’t think about her that way, he was still better than any antistress tea ever brewed. Just being near him, feeling the warmth emanating from his body, made her feel like . . . like purring or something. Even tonight. After all that had happened.
“Are you okay?” Maria asked. She didn’t know how he could be. First his brother and Max, who was at least as much his brother as his biological brother was, had tried to kill each other. Then Trevor had joined up with DuPris, who had tried to kill them all not so long ago and who had killed Michael’s parents. And Max’s, and Isabel’s, and Adam’s. And Trevor’s.
“Did you just ask if I’m okay?” Michael scrubbed his hands through his black hair, making it even more spiky. “Me guy,” he said, pointing at himself. “You girl.” He pointed at her. “So don’t be asking if I’m okay. If anyone asks anyone if they’re okay, I’ll be the one asking.” He looked at her, his gray eyes unreadable. “So, are you okay?”
He’s gone into lockdown, Maria thought. He’s taking whatever it is he’s feeling and caging it up somewhere. He doesn’t get that that never works.
“I’m basically okay,” Maria answered. “But I’m not the one whose brother just —”
“Went over to the dark side?” Michael interrupted. He stood up. “I’m going to head out. I want to see how Adam’s doing.”
“Call him. Tell him to come over,” Maria answered. She didn’t want Michael to leave. He was hurting so badly, he was about to shatter. Whether he’d admit it or not.
“Nah,” Michael answered. “I don’t want him to have to drag his butt over here. Adam’s got to be wrecked.”
“Project much?” Maria asked.
Michael groaned. “Don’t be going all psychobabble on me. If you have to do something, just give me one of your vials of oil to sniff. At least that will only take a second.”
“I know how much it meant to you to find out you had a brother,” Maria said, not letting him off the hook. “I think you should talk about —”
“You want me to talk?” Michael exploded. “Fine. My inner child, freaking little Mikey or whatever, is peeing in his pants because big brother Trevor turned out to be a freaking psycho. Okay? Happy now? Or what? You want me to cry for you? You want me to —”
“I just wanted you to —” Maria shook her head. This was pointless. Maybe someday he’d decide to let her in. But clearly not now. “Forget it.”
“Fine,” Michael snapped. He turned and strode toward the door. Maria followed him. He fumbled with the lock, cursing under his breath, and she reached around him and slid the bolt back for him.
He jerked open the door. Then, out of nowhere, he turned and pulled her to him. He hugged her so tightly, her ribs ached, but she didn’t pull away. She held him as hard as her arms could manage — held him until he pulled away and left without a word.
Isabel crawled into bed, even though it wasn’t anywhere near time for her two hours of sleep. Her bones ached. She could feel them each distinctly, feel the places where they connected to each other.
“I feel four hundred years old,” she muttered. She rolled over onto her side, trying to find a comfortable position. It didn’t help. The blankets felt too heavy. The weight of them made her bones throb. She kicked them off, wincing at the sound of one knee cracking.
That better not happen at cheerleading practice, Isabel thought. She could just imagine what Stacey Scheinin would say if she heard Isabel’s bones creaking like some old person’s.
Isabel shifted onto her back. She could feel each vertebra, as if there were no flesh between the bones and the mattress. Her pillow chafed against the back of her skull, and suddenly it was like she could feel each individual thread of the pillowcase pricking her head. She felt like her skull was being pierced by thousands of needles.
What is happening to me? she thought wildly. She sat up fast, and the bottom sheet ground against the back of her legs. She gasped in pain.
Max. Have to get Max.
Isabel gritted her teeth against the pain and flung herself out of bed. The coarse strands of the carpet felt like they were shredding her feet. She stared down, expecting to see blood coating the floor, but there was none.
On her tiptoes so as little of her skin touched the carpet as possible, Isabel ran to the door. Even the smooth metal of the doorknob felt rough to her, but she managed to turn it and fling open the door.
Somehow she reached the stairs without screaming. And then she was fine again. The wood of the stairs felt pleasant under her feet.
Relieved, Isabel rushed down to Max’s room. “The weirdest thing just happened,” she exclaimed as she burst in after a quick knock.
Max didn’t answer. Of course not, she thought. Some girls probably had brothers who hid out in their rooms to read Playboy. Isabel had a brother who closed himself in his bedroom to connect to the collective consciousness. Not that he wasn’t partially connected all the time now.
Isabel snapped her fingers in front of his face. He was in deep. It gave her the creeps just looking at him, mouth slack, eyes staring off at nothing. I should take a picture of him so he can see how gross he looks, she thought. Not that Max would care. Her saintly brother was above caring about anything like his appearance — except for using his power to get rid of his zits.
“Max, I need to talk to you.” Isabel gave his shoulder a shove. He didn’t even blink. That had never happened before. Usually physical contact could bring him out of it.
She considered getting a glass of water and throwing it in his face but decided against it. The bizarre I-can-feel-my-own-bones sensation was gone, and Max . . . Max just wasn’t that fun to hang out with anymore. Part of his attention was always on the consciousness now.
Isabel ran her foot across Max’s carpet, pressing down hard, testing. No pain. No problem.
“It was probably a nightmare,” Isabel muttered. “I was in bed and everything.” She made her way back out into the hall, not bothering to be quiet. The whole house could explode around Max and his heartbeat would stay slow and steady.
She wandered into the kitchen, reluctant to go back to bed even though she still felt exhausted. That nightmare might still be there, waiting for her. A tiny shiver raced through Isabel’s body.
“Wonder if Mom or Dad made it to the store,” she whispered. The two of them weren’t home yet. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, and this was an out-of-Roswell day. They wouldn’t make it home from their second law office in Clovis for at least half an hour. Isabel wished they would walk through the door right that second. A night watching one of those Lifetime movies with her mom while her dad made bad jokes would be the perfect nightmare antidote.
They’ll be home soon, she told herself. She pulled open the freezer door. Ice cubes. And two boxes of peas frozen together. Plus lots of that clumpy frost. Definitely time to defrost. Isabel opened the lower door, turned the coolness setting all the way off, and started unloading the food onto the kitchen table. A cleaning project was almost as good as some Momand-Dad time. Not as much fun, but a good way to keep her mind off . . .
That nightmare. It hadn’t really felt like a nightmare. It had felt real.
Oh, like it would be a nightmare if it felt totally fake, she thought sarcastically. She pulled open the vegetable crisper and wrinkled her nose at the broccoli, which had partially turned to slime. This was what happened when you had two lawyer parents who wanted to save the world. They tended to forget about the vegetable crisper.
Isabel reached over and grabbed a garbage bag from the cabinet under the sink. Then, using two fingers, she picked up the what-was-once-broccoli. Her stomach heaved as its stench reached her nose. It was as if the odor took on a physical mass as she breathed it in, coating her nose, sliding down her throat . . . and then expanding. The thick, foul-tasting m
old left too little room for air. Isabel wheezed, struggling to pull a breath through the pinholes that were her nostrils and her throat.
“Max! Help!” She didn’t have enough breath to scream. She was going to suffocate right there in her own kitchen.
No! Isabel would not let that happen. She jammed one of her fingers down her throat. If she could just get a little of the mold out, she’d be able to get some oxygen in. Her throat convulsed with a gag reflex, but she hadn’t even touched the mold.
Isabel stumbled to the sink. She turned on the cold water full blast. If she could drink some, maybe —
And her throat was clear. Her nose was clear. It was as if the mold had never been there. As if it had been a horrible . . .
Nightmare.
But she was awake. Wide awake. And she’d been awake the whole time. Slowly, carefully, on legs that felt too weak to carry her, Isabel crossed to the kitchen table and lowered herself into the closest chair.
This is what happened to Max when he began to enter his akino, she realized. Heightened physical sensation. Physical sensation — like touch, like smell.
Isabel lowered her head into her hands. Max would tell her not to worry. He’d tell her that connecting to the collective consciousness and sharing your life with all the beings of the home planet — living and dead — was awesome, that it made you appreciate all the little things in your life when you felt the beings experience them with you.
To Isabel it sounded like prison. Always being watched. No privacy. No choice about who you let into your life.
And Isabel would rather die than be in prison. Liz sighed as Max rapped the top of the table at Flying Pepperoni.
“So since we’re all here, I guess we should talk about what we’re here to talk about,” he said.
He looked around the booth, but his gaze skittered over Liz. She didn’t think he’d really looked at her once since she broke up with him.
“What about Alex?” Isabel asked.
“He said he had plans,” Maria answered.
“Plans more important than figuring out how to deal with a sociopath who now has two — count ’em, two — of the three Stones of Midnight?” Michael picked up the pepper shaker and shook some directly onto his tongue.
“We can fill him in later,” Liz said. She didn’t want to waste fifteen minutes debating the subject. Working together to find Kevin after he’d been kidnapped was one thing. But sitting this close to Max without a life-or-death situation as distraction was killing her. She was as far away from him as she could get, but in a booth that was still close.
It didn’t help that Adam was looking at her as much as Max was avoiding looking at her. Liz had the feeling that Adam was hoping her breakup meant there were . . . possibilities between them. She flicked a glance at him and was unsurprised to find his green eyes on her.
Lucinda Baker strolled up to their table. “Okay? What?” she asked, tapping her order pad with her pen.
“Half everything. Quarter veggie special. Quarter meatball and pineapple,” Max told her.
Lucinda rolled her eyes. “Hey, where’s the cute one?” she asked.
“I’m right here,” Michael bragged, leaning back in his seat.
“No, the cute one. Um, I always forget his name,” Lucinda said. She frowned, concentrating. “Alex! So, where’s Alex?”
“Alex? Alex Manes?” Liz asked.
She loved Alex. He was her best boy bud. But the reason that Lucinda didn’t remember his name was that most of the girls at school had always been oblivious of just how great Alex was.
Maria leaned close. “The wormhole beauty treatment,” she whispered in Liz’s ear.
Liz nodded. DuPris had tricked them into sending Alex through a wormhole and back to the aliens’ home planet in DuPris’s place. When Alex had come back through another wormhole — followed by Trevor — he looked, not different exactly, but just more. Hair a richer red. Eyes a deeper green. Body somehow thicker? Stronger? It was hard to pinpoint all the changes, but the overall effect clearly made an impression.
Liz realized Lucinda was still waiting for an answer. “Alex had plans,” she said.
“Well, tell him I said hi, okay?” Lucinda licked her bottom lip, then headed off.
“She would eat our little Alex alive,” Michael commented.
“I don’t know about that,” Isabel answered. She sounded a bit depressed by the thought. Liz wondered if she had regrets about breaking up with Alex.
Maybe she’s just tired, Liz thought. Isabel had the look of someone who’d experienced a very bad night. Liz had seen that look on her own face often enough lately, after nights thinking about how the collective consciousness was pulling Max away from her and —
“So does anyone have any suggestions?” Max asked, again doing a check of every face at the table except Liz’s.
Michael did another pepper shot. “I don’t even know why we’re here. Like I said, DuPris has two of the Stones. Plus a new sidekick, my brother. When he had one of the Stones and was the Lone Ranger, he almost killed us all. What could you possibly think we could do? Start a petition?”
Maria and Liz exchanged a look. Michael was never exactly Mr. Sunshine, but his tone was so bitter, it made Liz’s stomach curl up. His brother’s betrayal had clearly devastated him.
“Michael’s right,” Adam agreed. He was speaking to Max, but his eyes kept darting to Liz. “DuPris is too strong to fight. He could take over any one of us anytime.”
Adam didn’t sound bitter. He sounded resigned. Maybe that’s what happened when you grew up the way Adam did, Liz thought. After spending most of his life being held prisoner by Sheriff Valenti in Project Clean Slate’s underground compound, Adam probably just assumed that very bad things could happen at any moment.
“And he would only decide to take us over if he felt like using the subtle approach,” Michael jumped in again. “Otherwise we could all just be pushin’ up friggin’ daisies before we can blink.” Adam looked a little confused. There were still a few gaps in his education on life in the real world.
“What Michael is trying to say, in his tactful manner, is that we’d be . . . dead,” Maria explained.
“So are you saying we should just give up? Roll onto our backs?” Max demanded.
Isabel pulled a ragged napkin out of the metal napkin holder and adjusted the one beneath it so it was tightly tucked. “There’s something I want to discuss before we talk about destroying DuPris,” she announced.
“What could be more important?” Max snapped. He shoved his hand through his blond hair. “You heard DuPris. He and Trevor are going to try to shatter the consciousness —”
“Exactly,” Isabel interrupted. “I don’t know about the rest of you. But I’m not sure shattering the consciousness is such a bad idea.”
Thank you, Isabel, Liz thought. She’d been wanting to say the same thing, but she knew if she did, Max would just accuse her of hating the consciousness because it interfered with their kissing. He just didn’t understand how much he’d changed. How when he was in the deep connection, he wasn’t Max anymore.
“Good point,” Michael said. “I for one don’t want to walk around like a pod person.” He turned to Max. “No offense.”
“I’m not a pod person,” Max protested, obviously frustrated. “I choose when to deepen the connection.”
“Sometimes you choose,” Liz corrected, unable to hold back. “Not always. Not lately. More and more often you . . . go off, whether you decide to or not.”
Max looked like he was about to snap, but Michael cut him off.
“Like at Kyle’s,” Michael said. He picked up the pepper shaker and twirled it between his fingers, appearing fascinated by the movement. “Was it all you who tried to kill my brother? Or did you have help?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, your brother was trying to kill me. Or doesn’t that matter since I’m not a relation?” Max snatched the pepper shaker out of Michael’s hand.
“All
I’m saying is that it’s not like you to set your phaser on kill, you know?” Michael said. “Usually you would go for something less extreme. Like containment.”
“DuPris is evil,” Maria cut in. She nibbled the end of one of her blond curls, something she did only under extreme stress. “Are you and Isabel saying we should just, like, send him a muffin basket and wish him the best on annihilating the consciousness?” she asked Michael.
“What I’m saying is that the scenario we have going is bugs and Raid. We’re the bugs,” Michael answered. “Whether we agree with what DuPris is trying to do or not — he’s got all the power.”
“There is the device that Kyle had,” Liz reminded them, pulling her long, dark hair back from her face. “That could be an equalizer.”
“Except Kyle’s not going to let us have it,” Isabel said, sounding the faintest bit relieved.
“Maybe we could duplicate the technology,” Liz responded.
“Gee, Captain Wizard, you’re right. Adam has a toaster. And I have a couple of forks. That’s all we’d need,” Michael volunteered with mock enthusiasm.
Liz ignored him. “I’m just saying that we don’t have to just roll over if we don’t want to.”
For the first time since the breakup Max looked at Liz, really looked at her, full force, his blue eyes bright with emotion. “Are you saying you’re on my side? You think what DuPris wants to do to the consciousness is a desecration?”
Liz noted the choice of the word desecration and the fervor with which Max spoke but didn’t comment on it. “I didn’t say that,” she told him. “I agree with Maria — DuPris is evil.” She hesitated. “But I also agree with Isabel and Michael. I don’t like what the consciousness is doing to you. You’re losing yourself, and because you are, you aren’t even able to recognize that it’s happening.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Liz,” Max said.
She tried to remember if it was the first time he’d said her name since they broke up. “I think in this case I can,” she answered slowly. “I think it’s possible for the right thing to be done for the wrong reasons. Just because DuPris is evil does not mean that shattering the consciousness is evil, although I’m sure his methods for achieving it would be ruthless.”