CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
December 18, 1999, 2 p.m.
Cahoon Park, Roswell
Diane Evans closed her eyes and hung on tight, wanting to savor every single second of this moment. Finally, she thought as her son returned her hug. Finally he'd come to her, finally he'd talked to her, and finally they'd reached some sort of understanding; what sort, exactly, she wasn't sure, but at this point, she didn't care. Max had come to her, found her in the very same park where that fateful videotape had been made and the place to where she'd retreated after her trip to the Crashdown, wanting some time to think, to assimilate all the various encounters she'd had today, from her daughter, to the sheriff, to Jeff Parker. She loved this park; it was so peaceful here, reminding her of a simpler time when the biggest worry you had for your child was that they'd fall off a bike or a swing. Life had certainly gotten more complicated since then, so it was good to watch kids playing, to sit in the open air under the open sky and clear your head. And Max knew she loved it here, which is why he'd come looking for her here. Just the fact that he'd come looking for her anywhere would have been enough for her.
Max pulled away. "Are we good now?" he asked softly.
"Yeah," Diane nodded. "We're good." She pushed a stray hair out of the way, hoping he didn't notice that she'd wiped away a tear in the process. "I should get home. I've got groceries melting in the trunk."
"I'll walk you to the car."
They walked arm in arm through the parking lot, not speaking again until Diane settled into the front seat. "Here," she said, handing him back his toy house. "This is yours."
"You keep it," Max said.
"I think you should," Diane answered. "It may not really be a magic house, but I still believe you could find your real home some day, even if you don't."
Max's face clouded. "Maybe," he allowed. "But as far as I'm concerned, I've already found my 'real home'. It's the only home I've ever known."
Diane blinked rapidly as tears threatened again, deeply grateful that her recent behavior hadn't turned him off completely. She hadn't fully appreciated how her quest had looked from his perspective until he'd offered to leave the only home he'd ever known if that was what she wanted. You're not supposed to investigate us. That's what he'd said a couple of nights ago, and that's exactly what it had looked like because that's exactly what she'd been doing. You know what you've always said about trust. That it's not something bestowed, it's something you have to earn. That verbal slap from her daughter had been the second nail in the coffin, followed by Jeff Parker's insistence that she knew her son better than anyone and the appearance of that son, unbidden, to address what he clearly didn't want to. Thank God she'd finally gotten the message. And to think that Sheriff Valenti had been so suspicious…
"Max," Diane said suddenly. "May I ask you something? Not about...that," she added quickly when he gave her a startled look. "Not exactly."
"Okay," he answered warily.
"When you put out the fire...do you know how you did that? I don't mean you should tell me," she went on in a rush. "I was just wondering if you knew."
Max stuffed his hands in his pockets the way he always did when he got uncomfortable. "I don't understand exactly how it works," he admitted. "I just know it does."
"So you meant to put out the fire," Diane clarified. "It wasn't just some knee jerk reaction that had a happy ending. You knew what you were doing."
"Sure. Why? Did you think I didn't?"
"I'm not sure what I thought," Diane said. "I guess…no," she finished. "It looked to me like you knew exactly what you were doing." She paused. "You know I meant what I said earlier. Nothing you are could ever turn me away from you. If you ever want to tell someone, I'll keep your secret. I won't let anyone near you."
Max smiled sadly. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of, Mom. I'm afraid it's not safe for you to know. I really think it's better if you don't…just in case."
"In case…what?"
Max looked out toward the park, where children scampered around the playground like he'd used to. "Let's hope we never find out. Have a safe trip," he added, patting the roof of the car. "I'll be home later."
He walked away, Diane watching in the side view mirror until he drove away in his jeep, pulling out after him and turning in the opposite direction. Just in case… Max almost sounded like her mother-in-law when she'd warned about what could happen to Max if anyone found out he was different…and someone had. Max is a nice kid…special, the sheriff had said. Valenti hadn't stopped fishing since the fire, and she'd been tagging right along, following the trail of breadcrumbs he'd laid out for her. No more, she thought grimly. The next time she saw him, the subject of her son was off limits. With any luck she wouldn't be seeing him any time soon, which would give her time to…
Diane's hands clenched the steering wheel as she rounded the corner onto their block and saw a sheriff's cruiser parked in front of her house. What in blazes was that doing there? It couldn't be a coincidence that a cruiser was sitting in her driveway mere hours after her last conversation with the sheriff, and she scanned the area anxiously, looking for the jeep. She didn't find it, but she did find the front door open. What on earth...?
Turning into the driveway so quickly that she almost scraped the cruiser, Diane threw the car into park and jumped out. Faint voices floated from the house as she ran up the front walk, voices which grew louder after she reached the door and one of which she recognized. Philip. He must have gotten in early, and he sounded none too pleased. "…and I know accusatory language when I hear it," his testy voice declared. "Now, I'll ask you one more time: Of what, exactly, are you accusing my son?"
Diane reached the kitchen doorway, panting, having moved so fast that the screen door was only just banging closed behind her. Philip was standing in the damaged kitchen with Sheriff Valenti, who bore the unmistakable expression of a trapped animal.
"Sweetheart!" Philip exclaimed, startled. "I didn't even hear you. What's wrong? You look upset."
"No, I…I was just worried," Diane said. "I saw the sheriff's car, and I was afraid we'd been robbed again."
"No, no," Philip assured her. "Nothing like that. Jim and I were just having a…conversation."
"Thank goodness," Diane said, managing a smile. "And welcome home, even if it is a bit scorched."
"I know you just got back, so I'll let myself out," Valenti said quickly. "Nice talking to you, Mr. Evans, Mrs. Evans."
"I'll walk you out," Diane said. "You don't mind, do you, sweetheart?"
"Of course not," Philip said. "The sheriff was just leaving anyway."
The tone was mostly neutral, but there was enough of an edge to it that it would have been clear Philip and Valenti hadn't been having a pleasant chat even if she hadn't overheard part of it. "Oh, no need," Valenti said quickly. "I'll just be on my way."
"But I insist," Diane said brightly. "You've been so supportive these past few days, it's the least I can do."
Diane gave Philip a peck on the cheek before heading out to the driveway with Valenti reluctantly following. "You really don't need to walk me to my car, Mrs. Evans," Valenti said. "I'm pretty sure I can find it—"
"What did you say to my husband?" Diane interrupted.
Valenti stopped. "Excuse me?"
"I said, what did you say to my husband?" Diane demanded. "I've been married for fifteen years, and I can read him like a book. He's angry. What did you say that made him angry?"
Valenti held up both hands. "Mrs. Evans, I'm really sorry if I've upset anyone. That wasn't my intention. I—"
"What are you even doing here?" Diane went on, ignoring him. "Didn't we just talk this morning? Don't you think harassing me once a day is enough?"
" 'Harassing'?" Valenti repeated blankly. "Okay, now I know I've been badly misinterpreted. I didn't mean—"
"I know exactly what you 'mean'," Diane said sharply. "You've sucked me in every single day since the fire, including this morning. How dare you presume to lecture me about how to raise my own son?"
"Now, wait just a minute," Valenti said, moving abruptly from supplication to defense. "I wasn't 'lecturing' you about anything. I was merely bringing some things to your attention, things you may not have been aware of—"
"And things which you've made it your mission to make me aware of," Diane finished. "Max hasn't done anything wrong, sheriff. I haven't been a lawyer's wife for this long without learning a thing or two. If you had anything of substance on him, you'd be doing a lot more than shaking me down in the grocery store."
"We were talking," Valenti corrected. "Just talking."
"Right," Diane said skeptically. " 'Talking'. Seems like you'll talk to anybody these days, and believe anything they say. Like those Crash festival tourists who fingered Max during that shooting in the fall. I got a good look at them today in the Crashdown, and I couldn't believe my eyes. I wouldn't have pegged you as that gullible."
Valenti's eyes turned a shade darker. "Mrs. Evans, I seem to have upset you, and for that, I apologize. But I make no apology for any effort I make to protect the people of this town."
"From what?" Diane exclaimed. "From people putting out fires? From people helping during an assault? Although that last one is the most ridiculous story I've ever heard, and no wonder, coming from a couple of airheads."
"Mr. Trilling and Miss Kattler come off a bit flighty," Valenti allowed, "but their description of events that day is very telling."
" 'Telling'?" Diane echoed. "Then perhaps you could 'tell' me, sheriff, why no one else saw what they saw. Something that fantastic happens in front of that many people, and the only two who saw it go to clown school?"
"What makes you think no one else saw it?" Valenti asked.
"That's what Jeff Parker told me," Diane answered.
Valenti stared at her a moment before dropping his eyes. "So you talked to Jeff."
"Yes, I talked to Jeff," Diane said angrily. "And this is the last time I'm talking to you. Unless you have an official complaint to make, this subject is closed. Bring it up again, and I'll have my husband finish that conversation he was having with you when I walked in. And if you think I'm being ornery, just wait until you see the look on his face when he finds out where you're willing to get your information."
"I see," Valenti murmured, nodding slowly. "He got to you, didn't he? Max got to you. Did he threaten you?"
Diane's annoyance abruptly turned to cold rage. "Get off my property, sheriff," she ordered. "Now."
"Okay," Valenti said, donning his hat. "Okay. I'm going. I just want you to remember, Mrs. Evans, that I'm here to protect you. From anything."
Diane took a step closer. "And I want you to remember that my son is one of those people you're supposedly here to protect. From anything."
Valenti gave her a level stare. "Interesting, Mrs. Evans...now who's lecturing whom?"
"Excuse me?"
Diane's retort died in her throat. There was a puzzled and vaguely embarrassed looking man standing behind Valenti holding a toolbox and flashing an ID badge. "Gas and Electric," he said sheepishly. "Had some trouble in the neighborhood, so we're just checking adjacent houses."
"Of course," Diane said, flustered. "Of course. Go right in."
Diane felt her cheeks burning as the apologetic technician slipped past them. Valenti took advantage of the lull to climb into his cruiser, giving her one last nod before backing out. He'd had the last word and some poor unsuspecting bystander had witnessed her tantrum, but at least she'd gotten her point across. And it could have been worse; it could have been Philip who had overheard, which would have been very awkward indeed. While it was true that Philip would have torn Valenti to pieces if Valenti had gone after him the way he'd gone after her, Valenti wouldn't have been the only one Philip would have gone after. She may be willing to accept Max's "explanation" of his unusual talents, but his father certainly wouldn't.
Grabbing a handful of groceries out of the trunk, she went back inside, where Philip was still in the kitchen inspecting the damage. "Why didn't you tell me you had groceries?" he asked, taking them from her. "I'd have unloaded the car for you…wait. What's dripping?"
"I ran bunch of errands today, so some of the frozen stuff is probably suffering," Diane said. "Fortunately no ice cream, though. Sweetheart," she continued in what she hoped was a casual tone, "I thought I heard you and the sheriff arguing when I came in. Is everything okay?"
"Oh," Philip said dismissively. "That. Jim was just making some rather curious enquiries into how Max put out the fire. He said I should talk to you."
"He mentioned that earlier," Diane said lightly. "The firefighters thought Max just got really lucky."
"See, that's what I said," Philip replied. "Sometimes people do get really lucky."
"I've gone over with Max what to do if something like that ever happens again," Diane went on. "He'll be better prepared next time, although I hope to God there isn't a next time. Can't rely on being that lucky twice."
"That's good to know," Philip said. "Maybe I was just overreacting. You know, jet lag, and all. I'll get the rest of the bags. Oh, the gas and electric guy is downstairs, just so he doesn't startle you."
Diane leaned against the counter in relief as Philip went to fetch the rest of the groceries. It appeared she'd interrupted them before Valenti had had a chance to tell Philip anything damning, not that he had anything actually "damning" to tell. The only "damning" piece of evidence was something she had…
Diane's gaze drifted toward the living room, and a moment later, she was pulling the tape with the video of Max healing the bird out of a pile. Her mother-in-law may be right that this didn't prove anything, but under the circumstances, she couldn't afford to take chances. No one else could see that recording. She had flipped the cassette open to pull out the tape when it occurred to her that wouldn't destroy it. Should she cut it up? Couldn't the pieces be spliced together again? No, the only way to make certain no one saw it was to erase it. Pushing the tape into the VCR, she hit "record".
"You sure you want to do that?"
Diane whirled around to find the technician standing there, toolbox in hand. "What?"
"That'll erase the tape," the technician said. "My wife did that once by accident. Erased a whole series of the kids' birthday parties. So I was just checking that you're sure you wanted to do that."
"I'm sure," Diane said.
The tech shrugged. "Okay. House is fine," he went on. "I'll let myself out."
He left, nodding to Philip, who was on his way in, arms laden with groceries. "Watching old videos?" he asked, smiling indulgently on the way past to the kitchen.
"No," Diane said quietly. "I'm done."
******************************************************
Eastside Manor
Dee snapped her cell phone closed and sighed. "Any luck?" David asked.
"No," Dee said wearily. "Diane's still not answering. I must have left a dozen messages by now."
"Then just leave it alone for a while," David suggested.
"I can't 'leave it alone' because I don't have a 'while'," Dee said. "Philip's due home this evening, and things will not go well if he finds out about this."
"You really think he'll turn against them?" David asked.
"I don't know," Dee admitted. "I just know that if he gets suspicious, we'll have to tell him the truth right away. Philip is very much like Valenti; once he gets something in his head, there's no getting it out."
"Valenti isn't the only one Philip is like," David chuckled. "Isn't that right, Em?"
Emily, who was staring at the TV screen in silence, didn't even look at him. She had lapsed completely back into her forgetful self after suddenly, blindingly, becoming her old self when Brivari had been here this morning. It was as though his presence had tripped a switch, flooding her mind with light…and his absence tripped it once more, sending her back into the fog in which she normally lived these days. David had been philosophical, but Dee was finding it much harder to take. Her mother had slipped away so slowly that she hadn't realized just how much had been lost until it had been suddenly found once more.
"Well…I'm right," David said resignedly when his wife didn't answer or even acknowledge his presence. "Philip is very much like you, Dee, meaning you would know best how he'd react. I'd leave it up to you as to what to tell him and when."
"I have to go the bathroom," Emily announced to no one in particular. Dee waited the considerable amount of time it took for her mother to rise from her chair and shuffle unsteadily into the bathroom before speaking again.
"I can't believe how she just…flipped," she whispered. "You said she does this sometimes; is it always like that?"
"It doesn't last as long," David said, "and it's not so complete. It's just a moment here and there where she sounds like her old self. It used to be the opposite; there were moments here and there where she didn't sound like herself. Then the ratio changed."
"You said that," Dee said sadly. "That's all you get now. Moments."
"I'll take those moments," David said. "Even moments are better than nothing."
"David?" Emily's anxious voice called from the bathroom. "Where's my wedding ring?"
"On your finger, dear," David replied patiently.
"No, it isn't," Emily said, shuffling from the bathroom to the bedroom. "I can't find it. Where is it?" she went on, her voice rising. "Where's my wedding ring?"
"You had it last night when you went to bed, so it's here somewhere," David said soothingly.
"We'll find it, Mama," Dee assured her.
What followed was a forty minute fruitless search of the entire apartment. It wasn't a large place, so there weren't a lot of places to look, but Emily's simple gold wedding band wasn't in any of them. By the time they'd exhausted the usual places, unusual places, and anything left over, Dee was beginning to worry. "What could have happened to it?" she whispered to her father after two thorough sweeps turned up nothing. "There aren't that many places it could be."
"Actually, there are," David said as he pulled a cushion off the couch for the third time. "We walk to the dining room for meals three times a day, go to the blood pressure checks and church services, and we listened to the carolers sing last night down in the front lounge. She could have taken it off in any of those places, and if someone finds it, they may or may not turn it in. When one of your mother's blouses was sent to the wrong resident by the laundry, I had to involve the staff to wrestle it away from the woman who wound up with it. Guess she liked it."
"Good grief," Dee muttered. "It's like dealing with little kids."
"That's exactly what it's like," her father agreed, "only these kids have bank accounts, and credit cards, and at least partially remember the day when they called the shots. I'll check the lost and found, but don't get your hopes up."
"But why would she take it off?" Dee asked. "She never takes it off unless she's going to bed or doing something messy like cutting raw meat. Which she doesn't do any more."
"I can't predict what your mother's going to do any more," David admitted. "It's not where it should be, so she took it off somewhere she usually doesn't. It could have fallen down a drain, or it might be in a pocket. It's small enough, it could be anywhere."
Then I'll look everywhere, Dee thought grimly after a glance in the bedroom revealed Emily tearing the room apart, or as close as she could come given that she had to work one-handed, the other being needed for support. She should probably stop grousing and be grateful her mother even remembered that she had a wedding ring, or was married, or to whom. She had just begun yet another sweep when a shadow passed slowly by the door, then crossed again. Sighing, Dee went to the door.
"Now what? If you've got another crisis brewing, this isn't a good time."
"That depends," Brivari answered. "Your son got home early. I was in the house looking for the tape when he arrived, followed by the sheriff."
"Valenti?" Dee said suspiciously. "What was he doing there?"
"Working on Philip," Brivari answered. "I think he thought he'd get somewhere faster with him. But then your daughter-in-law showed up and told him in no uncertain terms to drop the matter."
"Diane told off the sheriff?" Dee said skeptically. "I didn't think she had it in her."
"She had more than that in her," Brivari said. "After she'd booted Valenti, she erased the tape."
Dee's eyebrows rose. "She erased it herself?"
"And much more efficiently," Brivari said dryly. "She knew right where to find it. Let's just say her filing system leaves something to be desired." He paused. "Your daughter-in-law has obviously reached certain…conclusions. I need to know how she reached those conclusions."
"Max talked to her, that's how," Dee said. "That's all she really wanted anyway."
"Then I need to know what he told her. I need to know how much she knows. Whatever she knows, she kept it from your son for now, but if that should change…"
"I get it," Dee sighed. "Let me finish up here, and I'll go talk to her."
"Don't."
Dee turned around slowly. Emily had emerged from her frantic search in the bedroom, one hand on the wall and no longer frantic. "Don't…what, Mama?" Dee said hesitantly.
"Don't go to her," Emily said. "Let her come to you. She will, when she's ready. I told you she'd never go against her son." She shuffled slowly to the couch and lowered herself with difficulty as everyone stared at her. "Don't just stand there in the hallway," she scolded Brivari as if she had no idea she'd just spent the better part of an hour hunting for something which remained lost. "Shouldn't be talking about this out there anyway. Get in here and tell us what happened."
Dee looked at her father, who was holding the wastebasket he'd been rifling through for the umpteenth time and staring at his wife the way a drowning man watches the shore. At this point, she didn't care how things had or hadn't worked out between Philip and Diane, or what Valenti had been doing there, or any of it. All she knew was that her mother had once again returned, and everyone knew why, including the man hovering in the doorway.
"Please come in," Dee whispered. "For Daddy. You owe him that."
For one long, uncomfortable moment, Dee was certain he wouldn't. Which is why she was flabbergasted when he stepped inside, walking straight up to Emily, who gazed at him with complete recognition.
"Hello, Emily," he said.
"Hello, yourself," Emily said. "Now...oh! What on earth is that doing there?"
Dee shot David a startled glance as Emily plucked a small gold ring from the stem of an apple in the fruit bowl on the coffee table. Good Lord in heaven—no wonder they hadn't been able to find it. Never in a million years would she have thought to look there.
"I wondered where I'd put that," Emily commented as she slipped the missing ring back on the finger which had worn it for the last fifty-four years. "Now," she continued to Brivari, "sit yourself down and tell everyone how right I was. I'm not right about much these days, but I was right about that, wasn't I?"
Three people slowly settled into seats around the woman who was suddenly awake. "Yes," Brivari said softly . "You were."
*****************************************************
Evans residence
Max leaned against the door frame of his sister's bedroom, where Isabel was stretched out on her bed with a math textbook open in front of her. "Knock, knock."
"What?" Isabel said without looking up.
"The dishes are done, and Mom and Dad are almost ready to leave."
"Okay."
"I was going to wait in my room. Michael will probably come in that way."
"Okay."
"Even if Mom and Dad aren't home," Max went on, "he still always comes through the window."
"Okay."
"Which is probably just as well, because we wouldn't want him to see the spaceship we're hiding in the kitchen."
"Very funny."
Max smiled faintly. "Oh, so you are listening."
"Of course I'm listening. Why wouldn't I be listening?"
Max paused a moment before plopping down on the end of the bed, sending a ripple across the mattress that made Isabel and her book go up, then down. "Because you're mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you," Isabel said.
"And I'm not stupid."
"I'm not mad," Isabel insisted, a tiny bit of annoyance creeping into her voice. "Now who's the paranoid one?"
"This isn't paranoia, it's simple observation," Max replied. "My sister, curled up with a math textbook? Maybe Vogue, or Vanity Fair, but math? No way."
"I have a test."
"And we're still having an argument," Max sighed. "I'm going to make a wild guess that this is all about me not telling Mom."
"Yes, Max, this is all about you not telling Mom," Isabel retorted, abruptly dropping all pretense of studying or not being mad as she shoved the textbook away. "Congratulations. You figured it out."
"Iz, I told you I wasn't going to tell her. It's not like it was a big surprise."
"All she wanted was some honesty, and you couldn't even give her that. Our own mother!"
"I was honest," Max insisted. "Every single thing I told her was the truth. I just didn't tell her everything."
"Correction: You didn't tell her anything," Isabel said darkly. "She was falling apart this morning; you saw her!"
"And now she's not," Max said. "You saw her. So obviously what I told her was good enough for her. The real problem is it's not good enough for you."
Max waited while Isabel fell silent, unable to refute that. Diane was indeed a hundred times better, back to her old self, really. When he and Isabel had returned from their encounter at the quarry, their dad was home early, the house had been picked up and aired out, laundry was going, groceries were being put away, plans made for dinner. Diane had greeted them both with a hug and a kiss and no indication at all of any of the strife which had marred the past few days. Philip had asked for a run down on the fire damage and hadn't asked a single question about how the fire had been put out, didn't even seem to know there was any controversy surrounding that. Max would have considered the entire situation settled if not for the bit of clean-up they were doing tonight and the fact that his sister had barely spoken to him, remaining silent through dinner and retreating to her room immediately afterward claiming homework, a ruse even their father saw through. "What's eating her?" Philip had wondered. "We all know it's not homework."
"Kids?" Diane's voice floated down the hall. "We're leaving now. Back in a couple of hours."
"Bye," Max called. "Say 'hi' to Grandma and Grandpa for us."
Isabel pulled the curtain aside as the car started in the driveway. "They're going to see Grandma and Grandpa?"
"That's what they said."
"Probably because Grandma called a million times today, and Mom never called her back until after dinner," Isabel murmured.
"But she did call her back," Max pointed out. "It's over for her, Isabel. You're the only one it's not over for."
"Nope," said another voice. "Not even close."
"Don't you knock?" Isabel said crossly as Michael padded across the bedroom. "And don't get mud on my carpet, or I'll kill you."
"I'll clean it up," Michael said. "And no, I don't knock on windows. No one does. And it's not over until that tape is destroyed. As of now, she could pull that out and show it to anyone. Maybe that's why she's so much better. Maybe that's what she's decided to do."
Isabel's eyes burned as she shoved past Michael into the hallway. "No, that's not why she's better," Max said. "She's better because I talked to her."
"Whatever," Michael said in a bored tone. "Let's do this."
"Yes, by all means, let's make her suspicious by destroying something precious to her," Isabel said bitterly. "Great idea, Michael. One of your best."
"Thank you," Michael deadpanned.
"Iz, it has to go," Max said gently. "We can't just leave something like that lying around."
"And what are you going to tell her when she finds out?" Isabel demanded. "Because she will."
"The truth," Max said soberly. "I'll tell her I destroyed it because I don't want anyone to see it. Ever."
Isabel deflated somewhat. "You…you mean that? You'll really tell her the truth?"
"This is drop dead touching, but we've been over this a million times," Michael said. "Who cares what he tells her as long as it's gone? Can we please just get the job done?"
Isabel stalked off toward the living room, Max and Michael following. "It's this one," she said tightly plucking a tape off the stack in front of the TV set. "Knock yourself out."
"How do you know it's that one?" Michael asked suspiciously.
"Because I put a little dot in the lower corner of the label," Isabel said, pointing. "I know it's there, but she'll never notice it. And thanks for trusting me. I really appreciate it."
"I was just wondering how you knew which tape it was out of all these tapes," Michael protested. "Don't make this personal."
"Well it is personal, Michael, because it's my mother," Isabel retorted. "And I swear to God, if you say she isn't my mother one more time, I'll—"
"Enough," Max said firmly. "Give me the tape."
Isabel looked daggers at him, but handed it over. Max held his hand over it, only to have it snatched away by Michael.
"I want to see it," Michael said, pushing it into the VCR. "I never saw what sent her over the edge. What was the time stamp?"
"It was near the beginning," Max answered when Isabel didn't say anything. "About ten minutes in."
Michael grabbed the remote, fast-forward, and clicked "play". Snow filled the television screen.
"Negative, Maxwell. Try again."
"Wait a minute," Max muttered. "This tape was full. There should be something there, even if it's not the bird bit."
But there wasn't. The three of them sat side by side on the couch, watching as Max worked his way through the tape. "It's blank," he said, bewildered. "Completely blank."
"You just got the wrong tape," Michael said, grabbing another one off the stack. "Looks like we're gonna be here awhile."
"No, it's the right tape," Max said. "Isabel marked the label, but I…I put a little mark on the cassette itself. And it's still there."
"You didn't trust me?" Isabel demanded.
"I was afraid it would get mixed up with all the others," Max corrected.
"Fine, you're both wrong," Michael declared. "It must be one of these others."
Four tapes later, after fast-forwarding through scene after scene of parks and birthday parties and splashing in the pool, Max and Isabel exchanged glances.
"She erased it," Isabel said faintly. "She erased it herself."
"Why would she do that?" Michael demanded. "Max, what did you tell her?"
"Nothing!" Max exclaimed. "I told her I couldn't talk about it, and I wanted her to stop asking me about it."
"You must have told her something," Michael argued. "Why else would she do this?"
"Here's a thought," Isabel said savagely. "Because she got the message? Because she's not stupid? Because she's our mother, and she loves us? Pick one."
"I didn't tell her anything," Max insisted, ignoring them. "But I was ready to if I had to."
Isabel's eyes widened. "You were?"
"Yes," Max said firmly. "If that's what it took. But it didn't."
"Good thing," Michael said. "If you had, we wouldn't be here right now. Give me that," he added, holding out a hand for the remote. "I'm not gonna believe this until I watch every last second of every single tape and make sure it's gone."
Max gave him a pitying look as he tossed the remote on the sofa. "Suit yourself. And you're wrong, Michael. Whatever happened, this is Mom we're talking about. It's not like it's the FBI."
******************************************************
Washington, D.C.
"Everyone here?" Pierce whispered.
"I think so," Brian murmured. "I deliberately kept the group small in case we had any leaks."
"Did you sweep for bugs?"
"Yep. We're clean."
"Good. Lock the door."
Pierce faced the tiny group of expectant faces, waiting until he heard the click of the latch and Brian had rejoined them before saying a word. "Good evening, everyone, and thank you for coming," he began. "I'll get right to the point. As you all know, after the murder of Agent Summers last spring, our Unit has been rudderless. Director Freeh was so angry to learn of our existence that he refused to appoint a new Unit head. It has now become clear that he doesn't intend to. He intends to fold the Unit back into the Bureau, essentially disbanding us."
A murmur of dismay rippled through the group. "Which is why I invited you here tonight," Pierce went on, his voice rising. "Agents, for the good of the country and the safety of the American people, it is our responsibility to correct this situation."
"How?" one of the agents asked.
"Simple," Pierce replied. "We take back the Special Unit...without Freeh's knowledge."
Birthright *Series* (CC, TEEN, S1 COMPLETE), Epilogue, 2/2
Moderators: Anniepoo98, Rowedog, ISLANDGIRL5, Itzstacie, truelovepooh, FSU/MSW-94, Forum Moderators
Chapter 48
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Re: Birthright *Series* (CC, TEEN), Chapter 46, 8/21
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
December 18, 1999, 9 p.m.
Washington, D.C.
Daniel Pierce waited calmly at the front of the little group gathered at a nondescript Washington chain hotel in a room reserved under the name of someone who didn't exist. There were four attendees, excluding Brian, everyone on the guest list having accepted his invitation most likely out of curiosity and all of whom were staring at him with a mixture of confusion, consternation…and excitement. Good, Pierce thought with satisfaction. He had their complete attention.
" 'Take back the Unit'?" Agent Bellow echoed. "And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?"
Pierce let a beat pass before answering to make it clear that his next words also deserved their complete attention. He'd just given them the carrot. Now it was time for the stick.
"Gentlemen, I'm about to go into detail. Agent Samuels and I carefully chose you for your loyalty to the Unit and to Agent Summers in particular, so all of you deserve to hear it straight. As of right now, all you've heard is an unsubstantiated rumor, so as of right now, any or all of you could walk away with a clear conscience. What I want to discuss must never leave this room. If those are terms you can't agree to, you're free to go, and I won't chase you…unless, that is, this winds up leaked. Which I wouldn't advise because this group is so small, it wouldn't be hard to find out who did the leaking. It was made clear that the price of your attendance tonight was your silence, but this is as far as your silence need go without further approval. Stay and hear me out if you feel you can reconcile keeping what's discussed here from the rest of the Bureau, or leave and forget this ever happened…but keep these few minutes to yourself."
Agent Lehman raised an eyebrow. "Or else?"
Pierce fixed him with a level stare. "Do I really need to finish that sentence? We all knew the price of joining the Special Unit, and that price has just risen. We are the first line of defense between the American people and alien invasion. That's not a responsibility to be taken lightly the way our current director does. You've already agreed to keep your mouths shut this far, and I'll hold you to that."
"So," Agent Emerson said slowly, "you're saying that, if we rat you out, you'll take us out?"
"Yes," Pierce said bluntly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
Agent Rooney broke into a wide smile. "Excellent! I'm in."
"Me too," Agent Bellow added. "Emerson?"
"Sure," Emerson said quickly. "Just checking. Lehman?"
"In, and gladly," Lehman said. "It's about time somebody made a move."
"It certainly is," Pierce agreed. "Especially since we have an alien in Roswell."
Rooney frowned. "Roswell? Wait…that was real?"
"That is real," Pierce confirmed.
"But Agent Stevens—"
"Has his head up his ass," Brian finished from his seat at the back of the group as everyone twisted around to look at him. "Topolsky screwed up, but that doesn't mean it wasn't real."
"I heard she was recalled because there was nothing there," Emerson commented.
"Oh, there's something there, all right, and she wasn't recalled," Pierce said. "She was made, by none other than Jim Valenti. Stevens used the recall story to save face."
Bellow blinked. "Valenti? God, he must be, like, a hundred years old now."
"Valenti Jr.," Pierce clarified. "He had a son who's now sheriff in Roswell."
"Son of a bitch," Rooney muttered.
"I predicted from the beginning that Topolsky was going to blow it," Pierce went on, "and she didn't disappoint. But there's a silver lining in that cloud, that being Roswell is now devoid of FBI agents. Stevens can't send anyone back there too quickly for fear of blowing his own cover story. That gives us an opportunity to move in."
"And how do we do that without Freeh finding out?" Lehman asked.
"Gentlemen!" Pierce admonished. "We're the Special Unit, the blackest of black ops. If we can't handle this, we don't deserve our jobs."
"But how?" Lehman pressed. "We'll need equipment. And time. And facilities. And—"
"Hey!" Brian interrupted. "Agent Pierce isn't done yet. Hear him out."
Lehman fell silent, looking abashed. "In the past," Pierce went on, "the state branches of the Unit functioned as information-gathering devices. State directors funneled intel to Washington, where Agent Summers and I examined it and decided where to focus our efforts. Orders were then sent back to the states, who deployed their agents per those orders. As you know, that's no longer the case; each state branch now operates independently. Used to be they couldn't piss without asking Agent Summers; now they make all their own decisions on what to pursue, meaning they're either wasting their time on false leads or ignoring real ones, as is the case in New Mexico. Intel is still funneled up, where it's round-filed in Freeh's office. He says he's 'reevaluating'. I say he's stalling. He says he's 'fact-finding'. I say he's asleep at the switch."
"Can't disagree there," Rooney said. "Nevada's a mess since Summers died. Our director is running all over the place like an idiot. Give a guy a little power, and he loses his brain cells."
"Arizona's not much better," Bellow admitted, "but ours isn't running around, he's just not doing anything."
"I think you'll find that's the case with most branches," Pierce said. "State branches are used to taking direction, and no one's giving it. I was meant to be Summer's successor, but I can't fill that role without Freeh's blessing. Which is why we have to go around him."
"You mean behind him," Lehman corrected.
"Whatever. We have the means to do it," Pierce went on. "We can operate a side Unit, a real Unit, without him ever being the wiser. All of you can lift equipment from your various branches, and no one will miss it because no one's using it. You could be gone for periods of time and say you're following up on a lead; doubtful anyone would check. I'm at complete loose ends and free to lead this effort full time as long as I keep my head down."
"And if—I mean 'when'—we find what we're looking for?" Emerson asked. "Where do we put it?"
Pierce broke into a wide smile. "Eagle Rock, the facility I brought into the Bureau. Freeh shut it down. No one's there, but all our infrastructure still is. Think anyone will notice if a handful of people show up? I don't."
"But what do we do with it?" Emerson went on. "How do we subdue it? The Bureau has the serum."
"Correction: The Bureau has a copy of the formula for the serum," Pierce said. "My father's formula, to be precise. You don't really think I handed it over and didn't keep the original for myself, did you? We capture the alien, use the serum to control it, get it to talk, and then Freeh will have to give us our Unit back. He'll have no choice."
"Won't he?" Emerson said skeptically. "We could make a deal and turn it over, but then we lose our bargaining chip. Hell, he could take credit for the whole thing."
"Which would be very stupid of him," Pierce said. "Because what the Bureau doesn't know is that I had more than just the recipe for the serum. I also have my father's detailed notes on dosage and administration, information which the Bureau will waste valuable time recreating unless I agree to share them. The first time they did those experiments, one of their two prisoners escaped. I doubt they'll want to risk losing another."
Silence settled over the group. Pierce caught Brian's eye, who shook his head slightly. Don't talk, the head shake said. Everyone was busy digesting what they'd heard, and much as he wanted to plow onward, he had to let them. If he couldn't make the sale to this bunch, it was doubtful anyone would buy it.
"I like it," Rooney said finally. "It's feasible. Risky, but then risk is our business."
"I like it, but I'm a little lost on the feasibility part," Emerson admitted. "Sure, we can catch it, although we could use a few more people. But the next part needs more than the serum and a pile of old notes. We need doctors, scientists, medical personnel. Where are we going to find those?"
"You're absolutely right," Pierce agreed. "And that's the next part: Recruitment. If you're in, I need each of you to go back to your branches and suss out who's willing to join us. Each of you will function as a local director, leading however many men you can recruit. We'll recreate the old order, the order that's worked for the past fifty years."
"Okay," Lehman said, "but none of us know any scientists or doctors. What about those?"
"Leave that to me," Pierce said. "Most scientists would kill to get their hands on a live alien. That alone will be worth the price of admission. Anything else?" He paused. "All right, then, gentlemen, we'll break for Christmas, and while you're all making merry, I want you to think hard about what I've said and how to allay the concerns of future recruits. Make your choices carefully; we don't want to invite a Topolsky. We'll stagger our departures just in case."
Half an hour later, Pierce met Brian in the hotel's parking lot. "That went well," Brian remarked.
"For the moment," Pierce allowed. "But they're just getting their feet wet. And some of those feet will turn cold."
"Did you mean what you said about taking them out if they talk?"
"Brian, when do I ever not mean what I say?" Pierce demanded. "If we do this, we do it all the way."
"Right. Right," Brian nodded. "Just wish we had some good evidence, something really killer."
"We will," Pierce promised. "But in order to get that killer evidence, we need to get this going. It's chicken and egg all over again, but a good place to start would be the agents who were in Roswell."
Brian raised an eyebrow. "You mean Topolsky?"
"Very funny," Pierce said. "I meant the agents assigned to back her up."
"I'll look'em up," Brian said. "Topolsky's still in Santa Fe. I heard she's doing a lot of filing."
Pierce snorted softly. "I'm surprised they let her do that. And what about Hubble? Has Everett turned up yet?"
Brian shook his head. "Not yet."
"He will," Pierce said confidently. "Just give him time."
******************************************************
Proctor residence
"You should have seen the look on the judge's face, Dad," Philip said, shaking his head. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone behave that way in a court of law. And a lawyer, no less. It was embarrassing."
"Oh, I don't know," Anthony chuckled. "Your mother had her moments."
"But Mom knew when to shut up," Philip said. "At least in court. Pissing off a judge is a very bad idea. Isn't that right, Mom?"
Dee, who had been lost in thought, was abruptly jolted back to the present. "What? Oh. Yes. Of course it's risky to point out to a judge that he's a jackass, but sometimes you have to."
"Geez, Mom," Philip grumbled. "Language?"
"English," Dee said with a perfectly straight face. "I speak English. You?"
"I'll bet you would have loved this guy's antics," Philip said, ignoring her. "Never mind that he was dissing the judge and demeaning the entire profession of law."
"Has it not occurred to you that bad judges demean the entire profession of law'?" Dee countered. "And who better to finger a bad judge than a lawyer?"
"Well, sure, but there's a right way and a wrong way to do that," Philip argued. "This was the wrong way."
"Sometimes that's the only way to get your point across," Dee said. "It's tough to get rid of a bad judge, almost as tough as getting rid of a bad teacher. Courtroom dramas like those get press, which brings the judge in question scrutiny. It's the squeaky wheel that gets the grease."
"Can you say 'platitude'?" Philip muttered.
"Mom's right," Diane said suddenly.
Three heads swung to look at her. "Sometimes you just have to speak up," Diane went on. "Or even get angry. Sometimes that's the only thing that gets people's attention."
"Okay," Philip said slowly, "who are you, and what have you done with my wife?"
"I'm serious," Diane insisted.
"So am I," Philip said. "What's wrong with you, honey? You've been way too quiet tonight, and now you're agreeing with my anarchist mother?"
"I'm sure Diane is just tired after all the business with the fire," Anthony said lightly. "She handled that by herself, after all. Say, you mentioned the car was acting strange. Want me to take a look at it?"
"Sure," Philip agreed. "I'll get my coat."
"Have you tried a mechanic?" Diane asked.
"I don't trust mechanics," Philip said.
"You don't trust anyone," Diane muttered.
"What is with you tonight?" Philip demanded.
"I'm sure your father would love to look at the car," Dee broke in. "He loves anything mechanical, even if it means standing in a cold garage in the middle of December. Never mind that he complains that it's too cold to walk to the mailbox."
"That's because I remember when the mailbox was right outside the front door," Anthony grumbled. "Damned curbside mail delivery."
"Oh, c'mon, Dad, it's way more efficient," Philip said. "Not to mention the savings from all the medical claims from mail carriers slipping on porches and chased by dogs. I remember this one case where…"
Voices trailed off as the front door closed behind them and Dee watched her now silent daughter-in-law with concern. Normally she loved hearing about Philip's courtroom dramas; they reminded her of when she'd been practicing and gave them a chance to spar with each other, something they both not-so-secretly enjoyed. But she'd had other things on her mind tonight, and as Philip had gone on and on, she'd grown more and more impatient. Diane had been quiet and withdrawn the entire evening until this completely uncharacteristic outburst, and unreceptive to several attempts to lure her into the kitchen for a private chat. After what Brivari had reported, she'd expected Diane to be feeling better. Apparently not.
"So," Dee said as soon as the men were out of earshot, "are you going to tell me what happened?"
Diane shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I'm not sure what to tell you because I'm not sure what happened myself."
"Then let's start with the basics," Dee suggested. "Was what happened good or bad?"
"Both," Diane whispered. "This has been both the best and worst day of my life."
"Well, did Max talk to you?" Dee asked, growing annoyed with Diane's usual flair for drama. "You said all you wanted was for him to talk to you. Did he?"
"Yeah," Diane nodded. "And so did Isabel. And the sheriff. And Jeff Parker. The entire world talked to me today, and I was so confused, and so upset, and so relieved after I talked to Max, and then the sheriff showed up again—"
" 'Again'? Goodness, how many times did you see him?"
"Twice," Diane answered. "I bumped into him at the grocery store, and he was going on about how Max didn't know his own strength, and that he might hurt someone without meaning to. He made me feel like an incompetent parent, and I felt so guilty that I went to the Crashdown, where Jeff Parker told me his daughter had not been shot and pointed out the two 'witnesses' the sheriff claims saw Max do something on the day of the shooting, two chucklehead UFO tourists that no one would believe even with a notarized affidavit from God. Honestly, if our sheriff is buying what people like that are selling, we're all in trouble."
Dee's eyebrows rose. Diane sounded downright sarcastic, unusual for her. "And then I went to the park, and Max found me there," Diane went on, her tone softening. "He said he doesn't know how he does what he does; he just does it. And he asked me to drop it, and said if I couldn't do that, he would leave! Can you believe that, Mom? He was ready to leave home over this. He must be really terrified. So I went back home to destroy the tape. I thought that would make him feel better. But when I got there, the sheriff was already there, and he had Philip in a snit."
"So he went after Philip," Dee murmured.
"Well, he practically called me an unfit parent, so I guess he decided to try the other one," Diane said darkly. "I sent him packing, but that's when I realized you were right—I can't tell Philip about this. Max asked me to drop it, and I will, but Philip wouldn't do that. Max didn't tell me what it was because he probably doesn't know, but Philip would never stop there. He'd push until there was nothing else to know, and he'd push Max right out of the house in the process."
"I'd say Philip doesn't need to know," Dee said gently, "because what, really, is there to tell him? Max put out a fire. That's the important part, and he already knows that."
"I know," Diane said miserably. "But it kills me that I can't talk to him about this. For the first time in my life, I can't talk to my own husband."
"You can talk to me," Dee said soothingly. "I won't tell anyone."
"No," Diane said, shaking her head vigorously. "That's just the thing; it's not safe to talk to anyone. Not anyone. Valenti almost had me, Mom, and if I'd come home just a few minutes later, he might have had Philip. I can't take the risk of that happening again. So as far as I'm concerned, none of this ever happened," she went on, her voice rising. "I destroyed the tape, and if the sheriff tries to pin me down about this, I'll deny it; we were alone for every conversation, so it's my word against his. Max is my beautiful son, and that's all that matters to me. I won't let anyone hurt him, deliberately or inadvertently, not even me. From now on, this subject is off limits." She paused, looking suddenly uncertain. "Okay?"
Dee stifled a smile. How very like her usually timid daughter-in-law to make an atypically strong stand and then ask for permission. "Okay," she agreed.
Diane blinked, as though having expected a fight. "Are you sure? Can you do that? Can you keep it a secret?"
"Diane," Dee said slowly, "believe me when I say that keeping secrets is something I excel at."
******************************************************
December 19, 1999, 12:30 p.m.
Roswell Orthopedics
"Any pain?" Dr. Conway asked.
Kyle gingerly put weight on his ankle. "Nope," he answered, breaking into a wide smile. "Little stiff, maybe, but it doesn't hurt."
"Good," Conway said, straightening up. "Go easy on it for another week. Make sure you sit a lot."
"Shouldn't be a problem," Valenti said. "Come Saturday, he'll be sitting and opening his presents."
"And no practices till after New Years," Conway cautioned. "You've got a long school break coming up, so use it to your advantage and let it heal the rest of the way."
"Will do," Kyle promised, cruising happily around the office.
"I'll make sure he behaves himself," Valenti said, offering the doctor a hand. "Thanks for seeing us on a Sunday, and the Sunday before Christmas, no less."
"No problem," Conway answered. "It was this or Christmas shopping at the mall."
"Well, someone's gotta do it," Valenti chuckled.
"Then I'll let my wife do it," Conway said. "For her, it's sport. I said go easy," he added sternly to Kyle, who was cruising more enthusiastically, "or I'll blow you in to Santa."
"Sheesh," Kyle muttered. "That's hitting below the belt."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Valenti promised. "Thanks, Doc."
"Would you look at this!" Kyle enthused as they made their way slowly down the hall of the little building where Conway had his office. "It's only been a week, and it doesn't hurt at all!"
"So let's keep it that way," Valenti advised, one hand on his son's shoulder to keep him from bounding across the parking lot. "He said 'go easy'. I'm pretty sure 'go easy' doesn't mean sprinting to the car."
"Jim!"
Valenti's stomach promptly knotted when he saw who was calling his name. "Dad?" Kyle said. "I think that guy is calling you."
"Someone's always calling me," Valenti said. "I've got a phone. Let's get you home."
"Jim!"
"No, I'm certain that guy is calling you," Kyle said. "And why are you walking so fast? Didn't you just tell me not to sprint?"
Valenti cursed silently as he realized he'd sped up in an effort to outrun Philip Evans, who was walking determinedly in their direction, mercifully alone. The last thing he needed after yesterday's humiliation was another run-in with Philip's wife. Who would have thought the timid Diane Evans would have turned out to be such a ball buster?
"Jim!" Philip said cheerfully as he caught up with them. "Long time, no see."
Valenti managed a weak smile. "Right. Mornin', Philip."
"Anything wrong?" Philip asked when he saw the brace in Kyle's hand.
"Basketball injury," Valenti said. "Nothing serious. It's better now. Kyle, why don't you go wait for me in the car? Slowly. Remember what the doctor said."
"I'm sure you'll have 'what the doctor said' tattooed on my forehead before dinner time," Kyle said dryly, walking away a bit faster than Valenti would have liked.
"Kids," Philip said sympathetically, shaking his head. "Someday they'll appreciate how much we fret over them."
"Yeah, maybe," Valenti agreed. He hesitated, ultimately deciding to get this over with. "Philip, I want to apologize again for upsetting you yesterday. I promise you that wasn't my intention. I—"
But Philip cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Forget it, Jim. I was tired and cranky, and upset about seeing my toasted kitchen for the first time. I'm sure you didn't mean anything about Max. I mean, why would you? Max put the fire out. He may have gotten extraordinarily lucky, but that happens, and I, for one, am glad it happened to him."
"Absolutely," Valenti agreed.
"Hopefully everything will settle now that I'm home," Philip went on. "Diane was in quite a mood yesterday."
"I'll say," Valenti murmured.
"What's that?"
"I said of course she was," Valenti amended. "She's had a rough week. We all have. Kyle's injury," he added when Philip looked confused. "It's tough keeping an athlete down. You kinda gotta sit on them."
"I don't have any athletes, but I can imagine," Philip laughed. "Say, you don't need to sue anyone, do you?"
"No," Valenti said quickly. "No, it was just an accident. Thanks, though. I'll definitely keep you in mind if I ever need to go after someone."
"You're not so bad at that yourself," Philip remarked. "Well…good to see you, Jim. Hope your boy heals well. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Philip," Valenti said, nodding cordially as Philip continued into the building and bristling at that last remark. Looked like he wasn't the only one who could drop a hint. He'd better hope that he and Philip never had reason to come to blows because, frankly, he wasn't sure who'd win.
"Who was that?" Kyle asked when Valenti climbed into the front seat.
"Nobody in particular," Valenti said.
"Mmm. So I guess you're not gonna tell me why 'nobody in particular' has you tweaked? Never mind," Kyle went on when Valenti looked daggers at him. "I figured you wouldn't. So what are we doing for Christmas Day? Are we gonna go see Grandpa?"
Just what I need, Valenti groaned inwardly, yet another reminder that he was becoming more and more like his father. He'd been hot on Max Evans' trail yesterday, and he'd lost because he'd gotten too eager, pushed too hard, gone too far. Just like his dad."
"Maybe," Valenti said, throwing the car into gear. "But no promises."
******************************************************
Marshall High School,
Artesia, New Mexico
"So tell me again what we're doing here this early?" Tess grumbled, sinking down onto an uncomfortable metal chair which squeaked in protest.
"It's not early, and you know what we're doing here," Nasedo answered, glancing around the crowded school auditorium.
"If I have to get up before noon on a Sunday, it's early," Tess groused.
"It's necessary for me to show up at school events," Nasedo said, waving to one of the parents walking by. "I need to appear competent and engaged."
" 'Appear'?" Tess murmured. "Got that right."
"And you need to appear actively engaged in planning your future," Nasedo went on, ignoring her. "Especially after blabbing to the neighbor that we were moving."
"I fixed that," Tess protested.
"You think you fixed that," Nasedo corrected. "I certainly hope so. But just in case you haven't, we need to appear like we're staying, like we're part of the community, part of the—"
"Okay, okay," Tess broke in irritably. "You're playing daddy, and I'm playing prospective college student. I get it."
"Oh, of course you do," Nasedo said dryly. "That's why you're slouched down in your chair looking like death warmed over."
"I look like every other teenager in this auditorium," Tess retorted. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
The school principal stepped in front of the podium. "Good afternoon moms and dads, boys and girls, and thank you for coming to your first 'College Days Are Here At Last!' seminar. I promise we won't take more than an hour, so you'll still have plenty of time for Christmas shopping."
Polite applause greeted this remark, from parents, that is. Every teenager in the room was either asleep, falling asleep, or desperately wishing they were still asleep, Tess included, and she swore that if that pasty-faced principal called them "boys and girls" one more time, she was going to send one hell of a nasty mindwarp his way.
"Your child's future is the most important item on your agenda for the remainder of their high school career," the principal continued. "Planning for that future takes patience, persistence, and personal introspection."
"Isn't that redundant?" Tess whispered. "Introspection is personal by nature."
"Shh!" Nasedo chided.
"Your child may be reluctant to plan for their future," the principal went on. "They may find it frightening, even paralyzing. They may try to put it off."
"Got that backwards," Tess muttered. "You're the one who finds it frightening and paralyzing and puts it off."
"You mustn't let them," the principal declared as Nasedo scowled at her. "It is absolutely imperative that planning for the future begins as soon as possible so as to afford them the most options and give them the opportunity to make the best decisions they can."
"You know, I think I'm going to like this," Tess said. "This is all very good advice."
"Would you be quiet?" Nasedo hissed.
"Why? Don't you want me to have the most options and make the best decisions I can?"
"You don't have any options or decisions to make. Now, hush up."
Tess fell into a sullen silence as the principal droned on. Nasedo had been so angry at the telling-the-neighbor-about-moving slip that he had refused to discuss either their future or their past in any way, shape, or form for the past several weeks. No information, no connections, no memories, no mention of the others, no hint as to whether or not he was still planning to move them to Roswell next summer had left her even more irritable and combative than usual. She'd finally been getting at least some little tidbits of information, and then the flow had been abruptly shut off. Granted it had been her own mouth which had stemmed the flow, but the fact that she had only herself to blame for this latest roadblock only made it more maddening, as did the fact that, just as she'd become furious with him, she'd wound up seeing more of Nasedo than ever because he'd insisted on attending every single school function so he could present himself as an involved, supportive parent who had every intention of staying in the community. Gazing at the bored teenagers surrounding them, it struck her as a supreme irony that she was one of the few here who desperately wanted to plan for her future, but couldn't.
Twenty-five long minutes later, the principal finally directed them to the refreshments for a five minute break. "Finally!" Tess said, stretching to her feet. "I'm starving."
"Go mingle with your classmates while I mingle with their parents," Nasedo instructed.
"I'll mingle with anyone near the doughnuts," Tess said.
"I mean it, Tess. Look interested."
"Good Lord, don't you get it?" Tess sighed. "The way to 'mingle' is to look bored, just like every other teenager here. I thought you didn't want me to stick out."
"You know what I mean," Nasedo said severely.
Tess gave him a noncommittal grunt and wandered toward the snack table. It was mobbed, with yawning parents lining up at the coffee machine in an effort to stay awake and their sleepwalking children lining up for the doughnuts and cookies. Tess was loading up a plate with the former when it was almost knocked out of her hands.
"Oh, excuse me, young lady," the offending gentleman said politely, his cowboy hat in one hand. "Didn't mean to send your breakfast flyin'. Or is that lunch?"
"Both," Tess admitted. "And it's all safe, so don't worry about it."
He moved on down the line, and Tess waited impatiently for the line to the chocolate doughnuts to open up. A moment later, she heard the man's voice again.
"I was wondering if I might ask you a question, seein' as you're a parent at this school. I'm lookin' for a young girl who's a whiz with Ouija boards. Think she lives with a single parent in the area. Ever heard of anyone like that?"
Tess's heart began to pound so hard, her plate of doughnuts began to tremble. The man with the cowboy hat was speaking to a parent she'd never seen before and who promptly replied that, no, she didn't know anyone like that. "You should ask one of the girls," the woman suggested. "I'm sure they'd know."
The man thanked the woman for her oh-so-helpful suggestion and moved off, his eyes scanning the crowd. Tess followed, her hands gripping the paper plate so hard, she was beginning to squash it. They'd found her. After years of Nasedo predicting her Ouija board tricks would get them in trouble, they'd found her. But who was this guy? She knew plenty of Special Unit agents, and this wasn't one of them, nor did he even look like a Unit agent with his tweedy jacket and bolo tie. Who the hell was stalking her?
Any desire to identify her pursuer went right out of her head when the man stopped and fastened his eyes on none other than Kara. Snooty Kara, jilted Kara, she who was taught a lesson when the boy she wanted to take her to the Christmas formal asked someone else, after a nudge from Tess, of course. Kara knew exactly who this man was looking for and would be only too glad to point him in her direction…and then things would really get ugly.
Squeezing her eyes closed, Tess blocked out every sight and sound around her and threw everything she had at him. Even your average, run-of-the-mill mindwarp required a good deal of concentration. It was like producing a scene in a movie; you had to imagine the setting, costume your characters, write the script, then project it into someone else's mind. But this mindwarp was different because it wasn't just a picture or a mental video. This was an interactive mindwarp where the characters were speaking directly to the target, where the script changed depending on that target's answers. She'd only ever tried this a couple of times, and it had been incredibly tricky. Kara was across the room, but in the man's eye, she was walking toward him, saying hello, asking if she could help him. He asked his question, the same question he'd asked before.
"Yeah, I know her! She did all sorts of weird stuff with the Ouija board."
"Is she here today?" the man asked eagerly. "Can you point her out to me?"
"She and her dad moved away right before Thanksgiving."
"Do you know where?"
"Tucson. He got a new job there."
Tess cracked an eyelid. The real Kara had moved away, but she had another problem; people were beginning to stare at the odd site of a man talking to no one. Fortunately there were only a few, most having returned to their seats to chow down, so she desperately tried to wrap things up before those few decided to investigate.
"Are you sure it was Tucson?"
"Pretty sure. They left in a hurry."
"Thank you, little lady, You've been most helpful."
The man walked away. Tess held the warp until he'd left the room, letting go of it so quickly that she quite literally fell over, her plate of doughnuts tumbling to the floor as she collapsed beside it, sweating and trembling.
"Honey, are you okay?" one of the moms asked, bending over her with concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Tess said quickly. "I just suddenly got a little…woozy."
"Oh," the woman nodded sympathetically. "Is it that time of the month?"
"Uh…yeah."
"Same thing used to happen to me," the woman said, patting her hand. "I'd get light-headed and pass out. You just sit here and rest for a minute. You'll be fine. I'll stay with her," she added to other concerned onlookers. "Go on back."
But Tess's eyes were scanning the auditorium. The man had not reappeared, and Kara was across the room, chatting with her clique and completely unaware that her doppelganger had just helpfully provided enough details to derail him. God, but her head hurt. Mindwarps could give her headaches, but that had been brutal. Thank goodness the few who had noticed the man talking to himself had lost interest after he walked away because, as far as she knew, she could only mindwarp one person at a time.
"Headache?" the woman asked sympathetically when Tess rubbed her temples.
"Bad one," Tess admitted.
"I used to get those too," the woman said. "Is the flow light or heavy?"
"Um…it's not bad," Tess said self-consciously, considering that a dreadfully personal question. "I'm better now. You don't have to stay. My dad's right over there. But thanks for helping me. I really appreciate it."
It took a bit more convincing, but the woman finally left. Tess grabbed a doughnut which had fallen nearby and quickly ate it, not caring that it had been sitting on the dirty floor. Mindwarps required energy, and energy required fuel. She was often hungry after a big mindwarp, and this had been the mother of all mindwarps, meaning she was starving. Four doughnuts later she felt steady enough to stand up, and a couple of cookies later, she felt good enough to go back to her seat.
"Did you mingle?" Nasedo asked without looking up, his nose in a financial aid brochure.
"Yes."
"You didn't give away any more secrets, did you?"
No, I just threw a stalker off our path. "No. I told you, I get it now."
"I've heard that before," Nasedo commented.
Tess swallowed hard. "This time, I mean it. I understand. I was wrong. I screwed up. I won't make that mistake again."
He stared at her then, long and hard and skeptically, the intense scrutiny scorching like a flame. "Good," he said finally. "It's about time. Here—these are brochures from local colleges. Read them over."
Tess nodded mutely. For the first time in a long time, there was no retort to swallow, no smart remark to bite back. Nasedo had been right; her antics had gotten them noticed, and she'd been damned lucky she'd been able to intercept the result. Thoroughly chastised, she read every single word in the brochures he'd handed her and applauded politely when the principal arrived at the podium. From now on, she was going to straighten up and fly right.
December 18, 1999, 9 p.m.
Washington, D.C.
Daniel Pierce waited calmly at the front of the little group gathered at a nondescript Washington chain hotel in a room reserved under the name of someone who didn't exist. There were four attendees, excluding Brian, everyone on the guest list having accepted his invitation most likely out of curiosity and all of whom were staring at him with a mixture of confusion, consternation…and excitement. Good, Pierce thought with satisfaction. He had their complete attention.
" 'Take back the Unit'?" Agent Bellow echoed. "And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?"
Pierce let a beat pass before answering to make it clear that his next words also deserved their complete attention. He'd just given them the carrot. Now it was time for the stick.
"Gentlemen, I'm about to go into detail. Agent Samuels and I carefully chose you for your loyalty to the Unit and to Agent Summers in particular, so all of you deserve to hear it straight. As of right now, all you've heard is an unsubstantiated rumor, so as of right now, any or all of you could walk away with a clear conscience. What I want to discuss must never leave this room. If those are terms you can't agree to, you're free to go, and I won't chase you…unless, that is, this winds up leaked. Which I wouldn't advise because this group is so small, it wouldn't be hard to find out who did the leaking. It was made clear that the price of your attendance tonight was your silence, but this is as far as your silence need go without further approval. Stay and hear me out if you feel you can reconcile keeping what's discussed here from the rest of the Bureau, or leave and forget this ever happened…but keep these few minutes to yourself."
Agent Lehman raised an eyebrow. "Or else?"
Pierce fixed him with a level stare. "Do I really need to finish that sentence? We all knew the price of joining the Special Unit, and that price has just risen. We are the first line of defense between the American people and alien invasion. That's not a responsibility to be taken lightly the way our current director does. You've already agreed to keep your mouths shut this far, and I'll hold you to that."
"So," Agent Emerson said slowly, "you're saying that, if we rat you out, you'll take us out?"
"Yes," Pierce said bluntly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
Agent Rooney broke into a wide smile. "Excellent! I'm in."
"Me too," Agent Bellow added. "Emerson?"
"Sure," Emerson said quickly. "Just checking. Lehman?"
"In, and gladly," Lehman said. "It's about time somebody made a move."
"It certainly is," Pierce agreed. "Especially since we have an alien in Roswell."
Rooney frowned. "Roswell? Wait…that was real?"
"That is real," Pierce confirmed.
"But Agent Stevens—"
"Has his head up his ass," Brian finished from his seat at the back of the group as everyone twisted around to look at him. "Topolsky screwed up, but that doesn't mean it wasn't real."
"I heard she was recalled because there was nothing there," Emerson commented.
"Oh, there's something there, all right, and she wasn't recalled," Pierce said. "She was made, by none other than Jim Valenti. Stevens used the recall story to save face."
Bellow blinked. "Valenti? God, he must be, like, a hundred years old now."
"Valenti Jr.," Pierce clarified. "He had a son who's now sheriff in Roswell."
"Son of a bitch," Rooney muttered.
"I predicted from the beginning that Topolsky was going to blow it," Pierce went on, "and she didn't disappoint. But there's a silver lining in that cloud, that being Roswell is now devoid of FBI agents. Stevens can't send anyone back there too quickly for fear of blowing his own cover story. That gives us an opportunity to move in."
"And how do we do that without Freeh finding out?" Lehman asked.
"Gentlemen!" Pierce admonished. "We're the Special Unit, the blackest of black ops. If we can't handle this, we don't deserve our jobs."
"But how?" Lehman pressed. "We'll need equipment. And time. And facilities. And—"
"Hey!" Brian interrupted. "Agent Pierce isn't done yet. Hear him out."
Lehman fell silent, looking abashed. "In the past," Pierce went on, "the state branches of the Unit functioned as information-gathering devices. State directors funneled intel to Washington, where Agent Summers and I examined it and decided where to focus our efforts. Orders were then sent back to the states, who deployed their agents per those orders. As you know, that's no longer the case; each state branch now operates independently. Used to be they couldn't piss without asking Agent Summers; now they make all their own decisions on what to pursue, meaning they're either wasting their time on false leads or ignoring real ones, as is the case in New Mexico. Intel is still funneled up, where it's round-filed in Freeh's office. He says he's 'reevaluating'. I say he's stalling. He says he's 'fact-finding'. I say he's asleep at the switch."
"Can't disagree there," Rooney said. "Nevada's a mess since Summers died. Our director is running all over the place like an idiot. Give a guy a little power, and he loses his brain cells."
"Arizona's not much better," Bellow admitted, "but ours isn't running around, he's just not doing anything."
"I think you'll find that's the case with most branches," Pierce said. "State branches are used to taking direction, and no one's giving it. I was meant to be Summer's successor, but I can't fill that role without Freeh's blessing. Which is why we have to go around him."
"You mean behind him," Lehman corrected.
"Whatever. We have the means to do it," Pierce went on. "We can operate a side Unit, a real Unit, without him ever being the wiser. All of you can lift equipment from your various branches, and no one will miss it because no one's using it. You could be gone for periods of time and say you're following up on a lead; doubtful anyone would check. I'm at complete loose ends and free to lead this effort full time as long as I keep my head down."
"And if—I mean 'when'—we find what we're looking for?" Emerson asked. "Where do we put it?"
Pierce broke into a wide smile. "Eagle Rock, the facility I brought into the Bureau. Freeh shut it down. No one's there, but all our infrastructure still is. Think anyone will notice if a handful of people show up? I don't."
"But what do we do with it?" Emerson went on. "How do we subdue it? The Bureau has the serum."
"Correction: The Bureau has a copy of the formula for the serum," Pierce said. "My father's formula, to be precise. You don't really think I handed it over and didn't keep the original for myself, did you? We capture the alien, use the serum to control it, get it to talk, and then Freeh will have to give us our Unit back. He'll have no choice."
"Won't he?" Emerson said skeptically. "We could make a deal and turn it over, but then we lose our bargaining chip. Hell, he could take credit for the whole thing."
"Which would be very stupid of him," Pierce said. "Because what the Bureau doesn't know is that I had more than just the recipe for the serum. I also have my father's detailed notes on dosage and administration, information which the Bureau will waste valuable time recreating unless I agree to share them. The first time they did those experiments, one of their two prisoners escaped. I doubt they'll want to risk losing another."
Silence settled over the group. Pierce caught Brian's eye, who shook his head slightly. Don't talk, the head shake said. Everyone was busy digesting what they'd heard, and much as he wanted to plow onward, he had to let them. If he couldn't make the sale to this bunch, it was doubtful anyone would buy it.
"I like it," Rooney said finally. "It's feasible. Risky, but then risk is our business."
"I like it, but I'm a little lost on the feasibility part," Emerson admitted. "Sure, we can catch it, although we could use a few more people. But the next part needs more than the serum and a pile of old notes. We need doctors, scientists, medical personnel. Where are we going to find those?"
"You're absolutely right," Pierce agreed. "And that's the next part: Recruitment. If you're in, I need each of you to go back to your branches and suss out who's willing to join us. Each of you will function as a local director, leading however many men you can recruit. We'll recreate the old order, the order that's worked for the past fifty years."
"Okay," Lehman said, "but none of us know any scientists or doctors. What about those?"
"Leave that to me," Pierce said. "Most scientists would kill to get their hands on a live alien. That alone will be worth the price of admission. Anything else?" He paused. "All right, then, gentlemen, we'll break for Christmas, and while you're all making merry, I want you to think hard about what I've said and how to allay the concerns of future recruits. Make your choices carefully; we don't want to invite a Topolsky. We'll stagger our departures just in case."
Half an hour later, Pierce met Brian in the hotel's parking lot. "That went well," Brian remarked.
"For the moment," Pierce allowed. "But they're just getting their feet wet. And some of those feet will turn cold."
"Did you mean what you said about taking them out if they talk?"
"Brian, when do I ever not mean what I say?" Pierce demanded. "If we do this, we do it all the way."
"Right. Right," Brian nodded. "Just wish we had some good evidence, something really killer."
"We will," Pierce promised. "But in order to get that killer evidence, we need to get this going. It's chicken and egg all over again, but a good place to start would be the agents who were in Roswell."
Brian raised an eyebrow. "You mean Topolsky?"
"Very funny," Pierce said. "I meant the agents assigned to back her up."
"I'll look'em up," Brian said. "Topolsky's still in Santa Fe. I heard she's doing a lot of filing."
Pierce snorted softly. "I'm surprised they let her do that. And what about Hubble? Has Everett turned up yet?"
Brian shook his head. "Not yet."
"He will," Pierce said confidently. "Just give him time."
******************************************************
Proctor residence
"You should have seen the look on the judge's face, Dad," Philip said, shaking his head. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone behave that way in a court of law. And a lawyer, no less. It was embarrassing."
"Oh, I don't know," Anthony chuckled. "Your mother had her moments."
"But Mom knew when to shut up," Philip said. "At least in court. Pissing off a judge is a very bad idea. Isn't that right, Mom?"
Dee, who had been lost in thought, was abruptly jolted back to the present. "What? Oh. Yes. Of course it's risky to point out to a judge that he's a jackass, but sometimes you have to."
"Geez, Mom," Philip grumbled. "Language?"
"English," Dee said with a perfectly straight face. "I speak English. You?"
"I'll bet you would have loved this guy's antics," Philip said, ignoring her. "Never mind that he was dissing the judge and demeaning the entire profession of law."
"Has it not occurred to you that bad judges demean the entire profession of law'?" Dee countered. "And who better to finger a bad judge than a lawyer?"
"Well, sure, but there's a right way and a wrong way to do that," Philip argued. "This was the wrong way."
"Sometimes that's the only way to get your point across," Dee said. "It's tough to get rid of a bad judge, almost as tough as getting rid of a bad teacher. Courtroom dramas like those get press, which brings the judge in question scrutiny. It's the squeaky wheel that gets the grease."
"Can you say 'platitude'?" Philip muttered.
"Mom's right," Diane said suddenly.
Three heads swung to look at her. "Sometimes you just have to speak up," Diane went on. "Or even get angry. Sometimes that's the only thing that gets people's attention."
"Okay," Philip said slowly, "who are you, and what have you done with my wife?"
"I'm serious," Diane insisted.
"So am I," Philip said. "What's wrong with you, honey? You've been way too quiet tonight, and now you're agreeing with my anarchist mother?"
"I'm sure Diane is just tired after all the business with the fire," Anthony said lightly. "She handled that by herself, after all. Say, you mentioned the car was acting strange. Want me to take a look at it?"
"Sure," Philip agreed. "I'll get my coat."
"Have you tried a mechanic?" Diane asked.
"I don't trust mechanics," Philip said.
"You don't trust anyone," Diane muttered.
"What is with you tonight?" Philip demanded.
"I'm sure your father would love to look at the car," Dee broke in. "He loves anything mechanical, even if it means standing in a cold garage in the middle of December. Never mind that he complains that it's too cold to walk to the mailbox."
"That's because I remember when the mailbox was right outside the front door," Anthony grumbled. "Damned curbside mail delivery."
"Oh, c'mon, Dad, it's way more efficient," Philip said. "Not to mention the savings from all the medical claims from mail carriers slipping on porches and chased by dogs. I remember this one case where…"
Voices trailed off as the front door closed behind them and Dee watched her now silent daughter-in-law with concern. Normally she loved hearing about Philip's courtroom dramas; they reminded her of when she'd been practicing and gave them a chance to spar with each other, something they both not-so-secretly enjoyed. But she'd had other things on her mind tonight, and as Philip had gone on and on, she'd grown more and more impatient. Diane had been quiet and withdrawn the entire evening until this completely uncharacteristic outburst, and unreceptive to several attempts to lure her into the kitchen for a private chat. After what Brivari had reported, she'd expected Diane to be feeling better. Apparently not.
"So," Dee said as soon as the men were out of earshot, "are you going to tell me what happened?"
Diane shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I'm not sure what to tell you because I'm not sure what happened myself."
"Then let's start with the basics," Dee suggested. "Was what happened good or bad?"
"Both," Diane whispered. "This has been both the best and worst day of my life."
"Well, did Max talk to you?" Dee asked, growing annoyed with Diane's usual flair for drama. "You said all you wanted was for him to talk to you. Did he?"
"Yeah," Diane nodded. "And so did Isabel. And the sheriff. And Jeff Parker. The entire world talked to me today, and I was so confused, and so upset, and so relieved after I talked to Max, and then the sheriff showed up again—"
" 'Again'? Goodness, how many times did you see him?"
"Twice," Diane answered. "I bumped into him at the grocery store, and he was going on about how Max didn't know his own strength, and that he might hurt someone without meaning to. He made me feel like an incompetent parent, and I felt so guilty that I went to the Crashdown, where Jeff Parker told me his daughter had not been shot and pointed out the two 'witnesses' the sheriff claims saw Max do something on the day of the shooting, two chucklehead UFO tourists that no one would believe even with a notarized affidavit from God. Honestly, if our sheriff is buying what people like that are selling, we're all in trouble."
Dee's eyebrows rose. Diane sounded downright sarcastic, unusual for her. "And then I went to the park, and Max found me there," Diane went on, her tone softening. "He said he doesn't know how he does what he does; he just does it. And he asked me to drop it, and said if I couldn't do that, he would leave! Can you believe that, Mom? He was ready to leave home over this. He must be really terrified. So I went back home to destroy the tape. I thought that would make him feel better. But when I got there, the sheriff was already there, and he had Philip in a snit."
"So he went after Philip," Dee murmured.
"Well, he practically called me an unfit parent, so I guess he decided to try the other one," Diane said darkly. "I sent him packing, but that's when I realized you were right—I can't tell Philip about this. Max asked me to drop it, and I will, but Philip wouldn't do that. Max didn't tell me what it was because he probably doesn't know, but Philip would never stop there. He'd push until there was nothing else to know, and he'd push Max right out of the house in the process."
"I'd say Philip doesn't need to know," Dee said gently, "because what, really, is there to tell him? Max put out a fire. That's the important part, and he already knows that."
"I know," Diane said miserably. "But it kills me that I can't talk to him about this. For the first time in my life, I can't talk to my own husband."
"You can talk to me," Dee said soothingly. "I won't tell anyone."
"No," Diane said, shaking her head vigorously. "That's just the thing; it's not safe to talk to anyone. Not anyone. Valenti almost had me, Mom, and if I'd come home just a few minutes later, he might have had Philip. I can't take the risk of that happening again. So as far as I'm concerned, none of this ever happened," she went on, her voice rising. "I destroyed the tape, and if the sheriff tries to pin me down about this, I'll deny it; we were alone for every conversation, so it's my word against his. Max is my beautiful son, and that's all that matters to me. I won't let anyone hurt him, deliberately or inadvertently, not even me. From now on, this subject is off limits." She paused, looking suddenly uncertain. "Okay?"
Dee stifled a smile. How very like her usually timid daughter-in-law to make an atypically strong stand and then ask for permission. "Okay," she agreed.
Diane blinked, as though having expected a fight. "Are you sure? Can you do that? Can you keep it a secret?"
"Diane," Dee said slowly, "believe me when I say that keeping secrets is something I excel at."
******************************************************
December 19, 1999, 12:30 p.m.
Roswell Orthopedics
"Any pain?" Dr. Conway asked.
Kyle gingerly put weight on his ankle. "Nope," he answered, breaking into a wide smile. "Little stiff, maybe, but it doesn't hurt."
"Good," Conway said, straightening up. "Go easy on it for another week. Make sure you sit a lot."
"Shouldn't be a problem," Valenti said. "Come Saturday, he'll be sitting and opening his presents."
"And no practices till after New Years," Conway cautioned. "You've got a long school break coming up, so use it to your advantage and let it heal the rest of the way."
"Will do," Kyle promised, cruising happily around the office.
"I'll make sure he behaves himself," Valenti said, offering the doctor a hand. "Thanks for seeing us on a Sunday, and the Sunday before Christmas, no less."
"No problem," Conway answered. "It was this or Christmas shopping at the mall."
"Well, someone's gotta do it," Valenti chuckled.
"Then I'll let my wife do it," Conway said. "For her, it's sport. I said go easy," he added sternly to Kyle, who was cruising more enthusiastically, "or I'll blow you in to Santa."
"Sheesh," Kyle muttered. "That's hitting below the belt."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Valenti promised. "Thanks, Doc."
"Would you look at this!" Kyle enthused as they made their way slowly down the hall of the little building where Conway had his office. "It's only been a week, and it doesn't hurt at all!"
"So let's keep it that way," Valenti advised, one hand on his son's shoulder to keep him from bounding across the parking lot. "He said 'go easy'. I'm pretty sure 'go easy' doesn't mean sprinting to the car."
"Jim!"
Valenti's stomach promptly knotted when he saw who was calling his name. "Dad?" Kyle said. "I think that guy is calling you."
"Someone's always calling me," Valenti said. "I've got a phone. Let's get you home."
"Jim!"
"No, I'm certain that guy is calling you," Kyle said. "And why are you walking so fast? Didn't you just tell me not to sprint?"
Valenti cursed silently as he realized he'd sped up in an effort to outrun Philip Evans, who was walking determinedly in their direction, mercifully alone. The last thing he needed after yesterday's humiliation was another run-in with Philip's wife. Who would have thought the timid Diane Evans would have turned out to be such a ball buster?
"Jim!" Philip said cheerfully as he caught up with them. "Long time, no see."
Valenti managed a weak smile. "Right. Mornin', Philip."
"Anything wrong?" Philip asked when he saw the brace in Kyle's hand.
"Basketball injury," Valenti said. "Nothing serious. It's better now. Kyle, why don't you go wait for me in the car? Slowly. Remember what the doctor said."
"I'm sure you'll have 'what the doctor said' tattooed on my forehead before dinner time," Kyle said dryly, walking away a bit faster than Valenti would have liked.
"Kids," Philip said sympathetically, shaking his head. "Someday they'll appreciate how much we fret over them."
"Yeah, maybe," Valenti agreed. He hesitated, ultimately deciding to get this over with. "Philip, I want to apologize again for upsetting you yesterday. I promise you that wasn't my intention. I—"
But Philip cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Forget it, Jim. I was tired and cranky, and upset about seeing my toasted kitchen for the first time. I'm sure you didn't mean anything about Max. I mean, why would you? Max put the fire out. He may have gotten extraordinarily lucky, but that happens, and I, for one, am glad it happened to him."
"Absolutely," Valenti agreed.
"Hopefully everything will settle now that I'm home," Philip went on. "Diane was in quite a mood yesterday."
"I'll say," Valenti murmured.
"What's that?"
"I said of course she was," Valenti amended. "She's had a rough week. We all have. Kyle's injury," he added when Philip looked confused. "It's tough keeping an athlete down. You kinda gotta sit on them."
"I don't have any athletes, but I can imagine," Philip laughed. "Say, you don't need to sue anyone, do you?"
"No," Valenti said quickly. "No, it was just an accident. Thanks, though. I'll definitely keep you in mind if I ever need to go after someone."
"You're not so bad at that yourself," Philip remarked. "Well…good to see you, Jim. Hope your boy heals well. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Philip," Valenti said, nodding cordially as Philip continued into the building and bristling at that last remark. Looked like he wasn't the only one who could drop a hint. He'd better hope that he and Philip never had reason to come to blows because, frankly, he wasn't sure who'd win.
"Who was that?" Kyle asked when Valenti climbed into the front seat.
"Nobody in particular," Valenti said.
"Mmm. So I guess you're not gonna tell me why 'nobody in particular' has you tweaked? Never mind," Kyle went on when Valenti looked daggers at him. "I figured you wouldn't. So what are we doing for Christmas Day? Are we gonna go see Grandpa?"
Just what I need, Valenti groaned inwardly, yet another reminder that he was becoming more and more like his father. He'd been hot on Max Evans' trail yesterday, and he'd lost because he'd gotten too eager, pushed too hard, gone too far. Just like his dad."
"Maybe," Valenti said, throwing the car into gear. "But no promises."
******************************************************
Marshall High School,
Artesia, New Mexico
"So tell me again what we're doing here this early?" Tess grumbled, sinking down onto an uncomfortable metal chair which squeaked in protest.
"It's not early, and you know what we're doing here," Nasedo answered, glancing around the crowded school auditorium.
"If I have to get up before noon on a Sunday, it's early," Tess groused.
"It's necessary for me to show up at school events," Nasedo said, waving to one of the parents walking by. "I need to appear competent and engaged."
" 'Appear'?" Tess murmured. "Got that right."
"And you need to appear actively engaged in planning your future," Nasedo went on, ignoring her. "Especially after blabbing to the neighbor that we were moving."
"I fixed that," Tess protested.
"You think you fixed that," Nasedo corrected. "I certainly hope so. But just in case you haven't, we need to appear like we're staying, like we're part of the community, part of the—"
"Okay, okay," Tess broke in irritably. "You're playing daddy, and I'm playing prospective college student. I get it."
"Oh, of course you do," Nasedo said dryly. "That's why you're slouched down in your chair looking like death warmed over."
"I look like every other teenager in this auditorium," Tess retorted. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
The school principal stepped in front of the podium. "Good afternoon moms and dads, boys and girls, and thank you for coming to your first 'College Days Are Here At Last!' seminar. I promise we won't take more than an hour, so you'll still have plenty of time for Christmas shopping."
Polite applause greeted this remark, from parents, that is. Every teenager in the room was either asleep, falling asleep, or desperately wishing they were still asleep, Tess included, and she swore that if that pasty-faced principal called them "boys and girls" one more time, she was going to send one hell of a nasty mindwarp his way.
"Your child's future is the most important item on your agenda for the remainder of their high school career," the principal continued. "Planning for that future takes patience, persistence, and personal introspection."
"Isn't that redundant?" Tess whispered. "Introspection is personal by nature."
"Shh!" Nasedo chided.
"Your child may be reluctant to plan for their future," the principal went on. "They may find it frightening, even paralyzing. They may try to put it off."
"Got that backwards," Tess muttered. "You're the one who finds it frightening and paralyzing and puts it off."
"You mustn't let them," the principal declared as Nasedo scowled at her. "It is absolutely imperative that planning for the future begins as soon as possible so as to afford them the most options and give them the opportunity to make the best decisions they can."
"You know, I think I'm going to like this," Tess said. "This is all very good advice."
"Would you be quiet?" Nasedo hissed.
"Why? Don't you want me to have the most options and make the best decisions I can?"
"You don't have any options or decisions to make. Now, hush up."
Tess fell into a sullen silence as the principal droned on. Nasedo had been so angry at the telling-the-neighbor-about-moving slip that he had refused to discuss either their future or their past in any way, shape, or form for the past several weeks. No information, no connections, no memories, no mention of the others, no hint as to whether or not he was still planning to move them to Roswell next summer had left her even more irritable and combative than usual. She'd finally been getting at least some little tidbits of information, and then the flow had been abruptly shut off. Granted it had been her own mouth which had stemmed the flow, but the fact that she had only herself to blame for this latest roadblock only made it more maddening, as did the fact that, just as she'd become furious with him, she'd wound up seeing more of Nasedo than ever because he'd insisted on attending every single school function so he could present himself as an involved, supportive parent who had every intention of staying in the community. Gazing at the bored teenagers surrounding them, it struck her as a supreme irony that she was one of the few here who desperately wanted to plan for her future, but couldn't.
Twenty-five long minutes later, the principal finally directed them to the refreshments for a five minute break. "Finally!" Tess said, stretching to her feet. "I'm starving."
"Go mingle with your classmates while I mingle with their parents," Nasedo instructed.
"I'll mingle with anyone near the doughnuts," Tess said.
"I mean it, Tess. Look interested."
"Good Lord, don't you get it?" Tess sighed. "The way to 'mingle' is to look bored, just like every other teenager here. I thought you didn't want me to stick out."
"You know what I mean," Nasedo said severely.
Tess gave him a noncommittal grunt and wandered toward the snack table. It was mobbed, with yawning parents lining up at the coffee machine in an effort to stay awake and their sleepwalking children lining up for the doughnuts and cookies. Tess was loading up a plate with the former when it was almost knocked out of her hands.
"Oh, excuse me, young lady," the offending gentleman said politely, his cowboy hat in one hand. "Didn't mean to send your breakfast flyin'. Or is that lunch?"
"Both," Tess admitted. "And it's all safe, so don't worry about it."
He moved on down the line, and Tess waited impatiently for the line to the chocolate doughnuts to open up. A moment later, she heard the man's voice again.
"I was wondering if I might ask you a question, seein' as you're a parent at this school. I'm lookin' for a young girl who's a whiz with Ouija boards. Think she lives with a single parent in the area. Ever heard of anyone like that?"
Tess's heart began to pound so hard, her plate of doughnuts began to tremble. The man with the cowboy hat was speaking to a parent she'd never seen before and who promptly replied that, no, she didn't know anyone like that. "You should ask one of the girls," the woman suggested. "I'm sure they'd know."
The man thanked the woman for her oh-so-helpful suggestion and moved off, his eyes scanning the crowd. Tess followed, her hands gripping the paper plate so hard, she was beginning to squash it. They'd found her. After years of Nasedo predicting her Ouija board tricks would get them in trouble, they'd found her. But who was this guy? She knew plenty of Special Unit agents, and this wasn't one of them, nor did he even look like a Unit agent with his tweedy jacket and bolo tie. Who the hell was stalking her?
Any desire to identify her pursuer went right out of her head when the man stopped and fastened his eyes on none other than Kara. Snooty Kara, jilted Kara, she who was taught a lesson when the boy she wanted to take her to the Christmas formal asked someone else, after a nudge from Tess, of course. Kara knew exactly who this man was looking for and would be only too glad to point him in her direction…and then things would really get ugly.
Squeezing her eyes closed, Tess blocked out every sight and sound around her and threw everything she had at him. Even your average, run-of-the-mill mindwarp required a good deal of concentration. It was like producing a scene in a movie; you had to imagine the setting, costume your characters, write the script, then project it into someone else's mind. But this mindwarp was different because it wasn't just a picture or a mental video. This was an interactive mindwarp where the characters were speaking directly to the target, where the script changed depending on that target's answers. She'd only ever tried this a couple of times, and it had been incredibly tricky. Kara was across the room, but in the man's eye, she was walking toward him, saying hello, asking if she could help him. He asked his question, the same question he'd asked before.
"Yeah, I know her! She did all sorts of weird stuff with the Ouija board."
"Is she here today?" the man asked eagerly. "Can you point her out to me?"
"She and her dad moved away right before Thanksgiving."
"Do you know where?"
"Tucson. He got a new job there."
Tess cracked an eyelid. The real Kara had moved away, but she had another problem; people were beginning to stare at the odd site of a man talking to no one. Fortunately there were only a few, most having returned to their seats to chow down, so she desperately tried to wrap things up before those few decided to investigate.
"Are you sure it was Tucson?"
"Pretty sure. They left in a hurry."
"Thank you, little lady, You've been most helpful."
The man walked away. Tess held the warp until he'd left the room, letting go of it so quickly that she quite literally fell over, her plate of doughnuts tumbling to the floor as she collapsed beside it, sweating and trembling.
"Honey, are you okay?" one of the moms asked, bending over her with concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Tess said quickly. "I just suddenly got a little…woozy."
"Oh," the woman nodded sympathetically. "Is it that time of the month?"
"Uh…yeah."
"Same thing used to happen to me," the woman said, patting her hand. "I'd get light-headed and pass out. You just sit here and rest for a minute. You'll be fine. I'll stay with her," she added to other concerned onlookers. "Go on back."
But Tess's eyes were scanning the auditorium. The man had not reappeared, and Kara was across the room, chatting with her clique and completely unaware that her doppelganger had just helpfully provided enough details to derail him. God, but her head hurt. Mindwarps could give her headaches, but that had been brutal. Thank goodness the few who had noticed the man talking to himself had lost interest after he walked away because, as far as she knew, she could only mindwarp one person at a time.
"Headache?" the woman asked sympathetically when Tess rubbed her temples.
"Bad one," Tess admitted.
"I used to get those too," the woman said. "Is the flow light or heavy?"
"Um…it's not bad," Tess said self-consciously, considering that a dreadfully personal question. "I'm better now. You don't have to stay. My dad's right over there. But thanks for helping me. I really appreciate it."
It took a bit more convincing, but the woman finally left. Tess grabbed a doughnut which had fallen nearby and quickly ate it, not caring that it had been sitting on the dirty floor. Mindwarps required energy, and energy required fuel. She was often hungry after a big mindwarp, and this had been the mother of all mindwarps, meaning she was starving. Four doughnuts later she felt steady enough to stand up, and a couple of cookies later, she felt good enough to go back to her seat.
"Did you mingle?" Nasedo asked without looking up, his nose in a financial aid brochure.
"Yes."
"You didn't give away any more secrets, did you?"
No, I just threw a stalker off our path. "No. I told you, I get it now."
"I've heard that before," Nasedo commented.
Tess swallowed hard. "This time, I mean it. I understand. I was wrong. I screwed up. I won't make that mistake again."
He stared at her then, long and hard and skeptically, the intense scrutiny scorching like a flame. "Good," he said finally. "It's about time. Here—these are brochures from local colleges. Read them over."
Tess nodded mutely. For the first time in a long time, there was no retort to swallow, no smart remark to bite back. Nasedo had been right; her antics had gotten them noticed, and she'd been damned lucky she'd been able to intercept the result. Thoroughly chastised, she read every single word in the brochures he'd handed her and applauded politely when the principal arrived at the podium. From now on, she was going to straighten up and fly right.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Chapter 50
^ Thank goodness! She's had a lot of secrets to keep.
Well...so much for my updating throughout the week.
Here are the rest of the chapters to bring us up to date, and I'll be back tomorrow with the latest.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Five weeks later
January 18, 2000, 7 p.m.
Crashdown Cafe
"Lizzie!"
Liz Parker sighed as the door swung closed behind her. She'd bumped the door open with the plastic tub she was carrying, causing the dirty plates and glasses inside to complain loudly. Loud enough that her father could hear, which is probably why he was calling her now; she wasn't supposed to use crockery to open the door.
"Dad, I know," she sighed when her father appeared around a corner. "I just forgot."
"We forget every year," her father said.
Liz paused. "We...what?"
"Look, don't worry about it," her father said. "Those needles get everywhere."
"Needles?"
"Christmas tree needles," her father explained. "I know, I know, you mother wants me to get a fake tree, but I just can't bring myself to do that. Real ones smell so much better, and we get so many comments about the fact that we have a real tree, even if it is messy. Although I confess I don't understand how tree needles from a tree out there got back here, but whatever. I always forget we need to clean more than just the front in order to get them all. I need someone to go after them, and you're the one I can trust to do the best job."
Liz nodded slowly. "Right. Gotcha. Just...let me put these dishes down."
"Thanks, honey. Oh, and I put some of the older decorations by the back door. We have a bunch that were looking a little too sad. Maybe you can help me pick through them?"
"Sure, Dad. Love to."
Liz deposited the dirty dishes beside one of their three dishwashers before heading for the back, where there were indeed a number of Christmas tree needles scattered all over the floor. Funny how no one had noticed even though they'd been crunching underfoot since right after Thanksgiving. Funny how that never bothered anyone until after Christmas, when Christmas trees suddenly changed from fragrant, festive symbols to dirty, messy eyesores that needed to be disposed of as soon as possible. If only there were a way to keep that holiday glow which made everything look just a little bit better. She'd just grabbed a broom and dustpan when she saw her father's pile of rejected decorations by the door...and gasped. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, dropping the broom and snatching something off the pile. "Not this!"
The door flew open, missing her by inches. "Ta da!" Maria declared with a theatrical sweep of her arm. "I'm here!"
Liz raised an eyebrow. "Since when does showing up for work call for a celebration?"
"Since I'm here a whole ten minutes early. How's that for keeping a New Year's resolution?"
"Spending time with your Mom again?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's only been a couple of weeks," Liz pointed out. "And this is the first time you've gotten here early. Your Mom is the only one I can think of who would call that 'keeping a resolution'. I think you have to make it on time at least until the end of January. And be careful when you throw that door open. You almost made me drop Frosty."
" 'Frosty'?"
"Yes, Frosty," Liz answered, holding up her prize. "Can you believe my Dad was about to throw him out? What was he thinking?"
Maria studied the object in question. "Hmm," she said at length. "A yellowing slab of formerly white plastic with some splashes of paint which might vaguely suggest a snowman. I see what you mean. Who wouldn't want that?"
"Maria, this is serious," Liz said crossly. "Frosty is our winter nightlight. We get him out right after Thanksgiving, and he stays up until Easter. He's the one bit of Christmas I get to keep. My Dad would take down the Christmas decorations ten minutes after the presents were opened if Mom would let him. She's the only reason he waits until New Year's before ripping every single solitary thing down except Frosty, and now he's going too?"
"I have the opposite problem," Maria said. "If Mom had her way, she'd leave all the decorations up until Independence Day. Look, just rescue the namwanz."
" 'Namwanz'?"
" 'Snowman' spelled backwards," Maria explained. "Technically I suppose it's 'namwons', you know 'won' as in 'I won the lottery', but I like 'wanz', rhymes with 'Franz', so much better, don't you?"
Now it was Liz's turn to blink. "I...Maria, what on earth are you talking about?"
"Ah," Maria nodded knowingly. "That's what this is about, isn't it? Earth. Or more specifically, those who aren't from Earth. Am I right?" she prodded when Liz dropped her eyes. "Of course I am. This isn't about the namwanz, this is about you pining after Max."
"No, it isn't," Liz protested.
"Trust me, girlfriend, anyone who's pawing through a pile of dilapidated Christmas decorations is pining."
"Maria, I am not pining," Liz insisted.
"Right," Maria deadpanned. "There's some other reason why you're clinging to a misshapen blob of formerly white plastic that may or may not have resembled a snowman in another life."
"He's not 'misshapen!" Liz protested. "He's just..."
"Fat?" Maria suggested.
"Round," Liz corrected. "He's a snowman. He's supposed to be round."
"I'm no geometry whiz, but I don't think that qualifies as 'round'," Maria said skeptically.
"He got a little melted," Liz said defensively. "We put the wrong bulb in him once, and it was too hot, and...wait. Why am I defending him to you? You have no idea what Frosty means to me, so I'm just going to put him back upstairs where he belongs while you get ready for your shift. Because you wouldn't want to get here a whole ten minutes early and then not be ready on time and spoil your New Year's resolution, now would you?"
Liz skipped up the stairs, ignoring Maria's raised eyebrows. No way was she going to let on that her friend was too close to the mark for comfort. She hadn't talked to Max since that night he'd stopped by when she was closing up, that night she'd told him he was controlling and said some other, less than nice things about him. She'd spent a Max-less Christmas break kicking herself for that, not because she thought she'd called it wrong, but because she'd deliberately hit him when he was down. It had felt so good at the time, to have him think that she and Kyle were getting back together, to see that spark of jealousy, that she'd almost wished it were true just so she could rub it in. But it wasn't true, and she'd been spared the specter of lying about it when the subject of Isabel had come up, presenting a different kind of irritant to wield. It was only later that she'd realized how upset he'd been and how she really had no idea why. And how ironic it was that he'd been coming to her for advice, something which should have had her dancing in the aisles, but instead had turned her into this catty monster who saw an opportunity to stick the knife in and twist it...and done just exactly that. It was an ugly side of herself that had been most unsettling to see, and she'd been mulling over how to apologize for the last two weeks without success, passing Max every day in the hallway at school, sitting across the room from him or even next to him in Biology, tongue-tied. For his part, he'd been polite, but distant, as though afraid she'd start in on him again, and no wonder.
There, Liz thought, settling Frosty on her nightstand. He usually lived in the bathroom, all the moisture probably being the reason his paint was in such sad shape, but if she put him back there, her dad would just toss him back in the throw-out pile. He'd be much better off in here, where she could see him all the time, and so would she. She could use something comforting right about now.
"All set," she said cheerfully when she went back downstairs to find Maria tying on her apron. "I feel better now."
"That's nice, because you're about to not feel better," Maria sighed. "Look who's here."
Liz hesitated before walking up to the door and peering through the glass. "Just walked in," Maria said sadly as they both gazed at Max. "Why is he at the counter? He's usually in a booth at a safe distance."
"I...don't know," Liz whispered.
"Let me take the counter," Maria suggested. "I know it's your turn, but—"
"No," Liz said. "I can't hide from him, Maria. We both live here, we both go to school here. I can't duck every time he shows up."
"Of course you can't, but it's never fun running into the guy who dumped you, so—"
"He didn't 'dump me'," Liz interrupted.
"Oh, right!" Maria said with false cheerfulness. "I completely forgot it was a mutual decision. And if you believe that, I've got this bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you."
"He's just scared," Liz said. "So am I."
"Fine, but 'scared' does not give him the right to break your heart," Maria argued.
"I think he was afraid he'd break it worse if he...oh, never mind," Liz said, pushing the swinging door open before Maria could protest. This was the perfect opportunity to set things right, and she should do it fast, before she lost her nerve. Marching up to Max, she planted herself in front of him, opened her mouth...and froze. He glanced up from his menu, looking at her expectantly.
"Hi," he said warily.
"Hi," Liz said, grateful that her voice worked even if her nerve didn't. "Can I...get you something?"
"Two Cokes. Please."
"Two?"
"I'm meeting someone."
Liz turned away quickly, before he had one second longer to see the stricken, deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. How did one start a conversation like this? What did one say? Maybe "sorry I verbally slammed you into a wall"? Or, "I didn't mean to be so snotty, but it was great to see you jealous"? She slapped the first glass beneath the Coke nozzle, thumbing desperately through her mental file cabinet for a safe subject with which to begin the conversation, something casual, innocuous, unthreatening...
"My little sister got a Tamagochi. You would not believe how annoying that thing is."
"You think that's annoying? Try a Furby. Good thing it's not real, or I'd be arrested for cruelty to animals. If it even is one."
Liz glanced around. A gaggle of freshman sat further down the counter from Max, obviously tallying their Christmas presents. Of course! That was the classic January question, the quintessential icebreaker at this time of year, and the perfect opening. Grabbing a couple of straws, she set the glasses in front of Max.
"Thanks," Max said.
"You're welcome," Liz smiled. "So...what'd you get for Christmas?"
"A bunch of stuff," Max answered.
Typical guy answer, Liz thought, ignoring the look Maria gave her on her way past with a pot of coffee. "Like what?" she persisted.
"The usual," Max said. "CD's. A couple of sweaters. A new clock radio. Isabel got a new cell phone. Now she'll never shut up," he added dryly.
"She will when the battery runs out," Liz said, delighted that he was so chatty. "I got a bunch of books, and a slide rule—don't look at me like that, they're cool—and clothes, of course. We had to change a few traditions because Grandma wasn't there, but—"
Max's eyes widened, then dropped as Liz cursed silently. Damn it! Why had she brought up Grandma Claudia? "But my favorite present was a professional microscope," she went on brightly, determined to sail past her gaffe. "What was your favorite present?"
Max kept his eyes on his glass. "A videotape."
"Cool!" Liz said with forced enthusiasm. "A movie?"
"No."
"TV show?"
"No."
"Well, then, why was it your favorite? What was on it?"
"Nothing," Max said softly. "Absolutely nothing."
*****************************************************
"Wait...'nothing'?" Liz repeated.
Max tried to make his eyes behave, tried not to stare. How was it that someone could be so beautiful even when they were confused? "Yep. Nothing."
"But....that doesn't make any sense," Liz said.
"I know."
Liz's skepticism deepened, Max making a mental note that she was beautiful even when frowning. "Are you teasing me?" she asked warily.
"Nope."
"So your favorite Christmas present was a blank videotape."
Max smiled faintly. "What can I say? I'm different. But you knew that."
Liz hesitated, appearing to be in throes of a decision...and then suddenly leaned in, lowering her voice, that false chirpiness that he hated mercifully vanishing. "Max, what happened? You know, back before Christmas, right after Michael...I mean, did something go wrong? I heard about the fire, and everyone said it was small, but you were so upset, and..."
She stopped, the look in her eyes making it clear she was afraid she'd gone too far. Max opened his mouth to answer her and stopped, realizing he was about to go too far...again. He lived on a precipice, always in danger of going over the edge because he wanted to. After a lifetime of silence, he'd finally experienced what it meant to have a friend, a confidante, someone who knew him for what he really was, and how comforting, and liberating, and downright joyful that could be. But his joy meant her danger, and he didn't regret stepping back. As much as he wanted to pour out his story and experience the relief which came with that, Liz was safer this way. The more she knew, the greater the risk. He'd been wrong to go to her about the whole fire business, and he was wrong to be dropping hints now, posing questions he shouldn't answer. That was teasing.
The cafe's door dingled, and Michael walked in. Good, Max thought, pulling a stack of quarters from his pocket and setting them on the counter, avoiding her searching gaze.
"Thanks for the Cokes. Bye, Liz."
He left her safe, but disappointed, still puzzled, still afraid she was being mocked. But she wasn't, and not just because he'd never mock her. He'd found the usual pile of presents beneath the tree on Christmas morning, but his favorite had been left in his room, a wrapped videotape with a tag in his mother's handwriting which read, "Just so you know—I erased it.". Not only had she erased the tape herself, but she wanted him to know she'd erased it, and all without uttering another syllable about what had passed between them. It had been the most wonderful feeling in the world to know that she'd been willing to destroy the evidence, and to have her tell him that quietly, privately, with no fanfare, was even better.
"What was that all about?" Michael asked, nodding toward Liz as he pulled his Coke toward him and ripped the paper off the straw.
"Does every single interaction have to be 'about' something?" Max asked, sliding onto the opposite bench.
"When it's Liz? Yes."
"Your confidence is overwhelming," Max sighed as Michael took a noisy sip of his drink. "She was just asking me what I got for Christmas, what my favorite present was."
Michael snorted softly, sending bubbles through his drink. "Christmas. Jesus, it was weeks ago, and everyone's still talking about it."
"At least you know it has something to do with Jesus," Max said dryly. "Very good, Michael."
"I just get sick of hearing about it," Michael said, "along with that Y2K stuff about all the computers blowing up."
"They weren't going to 'blow up', they just weren't going to know what date it was," Max said.
"I heard the world was going to end," Michael said, "but at least this time, it would have been computers doing it, not aliens. Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, Christmas is just one more excuse for Hank to get plastered. Like he needs any."
"I know," Max said. "But it wasn't all that way. You came over for Christmas dinner."
"Because it was at your grandmother's house, and she insisted."
"Yes, at Grandma's, and she insisted. And you came. And ate everything in sight, opened your presents, and had a great time. Or did I misread that?"
Michael muttered something unintelligible and kept his eyes on his Coke as Max watched him closely. He and Isabel had had a bet going as to whether or not Michael would accept Grandma and Grandpa's invitation to Christmas dinner and how long he would stay if he came, and they'd both lost; Max had thought he wouldn't come, and Isabel had thought he wouldn't stay. He'd not only come, he'd stayed the entire afternoon, arriving an hour early much better dressed than usual and with a present for Grandma and Grandpa, a homemade hot cocoa mix he'd found a recipe for in a cookbook at the library. Grandma Dee had made a point of serving it with marshmallows at dinner, and she'd sent him home with gifts of clothing and school supplies, a portable CD player, and enough leftovers to feed an army. "Hide some in the back of the fridge so Hank doesn't eat it all," she'd advised with her typical candor. "Maybe behind the beer, so he won't look any further."
"Is he really that bad?" Philip had asked.
"Put it this way," Grandma had said. "Given how hung over Hank probably is right now, Michael's got plenty of time to hide the food."
"I see," Philip had frowned. "Does Social Services know about this?"
"We shouldn't intrude, honey," Diane had cautioned.
"Please don't," Michael had said curtly. "Thanks for everything, Grandma. Merry Christmas."
His mom had had the grace to look abashed in the face of the steely looks turned on her after Michael's exit, and the subject had been shelved, it being a holiday. But the fact that their grandparents had been willing to make sure Michael had a Christmas had only elevated them in his and Isabel's eyes. Hank's idea of Christmas decorations and presents was a bow on a bottle of beer.
" 'Favorite present'," Michael snorted, veering away from the topic of Christmas dinner. "Typical girl question. So what'd you tell her?"
"If it's a 'girl question', why are you asking it?"
"I'm not. I'm asking what you told her. Different question."
Max paused. "My Mom gave me the tape."
"What tape?"
"The tape. The tape she erased. The tape you were freaking out about just a few weeks ago."
"As if I was the only one 'freaking'. What'd she give you that for?"
"To let me know she erased it."
"Why? Does she want a medal?"
"No. If she wanted that, she would have made a big deal about it, not left it in my room with a cryptic note."
Michael stirred his Coke with his straw. "Oh. Okay."
"That's it? Just 'okay'?"
"What do you want me to do? Send her flowers?"
"I want you to admit you were wrong," Max said. "She did it because she loves me. She did it to make me feel safe."
"See, that's the part that bothers me," Michael said. "Are you actually safe, or do you just 'feel' safe? Because there's a difference."
"I don't believe this," Max muttered.
"Neither do I," Michael said. "I thought we'd been over this. We're never safe. Never. If she really did it because she loves you, then whoop dee do, but frankly, you can't prove that. Now, can we get down to business?"
"We could have gotten down to business earlier," Max said. "You were the one asking all the questions about Christmas."
"My bad. What'd you come up with?"
Max hesitated, knowing Michael wasn't going to like his answer any more than he liked Christmas. "I looked at it a lot," Max began. "Every day, several times a day. I even dreamed about it a couple of times—"
"Cut to the chase, Maxwell. What've you got?"
"Nothing," Max admitted.
"Nothing? Nothing at all?"
"I know they mean something," Max went on. "We all recognize those symbols to some degree, and they were obviously left on the cave wall for a reason, but damned if I know what that reason is. I've stared at them until I'm seeing double, but I still have no idea what they mean."
"But I did," Michael argued. "Tell me again what I said."
"You said it was a map," Max answered. "You knew what the healing stones were for without being told. You knew they went in those holes in the wall. You were coaxing us to remember..."
"And then I forgot," Michael said, finishing the sentence Max hadn't wanted to finish.
"Michael, it's not your fault," Max said gently. "You almost died. You—"
"Who said it was my fault? Did I say it was my fault?"
"Don't be angry—"
"I'm not angry," Michael protested. "I'm not."
"Then why did you just pulverize your straw?"
Michael glanced down. He had indeed squeezed his straw so hard, it was partially broken in two. Wordlessly, Max got up and fetched another straw from the counter, which Michael stabbed into his drink without comment.
"I'm not angry," he said after he'd drained his glass. "And I don't think I did anything wrong. I'm just...disappointed. And frustrated. I had it, Max. All of it. Who we are. Why we're here. What we're supposed to do. It was all so clear, so simple, so obvious...and then it wasn't. Now all I remember is the clarity, the worst thing to be left with because I have no idea what it was that was so clear. I'd give anything to have even one scrap of that back."
"You'll get it back," Max promised. "It's in you; we know that now. There must be a way to access it, so we just have to figure out how. Safely," he added quickly when Michael's eyes widened. "No more near death experiences. I know you don't remember the details, but I do, and you were way too close for comfort."
"But what if it were controlled?" Michael said eagerly. "We know what happens now, so in a controlled environment, it wouldn't be so dangerous. We could all be there, with River Dog and the stones, ready for what we knew was coming. Heck, we could make a weekend of it—"
"Oh, sure," Max deadpanned. "Make a weekend of nearly killing you again in the hopes you'll have another eureka moment. Forget it, Michael. You can't remember anything if you're dead."
"I also can't remember anything if I don't try," Michael complained.
"Then try. Just try safely. Your last attempt wasn't 'safely'. You know that."
"How could I forget?" Michael said bitterly. "Everyone keeps telling me."
"Because we don't want to lose you," Max said. "Look me in the eye and tell me it's a bad thing to have that many people care about you."
Michael glanced up as Maria walked by, her arms laden with plates. "Maybe not 'bad', exactly," he allowed. "But it can definitely be problematic."
"Is that was this is about? About Maria? You could try apologizing to her—"
"Thank you, Dr. Phil," Michael broke in. "I've already explained things to Maria, and all without your help. Imagine that."
"Explained 'things'? What things?"
"That we can't be together. That I'm alone, that I have to be a stone wall."
" 'Stone wall'?" Max said skeptically. "Nice."
"Isn't that what you told Liz?"
"Michael, I stepped back from Liz because I want her to be safe."
Michael slurped the last of his Coke, pushed the glass away. "I know that. Why do you think I told Maria we had to stop? I'm the one who almost died, so I'm the one who knows what could happen better than any of us." He stood up. "Let's go back to your place. It's too depressing here, watching Liz moon over you."
Max glanced toward the counter, where Liz quickly looked away. "All right," he answered, shrugging on his coat, pausing as a customer passed, giving both of them a penetrating stare on the way by.
"Okay, that was...weird."
"What?"
"That guy. The way he looked at us...do you think he was listening?"
Michael glanced at the man in question, now at the register and totally ignoring them. "Now who's the paranoid one? Relax, Maxwell. That guy was sitting at the other end of the diner. There's no way he could have heard a thing."
*****************************************************
Proctor residence
"What about this one?" Diane asked.
"Toss," Dee said.
"And this one?"
"Toss. Anything that looks like it was manufactured in the '50's goes out. But not that," Dee added, reaching for the Christmas ornament currently in Diane's hand. "That's a family heirloom."
"From way before the '50's," Diane remarked.
"Oh, yes," Dee agreed, cradling the somewhat bedraggled glass ball in her hand. "This was from Mama's and Daddy's first set of Christmas ornaments, the ones they bought the year they were married. I always loved the nativity scene on it, even if the star was scratched by a nasty tree needle."
"What year were they married?"
"Oh, gracious," Dee said, sinking onto the couch. " '36? '37? Mid-thirties, anyway. I used to know this stuff," she added, shaking her head. "Now I have so many dates in my head, I can't keep them straight."
"You should write it down," Diane suggested. "Not just for Philip and me, but for the kids too. They should know their heritage."
Yes, they should, Dee agreed silently, that being a topic of some debate these days with the Warder of the kids in question. "Maybe I will," she said lightly, "before I forget it all. This might be a good time, what with going through all these decorations. They badly needed weeding out, and seeing them may jog a bunch of memories I forgot I had. I appreciate your help, by the way. This is the best time to do it, before they're packed away for another year. But I could use a break. Cocoa?"
The smile Diane had been wearing slid off her face. "That wouldn't be the cocoa Michael brought you, would it?"
In the kitchen now and out of sight, Dee allowed herself an eye roll. "Yes, it would be Michael's cocoa. Why?"
"Well...given his circumstances, you just never known where it's been."
"Where it's 'been'?" Dee repeated. "It's 'been' in my kitchen. It's 'been' in my stomach. Dad and I have consumed at least half of it with no ill effects. And it's delicious, I might add. Michael said there's pudding in this mix, which might be how he managed to cover up the taste of instant milk, which I happen to loathe."
"Okay," Diane said quickly. "I just meant...I don't know what I meant," she amended. "Forget it. I'd love a cup. Thank you."
I know what you meant, Dee thought darkly, setting the kettle on a burner. As if it wasn't bad enough that Diane ostracized Michael, she was also refusing his food. And even though Diane had earned a special place in her heart in doing right by Max during the fire and videotape episode, it was a safe bet that her reaction would have been very different if the subject in question had been Michael.
Music played in the other room. A moment later, Diane was in the kitchen doorway holding Dee's cell phone. "What ringer are you using?" she asked.
"A Beethoven sonata," Dee answered. "Who is it?"
"It's a weird number," Diane said doubtfully. "Some area code I don't recognize."
Because it doesn't exist, Dee thought, taking the phone and thanking Diane, who retreated to the living room. Brivari's private "number" was really a non-existent phone number which no one could call unless they knew how.
"Are you still fretting?" Dee said into the phone after she'd closed the kitchen door.
"Of course I'm fretting," Brivari's voice said. "I'm at the airport. Everything still clear?"
"Go," Dee said firmly. "It's been quiet for weeks now. Four weeks, to be exact."
"Which is exactly why I'm worried. It's past time for them to do something stupid again."
"They had quite a scare last month," Dee observed. "Several scares, in fact, so it's no surprise they'd be craving some peace and quiet. Enjoy it while it lasts."
"It's the 'while it lasts' part which bothers me," Brivari said. "Maybe I should stay."
"You should go," Dee said firmly. "We'll be fine. Mama will miss you, if she remembers your visits, that is, and Daddy certainly will, but it's only a few days. We'll live."
"You'll call me if anything happens? Anything at all, no matter how trivial?"
"Anything?" Dee said dryly. "Even nosebleeds? A bad haircut? Teen angst?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Where did you say you were going again?"
There was a pause before Brivari answered. "I didn't. Call me if you need me."
The line went dead. Dee shook her head and tossed the phone on the counter before filling the cups with cocoa. Brivari had never left town for anywhere but Los Angeles since the shooting, so the fact that he wouldn't say where he was going implied he wasn't going there. But whatever; if anyone needed a vacation, it was him. She didn't care if he was going to Cancun just as long as he was going away. Absence made the heart grow fonder, and he could use a little fondness toward his hybrids at the moment, not to mention a dash of perspective. Besides, it was Tuesday, and he was due back on Friday.
What could possibly happen before then?
*****************************************************
January 19, 2000, 7:00 p.m.
Frazier Woods
"Ouch!" Emma squealed as the steering wheel gouged her left ribcage. "Johnny, can't we get in the back?"
"But it's cold out there," Johnny protested.
An impish smile crossed Emma's face. "Only for a minute. If that." She leaned in closer when he hesitated, her mouth close to his ear. "If we get in the back," she whispered enticingly, "I'll let you...you know."
That did it. Johnny 's eyes widened, and he practically vaulted out the door. Emma took her time, pulling her coat closer around her as she climbed out into the black night, her breath making little puffs in front of her. She hated making out in cars, but as that was the only way to get any privacy, the truck it was. It was bloody cold out here, but they were alone, having pulled far off the road to avoid detection, and the truck bed was far more forgiving than the typical vehicle seat. The stars were bright in the sky as she climbed into the back, Johnny already partially stripped. So much for being cold.
"Let's warm up," she smiled.
A minute later, still plenty cold, they both gasped and craned their heads upwards as a white hot light seared the sky.
Well...so much for my updating throughout the week.
Here are the rest of the chapters to bring us up to date, and I'll be back tomorrow with the latest.CHAPTER FIFTY
Five weeks later
January 18, 2000, 7 p.m.
Crashdown Cafe
"Lizzie!"
Liz Parker sighed as the door swung closed behind her. She'd bumped the door open with the plastic tub she was carrying, causing the dirty plates and glasses inside to complain loudly. Loud enough that her father could hear, which is probably why he was calling her now; she wasn't supposed to use crockery to open the door.
"Dad, I know," she sighed when her father appeared around a corner. "I just forgot."
"We forget every year," her father said.
Liz paused. "We...what?"
"Look, don't worry about it," her father said. "Those needles get everywhere."
"Needles?"
"Christmas tree needles," her father explained. "I know, I know, you mother wants me to get a fake tree, but I just can't bring myself to do that. Real ones smell so much better, and we get so many comments about the fact that we have a real tree, even if it is messy. Although I confess I don't understand how tree needles from a tree out there got back here, but whatever. I always forget we need to clean more than just the front in order to get them all. I need someone to go after them, and you're the one I can trust to do the best job."
Liz nodded slowly. "Right. Gotcha. Just...let me put these dishes down."
"Thanks, honey. Oh, and I put some of the older decorations by the back door. We have a bunch that were looking a little too sad. Maybe you can help me pick through them?"
"Sure, Dad. Love to."
Liz deposited the dirty dishes beside one of their three dishwashers before heading for the back, where there were indeed a number of Christmas tree needles scattered all over the floor. Funny how no one had noticed even though they'd been crunching underfoot since right after Thanksgiving. Funny how that never bothered anyone until after Christmas, when Christmas trees suddenly changed from fragrant, festive symbols to dirty, messy eyesores that needed to be disposed of as soon as possible. If only there were a way to keep that holiday glow which made everything look just a little bit better. She'd just grabbed a broom and dustpan when she saw her father's pile of rejected decorations by the door...and gasped. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, dropping the broom and snatching something off the pile. "Not this!"
The door flew open, missing her by inches. "Ta da!" Maria declared with a theatrical sweep of her arm. "I'm here!"
Liz raised an eyebrow. "Since when does showing up for work call for a celebration?"
"Since I'm here a whole ten minutes early. How's that for keeping a New Year's resolution?"
"Spending time with your Mom again?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's only been a couple of weeks," Liz pointed out. "And this is the first time you've gotten here early. Your Mom is the only one I can think of who would call that 'keeping a resolution'. I think you have to make it on time at least until the end of January. And be careful when you throw that door open. You almost made me drop Frosty."
" 'Frosty'?"
"Yes, Frosty," Liz answered, holding up her prize. "Can you believe my Dad was about to throw him out? What was he thinking?"
Maria studied the object in question. "Hmm," she said at length. "A yellowing slab of formerly white plastic with some splashes of paint which might vaguely suggest a snowman. I see what you mean. Who wouldn't want that?"
"Maria, this is serious," Liz said crossly. "Frosty is our winter nightlight. We get him out right after Thanksgiving, and he stays up until Easter. He's the one bit of Christmas I get to keep. My Dad would take down the Christmas decorations ten minutes after the presents were opened if Mom would let him. She's the only reason he waits until New Year's before ripping every single solitary thing down except Frosty, and now he's going too?"
"I have the opposite problem," Maria said. "If Mom had her way, she'd leave all the decorations up until Independence Day. Look, just rescue the namwanz."
" 'Namwanz'?"
" 'Snowman' spelled backwards," Maria explained. "Technically I suppose it's 'namwons', you know 'won' as in 'I won the lottery', but I like 'wanz', rhymes with 'Franz', so much better, don't you?"
Now it was Liz's turn to blink. "I...Maria, what on earth are you talking about?"
"Ah," Maria nodded knowingly. "That's what this is about, isn't it? Earth. Or more specifically, those who aren't from Earth. Am I right?" she prodded when Liz dropped her eyes. "Of course I am. This isn't about the namwanz, this is about you pining after Max."
"No, it isn't," Liz protested.
"Trust me, girlfriend, anyone who's pawing through a pile of dilapidated Christmas decorations is pining."
"Maria, I am not pining," Liz insisted.
"Right," Maria deadpanned. "There's some other reason why you're clinging to a misshapen blob of formerly white plastic that may or may not have resembled a snowman in another life."
"He's not 'misshapen!" Liz protested. "He's just..."
"Fat?" Maria suggested.
"Round," Liz corrected. "He's a snowman. He's supposed to be round."
"I'm no geometry whiz, but I don't think that qualifies as 'round'," Maria said skeptically.
"He got a little melted," Liz said defensively. "We put the wrong bulb in him once, and it was too hot, and...wait. Why am I defending him to you? You have no idea what Frosty means to me, so I'm just going to put him back upstairs where he belongs while you get ready for your shift. Because you wouldn't want to get here a whole ten minutes early and then not be ready on time and spoil your New Year's resolution, now would you?"
Liz skipped up the stairs, ignoring Maria's raised eyebrows. No way was she going to let on that her friend was too close to the mark for comfort. She hadn't talked to Max since that night he'd stopped by when she was closing up, that night she'd told him he was controlling and said some other, less than nice things about him. She'd spent a Max-less Christmas break kicking herself for that, not because she thought she'd called it wrong, but because she'd deliberately hit him when he was down. It had felt so good at the time, to have him think that she and Kyle were getting back together, to see that spark of jealousy, that she'd almost wished it were true just so she could rub it in. But it wasn't true, and she'd been spared the specter of lying about it when the subject of Isabel had come up, presenting a different kind of irritant to wield. It was only later that she'd realized how upset he'd been and how she really had no idea why. And how ironic it was that he'd been coming to her for advice, something which should have had her dancing in the aisles, but instead had turned her into this catty monster who saw an opportunity to stick the knife in and twist it...and done just exactly that. It was an ugly side of herself that had been most unsettling to see, and she'd been mulling over how to apologize for the last two weeks without success, passing Max every day in the hallway at school, sitting across the room from him or even next to him in Biology, tongue-tied. For his part, he'd been polite, but distant, as though afraid she'd start in on him again, and no wonder.
There, Liz thought, settling Frosty on her nightstand. He usually lived in the bathroom, all the moisture probably being the reason his paint was in such sad shape, but if she put him back there, her dad would just toss him back in the throw-out pile. He'd be much better off in here, where she could see him all the time, and so would she. She could use something comforting right about now.
"All set," she said cheerfully when she went back downstairs to find Maria tying on her apron. "I feel better now."
"That's nice, because you're about to not feel better," Maria sighed. "Look who's here."
Liz hesitated before walking up to the door and peering through the glass. "Just walked in," Maria said sadly as they both gazed at Max. "Why is he at the counter? He's usually in a booth at a safe distance."
"I...don't know," Liz whispered.
"Let me take the counter," Maria suggested. "I know it's your turn, but—"
"No," Liz said. "I can't hide from him, Maria. We both live here, we both go to school here. I can't duck every time he shows up."
"Of course you can't, but it's never fun running into the guy who dumped you, so—"
"He didn't 'dump me'," Liz interrupted.
"Oh, right!" Maria said with false cheerfulness. "I completely forgot it was a mutual decision. And if you believe that, I've got this bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you."
"He's just scared," Liz said. "So am I."
"Fine, but 'scared' does not give him the right to break your heart," Maria argued.
"I think he was afraid he'd break it worse if he...oh, never mind," Liz said, pushing the swinging door open before Maria could protest. This was the perfect opportunity to set things right, and she should do it fast, before she lost her nerve. Marching up to Max, she planted herself in front of him, opened her mouth...and froze. He glanced up from his menu, looking at her expectantly.
"Hi," he said warily.
"Hi," Liz said, grateful that her voice worked even if her nerve didn't. "Can I...get you something?"
"Two Cokes. Please."
"Two?"
"I'm meeting someone."
Liz turned away quickly, before he had one second longer to see the stricken, deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. How did one start a conversation like this? What did one say? Maybe "sorry I verbally slammed you into a wall"? Or, "I didn't mean to be so snotty, but it was great to see you jealous"? She slapped the first glass beneath the Coke nozzle, thumbing desperately through her mental file cabinet for a safe subject with which to begin the conversation, something casual, innocuous, unthreatening...
"My little sister got a Tamagochi. You would not believe how annoying that thing is."
"You think that's annoying? Try a Furby. Good thing it's not real, or I'd be arrested for cruelty to animals. If it even is one."
Liz glanced around. A gaggle of freshman sat further down the counter from Max, obviously tallying their Christmas presents. Of course! That was the classic January question, the quintessential icebreaker at this time of year, and the perfect opening. Grabbing a couple of straws, she set the glasses in front of Max.
"Thanks," Max said.
"You're welcome," Liz smiled. "So...what'd you get for Christmas?"
"A bunch of stuff," Max answered.
Typical guy answer, Liz thought, ignoring the look Maria gave her on her way past with a pot of coffee. "Like what?" she persisted.
"The usual," Max said. "CD's. A couple of sweaters. A new clock radio. Isabel got a new cell phone. Now she'll never shut up," he added dryly.
"She will when the battery runs out," Liz said, delighted that he was so chatty. "I got a bunch of books, and a slide rule—don't look at me like that, they're cool—and clothes, of course. We had to change a few traditions because Grandma wasn't there, but—"
Max's eyes widened, then dropped as Liz cursed silently. Damn it! Why had she brought up Grandma Claudia? "But my favorite present was a professional microscope," she went on brightly, determined to sail past her gaffe. "What was your favorite present?"
Max kept his eyes on his glass. "A videotape."
"Cool!" Liz said with forced enthusiasm. "A movie?"
"No."
"TV show?"
"No."
"Well, then, why was it your favorite? What was on it?"
"Nothing," Max said softly. "Absolutely nothing."
*****************************************************
"Wait...'nothing'?" Liz repeated.
Max tried to make his eyes behave, tried not to stare. How was it that someone could be so beautiful even when they were confused? "Yep. Nothing."
"But....that doesn't make any sense," Liz said.
"I know."
Liz's skepticism deepened, Max making a mental note that she was beautiful even when frowning. "Are you teasing me?" she asked warily.
"Nope."
"So your favorite Christmas present was a blank videotape."
Max smiled faintly. "What can I say? I'm different. But you knew that."
Liz hesitated, appearing to be in throes of a decision...and then suddenly leaned in, lowering her voice, that false chirpiness that he hated mercifully vanishing. "Max, what happened? You know, back before Christmas, right after Michael...I mean, did something go wrong? I heard about the fire, and everyone said it was small, but you were so upset, and..."
She stopped, the look in her eyes making it clear she was afraid she'd gone too far. Max opened his mouth to answer her and stopped, realizing he was about to go too far...again. He lived on a precipice, always in danger of going over the edge because he wanted to. After a lifetime of silence, he'd finally experienced what it meant to have a friend, a confidante, someone who knew him for what he really was, and how comforting, and liberating, and downright joyful that could be. But his joy meant her danger, and he didn't regret stepping back. As much as he wanted to pour out his story and experience the relief which came with that, Liz was safer this way. The more she knew, the greater the risk. He'd been wrong to go to her about the whole fire business, and he was wrong to be dropping hints now, posing questions he shouldn't answer. That was teasing.
The cafe's door dingled, and Michael walked in. Good, Max thought, pulling a stack of quarters from his pocket and setting them on the counter, avoiding her searching gaze.
"Thanks for the Cokes. Bye, Liz."
He left her safe, but disappointed, still puzzled, still afraid she was being mocked. But she wasn't, and not just because he'd never mock her. He'd found the usual pile of presents beneath the tree on Christmas morning, but his favorite had been left in his room, a wrapped videotape with a tag in his mother's handwriting which read, "Just so you know—I erased it.". Not only had she erased the tape herself, but she wanted him to know she'd erased it, and all without uttering another syllable about what had passed between them. It had been the most wonderful feeling in the world to know that she'd been willing to destroy the evidence, and to have her tell him that quietly, privately, with no fanfare, was even better.
"What was that all about?" Michael asked, nodding toward Liz as he pulled his Coke toward him and ripped the paper off the straw.
"Does every single interaction have to be 'about' something?" Max asked, sliding onto the opposite bench.
"When it's Liz? Yes."
"Your confidence is overwhelming," Max sighed as Michael took a noisy sip of his drink. "She was just asking me what I got for Christmas, what my favorite present was."
Michael snorted softly, sending bubbles through his drink. "Christmas. Jesus, it was weeks ago, and everyone's still talking about it."
"At least you know it has something to do with Jesus," Max said dryly. "Very good, Michael."
"I just get sick of hearing about it," Michael said, "along with that Y2K stuff about all the computers blowing up."
"They weren't going to 'blow up', they just weren't going to know what date it was," Max said.
"I heard the world was going to end," Michael said, "but at least this time, it would have been computers doing it, not aliens. Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, Christmas is just one more excuse for Hank to get plastered. Like he needs any."
"I know," Max said. "But it wasn't all that way. You came over for Christmas dinner."
"Because it was at your grandmother's house, and she insisted."
"Yes, at Grandma's, and she insisted. And you came. And ate everything in sight, opened your presents, and had a great time. Or did I misread that?"
Michael muttered something unintelligible and kept his eyes on his Coke as Max watched him closely. He and Isabel had had a bet going as to whether or not Michael would accept Grandma and Grandpa's invitation to Christmas dinner and how long he would stay if he came, and they'd both lost; Max had thought he wouldn't come, and Isabel had thought he wouldn't stay. He'd not only come, he'd stayed the entire afternoon, arriving an hour early much better dressed than usual and with a present for Grandma and Grandpa, a homemade hot cocoa mix he'd found a recipe for in a cookbook at the library. Grandma Dee had made a point of serving it with marshmallows at dinner, and she'd sent him home with gifts of clothing and school supplies, a portable CD player, and enough leftovers to feed an army. "Hide some in the back of the fridge so Hank doesn't eat it all," she'd advised with her typical candor. "Maybe behind the beer, so he won't look any further."
"Is he really that bad?" Philip had asked.
"Put it this way," Grandma had said. "Given how hung over Hank probably is right now, Michael's got plenty of time to hide the food."
"I see," Philip had frowned. "Does Social Services know about this?"
"We shouldn't intrude, honey," Diane had cautioned.
"Please don't," Michael had said curtly. "Thanks for everything, Grandma. Merry Christmas."
His mom had had the grace to look abashed in the face of the steely looks turned on her after Michael's exit, and the subject had been shelved, it being a holiday. But the fact that their grandparents had been willing to make sure Michael had a Christmas had only elevated them in his and Isabel's eyes. Hank's idea of Christmas decorations and presents was a bow on a bottle of beer.
" 'Favorite present'," Michael snorted, veering away from the topic of Christmas dinner. "Typical girl question. So what'd you tell her?"
"If it's a 'girl question', why are you asking it?"
"I'm not. I'm asking what you told her. Different question."
Max paused. "My Mom gave me the tape."
"What tape?"
"The tape. The tape she erased. The tape you were freaking out about just a few weeks ago."
"As if I was the only one 'freaking'. What'd she give you that for?"
"To let me know she erased it."
"Why? Does she want a medal?"
"No. If she wanted that, she would have made a big deal about it, not left it in my room with a cryptic note."
Michael stirred his Coke with his straw. "Oh. Okay."
"That's it? Just 'okay'?"
"What do you want me to do? Send her flowers?"
"I want you to admit you were wrong," Max said. "She did it because she loves me. She did it to make me feel safe."
"See, that's the part that bothers me," Michael said. "Are you actually safe, or do you just 'feel' safe? Because there's a difference."
"I don't believe this," Max muttered.
"Neither do I," Michael said. "I thought we'd been over this. We're never safe. Never. If she really did it because she loves you, then whoop dee do, but frankly, you can't prove that. Now, can we get down to business?"
"We could have gotten down to business earlier," Max said. "You were the one asking all the questions about Christmas."
"My bad. What'd you come up with?"
Max hesitated, knowing Michael wasn't going to like his answer any more than he liked Christmas. "I looked at it a lot," Max began. "Every day, several times a day. I even dreamed about it a couple of times—"
"Cut to the chase, Maxwell. What've you got?"
"Nothing," Max admitted.
"Nothing? Nothing at all?"
"I know they mean something," Max went on. "We all recognize those symbols to some degree, and they were obviously left on the cave wall for a reason, but damned if I know what that reason is. I've stared at them until I'm seeing double, but I still have no idea what they mean."
"But I did," Michael argued. "Tell me again what I said."
"You said it was a map," Max answered. "You knew what the healing stones were for without being told. You knew they went in those holes in the wall. You were coaxing us to remember..."
"And then I forgot," Michael said, finishing the sentence Max hadn't wanted to finish.
"Michael, it's not your fault," Max said gently. "You almost died. You—"
"Who said it was my fault? Did I say it was my fault?"
"Don't be angry—"
"I'm not angry," Michael protested. "I'm not."
"Then why did you just pulverize your straw?"
Michael glanced down. He had indeed squeezed his straw so hard, it was partially broken in two. Wordlessly, Max got up and fetched another straw from the counter, which Michael stabbed into his drink without comment.
"I'm not angry," he said after he'd drained his glass. "And I don't think I did anything wrong. I'm just...disappointed. And frustrated. I had it, Max. All of it. Who we are. Why we're here. What we're supposed to do. It was all so clear, so simple, so obvious...and then it wasn't. Now all I remember is the clarity, the worst thing to be left with because I have no idea what it was that was so clear. I'd give anything to have even one scrap of that back."
"You'll get it back," Max promised. "It's in you; we know that now. There must be a way to access it, so we just have to figure out how. Safely," he added quickly when Michael's eyes widened. "No more near death experiences. I know you don't remember the details, but I do, and you were way too close for comfort."
"But what if it were controlled?" Michael said eagerly. "We know what happens now, so in a controlled environment, it wouldn't be so dangerous. We could all be there, with River Dog and the stones, ready for what we knew was coming. Heck, we could make a weekend of it—"
"Oh, sure," Max deadpanned. "Make a weekend of nearly killing you again in the hopes you'll have another eureka moment. Forget it, Michael. You can't remember anything if you're dead."
"I also can't remember anything if I don't try," Michael complained.
"Then try. Just try safely. Your last attempt wasn't 'safely'. You know that."
"How could I forget?" Michael said bitterly. "Everyone keeps telling me."
"Because we don't want to lose you," Max said. "Look me in the eye and tell me it's a bad thing to have that many people care about you."
Michael glanced up as Maria walked by, her arms laden with plates. "Maybe not 'bad', exactly," he allowed. "But it can definitely be problematic."
"Is that was this is about? About Maria? You could try apologizing to her—"
"Thank you, Dr. Phil," Michael broke in. "I've already explained things to Maria, and all without your help. Imagine that."
"Explained 'things'? What things?"
"That we can't be together. That I'm alone, that I have to be a stone wall."
" 'Stone wall'?" Max said skeptically. "Nice."
"Isn't that what you told Liz?"
"Michael, I stepped back from Liz because I want her to be safe."
Michael slurped the last of his Coke, pushed the glass away. "I know that. Why do you think I told Maria we had to stop? I'm the one who almost died, so I'm the one who knows what could happen better than any of us." He stood up. "Let's go back to your place. It's too depressing here, watching Liz moon over you."
Max glanced toward the counter, where Liz quickly looked away. "All right," he answered, shrugging on his coat, pausing as a customer passed, giving both of them a penetrating stare on the way by.
"Okay, that was...weird."
"What?"
"That guy. The way he looked at us...do you think he was listening?"
Michael glanced at the man in question, now at the register and totally ignoring them. "Now who's the paranoid one? Relax, Maxwell. That guy was sitting at the other end of the diner. There's no way he could have heard a thing."
*****************************************************
Proctor residence
"What about this one?" Diane asked.
"Toss," Dee said.
"And this one?"
"Toss. Anything that looks like it was manufactured in the '50's goes out. But not that," Dee added, reaching for the Christmas ornament currently in Diane's hand. "That's a family heirloom."
"From way before the '50's," Diane remarked.
"Oh, yes," Dee agreed, cradling the somewhat bedraggled glass ball in her hand. "This was from Mama's and Daddy's first set of Christmas ornaments, the ones they bought the year they were married. I always loved the nativity scene on it, even if the star was scratched by a nasty tree needle."
"What year were they married?"
"Oh, gracious," Dee said, sinking onto the couch. " '36? '37? Mid-thirties, anyway. I used to know this stuff," she added, shaking her head. "Now I have so many dates in my head, I can't keep them straight."
"You should write it down," Diane suggested. "Not just for Philip and me, but for the kids too. They should know their heritage."
Yes, they should, Dee agreed silently, that being a topic of some debate these days with the Warder of the kids in question. "Maybe I will," she said lightly, "before I forget it all. This might be a good time, what with going through all these decorations. They badly needed weeding out, and seeing them may jog a bunch of memories I forgot I had. I appreciate your help, by the way. This is the best time to do it, before they're packed away for another year. But I could use a break. Cocoa?"
The smile Diane had been wearing slid off her face. "That wouldn't be the cocoa Michael brought you, would it?"
In the kitchen now and out of sight, Dee allowed herself an eye roll. "Yes, it would be Michael's cocoa. Why?"
"Well...given his circumstances, you just never known where it's been."
"Where it's 'been'?" Dee repeated. "It's 'been' in my kitchen. It's 'been' in my stomach. Dad and I have consumed at least half of it with no ill effects. And it's delicious, I might add. Michael said there's pudding in this mix, which might be how he managed to cover up the taste of instant milk, which I happen to loathe."
"Okay," Diane said quickly. "I just meant...I don't know what I meant," she amended. "Forget it. I'd love a cup. Thank you."
I know what you meant, Dee thought darkly, setting the kettle on a burner. As if it wasn't bad enough that Diane ostracized Michael, she was also refusing his food. And even though Diane had earned a special place in her heart in doing right by Max during the fire and videotape episode, it was a safe bet that her reaction would have been very different if the subject in question had been Michael.
Music played in the other room. A moment later, Diane was in the kitchen doorway holding Dee's cell phone. "What ringer are you using?" she asked.
"A Beethoven sonata," Dee answered. "Who is it?"
"It's a weird number," Diane said doubtfully. "Some area code I don't recognize."
Because it doesn't exist, Dee thought, taking the phone and thanking Diane, who retreated to the living room. Brivari's private "number" was really a non-existent phone number which no one could call unless they knew how.
"Are you still fretting?" Dee said into the phone after she'd closed the kitchen door.
"Of course I'm fretting," Brivari's voice said. "I'm at the airport. Everything still clear?"
"Go," Dee said firmly. "It's been quiet for weeks now. Four weeks, to be exact."
"Which is exactly why I'm worried. It's past time for them to do something stupid again."
"They had quite a scare last month," Dee observed. "Several scares, in fact, so it's no surprise they'd be craving some peace and quiet. Enjoy it while it lasts."
"It's the 'while it lasts' part which bothers me," Brivari said. "Maybe I should stay."
"You should go," Dee said firmly. "We'll be fine. Mama will miss you, if she remembers your visits, that is, and Daddy certainly will, but it's only a few days. We'll live."
"You'll call me if anything happens? Anything at all, no matter how trivial?"
"Anything?" Dee said dryly. "Even nosebleeds? A bad haircut? Teen angst?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Where did you say you were going again?"
There was a pause before Brivari answered. "I didn't. Call me if you need me."
The line went dead. Dee shook her head and tossed the phone on the counter before filling the cups with cocoa. Brivari had never left town for anywhere but Los Angeles since the shooting, so the fact that he wouldn't say where he was going implied he wasn't going there. But whatever; if anyone needed a vacation, it was him. She didn't care if he was going to Cancun just as long as he was going away. Absence made the heart grow fonder, and he could use a little fondness toward his hybrids at the moment, not to mention a dash of perspective. Besides, it was Tuesday, and he was due back on Friday.
What could possibly happen before then?
*****************************************************
January 19, 2000, 7:00 p.m.
Frazier Woods
"Ouch!" Emma squealed as the steering wheel gouged her left ribcage. "Johnny, can't we get in the back?"
"But it's cold out there," Johnny protested.
An impish smile crossed Emma's face. "Only for a minute. If that." She leaned in closer when he hesitated, her mouth close to his ear. "If we get in the back," she whispered enticingly, "I'll let you...you know."
That did it. Johnny 's eyes widened, and he practically vaulted out the door. Emma took her time, pulling her coat closer around her as she climbed out into the black night, her breath making little puffs in front of her. She hated making out in cars, but as that was the only way to get any privacy, the truck it was. It was bloody cold out here, but they were alone, having pulled far off the road to avoid detection, and the truck bed was far more forgiving than the typical vehicle seat. The stars were bright in the sky as she climbed into the back, Johnny already partially stripped. So much for being cold.
"Let's warm up," she smiled.
A minute later, still plenty cold, they both gasped and craned their heads upwards as a white hot light seared the sky.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Chapter 51
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
January 19, 2000, 7 p.m.
Mescalero Indian Reservation
"Excuse me, Miss, could I see that necklace?"
Eddie smiled as Jackie spun around and scowled. "That's not funny," she said crossly. "It's the slow season, and you got me all excited."
"I thought Christmas and Valentine's Day were good seasons," Eddie said.
"Christmas is over, and there isn't a guy out there who thinks of Valentine's Day in January or even the first week of February," Jackie said. "We're in between, so it's slow. And here I thought I had a customer."
"What makes you think I'm not a customer?"
Jackie raised an eyebrow. "And why would you be interested in a necklace?"
"Well, maybe I'm one of those rare guys who plans for Valentine's Day a bit on the early side," Eddie said.
Jackie looked taken aback. "Oh. Oh, I...I thought...never mind. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I was kidding. Partially kidding," Eddie amended quickly when her eyes flashed. "I don't need a necklace, but I do plan ahead. So I was wondering if you'd like to do...something...together sometime. Like, I don't know, maybe get a bite to eat, or...something like that?"
Jackie blinked. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
"Well, not necessarily...but it could be," Eddie babbled, beginning to lose his nerve. "If you want it to be. Do you want it to be? A date, that is."
"I...well..." Jackie stammered, surprised to find the ball back in her court. "Wait...this isn't a pity date, it is? Like payment for hiding all that stuff with the sick kid, and the weird visitor, and those stones, and...you know?"
"Yes, I know, and no, it's not a pity date. I'd really like to spend some time with you that doesn't involve hiding and lying."
Jackie blinked again, rapidly this time, before a slow smile spread across her face. "Good point," she allowed. "Most people go to dances, or go driving, or go out to eat. Hiding and lying isn't on the list."
"We really have to stop meeting like that," Eddie agreed.
An awkward silence followed. Eddie searched frantically for something to say, but he'd already given his speech. She'd hadn't said yes, but she also hadn't said no, so there was still the potential for a turn down and for him to screw up. Not a pleasant thought.
"You never told me what happened," Jackie said finally. "With the sick kid, I mean."
"No," Eddie agreed. "I didn't."
"Mmm," Jackie murmured. "Probably better that way. But at least tell me if he made it."
"He made it."
"Did...anything else happen?"
Eddie was quiet for a moment. "Yeah."
"Good or bad?"
"River Dog seems to think it was good."
"Good," Jackie nodded. "That's good."
"You do realize that just a few weeks ago, you were telling me he was crazy."
Jackie flushed. "Yeah, well...not any more. Because if he's crazy, then I'm crazy, and I'd like to think I'm not crazy." She paused. "By the way...yes."
" 'Yes' what? 'Yes', you're crazy?"
"No!" Jackie said, giving him a playful swat. " 'Yes', I'll go out with you."
"Cool," Eddie said, attempting nonchalance and not really pulling it off. "So what are we calling this? Is it a date, or two friends going out?"
"As long as we ditch the hiding and lying...it's a date," Jackie smiled.
Yes! Eddie was just about to celebrate when a bright light suddenly flashed outside the cart. He and Jackie looked at each other in alarm before hurrying outside, where a column of light rose over the woods south of the reservation, searing the sky with a circle so bright, he had to shield his eyes to look at it. It was a white light, not yellow, in the center of which a line formed, then another...
Eddie started running. Behind him, Jackie followed, urging him to slow down, to explain. He did neither, his feet pounding on the ground as he raced through the village. The light had disappeared by the time he reached his house, and River Dog was already outside, staring at the sky over the woods.
"Did you see it?" Eddie demanded as he screeched to a halt beside his grandfather. "Did you?"
"Yes," River Dog nodded.
"But did you see the swirls? Like the one on the wall, like—"
"I saw it," River Dog answered.
"Eddie!" called a voice behind them.
Bent over with his hands on his knees, Eddie looked up in surprise. He thought he'd lost Jackie a ways back, and maybe he had. But that hadn't stopped her, and now she plodded up beside him, panting along with him.
"What...was that?" Jackie panted. "Why did you...take off like that?"
"Because he knows it was real," River Dog said.
Jackie's eyes widened in alarm. " 'Real'? What does that mean, 'real'? How was that 'real'?"
"But why?" Eddie asked River Dog, who didn't answer Jackie's question. "I thought he wanted everything kept quiet. Why like this?"
River dog shook his head. "I don't know. Were there many down by the carts?"
"No," Jackie told him, "no one. It's after Christmas. Business is slow."
"Perhaps that's for the best," River Dog said.
"I saw it," a gravelly voice said behind them.
All three of them turned. Jackie's grandmother was standing a ways off, leaning on her cane, her face a thundercloud as she stared at the sky. "I saw it," she repeated, shuffling toward them, her steps slow and painful. "The others don't know. They weren't here then. They don't know to watch the sky."
"Grandmother," Jackie said, "you shouldn't be outside all alone. Let me walk you back—"
"Why are you here?" Jackie's grandmother snapped, briefly supporting herself as she raised her cane and stabbed it in her granddaughter's direction. "This is dangerous."
"Okay, then let's leave," Jackie said calmly. "Give me your hand—"
"It's happening again," her grandmother went on, ignoring her. "Just like the last time. He knows," she added, with a dark nod toward River Dog. "He knows what this means. He knows what will happen."
"Not this time, Sonsee," River Dog said. "This time is different."
Jackie's grandmother made a sound of abject disgust. "No different," she said bitterly. "No different."
"And what exactly would you change?" River Dog said. "He saved my life. He saved my father's life."
"So you said," the grandmother answered. "But none saw it but you."
"That does not mean it didn't happen," River Dog said. "What cause do you have to think me a liar?"
Eddie, whose head had been swinging back and forth from one grandparent to the other, now fixed his eyes on Jackie's grandmother, who looked away. "Come, Jacali," she commanded imperiously. "This is no place for you."
Jackie shot him an apologetic look before taking her grandmother's arm and steering her toward their house, turning around twice to look at him before they were out of sight. "Guess she wasn't willing to call you a liar to your face," Eddie said. "I thought her name was Anna?"
"When she was a child, she was 'Sonsee-array'," River Dog said. "Do you know what that means?"
"Uh...no," Eddie admitted. Most of his friends had Anglo names now. Even his parents' generation tended to use Anglo names; if his parents had Apache names, he didn't know what they were and likely wouldn't know what they meant. "So what does it mean?"
"It means 'morning star takes away clouds'," River Dog said. "She's a sky watcher, that one."
"Was she really here when everything happened before?"
"Oh, yes," River Dog said. "She was a child, just as I was. Our village took sides, some for Nasedo, some against. Her family was against."
"Really?" Eddie muttered. "I never would've guessed." He paused. "Are you sure of what you just told her, that this is different? Have you seen him?"
"Not since last time," River Dog said.
"Then...how do you know it's different?"
River Dog shrugged. "I guess I don't."
Eddie stared off toward the woods where the column of light had appeared. "So what do we do?"
River Dog shook his head. "I don't know."
*****************************************************
UFO Center, Roswell
"Bye bye, then," Milton said, holding the door open for the last of the UFO Center's visitors. "We'll be open tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. sharp. Remember, any tickets purchased after 5 p.m. are good for admission tomorrow until 2 p.m."
"Thank you so much!" enthused a mother with three small children. "We had so much fun! Sorry Timmy knocked over the ray gun. You know how children are."
Especially when you let them run amok, Milton thought. "Of course," he said out loud, dredging up a smile. "Glad you had a good time."
"Yeah, so did we," grinned a twenty-something guy with a group of friends. "That alien babe had boobs the size of Venus."
Milton raised an eyebrow. "You mean the alien corpse? As in the representation of the dead body of an alien visitor who was killed by the U.S. government?"
"Yeah, whatever," twenty-something answered as the mother huffed in disapproval and covered at least one set of child-sized ears. "Venus boobs. Too cool. Hey, you got an inflatable of that one?"
"Sorry, but no," Milton said. "Have a good evening, everyone."
The crowd filed out, and Milton's smile evaporated just as soon as the last pair of feet had crossed the threshold. A minute later the door was closed and safely locked, his precious museum safe from marauding children and oversexed adolescents. For Milton, the pursuit of alien life wasn't just a pastime, or a hobby, or even a passion; it was his life's work, his reason for being, the thing which made getting up every morning worthwhile and exciting. But try telling that to the uneducated masses who poured in daily, ripping up exhibits and salivating over anatomically correct dolls. Besides the unattended young children and horny young men, he also had to contend with amateur UFO nuts who showed up bearing "spaceship pieces" bought on eBay, middle-aged men toting toy ray guns from the Buck Rogers era, and his personal nemesis, the skeptics who wanted to argue with him and everyone else they met. Hard as it was to accept, the vast majority of his visitors didn't believe aliens were real, had never believed aliens were real, would never believe aliens were real. They came to stare, to laugh, to doubt, to argue, to harass, to grab a snack, to use the bathroom, to do just about anything but learn about the remarkable visitors to this planet. True believers were so rare that it was a wonder he hadn't closed up shop long ago.
Can't, Milton thought glumly, pocketing his keys. The one and maybe only good thing about those uneducated masses is that they spent money here, so much money that he'd been able to upgrade several exhibits, add a snack bar, and set up a DIY photo booth where you could have your picture taken with an "alien". That last was so kitschy it almost made him gag, but suppressing that gag reflex had become much easier the first time he'd emptied the booth's till; $253.00 in quarters was one hell of a lot of quarters, and adding a few more "aliens" to the photo choices had necessitated emptying that till at least twice a day. It took a lot of coin wrappers, but every penny people spent here funded the real work of this place, which took place in the back room and the archives and represented the only reason he was willing to put up with the unwashed public. Under the circumstances, he really had no business expecting anything different; this was Roswell, after all, home of the kitschy alien whatever. For the preeminent alien tourist destination, Roswell had a surprising lack of true believers; one need only look at that awful diner across the street to see how most of Roswell viewed his life's work. He'd been briefly encouraged when Sheriff Valenti had asked about James Atherton, but he'd returned Atherton's book without comment or any discernible interest. The only remaining candidate for true believer status was his lone employee, Max Evans, who was so restrained about the whole subject, it was hard to tell if he was actually interested. No, he was alone here, a voice crying out in the wilderness of the world's alien Mecca. It was an odd dichotomy.
Thoroughly grumpy now, Milton spent the next half hour tidying the museum, everything from picking up gum wrappers to vacuuming carpets to cleaning the bathrooms to righting the Lost In Space exhibit left in disarray by the rambunctious Timmy. He finally finished and was on his way to the back when he passed the crash site exhibit...and groaned. The female alien which twenty-something had lusted after had obviously been groped, pulled from her space capsule and left in a suggestive pose with her dead shipmate. Honestly, what got into people these days? Didn't they know that ropes in front of exhibits meant "do not touch"? Didn't they know that huge signs screaming "DO NOT TOUCH!" meant "do not touch"? Didn't they speak English any more? Apparently not, and it took another ten minutes to reposition his corpses. And such good corpses they were, allegedly from a resident of nearby Corona, the wife of a grocery store owner named Chambers, made for the very first Crash Festival way back in the forties and so realistic they usually drew gasps from visitors. Maybe too realistic, Milton thought as he repositioned the dolls. Although if it brought in the money, who cared? Money was what he needed most of all now, especially with his big plans for the UFO convention in just a few weeks. None other than Number One himself, Commander William Riker, a.k.a. Jonathan Frakes, had agreed to host, and his fee was a bundle. Frakes would provide the name recognition which would bring in the hordes who would spend handsomely and provide the funds for the real work of the convention, the panelists and speakers who truly believed and who fortunately commanded less handsome prices than a TV actor. There was no better way to induce people to spend than to provide lots and lots of ways to spend, and Milton had concocted some real doozies. Living in the land of alien kitsch made it easy, in a disturbing and unfortunate way, to come up with more alien kitsch, but as long as that kitsch produced the desired result, the real scientists could get down to business while the public enjoyed "Alien Takedown". Hell, maybe it was time to reconsider some of the more "out there" ideas from the suggestion box, like putting a French maid outfit on the female alien corpse.
Chuckling now, Milton went into the back and closed the doors behind him with a contented sigh. Ah. Out there was for the tourists; this was the real museum. Shrugging off his jacket, he popped a Hot Pocket in the microwave and sank gratefully into the chair in front of his computer before bouncing up again after realizing he'd forgotten the crisping sleeve. Hot Pockets only barely qualified as food, but the crisping sleeve made the resemblance much more pronounced. Five blissful minutes of surfing later, the microwave dinged, the fragrant aroma of a pepperoni Hot Pocket filled the room, and he headed to his computer, flipping on the police scanner on the way back almost as an afterthought.
"...both motorists said...almost ran off...road...light...so bright."
"Roger that...injuries?"
"Negative. Everyone...shaken...report...light."
Milton's Hot Pocket paused halfway to his mouth. What was this? It sounded like a sighting, but that was highly unlikely. One of the consistent ironies of Roswell was that, for some reason, the aliens appeared to have abandoned it; there had been no genuine sightings for decades in what had once been a hotbed of alien activity. His stomach was grumbling, but the scanner was crackling more than usual, sounding much like a scratchy record player or a radio not quite in tune. Reluctantly, he set his dinner down and pressed his ear to the scanner. This shouldn't take long.
It didn't, but what he heard had him vaulting out of his chair, scrambling for his coat, his keys, a paper towel for his Hot Pocket. He'd raced outside and thrown everything in the car when his eyes fastened on the garish sign across the street. If this was what he thought it was, it would be so much better with company...
"Where's Max Evans?" he demanded before the diner's door had closed behind him.
Startled faces met his, patrons, waitresses, even the owner. "I thought he worked for you, dude," one of the waitresses said, shying away from him.
Milton's eyes scanned his remaining audience, fastening on another waitress. "You. You're Max's girlfriend, right?"
"She is?" the owner said.
"No," the waitress protested, "no, not really."
"I have to find him," Milton insisted.
"Why?" the not-girlfriend asked. "What's going on?"
"Just everything we've been waiting our entire lives for," Milton said reverently. "There's been a sighting."
The silence which greeted this announcement was so profound, one could have heard a pin drop. What followed was not so profound; a nervous blend of shuffling, throat-clearing, and stifled chuckling, accompanied by an almost unanimous agreement to ignore him and punctuated by furtive glances to cover the possibility that he might, at any moment, become dangerously unstable. Milton's heart sank as one head after another turned away, no one displaying the slightest interest in his momentous news. The waitresses took order in hushed tones, and customers asked for extra ketchup in whispers as though afraid noise might send him round the bend. Even the owner was leafing through papers while keeping an eye on him. It wasn't worth dignifying these people with information, so Milton returned to his car. What had he been thinking? He'd been looking for Evans, of course, but he should have gone about it differently. What if there had been a UFO nut in that diner? What if there had been several? That was just the kind of ridiculous place those types congregated, so instead of lamenting the lack of true believers, he should be grateful he hadn't encountered any fake ones. Starting the engine, he took off at a good clip, confident that most sheriff's deputies were engaged elsewhere. The first few hours after a sighting were the most crucial. It wouldn't pay to be tardy.
Twenty minutes later, Milton slowed to a crawl and pulled off the side of the road. Up ahead were the flashing lights of cruisers and a knot of people; he needed to get close, but carefully. The crucial job of debriefing witnesses should not be left to amateurs, but almost always was; law enforcement had no idea what to look for and was frequently disdainful of the whole subject anyway. It was imperative that he speak with the witnesses and further imperative that no one in uniform see him do that; this called for preventive measures, for which he was fortunately prepared. Those who dwelled in snowy climates were advised to keep emergency supplies in their cars like blankets, food, water, first aid kits and such like. Milton had a "sighting kit", and he pulled it out now, excited to be using it for the first time in over a year and the first time ever in Roswell. There was a selection of clothing, some which matched summer greens, autumn browns, or winter whites, but most of which was dark, as most sightings occurred at night, along with coverings in similar hues to hide his car. There were cameras, notebooks, and flashlights, energy bars, bottled water, and other foodstuffs. There were hammers, screwdrivers, and measuring tapes, shovels, trowels, sifting baskets, and containers for alien artifacts. There was something for just about every conceivable situation because he was a professional, and he picked through it now, eyeing the area up ahead, choosing what he needed most. All suited up, he headed for the people up ahead, withdrawing further into the shadows as another cruiser went by.
*****************************************************
Valenti felt his stomach clench as he climbed out of his car beside Frazier Woods. His deputies were up ahead, their bowed heads indicating the rapt attention they were giving the group of people they surrounded, pencils scribbling furiously. Whatever had possessed Hanson to drag him out here, it had better be good. God knows Roswell had hundreds of so-called "sightings" every year, something which hardly required his personal oversight and which he barely noticed as long as it only involved filing reports and the MUFON types behaved themselves. The only time he paid them any mind at all was when it escalated to trespassing or disturbing the peace; direct involvement meant theft or the occasional battery. Judging by the lack of yelling and screaming going on, there was nothing serious here, so he fully intended to read Hanson the riot act for disturbing his evening and sending his stomach into knots. He wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight.
"Sir," Hanson said, puffing up to him, his breath coming in little cloud bursts. "Thanks for coming. I—"
"Why am I here, Hanson?" Valenti broke in. "Can't you boys manage a few reports without me holding your hand?"
Hanson blinked. "I...sir, you know I wouldn't haven't bothered you unless I felt it was important."
" 'Important'?" Valenti echoed. "So what's the charge? Trespassing? Disturbing the peace?"
"No, but—"
"Theft? Battery?"
"No, but—"
"Anyone hurt? I don't see any ambulances."
"No, no one's hurt, but—"
"Has a crime been committed, deputy? Any laws broken at all?"
"No, sir, but—"
"Then what am I doing here?" Valenti demanded. "We're law enforcement. If there aren't any laws to enforce, what are any of us doing here?"
"Our job, sir," Hanson answered in frustration. "These people are scared, scared enough that they called the station. Protecting the people of this town and keeping the peace are absolutely our jobs, or at least I thought they were."
Valenti closed his eyes briefly. Had he really just been verbally back-handed by his deputy? The fact that he had it coming certainly didn't make it any better. "Okay, what've you got?" he asked gruffly.
"Sir, if you'd like to go back to the station, that's fine with me," Hanson said. "It's always a judgment call as to when to bring you in, and maybe I called this one wrong. I'll just—"
"No, no," Valenti interrupted. "I'm here. Show me what you've got."
Hanson cocked his head at him. "You okay, sir?"
"Sure I am. Let's go."
No, Valenti amended silently as they trudged toward the group at the edge of the woods. The truth was, he hated this place. This was the place which had swallowed his father so many nights and weekends, where he'd wandered for hours or camped out for days looking for evidence of aliens mainly because of the body with the silver handprint he'd found here, that body it had taken his son to identify. How many times had he joined his mother in their car when she drove to the edge of these woods and called into the trees, sometimes desperately, sometimes furiously? Too many to count, and the memory of those cold nights spent braced against the wind as his mother searched frantically for a man who never appeared was seared into his brain. His father never stopped those excursions, although his mother eventually stopped looking. It was nearly impossible to avoid driving past these woods, and to this day, his stomach clutched and his speed increased whenever he did so. To be standing out here again on a cold winter evening was sheer hell.
"So, you gonna clue me in, Hanson?" Valenti said as they trudged toward the woods.
"These people saw something, sir," Hanson replied. "Not your run-of-the-mill something," he added quickly when Valenti gave a soft snort. "This one's different. That's why I called you."
"Let me guess—little people with long fingers and bulbous heads? Were they green or gray? That argument never did go away."
"Not an alien sighting, sir," Hanson said in a wounded tone. "I'm not that stupid."
"Spaceship? Vapor trail?
"No, it—"
"Electronics died? Cars quit?"
"No, sir, but—"
"Abduction? Probes? Maybe—"
"Sir, it was a light," Hanson broke in. "A huge shaft of light."
"Ah, the light," Valenti nodded knowingly. "The one right over you or your house, or I guess it would be a campsite this time—"
"No, sir, it was a shaft of light in the distance. They said it made a big circle in the sky, like a searchlight beam, and...look, why don't I let them speak for themselves."
Right, Valenti thought darkly as he came abreast of the group, noting the wide disparity of the people giving statements. Two young children huddled against their concerned parents, wrapped in blankets against the chill. A rustic-looking sort sat on his backpack, probably a hiker. An Indian man hovered warily on the fringes of the group, along with a young man in a parka and a middle-aged woman in a thin dress coat, her spiky heels sinking into the mud. A couple of teenagers, a boy and a girl, clutched each other to one side.
"Sheriff!" the middle-aged woman said gratefully. "I'm so glad to see you. It's freezing out here. Can I go now?"
"What's the matter with you?" Valenti admonished the parka-wearing male. "Give the lady your coat."
Parka guy looked briefly startled, then complied, the woman wrinkling her nose as the coat engulfed her. "We're almost finished collecting statements, sir," Deputy Blackwood said, "but we have the basic details from everyone, and they all match."
"They what?"
"They match, sir," Blackwood repeated. "All the major details are exactly the same."
Odd, Valenti thought. One of the hallmarks of sightings was that everyone saw something different, kind of like cloud pictures. "Okay, so what are the major details?" he asked.
The effect of that question was electric. Everyone started talking at once, even the freezing-can-I-go-now woman, even the two children. The urgency in their voices was palpable, making it clear that, whatever had happened, it had had a profound effect on each and every one of them.
"Pipe down," Valenti ordered. "I can't hear anything with everyone talking at once. One at a time. You," he said, pointing to the now parka-less man. "What did you see?"
"I was driving along, and then all of a sudden, there was this huge shaft of light over there," the man answered, pointing, as heads nodded all around him. "It was like this big round column, and it made a circle in the sky—"
"More of an oval, actually," Freezing Woman corrected from the depths of his parka.
"Okay, maybe more ovalish," Parka-less allowed. "It just beamed into the sky all of a sudden, like someone had flipped a switch, and it stayed there for quite a while, several seconds anyway."
"Thirty seconds at least," the father said.
"Maybe even forty," the backpacker added.
"But not a full minute," Freezing Woman added. "Not that long."
"No, not that long," Parka-less agreed.
Valenti looked from one witness to the other, then at his deputies. This was downright bizarre. Multiple witnesses to a "sighting" were common, but they never agreed on much of anything. The arguments could get so heated that it sometimes came to blows. To have so many in such complete agreement was virtually unheard of.
"You," Valenti said, pointing to the teenaged boy, who stiffened. "What did you see?"
"What they did," the boy answered.
Valenti's eyes swept the couple, noting guarded expressions and disheveled clothing. "And what were you two doing out here this fine evening?"
"Studying," the girl said quickly.
"In the forest? At night?"
"Biology," the girl said. "Best place to do that."
I'll say, Valenti thought dryly. "How old are you, son? Are you old enough to be driving at night?"
"I'm eighteen," the boy answered defensively.
Valenti looked at Owen Blackwood, who nodded. "License and registration check out, sir."
"And you," Valenti said to the girl, who's eyes widened. "How old are you?"
"What's that got to do with anything?" demanded the mother. "I'm not going to keep my kids standing here in the cold while you check everyone's birthday."
"Sir, we've just about finished here," Hanson said. "We only need about five minutes to tie up the last loose ends."
"Go ahead," Valenti said, moving off to one side as Owen Blackwood motioned to him. "What's up, Owen?"
"Sir, I know how many of these calls we get, so please keep that in mind when I say this," Owen said in a low voice, "but something's strange here. I'm sure you noticed how all the stories matched."
"Yeah, I noticed," Valenti said.
"They match something else," Owen went on. "They match stories I heard when I was a kid growing up on the reservation."
"What stories?" Valenti said sharply.
"These woods are considered haunted," Owen confided in a whisper. "And people saw things in the sky, things very similar to what's being reported tonight. I'm just saying this might deserve more of our attention than it appears at first glance."
"Got it," Valenti said. "Go finish up. And I want to see that...wait. Where's the boy?"
*****************************************************
"Inside," John ordered as he and Emma approached the truck. "We've gotta get out of here."
"But why?" Emma said. "We didn't do anything wrong. We didn't even get caught—"
"Oh, but you did," another voice said.
John stopped short. A man was leaning against the driver's side of his truck, an impossible man in the most outlandish get-up he'd ever seen. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
"That's not important," the man said. "I know what your problem is, son. You may be 18, but she's not. Am I right?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Emma said nervously, pressing closer to John.
"Plenty," the man answered. "Now," he continued as John's eyes narrowed, "I know these woods well. I can get you out of here fast enough that the sheriff won't be able to catch up."
"For what?" John demanded. "I don't have any money—"
"I don't want money," the stranger said. "I want to know what you saw tonight, every single thing you told those deputies and more. And in exchange, no one will come knocking on her parents' door."
He leaned in closer. "Do we have a deal?"
January 19, 2000, 7 p.m.
Mescalero Indian Reservation
"Excuse me, Miss, could I see that necklace?"
Eddie smiled as Jackie spun around and scowled. "That's not funny," she said crossly. "It's the slow season, and you got me all excited."
"I thought Christmas and Valentine's Day were good seasons," Eddie said.
"Christmas is over, and there isn't a guy out there who thinks of Valentine's Day in January or even the first week of February," Jackie said. "We're in between, so it's slow. And here I thought I had a customer."
"What makes you think I'm not a customer?"
Jackie raised an eyebrow. "And why would you be interested in a necklace?"
"Well, maybe I'm one of those rare guys who plans for Valentine's Day a bit on the early side," Eddie said.
Jackie looked taken aback. "Oh. Oh, I...I thought...never mind. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I was kidding. Partially kidding," Eddie amended quickly when her eyes flashed. "I don't need a necklace, but I do plan ahead. So I was wondering if you'd like to do...something...together sometime. Like, I don't know, maybe get a bite to eat, or...something like that?"
Jackie blinked. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
"Well, not necessarily...but it could be," Eddie babbled, beginning to lose his nerve. "If you want it to be. Do you want it to be? A date, that is."
"I...well..." Jackie stammered, surprised to find the ball back in her court. "Wait...this isn't a pity date, it is? Like payment for hiding all that stuff with the sick kid, and the weird visitor, and those stones, and...you know?"
"Yes, I know, and no, it's not a pity date. I'd really like to spend some time with you that doesn't involve hiding and lying."
Jackie blinked again, rapidly this time, before a slow smile spread across her face. "Good point," she allowed. "Most people go to dances, or go driving, or go out to eat. Hiding and lying isn't on the list."
"We really have to stop meeting like that," Eddie agreed.
An awkward silence followed. Eddie searched frantically for something to say, but he'd already given his speech. She'd hadn't said yes, but she also hadn't said no, so there was still the potential for a turn down and for him to screw up. Not a pleasant thought.
"You never told me what happened," Jackie said finally. "With the sick kid, I mean."
"No," Eddie agreed. "I didn't."
"Mmm," Jackie murmured. "Probably better that way. But at least tell me if he made it."
"He made it."
"Did...anything else happen?"
Eddie was quiet for a moment. "Yeah."
"Good or bad?"
"River Dog seems to think it was good."
"Good," Jackie nodded. "That's good."
"You do realize that just a few weeks ago, you were telling me he was crazy."
Jackie flushed. "Yeah, well...not any more. Because if he's crazy, then I'm crazy, and I'd like to think I'm not crazy." She paused. "By the way...yes."
" 'Yes' what? 'Yes', you're crazy?"
"No!" Jackie said, giving him a playful swat. " 'Yes', I'll go out with you."
"Cool," Eddie said, attempting nonchalance and not really pulling it off. "So what are we calling this? Is it a date, or two friends going out?"
"As long as we ditch the hiding and lying...it's a date," Jackie smiled.
Yes! Eddie was just about to celebrate when a bright light suddenly flashed outside the cart. He and Jackie looked at each other in alarm before hurrying outside, where a column of light rose over the woods south of the reservation, searing the sky with a circle so bright, he had to shield his eyes to look at it. It was a white light, not yellow, in the center of which a line formed, then another...
Eddie started running. Behind him, Jackie followed, urging him to slow down, to explain. He did neither, his feet pounding on the ground as he raced through the village. The light had disappeared by the time he reached his house, and River Dog was already outside, staring at the sky over the woods.
"Did you see it?" Eddie demanded as he screeched to a halt beside his grandfather. "Did you?"
"Yes," River Dog nodded.
"But did you see the swirls? Like the one on the wall, like—"
"I saw it," River Dog answered.
"Eddie!" called a voice behind them.
Bent over with his hands on his knees, Eddie looked up in surprise. He thought he'd lost Jackie a ways back, and maybe he had. But that hadn't stopped her, and now she plodded up beside him, panting along with him.
"What...was that?" Jackie panted. "Why did you...take off like that?"
"Because he knows it was real," River Dog said.
Jackie's eyes widened in alarm. " 'Real'? What does that mean, 'real'? How was that 'real'?"
"But why?" Eddie asked River Dog, who didn't answer Jackie's question. "I thought he wanted everything kept quiet. Why like this?"
River dog shook his head. "I don't know. Were there many down by the carts?"
"No," Jackie told him, "no one. It's after Christmas. Business is slow."
"Perhaps that's for the best," River Dog said.
"I saw it," a gravelly voice said behind them.
All three of them turned. Jackie's grandmother was standing a ways off, leaning on her cane, her face a thundercloud as she stared at the sky. "I saw it," she repeated, shuffling toward them, her steps slow and painful. "The others don't know. They weren't here then. They don't know to watch the sky."
"Grandmother," Jackie said, "you shouldn't be outside all alone. Let me walk you back—"
"Why are you here?" Jackie's grandmother snapped, briefly supporting herself as she raised her cane and stabbed it in her granddaughter's direction. "This is dangerous."
"Okay, then let's leave," Jackie said calmly. "Give me your hand—"
"It's happening again," her grandmother went on, ignoring her. "Just like the last time. He knows," she added, with a dark nod toward River Dog. "He knows what this means. He knows what will happen."
"Not this time, Sonsee," River Dog said. "This time is different."
Jackie's grandmother made a sound of abject disgust. "No different," she said bitterly. "No different."
"And what exactly would you change?" River Dog said. "He saved my life. He saved my father's life."
"So you said," the grandmother answered. "But none saw it but you."
"That does not mean it didn't happen," River Dog said. "What cause do you have to think me a liar?"
Eddie, whose head had been swinging back and forth from one grandparent to the other, now fixed his eyes on Jackie's grandmother, who looked away. "Come, Jacali," she commanded imperiously. "This is no place for you."
Jackie shot him an apologetic look before taking her grandmother's arm and steering her toward their house, turning around twice to look at him before they were out of sight. "Guess she wasn't willing to call you a liar to your face," Eddie said. "I thought her name was Anna?"
"When she was a child, she was 'Sonsee-array'," River Dog said. "Do you know what that means?"
"Uh...no," Eddie admitted. Most of his friends had Anglo names now. Even his parents' generation tended to use Anglo names; if his parents had Apache names, he didn't know what they were and likely wouldn't know what they meant. "So what does it mean?"
"It means 'morning star takes away clouds'," River Dog said. "She's a sky watcher, that one."
"Was she really here when everything happened before?"
"Oh, yes," River Dog said. "She was a child, just as I was. Our village took sides, some for Nasedo, some against. Her family was against."
"Really?" Eddie muttered. "I never would've guessed." He paused. "Are you sure of what you just told her, that this is different? Have you seen him?"
"Not since last time," River Dog said.
"Then...how do you know it's different?"
River Dog shrugged. "I guess I don't."
Eddie stared off toward the woods where the column of light had appeared. "So what do we do?"
River Dog shook his head. "I don't know."
*****************************************************
UFO Center, Roswell
"Bye bye, then," Milton said, holding the door open for the last of the UFO Center's visitors. "We'll be open tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. sharp. Remember, any tickets purchased after 5 p.m. are good for admission tomorrow until 2 p.m."
"Thank you so much!" enthused a mother with three small children. "We had so much fun! Sorry Timmy knocked over the ray gun. You know how children are."
Especially when you let them run amok, Milton thought. "Of course," he said out loud, dredging up a smile. "Glad you had a good time."
"Yeah, so did we," grinned a twenty-something guy with a group of friends. "That alien babe had boobs the size of Venus."
Milton raised an eyebrow. "You mean the alien corpse? As in the representation of the dead body of an alien visitor who was killed by the U.S. government?"
"Yeah, whatever," twenty-something answered as the mother huffed in disapproval and covered at least one set of child-sized ears. "Venus boobs. Too cool. Hey, you got an inflatable of that one?"
"Sorry, but no," Milton said. "Have a good evening, everyone."
The crowd filed out, and Milton's smile evaporated just as soon as the last pair of feet had crossed the threshold. A minute later the door was closed and safely locked, his precious museum safe from marauding children and oversexed adolescents. For Milton, the pursuit of alien life wasn't just a pastime, or a hobby, or even a passion; it was his life's work, his reason for being, the thing which made getting up every morning worthwhile and exciting. But try telling that to the uneducated masses who poured in daily, ripping up exhibits and salivating over anatomically correct dolls. Besides the unattended young children and horny young men, he also had to contend with amateur UFO nuts who showed up bearing "spaceship pieces" bought on eBay, middle-aged men toting toy ray guns from the Buck Rogers era, and his personal nemesis, the skeptics who wanted to argue with him and everyone else they met. Hard as it was to accept, the vast majority of his visitors didn't believe aliens were real, had never believed aliens were real, would never believe aliens were real. They came to stare, to laugh, to doubt, to argue, to harass, to grab a snack, to use the bathroom, to do just about anything but learn about the remarkable visitors to this planet. True believers were so rare that it was a wonder he hadn't closed up shop long ago.
Can't, Milton thought glumly, pocketing his keys. The one and maybe only good thing about those uneducated masses is that they spent money here, so much money that he'd been able to upgrade several exhibits, add a snack bar, and set up a DIY photo booth where you could have your picture taken with an "alien". That last was so kitschy it almost made him gag, but suppressing that gag reflex had become much easier the first time he'd emptied the booth's till; $253.00 in quarters was one hell of a lot of quarters, and adding a few more "aliens" to the photo choices had necessitated emptying that till at least twice a day. It took a lot of coin wrappers, but every penny people spent here funded the real work of this place, which took place in the back room and the archives and represented the only reason he was willing to put up with the unwashed public. Under the circumstances, he really had no business expecting anything different; this was Roswell, after all, home of the kitschy alien whatever. For the preeminent alien tourist destination, Roswell had a surprising lack of true believers; one need only look at that awful diner across the street to see how most of Roswell viewed his life's work. He'd been briefly encouraged when Sheriff Valenti had asked about James Atherton, but he'd returned Atherton's book without comment or any discernible interest. The only remaining candidate for true believer status was his lone employee, Max Evans, who was so restrained about the whole subject, it was hard to tell if he was actually interested. No, he was alone here, a voice crying out in the wilderness of the world's alien Mecca. It was an odd dichotomy.
Thoroughly grumpy now, Milton spent the next half hour tidying the museum, everything from picking up gum wrappers to vacuuming carpets to cleaning the bathrooms to righting the Lost In Space exhibit left in disarray by the rambunctious Timmy. He finally finished and was on his way to the back when he passed the crash site exhibit...and groaned. The female alien which twenty-something had lusted after had obviously been groped, pulled from her space capsule and left in a suggestive pose with her dead shipmate. Honestly, what got into people these days? Didn't they know that ropes in front of exhibits meant "do not touch"? Didn't they know that huge signs screaming "DO NOT TOUCH!" meant "do not touch"? Didn't they speak English any more? Apparently not, and it took another ten minutes to reposition his corpses. And such good corpses they were, allegedly from a resident of nearby Corona, the wife of a grocery store owner named Chambers, made for the very first Crash Festival way back in the forties and so realistic they usually drew gasps from visitors. Maybe too realistic, Milton thought as he repositioned the dolls. Although if it brought in the money, who cared? Money was what he needed most of all now, especially with his big plans for the UFO convention in just a few weeks. None other than Number One himself, Commander William Riker, a.k.a. Jonathan Frakes, had agreed to host, and his fee was a bundle. Frakes would provide the name recognition which would bring in the hordes who would spend handsomely and provide the funds for the real work of the convention, the panelists and speakers who truly believed and who fortunately commanded less handsome prices than a TV actor. There was no better way to induce people to spend than to provide lots and lots of ways to spend, and Milton had concocted some real doozies. Living in the land of alien kitsch made it easy, in a disturbing and unfortunate way, to come up with more alien kitsch, but as long as that kitsch produced the desired result, the real scientists could get down to business while the public enjoyed "Alien Takedown". Hell, maybe it was time to reconsider some of the more "out there" ideas from the suggestion box, like putting a French maid outfit on the female alien corpse.
Chuckling now, Milton went into the back and closed the doors behind him with a contented sigh. Ah. Out there was for the tourists; this was the real museum. Shrugging off his jacket, he popped a Hot Pocket in the microwave and sank gratefully into the chair in front of his computer before bouncing up again after realizing he'd forgotten the crisping sleeve. Hot Pockets only barely qualified as food, but the crisping sleeve made the resemblance much more pronounced. Five blissful minutes of surfing later, the microwave dinged, the fragrant aroma of a pepperoni Hot Pocket filled the room, and he headed to his computer, flipping on the police scanner on the way back almost as an afterthought.
"...both motorists said...almost ran off...road...light...so bright."
"Roger that...injuries?"
"Negative. Everyone...shaken...report...light."
Milton's Hot Pocket paused halfway to his mouth. What was this? It sounded like a sighting, but that was highly unlikely. One of the consistent ironies of Roswell was that, for some reason, the aliens appeared to have abandoned it; there had been no genuine sightings for decades in what had once been a hotbed of alien activity. His stomach was grumbling, but the scanner was crackling more than usual, sounding much like a scratchy record player or a radio not quite in tune. Reluctantly, he set his dinner down and pressed his ear to the scanner. This shouldn't take long.
It didn't, but what he heard had him vaulting out of his chair, scrambling for his coat, his keys, a paper towel for his Hot Pocket. He'd raced outside and thrown everything in the car when his eyes fastened on the garish sign across the street. If this was what he thought it was, it would be so much better with company...
"Where's Max Evans?" he demanded before the diner's door had closed behind him.
Startled faces met his, patrons, waitresses, even the owner. "I thought he worked for you, dude," one of the waitresses said, shying away from him.
Milton's eyes scanned his remaining audience, fastening on another waitress. "You. You're Max's girlfriend, right?"
"She is?" the owner said.
"No," the waitress protested, "no, not really."
"I have to find him," Milton insisted.
"Why?" the not-girlfriend asked. "What's going on?"
"Just everything we've been waiting our entire lives for," Milton said reverently. "There's been a sighting."
The silence which greeted this announcement was so profound, one could have heard a pin drop. What followed was not so profound; a nervous blend of shuffling, throat-clearing, and stifled chuckling, accompanied by an almost unanimous agreement to ignore him and punctuated by furtive glances to cover the possibility that he might, at any moment, become dangerously unstable. Milton's heart sank as one head after another turned away, no one displaying the slightest interest in his momentous news. The waitresses took order in hushed tones, and customers asked for extra ketchup in whispers as though afraid noise might send him round the bend. Even the owner was leafing through papers while keeping an eye on him. It wasn't worth dignifying these people with information, so Milton returned to his car. What had he been thinking? He'd been looking for Evans, of course, but he should have gone about it differently. What if there had been a UFO nut in that diner? What if there had been several? That was just the kind of ridiculous place those types congregated, so instead of lamenting the lack of true believers, he should be grateful he hadn't encountered any fake ones. Starting the engine, he took off at a good clip, confident that most sheriff's deputies were engaged elsewhere. The first few hours after a sighting were the most crucial. It wouldn't pay to be tardy.
Twenty minutes later, Milton slowed to a crawl and pulled off the side of the road. Up ahead were the flashing lights of cruisers and a knot of people; he needed to get close, but carefully. The crucial job of debriefing witnesses should not be left to amateurs, but almost always was; law enforcement had no idea what to look for and was frequently disdainful of the whole subject anyway. It was imperative that he speak with the witnesses and further imperative that no one in uniform see him do that; this called for preventive measures, for which he was fortunately prepared. Those who dwelled in snowy climates were advised to keep emergency supplies in their cars like blankets, food, water, first aid kits and such like. Milton had a "sighting kit", and he pulled it out now, excited to be using it for the first time in over a year and the first time ever in Roswell. There was a selection of clothing, some which matched summer greens, autumn browns, or winter whites, but most of which was dark, as most sightings occurred at night, along with coverings in similar hues to hide his car. There were cameras, notebooks, and flashlights, energy bars, bottled water, and other foodstuffs. There were hammers, screwdrivers, and measuring tapes, shovels, trowels, sifting baskets, and containers for alien artifacts. There was something for just about every conceivable situation because he was a professional, and he picked through it now, eyeing the area up ahead, choosing what he needed most. All suited up, he headed for the people up ahead, withdrawing further into the shadows as another cruiser went by.
*****************************************************
Valenti felt his stomach clench as he climbed out of his car beside Frazier Woods. His deputies were up ahead, their bowed heads indicating the rapt attention they were giving the group of people they surrounded, pencils scribbling furiously. Whatever had possessed Hanson to drag him out here, it had better be good. God knows Roswell had hundreds of so-called "sightings" every year, something which hardly required his personal oversight and which he barely noticed as long as it only involved filing reports and the MUFON types behaved themselves. The only time he paid them any mind at all was when it escalated to trespassing or disturbing the peace; direct involvement meant theft or the occasional battery. Judging by the lack of yelling and screaming going on, there was nothing serious here, so he fully intended to read Hanson the riot act for disturbing his evening and sending his stomach into knots. He wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight.
"Sir," Hanson said, puffing up to him, his breath coming in little cloud bursts. "Thanks for coming. I—"
"Why am I here, Hanson?" Valenti broke in. "Can't you boys manage a few reports without me holding your hand?"
Hanson blinked. "I...sir, you know I wouldn't haven't bothered you unless I felt it was important."
" 'Important'?" Valenti echoed. "So what's the charge? Trespassing? Disturbing the peace?"
"No, but—"
"Theft? Battery?"
"No, but—"
"Anyone hurt? I don't see any ambulances."
"No, no one's hurt, but—"
"Has a crime been committed, deputy? Any laws broken at all?"
"No, sir, but—"
"Then what am I doing here?" Valenti demanded. "We're law enforcement. If there aren't any laws to enforce, what are any of us doing here?"
"Our job, sir," Hanson answered in frustration. "These people are scared, scared enough that they called the station. Protecting the people of this town and keeping the peace are absolutely our jobs, or at least I thought they were."
Valenti closed his eyes briefly. Had he really just been verbally back-handed by his deputy? The fact that he had it coming certainly didn't make it any better. "Okay, what've you got?" he asked gruffly.
"Sir, if you'd like to go back to the station, that's fine with me," Hanson said. "It's always a judgment call as to when to bring you in, and maybe I called this one wrong. I'll just—"
"No, no," Valenti interrupted. "I'm here. Show me what you've got."
Hanson cocked his head at him. "You okay, sir?"
"Sure I am. Let's go."
No, Valenti amended silently as they trudged toward the group at the edge of the woods. The truth was, he hated this place. This was the place which had swallowed his father so many nights and weekends, where he'd wandered for hours or camped out for days looking for evidence of aliens mainly because of the body with the silver handprint he'd found here, that body it had taken his son to identify. How many times had he joined his mother in their car when she drove to the edge of these woods and called into the trees, sometimes desperately, sometimes furiously? Too many to count, and the memory of those cold nights spent braced against the wind as his mother searched frantically for a man who never appeared was seared into his brain. His father never stopped those excursions, although his mother eventually stopped looking. It was nearly impossible to avoid driving past these woods, and to this day, his stomach clutched and his speed increased whenever he did so. To be standing out here again on a cold winter evening was sheer hell.
"So, you gonna clue me in, Hanson?" Valenti said as they trudged toward the woods.
"These people saw something, sir," Hanson replied. "Not your run-of-the-mill something," he added quickly when Valenti gave a soft snort. "This one's different. That's why I called you."
"Let me guess—little people with long fingers and bulbous heads? Were they green or gray? That argument never did go away."
"Not an alien sighting, sir," Hanson said in a wounded tone. "I'm not that stupid."
"Spaceship? Vapor trail?
"No, it—"
"Electronics died? Cars quit?"
"No, sir, but—"
"Abduction? Probes? Maybe—"
"Sir, it was a light," Hanson broke in. "A huge shaft of light."
"Ah, the light," Valenti nodded knowingly. "The one right over you or your house, or I guess it would be a campsite this time—"
"No, sir, it was a shaft of light in the distance. They said it made a big circle in the sky, like a searchlight beam, and...look, why don't I let them speak for themselves."
Right, Valenti thought darkly as he came abreast of the group, noting the wide disparity of the people giving statements. Two young children huddled against their concerned parents, wrapped in blankets against the chill. A rustic-looking sort sat on his backpack, probably a hiker. An Indian man hovered warily on the fringes of the group, along with a young man in a parka and a middle-aged woman in a thin dress coat, her spiky heels sinking into the mud. A couple of teenagers, a boy and a girl, clutched each other to one side.
"Sheriff!" the middle-aged woman said gratefully. "I'm so glad to see you. It's freezing out here. Can I go now?"
"What's the matter with you?" Valenti admonished the parka-wearing male. "Give the lady your coat."
Parka guy looked briefly startled, then complied, the woman wrinkling her nose as the coat engulfed her. "We're almost finished collecting statements, sir," Deputy Blackwood said, "but we have the basic details from everyone, and they all match."
"They what?"
"They match, sir," Blackwood repeated. "All the major details are exactly the same."
Odd, Valenti thought. One of the hallmarks of sightings was that everyone saw something different, kind of like cloud pictures. "Okay, so what are the major details?" he asked.
The effect of that question was electric. Everyone started talking at once, even the freezing-can-I-go-now woman, even the two children. The urgency in their voices was palpable, making it clear that, whatever had happened, it had had a profound effect on each and every one of them.
"Pipe down," Valenti ordered. "I can't hear anything with everyone talking at once. One at a time. You," he said, pointing to the now parka-less man. "What did you see?"
"I was driving along, and then all of a sudden, there was this huge shaft of light over there," the man answered, pointing, as heads nodded all around him. "It was like this big round column, and it made a circle in the sky—"
"More of an oval, actually," Freezing Woman corrected from the depths of his parka.
"Okay, maybe more ovalish," Parka-less allowed. "It just beamed into the sky all of a sudden, like someone had flipped a switch, and it stayed there for quite a while, several seconds anyway."
"Thirty seconds at least," the father said.
"Maybe even forty," the backpacker added.
"But not a full minute," Freezing Woman added. "Not that long."
"No, not that long," Parka-less agreed.
Valenti looked from one witness to the other, then at his deputies. This was downright bizarre. Multiple witnesses to a "sighting" were common, but they never agreed on much of anything. The arguments could get so heated that it sometimes came to blows. To have so many in such complete agreement was virtually unheard of.
"You," Valenti said, pointing to the teenaged boy, who stiffened. "What did you see?"
"What they did," the boy answered.
Valenti's eyes swept the couple, noting guarded expressions and disheveled clothing. "And what were you two doing out here this fine evening?"
"Studying," the girl said quickly.
"In the forest? At night?"
"Biology," the girl said. "Best place to do that."
I'll say, Valenti thought dryly. "How old are you, son? Are you old enough to be driving at night?"
"I'm eighteen," the boy answered defensively.
Valenti looked at Owen Blackwood, who nodded. "License and registration check out, sir."
"And you," Valenti said to the girl, who's eyes widened. "How old are you?"
"What's that got to do with anything?" demanded the mother. "I'm not going to keep my kids standing here in the cold while you check everyone's birthday."
"Sir, we've just about finished here," Hanson said. "We only need about five minutes to tie up the last loose ends."
"Go ahead," Valenti said, moving off to one side as Owen Blackwood motioned to him. "What's up, Owen?"
"Sir, I know how many of these calls we get, so please keep that in mind when I say this," Owen said in a low voice, "but something's strange here. I'm sure you noticed how all the stories matched."
"Yeah, I noticed," Valenti said.
"They match something else," Owen went on. "They match stories I heard when I was a kid growing up on the reservation."
"What stories?" Valenti said sharply.
"These woods are considered haunted," Owen confided in a whisper. "And people saw things in the sky, things very similar to what's being reported tonight. I'm just saying this might deserve more of our attention than it appears at first glance."
"Got it," Valenti said. "Go finish up. And I want to see that...wait. Where's the boy?"
*****************************************************
"Inside," John ordered as he and Emma approached the truck. "We've gotta get out of here."
"But why?" Emma said. "We didn't do anything wrong. We didn't even get caught—"
"Oh, but you did," another voice said.
John stopped short. A man was leaning against the driver's side of his truck, an impossible man in the most outlandish get-up he'd ever seen. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
"That's not important," the man said. "I know what your problem is, son. You may be 18, but she's not. Am I right?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Emma said nervously, pressing closer to John.
"Plenty," the man answered. "Now," he continued as John's eyes narrowed, "I know these woods well. I can get you out of here fast enough that the sheriff won't be able to catch up."
"For what?" John demanded. "I don't have any money—"
"I don't want money," the stranger said. "I want to know what you saw tonight, every single thing you told those deputies and more. And in exchange, no one will come knocking on her parents' door."
He leaned in closer. "Do we have a deal?"
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Chapter 52
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
January 19, 2000, 9 p.m.
Frazier Woods
John stepped back, away from the stranger who had appeared out of nowhere to halt their flight from what had to be one of the most peculiar nights of his life, bar none. The man was dressed in a bizarre get-up, some kind of coverall with dozens of pockets that were filled to bursting, giving him the appearance of a giant piece of bubble wrap, if there was such a thing as black bubble wrap. His head was covered with a dark hood, and around his neck hung a large, heavy something or other which dangled against his chest. As if it wasn't bad enough to almost get caught making out with your girlfriend in the woods by sheriff's deputies and see some weird light that had attracted a crowd, now he had to meet up with a nutcase. He had three words for this: Worst. Date. Ever.
"Johnny, what is he talking about?" Emma said in a high-pitched voice that was perilously close to a wail. "Why would anyone talk to my parents? We didn't do anything wrong. We didn't hurt anything, or steal anything, or—"
"That's not the point, Miss," the stranger interrupted crisply. "It's a simple question of age and the law. How old are you?"
"Sixteen," Emma said defensively as John swore inwardly that she hadn't just kept her mouth shut. "So?"
"So I believe the charge would be 'statutory rape'," the stranger said.
Emma's eyes widened. "What? No! He didn't...he wouldn't...that's crazy! Why would anyone think that?"
"You can't prove anything," John said hotly, "and neither can those deputies. We were just standing there with the others when they drove up, so they don't have anything to go on."
The stranger shook his head sadly and pointed. "Your fly is down, son."
John's head dropped, astonished, to his open fly. "Better zip up before you freeze the family jewels," the stranger advised. "And you, Miss. You buttoned your shirt in such haste that all the buttons are off by one. Dead giveaway."
Now it was Emma's turn to look down in embarrassment. "That...that doesn't mean anything," she insisted, hurrying to fix the mismatch. "It doesn't prove anything."
"It doesn't have to," the man shrugged. "You're under age, and he's not. That's all that matters. That's why the sheriff was asking your age. When he finds out you're not 18, you'll be arrested."
"Arrested?" Emma exclaimed. "What, you mean, like, thrown in jail? Like—"
"Emma, shut up," John hissed. "Just shut up!"
"Don't you tell me that!" Emma declared angrily. "I'll talk if I want to, Johnny Sanchez, and you can't stop me!"
"Then keep your voice down!" John said urgently, gazing back toward the light of the deputies' cruisers, faint in the distance. "The whole point of running away was so that they wouldn't find us, not follow your voice through the woods."
"Women," the stranger said, shaking his sympathetically. "Can't live with'em, can't live without'em. Well...you can," he amended. "Especially now that we have the internet."
John blinked, and he could have sworn the man's face reddened. "Look, I don't who you are, but we're leaving," John said firmly. "And if you try to stop us—"
"A charge of statutory rape is levied by the female victim's guardian," the stranger interrupted calmly, as though he were having a perfectly ordinary conversation. "Something about suing for 'lost virtue' or some other medieval notion, but I believe it's still on the books. Only the perpetrator...that would be you," he went on, indicating John, "would be processed, you know, fingerprints, mug shot, that kind of thing, but the victim would be held until a legal guardian came to fetch her and decided whether or not to press charges. So what do you think would happen if her parents found out about this? Would they just shrug and say 'boys will be boys', or would they have a more, shall we say, vigorous reaction?"
John said nothing as Emma reached for his hand. Her parents weren't exactly thrilled that they were seeing each other; they thought he came from the wrong side of the tracks. And while they may not bother pressing formal charges, things could still get very ugly very fast.
"I'm guessing you're both high school juniors or seniors?" the stranger went on. "This wouldn't look good on a high school transcript, I can tell you that. Colleges look askance at criminal records."
"He's not a criminal!" Emma exclaimed angrily. "I—"
"Emma, please!" John interrupted. "Hush up!"
Raised voices in the distance cut off her angry reply. The stranger grabbed the thing around his neck and plopped it on his head, some kind of headset with goggles. "What is that?" John demanded. "Binoculars?"
"Night vision goggles," the stranger whispered. "Don't talk."
"But why do you need—"
"I said don't talk," the stranger ordered. "They're coming this way. We have to get out of here. Give me your keys."
"What? No way!"
The stranger's goggled head swung around to look at him. "Do you want to get arrested? If yes, great, because they're coming right toward you. If not, give me your keys and climb in."
John felt Emma's hand tighten on his as he looked back. Flashlights had appeared, bobbing like fireflies, the voices were louder...and John made a sudden decision. "Get in," he said to Emma, tossing the keys to the stranger who caught them with surprising ease.
"What? You're just going to let him—"
"In!" John ordered, propelling Emma into the cab. The engine started and the truck began to move even before John had the door closed, Emma giving a little shriek as the truck lumbered through the dark woods.
"Where are the headlights?" she asked fearfully.
"No need," the stranger said intently, tapping his goggles. "I can see without them, and headlights would only give us away."
"Shouldn't we go faster?" John asked.
"That would make too much noise," the stranger said. "We don't want them to hear us, and we don't want to leave too easy of a trail. Be quiet and let me drive. This could get a bit tricky."
Everyone fell into a hushed silence as the truck slowly wound its way through the woods with the stranger peering intently through the windshield at things no one else could see. It was incredibly unnerving to be in a moving vehicle headed into what looked like total darkness, and it was only pride that kept John from imitating Emma and covering his eyes with his hands as they brushed past trees only feet away and narrowly missed large patches of brush. He didn't breath again until they reached the road about ten minutes later, zipping down the pavement in the direction of Roswell for a mile or so before lumbering back into the woods.
"Hey!" John protested. "Why are we going back?"
"To hide," the stranger said. "And for snacks. I'm starving."
This incredible statement made a bit more sense when the truck came to a halt beside a dark shape that turned out to be a covered car, apparently belonging to the stranger given that he produced a key which unlocked it. From the depths of its trunk he pulled a small camp stove, a few folding stools, and a cooler which he arrayed in a semi-circle after pushing back his hood to reveal an earnest looking middle-aged man with short cropped hair
"Now then," he said cheerfully, taking a seat and waving grandly toward the others, "let's have something to eat while we talk. How about a beer? Oh, no, that won't do; she's under age. Pop, then. Pepsi?"
John and Emma stared at the proffered cans blankly. "I'll just let you decide," the stranger suggested. "I've also got chips, cookies, candy, take your prick. It's all packaged of course," he added, fanning his offerings like a hand of cards. "I used to bring homemade sandwiches, but everyone was afraid to eat them."
"No shit," John muttered under his breath.
"Why do you carry food around and hide your car in the woods?" Emma asked nervously.
"Because I'm never sure how long I'll be or who I'll be talking to," the stranger answered. "The police are frequently useless, so I avoid them except for basic information."
"Information about...what?" Emma asked.
"I'm a UFOlogist," the man answered proudly. "I seek out alien life on this planet."
John gave a soft snort. "And boldly go where no man has gone before?"
"Don't joke," the stranger said sternly, wagging a finger at him. "This is serious. This is real. But you know that. That's why you were giving statements to those deputies. You saw something tonight, something that had both of you running with mismatched buttons and gaping flys that you didn't even notice. I want to know what you saw."
"What if we don't want to tell you?" John demanded.
"I got you out of there," the stranger protested. "You owe me."
"We didn't ask you to do a thing," John retorted.
"Johnny?" Emma whispered. "Maybe we shouldn't—"
"No!" John exclaimed. "This guy's nuts, Emma! Just look at him! I'm not telling him anything! Besides, we already spilled our guts to the police."
"The police don't know their arses from holes in the ground," the stranger said tartly. "Sorry, Miss," he added apologetically to Emma. "Excuse my French, but it's the truth. They mean well, but they don't know what they're doing. I heard enough from all the witnesses to know this is the real thing, and I can assure you that none of those well-meaning men in uniform know how to handle this. They're not trained for this sort of thing. I am."
"Wait," Emma said slowly. "You mean you think we actually saw something...alien?"
"I'm sure of it," the stranger declared.
There was a brief pause before John burst out laughing. "Holy shit," he chuckled, "I don't believe it! Here we are, in Roswell, of all places, ground zero for this kind of bullshit—"
"Watch your mouth, son!" the stranger barked. "There are ladies present!"
John blinked and looked at Emma, who raised an eyebrow. "I want to hear this," she said stoutly, plopping down on a folding stool. "I've never talked to a 'UFOlogist' before. Or had anyone apologize for swearing in front of me. Or had anyone call me a lady."
John's mouth dropped open as the stranger broke into a wide smile and passed her a can of Pepsi and a package of Oreos, which she accepted with shy thanks. "Sit down, Johnny," she ordered when she saw him still dithering. "And zip up, for heaven's sake. Your fly's still down."
*****************************************************
January 20, 2000, 7:15 a.m.
Roswell Sheriff's Station
"Yeah?" Valenti called absently.
The door cracked open behind him, and the smell of coffee drifted in. "Got your morning cup, sir," Hanson said. "Thought you might be too busy."
"Thanks, Hanson. Put it over there. No, not there," Valenti added sharply when Hanson started to set it down. "If it spills, it'll ruin everything. Set it over on the file cabinet. Did you identify the kids?"
"Yes, sir," Hanson said uncomfortably. "They're both registered at the high school. I'll go talk to them later."
"If you can find them," Valenti said with more than a touch of sarcasm. "I hear that school is pretty crowded."
"Sir, let me say again that we don't know how they got away. They were there, and then they weren't, and..."
"And you lost them?" Valenti finished helpfully.
"And it was dark, and those woods are pretty big," Hanson corrected. "Even with tire tracks to follow. And they hadn't broken the law, not officially, anyway. They'd given their statements—"
"Relax, Hanson," Valenti interrupted. "I know we're not talking about terrorists. I'd just like to know how a couple of horny teenagers managed to outwit a half dozen of my deputies."
"I intend to find out, sir," Hanson assured him. "Thought maybe I'd pull'em out of class, scare the pants off 'em a bit, and—"
"I get it. Now if you don't mind, I'm kind of busy."
That turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to say as Hanson twisted his head around to look at what Valenti had splayed on the table in the middle of records room. "Uh...were you here all night, sir?"
"Of course not. Why?"
"Just wondering." Hanson hovered closer, looking over Valenti's shoulder. "This about the sighting?"
"Just doing a little cross-referencing," Valenti answered.
"Looks like a lot of cross-referencing," Hanson commented. "Are all of these sightings? You've got'em dated back to...geez, back to the late forties. You get all this from the archives?"
"Yeah," Valenti said warily. "It was something Owen said, something about growing up on the reservation and hearing things. I was just curious. Just checking."
"Wow," Hanson said reverently. "That is impressive, sir. A huge amount of work, and very impressive. It's good to see you're taking this seriously."
"It is?"
"Of course it is. With all the calls we get from people just pulling our legs or seeing things they want to, it's a tough call for anyone to separate the wheat from the chaff, as the Bible says. Lots of people wouldn't bother."
"So...you think this was a real sighting?" Valenti ventured.
"I don't know what it was, but it sure has everyone up in arms," Hanson said cheerfully. "Mayor's called twice already, press from all over the country is ringing the phones off the hook, and—get this—Agent Stevens called. Wants to talk to you, ASAP. He wouldn't be interested unless he thought it might be something."
"Is that right," Valenti murmured.
"One thing's for sure," Hanson continued, "it's weird that all those people saw pretty much the same thing. Mighty weird. That alone makes it worth a second look. All of us upstairs are very proud to say our boss is on it." He reached for the coffee cup. "Better drink some of this before it gets cold. It's just the way you like it—one cream, two sugars."
Valenti took the cup Hanson offered him and looked down at the map he'd been working on since the wee small, a sprawling map of Frazier Woods dotted with little markers denoting sightings and the years they'd occurred. He'd been hunkered down here in the records room precisely so he'd be out of sight of prying eyes who might question what he was doing, might question why Jim Valenti's son was taking this so seriously. Ever since the shooting at the Crashdown, ever since he'd begun to question his rote rejection of his father's beliefs, he'd tread very, very carefully, unwilling to associate himself with his father's antics any more than absolutely necessary. That business with the FBI emptying out his office had set some tongues wagging, only among those old enough to remember his father and not for long, but wagging nonetheless, and that had served as a wake-up call to keep his suspicions to himself lest he be written off as crazy just like his father had been. This latest incident smelled very different from the dozens, no, hundreds, of "sightings" reported to the station every year, and its occurring now was telling. He fully intended to pursue it to the hilt, but had expected to have to do so in private. To not have to hide it would be an unexpected bonus.
"Thanks for the coffee, Hanson," Valenti said. "If there's nothing else, I'd like to get back to work."
"Have you looked at the time, sir? Because that witness is upstairs waiting for you."
"Witness?"
"Calhoun, sir. Remember he wouldn't say much last night, wanted to speak to you privately, and you told him to come by this morning? You—"
"I remember," Valenti broke in. "I just..." He stopped, glancing at his watch. Jesus, was it really that late? He hadn't forgotten the appointment, but he'd planned to go home, grab a shower and a fresh uniform before keeping it.
"See, this is why I asked if you'd spent the night here," Hanson went on, his eyes diplomatically elsewhere. "Please take this in the spirit in which it's meant, sir, but you're a little...unkempt."
"Okay, I spent the night here," Valenti admitted. "But I didn't mean to. I just got caught up in it."
"Of course you did, sir," Hanson nodded vigorously. "Why don't I get Mr. Calhoun some coffee while you freshen up a bit. I'll make sure no one disturbs all your hard work so you can come back to it later. Or maybe one of us could help, you know, pick up where you left off—"
"No," Valenti said quickly. "No, thank you. That won't be necessary. I'll go grab a shave. Keep Calhoun busy until I get there."
Hanson disappeared, and Valenti headed for the locker room. While the fact that others were taking the sighting seriously relieved him of the burden of secrecy, it wouldn't do to let anyone know just how avidly he was pursuing it. Doing so might tip them off that he was doing much more than just cross-referencing, much more than just checking. That had been his father's undoing, the fact that he didn't keep his suspicions and hunches and everything he was doing to pursue them to himself. Thanks to the sighting, his map-making was now considered "official", but without it, it would be considered downright odd, if not worse than that. He couldn't afford to come out of the closet, not yet. He had to maintain a detached, professional manner and appearance at all times, which is why he had to do something about the stubble on his face. He'd no sooner brandished a safety razor when the locker room door banged open.
"Kyle?" Valenti said. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"
"Aren't you supposed to come home at night?" Kyle said.
"I got held up. How'd you get down here? This is a restricted area."
"Then you should lock it," Kyle said, "because it's not the least bit restricted when everyone's on the phone. Look, I just have a few minutes before I have to get back, but I wanted to show you this. I wasn't sure they were doing it this year because they got the notices out late."
Kyle held up a flyer which cheerfully yelled, "Fathers' Camping Weekend!". "We need a new tent," he announced, waving the flyer. "Remember last year? I do not want another collapsed tent in my face at 3 a.m.. I've got third period free tomorrow morning; how about we go shopping?"
"Yeah, sure," Valenti said. "So what period have you got free right now?"
"None," Kyle answered, brandishing a pass. "They think I'm on a bathroom break."
"Jesus H. Christ," Valenti muttered.
"Look, you didn't come home last night," Kyle said. "How do I talk to you when you don't come home? This is the only place I know I'll find you, so here I am."
"Kyle," Valenti said warningly, "if you—"
"Dad?" Kyle interrupted. "Chill. I'm going. See? This is me, going back. Tomorrow, 10 a.m. Don't be late."
The locker room door banged closed behind him. Ten minutes later Valenti was shaved, washed, and standing outside his office looking through the window at one Rocky Calhoun, the witness who'd been closest to whatever had flashed in the woods last night and, curiously, the one most reluctant to talk. His hand was on the doorknob when he realized that he'd made an appointment with his son and didn't remember when. But no matter. He'd just ask him tonight when he got home.
******************************************************
Mescalero Indian Reservation
The early morning air was dry and chill as River Dog approached the cave, his breath coming in frosty clouds. He'd left early this morning on the pretense of going elsewhere, knowing that if his grandson knew his intended destination, he would insist on accompanying him, and if his son knew, he would insist on causing a ruckus. Few in the village had seen the light in the sky last night, so few that Sonsee's predictions of fire and danger had been perceived as nothing more than the ravings of an old woman. The fact that white men had also seen the light meant nothing; white men were always mistaking things in the sky for all sorts of things they were not. Roswell was home to a great many stories and attracted tellers of stories, many of which concerned the woods near the reservation. The fact that the light had supposedly flared over the woods only added to the tendency to shrug the whole thing off, a viewpoint which suited him just fine. Now, approaching the cave as one of the few people who knew not only that the light had been real but what it could mean, he slowed his steps, wondering what he might find.
The initial answer to that question was...nothing. The clearing outside the cave was empty and undisturbed in the morning light. There was no sound when he stood at the mouth of the cave, no footprints, no evidence of visitation of any kind. He walked a short ways in until the cave's entrance was only a bend away from disappearing and lit a torch. He could move through the cave without it because he knew every bend, every uneven rise of its floor, every low point of its ceiling, but he could not see if anyone else was here without light. Stepping silently, he made his way into the cave, toward the cave painting. If Nasedo was here, that was where he would be.
He was. River Dog was some distance away when he spied him, seated in front of the painting, lost in thought. He had no light of any kind, nor did he need any. Nasedo had always possessed the ability to move through darkness as he moved through light.
"Nasedo?" River Dog said softly.
The reaction was swift and startling. Nasedo's head jerked his way as the torch blew out abruptly, replaced after a moment by a soft, otherworldly glow similar to that produced by Max. River Dog paused, watching the tendrils of smoke drift from the now extinguished torch. It was extraordinarily difficult to surprise Nasedo, whose senses easily surpassed those of ordinary men. While he was fond of praising the Indian's ability to walk silently, that only meant he became aware of you later than others would have. To be this close and have him unaware was unusual.
"Are you all right?" River Dog asked.
"Why are you here?" Nasedo asked in a somewhat sharper tone than he normally used.
"I saw your light in the sky," River Dog answered.
There was a pause. "You saw that?"
"Yes. And I was surprised. It seemed...unlike you," River Dog admitted. "Especially after our conversation after Michael's illness."
Nasedo said nothing. His back was still turned, and the light was very dim, making him little more than a shadow, but River Dog could have sworn he saw his shoulders sag. "Is that why you're here?" River Dog said softly. "Are you still grieving?"
Another pause, even longer this time. "He almost died," Nasedo said finally.
River Dog set his pack down. "Almost," he agreed. "But he did not."
"He remembered," Nasedo said, waving a hand toward the painting. "He remembered this."
"He appeared to," River Dog allowed. "At least briefly."
"So what happened?" Nasedo whispered, more to himself than River Dog. "What happened?"
"You were there," River Dog reminded him. "You know what happened."
"But what happened?" Nasedo repeated, abruptly turning around. "What did you see? What do you remember?"
Able to see his features for the first time, River Dog was struck by the anguish they conveyed. Things must not be going well if Nasedo was reliving their latest mishap so completely. "I...saw him healed," River Dog said. "It happened quickly, very quickly."
"And he knew this," Nasedo murmured, gazing at the painting.
"Yes," River Dog nodded. "He knew to put the stones in those holes. He said it was a map."
"And the others didn't know," Nasedo said.
River Dog shook his head. "No. He seemed to think they should, even chided them for not knowing."
"He would," Nasedo nodded with a faint smile which disappeared almost as quickly as it came. "But then he forgot."
"Suddenly," River Dog nodded. "The knowledge was there one moment and gone the next. The girls thought he might remember later since he was clearly capable of remembering."
"Isabel," Nasedo murmured.
"It was more Liz and Maria," River Dog said. "Michael responded in particular to Maria. If you ask me," he confided, "he has feelings for her."
Nasedo's head swung around to stare at him for a moment before he abruptly rose, going to the far side of the painting where he stood with his back to River Dog. "I know this was all very upsetting for you," River Dog said gently. "Has he remembered?"
"No," Nasedo said bitterly. "He hasn't."
"Is that what the sign was for? To help them remember?"
"The sign was to draw their attention," Nasedo said. "But it seems they're not paying attention."
"They may not realize it was real," River Dog pointed out. "This is Roswell. There are false signs everywhere."
"You'd think they'd at least be curious," Nasedo said. "That they would make an effort to see if it was real."
River Dog stared at him, perplexed. "But why would you want them to? You were concerned they were too curious, too heedless of their own safety, like Michael when he blundered into the sweat and fell ill. Now you want them to go searching? Isn't that exactly what you felt was too dangerous? If you're ready to approach them directly, why not simply go to them?"
"Because I can't," Nasedo whispered.
River Dog was quiet for a moment. "I see," he said finally. "You want them to initiate contact. You want them to come to you."
Nasedo said nothing, continuing to stare at the painting with his back turned. "You told me what happened the last time they were aware of you," River Dog went on, "how they remembered too much too soon and reacted badly. I'm not sure it will make a difference who starts the conversation, but if you want them to come to you, I can help."
Nasedo turned slightly. "How?"
"By going to them," River Dog said. "By telling them it was real. What they do with that information will, of course, be up to them."
"You would do that?" Nasedo said, sounding surprised. "Why?"
"I've done it before," River Dog answered. "And besides, I was the one in favor of you revealing yourself. It is only proper that I provide a bridge between you and your charges." He rose from his seat. "I'll send my grandson—"
"No. I trust only you."
River Dog hesitated. "Very well, then. I will go to Max and—"
"No," Nasedo repeated. "Michael. Only Michael."
"Only one of them?" River Dog said, puzzled. "You do not wish to speak with all of them?"
"All of them at once may be too much. One at a time is a safer alternative."
"Then...don't you want that one to be the king?"
"I want that one to be the most pragmatic," Nasedo answered. "That would be Michael."
River Dog pondered that for a moment. "The soldier," he said at length, nodding. "I understand. What shall I tell him?"
An hour later, River Dog cautiously emerged from the woods and crossed the field to his house. That he had been successful in keeping his journey from anyone was evident by the casual greetings he received from his son and grandson. Motioning to Eddie, he pulled him outside.
"You went back there, didn't you?" Eddie said the moment they were alone. "Was he there? Was the sign real?"
River Dog glanced toward the woods. "Yes. And I need you to do something for me."
January 19, 2000, 9 p.m.
Frazier Woods
John stepped back, away from the stranger who had appeared out of nowhere to halt their flight from what had to be one of the most peculiar nights of his life, bar none. The man was dressed in a bizarre get-up, some kind of coverall with dozens of pockets that were filled to bursting, giving him the appearance of a giant piece of bubble wrap, if there was such a thing as black bubble wrap. His head was covered with a dark hood, and around his neck hung a large, heavy something or other which dangled against his chest. As if it wasn't bad enough to almost get caught making out with your girlfriend in the woods by sheriff's deputies and see some weird light that had attracted a crowd, now he had to meet up with a nutcase. He had three words for this: Worst. Date. Ever.
"Johnny, what is he talking about?" Emma said in a high-pitched voice that was perilously close to a wail. "Why would anyone talk to my parents? We didn't do anything wrong. We didn't hurt anything, or steal anything, or—"
"That's not the point, Miss," the stranger interrupted crisply. "It's a simple question of age and the law. How old are you?"
"Sixteen," Emma said defensively as John swore inwardly that she hadn't just kept her mouth shut. "So?"
"So I believe the charge would be 'statutory rape'," the stranger said.
Emma's eyes widened. "What? No! He didn't...he wouldn't...that's crazy! Why would anyone think that?"
"You can't prove anything," John said hotly, "and neither can those deputies. We were just standing there with the others when they drove up, so they don't have anything to go on."
The stranger shook his head sadly and pointed. "Your fly is down, son."
John's head dropped, astonished, to his open fly. "Better zip up before you freeze the family jewels," the stranger advised. "And you, Miss. You buttoned your shirt in such haste that all the buttons are off by one. Dead giveaway."
Now it was Emma's turn to look down in embarrassment. "That...that doesn't mean anything," she insisted, hurrying to fix the mismatch. "It doesn't prove anything."
"It doesn't have to," the man shrugged. "You're under age, and he's not. That's all that matters. That's why the sheriff was asking your age. When he finds out you're not 18, you'll be arrested."
"Arrested?" Emma exclaimed. "What, you mean, like, thrown in jail? Like—"
"Emma, shut up," John hissed. "Just shut up!"
"Don't you tell me that!" Emma declared angrily. "I'll talk if I want to, Johnny Sanchez, and you can't stop me!"
"Then keep your voice down!" John said urgently, gazing back toward the light of the deputies' cruisers, faint in the distance. "The whole point of running away was so that they wouldn't find us, not follow your voice through the woods."
"Women," the stranger said, shaking his sympathetically. "Can't live with'em, can't live without'em. Well...you can," he amended. "Especially now that we have the internet."
John blinked, and he could have sworn the man's face reddened. "Look, I don't who you are, but we're leaving," John said firmly. "And if you try to stop us—"
"A charge of statutory rape is levied by the female victim's guardian," the stranger interrupted calmly, as though he were having a perfectly ordinary conversation. "Something about suing for 'lost virtue' or some other medieval notion, but I believe it's still on the books. Only the perpetrator...that would be you," he went on, indicating John, "would be processed, you know, fingerprints, mug shot, that kind of thing, but the victim would be held until a legal guardian came to fetch her and decided whether or not to press charges. So what do you think would happen if her parents found out about this? Would they just shrug and say 'boys will be boys', or would they have a more, shall we say, vigorous reaction?"
John said nothing as Emma reached for his hand. Her parents weren't exactly thrilled that they were seeing each other; they thought he came from the wrong side of the tracks. And while they may not bother pressing formal charges, things could still get very ugly very fast.
"I'm guessing you're both high school juniors or seniors?" the stranger went on. "This wouldn't look good on a high school transcript, I can tell you that. Colleges look askance at criminal records."
"He's not a criminal!" Emma exclaimed angrily. "I—"
"Emma, please!" John interrupted. "Hush up!"
Raised voices in the distance cut off her angry reply. The stranger grabbed the thing around his neck and plopped it on his head, some kind of headset with goggles. "What is that?" John demanded. "Binoculars?"
"Night vision goggles," the stranger whispered. "Don't talk."
"But why do you need—"
"I said don't talk," the stranger ordered. "They're coming this way. We have to get out of here. Give me your keys."
"What? No way!"
The stranger's goggled head swung around to look at him. "Do you want to get arrested? If yes, great, because they're coming right toward you. If not, give me your keys and climb in."
John felt Emma's hand tighten on his as he looked back. Flashlights had appeared, bobbing like fireflies, the voices were louder...and John made a sudden decision. "Get in," he said to Emma, tossing the keys to the stranger who caught them with surprising ease.
"What? You're just going to let him—"
"In!" John ordered, propelling Emma into the cab. The engine started and the truck began to move even before John had the door closed, Emma giving a little shriek as the truck lumbered through the dark woods.
"Where are the headlights?" she asked fearfully.
"No need," the stranger said intently, tapping his goggles. "I can see without them, and headlights would only give us away."
"Shouldn't we go faster?" John asked.
"That would make too much noise," the stranger said. "We don't want them to hear us, and we don't want to leave too easy of a trail. Be quiet and let me drive. This could get a bit tricky."
Everyone fell into a hushed silence as the truck slowly wound its way through the woods with the stranger peering intently through the windshield at things no one else could see. It was incredibly unnerving to be in a moving vehicle headed into what looked like total darkness, and it was only pride that kept John from imitating Emma and covering his eyes with his hands as they brushed past trees only feet away and narrowly missed large patches of brush. He didn't breath again until they reached the road about ten minutes later, zipping down the pavement in the direction of Roswell for a mile or so before lumbering back into the woods.
"Hey!" John protested. "Why are we going back?"
"To hide," the stranger said. "And for snacks. I'm starving."
This incredible statement made a bit more sense when the truck came to a halt beside a dark shape that turned out to be a covered car, apparently belonging to the stranger given that he produced a key which unlocked it. From the depths of its trunk he pulled a small camp stove, a few folding stools, and a cooler which he arrayed in a semi-circle after pushing back his hood to reveal an earnest looking middle-aged man with short cropped hair
"Now then," he said cheerfully, taking a seat and waving grandly toward the others, "let's have something to eat while we talk. How about a beer? Oh, no, that won't do; she's under age. Pop, then. Pepsi?"
John and Emma stared at the proffered cans blankly. "I'll just let you decide," the stranger suggested. "I've also got chips, cookies, candy, take your prick. It's all packaged of course," he added, fanning his offerings like a hand of cards. "I used to bring homemade sandwiches, but everyone was afraid to eat them."
"No shit," John muttered under his breath.
"Why do you carry food around and hide your car in the woods?" Emma asked nervously.
"Because I'm never sure how long I'll be or who I'll be talking to," the stranger answered. "The police are frequently useless, so I avoid them except for basic information."
"Information about...what?" Emma asked.
"I'm a UFOlogist," the man answered proudly. "I seek out alien life on this planet."
John gave a soft snort. "And boldly go where no man has gone before?"
"Don't joke," the stranger said sternly, wagging a finger at him. "This is serious. This is real. But you know that. That's why you were giving statements to those deputies. You saw something tonight, something that had both of you running with mismatched buttons and gaping flys that you didn't even notice. I want to know what you saw."
"What if we don't want to tell you?" John demanded.
"I got you out of there," the stranger protested. "You owe me."
"We didn't ask you to do a thing," John retorted.
"Johnny?" Emma whispered. "Maybe we shouldn't—"
"No!" John exclaimed. "This guy's nuts, Emma! Just look at him! I'm not telling him anything! Besides, we already spilled our guts to the police."
"The police don't know their arses from holes in the ground," the stranger said tartly. "Sorry, Miss," he added apologetically to Emma. "Excuse my French, but it's the truth. They mean well, but they don't know what they're doing. I heard enough from all the witnesses to know this is the real thing, and I can assure you that none of those well-meaning men in uniform know how to handle this. They're not trained for this sort of thing. I am."
"Wait," Emma said slowly. "You mean you think we actually saw something...alien?"
"I'm sure of it," the stranger declared.
There was a brief pause before John burst out laughing. "Holy shit," he chuckled, "I don't believe it! Here we are, in Roswell, of all places, ground zero for this kind of bullshit—"
"Watch your mouth, son!" the stranger barked. "There are ladies present!"
John blinked and looked at Emma, who raised an eyebrow. "I want to hear this," she said stoutly, plopping down on a folding stool. "I've never talked to a 'UFOlogist' before. Or had anyone apologize for swearing in front of me. Or had anyone call me a lady."
John's mouth dropped open as the stranger broke into a wide smile and passed her a can of Pepsi and a package of Oreos, which she accepted with shy thanks. "Sit down, Johnny," she ordered when she saw him still dithering. "And zip up, for heaven's sake. Your fly's still down."
*****************************************************
January 20, 2000, 7:15 a.m.
Roswell Sheriff's Station
"Yeah?" Valenti called absently.
The door cracked open behind him, and the smell of coffee drifted in. "Got your morning cup, sir," Hanson said. "Thought you might be too busy."
"Thanks, Hanson. Put it over there. No, not there," Valenti added sharply when Hanson started to set it down. "If it spills, it'll ruin everything. Set it over on the file cabinet. Did you identify the kids?"
"Yes, sir," Hanson said uncomfortably. "They're both registered at the high school. I'll go talk to them later."
"If you can find them," Valenti said with more than a touch of sarcasm. "I hear that school is pretty crowded."
"Sir, let me say again that we don't know how they got away. They were there, and then they weren't, and..."
"And you lost them?" Valenti finished helpfully.
"And it was dark, and those woods are pretty big," Hanson corrected. "Even with tire tracks to follow. And they hadn't broken the law, not officially, anyway. They'd given their statements—"
"Relax, Hanson," Valenti interrupted. "I know we're not talking about terrorists. I'd just like to know how a couple of horny teenagers managed to outwit a half dozen of my deputies."
"I intend to find out, sir," Hanson assured him. "Thought maybe I'd pull'em out of class, scare the pants off 'em a bit, and—"
"I get it. Now if you don't mind, I'm kind of busy."
That turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to say as Hanson twisted his head around to look at what Valenti had splayed on the table in the middle of records room. "Uh...were you here all night, sir?"
"Of course not. Why?"
"Just wondering." Hanson hovered closer, looking over Valenti's shoulder. "This about the sighting?"
"Just doing a little cross-referencing," Valenti answered.
"Looks like a lot of cross-referencing," Hanson commented. "Are all of these sightings? You've got'em dated back to...geez, back to the late forties. You get all this from the archives?"
"Yeah," Valenti said warily. "It was something Owen said, something about growing up on the reservation and hearing things. I was just curious. Just checking."
"Wow," Hanson said reverently. "That is impressive, sir. A huge amount of work, and very impressive. It's good to see you're taking this seriously."
"It is?"
"Of course it is. With all the calls we get from people just pulling our legs or seeing things they want to, it's a tough call for anyone to separate the wheat from the chaff, as the Bible says. Lots of people wouldn't bother."
"So...you think this was a real sighting?" Valenti ventured.
"I don't know what it was, but it sure has everyone up in arms," Hanson said cheerfully. "Mayor's called twice already, press from all over the country is ringing the phones off the hook, and—get this—Agent Stevens called. Wants to talk to you, ASAP. He wouldn't be interested unless he thought it might be something."
"Is that right," Valenti murmured.
"One thing's for sure," Hanson continued, "it's weird that all those people saw pretty much the same thing. Mighty weird. That alone makes it worth a second look. All of us upstairs are very proud to say our boss is on it." He reached for the coffee cup. "Better drink some of this before it gets cold. It's just the way you like it—one cream, two sugars."
Valenti took the cup Hanson offered him and looked down at the map he'd been working on since the wee small, a sprawling map of Frazier Woods dotted with little markers denoting sightings and the years they'd occurred. He'd been hunkered down here in the records room precisely so he'd be out of sight of prying eyes who might question what he was doing, might question why Jim Valenti's son was taking this so seriously. Ever since the shooting at the Crashdown, ever since he'd begun to question his rote rejection of his father's beliefs, he'd tread very, very carefully, unwilling to associate himself with his father's antics any more than absolutely necessary. That business with the FBI emptying out his office had set some tongues wagging, only among those old enough to remember his father and not for long, but wagging nonetheless, and that had served as a wake-up call to keep his suspicions to himself lest he be written off as crazy just like his father had been. This latest incident smelled very different from the dozens, no, hundreds, of "sightings" reported to the station every year, and its occurring now was telling. He fully intended to pursue it to the hilt, but had expected to have to do so in private. To not have to hide it would be an unexpected bonus.
"Thanks for the coffee, Hanson," Valenti said. "If there's nothing else, I'd like to get back to work."
"Have you looked at the time, sir? Because that witness is upstairs waiting for you."
"Witness?"
"Calhoun, sir. Remember he wouldn't say much last night, wanted to speak to you privately, and you told him to come by this morning? You—"
"I remember," Valenti broke in. "I just..." He stopped, glancing at his watch. Jesus, was it really that late? He hadn't forgotten the appointment, but he'd planned to go home, grab a shower and a fresh uniform before keeping it.
"See, this is why I asked if you'd spent the night here," Hanson went on, his eyes diplomatically elsewhere. "Please take this in the spirit in which it's meant, sir, but you're a little...unkempt."
"Okay, I spent the night here," Valenti admitted. "But I didn't mean to. I just got caught up in it."
"Of course you did, sir," Hanson nodded vigorously. "Why don't I get Mr. Calhoun some coffee while you freshen up a bit. I'll make sure no one disturbs all your hard work so you can come back to it later. Or maybe one of us could help, you know, pick up where you left off—"
"No," Valenti said quickly. "No, thank you. That won't be necessary. I'll go grab a shave. Keep Calhoun busy until I get there."
Hanson disappeared, and Valenti headed for the locker room. While the fact that others were taking the sighting seriously relieved him of the burden of secrecy, it wouldn't do to let anyone know just how avidly he was pursuing it. Doing so might tip them off that he was doing much more than just cross-referencing, much more than just checking. That had been his father's undoing, the fact that he didn't keep his suspicions and hunches and everything he was doing to pursue them to himself. Thanks to the sighting, his map-making was now considered "official", but without it, it would be considered downright odd, if not worse than that. He couldn't afford to come out of the closet, not yet. He had to maintain a detached, professional manner and appearance at all times, which is why he had to do something about the stubble on his face. He'd no sooner brandished a safety razor when the locker room door banged open.
"Kyle?" Valenti said. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"
"Aren't you supposed to come home at night?" Kyle said.
"I got held up. How'd you get down here? This is a restricted area."
"Then you should lock it," Kyle said, "because it's not the least bit restricted when everyone's on the phone. Look, I just have a few minutes before I have to get back, but I wanted to show you this. I wasn't sure they were doing it this year because they got the notices out late."
Kyle held up a flyer which cheerfully yelled, "Fathers' Camping Weekend!". "We need a new tent," he announced, waving the flyer. "Remember last year? I do not want another collapsed tent in my face at 3 a.m.. I've got third period free tomorrow morning; how about we go shopping?"
"Yeah, sure," Valenti said. "So what period have you got free right now?"
"None," Kyle answered, brandishing a pass. "They think I'm on a bathroom break."
"Jesus H. Christ," Valenti muttered.
"Look, you didn't come home last night," Kyle said. "How do I talk to you when you don't come home? This is the only place I know I'll find you, so here I am."
"Kyle," Valenti said warningly, "if you—"
"Dad?" Kyle interrupted. "Chill. I'm going. See? This is me, going back. Tomorrow, 10 a.m. Don't be late."
The locker room door banged closed behind him. Ten minutes later Valenti was shaved, washed, and standing outside his office looking through the window at one Rocky Calhoun, the witness who'd been closest to whatever had flashed in the woods last night and, curiously, the one most reluctant to talk. His hand was on the doorknob when he realized that he'd made an appointment with his son and didn't remember when. But no matter. He'd just ask him tonight when he got home.
******************************************************
Mescalero Indian Reservation
The early morning air was dry and chill as River Dog approached the cave, his breath coming in frosty clouds. He'd left early this morning on the pretense of going elsewhere, knowing that if his grandson knew his intended destination, he would insist on accompanying him, and if his son knew, he would insist on causing a ruckus. Few in the village had seen the light in the sky last night, so few that Sonsee's predictions of fire and danger had been perceived as nothing more than the ravings of an old woman. The fact that white men had also seen the light meant nothing; white men were always mistaking things in the sky for all sorts of things they were not. Roswell was home to a great many stories and attracted tellers of stories, many of which concerned the woods near the reservation. The fact that the light had supposedly flared over the woods only added to the tendency to shrug the whole thing off, a viewpoint which suited him just fine. Now, approaching the cave as one of the few people who knew not only that the light had been real but what it could mean, he slowed his steps, wondering what he might find.
The initial answer to that question was...nothing. The clearing outside the cave was empty and undisturbed in the morning light. There was no sound when he stood at the mouth of the cave, no footprints, no evidence of visitation of any kind. He walked a short ways in until the cave's entrance was only a bend away from disappearing and lit a torch. He could move through the cave without it because he knew every bend, every uneven rise of its floor, every low point of its ceiling, but he could not see if anyone else was here without light. Stepping silently, he made his way into the cave, toward the cave painting. If Nasedo was here, that was where he would be.
He was. River Dog was some distance away when he spied him, seated in front of the painting, lost in thought. He had no light of any kind, nor did he need any. Nasedo had always possessed the ability to move through darkness as he moved through light.
"Nasedo?" River Dog said softly.
The reaction was swift and startling. Nasedo's head jerked his way as the torch blew out abruptly, replaced after a moment by a soft, otherworldly glow similar to that produced by Max. River Dog paused, watching the tendrils of smoke drift from the now extinguished torch. It was extraordinarily difficult to surprise Nasedo, whose senses easily surpassed those of ordinary men. While he was fond of praising the Indian's ability to walk silently, that only meant he became aware of you later than others would have. To be this close and have him unaware was unusual.
"Are you all right?" River Dog asked.
"Why are you here?" Nasedo asked in a somewhat sharper tone than he normally used.
"I saw your light in the sky," River Dog answered.
There was a pause. "You saw that?"
"Yes. And I was surprised. It seemed...unlike you," River Dog admitted. "Especially after our conversation after Michael's illness."
Nasedo said nothing. His back was still turned, and the light was very dim, making him little more than a shadow, but River Dog could have sworn he saw his shoulders sag. "Is that why you're here?" River Dog said softly. "Are you still grieving?"
Another pause, even longer this time. "He almost died," Nasedo said finally.
River Dog set his pack down. "Almost," he agreed. "But he did not."
"He remembered," Nasedo said, waving a hand toward the painting. "He remembered this."
"He appeared to," River Dog allowed. "At least briefly."
"So what happened?" Nasedo whispered, more to himself than River Dog. "What happened?"
"You were there," River Dog reminded him. "You know what happened."
"But what happened?" Nasedo repeated, abruptly turning around. "What did you see? What do you remember?"
Able to see his features for the first time, River Dog was struck by the anguish they conveyed. Things must not be going well if Nasedo was reliving their latest mishap so completely. "I...saw him healed," River Dog said. "It happened quickly, very quickly."
"And he knew this," Nasedo murmured, gazing at the painting.
"Yes," River Dog nodded. "He knew to put the stones in those holes. He said it was a map."
"And the others didn't know," Nasedo said.
River Dog shook his head. "No. He seemed to think they should, even chided them for not knowing."
"He would," Nasedo nodded with a faint smile which disappeared almost as quickly as it came. "But then he forgot."
"Suddenly," River Dog nodded. "The knowledge was there one moment and gone the next. The girls thought he might remember later since he was clearly capable of remembering."
"Isabel," Nasedo murmured.
"It was more Liz and Maria," River Dog said. "Michael responded in particular to Maria. If you ask me," he confided, "he has feelings for her."
Nasedo's head swung around to stare at him for a moment before he abruptly rose, going to the far side of the painting where he stood with his back to River Dog. "I know this was all very upsetting for you," River Dog said gently. "Has he remembered?"
"No," Nasedo said bitterly. "He hasn't."
"Is that what the sign was for? To help them remember?"
"The sign was to draw their attention," Nasedo said. "But it seems they're not paying attention."
"They may not realize it was real," River Dog pointed out. "This is Roswell. There are false signs everywhere."
"You'd think they'd at least be curious," Nasedo said. "That they would make an effort to see if it was real."
River Dog stared at him, perplexed. "But why would you want them to? You were concerned they were too curious, too heedless of their own safety, like Michael when he blundered into the sweat and fell ill. Now you want them to go searching? Isn't that exactly what you felt was too dangerous? If you're ready to approach them directly, why not simply go to them?"
"Because I can't," Nasedo whispered.
River Dog was quiet for a moment. "I see," he said finally. "You want them to initiate contact. You want them to come to you."
Nasedo said nothing, continuing to stare at the painting with his back turned. "You told me what happened the last time they were aware of you," River Dog went on, "how they remembered too much too soon and reacted badly. I'm not sure it will make a difference who starts the conversation, but if you want them to come to you, I can help."
Nasedo turned slightly. "How?"
"By going to them," River Dog said. "By telling them it was real. What they do with that information will, of course, be up to them."
"You would do that?" Nasedo said, sounding surprised. "Why?"
"I've done it before," River Dog answered. "And besides, I was the one in favor of you revealing yourself. It is only proper that I provide a bridge between you and your charges." He rose from his seat. "I'll send my grandson—"
"No. I trust only you."
River Dog hesitated. "Very well, then. I will go to Max and—"
"No," Nasedo repeated. "Michael. Only Michael."
"Only one of them?" River Dog said, puzzled. "You do not wish to speak with all of them?"
"All of them at once may be too much. One at a time is a safer alternative."
"Then...don't you want that one to be the king?"
"I want that one to be the most pragmatic," Nasedo answered. "That would be Michael."
River Dog pondered that for a moment. "The soldier," he said at length, nodding. "I understand. What shall I tell him?"
An hour later, River Dog cautiously emerged from the woods and crossed the field to his house. That he had been successful in keeping his journey from anyone was evident by the casual greetings he received from his son and grandson. Motioning to Eddie, he pulled him outside.
"You went back there, didn't you?" Eddie said the moment they were alone. "Was he there? Was the sign real?"
River Dog glanced toward the woods. "Yes. And I need you to do something for me."
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Chapter 53
^ Thanks to both of you! And I agree Eddie would have rounded out the Indians' side of the story. Thanks for reading!
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
January 20, 2000, 5 p.m.
Evans residence
"No," Isabel muttered as she dug through her closet, the hangars scritching on the closet rod as she pushed garment after garment aside. "Nope. Definitely no. No way in hell."
Abandoning the closet, she started on her drawers, sighing, "No," several times as items of clothing went flying, landing on the floor, the bed, the dressing table. Too frilly. Too thin. Too delicate. Too pink. "No, no—"
A knock sounded on the door. "Isabel?" Max's voice said. "It's almost dinner time. Are you ready?"
"—no!" Isabel wailed, tossing the latest reject on the bed before opening the door. "Congratulations, Max. I do believe that's the first time you've knocked in ages."
Max raised an eyebrow, closely followed by a second when he saw the condition of her room. "What happened in here?"
"What happened, Max, is that I don't have a thing to wear," Isabel replied tartly. "And don't you dare smirk at me like that. This isn't the usual 'nothing-to-wear' problem. This is different. This is serious. This is your fault."
"My fault?" Max echoed, having dutifully dropped the small smile he'd been wearing. "How is this my fault? It was your idea to go on the camping trip."
"No, that was your idea. I was just answering your question about what people did in the woods. You came up with the campout bit."
"And you agreed it was a great cover story," Max said. "So let's say we both came up with it and call it even. What does that have to do with the fashion explosion?"
"Because you insisted we do this big dog and pony show for Dad," Isabel said, pulling open her last drawer. "And dress the part. And there's the problem—I simply don't own anything that looks like you'd wear it into the woods or that I'd be willing to wear into the woods. I'm not exactly a woods type of person."
"Neither am I," Max said in a carefully neutral tone which still managed to sound annoyingly amused. "I just know how Dad's going to react to this because he's not a woods type of person either. He's going to need some convincing, so I thought—"
"I know what you thought," Isabel interrupted, having heard this speech before. "I just can't help you out here. I don't own a pair of jeans that I want to get muddy. I don't own a flannel shirt. I don't own a tee shirt. I don't even own a seriously warm coat, or a hat, or boots, or—"
"So what? Mom's got all those things. Wear hers."
Isabel's eyes boggled. "What? Wear mom's clothes? You can't be serious!"
"Why not?" Max said with typical male fashion cluelessness. "I hear lots of girls do that."
"Yes, well, 'lots of girls' may do that, but I'm not 'lots of girls'," Isabel said imperiously. "I do have standards, you know."
"Rumor has it," Max murmured.
"If I have to go hike in the woods, and sleep in the woods, and crap in the woods—"
"They have latrines, Isabel,"
"—and get bitten by bugs, and eat those little cereal boxes for breakfast—"
"I think it's the cereal you eat, not the box."
"—and not shower for two days, I have to at least have decent clothes! If everything else is non-negotiable, decent clothes aren't."
"Fine, whatever," Max sighed. "But dinner's in 45 minutes, so whatever you come up with, just come up with it by then."
"Oh, that's great," Isabel said scornfully as he started to leave. "Fat lot of help you are."
"I already gave you a suggestion," Max said. "Wear Mom's stuff. Or mine. I've got lots of tee shirts and heavy socks—"
Isabel threw up a hand. "Stop right there," she commanded. "The only thing worse than imagining me in Mom's clothes is imagining me in yours. Go. Now. Before I lose my mojo."
Max shrugged. "Okay. But while you're digging through your lipsticks looking for a color that blends well with bushes, just remember this isn't about clothes."
"Great, now you're an amateur psychologist," Isabel muttered.
"This is about you, Iz," Max said softly. "I know that when you finally decide what to wear and get out there...you're afraid. You're afraid of what we'll find. And if it's any consolation...so am I."
Isabel sank down on the bed as he closed the door behind him, her head in her hands. He was right, of course. All this fussing only masked her anxiety—no, make that terror—of what they'd find in those woods. She'd been so jealous of Liz when Max had taken her to meet River Dog. And then Michael had gotten sick, and she'd gotten to meet River Dog herself, heard his stories first hand, seen the cave painting, seen Michael almost die, seen him remember something only to forget it, and suddenly it had all been so real, real and overwhelming and frightening. In the aftermath of Michael's near miss, she'd found herself secretly grateful that Liz had made the first foray into the unknown and come back with enough information to lay some groundwork for the challenges ahead. But not this time. With Max and Liz having cooled things off and Michael and Maria on the outs, it was all up to them. She wouldn't have admitted it on pain of death, but it had been a Godsend having more people to lean on during the last crisis. How were they going to do this alone?
You'll do it alone because there's nothing to do, Isabel told herself fiercely. This was Roswell, home of the alien tourist, where so-called "sightings" occurred practically daily and the odds that this was anything the least bit real were practically non-existent. This was all coming from Milton, Max's goggle-eyed employer; if not for him, none of them would have given this latest hoax a second thought. Milton was hardly a credible witness, had even admitted that he hadn't personally witnessed a thing. And Valenti's closing off some of the forest meant nothing; Valenti was dogging them anyway, so every little thing was going to catch his attention. Heck, maybe she should wish for more bogus sightings just to keep him busy.
Feeling better now that she'd explained it all away, Isabel made one last sweep through her body-hugging blouses, thin trouser socks, and decidedly non-sensible shoes before venturing into her mothers' room. Diane was busy making dinner, so she had time to go through drawers and closets, wrinkling her nose at the polyester pantsuits her mother favored, her three shades of lipstick, and her sensible heels. Thank God there was nothing woods-worthy here, meaning she didn't have to wear it. The hall closet was less helpful; her mother had a utilitarian parka, one of those massive things with a two-way zipper that made you look at least twenty pounds heavier, and a pair of Totes rain boots which virtually screamed "middle age". Rooting around on the top shelf, she also found a pair of leather gloves which were barely presentable and a knit hat that could have been a 60's reject. Out of options, she returned to her bedroom and grabbed her phone.
"It's Isabel," she told the voice that answered. "I need help. Clothes help. Yes, I know I never need that," she added impatiently. "This is different. I need clothes I don't have, that I hope I will never have. But I need them this weekend, so I need you to pass the word to go through everyone's closets and come up with something. Oh, and I need at least one outfit in less than an hour. No, I'm not kidding. Knock on my window. Got a pencil?"
Forty-five minutes later, when Diane called, "Dinner!", Isabel took her seat to a wide-eyed audience. Glances were exchanged around the table, grace was said, and food was passed before anyone said anything.
"Gee, honey, you look...different," her father ventured.
"Very...homey," Diane offered.
"Well, I was just going through my closet looking for suitable clothes for this weekend," Isabel said airily as though the outfit she was wearing had just been thrown together as an afterthought instead of having been scrounged from at least five different closets, including one belonging to a younger brother.
"This weekend?" Diane repeated, eyeing the rolled up jeans and tee shirt topped by a plaid flannel shirt which Isabel had artfully tied under her bust.
Isabel looked at Max. "Didn't you tell them?"
"I was waiting for you," Max said innocently.
"Tell us what?" her parents asked in unison and no small amount of alarm.
"It's nothing bad," Max said quickly.
"They're just not used to seeing me dress like a lumberjack," Isabel said sweetly. "Mom, Dad, we have a proposal for you. There's this camping trip sponsored by the school this weekend. It's a 'fathers' weekend', you know, you're supposed to go camping with your father. They bus you out to Frazier Woods and back. We know it's short notice, but we'd like to go."
Philip blinked. "You would?"
"Oh...honey," Diane said doubtfully, "have you thought this through? You've never camped in your life."
"Neither have I," Philip admitted.
"Then let's learn together!" Isabel said with false cheerfulness. "We'll need some camping gear, like a tent and sleeping bags."
"Sounds expensive," Diane said.
"But the school said they have some to lend if you'd rather not buy them," Max added.
"You'll need more than that," Diane said. "Who's supplying the food? What do they do for bathrooms out there? How do you wash? What do you—"
"Hold on a minute," Philip interrupted. "The school is sponsoring this, so I'm sure this has all been worked out. And I can't think of a better way to have a first camping experience than in a situation like this with lots of people around to ask questions and help. I say we do it!"
"Great!" Max said.
"Thanks, Daddy," Isabel said.
"Isabel, are you sure?" Diane said, still deeply skeptical. "This doesn't sound like you."
Isabel glanced at Max, who gave her a slight nod. Show time. They'd both known that she would have to be the one to win them over because it was frankly unthinkable that Isabel Evans would shit in the woods and frankly heartening to realize that both of her parents understood this.
"I know," she said to her mother in a misty voice, staring at her plate. "But I've just been thinking...we're in high school now, and pretty soon we'll be in college, and then we won't even be living here any more, so...I guess I'm just feeling like we don't have a lot of time left. And if we want to do things, or even think we want to do them, we'd better do them quickly because once the chance is gone, it's gone. We won't get another high school or another childhood. So I admit I was skeptical when Max suggested it, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought, why not? I mean, I'm just going to get more busy in the next couple of years, and then I'll be leaving, and it's so hard to even imagine not living here any more, but...you know...that's just how it works, and..."
Isabel stopped, the tears welling in her mother's eyes a dead giveaway that she'd hit just the right buttons. "Oh, sweetheart," Diane whispered, taking her hand and reaching across the table for Philip's. "That is so beautiful. So beautiful."
Isabel squeezed her mother's hand. Her father squeezed her mother's hand. Diane held both for a very long time before letting go, reaching into her pocket for a Kleenex and noisily blowing her nose. Max gave her a satisfied smile and tucked into his mashed potatoes. Thank me later, brother dear, she thought darkly. That performance had been worthy of a freakin' Oscar.
*****************************************************
Hank Whitmore's trailer
"Touchdown!" Hank roared, leaping off the couch, sloshing beer on the sofa in the process. "Did you see that? Fuckin' amazing! That guy runs like his ass is on fire! Did you see that, Micky? Micky! What's the matter with you?"
Glancing up from the table, Michael took the cotton balls out of his ears. "What?"
"What the hell are those?" Hank demanded. "You got an ear problem?"
"No, I've got a problem with you not keeping it down. I'm trying to study."
"Study?" Hank chuckled. "Since when do you 'study'?"
"Since now," Michael said. "And I can't when you're carrying on at the top of your lungs. Hence the cotton balls."
" 'Hence'? Since when do you use words like 'hence'?'
"Since I've been studying. Now leave me alone."
"Jesus, I don't even know how to spell that," Hank said, sinking back down onto the couch. "Guess it's better for me, though. No more phone calls from the school bitching that you're truant. Course, no visits for leggy blondes either. Man, that one had legs that went all the way up to there..."
Michael replaced the cotton balls in his ears, missing the rest of it and desperately wishing he could have missed all of it. Unbeknownst to Hank, the leggy blonde he still lusted after had been an FBI agent who could have imperiled his monthly check and what he was studying was a tiny replica of the cave map he'd made one night when he'd been frustrated with the need to hide it, especially from his Neanderthal of a foster father. This map had replaced Atherton's key as the reason he got up in the morning, the reason he was willing to attend at least the minimum number of classes that would keep him out of detention and give him more time to study it, to try and remember what it meant. The flash of brilliance which had led him to miniaturize it, making it portable and available pretty much anywhere had gone a long way toward easing his impatience and anxiety. School now actually looked inviting, with long, boring classes having morphed into extended periods of studying the map conveniently secreted within a textbook, cloaking him with the twin illusions of attendance and attention and making his teachers smile. He was even doing homework as it paid handsomely with more smiles and more leeway, so delighted were they to see him "applying himself", which he was, of course, just not the way they thought. But they'd never know that, given his glowing grades on homework and tests. Schoolwork had always been easy for him, so easy that it was beneath his notice. Now it served a purpose.
"Touchdown!" Hank shouted, soaking the couch with beer again. "Get those sons of bitches!"
Pushing the cotton balls in further, Michael hunched over the map and tried to concentrate. It would be so much better if he could do this in his room, tiny as it was, but that only made things worse. Hank always demanded company while watching football, so sitting out here gave the illusion of providing that company and actually got Hank off his back, to a certain extent anyway. The symbols swam in front of his eyes as they always did, tantalizing and enigmatic. He'd raked Max and Isabel over the coals for every single syllable he'd uttered during his brief foray into memory, and when they'd grown tired of repeating it, he'd gritted his teeth and approached Liz, who had told him the same story. Apparently he'd spent most of his precious few knowledgeable minutes refusing to answer Max's and Isabel's questions and trying to make them remember on their own. Idiot, he thought darkly. Why the hell had he done that? If he'd just told them what he knew, he'd know it now because they would. Why hadn't he just spit it out? Why the drive to play school teacher? Leaning back, Michael closed his eyes for a one minute break. If he didn't do this periodically, the headaches got really bad.
A player fumbled the ball, prompting a round of profanity from Hank. "Jesus Bloody Christ!" Hank bellowed at the TV. "That moron couldn't find the goalposts if you gave him a map!"
Map.
Michael opened his eyes and looked at the symbols again. The only definite thing he'd said was his announcement that the painting was a map. He hadn't said what of, nor did it even vaguely resemble anything that looked the least bit familiar, but maybe he was going about this all wrong. He'd been racking his brain for the last month trying to remember what the symbols meant, but maybe he should be racking his brain trying to figure out the one bit of concrete information he had. So if this was a map, and a map he'd expected them to recognize and use, it must be of something around here, right? What good would a map of some alien landscape be to them on Earth? It must have meaning for them here, and his mind churned with the possibilities. What would someone want to lead them to? Put another way, what would he like to find? Grabbing a pencil, he scratched a list:
Others like us
Weapons
Instructions/marching orders
Spaceship
A secret base
Out of ideas, Michael turned the map this way and that. Another frustration was that he didn't even know which way was "up". There were no compass points on this map, no directional signals of any kind. While it was logical to assume that the way it was painted on the cave wall was the way it was supposed to be viewed, that was far from certain. What if their people read from bottom to top, or right to left, or lower left corner to upper right corner? All this time he'd spent studying it, and he didn't even know which way to hold it. So he'd held it every which way and transcribed the symbols in various orders, hoping things would look familiar from a different angle. But they hadn't, although they did look different, underscoring the need to find the right orientation.....
Wait......
Glancing at Hank, who was mercifully busy with football, Michael eagerly studied his tiny map again, from which he now realized there was one thing missing: the "V" which he'd illuminated with the glowing rocks. He'd always assumed that to be extraneous to the map, a trademark of some sort, but what if it wasn't? What if it was part of the map? What if it was the part that told him how to hold it?
His hands shaking, Michael surreptitiously pulled out his original drawing. The holes which held the glowing stones had been lightly penciled in because they'd been there, not because he'd considered them important. Studying them now, he realized that if the "V" was used as a compass pointing north, the entire map shifted at a slight angle, an angle he'd never tried before. That's it! he exulted silently. The "V" wasn't just decoration, it was a directional pointer. Thoroughly exited now, he penciled in the holes on his small copy, held the map correctly and stared at it for several minutes. The symbols themselves didn't look different this way, not being upside down or sideways, but something else was different...the spaces between the symbols looked...was it his imagination, or was that a grid pattern?
"Touchdown!" Hank screamed, literally leaping off the couch, sending beer flying. Michael hunched over the maps just in time, the beer landing on his shoulder.
"Would you watch it?" he exploded. "You almost messed up my...homework!"
"Micky, boy, there is something wrong with this world when you're fretting over a little beer on your 'homework'," Hank retorted. "What you really got there? Penthouse? Playboy? Let me see that."
"No!" Michael exclaimed. Which was exactly the wrong thing to say because Hank lived in Opposite Land.
"Give me that," Hank demanded. "I want to see this 'homework' of yours."
"Dream on," Michael said angrily. "You almost soaked it with beer once, and I'm not doing it twice."
Hank scowled at him as he tucked the maps into his pants pockets. On a bad day Hank would have continued the argument, but this was a football day. "Whatever," he growled, returning his attention to the television. "Go do something useful. Wash the dishes."
Michael ignored him, pulling a box of cereal and a bowl from the cupboard before heading to the refrigerator for some milk. "There's no milk," he said in disgust, heading outside the trailer to the picnic table, away from Hank and the noise of that infernal television.
"Use beer!" Hank said, appearing in the doorway. "I thought I told you to wash the dishes."
"Hey, I'm eating dinner," Michael said.
"Oh, that's what you call dinner?"
"Yeah, like you care," Michael retorted.
"What did you say?" Hank demanded.
Certain he was about to get in trouble, Michael stalked away, leaving his cereal untouched on the table. Unable to keep his annoyance inside, he sent a pair of garbage cans flying with this foot.
"Keep it down!" someone yelled.
"Hey, you, shut up!" Michael yelled back, spoiling for a fight. What he saw in the distance pulled him up short. A man was standing some ways away, illuminated by the street lamp, watching, waiting. A man who didn't belong here. A man who turned around and walked away without saying a word.
"Hey, wait!" Michael called, hurrying after him. "What are you doing here?"
River Dog turned around. "Did you see it?" he asked.
"See what?" Michael demanded.
"It was real," River Dog said.
"Would you quit talking in riddles? What was..." Michael paused, the reason for River Dog's visit suddenly becoming clear. "The sighting. How do you know?"
"I've seen it before," River Dog said.
"When?" Michael said urgently, coming closer. "When did you see it?"
River Dog glanced around the trailer park. "Not here. We shouldn't be discussing this out in the open. Follow me."
Michael looked back toward his own trailer, but there was no sign of Hank, only the distant blare of a TV. A lot of blares, actually, as there were TV's going in probably every trailer here. River Dog walked away, and Michael followed him to the far edge of the park, out of earshot of any trailers.
"When did you see it?" Michael repeated. "Before, I mean. You said you'd seen it before."
"When I was a boy, and Nasedo lived among us," River Dog answered. "And a few years later, just before he fled. It was the same sign. I'd know it anywhere."
Michael hesitated, the urge to hope so strong, it was overpowering. But he'd hoped before, and where had it gotten him? He had to be sure.
"Look, this is Roswell," he said to River Dog. "There are 'sightings' all the time. What makes you think this is different?"
"There are many false sightings," River Dog agreed. "But the reason for those false sightings is that the first sightings, the ones that started it all, were real. You are living proof of that."
"But why this way?" Michael argued. "Why send up a flare like that?"
"To see if you'd notice," River Dog said. "To see if you were paying attention."
Michael blinked. "What, so...so you're saying we have to be, like, worthy, or something? That this is some kind of test? Like the one you gave Max?"
"Not like that one," River Dog allowed, "but a test of a sort. This was something only those who know would recognize. Everyone else would just write it off as another fake 'sighting'."
"But why?" Michael persisted. "Why not just come to us?"
River Dog shrugged slightly. "Maybe he wants you to come to him."
Michael's heart nearly stopped. "Did he tell you that?"
"I'm merely speculating," River Dog answered. "Whether or not you take this seriously is, of course, entirely up to you."
Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets, took a deep breath of cold air. "Okay, how? How do I take it seriously?"
"I can take you there. Where it happened."
"There's sheriff's deputies crawling all over those woods," Michael said.
"Deputies," River Dog said with a faint note of amusement. "Those woods belong to the Apache. We know things about them others don't, move through them in ways others can't. Don't worry about the deputies."
"Okay," Michael said warily. "When?"
"Tomorrow night. I'll come for you after dark."
"All right. I'll tell—"
"Not the others. Just you."
"Why?" Michael demanded.
"Because," River Dog said, "you are the one who remembered."
He left then without another word, melting into the darkness before Michael could stop him, leaving him alone at the edge of the trailer park in the darkness, televisions blaring faintly behind him.
******************************************************
January 21, 2000, 10:45 a.m.
Roswell Sheriff's Station
"Yes, I understand, Mayor," Valenti said. "I agree, it's very unfortunate Mr. Calhoun went to the media, but I repeat, there was absolutely no evidence of that when I spoke with him yesterday. On the contrary, he was afraid people would think he was crazy. I had to reassure him that our conversation was just between us...what? Well, I don't know what changed his mind. Probably all those dollar signs. Maybe he doesn't care if people think he's crazy just as long as he's paid well."
The mayor launched into another speech, and Valenti reached for his coffee cup. Empty. Irritated, he looked helplessly toward the door, but Hanson was nowhere in sight, nor could he yell for him with Higgins on the line. "Look, Mayor, I don't know what you want me to do," Valenti said impatiently. "It's a free country, and if Mr. Calhoun wants to sell his story to the press, he can do that, however ill-advised I find that to be. No, I can't stop him because he hasn't broken any laws, and...no, he isn't hindering an investigation. He isn't crawling through the woods, or stopping me and my men from crawling through the woods, or intimidating witnesses, or anything like that. He's just saying what he saw. Which, frankly, could be nothing at all. We're investigating a bright flash of light, not a murder. Okay...okay...okay, look, if you think you can find a legal way to stop him, you go right ahead, but I'm not aware of any. Get your legal team on it. That's their job. I'd appreciate it if you'd let me do mine."
Valenti set the phone down hard, hard enough to make the base station slide back an inch or two. No one would like to strangle Rocky Calhoun more than he would, but wanting to and actually doing it were two different things. Infuriating as it was, the formerly timid Calhoun hadn't done anything illegal. He'd just gotten over his fear of rubber rooms when someone dangled a check in front of him, a tactic which would have worked on just about anyone.
"Liar, liar, pants on fire."
It was Hanson, the fresh cup of coffee in his hand canceling out the sing-song nursery rhyme. "Thank God," Valenti said, motioning him inside. "I ran out fifteen minutes ago."
"There you go, sir," Hanson said, setting the cup down carefully. "This one's decaf."
"What? Why?"
"Because the last thing you need is more caffeine," Hanson said in an annoying motherly tone. "Like I told Kyle, you're a walking bundle of stress. And now you're fibbing?"
"What are you talking about?" Valenti grumbled.
"You don't really think that was just a bright flash of light," Hanson said. "If you did, you wouldn't be so mad at Calhoun."
"Yeah, well, I don't know what it was," Valenti said casually. "And until I do, I'm not gonna put up with anyone else walking all over it. Speaking of which, what did Agent Stevens say?"
"It was his assistant calling, and I told her you'd call him back today," Hanson replied.
"What about the media?"
"We're tellin' them all 'no comment' because it's still under investigation. Which means they'll make something up and print that instead."
"No doubt," Valenti agreed. "But it's better than having them out in the woods. The last thing we need is to waste time rescuing another female reporter in stilettos from a mud hole."
"She was a mighty fine-looking reporter even when muddy, sir," Hanson grinned.
"Down, boy," Valenti said dryly. "Did you call Coach Clay?"
"Yes, sir. He said he'd gladly look after Kyle."
"Good. Anything else?"
Hanson hesitated, then took a seat in front of the desk, perching on the edge of the chair. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"What is this, the Army? Out with it."
"Maybe sending your son off with the coach isn't the best idea."
Valenti's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"What I mean is, is that really necessary?" Hanson amended hastily. "Kyle's camping trip is in Frazier Woods. We're gonna be out there, and if you went, you'd be there too if we needed you. Heck, you'd be closer than if you were here or at home."
"And?"
Hanson's eyes dropped. "And I remember my father talking about how disappointed you were every time your father canceled on you or just didn't show up to something you wanted to do. He always felt bad for you. I guess...I just don't like to see history repeating itself."
"You think I'm like my father?" Valenti said sharply.
"Just these last few months, sir," Hanson said. "The way you've gone after things...you get a little intense sometimes. You never used to be that way, but you have been ever since Stevens raided the place. I know that pissed you off, and I agree he was an asshole, but that was back in September."
Valenti paused, choosing his next words carefully. "You're right," he said at length. "Stevens did piss me off, and now he's on my case again, so I guess...I guess it just brought the whole thing up again in my head. I'm sorry."
"Oh, no need to apologize, sir," Hanson said quickly. "I was just thinking that Kyle was really looking forward to going this weekend and that you could kill two birds with one stone because he'll be right near where the action is. There's no need to make a choice here, not this time."
"Maybe not," Valenti allowed.
"Which is why I've cleared your schedule for the next hour," Hanson said cheerfully. "Told everyone you'd call them back after noon. So go get the tent, spend the afternoon chasing this firefly, then go surprise your son. And if anything comes up, we'll call you. What are mobile phones for if not situations like this?"
"Right," Valenti nodded. "Thanks, Hanson."
"You're welcome, sir. Enjoy your decaf."
I hate decaf, Valenti thought, staring at the cup. But one of the things he hated more was being compared to his father, especially when it came to Kyle. Hanson was right—he'd blown the kid off just like his father used to, passed him off to Coach Clay just like his old man. It was downright embarrassing.
Twenty minutes later, he was walking into Duke's Sports Shop. "Hey, sheriff!" Duke called, the Valenti's being regular customers. "What's up with this sighting business?"
"Not sure yet, but probably nothing serious," Valenti replied. "Say, Duke, I need an 'I'm sorry' present."
"From here?" Duke chuckled, glancing around at the guns and duck blinds.
"Specifically, I need a tent," Valenti clarified. "The best two-man tent you've got."
"Ah," Duke nodded knowingly, a wide smile spreading across his face. "I see. Don't worry; I won't tell a soul."
"Tell a soul what?"
"That the sheriff has some up-close-and-personal apologizing to do," Duke grinned. "So who's the lucky lady?"
"It's for my son," Valenti said deliberately. "We're going on a camping trip together, and we're leaving in just a few hours, so I'd appreciate it if you'd drop the innuendo and find me a tent."
The smile slid off Duke's face. "Right away, sheriff. One tent, comin' right up."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 54 next Sunday.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
January 20, 2000, 5 p.m.
Evans residence
"No," Isabel muttered as she dug through her closet, the hangars scritching on the closet rod as she pushed garment after garment aside. "Nope. Definitely no. No way in hell."
Abandoning the closet, she started on her drawers, sighing, "No," several times as items of clothing went flying, landing on the floor, the bed, the dressing table. Too frilly. Too thin. Too delicate. Too pink. "No, no—"
A knock sounded on the door. "Isabel?" Max's voice said. "It's almost dinner time. Are you ready?"
"—no!" Isabel wailed, tossing the latest reject on the bed before opening the door. "Congratulations, Max. I do believe that's the first time you've knocked in ages."
Max raised an eyebrow, closely followed by a second when he saw the condition of her room. "What happened in here?"
"What happened, Max, is that I don't have a thing to wear," Isabel replied tartly. "And don't you dare smirk at me like that. This isn't the usual 'nothing-to-wear' problem. This is different. This is serious. This is your fault."
"My fault?" Max echoed, having dutifully dropped the small smile he'd been wearing. "How is this my fault? It was your idea to go on the camping trip."
"No, that was your idea. I was just answering your question about what people did in the woods. You came up with the campout bit."
"And you agreed it was a great cover story," Max said. "So let's say we both came up with it and call it even. What does that have to do with the fashion explosion?"
"Because you insisted we do this big dog and pony show for Dad," Isabel said, pulling open her last drawer. "And dress the part. And there's the problem—I simply don't own anything that looks like you'd wear it into the woods or that I'd be willing to wear into the woods. I'm not exactly a woods type of person."
"Neither am I," Max said in a carefully neutral tone which still managed to sound annoyingly amused. "I just know how Dad's going to react to this because he's not a woods type of person either. He's going to need some convincing, so I thought—"
"I know what you thought," Isabel interrupted, having heard this speech before. "I just can't help you out here. I don't own a pair of jeans that I want to get muddy. I don't own a flannel shirt. I don't own a tee shirt. I don't even own a seriously warm coat, or a hat, or boots, or—"
"So what? Mom's got all those things. Wear hers."
Isabel's eyes boggled. "What? Wear mom's clothes? You can't be serious!"
"Why not?" Max said with typical male fashion cluelessness. "I hear lots of girls do that."
"Yes, well, 'lots of girls' may do that, but I'm not 'lots of girls'," Isabel said imperiously. "I do have standards, you know."
"Rumor has it," Max murmured.
"If I have to go hike in the woods, and sleep in the woods, and crap in the woods—"
"They have latrines, Isabel,"
"—and get bitten by bugs, and eat those little cereal boxes for breakfast—"
"I think it's the cereal you eat, not the box."
"—and not shower for two days, I have to at least have decent clothes! If everything else is non-negotiable, decent clothes aren't."
"Fine, whatever," Max sighed. "But dinner's in 45 minutes, so whatever you come up with, just come up with it by then."
"Oh, that's great," Isabel said scornfully as he started to leave. "Fat lot of help you are."
"I already gave you a suggestion," Max said. "Wear Mom's stuff. Or mine. I've got lots of tee shirts and heavy socks—"
Isabel threw up a hand. "Stop right there," she commanded. "The only thing worse than imagining me in Mom's clothes is imagining me in yours. Go. Now. Before I lose my mojo."
Max shrugged. "Okay. But while you're digging through your lipsticks looking for a color that blends well with bushes, just remember this isn't about clothes."
"Great, now you're an amateur psychologist," Isabel muttered.
"This is about you, Iz," Max said softly. "I know that when you finally decide what to wear and get out there...you're afraid. You're afraid of what we'll find. And if it's any consolation...so am I."
Isabel sank down on the bed as he closed the door behind him, her head in her hands. He was right, of course. All this fussing only masked her anxiety—no, make that terror—of what they'd find in those woods. She'd been so jealous of Liz when Max had taken her to meet River Dog. And then Michael had gotten sick, and she'd gotten to meet River Dog herself, heard his stories first hand, seen the cave painting, seen Michael almost die, seen him remember something only to forget it, and suddenly it had all been so real, real and overwhelming and frightening. In the aftermath of Michael's near miss, she'd found herself secretly grateful that Liz had made the first foray into the unknown and come back with enough information to lay some groundwork for the challenges ahead. But not this time. With Max and Liz having cooled things off and Michael and Maria on the outs, it was all up to them. She wouldn't have admitted it on pain of death, but it had been a Godsend having more people to lean on during the last crisis. How were they going to do this alone?
You'll do it alone because there's nothing to do, Isabel told herself fiercely. This was Roswell, home of the alien tourist, where so-called "sightings" occurred practically daily and the odds that this was anything the least bit real were practically non-existent. This was all coming from Milton, Max's goggle-eyed employer; if not for him, none of them would have given this latest hoax a second thought. Milton was hardly a credible witness, had even admitted that he hadn't personally witnessed a thing. And Valenti's closing off some of the forest meant nothing; Valenti was dogging them anyway, so every little thing was going to catch his attention. Heck, maybe she should wish for more bogus sightings just to keep him busy.
Feeling better now that she'd explained it all away, Isabel made one last sweep through her body-hugging blouses, thin trouser socks, and decidedly non-sensible shoes before venturing into her mothers' room. Diane was busy making dinner, so she had time to go through drawers and closets, wrinkling her nose at the polyester pantsuits her mother favored, her three shades of lipstick, and her sensible heels. Thank God there was nothing woods-worthy here, meaning she didn't have to wear it. The hall closet was less helpful; her mother had a utilitarian parka, one of those massive things with a two-way zipper that made you look at least twenty pounds heavier, and a pair of Totes rain boots which virtually screamed "middle age". Rooting around on the top shelf, she also found a pair of leather gloves which were barely presentable and a knit hat that could have been a 60's reject. Out of options, she returned to her bedroom and grabbed her phone.
"It's Isabel," she told the voice that answered. "I need help. Clothes help. Yes, I know I never need that," she added impatiently. "This is different. I need clothes I don't have, that I hope I will never have. But I need them this weekend, so I need you to pass the word to go through everyone's closets and come up with something. Oh, and I need at least one outfit in less than an hour. No, I'm not kidding. Knock on my window. Got a pencil?"
Forty-five minutes later, when Diane called, "Dinner!", Isabel took her seat to a wide-eyed audience. Glances were exchanged around the table, grace was said, and food was passed before anyone said anything.
"Gee, honey, you look...different," her father ventured.
"Very...homey," Diane offered.
"Well, I was just going through my closet looking for suitable clothes for this weekend," Isabel said airily as though the outfit she was wearing had just been thrown together as an afterthought instead of having been scrounged from at least five different closets, including one belonging to a younger brother.
"This weekend?" Diane repeated, eyeing the rolled up jeans and tee shirt topped by a plaid flannel shirt which Isabel had artfully tied under her bust.
Isabel looked at Max. "Didn't you tell them?"
"I was waiting for you," Max said innocently.
"Tell us what?" her parents asked in unison and no small amount of alarm.
"It's nothing bad," Max said quickly.
"They're just not used to seeing me dress like a lumberjack," Isabel said sweetly. "Mom, Dad, we have a proposal for you. There's this camping trip sponsored by the school this weekend. It's a 'fathers' weekend', you know, you're supposed to go camping with your father. They bus you out to Frazier Woods and back. We know it's short notice, but we'd like to go."
Philip blinked. "You would?"
"Oh...honey," Diane said doubtfully, "have you thought this through? You've never camped in your life."
"Neither have I," Philip admitted.
"Then let's learn together!" Isabel said with false cheerfulness. "We'll need some camping gear, like a tent and sleeping bags."
"Sounds expensive," Diane said.
"But the school said they have some to lend if you'd rather not buy them," Max added.
"You'll need more than that," Diane said. "Who's supplying the food? What do they do for bathrooms out there? How do you wash? What do you—"
"Hold on a minute," Philip interrupted. "The school is sponsoring this, so I'm sure this has all been worked out. And I can't think of a better way to have a first camping experience than in a situation like this with lots of people around to ask questions and help. I say we do it!"
"Great!" Max said.
"Thanks, Daddy," Isabel said.
"Isabel, are you sure?" Diane said, still deeply skeptical. "This doesn't sound like you."
Isabel glanced at Max, who gave her a slight nod. Show time. They'd both known that she would have to be the one to win them over because it was frankly unthinkable that Isabel Evans would shit in the woods and frankly heartening to realize that both of her parents understood this.
"I know," she said to her mother in a misty voice, staring at her plate. "But I've just been thinking...we're in high school now, and pretty soon we'll be in college, and then we won't even be living here any more, so...I guess I'm just feeling like we don't have a lot of time left. And if we want to do things, or even think we want to do them, we'd better do them quickly because once the chance is gone, it's gone. We won't get another high school or another childhood. So I admit I was skeptical when Max suggested it, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought, why not? I mean, I'm just going to get more busy in the next couple of years, and then I'll be leaving, and it's so hard to even imagine not living here any more, but...you know...that's just how it works, and..."
Isabel stopped, the tears welling in her mother's eyes a dead giveaway that she'd hit just the right buttons. "Oh, sweetheart," Diane whispered, taking her hand and reaching across the table for Philip's. "That is so beautiful. So beautiful."
Isabel squeezed her mother's hand. Her father squeezed her mother's hand. Diane held both for a very long time before letting go, reaching into her pocket for a Kleenex and noisily blowing her nose. Max gave her a satisfied smile and tucked into his mashed potatoes. Thank me later, brother dear, she thought darkly. That performance had been worthy of a freakin' Oscar.
*****************************************************
Hank Whitmore's trailer
"Touchdown!" Hank roared, leaping off the couch, sloshing beer on the sofa in the process. "Did you see that? Fuckin' amazing! That guy runs like his ass is on fire! Did you see that, Micky? Micky! What's the matter with you?"
Glancing up from the table, Michael took the cotton balls out of his ears. "What?"
"What the hell are those?" Hank demanded. "You got an ear problem?"
"No, I've got a problem with you not keeping it down. I'm trying to study."
"Study?" Hank chuckled. "Since when do you 'study'?"
"Since now," Michael said. "And I can't when you're carrying on at the top of your lungs. Hence the cotton balls."
" 'Hence'? Since when do you use words like 'hence'?'
"Since I've been studying. Now leave me alone."
"Jesus, I don't even know how to spell that," Hank said, sinking back down onto the couch. "Guess it's better for me, though. No more phone calls from the school bitching that you're truant. Course, no visits for leggy blondes either. Man, that one had legs that went all the way up to there..."
Michael replaced the cotton balls in his ears, missing the rest of it and desperately wishing he could have missed all of it. Unbeknownst to Hank, the leggy blonde he still lusted after had been an FBI agent who could have imperiled his monthly check and what he was studying was a tiny replica of the cave map he'd made one night when he'd been frustrated with the need to hide it, especially from his Neanderthal of a foster father. This map had replaced Atherton's key as the reason he got up in the morning, the reason he was willing to attend at least the minimum number of classes that would keep him out of detention and give him more time to study it, to try and remember what it meant. The flash of brilliance which had led him to miniaturize it, making it portable and available pretty much anywhere had gone a long way toward easing his impatience and anxiety. School now actually looked inviting, with long, boring classes having morphed into extended periods of studying the map conveniently secreted within a textbook, cloaking him with the twin illusions of attendance and attention and making his teachers smile. He was even doing homework as it paid handsomely with more smiles and more leeway, so delighted were they to see him "applying himself", which he was, of course, just not the way they thought. But they'd never know that, given his glowing grades on homework and tests. Schoolwork had always been easy for him, so easy that it was beneath his notice. Now it served a purpose.
"Touchdown!" Hank shouted, soaking the couch with beer again. "Get those sons of bitches!"
Pushing the cotton balls in further, Michael hunched over the map and tried to concentrate. It would be so much better if he could do this in his room, tiny as it was, but that only made things worse. Hank always demanded company while watching football, so sitting out here gave the illusion of providing that company and actually got Hank off his back, to a certain extent anyway. The symbols swam in front of his eyes as they always did, tantalizing and enigmatic. He'd raked Max and Isabel over the coals for every single syllable he'd uttered during his brief foray into memory, and when they'd grown tired of repeating it, he'd gritted his teeth and approached Liz, who had told him the same story. Apparently he'd spent most of his precious few knowledgeable minutes refusing to answer Max's and Isabel's questions and trying to make them remember on their own. Idiot, he thought darkly. Why the hell had he done that? If he'd just told them what he knew, he'd know it now because they would. Why hadn't he just spit it out? Why the drive to play school teacher? Leaning back, Michael closed his eyes for a one minute break. If he didn't do this periodically, the headaches got really bad.
A player fumbled the ball, prompting a round of profanity from Hank. "Jesus Bloody Christ!" Hank bellowed at the TV. "That moron couldn't find the goalposts if you gave him a map!"
Map.
Michael opened his eyes and looked at the symbols again. The only definite thing he'd said was his announcement that the painting was a map. He hadn't said what of, nor did it even vaguely resemble anything that looked the least bit familiar, but maybe he was going about this all wrong. He'd been racking his brain for the last month trying to remember what the symbols meant, but maybe he should be racking his brain trying to figure out the one bit of concrete information he had. So if this was a map, and a map he'd expected them to recognize and use, it must be of something around here, right? What good would a map of some alien landscape be to them on Earth? It must have meaning for them here, and his mind churned with the possibilities. What would someone want to lead them to? Put another way, what would he like to find? Grabbing a pencil, he scratched a list:
Others like us
Weapons
Instructions/marching orders
Spaceship
A secret base
Out of ideas, Michael turned the map this way and that. Another frustration was that he didn't even know which way was "up". There were no compass points on this map, no directional signals of any kind. While it was logical to assume that the way it was painted on the cave wall was the way it was supposed to be viewed, that was far from certain. What if their people read from bottom to top, or right to left, or lower left corner to upper right corner? All this time he'd spent studying it, and he didn't even know which way to hold it. So he'd held it every which way and transcribed the symbols in various orders, hoping things would look familiar from a different angle. But they hadn't, although they did look different, underscoring the need to find the right orientation.....
Wait......
Glancing at Hank, who was mercifully busy with football, Michael eagerly studied his tiny map again, from which he now realized there was one thing missing: the "V" which he'd illuminated with the glowing rocks. He'd always assumed that to be extraneous to the map, a trademark of some sort, but what if it wasn't? What if it was part of the map? What if it was the part that told him how to hold it?
His hands shaking, Michael surreptitiously pulled out his original drawing. The holes which held the glowing stones had been lightly penciled in because they'd been there, not because he'd considered them important. Studying them now, he realized that if the "V" was used as a compass pointing north, the entire map shifted at a slight angle, an angle he'd never tried before. That's it! he exulted silently. The "V" wasn't just decoration, it was a directional pointer. Thoroughly exited now, he penciled in the holes on his small copy, held the map correctly and stared at it for several minutes. The symbols themselves didn't look different this way, not being upside down or sideways, but something else was different...the spaces between the symbols looked...was it his imagination, or was that a grid pattern?
"Touchdown!" Hank screamed, literally leaping off the couch, sending beer flying. Michael hunched over the maps just in time, the beer landing on his shoulder.
"Would you watch it?" he exploded. "You almost messed up my...homework!"
"Micky, boy, there is something wrong with this world when you're fretting over a little beer on your 'homework'," Hank retorted. "What you really got there? Penthouse? Playboy? Let me see that."
"No!" Michael exclaimed. Which was exactly the wrong thing to say because Hank lived in Opposite Land.
"Give me that," Hank demanded. "I want to see this 'homework' of yours."
"Dream on," Michael said angrily. "You almost soaked it with beer once, and I'm not doing it twice."
Hank scowled at him as he tucked the maps into his pants pockets. On a bad day Hank would have continued the argument, but this was a football day. "Whatever," he growled, returning his attention to the television. "Go do something useful. Wash the dishes."
Michael ignored him, pulling a box of cereal and a bowl from the cupboard before heading to the refrigerator for some milk. "There's no milk," he said in disgust, heading outside the trailer to the picnic table, away from Hank and the noise of that infernal television.
"Use beer!" Hank said, appearing in the doorway. "I thought I told you to wash the dishes."
"Hey, I'm eating dinner," Michael said.
"Oh, that's what you call dinner?"
"Yeah, like you care," Michael retorted.
"What did you say?" Hank demanded.
Certain he was about to get in trouble, Michael stalked away, leaving his cereal untouched on the table. Unable to keep his annoyance inside, he sent a pair of garbage cans flying with this foot.
"Keep it down!" someone yelled.
"Hey, you, shut up!" Michael yelled back, spoiling for a fight. What he saw in the distance pulled him up short. A man was standing some ways away, illuminated by the street lamp, watching, waiting. A man who didn't belong here. A man who turned around and walked away without saying a word.
"Hey, wait!" Michael called, hurrying after him. "What are you doing here?"
River Dog turned around. "Did you see it?" he asked.
"See what?" Michael demanded.
"It was real," River Dog said.
"Would you quit talking in riddles? What was..." Michael paused, the reason for River Dog's visit suddenly becoming clear. "The sighting. How do you know?"
"I've seen it before," River Dog said.
"When?" Michael said urgently, coming closer. "When did you see it?"
River Dog glanced around the trailer park. "Not here. We shouldn't be discussing this out in the open. Follow me."
Michael looked back toward his own trailer, but there was no sign of Hank, only the distant blare of a TV. A lot of blares, actually, as there were TV's going in probably every trailer here. River Dog walked away, and Michael followed him to the far edge of the park, out of earshot of any trailers.
"When did you see it?" Michael repeated. "Before, I mean. You said you'd seen it before."
"When I was a boy, and Nasedo lived among us," River Dog answered. "And a few years later, just before he fled. It was the same sign. I'd know it anywhere."
Michael hesitated, the urge to hope so strong, it was overpowering. But he'd hoped before, and where had it gotten him? He had to be sure.
"Look, this is Roswell," he said to River Dog. "There are 'sightings' all the time. What makes you think this is different?"
"There are many false sightings," River Dog agreed. "But the reason for those false sightings is that the first sightings, the ones that started it all, were real. You are living proof of that."
"But why this way?" Michael argued. "Why send up a flare like that?"
"To see if you'd notice," River Dog said. "To see if you were paying attention."
Michael blinked. "What, so...so you're saying we have to be, like, worthy, or something? That this is some kind of test? Like the one you gave Max?"
"Not like that one," River Dog allowed, "but a test of a sort. This was something only those who know would recognize. Everyone else would just write it off as another fake 'sighting'."
"But why?" Michael persisted. "Why not just come to us?"
River Dog shrugged slightly. "Maybe he wants you to come to him."
Michael's heart nearly stopped. "Did he tell you that?"
"I'm merely speculating," River Dog answered. "Whether or not you take this seriously is, of course, entirely up to you."
Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets, took a deep breath of cold air. "Okay, how? How do I take it seriously?"
"I can take you there. Where it happened."
"There's sheriff's deputies crawling all over those woods," Michael said.
"Deputies," River Dog said with a faint note of amusement. "Those woods belong to the Apache. We know things about them others don't, move through them in ways others can't. Don't worry about the deputies."
"Okay," Michael said warily. "When?"
"Tomorrow night. I'll come for you after dark."
"All right. I'll tell—"
"Not the others. Just you."
"Why?" Michael demanded.
"Because," River Dog said, "you are the one who remembered."
He left then without another word, melting into the darkness before Michael could stop him, leaving him alone at the edge of the trailer park in the darkness, televisions blaring faintly behind him.
******************************************************
January 21, 2000, 10:45 a.m.
Roswell Sheriff's Station
"Yes, I understand, Mayor," Valenti said. "I agree, it's very unfortunate Mr. Calhoun went to the media, but I repeat, there was absolutely no evidence of that when I spoke with him yesterday. On the contrary, he was afraid people would think he was crazy. I had to reassure him that our conversation was just between us...what? Well, I don't know what changed his mind. Probably all those dollar signs. Maybe he doesn't care if people think he's crazy just as long as he's paid well."
The mayor launched into another speech, and Valenti reached for his coffee cup. Empty. Irritated, he looked helplessly toward the door, but Hanson was nowhere in sight, nor could he yell for him with Higgins on the line. "Look, Mayor, I don't know what you want me to do," Valenti said impatiently. "It's a free country, and if Mr. Calhoun wants to sell his story to the press, he can do that, however ill-advised I find that to be. No, I can't stop him because he hasn't broken any laws, and...no, he isn't hindering an investigation. He isn't crawling through the woods, or stopping me and my men from crawling through the woods, or intimidating witnesses, or anything like that. He's just saying what he saw. Which, frankly, could be nothing at all. We're investigating a bright flash of light, not a murder. Okay...okay...okay, look, if you think you can find a legal way to stop him, you go right ahead, but I'm not aware of any. Get your legal team on it. That's their job. I'd appreciate it if you'd let me do mine."
Valenti set the phone down hard, hard enough to make the base station slide back an inch or two. No one would like to strangle Rocky Calhoun more than he would, but wanting to and actually doing it were two different things. Infuriating as it was, the formerly timid Calhoun hadn't done anything illegal. He'd just gotten over his fear of rubber rooms when someone dangled a check in front of him, a tactic which would have worked on just about anyone.
"Liar, liar, pants on fire."
It was Hanson, the fresh cup of coffee in his hand canceling out the sing-song nursery rhyme. "Thank God," Valenti said, motioning him inside. "I ran out fifteen minutes ago."
"There you go, sir," Hanson said, setting the cup down carefully. "This one's decaf."
"What? Why?"
"Because the last thing you need is more caffeine," Hanson said in an annoying motherly tone. "Like I told Kyle, you're a walking bundle of stress. And now you're fibbing?"
"What are you talking about?" Valenti grumbled.
"You don't really think that was just a bright flash of light," Hanson said. "If you did, you wouldn't be so mad at Calhoun."
"Yeah, well, I don't know what it was," Valenti said casually. "And until I do, I'm not gonna put up with anyone else walking all over it. Speaking of which, what did Agent Stevens say?"
"It was his assistant calling, and I told her you'd call him back today," Hanson replied.
"What about the media?"
"We're tellin' them all 'no comment' because it's still under investigation. Which means they'll make something up and print that instead."
"No doubt," Valenti agreed. "But it's better than having them out in the woods. The last thing we need is to waste time rescuing another female reporter in stilettos from a mud hole."
"She was a mighty fine-looking reporter even when muddy, sir," Hanson grinned.
"Down, boy," Valenti said dryly. "Did you call Coach Clay?"
"Yes, sir. He said he'd gladly look after Kyle."
"Good. Anything else?"
Hanson hesitated, then took a seat in front of the desk, perching on the edge of the chair. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"What is this, the Army? Out with it."
"Maybe sending your son off with the coach isn't the best idea."
Valenti's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"What I mean is, is that really necessary?" Hanson amended hastily. "Kyle's camping trip is in Frazier Woods. We're gonna be out there, and if you went, you'd be there too if we needed you. Heck, you'd be closer than if you were here or at home."
"And?"
Hanson's eyes dropped. "And I remember my father talking about how disappointed you were every time your father canceled on you or just didn't show up to something you wanted to do. He always felt bad for you. I guess...I just don't like to see history repeating itself."
"You think I'm like my father?" Valenti said sharply.
"Just these last few months, sir," Hanson said. "The way you've gone after things...you get a little intense sometimes. You never used to be that way, but you have been ever since Stevens raided the place. I know that pissed you off, and I agree he was an asshole, but that was back in September."
Valenti paused, choosing his next words carefully. "You're right," he said at length. "Stevens did piss me off, and now he's on my case again, so I guess...I guess it just brought the whole thing up again in my head. I'm sorry."
"Oh, no need to apologize, sir," Hanson said quickly. "I was just thinking that Kyle was really looking forward to going this weekend and that you could kill two birds with one stone because he'll be right near where the action is. There's no need to make a choice here, not this time."
"Maybe not," Valenti allowed.
"Which is why I've cleared your schedule for the next hour," Hanson said cheerfully. "Told everyone you'd call them back after noon. So go get the tent, spend the afternoon chasing this firefly, then go surprise your son. And if anything comes up, we'll call you. What are mobile phones for if not situations like this?"
"Right," Valenti nodded. "Thanks, Hanson."
"You're welcome, sir. Enjoy your decaf."
I hate decaf, Valenti thought, staring at the cup. But one of the things he hated more was being compared to his father, especially when it came to Kyle. Hanson was right—he'd blown the kid off just like his father used to, passed him off to Coach Clay just like his old man. It was downright embarrassing.
Twenty minutes later, he was walking into Duke's Sports Shop. "Hey, sheriff!" Duke called, the Valenti's being regular customers. "What's up with this sighting business?"
"Not sure yet, but probably nothing serious," Valenti replied. "Say, Duke, I need an 'I'm sorry' present."
"From here?" Duke chuckled, glancing around at the guns and duck blinds.
"Specifically, I need a tent," Valenti clarified. "The best two-man tent you've got."
"Ah," Duke nodded knowingly, a wide smile spreading across his face. "I see. Don't worry; I won't tell a soul."
"Tell a soul what?"
"That the sheriff has some up-close-and-personal apologizing to do," Duke grinned. "So who's the lucky lady?"
"It's for my son," Valenti said deliberately. "We're going on a camping trip together, and we're leaving in just a few hours, so I'd appreciate it if you'd drop the innuendo and find me a tent."
The smile slid off Duke's face. "Right away, sheriff. One tent, comin' right up."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 54 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Chapter 54
^ It was just so easy to imagine Isabel with nothing to wear in that situation. 
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
January 21, 2000, 4:15 p.m.
West Roswell High School
"Aren't we a bit early?" Dee asked as she climbed out of the car. "You said the bus didn't leave until 5 p.m."
"It doesn't," Philip replied, climbing out of his own car. "I've just never done this before, so I wanted to be sure we had extra time. C'mon, kids! Up and at'em!"
The "kids" in question, Max and Isabel, climbed slowly out of the car and gazed warily at the few people milling around the parking lot. "Why did you park so far from the bus, Dad?" Isabel asked. "Hiking to the bus isn't part of the trip."
"I just landed away from the fray so we could unload your grandmother's car," Philip answered. "Why don't you two go check us in while we do some transferring."
Max and Isabel headed off in the direction of an official looking person with a clipboard as Dee opened her trunk. "How much money did you spend, exactly?" she asked as she eyed the brand new tent, sleeping bags, and other camping paraphernalia. "It looks like you bought out the sporting goods shop."
"Mom, don't," Philip warned. "I've never camped before, so I made some investments. I can afford it."
"You most certainly did camp before," Dee chuckled. "Don't tell me you've forgotten that sleepover at scout camp?"
"I'm trying to," Philip muttered.
"Nobody showed you how to put the tent up, then it rained all night, and the tent leaked," Dee went on. "What time did it collapse on you? 3 a.m.? 4 a.m.?"
"Does it matter?" Philip said. "Anyway, not this time. I bought a totally water-proofed tent that's big enough for four people."
"Does it set itself up?"
"You're hilarious," Philip deadpanned. "It comes with directions. I'm not an idiot, you know."
"Of course not," Dee said as Philip heaved one thing after another out of her trunk. "We're just not 'outdoor' people, including Max and Isabel. How'd you talk them into this?"
"I didn't," Philip said. "They talked me into it, both of them."
Dee's eyebrows rose. "Isabel? Our Isabel? Talked you into a camping trip?"
"That's right," Philip said, hauling the last bag out of Dee's trunk. "Guess she's been thinking about college and living away from home, and wanted a little more parent time before that happened. You shoulda heard it. I thought Diane was going to melt."
"Is that so?" Dee said dryly.
"Why are you using that tone?" Philip demanded. "Is it so hard to imagine my daughter wanting some time with her dad?"
"In a jewelry store? No. In the woods? Yes."
"Then that just shows how much she wants it. That's the last of it," Philip added, stuffing the final bag into a space which had formerly been stuffed with children. "Thanks for coming along. I just couldn't fit it all in with the kids in the back seat."
"No problem," Dee said. "Have a good time. I...wait. What's that?"
"Dinner ware," Philip said with a perfectly straight face. "We'll be gone for two nights. We have to eat."
" 'Dinner ware'?" Dee repeated. "They have 'dinner ware' for the woods?"
"Yeah. Collapsing cups and folding spoons and stuff like that. Bye, Mom. Keep an eye on Diane for me, will you?"
"Of course," Dee promised as Philip motored the car across the parking lot, closer to the bus and check-in point. She followed on foot, weaving through the now bustling lot which was fast filling up with cars and a combination of kids hauling camping equipment and bewildered parents, and parents hauling camping equipment and bewildered kids. Each parent-child group seemed to have at least one bewildered member, and it would seem Philip filled that role in their case, although he'd certainly risen to the occasion by not only participating, but shelling out big bucks for top of the line camping gear they'd probably never use again. But why would Max and Isabel want to go on a camping trip? Neither had ever shown the least bit of interest in anything even remotely outdoorsy, and Isabel in particular thrived best in an indoor environment. Something else was going on here.
"Oh, dear," a sad voice said. "Oh dear, oh dear."
Dee smiled faintly at the very tall man leaning over his trunk and wearing a very non-woodsy business suit. "Anything wrong?" she asked.
He looked up in surprise, pushing his heavy-rimmed glasses further up his nose. "Oh. No, no, I just...I just have no idea what I'm doing here," he finished, obviously one of the bewildered. "I've never camped in my life."
"My son has never camped in his life either," Dee said, deciding that one night in scout camp was small enough to justify a little white lie. "Philip Evans, over there with enough stuff to start a Gander Mountain franchise."
"At least he looks prepared," the man said. "My son called me at the office this afternoon and said he was dying to go on this camping trip. I had a whopping hour and a half to get ready. If you can call this ready," he added doubtfully. "I'm not sure these sleeping bags are waterproof."
"They're not predicting rain for this weekend," Dee said helpfully.
"One can only hope," the man sighed. "What kind of school holds a camping trip in the middle of January?"
"Maybe it was the only time they could manage it away from holidays and exams," Dee said, although privately she'd wondered the same thing.
"Pops!" called an excited voice as a tall, thin boy the very spitting image of his father bounded toward them. "I got the tags. And coach says he has an extra tent, so we don't have to sleep outside."
"Thank God for that," the man said glumly. "Oh...I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Arthur Whitman," he said, offering Dee his hand. "And this is my son—"
Alex, Dee finished at the same time the word was spoken. So this was the young man who had saved her grandson's life and exposed the FBI. Quite a resume for a high school student, although all he looked like now was an eager kid who was gazing off into the distance...
"Dee Evans," Dee smiled, shaking Mr. Whitman's hand warmly. "Philip's mother. Nice to meet you both. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time despite the late notice. Just go for it, that's what I say."
"Me too!" Alex chimed in, delighted to meet a kindred spirit. "See, Dad? She agrees we should just go for it."
"Then here we go," Mr. Whitman said with a combination of hope and false cheer as he shouldered a couple of bags. "Nice to meet you. Keep thinking good thoughts for no rain."
"I will," Dee promised.
"And that we won't be anywhere near the sighting," Mr. Whitman added.
"Eh, those are always bogus," Dee said. "I don't expect this one is any different."
The Whitmans trudged off toward the bus, one eager, one doing his best to look that way, and Dee nursed a small smile. Alex had been staring at none other than her own granddaughter. Wasn't Alex the boy she'd met at the UFO Museum a while back? Was there a budding romance going on here? Further investigation of the crowd of students and fathers lining up to board the bus revealed that Liz Parker was also here along with her friend, Maria, as was Jim Valenti and his son, Kyle. Michael, however, was nowhere in sight.
Her phone rang. Dee pulled it from her pocket just as Philip climbed the bus's steps and waved to her. "Hello?"
" Everything okay?" Brivari's voice said.
"I would have called you if it wasn't," Dee replied, waving back. "They're fine. Stop worrying."
"What's this about a 'sighting'? It's all over the news."
"Of course it is," Dee said calmly. "There are sightings here every week, at least. You know that."
"Most of which don't involve the sheriff and the mayor," Brivari noted. "This one has attracted more attention. Why?"
"I have no idea," Dee answered. "It doesn't sound any different from any other so-called 'sighting'. Just the usual stuff about bright lights and so on."
"And yet Valenti is supposedly actively pursuing it."
"Well, of course he is," Dee said. "Given what he knows, he'd pursue anything like this. He can't be too worried, though, because he's going on the camping trip too."
"Camping trip? What camping trip?"
"The Father-Child camping trip the school sponsors every year."
"In January?"
"Don't start," Dee said dryly. "Philip got roped into it. He's thrown himself into it with admirable gusto even though that mostly involved throwing his credit card around."
"Zan used to 'camp'," Brivari said in an almost wistful tone. "If that's what you could call it given that a monarch never does anything, including that, without an entourage. I used to love those outings."
"Oh? Why?"
"Because it got us both away from the palace and all its attendant politics and pettiness. We always got along better when we were alone, and we were rarely alone."
"So what exactly was camping like for you?" Dee asked, nearly missing her son's and grandchildren's waves as the bus pulled away from the parking lot. She loved it when Brivari talked about Antar, which he almost never did.
"Same as here. You sleep outdoors, eat outdoors, do basically everything outdoors. Zan loved it."
"Well, it remains to be seen if Max will," Dee said. "And that goes quintuple for Isabel. It's hard to imagine her doing anything in the woods."
There was a long pause. "What was that?" Brivari said sharply.
"I said, it's hard to imagine Isabel doing anything in the woods," Dee repeated. "She's just not—"
"Vilandra is going on this camping trip?"
"No, Isabel is going," Dee said patiently. "She apparently gave Philip and Diane a sob story about missing them when she goes to college, but I have a more likely explanation—boys. I think there's a boy she likes, and—"
Click.
"Hello?" Dee said. "Hello? Damned cell networks," she muttered, hanging up and dialing. She reached Brivari's voicemail, sighed, hung up, and tried again.
A couple of minutes later, after several failed attempts, she began to wonder what was going on. Trying another number, she waited impatiently while it rang.
"Langley Enterprises," a prim voice answered.
Andrew, Dee thought, recognizing Brivari's exceptionally proper assistant. "This is Ms. Proctor calling for Mr. Langley," Dee said, having been through this drill before and fully expecting to be put through immediately.
"Ah, Ms. Proctor," Andrew said briskly. "Mr. Langley sends his apologies, but he had to leave quite suddenly."
"He did? What for?"
"He didn't say," Andrew answered. "But he did tell me that, if you called, to say he'll be in touch with you directly."
"But...I was just talking to him. He must still be there."
"I'm afraid not," Andrew informed her. "He headed straight for the helipad on the roof, and he's probably halfway to the airport by now."
"I see," Dee said faintly. "Well...thank you."
"Sorry I couldn't be of more help," Andrew commiserated. "Do have yourself a nice day."
"You, too," Dee muttered before hanging up. What was up with that? Brivari never, ever refused a call from her. He had a phone which worked in places normal cell phones did not and voicemail which God couldn't hack. The only time she'd dealt with Andrew was when she'd wanted to leave a non-important message, knowing that any message on that exceptionally private voicemail would cause him to think something bad had happened. This was downright odd.
Whatever, she decided, tucking her phone back into her purse. It was already a weird day. A weird Warder wasn't that much more to add.
******************************************************
Hank Whitmore's trailer
"Micky! Where's the laundry?"
"Right where you left it," Michael answered.
"I told you to do the laundry! You mean you didn't do it?"
"I've got homework," Michael said. "You do it."
Hank appeared in the bedroom doorway. "What was that?" he snapped.
Michael looked up from the bed where he was sprawled, one arm crooked around the cave map. "What I meant was, I seriously doubt my guidance counselor would appreciate me spending my time doing laundry instead of studying, especially when she knows you're underemployed and available to do it yourself."
Hank hovered in the doorway, scowling, ultimately retreating, and Michael allowed himself a small smile. Here he'd been fighting the whole school thing for so long, never realizing what a useful goad it was. School was now happier with him, and making it unhappy would draw scrutiny, scrutiny Hank didn't want. If he'd known school would be such a thorn in Hank's side, he would have applied himself long ago.
Applying himself tonight, however, was proving to be something of a problem. Ever since River Dog's visit last night, he'd been in a state of heady excitement, of barely controlled expectation. It had taken him an entire night of tossing and turning to process that unexpected visitation with all its attendant surprises, not the least of which was that the sighting was real. What did it mean? Was it a message from home? Was someone trying to contact them? Maybe it was an automated message, like celestial voicemail, set to go off as soon as they discovered the cave map? But then why hadn't it gone off when Max had discovered it? The possibilities were endless, so much so that he'd initially overlooked the even more exciting part of River Dog's message, that being that it was only for him. River Dog had come to him, and him alone. Not only that, he'd instructed him not to tell the others what he'd learned or where he was going tonight. The explanation for this, because you are the one who remembered, was nothing short of breathtaking, transforming what he'd previously though of as a tragedy into a huge asset. He'd caught nothing but grief for going into that sweat, for scaring everyone, for putting them through hell trying to save him. To have remembered something and then forgotten only added insult to injury, so it was safe to say that the entire incident was a dark cloud in Michael's mind, one which had suddenly lifted when it had abruptly turned into a badge of honor, earning him privileged information. It always seemed to be Max and Isabel who had all the advantages, from a stable family to better control of their powers to first dibs on any information about them. To have that suddenly reversed, to know something they didn't was positively intoxicating, so much so that he'd resolved to keep the entire incident to himself until he knew more.
That resolve had lasted approximately two periods when, unable to keep it to himself any longer, he'd cornered Max, told him River Dog had come to see him, and that he'd explain later. By the end of the next period it was clear that word had been passed to Isabel, and Michael had spent the rest of the school day floating on a bubble of satisfaction as both Max and Isabel, usually the ones in control of just about everything, watched him anxiously. By the time they hit the Crashdown after school they'd both been practically jumping out of their skins, and for the first time in a long time he had something to tell them, something they didn't know. Isabel had taken the news that the sighting was real relatively well, although she'd blown off his suggestion that River Dog might be Nasedo. Max had frowned at his assertion that River Dog knew more about them than Philip Evans ever would but hadn't challenged it. And both had left not entirely brought up to speed because Michael had left out the part about River Dog's return visit. He'd seriously considered spilling that, even felt hypocritical about keeping it to himself given the fuss he'd raised about having been excluded from previous escapades. But the feeling of surprising them with something was so delicious that the prospect of surprising them again had won out, trumping even the guilt he was feeling for doing that. Max had left he and Isabel out of the first visit to the cave, after all, and had even concealed the existence of the map for several days. He was only doing what Max had done, and if it was okay for Max to do, it was okay for him too. Or so he told himself as he kept one eye on the clock even as he tried to study the map, his attention slipping. After dark, River Dog said. It had been dark for some time now, so it should be soon. How would he know River Dog was here? Should he go outside? It was unlikely the old man would knock on the trailer door and unwise to have him do so as Hank would likely answer.
Five more minutes, Michael decided. He'd wait five more minutes, then go outside. The map swam in front of his face, the symbols bleeding together as his mind wandered, wondering what he'd discover tonight, excited by the prospect even as it frightened him. Would it be something dangerous? Would it be a some"one" or a some"thing"? Would there be decisions to make? Was he the right person to be making them? Maybe he should have brought Max and Isabel, or at least Max. They were going on that silly camping trip, supposedly in pursuit of the sighting, so it was still possible to catch up with him. Should he try?
Focus, Michael ordered himself as the clock hand ticked one agonizing minute forward. Last night he'd hit upon the idea that the "V" in the middle of the map was actually part of the map, an orientation tool like a compass marker and a notion he hadn't bothered to share with Max and Isabel. He was still convinced he was onto something, but had no idea what; using the "V" to point north made the map look no less enigmatic. Last night he could have sworn he'd seen some sort of grid pattern in the symbols, but then Hank and dinner and River Dog had intervened, and by the time he'd returned to it, the map looked every bit as jumbled as it had before, as it did now. He may have found a piece of the puzzle, but he still couldn't see the picture. He needed another piece.
Which I don't have, Michael sighed, folding up the map and tucking it into his jacket pocket. He wasn't able to concentrate in here, so he may as well go outside. Waiting until Hank was deep in the fridge in pursuit of a beer, he slipped outside into a bright night with a moon so large, it functioned as a lantern. He'd barely closed the door before a shape emerged from between two trailers nearby.
"It's time," River Dog said.
Good, Michael thought, calmer now that things were moving. He was always calmer when things were moving. He followed River Dog in silence to the edge of the park where they'd spoken last night and beyond. "What took you so long?" he asked when they were finally far away from any trailer.
"What took you so long?" River Dog countered. "I've been waiting almost an hour."
"Oh," Michael said faintly. "Sorry."
River Dog didn't answer, merely kept walking until they reached the road, where a truck waited. "Get in," he said.
Michael peered into the truck, where Eddie was at the wheel. "Why's he here?"
"He drove me here," River Dog said. "He drove me last night too."
"Which is why I'm here," Eddie added when Michael didn't budge. "Are you getting in, or not?"
Michael hesitated. Unlike Max, he intended to do this right, so he'd promised himself no humans this time, no Liz, no Maria, no extraneous people who had no part in this and would demand undying gratitude later. That also meant no Eddie.
"If you don't want to come, you don't have to," River Dog said. "It's your choice."
Michael's eyes snapped to the old man, who was regarding him steadily. Why didn't Nasedo come to us? he'd asked last night. Maybe he wants you to come to him, had been the answer.
Or maybe he already has, Michael thought. If he was right and River Dog was Nasedo, it would be a very bad idea to reject his choice of chauffeur. Then again there were some things that just weren't negotiable.
"He doesn't come with us," Michael said, nodding toward Eddie, who scowled. "When we go, it's just you and me."
"Agreed," River Dog said. "Just you and me."
******************************************************
Eddie's fingers tapped on the steering wheel as the truck rumbled down the dark road, doing a slow burn. Beside him sat his grandfather in tranquil silence; behind him was a rude, impatient kid pumped so full of adrenaline, it was coming off him in waves. He'd been against this from the start, and the further along they went, the deeper his misgivings became. This whole thing was a very bad idea.
"The man at your trailer," River Dog said suddenly. "Is he your father?"
"No," came a voice from the back seat, heavy with irony. "Or at least I hope not."
"Then who is he?"
"My foster father," Michael answered. "I don't have a real father."
River Dog turned halfway around. "Everyone has a real father, Michael."
Let's not go all "Oprah", Eddie thought darkly, privately wondering if Michael's real father simply didn't want to admit being related to this sullen kid.
"Yeah, whatever," Michael said. "Where are we going?"
"Where you wanted to go," Eddie said shortly.
"Very funny," Michael retorted.
Eddie glanced toward the back seat. "Am I laughing?"
"We're going to where the sighting occurred," River Dog said, throwing a frown Eddie's way which Eddie ignored.
"And where is that?"
"In the woods below our reservation," River Dog answered.
"But where in the woods?" Michael pressed.
"Woods don't have road signs," Eddie said. "It's just in the woods. My grandfather knows where."
"And now I want to know where," Michael insisted.
Eddie snorted softly. "Why? Lost your nerve?"
"Why don't you just shut up?" Michael snapped.
Screeeeech!
Tires squealed and everyone pitched forward as Eddie slammed on the brakes, sending the car to the side of the road. He and River Dog were wearing seat belts, but Michael wasn't, and the thump with which he hit the front seat was impressive. "Jesus!" he exploded, righting himself. "What the hell was that for?"
"Let's get a few things straight," Eddie said angrily. "First of all, I'm driving. Don't piss me off. Second, my grandfather hauled out here twice in the last two days on your behalf, so a little gratitude, or at least a lack of asinine behavior, is in order. Third, you're the one who agreed to this little field trip, and if you've changed your mind, I can assure you that I've got better things to do than haul some snot-nosed kid to the woods. River Dog's told you all he knows, so if you can't shut up and accept that, save us all a lot of time and get out of the car. Now."
Michael stared at him, stony-faced, before deliberately settling into the back seat in a way which made it clear he wasn't going anywhere. "You disrespect my grandfather or me again, and I'm throwing you out of this car," Eddie warned. "Are we clear?"
Michael's eyes flashed angrily, and for a moment, Eddie wondered if kids who could make light could do a lot more than that. But after looking at River Dog, who was watching him closely, Michael backed down.
"We're clear," he said stiffly.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Michael?" River Dog added. "Because you don't have to."
"I want to," Michael insisted. "Let's go."
Damn, Eddie thought darkly as he shifted into gear, having wanted nothing more than to leave their passenger by the side of the road. They drove in total silence until they reached the reservation, bypassing the village and pulling over some ways past.
"Wait for me," River Dog told Michael. "I'll be along in a few minutes."
Michael looked daggers at Eddie, but obeyed, slamming the door behind him and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he trudged toward the woods, his very posture screaming disapproval. River Dog waited until he'd reached the tree line before speaking again.
"What was that about?"
"It was about how this is all wrong," Eddie said. "That kid is trouble; you know it, and I know it. He's pushy, he's rude, he's impatient, he's ungrateful. He seems to think you were born to serve him. Frankly the only time he was tolerable was when he was unconscious."
"He's a child," River Dog said. "And he's afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of what will happen tonight. Of what he will learn. Of who he will meet."
"Yeah, that's another thing," Eddie went on. "Why him? Why Michael? Why on Earth would Nasedo pick someone like that to have a private chat with? Max would be a much better choice. I've tangled with both of them and neither are diplomats, but at least you can talk to Max."
"Nasedo said to bring only him because he was the one who remembered the most," River Dog answered. "I told you that."
"But why is Nasedo having you bring him?" Eddie said in frustration. "He knows where these kids are. Why doesn't he go to them himself? Why all this sneaking and fetching and leading them around?"
"He wants them to come to him. That was the purpose of the sighting, to get their attention."
"Well, it didn't work," Eddie groused. "So he sends you? How does you leading them around on a leash mean they're 'coming to him'?"
"I offered to act as liaison," River Dog reminded him. "I made that offer freely and without any request from Nasedo. If you don't like the current circumstances, you have no one to blame but me."
"Like hell I don't," Eddie retorted. "You kept your promise to him, so you're done. You don't owe him a thing, and at your age, he has no business asking more from you. I could see when Michael was sick and he needed help with the whole healing thing, but this isn't an emergency. This time, it feels like..."
"Like what?" River Dog said softly.
Eddie turned hard eyes on his grandfather. "Like he's using you. Like he doesn't give a shit. And that's weird, because when I met him that day in Jackie's house, I didn't get that impression at all. He sounded like he cared for you, like he respected you. What changed?"
River Dog shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I don't. Nasedo has explained the situation to me, and all I can tell you is that it's far more complicated than it looks. That's why I'm willing to give Michael the benefit of the doubt."
"Yeah, well, I hope so," Eddie muttered. "I still say I liked him better when he was almost dead."
"Go home," River Dog instructed, ignoring that last remark. "You don't want to be involved in this any longer, so you shouldn't have to be."
"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" Eddie asked. "I'd feel a lot better if I came with you, and I don't care if Michael likes it or not."
"I must go alone," River Dog insisted. "I'll be fine. You needn't worry."
But I do, Eddie thought as River Dog climbed out and headed for the trees. When he'd challenged Michael, he'd felt the same thing he'd felt when he'd challenged Max, like an ominous rumble of thunder, like a snake preparing to strike. In Max's case, however, it had been more controlled; with Michael it had felt more like a downed power line, snapping and jumping without warning. Watching his grandfather head into the forest with that snapping power line felt wrong in too many ways to count.
Deeply conflicted, Eddie drove off, only to pull over a short ways down the road. It didn't feel right sending his grandfather off with that kid, so he wasn't going to. Like it or not, he was coming too.
*****************************************************
Frazier Woods
C'mon, doggie. C'mon!
Wary now, the search dog lifted it's snout and scanned the area around it, oblivious to the sheriff's deputies chattering amongst themselves and the other dogs a short ways off. Earth's fauna had always been sensitive to Covari, able for some unfathomable reason to sense their "otherness". Brivari took full advantage of that as he continued to catch the dog's attention until, finally, it took the bait.
"Rowrf!" it barked, scampering closer, drawing the attention of dogs and deputies alike. "Rowrf, rowrf!"
"Hey, Jake found something!" one of the deputies called.
That's right, Brivari thought, leading the procession into the forest. This way. He kept ahead of the pack easily, letting them close enough to pick up the scent before pulling away, leaving the dogs to lead the deputies where he wanted them to go. The forest was crowded this night what with campers, deputies, and UFO enthusiasts, none of which interested him in the least. Zan and Vilandra walked these woods, followed by the Parker girl and her friend, followed by Valenti, and he'd spied Rath and River Dog approaching from another direction. The game was afoot, there were far too many pieces in play, and he had little time to reach his destination and alter the game board. Leaving the search dogs to do their work, he continued on and found what he was looking for right where he thought he would, not even attempting to hide himself. But then why would he? He thought no one could see him.
"Perhaps you could explain to me," Brivari said in disgust as Jaddo whirled around, "just exactly what part of 'stay away from them' is so difficult for you to understand?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 55 next Sunday.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
January 21, 2000, 4:15 p.m.
West Roswell High School
"Aren't we a bit early?" Dee asked as she climbed out of the car. "You said the bus didn't leave until 5 p.m."
"It doesn't," Philip replied, climbing out of his own car. "I've just never done this before, so I wanted to be sure we had extra time. C'mon, kids! Up and at'em!"
The "kids" in question, Max and Isabel, climbed slowly out of the car and gazed warily at the few people milling around the parking lot. "Why did you park so far from the bus, Dad?" Isabel asked. "Hiking to the bus isn't part of the trip."
"I just landed away from the fray so we could unload your grandmother's car," Philip answered. "Why don't you two go check us in while we do some transferring."
Max and Isabel headed off in the direction of an official looking person with a clipboard as Dee opened her trunk. "How much money did you spend, exactly?" she asked as she eyed the brand new tent, sleeping bags, and other camping paraphernalia. "It looks like you bought out the sporting goods shop."
"Mom, don't," Philip warned. "I've never camped before, so I made some investments. I can afford it."
"You most certainly did camp before," Dee chuckled. "Don't tell me you've forgotten that sleepover at scout camp?"
"I'm trying to," Philip muttered.
"Nobody showed you how to put the tent up, then it rained all night, and the tent leaked," Dee went on. "What time did it collapse on you? 3 a.m.? 4 a.m.?"
"Does it matter?" Philip said. "Anyway, not this time. I bought a totally water-proofed tent that's big enough for four people."
"Does it set itself up?"
"You're hilarious," Philip deadpanned. "It comes with directions. I'm not an idiot, you know."
"Of course not," Dee said as Philip heaved one thing after another out of her trunk. "We're just not 'outdoor' people, including Max and Isabel. How'd you talk them into this?"
"I didn't," Philip said. "They talked me into it, both of them."
Dee's eyebrows rose. "Isabel? Our Isabel? Talked you into a camping trip?"
"That's right," Philip said, hauling the last bag out of Dee's trunk. "Guess she's been thinking about college and living away from home, and wanted a little more parent time before that happened. You shoulda heard it. I thought Diane was going to melt."
"Is that so?" Dee said dryly.
"Why are you using that tone?" Philip demanded. "Is it so hard to imagine my daughter wanting some time with her dad?"
"In a jewelry store? No. In the woods? Yes."
"Then that just shows how much she wants it. That's the last of it," Philip added, stuffing the final bag into a space which had formerly been stuffed with children. "Thanks for coming along. I just couldn't fit it all in with the kids in the back seat."
"No problem," Dee said. "Have a good time. I...wait. What's that?"
"Dinner ware," Philip said with a perfectly straight face. "We'll be gone for two nights. We have to eat."
" 'Dinner ware'?" Dee repeated. "They have 'dinner ware' for the woods?"
"Yeah. Collapsing cups and folding spoons and stuff like that. Bye, Mom. Keep an eye on Diane for me, will you?"
"Of course," Dee promised as Philip motored the car across the parking lot, closer to the bus and check-in point. She followed on foot, weaving through the now bustling lot which was fast filling up with cars and a combination of kids hauling camping equipment and bewildered parents, and parents hauling camping equipment and bewildered kids. Each parent-child group seemed to have at least one bewildered member, and it would seem Philip filled that role in their case, although he'd certainly risen to the occasion by not only participating, but shelling out big bucks for top of the line camping gear they'd probably never use again. But why would Max and Isabel want to go on a camping trip? Neither had ever shown the least bit of interest in anything even remotely outdoorsy, and Isabel in particular thrived best in an indoor environment. Something else was going on here.
"Oh, dear," a sad voice said. "Oh dear, oh dear."
Dee smiled faintly at the very tall man leaning over his trunk and wearing a very non-woodsy business suit. "Anything wrong?" she asked.
He looked up in surprise, pushing his heavy-rimmed glasses further up his nose. "Oh. No, no, I just...I just have no idea what I'm doing here," he finished, obviously one of the bewildered. "I've never camped in my life."
"My son has never camped in his life either," Dee said, deciding that one night in scout camp was small enough to justify a little white lie. "Philip Evans, over there with enough stuff to start a Gander Mountain franchise."
"At least he looks prepared," the man said. "My son called me at the office this afternoon and said he was dying to go on this camping trip. I had a whopping hour and a half to get ready. If you can call this ready," he added doubtfully. "I'm not sure these sleeping bags are waterproof."
"They're not predicting rain for this weekend," Dee said helpfully.
"One can only hope," the man sighed. "What kind of school holds a camping trip in the middle of January?"
"Maybe it was the only time they could manage it away from holidays and exams," Dee said, although privately she'd wondered the same thing.
"Pops!" called an excited voice as a tall, thin boy the very spitting image of his father bounded toward them. "I got the tags. And coach says he has an extra tent, so we don't have to sleep outside."
"Thank God for that," the man said glumly. "Oh...I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Arthur Whitman," he said, offering Dee his hand. "And this is my son—"
Alex, Dee finished at the same time the word was spoken. So this was the young man who had saved her grandson's life and exposed the FBI. Quite a resume for a high school student, although all he looked like now was an eager kid who was gazing off into the distance...
"Dee Evans," Dee smiled, shaking Mr. Whitman's hand warmly. "Philip's mother. Nice to meet you both. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time despite the late notice. Just go for it, that's what I say."
"Me too!" Alex chimed in, delighted to meet a kindred spirit. "See, Dad? She agrees we should just go for it."
"Then here we go," Mr. Whitman said with a combination of hope and false cheer as he shouldered a couple of bags. "Nice to meet you. Keep thinking good thoughts for no rain."
"I will," Dee promised.
"And that we won't be anywhere near the sighting," Mr. Whitman added.
"Eh, those are always bogus," Dee said. "I don't expect this one is any different."
The Whitmans trudged off toward the bus, one eager, one doing his best to look that way, and Dee nursed a small smile. Alex had been staring at none other than her own granddaughter. Wasn't Alex the boy she'd met at the UFO Museum a while back? Was there a budding romance going on here? Further investigation of the crowd of students and fathers lining up to board the bus revealed that Liz Parker was also here along with her friend, Maria, as was Jim Valenti and his son, Kyle. Michael, however, was nowhere in sight.
Her phone rang. Dee pulled it from her pocket just as Philip climbed the bus's steps and waved to her. "Hello?"
" Everything okay?" Brivari's voice said.
"I would have called you if it wasn't," Dee replied, waving back. "They're fine. Stop worrying."
"What's this about a 'sighting'? It's all over the news."
"Of course it is," Dee said calmly. "There are sightings here every week, at least. You know that."
"Most of which don't involve the sheriff and the mayor," Brivari noted. "This one has attracted more attention. Why?"
"I have no idea," Dee answered. "It doesn't sound any different from any other so-called 'sighting'. Just the usual stuff about bright lights and so on."
"And yet Valenti is supposedly actively pursuing it."
"Well, of course he is," Dee said. "Given what he knows, he'd pursue anything like this. He can't be too worried, though, because he's going on the camping trip too."
"Camping trip? What camping trip?"
"The Father-Child camping trip the school sponsors every year."
"In January?"
"Don't start," Dee said dryly. "Philip got roped into it. He's thrown himself into it with admirable gusto even though that mostly involved throwing his credit card around."
"Zan used to 'camp'," Brivari said in an almost wistful tone. "If that's what you could call it given that a monarch never does anything, including that, without an entourage. I used to love those outings."
"Oh? Why?"
"Because it got us both away from the palace and all its attendant politics and pettiness. We always got along better when we were alone, and we were rarely alone."
"So what exactly was camping like for you?" Dee asked, nearly missing her son's and grandchildren's waves as the bus pulled away from the parking lot. She loved it when Brivari talked about Antar, which he almost never did.
"Same as here. You sleep outdoors, eat outdoors, do basically everything outdoors. Zan loved it."
"Well, it remains to be seen if Max will," Dee said. "And that goes quintuple for Isabel. It's hard to imagine her doing anything in the woods."
There was a long pause. "What was that?" Brivari said sharply.
"I said, it's hard to imagine Isabel doing anything in the woods," Dee repeated. "She's just not—"
"Vilandra is going on this camping trip?"
"No, Isabel is going," Dee said patiently. "She apparently gave Philip and Diane a sob story about missing them when she goes to college, but I have a more likely explanation—boys. I think there's a boy she likes, and—"
Click.
"Hello?" Dee said. "Hello? Damned cell networks," she muttered, hanging up and dialing. She reached Brivari's voicemail, sighed, hung up, and tried again.
A couple of minutes later, after several failed attempts, she began to wonder what was going on. Trying another number, she waited impatiently while it rang.
"Langley Enterprises," a prim voice answered.
Andrew, Dee thought, recognizing Brivari's exceptionally proper assistant. "This is Ms. Proctor calling for Mr. Langley," Dee said, having been through this drill before and fully expecting to be put through immediately.
"Ah, Ms. Proctor," Andrew said briskly. "Mr. Langley sends his apologies, but he had to leave quite suddenly."
"He did? What for?"
"He didn't say," Andrew answered. "But he did tell me that, if you called, to say he'll be in touch with you directly."
"But...I was just talking to him. He must still be there."
"I'm afraid not," Andrew informed her. "He headed straight for the helipad on the roof, and he's probably halfway to the airport by now."
"I see," Dee said faintly. "Well...thank you."
"Sorry I couldn't be of more help," Andrew commiserated. "Do have yourself a nice day."
"You, too," Dee muttered before hanging up. What was up with that? Brivari never, ever refused a call from her. He had a phone which worked in places normal cell phones did not and voicemail which God couldn't hack. The only time she'd dealt with Andrew was when she'd wanted to leave a non-important message, knowing that any message on that exceptionally private voicemail would cause him to think something bad had happened. This was downright odd.
Whatever, she decided, tucking her phone back into her purse. It was already a weird day. A weird Warder wasn't that much more to add.
******************************************************
Hank Whitmore's trailer
"Micky! Where's the laundry?"
"Right where you left it," Michael answered.
"I told you to do the laundry! You mean you didn't do it?"
"I've got homework," Michael said. "You do it."
Hank appeared in the bedroom doorway. "What was that?" he snapped.
Michael looked up from the bed where he was sprawled, one arm crooked around the cave map. "What I meant was, I seriously doubt my guidance counselor would appreciate me spending my time doing laundry instead of studying, especially when she knows you're underemployed and available to do it yourself."
Hank hovered in the doorway, scowling, ultimately retreating, and Michael allowed himself a small smile. Here he'd been fighting the whole school thing for so long, never realizing what a useful goad it was. School was now happier with him, and making it unhappy would draw scrutiny, scrutiny Hank didn't want. If he'd known school would be such a thorn in Hank's side, he would have applied himself long ago.
Applying himself tonight, however, was proving to be something of a problem. Ever since River Dog's visit last night, he'd been in a state of heady excitement, of barely controlled expectation. It had taken him an entire night of tossing and turning to process that unexpected visitation with all its attendant surprises, not the least of which was that the sighting was real. What did it mean? Was it a message from home? Was someone trying to contact them? Maybe it was an automated message, like celestial voicemail, set to go off as soon as they discovered the cave map? But then why hadn't it gone off when Max had discovered it? The possibilities were endless, so much so that he'd initially overlooked the even more exciting part of River Dog's message, that being that it was only for him. River Dog had come to him, and him alone. Not only that, he'd instructed him not to tell the others what he'd learned or where he was going tonight. The explanation for this, because you are the one who remembered, was nothing short of breathtaking, transforming what he'd previously though of as a tragedy into a huge asset. He'd caught nothing but grief for going into that sweat, for scaring everyone, for putting them through hell trying to save him. To have remembered something and then forgotten only added insult to injury, so it was safe to say that the entire incident was a dark cloud in Michael's mind, one which had suddenly lifted when it had abruptly turned into a badge of honor, earning him privileged information. It always seemed to be Max and Isabel who had all the advantages, from a stable family to better control of their powers to first dibs on any information about them. To have that suddenly reversed, to know something they didn't was positively intoxicating, so much so that he'd resolved to keep the entire incident to himself until he knew more.
That resolve had lasted approximately two periods when, unable to keep it to himself any longer, he'd cornered Max, told him River Dog had come to see him, and that he'd explain later. By the end of the next period it was clear that word had been passed to Isabel, and Michael had spent the rest of the school day floating on a bubble of satisfaction as both Max and Isabel, usually the ones in control of just about everything, watched him anxiously. By the time they hit the Crashdown after school they'd both been practically jumping out of their skins, and for the first time in a long time he had something to tell them, something they didn't know. Isabel had taken the news that the sighting was real relatively well, although she'd blown off his suggestion that River Dog might be Nasedo. Max had frowned at his assertion that River Dog knew more about them than Philip Evans ever would but hadn't challenged it. And both had left not entirely brought up to speed because Michael had left out the part about River Dog's return visit. He'd seriously considered spilling that, even felt hypocritical about keeping it to himself given the fuss he'd raised about having been excluded from previous escapades. But the feeling of surprising them with something was so delicious that the prospect of surprising them again had won out, trumping even the guilt he was feeling for doing that. Max had left he and Isabel out of the first visit to the cave, after all, and had even concealed the existence of the map for several days. He was only doing what Max had done, and if it was okay for Max to do, it was okay for him too. Or so he told himself as he kept one eye on the clock even as he tried to study the map, his attention slipping. After dark, River Dog said. It had been dark for some time now, so it should be soon. How would he know River Dog was here? Should he go outside? It was unlikely the old man would knock on the trailer door and unwise to have him do so as Hank would likely answer.
Five more minutes, Michael decided. He'd wait five more minutes, then go outside. The map swam in front of his face, the symbols bleeding together as his mind wandered, wondering what he'd discover tonight, excited by the prospect even as it frightened him. Would it be something dangerous? Would it be a some"one" or a some"thing"? Would there be decisions to make? Was he the right person to be making them? Maybe he should have brought Max and Isabel, or at least Max. They were going on that silly camping trip, supposedly in pursuit of the sighting, so it was still possible to catch up with him. Should he try?
Focus, Michael ordered himself as the clock hand ticked one agonizing minute forward. Last night he'd hit upon the idea that the "V" in the middle of the map was actually part of the map, an orientation tool like a compass marker and a notion he hadn't bothered to share with Max and Isabel. He was still convinced he was onto something, but had no idea what; using the "V" to point north made the map look no less enigmatic. Last night he could have sworn he'd seen some sort of grid pattern in the symbols, but then Hank and dinner and River Dog had intervened, and by the time he'd returned to it, the map looked every bit as jumbled as it had before, as it did now. He may have found a piece of the puzzle, but he still couldn't see the picture. He needed another piece.
Which I don't have, Michael sighed, folding up the map and tucking it into his jacket pocket. He wasn't able to concentrate in here, so he may as well go outside. Waiting until Hank was deep in the fridge in pursuit of a beer, he slipped outside into a bright night with a moon so large, it functioned as a lantern. He'd barely closed the door before a shape emerged from between two trailers nearby.
"It's time," River Dog said.
Good, Michael thought, calmer now that things were moving. He was always calmer when things were moving. He followed River Dog in silence to the edge of the park where they'd spoken last night and beyond. "What took you so long?" he asked when they were finally far away from any trailer.
"What took you so long?" River Dog countered. "I've been waiting almost an hour."
"Oh," Michael said faintly. "Sorry."
River Dog didn't answer, merely kept walking until they reached the road, where a truck waited. "Get in," he said.
Michael peered into the truck, where Eddie was at the wheel. "Why's he here?"
"He drove me here," River Dog said. "He drove me last night too."
"Which is why I'm here," Eddie added when Michael didn't budge. "Are you getting in, or not?"
Michael hesitated. Unlike Max, he intended to do this right, so he'd promised himself no humans this time, no Liz, no Maria, no extraneous people who had no part in this and would demand undying gratitude later. That also meant no Eddie.
"If you don't want to come, you don't have to," River Dog said. "It's your choice."
Michael's eyes snapped to the old man, who was regarding him steadily. Why didn't Nasedo come to us? he'd asked last night. Maybe he wants you to come to him, had been the answer.
Or maybe he already has, Michael thought. If he was right and River Dog was Nasedo, it would be a very bad idea to reject his choice of chauffeur. Then again there were some things that just weren't negotiable.
"He doesn't come with us," Michael said, nodding toward Eddie, who scowled. "When we go, it's just you and me."
"Agreed," River Dog said. "Just you and me."
******************************************************
Eddie's fingers tapped on the steering wheel as the truck rumbled down the dark road, doing a slow burn. Beside him sat his grandfather in tranquil silence; behind him was a rude, impatient kid pumped so full of adrenaline, it was coming off him in waves. He'd been against this from the start, and the further along they went, the deeper his misgivings became. This whole thing was a very bad idea.
"The man at your trailer," River Dog said suddenly. "Is he your father?"
"No," came a voice from the back seat, heavy with irony. "Or at least I hope not."
"Then who is he?"
"My foster father," Michael answered. "I don't have a real father."
River Dog turned halfway around. "Everyone has a real father, Michael."
Let's not go all "Oprah", Eddie thought darkly, privately wondering if Michael's real father simply didn't want to admit being related to this sullen kid.
"Yeah, whatever," Michael said. "Where are we going?"
"Where you wanted to go," Eddie said shortly.
"Very funny," Michael retorted.
Eddie glanced toward the back seat. "Am I laughing?"
"We're going to where the sighting occurred," River Dog said, throwing a frown Eddie's way which Eddie ignored.
"And where is that?"
"In the woods below our reservation," River Dog answered.
"But where in the woods?" Michael pressed.
"Woods don't have road signs," Eddie said. "It's just in the woods. My grandfather knows where."
"And now I want to know where," Michael insisted.
Eddie snorted softly. "Why? Lost your nerve?"
"Why don't you just shut up?" Michael snapped.
Screeeeech!
Tires squealed and everyone pitched forward as Eddie slammed on the brakes, sending the car to the side of the road. He and River Dog were wearing seat belts, but Michael wasn't, and the thump with which he hit the front seat was impressive. "Jesus!" he exploded, righting himself. "What the hell was that for?"
"Let's get a few things straight," Eddie said angrily. "First of all, I'm driving. Don't piss me off. Second, my grandfather hauled out here twice in the last two days on your behalf, so a little gratitude, or at least a lack of asinine behavior, is in order. Third, you're the one who agreed to this little field trip, and if you've changed your mind, I can assure you that I've got better things to do than haul some snot-nosed kid to the woods. River Dog's told you all he knows, so if you can't shut up and accept that, save us all a lot of time and get out of the car. Now."
Michael stared at him, stony-faced, before deliberately settling into the back seat in a way which made it clear he wasn't going anywhere. "You disrespect my grandfather or me again, and I'm throwing you out of this car," Eddie warned. "Are we clear?"
Michael's eyes flashed angrily, and for a moment, Eddie wondered if kids who could make light could do a lot more than that. But after looking at River Dog, who was watching him closely, Michael backed down.
"We're clear," he said stiffly.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Michael?" River Dog added. "Because you don't have to."
"I want to," Michael insisted. "Let's go."
Damn, Eddie thought darkly as he shifted into gear, having wanted nothing more than to leave their passenger by the side of the road. They drove in total silence until they reached the reservation, bypassing the village and pulling over some ways past.
"Wait for me," River Dog told Michael. "I'll be along in a few minutes."
Michael looked daggers at Eddie, but obeyed, slamming the door behind him and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he trudged toward the woods, his very posture screaming disapproval. River Dog waited until he'd reached the tree line before speaking again.
"What was that about?"
"It was about how this is all wrong," Eddie said. "That kid is trouble; you know it, and I know it. He's pushy, he's rude, he's impatient, he's ungrateful. He seems to think you were born to serve him. Frankly the only time he was tolerable was when he was unconscious."
"He's a child," River Dog said. "And he's afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of what will happen tonight. Of what he will learn. Of who he will meet."
"Yeah, that's another thing," Eddie went on. "Why him? Why Michael? Why on Earth would Nasedo pick someone like that to have a private chat with? Max would be a much better choice. I've tangled with both of them and neither are diplomats, but at least you can talk to Max."
"Nasedo said to bring only him because he was the one who remembered the most," River Dog answered. "I told you that."
"But why is Nasedo having you bring him?" Eddie said in frustration. "He knows where these kids are. Why doesn't he go to them himself? Why all this sneaking and fetching and leading them around?"
"He wants them to come to him. That was the purpose of the sighting, to get their attention."
"Well, it didn't work," Eddie groused. "So he sends you? How does you leading them around on a leash mean they're 'coming to him'?"
"I offered to act as liaison," River Dog reminded him. "I made that offer freely and without any request from Nasedo. If you don't like the current circumstances, you have no one to blame but me."
"Like hell I don't," Eddie retorted. "You kept your promise to him, so you're done. You don't owe him a thing, and at your age, he has no business asking more from you. I could see when Michael was sick and he needed help with the whole healing thing, but this isn't an emergency. This time, it feels like..."
"Like what?" River Dog said softly.
Eddie turned hard eyes on his grandfather. "Like he's using you. Like he doesn't give a shit. And that's weird, because when I met him that day in Jackie's house, I didn't get that impression at all. He sounded like he cared for you, like he respected you. What changed?"
River Dog shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I don't. Nasedo has explained the situation to me, and all I can tell you is that it's far more complicated than it looks. That's why I'm willing to give Michael the benefit of the doubt."
"Yeah, well, I hope so," Eddie muttered. "I still say I liked him better when he was almost dead."
"Go home," River Dog instructed, ignoring that last remark. "You don't want to be involved in this any longer, so you shouldn't have to be."
"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" Eddie asked. "I'd feel a lot better if I came with you, and I don't care if Michael likes it or not."
"I must go alone," River Dog insisted. "I'll be fine. You needn't worry."
But I do, Eddie thought as River Dog climbed out and headed for the trees. When he'd challenged Michael, he'd felt the same thing he'd felt when he'd challenged Max, like an ominous rumble of thunder, like a snake preparing to strike. In Max's case, however, it had been more controlled; with Michael it had felt more like a downed power line, snapping and jumping without warning. Watching his grandfather head into the forest with that snapping power line felt wrong in too many ways to count.
Deeply conflicted, Eddie drove off, only to pull over a short ways down the road. It didn't feel right sending his grandfather off with that kid, so he wasn't going to. Like it or not, he was coming too.
*****************************************************
Frazier Woods
C'mon, doggie. C'mon!
Wary now, the search dog lifted it's snout and scanned the area around it, oblivious to the sheriff's deputies chattering amongst themselves and the other dogs a short ways off. Earth's fauna had always been sensitive to Covari, able for some unfathomable reason to sense their "otherness". Brivari took full advantage of that as he continued to catch the dog's attention until, finally, it took the bait.
"Rowrf!" it barked, scampering closer, drawing the attention of dogs and deputies alike. "Rowrf, rowrf!"
"Hey, Jake found something!" one of the deputies called.
That's right, Brivari thought, leading the procession into the forest. This way. He kept ahead of the pack easily, letting them close enough to pick up the scent before pulling away, leaving the dogs to lead the deputies where he wanted them to go. The forest was crowded this night what with campers, deputies, and UFO enthusiasts, none of which interested him in the least. Zan and Vilandra walked these woods, followed by the Parker girl and her friend, followed by Valenti, and he'd spied Rath and River Dog approaching from another direction. The game was afoot, there were far too many pieces in play, and he had little time to reach his destination and alter the game board. Leaving the search dogs to do their work, he continued on and found what he was looking for right where he thought he would, not even attempting to hide himself. But then why would he? He thought no one could see him.
"Perhaps you could explain to me," Brivari said in disgust as Jaddo whirled around, "just exactly what part of 'stay away from them' is so difficult for you to understand?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 55 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Chapter 55
Hi everyone!
Thanks for the feedback, everyone, and thanks for reading!
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
January 21, 2000, 11 p.m.
Frazier Woods
The moon was high overhead in the little clearing near the cave as Brivari and Jaddo faced off, the only sound that of the wind in the trees and the distant barking of search dogs which presently became much louder. They had found their target.
"I might have known," Jaddo said in disgust. "Here I thought you were safely ensconced in your mansion for a few minutes, at least. Apparently not."
"It's a house, and you haven't answered my question," Brivari retorted. "I'm dying to hear how this soap opera you've concocted constitutes staying away from them."
"I am staying away from them," Jaddo protested. "They're coming to me."
In less than a second Brivari was across the clearing and nose to nose with Jaddo, who held his ground but looked gratifyingly startled. "Don't you dare toy with me!" Brivari snapped. "This isn't a game of Scrabble, this is you crossing the line I painted clearly several months ago, the line you gave me your word you wouldn't cross. Explain to me why this shouldn't also be me passing sentence."
"Because that didn't include not telling me when my Ward nearly died!" Jaddo exclaimed.
Brivari stepped closer, which was difficult given how close he already was. "So you're not just cooling your heels in a forest waiting for them to 'come to you'. You've been a lot closer than that."
"Stop hyperventilating," Jaddo said, moving away from him. "I was in that ridiculous diner you frequent, and I overheard them talking. I never said I'd stay away from Roswell."
"No, you said you'd go wherever the Special Unit went," Brivari reminded him. "Does this mean the Unit is back in Roswell?"
Jaddo's eyes narrowed. "It means I was checking to see if it was, something I do periodically and for which I make no apology. I was in a public place, and so were they. And you still haven't explained why you never told me my Ward nearly died."
"Because I knew you would do something stupid," Brivari said darkly. "And, voila! Here we are. Sometimes I wish I didn't know you as well as I do."
"Ditto," Jaddo said sourly. "Because you not only neglected to mention he almost died, you also neglected to mention that he remembered his true identity."
"I have no idea if he remembered any such thing," Brivari retorted. "And since you're so caught up on the news, I find it odd that you neglected to note that he promptly forgot everything he supposedly 'remembered'."
"He knew how the healing stones were used," Jaddo argued. "He knew how to place them in the map. He knew it was a map."
"Good grief," Brivari muttered. "They were discussing all this at the diner?"
"Never mind that!" Jaddo exclaimed. "He knew! He remembered—"
"And then he didn't," Brivari broke in. "He lost it all, Jaddo, and all he has left is the knowledge that he lost it."
"But he had it!" Jaddo insisted. "It's there! It's in there!"
"Of course it's 'in there'," Brivari said irritably. "Valeris didn't do shoddy work. It's being 'in there' doesn't make this a good time for him to remember and certainly doesn't make it a good time for your theatrics. What were you thinking, engineering a 'sighting'?"
"I was thinking it might get their attention," Jaddo retorted. "I was thinking it might pique their interest enough that they would come looking for the source."
"Well, congratulations, they have," Brivari said acidly. "All three of them are dutifully on their way."
"Three of them?" Jaddo said, surprised. "You mean Zan and Vilandra are here too?"
"Of course they're 'here too'. On the pretense of joining some school camping trip."
"Interesting," Jaddo murmured. "Well, good for them. Or him, rather. She's good for nothing."
"She's a useful bellwether, if nothing else," Brivari said. "The day Vilandra voluntarily shits in the woods is the day I get worried."
"That's a visual I could have done without," Jaddo said darkly. "God, that girl has a talent for getting in the way. Fine, let them come, let them all come. The more the merrier."
"I'm so glad you feel that way, because the woods are especially merry tonight," Brivari said caustically. "We've got UFO hunters, sheriff's deputies—"
"Of course we do," Jaddo interrupted. "This is Roswell, in case you've forgotten. There are sightings here every week; so what if one of them was mine? And besides, they didn't really see it anyway. I used one of the symbols from the cave, and none of the humans who reported it even mentioned that. Probably too busy squinting."
"Good Lord in heaven," Brivari breathed, shaking his head in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me that you've created all this havoc, and all you can do is whine that no one appreciated your artwork? It must have been real enough that..." He stopped as something suddenly occurred to him. "River Dog. That's how he ended up in this. He saw the symbol."
"It was meant for Rath," Jaddo said. "It's his code. I was hoping humans would report it, it would stir a memory only recently stirred, and Rath, at least, would come looking for it."
"And it didn't occur to you he wouldn't be the only one who would come looking for it?" Brivari demanded. "Do you realize you have the entire county up in arms? Valenti is—"
"Oh, Valenti," Jaddo broke in derisively. "Are you still fretting about him? Honestly, Brivari, he's just a two bit player, nothing more—"
"That 'two-bit player' managed to drag the Special Unit into this," Brivari reminded him.
"Yes," Jaddo agreed. "He did. That was the worst thing he could have done, and having done the worst, there's little else he can do besides be annoying."
"And follow them," Brivari added. "Because that's what he's doing. He's following them here."
Jaddo paused, staring at him. "Valenti is here?"
"Not only here, but on their trail. He joined the camping trip; he has a son their age, remember? He's not far behind Zan and Vilandra."
"Well, that's inconvenient," Jaddo frowned. "And unfortunate. For him, I mean."
"He won't make it," Brivari said. "None of them will. I led the dogs to them."
The tension in the clearing suddenly skyrocketed. "You did what?" Jaddo demanded.
"I set the search dogs on them," Brivari repeated. "With luck, they'll all be rounded up and taken back to camp. Your little party is over."
Jaddo's jaw twitched. "You don't even know what I was going to do."
"I don't care what you were going to do," Brivari retorted. "Here I'm faulting the hybrids for being reckless, and then you go and pull a stunt like this, and behind my back, no less."
"I did nothing 'behind your back'," Jaddo said angrily. "That symbol was up there for all to see, including you. If you missed it, that's your fault. Not to mention—"
He stopped, listening, as did Brivari to the faint, unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Both instantly melted into the trees, their argument momentarily shelved. Scanning the area from a higher vantage point, Brivari scowled when he saw Rath and River Dog approaching from one direction, Zan and Vilandra from another, with Valenti not far behind. Rath and River Dog were somewhat understandable given River Dog's knowledge of the forest, but Zan and Vilandra should have been caught long ago. The absence of the Parker girl and her friend explained why they hadn't; the hybrids had already demonstrated a firm understanding of the concept of a decoy. The dogs had caught the wrong people.
Brivari watched helplessly as three hybrids and two humans converged upon the clearing, too close now to stop without one hearing the other, almost able to feel Jaddo's satisfaction from wherever he was in the dark of the forest. It looked like he was going to have his party after all.
*****************************************************
"I'm sorry, Michael," River Dog said gently, "but I'm not your father."
Even though it was dark, Michael made a mighty effort to keep the disappointment off his face as the impact of those words sank in. He'd been so hopeful. So hopeful. He'd spent a large part of his life without much in the way of adult guidance, and until now, he hadn't missed it. As much as he envied Max and Isabel their stable home with its full refrigerator and lower decibel level, he knew that stability came with a price in the form of curfews, chores, academic expectations, family obligations, and a host of other intrusions he'd just as soon do without. But now, having learned concrete information about themselves for the first time, he found himself desperately craving both guidance and more information, two things that couldn't come from any human. He'd been convinced River Dog was Nasedo. To find out otherwise was deeply disappointing.
"Just had to make sure," Michael said, trying to sound detached.
River Dog glanced down at the ankle he thought he'd broken, and Michael looked off into the forest. Their destination may be a mile north of here, but he had no intention of going alone. He wouldn't have admitted it to God himself, but the thought of what awaited him a mile north of here was downright terrifying, and he was now wishing he'd brought at least Max along with him. He'd been doing okay until he'd climbed into the truck with Eddie, River Dog's bad-tempered grandson. All alone and speeding into the night to God-knew-where with no one the wiser that he was going or aware enough to look for him should he not return, he'd gotten cold feet. Eddie had taken exception to the explanations he'd demanded, leaving Michael wondering if maybe he'd gotten it backwards—maybe Eddie was Nasedo? Was River Dog just the decoy while Nasedo watched and evaluated? He wondered that all over again as River Dog sat on the ground at his feet with a supposedly busted ankle. Was it really busted? Was this a test, like the one Max had faced?
Test or no test, he had no intention of forging ahead alone. Whoever River Dog was, human or alien, the fact remained that he was the only one who knew anything about them. He'd also saved his life, placing Michael in his debt, and Michael didn't like to be in debt. He'd never healed anything before, but neither had Max, who had managed to heal a gunshot wound. Granted he was hot for the victim, but he'd still pulled it off. A broken ankle should be like a broken branch, right? Just knit the ends back together. This should be easy. Kneeling down, he put his hand on River Dog's ankle and concentrated.
There, Michael thought, startled, as an image suddenly sprang to mind. The bone was indeed broken, or cracked, to be more precise. It was weird the way he could see it, could almost feel the breach, and he nudged it with his powers, unsure of how to fix it. What had Max done? He'd never actually asked Max for the details of how he'd repaired Liz's wound. Max certainly was no whiz on anatomy, so it was doubtful that genuine medical knowledge had anything to do with it. Had Max been able to see the hole in her stomach the way he could see River Dog's ankle? Did he think about it first, or did he just throw power at it and hope it accomplished what he wanted it to? Whatever he'd done, he'd done fast, just as well given the speed with which that ambulance had arrived....
Unable to come up with a better solution, Michael fired a blast of power at the cracked bone the way a welder wielded a torch, aiming it as best he could. River Dog jerked, stiffened...then relaxed. Michael released the mental torch after a few seconds, searching for the picture he'd seen before, hoping it had changed. It had.
"You can walk now," Michael said.
River Dog gazed at him in surprise for a moment before standing, cautiously putting weight on the leg. "Thank you," he said with a smile. "Now we're even."
"I don't think we'll ever be even," Michael said, feeling suddenly awkward. "Better go. Let's go."
They walked in silence the rest of the way, River Dog leading, Michael musing on the fact that River Dog hadn't expressly said he wasn't Nasedo. All he'd said was, "I'm not your father", a statement which addressed parentage, not species or identity. If he were Nasedo, and Nasedo wasn't their father, that could be perfectly true. If he were an alien, but not Nasedo, it could also be perfectly true. Perhaps he'd jumped the gun a bit on that one. Perhaps he should be more careful not to let his anxiety get the best of him and to be on his best behavior at all times because just about anyone could be Nasedo, a disturbing thought if ever there was one.
"We're close," River Dog said suddenly. "It's just up ahead."
"What is?" Michael asked warily.
"The cave," River Dog answered. "You were here before."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't in the best of shape," Michael admitted. He remembered very little about that night except the cave itself; the surrounding area hadn't held much interest when he'd run outside all upset after forgetting the most important thing he'd ever remembered.
River Dog came to a halt in front of him. "If anything—or anyone—is here, this is where it will be. This was his place." He paused. "Do you want to go alone, or shall I come with you?"
"Come with me," Michael said without hesitation, grateful for having been offered the option.
"Very well, then," River Dog nodded, starting forward only to stop again.
"It appears," he said slowly, "that someone is already here."
Michael's heart nearly burst out of his chest. Someone is already here. He was about to meet their first real contact from their own world. Don't screw it up, he told himself severely. No temper tantrums, no attitude, no repeat of Eddie in the car. This time he had to tow the line. Bracing himself, he followed River Dog through the trees.
Maxwell?
Michael had to work hard not to stagger with relief when he saw Max and Isabel standing in the little clearing in front of the cave. As much as he'd like to make contact, he really hadn't wanted to make it alone, and he'd been regretting not bringing Max along all night. Thank God it was no longer just him.
"Wait," River Dog said, looking just as confused at seeing Max and Isabel as Max and Isabel were at seeing him. "What are they doing here?"
"They came on their own," Michael said quickly.
River Dog considered that for only a moment. "All right. This is where it'll be."
"What are we looking for?" Max asked.
"Guys?" Isabel said anxiously. "What's that?"
She was staring at the ground, and a moment later, they all were. It was in the grass, whether burned in or pressed, he couldn't say. But it was clear as day, a swirling, circular imprint.
"Oh, my God," Isabel breathed. "It's the symbol from the cave."
"The white light, or whatever the hell that was, caused this?" Michael asked.
River Dog nodded. "Yes. It's a sign."
The night seemed to have gone preternaturally still. Trees, insects, animals, everything that lived here seemed to hold their collective breath as Michael, Max and Isabel bent over the impression on the ground and held their hands over it without hesitation or discussion. A moment later, it was glowing.
"It was meant for you," River Dog said softly.
"What does it mean?" Max asked.
"That he's back," Michael said. "Nasedo's back."
Their eyes met, and Michael felt a tingle of electricity that had nothing to do with the glowing swirl at their feet. He's here. Nasedo was here and sending a message. That was simultaneously thrilling...and terrifying. But then the moment passed as Max's head snapped up.
"Someone's coming," he whispered.
*****************************************************
Jim Valenti looked back and forth in consternation as his son stalked off into the forest, the very picture of indignation, torn between following him and following who he'd been following in the first place. Once again he found himself in his father's shoes because once again he was acting just like his father. He wasn't even going to come on this camping trip until Hanson guilted him into it, and then when he had come, he'd turned it into just another night at work. But it shouldn't have mattered, he argued. Kyle should have been tucked in his sleeping bag, dreaming sweet dreams without care. Frankly he should be too, but that only underscored how his being here now wasn't taking anything away from Kyle because they'd both normally be asleep anyway. That neither of them were was damnably inconvenient and a subject for another time. Right now the question at hand was whom to follow.
Voices sounded to his right, distant, faint, little more than a low murmur and almost drowned out by Kyle's angry footsteps as he stalked back toward camp. It took Valenti only a second to make his decision. He'd come this far, and if he had something to show for it, maybe Kyle would see things differently. It was only a few yards further when he emerged from the trees into a small clearing where several dark shapes hunched over the ground, one of which detached from the huddle and planted itself in front of him.
"What do you want?" a familiar looking teenaged boy demanded.
"Step outta my way," Valenti ordered.
"Do as he asks," another voice advised.
The teenager hesitated before complying, moving aside just as someone stood up behind him. Max Evans. And his sister, Isabel. And an elderly Indian man, the one who had told the bouncer to back off. He pushed past them, squatting down where they had, looking eagerly, running his hand over grass which looked like...grass.
"Something was here," Valenti said tersely. "What were you looking at?"
"We've been lost for hours, sheriff," Max said. "Thank you for finding us."
Oh, no you don't, Valenti thought grimly. They'd been looking at something, and whatever it was must have left some trace, some mark. He squatted down again, training his flashlight on the spot, then the surrounding area, looking for something, anything out of the ordinary. He'd caught them red-handed. There must be something here.
There wasn't. A minute later, he stood up, frustrated beyond belief, to find himself alone, no kids, no Indians, no one at all. "Hey!" Valenti shouted, following the obvious sounds of footsteps. "Hey! Wait!"
The footsteps stopped, allowing him to catch up with them, and they squinted as he shone his flashlight in their faces. "Where are you going?" Valenti demanded.
"Where we were trying to go all along," Isabel said innocently. "Back to camp."
"I thought you said you were lost," Valenti reminded her. "How do you know where camp is?"
"This is the direction you came from," Max answered. "We thought you were right behind us."
Valenti shone the flashlight around in a circle, confirming what he'd already noticed; it was just the kids now. No old man. Had he only dreamed him?
"Where's the other one? The old man, the Indian. Where'd he go?"
No one spoke as three pairs of eyes looked at each other, then at him. "Where is he?" Valenti demanded again. "What happened to the old man?"
"We told you, sheriff," Max said warily. "We're really glad you found us."
So that's how we're playing this, Valenti thought sourly as his flashlight revealed three placid faces. Great. Just great.
"Guerin, right?" Valenti said as the bouncer squinted in his flashlight beam. "You're the one who broke into the UFO Center. What are you doing here? I didn't see you on the bus."
"You know, it's funny how the school sponsors a 'kids and dads' camping weekend but doesn't take into account those of us who don't have dads," Guerin said. "Maybe I should sue for discrimination."
Smart aleck, Valenti muttered silently. He aimed his flashlight at Max, who didn't blink. "What were you looking at?"
"I wasn't looking at anything," Max answered.
"Yes, you were," Valenti insisted. "All of you were looking at something when I got there. What was it?"
"Okay, look, it was my fault," Isabel broke in. "I just couldn't handle those awful pit toilets. The guys were just standing guard."
"So you're telling me you're out here for a potty break?"
Isabel turned beet red, which looked orange in the yellow flashlight beam. "Sheriff, please. This is embarrassing enough without you making it worse."
"If you didn't want to use the latrine, why come all the way out here?" Valenti pressed. "You're at least a mile from camp."
"We told you, we got lost," Guerin said. "Several times. Do you want us to say it again?"
"Watch your mouth," Valenti snapped. "You're all coming in with me—"
There was a crackling noise, and Hanson's voice intruded. "Sir? You there?"
Annoyed, Valenti grabbed his radio. "What is it, Hanson?"
"We've got a father here, a Philip Evans, who says his kids are missing. A boy and a girl, Max and Isabel. You seen'em?"
"Hi Daddy!" Isabel called suddenly. "We're here! We're okay!"
Crap, Valenti thought darkly as Hanson's chirpy voice sounded again. "You found'em, sir? They all right?"
"Fine," Valenti said, smoldering.
"That's great, sir! Hey, Mr. Evans!" Hanson called off radio. "The sheriff's got your kids. They're okay. That's great news, sir," he went on as sounds of rejoicing floated over the radio. "What is it with kids in the woods tonight? We picked up a couple ourselves."
"Wait—who?" Valenti asked. "Who did you pick up?"
"A couple of girls. Said they got lost trying to avoid the pit toilets."
Valenti's eyes fastened on Isabel, who didn't blink. "Names," he said severely. "What were their names?"
"Uh...just a sec. It was...Liz Parker and Maria DeLuca. We sent'em back with Parker's father. Oh, and we also found Milton from the UFO center poking around. Packed him off with a warning. Says he's going to file a complaint because these woods are public land, blah, blah, blah. I told him the part he's on actually belongs to the Indian reservation, but he didn't seem interested."
Indian reservation. Valenti flicked the flashlight across three faces, none of which showed the slightest signs of surprise. They had good poker faces, these three, but now his having seen an Indian here didn't sound so crazy.
"I'll bring these back," Valenti said to Hanson. "Anything else?"
"No, sir. All's quiet except for UFOlogists and teenaged girls who hate latrines."
"Right," Valenti said darkly. "Do me a favor; get a fix on my position before I head back."
The radio suddenly erupted in a fit of hissing and crackling. "Hanson?" Valenti called. "You there?"
"Sorry...can't..." Hanson's broken voice said, almost obscured by static. "...breaking...can't..."
The crackling abruptly stopped. "Hanson?" Valenti said urgently. "Hanson!"
A couple of minutes later, after fiddling with the frequencies, the batteries, and the antenna, Valenti parked his useless radio on his belt and glared at the three he was supposedly rescuing, all of whom wore expressions ranging from smug to neutral to bewildered. How convenient that his radio had died just when he'd been trying to figure out exactly where they were. How terribly convenient.
"I'm gonna ask you again," he said in a deadly voice, shining his flashlight directly into Max's eyes, "what were you doing out there?"
"That's something I'd like to know too."
Valenti whirled around. "Kyle?"
"You know, it's funny," Kyle said as Valenti gaped at him. "I was on my way back to camp, all in a snit, and then I thought, why go back? Why not follow you and find out why you were following them? So please, Max, answer my dad's question. Because he's not the only one who wants to know what you're doing out here."
"We already told him," Isabel said irritably. "I didn't want to use what are loosely referred to as 'bathrooms', so I went into the woods, Max and Michael went with me, and we got lost. End of story."
Kyle blinked. "So this whole drama is over you taking a dump?"
"Okay, so I don't camp well!" Isabel exclaimed. "So shoot me! I thought I could do it just this once, that my dad and I could...oh, never mind," she said in disgust. "Honestly, it's embarrassing enough to have someone bust in on you while you're...'busy'...but then to have it endlessly discussed is just...just gross. So unless it's illegal to go in the woods, can we just drop this? Please?"
"Incredible," Kyle said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Freakin' incredible."
"Kyle—" Valenti began.
"Can we please go back?" Isabel said desperately. "Obviously I'm not the only one who doesn't like the toilets, and I really don't want that broadcast to the universe like that deputy just did with my classmates, so can we just go back? Kyle, can you take me back? Please?"
That did it. Valenti saw the look on his son's face, saw him melt as a beautiful girl with puppy dog eyes asked him for help. "Right this way," Kyle said gallantly, holding out his arm. "Just call me Captain Underpants. Kidding," he added quickly when Isabel gave him a look. "Just kidding."
******************************************************
Phillip Evans gazed anxiously into the woods for the umpteenth time before checking his watch, also for the umpteenth time. Still nothing. Finally giving in to his impatience, he marched up to one of the sheriff's deputies.
"Excuse me, Deputy...?"
"Hanson," the deputy answered. "Something wrong, Mr. Evans?"
"I was just wondering where my kids were. I've been waiting for nearly an hour. Shouldn't they be back by now?"
"The sheriff didn't say where he found them, but he did say they were all right," Hanson said soothingly. "I'll radio him again and ask how close they are."
"Thank you," Philip said, relieved. "I'd appreciate that."
"Trouble?" a voice asked.
"Oh...hi, Jeff," Philip said when he found Jeff Parker behind him. "I'm just worried that Max and Isabel aren't back yet. How far did they go, for heaven's sake?"
"Liz and Maria were pretty far out," Jeff commented. "Guess there's no length to which girls won't go to avoid outhouses."
"Yeah, well, that goes double for my girl," Philip said. "But still, if I lose my kids on our very first camping trip..."
"Your wife will kill you," Jeff chuckled.
"No, my wife will just get mad," Philip answered. "My mother's the one who'll kill me. I swear sometimes she's more attached to our kids than we are."
"Yeah, my mom and Liz were really close," Jeff said wistfully. "And now she won't get to see Liz grow up."
Philip blinked. "Oh, geez, Jeff...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring that up—"
"No, no, that's all right," Jeff said, waving a dismissive hand. "It happened. I'm not gonna hide under a rock and try to pretend it didn't, or expect anyone else to either. I guess I'm just...well, having someone close to you die makes you extra protective of those who are left. It's like a wake-up call that anything can happen. That's why I freaked out a little when Liz went missing, and why I'm here now. I knew you were waiting for your two, and I'm very sympathetic. It's scary."
"It was," Philip agreed, "but I think I'm a little more ticked off than scared right now. I should give my daughter a piece of my mind when she gets back. She begged me to go on this trip; what, did she think they had gleaming modern plumbing in the middle of the woods?" He sighed, stuffing his hands further into his pockets. "So what about you? Did you tell off yours?"
Jeff shook his head. "Nah. I'm already in hot water. I saw Maria giving Liz some pills earlier today, and I thought...well, you know what I thought. Turns out it was echinacea. Liz was coming down with a cold, and the DeLuca's are into all that alternative medicine stuff."
"You reached a perfectly logical conclusion," Philip said, "and it was your responsibility to make sure that wasn't it."
"I guess," Jeff allowed. "So why do I feel like an idiot whose daughter doesn't trust him any more?"
"We're parents, not friends," Philip argued. "It's our job to make sure our kids don't get mixed up in stuff they're not supposed to, and if that makes us unpopular, so be it. We're not here to be liked."
"I guess not," Jeff said doubtfully. "Although, right now, I'd really like to be liked."
"Mr. Evans?" Hanson called, hurrying over. "I reached the sheriff, and he said they're very close. All three kids should be back in a few minutes."
"Three?" Philip echoed. "I only have two. Who's the other one?"
Hanson shrugged. "Don't know. Guess we'll find out soon enough."
It seemed to Philip like another hour passed, but presently calls sounded from the woods, and a moment later, bobbing flashlights could be seen coming toward them. "Is that the sheriff's son?" Jeff asked, squinting. "Maybe he's the third wheel."
Philip's eyes raked the incoming group, with the sheriff leading, his face like a thundercloud, Isabel behind him with Kyle Valenti, followed by Max and another figure still too far away to see...but then he didn't really need to.
"Who's that?" Jeff asked.
"Ten to one it's Michael Guerin," Philip sighed.
"Who?"
"A friend of my two," Philip explained. "Diane doesn't like him. Thinks he's from the wrong side of the tracks."
"Is he?"
"Maybe. Not really," Philip amended. "He's in foster care, and his foster father leaves a lot to be desired."
"So he's here with his foster father?"
"I didn't think he was here at all," Philip said. "Guess I got that wrong. Isabel!" he called. "Max! Over here!"
"Daddy, I am so sorry," Isabel said even before she reached him. "Please don't tell mom. She'll freak."
"Okay!" Hanson said cheerfully as the lost and the waiting came together. "Is that everyone? Anyone else out there answering nature's call, or is this it for the night?"
"This is it for us," Philip said firmly as Isabel flushed scarlet. "Sheriff, thank you. Sorry for the trouble. It won't happen again."
"Glad to hear it," Hanson said. "So what were you doin' out there, Kyle? You don't have a problem with latrines, do you?"
"Just spending some time with my dad," Kyle said cheerfully.
"In the woods?" Philip said. "In the middle of the night?"
Kyle glanced at his father. "It's an old family tradition. Ask him. He'll tell you."
All heads swung toward Sheriff Valenti, who looked less than amused. "All of you, get back to camp," he said sharply. "And no more gallivanting off in the dark. That means you, too, Kyle."
Valenti stalked off, scowling. Hanson merely shrugged, but Philip and Jeff exchanged glances as they fell in step with the group. "Well, whatdya know," Jeff murmured. "Looks like we're not the only ones in dutch with our kids."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 56 next Sunday.
If you find one, let me know. My idea of camping is a nice Holiday Inn.keepsmiling7 wrote:The whole camping chapter is such fun. Matter of fact.......where can I get one of those tents that set themselves up?
Sure is! But I can't overuse it or it will get boring.Misha wrote:This whole thing that both Wards are called by the same name is mighty handy for storytelling, uh?
And a big "You're Welcome!' to you!cjeb wrote:as always, a BIG THANK YOU!
Thanks for the feedback, everyone, and thanks for reading!
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
January 21, 2000, 11 p.m.
Frazier Woods
The moon was high overhead in the little clearing near the cave as Brivari and Jaddo faced off, the only sound that of the wind in the trees and the distant barking of search dogs which presently became much louder. They had found their target.
"I might have known," Jaddo said in disgust. "Here I thought you were safely ensconced in your mansion for a few minutes, at least. Apparently not."
"It's a house, and you haven't answered my question," Brivari retorted. "I'm dying to hear how this soap opera you've concocted constitutes staying away from them."
"I am staying away from them," Jaddo protested. "They're coming to me."
In less than a second Brivari was across the clearing and nose to nose with Jaddo, who held his ground but looked gratifyingly startled. "Don't you dare toy with me!" Brivari snapped. "This isn't a game of Scrabble, this is you crossing the line I painted clearly several months ago, the line you gave me your word you wouldn't cross. Explain to me why this shouldn't also be me passing sentence."
"Because that didn't include not telling me when my Ward nearly died!" Jaddo exclaimed.
Brivari stepped closer, which was difficult given how close he already was. "So you're not just cooling your heels in a forest waiting for them to 'come to you'. You've been a lot closer than that."
"Stop hyperventilating," Jaddo said, moving away from him. "I was in that ridiculous diner you frequent, and I overheard them talking. I never said I'd stay away from Roswell."
"No, you said you'd go wherever the Special Unit went," Brivari reminded him. "Does this mean the Unit is back in Roswell?"
Jaddo's eyes narrowed. "It means I was checking to see if it was, something I do periodically and for which I make no apology. I was in a public place, and so were they. And you still haven't explained why you never told me my Ward nearly died."
"Because I knew you would do something stupid," Brivari said darkly. "And, voila! Here we are. Sometimes I wish I didn't know you as well as I do."
"Ditto," Jaddo said sourly. "Because you not only neglected to mention he almost died, you also neglected to mention that he remembered his true identity."
"I have no idea if he remembered any such thing," Brivari retorted. "And since you're so caught up on the news, I find it odd that you neglected to note that he promptly forgot everything he supposedly 'remembered'."
"He knew how the healing stones were used," Jaddo argued. "He knew how to place them in the map. He knew it was a map."
"Good grief," Brivari muttered. "They were discussing all this at the diner?"
"Never mind that!" Jaddo exclaimed. "He knew! He remembered—"
"And then he didn't," Brivari broke in. "He lost it all, Jaddo, and all he has left is the knowledge that he lost it."
"But he had it!" Jaddo insisted. "It's there! It's in there!"
"Of course it's 'in there'," Brivari said irritably. "Valeris didn't do shoddy work. It's being 'in there' doesn't make this a good time for him to remember and certainly doesn't make it a good time for your theatrics. What were you thinking, engineering a 'sighting'?"
"I was thinking it might get their attention," Jaddo retorted. "I was thinking it might pique their interest enough that they would come looking for the source."
"Well, congratulations, they have," Brivari said acidly. "All three of them are dutifully on their way."
"Three of them?" Jaddo said, surprised. "You mean Zan and Vilandra are here too?"
"Of course they're 'here too'. On the pretense of joining some school camping trip."
"Interesting," Jaddo murmured. "Well, good for them. Or him, rather. She's good for nothing."
"She's a useful bellwether, if nothing else," Brivari said. "The day Vilandra voluntarily shits in the woods is the day I get worried."
"That's a visual I could have done without," Jaddo said darkly. "God, that girl has a talent for getting in the way. Fine, let them come, let them all come. The more the merrier."
"I'm so glad you feel that way, because the woods are especially merry tonight," Brivari said caustically. "We've got UFO hunters, sheriff's deputies—"
"Of course we do," Jaddo interrupted. "This is Roswell, in case you've forgotten. There are sightings here every week; so what if one of them was mine? And besides, they didn't really see it anyway. I used one of the symbols from the cave, and none of the humans who reported it even mentioned that. Probably too busy squinting."
"Good Lord in heaven," Brivari breathed, shaking his head in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me that you've created all this havoc, and all you can do is whine that no one appreciated your artwork? It must have been real enough that..." He stopped as something suddenly occurred to him. "River Dog. That's how he ended up in this. He saw the symbol."
"It was meant for Rath," Jaddo said. "It's his code. I was hoping humans would report it, it would stir a memory only recently stirred, and Rath, at least, would come looking for it."
"And it didn't occur to you he wouldn't be the only one who would come looking for it?" Brivari demanded. "Do you realize you have the entire county up in arms? Valenti is—"
"Oh, Valenti," Jaddo broke in derisively. "Are you still fretting about him? Honestly, Brivari, he's just a two bit player, nothing more—"
"That 'two-bit player' managed to drag the Special Unit into this," Brivari reminded him.
"Yes," Jaddo agreed. "He did. That was the worst thing he could have done, and having done the worst, there's little else he can do besides be annoying."
"And follow them," Brivari added. "Because that's what he's doing. He's following them here."
Jaddo paused, staring at him. "Valenti is here?"
"Not only here, but on their trail. He joined the camping trip; he has a son their age, remember? He's not far behind Zan and Vilandra."
"Well, that's inconvenient," Jaddo frowned. "And unfortunate. For him, I mean."
"He won't make it," Brivari said. "None of them will. I led the dogs to them."
The tension in the clearing suddenly skyrocketed. "You did what?" Jaddo demanded.
"I set the search dogs on them," Brivari repeated. "With luck, they'll all be rounded up and taken back to camp. Your little party is over."
Jaddo's jaw twitched. "You don't even know what I was going to do."
"I don't care what you were going to do," Brivari retorted. "Here I'm faulting the hybrids for being reckless, and then you go and pull a stunt like this, and behind my back, no less."
"I did nothing 'behind your back'," Jaddo said angrily. "That symbol was up there for all to see, including you. If you missed it, that's your fault. Not to mention—"
He stopped, listening, as did Brivari to the faint, unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Both instantly melted into the trees, their argument momentarily shelved. Scanning the area from a higher vantage point, Brivari scowled when he saw Rath and River Dog approaching from one direction, Zan and Vilandra from another, with Valenti not far behind. Rath and River Dog were somewhat understandable given River Dog's knowledge of the forest, but Zan and Vilandra should have been caught long ago. The absence of the Parker girl and her friend explained why they hadn't; the hybrids had already demonstrated a firm understanding of the concept of a decoy. The dogs had caught the wrong people.
Brivari watched helplessly as three hybrids and two humans converged upon the clearing, too close now to stop without one hearing the other, almost able to feel Jaddo's satisfaction from wherever he was in the dark of the forest. It looked like he was going to have his party after all.
*****************************************************
"I'm sorry, Michael," River Dog said gently, "but I'm not your father."
Even though it was dark, Michael made a mighty effort to keep the disappointment off his face as the impact of those words sank in. He'd been so hopeful. So hopeful. He'd spent a large part of his life without much in the way of adult guidance, and until now, he hadn't missed it. As much as he envied Max and Isabel their stable home with its full refrigerator and lower decibel level, he knew that stability came with a price in the form of curfews, chores, academic expectations, family obligations, and a host of other intrusions he'd just as soon do without. But now, having learned concrete information about themselves for the first time, he found himself desperately craving both guidance and more information, two things that couldn't come from any human. He'd been convinced River Dog was Nasedo. To find out otherwise was deeply disappointing.
"Just had to make sure," Michael said, trying to sound detached.
River Dog glanced down at the ankle he thought he'd broken, and Michael looked off into the forest. Their destination may be a mile north of here, but he had no intention of going alone. He wouldn't have admitted it to God himself, but the thought of what awaited him a mile north of here was downright terrifying, and he was now wishing he'd brought at least Max along with him. He'd been doing okay until he'd climbed into the truck with Eddie, River Dog's bad-tempered grandson. All alone and speeding into the night to God-knew-where with no one the wiser that he was going or aware enough to look for him should he not return, he'd gotten cold feet. Eddie had taken exception to the explanations he'd demanded, leaving Michael wondering if maybe he'd gotten it backwards—maybe Eddie was Nasedo? Was River Dog just the decoy while Nasedo watched and evaluated? He wondered that all over again as River Dog sat on the ground at his feet with a supposedly busted ankle. Was it really busted? Was this a test, like the one Max had faced?
Test or no test, he had no intention of forging ahead alone. Whoever River Dog was, human or alien, the fact remained that he was the only one who knew anything about them. He'd also saved his life, placing Michael in his debt, and Michael didn't like to be in debt. He'd never healed anything before, but neither had Max, who had managed to heal a gunshot wound. Granted he was hot for the victim, but he'd still pulled it off. A broken ankle should be like a broken branch, right? Just knit the ends back together. This should be easy. Kneeling down, he put his hand on River Dog's ankle and concentrated.
There, Michael thought, startled, as an image suddenly sprang to mind. The bone was indeed broken, or cracked, to be more precise. It was weird the way he could see it, could almost feel the breach, and he nudged it with his powers, unsure of how to fix it. What had Max done? He'd never actually asked Max for the details of how he'd repaired Liz's wound. Max certainly was no whiz on anatomy, so it was doubtful that genuine medical knowledge had anything to do with it. Had Max been able to see the hole in her stomach the way he could see River Dog's ankle? Did he think about it first, or did he just throw power at it and hope it accomplished what he wanted it to? Whatever he'd done, he'd done fast, just as well given the speed with which that ambulance had arrived....
Unable to come up with a better solution, Michael fired a blast of power at the cracked bone the way a welder wielded a torch, aiming it as best he could. River Dog jerked, stiffened...then relaxed. Michael released the mental torch after a few seconds, searching for the picture he'd seen before, hoping it had changed. It had.
"You can walk now," Michael said.
River Dog gazed at him in surprise for a moment before standing, cautiously putting weight on the leg. "Thank you," he said with a smile. "Now we're even."
"I don't think we'll ever be even," Michael said, feeling suddenly awkward. "Better go. Let's go."
They walked in silence the rest of the way, River Dog leading, Michael musing on the fact that River Dog hadn't expressly said he wasn't Nasedo. All he'd said was, "I'm not your father", a statement which addressed parentage, not species or identity. If he were Nasedo, and Nasedo wasn't their father, that could be perfectly true. If he were an alien, but not Nasedo, it could also be perfectly true. Perhaps he'd jumped the gun a bit on that one. Perhaps he should be more careful not to let his anxiety get the best of him and to be on his best behavior at all times because just about anyone could be Nasedo, a disturbing thought if ever there was one.
"We're close," River Dog said suddenly. "It's just up ahead."
"What is?" Michael asked warily.
"The cave," River Dog answered. "You were here before."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't in the best of shape," Michael admitted. He remembered very little about that night except the cave itself; the surrounding area hadn't held much interest when he'd run outside all upset after forgetting the most important thing he'd ever remembered.
River Dog came to a halt in front of him. "If anything—or anyone—is here, this is where it will be. This was his place." He paused. "Do you want to go alone, or shall I come with you?"
"Come with me," Michael said without hesitation, grateful for having been offered the option.
"Very well, then," River Dog nodded, starting forward only to stop again.
"It appears," he said slowly, "that someone is already here."
Michael's heart nearly burst out of his chest. Someone is already here. He was about to meet their first real contact from their own world. Don't screw it up, he told himself severely. No temper tantrums, no attitude, no repeat of Eddie in the car. This time he had to tow the line. Bracing himself, he followed River Dog through the trees.
Maxwell?
Michael had to work hard not to stagger with relief when he saw Max and Isabel standing in the little clearing in front of the cave. As much as he'd like to make contact, he really hadn't wanted to make it alone, and he'd been regretting not bringing Max along all night. Thank God it was no longer just him.
"Wait," River Dog said, looking just as confused at seeing Max and Isabel as Max and Isabel were at seeing him. "What are they doing here?"
"They came on their own," Michael said quickly.
River Dog considered that for only a moment. "All right. This is where it'll be."
"What are we looking for?" Max asked.
"Guys?" Isabel said anxiously. "What's that?"
She was staring at the ground, and a moment later, they all were. It was in the grass, whether burned in or pressed, he couldn't say. But it was clear as day, a swirling, circular imprint.
"Oh, my God," Isabel breathed. "It's the symbol from the cave."
"The white light, or whatever the hell that was, caused this?" Michael asked.
River Dog nodded. "Yes. It's a sign."
The night seemed to have gone preternaturally still. Trees, insects, animals, everything that lived here seemed to hold their collective breath as Michael, Max and Isabel bent over the impression on the ground and held their hands over it without hesitation or discussion. A moment later, it was glowing.
"It was meant for you," River Dog said softly.
"What does it mean?" Max asked.
"That he's back," Michael said. "Nasedo's back."
Their eyes met, and Michael felt a tingle of electricity that had nothing to do with the glowing swirl at their feet. He's here. Nasedo was here and sending a message. That was simultaneously thrilling...and terrifying. But then the moment passed as Max's head snapped up.
"Someone's coming," he whispered.
*****************************************************
Jim Valenti looked back and forth in consternation as his son stalked off into the forest, the very picture of indignation, torn between following him and following who he'd been following in the first place. Once again he found himself in his father's shoes because once again he was acting just like his father. He wasn't even going to come on this camping trip until Hanson guilted him into it, and then when he had come, he'd turned it into just another night at work. But it shouldn't have mattered, he argued. Kyle should have been tucked in his sleeping bag, dreaming sweet dreams without care. Frankly he should be too, but that only underscored how his being here now wasn't taking anything away from Kyle because they'd both normally be asleep anyway. That neither of them were was damnably inconvenient and a subject for another time. Right now the question at hand was whom to follow.
Voices sounded to his right, distant, faint, little more than a low murmur and almost drowned out by Kyle's angry footsteps as he stalked back toward camp. It took Valenti only a second to make his decision. He'd come this far, and if he had something to show for it, maybe Kyle would see things differently. It was only a few yards further when he emerged from the trees into a small clearing where several dark shapes hunched over the ground, one of which detached from the huddle and planted itself in front of him.
"What do you want?" a familiar looking teenaged boy demanded.
"Step outta my way," Valenti ordered.
"Do as he asks," another voice advised.
The teenager hesitated before complying, moving aside just as someone stood up behind him. Max Evans. And his sister, Isabel. And an elderly Indian man, the one who had told the bouncer to back off. He pushed past them, squatting down where they had, looking eagerly, running his hand over grass which looked like...grass.
"Something was here," Valenti said tersely. "What were you looking at?"
"We've been lost for hours, sheriff," Max said. "Thank you for finding us."
Oh, no you don't, Valenti thought grimly. They'd been looking at something, and whatever it was must have left some trace, some mark. He squatted down again, training his flashlight on the spot, then the surrounding area, looking for something, anything out of the ordinary. He'd caught them red-handed. There must be something here.
There wasn't. A minute later, he stood up, frustrated beyond belief, to find himself alone, no kids, no Indians, no one at all. "Hey!" Valenti shouted, following the obvious sounds of footsteps. "Hey! Wait!"
The footsteps stopped, allowing him to catch up with them, and they squinted as he shone his flashlight in their faces. "Where are you going?" Valenti demanded.
"Where we were trying to go all along," Isabel said innocently. "Back to camp."
"I thought you said you were lost," Valenti reminded her. "How do you know where camp is?"
"This is the direction you came from," Max answered. "We thought you were right behind us."
Valenti shone the flashlight around in a circle, confirming what he'd already noticed; it was just the kids now. No old man. Had he only dreamed him?
"Where's the other one? The old man, the Indian. Where'd he go?"
No one spoke as three pairs of eyes looked at each other, then at him. "Where is he?" Valenti demanded again. "What happened to the old man?"
"We told you, sheriff," Max said warily. "We're really glad you found us."
So that's how we're playing this, Valenti thought sourly as his flashlight revealed three placid faces. Great. Just great.
"Guerin, right?" Valenti said as the bouncer squinted in his flashlight beam. "You're the one who broke into the UFO Center. What are you doing here? I didn't see you on the bus."
"You know, it's funny how the school sponsors a 'kids and dads' camping weekend but doesn't take into account those of us who don't have dads," Guerin said. "Maybe I should sue for discrimination."
Smart aleck, Valenti muttered silently. He aimed his flashlight at Max, who didn't blink. "What were you looking at?"
"I wasn't looking at anything," Max answered.
"Yes, you were," Valenti insisted. "All of you were looking at something when I got there. What was it?"
"Okay, look, it was my fault," Isabel broke in. "I just couldn't handle those awful pit toilets. The guys were just standing guard."
"So you're telling me you're out here for a potty break?"
Isabel turned beet red, which looked orange in the yellow flashlight beam. "Sheriff, please. This is embarrassing enough without you making it worse."
"If you didn't want to use the latrine, why come all the way out here?" Valenti pressed. "You're at least a mile from camp."
"We told you, we got lost," Guerin said. "Several times. Do you want us to say it again?"
"Watch your mouth," Valenti snapped. "You're all coming in with me—"
There was a crackling noise, and Hanson's voice intruded. "Sir? You there?"
Annoyed, Valenti grabbed his radio. "What is it, Hanson?"
"We've got a father here, a Philip Evans, who says his kids are missing. A boy and a girl, Max and Isabel. You seen'em?"
"Hi Daddy!" Isabel called suddenly. "We're here! We're okay!"
Crap, Valenti thought darkly as Hanson's chirpy voice sounded again. "You found'em, sir? They all right?"
"Fine," Valenti said, smoldering.
"That's great, sir! Hey, Mr. Evans!" Hanson called off radio. "The sheriff's got your kids. They're okay. That's great news, sir," he went on as sounds of rejoicing floated over the radio. "What is it with kids in the woods tonight? We picked up a couple ourselves."
"Wait—who?" Valenti asked. "Who did you pick up?"
"A couple of girls. Said they got lost trying to avoid the pit toilets."
Valenti's eyes fastened on Isabel, who didn't blink. "Names," he said severely. "What were their names?"
"Uh...just a sec. It was...Liz Parker and Maria DeLuca. We sent'em back with Parker's father. Oh, and we also found Milton from the UFO center poking around. Packed him off with a warning. Says he's going to file a complaint because these woods are public land, blah, blah, blah. I told him the part he's on actually belongs to the Indian reservation, but he didn't seem interested."
Indian reservation. Valenti flicked the flashlight across three faces, none of which showed the slightest signs of surprise. They had good poker faces, these three, but now his having seen an Indian here didn't sound so crazy.
"I'll bring these back," Valenti said to Hanson. "Anything else?"
"No, sir. All's quiet except for UFOlogists and teenaged girls who hate latrines."
"Right," Valenti said darkly. "Do me a favor; get a fix on my position before I head back."
The radio suddenly erupted in a fit of hissing and crackling. "Hanson?" Valenti called. "You there?"
"Sorry...can't..." Hanson's broken voice said, almost obscured by static. "...breaking...can't..."
The crackling abruptly stopped. "Hanson?" Valenti said urgently. "Hanson!"
A couple of minutes later, after fiddling with the frequencies, the batteries, and the antenna, Valenti parked his useless radio on his belt and glared at the three he was supposedly rescuing, all of whom wore expressions ranging from smug to neutral to bewildered. How convenient that his radio had died just when he'd been trying to figure out exactly where they were. How terribly convenient.
"I'm gonna ask you again," he said in a deadly voice, shining his flashlight directly into Max's eyes, "what were you doing out there?"
"That's something I'd like to know too."
Valenti whirled around. "Kyle?"
"You know, it's funny," Kyle said as Valenti gaped at him. "I was on my way back to camp, all in a snit, and then I thought, why go back? Why not follow you and find out why you were following them? So please, Max, answer my dad's question. Because he's not the only one who wants to know what you're doing out here."
"We already told him," Isabel said irritably. "I didn't want to use what are loosely referred to as 'bathrooms', so I went into the woods, Max and Michael went with me, and we got lost. End of story."
Kyle blinked. "So this whole drama is over you taking a dump?"
"Okay, so I don't camp well!" Isabel exclaimed. "So shoot me! I thought I could do it just this once, that my dad and I could...oh, never mind," she said in disgust. "Honestly, it's embarrassing enough to have someone bust in on you while you're...'busy'...but then to have it endlessly discussed is just...just gross. So unless it's illegal to go in the woods, can we just drop this? Please?"
"Incredible," Kyle said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Freakin' incredible."
"Kyle—" Valenti began.
"Can we please go back?" Isabel said desperately. "Obviously I'm not the only one who doesn't like the toilets, and I really don't want that broadcast to the universe like that deputy just did with my classmates, so can we just go back? Kyle, can you take me back? Please?"
That did it. Valenti saw the look on his son's face, saw him melt as a beautiful girl with puppy dog eyes asked him for help. "Right this way," Kyle said gallantly, holding out his arm. "Just call me Captain Underpants. Kidding," he added quickly when Isabel gave him a look. "Just kidding."
******************************************************
Phillip Evans gazed anxiously into the woods for the umpteenth time before checking his watch, also for the umpteenth time. Still nothing. Finally giving in to his impatience, he marched up to one of the sheriff's deputies.
"Excuse me, Deputy...?"
"Hanson," the deputy answered. "Something wrong, Mr. Evans?"
"I was just wondering where my kids were. I've been waiting for nearly an hour. Shouldn't they be back by now?"
"The sheriff didn't say where he found them, but he did say they were all right," Hanson said soothingly. "I'll radio him again and ask how close they are."
"Thank you," Philip said, relieved. "I'd appreciate that."
"Trouble?" a voice asked.
"Oh...hi, Jeff," Philip said when he found Jeff Parker behind him. "I'm just worried that Max and Isabel aren't back yet. How far did they go, for heaven's sake?"
"Liz and Maria were pretty far out," Jeff commented. "Guess there's no length to which girls won't go to avoid outhouses."
"Yeah, well, that goes double for my girl," Philip said. "But still, if I lose my kids on our very first camping trip..."
"Your wife will kill you," Jeff chuckled.
"No, my wife will just get mad," Philip answered. "My mother's the one who'll kill me. I swear sometimes she's more attached to our kids than we are."
"Yeah, my mom and Liz were really close," Jeff said wistfully. "And now she won't get to see Liz grow up."
Philip blinked. "Oh, geez, Jeff...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring that up—"
"No, no, that's all right," Jeff said, waving a dismissive hand. "It happened. I'm not gonna hide under a rock and try to pretend it didn't, or expect anyone else to either. I guess I'm just...well, having someone close to you die makes you extra protective of those who are left. It's like a wake-up call that anything can happen. That's why I freaked out a little when Liz went missing, and why I'm here now. I knew you were waiting for your two, and I'm very sympathetic. It's scary."
"It was," Philip agreed, "but I think I'm a little more ticked off than scared right now. I should give my daughter a piece of my mind when she gets back. She begged me to go on this trip; what, did she think they had gleaming modern plumbing in the middle of the woods?" He sighed, stuffing his hands further into his pockets. "So what about you? Did you tell off yours?"
Jeff shook his head. "Nah. I'm already in hot water. I saw Maria giving Liz some pills earlier today, and I thought...well, you know what I thought. Turns out it was echinacea. Liz was coming down with a cold, and the DeLuca's are into all that alternative medicine stuff."
"You reached a perfectly logical conclusion," Philip said, "and it was your responsibility to make sure that wasn't it."
"I guess," Jeff allowed. "So why do I feel like an idiot whose daughter doesn't trust him any more?"
"We're parents, not friends," Philip argued. "It's our job to make sure our kids don't get mixed up in stuff they're not supposed to, and if that makes us unpopular, so be it. We're not here to be liked."
"I guess not," Jeff said doubtfully. "Although, right now, I'd really like to be liked."
"Mr. Evans?" Hanson called, hurrying over. "I reached the sheriff, and he said they're very close. All three kids should be back in a few minutes."
"Three?" Philip echoed. "I only have two. Who's the other one?"
Hanson shrugged. "Don't know. Guess we'll find out soon enough."
It seemed to Philip like another hour passed, but presently calls sounded from the woods, and a moment later, bobbing flashlights could be seen coming toward them. "Is that the sheriff's son?" Jeff asked, squinting. "Maybe he's the third wheel."
Philip's eyes raked the incoming group, with the sheriff leading, his face like a thundercloud, Isabel behind him with Kyle Valenti, followed by Max and another figure still too far away to see...but then he didn't really need to.
"Who's that?" Jeff asked.
"Ten to one it's Michael Guerin," Philip sighed.
"Who?"
"A friend of my two," Philip explained. "Diane doesn't like him. Thinks he's from the wrong side of the tracks."
"Is he?"
"Maybe. Not really," Philip amended. "He's in foster care, and his foster father leaves a lot to be desired."
"So he's here with his foster father?"
"I didn't think he was here at all," Philip said. "Guess I got that wrong. Isabel!" he called. "Max! Over here!"
"Daddy, I am so sorry," Isabel said even before she reached him. "Please don't tell mom. She'll freak."
"Okay!" Hanson said cheerfully as the lost and the waiting came together. "Is that everyone? Anyone else out there answering nature's call, or is this it for the night?"
"This is it for us," Philip said firmly as Isabel flushed scarlet. "Sheriff, thank you. Sorry for the trouble. It won't happen again."
"Glad to hear it," Hanson said. "So what were you doin' out there, Kyle? You don't have a problem with latrines, do you?"
"Just spending some time with my dad," Kyle said cheerfully.
"In the woods?" Philip said. "In the middle of the night?"
Kyle glanced at his father. "It's an old family tradition. Ask him. He'll tell you."
All heads swung toward Sheriff Valenti, who looked less than amused. "All of you, get back to camp," he said sharply. "And no more gallivanting off in the dark. That means you, too, Kyle."
Valenti stalked off, scowling. Hanson merely shrugged, but Philip and Jeff exchanged glances as they fell in step with the group. "Well, whatdya know," Jeff murmured. "Looks like we're not the only ones in dutch with our kids."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 56 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Chapter 56
Hello everyone! Thanks for reading and for the feedback!
But this is definitely something Brivari could do without changing his preordained demise, and might want to after he finds out Jaddo misled River Dog. Hmm....
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
January 22, 2000, 7:30 a.m.
Frazier Woods
"Michael, wake up. Michael!"
Michael Guerin jerked away from the hands shaking him and half opened his eyes. For a moment he didn't recognize his surroundings; wherever it was, it was dim, damp, and hard, a comedown in triplicate from even Hank's trailer. Where the hell was he?
Hands shook him again, and he groaned as his shoulders protested with a sudden and vicious ache. "Michael, wake up," a male voice commanded. "We only have a few minutes before Dad comes back."
Dad? Either he was home and dreaming, or...or what? It had to be a dream; what other option was there if someone was referencing a parent he didn't have? And since he was dreaming, he could safely ignore whoever was bugging him, so Michael closed his eyes and settled back down.
Only to have cold water splashed on him. A moment later he was bolt upright, wide awake and sputtering as Isabel huffed beside him with an empty paper cup in her hands. "What the hell did you do that for?" he demanded.
"Because you had to wake up," she said firmly, passing him a towel. "Like Max said, we don't have a lot of time."
Michael scrubbed his face and peered at his unfamiliar surroundings. "We don't have a lot of time where? Where are we?"
"In our tent," Max answered. "Dad offered to have you sleep here last night because it was so late when we got back to camp, and you said yes...remember?"
"Not really," Michael muttered. "Why'd I do that?"
"How should we know?" Isabel demanded. "We haven't had so much as a second to ourselves since Valenti found us last night, so we shouldn't waste what little time we have examining last night's motivations!"
"Okay, okay," Michael said, holding up a hand. "Just cool it. I'm awake. No more water," he added sharply when she raised an eyebrow. "Just give me a sec."
Isabel made a strangled noise of pure impatience but was shushed by Max as Michael peered around the dim interior. It was an impressive tent, a Philip Evans tent, large enough to sort of stand up in and equipped with a floor, a double zippered doorway, and some kind of skylight on the roof. "Where'd I get this sleeping bag?" he mumbled, fumbling with the zipper.
"Dad borrowed it from Coach Clay," Max answered. "He had extras."
"Extras?" Michael snorted. "Why? Is somebody not house trained?"
"Can we please get on with it?" Isabel pleaded, peering out through the partially zipped doorway. "Dad won't be gone forever. The line for the latrines is moving pretty fast."
"You mean he's taking a morning dump?" Michael yawned. "Heck, what's the rush? Hank spends ages in the can." He flopped back down on the sleeping bag, remembering too late why his whole body was achy; hard ground could do that to you. So could Isabel, who whisked the pillow out seconds before his head hit.
"Ouch!" he yelled.
"Up!" she ordered.
"Okay!" Michael exclaimed, jerking away from her. "I'm up! Jesus, whoever thought camping was fun," he muttered, pulling the sleeping bag further around him. "It's freezing in here."
"Tell me about it," Isabel said tartly. "I'm not exactly having the time of my life either, especially since my bathroom habits have become the talk of the camp. As if it wasn't bad enough to freeze out here and try to sleep on rocks, now I've got everyone expecting me to whip out a gold-plated toilet seat."
"Yeah, how is it that you used the same excuse as Liz and Maria?" Michael asked.
Isabel's eyes dropped. "I heard them talking when we were on our way to the cave about what they'd say if we got caught. It was as good an excuse as any."
"We need to talk about what happened last night," Max insisted. "Michael, what were you doing in the woods last night?"
Michael reached a hand back to massage his aching back. "What was I doing in the woods last night? What were you doing in the woods last night, Maxwell? Because I'm pretty sure I was doing the same thing you were."
"I know that," Max said patiently. "I just didn't expect to see you there, especially not with River Dog. How did you get there?"
"Same way you did. I walked."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Max said pointedly.
Isabel yelped as Michael snatched his pillow out of her hands. "I'm not going back to sleep," he told her. "There's just nothing to lean against." He propped the pillow up as best he could, then himself on it. "River Dog came back," he said, leaving out the fact that he'd known River Dog was going to come back. "He said he'd take me to the woods."
"To see Nasedo?" Isabel asked.
"He didn't say that. He said he'd take me to where the sighting was."
Isabel glanced at Max. "That's twice now that he went to Michael. Why didn't he come to us?"
"You weren't home last night, remember?" Michael said.
"We were home the night before when he came to you," Isabel reminded him.
"So?" Michael said. "What do you care? You don't care about this. I'm the only one who cares about this."
"That is not true!" Isabel said fiercely. "I'm here, aren't I? I'm in the woods, starving and cold with no shower, no decent clothes, no make-up, no jewelry, no...no anything. If that doesn't prove I care about this, nothing ever will."
"She has a point," Max said dryly as Michael shook his head in disgust. "And now that we've established that we all care, what do we do about what we found?"
"Do we even know what we found?" Isabel asked. "We didn't get much time to look at it before Valenti blundered in.
"It was one of the symbols from the cave map," Michael said. "I've been studying that map for weeks now; I could draw it right here in the dirt if I had to. I'd know it anywhere."
"So would I," Max agreed.
"Okay, so, what does it mean?" Isabel said.
"That I don't know," Michael sighed.
"Me neither," Max added.
"But we know it means something," Michael went on. "We've been sent a message. We don't know what it means, but we do know it's a message, and we know who sent it. Just think," he went on, suddenly more awake. "Our first message from someone else like us. Pretty cool, huh?"
The looks Max and Isabel exchanged betrayed emotions that fell somewhat short of "cool". "No, of course you don't think it's cool," Michael said sourly. "It might mean no more camping trips with daddy."
"Don't start," Max ordered. "You know perfectly well that a message from Nasedo is a mixed blessing. According to River Dog, he murdered someone."
"Yeah, well, according to River Dog, he knows who we are and why we're here, so I really don't care," Michael said. "We can go all Columbo later."
"What happened to River Dog?" Isabel asked. "Do you think Valenti caught him?"
Michael shook his head. "No way. That guy can walk so quietly, he's virtually silent. He probably just melted back into the forest. Speaking of which, when do we go back?"
"Back?" Max echoed. "You mean to the cave?"
"No, to school. Yes, of course I mean to the cave, Maxwell. Where else?"
"Why go back?" Isabel asked nervously. "Max erased the symbol. There's nothing there now."
"We don't know that," Michael protested. "We didn't get the chance to check if there was anything else there last night, not to mention that something could turn up today, or tomorrow, or the middle of next week. We have to go back."
"Well, we can't go back this weekend," Max said. "After last night, Valenti's going to be doing a lot more than just following us. I'm surprised he wasn't here when we woke up."
"Valenti's just one person," Michael scoffed. "We can lose him."
"No, we can't," Max said. "Or even if we did, we couldn't lose him and all those deputies he has in the woods."
"We didn't last night," Isabel said soberly. "I hate to say it, but we never would have found what we did if not for Liz and Maria. They kept the dogs at bay just long enough. Literally."
"If there's one thing we've gotten good at, it's the old bait and switch," Michael said. "One of us can be the decoy—"
"That won't work this time," Max said. "There are too many of them, too few of us, and we're out of excuses; they're not going to fall for the 'I can't stand the latrines' line again.
"Maxwell—"
"Do you realize how close Valenti was to the cave last night?" Max demanded. "The last thing we want to do is lead him back there."
"Then he might find the cave," Isabel said. "And the map."
"The cave isn't that obvious," Michael argued. "We could—"
"Michael, no," Max said firmly. "He already knows the general direction and about how far away we were, and we're just damned lucky I was able to blow his radio before he was able to get actual coordinates. We're not taking any chances. The cave will be there after this weekend."
"So you took out the radio," Michael murmured.
"Yeah. Why?"
Michael shook his head. "Nothing," he said shortly, swallowing his envy that Max had that kind of control. If he'd tried to "blow" the radio, it probably would have literally blown, as in blown up. All he knew how to do was aim and blast; raising and lowering the temperature wasn't in his repertoire. Fortunately he did know how to shut it off, or River Dog's ankle might have wound up fused to the ground.
"You know, if you practiced more...really practiced...you'd get better at it," Isabel said gently. "That might be more productive than reading some obscure map."
Michael's eyes snapped to hers. "We were just sent a message from that 'obscure map', so how is learning to read it not productive?"
"I just meant—"
"I know what you meant," Michael interrupted. "You'd rather I spend my time short-circuiting radios instead of learning what the map and the message mean because then you might actually have to do something about it. Got it."
"Michael, stop it," Isabel groaned.
"You know what? I think I will." Michael stood up, as best he could in the cramped confines of the tent. "I'm leaving."
"What?" Max said. "Why?"
"Why?" Michael echoed. "Why not? Why do you think I stayed here last night, Maxwell? Because I suddenly had a hankering to have a pretend daddy? No, the only reason I stayed was because I thought something else might happen, and I thought we'd be going back. Nothing happened, and we're not going back. So I'm leaving."
"Leaving how?" Isabel asked. "You can't exactly catch a bus...no," she finished when Michael brandished a thumb. "You are not hitchhiking."
"I most certainly am," Michael said, shrugging off the sleeping bag and reaching for his shoes. "Best way to travel; it's cheap, and fast, and—"
"Dangerous," Isabel broke in, "and cold, and—"
"And he's done it before," Max finished. "Michael hitches rides all the time, Iz. It's broad daylight on a Saturday morning, and it's not too far into town. He'll be fine."
"Nice to know you care," Isabel said stiffly.
"I do care," Max sighed. "I'm just being realistic."
"About time someone did," Michael muttered, going to the tent flap and peering out the small opening. Valenti was just a few yards away, talking on his cell phone and ostensibly paying them no mind.
"Don't worry; I'm not buying it," Michael said as the three of them peered out the flap. "All I need is a little distraction, and I can slip away."
"We could do that," Isabel suggested. "We could—"
"Never mind," Michael said. "There's my distraction."
******************************************************
Valenti waited impatiently with the phone to his ear and one eye on the tent several yards away. It was still early, but people were starting to stir, mostly parents. He'd seen Philip Evans leave his tent a few minutes ago, but no one else had come out, neither his two kids nor Guerin, who had accepted Philip's invitation to spend the night with them. It was safe to assume that all were present and accounted for or Philip wouldn't have merely stretched and headed for one of the long latrine lines, and his absence made this a prime time to slip away, so if those kids so much as twitched, Valenti wanted to know about it. He was sorely in need of information.
C'mon, c'mon, Valenti thought as the silence over the phone line threatened to become deafening. He'd called Hanson instead of using the radio because he didn't want his other deputies overhearing this conversation, a conversation which could land him squarely in his father's shoes in their eyes. Hanson had claimed everyone was applauding how seriously he was taking the sighting, but he'd never confirmed that, and things had moved way past "serious".
"Sir?" a voice came over the phone.
"What took you so long?" Valenti demanded. "I've been on hold for five minutes!"
"The last of the teams was coming back, and I wanted to check with them," Hanson explained. "No one found anything unusual."
"Nothing? Nothing at all?"
"No, sir.
"You're sure?"
"We followed your instructions to the letter, sir," Hanson said. "We all went out at first light and canvassed the entire area in sections. There's nothing out there."
"What about the section I told you about?" Valenti said, frustrated. "The one where I was last night."
"Sir, it would be helpful if we had a better idea of where to look other than just 'one or two miles west'," Hanson answered. "I'm sorry the radios went out on us, but since we weren't able to triangulate your position, we're stuck with guessing."
"I know," Valenti sighed.
"It would also be helpful if you could give us some idea of what we're supposed to be looking for," Hanson went on. "You never really said."
"Because I'm not really sure," Valenti said crossly. "It was awfully dark out there, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Yes, sir, I did notice," Hanson said. "I was here all night too. And may I respectfully suggest that, given how dark it was, perhaps you just think you saw something. That would be perfectly understandable."
Valenti's next words died in his throat as he recognized Hanson's tone, that hopeful tone people used to use with his father when pleading with him to be reasonable, to be logical, to abandon his wild notion of invading aliens and make everyone feel better. "You're right," he said, strangling on the words. "Maybe it was a trick of the light, or the dark, rather. But I had to be sure."
"Of course you did, sir," Hanson said, sounding relieved. "And we didn't find a thing, so now you're sure." He paused. "By the way, sir, if you don't mind my asking, how did you happen to find the Evans kids last night? They were quite a ways away. What brought you out there?"
"Philip mentioned he couldn't find his kids, so I went looking," Valenti said. "Must have gone further than I thought."
"Huh. He didn't mention that when he came to us last night."
"Because I didn't tell him I'd gone looking," Valenti said. "I thought it was going to be a quick dive into the woods, not a mile long trek. Look, Hanson, ask the men one more thing, would you? Ask them if they saw any Indians when they were out this morning."
There was a pause. "Indians, sir? You mean, like..."
"Like Indians," Valenti clarified. "As in native Americans. I could have sworn I saw an old Indian man in the woods last night, but he slipped away before I could talk to him. Just go ask. Just in case."
Another pause, longer this time. "Okay," Hanson said finally. "Hang on."
Valenti closed his eyes and prayed for patience as Hanson hit the mute button. This was risky, but their proximity to the Indian reservation should give him some cover, and it was the last lead he had. He'd been so close last night, it was practically killing him. The Evans kids had gone into those woods for a reason that had nothing to do with personal hygiene, and he'd caught them in the act of looking at something, something on the ground, something that wasn't there when he'd inspected it as closely as he could with the aid of a flashlight. The light of day might prove a different story, but the problem was finding out where he'd been. He'd been so engrossed in following them, so careful to keep just within sight and not make any noise that he hadn't paid much attention to where they were going. He knew it was due west and somewhere between one and two miles away, but that's as close as he could get. What was interesting is that the Evans kids' destination fell outside the sighting area, meaning they'd never had to cross the line his deputies had formed around the perimeter. It was sheer luck that the dogs had picked up their scent, bad luck, that is. Unbeknownst to his deputies, their boss had been watching as the dogs had closed in, cursing his bad luck and hoping the Parker and DeLuca girls' ruse worked because he wanted to see where the rest of them were going. And then there's Kyle, he thought with a guilty glance at their tent. Kyle had eluded virtually everyone.
"Sir?" Hanson's voice came over the line. "I asked everyone. No Indians."
"Okay," Valenti said heavily. "Thanks, Hanson."
"But Owen Blackwood did say that if you think an Indian was in the woods, that could explain anything weird that you saw," Hanson went on. "He said these woods are used by the people on the reservation for all sorts of things at all times of the day and night. I gather it wouldn't be at all unusual to find an Indian out here in the wee small, so it looks like this wasn't just your imagination."
"That's comforting. Good to know I'm not cracking up."
"Of course not, sir," Hanson said soothingly. "Between you and me and the fence post, no one thought you were. They were just getting a little frustrated at the lack of direction, that's all. Anything else?"
"No, that's it for now," Valenti said. "Stay in touch."
"Sure thing, sir."
Valenti clicked his phone off and gazed at the tent across the cold campfire. He could have sworn he'd seen the tent flap move, but nothing was moving now. What had those kids been looking at? If that Guerin hulk hadn't blocked his way, he might have been able to see something, which was obviously why Guerin had blocked him in the first place, to give Max Evans time to...well, to what? Hide the evidence? Destroy the evidence? He'd only had seconds; what kind of evidence could be hidden or destroyed that quickly? There had been absolutely nothing there when he'd looked at the ground they'd been hunched over, no marks or holes or flattened grass—nothing. Maybe there was a reason for that? Maybe there'd been nothing there all along? Maybe they were just looking, but hadn't found anything? Maybe they failed, he thought, watching the tent with new eyes. If so, they'd try again, and that would give him another chance to follow them. It could happen any time, day or night, so he'd have to find a way to keep them within sight at all times without drawing suspicion.
"Nice view, huh?"
Valenti whirled around to find Kyle right behind him. "Kyle, for God's sake, you've gotta stop sneaking up on me like that!" he sputtered.
" 'Sneaking up on you'? We're right outside our tent, Dad. How is that 'sneaking up on you'?"
"I just didn't hear you," Valenti said irritably. "That's all."
"Right, well, I'll be sure to bang a spoon on a pot before I 'sneak up on you' staring at Max Evans' tent."
"Kyle, would you drop it?" Valenti demanded. "You heard what Isabel said; she didn't want to use the latrine. Stop trying to make it into something else."
"Then why didn't you just say that when I caught up with you the first time?" Kyle asked.
"Because I didn't want to embarrass her," Valenti answered. "You saw how she acted last night. I was trying to keep it from becoming the talk of the camp."
"Besides the fact that you failed miserably in that regard, there's another thing to consider," Kyle said with maddening calm. "I was following you last night, so I saw you following them...and you weren't acting like you were following some princess in the pea. You were keeping your distance, staying real quiet, hiding behind trees. You weren't looking for lost kids, you were trying to see where they were going. I want to know why, and don't you dare give me that crap about 'confidential information' or the 'demands of the job'."
Shit. Kyle stared at him defiantly, hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweatshirt, eyes boring into him. Never mind avoiding other people's suspicions; if he was going to keep an eye on the Evans kids, the worst suspicions he'd have to avoid came from his own kid. Another time he might be proud of his son's deductive reasoning. Not this time.
"You're right," Valenti said finally. "I was following them. I saw them go into the woods, and I wanted to know why. If I'd stopped them, I wouldn't have found out."
"But what were you looking for?" Kyle persisted. "What's this all about? And what was Guerin doing out there? He wasn't part of the original convoy. Where'd he come from?"
Valenti stared at his son in consternation. It was like looking in a mirror; the pit bull determination, the nose for lies, the attention to detail. If Kyle followed the family tradition, he wasn't going away without an answer, so he'd better come up with something, and fast.
"Don't spread this around," Valenti said in a low voice, "but word is there's a drug ring in your school. Some of the suspected suppliers are on this trip, and it occurred to me that this would be a good place to do some dealing. When I saw those kids going into the woods, I thought they might be involved."
"Mmm," Kyle murmured, sounding unconvinced. "And here I thought you came on this trip for me."
"I did come on this trip for you," Valenti insisted. "We go on this trip every single year, and this year I noticed something that fit information I've received as sheriff, so I checked it out. You never would have even known about it if you hadn't followed me."
"See, that's the thing, Dad—I did follow you. So that's how I know that Isabel and Max weren't the only ones out there. Liz and Maria were out there too. We had a veritable Conga line going!" Kyle said cheerfully as Valenti scowled. "But the point is that Liz is no druggie. Frankly the others aren't either, but Liz especially would never be mixed up in that."
"So you think," Valenti said. "We really don't know people, Kyle. We think we do, but we don't."
Kyle gazed at him a moment in uncomfortable silence before nodding slowly. "Yeah. Tell me about it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I'm going to look elsewhere for answers," Kyle said. "And maybe, if I'm really lucky, I'll find someone who isn't lying to me."
*****************************************************
"Okay, you know it's bad when we're not even close and it's still making me gag," Maria said, wrinkling her nose. "If it's this bad back here, what are we gonna do when we get up there?"
"Mmm," Liz murmured, her eyes somewhere other than on the latrines up ahead, the line for which they'd just joined.
"Ixnay on the aring stay," Maria ordered. "I thought we agreed we'd stay away from Max and Isabel?"
"I am," Liz protested as the line inched forward. "I was just watching their tent. Their dad's up, but I haven't seen them."
"Yeah, well, most of us don't get up before noon on a Saturday if we can help it," Maria said. "And that goes double for those of us who take moonlit hikes. Look, we have to be careful. No one else knows we were out there with Max and Isabel, and we have to keep it that way."
"I know," Liz sighed. "But it's killing me not knowing what happened. Don't you want to know if they found anything? Or what Michael was doing out there? Or—"
"Of course I want to know," Maria broke in. "In the worst way. But we can't just go running up to them the moment they stick their heads out of the tent. We did what we could," she added gently. "We bought them some time. We'll find out later if it did any good." She stared past Liz, blinked. "I take that back. Maybe we'll find out now."
Liz turned around. Isabel was walking toward them, and a moment later, she'd queued behind them. "Please tell me you brought a nose plug," she said, wincing at the smell, "and that you'll loan it to me when you're done."
"Actually I was gonna breathe through my mouth, but should you be here?" Maria whispered as the line inched forward again. "Liz and I thought we shouldn't all be seen together."
Isabel shrugged. "Why not? We're all on the same camping trip. Frankly, I think it would look more weird if we avoided each other."
"So what happened?" Liz asked eagerly before Maria could stop her. "Did you find anything?"
"Should we be talking about this here?" Maria asked nervously.
"This is the best place to be talking about it," Isabel said. "Early in the morning, in line for the latrine with people who are half awake and starving for breakfast? Works for me." Nevertheless, she glanced around before continuing. "We walked to the cave. Michael and River Dog were there. Michael said River Dog came to get him last night and offered to take him there."
"And?" Maria asked breathlessly, her previous objections forgotten.
"And...we found something," Isabel said, her voice so low it was barely audible. "A symbol from the cave map had been...I don't know, burned or etched or marked somehow on the ground."
"Oh, my God," Maria whispered.
"So it was real," Liz said faintly.
"River Dog said it was a message," Isabel went on. "A message meant for us. Michael thinks it means Nasedo's back."
"Or someone is," Liz added.
"A message," Maria said, shaking her head. "Michael must be going nuts."
"He is," Isabel confirmed. "He just left. He wanted to go back today, but we can't risk it, not with Valenti watching."
"Oooh, my ears are burning," a voice said.
Maria and Liz exchanged startled glances. Kyle Valenti had joined the line, wearing a smile like a cat that had caught the canary. "Heard my name," he said cheerfully. "Hope it wasn't being taken in vain."
"Actually, it was your dad's name," Isabel said, not missing a beat.
"Ah," Kyle nodded. "Yes. I can understand that. Truly, I can. So, ladies...I take it we're trying the modern facilities this morning instead of trekking into the woods?"
"If you call a hole in the ground a 'modern facility'," Maria retorted.
"Certainly more modern than what you all were heading for last night," Kyle said. "See, the board with the hole in it is your friend; it keeps the poison ivy off your backsides."
"Is there a point to this conversation?" Isabel demanded.
"Yes," Kyle answered, "yes, there is. See, I don't think you were looking to do number one, or two or three or four, in the woods last night. I asked my dad what was going on, and he told me some story about a drug ring at school that he was afraid you were in on. I don't believe that for a minute, so...you wanna talk?"
"I 'talked' last night," Isabel said in a frosty tone. "But I never heard your story, Kyle. What were you doing out there?"
"Wait—Kyle was in the woods last night too?" Maria asked.
"He showed up right after Sheriff Valenti found us," Isabel answered. "I got the impression the two of them were having some kind of fight."
"Mmm," Kyle murmured. "I guess that's personal."
Isabel's eyebrows rose. "So you don't want to 'talk'. Imagine that."
A door banged; they'd arrived at the head of the line. "Next!" declared a fat father swathed in denim and flannel, helpfully holding the latrine door open from which wafted a powerful odor.
"You go," Maria said to Isabel, hoping to cut Kyle off at the pass and avoid that awful smell for just a few minutes longer.
"Yes, do go," Kyle advised. "Hold your breath! Stay strong! Hover, don't shit! Sit!" he amended hastily. "I meant 'sit'."
"Kyle?" Liz said. "Go away."
After a long look at each of them, he did. Isabel glanced at the open door in front of her like it was the doorway to hell, then at the growing line behind them. More people, it seemed, were waking up. Okay, I'm going in," she said, sounding like a soldier on her way into battle. "Wish me luck."
Isabel disappeared inside. "Whoever would have thought we'd be glad to reach the latrine," Maria whispered. "And whoever would have thought Kyle was out there too?"
"Yeah," Liz agreed. "Kind of makes you wonder who else was out there."
******************************************************
12 noon
Artesia, New Mexico
"No, I don't mind if you stay longer," Jaddo said.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "Are you sure?" Tess said doubtfully.
"I'm sure. Stay as long as you'd like."
"Really?"
"Yes, really," Jaddo answered impatiently. "Why the third degree?"
"Gee, I don't know," Tess said. "Maybe because you've never, ever let me go on a sleepover before? And now, all of a sudden, it's okay?"
"Because of your error," Jaddo said in a steely tone. "Because you let it slip we were moving. We needed to correct that—"
"We did correct that."
"—and forming closer social ties is one way to quiet any lingering rumors. So stay as long as you like."
There was another pause, longer this time. "Why are you being so nice to me?" Tess asked suspiciously. "It's not like you. Are you sick?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Jaddo said in exasperation. "Where does this persecution complex come from? Never mind," he added when she started to reply. "I answered your question, now get out there and play human. It's what you want; take advantage of the fact that it's also what we need."
Jaddo hung up without waiting for a reply. He hadn't been prevaricating—it was important that they dispel any lingering rumors that they were leaving town. The fact that there didn't seem to be any lingering rumors was irrelevant, as was the fact that Tess's latest request for the human social ritual known as a "sleepover", paradoxically labeled given that little sleeping actually occurred, had come at a convenient time for him. Staying away as long as he had this weekend would have been problematic without it.
"She knows you well, doesn't she?"
Jaddo whirled around. "My, but you're distracted," Brivari observed. "Didn't even hear me. That's not like you, Jaddo. But no matter; I'll make absolutely certain that nothing distracts you while you explain to me what the hell you thought you were doing last night."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanksgiving's coming!
Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it, and I'll be back on Sunday, December 4th with Chapter 57.
Yep, he's annoying, and we can all take satisfaction in knowing how he ends! Kyle is a blast to write for. He had some of the best lines in the show.PML wrote:I am amazed that Briviari never actually kills Jaddo. And I really liked Kyle in this part.
Indeed. And they have so many. Makes you wonder if aliens ever develop high blood pressure.keepsmiling7 wrote:That was a very close call!
I wonder, could he grow...er, "shift"...those teeth back?cjeb wrote:I'm not to happy with Jaddo either. Maybe you could change the story line a little and have Brivari rearrange Jaddo' face, a few missing teeth would look good I'm thinking.
But this is definitely something Brivari could do without changing his preordained demise, and might want to after he finds out Jaddo misled River Dog. Hmm....CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
January 22, 2000, 7:30 a.m.
Frazier Woods
"Michael, wake up. Michael!"
Michael Guerin jerked away from the hands shaking him and half opened his eyes. For a moment he didn't recognize his surroundings; wherever it was, it was dim, damp, and hard, a comedown in triplicate from even Hank's trailer. Where the hell was he?
Hands shook him again, and he groaned as his shoulders protested with a sudden and vicious ache. "Michael, wake up," a male voice commanded. "We only have a few minutes before Dad comes back."
Dad? Either he was home and dreaming, or...or what? It had to be a dream; what other option was there if someone was referencing a parent he didn't have? And since he was dreaming, he could safely ignore whoever was bugging him, so Michael closed his eyes and settled back down.
Only to have cold water splashed on him. A moment later he was bolt upright, wide awake and sputtering as Isabel huffed beside him with an empty paper cup in her hands. "What the hell did you do that for?" he demanded.
"Because you had to wake up," she said firmly, passing him a towel. "Like Max said, we don't have a lot of time."
Michael scrubbed his face and peered at his unfamiliar surroundings. "We don't have a lot of time where? Where are we?"
"In our tent," Max answered. "Dad offered to have you sleep here last night because it was so late when we got back to camp, and you said yes...remember?"
"Not really," Michael muttered. "Why'd I do that?"
"How should we know?" Isabel demanded. "We haven't had so much as a second to ourselves since Valenti found us last night, so we shouldn't waste what little time we have examining last night's motivations!"
"Okay, okay," Michael said, holding up a hand. "Just cool it. I'm awake. No more water," he added sharply when she raised an eyebrow. "Just give me a sec."
Isabel made a strangled noise of pure impatience but was shushed by Max as Michael peered around the dim interior. It was an impressive tent, a Philip Evans tent, large enough to sort of stand up in and equipped with a floor, a double zippered doorway, and some kind of skylight on the roof. "Where'd I get this sleeping bag?" he mumbled, fumbling with the zipper.
"Dad borrowed it from Coach Clay," Max answered. "He had extras."
"Extras?" Michael snorted. "Why? Is somebody not house trained?"
"Can we please get on with it?" Isabel pleaded, peering out through the partially zipped doorway. "Dad won't be gone forever. The line for the latrines is moving pretty fast."
"You mean he's taking a morning dump?" Michael yawned. "Heck, what's the rush? Hank spends ages in the can." He flopped back down on the sleeping bag, remembering too late why his whole body was achy; hard ground could do that to you. So could Isabel, who whisked the pillow out seconds before his head hit.
"Ouch!" he yelled.
"Up!" she ordered.
"Okay!" Michael exclaimed, jerking away from her. "I'm up! Jesus, whoever thought camping was fun," he muttered, pulling the sleeping bag further around him. "It's freezing in here."
"Tell me about it," Isabel said tartly. "I'm not exactly having the time of my life either, especially since my bathroom habits have become the talk of the camp. As if it wasn't bad enough to freeze out here and try to sleep on rocks, now I've got everyone expecting me to whip out a gold-plated toilet seat."
"Yeah, how is it that you used the same excuse as Liz and Maria?" Michael asked.
Isabel's eyes dropped. "I heard them talking when we were on our way to the cave about what they'd say if we got caught. It was as good an excuse as any."
"We need to talk about what happened last night," Max insisted. "Michael, what were you doing in the woods last night?"
Michael reached a hand back to massage his aching back. "What was I doing in the woods last night? What were you doing in the woods last night, Maxwell? Because I'm pretty sure I was doing the same thing you were."
"I know that," Max said patiently. "I just didn't expect to see you there, especially not with River Dog. How did you get there?"
"Same way you did. I walked."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Max said pointedly.
Isabel yelped as Michael snatched his pillow out of her hands. "I'm not going back to sleep," he told her. "There's just nothing to lean against." He propped the pillow up as best he could, then himself on it. "River Dog came back," he said, leaving out the fact that he'd known River Dog was going to come back. "He said he'd take me to the woods."
"To see Nasedo?" Isabel asked.
"He didn't say that. He said he'd take me to where the sighting was."
Isabel glanced at Max. "That's twice now that he went to Michael. Why didn't he come to us?"
"You weren't home last night, remember?" Michael said.
"We were home the night before when he came to you," Isabel reminded him.
"So?" Michael said. "What do you care? You don't care about this. I'm the only one who cares about this."
"That is not true!" Isabel said fiercely. "I'm here, aren't I? I'm in the woods, starving and cold with no shower, no decent clothes, no make-up, no jewelry, no...no anything. If that doesn't prove I care about this, nothing ever will."
"She has a point," Max said dryly as Michael shook his head in disgust. "And now that we've established that we all care, what do we do about what we found?"
"Do we even know what we found?" Isabel asked. "We didn't get much time to look at it before Valenti blundered in.
"It was one of the symbols from the cave map," Michael said. "I've been studying that map for weeks now; I could draw it right here in the dirt if I had to. I'd know it anywhere."
"So would I," Max agreed.
"Okay, so, what does it mean?" Isabel said.
"That I don't know," Michael sighed.
"Me neither," Max added.
"But we know it means something," Michael went on. "We've been sent a message. We don't know what it means, but we do know it's a message, and we know who sent it. Just think," he went on, suddenly more awake. "Our first message from someone else like us. Pretty cool, huh?"
The looks Max and Isabel exchanged betrayed emotions that fell somewhat short of "cool". "No, of course you don't think it's cool," Michael said sourly. "It might mean no more camping trips with daddy."
"Don't start," Max ordered. "You know perfectly well that a message from Nasedo is a mixed blessing. According to River Dog, he murdered someone."
"Yeah, well, according to River Dog, he knows who we are and why we're here, so I really don't care," Michael said. "We can go all Columbo later."
"What happened to River Dog?" Isabel asked. "Do you think Valenti caught him?"
Michael shook his head. "No way. That guy can walk so quietly, he's virtually silent. He probably just melted back into the forest. Speaking of which, when do we go back?"
"Back?" Max echoed. "You mean to the cave?"
"No, to school. Yes, of course I mean to the cave, Maxwell. Where else?"
"Why go back?" Isabel asked nervously. "Max erased the symbol. There's nothing there now."
"We don't know that," Michael protested. "We didn't get the chance to check if there was anything else there last night, not to mention that something could turn up today, or tomorrow, or the middle of next week. We have to go back."
"Well, we can't go back this weekend," Max said. "After last night, Valenti's going to be doing a lot more than just following us. I'm surprised he wasn't here when we woke up."
"Valenti's just one person," Michael scoffed. "We can lose him."
"No, we can't," Max said. "Or even if we did, we couldn't lose him and all those deputies he has in the woods."
"We didn't last night," Isabel said soberly. "I hate to say it, but we never would have found what we did if not for Liz and Maria. They kept the dogs at bay just long enough. Literally."
"If there's one thing we've gotten good at, it's the old bait and switch," Michael said. "One of us can be the decoy—"
"That won't work this time," Max said. "There are too many of them, too few of us, and we're out of excuses; they're not going to fall for the 'I can't stand the latrines' line again.
"Maxwell—"
"Do you realize how close Valenti was to the cave last night?" Max demanded. "The last thing we want to do is lead him back there."
"Then he might find the cave," Isabel said. "And the map."
"The cave isn't that obvious," Michael argued. "We could—"
"Michael, no," Max said firmly. "He already knows the general direction and about how far away we were, and we're just damned lucky I was able to blow his radio before he was able to get actual coordinates. We're not taking any chances. The cave will be there after this weekend."
"So you took out the radio," Michael murmured.
"Yeah. Why?"
Michael shook his head. "Nothing," he said shortly, swallowing his envy that Max had that kind of control. If he'd tried to "blow" the radio, it probably would have literally blown, as in blown up. All he knew how to do was aim and blast; raising and lowering the temperature wasn't in his repertoire. Fortunately he did know how to shut it off, or River Dog's ankle might have wound up fused to the ground.
"You know, if you practiced more...really practiced...you'd get better at it," Isabel said gently. "That might be more productive than reading some obscure map."
Michael's eyes snapped to hers. "We were just sent a message from that 'obscure map', so how is learning to read it not productive?"
"I just meant—"
"I know what you meant," Michael interrupted. "You'd rather I spend my time short-circuiting radios instead of learning what the map and the message mean because then you might actually have to do something about it. Got it."
"Michael, stop it," Isabel groaned.
"You know what? I think I will." Michael stood up, as best he could in the cramped confines of the tent. "I'm leaving."
"What?" Max said. "Why?"
"Why?" Michael echoed. "Why not? Why do you think I stayed here last night, Maxwell? Because I suddenly had a hankering to have a pretend daddy? No, the only reason I stayed was because I thought something else might happen, and I thought we'd be going back. Nothing happened, and we're not going back. So I'm leaving."
"Leaving how?" Isabel asked. "You can't exactly catch a bus...no," she finished when Michael brandished a thumb. "You are not hitchhiking."
"I most certainly am," Michael said, shrugging off the sleeping bag and reaching for his shoes. "Best way to travel; it's cheap, and fast, and—"
"Dangerous," Isabel broke in, "and cold, and—"
"And he's done it before," Max finished. "Michael hitches rides all the time, Iz. It's broad daylight on a Saturday morning, and it's not too far into town. He'll be fine."
"Nice to know you care," Isabel said stiffly.
"I do care," Max sighed. "I'm just being realistic."
"About time someone did," Michael muttered, going to the tent flap and peering out the small opening. Valenti was just a few yards away, talking on his cell phone and ostensibly paying them no mind.
"Don't worry; I'm not buying it," Michael said as the three of them peered out the flap. "All I need is a little distraction, and I can slip away."
"We could do that," Isabel suggested. "We could—"
"Never mind," Michael said. "There's my distraction."
******************************************************
Valenti waited impatiently with the phone to his ear and one eye on the tent several yards away. It was still early, but people were starting to stir, mostly parents. He'd seen Philip Evans leave his tent a few minutes ago, but no one else had come out, neither his two kids nor Guerin, who had accepted Philip's invitation to spend the night with them. It was safe to assume that all were present and accounted for or Philip wouldn't have merely stretched and headed for one of the long latrine lines, and his absence made this a prime time to slip away, so if those kids so much as twitched, Valenti wanted to know about it. He was sorely in need of information.
C'mon, c'mon, Valenti thought as the silence over the phone line threatened to become deafening. He'd called Hanson instead of using the radio because he didn't want his other deputies overhearing this conversation, a conversation which could land him squarely in his father's shoes in their eyes. Hanson had claimed everyone was applauding how seriously he was taking the sighting, but he'd never confirmed that, and things had moved way past "serious".
"Sir?" a voice came over the phone.
"What took you so long?" Valenti demanded. "I've been on hold for five minutes!"
"The last of the teams was coming back, and I wanted to check with them," Hanson explained. "No one found anything unusual."
"Nothing? Nothing at all?"
"No, sir.
"You're sure?"
"We followed your instructions to the letter, sir," Hanson said. "We all went out at first light and canvassed the entire area in sections. There's nothing out there."
"What about the section I told you about?" Valenti said, frustrated. "The one where I was last night."
"Sir, it would be helpful if we had a better idea of where to look other than just 'one or two miles west'," Hanson answered. "I'm sorry the radios went out on us, but since we weren't able to triangulate your position, we're stuck with guessing."
"I know," Valenti sighed.
"It would also be helpful if you could give us some idea of what we're supposed to be looking for," Hanson went on. "You never really said."
"Because I'm not really sure," Valenti said crossly. "It was awfully dark out there, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Yes, sir, I did notice," Hanson said. "I was here all night too. And may I respectfully suggest that, given how dark it was, perhaps you just think you saw something. That would be perfectly understandable."
Valenti's next words died in his throat as he recognized Hanson's tone, that hopeful tone people used to use with his father when pleading with him to be reasonable, to be logical, to abandon his wild notion of invading aliens and make everyone feel better. "You're right," he said, strangling on the words. "Maybe it was a trick of the light, or the dark, rather. But I had to be sure."
"Of course you did, sir," Hanson said, sounding relieved. "And we didn't find a thing, so now you're sure." He paused. "By the way, sir, if you don't mind my asking, how did you happen to find the Evans kids last night? They were quite a ways away. What brought you out there?"
"Philip mentioned he couldn't find his kids, so I went looking," Valenti said. "Must have gone further than I thought."
"Huh. He didn't mention that when he came to us last night."
"Because I didn't tell him I'd gone looking," Valenti said. "I thought it was going to be a quick dive into the woods, not a mile long trek. Look, Hanson, ask the men one more thing, would you? Ask them if they saw any Indians when they were out this morning."
There was a pause. "Indians, sir? You mean, like..."
"Like Indians," Valenti clarified. "As in native Americans. I could have sworn I saw an old Indian man in the woods last night, but he slipped away before I could talk to him. Just go ask. Just in case."
Another pause, longer this time. "Okay," Hanson said finally. "Hang on."
Valenti closed his eyes and prayed for patience as Hanson hit the mute button. This was risky, but their proximity to the Indian reservation should give him some cover, and it was the last lead he had. He'd been so close last night, it was practically killing him. The Evans kids had gone into those woods for a reason that had nothing to do with personal hygiene, and he'd caught them in the act of looking at something, something on the ground, something that wasn't there when he'd inspected it as closely as he could with the aid of a flashlight. The light of day might prove a different story, but the problem was finding out where he'd been. He'd been so engrossed in following them, so careful to keep just within sight and not make any noise that he hadn't paid much attention to where they were going. He knew it was due west and somewhere between one and two miles away, but that's as close as he could get. What was interesting is that the Evans kids' destination fell outside the sighting area, meaning they'd never had to cross the line his deputies had formed around the perimeter. It was sheer luck that the dogs had picked up their scent, bad luck, that is. Unbeknownst to his deputies, their boss had been watching as the dogs had closed in, cursing his bad luck and hoping the Parker and DeLuca girls' ruse worked because he wanted to see where the rest of them were going. And then there's Kyle, he thought with a guilty glance at their tent. Kyle had eluded virtually everyone.
"Sir?" Hanson's voice came over the line. "I asked everyone. No Indians."
"Okay," Valenti said heavily. "Thanks, Hanson."
"But Owen Blackwood did say that if you think an Indian was in the woods, that could explain anything weird that you saw," Hanson went on. "He said these woods are used by the people on the reservation for all sorts of things at all times of the day and night. I gather it wouldn't be at all unusual to find an Indian out here in the wee small, so it looks like this wasn't just your imagination."
"That's comforting. Good to know I'm not cracking up."
"Of course not, sir," Hanson said soothingly. "Between you and me and the fence post, no one thought you were. They were just getting a little frustrated at the lack of direction, that's all. Anything else?"
"No, that's it for now," Valenti said. "Stay in touch."
"Sure thing, sir."
Valenti clicked his phone off and gazed at the tent across the cold campfire. He could have sworn he'd seen the tent flap move, but nothing was moving now. What had those kids been looking at? If that Guerin hulk hadn't blocked his way, he might have been able to see something, which was obviously why Guerin had blocked him in the first place, to give Max Evans time to...well, to what? Hide the evidence? Destroy the evidence? He'd only had seconds; what kind of evidence could be hidden or destroyed that quickly? There had been absolutely nothing there when he'd looked at the ground they'd been hunched over, no marks or holes or flattened grass—nothing. Maybe there was a reason for that? Maybe there'd been nothing there all along? Maybe they were just looking, but hadn't found anything? Maybe they failed, he thought, watching the tent with new eyes. If so, they'd try again, and that would give him another chance to follow them. It could happen any time, day or night, so he'd have to find a way to keep them within sight at all times without drawing suspicion.
"Nice view, huh?"
Valenti whirled around to find Kyle right behind him. "Kyle, for God's sake, you've gotta stop sneaking up on me like that!" he sputtered.
" 'Sneaking up on you'? We're right outside our tent, Dad. How is that 'sneaking up on you'?"
"I just didn't hear you," Valenti said irritably. "That's all."
"Right, well, I'll be sure to bang a spoon on a pot before I 'sneak up on you' staring at Max Evans' tent."
"Kyle, would you drop it?" Valenti demanded. "You heard what Isabel said; she didn't want to use the latrine. Stop trying to make it into something else."
"Then why didn't you just say that when I caught up with you the first time?" Kyle asked.
"Because I didn't want to embarrass her," Valenti answered. "You saw how she acted last night. I was trying to keep it from becoming the talk of the camp."
"Besides the fact that you failed miserably in that regard, there's another thing to consider," Kyle said with maddening calm. "I was following you last night, so I saw you following them...and you weren't acting like you were following some princess in the pea. You were keeping your distance, staying real quiet, hiding behind trees. You weren't looking for lost kids, you were trying to see where they were going. I want to know why, and don't you dare give me that crap about 'confidential information' or the 'demands of the job'."
Shit. Kyle stared at him defiantly, hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweatshirt, eyes boring into him. Never mind avoiding other people's suspicions; if he was going to keep an eye on the Evans kids, the worst suspicions he'd have to avoid came from his own kid. Another time he might be proud of his son's deductive reasoning. Not this time.
"You're right," Valenti said finally. "I was following them. I saw them go into the woods, and I wanted to know why. If I'd stopped them, I wouldn't have found out."
"But what were you looking for?" Kyle persisted. "What's this all about? And what was Guerin doing out there? He wasn't part of the original convoy. Where'd he come from?"
Valenti stared at his son in consternation. It was like looking in a mirror; the pit bull determination, the nose for lies, the attention to detail. If Kyle followed the family tradition, he wasn't going away without an answer, so he'd better come up with something, and fast.
"Don't spread this around," Valenti said in a low voice, "but word is there's a drug ring in your school. Some of the suspected suppliers are on this trip, and it occurred to me that this would be a good place to do some dealing. When I saw those kids going into the woods, I thought they might be involved."
"Mmm," Kyle murmured, sounding unconvinced. "And here I thought you came on this trip for me."
"I did come on this trip for you," Valenti insisted. "We go on this trip every single year, and this year I noticed something that fit information I've received as sheriff, so I checked it out. You never would have even known about it if you hadn't followed me."
"See, that's the thing, Dad—I did follow you. So that's how I know that Isabel and Max weren't the only ones out there. Liz and Maria were out there too. We had a veritable Conga line going!" Kyle said cheerfully as Valenti scowled. "But the point is that Liz is no druggie. Frankly the others aren't either, but Liz especially would never be mixed up in that."
"So you think," Valenti said. "We really don't know people, Kyle. We think we do, but we don't."
Kyle gazed at him a moment in uncomfortable silence before nodding slowly. "Yeah. Tell me about it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I'm going to look elsewhere for answers," Kyle said. "And maybe, if I'm really lucky, I'll find someone who isn't lying to me."
*****************************************************
"Okay, you know it's bad when we're not even close and it's still making me gag," Maria said, wrinkling her nose. "If it's this bad back here, what are we gonna do when we get up there?"
"Mmm," Liz murmured, her eyes somewhere other than on the latrines up ahead, the line for which they'd just joined.
"Ixnay on the aring stay," Maria ordered. "I thought we agreed we'd stay away from Max and Isabel?"
"I am," Liz protested as the line inched forward. "I was just watching their tent. Their dad's up, but I haven't seen them."
"Yeah, well, most of us don't get up before noon on a Saturday if we can help it," Maria said. "And that goes double for those of us who take moonlit hikes. Look, we have to be careful. No one else knows we were out there with Max and Isabel, and we have to keep it that way."
"I know," Liz sighed. "But it's killing me not knowing what happened. Don't you want to know if they found anything? Or what Michael was doing out there? Or—"
"Of course I want to know," Maria broke in. "In the worst way. But we can't just go running up to them the moment they stick their heads out of the tent. We did what we could," she added gently. "We bought them some time. We'll find out later if it did any good." She stared past Liz, blinked. "I take that back. Maybe we'll find out now."
Liz turned around. Isabel was walking toward them, and a moment later, she'd queued behind them. "Please tell me you brought a nose plug," she said, wincing at the smell, "and that you'll loan it to me when you're done."
"Actually I was gonna breathe through my mouth, but should you be here?" Maria whispered as the line inched forward again. "Liz and I thought we shouldn't all be seen together."
Isabel shrugged. "Why not? We're all on the same camping trip. Frankly, I think it would look more weird if we avoided each other."
"So what happened?" Liz asked eagerly before Maria could stop her. "Did you find anything?"
"Should we be talking about this here?" Maria asked nervously.
"This is the best place to be talking about it," Isabel said. "Early in the morning, in line for the latrine with people who are half awake and starving for breakfast? Works for me." Nevertheless, she glanced around before continuing. "We walked to the cave. Michael and River Dog were there. Michael said River Dog came to get him last night and offered to take him there."
"And?" Maria asked breathlessly, her previous objections forgotten.
"And...we found something," Isabel said, her voice so low it was barely audible. "A symbol from the cave map had been...I don't know, burned or etched or marked somehow on the ground."
"Oh, my God," Maria whispered.
"So it was real," Liz said faintly.
"River Dog said it was a message," Isabel went on. "A message meant for us. Michael thinks it means Nasedo's back."
"Or someone is," Liz added.
"A message," Maria said, shaking her head. "Michael must be going nuts."
"He is," Isabel confirmed. "He just left. He wanted to go back today, but we can't risk it, not with Valenti watching."
"Oooh, my ears are burning," a voice said.
Maria and Liz exchanged startled glances. Kyle Valenti had joined the line, wearing a smile like a cat that had caught the canary. "Heard my name," he said cheerfully. "Hope it wasn't being taken in vain."
"Actually, it was your dad's name," Isabel said, not missing a beat.
"Ah," Kyle nodded. "Yes. I can understand that. Truly, I can. So, ladies...I take it we're trying the modern facilities this morning instead of trekking into the woods?"
"If you call a hole in the ground a 'modern facility'," Maria retorted.
"Certainly more modern than what you all were heading for last night," Kyle said. "See, the board with the hole in it is your friend; it keeps the poison ivy off your backsides."
"Is there a point to this conversation?" Isabel demanded.
"Yes," Kyle answered, "yes, there is. See, I don't think you were looking to do number one, or two or three or four, in the woods last night. I asked my dad what was going on, and he told me some story about a drug ring at school that he was afraid you were in on. I don't believe that for a minute, so...you wanna talk?"
"I 'talked' last night," Isabel said in a frosty tone. "But I never heard your story, Kyle. What were you doing out there?"
"Wait—Kyle was in the woods last night too?" Maria asked.
"He showed up right after Sheriff Valenti found us," Isabel answered. "I got the impression the two of them were having some kind of fight."
"Mmm," Kyle murmured. "I guess that's personal."
Isabel's eyebrows rose. "So you don't want to 'talk'. Imagine that."
A door banged; they'd arrived at the head of the line. "Next!" declared a fat father swathed in denim and flannel, helpfully holding the latrine door open from which wafted a powerful odor.
"You go," Maria said to Isabel, hoping to cut Kyle off at the pass and avoid that awful smell for just a few minutes longer.
"Yes, do go," Kyle advised. "Hold your breath! Stay strong! Hover, don't shit! Sit!" he amended hastily. "I meant 'sit'."
"Kyle?" Liz said. "Go away."
After a long look at each of them, he did. Isabel glanced at the open door in front of her like it was the doorway to hell, then at the growing line behind them. More people, it seemed, were waking up. Okay, I'm going in," she said, sounding like a soldier on her way into battle. "Wish me luck."
Isabel disappeared inside. "Whoever would have thought we'd be glad to reach the latrine," Maria whispered. "And whoever would have thought Kyle was out there too?"
"Yeah," Liz agreed. "Kind of makes you wonder who else was out there."
******************************************************
12 noon
Artesia, New Mexico
"No, I don't mind if you stay longer," Jaddo said.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "Are you sure?" Tess said doubtfully.
"I'm sure. Stay as long as you'd like."
"Really?"
"Yes, really," Jaddo answered impatiently. "Why the third degree?"
"Gee, I don't know," Tess said. "Maybe because you've never, ever let me go on a sleepover before? And now, all of a sudden, it's okay?"
"Because of your error," Jaddo said in a steely tone. "Because you let it slip we were moving. We needed to correct that—"
"We did correct that."
"—and forming closer social ties is one way to quiet any lingering rumors. So stay as long as you like."
There was another pause, longer this time. "Why are you being so nice to me?" Tess asked suspiciously. "It's not like you. Are you sick?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Jaddo said in exasperation. "Where does this persecution complex come from? Never mind," he added when she started to reply. "I answered your question, now get out there and play human. It's what you want; take advantage of the fact that it's also what we need."
Jaddo hung up without waiting for a reply. He hadn't been prevaricating—it was important that they dispel any lingering rumors that they were leaving town. The fact that there didn't seem to be any lingering rumors was irrelevant, as was the fact that Tess's latest request for the human social ritual known as a "sleepover", paradoxically labeled given that little sleeping actually occurred, had come at a convenient time for him. Staying away as long as he had this weekend would have been problematic without it.
"She knows you well, doesn't she?"
Jaddo whirled around. "My, but you're distracted," Brivari observed. "Didn't even hear me. That's not like you, Jaddo. But no matter; I'll make absolutely certain that nothing distracts you while you explain to me what the hell you thought you were doing last night."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanksgiving's coming!
Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it, and I'll be back on Sunday, December 4th with Chapter 57.BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Chapter 57
Hi everyone!
Poor girl! The horror!
(At this point, I should probably confess that I absolutely loathe camping. )
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
January 22, 2000, 12:15 p.m.
Artesia, New Mexico
Brivari sat calmly at the kitchen table as Jaddo slammed the refrigerator door followed by the cupboard door after retrieving a glass. Remaining calm was always of paramount importance when dealing with Jaddo because Jaddo rarely did. Especially when he knew he was in trouble, as he did now.
"I never caught up with you afterwards," Brivari said. "You disappeared after Valenti broke up the party, so I never found out what you intended to do when they arrived."
"I intended to do exactly what I did," Jaddo said. "It just ended a lot faster than I expected."
"Do you really expect me to believe that?"
"I don't care what you believe. Believe whatever you like."
"Then I don't believe it. Why stage that entire drama for a mark in the grass?"
"Look, you already ruined it," Jaddo said bitterly. "You got your 'sighting interruptus' last night courtesy of the mob scene in the woods."
"What, you think I caused that?" Brivari said in astonishment.
"Who set the dogs on them?" Jaddo demanded.
"The dogs caught the wrong people," Brivari argued. "And the rest of them would have been there regardless. No, that little party was your doing."
"Fine, it was my fault," Jaddo said flatly. "Everything usually is. Are we done now?"
Brivari's expression hardened. "No, we're not. Why did you put the hybrids at risk?"
"I didn't put them 'at risk'. Those woods are public property."
"You haven't answered my question."
"How could they be 'at risk' on public property?"
"Tell that to the man the sheriff arrested last night," Brivari retorted. "And you still haven't answered my question."
"Yes, well, how was I supposed to know the humans were going to go off half cocked? There are sightings around Roswell every day of the week, and no one reacts like that. What were the odds?"
"With you? Distressingly high," Brivari said darkly. "Are you ever going to answer my question?"
"Not while I'm refuting the 'at risk' part. I never put them in danger."
The glass Jaddo was holding suddenly shattered into a thousand pieces. "Oh, stop it!" Brivari exploded, unable to maintain the calm facade any longer. "You deliberately lured them out there, and I want to know why!"
"Wonderful," Jaddo said sourly. "Since when was breaking crockery a way to get answers about anything?"
"Why, Jaddo?" Brivari persisted. "Why did you drag them out there?"
"And what if I don't want to tell you? Would you like to throw some more dishes? Would that help?"
"Jaddo—"
"I already answered your question!" Jaddo exclaimed. "They saw exactly what I meant them to see!"
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Brivari said angrily. "A symbol from the map? They already have the map, and they can't read it!"
"Which is exactly the point," Jaddo said. "That map points to Valeris's book, which is in the library, which is—"
"Depicted by the symbol you so helpfully flattened into the grass," Brivari finished impatiently. "Yes, yes, I get it. What I can't figure out is why you expected them to get it."
"I didn't expect them to 'get it', not then," Jaddo said. "I was only trying to move the process along. Rath just had a flash of memory where he was able to read the map. Yes, I know he forgot," he went on when Brivari began to interrupt, "but the fact remains, he remembered. Now is the best time to nudge that memory again, right after it's surfaced. They've been studying the map for weeks, but they're not getting anywhere. I was merely providing the next piece of the puzzle. Now that they know that symbol means something, they will concentrate on it, and they just might figure it out."
"So you decided to provide a 'piece of the puzzle' in a glaringly public way, a way that circumvents your earlier promise to stay away from them by bringing them to you."
Jaddo's eyebrows rose. "Is that all you think this is? Some elaborate scheme to get around your strictures? Haven't I already made it clear that I'll flush those strictures right down the toilet if need be? All I did was provide something which I hoped would pique their interest. There was never any guarantee it would do so, nor that they would choose to pursue it if it did, and it was important that they decide to pursue it, that they have to hunt for it. That they all showed up was more than I'd hoped for. One would have been enough."
"I'd say you got way more than one judging by the convention in the woods last night," Brivari retorted. "Couldn't you provide a 'piece of the puzzle' the way puzzle pieces usually come, that being on paper?"
"No," Jaddo said firmly. "It had to be something they would believe, something they felt was real, and something which required action on their part, not merely reaction to something dropped in their laps. What better than a 'sighting' to fit that bill? This is Roswell; sightings occur all the time. What's one more? I never expected the circus mine caused, but so what? There's nothing there. Valenti can tear those woods apart, and he won't find a thing. I didn't place the symbol until the hybrids actually arrived, and I would have erased it if they hadn't. What was he going to arrest them for? Getting lost in the woods? His disappointment over finding nothing?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Brivari said in disbelief. "Very well, then, let me spell it out for you. The more you place them in Valenti's path, the greater the danger he'll find out something he shouldn't know."
"But they are in Valenti's path," Jaddo said. "The only way to change that would be to remove them from Roswell, and even I would argue that's premature. We can't let Valenti be an excuse for not moving them forward, Brivari. He'll continue to pursue them, and we'll just have to find ways of working around him or remove him from the equation. Yes, I know that's not optimal, but it's still on the list."
"So that's it? That's your explanation, that this whole fiasco was a means to provide them with a 'piece of the puzzle'?"
"And why do you sound so surprised?" Jaddo demanded. "Rath's burst of memory and subsequent struggle to read the map demanded some kind of intervention on our part. You weren't around, so I intervened."
"Oh, so this is my fault," Brivari said savagely. "Never mind that you could have consulted me before I left or after I came back, especially given that I was gone for a whopping three days!"
"Never mind that you didn't bother to tell me my Ward almost died," Jaddo said darkly. "Or that he'd remembered, however briefly. Did you not think that pertinent information, Brivari? How long did you plan to keep that from me?"
As long as I possibly could, Brivari thought wearily, backed against the wall by his own omission. It was tough to claim the moral high ground when the ground on which one stood was shaking badly, but he'd feared Jaddo would do something just like this when he learned of Rath's near miss. "When I'd figured out what the fallout was," he answered. "When I'd figured out what it meant. When I had more information than simply, 'this happened'."
"Hmpf," Jaddo muttered, unconvinced. "You mean, 'when you got around to it', which might very well be never. You know, I might be more inclined to trust you if you weren't so enamored of keeping things from me."
"Says the one with a laundry list of things he's keeping from me," Brivari accused. "Your turn. If I hadn't been alerted to your forest party by Vilandra's willingness to go camping, when would you have told me about it?"
Jaddo's eyes flashed. "Never. You would have found out anyway, the same way I found out about Rath, by overhearing them talking about it. Then we'd be even."
Brivari shook his head. "I don't know if I should be grateful for your honesty or concerned that getting even is on your 'to do' list. Now you'll have to excuse me. I can't simply do something dramatic and then run off and leave them by themselves."
"They're not 'by themselves'," Jaddo said. "You're in charge of them. Or so you keep telling me."
"Then don't make that job any harder than it is already," Brivari retorted. "And we're not done here."
"No," Jaddo said sourly. "I imagine we're not."
******************************************************
January 23, 2000, 2:30 p.m.
West Roswell High School
"Isabel! Max! Over here!"
Isabel peered through the crowd thronging the bus as she and Max came down the steps. "Is that Mom?"
"I thought Grandma was supposed to meet us," Max said.
"Looks like your mother came instead," Philip said behind them. "Probably couldn't wait. I don't think you mother's been alone in the house since....well, since ever."
"What, she couldn't wait the twenty minutes it'll take us to pack up and drive home?" Isabel muttered as they made their way through the crowd. "Great. Just great."
Max gave her a quizzical look. "What's wrong? So what if Mom comes to get us?"
The "so what" became evident the moment Diane threw her arms around Isabel, only to wrinkle her nose and recoil. "Whew!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Someone needs a shower."
"Thanks, Mom," Isabel deadpanned. "And thanks for announcing that at the top of your lungs in the parking lot."
"Eh, I wouldn't worry about it," Philip said. "Everyone else needs a shower too. I'll go get the gear."
"I didn't mean anything by it, honey," Diane said. "Did you have a good time? Were you too cold? Was the food horrible? Your shoes are filthy," she added to Isabel, who rolled her eyes. "Did you—"
"It was fine, Mom," Max broke in. "We had a great time."
"Yeah, great," Isabel said tonelessly.
"Honey, why don't you go get your car," Philip suggested. "You'll be able to get a closer spot once some of these people leave, and then we can divvy up the gear and the kids."
"The kids can go in your car," Diane chuckled. "I'm not sure I want mine smelling like that for the rest of the week."
The car next to theirs backed out, full of weary campers and dirty clothes. "Fine, my car," Philip agreed when he saw Isabel's pained expression. " Pull up right next to me. Kids, hold this spot for your mother, would you?"
Philip headed for the luggage while Diane headed for her car, still chuckling. "You stay here," Isabel said savagely as Max started after Philip. "If I have to be a doorstop, I won't do it alone."
"I don't think it takes two of us to stand in a parking space, Iz," Max said dryly. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a bit?"
"No, Max, I do not think I'm 'overreacting'," Isabel said fiercely. "Have you smelled me? Because I have, and if you can smell yourself, you know it's bad. I knew Mom was going to say something, and I just wanted her to say it in the privacy of our own home, not in public. Is that too much to ask?"
"I really don't think anyone's listening," Max noted, gazing around the rapidly emptying parking lot where exhausted parents and children made a beeline for home. "I think everyone's had enough camping to last them at least until next year's outing."
"Oh, yeah? Well, I've had enough to last me the rest of my life," Isabel declared. "If I hear one more verse to 'I Saw A Bear', I swear to God I'll scream, the next person who hands me a s'more is going to find it stuffed down their throats, and don't get me started on the impossibility of personal hygiene. And that's not even counting our own little adventure."
"Which is why this was all worth it," Max reminded her. "We didn't go to camp. We went to find out if the sighting was real."
"And now Valenti suspects us more than ever," Isabel said. "He never took his eyes off us, not once, not even when I was in that awful pit toilet. Maybe it's just as well there weren't any showers because if there had been, I swear he would have climbed in with us."
"And there's the overreacting again," Max said. "We didn't do anything wrong, Isabel. We walked in the woods. So what? We didn't hurt anything, or take anything, or even do anything, so there's nothing Valenti can do about it. Just ignore him."
"I can't ignore him," Isabel argued, "not when he's measuring every breath we take. It was bad before, but now it's worse. Was it really worth it?"
"Yes," Max said firmly. "Because not only was the sighting real, there was a message for us. Valenti was on our case before, so nothing's changed. We can't use him as an excuse to avoid what's right in front of us."
"But was it? I've been thinking...it was dark, and we were all creeped out, and...well...did we imagine it? Did we just think we saw something?"
"You tell me; you saw it first," Max said. "You pointed out it was a symbol from the cave."
"Yes, but why a symbol from the cave?" Isabel persisted. "Why something we've already seen? Why not something different?"
"Maybe so we'd recognize it?" Max suggested.
"Maybe," Isabel said doubtfully. "Although that just makes it look more like we imagined it. If it was something we'd never seen before, we couldn't do that, but since it's something we all knew—"
"It glowed, Iz," Max reminded her. "We all threw power at it, and it glowed. And no, we didn't create it," he went on, anticipating her next argument. "We just threw power at what was there, and what was there lit up. We didn't put it there; it was there already. Like River Dog said, it was a message for us."
"Okay, fine," Isabel sighed. "Let's say it was. Then what does it mean? You and Michael have been staring at that map for ages now, and nothing's jumped out at you."
"Maybe that was the point," Max said. "Something just did."
"Max!" a voice called. "A little help here?"
Isabel's stomach felt like lead as Max went to help their father with the gear. The thought that someone was watching them was frightening. The thought that someone not human was watching them was downright terrifying. The thought that someone not human was leaving messages for them was beyond terrifying. What if it kept happening? Would they all be in the woods? If the people they came from had mastered space travel, hadn't they also mastered e-mail? Snail mail? Telephones? Something, anything, besides hiking through the woods?
"Thanks, Max," Philip said as he lifted the trunk lid. "Say, where's your mother?"
"Not back yet," Isabel answered.
"Probably talking to someone," Philip said. "I'll go back for the rest of the stuff."
"I'll get it," Max offered.
"No, that's okay," Philip said. "You pack this up. I want to stop by and thank the sheriff one more time for finding you."
******************************************************
Jim Valenti pulled away from the crowd in the parking lot and pulled out his phone. "Hanson?" he said when his deputy answered. "You didn't check in after lunch. Anything to report?"
A minute later Valenti hung up, disappointed. Hanson had nothing to report, nothing at all. He'd had nothing to report all weekend unless you counted one spastic UFO museum director, a handful of rubberneckers, and five lost kids. Scratch the kids, Valenti thought darkly, eyeing the Evans clan across the parking lot. Their foray into the woods in the dead of night was the only real "report" there was, although proving that was a problem. He'd attached himself like glue to those kids for the rest of the weekend, even sleeping outside last night and keeping one eye cracked, but there had been no more night walking, or day walking, or any walking, for that matter. Guerin had disappeared yesterday morning after spending the night with the Evans family, but as he wasn't supposed to be there anyway, getting anyone interested in his absence had proven difficult. The other four had spent the rest of the trip as happy little campers, singing songs, building fires, cooking camp chow, and waiting dutifully in the lines for the latrines they'd supposedly hiked miles to avoid. Sometimes he caught them looking at him, as though daring him to acknowledge that he was watching, and he'd obliged by not bothering to look away. Who cared if they saw him? They already knew he was onto them. The trick now would be to catch them in the act, and he very nearly had. Just not nearly enough.
"Sheriff?"
Valenti blinked. Philip Evans was beside him, watching him with a puzzled expression. "Philip!" Valenti said with false cheerfulness. "We made it, huh? Two nights in the woods with our kids, and we're still alive to tell about it."
"Uh...yeah," Philip said. "I just wanted to thank you again for finding my kids. Is anything wrong?" he added curiously. "You seemed to be staring at them just now."
"My Dad's been keeping an eye on them all weekend," a voice said behind them.
Valenti closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience as Kyle came up beside them. "You know Dad," Kyle said to Philip. "Always looking out for everyone! He was afraid Isabel was going to bolt into the woods again, so he kept a close eye on her, didn't you, Dad?"
"Did you get all our gear, Kyle?" Valenti ground out. "Wouldn't want to lose that nice new tent I bought."
"Heck, Dad, was so worried that he actually slept outside last night," Kyle went on. "Can you believe it? As cold as it was, and he bunked down beside the fire in full view of your tent just in case your daughter decided to take another midnight ramble. Now, that's dedication!"
"Is that true?" Philip asked as Valenti resisted the urge to strangle his son.
"It's not just your kids, Philip," Valenti reminded him. "Liz Parker and Maria DeLuca were picked up by my deputies after pulling the same stunt. I was worried about all of them."
" 'Stunt'?" Philip said doubtfully. "I realize it was an inconvenience, sheriff, but I don't think any of those girls meant to pull a 'stunt'. I think they'd just never been camping before, that's all."
"Of course," Valenti said soothingly, trying to ignore the little smile on Kyle's face. "I just meant that I didn't want any of them to try that again, or anyone else to try it either. Which is why I was outside."
"That's my Dad!" Kyle said cheerfully. "Always working! Works days. Works nights. Works weekends. Works forests—"
"What Kyle means," Valenti interrupted, "is that it was my pleasure to be of service. Say hello to your wife for me, if you would."
"Sure thing," Philip said with a curious glance at Kyle. "Thanks again, Jim."
Valenti barely managed to wait the few seconds it took for Philip to walk out of earshot before rounding on his son. "All right, Kyle, I've had enough," he said severely. "Just drop it, would you?"
"You know, Dad, if I didn't know you better, I'd be worried at constantly catching you staring at a beautiful teenaged girl," Kyle said blandly. "Granted, we all stare at her...I'm sure you can see why...but seeing you staring at her, at least as much as you've been staring this weekend, well...some might find that unsettling."
"Stop it," Valenti ordered. "That's uncalled for."
"There's the problem, Dad," Kyle said sadly. "I don't know what's 'called for' because I don't know what you're up to. You won't tell me."
"I already told you—"
"Nothing," Kyle finished. "You told me nothing, or nothing truthful, anyway. Everybody knows that none of the kids who went into the woods are druggies. Heck, the druggies didn't even go on this trip because there's no safe place to get high. Try again."
"Kyle, I don't know where you got the idea that you can just demand confidential investigative information, but you can't. And you certainly have no business making filthy accusations—"
"Hey!" Kyle broke in, raising his hands in supplication. "I'm not making accusations, I'm just callin' it like I see it, like I'm afraid other people might see it, and if I've called it wrong, please, feel free to correct me." He paused, waiting, while Valenti fumed. "Hmm. Not now, huh? Well, if you change your mind, let me know. Any time of the day or night because I know you take your work so seriously that you work all day and all night. Until then...well, I guess I'll just have to draw whatever conclusions I can."
*****************************************************
"Oh, God, is he still doing it?" Maria groaned as they waited for Mr. Parker to drag their bags out of the bus's innards. "We're in the parking lot, for heaven's sake. What does he think they're gonna do in the parking lot? Sprout antennae and start phoning home?"
Liz followed her gaze to Sheriff Valenti, who was openly staring at Max and Isabel. "Couldn't he at least make an effort to hide it?" Maria went on. "Like, maybe look, but pretend he's not looking? Like we all do when we're checking out a guy? If we can pull that off, why can't he? He's supposed to be a professional."
"Maria, he knows something's up," Liz said. "That's why he followed us into the woods."
"I know, and that's really bugging me," Maria said crossly. "How did we not hear him? How did we not see him? Are we really that out of it that we didn't hear or see someone coming after us? I mean, he must have been close enough to see us or he would have lost us."
"You've been obsessing about this all weekend," Liz said. "Just let it go, would you? We had no idea anyone was following us. We just weren't paying attention."
"But Max and Isabel knew you were following them," Maria protested. "Why did they know, and we didn't?"
"They have alien hearing," Liz answered. "It's not exactly a level playing field."
"And there's the other entrant in the staring contest," Maria went on, gazing across the parking lot. "Poor Isabel; she had two people watching her every move all weekend."
Liz blinked. "I'm sorry, did you...did you just say the words 'poor Isabel'?"
Maria considered that. "It was a moment of weakness," she said finally. "It won't happen again. Oh, God," she added, turning around suddenly. "Here he comes again."
Liz's heart sank when she saw Alex walking toward them, a hopeful expression on his face. Poor Alex. One slip of the tongue, and it had all been over.
"Hey, ladies," Alex said with forced cheerfulness when he reached them. "So, do you think now is a safe time to apologize? I mean, I know you suggested I stay away after the whole 'pee in the woods' bit because she was embarrassed, but the trip's over. Can I talk to her now?"
Liz and Maria exchanged glances. "We should tell him," Liz said finally.
"No," Maria said, shaking her head vigorously.
"Tell me what?" Alex asked.
"No, Maria, we should tell him," Liz said firmly. "I didn't tell him before, and look what happened." She turned to Alex, who was wearing an alarmed expression. "Alex, there isn't going to be a good time to talk to Isabel for a while because she's kind of distracted. You know the sighting?"
"Um...yeah," Alex said uncertainly. "What about it?"
Maria sighed heavily. "It was real."
Alex's eyes bulged. "Real as in...really real?"
"Yes, really real," Liz answered. "That's why we were all in the woods Friday night. They were looking to see if they could find something...and they did."
"Something like...what?" Alex asked nervously. "Spaceships? Alien luggage? Extra-terrestrial credit cards?"
"No," Liz said patiently as Maria rolled her eyes. "Like a symbol from that map in the cave. On the ground."
"On...the ground?" Alex echoed. "You mean it was outside the cave? Okay, that's...creepy," he went on when Liz nodded. "Wait...you said that's why you were 'all' in the woods? That includes you two?"
"I saw them leave," Liz confessed. "So I followed them."
"And I saw her leave," Maria added. "So I followed her. And Valenti saw all of us leave, and...well, you get the idea."
"Geez," Alex said, wide-eyed. "I had no idea. And to think I was wide awake most of that night, kicking myself because I'd screwed up."
"As we've already told you a million times, you didn't 'screw up'," Maria said patiently. "You merely suffered a slip of the tongue, and these Czechoslovakians are skittish creatures, not to mention heartbreakers. Believe me, I know. And so does Miss I-don't-want-to-let-go-of-him-even-though-I-know-he's-bad-for-me Parker."
"Leave me out of this, Maria," Liz ordered. "You don't want to let Michael go either. That's why you never went near him when he came back with Max and Isabel."
"Wait—Michael was there?" Alex said, confused. "When was he there? I didn't see him on this trip."
"Because he didn't come on the trip," Maria explained. "He was only in the woods. And I've already let go of him," she continued to Liz. "Haven't I made that clear?"
"Look, I'm not interested in the 411 on who's letting go of whom," Alex broke in before Liz could answer. "Although I guess I'm on that list because I'm not letting go of Isabel or the possibility that I could one day spend some time with her without saying something stupid, something I seem to have a knack for. I just—"
"Want to apologize," Liz finished. "We know. Wait a week."
"A week?"
"At least," Maria added. "Give her some time to get her head around...other stuff. And doing it sooner makes you look needy."
"I am needy," Alex said.
"Yes, but you don't want her to know that," Maria explained.
"Stop fretting, Alex," Liz advised. "You're just trying too hard. Ease up a little, that's all."
Alex nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Right. Well...I gotta find my dad."
"How'd he do?" Liz asked.
"Not bad. A few bug bites and a bear scare; that's all. Oh, hi, Mr. Parker," Alex added when Jeff appeared, laden with luggage. "I could have helped you with that."
"Nah, you were getting your own," Jeff answered. "You should get your dad home. He didn't look too good this morning."
"Yeah; weak digestion," Alex said apologetically. "Sorry about that. Pancakes don't usually make him throw up. I thought they were really good. Nothing personal."
"Of course not," Jeff said. "Later, Alex."
Liz blinked. "Wait...Mr. Whitman threw up your pancakes?"
"Well, we were in the woods, so there were lots of places to throw up," Jeff said lightly. "You guys ready to go? If you each grab a couple of things, we can do this in one trip. Oh, dear," he added, looking across the parking lot. "That doesn't look good."
Liz glanced across the lot to where Sheriff Valenti and Kyle appeared to be having some kind of fight. "Guess it wasn't a happy weekend for everyone," Jeff commented as Liz and Maria exchanged glances. "Kind of brings back memories. Bad ones."
"What do you mean?" Liz asked.
"Sheriff Valenti and his own father are estranged," Jeff explained as they headed for the car. "Have been for years."
"Why?" Maria asked.
"Well," Jeff said, "supposedly the sheriff's father believed in aliens."
Maria nearly dropped her bags. "Um...aliens? Really?"
"Yep. Lost his job years back, and word is that's why."
"Because he...believed in aliens," Liz said.
"They said it compromised his judgment," Jeff nodded. "There was a lot of talk when they gave his son the badge. Some folks were concerned history was going to repeat itself." He unlocked the trunk. "I'm sure that's not it," he said, noticing their stricken faces as he started piling gear in the trunk. "Fathers and sons have fought since time began. I'm sure it's just a run-of-the-mill fight."
Liz and Maria exchanged glances. "Yeah," Liz said faintly. "I'm sure that's all it is."
******************************************************
January 24, 2000, 10:30 a.m.
Mescalero Indian Reservation
"Have you seen your grandfather?" Eddie's mother asked.
"He's taking a nap," Eddie answered.
"A nap? He got up late."
"So I guess he's really tired."
"Goodness, I hope he's not ill," his mother said. "This isn't like him."
Actually, it's just like him, Eddie thought as mother hurried off, no doubt to look in on River Dog. His grandfather wasn't sick, but he was exhausted after their hijinks in the woods this weekend. There was a pattern here, repeated often enough now to be visible; he'd respond to the latest "visitor call" with energy and enthusiasm, but afterward he'd be spent for an increasingly long time. Nasedo's reappearance may have invigorated River Dog, but his body was having a hard time keeping up. Take, for example, the appearance of the sheriff during their recent late night hike. His grandfather had melted into the forest and away from the sheriff but had faltered on the way back to the village, making Eddie grateful he'd ignored the order not to follow. His grandfather wouldn't be doing anything like that again without him, not if he had anything to say about it.
"Good afternoon."
Eddie nearly jumped out of his seat, so startled was he to find Nasedo standing only feet away from him. "How the hell did you get in here?" he sputtered. "I didn't even hear you!"
"Few do," Nasedo observed. "I'm here to see your grandfather."
"My mother—"
"Just left," Nasedo said. "Didn't you hear that either?"
The sound of a car starting brought Eddie to the window, where his mother was driving away. "No, I didn't," he said flatly. "But then we've been a bit distracted lately, with all you've had us doing."
Nasedo blinked. "I'm sorry?"
Marvelous, Eddie thought sourly. First he had his grandfather running around like crazy, and now he acted like he didn't remember that. Given how powerful River Dog said Nasedo was, it wouldn't be a good idea to let Nasedo know just how angry that made him. Given how angry he was, Eddie didn't care.
"Let me tell you something," Eddie said furiously, throwing caution to the winds and a pointed finger in Nasedo's face. "My grandfather may feel beholden to you, but I don't. You pull a stunt like this again, you do it yourself and leave us out of it, you hear?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 58 next Sunday.
Indeed!keepsmiling7 wrote:And Isabel......I feel so sorry for her in the woods with NO JEWELRY! How can she survive?
Poor girl! The horror! (At this point, I should probably confess that I absolutely loathe camping.
)CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
January 22, 2000, 12:15 p.m.
Artesia, New Mexico
Brivari sat calmly at the kitchen table as Jaddo slammed the refrigerator door followed by the cupboard door after retrieving a glass. Remaining calm was always of paramount importance when dealing with Jaddo because Jaddo rarely did. Especially when he knew he was in trouble, as he did now.
"I never caught up with you afterwards," Brivari said. "You disappeared after Valenti broke up the party, so I never found out what you intended to do when they arrived."
"I intended to do exactly what I did," Jaddo said. "It just ended a lot faster than I expected."
"Do you really expect me to believe that?"
"I don't care what you believe. Believe whatever you like."
"Then I don't believe it. Why stage that entire drama for a mark in the grass?"
"Look, you already ruined it," Jaddo said bitterly. "You got your 'sighting interruptus' last night courtesy of the mob scene in the woods."
"What, you think I caused that?" Brivari said in astonishment.
"Who set the dogs on them?" Jaddo demanded.
"The dogs caught the wrong people," Brivari argued. "And the rest of them would have been there regardless. No, that little party was your doing."
"Fine, it was my fault," Jaddo said flatly. "Everything usually is. Are we done now?"
Brivari's expression hardened. "No, we're not. Why did you put the hybrids at risk?"
"I didn't put them 'at risk'. Those woods are public property."
"You haven't answered my question."
"How could they be 'at risk' on public property?"
"Tell that to the man the sheriff arrested last night," Brivari retorted. "And you still haven't answered my question."
"Yes, well, how was I supposed to know the humans were going to go off half cocked? There are sightings around Roswell every day of the week, and no one reacts like that. What were the odds?"
"With you? Distressingly high," Brivari said darkly. "Are you ever going to answer my question?"
"Not while I'm refuting the 'at risk' part. I never put them in danger."
The glass Jaddo was holding suddenly shattered into a thousand pieces. "Oh, stop it!" Brivari exploded, unable to maintain the calm facade any longer. "You deliberately lured them out there, and I want to know why!"
"Wonderful," Jaddo said sourly. "Since when was breaking crockery a way to get answers about anything?"
"Why, Jaddo?" Brivari persisted. "Why did you drag them out there?"
"And what if I don't want to tell you? Would you like to throw some more dishes? Would that help?"
"Jaddo—"
"I already answered your question!" Jaddo exclaimed. "They saw exactly what I meant them to see!"
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Brivari said angrily. "A symbol from the map? They already have the map, and they can't read it!"
"Which is exactly the point," Jaddo said. "That map points to Valeris's book, which is in the library, which is—"
"Depicted by the symbol you so helpfully flattened into the grass," Brivari finished impatiently. "Yes, yes, I get it. What I can't figure out is why you expected them to get it."
"I didn't expect them to 'get it', not then," Jaddo said. "I was only trying to move the process along. Rath just had a flash of memory where he was able to read the map. Yes, I know he forgot," he went on when Brivari began to interrupt, "but the fact remains, he remembered. Now is the best time to nudge that memory again, right after it's surfaced. They've been studying the map for weeks, but they're not getting anywhere. I was merely providing the next piece of the puzzle. Now that they know that symbol means something, they will concentrate on it, and they just might figure it out."
"So you decided to provide a 'piece of the puzzle' in a glaringly public way, a way that circumvents your earlier promise to stay away from them by bringing them to you."
Jaddo's eyebrows rose. "Is that all you think this is? Some elaborate scheme to get around your strictures? Haven't I already made it clear that I'll flush those strictures right down the toilet if need be? All I did was provide something which I hoped would pique their interest. There was never any guarantee it would do so, nor that they would choose to pursue it if it did, and it was important that they decide to pursue it, that they have to hunt for it. That they all showed up was more than I'd hoped for. One would have been enough."
"I'd say you got way more than one judging by the convention in the woods last night," Brivari retorted. "Couldn't you provide a 'piece of the puzzle' the way puzzle pieces usually come, that being on paper?"
"No," Jaddo said firmly. "It had to be something they would believe, something they felt was real, and something which required action on their part, not merely reaction to something dropped in their laps. What better than a 'sighting' to fit that bill? This is Roswell; sightings occur all the time. What's one more? I never expected the circus mine caused, but so what? There's nothing there. Valenti can tear those woods apart, and he won't find a thing. I didn't place the symbol until the hybrids actually arrived, and I would have erased it if they hadn't. What was he going to arrest them for? Getting lost in the woods? His disappointment over finding nothing?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Brivari said in disbelief. "Very well, then, let me spell it out for you. The more you place them in Valenti's path, the greater the danger he'll find out something he shouldn't know."
"But they are in Valenti's path," Jaddo said. "The only way to change that would be to remove them from Roswell, and even I would argue that's premature. We can't let Valenti be an excuse for not moving them forward, Brivari. He'll continue to pursue them, and we'll just have to find ways of working around him or remove him from the equation. Yes, I know that's not optimal, but it's still on the list."
"So that's it? That's your explanation, that this whole fiasco was a means to provide them with a 'piece of the puzzle'?"
"And why do you sound so surprised?" Jaddo demanded. "Rath's burst of memory and subsequent struggle to read the map demanded some kind of intervention on our part. You weren't around, so I intervened."
"Oh, so this is my fault," Brivari said savagely. "Never mind that you could have consulted me before I left or after I came back, especially given that I was gone for a whopping three days!"
"Never mind that you didn't bother to tell me my Ward almost died," Jaddo said darkly. "Or that he'd remembered, however briefly. Did you not think that pertinent information, Brivari? How long did you plan to keep that from me?"
As long as I possibly could, Brivari thought wearily, backed against the wall by his own omission. It was tough to claim the moral high ground when the ground on which one stood was shaking badly, but he'd feared Jaddo would do something just like this when he learned of Rath's near miss. "When I'd figured out what the fallout was," he answered. "When I'd figured out what it meant. When I had more information than simply, 'this happened'."
"Hmpf," Jaddo muttered, unconvinced. "You mean, 'when you got around to it', which might very well be never. You know, I might be more inclined to trust you if you weren't so enamored of keeping things from me."
"Says the one with a laundry list of things he's keeping from me," Brivari accused. "Your turn. If I hadn't been alerted to your forest party by Vilandra's willingness to go camping, when would you have told me about it?"
Jaddo's eyes flashed. "Never. You would have found out anyway, the same way I found out about Rath, by overhearing them talking about it. Then we'd be even."
Brivari shook his head. "I don't know if I should be grateful for your honesty or concerned that getting even is on your 'to do' list. Now you'll have to excuse me. I can't simply do something dramatic and then run off and leave them by themselves."
"They're not 'by themselves'," Jaddo said. "You're in charge of them. Or so you keep telling me."
"Then don't make that job any harder than it is already," Brivari retorted. "And we're not done here."
"No," Jaddo said sourly. "I imagine we're not."
******************************************************
January 23, 2000, 2:30 p.m.
West Roswell High School
"Isabel! Max! Over here!"
Isabel peered through the crowd thronging the bus as she and Max came down the steps. "Is that Mom?"
"I thought Grandma was supposed to meet us," Max said.
"Looks like your mother came instead," Philip said behind them. "Probably couldn't wait. I don't think you mother's been alone in the house since....well, since ever."
"What, she couldn't wait the twenty minutes it'll take us to pack up and drive home?" Isabel muttered as they made their way through the crowd. "Great. Just great."
Max gave her a quizzical look. "What's wrong? So what if Mom comes to get us?"
The "so what" became evident the moment Diane threw her arms around Isabel, only to wrinkle her nose and recoil. "Whew!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Someone needs a shower."
"Thanks, Mom," Isabel deadpanned. "And thanks for announcing that at the top of your lungs in the parking lot."
"Eh, I wouldn't worry about it," Philip said. "Everyone else needs a shower too. I'll go get the gear."
"I didn't mean anything by it, honey," Diane said. "Did you have a good time? Were you too cold? Was the food horrible? Your shoes are filthy," she added to Isabel, who rolled her eyes. "Did you—"
"It was fine, Mom," Max broke in. "We had a great time."
"Yeah, great," Isabel said tonelessly.
"Honey, why don't you go get your car," Philip suggested. "You'll be able to get a closer spot once some of these people leave, and then we can divvy up the gear and the kids."
"The kids can go in your car," Diane chuckled. "I'm not sure I want mine smelling like that for the rest of the week."
The car next to theirs backed out, full of weary campers and dirty clothes. "Fine, my car," Philip agreed when he saw Isabel's pained expression. " Pull up right next to me. Kids, hold this spot for your mother, would you?"
Philip headed for the luggage while Diane headed for her car, still chuckling. "You stay here," Isabel said savagely as Max started after Philip. "If I have to be a doorstop, I won't do it alone."
"I don't think it takes two of us to stand in a parking space, Iz," Max said dryly. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a bit?"
"No, Max, I do not think I'm 'overreacting'," Isabel said fiercely. "Have you smelled me? Because I have, and if you can smell yourself, you know it's bad. I knew Mom was going to say something, and I just wanted her to say it in the privacy of our own home, not in public. Is that too much to ask?"
"I really don't think anyone's listening," Max noted, gazing around the rapidly emptying parking lot where exhausted parents and children made a beeline for home. "I think everyone's had enough camping to last them at least until next year's outing."
"Oh, yeah? Well, I've had enough to last me the rest of my life," Isabel declared. "If I hear one more verse to 'I Saw A Bear', I swear to God I'll scream, the next person who hands me a s'more is going to find it stuffed down their throats, and don't get me started on the impossibility of personal hygiene. And that's not even counting our own little adventure."
"Which is why this was all worth it," Max reminded her. "We didn't go to camp. We went to find out if the sighting was real."
"And now Valenti suspects us more than ever," Isabel said. "He never took his eyes off us, not once, not even when I was in that awful pit toilet. Maybe it's just as well there weren't any showers because if there had been, I swear he would have climbed in with us."
"And there's the overreacting again," Max said. "We didn't do anything wrong, Isabel. We walked in the woods. So what? We didn't hurt anything, or take anything, or even do anything, so there's nothing Valenti can do about it. Just ignore him."
"I can't ignore him," Isabel argued, "not when he's measuring every breath we take. It was bad before, but now it's worse. Was it really worth it?"
"Yes," Max said firmly. "Because not only was the sighting real, there was a message for us. Valenti was on our case before, so nothing's changed. We can't use him as an excuse to avoid what's right in front of us."
"But was it? I've been thinking...it was dark, and we were all creeped out, and...well...did we imagine it? Did we just think we saw something?"
"You tell me; you saw it first," Max said. "You pointed out it was a symbol from the cave."
"Yes, but why a symbol from the cave?" Isabel persisted. "Why something we've already seen? Why not something different?"
"Maybe so we'd recognize it?" Max suggested.
"Maybe," Isabel said doubtfully. "Although that just makes it look more like we imagined it. If it was something we'd never seen before, we couldn't do that, but since it's something we all knew—"
"It glowed, Iz," Max reminded her. "We all threw power at it, and it glowed. And no, we didn't create it," he went on, anticipating her next argument. "We just threw power at what was there, and what was there lit up. We didn't put it there; it was there already. Like River Dog said, it was a message for us."
"Okay, fine," Isabel sighed. "Let's say it was. Then what does it mean? You and Michael have been staring at that map for ages now, and nothing's jumped out at you."
"Maybe that was the point," Max said. "Something just did."
"Max!" a voice called. "A little help here?"
Isabel's stomach felt like lead as Max went to help their father with the gear. The thought that someone was watching them was frightening. The thought that someone not human was watching them was downright terrifying. The thought that someone not human was leaving messages for them was beyond terrifying. What if it kept happening? Would they all be in the woods? If the people they came from had mastered space travel, hadn't they also mastered e-mail? Snail mail? Telephones? Something, anything, besides hiking through the woods?
"Thanks, Max," Philip said as he lifted the trunk lid. "Say, where's your mother?"
"Not back yet," Isabel answered.
"Probably talking to someone," Philip said. "I'll go back for the rest of the stuff."
"I'll get it," Max offered.
"No, that's okay," Philip said. "You pack this up. I want to stop by and thank the sheriff one more time for finding you."
******************************************************
Jim Valenti pulled away from the crowd in the parking lot and pulled out his phone. "Hanson?" he said when his deputy answered. "You didn't check in after lunch. Anything to report?"
A minute later Valenti hung up, disappointed. Hanson had nothing to report, nothing at all. He'd had nothing to report all weekend unless you counted one spastic UFO museum director, a handful of rubberneckers, and five lost kids. Scratch the kids, Valenti thought darkly, eyeing the Evans clan across the parking lot. Their foray into the woods in the dead of night was the only real "report" there was, although proving that was a problem. He'd attached himself like glue to those kids for the rest of the weekend, even sleeping outside last night and keeping one eye cracked, but there had been no more night walking, or day walking, or any walking, for that matter. Guerin had disappeared yesterday morning after spending the night with the Evans family, but as he wasn't supposed to be there anyway, getting anyone interested in his absence had proven difficult. The other four had spent the rest of the trip as happy little campers, singing songs, building fires, cooking camp chow, and waiting dutifully in the lines for the latrines they'd supposedly hiked miles to avoid. Sometimes he caught them looking at him, as though daring him to acknowledge that he was watching, and he'd obliged by not bothering to look away. Who cared if they saw him? They already knew he was onto them. The trick now would be to catch them in the act, and he very nearly had. Just not nearly enough.
"Sheriff?"
Valenti blinked. Philip Evans was beside him, watching him with a puzzled expression. "Philip!" Valenti said with false cheerfulness. "We made it, huh? Two nights in the woods with our kids, and we're still alive to tell about it."
"Uh...yeah," Philip said. "I just wanted to thank you again for finding my kids. Is anything wrong?" he added curiously. "You seemed to be staring at them just now."
"My Dad's been keeping an eye on them all weekend," a voice said behind them.
Valenti closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience as Kyle came up beside them. "You know Dad," Kyle said to Philip. "Always looking out for everyone! He was afraid Isabel was going to bolt into the woods again, so he kept a close eye on her, didn't you, Dad?"
"Did you get all our gear, Kyle?" Valenti ground out. "Wouldn't want to lose that nice new tent I bought."
"Heck, Dad, was so worried that he actually slept outside last night," Kyle went on. "Can you believe it? As cold as it was, and he bunked down beside the fire in full view of your tent just in case your daughter decided to take another midnight ramble. Now, that's dedication!"
"Is that true?" Philip asked as Valenti resisted the urge to strangle his son.
"It's not just your kids, Philip," Valenti reminded him. "Liz Parker and Maria DeLuca were picked up by my deputies after pulling the same stunt. I was worried about all of them."
" 'Stunt'?" Philip said doubtfully. "I realize it was an inconvenience, sheriff, but I don't think any of those girls meant to pull a 'stunt'. I think they'd just never been camping before, that's all."
"Of course," Valenti said soothingly, trying to ignore the little smile on Kyle's face. "I just meant that I didn't want any of them to try that again, or anyone else to try it either. Which is why I was outside."
"That's my Dad!" Kyle said cheerfully. "Always working! Works days. Works nights. Works weekends. Works forests—"
"What Kyle means," Valenti interrupted, "is that it was my pleasure to be of service. Say hello to your wife for me, if you would."
"Sure thing," Philip said with a curious glance at Kyle. "Thanks again, Jim."
Valenti barely managed to wait the few seconds it took for Philip to walk out of earshot before rounding on his son. "All right, Kyle, I've had enough," he said severely. "Just drop it, would you?"
"You know, Dad, if I didn't know you better, I'd be worried at constantly catching you staring at a beautiful teenaged girl," Kyle said blandly. "Granted, we all stare at her...I'm sure you can see why...but seeing you staring at her, at least as much as you've been staring this weekend, well...some might find that unsettling."
"Stop it," Valenti ordered. "That's uncalled for."
"There's the problem, Dad," Kyle said sadly. "I don't know what's 'called for' because I don't know what you're up to. You won't tell me."
"I already told you—"
"Nothing," Kyle finished. "You told me nothing, or nothing truthful, anyway. Everybody knows that none of the kids who went into the woods are druggies. Heck, the druggies didn't even go on this trip because there's no safe place to get high. Try again."
"Kyle, I don't know where you got the idea that you can just demand confidential investigative information, but you can't. And you certainly have no business making filthy accusations—"
"Hey!" Kyle broke in, raising his hands in supplication. "I'm not making accusations, I'm just callin' it like I see it, like I'm afraid other people might see it, and if I've called it wrong, please, feel free to correct me." He paused, waiting, while Valenti fumed. "Hmm. Not now, huh? Well, if you change your mind, let me know. Any time of the day or night because I know you take your work so seriously that you work all day and all night. Until then...well, I guess I'll just have to draw whatever conclusions I can."
*****************************************************
"Oh, God, is he still doing it?" Maria groaned as they waited for Mr. Parker to drag their bags out of the bus's innards. "We're in the parking lot, for heaven's sake. What does he think they're gonna do in the parking lot? Sprout antennae and start phoning home?"
Liz followed her gaze to Sheriff Valenti, who was openly staring at Max and Isabel. "Couldn't he at least make an effort to hide it?" Maria went on. "Like, maybe look, but pretend he's not looking? Like we all do when we're checking out a guy? If we can pull that off, why can't he? He's supposed to be a professional."
"Maria, he knows something's up," Liz said. "That's why he followed us into the woods."
"I know, and that's really bugging me," Maria said crossly. "How did we not hear him? How did we not see him? Are we really that out of it that we didn't hear or see someone coming after us? I mean, he must have been close enough to see us or he would have lost us."
"You've been obsessing about this all weekend," Liz said. "Just let it go, would you? We had no idea anyone was following us. We just weren't paying attention."
"But Max and Isabel knew you were following them," Maria protested. "Why did they know, and we didn't?"
"They have alien hearing," Liz answered. "It's not exactly a level playing field."
"And there's the other entrant in the staring contest," Maria went on, gazing across the parking lot. "Poor Isabel; she had two people watching her every move all weekend."
Liz blinked. "I'm sorry, did you...did you just say the words 'poor Isabel'?"
Maria considered that. "It was a moment of weakness," she said finally. "It won't happen again. Oh, God," she added, turning around suddenly. "Here he comes again."
Liz's heart sank when she saw Alex walking toward them, a hopeful expression on his face. Poor Alex. One slip of the tongue, and it had all been over.
"Hey, ladies," Alex said with forced cheerfulness when he reached them. "So, do you think now is a safe time to apologize? I mean, I know you suggested I stay away after the whole 'pee in the woods' bit because she was embarrassed, but the trip's over. Can I talk to her now?"
Liz and Maria exchanged glances. "We should tell him," Liz said finally.
"No," Maria said, shaking her head vigorously.
"Tell me what?" Alex asked.
"No, Maria, we should tell him," Liz said firmly. "I didn't tell him before, and look what happened." She turned to Alex, who was wearing an alarmed expression. "Alex, there isn't going to be a good time to talk to Isabel for a while because she's kind of distracted. You know the sighting?"
"Um...yeah," Alex said uncertainly. "What about it?"
Maria sighed heavily. "It was real."
Alex's eyes bulged. "Real as in...really real?"
"Yes, really real," Liz answered. "That's why we were all in the woods Friday night. They were looking to see if they could find something...and they did."
"Something like...what?" Alex asked nervously. "Spaceships? Alien luggage? Extra-terrestrial credit cards?"
"No," Liz said patiently as Maria rolled her eyes. "Like a symbol from that map in the cave. On the ground."
"On...the ground?" Alex echoed. "You mean it was outside the cave? Okay, that's...creepy," he went on when Liz nodded. "Wait...you said that's why you were 'all' in the woods? That includes you two?"
"I saw them leave," Liz confessed. "So I followed them."
"And I saw her leave," Maria added. "So I followed her. And Valenti saw all of us leave, and...well, you get the idea."
"Geez," Alex said, wide-eyed. "I had no idea. And to think I was wide awake most of that night, kicking myself because I'd screwed up."
"As we've already told you a million times, you didn't 'screw up'," Maria said patiently. "You merely suffered a slip of the tongue, and these Czechoslovakians are skittish creatures, not to mention heartbreakers. Believe me, I know. And so does Miss I-don't-want-to-let-go-of-him-even-though-I-know-he's-bad-for-me Parker."
"Leave me out of this, Maria," Liz ordered. "You don't want to let Michael go either. That's why you never went near him when he came back with Max and Isabel."
"Wait—Michael was there?" Alex said, confused. "When was he there? I didn't see him on this trip."
"Because he didn't come on the trip," Maria explained. "He was only in the woods. And I've already let go of him," she continued to Liz. "Haven't I made that clear?"
"Look, I'm not interested in the 411 on who's letting go of whom," Alex broke in before Liz could answer. "Although I guess I'm on that list because I'm not letting go of Isabel or the possibility that I could one day spend some time with her without saying something stupid, something I seem to have a knack for. I just—"
"Want to apologize," Liz finished. "We know. Wait a week."
"A week?"
"At least," Maria added. "Give her some time to get her head around...other stuff. And doing it sooner makes you look needy."
"I am needy," Alex said.
"Yes, but you don't want her to know that," Maria explained.
"Stop fretting, Alex," Liz advised. "You're just trying too hard. Ease up a little, that's all."
Alex nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Right. Well...I gotta find my dad."
"How'd he do?" Liz asked.
"Not bad. A few bug bites and a bear scare; that's all. Oh, hi, Mr. Parker," Alex added when Jeff appeared, laden with luggage. "I could have helped you with that."
"Nah, you were getting your own," Jeff answered. "You should get your dad home. He didn't look too good this morning."
"Yeah; weak digestion," Alex said apologetically. "Sorry about that. Pancakes don't usually make him throw up. I thought they were really good. Nothing personal."
"Of course not," Jeff said. "Later, Alex."
Liz blinked. "Wait...Mr. Whitman threw up your pancakes?"
"Well, we were in the woods, so there were lots of places to throw up," Jeff said lightly. "You guys ready to go? If you each grab a couple of things, we can do this in one trip. Oh, dear," he added, looking across the parking lot. "That doesn't look good."
Liz glanced across the lot to where Sheriff Valenti and Kyle appeared to be having some kind of fight. "Guess it wasn't a happy weekend for everyone," Jeff commented as Liz and Maria exchanged glances. "Kind of brings back memories. Bad ones."
"What do you mean?" Liz asked.
"Sheriff Valenti and his own father are estranged," Jeff explained as they headed for the car. "Have been for years."
"Why?" Maria asked.
"Well," Jeff said, "supposedly the sheriff's father believed in aliens."
Maria nearly dropped her bags. "Um...aliens? Really?"
"Yep. Lost his job years back, and word is that's why."
"Because he...believed in aliens," Liz said.
"They said it compromised his judgment," Jeff nodded. "There was a lot of talk when they gave his son the badge. Some folks were concerned history was going to repeat itself." He unlocked the trunk. "I'm sure that's not it," he said, noticing their stricken faces as he started piling gear in the trunk. "Fathers and sons have fought since time began. I'm sure it's just a run-of-the-mill fight."
Liz and Maria exchanged glances. "Yeah," Liz said faintly. "I'm sure that's all it is."
******************************************************
January 24, 2000, 10:30 a.m.
Mescalero Indian Reservation
"Have you seen your grandfather?" Eddie's mother asked.
"He's taking a nap," Eddie answered.
"A nap? He got up late."
"So I guess he's really tired."
"Goodness, I hope he's not ill," his mother said. "This isn't like him."
Actually, it's just like him, Eddie thought as mother hurried off, no doubt to look in on River Dog. His grandfather wasn't sick, but he was exhausted after their hijinks in the woods this weekend. There was a pattern here, repeated often enough now to be visible; he'd respond to the latest "visitor call" with energy and enthusiasm, but afterward he'd be spent for an increasingly long time. Nasedo's reappearance may have invigorated River Dog, but his body was having a hard time keeping up. Take, for example, the appearance of the sheriff during their recent late night hike. His grandfather had melted into the forest and away from the sheriff but had faltered on the way back to the village, making Eddie grateful he'd ignored the order not to follow. His grandfather wouldn't be doing anything like that again without him, not if he had anything to say about it.
"Good afternoon."
Eddie nearly jumped out of his seat, so startled was he to find Nasedo standing only feet away from him. "How the hell did you get in here?" he sputtered. "I didn't even hear you!"
"Few do," Nasedo observed. "I'm here to see your grandfather."
"My mother—"
"Just left," Nasedo said. "Didn't you hear that either?"
The sound of a car starting brought Eddie to the window, where his mother was driving away. "No, I didn't," he said flatly. "But then we've been a bit distracted lately, with all you've had us doing."
Nasedo blinked. "I'm sorry?"
Marvelous, Eddie thought sourly. First he had his grandfather running around like crazy, and now he acted like he didn't remember that. Given how powerful River Dog said Nasedo was, it wouldn't be a good idea to let Nasedo know just how angry that made him. Given how angry he was, Eddie didn't care.
"Let me tell you something," Eddie said furiously, throwing caution to the winds and a pointed finger in Nasedo's face. "My grandfather may feel beholden to you, but I don't. You pull a stunt like this again, you do it yourself and leave us out of it, you hear?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 58 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."