Title: Out of Darkness
Author: DocPaul
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None. There was no near fatal shot at the CrashDown of Liz, no Tess…no danger. Just three alien children raised in Roswell not knowing who they were, just that they were different, and unable to leave Roswell. Instead of Michael being apart from Max and Isabel, the three were found in the desert together.
Disclaimer: The names might be Roswell’s, but the story is all mine.
Warning: Dark universe full of suspense, angst, and violence
Summary: Michael finds someone special in his backyard, a woman. And his life is propelled into a web of violence and intrigue, and it will never be the same again.
Author’s notes: This alternative universe came to me and raged out of control. Hope you like it. For Jackie…..Intern of the Year! This story was written to Staind’s song “Outside” so I suggest listening to it as you read…..especially during the Maria painting scene.

Chapter 1: And you, bring me to my knees again All the times,

“Michael.”

The man paused as he was opening his front door. Ambushed. Damn. Turning, he looked at the tall blonde woman dressed impeccably in the latest yuppie fashion, hair perfect, nails perfectly painted, perfectly shaped and perfectly unchipped. Perfect.

His sister. Isabel. His sister, but not his sister. Isabel Evans.

“Isabel.” Michael Guerin unlocked the door and entered his private residence, a country home on the edge of Fraser Woods outside of Roswell, New Mexico.

Isabel quickly scurried inside before he could shut her out. Michael was an expert on shutting people out, and once he was behind his walls she would not be admitted. No one was. Not ever. Looking around at the place, she put her jacket over a chair. Michael’s place was neat, comfortable and very masculine. No woman had ever lived here, not since the day he had it built. The front living room had a wall of windows sixteen feet high looking out at the woods, a place where Michael could see the sky and the stars. All these years, and he was still waiting. She suspected his bedroom had a skylight, but she was never invited to tour his home. No one was. Someone might touch his things.

Isabel took a deep breath and turned to look at her brother. She reached out to touch him, but stopped herself and pulled back. Michael hated to be touched. He was a tall, lean man with a large frame, long limbs, big artistic hands, and a way of slouching so his height was not so obvious. Isabel was 5’10”, but she stood over six feet in her four inch heels, and yet Michael still topped her, even slouching. He slouched to draw himself in, almost in a defensive manner. Isabel suspected it was his way to go unnoticed. They don’t abuse you if they don’t notice you.

His eyes were the same brown as Isabel’s, but different. Hers were darker, but Michael’s had the warm, smoky, golden tint of a fine malt liquor. And they were silent, brooding and too deep to penetrate. His hair was a light brown that was worn long and curling on his shoulders. He sported a scruffy beard, as if he only shaved once or twice a month. All in all, he was attractive, made more so by his stand-offish attitude.

“What do you want, Isabel?”

“I called.” Isabel swallowed the sarcastic remark she was going to make. It’d just make him defensive. Piss him off. “I left a message on your machine. Actually, a few.”

Michael just shrugged and went over to his answering machine, hit the play button.

You have six messages….Tuesday, 6:43pm…Michael, this is Sam. Received your last piece. It looks good. The galleys will be in the mail. Did you think about the next assignment? Let me know….

Tuesday, 9:36pm…..Michael, pick up the phone…Michael? Well, it’s Isabel. Max and I want you to join us tomorrow for lunch… no excuses! Meet us at the Crashdown at noon…..

Wednesday, 12:15pm….Michael, you’re late. You better be leaving right now!….

Wednesday, 1:05 pm….Michael, where are you?….

Wednesday, 1:10pm….Michael, pick up the damn phone!……

Wednesday, 4:45pm….I’m sick of this. Prepare yourself. I’m coming over, and don’t think you can hide! I’m coming, and I will find you.

Isabel reached over and deleted the messages. Michael just shrugged and walked away. He stood in his living room looking out at the darkness in the woods. It was 9:00 in the evening. Isabel must have been waiting for a good four hours.

“Sorry, can’t make it,” he said simply, not turning to look at her.

“Obviously.” Isabel sighed and sat on the sofa’s edge. “You’re breaking Max’s heart.”

“He’ll survive.” Michael didn’t want to talk about their brother, Max. Correction. Isabel’s brother, Max. Max Evans. His best friend, his brother, and...everything. Perfect. Just like Isabel. Max was perfect. The perfect student, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect future husband, the perfect son...Perfect.

“No, he won’t! His wedding with Liz will be ruined if you won’t stand by his side and be his best man.”

“I don’t want to be there. Is that so hard to understand? I don’t belong there...okay?” Dammit... Michael felt his control slipping. Rubbing the back of his neck he could feel the headache starting low in the back of his neck and working upward.

“You’re our brother! Of course you belong there!”

Michael just gave a bitter laugh and went into the kitchen, leaving Isabel sitting there helpless. She looked down at her trembling hands. Clenching them, she swallowed the tears in the back of her throat. Michael.

Michael came back with an open beer, taking a swig. Isabel frowned, and the concern increased as she watched him put away the beer in three mouthfuls.

“Michael, you know we can’t drink!”

Michael tipped the bottle for the last drop. “I can. Only about one and a half. It gives me a rush, a little distortion, and blissful forgetfulness.” Michael sighed. “Go away, Izzy.”

“Michael...”

Exasperated, his voice rose. “Dammit! I’ll think about it, okay? If you stop pushing, I’ll think about it.”

Michael avoided her eyes. They’d be full of pain. Full of disappointment. She just nodded and left, shutting the door silently behind her as if to not disturb him any further. Michael took the bottle and threw it against the stone wall with the fireplace that covered one entire side of the living room. Hearing the crashing glass and the sound of it shattering to the floor, he sat on the sofa arm. Sinking his aching head in his hands, he grasped his long hair tight and pulled. Why? Why couldn’t he just do what they wanted? He had hurt her.

~~~

“Did you see him?” Max asked quietly. Isabel nodded and took a seat in the booth across from Max and Liz. The couple was sitting close together, holding hands. Isabel just smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah, I saw him. He wasn’t home and never got the messages.” They both shared a look, a look between siblings that knew everything about each other. He wouldn’t have come even if he had gotten the messages. Liz looked at the two of them, and once again felt on the outside. The tangible bond between the two was hard to enter, and so most of the time she was just an observer.

Liz was a pretty young woman in her mid-twenties. It had been seven years since they all graduated from West Roswell High, and only in the last three did she really get to know Max Evans. Her long brunette hair was a thing of beauty, but Max would say that it was her heart that made her beautiful beyond measure. He finally proposed to her three months ago after a Gomez concert, and that was only three months after he let her in on his big secret. The secret that bound Isabel, Max and even Michael into an unbreakable unit. They were hybrid aliens from the Roswell 1947 crash. They were survivors and they were alone. Forgotten.

For two and a half years he was just Max, her boyfriend. Before that he had been someone she sort of knew in high school. He was a quiet loner with his sister Isabel and best friend Michael as his only companions. It wasn’t until years later that she really got up the nerve to ask him out on a date. For the last year he had been her lover.

After high school, he continued working at the UFO Center, and she at the Crashdown. Sometimes Liz would daydream about college, about leaving Roswell, but those dreams died when she was sixteen and her father was shot during an incident in the Crashdown. He stepped in front of Liz to push her to safety. He took a bullet meant for her. And in a flash of powder, the smell of sulfur, her dad was no more.

After her father died her mother had a breakdown, and Liz ran the Crashdown with the help of a day manager while still in school. Her dad would have hated to see his business and his family destroyed by his death, so Liz stayed. And after high school, her mother tried to commit suicide when she realized Liz was thinking of going away to college, so finally she was committed to a sanitarium for her own safety. Ironically, the hospital bills and upkeep made it impossible for Liz to leave.

But until she heard about Max’s secret, she never could understand why Max didn’t go away to college. Isabel went to the community college in Roswell, and even Michael went to Las Cruces. But Max became manager of the UFO center. Around the end of their junior year, Brody, the owner of the Center, asked Max to increase his hours there. Brody's young daughter had just died of cancer and Brody just wasn't that interested in aliens anymore. After graduation Max took over control of the UFO center, and for the last seven years ate lunch and dinner at the Crashdown. Sometimes with Isabel and Michael, but mostly alone. That was until Liz finally got up the nerve to ask him out on a date, anywhere but the Crashdown.

The front door rang, and Liz frowned. They were already closed. It was Kyle Valenti.

“Oh, hi Kyle!”

“Hey Liz, sorry for the late hour.”

Liz smiled and excused herself from the siblings. “Not a problem. Sorry, but the grill is cold.”

“I was just hoping for coffee?” Kyle said with his most charming of boyish smiles. Liz smiled back and nodded. Kyle looked over at the two Evans and frowned. They were always so secretive, but he knew Isabel through his wife, Vicky, so he knew she was okay. Evans? He was kind of creepy in a shifty kinds of way, and he never made eye contact.

“You working the late shift?”

Kyle nodded. “Yeah, and Vicky isn’t too happy.”

“I bet.” Liz took his thermos and went to fill it.

Kyle Valenti was a deputy now for the Roswell PD. His father was still the sheriff, and Kyle was following in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps. Kyle had actually left Roswell to go to college. He played basketball in college and did really well, but his height was a problem, and he never made it to professional status. So as college was ending, he married Vicky Troy and went to the Police Academy in Albuquerque. He wanted to stay there, but Vicky wanted to go home to Roswell once she knew she was pregnant with their first child. So three children later, it looked like Roswell was going to be home.

Liz came back and handed him the filled thermos. Kyle smiled shyly, and they discussed things, people and joked about old times. Liz and Kyle had dated all through high school, but he broke it off with her when he left for college, not wanting to have a girlfriend at home. In all those years they retained their friendship. Kyle would always be special. He was her high school sweetheart and the first man she ever slept with. He was there supporting her when her dad died, and later that same school year when her Grandma Claudia also passed away.

Isabel looked over at Liz and Kyle chatting and laughing. Max was watching them too, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Michael.

“You need to talk to him, Max.”

Max just closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. It’s just so hard right now.” Max looked over at Liz and then moved in closer to his sister. “The visions, Isabel. They’re giving me nightmares. And I don’t know which is worse, the nightmares or knowing that it really happened to him.”

Isabel felt tears flood her eyes. Quickly wiping her eyes she went back to shredding a napkin.

Last month, in an unguarded moment while playing basketball with Michael, Max got a flash from him. Abuse. Years of it. They had never known, or perhaps they didn’t want to know. Over a month before, Michael’s foster father, Hank died of a massive coronary and Michael buried him, but the emotions from it all were still on the surface, and when Max touched him they all came rushing in at a rate Max couldn’t hold. He fell on the court and blurted it all out to Michael.

Michael’s face shut down, and he turned and walked away. He hadn’t spoken to Max since. Max called after him, but all he could do was watch his brother’s receding back. It had taken them years to learn to control their powers, and Michael’s still tended to be the most volatile. Max watched, horrified, as Michael walked away, blowing out all the glass within reach in cars, houses and businesses.

The abuse. It ranged over years, up until Michael was almost eighteen. It stopped when Michael finally stopped Hank from hitting him in their senior year. He broke Hank’s arm and that was the last time, but that was eight years too late.

“He hates that I know, and that I told you.”

“I know,” whispered Isabel. Michael hated many things. But that was a big one. “I tried talking to him, but now he’s so unreachable, even more than usual.”

Max nodded. “I wish Mom and Dad had adopted him, too. He would’ve been spared so much, he’d have felt like he belonged, and he’d have been our brother.”

“He is our brother.” Isabel said angrily. Her twin. Her brother. Lost.

“I know. I know. But he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t know how.” Max gripped Isabel’s hand hard. They looked at each other and then away. “I’ll try.”

Isabel looked over at Liz. “Did you tell, Liz?”

Max shook his head. Guilt. He was keeping secrets from her, and it was wrong. “I couldn’t. Michael can barely stand her most of the time, but this would be too much.”

Isabel nodded. Michael hated Liz Parker. Not really. But enough to avoid the woman. She was an outsider coming into their tight group. Max listened to her, when he wouldn’t listen to Michael. And Michael had strongly objected to Max telling her that they were aliens. Max did it anyway. He couldn’t marry a woman and not tell her such a thing. He took a big chance that Liz wouldn’t freak, that she wouldn’t believe or be afraid. But surprisingly all she said after her initial disbelief, with Max having to use his powers to show her, was that it explained the strange flashes she got - and the sex.

Sex? They hadn’t realized that they were unusual. Michael knew that in college he had to shake women off him who wanted to make things more permanent, but he just assumed it was raw talent. Isabel’s lovers over the years never complained, and since none of them kept anyone for long, it was just an unknown mystery. That was until Liz Parker explained that having one hour orgasms wasn’t a normal occurrence.

Isabel knew Michael didn’t appreciate the distinction, and neither did she. She was a legal secretary at her dad’s law firm. But her love life literally sucked.

All their love lives did. Michael had a few affairs a college, but the women invariably wanted more than he could give, or was willing to give. If they could handle a physical relationship with no strings, he was all for it. But every relationship became too messy until finally he retreated back to Roswell after four years of college to settle into a freelance writing career. After the first year he was able to buy land and build his own home.

Max never had anyone except Liz Parker. Literally since he first saw her he was fascinated, and what was an unrealized boyhood crush became an obsession after high school. He spent hours eating the greasiest food in Roswell just to watch her, until that one fateful day when she asked him out. He just nodded because he couldn’t speak. Isabel had to keep shaking him for the entire three day wait until the date to get him out of shock.

Isabel had a few affairs including one with her father’s partner, Jessie Ramirez. It ended badly when she refused to commit to anything but an affair. It was because she couldn’t bring herself to confess her alien origins like Max did to Liz, so she remained unattached. It was unfair to not disclose everything, but she spent a lifetime hiding in fear.

Roswell was becoming a lifetime sentence.

~~~

Michael searched his refrigerator for food. He had forgotten to go shopping again. Every time he was away on assignment, he let his groceries deplete so he didn’t have to come home to mold and walking sludge in his refrigerator. Grabbing another beer, he went to sit outside on the deck overlooking the woods. His house was built on a hill, so his basement came out on the ground, and his ground level from the front exited on a deck in the rear. He liked to sit out there at night looking up at the skies, and wonder why they sent them here - and why they never came back.

It didn’t matter. He stopped caring years ago. Basically when he was eighteen. The day he broke Hank’s arm. It ended then. He didn’t need them any longer. He didn’t need them to come and save him, give him a home. It was too late. That year was the year the three of them also had dreams about other worlds and five stars. They followed their dreams to a hidden chamber and their incubation pods. They had been engineered and there used to be four of them. Isabel didn’t talk for days. And Michael just wondered how the hell such an advanced race could space travel, but couldn’t build him better. Perfect.

Years afterwards he roamed, despite the insistence from Max, the King…that they needed to stay close to Roswell, close to the incubation chambers, and close to the alien device inside that they never learned to identify or understand. Michael walked away despite the protests from both Max and Isabel. His grades were crappy, but he couldn’t sit in Roswell cooking at the Crashdown for the rest of his life. So he took the frickin’ SATs and scored almost a perfect score. It wasn’t hard. He went to the library and scanned all the major subjects, endless amounts of SAT practice books and the entire Cliff Notes series. It took him an afternoon.

He didn’t want college, but he liked to read. The slow way. He liked the solace of words. Words were so simple, so clean, and on a pristine piece of white paper, they breathed their own life. They made him feel. Nothing else did that. Just words.

Michael picked up his manuscript, reading the first chapter for the umpteenth time. Twelve fucking years! Twelve... and he never could get beyond the first chapter. It sucked. He could feel the words in his brain, crowding out normal thought, screaming to be expressed. And yet when he tried to write them they were all wrong. Michael stopped in his reading and put it aside. It was all a pile of crap. He hated it. It felt wrong and dishonest. It was wooden and lacking in inspiration. It was Nothing. Just like him. He was writing his soul, and it was empty.

~~~

Kyle laughed at a joke Liz was telling him when his mobile receiver went off. “Valenti.”

“We’ve got a report of a car crash off 285 close to Fraser Woods. Can you roll on that, Kyle?”

Kyle responded to Verna, the dispatcher. “Ten-four, Verna. I’m on my way.”

“Support units are dispatched.”

Kyle took his thermos and reached for his wallet, but Liz stopped him. “No charge, Kyle. It’s on the house.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, so go save someone.” Kyle gave her another boyish smiles, and left the Crashdown quickly with a slight nod in Max Evans’ direction.

Liz watched him for a moment and then went back behind the bar. Taking the hot pot of coffee, she went to refill both Max’s and Isabel’s cups. Isabel just put a hand over her cup and smiled.

“None for me. I’ll never sleep as it is. I better leave so I can get to bed. Tomorrow is a long day.”

Max smiled when Liz filled his coffee cup with the steaming liquid. “What was that? With Kyle?”

Liz just shrugged. “Not sure, some accident off 285 close to Fraser Woods. A car wreck I think.”

Isabel just laughed. “It’s so strange to think of Kyle as a police officer. I still remember him as a jock with a terri ble reputation. Who’d have thought that he’d marry Vicky?”

“They are a strange couple. Every year Kyle gets more smalltown Roswell, and every year Vicky tries to retain that polished Cosmopolitan look. Strangely, they fit.”

Isabel had to agree. “But their children! What demons! I ate at their house one time and almost ran to the doctor to beg them to rip out my reproductive system.” Not that she was using it, or ever would. Isabel checked her watch and grimaced. Four hours of waiting for Michael was the biggest waste of her life. “I really have to go. Max...talk to Michael, promise?”

“I swear. Tomorrow.” Isabel waved and was out the door. She forgot she had laundry.

Liz looked down at her cup of coffee. “I’m sorry Michael is refusing to have anything to do with our wedding.”

Max grabbed her hand and kissed it. “It’s not that. I swear. It’s me. He’s upset with me.”

“He didn’t want you to tell me about...the alien thing.”

Max blew air from his mouth. “No... no he didn’t.” Max turned and looked at his fiancée seriously. “It’s not you, Liz. It’s us. It’s a pact we had since our childhood to protect each other, to never divulge ourselves to outsiders. Ever.”

“And I’m an outsider?” That hurt.

“Not to me, you’re not. You’ll never be, or could be.”

Liz smiled at his quiet romanticism, that intense dark look in his brown eyes. He really was such a great guy. And when they kissed, when they touched, it felt like...everything. She didn’t feel like smalltown Liz Parker, owner of the Crashdown. She felt special.

“I wish I had noticed you in high school. That I knew you then, before...”

Max nodded and took her hand to rub it across his face. Before her father died. Maybe he would’ve saved him, healed him. He and Michael had been there that day in the Crashdown. Max had seen Liz standing there, and as he ducked to the ground with Michael, there was a flash, a cry of ‘Lizzie!’, and suddenly timeless life in stillframe by stillframe as Mr. Parker, Geo ff Parker moved and pushed her to the side. She reached up and Max watched the ketchup bottle fall with her in slow motion. For a moment, between stillness and hush, she slowly stood up, and he saw the bloodstain on her front…but it wasn’t blood, it was only ketchup, and then her screams of horror as Mr. Parker laid at her feet bleeding to death. Max didn’t save him.

“It’s not your fault, about not knowing me, I mean. I didn’t want anyone to notice. None of us did. I held myself apart, and if I even talked to you it was in short quick sentences.”

“You were awfully quiet. I remember my lab partner for three years, and I could almost count the number of times you actually spoke to me.”

Max just looked embarrassed. “I was shy.”

Liz laughed and reached up to hug him, her slim arms going around his neck. “Understatement. But you’re not shy anymore.”

“No.” Max laughed his eyes twinkling, and then suddenly serious. “I know this is wrong. I should be alone, because getting involved is a great risk.” Max stopped her before she protested with a kiss. “But I can’t care. I tried. I tried being alone. Isabel does it. Michael wrote the stupid book on ‘Isolation for Those Not From Here’. I don’t want to live and die on planet Earth alone. You’re the only thing I ever wanted. I’d wait a thousand lifetimes for you.”

Liz kissed him, her hands touching his face, stroking the lines of his cheekbones. Alien? The only thing alien about him was his honesty and his love of her. Most the time she felt unworthy, just ordinary, but Max Evans’ love made her extraordinary. Something more.

“I love you. I think I used to dream about you before I even knew what dreams were. You make staying in Roswell worth it, worth losing my dreams of college.”

Max laughed. “God! You turn me into something totally mushy!”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Max thought about it for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.” How could he complain? He worked at the frickin’ UFO Center catering to alien groupies! He was an alien working in a cheap tourist trap for alien junkies! How insane was that?

“Good.” Liz sat up in the bench seat next to him on her knees. “Then move in with me.”

Max paused. Live with her. Stupid. Of course that was what being married meant. They had been sleeping together for a year now. But his place was his place, and her place was her old home above the Crashdown. Sooner or later they had to think about taking that step since married people often lived in the same house.

“I leave the seat up.”

“That’s okay. I clog the drains with my long hair.”

“I suck at plumbing.”

“I’ve got one on 24/7 alert.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yeah. We could live there. I’ll work downstairs, and you can walk across the street to your work. It couldn’t be more perfect.” It sounded routine, unexciting, and settled.

Perfect. Everything he always wanted. To be totally normal. To feel it. To be it. Human.

“Okay. Let’s cohabitate, so my mom and Isabel freak out and speed up the wedding plans. At this rate we’ll be old and gray before the actual event arrives.”

“They sure are...thorough!” Max laughed at Liz’s tactful manner of stating the obvious.

“When do you want to start?” Max asked with a devil may care look in his eyes. He felt young. Younger than he ever did all those years in high school or growing up. She gave him that. A sense of everything being new, fresh and young. She was his soul.

Liz just laughed and took his hand, pulling him out of the booth and towards the back door to the breakroom and the stairs that led upstairs. Max waved a hand, and heard the front doors lock. With another wave of his hand the lights went off.

~~~

“What’s going on, Hanson?”

“Hey, Kyle.” Hanson looked up from his computer in the car. “We’ve got a car that was run off the road. The fire crews are still trying to get the flames under control. I’ve got the license plate. It's an Arizona plate. Just running it now.”

“The driver?” Kyle looked down at the car engulfed in an inferno.

“Unable to say until the flames are out. They’re trying to get it under control before it sets the woods on fire.”

Kyle nodded and went down the embankment. He paused on the roadway near where the car had crashed through the guard railing. There were no skid marks. The car was either pushed off the road and the driver was unable to brake, or the driver purposely drove it off. Climbing down the bank, he went to wait as the fire crews worked.

“Hey Mark.”

“Kyle. This yours?”

“I suppose it's Hanson’s since he was first on the scene.”

Mark nodded. He and Kyle went to school together, even double dated with his wife Linda and Liz Parker. Now he was a member of the Roswell FD and Kyle the Roswell PD, and they met on the city playing fields for baseball, basketball and touch football. The Roswell PD had a strong basketball team with Kyle, but the firemen were ruling the baseball diamond, and touch football was a free for all.

“So the PD putting a team into the bowling leagues this year?”

Kyle just nodded. “Yeah. I’m on it, and Vicky is ready to toss me out of the bedroom. Another night with the boys while she's home alone with the babies.”

“Three boys, Kyle. Maybe you should’ve given her a little girl to occupy her time.”

Kyle just laughed. That wasn’t funny. Vicky was actually talking about it, and all Kyle could see was another mouth to feed, and possibly another boy. He couldn’t keep his demons in clothes as it was, and the only saving grace was pushing them off on his dad for camping trips and fishing. Even with them being between the ages of one and three, they ate everything in sight. Cute little scamps. The twins were the worst. They did tag team mischief at the age of three!

“Hey, looks like they got it under control.”

Kyle nodded and followed Mark down to the site. They approached the hot smoldering steel with caution as one of the firemen wrenched open the door. It was a nice expensive car. Small, compact convertible. Looked like it was once red.

“This is a nice set of wheels...well...once. I think it runs about what my house cost.” Kyle said thinking of his hefty mortgage.

“Yeah, other peoples' money.” Mark looked at the car with envy. He was still driving a twenty year old truck his dad gave him in high school. “This is probably a mid-life crisis car for some broker or something in Arizona who traded his old wife up for a 'young thang'.”

“Whatever you do, don’t say that around Vicky! She’s still trying to lose ten extra pounds of baby fat from Jamie.”

Both men laughed as Hanson came to join them. The men watched as the interior of the car was searched. No one.

“Hanson, what did you get on car owner?”

“Female from Tucson, Arizona. A...Maria DeLuca. Age twenty-five. No moving violations, warrants or outstanding tickets, except for parking. About six parking tickets unpaid.”

Kyle nodded. Okay, so not a mid-life crisis car. More than likely, a spoiled rich kid’s car driving while intoxicated and missed the turn. Too drunk to even apply the brakes and save herself.

“Deputies, you might want to see this,” called a fireman. Both Hanson and Kyle went closer.

Kyle startled at the barrage of small holes along the side of the car. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Bullet holes,” said Hanson.

“Jesus! So where is our missing Miss DeLuca? And why the hell was someone shooting at her car?” Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. It was going to be a long night. “Hanson, we’d better wake up forensics and call the Sheriff.”

Sheriff Valenti wasn’t going to be happy. If Kyle remembered correctly, his dad, Jim Valenti was scheduled to play at the CowPatty with his band, the Kit Shickers. Kyle took out his cell and hit the autodial for his dad. Hopefully he got to play a few sets.

~~~

Michael was staring at the sky, not really aware, but actually dozing a little, waking, and then falling asleep again. Max. Dammit. He promised Iz he’d think about it.

All those years he kept it from them. From Isabel and Max. They thought he was out of control, impulsive and reckless. They could never understand his driving need to be free of Roswell, free of the Earth, and the desperate drive to find who he was. They loved their home. Loved their family. It was enough for them.

Words. He had no words for them. No language he could speak that they could understand, because they came from different worlds. Abused. Beaten. Battered. Humiliated. Shamed. Less than an animal. People treated animals more humanely. He didn’t speak more than a few words by the time he was thirteen. Social services kept testing his intelligence. He healed too well. He was never sick. And somewhere along the way, while trying to avoid the strap, he got the reputation of being a troublemaker. He couldn’t remember when it started or how.

Max stole the images from him. It wasn’t Max’s fault. Hank had just died and it was all very confused. How could he actually mourn that sick fucking bastard? He even went away to college just to be free of him, free of Max and Isabel and their perfect lives and free of Roswell. Free of an image he couldn’t erase, or even wanted to. He didn’t care what people thought of him.

Michael reached for his fourth beer. He had spaced them out so they wouldn’t affect him so much. He knew that he could almost drink two, wait a little while until the edge wore off, and then finish the second. And if he waited a few hours he could do it again. Another legacy from Hank. Drowning himself in booze. Was he the equivalent of an alien alcoholic? Working on it.

Michael stood up quickly, knocking his beer over at the sound of a noise. The metal lawn cans behind the woodpile. Dammit. It was too early to worry about raccoons, but they had made a mess of the place last year. Vaulting over the side of the railing of the upper deck, he landed softly and surprisingly gracefully for a man of his size and height. Moving slowly in the dark, he had his hand up ready to blast the frickin’ ‘Coon’ to hell. He wasn’t spending his summer picking up garbage spewed all over his place. Last year he called animal control and they showed up at the end of the season to vacate a family of six out of his storage shed, but not until after a long summer of hell.

Coming around the woodpile he didn’t register the figure at first, his first impulse being blast first and ask questions later. It took a few moments for him to realize he had just sent a young woman crashing against the side of his house. Her silhouette dropped to the ground like a ragdoll in a crashing 'Umph!' and a heap. He winced, then cussed. His heart was beating a mile a minute. Oh god! Rushing to the small broken figure, he was shocked that before he could move to touch her, or check her out, she was awake, and scrambling away from him.

Green eyes, wild, confused, and unfocused peaked out from messy blonde hair. The entire left side of her face was bruised and swollen, and a cut on her scalp was bleeding all over her clothes. She had no shoes. Just a short, tight dress of green silk and a leather belt. The dress was ripped and torn. Dirty, covered in mud and blackened almost as if it had seen the edges of fire. Her hands were so small, long and delicate. The nails were covered in dirt and grime, and the actual hands were bleeding. He could tell they were cut.

“Hey!” Before he could say another word, she was scrambling away from him in fright. “I won’t hurt you! I’m sorry about before. I...”

She was on her feet and running into his woods. Michael cursed and ran after her. He was a fucking insane bastard. He should just go inside and call the cops. Tell them that sister to the ‘wild boy’ was living in his woods, but fucking animal control would probably show up in a few months. A few months too late for this terri fied creature.

Guilt. He didn’t like it. But he couldn’t know how much damage hitting her with his powers had caused. He was expecting a raccoon, so he hadn’t used full force. Just enough to knock the trash-eating bastard out. Her bleeding head concerned him. Great. It had been years since he was rash enough to expose his powers. But this was twice just recently. The day Max took flashes from his mind, and now to a stranger. All he fucking needed. Insano Girl telling the authorities and anyone who’d listen how the evil man held up his hand and blasted her.

He needed to find her first.

~~~

The area was dark. Too fast. Too noisy. Breathe. Breathe. Don’t cry. Don’t die. Pain. Fire burning. Colors bleeding. Too fast. Hurt. Feet. No feet. Can’t feel. Run. Run. Run.

She rushed through the brush, her bruised and bare feet bleeding. The twigs of the trees pulled at her, the thorns tore at her skin. Her side hurt. Her hands bled. Monsters. She could hear them. Feel them. Run. Run, dammit! Shut up, you baby. Stop crying! Stop wanting to just stop and die. She tripped. For a moment she lay there, confused. Too tired to move. Resigned.

Get up! Get up! Now! She was up and running. It came in slow motion, and almost didn’t register. The arm grabbing her midriff. The stopping of forward motion. Arms. Strong arms pulled her off her feet, pulled her back against a hard wall of bone and flesh. Monsters. They eat the bones. Screaming in terror. She thrashed and punched. Biting and screaming until a large hand came over mouth, and she was bound in arms too tight to get away from, and her arms anchored to her side.

“Fuck! Shushhhh. Calm down! It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I swear. Just calm down so I can help you.”

Heart fluttering beneath the sternum. Drum. Drum. Drum. The deathwatch march. Calm. Breathe. Breathe.

“That’s it. Calm. Shhhhh. Calm. Calm down and I’ll release you. Do you understand?”

Michael felt a small nod of acknowledgment. And when she stopped struggling, he tentatively released her a little, but held her against him. She was so small, so tiny and delicate. And in a rush, he got a flash from her. Her panic. Her fear. An overwhelming sense of horror. And so much more. Flashes coming too fast to decipher, to understand. It was like an acid trip washout all in a psychedelic haze.

Releasing her because the visions were coming too quick. Fast and furious, he stood back and looked at her as she turned. Weaving on her feet, she saw him, and before his eyes, he saw her eyes roll back in her head.

“No! Don’t...” Michael cussed. “… faint.” His voice became softer as he picked her off the ground. “Don’t faint.”

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