Roswell Fanatics

There was a gentle knock at the door and Officer Debbie McCandles looked up. When she saw Jim Blair standing there she motioned him inside.

"How's she doing," asked the officer. Debbie knew Jim had a daughter - and took all of the sexual assault cases he saw working out at the University particularly hard.

"She's in no real danger. She woke up once - briefly -couldn't really identify her assailant - but I'm beginning to believe it isn't the suspect we have in custody. She seems to have some long-term plans of her own for Max Evans - like bearing his children."

Jim took the news better than she would have guessed - a dry chuckle while shaking his head.

"Well, twenty-five minutes ago that might have surprised me - but so much has happened since then."

"Like what?"

"A phone call to the Acting Sheriff down in Roswell New Mexico - who knows both these kids - then a phone call from the CSI people. Do you know that they actually got three grams of skin tissue from under her fingernails during the sexual assault exam? Fiberglass fingernails ought to have to be registered as a deadly weapon. Anyway, the blood type of the tissue they recovered does not match either Miss Parker or Mr Evans, although it does match the blood on a wad of tissues that was found at the scene. Also, the forensics exam didn't find any scratches - hell, call them what they are - claw marks on Max Evans at all.

Shortly after I got that interesting bit of info the detectives called me and said that they have two eyewitnesses that say that Evans set off the fire alarm, a girl who says Max had her checking a woman's room for Liz Parker just before that - and a couple who I would guess were using Liz's own room for a passion pit who are saying most emphatically that Max was up on the fourth floor looking for her just before that. I'd say the 'suspect' probably has a better alibi than either you or I do, officer McCandles."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up. We all make mistakes..."

"Oh, you haven't heard the good part yet. I got a phone call on the way over here from Miss Parker's mother who is - understandably - concerned over the fact that her daughter has been physically and sexually assaulted. She was stressing to me most urgently that in the interests of her daughter's mental health she have Max Evans at her bedside when she awakes - that his presence would 'reassure her and comfort her,' since she trusts him and cares for him so much."

"Oh my....," said Debbie, covering her mouth with her hand to conceal her smile.

"It gets worse..." continued Blair. "...Mrs. Evans called, concerned that her son had been stun gunned and appeared to be 'stressed out'. She was nice enough not to mention that it was me who'd done the stun gunning, but she did ask if I could please have Liz Parker at his bedside - that the boy has social and emotional problems sometimes, but that Liz seems to have a special ability to handle him - to calm him down - and that it might be real important to his mental well being to have her at his bedside."

Despite herself, Debbie found herself fighting back a case of the giggles. "Well, make sure you have a chaperone present. We've already had one thirteen year old sexually assaulted. I don't think I'd trust Liz to keep her hands off Max - at least not until she sobers up completely."

"Yeah, well their local Sheriff is worried about mayhem of a different sort. You remember that story a few years back - about the pedophile who kidnapped the little girl and her classmate that rode the bike down the cliff to take him out. Turns out that was Liz Parker and Max Evans, and this Valenti is concerned that Max will go after whoever did this to her and ... you know what? I believe he would do it too.
Valenti says Max is really shy but when Liz is threatened he just sort of transforms - just kind of becomes a machine that does whatever is necessary to protect her. I think I saw something of that in his eyes when we had our dust-up. I tell you, it's almost like the kid isn't human when you look in his eyes. You can see the purpose there - the ... the ... look of something deadly. I guess the kid was a foundling and probably had a pretty crappy life before he was adopted. He gets this sort of feral look in his eyes that damn near makes you pee your pants. But most of the time he's kind of shy and - according to everybody that knows him - a damn fine kid otherwise. I'd hate for him to get in any trouble."

"So how's Max himself doing?"

"I just talked to the intern - he's called a neurologist and a psychiatrist to consult on him in the morning and was on his way to check him again. They are wondering if my stun gun that close to his brain might not have bled through some if its electrical energy into the boys brain itself."

"Could that do him serious injury?"

"They don't think so. They looked up the voltage and amperage and the psychiatrist said it might have been a lot like the electroshock treatments they give to people who are depressed. They say that if that's the case, it could have well screwed up the kids memory about tonight. It's possible he won't even remember the events before he was shocked, and even if he does the memory may not be reliable enough to stand up in court.

Poor kid. He saved the girl and some stupid cop zaps him and now we may lose any chance of finding out who the actual perp is."

"Look, you made a mistake. All of us do. With luck, the real perp's in a DNA database somewhere and we can track him down that way - and maybe the Evans kid will remember enough to be helpful."

"Maybe..." said Blair, still looking pretty depressed.

"Hey, Look at the bright side....," said Debbie, "...at least we have a DNA sample of the perp that she gouged out of him with her fingernails. That's hell and gone better than the usual perp DNA samples we get out of our sexual assault victims. "

"That's certainly true," said Jim Blair, brightening visibly. That's when the knock came on the door and they looked up to see the intern and student standing there.

"Uh, officer - I just checked Max Evans' room and ... I think you've got a big problem..."

In his own perverted way, Jimmy Drevins really was somewhat of a wunderkind. He always planned ahead - always was one step ahead of the opposition. Of course that didn't guarantee success. Even the best of plans can fail due to some totally unforeseen event - like some fool pulling a fire alarm or some girl going wacko from the GBHA. But even when that happened, Jimmy was quite good at improvising. Like filling the girl full of tequila. Hopefully she was dead - just another tragic episode of some stupid teenager mixing drugs and alcohol and ending up dead. But even if she somehow survived - even if by some miracle the security people or fire department had gotten to her in time - she wouldn't remember anything. Since he hadn't even gotten the opportunity to rape her there was little reason to think that they'd suspect him. But even if they somehow did - he was ready for them.

The first part of his excuse had been preplanned. He'd found the double feature movie in the newspaper this afternoon and it had been perfect. He'd already seen the first movie - the one that was playing while he was assaulting Liz. When he left the building with the last of the crowd during the fire alarm, he'd gone directly to the theater and bought a ticket. Most people just tossed their ticket stubs in the trash and Jimmy had done that too - but only after finding one in the trash that had been purchased earlier - back before the dance. If anyone asked - not likely, but it never paid to take chances - he could easily show then he'd been to the movie during the time that the attack on Liz had occurred - he had the ticket stub to prove it. In the darkness he had been able to calm down after the near disaster - ice his lip - catch his breath, and plan how next to improvise.

The lip was a problem - but after the ice it really didn't look too bad. The deep gouges to his back were also a problem - the bitch had ripped him good - but as he sat in the darkness watching the second feature, he'd had time to plan some more improvisation.

When the movie was over he walked to the nearby mall, feeling the sticky oozing gluing his t-shirt to him underneath his jacket. But a new t-shirt was less than $7 - cheap insurance - and he got a new pair of boxers just to be safe. Soon with underwear and a towel in a shopping bag he went to the all night drugstore and bought antiseptic and an antibiotic ointment and then he went back to the dorm.

He checked before he entered - room 329 was dark - apparently the Evans kid and Hanover were still out - but Drevins didn't go back to the room - not immediately. He needed to get cleaned up and get rid of the bloody t-shirt. So he went to the shower room and found an empty shower stall and entered it and locked the door behind him.

Drevins pulled the underwear and other things out of the shopping bag. He peeled off the sticky t-shirt - wincing in pain - and carefully rolled the t-shirt up and put it in the empty shopping bag. The old boxers quickly followed. Soon he was wincing as he cleaned ot the gouges on his back - first with soapy water - he hoped that stupid bitch HAD died as the sting became fire lancing down his back - then with the antiseptic he'd bought at the drugstore - that didn't feel real good either. Finally he dried off with the new towel - smeared a layer of antibiotic ointment into his scratches - that felt some better anyway - and put on the new boxers and t-shirt. Most of the bleeding had stopped and what oozing was going on down in the depths of the scratches was now sealed in by the ointment. He'd be careful to not let anyone see his back and even keep the t-shirt covered with another shirt.

This was going to work - not that it'd be needed necessarily - but that was the genius of Jimmy Drevins - how he had built a multi-million dollar drug empire in only three short years -Jimmy Drevins thought of everything. He wadded up everything -the remains of the tube of ointment - the old underwear and t-shirt - the wrapping material - everything - and shoved it in the empty shopping bag. As he walked back toward room 329 he looked around to make sure no one was noticing - then casually put the shopping bag in the trash chute leading to the incinerator. He walked up to his room - noticing there was still no light visible under the door and got out his key, looking both left and right as casually as he could, and seeing no one.

Jimmy quickly opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. Only then did he smile and turn on the light. The first fist broke his nose before his eyes even had time to see Max Evans waiting there for him.

His head snapped back from the blow to the nose and Drevins had only started to feel the pain from that blow when the second fist hit him in the abdomen forcing the air out of him in a bloody spray that covered one of the mirrors. Desperately Drevins backed away to gain room to fight and instinctively took up the Smash Attack Stance taught at the dojo where he'd gotten his black belt. Drevins blinked several times and caught his breath. He had the reach on Evans and at least twenty pounds and it was apparent from his opponents stance that he didn't know much about fighting. He'd caught him with a couple of cheap punches before he'd even known he was in a fight - that was all.

Drevins went to a forward fighting stance - and that's when he noticed his opponents eyes. Evans eyes seemed to look right through him - like they were seeing in to his soul - and they didn't appear to much like what they saw. But there was no quitting in those eyes - Drevins knew he was going to have to win this fight - to incapacitate Max Evans, if he was ever going to walk out of this room.

Max's midbrain saw the roundhouse kick coming - in fact was waiting for it. Even before the foot came whizzing at Max's face, the midbrain had Max falling toward the floor in a splits. The foot passed over his head just as his fist shot out again impacting the scrotum. Pain exploded up through his Drevins' abdomen and rolling waves of nausea came with it. As quickly as that, and resistance he might have been capable of was over. He collapsed on the floor, retching and helpless.

I think I mentioned that the Marquis of Queensbury rules were NOT thought up by midbrains.

Blevins watched in horror as Evans straddled him - much as he had straddled Liz Parker - and then commenced to beat on his face. He felt the zygomatic arch on the right fracture and displace - too weak to even raise his hands to defend himself as the fist slammed in to his upper mouth fracturing his maxilla but worse than that - worse than even the pain and the disfiguration - was seeing those eyes looking at him.

It was like a conduit was opened to Max Evans feelings - feral - savage - inhuman feeling. It wasn't so much that he could read Max Evans' mind as it was he could feel Max Evans' feelings and there was no pity, no compassion, just an unspoken hatred in that mind - a loathing that would not allow Jimmy Drevins to share this room or this world with it. In that moment as the connection opened between them, Jimmy Drevins saw his future - knew that Max Evans intended to take him apart blow by blow - and there wasn't any doubt in Jimmy Drevins mind that he was going to die - and that Max Evans was going to enjoy every minute of making that happen.

Twenty miles north of Fort Hancock Texas was .... well not very much really - at least not to look at. The town itself was small enough - not even two thousand people but twenty miles north was little more than a few small foothills and a whole lot of stars in the sky. The tropical low was now heading northward at seven to eight miles per hour - at which rate it should pass Texas route 180 in another three hours and be in to southern New Mexico about two hours after that. The terrain rose there - the low would cool as it was forced to a higher elevation and by mid morning as it proceeded in to New Mexico it would start to cause clouds to form as the dew point approached the cold temperatures of the Guadalupe Mountains. Right now, however, it was moving quietly through the darkness - unseen to anyone - even the batsthat swooped through the Texas night.

It had taken Officer Blair only minutes to find the locker room where the old air vent terminated. The APB had gone out only minutes later. There was - he supposed - a possibility the boy was trying to escape - but everything he had learned in the last hour made him doubt that - in fact it had started even before that. He'd seen in their struggle in that room how much Max Evans cared for the girl - felt it intuitively when he'd looked into the kid's eyes.

If Max Evans wasn't struggling to get to Liz Parkers side - and he clearly wasn't right now - then Deputy Sheriff Valenti was likely correct - he was trying to find the one who'd done this to her. Perhaps what he believed to be a policeman's intuition was heavily flavored by the connection he had shared briefly with Max's midbrain but there was little doubt in Jim Blair's mind that Max Evans was not running away - he was running toward someone and most likely running toward the campus.

In fact, Blair -traveling by car - had arrived before Max and checked room 329 using Max's key - which had been secured back at the hospital with his personal effects - and found it empty. Knowing Max wouldn't be able to get in without one of his roommates or one of the advisers opening the door, he had gone down to the room of the assault to look for him there and to check with the detectives who were questioning people in adjoining rooms about what they had seen earlier. The residents of that room - now the likeliest suspects - apparently were no suspects at all. They'd been off on a skiing trip since that morning.

As Blair went back to the third floor he saw the light on under the door. He hurried to it quickly and hearing blows and whimpering inside, used the key again and entered. A wild-eyed Max Evans had some kid on the floor and was simply pounding the hell out of him.

Somewhere his midbrain was telling him Max Evans had found the perp - that the guy had it coming - but Jim Blair had cerebrums too. They really wanted a world that the midbrain had never evolved for - a world of beyond reasonable doubts and arcane rules with lawyers to fight over them - a Marquise of Queensbury world that any midbrain would have told them was unrealistic. Somewhere his midbrain was telling Jim Blair that he had a young daughter and mate of his own who were themselves at risk to people such as the kid on the floor, and that maybe he ought to just go down to the snack bar and get a doughnut and a cup of coffee and come back later. But cerebrums almost never listen to midbrains. They make the same mistakes over and over.

Jim Blair leaped into the fight to restrain Max.

It was sort of like deja vu all over again, as Yogi Berra once said, as for the second time that night Officer Jim Blair found himself back at the Boulder Colorado Medical Center ER with two teenagers - one of them Max Evans. And the damnable thing about it was that his feelings had been conflicted both times - more so this time since his phone calls with Valenti and Diane Evans and Nancy Parker had left him with a better idea of just what kind of kid Max Evans was.

Blair had tried to pull Evans off of the larger kid - and that had at least worked at first. When you just grabbed someone from behind and jerked them off the other guy it wasn't like they could do much hanging in the air with all four extremities being unable to find any leverage - and he'd hoped to hold him off long enough to speak to him and get him calmed down. That hadn't quite worked. Max had writhed and struggled to break free and even though Blair was in good shape, eventually Max had gotten an extremity in contact with a wall and been able to leverage that to get turned around. Blair had expected to take a beating himself when that happened - but it hadn't happened. Max had wanted only to escape his grasp - to get back to the boy who was laying flat on his back whimpering with the blood bubbling from his nose - to pound the guy some more.

So Blair had done his duty - what his cerebral hemispheres told him he must do. After all, Max was out of control and certainly could be wrong about the kid. Besides - there was such a thing as due process - the kid was innocent until proven guilty in a court of law - that sort of stuff. Years of training had screamed at Jim Blair to stop the violence - and in the end the cerebral hemispheres had won out over his own midbrain which thought that the shy kind of kid that Max was probably wasn't going to make that sort of mistake - that this kid was guilty and was a threat not just to Liz Parker but even to little girls like his own daughter. Yeah, whatever Blair's cerebral hemispheres might think, his midbrain had been kind of adamant that Max wouldn't be doing this if the kid really wasn't the one who had brutalized Liz Parker and it had been strongly suggesting that maybe he - Jim Blair - ought to just go have that doughnut and cup of coffee and come back later to help Max hide the guilty bastard's body and - who knows - piss on the grave or something. Midbrains aren't real forgiving when it comes to this sort of stuff.

But the cerebral hemispheres and the years of training had won out - that and the knowledge that the great state of Colorado wasn't going to let Max get away with actually killing the kid - no matter how much the kid might deserve it - that's why Max was lying on a gurney next to the other guy - one Jimmy Drevins, according to the ID in his wallet.

It had not been easy to put Max on that gurney - he'd had to damn near exhaust the batteries in his stun gun to take Max down and keep him down - and Blair was actually more worried about the Evans kid lying there out cold than he was about the screaming Drevins kid who the doctor was now checking over.

The doctor checked his heart and breathing - the latter obviously OK, the kid was screaming and blubbering forcefully enough - but it was when the lifted up the shirt in back to listen to his lungs that the nausea hit Blair. The nausea was not from the blood and obvious deformity of the Drevins kid's face - Blair had been a cop long enough to not get queasy over that. It was from seeing the long scratches down Blevins' back - that's what nauseated Blair.

'Sorry kid,' he thought, looking at the unconscious boy on the next gurney, 'maybe I should have just taken that walk. Of course, if he had, Max Evans would probably be looking at first degree manslaughter right now, but if what Valenti said was right - that Max had been ready to die for Liz Parker when he took that guy over the cliff, that probably wouldn't have bothered the kid a bit. 'Sorry I had to zap you - sorry scumbags like that kid are even out there, you deserve a better world than that .... but I swear, I'll do everything I can to see that this guy gets nailed for what he did to your friend. I promise you that.'

Of course, the unconscious kid wasn't saying that much. But it didn't matter to Jim Blair. He picked up the phone and called the CSI guys. They had a case to make against this kid. Not just assault, but attempted murder. He just hoped they could do it.

It was 3:30AM at Boulder Medical Center

The good news was that it had been a combination of the GHBA and alcohol that had caused the intoxication. The actual amount of alcohol had been enough to be well over the current legal limit for driving but with her stomach pumped her blood alcohol had peaked out well below what any regular drinker would have considered to be a major drunk and with the GHBA now out of her blood stream and the alcohol itself almost gone, any regular drinker would have scarcely had a hangover.

The problem was that Liz Parker was by no stretch of the imagination a regular drinker - and that as a result even the relatively modest hangover she had seemed like a lot to her. She had a splitting headache and the bright fluorescent lights over head weren't helping. The fact that she had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten there didn't help much either. The first word out of her mouth wasn't much of a word at all - more just a groan as her eyes squeezed shut trying to shut out the light.

"Mmmmmnnnggg" Her mouth seemed to be stuck together and her nose hurt from where a tube had been shoved down it.

Officer Debbie McCandless doubted that Liz would remember much from last night - that was both good and bad. Good because whatever trauma she'd gone through couldn't have been very pleasant- as the bruises on her lower abdomen attested to - but she was no longer half-drunk and being told by someone who was a stranger that she had been assaulted was not something the girl would want to hear. The fact of the matter is that even if Max Evans wasn't unconscious and hadn't tried his best to kill that kid, Debbie still probably wouldn't have had in the room - despite her mother's wishes. Hearing you'd been sexually assaulted could be just plain too traumatic for a girl. Nancy Parker's belief - and even the young girls obvious affection toward Max when she'd been intoxicated - notwithstanding, the psychological trauma of awaking and knowing you'd been victimized - beaten - it could be devastating. Often victims would freak out at the sight of any male. Officer McCandless had been taught to be careful in these situations - and she was being careful.

She held the water glass to Liz's lips and let her take a sip to unglue her lips.

"Wh---where am I?"

"You are at the Boulder Colorado Medical Center, Liz. My name is Debbie McCandless. I'm on the Boulder police force - in the sexual assault unit. First of all, I want you to know that you are safe and - although someone assaulted you he was apparently interrupted before he could actually - well I'm sorry but the term is make penetration. You were beaten up a little but you are alright. They are only bruises - and bruises will heal, OK?"

Debbie waited for the look of fear - and she saw it. But it wasn't exactly what she expected.

"Is Max OK?"

"Max? Max Evans? Why shouldn't Max be OK?"

"Max doesn't do real well in social situations and I'm the only real friend he has in Colorado. He must be scared half to death. Can you find him for me? Besides - I'm sort of scared myself and Max - well Max always makes things better."

"I wish I could get him for you, Liz, I really do. But we can't do that right now. Max is sort of resting."

"What do you mean, resting?"

"Well, Max apparently was looking for you and set off the fire alarm. Whoever was assaulting you - well, you'd had a lot of alcohol and had stopped breathing when he found you. It gets sort of complicated after that but Max saved your life and there were some communication problems..."

"What do you mean... communication problems?"

"There was a misunderstanding - but Max is going to be OK - don't worry. What I need for you to do is to remember everything you can about the dance? Can you do that?"

"I remember getting my nails done and buying a new t-shirt - but nothing after that. When can I talk to Max?"

"Honey, I'm not really sure, but right now we need to try to get as much information as we can about what you do remember, OK......?"

Jimmy Drevins was a decidedly unhappy young man. It wasn't just the fractures of his maxilla and zygoma, they would require setting by the plastic surgeon, but they at least would heal. The memory of Max Evans' eyes - the way they peered down at him as the kid struck blow after blow - and the hatred that seemed to flow from those eyes still frightened him. He'd been conscious when the cop had come in and pulled - gibbering in terror from a kid smaller and younger - and the memory held terror still. Max Evans would have killed him - Jimmy had no doubt about that.

The kid was insane - Drevins knew that with certainty. No one who wasn't insane could have done what he did. The Evans kid frightened him - that was understandable enough - anyone would be afraid of an insane homicidal lunatic. In a sense that almost excused him in Drevin's mind. Evans was an animal that needed to be controlled and although you could fear animals for what they were you could scarcely blame them.

No, Drevins knew the one to blame - that bitch Parker. If she had not been such a prissy bitch - if she had just taken one lousy sip of the tequila, none of this would have happened. Of course it would scarcely do to have anything to do with the bitch now - now that he was being accused of assaulting her. But there were ways to get to her - ways that would hurt her that had nothing to do with actual physical contact.

He'd made his phone call to his father - told him what lawyer he had wanted. Drevins prided himself on being well prepared. He had already researched the best criminal lawyer in each locale in which he did business - just in case. In fairness, he'd done the research assuming he was going to be charged with distributing drugs - not sexual assault - but the best was still the best - at least the best that was willing to bend the rules a little bit for his client - and Drevins could afford to pay him quite well.

He'd already talked to the attorney and the man had suggested two ways he could help himself and get even with the Parker bitch.

The first was to blame it all on her. The second was to blame it on Max. Drevins honestly wasn't sure which would hurt Liz Parker worse, but it scarcely mattered. He intended to do both. He'd rehearsed the story with his lawyer - right here in the jail ward of the hospital. It would be easy.

He'd say he asked Liz for a dance - no more than that. She'd wanted to accept but that animal Evans had made a scene. Liz had said she'd dance with anyone she damn well pleased and that where did he get off telling her who she could and couldn't dance with - and eventually Max had backed off. Chances are there were a few people from the dance who would remember that. It had been her idea to leave the dance and she'd taken him to an empty room - pulled out some tequila and angrily started drinking. He'd seen her put something in one of the drinks - he'd refused to have any - the two of them being underage and everything - but pretty soon she just started acting weird. She said that she was going to show that Max Evans who was boss - that she'd do anything she wanted with anyone she wanted - and the next thing he knew she had her levis off and had him trapped in a corner of the dorm room. She'd told him that she liked rough sex - that she wanted it - and that Max was such a namby-pamby when it came to sex- she'd raked her fingernails down his back demanding that he take her - but he'd wanted nothing to do with a drunk and underage girl so he'd fled the room and gone to a movie.

The second way to hurt her was to hurt Max. Maybe he was just an insane animal, but the crazy bitch obviously liked him. He'd say that Max had come back to their room - still angry with him because he'd tried to dance with Liz. Max, he would say, had told him that he'd slugged Liz for trying to two-time him, and then Max had attacked him as well. The kid was crazy - the cop would testify to that - it must have taken him four or five hits with the stun gun to stop the madman.

Yes, thought Jimmy Drevins, this would work. He would have smiled if his lips weren't to swollen to move.

Agent Anderson and Detective Hofstra thought they had been reasonably patient but the desk sergeant could give them no idea when Officer Jim Blair was going to get back from the medical center with the picture. They didn't much care about their prisoner – Bugs Quigley was going nowhere – but if this lead didn't pan out they would have to check even further afield tomorrow – check that, it was already tomorrow. If this Max Evans wasn't THE Max Evans they were losing a night's sleep needlessly. Finally Hofstra had had enough.

“Hang on a minute, I'm going to go check something.”

He was back only minutes later.

“Look, do we really need a real photo line-up on this kid? The CSI guys just got back from the med center ER where they took a few pictures of the kid. There's no way that we can do a photo lineup – at least not unless we can get a whole lot more kids on gurneys – but is that really necessary? If Quigley says it's him, we can get a judge to give us a warrant on probable cause anyway. If we can't find some incriminating evidence on the kid no judge or jury is going to take Quigley's word – a two time loser trying to make himself a deal – over the word of the kid anyway.”

Anderson shrugged. Hofstra was obviously right – besides it was getting so late that if they didn't get out of there they wouldn't get to bed at all tonight. “Sounds good to me.”

Five minutes later Quigley was sitting in front of a screen and the video projector was plugged into the CSI camera. The image was of two teenagers – one who was unconscious – his muscles apparently locked in contraction – the other who looked like he'd had his face smashed in.

“Is this your Max Evans?” asked Hofstra.

Bugs looked at the picture – that was Max Evans alright – or at least it had been until someone had smashed his face in. But Bugs knew better than to admit it – he wasn't an idiot. Of course, if he lied to them and they found out later, he'd still be in some hot water. But he didn't have to lie – exactly. He could tell them part of the truth.

“I can't really tell,” said Quigley, looking at Drevins, “... he wasn't smashed up that badly when I talked to him. I sure can't make positive ID.”

“Look carefully,” said Anderson, “... do either of these boys remind you of Max Evans?” he asked, specifically pointing out Max.

“That one sure doesn't. The other guy – like I said, he wasn't all busted up before, there was no blood, and besides...it was dark.”

Five minutes later Quigley was back in his cell and the two officers were back in the conference room.

“You know, Bugs always was a crappy liar,” said Hofstra. “I get the sense he's not lying right now but he's not really telling the truth either. He didn't look twice at Max Evans there – but his eyes got real big when he saw the other guy – the CSI report says his name is Drevins. You know if I were new in town and wanted to establish myself in a criminal enterprise with someone I'd never met, I don't think I'd trust someone like Bugs with my real name.”

“You think this Drevins kid might have called himself Max Evans?”

“Wouldn't be the first time someone had used his dorm-mates name to get himself out of trouble. In college towns like this it happens all the time.”

“Let's give Blair a head's up about this...just in case.”


The jet stream had drifted south across Arizona but near Deming New Mexico it had turned back north. It passed well north of the Lincoln National Forest where the moisture sodden tropical low had stagnated, and as it did so it induced warm southerly winds that had the effect of both pushing the system northward and heating it. The overall effect was to increase its northward travel but keep the system warm enough that the cooler temperatures of the New Mexican high desert were not enough to allow the temperature to quite fall to the dew point. But the system was now moving northward and toward higher elevations that – by late afternoon or early evening at the latest – would unleash a pretty spectacular thunderstorm that would get the attention of every weatherman in the Southwest. But not now – now the gathering storm slipped along with the entire weather service oblivious to its very existence.

Most people at some time or other in their lives have had a charley-horse. It can be pretty miserable. For whatever reason the muscle contracts and it contracts hard enough that the spasm causes it's internal pressure to go above the systolic blood pressure. For a teenager that's about 100mmHg - roughly two pounds per square inch. Once that happens the pressure inside the muscle exceeds the pressure trying to provide blood to the muscle so all blood flow to the muscle - and the oxygen it contains - stops.

Muscles aren't like brains. Brains can't live without oxygen but muscles can - at least for awhile. The muscle stays alive by going in to what's called anaerobic metabolism or lactic acid fermentation. The muscles take what little stored energy they have in the form of glucose and convert it to lactic acid to keep going without oxygen. Of course that means the lactic acid formed has no place to go - no blood flow to carry it to the liver and burn it - so the muscle gets pretty acidic which causes potassium to leak from the interior of the muscle to the exterior which - you guessed it - causes the muscle to contract even harder. It becomes a very painful vicious circle.

Eventually the muscle simply can't sustain the contraction. Without energy to maintain the contraction, eventually the muscle just gives up and lets go. It's bruised and still full of lactic acid - and it feels like hell - but if not more than a few hours have passed there is usually no permanent damage done. It just aches for ten or twelve hours.

Getting hit with a stun gun is like that - only it hits every muscle of your body simultaneously. Getting hit five or six times in short order - well nobody really knew what THAT would feel like. Nobody that is except the boy in the bed in front of Jim Blair - or at least he would as soon as he woke up - if he woke up. Worrying about that was what had kept Jim Blair sitting there watching - hoping that the boys eyes would open soon. He was about to get his wish.

Even if you don't have alcohol dehydrogenase eventually you eliminate ethanol through your lungs. It isn't a fast process, but it's faster if you have a high respiratory rate - like if you are in a fight - and in truth, Max Evans hadn't absorbed all that much alcohol from Liz's mouth to begin with. So the cerebral hemispheres were pretty much in control when consciousness returned to Max's reasonably beat up body.

The boy seemed to be starting to move and the Blair was wondering which Max Evans was going to wake up - the feral beast that had been so intent upon pounding Jimmy Drevins into a bloody pulp, or the shy kid that the phone calls from Roswell had described. As it turned out, it was somewhat of a mixture.

The kid's eyes flew open first and he started to try to sit up - only to wince with pain and lay back with a groan. Then the eyes opened again and with a look of determination on his face the boy sat up - only to find leather restraints on his wrists. His eyes found the officer sitting on the chair and the words spilled from his mouth.

"Is Liz OK?"

"Miss Parker is a little bruised but no serious harm done. I understand she's already asking about you though. If you are completely in control of yourself we can even take the restraints off..." said Blair looking intently at the face of the boy.

Max looked down at the restraints - knowing that with a little molecular manipulation he could make them fall off - although he'd probably never survive what Izzy did to him if he let anyone know. But it didn't seem necessary. The policeman was a little wary, but not unfriendly. Besides, every muscle felt like it had been kicked by a mule.

"I think I hurt too much to do anything even if I wasn't in control," said Max, "... as long as Liz is really OK."

"Well, OK is a relative term but she will be OK. You are in a little bit more trouble - under arrest on suspicion of first degree assault and battery, so I have to tell you that you have a right...."

"To remain silent, if I give up my right to remain silent anything I say can be used against me in a court of law...., I know, I live with two lawyers who do that stuff for a living, said Max. '...and a sister who won't let me say anything anyway,' he thought to himself. "So did I really do it? The assault I mean? I assume it was Drevins I assaulted - the last thing I remember is looking all over for Liz - then seeing Drevins run from a room and finding her there not breathing. I think I started mouth-to-mouth breathing on her.... then I don't remember anything more."

"Oh, you assaulted him alright - beat the snot out of him - but if you keep to that story chances are the worst they can get you on is simple assault and you may even get off from that if you claim that you can't remember what happened because some dumb cop zapped you in the head. Not really responsible for your actions - post traumatic delirium - something like that. I'm sure a good lawyer can get you off."

"Well, I don't remember it, but I remember what Liz looked like when I found her. Whatever happened - and I have my suspicions - Drevins deserved to be beaten for going off and leaving her like that - not even breathing. She had bruises on her - her abdomen too - and I doubt that it was her idea to take her levis off..."

"Now there is where you are going to get yourself in trouble, Max. You are thinking logically - you don't want to do that - we are speaking about the legal system here - not right and wrong. Drevins already has the biggest shyster lawyer in Colorado to tell his side of the story and you need to wait until your parents get someone to represent you - otherwise you are just going to get yourself in deeper. One of the detectives will be along in a few minutes to read you your rights and charge you and you need to remember that."

"But I thought you were doing that..?"

"No, I just wanted to be here to be able to tell Liz you were OK and to make sure that when you woke up you were back to normal. You get pretty intense when you are angry and I didn't want you presenting that side of yourself to the detectives."

"So why are you helping me?"

"Only fair - I'm the dumb cop that zapped you. Glad you seem to have gotten over the effects though - at least the mental effects. I can see you are still hurting."

"I'll be OK I guess, as long as Liz is alright."

"II think you're right kid. Good thing too - I'm running out of batteries. Get some sleep - I'll go let Miss Parker know that you seem to be OK."

'Running out of batteries..?' Max didn't understand that statement. He did know he wasn't really going to be OK - physically he would - but the 'mental effects' were going to last him the rest of his life.

It had been his fault. If he'd just been - normal - he'd have given anything to have stayed there and danced the night away with Liz. But he wasn't normal - and never would be - and he certainly couldn't ever expect her to feel that way about him if she really knew that. Maybe if he'd told Liz long ago - maybe then she would have just let it go - not gotten her heart set on a relationship that could only end in misery for both of them. Maybe then she would have listened when he warned her about Drevins - not gone off with him in spite.

Whatever had happened to Liz, Max knew with certainty, had been his fault. He would have done anything to have last night to do over. To just sit and watch from afar and make sure that nothing bad happened to her. But he'd been unable to face his own feelings toward her and in the end he couldn't bear to see someone he cared so much for with someone who thought so little of her so he'd walked away .... and almost cost Liz her life.

The tears trickled from his eyes as he laid back and looked at the ceiling of the hospital room. All he had wanted was for Liz to have a chance to find someone she could truly love. How could it have gone so wrong?


As Blair walked out of the hospital ten minutes later, he was determined. Too many times lawyers found weasel words to get bastards off - and too many times guys like Max - guys who were - well not really that adept socially - got chewed up by the system. Max had been punished enough for whatever he'd done, Blair had decided. Hell, Blair had been the one that had punished him. Just this one case Blair wanted justice to be done - not the process of 'justice' with all its insider deals and plea bargaining - but just right and wrong. The terrible thing about GHBA was that it wasn't even 'he said - she said,' because generally the 'she' couldn't even remember it.

It was going to take good hard police work for either Liz or Max to get justice for what had happened tonight. If that didn't happen, it wouldn't be because Jim Blair and the CSI people weren't going to do their best....

The airline hub and spoke system is great - if you happen to live near a major hub. Roswell New Mexico is nearly as far as you can get from a major hub. Even satellite hubs are a long drive away and service to them was sketchy at best on an early Sunday morning. At least that's what two sets of parents were discovering when they tried to find some quick way to get to Boulder Colorado.


The scene was in the downstairs home office of Diane Evans, where the four parents had congregated to try to find a way to get to their children.

"This is ridiculous," said Jeff Parker, slamming down the phone. "Everything going out this morning from either Albuquerque or El Paso is already so overbooked we have no chance of getting on board - and even then we would be looking at going in the wrong direction - to Phoenix or Houston - to catch a connecting flight to Denver. We'd be lucky to get there before tonight. We can do just as well taking the same little milk-run regional that the kids took to get there this afternoon. I had them book four seats for us. It leaves at 4:50 this afternoon."

"I can't do any better than that," said Phillip Evans, shaking his head. "I hoped I could find something we could charter but - you'd be surprised how nasty people can be when you wake them up at 4AM telling them you need a charter right now. Most charter outfits need at least three days notice except for the medical emergency charters - and they won't respond unless it is a medical emergency."

Diane and Nancy were just wringing their hands. It was obvious to them that having a child in the hospital and another in the hospital ward WAS an emergency to them - but there seemed to be nothing they could do about it. Nancy started making lists of things they would need for the trip while Diane went online and started looking up applicable Colorado state law.