Roswell High: The Salvation Part 7

"I'm fine," Michael answered, flexing the fingers of the hand that had been absorbed. "But I guess it's time to move on to our fallback plan."

Silence fell over the group as they all looked at Max's lifeless body.

"The fallback plan we don't have," Alex reminded them all.

EIGHT.

"Do I need to be Max now? Will your parents be home soon?" Trevor asked as he sat down on Isabel's soft, perfectly made bed.

"No. You have a couple of hours." Isabel picked up a gla.s.s kitten from her bedside table, then grabbed a Kleenex and started to polish the kitten furiously. "I keep thinking the consciousness is going to do something to Max. You know, to punish him for us trying to use the Stones against it."

Trevor opened his mouth to respond, but Isabel didn't give him a chance. She rushed on, scrubbing the kitten as hard as she could. "And then when we find a way to shatter the consciousness-if we do-then what will happen to him? You said you think Max could die. And that's not acceptable. That's-"

The gla.s.s kitten's tail snapped off in Isabel's fingers. She stared down at it, tears springing to her eyes. She wiped them away viciously, using both hands.

Trevor didn't bother trying to comfort her. He pretended not to even notice the tears since it was clear Isabel found them infuriating. Instead he took the kitten and the tail out of her hands, matched the pieces together, and used his power to nudge the molecules closer together, mending it. He set it back on the little table.

"I think the kitty's safer over here," he commented, forcing a smile.

Isabel gave a snort that blew a tiny, clear bubble out of one of her nostrils. He pretended not to notice that, either-although in a weird way, he found it kind of adorable.

He'd observed that when he was around Isabel, the heart of his human body beat a little faster, and sometimes a thin layer of sweat appeared between his fingers. He knew from studying the Kindred's materials that this was an expression of attraction. Humans were such a strange species. When he'd learned about the sensations, they sounded mildly repulsive, and the sweat sort of was. But the accelerated heartbeat was actually pleasurable, making his body feel warmer and somehow more alive.

He'd also observed that while Liz and Maria were as desirable in their own ways as Isabel, his human body didn't respond to them in the same way. Strange. Mysterious. He liked it.

"Thanks," Isabel muttered finally. "When I think about Max, I go a little crazy." She folded the Kleenex in half, then in half again.

A rush of guilt swept through Trevor, and he felt the back of his neck get hot. He'd been off on a little head vacation, thinking out the pleasures of attraction, while Isabel was clearly suffering.

If Isabel was a member of the Kindred, right now she'd be sternly reminded that sacrifice was an honor. If Max died in the struggle to shatter the consciousness, it would be the most n.o.ble death he could have. But Trevor had no desire to lecture her.

"I wish I could give you all the answers," he said. "But I don't have any of them."

"I know," Isabel answered. She folded the Kleenex again, then again, then again until the little square couldn't get any smaller.

Trevor took it away from her. She frowned at him, but she didn't try to s.n.a.t.c.h it back. "I think we should go out somewhere," he said, struggling to come up with some way to make her feel even the tiniest bit better. "Tomorrow Michael and Maria and I are going to start working on the backup plan while you and Alex and Liz watch Max. So tonight let's just take a break."

"Take a break while Max could be getting tortured?" Isabel spat out, her face so red, it could have been on fire.

"Or I could go out and buy you a couple dozen more boxes of Kleenex so you can fold until you exhaust yourself," Trevor offered calmly.

Isabel combed her fingers through her hair and sighed. "I guess I wouldn't mind doing something that would make me totally exhausted so I could just fall into bed and sleep and wake up when there was actually something I could do for Max."

"Any ideas of what you want to do?" Trevor asked.

She tilted her head to one side, considering. "Dancing. UFOnics," she decided.

A half an hour later they were on the crowded dance floor. Every time he started thinking about what would happen if they couldn't come up with a backup plan, he danced harder. Every time he thought how devastating it would be to Isabel and the others if anything happened to Max, he danced harder. That was the advice he'd given Isabel when they'd first walked in. Don't think, just dance.

She seemed to be following it. Isabel danced with her eyes closed-clearly expecting everyone else to make sure they didn't run into her-blond hair flying as she spun this way and that.

Trevor's heart pounded as he watched her move, beating in his ears louder than the pulsating music. He felt the addition of a new chemical in his bloodstream, something that made him feel almost euphoric. He wondered if he'd ever respond to anyone this way back at home. Not with the furiously beating heart or the same chemicals of the human body, of course, but with this level of intensity.

He had no way to tell. Males and females were kept separate in the Kindred until it was time for them to start a birthing cycle. The Kindred believed that beings were more productive this way, and now Trevor could see why. If he felt like this at home, he'd never accomplish anything. All he'd want to do was follow around whoever gave him these sensations.

The music screamed to a halt, then started up again, softer, slower. Isabel opened her eyes, her gaze going unhesitatingly to Trevor's. The skin between his fingers started pumping out the sweat.

"You still think my human form is, uh, yummy enough that any girl would want to dance with me?" he asked her, remembering the conversation they'd had at the UFO museum party.

"Definitely," she answered. UFOnics' colored lights made it difficult to see her aura, but Trevor thought the dancing had helped a little.

"Including you?" Trevor kept his gaze locked on hers.

Isabel answered by using the waistband of his pants to pull him toward her, then slipping her arms around his neck. He slid his hands around her waist, and they swayed back and forth, barely moving, hardly dancing.

But being this close to Isabel was all the distraction he needed. Right now every thought was of her, every nerve in his being responding to her. When she pressed her cheek against his shoulder, sliding her body even closer, he could feel her heart beating, beating fast.

The realization that Isabel could be feeling the same way about him that he was feeling about her-at least right this second, in this moment away from the rest of the universe, away from time, away from thought-left him almost breathless.

Liz sat under an enormous weeping willow tree, its long, drooping branches creating a private room for her. A room of green. A tiny tea set was arranged in front of her, the itty-bitty roses on the cups and saucers drawn with amazing detail. She took a sip from the nearest cup and tasted a drop of honey on her tongue. There was one other cup on the other side of the little teapot. But who was it for? She was all alone here.

She peeked past the green curtain-wall. Empty desert stretched out as far as she could see. n.o.body out there anywhere.

"Would you like another cup, Liz, dear?" she asked herself. "Why, yes, I would. Thank you very much," she answered, smoothing the skirt of her cupcake dress. She picked up the pot and poured. Three raisins fell through the spout.

Liz wrinkled her brow. Raisins didn't belong in a teapot. And the dress with the cupcakes on it was from when she was in kindergarten. There's no way it would fit her now, but it did. And-and wait, something else was wrong-willow trees didn't belong in the desert.

I'm dreaming, Liz realized. Another one of those dreams where I know I'm dreaming.

Was Max in this dream, too? She scrambled to her feet and used both hands to part the branches of the willow tree wide. She scanned the desert. Was anything out there that could be Max in disguise?

All she saw was earth and sky. She seemed to be the only living creature. The willow tree was the only vegetation.

Liz returned to her place in front of the tea set, leaning back on the tree trunk. It felt soft and smooth beneath her head. Maybe I can call Max to me, she thought. It couldn't hurt to try, anyway.

She stared up at the canopy of jade green leaves over her head. "Max," she whispered. "Can you feel me here? Can you come to me? Please try." A branch of the willow tree brushed against her face. She flicked it away.

"I have two teacups and everything," she added. The branch brushed her cheek again, its leaves warm as flesh against her skin. Liz was struck by the memory of Max's fingers running down her face in exactly the same way.

"It's you!" she cried. "Willow trees don't have leaves this dark. Jade green-that's the color of your aura. It's you, Max!" The branch gently slid over her hair. Max loved to touch Liz's hair. It really was him.

"Okay, communication. That's what we need first," Liz muttered. She tried to send a loud, clear thought message to Max. Are you all right? Is there anything you can tell us about the consciousness that will help us get you free?

She strained for any murmur of a reply in her mind, but none came. "So no tree-to-human telepathy in this dream," she said.

But it was a dream. Yeah, she didn't have the powers that Max and the others did. But inside her own dream, couldn't she sort of create her own reality? Especially since she was aware that she was dreaming and everything?

"Maybe I could get some tree-to-tree telepathy going." Liz concentrated on her feet, willing them to lengthen into roots that stretched into the ground.

The earth lurched beneath her. "It's working!" she cried.

Then with a groaning, crunching sound, the ground cracked open. Liz stumbled backward, barely managing to escape falling into the ravine that had formed-and swallowed the willow tree.

"No!" Liz shouted, staring down at the tree. Before she could take a step, the earth rumbled again, and the ravine began to close itself. In seconds the desert floor was smooth and flat again. As if the tree had never existed.

As if Max had never been there.

"Knock, knock," Maria's mother called, opening the bedroom door without waiting for an answer-one of her many annoying habits.

Maria hit the pause b.u.t.ton on the remote and looked over at her mom. She was wearing Maria's black sweater that had shrunk in the wash. That sweater seemed to have moved permanently into her mom's closet. Majorly annoying.

"I might be a little later than usual tonight," Maria's mother announced. She s.h.i.+fted her weight slightly from foot to foot.

"Okay," Maria answered. She glanced at the still frame of the movie frozen on the TV screen-Karen Allen in midfaint. But did her mother take the hint that Maria wanted to get back to watching it? No.

"I'm going out with Daniel again," her mother said.

Maria sat up. "This is what? Like five times?" she asked, giving her mom her full attention.

"Uh-huh. I thought that-I'd heard that-the third date was significant, but . . ."

Don't go there, oh, please don't go there, Maria silently begged. She couldn't deal with talking about her mother's s.e.x life.

"Or maybe that's just something I read in a magazine," her mom added quickly, seeming to realize that mentioning her surprise at not getting any on date three was way, way inappropriate.

"Maybe," Maria answered, her voice coming out like some weird land of donkey bray.

"You know that perfume you mixed for me? I've been wearing it a lot lately-Daniel really likes it. And I just realized I ran out, and I really wanted to wear it tonight." Maria's mom looked at her hopefully. "He's picking me up in a few minutes."

"There isn't enough time to make a new batch," Maria answered. There really wasn't time, and even if there was, Maria wasn't sure how she felt about helping her mom snag a guy. She'd given up any fantasy of her parents getting back together, but still.

"Oh, okay. Never mind." Maria's mom nervously touched her hair, which Maria noticed was styled in a slightly different way. Tonight's really important to her, she realized.

"Wait," Maria said as her mother turned to leave. "I can get you something close. Sit," she instructed, patting the spot on the bed next to her. Her mother sat with a relieved smile.

Maria plucked two vials of essential oil off her bedside table. She took one of her mothers hands and flipped it palm up, then placed a few drops from each vial on her wrist and rubbed them in. A subcutaneous tremor ran through her mother's arm. Mom's nervous, Maria noticed. She rubbed a little harder, hoping to ease the tension from the muscles, but the quiver kept right on quivering.

"Thanks," Maria's mom said as Maria started working on the other wrist. "I just want to be . . . perfect." She touched her hair again self-consciously, then gave her midriff-bared by Maria's sweater-a hard poke. "Not that that's even possible."

I know the symptoms, Maria thought. Not only does Mom really, really like this guy, she's not sure how he feels about her. And she's worried that there is some significance, some he-doesn't-really-really-like-me-back significance, to five dates with no- Maria stopped herself. She extremely did not want to go there.

"I think you look beautiful," she told her mother. "And you smell good, too."

The doorbell rang, and her mother lurched to her feet. "That's him!" She bolted toward the bedroom door.

"Mom!" Maria called, and her mother spun around to face her. "If he doesn't, um . . ." She decided to start over. "If he doesn't appreciate you, it's his loss."

"Aw, that's so sweet." Maria's mom rushed back over and gave her a fast, lilac-and-vanilla-infused hug, then bolted out of the room.

Maria flopped back down into the nest of pillows on her bed.

"Okay, self, you take that advice, too," she muttered. "It's Michael's loss." She clicked the pause b.u.t.ton again, and the movie started back up. A minute later she was entranced.

She was so completely immersed in the world of the movie that she practically flew off the bed when she heard her window slide open nearly an hour later.

"You scared me," she snapped, her heart pounding as Michael climbed into her room.

"It's not like it's the first time I've come in this way," he answered.

"Not lately." It came out sounding a lot more accusatory than she'd intended it to. Well, so what? It was the truth, wasn't it?

"What're you watching?" Michael asked. He took a step toward the bed, then veered off, grabbed the chair next to her dresser, and plopped down on it.

"Um, nothing. Nothing! I wasn't really watching anything. It was just background noise." Oh, G.o.d, where was the remote? What had she done with the remote? She scanned the bed, the bedside table, groped under the pillows.

"Looking for this?" Michael picked the remote off the floor but, being Michael, didn't hand it to her.

Maria lunged for the TV set, fumbling for the power b.u.t.ton. She had to turn it off.

"Starman," Michael said. Too late. Maria glanced over her shoulder and saw him holding the plastic video rental box. "So you go out and rent stuff for background noise?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Yeah, sometimes.Stupid, huh? That's me. Stupid," Maria babbled. She found the power b.u.t.ton, hit it, and returned to the bed, sitting cross-legged and looking everywhere but at Michael.

He used the remote to click the TV back on. "Let's watch the rest. I've never seen it."

It will just be worse if I shut it off again, Maria thought. Not that it's not already totally obvious that I didn't want him to see what I was watching, which of course is why he now has to see it.

Michael stretched his legs out in front of him. Maria ordered herself not to check out the nice fit of his jeans. Of course, she didn't obey herself. "So what's happened so far?" he asked.

Ah, yes. Let's go for the maximum humiliation possible here, Maria thought.

"Well, that guy-" She nodded toward Jeff Bridges, who was in the middle of bringing a dead deer back to life. "He's the starman. His s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p crash-landed, and he took on the form of Karen Allen's husband by using DNA from hair from a photo alb.u.m. You know how some people save locks of hair?"

Maybe if Maria swamped Michael with details, he'd miss the fact that he'd caught her mooning over a movie that was a love story between an alien guy and a human girl.

"Anyway, he has to get back to his mother s.h.i.+p or he'll die, and some government people are chasing them, and a guy from SETI, too, who is basically decent. The starman, he really likes apple pie, and he just learned to drive. At first he thought a yellow light meant go very fast because he learned by watching Karen-I mean Jenny, the character's name is Jenny, Karen's the actress-drive and-"

"I'm up to speed," Michael said, cutting her off.