Roswell High: The Salvation Part 8

"Good," Maria answered. She scooted back a little farther so she could lean against the headboard and focused her eyes on the TV screen. She'd thought she'd have to pretend that she was having no problem watching it with him, but the story sucked her back in, and she didn't have to fake it after all.

When the movie got to the part where Jenny and Starman had to say good-bye, Maria's eyes got all wet and stingy, and she suddenly became aware that Michael was watching her and not the television.

Maria tried to stop the tears before they began rolling down her face, but she couldn't. Jenny's pain at never seeing Starman again was so real to her.

"Repeat after me.Movie. Reality. Movie. Reality," Michael said sarcastically.

She nodded and locked her teeth together, but she couldn't stop a m.u.f.fled keening sound from escaping her. It was so sad.

Michael threw a box of Kleenex in her direction. "I've got to go," he told her.

Big surprise.

Maria wiped off her face and blew her nose hard.

"Wait," she commanded. She used another Kleenex on her face, sure it was already all blotchy. It was so unfair that she couldn't cry like Karen Allen, who looked beautiful and pale and tragic as her tears flowed.

"What?" Michael asked impatiently, getting to his feet and jamming his hands in his back pockets.

"Yesterday it sounded like Trevor expected you to go back home with him. So are you?"

She hadn't planned to ask Michael that question, even though she was dying to know the answer. But when he said he was leaving, it just came spilling out.

"Are you?" she repeated when he hesitated.

"I'm thinking about it," Michael answered.

And he was out of there, leaving Maria heartbroken and speechless.

NINE.

Maria was already sitting at their usual booth at the back of Flying Pepperoni. Michael hesitated, trying to figure out if he should sit next to her or across from her. Next to her there could be some accidental skin-to-skin contact, and he'd definitely pick up the scent of the essential oils she wore. But across from her he'd have to look at her, and- "Why are we stopping?" Trevor asked from behind him.

"We're not," Michael answered. He strode over to the table and slid onto the leatherette bench across from Maria, figuring it was marginally safer.

He still couldn't believe he'd gone to her house last night after all his mental lectures on the virtues of Operation Cold Turkey. At least he hadn't let himself sit on the bed, managing to utilize that much brain matter. And he hadn't touched her, even though when he'd seen the tears on her cheeks, he'd had this wild impulse to kiss them away and then just kiss her until the kiss became her whole world. And his.

What was wrong with him?

"Now that your entire party is here, would you like to order?" Lucinda Baker asked as she bounced up to their booth.

"I wouldn't exactly call it a party," Maria muttered. She grabbed a bread stick out of the basket and broke it in half with a sharp snap.

"How about a batch of our buffalo chicken wings with our special blue cheese dipping sauce to get you started?" Lucinda continued cheerily.

"Lucinda, check the lost and found. I think I saw your pod in there," Maria said, crunching into the bread stick.

Lucinda lowered her voice. "The district manager is here today. And I'm supposed to be a-" She pointed to her big, yellow, I'm-a-happy-waitress b.u.t.ton. "I'm also supposed to use my happy, peppy charm to get people to order apps. If you do, I swear I'll pay you back for them at school tomorrow. I'm teetering on the brink of unemployment here." Lucinda raised her voice again and stood up ramrod straight. "Or maybe you'd like to try our supercrunchy mozzarella sticks. They're yum-my!"

"Fried cheese." Maria shook her head with a grimace. "Is it just me, or is there something obscene about the whole concept of fried cheese?" She shot an evil glance at Michael, as if he was the inventor of the mozzarella stick. Clearly if Maria was wearing a b.u.t.ton right now, the words I'm a happy would not be anywhere on it.

"We'll take the wings," Michael said, avoiding Maria's gaze. "And a medium pie, one-third veggie, two-thirds meatball and pineapple. One mineral water, one Lime Warp-" He looked at Trevor.

"Orange soda," Trevor said.

"You got it!" Lucinda cried, and rushed off.

"Thanks for asking what I wanted," Maria muttered.

Michael wanted to yell at her to speak up if she expected a response. Instead he tried to be rational since she was obviously incapable.

"Maria, we've eaten here one billion times," Michael said, pulling a napkin out of the dispenser and starting to shred it in front of him. "One billion times you've eaten veggie pizza. What is the problem?"

"The problem is just because you're a guy, you think you get to make all the decisions about everything," she shot back, her eyes as bright as blue flames.

"This has nothing to do with being a guy-" Michael began, shredding faster.

Trevor cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat. "Can we talk about our nonexistent backup plan?"

Maria ignored him. "You know I'm a vegetarian, and yet you still went ahead and ordered chicken wings," she said accusatorily.

"What? You wanted the p.o.r.nographic fried cheese?" Michael demanded in a whisper.

"Obscene," Maria muttered, seeming to have forgotten how to speak in any other manner.

"When I was with DuPris, he made me watch all these old sitcoms," Trevor interjected in a matter-of-fact tone. "There was one where, I think it was Bobby and Peter, drew a line down the middle of their room. And then there was one where the Skipper and Gilligan drew a line down the middle of their hut. There was also one where Grandpa and Herman drew a line down-"

"Excuse me, but what the h.e.l.l are you talking about?" Michael exploded, ripping the last of the napkin in half.

"I was thinking that maybe if I drew a line down the center of the table, and we said that half was yours and half was Maria's, then we could start working on a plan, which is why we're all here," Trevor explained, clearly irritated.

"I didn't do anything," Michael muttered, flopping back in his seat. Little pieces of napkin fluttered to the floor, and he just watched them.

"Yeah, right," Maria muttered, flopping in the exact same way.

"Max," Trevor said. He laid his hands flat on the table and looked back and forth at the two of them. "Max Evans. Your friend. That's why we're here, remember?"

Michael shoved his hands through his hair. Trevor was right. Time they wasted now could endanger Max later. And arguing with Maria was definitely a waste of time.

"So, what did we learn with our last, ma.s.sively failed plan?" he asked.

"That connecting to the consciousness and trying to shatter it from the inside is not an option," Maria answered, her voice ultracalm. Her gaze was focused on the table.

"We also know that when we connect and use the two Stones in tandem, it doesn't give them more power," Trevor added. You could hear the relief in his tone, and he sat back slightly.

"So basically, we have squat." Michael dropped his head back on the booth and waited while Lucinda deposited the drinks and wings on the table. "Maybe we're going to have to go with DuPris's plan after all," he said when she was out of earshot again.

"But that means killing all those innocent beings," Maria protested. Still no eye contact.

"None of us want that," Trevor said, taking a sip of his soda. "But it's starting to look like it might be the only way. So much death to save one life-even Max's life-would be unthinkable. But this isn't only about Max. The consciousness must be shattered for every being that is fighting for the right to an individual life."

"If it comes to that, you won't have to do it alone," Michael told Trevor. His heart was pounding with fear, but he meant every word he said. "I'll go through the wormhole with you and help you lead the squadron on the mission to capture the other Stone."

Maria made a gasping, gurgling sound but didn't say anything. Michael got very busy pouring some sugar into the blue cheese sauce and stirring it with his finger so he wouldn't have to look at her.

He dipped a wing in the blue-cheese-and-sugar mixture, then took a bite, but he could hardly taste it because he could feel Maria's eyes on him. Reluctantly he looked up at her. G.o.d, her face was so pale-which made her raspberry lips look even more raspberryish. Even from across the table he could see how tense the muscles in her neck were. He wanted to reach over and smooth the knots out with his fingers, and- "I have to take a leak," Michael blurted suddenly. And then he bolted. Ate one bite of a wing, and I turned into a total chicken, he thought, disgusted with himself for running away He stomped into the men's bathroom and did a quick foot check under the stalls. n.o.body Michael glared at himself in the nearest grungy mirror. "Face the truth. The tapering off, the Operation Cold Turkey, it wasn't just for Maria's sake. It was for yours, too. And you totally blew it last night. Now leave the girl alone. Stop even thinking about her, especially thinking about anything that involves touching."

Michael paced in a tight circle, then returned to his position in front of the mirror. "The way you feel about Maria-that's not a reason to give up the biggest dream of your life. It's not a reason to blow off helping to rebuild a freakin' world. It's what your parents would have wanted. You and Trevor, continuing their work together."

He leaned over and splashed some cold water on his face. "Remember Cameron?" he asked himself as he raised his dripping head back up. "Remember how you felt about her? Well, you don't really feel that way anymore. So, who knows? In a few months Maria might not even-"

Except now that he'd had some time away from Cameron, he didn't think he'd ever come close to feeling about her the way he felt about Maria. What he and Cameron went through in the compound was so intense, it formed an instant bond between them. And yeah, she was hot. But he and Maria had spent nights, and nights, and nights together, watching horror movies and babysitting. It was like Maria had put down roots in his body without him even noticing. Until now. Until he thought of never seeing her again.

"You've got to do this," Michael told himself, dunking his head again. "Operation Cold Turkey is in full effect." He grabbed a couple of paper towels and dried off his hair as he returned to the booth.

"The Stones are so phenomenally powerful," Maria said as he approached. "It's hard to believe there's anything two of them couldn't do." She didn't glance at Michael as he slid back into his seat.

Trevor grabbed a slice of the pizza that had been served while Michael was lecturing himself in the can.

"I'm not totally sure all three Stones are absolutely necessary to shatter the consciousness," he admitted. "It may just be that as long as the consciousness has even one of the Stones' power available to it, it will be strong enough to hold off an attack from the other two."

"That doesn't help at all, does it?" Michael said, stirring his straw in his drink. "Getting the Stone away from the consciousness isn't any easier than taking it for ourselves." He took one of the meatball-and-pineapple slices and coated it with his own personal dipping sauce.

Maria wrinkled her nose in disgust and took a long sip of her mineral water. "I wonder what kind of range that device Kyle used on the Stone has. Remember-it sucked all the power out of the Stone in seconds."

"And it took days to recharge it," Trevor added.

"There's no way it's powerful enough to reach all the way to the home planet," Michael said, taking a bite of his concoction.

"What about a timer? Or a remote?" Maria asked. She wasn't eating a thing, and Michael had a feeling his offer to Trevor was the reason, but he didn't say anything. "I just don't want you-you two-to have to go back there, and-and have all those beings die if there's another way."

Trevor dropped his slice back to his plate. "Maybe we could rig up a timer to that device and send it through a wormhole. It would take out the Stone at home, but the two we have would be safe."

"So, step one-we get the device," Michael said, feeling the adrenaline begin to pump through his body. This was good. They were starting to form a plan. A shoddy plan, but a plan nonetheless.

"Right," Maria said, s.h.i.+fting in her seat. "But only Kyle Valenti knows where it is."

"Okay, so where's Kyle?" Trevor asked, taking a huge bite of pizza.

"He's still . . . resting," Maria answered. "In the mental inst.i.tution."

Liz tightened her grip on Max's leg. She kept her eyes focused on Alex. If she let herself glance down at Max's body, she got the chilling feeling that she, Alex, and Isabel were his pallbearers. He's still alive, and he's still Max, she rea.s.sured herself. He's just . . . hidden from you right now.

"Watch out, Alex! You almost let his head hit the stair railing!" Isabel exclaimed.

Alex gave a grunt in reply and kept climbing backward, cradling Max's shoulders in his arms. He carefully inched through the open front door of Michael's apartment. "Do you need a break before we take him the rest of the way?"

Liz and Isabel exchanged a look. "No, we're okay. Keep going," Liz answered. Her breath was coming a little hard, but she didn't want to lay Max down on the floor like a basket of laundry that had gotten too heavy. She kicked the apartment door shut when she cleared it, and then they crept down the hallway toward the bedroom. Her arms were aching by the time they managed to put Max down on the bed, but she still hated to let him go.

"We'll look for the Stones again tomorrow," Isabel announced, in case the consciousness was listening. She brushed Max's hair off his forehead and stared down at his face for a long moment. "So, we'll be in the kitchen if you need anything. Okay, Max?"

"I want to stay in here a little bit again and just-um-visit," Liz stammered. She adjusted her backpack, feeling her supplies slide around inside.

"Leave the door open. And don't get too close, okay?" Alex said.

Liz nodded, even though she knew she had absolutely no intention of following Alex's instructions. As soon as he and Isabel were safely in the kitchen, Liz closed the door halfway, figuring one of them would come check on her if she shut it completely, and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Max.

"I've been reading this book on comas," she told him. "I know you're not in one, but I thought some of the experimental techniques they've tried to bring coma patients back to consciousness might work on you." She pulled off her backpack and unzipped it, watching Max's face the entire time. "The big thing seems to be stimulating the senses, through methods like music or even pain. But don't worry, there will be no pain involved," Liz added quickly.

Oh, G.o.d. Did I blow it? Did I just announce to the consciousness my whole plan and give it time to defend itself? But it was too late to worry about that now. She took a CD out of her backpack, stuck it in the player on the nightstand, selected the track, and hit play.

"Remember this one?" she asked, focusing on Max's eyes. "It's the song that was playing during our dance as homecoming queen and king, our first dance together." Her heart squeezed as she listened to the melody and remembered how she felt that night-beautiful and special and loved. She tried to push the feelings aside.

"You were so surprised you'd won, I wasn't sure you'd even be able to move. But it was a great dance." Liz stopped talking and let the music fill the room. As she listened, she could almost see the cheesy yellow and brown crepe paper streamers that had filled the gym that night, could almost see the shock in Max's bright blue eyes when she'd pretty much asked him to kiss her, shock followed by warmth that had almost melted her bones.

Was the song flooding Max with images the way it was her? Or was the consciousness now controlling the part of Max's brain that held his memories? His face gave her no clue. There was no change of expression.

"Okay, let's try something else," Liz said when the song ended. She snapped off the CD player and removed a bottle of ketchup from her backpack. The smell always brought her back to one of the most intense experiences of her life. She thought it might do the same for Max.

"Worth a shot," she mumbled as she turned Max's palm up, smoothing out his fingers. She touched him a little longer than she needed to, then upended the bottle and waited for a dollop to fall onto his skin.

"Come on, come on." She gave the side of the bottle an impatient smack. Then, remembering the trick her mama had taught her, she found the little raised 57 on the gla.s.s and hit the bottle again, right over the number. With a plop a blob of ketchup fell into Max's hand. Liz curled his fingers over and rubbed them in it. "Remember ketchup?" she asked. "You broke a ketchup bottle and poured it over my stomach to cover the blood, remember, Max? It was the day you healed me. The day you saved my life."

Max's face remained blank. Liz ran one of her fingers through the ketchup and then held it under his nose. "Remember that day, Max? The day everything changed? The day you risked everything for me?"

It's not working, she realized. Something else. Something else. Liz wiped off her finger and Max's hand, then rooted through her backpack frantically. She'd really thought the ketchup was a great choice, but just because that smell always jerked her back to that wonderful, horrible moment didn't mean it was the trigger for Max.

"Maybe this will work for you," Liz said. She pulled free a dark green dress, lace over a lighter, silky smooth layer, then ran the cloth down Max's cheek. "This was what I was wearing when I told you I loved you the very first time. Remember?" She rubbed the cloth against his skin again, harder. Too hard. The lace made a row of tiny scratches.

"Oh, sorry." Liz kissed her fingers, then pressed them over the scratches. "Sorry," she repeated, kissing the scratches themselves.

She scooted closer to Max, and the backpack fell onto the floor. She didn't bother to pick it up. When she'd been gathering all the items that might snap Max back to her, she'd forgotten about the physical sensation that, at least for her, was more powerful than anything else-a kiss.

Liz knew the consciousness could be feeling everything that she was doing to Max and that he might not be aware of any of it. But she pushed that thought out of her mind.

"I love you, Max," she said, clearly and forcefully. Then she lowered her head and kissed him, trying to infuse the kiss with all the emotion and pa.s.sion she had inside her-that she had inside her for Max.

His lips were cool, and still, and dead feeling, but Liz didn't pull away. I love you, she thought. Can't you feel that? Remember? Remember?

A hand wrapped itself in her hair. Another hand pressed itself against her back, urging her closer, closer, closer. Without breaking the kiss, Liz opened her eyes and looked into Max's eyes-bright and aware and full of love.