Roswell Fanatics

It was fifteen minutes later when Isabel walked by her brother’s room on her way to bed. She shook her head and frowned when she felt him using his powers inside. Mom and Dad might have taken the CD player, but she could still feel the beat of Counting Crows as he let his mind flow over the tiny pits in the CD, converting them to sound in his mind. Max was being stubborn, no doubt about it. But he had been almost out on his feet even before he’d had the hot chocolate, and she knew he hadn’t used his powers to deactivate the drug he hadn’t known was in it. This certainly couldn’t take more than a few hours.
Isabel reached for her alarm clock and set it for two hours later. No sense wasting time. She opened the drawer and retrieved the well-worn seventh grade photo. Alex had grown a lot since then, but not enough to stop her from using the picture to dreamwalk him.

Perhaps if Isabel had thought about it, she might have realized just how much of who she was now was due to her dreamwalking – particularly the dreamwalking she’d done back then – back in the throes of early puberty. It was certainly the reason she was now an Ice Princess, but it had affected her in many other ways as well.

She and Max had always been somewhat paranoid, even Izzy would have to admit that. Still, that came with the territory, growing up in Roswell, where half the buildings were decorated with grotesque images of aliens, where most of the tourists were themselves paranoid, and where there was an annual festival to honor – who knows what - the death of Max and Isabel’s biological parents?

She had always dreamwalked people who looked at either her or her brother too closely, just in self defense. And in seventh grade, when her breasts had really started to develop, that had seemed like every boy in class.

She’d learned her lesson quickly. Most seventh grade boys DID NOT consider her to be a human being – but in fact did not consider ANY girl to be a human being - but then, most seventh grade boys were scarcely human themselves. Oh, they had been thinking about her alright, and not as a human being. They generally looked upon her as - well.... pretty much just a sex object. Generally, the dreams broke down into one of three plots.

The first was a rape fantasy. They’d force themselves on her, she’d be terrified, but with their superior strength they would physically overcome her resistance. Then – as they were having their way with a frightened and crying seventh grade Isabel, she would miraculously realize how wonderful it had been to be brutalized and raped by them, and she’d be their love slave. Right, like THAT was going to happen. That went a long way towards convincing her to be an Ice Princess.

The second was almost worse. They would dream of HER initiating the action, saying crude and vulgar things that she’d never even imagine saying to get someone she barely knew to do things to her that she would have found similarly unimaginable and distasteful. Then they’d discard her like the slut they believed her to be. THAT wasn’t ever going to happen either.

The majority of the cases fell into the third category – what she called the knight in shining armor category.
In those cases, the boy would save her from some real or imagined threat, and they would ask for, or she would be unable to think of any other way to repay them for their kindness, than to become their love-slave. Well, THAT wasn’t happening either.

Alex though….. Alex had been the exception. After saving her from the dragon, he’d requested just one boon – a dance at the Royal Ball. So Lady Isabel had danced a single dance at the ball with Sir Alex, and when the dance was over she’d given him her scarf to wear around his lance the next time he went out to slay dragons. It would take a few more months of dreamwalking him to realize that she’d also given him her heart.

There were three categories of dreamwalking. The first where you merely watched the dream unfold in someone else’s dream orb. That had been more than close enough for the dreamwalks she’d done with most boys, in fact she’d fled many of them in disgust. The second was where you could enter in to the dreamwalk – interact and become part of the dream. That was what she usually did now with Alex. The third was when you were already in the dream when you got there, and you would just enter in to the dream-body the other had created for you and interact. As she saw Alex’s dream orb she realized that he’d gotten started without her and – wow, had he ever!

It wasn't as if she'd never had an erotic dreamwalk with Alex - she certainly had. They had eventually gone all the way together - at least they had dreamed of going all the way - on several occasions. But she'd always been sure that it wouldn't have happened if she had merely watched. Each time she had taken an active part by first joining in the dream and assuming the role of dream-Isabel, then let herself get carried away - pushed against him a little more than normal as they'd danced - prolonged the kiss or deepened it - pushing in many little ways to overcome Alex's reluctance to put any pressure on her, even in a fantasy. He'd never used her -not ever - never EXPECTED it of her, as if it was somehow his right. He had always seemed incapable of that. But she'd never seen him dream a dream like this one before - and now she was looking into Alex's dream orb and seeing herself naked on the bed next to him - saying things to him that she would have really never dreamed of saying.

They were naked but their eyes were not dwelling on each others bodies, they were instead looking at each others eyes, nor were their hands doing any more than holding the others hands. They were still talking - not yet doing.

"Well," said dream-Izzy, "... I guess this is it. No patch, no pills, no latex this time, and it's right at the start of my fertile period."

"Are you sure about this, Mrs. Whitman?" asked dream-Alex.

"I'm sure. Are you still worried about the money. I mean what with tuition and all?" said dream-Izzy.

"No. We both got our scholarships, and my part-time job with the computer science department doesn't pay much, but the medical benefits are great. Economically, we can do this. Besides, I think our parents would help out if we really got into a crunch, or we could take out loans. I'm more concerned about you."

"Well it concerns you too..."

"Yeah, but I get the easy part..."

"Hey, I'm not THAT easy..., you chased me for two years before we ever got engaged....in anything," dream-Izzy chuckled.

"You know what I mean."

"We've been married for three years, Alex," said dream-Izzy. "I love you. I always will. But no one is eternal. Someday .. hopefully many many years from now, we'll pass on. But I want there to still be an ... us. I want to know that our love will live on in our children. I guess it's the only chance any of us really have for immortality. I want us to be together ... always."

" I just remember what Liz went through back in high school .... the barfing early on ... then going into labor during finals in the Spring," said dream-Alex.

"Well, I have to admit that part of it is not the most attractive ...," said dream-Izzy.

Looking in to the dream orb, Isabel knew that Alex was about to talk himself out of the whole thing, just because he was worried about her. He was always doing something like that - had done that ever since they started dreamwalking. She'd once tried to convince herself that Alex was like the others - just hot for her body, but she'd known by eighth grade that wasn't true. He really did care. But even though they'd become dream lovers, she hadn't really understood. 'He wants to marry me,' came the thought to her mind, watching the drama in the dream orb play out. 'He wants me to have his child...'

As she entered the orb, blending her consciousness into that of dream-Izzy, Isabel looked out through her dream eyes at dream Alex, picking up the conversation in mid-sentence. "...but if that's what it takes to bear our child, Alex, it will certainly be worth it. I love you, Alex Whitman," she said, pulling him toward her as she rolled onto her back. She looked up at his eyes looking downb at her, and pulled his head down into a kiss. It went beyond erotic as she felt him enter her ... gently, tenderly, with the skill of long experience -which apparently in this dream at least they had. Previous couplings had been delightful enough, in a rookie on rookie sort of way, but this went far beyond that. WAY far beyond that.

In ten minutes they were in the throes of passion, Isabel feeling the shivers pass through Alex that foretold his imminent release. It came in an overwhelming rush - Alex and Isabel gasping in unison as their bodies convulsed together. Even through the passion and joy, Isabel could visualize the sperm racing through her cervix for the egg that was already descending from her left Fallopian tube to meet them. It was if she could feel the frantic need of the sperm to join with her egg, just as she had joined with her husband. As the small aura flared within her, she knew that - in this dream at least - it had happened.

The dream-lovers lay in one another's arms, gently caressing one another. The dream would continue for another two and a half hours. In her bedroom, the real Isabel was sound asleep, but that didn't stop the tears of joy from flowing down her cheeks.

Twenty feet down the hallway. a very tired Max Evans pulled himself from his bed, put his clothes on, and crept out the window unnoticed.

New Mexico is not all flat desert. It has numerous mountain ranges. The Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the southernmost subrange of the Rocky Mountains, for example, soar to over 14000 feet above sea level, towering almost 9000 feet above the Tularosa basin. The Brazos mountains, the Zuni mountain chain, the Naciemento mountains – there are many more. All of these mountain ranges have one thing in common – none of them are anywhere close to Roswell.

But even the area around Roswell is not completely flat. About six miles east of town is an area of highland known as Comanche Hill, towering almost 100 feet above the town itself. It was 10:30 PM and there were two men standing in the back of a pickup truck on a small ridge line pretty much in the middle of nowhere on Comanche Hill, not another soul within nearly four miles. Just the truck, the two men, and an 11" Schmidt-Cassegrain telescope mounted on a tripod in the back of the truck. It was an exceptional telescope. It had cost almost $2700 (including sales tax) in El Paso three days previously. The telescope was capable of showing the rings of Saturn, the moons of Jupiter, even providing a pretty fair view of the disc of what had once been the planet Pluto, although that particular celestial body had recently been officially de-rated to become merely the largest member of a group of ice-rock debris called the Kuiper belt.

But the telescope wasn’t looking at the sky. It was focused back on the town nearly six miles distant, in fact, on one building in that town, and in particular on one third story bedroom window. No, this wasn’t some elaborate peeping-tom operation, the resolution of the telescope was not quite that good, but it was good enough to tell the men what they wanted to know. What it was telling them right now was that it was not yet time.

It was cold in the high desert at night, but it didn’t bother the two men – the two men who had once been described as a ‘beefy Butthead’ and a ‘muscular Beavis – because they’d dressed warm and brought plenty of coffee and a few snacks. They’d done this for two nights already.

“Anything?” asked ‘Beavis.’

“Nope. Bedroom light is still on,” said ‘Butthead,’ gnawing on a sandwich as he looked through the telescope.


Time runs differently in a dream-orb. Sometimes the shortest moments are prolonged for what seems like hours. Sometimes the dreamer skips forward days or weeks at a time. Objectively, it was only a few minutes later that the Whitman’s were seeing the obstetrician. Isabel had already given a urine sample for the test.

“This really isn’t necessary, Alex,” said Isabel. “I know it happened.”

“Isabel, it would be like the size of a pinhead. That’s why they have pregnancy tests.”

“Uh-huh. Want to bet? I’m sure I could think of something for you to do if you lose. Of course, if you win, we’ll have to do it anyway, because then I wouldn’t be pregnant – so either way I win.”

“Isabel – shhh! People will hear you.”

Isabel just giggled. She knew she was pregnant, and she’d never been happier. She didn’t care who heard her flirting with her husband.

“Mr. and Mrs. Whitman – the doctor will see you now,” said the receptionist.




It had been a long day, filled at the beginning with pain, but becoming better – much better – after meeting with the lawyer - meeting with Diane. Liz wanted to believe that her improvement in spirits had mostly to do with the fact that Diane had made it possible for here to go back to school tomorrow, but the fact of the matter was that she knew that wasn’t going to be particularly pleasant – what with having to endure the stares of so many of her classmates. In her heart she knew that it had been the other thing that Diane given her – hope. Diane had seemed so caring and accepting – even sharing her own private feelings with her. Maybe if Diane could be accepting, perhaps someday Max could as well – at least accepting of their child, if not of Liz herself.

‘Max – How could it have ever come to this?’ she asked rhetorically. ‘I had so many dreams for us – dreams I hoped you’d share?’ Would it really be possible to salvage happiness out of this mess? Liz wasn’t sure, but she could certainly hope.

Liz finished combing out her hair and placed the comb on the dresser. Maria had given her a new aromatherapy candle – Orange Blossom – it was supposed to give you relaxing dreams. She lit the candle on the dresser and turned off the lights before crawling in to bed.

As the bedroom light suddenly went out, 'Butthead' peered through the telescope with new intensity. A smile came over his face as he saw the flickering glow of the candle through the bedroom window.

"Time to pack it up," he said to 'Beavis,' "... it's showtime."


Max was less than a third of the way to the Crashdown, and he was stumbling ... more tired than he'd ever been in his entire life. Even to his dulled brain, it sort of made sense. He hadn't slept well since last Spring, really, and the last six weeks had been hell on earth, with what few moments of sleep he did get interrupted by the horrible dreams. But none of that mattered right now, he told himself. What mattered was Liz - and convincing her to get rid of the monster he'd put in her before it killed her. 'Come on Max, dammit!' he told himself. 'You slept in that damn pod for over forty years ... and you can sleep forever when you're dead. Right now you have to get to Liz.'


In the dream-orb Isabel was sitting on a padded floor beside Alex in a large room filled with fifteen or twenty other couples. They had just spent the last half hour practicing breathing, something Isabel thought that she'd been doing quite well ever since she left the pod, even without any coaching, thank you kindly - but she didn't mind, in fact, she was really enjoying it...seeing the look of happiness on Alex's face when he would coach her. This was just great. Right now they were hearing from a nutritionist who was tellling them to eat fruits and green leafy vegetables, and especially to eat broccoli. These things had something called folic acid in them that was supposed to keep the baby from having neurological problems.

"The fruits and leafy vegetables will be great," said Isabel, "but the brocolli? Yuk. I have never liked that stuff. Maybe I can take a pill instead."

"But - but - Isabel...," spluttered Alex. "the nutritionist said the organic stuff would be better - from real broccoli."

"Well, OK," said Isabel. "For you - and the baby, I'll guess I'll eat my broccoli," said a smiling Isabel.

"It's unfortunate we couldn't get to the gas light pipes on the first and second floor as well. That might have finished the whole job tonight," said 'Beavis'.

"Hey, it's not our fault that the lines to the lower floors either got ripped out or the gas line feeding them got used to run the grill when they made it in to a restaurant," said 'Butthead.'

"I know, but that just means that we'll eventually have to do the mother and the father, too. The boss made it pretty clear he doesn't want ANY Parkers to survive. He was pissed when we missed the girl the first time, but when he found out she had a bun in the oven - wow."

"Well, that's understandable. There's a lot of money riding on this - millions anyway. With the cut he promised us, we'll be fixed for life."

"Damn right. What are you going to do with your share?"

"Move to Baja, baby. Warm nights, tequila, and all the Mexican poontang I can buy. I've already got the property picked out for my cabana."

"Sounds good. I might go down there, get one of those big boats with the chairs in back - the ones you strap in when you go after those big fish with the pointy beaks. That's one of the problems with this place - no damn water, just one big friggin' desert."

"Well, tonight we need to keep our mind on our work. I'm not even going to stop the truck as I go through the alley, just drive by slowly while you get out and find the pipe shutoff valve. It's just a quarter turn to the left and it'll be wide open. The pipes haven't been used in decades."

"OK. Who knows - we might get lucky and Ma and Pa Parker will come up to try to save little Elizabeth and we'll get three crispy critters for the price of one. Three and a fraction for the price of one and a fraction, that is..."


In the dream-orb, the weeks went by.
“Alex, give me your hand,” said Isabel, placing it on her own slightly expanded lower abdomen.

“There, did you feel it kick?” she asked.

Alex didn’t say a word, but she knew he had felt it. The joy and the love in his eyes suddenly became overpowering, and he held her close in the I-want-to-crush-you-close-to-me-but -I’m -afraid -that -you’re-too–fragile-right-now way that men have been holding their pregnant mates for millennia, fighting back the tears of joy they were too macho to show – well – most of the tears, anyway.


The orange blossom candle continued to flicker in the darkness. Liz considered getting up and extinguishing it. It WAS relaxing her, but it was also making her hungry, and the clinic nutritionist had told her that the old wives tale – they hadn’t really used that politically incorrect term, of course – about eating for two, just lead to overweight babies and gestational diabetes. It was OK to eat a little extra, but she shouldn’t give in to every craving.

But as she lay awake in the light of the flickering candle, she mentally went back to the conversation she had today with Diane Evans, realizing just how badly she had fouled up. She’d known – even back in the third grade - about Max and Isabel being adopted. Roswell was too small a town for that not to have made the rounds, and she’d even looked up the newspapers from that day in the city library once in seventh grade.

Diane seemed a kind and loving person. If she had struggled for two years just to get Max to want to stay with them, what did that say about Max's life before he'd been adopted?

What kind of insane people left two little kids wandering naked in the desert alone – and how traumatized must those kids have been to not even remember their past life? Max and Isabel were different – Isabel aloof – Max shy –each in their own way holding everyone else at arm’s length. Could THAT have been the difference Max was talking about?

If it had taken Diane and her husband two years to even get Max to accept living with them, how unrealistic No, Liz – how stupid’ was it for her to have expected that at the end of ninth grade she could somehow just command Max to be her boyfriend, just because they’d been lab partners for a few years and she had a crush on him? Only it was more than a crush – she knew that. Somehow, it was like she’d loved him since the third grade.
'OK, not a crush – an obsession then.'

For about the thousandth time she wondered why she had done it. Had it just been that other girls had started talking about their boyfriends, and she’d wanted to tell them about hers? Had it been just envy or pride that had pushed her to push him, with such disastrous results? They had only been ninth graders – they had all the time in the world to become a couple. And what about afterwards? At least a half dozen times Max had come to the Crashdown - set himself down in her section of the booths. She'd known then that he'd been reaching out - trying to get back the friendship they'd had - and she'd been too hurt, too proud, too vindictive to accept what he could give her, after he'd refused her more. She wished again that she'd have accepted the overtures - that she had not sent Maria or one of the other waitresses to cover his table so she could avoid dealing with him on his terms if he couldn't deal with her on hers.

'Lord, Liz, did you even think about him? Did you even care what you were doing to him? You knew he was so shy but you pushed him for something he wasn't ready to give, something he didn't know how to give, and then punished him because he wasn't able to give it. Did you even consider what that was doing to him?'

But the worst thing, Liz knew, was what she'd done the night of the initiation. What if Max and Isabel had been abused as kids, as seemed likely? She had used Max too - used him without any thought for him, just to satisfy her wants. That she had been intoxicated didn't excuse it, nor did it make the effect on Max any less. He had been helpless, and she'd used him for her own gratification and self-esteem. She'd never once considered the consequences - the consequences for him - because what she had done was just as abusive as whatever had been done to him as a child - the consequences for their child who she would now bear who would never know a normal relationship with its father -even the consequences for her, although she knew that she of all people had no right to expect anyone's sympathy. She'd caused this mess, after all.

But despite every reason to despair, Liz found herself clinging to hope because of what Mrs. Evans - Diane - had said. She said that he wasn't over her, and she wasn't over him, and Liz found herself praying fervently in the flickering light of the aromatherapy candle that Diane was as correct about Max not being over her as she was about Liz herself not being over Max. If that was the case, maybe there was hope. She liked Diane - liked her a lot. She wished that she could confide the whole story to her, but she didn't think she could bring herself to admit to the kind woman the terrible way she'd used her son....

'If only I had it to do over,' Liz thought. Of course, she didn't. But after the talk with Diane, she at least had some hope.

Max was about a quarter-mile from the Crashdown, and almost asleep on his feet. He looked around and saw the alley, its shadows hiding anything in it from the few passing cars in the darkened streets. He walked in to it and looked around quickly for any witnesses before walking to the darkened area between the two dumpsters. If anyone saw, they'd undoubtedly think he was just some drunk, peeing on the wall.

He pulled his left fist back a foot, then sent it crashing into the bricks, the pain from the breaking metacarpal sending stars through his vision. It seemed to work - the pain drove back the fog that was threatening to envelop him. He'd be able to keep going - talk to Liz -talk her into having the abortion. Then and only then, he could go to sleep. Even then he doubted he'd be able to sleep without the nightmares. Not until he knew it was out of her - not until he knew that she was safe.

A minute later, he left the alley and continued to walk toward the Crashdown, the throbbing hand keeping him awake. He'd heal himself later - or get Isabel to do it. Right now the broken hand wasn't a hindrance - it was a help.

"OK," said Beavis. "..the alleyway is right there and I don't see any cops or anything."

"I see it," replied Butthead. "Get in the back of the truck with the wrench. I'll turn into the alley here, then we just slowly cruise down it for the rest of the block. As we get near the restaurant I'll slow up to walking speed, but not stop. You jump out, turn it on, then get back in. Those pipes have been empty of gas for years, so we should have a minute or two before the gas gets up to the third floor, gets out into the room, and finds that candle. I want to be a couple blocks away before the thing goes up, so don't dawdle."

Butthead hesitated briefly as Beavis got out the passenger door and climbed up into the back of the truck. Then he headed slowly down the alley.


In the dream-orb, the two parents-to-be were at the obstetrician's office, Isabel lying on a table with clear goo on her abdomen as the technician ran an ultrasound probe over her swollen lower belly.

"Oh look, you can see its heart beat," said Alex.

"That's not all you can see, if you know where to look", said the obstetrician. "Did you two want to know the baby's gender now - or wait until the birth?"

There was a moment of indecision between the parents-to-be as they each tried to discern the other's desire on the matter.

"Well," said a smiling Isabel, ".. it would cut down on the names to decide amongst by half..."

Alex's head nodded enthusiastically as he turned to the obstetrician and asked, "Well - which is it?"

"It's a girl..."

Four hours later back at the house Isabel stuck her head in to the room - the room that would be the nursery in a few months -the room that Alex had forbidden her to enter while he was painting it, just in case anything in the wet paint might somehow hurt her or the baby. The room was - beautiful, in a fairy princess pink motif. It had a beautiful wallpaper runner around the baseboards and the ceiling, a crib with a veil over it - it was every little girls dream of a room. Alex, however, was himself still coated with paint from the airless sprayer. He looked somewhat like a giant pepto-bismol colored smurf.

"Alex... come here," said Isabel, laughing. She pulled a tissue from the bathroom dispenser and started wiping at his face, but the paint was dry and wouldn't come off. She used her powers to loosen it, transfering it to the tissue and cleaning his face up enough that she could give him a warm caring kiss. As she pulled her mouth away, he saw himself in the mirror.

"How -how did you do that?" he asked. "I've been trying to get that off for twenty minutes..."

'Oh Lord!' thought Isabel, 'I've never told him...'

Isabel smiled quickly and rubbed the tissue against her tongue, moistening it. Then she used it to remove more of the pink paint. "Mom's spit," she said.

"Mom's spit?" repeated Alex, doubtfully.

"Yes, Mom's spit. it's the universal solvent. Didn't your mother ever use her spit to clean up your face when you were a kid?"

"Well, yes... I suppose that's happened to everyone. I never really figured out how that worked though. I guess I was too embarassed at the time."

"I think it's something we all go through."

"But you aren't a mom ... at least not yet."

"it's more of a mental thing than a physical thing, Alex. My Mom had mom spit, and uh ... Alex, you know that I'm adopted, right? That Mom isn't really my birth mother?"

"Yes. But you better not remind her of that. She's so looking forward to having a baby around - said she's been waiting 25 years to have a newborn to cuddle. You try telling her that Alexie isn't REALLY her grandchild, Lord knows what she'll do to you."

"I'd NEVER tell Mom that. It's just that ..."

"Just that what?"

"Just that ... nothing I guess. I guess it doesn't REALLY matter at all, Alex. Here, let me help you clean up."

"Thanks, the leftover paint goes in the closet..."

"Alex ... What's the other paint here?"

"Uh, it's powder blue. I got both, just so I'd have the right color once we found out the baby's sex. I'll take it back to the store tomorrow."

"We could keep it, you know," said Isabel. "I mean, maybe little Alexie ought to have a brother some day. It would give her someone to boss - like I bossed Max. We have another bedroom in the house."

"Don't you think you should give birth to Alexie, before we start planning her siblings?" asked Alex.

"Maybe,.." said Isabel, moving softly to her husband's side and looking up into his eyes. " ...and maybe not," she said, before reaching up to kiss him, then leading him slowly toward their own bedroom. Clearly it was a little early to think about conceiving another child, but she figured they could still keep in practice.

"About me being adopted..." said Isabel, as he gently entered her.

"Mmmm - yes?"

"Remind me to tell you about that - later.." said Isabel.


Max was coming up on the alley behind the Crashdown when he saw the lights of the pickup truck shine down the alley as the truck turned in from the next block. Years ago, when the building had been a mercantile emporium, there had been a loading dock here. Now the Parker's used it to park their car. There was a recessed doorway next to that parking area, the entrance to the stairway to their second floor living quarters. Max flattened himself against the door in the darkened doorway, waiting for the pickup truck to leave the alley so he could get to the fire escape. The truck seemed to move very slowly through the alley.

"Got it," said Beavis, jumping back in the truck.

As the truck left the alley, Max left the doorway and moved to the fire escape, his injured hand slowing him as he made his way up the rungs.

He was worried about seeing Liz. Not just about what he'd say, but about whatever had taken control of him at the school perhaps doing it again. Or perhaps, since she was already infected with the parasite, it wouldn't happen. Either way, he had to try....

As Max climbed to the roof his eyes saw the flicker of the candle in her room... but his left hand slipped as he reached for the top rung and he almost fell, catching himself with his right hand. That's why he was dangling below the level of the roof when the glass from the shattering windows of Liz's bedroom exploded outward. He pulled himself quickly back up ... there was flame coming from every window of her bedroom. He knew when he saw it that there could be no one alive in there.

Down in the Crashdown kitchen, Liz was shaking her head as she ate the broccoli. That part, at least, made sense. The nutritionist had told her about the folic acid in it, and it had few calories. But the pineapple syrup and tabasco sauce she'd put on it? Why was she on such a sweet and spicey kick? Well, the nutritionist had told her that strange food cravings happened with pregnancies. She had just concluded that it tasted pretty good, when she heard the explosion from her bedroom two stories above.

It wasn’t the sharp explosion you might hear if dynamite had been used. It was more a ‘Whumpp’ of overpressure followed by the sound of breaking glass that brought a sleeping Jeff Parker to full and total alertness. He had scarcely gotten his feet upon the floor before the rest of it hit him – the sound of a raging gas fed fire on the floor above, and the smell of smoke.

“Get out of here –downstairs, quickly,” Jeff shouted at Nancy as he ran for the back stairwell – the one leading upward to Liz’s room. The roaring of the fire got louder as he climbed the stairs and he could feel the warmth – actually see the brightness of the flame under the bottom of the door. He knew that behind the door was a hellish inferno, and that Liz was almost certainly already dead. But it didn’t matter – not to a father, not to someone whose only child was behind that door. No, Jeff Parker would take any risk to save his daughter, even if it meant risking his own life for the smallest chance of somehow being able to help. He grasped the doorknob ready to burst through when the sound came from below and behind him on the stairwell…

“Daddy – don’t go up there. I’m down here. Mom and I are both down here…”


As Max looked up onto the rooftop he saw her room was not just on fire – it was totally involved in the fire, with gas fed flames coming out. He knew logically there was no possibility that she was alive in there, but he didn’t care, he was still going in. Even if there was only the slimmest possibility that he could find her – pull her to safety – heal her before he died of his own burns, he would take it. It wasn’t just to make up for what he’d done to her, he realized as the black smoke laced with orange flames billowed from her room windows, it was that he really didn’t want to live without her. If she was dead, it was somehow fitting that they should die together.

Max crossed the open area of the rooftop quickly, heading for the nearest window. He would find her or die trying, and even that death would be a kindness compared to living without her. But he stopped at the window as he heard the voices in the streets below.

“Daddy, are you alright?”

“God Liz, I thought you were in there…”

“I was down in the kitchen, getting a midnight snack…I called 911.”

“Nancy, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jeff. I don’t think the fire has gotten below the third floor. Maybe we could get some things out - or get some fire extinguishers...”

“No – Let the fire department worry about that. The only thing that’s important is you two," he said, gathering them both into his arms. "Everything else is just things…”

Max heard the sirens coming. He wasn’t sure what had happened but he had no chance of having the conversation he wanted with Liz now. He looked down from the roof just to see her – just to see with his own eyes that she was OK. Then he quickly walked back to the fire escape and descended to the alley. He was just leaving it when the first firetruck arrived and men started running in to the building carrying hoses.

A block away the deputy noticed the boy leaving, but his job was to keep people and traffic away from the scene of the emergency, not to keep them in. The deputy barricaded the entrance to the street with his patrol car and stood in front of it, ready to divert any traffic away from the burning building.







In the dream-orb, things were kind of getting down to the nitty-gritty.

"OK, Isabel," said the nurse midwife, "... I think this little princess is ready to make her debut. I want you to bear down with the next contraction, the head is crowning and it shouldn't take much more to make this happen."

Isabel was tired. It seemed like the labor had lasted an eternity, even though the clock only said 12 hours. She felt Alex gripping her hand, and looked over at him, dressed in surgical scrubs and sitting on the stool next to the birthing chair. His look of concern – excitement – terror made her heart skip a beat. He was so wonderful – even though she knew it was all a dream – it was HIS dream as well as hers – a dream they shared and a dream she could tell that he wanted to make real just as much as she did.

The past twelve hours – it couldn’t really be that, she knew – the damn alarm clock would have long since gone off – the contractions had been rough, but she had loved it too – seeing that concern and love flowing from Alex. The whole dream couldn’t be more than three hours or so, even though it seemed as if it had taken years. She knew she was fighting the clock – the damn alarm clock she’d set to wake her up. She wanted it to hold off just a little longer – just long enough to give him this last gift for the wonderful dream she’d shared with him – just long enough to see his face when Alex gazed at their daughter for the first time…

“OK, Isabel,” said the nurse midwife. “I can feel another contraction coming… get ready to push!”


Max wasn’t sure how he’d even gotten back home as he crawled in the window and slumped to the floor. He had been tired for weeks, but this went beyond that. Even the throbbing pain from his broken hand wasn’t enough to push back the need for sleep that was starting to overcome him, as much as he feared the dreams he knew would come.to him in that sleep. He crawled on his knees and one good hand to his bed, not really ever lifting his body much higher than the mattress as he rolled into the waiting bedclothes. Within seconds, sleep had overtaken him.


At the local hotel, Jeff Parker was settling his family in. “You and Liz might just as well get to sleep, there’s not much we are going to do in the darkness. The fire is out and we were lucky – very lucky. Other than some minor smoke damage, pretty near everything seems to have been confined to the third floor. I’m sorry, Lizzy, I’m not too sure how much of your stuff we are going to be able to salvage but I would expect not much. I’m just so glad you weren’t in there when it happened.”

“Daddy, I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t lit the candle…”

“It wasn’t the candle, Liz, or at least not just the candle. We won’t know for sure until tomorrow, but the fire department is going to take a real good look at this so they can tell us exactly what did happen.”

Jeff wasn’t telling his family the whole truth. The deputy fire chief was a friend of his and had made it clear, the fire had been more than unusual. The arson investigator from the fire department and someone from the Sheriff’s office were going to be climbing through the rubble trying to find out just what happened when it was daylight, but they were highly suspicious that this was arson. Only that didn’t make any sense. Who would want to burn down the Crashdown. Of course, the alternative made even less sense. Who would want to murder a pregnant sixteen year old girl who had never harmed anyone in her entire life? Well, maybe they’d find out in the morning.

“So you are going back tonight?” asked Nancy Parker.

“Yeah. A few of the firefighters are going to be in the building watching for hot spots – watching for flare-ups from areas the water hasn’t quite gotten to yet. I was going to fix them some sandwiches… It seems like the least I can do. Their hard work saved most of the building.”

“So the fire – it might come back?” asked Liz.

“Not like it was, honey. This is more just a precaution. It’ll be fine.”

And it would be fine too, Jeff Parker knew. With the main gas line turned off, whatever was feeding that inferno in Liz’s room couldn’t happen again. But why had it happened the first time? He remembered having those gas lines inspected. They were shut off just above the valve and padlocked. Besides, they were plugged in Liz’s room. Even if the valve had somehow gotten open, there should have been no gas flow to the third floor at all. Whatever the case, they ought to be able to figure it out in the morning. He kissed his wife and daughter, and went back to the Crashdown.



In the dream-orb, the young princess had indeedmade her debut.

“Mr. Whitman,” the nurse midwife said as she deftly clamped the umbilical cord with her right hand while holding the beautiful new little girl with her left, “…would you like to cut the umbilical cord?”

Alex, who Isabel had been half sure was going to faint somewhere during the last contraction, appeared unable to talk. He was just looking from her to his new daughter – speechless – mesmerized. Finally Isabel broke the long silence.

“I think my husband is on overload right now, Ms. Carter. But could we maybe hold her – together?”

“I think that would be just fine,” said the nurse midwife, suctioning the little girl one last time, and eliciting a lusty cry.. She skillfuly cut the cord herself, dried her off, swaddled her in a blanket and delivered her safely into Isabel’s waiting arms as Alex huddled next to her, the two of them looking at their new daughter.

As Isabel looked at the child, and looked up at Alex, she realized she’d never known such happiness – such love – in her entire life.

Even before the alarm clock started to ring, pulling her out of the dream-orb, the tears had started coming down her cheeks as her last view of Alex’s face was etched forever into her mind.

‘I’d be willing to die to see that expression on his face for real,’ Isabel told herself, as the loneliness of her own bedroom began to form back around her.





For a half hour Isabel lay there, looking at the ceiling of her room. The dream had been so – real, moreover it had been so – wonderful. All of it – she realized, from the tender intimacies and passionate sex with Alex, to the warmth in her heart as she’d felt their daughter kick inside her, had been so incredibly beautiful that even the memory of the dream brought tears to her eyes.

‘Could I have been so wrong all these years?’ she asked herself. ‘Could I have let myself worry so much about surviving that I forgot about living? Forgot about how wonderful life could be with the right person? Was I wrong about keeping the secret? Was I wrong about trying to keep Max away from Liz?’

It took her over two hours to go to sleep, with those conflicting memories and questions swirling in her mind – the agony of knowing what Max was going through, the ecstasy of the memory of that wonderful dream she had shared with Alex – the questions of what she should do – if she should try to make that beautiful dream a reality – if she could somehow help Max recover from the pain her interventions with Liz had caused him. Yes, it was a troubled Isabel who finally drifted off to sleep – to join the dream-orb of her brother.

Liz had always been attractive in her own Miss Scientist sort of way, Isabel knew that. And – having dreamwalked boys in the past – it wasn’t exactly like Isabel was surprised to find that Max was dreaming about Liz in the nude. What did surprise her, was the fear – the stark raving terror – that Max seemed to be experiencing as he dreamed about a nude – and very pregnant – Liz Parker, laying on a bed.

The girl was beautiful laying there – her pregnancy gave her a mature beauty that, if anything, was even greater than her normal girlish prettiness. In the dream Liz was clearly a woman – desirable – voluptuous – incredibly erotic. 'Trust Max to visualize her like that,' thought Isabel, although she still couldn’t understand the feeling of fear and terror in the dream-orb. It seemed so palpable she could have cut it with a knife.

Isabel looked in the dream-orb for any evidence of Max, but he wasn’t there. He was just dreaming this, not dream-experiencing it. ‘But why the fear?’ Isabel asked herself. She could understand Max longing after Liz – even understand him being angry with the girl for finding someone else and getting herself pregnant with him – ‘..But why the fear?’ she asked herself again.

Her question was answered quickly as Liz’s back arched violently and she let out an involuntary scream of pain. Her gravid abdomen looked like it was churning – stretching – as something within seemed to be struggling to break it’s way through the muscles and skin of the lower abdomen to freedom. Liz screamed in horror as her lower abdomen tented up – the writhing creature almost visible through her stretched skin. It was almost like an explosion when the creature broke through, opening a palm-sized hole with it’s teeth and protruding a foot out of her abdomen. Liz looked down in pain and terror as it emerged from her in a gush of blood tearing through her entrails in its departure. The scream quickly died as she slumped back on the now-bloody bed, unconscious almost immediately. Isabel watched in shocked horror as Liz's body made two last agonal gasps of breath -- then was still.

The feeling of terror and loss in the dream-orb overwhelmed her as she heard a cry of anguish arise that only as she awakened did she realize was in the real world, not in the dream-orb. She tossed the covers aside and ran to her brother’s adjacent room. She found Max, crying and shaking with grief and fear, backed into the corner of his room, his eyes staring blindly at the terror the nightmare had imprinted in his mind. Isabel ran to his side and quickly kneeled to hug him tightly to her.

“Max, Max … it was only a dream. It’s going to be alright.”

“No… no it isn’t. It's going to kill her. She has to get rid of it, Izzy. She has to get rid of it.”

“Max – she’s just pregnant. It’s only a baby. It won’t hurt her. I know you're upset with her, Max, but it’s only a baby.”

“It isn’t a baby, Isabel – it’s a monster.”

“Max – I know she hurt you when she had sex with someone else but…”

“She didn’t have sex with anyone else, Iz – she had sex with me. I put that monster inside of her..”

"You and Liz decided to have sex and she got pregnant?" Isabel asked incredulously.

A million thoughts competed for attention in her head as she considered the implications. If it was Max’s child the damages she’d done to the two of them could be patched up somehow, she was almost sure of it. She was going to become an aunt. Maybe her dream with Alex could be more than a dream too. Did Liz KNOW about Max? Is that what was keeping them apart now? Did Max NOT tell her? Did he tell her only AFTER they had sex? Did he tell her only after she found out she was pregnant? Did Max tell Liz and she freaked? Why would Max think the baby was a monster? Did he feel that guilty about having gotten Liz pregnant? Was Max really going insane?

The swirl of thoughts went through her mind like a kaleidoscope, and she was finally ready to believe anything…anything but the words that came out of her brother’s mouth. The words that finally explained the agony that had been gripping her brother’s soul for the last six weeks…

“No, Isabel,” Max said, the tears rolling down his eyes and his body shaking. He pounded an already bruised and broken hand into the floor as if he were trying to punish himself, “I raped Liz and put that monster in her.”

Isabel pushed him back to arm’s length and looked at the agony in her brother’s eyes. ‘Was Max going insane?’ Nothing could make her believe that he’d have ever hurt Liz – certainly not like that. She gathered him back in her arms and started rocking him gently, just as she’d had to do the first few weeks after the Evanses had adopted them.
“I don’t believe that, Max. You’re confused – you need more sleep – then we need to talk. I’m staying here with you – if you dream, I’ll be in it with you and tell you it’s just a dream – but I know you, I know you better than anyone else on this planet. You didn’t rape Liz. You could have never done that – not you – not my brother.”

“You weren’t there, Isabel. I don’t know what made me do it but…you didn’t see the look in her eyes as I saw her there.”
As the fatigue, the drugs, and the release of emotion finally overcame him, Max slumped over into her lap. She held her brother’s head and softly ran her fingers through his hair. She needed to sleep now – to be with Max in his dreams, and to guard him from the nightmares that were eating away at his soul. But nothing he could ever say would make her believe he was a bad person. Whatever had happened, she’d help him with it. They were family.

It was 7AM and Diane Evans had slept fitfully throughout the night. Her son was coming apart before her very eyes, and much as she wanted to go to court and get the restraining order against the school district this morning, she was afraid to leave him home alone. Philip had originally planned on taking him in to the preliminary hearing to schedule his trial before the juvenile court, although that wasn’t really legally necessary since his father had the ability as both his lawyer and his parent to take care of the preliminaries. But the psychiatrist had made it clear that Max really needed his sleep, and if Max could just stay at home and rest, that would be Diane’s preference. But she wasn’t leaving him home alone. Technically, both children could return to school today. But it wasn’t going to happen with Max. What she’d really have liked to do was ask Izzy to stay at home with her brother – but she had her doubts about that. Isabel had been a very reasonable and serious child, but since eighth grade she had gone on this Ice-Princess kick and – until she saw her act responsibly in helping the young Evans girl recently – Diane had started to believe her daughter was becoming sort of an unfeeling airhead.

Diane knocked on Isabel’s door, still not sure if she would ask her or not. She knocked again – no answer. Diane shook her head. The girl ALWAYS slept in, and never got up on time. How she actually managed to get her hair done and cosmetics on – and she always did – was a riddle she’d never solved. She knocked again and stuck her head in – surprised and a little worried to find the bed empty.
Thirty seconds later a worried mother opened the door to check on her other child. Her fear approached terror as she saw his empty bed – then suddenly she relaxed with her face settling into a smile. There they were – both of them – sound asleep on the floor in the corner of the room, with Isabel hugging her brother. It had been nine years since she’d seen that. Nine years since she had last seen little Isabel spend the night in her brother’s room, hugging him – reassuring him – telling him that this was their home, and everything would be alright. Somehow Isabel had gotten him through that time – the first two years when little Max had been so afraid – when he’d had such little trust in them. Diane had never really believed her daughter was an Ice Princess, and now she knew for sure that – whatever reason Isabel had chosen to hide behind that image – to keep the world at bay in her own way, just as Max did in his – her daughter was as kind and loving a human being as any other person.

Diane was blinking a tear or two from her eyes as she quietly tapped Isabel on the shoulder. “Izzy – are you awake? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Isabel opened her eyes and blinked, looking first at her brother. He’d tried to start that dream again twice and each time she had injected herself into the dream-orb and told him it was only a dream – that Liz was alright – and each time the dream had faded. Max was now in a deep dreamless sleep – one she was sure he badly needed. She loved him dearly, but the boy was making no sense whatsoever. Could the child Liz was carrying really be his? God, she hoped so. If there was anything that could pull Mr. Responsibility out of this it was if she could slap him across the face and tell him to cowboy-up – that he had a mate and child to look after. If she only knew if Liz knew the secret – and if so, how she’d taken it. But whatever the situation, this had been going on for six weeks, maybe longer. Maybe ever since she’d been an idiot and tried to break them up. It would keep for another few hours while Max rested and, if Max and Liz were going to have a child, nothing would ever break them up and if Isabel was going to be an aunt – nothing was going to harm her niece or nephew either.

Isabel looked in her mother’s eyes with more hope than she’d had in six weeks and smiled.

“Good morning, Mom. Can you pull Max’s blanket off the bed and put it around him. Then – then I think we can talk for a little bit. I don’t want to leave Max today. He needs someone to stay with him and watch him – help him. He’s tired and confused and needs his older and wiser sister more than I need school today.”

The ‘older’ comment was actually a personal joke between her and Max. In reality, she’d gotten out of her pod less than a half hour before he’d gotten out of his.

Isabel and Diane carefully wrapped the blanket around the still sleeping Max, and Diane shoved a pillow under his head just before they both quietly crept out of the room to the kitchen. Isabel watched the tears in her mothers eyes as she held out her hand and caressed Isabel’s own cheek.

“My goodness, how seeing you with Max like that brings back memories. You were both so young … and scared … How quickly the years have passed – and now this.”

“It’s going to be alright, Mom,” Isabel said, her face showing a hint of a smile. “He’s resting now and when he wakes up I’m going to talk to him – talk some sense into him.”

“Isabel, I hate to ask this, but – I have this restraining order against the school district I have to prepare and argue for at 10 AM. It shouldn’t take more than two hours and I’d have my cell phone right with me, but …”

“Could I take care of Max? Certainly, Mom,” Isabel smiled. She needed to have a good talk with that boy and her mother hearing about the alien stuff was an added complication that they didn’t need right now even though someday …. “Mom, is this about Liz Parker?”

Diane winced internally. She really believed in the confidentiality of her clients, but she couldn’t actually lie to Isabel.

“Isabel, I know that Liz isn’t one of your favorite people …”

“Oh, that’s not it at all, Mom. No, that’d be fine. I want you to help Liz.” In fact, Liz Parker had become one of her favorite people the second she had found out that she was going to be the mother of Isabel’s niece or nephew. In fact, Liz appeared well on her way to becoming two of Isabel’s favorite people. “I’ll take care of Max – you try not to worry, and you help Liz,” she smiled. Somehow her brother had bunged up his hand. She wasn’t nearly as good at healing stuff like that as her brother was, but in a few hours she thought she could have it back in fair shape.

Diane hugged her daughter tightly. “Thanks dear. Do you want to get some breakfast or something while I watch Max?”

“No, that’s fine. You get ready for court. I’ll take care of him – and Mom…”

“Yes Isabel?”

“When this is all over and things calm down … I’d like to have a talk with you about Max and me … and about how much we love you and Dad – how grateful we are for everything you’ve done for us.”

“We are family, dear. That’s what families do.”

Isabel nodded. ‘Yep, that’s what families do.’

It was two hours later in the Chaves County Superior Court when the clerk called both lawyers into Judge Helen Rodgers’s chambers. The judge looked up from the paperwork and motioned forward both toward Diane Evans and Fred Cramer, the counsel for the Roswell Unified School District.

“It would seem,” said Judge Rodgers, “ … that I have before me a request for an injunction against the Roswell Unified School District by a “Jane Doe” and a further request for a temporary restraining order to compel the school district to hold in abeyance any enforcement of the policy the injunction would prohibit pending the results of the court proceedings on the injunction. The request is from Ms. Evans in the name of her client and I would guess that you are again representing the school district, is that the case Mr. Cramer?”

“It is, your honor,” replied Cramer.

“I suppose it would be too easy to ask if the school board would be willing to just modify their current policy – to make alternate school voluntary for pregnant students, and allow them to just choose which school they desire to attend? That would make these entire proceeding moot,” said Judge Rodgers. The expression on her face pretty much said she thought the question was just wishful thinking.

“I have discussed that with the school board your honor, and the elected officials wgo have been entrusted by the people of this county with the safety and well being of their children believe strongly that the current policy is a correct one, and moreover it is necessary for the welfare of both the young ladies who have managed to get themselves pregnant, and for the welfare of the rest of the students as well.”

Diane had to suppress a smile at the look that came across Helen Rodgers’ face at the term ‘get themselves pregnant.’ Judge Rodgers had been an advocate for women’s rights long before it became popular, and Diane supposed that Fred Cramer had just stepped in it, although Helen was too smart to prejudge the case or risk saying something that would force her to recuse herself.

“Excuse me, Mr. Cramer, but from what I remember of the anatomy and physiology courses that I took all those years ago, young ladies didn’t get pregnant by themselves. Absent the intervention of some male, I thought that they sort of remained … un-pregnant?”

“Uh …. yes, your honor,” said Cramer. “That’s sort of my understanding as well… What I meant to say was that these expectant teenagers, having become pregnant, now need the special courses on child-rearing available at the alternative school. Also, we have a nurse available there in the event they go into premature labor, and a nursery for the babies there so they can continue to attend after childbirth. Last, but certainly not least, the school board believes that it is simply inappropriate to keep these student in the company of regular students, where they will tend to serve as bad examples at best, and at worst may in fact glamorize teenage pregnancy and induce other girls to consider becoming pregnant before they are educationally or socially ready for it.”

“And your position, Ms. Evans?”

“Judge Rodgers, New Mexico education law requires that all students up to the age of 21 be afforded the opportunity to obtain a free, public education. State and federal laws, including Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972, prohibit sex discrimination in schools receiving public funds, including discrimination on the basis of pregnancy or parenting status. Title IX regulations explicitly state that schools “shall not discriminate against any student, or exclude any student from its education program or activity, including any class or extracurricular activity, on the basis of such student's pregnancy, childbirth, false pregnancy, termination of pregnancy or recovery therefrom That is precisely what this program does, and it is therefore illegal. We ask only that the court enjoin the school board against implementing policies that are per se illegal. We ask that this court grant us the relief of a temporary restraining order until such time as we have an opportunity to make our full case in court.”

“Mr. Cramer?”

“Judge Rodgers, the school board contends that we are not excluding or discriminating against these students since we are providing not merely an alternative, but an alternative that is more suitable for the unique circumstances of these students. These students have, through their own error, placed themselves and their potential offspring in a hazardous situation. Statistics on single woman households demonstrate that their children are at particular risk for any number of bad outcomes. The intent of the alternative school is to provide these students with access to courses that will prove more helpful to them than the standard curriculum.”

“Whatever the intent,” responded Diane, “… the result is that these students are denied equal access to the sorts of academic courses that they need to compete for scholarships – for competitive colleges – to obtain the background that will allow them further academic success. That is clearly illegal, your honor.”

“I disagree your honor. These students have a special need. We are in fact obligated to provide the appropriate care for special needs students.”

“That’s ridiculous, your honor. Pregnancy is hardly a “special needs” situation. Every human being alive has been part of a pregnancy at one time or another. But even if one were to concede that these students do have special needs, that would be no justification for depriving them of the opportunities afforded to other students. The Supreme Court ruled in Brown vs Board of Education of Topeka Kansas that even separate but equal facilities violate the US Constitution. What the school board here is insisting on is separate but unequal.”

“Your honor, … the school board also has a duty to protect the morals of the other students. To permit pregnant students to remain in the general student population would lend legitimacy to them. These students have made choices that clearly are inappropriate for those of their age group. Were we to take no action, that would have the effect of indorsing their actions.”

“So does the school board also insist that expectant fathers also go to alternative high school?” interrupted Judge Rodgers, whose patience with Fred Cramer appeared to be wearing thin.

“Well – er, uh, – no your honor. It is a little difficult to tell who the responsible male is.”

“Well Mr. Cramer, it would appear that Ms. Evans’ assertion that school board policies are in fact discriminatory are completely valid, or at least stand undisputed at the present. Can you give us any other reason that might justify what appears to be a fairly straightforward violation of state and federal nondiscrimination laws?”

“Well, yes, your honor. We have a responsibility to all of our students for the safe operation of our schools. This “Jane Doe” that Ms. Evans is representing is, I believe, the same student whose pregnancy led directly to a near riot at the high school recently. A total of eight students were involved in altercations as a direct result of this girls pregnancy, including one student who required hospitalization for emergency surgery. This reason alone would appear sufficient to isolate such students, for reasons of student safety.”

“Ms. Evans…?”

“Your honor, Mr. Cramer’s action is outrageous. As you well know, and as Mr. Cramer certainly should know, the very purpose of “Jane Doe” cases is to preserve the confidentiality of the innocent individuals involved. I refuse to confirm or deny whether “Jane Doe” is the person Mr. Cramer alleges, but I AM familiar with that case. The student involved was not even on the premises when those fights occurred – so much for Mr. Cramer’s assertion that isolating her in an alternate school would have somehow stopped them. I AM familiar with both of those altercations, however. One involved my daughter – who was defending herself from a physical assault by an individual – a former football player – substantially larger than herself. THAT is the case that required hospitalization for emergency surgery. My daughter’s actions have been looked at by the county prosecutor’s office and they have declined prosecution citing the right of a citizen to defend herself from physical attack under 30-3.-5 NMSA 1978 of New Mexico state law. My son was involved in the other altercation, and that has yet to be adjudicated. Basically the situation was that three former football players – discharged from the team for disciplinary reasons after subjecting younger football players to an initiation rite where they were induced to consume near-lethal amounts of alcohol committed a breaking and entering of water district property for the purpose of embarrassing the young lady whose actions in saving one of the boys involved undoubtedly kept all three from facing third-degree manslaughter charges. Rather than be grateful to the young lady, they committed trespass and painted scurrilous graffiti on water district property – apparently because they were upset that they were subsequently kicked off the football team. It was the actions of these individuals, not the alleged pregnancy of this young lady that led to the altercations. I would suggest that if Mr. Cramer is truly concerned about the safety of students, his time, and that of the school board, might better be utilized in getting control of what appears to have been a decades long hazing process. They ought to be thanking that young lady that no one DIED due to their negligence, not trying to exclude an honor student from classes based upon graffiti that was written on a water tank by criminals.”

“Mr. Cramer, do you care to refute any of Ms. Evans’ statement?”

“Uh – well, not really your honor…”

Judge Rodger sighed deeply. “Well, Mr. Cramer, you don’t know how close I am to just granting summary judgment for the plaintiff here. If you have a case to make, …. Well, you haven’t done so yet. What I’m going to do is to grant the temporary restraining order pending trial which will be held as soon as it can be put on my schedule – probably about six weeks. What I would RECOMMEND, however, is that you and the school board sit down with Ms. Evans and jointly come up with a modification of school board policies that can continue to offer alternative high school to those students to whom it is appropriate and who desire to attend there, while preserving the option of regular classes for young ladies who make that sort of a choice. You may certainly go to court and try to make your case if you wish, but I can tell you right now that anything you MANDATE for expectant young ladies in the name of providing them with childcare skills you had better darn well mandate for the expectant fathers as well. ANY policy that is gender discriminatory will be highly suspect unless you make an outstanding case for its necessity, and frankly, you haven’t even come close at this hearing. If you are silly enough to let this thing go to court, I’d strongly suggest you bring your “A” game. Ms. Evans, please prepare the restraining order for my signature by end of business today.”

“I took the liberty to already do that, your honor,” said a smiling Diane Evans, handing the judge a manila folder. Judge Rodgers looked at it and nodded.

“I’ll read through this and if I have no problem with it, have it for you by this afternoon. Good day, counselors.”

Down the hall, in another courtroom, a small crowd of parents and lawyers was getting ready to see another judge. Among the people standing there was Philip Evans.

The sign that said ‘Judge Robert’s chambers’ was a temporary one – posted in front of a large conference room that was often used during jury selection to hold those called for jury duty. It was obvious to Philip Evans that this was a very temporary arrangement.

When he looked at Judge Roberts himself, he thought it might be a very temporary arrangement indeed. The judge looked to be ancient, his skin resembling leather after nearly ninety years of baking under the New Mexico sun. He didn’t know Judge Roberts, and in fact had only seen the name under a weathered picture at the State Bar Association. The man hadn’t practiced as a judge in at least thirty years. He seemed not unlike a number of old codgers around town who were called ‘desert rats’ by the later arrivals who had been lured to the state from more northern climes by the sunshine and fresh air. The Judge was sitting at a desk in the front of the room, reading lazily through what appeared to be charging papers from the state Attorney General’s Office.


Philip Evans looked around the room, wincing internally as he saw the town shyster - Lou Grogan - sitting off in a corner with Billy-Bob and Bubba Brigham, motioning Pamela’ Troy’s parents to join them. Rodehammer, and Macgreuder were both there, with the father of one of the boys and Jim Carlson, a far more reputable local lawyer than Grogan. Jim and Kyle Valenti stood near the doorway, both nodding to him when they saw him. Last but not least were the people from the state attorney general’s office, led by deputy attorney general Ben Littlebear.

Judge Roberts had appeared oblivious to the disorder going on around him – at least until the clock struck the hour scheduled for the meeting. At that point he looked up with eyes that could only be described as hawk-like at the assembled group.

“It is now 9:30 and this meeting is now in session. Everybody take a seat – I have a few statements to make. First of all, I’m Judge Roberts – I don’t believe any of you here except Mr. Littlebear actually have met me before. I retired from the bench almost thirty years ago and the attorney general’s office has requested that I resume my duties as a superior court judge for this one rather…” he said as he shuffled through the charging paperwork, “ …somewhat involved case to avoid the appearance of any conflict of interest by the local judges, since they work with the fathers of two of the young men being charged on a repetitive basis. For that same reason Mr. Littlebear will be representing the prosecution in lieu of the local district attorney. If anyone has any objections to that, now is the time to voice them.”

His hard cold eyes seemed to flit from person to person in the room, seeking any evidence of objection. Seeing none, he continued, “ Very well then, this is a preliminary hearing only on the following charges. Breaking and entering, a petty misdemeanor under the laws of New Mexico, against defendants Brigham, Macgreuder, Rodehammer, and Troy. There is a charge of defacing public property with graffiti, another petty misdemeanor under the laws of New Mexico, finally unlawful communication of medical records, a class four felony under the laws of New Mexico. And finally, for gross misdemeanor assault of two fellow students, Mr. MacGreuder, and of one other student, Miss Troy. This would appear to be the first group in this little fracas. The other two individuals under charge are Valenti and Evans, both for gross misdemeanor assault … apparently of Mr. Brigham and Mr. Rodehammer here. After review of the videotapes the state has apparently declined to charge a Miss Evans and a Mr. Whitman. It would also appear that if this old judge ever got in a fight, he’d probably want to have Miss Evans on his side, it looks like she kicked someone’s butt pretty good,” said the judge, smiling as he looked at MacGreuder who appeared to be staring at his feet as his head slowly nodded up and down. “Sometimes a little lady will surprise you like that. Hell back in thirty-four I knew a little gal… but let’s not digress. We have a lot of work ahead of us.

Are all defendants represented by either parents or counsel?”

“Yes, your honor,” said the bailiff.

“Since none of these defendants are over 18 it would appear that these cases might potentially be handled jointly under the rules of juvenile court. This is of course not required. Since all defendants are at least 16 years of age any of them may elect to be tried as an adult. If that is the case, the bailiff will see that these cases are put on the docket for later disposition. The advantage of juvenile court is that the records of any conviction will be sealed from public view. Upon reaching the age of majority or later, and after completion of any penalties or probation mandated by the court and restitution to victims ordered by the court, those convicted in juvenile court can appeal to have their convictions vacated or expunged. Is that understood by all present … including those not represented by counsel?”

The elderly judge looked around the courtroom, watching the nodding heads.

“Very well…. Do any of the parents or counsel of the defendants wish to have the cases tried in adult court? I would caution you that juvenile court does NOT provide the same degree of protection of an adult court. If you accept trial in juvenile court, you are accepting what is basically a rehabilitative effort by this court. As such there will be no jury trial… the decision will be mine and mine alone. Furthermore, I will be given access to records of prior police incidents whether or not these resulted in convictions, records of school performance and disciplinary actions, school and just damn near anything else that I can use to get an idea of each defendant’s potential for rehabilitation in the event that they either plead guilty, or are found by this court to be guilty. Is that clearly understood by all present? Very well. In juvenile court defendants have the option of pleading no contest, pleading guilty, pleading guilty with extenuating circumstances, or pleading innocent. As the bailiff announces the charges will those representing the defendant please make their plea. I will then review the rap sheet if any, school records, and other applicable information over the weekend, and this trial will begin Monday morning at 8 AM in courtroom three.”

“Defendant Valenti…,” called the bailiff.

“Guilty with extenuating circumstances your honor,” said Jim Valenti, his arm around the shoulder of his son.

“Defendant Evans…,”

“Guilty with extenuating circumstances your honor,” said Philip Evans.

Defendant Brigham….,”

“Guilty to the misdemeanor charges your honor,” said Grogan. “Not guilty to the felony charge.”

“Not guilty to unlawfully communicating medical information? The graffiti charge you are pleading your client guilty to states that he painted a water tower with a young lady’s medical information in 12 foot high red letters? Are you certain that’s how you want to plead this, Mr ….uh ?”

“Grogan, your honor. Lou Grogan… It is our contention that this was a legal communication, since the girl involved had already disclosed this information voiding the expectation of privacy…in fact, she sort of bragged about having sex with football players six weeks previously, and had indicated that she really wasn’t sure which of the many players at the party she had voluntarily had sex with had actually been the one responsible for the conception..”

Jim Valenti grabbed Kyle as he made a lunge for the seedy lawyer, barely managing to restrain him. “You dirty son of a bitch,” he screamed at Grogan.

“Order in the court. Young man, I find you in contempt of this court. Sit down immediately. I will sentence you for this violation separately, after this meeting is over. I caution you not to repeat your disruption of these proceedings. Bailiff, continue your list of charges.”

“Defendant Troy…,”

“Uh, guilty on the misdemeanor charges, your honor,” said Grogan again. "Not guilty on the felony communication charge.”

“Defendant Rodehammer..,”

Rodehammer looked at MacGreuder and saw him shaking his head slowly. He understood intuitively. Both knew they were already in deep enough. Rodehammer had seen the anger in Kyle Valenti’s face when he’d almost attacked Brigham’s lawyer and remembered the look in Max Evans eyes. What they’d done to the girl had already been too much, however much they were mad at her about the football suspensions. Brigham’s lawyer was about to cross a line, whether he realized it or not. Rodehammer knew he wanted no part of it.

“No contest your honor… to all charges” he said.

“That goes for me too, judge,” said MacGreuder quickly. “I’ve already screwed up enough,” he said looking sadly at Bubba Brigham. “But I’ve at least got the good sense not to dig my hole any deeper.”

“Very well. Except for young Mr. Valenti here, everyone else is excused.”

“I’d like to stay with my son, your honor,” said Jim Valenti.

“Sheriff… Your son is sixteen, and it appears to me like he is old enough to take his own medicine. You can talk to him once I get through with him. Now everyone out…..now.”

When the room cleared Kyle found himself facing the wizened old judge. The elderly jurist just shook his head sadly. “Son … you need to watch your mouth. I have several hound dogs that I’m rather fond of. You referring to that obnoxious bastard as a son of a bitch is an insult to the mothers of my hounds, you understand me?”

“Uh…yes sir.”

”OK, court finds you guilty of contempt of my hound dogs and sentences you to pick up ten pounds of dog poo at the local dog park. Sentence suspended on condition that you not insult my hound dogs for the rest of this case. Now you go find that young girl and tell her that that slimy bastard is going to try to slime her and she needs to be ready to come rebut what he says. It’ll be in closed court, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy on her.” The judge looked down at the charging papers and smiled. “You might get that Evans girl to help her. Looks like she’s got some kind of spunk, that one,” he chuckled.

“Yessir,” said Kyle.

As Kyle left the room, Jim Valenti was waiting for him. “so how much trouble are you in for the contempt of court?”

“Not much,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “Not much at all. I don’t think he’s going to make a big deal out of the fight. I got a hunch it’s going to be alright for Max too.”