Bone Hill House, Washington State. November 2018.
Dearest Reader
Look i am really sorry about this shocking, inexcusable, yet entirely necessary delay! There I was, writing out this latest installment of my life story, trying to sort of the various time lines on bits iof paper using string and color coded felt tip pens when MAX summoned me off to Antar on some absurd and highly dangerous adventure. I protested, naturally - I protest so well, I mean, I have the right cheek bones and the crooked lip - but it's very difficult protesting to Max when he is standing over you, stark naked, covered in soap suds, and with his hair wet, long and to one side, like one of those Nataraja depictions of Lord Shiva. I mean you try it!
One minute I was lying face down, writing, writing, writing, imagining the Crash Down cafe with the Rosweliians; reliving the AGONY of Martha-Murec going up like the Northern Lights, and the next minute I felt the firm, hot (and distincively damp) buttocks of Max on my upper back as if I was some sort of magic carpet and he was about to ride me (oh, sorry - you know what I mean) ride me off to Antar! Max had whispered some exotic obscentiy in my ear, his wet hair on my neck. I had even felt something distincily genital like brushing my skin as he leaned down. Actually he'd said `get your things we're leaving IMMEDFIATELY!'
`But MAXXXXXX, what about our audience? My fans? What about those charming italian girls who keep buying your jeans and running about Rome in them? What about Jeannine , the women who accidentally voted Republican in 2008 because the ballot slip was back to front?'
But he had growled. That sort of deep throated, playful `don't mess with me growl' Panthers have when you are trying to pull their whiskers or blow in their ears. So I had no choice but to go - and leave my firlends all standing in the shattered glass and debri of the Crash Down with Valenti's patrol car purring outside. I am really sorry - but blame Max.
Anyway - we're back! And my charts and pen lines and bits of string have been relatively undisturbed, although various visitors to Bone Hill House have moved little things. Grey denies any knowledge of anyone coming into the library, but as we know the library is a rather mysterious place where things have a tendency to come out off, not into, and out at their own pace. Max has been swimming all day and is alseep now, propped up on cushions with a novel (which is is not reading). Later he has to do loads of buisness and see loads of Very Important People (like Michael, for example). For some reason, he has been 21 again since his latest return from Antar - and shows no signs of resuming his proper age. It is very distracting. Anyway -look - I am about to resume - bare with me (oppps) -
Jamie Relph.
xx
Shrodinger's (Jamies) Cat. Teen. (UC. Slash) 01/27 COMPLETE
Moderators: Anniepoo98, Itzstacie, truelovepooh, Erina, Forum Moderators
-
Patroclus76
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 178
- Joined: Wed Mar 08, 2006 5:02 pm
- Location: Bristol, UK
- Contact:
-
Patroclus76
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 178
- Joined: Wed Mar 08, 2006 5:02 pm
- Location: Bristol, UK
- Contact:
Re: Shrodinger's (Jamies) Cat. Teen. (UC. Slash) 11/29
Several things crash through my head at this precise moment in time: firstly, there is the realisation that Max’s hand seems to fit perfectly over the glowing, silver imprint left by Murec. Secondly, that there is a very, very weird look on Max’s angelic, chiselled face, a premonition of something - a look of intense distance, the look of a sleek animal that has heard a sound both far off and ominous. Myself, Liz, Maria and Michael are standing still in shock, curled around Max, all in silence. watching him. Then, behind us, someone pushes open the café door, and crunches over the glass and debris. I turn to see the rather gaunt, crenulated features of Sheriff Valenti. I also see that a small crowd has gathered on the pavement, and then I notice, coming forward hastily, pushing people away like one of those extras in a disaster film, is Valenti the Younger, in full jock outfit, Liz‘s clearly CONVIENENT boyfriend. Jesus. I felt like an extra in a remake of The Titanic.
`Howdie.’ Valenti lifts his Stetson calmly, like a real gent, as if he walks into semi-destroyed cafes all the time. There is no sign of Liz’s parents, despite the fact they live above the cafe. Valenti has an astounding face, incidentally. It looks like a three dimensional map of the Beverly Hills. He stares at each one us in turn, while I calculate how much moisturising cream it would take to smooth out his skin. ( A lot!). Max is the only one not to have turned around. He is still looking at his hand on the table.
`Would someone of you good folks like to explain to me what just happened in here?’
There is another metallic sound as the door is pushed open, and Kyle appears. His blue eyes snap at Liz and then at the solid back of Max. For a moment they hardened with a sort of murderous rage.
`Liz! Liz are you ok!’ He goes to run, post disaster movie style, towards Liz, but Valenti senior can spot a CRIME scene at the drop of his very large hat and holds Kyle back. There is some sort of father-son squabble, which gives Max enough time to come out of the weird MaxTime trance he has gone into, and turn around. He looks straight into my eyes and my entire respiratory system seizes up. There is a knowing look to my new found Messiah that hints he has seen my innermost shocking thoughts. I glance down, blushing. Like those colored bits of glass in a kaleidoscope, we have all re-arranged ourselves around Max and are looking outward, expectantly. Except Michael, who has edged closer to his leader, and is locked in some sort of Vulcan mind meld with him. Michael is probably trying to say he can handle this, while Max - given Punk Boy’s performance so far - is trying to assert some authority. (note to self: I have noticed these strange silent communes between Michael and Max a lot recently. They do this weird thing of looking at each others mouth! If it wasn’t so fucking horny it would be just plain spooky!) I survey the terrain. The damage to the café is less serious that it sounded. The Seeth’s departure blew the glass out of the windows and fused the lighting.
Valenti asks his question again, very politely, very patiently: he’s clearly a pro. One of his dog like deputies has arrived by now, and is standing looking down at the surf boards. They are all lying lengthways across the floor by the shattered window.
`There was an explosion officer, a troupe of old women -’ Michael winces immediately as if he has fluffed his speech and falls silent, tongue tied.
`Old women?’
`Yes.’ Maria adds, instinctively coming to Michael’s help (which Michael notices immediately) `old women on surf boards! It must be some sort of stunt or something? A circus act?’
`Yeah!' I say with real chewing gum enthusiasm. `And as big as houses!'
Valenti looks to his deputy who nudges the nearest surf board suspiciously as if it might fly off on its own. Perhaps he should handcuff it. Clearly his powers of deduction are razor sharp. The deputy slinks off back to the jeep to radio base or call in an air strike. Clearly back up is needed.
`Some stunt! Miss Deluca, isn’t it? Amie’s girl?’ Valenti beams her a point blank Malborough country smile.
Maria nods in horrified confirmation as if she has just been accused of some state wide conspiracy. Valenti goes to the surf boards. God alone knows what Murec et al thought they were doing.
`But stunt or no stunt, these sure fit the description of the surf boards stolen from a shop in Texas? What do you all make about that!’ He scratches his head, fake as hell, trying to look surprised.
`They have surf boards in Texas?’’ says Liz, who still looks like she has seen Max naked, erect and covered in baby oil and is trying to recover. We are all thinking about the same thing: what do they do with surf boards in Texas? the nation should be told.
Valenti takes this intervention as an excuse to introduce himself to Liz. He is clearly a very smooth operator. Having a face with the tread marks of a jeep tyre adds to his charm. Liz - probably still pre-occupied with Max’s heavily qualified declaration of true love, is clearly having problems hearing or generally holding herself together.
`Hello, Sheriff.’ It seems weird that, given her dating of the Sheriff’s son, these two don’t appear to have met. Or perhaps Dad is being tactful.
`Are your parents home, Liz?’
`No, no - they’re out - I was in charge of the late shift and closing up the café!’ Liz looks at Maria, who is still half looking at Max. It occur to me that, from the perspective of the LAW, we must all look as guilty as fuck. I decide I need to assert emergency Jamie protocol one:
`Officer, we’re all a bit in shock. But if I may, I can give you a brief snap shot of this atrocity. Six old ladies with surf boards infiltrated the Desert Retirement Home `mystery tour’ and then, while being served a series of alien smoothies, exploded and vanish!’ I ruin my delivery a bit by forgetting to breath. I try to sound like Captain Janeway when she says `Can we go to warp?’ and all the bridge crew look shocked and outraged because its clear they can’t! Damn engineering!
`You can never rely on warp drive when you need it!’ I say, accusingly at Valenti, and then blush again. `Just you remember that!'
`And you are ?-’ Valenti has the sort of snake eye glint of his son, but twelve times as intense. He might possibly be a reptile.
`This is Jamie, Jamie Relph.’ Michael introduces me as if I am his own, slightly deranged personal pet. I smile secretively and with great menace.
`Ah’ Valenti has a rather knowing look. Perhaps he has heard of my fame already, my remarkable ability to put the Periodic table to song, or to recall several mathematical proofs without notes. Or worse.
`Thanks, Michael. And you are Max Evans, right?’ he looks at the figure that has shattered my world, driven me to insanity (and presumably) time travel.
Max makes the smallest movement with his eyes, a sort of nanosecond narrowing of the eyebrows. Valenti translates this as affirming his ID.
`Quite a mess here. Had any of you seen these ladies before? Could you describe them for me?’
`Yeah, sure’ Maria speaks before I can resume my Star Fleet training in First Contact procedures, but then Max adds
`They were identical, Sheriff’.
`Identical? As in they looked the same?’ Clearly there is an alternative use for the word identical that I am not familiar with. Valenti stands in classic western pose, trying to work out how and in what ways he’s been had by a group of extremely old people. Outside, the crowd is dispersing, disappointed by the lack of any more exploding glass, the absence of teargas or extensive arrests. I can see Kyle bobbing up and down though, watching Liz like a hawk over the heads of some people. He looks like a man drowning.
Deputy Dog re-appears and goes over to Valenti and is whispering something in his ear, probably that his pants are undone or something. It has that look about it. The look I have when I am trying to tell Michael he needs to use more hair product or blow his nose.
`Well, the staff at the retirement home can certainly confirm that that the mini van was `infiltrated’ on the western approach to Roswell by a women called Martha. Why did they pull this stunt here? Wasn’t there a fight here the other day, some sort of shooting incident?’
`There sure was!’ I say, loudly, contemptuously. `And I bet Martha wasn't her real name!' I am about to condemn the earlier assassination attempt on Liz for missing her a near point blank range when Michael sort of knocks me out of the way, jock like friendly, lots of patting and painful shoulder grips as if we have been parted since birth.
`I don’t think it’s connected, officer sheriff sir, I think it’s bizarrely coincidental.A random event’
Valenti has started to move slowly towards Max, who is standing a tad too defensively in front of the table as if he is trying to hide a porno stash or a gun.
`You think so? Well that investigation is still on going - can you step away from the table, Max. Please?’ Valenti and Max are glowering at each other. Max is slightly taller, and his moved his head back as if he is about to head butt Kyle’s dad.
We need a diversion. I wonder if I should try and faint or something or shout `OVER THERE!’ very loudly. In situations such as this I have also perfected the Betty Davies SCREAM. It’s very easy and merely involves putting both hands palm outwards in front of your face, tilting your head back, and then screaming like fuck as loud as you can. Its advisable to open your mouth first, as wide as possible, breath through your nose and then, project the scream forward, moving the neck back. A nice touch is to curl your fingers into claws while screaming. I have seen many virtuoso screamers ruin their performance by not opening their mouths wide enough or standing there, wooden, without expression, or screaming at the floor. ANYWAY, before I can do so, Valenti’s eyes have fallen onto the still quite visible hand print on the table. His expression is odd, untranslatable.
Liz looks quickly in several directions at once; at Max, out at Kyle who is still bobbing up and down like a buoy trying to see what is going on, and then at Michael. Valenti is tracing the palm print with his finger. It is shocking clear to everyone that he recognises it. With glacial speed and calmness, he shifts his head back towards Max.
`Do you know what this is? Have you seen anything like this before, Mr Evans?’
Again, with the slightest inclusive flicker of the eyes, aimed roughly at Michael and myself, Max says `No. Never.’
I hold my breath and think of sex. Valenti, inscrutable, looks away towards the door and his son.
`Well, we’ll have to take statements from you all, and we’ll have to get this mess cleaned up - can you contact your parents, Liz? In the meantime, you may as well go home. No one has been hurt or injured? Good’
`Is this some sort of gang, Sheriff?’ I ask, trying to sound terrified, `Are we safe in our beds? I suggest you contact the local circuses - and I even fear that they might even be men dressed up as women. In fact' I pause for dramatic effect.
`In fact what, Mr Relph??'
`In fact they might be English!'
`Foreign?'
(Jesus) `Yes, the English are compulsive cross dressers, its a fact - they can't help themselves!'
Valenti ignores me and looks at the table and the print again. I am deeply troubled by the obvious fact that this is not the first glowing hand print that Valenti boy has seen. He looks at me distantly, disturbed: he’s remembering something as well. He walks stiffly to the door and tells Deputy to make sure he gets all the right addresses and contact stuff. Max turns to Michael and to me and says to Liz
`Is there somewhere private we can go to? Liz? We all have to talk?’
Liz is anticipating the painful and somewhat possessive reunion with boyfriend (not).
`Sure, sure Max. We can all go into the bedroom - but let me call my parents.’
`I’ll call Isobel.’ adds Michael, he looks at me, his face handsome with a sort of warning.
I roll my eyes.
We are interrupted by Kyle coming up and taking Liz in his arms. She clearly doesn’t like or require this and goes sort of limp. Ignoring the corpse like response, Kyle clutches her while looking at Max. They look like a bad ventriloquist act.
`Liz, what happened? What the fuck is going on here?’ The question is aimed at Max.
`I’m fine, Kyle, really. There was some incident, we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all.’
`And with Max as well! How strange that wherever you are, Max is sure to be there, and wherever Max is, there’s sure to be some weird shit going on as well!’
`Leave it, Kyle.’ Max looks preoccupied. He is clearly irritated to see Kyle’s hands all over Liz. Jesus. How much more excitement can you get in a night!
Kyle, juiced up on adrenalin, comes forward slightly. He is shorter than Max, but the move is aggressive and direct.
`Excuse me? Did you say something - to me?’
`Kyle!’ Liz’s voice is slightly more authoritative, as if Kyle is a small dog and is about to bite the postman. Michael has closed in on Max’s right and is eyeing up Kyle as if he had already landed several punches on him.
`Back off, Kyle.’ says Michael in a tone that sends all the blood to my groin. Kyle relents and looks back to Liz.
`Liz, come on, come home with me.’ Maria has wisely returned to the counter and the cash register and is probably digging a tunnel.
`It’s ok Kyle, I have to call my parents. I’ll call you later - go home now - ‘
Kyle’s face flashes with anger born of rejection, made worse my Michael smirking. There is a frown and then a look of pain before Kyle looks at max with renewed animosity.
`Everyone is staying to help clean up, Kyle. I’ll call you!’ Liz is empathic now. I wonder if I should translate and say `Kyle man, JUST FUCK OFF!’
`Fine! Fine - I’d offer to help but I guess I am not in with the right crowd.’ he snarls, getting it at last! He glares at Max and pushes his face up close to his.
`I’m onto you, Evans!’ At that he storms across the floor and bangs out onto the street. As the door snaps shut, the remains of the top glass panel falls out and we all jump.
`Sorry guys.’ Liz is embarrassed. She looks at Max and goes towards the rest rooms and the stairs leading up to where the Parker’s live. She pauses to beckon Maria who is trying to sort things out,
`Come on Maria, lets get my parents and then we can help sort everything out’
`Ok, sure, sure.’ Maria straightens her alien outfit. We all file through the door towards Liz’s bedroom.
`Someone has stolen all the Tabasco sauce?’ says Maria, to everyone and no one. `isn’t that weird?’
`Howdie.’ Valenti lifts his Stetson calmly, like a real gent, as if he walks into semi-destroyed cafes all the time. There is no sign of Liz’s parents, despite the fact they live above the cafe. Valenti has an astounding face, incidentally. It looks like a three dimensional map of the Beverly Hills. He stares at each one us in turn, while I calculate how much moisturising cream it would take to smooth out his skin. ( A lot!). Max is the only one not to have turned around. He is still looking at his hand on the table.
`Would someone of you good folks like to explain to me what just happened in here?’
There is another metallic sound as the door is pushed open, and Kyle appears. His blue eyes snap at Liz and then at the solid back of Max. For a moment they hardened with a sort of murderous rage.
`Liz! Liz are you ok!’ He goes to run, post disaster movie style, towards Liz, but Valenti senior can spot a CRIME scene at the drop of his very large hat and holds Kyle back. There is some sort of father-son squabble, which gives Max enough time to come out of the weird MaxTime trance he has gone into, and turn around. He looks straight into my eyes and my entire respiratory system seizes up. There is a knowing look to my new found Messiah that hints he has seen my innermost shocking thoughts. I glance down, blushing. Like those colored bits of glass in a kaleidoscope, we have all re-arranged ourselves around Max and are looking outward, expectantly. Except Michael, who has edged closer to his leader, and is locked in some sort of Vulcan mind meld with him. Michael is probably trying to say he can handle this, while Max - given Punk Boy’s performance so far - is trying to assert some authority. (note to self: I have noticed these strange silent communes between Michael and Max a lot recently. They do this weird thing of looking at each others mouth! If it wasn’t so fucking horny it would be just plain spooky!) I survey the terrain. The damage to the café is less serious that it sounded. The Seeth’s departure blew the glass out of the windows and fused the lighting.
Valenti asks his question again, very politely, very patiently: he’s clearly a pro. One of his dog like deputies has arrived by now, and is standing looking down at the surf boards. They are all lying lengthways across the floor by the shattered window.
`There was an explosion officer, a troupe of old women -’ Michael winces immediately as if he has fluffed his speech and falls silent, tongue tied.
`Old women?’
`Yes.’ Maria adds, instinctively coming to Michael’s help (which Michael notices immediately) `old women on surf boards! It must be some sort of stunt or something? A circus act?’
`Yeah!' I say with real chewing gum enthusiasm. `And as big as houses!'
Valenti looks to his deputy who nudges the nearest surf board suspiciously as if it might fly off on its own. Perhaps he should handcuff it. Clearly his powers of deduction are razor sharp. The deputy slinks off back to the jeep to radio base or call in an air strike. Clearly back up is needed.
`Some stunt! Miss Deluca, isn’t it? Amie’s girl?’ Valenti beams her a point blank Malborough country smile.
Maria nods in horrified confirmation as if she has just been accused of some state wide conspiracy. Valenti goes to the surf boards. God alone knows what Murec et al thought they were doing.
`But stunt or no stunt, these sure fit the description of the surf boards stolen from a shop in Texas? What do you all make about that!’ He scratches his head, fake as hell, trying to look surprised.
`They have surf boards in Texas?’’ says Liz, who still looks like she has seen Max naked, erect and covered in baby oil and is trying to recover. We are all thinking about the same thing: what do they do with surf boards in Texas? the nation should be told.
Valenti takes this intervention as an excuse to introduce himself to Liz. He is clearly a very smooth operator. Having a face with the tread marks of a jeep tyre adds to his charm. Liz - probably still pre-occupied with Max’s heavily qualified declaration of true love, is clearly having problems hearing or generally holding herself together.
`Hello, Sheriff.’ It seems weird that, given her dating of the Sheriff’s son, these two don’t appear to have met. Or perhaps Dad is being tactful.
`Are your parents home, Liz?’
`No, no - they’re out - I was in charge of the late shift and closing up the café!’ Liz looks at Maria, who is still half looking at Max. It occur to me that, from the perspective of the LAW, we must all look as guilty as fuck. I decide I need to assert emergency Jamie protocol one:
`Officer, we’re all a bit in shock. But if I may, I can give you a brief snap shot of this atrocity. Six old ladies with surf boards infiltrated the Desert Retirement Home `mystery tour’ and then, while being served a series of alien smoothies, exploded and vanish!’ I ruin my delivery a bit by forgetting to breath. I try to sound like Captain Janeway when she says `Can we go to warp?’ and all the bridge crew look shocked and outraged because its clear they can’t! Damn engineering!
`You can never rely on warp drive when you need it!’ I say, accusingly at Valenti, and then blush again. `Just you remember that!'
`And you are ?-’ Valenti has the sort of snake eye glint of his son, but twelve times as intense. He might possibly be a reptile.
`This is Jamie, Jamie Relph.’ Michael introduces me as if I am his own, slightly deranged personal pet. I smile secretively and with great menace.
`Ah’ Valenti has a rather knowing look. Perhaps he has heard of my fame already, my remarkable ability to put the Periodic table to song, or to recall several mathematical proofs without notes. Or worse.
`Thanks, Michael. And you are Max Evans, right?’ he looks at the figure that has shattered my world, driven me to insanity (and presumably) time travel.
Max makes the smallest movement with his eyes, a sort of nanosecond narrowing of the eyebrows. Valenti translates this as affirming his ID.
`Quite a mess here. Had any of you seen these ladies before? Could you describe them for me?’
`Yeah, sure’ Maria speaks before I can resume my Star Fleet training in First Contact procedures, but then Max adds
`They were identical, Sheriff’.
`Identical? As in they looked the same?’ Clearly there is an alternative use for the word identical that I am not familiar with. Valenti stands in classic western pose, trying to work out how and in what ways he’s been had by a group of extremely old people. Outside, the crowd is dispersing, disappointed by the lack of any more exploding glass, the absence of teargas or extensive arrests. I can see Kyle bobbing up and down though, watching Liz like a hawk over the heads of some people. He looks like a man drowning.
Deputy Dog re-appears and goes over to Valenti and is whispering something in his ear, probably that his pants are undone or something. It has that look about it. The look I have when I am trying to tell Michael he needs to use more hair product or blow his nose.
`Well, the staff at the retirement home can certainly confirm that that the mini van was `infiltrated’ on the western approach to Roswell by a women called Martha. Why did they pull this stunt here? Wasn’t there a fight here the other day, some sort of shooting incident?’
`There sure was!’ I say, loudly, contemptuously. `And I bet Martha wasn't her real name!' I am about to condemn the earlier assassination attempt on Liz for missing her a near point blank range when Michael sort of knocks me out of the way, jock like friendly, lots of patting and painful shoulder grips as if we have been parted since birth.
`I don’t think it’s connected, officer sheriff sir, I think it’s bizarrely coincidental.A random event’
Valenti has started to move slowly towards Max, who is standing a tad too defensively in front of the table as if he is trying to hide a porno stash or a gun.
`You think so? Well that investigation is still on going - can you step away from the table, Max. Please?’ Valenti and Max are glowering at each other. Max is slightly taller, and his moved his head back as if he is about to head butt Kyle’s dad.
We need a diversion. I wonder if I should try and faint or something or shout `OVER THERE!’ very loudly. In situations such as this I have also perfected the Betty Davies SCREAM. It’s very easy and merely involves putting both hands palm outwards in front of your face, tilting your head back, and then screaming like fuck as loud as you can. Its advisable to open your mouth first, as wide as possible, breath through your nose and then, project the scream forward, moving the neck back. A nice touch is to curl your fingers into claws while screaming. I have seen many virtuoso screamers ruin their performance by not opening their mouths wide enough or standing there, wooden, without expression, or screaming at the floor. ANYWAY, before I can do so, Valenti’s eyes have fallen onto the still quite visible hand print on the table. His expression is odd, untranslatable.
Liz looks quickly in several directions at once; at Max, out at Kyle who is still bobbing up and down like a buoy trying to see what is going on, and then at Michael. Valenti is tracing the palm print with his finger. It is shocking clear to everyone that he recognises it. With glacial speed and calmness, he shifts his head back towards Max.
`Do you know what this is? Have you seen anything like this before, Mr Evans?’
Again, with the slightest inclusive flicker of the eyes, aimed roughly at Michael and myself, Max says `No. Never.’
I hold my breath and think of sex. Valenti, inscrutable, looks away towards the door and his son.
`Well, we’ll have to take statements from you all, and we’ll have to get this mess cleaned up - can you contact your parents, Liz? In the meantime, you may as well go home. No one has been hurt or injured? Good’
`Is this some sort of gang, Sheriff?’ I ask, trying to sound terrified, `Are we safe in our beds? I suggest you contact the local circuses - and I even fear that they might even be men dressed up as women. In fact' I pause for dramatic effect.
`In fact what, Mr Relph??'
`In fact they might be English!'
`Foreign?'
(Jesus) `Yes, the English are compulsive cross dressers, its a fact - they can't help themselves!'
Valenti ignores me and looks at the table and the print again. I am deeply troubled by the obvious fact that this is not the first glowing hand print that Valenti boy has seen. He looks at me distantly, disturbed: he’s remembering something as well. He walks stiffly to the door and tells Deputy to make sure he gets all the right addresses and contact stuff. Max turns to Michael and to me and says to Liz
`Is there somewhere private we can go to? Liz? We all have to talk?’
Liz is anticipating the painful and somewhat possessive reunion with boyfriend (not).
`Sure, sure Max. We can all go into the bedroom - but let me call my parents.’
`I’ll call Isobel.’ adds Michael, he looks at me, his face handsome with a sort of warning.
I roll my eyes.
We are interrupted by Kyle coming up and taking Liz in his arms. She clearly doesn’t like or require this and goes sort of limp. Ignoring the corpse like response, Kyle clutches her while looking at Max. They look like a bad ventriloquist act.
`Liz, what happened? What the fuck is going on here?’ The question is aimed at Max.
`I’m fine, Kyle, really. There was some incident, we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all.’
`And with Max as well! How strange that wherever you are, Max is sure to be there, and wherever Max is, there’s sure to be some weird shit going on as well!’
`Leave it, Kyle.’ Max looks preoccupied. He is clearly irritated to see Kyle’s hands all over Liz. Jesus. How much more excitement can you get in a night!
Kyle, juiced up on adrenalin, comes forward slightly. He is shorter than Max, but the move is aggressive and direct.
`Excuse me? Did you say something - to me?’
`Kyle!’ Liz’s voice is slightly more authoritative, as if Kyle is a small dog and is about to bite the postman. Michael has closed in on Max’s right and is eyeing up Kyle as if he had already landed several punches on him.
`Back off, Kyle.’ says Michael in a tone that sends all the blood to my groin. Kyle relents and looks back to Liz.
`Liz, come on, come home with me.’ Maria has wisely returned to the counter and the cash register and is probably digging a tunnel.
`It’s ok Kyle, I have to call my parents. I’ll call you later - go home now - ‘
Kyle’s face flashes with anger born of rejection, made worse my Michael smirking. There is a frown and then a look of pain before Kyle looks at max with renewed animosity.
`Everyone is staying to help clean up, Kyle. I’ll call you!’ Liz is empathic now. I wonder if I should translate and say `Kyle man, JUST FUCK OFF!’
`Fine! Fine - I’d offer to help but I guess I am not in with the right crowd.’ he snarls, getting it at last! He glares at Max and pushes his face up close to his.
`I’m onto you, Evans!’ At that he storms across the floor and bangs out onto the street. As the door snaps shut, the remains of the top glass panel falls out and we all jump.
`Sorry guys.’ Liz is embarrassed. She looks at Max and goes towards the rest rooms and the stairs leading up to where the Parker’s live. She pauses to beckon Maria who is trying to sort things out,
`Come on Maria, lets get my parents and then we can help sort everything out’
`Ok, sure, sure.’ Maria straightens her alien outfit. We all file through the door towards Liz’s bedroom.
`Someone has stolen all the Tabasco sauce?’ says Maria, to everyone and no one. `isn’t that weird?’
-
Patroclus76
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 178
- Joined: Wed Mar 08, 2006 5:02 pm
- Location: Bristol, UK
- Contact:
Re: Shrodinger's (Jamies) Cat. Teen. (UC. Slash) 12/22
Happy Hols my dears........
______________________________________
As we filed into the lobby at the back of the Crash down, subdued like a line of adventure scouts after a long hike, Michael grabbed me by the upper arm, in real hostage taking fashion, and dragged me into the rest room. I’ve never seen anyone move so fucking fast. One minute I was looking at the hem of Liz’s skirt thinking how weird it would be to wear such a ridiculous uniform, the next I was in the dark with Michael breathing hard, and his back to the door as if the Marines were about to throw in a brace of stun grenades. It was so violent and deeply erotic that I initially dismissed it as a Jamie Sexual Fantasy Grade 2. It was only when Michael found the light switch and stood, hot and almost steaming in front of me, that I realised something was amiss. Outside, Max’s voice - in C minor - floated down with a tired
`What is it now!’ There was some sort of scuffle outside and then someone knocked on the door. It was Maria.
`What in god’s name is wrong with you two - you wanted to talk to us?’ She sounded very pissed. Michael put his finger to his lips like we were playing hide and fucking seek. I tried to use my full range of facial muscles to communicate my sheer fucking BEWILDERMENT. In the end I had to use my hands, flapping them upwards to either side of me, as if I was trying to estimate the circumference of Isobel’s breasts.
`We need to take a leak!’
`What, you do this together now?’ Someone laughed, probably Liz: nervously.
`Michael, Jamie - hurry up then - we have to talk! This is serious!’ This was Max, asserting himself. I already had a very painful hard on. The image of him, face to the door now, half turned, curious, with his hands in his front jean pockets, bulging out his packet, threatened me with some sort of aneurism.
`Ok, go up - we’ll follow.’ Michael walked over to the pan and raised the lid. He had his back half turned to me. He unzipped his pants.
`Michael for the love of Einstein, what is wrong with you!’ I hadn’t moved, pressed up against the wall next to the door. My dick was so hard it was causing cramp in my knees. How many times had I fantasized about watching an Alpha Male pissing nonchalantly, chewing gum, talking about a game score. NOW IT WAS HAPPENING. Was I dead?
`Listen Jamie - what the fuck are we going to tell them!’ Michael looked down at his cock, in that weird way than guys to, a sort of instinct to see if it was still there, or pointing in roughly the right direction, or making sure nothing was sticking to it: tissue, fluff, dollar bills. I could hardly breath. There was a dribble, a pause, another dribble, and then Michael seemed to relax, bending his knees slightly, and there was a very loud drilling sound of water.
`Michael, piss to the side for god’s sake - what is it with guys like you! We have to tell them everything!’
`We can’t! We can’t tell them that Liz was supposed to have been shot, for fuck’s sake! That Max was supposed to have saved her - that she HAS to die!’ he had half turned, his smooth cheeks angular, sharp, his spiky hair down lit; I saw his right hand holding his cock, an arch of piss, thundering away.
`Michael, watch what you’re doing for god’s sake!’
He flashed his eyes and smirked.
`Will you concentrate on the crisis at hand, man!’
`Oh believe me, I am!‘
He turned around to concentrate on his cock, and then did that other classically weird thing that men do while pissing: glancing up and around at the ceiling, passing the time, checking the tiling. Clearly he must have been pretty desperate to urinate.
`Well how do we edit this down then, Michael? Perhaps the best policy is to tell them what we know happened - that Liz should have been shot, that you all hatched from eggs -’
`Pods -’ he had stopped and was shaking his cock about in what I could only deduce was a deliberate and subversive manner.
`Whatever! And what about the fourth alien called Tess, who is Max’s wife, who will betray him, and this other dude.’ I closed my eyes.
`What other dude?' Michael had finally completed his inspection. When I opened my eyes, Michael was adjusted his tackle as if he was trying on a new pair of boxers. Then he walked towards me.
`God, Michael!’ I went over and flushed the pan and glared at the sink.
`I was just about to!’ he said, pained. Above the sink was a mirror. As he washed his hands he talked to my reflection.
`You mean this Nasedo guy? The guardian who conspired to ensure that Tess hatched late . Shit. It’s complicated. And what about Isobel - she’s supposed to be my mate -’
`Isn’t she?’
`I mean as in sexual partner!’
`Oh god, I’d forgotten that.’
`And there is all the bone hill house stuff, the old dude in the dressing gown, the Earth-Antar alliance - ‘
`And those fucking mad all singing, all dancing Seeth - bastards - what did Murec think he was doing?’ We frowned together, making a face, a dramatic sigh if dissapprovel, perfectly synchronised. God, we had clearly be kidnapped and dropped into some sort of mad musical version of War of the Worlds.
`Outing us, I guess’ Michael started fussing with his hair as if we had all day. Re-spiking it. Fuck, it was like we were on a date or something.
`What?’
He smirked knowingly. `Listen - this is what we’re going to do, you‘re right, we tell them about what should have happened - no mention of what ought to have, not yet. Ok - ‘ he resumed to admire himself, and then, swung around, his finger near my nose `I’ll improvise, and so don’t contradict me or fuck up!’
`I never fuck up, Michael. ’ I said icily.
`Besides, that’s not all we have to worry about.’ he said. He was about to unlock the rest room door but paused.
`It isn’t?’ I was desperate to take a leak myself but my hard on was showing no signs of dissipating. I’d even tried the usual routine to drain it of hormones: thinking of money, my mother in her shower cap, the periodic table.
`No - Sheriff boy clearly recognised the hand print, and so did I - somehow - there are rumours about Valenti, especially about his dad.’
`Valenti has a dad?’ I made a sort of owlish look. It seemed improbable. He had the look of something that was usually found under a stone.
`Yeah - he was sheriff back in the 1950s - the Valenti’s are like a caste. And before that he was even involved in the original crash in 1947- he was deputy at the time. As a consequence, Valenti’s old man became a serious, mad alien hunter, until he got struck off because of some shooting somewhere, an unlawful killing of some drifter - years ago.’
`Wow!’
`Yeah, wow is about right. Something to do with aliens and a guy called Hubble.’
`Shit!’ This did not make any immediate sense, but I was conscious of the time. We’d have Maria and or Max down again in a moment, ferreting us out like a pair of rabbits.
`And I’m having visions.’ said Michael as he opened the door.
`Yeah, so am I.’
`No - seriously!’ he flashed his eyes and would have continued, but the opening door revealed Max frame by frame, like a pan shot at the start of some MTV pop video, sentinel like, leaning against the opposite wall, with his hips pushed out, half turned, moody as fuck and deeply suspicious. His hair was thrown forward, ink black, and his full lips were tightly drawn but slightly pouted. His forearms were knotted with muscles, tense, as if he might hit someone.
Michael fell silent and Max raised one eyebrow, a mere nanometre. I hadn’t seen this particular version of Max, Max the Arch Angel, a messenger, Fear Not dear mortal but I bring you tidings of huge fucking import
`Finished?’ he said - very, very quietly.
`Hey, Maxwell - yeah sure - sorry - you need a leak?’
`Not yet. Come on.’ He leaned up, removed his hands from his pockets and took both of by the arms as if we were under arrest.
At that precise moment, Michael’s cell phone started from his back pocket. We were walking up the stairs as if we were boarding a plane. The call song was some sort of hip hop. Max, having drawn up in front of us, paused and half turned.
`You wanna get that?’
`Nah - it’s ok Maxwell, it’s fine.’ Michael looked at me sideways, puzzled, perhaps as surprised as I was about Max’s mood, cautious.
The tune played again. Really fucking irritating. Michael winced. Max turned around completely. Since he was on the next step, he was slightly taller, and Michael’s face came close to Max’s sculptured chin. Michael’s hair spiked close to Max’s lips. They sized each other up.
`You should answer it -’
`I said leave it -’ Michael sounded angry now. I thought of a distraction, a comment on the weather, a complement about the stairs. Suddenly Max leaned forward, and slid his hand down Michael’s back towards his butt. I was clearly perilously close to having a heart attack of some kind. They continued to glare at each other. Max moved his hands towards the pocket, but before he grabbed the phone he deliberately caressed Michael’s butt in full view of me.
Michael made a sort of gasping noise and his eyes half closed. Max smiled. Then he had Michael’s cell in his hand. The world’s worse jingle sounded again. Max, flipped the phone open. As he did so, he winked at me. WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!This was worse than being given the entire history of the Earth-Antar alliance in a cave by a troupe of semi-naked youths. Marginally worse.
`Hello, Michael Garren speaking’ said Max in a low growl. He was looking down at Michael as he said this. Shark boy was looking very, very pissed. They were doing the weird thing of watching each other’s mouth as if they were being magnetically drawn to each others lips.
`Mr Garren, this is your friendly and highly expensive estate agent calling! How are you?‘
Max raised a eyebrow again, and stabbed a cruel possessive look at Michael. I was close to passing out.
`Hello! I’m very well, and you?‘
`Never better, never better. Listen, we’ve spoken with the vendor of Bone Hill House and he’s definitely foreclosing on the hotel business. If you want to come up to Washington, and view the property, I can arrange to meet you in Seattle.‘
`Seattle?’
Michael growled in a way that was so erotic, so powerful, that I sat down on the stair in case I really did collapse. Except of course, the view was worse from here. I had Max’s legs, trunk like, looming up above me, and Michael’s face side on, swallowing, slick with sweat.
`Ok, thanks for calling. I’ll get back to you - can we do this sometime next week?’ Max sounded very calm, as if he impersonated people on cell phones all the time.
`Why sure - the market is pretty flat at the moment, to be brutally honest. And this is going to be hard to sell. I am being frank, Mr Garren. It’s an enormous property - almost an institution!’ the caller laughed. Max smiled with such intensity that Michael growled again.
`Ok, well I’ll call you very soon!’ He clicked the phone shut and then stroked Michael’s face, palm across his cheek and then his knuckles resting on his chin.
`I see we have a lot to talk about!’ he said softly.
`Stop this.’ said Michael helplessly. Behind us there was noise, the sound of someone coming through from the café. It was Isobel. With a deft move, Max turned around and led us towards Liz’s bedroom.
`What’s this about?’ Isobel asked, coming up behind us. Michael turned, smiled and said
`Jamie is the fourth alien.’
I saw Max’s back stiffen.
______________________________________
As we filed into the lobby at the back of the Crash down, subdued like a line of adventure scouts after a long hike, Michael grabbed me by the upper arm, in real hostage taking fashion, and dragged me into the rest room. I’ve never seen anyone move so fucking fast. One minute I was looking at the hem of Liz’s skirt thinking how weird it would be to wear such a ridiculous uniform, the next I was in the dark with Michael breathing hard, and his back to the door as if the Marines were about to throw in a brace of stun grenades. It was so violent and deeply erotic that I initially dismissed it as a Jamie Sexual Fantasy Grade 2. It was only when Michael found the light switch and stood, hot and almost steaming in front of me, that I realised something was amiss. Outside, Max’s voice - in C minor - floated down with a tired
`What is it now!’ There was some sort of scuffle outside and then someone knocked on the door. It was Maria.
`What in god’s name is wrong with you two - you wanted to talk to us?’ She sounded very pissed. Michael put his finger to his lips like we were playing hide and fucking seek. I tried to use my full range of facial muscles to communicate my sheer fucking BEWILDERMENT. In the end I had to use my hands, flapping them upwards to either side of me, as if I was trying to estimate the circumference of Isobel’s breasts.
`We need to take a leak!’
`What, you do this together now?’ Someone laughed, probably Liz: nervously.
`Michael, Jamie - hurry up then - we have to talk! This is serious!’ This was Max, asserting himself. I already had a very painful hard on. The image of him, face to the door now, half turned, curious, with his hands in his front jean pockets, bulging out his packet, threatened me with some sort of aneurism.
`Ok, go up - we’ll follow.’ Michael walked over to the pan and raised the lid. He had his back half turned to me. He unzipped his pants.
`Michael for the love of Einstein, what is wrong with you!’ I hadn’t moved, pressed up against the wall next to the door. My dick was so hard it was causing cramp in my knees. How many times had I fantasized about watching an Alpha Male pissing nonchalantly, chewing gum, talking about a game score. NOW IT WAS HAPPENING. Was I dead?
`Listen Jamie - what the fuck are we going to tell them!’ Michael looked down at his cock, in that weird way than guys to, a sort of instinct to see if it was still there, or pointing in roughly the right direction, or making sure nothing was sticking to it: tissue, fluff, dollar bills. I could hardly breath. There was a dribble, a pause, another dribble, and then Michael seemed to relax, bending his knees slightly, and there was a very loud drilling sound of water.
`Michael, piss to the side for god’s sake - what is it with guys like you! We have to tell them everything!’
`We can’t! We can’t tell them that Liz was supposed to have been shot, for fuck’s sake! That Max was supposed to have saved her - that she HAS to die!’ he had half turned, his smooth cheeks angular, sharp, his spiky hair down lit; I saw his right hand holding his cock, an arch of piss, thundering away.
`Michael, watch what you’re doing for god’s sake!’
He flashed his eyes and smirked.
`Will you concentrate on the crisis at hand, man!’
`Oh believe me, I am!‘
He turned around to concentrate on his cock, and then did that other classically weird thing that men do while pissing: glancing up and around at the ceiling, passing the time, checking the tiling. Clearly he must have been pretty desperate to urinate.
`Well how do we edit this down then, Michael? Perhaps the best policy is to tell them what we know happened - that Liz should have been shot, that you all hatched from eggs -’
`Pods -’ he had stopped and was shaking his cock about in what I could only deduce was a deliberate and subversive manner.
`Whatever! And what about the fourth alien called Tess, who is Max’s wife, who will betray him, and this other dude.’ I closed my eyes.
`What other dude?' Michael had finally completed his inspection. When I opened my eyes, Michael was adjusted his tackle as if he was trying on a new pair of boxers. Then he walked towards me.
`God, Michael!’ I went over and flushed the pan and glared at the sink.
`I was just about to!’ he said, pained. Above the sink was a mirror. As he washed his hands he talked to my reflection.
`You mean this Nasedo guy? The guardian who conspired to ensure that Tess hatched late . Shit. It’s complicated. And what about Isobel - she’s supposed to be my mate -’
`Isn’t she?’
`I mean as in sexual partner!’
`Oh god, I’d forgotten that.’
`And there is all the bone hill house stuff, the old dude in the dressing gown, the Earth-Antar alliance - ‘
`And those fucking mad all singing, all dancing Seeth - bastards - what did Murec think he was doing?’ We frowned together, making a face, a dramatic sigh if dissapprovel, perfectly synchronised. God, we had clearly be kidnapped and dropped into some sort of mad musical version of War of the Worlds.
`Outing us, I guess’ Michael started fussing with his hair as if we had all day. Re-spiking it. Fuck, it was like we were on a date or something.
`What?’
He smirked knowingly. `Listen - this is what we’re going to do, you‘re right, we tell them about what should have happened - no mention of what ought to have, not yet. Ok - ‘ he resumed to admire himself, and then, swung around, his finger near my nose `I’ll improvise, and so don’t contradict me or fuck up!’
`I never fuck up, Michael. ’ I said icily.
`Besides, that’s not all we have to worry about.’ he said. He was about to unlock the rest room door but paused.
`It isn’t?’ I was desperate to take a leak myself but my hard on was showing no signs of dissipating. I’d even tried the usual routine to drain it of hormones: thinking of money, my mother in her shower cap, the periodic table.
`No - Sheriff boy clearly recognised the hand print, and so did I - somehow - there are rumours about Valenti, especially about his dad.’
`Valenti has a dad?’ I made a sort of owlish look. It seemed improbable. He had the look of something that was usually found under a stone.
`Yeah - he was sheriff back in the 1950s - the Valenti’s are like a caste. And before that he was even involved in the original crash in 1947- he was deputy at the time. As a consequence, Valenti’s old man became a serious, mad alien hunter, until he got struck off because of some shooting somewhere, an unlawful killing of some drifter - years ago.’
`Wow!’
`Yeah, wow is about right. Something to do with aliens and a guy called Hubble.’
`Shit!’ This did not make any immediate sense, but I was conscious of the time. We’d have Maria and or Max down again in a moment, ferreting us out like a pair of rabbits.
`And I’m having visions.’ said Michael as he opened the door.
`Yeah, so am I.’
`No - seriously!’ he flashed his eyes and would have continued, but the opening door revealed Max frame by frame, like a pan shot at the start of some MTV pop video, sentinel like, leaning against the opposite wall, with his hips pushed out, half turned, moody as fuck and deeply suspicious. His hair was thrown forward, ink black, and his full lips were tightly drawn but slightly pouted. His forearms were knotted with muscles, tense, as if he might hit someone.
Michael fell silent and Max raised one eyebrow, a mere nanometre. I hadn’t seen this particular version of Max, Max the Arch Angel, a messenger, Fear Not dear mortal but I bring you tidings of huge fucking import
`Finished?’ he said - very, very quietly.
`Hey, Maxwell - yeah sure - sorry - you need a leak?’
`Not yet. Come on.’ He leaned up, removed his hands from his pockets and took both of by the arms as if we were under arrest.
At that precise moment, Michael’s cell phone started from his back pocket. We were walking up the stairs as if we were boarding a plane. The call song was some sort of hip hop. Max, having drawn up in front of us, paused and half turned.
`You wanna get that?’
`Nah - it’s ok Maxwell, it’s fine.’ Michael looked at me sideways, puzzled, perhaps as surprised as I was about Max’s mood, cautious.
The tune played again. Really fucking irritating. Michael winced. Max turned around completely. Since he was on the next step, he was slightly taller, and Michael’s face came close to Max’s sculptured chin. Michael’s hair spiked close to Max’s lips. They sized each other up.
`You should answer it -’
`I said leave it -’ Michael sounded angry now. I thought of a distraction, a comment on the weather, a complement about the stairs. Suddenly Max leaned forward, and slid his hand down Michael’s back towards his butt. I was clearly perilously close to having a heart attack of some kind. They continued to glare at each other. Max moved his hands towards the pocket, but before he grabbed the phone he deliberately caressed Michael’s butt in full view of me.
Michael made a sort of gasping noise and his eyes half closed. Max smiled. Then he had Michael’s cell in his hand. The world’s worse jingle sounded again. Max, flipped the phone open. As he did so, he winked at me. WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!This was worse than being given the entire history of the Earth-Antar alliance in a cave by a troupe of semi-naked youths. Marginally worse.
`Hello, Michael Garren speaking’ said Max in a low growl. He was looking down at Michael as he said this. Shark boy was looking very, very pissed. They were doing the weird thing of watching each other’s mouth as if they were being magnetically drawn to each others lips.
`Mr Garren, this is your friendly and highly expensive estate agent calling! How are you?‘
Max raised a eyebrow again, and stabbed a cruel possessive look at Michael. I was close to passing out.
`Hello! I’m very well, and you?‘
`Never better, never better. Listen, we’ve spoken with the vendor of Bone Hill House and he’s definitely foreclosing on the hotel business. If you want to come up to Washington, and view the property, I can arrange to meet you in Seattle.‘
`Seattle?’
Michael growled in a way that was so erotic, so powerful, that I sat down on the stair in case I really did collapse. Except of course, the view was worse from here. I had Max’s legs, trunk like, looming up above me, and Michael’s face side on, swallowing, slick with sweat.
`Ok, thanks for calling. I’ll get back to you - can we do this sometime next week?’ Max sounded very calm, as if he impersonated people on cell phones all the time.
`Why sure - the market is pretty flat at the moment, to be brutally honest. And this is going to be hard to sell. I am being frank, Mr Garren. It’s an enormous property - almost an institution!’ the caller laughed. Max smiled with such intensity that Michael growled again.
`Ok, well I’ll call you very soon!’ He clicked the phone shut and then stroked Michael’s face, palm across his cheek and then his knuckles resting on his chin.
`I see we have a lot to talk about!’ he said softly.
`Stop this.’ said Michael helplessly. Behind us there was noise, the sound of someone coming through from the café. It was Isobel. With a deft move, Max turned around and led us towards Liz’s bedroom.
`What’s this about?’ Isobel asked, coming up behind us. Michael turned, smiled and said
`Jamie is the fourth alien.’
I saw Max’s back stiffen.
-
Patroclus76
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 178
- Joined: Wed Mar 08, 2006 5:02 pm
- Location: Bristol, UK
- Contact:
Re: Shrodinger's (Jamies) Cat. Teen. (UC. Slash) 12/22
Darlings.
I am NEVER going to have time to finish this tale - my latest adventure with Max is proving to be very sticky - so to speak - and involves some awfully complex stuff with the Granolith. But I just couldn’t bear to leave you in the lurch, as it were, or on the stairs, almost in Liz’s bedroom, and with my new Best Friend Michael’s cosy aside that I, Jamie Relph, was the Fourth Alien. Sounds like a movie, right? Or a book - in fact many years later I tried to use it as the title for my unofficial autobiography but I never got beyond the first page. Anyway - of course - in a sense, I WAS the fourth alien, although Michael and I had recently discovered that - technically - Tess was still out there and unaccounted for, and so was this Nasedo dude. In fact - there was another dude - Langley (or Langford) who had skipped off to Los Angeles at the drop of a hat to a life of cocktail parties, pools, and the odd film lot, and was pretty determined never to show up again!
So how did Shrodinger's cat end?
Well.
Max didn’t rescue Liz in the Crashdown for the simple if not irritating expedient that, in this version of events, she was never shot. Why she was never shot was in part determined by The Roswellian Codex, in which an attempt was made to subvert an established time line by preventing not just Max and Liz falling in lurve, (oh dreames, Nash thy teeth!) but Liz from having Max’s children. They were sort of important in the grand scheme of things thse kids, well one of them especially. I got involved in some of this - although only during the second version of the time line - in Haulden in Roswell, athough there Liz had been shot. It’s just that Max didn’t want kids and wanted to be (oh horror of horrors) NORMAL. Anyway, we got him through that (apparently) and the children were born as planned, although it ALMOST involved an unorthodox use of frozen semen and a wooden spoon. And only in HiR did it transpire who Max really was, although of course I had always suspected. I mean - come on - the habit of healing people and walking on water was a bit of a give away!
In Shrodinger’s Cat, the time line was started again - his time (ha ha ha) rather mysteriously by a random chaotic event (from the future established in HiR) in which Max and I accidentally and quite spontaneously found ourselves outside Max’s house in 1998, unfortunately right in front of a young but disconcertingly perspective Michael Gaurin. It was helpful that Max had morphed into a ginger tom; an entirely unpredictable event caused (but obviously NOT EXPLAINED BY) quantum mechanics. Unfortunately I was less coy about keeping my mouth shut, and so the time line was disturbed: it was this anomaly that led to Liz not being shot. Listen: always take Quantum physics seriously, I mean: light is both a wave and a particle, and observation affects outcome! The butterfly effect is not just a VERY BAD film - never forget that kids.
Unfortunately the change in the time line also spontaneously marooned 12 newly hatched Seeth males in 1999, under the collective leadership of Murec. They appeared to have come from the time line established in The Codex, not HiR, which made matters even worse. You still with me? If you’re in counselling by now or on a window ledge that’s fine by me - I long stopped trying to understand this years ago! Anyway - prior to the non-shooting event in Shrodinger, I have already met Michael but Michael has been waiting for me because of my big mouthed future version! The Granolith - manifest as the library doors to Bone Hill House - also kept creeping up in the most unlikeliest places: my bedroom, a cave, the showers at West Roswell High, and taking me forward to 2006, to meet Grey (Poor Grey, no wonder he never quite got out of his dressing gown). Meanwhile, Murec and Co were adamant that, in order to restore the timeline I or Michael have to kill Liz and get Max to save her: this was almost as absurd as Brandon’s insistence in HiR that I and Michael `encourage’ Max to get Liz pregnant! Well, actually - it was much worse! When we refused, we had difficulties stopping Murec killing his future great-great-great-Grandmother! Jesus - that was hard! Try explaining a time paradox to a Seeth. In fact, trying explaining anything to a Seeth! It’s like playing dice with god.
Anyway - to cut a long story short - and impose a linear structure to what is in effect a bewildering multi-causal story - the culprit of this latest fuck up was the Granolith itself. It was, as the Seeth knew, a conscious, sentient being. It sort to change the time line all by itself, to in effect prevent Max and Tess getting together. Murec had told us the entire plot of Roswell round one, before terrorising the Crash Down as surf boarding Grandmas) and eventually - that very evening in Liz’s bedroom during the Fourth Alien conversation - Michael told Max about his past wife, Tess, soon to appear! Jesus - you should have seen Liz’s face - shot or in this case, still definitely NOT shot. She looked heartbroken, and so did Max! You can imagine, incidentally, the look on Isabel’s face when Michael told her she was his mate! Fuck! Maria actually fainted (although she denied it later). Max, dark, brooding, the occasional flash of his eyes - needed proof and so, with some intuitive guess work, I was able to lead them to the Pod Chamber, which of course they had not yet found, and which Tess was to find for them when she turned up with her fake Daddy. And before we knew it, there was a new girl in school!!
Anyway - so you can guess the rest of Shrodinger’s - sort of. When Tess Femme fatal turned up, innocent and blue eyed, Max was sort of ready for the devious trickery she had planned years ago with Nasedo and Kh’ivar himself! Max DID wobble, occasionally, since he needed to keep Tess on board to kill off the skins - but he never slept with Tess, and ultimately he slept with Liz on the night of a certain Gomez concert, thus `cementing’ their relationship as he so artfully put it! (Jesus - straight men, they have no sense of irony at all! Why is that?). Thus - in one master stroke, the Granolith removed the cause of the conspiracy in The Roswellian Codex, which was of course, Henry Maitland who was Max’s son by Tess! Moreover, since there was no shooting, and no obvious involvement with the FBI, my fellow Roswellians were never chased over the planet, but managed to graduate in 2002 and stay together without some terrorist alien hunter out fit chasing their asses! Of course, the downside to this was that Sheriff Valenti and Kyle remained excluded from the knowledge of Max and his powers, of Antar, and Kyle was never shot and saved either. On the other hand, Alex Whitman never got killed by Evil Tess and dumped in a car, and so, improbable to my gay mind, Isobel and Alex became lovers and eventually married. Tess never got blown to tiny bits inside an air force base but returned to Antar wherein (as we learned later from Seeth Sia Ova) she was executed for being generally useless. I am ashamed to ay I find that very gratifying....
All was seemingly hunky dory as they say in Kentucky (apparently) but for the fact that Liz had not been brought back from the proverbial dead, a necessary process to enhance her genes to create the missing Seeth child, and more distressingly, Max had not been killed or reborn himself by saving that weird dude Wheeler, and augmenting his own genes in the way that the Seeth required in order to save their race! (its all in the Codex, and in the very long Movie they made, the one that led to riots).
But, you know, (and here I switch to my mothers voice)
FATE is a strange thing.
I mean, always the same conundrum. A man stops to scratch his balls, and misses a car that would otherwise have killed him. Next day he steps out of a train and, missing the platform, gets fried on the electricity. The Antarians call it illuvatar - a word that almost means destiny - and sometimes, it really was as if some things were meant to happen. There are many ways to skin a cat, but in the end, you know, the cat gets skinned. Go figure.
I mean take poor Grey, for example. The one thing that Maxy Maxy still managed to do in Shrodinger was save those kids from cancer in Phoenix. He was evidently bored, it was the season of good will, and well people with the power to heal just have the odd itch, now and then, to try them out! So Grey got his kids to Boston, and his involvement with the FBI, and the experiments produced the same outcome for him, except on this occasion there was no Wilcox and no Jesse. My sheer coincidence, the Roswellians moved to Seattle in 2006, the year that Grey tried to sell Bone Hill House. (he bought and sold the same thing in each time line bless him, and alas his wife died in all of them as well, on the same date - some people just don’t have any luck! Michael and I actually visited Bone Hill to try and buy it, but that’s another story). The fates of Grey and Max were doomed - DOOMED to converge. On one wet windy day, Liz was run over by a car and Max saved her - Grey happened to be in the car - it was his super duper Rolls Royce Phantom, which of course the poor bastard couldn’t really drive probably, and without Wilcox, had never understood the principle of inertia. He was mortified, and sufficiently hands on to see Max saving Liz, and to see a connection between Max’s intervention and some of the changes he had studied in Boston in his children. He was an eccentric but thorough bastard - he was, like me, like Liz, drawn to Max, and even then, the image of the young man sobbing over his wife was, in some odd way, a memory of something!! When Liz discovered she was pregnant, but that one of the embryos’ was aging rapidly, Grey sorted out the cure to the aging process that have devastated the Seeth Genome all by himself - well - actually with my help and DeMarr‘s! It was a deft piece of applied science: so when Seeth Sia Om turned up, fresh with the news of Tess’s public shooting, all was well and as it should be. Phew - well even better!!
There remains, however, to veterans of Bone Hill House (all four of us, we know who we are) the mystery of the painting. What was it, what did it depict, and how did it change? That I fear, only Max really knows, and he has never yet told me!!
Love and sunshine
James Tiberius Relph.
I am NEVER going to have time to finish this tale - my latest adventure with Max is proving to be very sticky - so to speak - and involves some awfully complex stuff with the Granolith. But I just couldn’t bear to leave you in the lurch, as it were, or on the stairs, almost in Liz’s bedroom, and with my new Best Friend Michael’s cosy aside that I, Jamie Relph, was the Fourth Alien. Sounds like a movie, right? Or a book - in fact many years later I tried to use it as the title for my unofficial autobiography but I never got beyond the first page. Anyway - of course - in a sense, I WAS the fourth alien, although Michael and I had recently discovered that - technically - Tess was still out there and unaccounted for, and so was this Nasedo dude. In fact - there was another dude - Langley (or Langford) who had skipped off to Los Angeles at the drop of a hat to a life of cocktail parties, pools, and the odd film lot, and was pretty determined never to show up again!
So how did Shrodinger's cat end?
Well.
Max didn’t rescue Liz in the Crashdown for the simple if not irritating expedient that, in this version of events, she was never shot. Why she was never shot was in part determined by The Roswellian Codex, in which an attempt was made to subvert an established time line by preventing not just Max and Liz falling in lurve, (oh dreames, Nash thy teeth!) but Liz from having Max’s children. They were sort of important in the grand scheme of things thse kids, well one of them especially. I got involved in some of this - although only during the second version of the time line - in Haulden in Roswell, athough there Liz had been shot. It’s just that Max didn’t want kids and wanted to be (oh horror of horrors) NORMAL. Anyway, we got him through that (apparently) and the children were born as planned, although it ALMOST involved an unorthodox use of frozen semen and a wooden spoon. And only in HiR did it transpire who Max really was, although of course I had always suspected. I mean - come on - the habit of healing people and walking on water was a bit of a give away!
In Shrodinger’s Cat, the time line was started again - his time (ha ha ha) rather mysteriously by a random chaotic event (from the future established in HiR) in which Max and I accidentally and quite spontaneously found ourselves outside Max’s house in 1998, unfortunately right in front of a young but disconcertingly perspective Michael Gaurin. It was helpful that Max had morphed into a ginger tom; an entirely unpredictable event caused (but obviously NOT EXPLAINED BY) quantum mechanics. Unfortunately I was less coy about keeping my mouth shut, and so the time line was disturbed: it was this anomaly that led to Liz not being shot. Listen: always take Quantum physics seriously, I mean: light is both a wave and a particle, and observation affects outcome! The butterfly effect is not just a VERY BAD film - never forget that kids.
Unfortunately the change in the time line also spontaneously marooned 12 newly hatched Seeth males in 1999, under the collective leadership of Murec. They appeared to have come from the time line established in The Codex, not HiR, which made matters even worse. You still with me? If you’re in counselling by now or on a window ledge that’s fine by me - I long stopped trying to understand this years ago! Anyway - prior to the non-shooting event in Shrodinger, I have already met Michael but Michael has been waiting for me because of my big mouthed future version! The Granolith - manifest as the library doors to Bone Hill House - also kept creeping up in the most unlikeliest places: my bedroom, a cave, the showers at West Roswell High, and taking me forward to 2006, to meet Grey (Poor Grey, no wonder he never quite got out of his dressing gown). Meanwhile, Murec and Co were adamant that, in order to restore the timeline I or Michael have to kill Liz and get Max to save her: this was almost as absurd as Brandon’s insistence in HiR that I and Michael `encourage’ Max to get Liz pregnant! Well, actually - it was much worse! When we refused, we had difficulties stopping Murec killing his future great-great-great-Grandmother! Jesus - that was hard! Try explaining a time paradox to a Seeth. In fact, trying explaining anything to a Seeth! It’s like playing dice with god.
Anyway - to cut a long story short - and impose a linear structure to what is in effect a bewildering multi-causal story - the culprit of this latest fuck up was the Granolith itself. It was, as the Seeth knew, a conscious, sentient being. It sort to change the time line all by itself, to in effect prevent Max and Tess getting together. Murec had told us the entire plot of Roswell round one, before terrorising the Crash Down as surf boarding Grandmas) and eventually - that very evening in Liz’s bedroom during the Fourth Alien conversation - Michael told Max about his past wife, Tess, soon to appear! Jesus - you should have seen Liz’s face - shot or in this case, still definitely NOT shot. She looked heartbroken, and so did Max! You can imagine, incidentally, the look on Isabel’s face when Michael told her she was his mate! Fuck! Maria actually fainted (although she denied it later). Max, dark, brooding, the occasional flash of his eyes - needed proof and so, with some intuitive guess work, I was able to lead them to the Pod Chamber, which of course they had not yet found, and which Tess was to find for them when she turned up with her fake Daddy. And before we knew it, there was a new girl in school!!
Anyway - so you can guess the rest of Shrodinger’s - sort of. When Tess Femme fatal turned up, innocent and blue eyed, Max was sort of ready for the devious trickery she had planned years ago with Nasedo and Kh’ivar himself! Max DID wobble, occasionally, since he needed to keep Tess on board to kill off the skins - but he never slept with Tess, and ultimately he slept with Liz on the night of a certain Gomez concert, thus `cementing’ their relationship as he so artfully put it! (Jesus - straight men, they have no sense of irony at all! Why is that?). Thus - in one master stroke, the Granolith removed the cause of the conspiracy in The Roswellian Codex, which was of course, Henry Maitland who was Max’s son by Tess! Moreover, since there was no shooting, and no obvious involvement with the FBI, my fellow Roswellians were never chased over the planet, but managed to graduate in 2002 and stay together without some terrorist alien hunter out fit chasing their asses! Of course, the downside to this was that Sheriff Valenti and Kyle remained excluded from the knowledge of Max and his powers, of Antar, and Kyle was never shot and saved either. On the other hand, Alex Whitman never got killed by Evil Tess and dumped in a car, and so, improbable to my gay mind, Isobel and Alex became lovers and eventually married. Tess never got blown to tiny bits inside an air force base but returned to Antar wherein (as we learned later from Seeth Sia Ova) she was executed for being generally useless. I am ashamed to ay I find that very gratifying....
All was seemingly hunky dory as they say in Kentucky (apparently) but for the fact that Liz had not been brought back from the proverbial dead, a necessary process to enhance her genes to create the missing Seeth child, and more distressingly, Max had not been killed or reborn himself by saving that weird dude Wheeler, and augmenting his own genes in the way that the Seeth required in order to save their race! (its all in the Codex, and in the very long Movie they made, the one that led to riots).
But, you know, (and here I switch to my mothers voice)
FATE is a strange thing.
I mean, always the same conundrum. A man stops to scratch his balls, and misses a car that would otherwise have killed him. Next day he steps out of a train and, missing the platform, gets fried on the electricity. The Antarians call it illuvatar - a word that almost means destiny - and sometimes, it really was as if some things were meant to happen. There are many ways to skin a cat, but in the end, you know, the cat gets skinned. Go figure.
I mean take poor Grey, for example. The one thing that Maxy Maxy still managed to do in Shrodinger was save those kids from cancer in Phoenix. He was evidently bored, it was the season of good will, and well people with the power to heal just have the odd itch, now and then, to try them out! So Grey got his kids to Boston, and his involvement with the FBI, and the experiments produced the same outcome for him, except on this occasion there was no Wilcox and no Jesse. My sheer coincidence, the Roswellians moved to Seattle in 2006, the year that Grey tried to sell Bone Hill House. (he bought and sold the same thing in each time line bless him, and alas his wife died in all of them as well, on the same date - some people just don’t have any luck! Michael and I actually visited Bone Hill to try and buy it, but that’s another story). The fates of Grey and Max were doomed - DOOMED to converge. On one wet windy day, Liz was run over by a car and Max saved her - Grey happened to be in the car - it was his super duper Rolls Royce Phantom, which of course the poor bastard couldn’t really drive probably, and without Wilcox, had never understood the principle of inertia. He was mortified, and sufficiently hands on to see Max saving Liz, and to see a connection between Max’s intervention and some of the changes he had studied in Boston in his children. He was an eccentric but thorough bastard - he was, like me, like Liz, drawn to Max, and even then, the image of the young man sobbing over his wife was, in some odd way, a memory of something!! When Liz discovered she was pregnant, but that one of the embryos’ was aging rapidly, Grey sorted out the cure to the aging process that have devastated the Seeth Genome all by himself - well - actually with my help and DeMarr‘s! It was a deft piece of applied science: so when Seeth Sia Om turned up, fresh with the news of Tess’s public shooting, all was well and as it should be. Phew - well even better!!
There remains, however, to veterans of Bone Hill House (all four of us, we know who we are) the mystery of the painting. What was it, what did it depict, and how did it change? That I fear, only Max really knows, and he has never yet told me!!
Love and sunshine
James Tiberius Relph.