Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual situations
Category: Other Stories
Disclaimers: The characters of Roswell belong to the WB, among others, but apparently I just can’t keep myself from borrowing them.
Spoilers: Um…since this universe diverges from the show after the episode Balance there’s nothing here in anyway relevant to what’s on the show now.
Summary: This is a direct continuation of part 2. Michael/Isabel/Maria/Alex are at Atherton’s looking for the glowing stones…Agent Jones is following the Sheriff around the county…Max is doing some shopping for Milton. I think that covers the basics, if it’s been a while since you read part 2 I recommend a quick re-read.

Author’s note/soapbox: Okay, so here’s the deal…You’re gonna read this story and when you get to the very end of the last scene you’re gonna say “wait a second that doesn’t make any sense.” I’m asking for a leap of faith here. I promise you that I will make it all make sense but you have to give me the next couple of stories to explain everything and make it clear where I’m taking this. I have two storylines that I’ve been mulling around in my head and I figure it’s about time to actually do something with them. One of them explores the complex past of Nasedo - an attempt to explain why he is the way he is. The other one, which is sort of introduced at the end of this story and the major subject of the next trilogy, is my attempt at explaining the physiology of Max’s race/species. And a quick reminder here…I don’t subscribe to the human/alien genetic engineering - 1. Because I still don’t get how the aliens got the human DNA in a galaxy far, far away (unless traveling to Earth from them was like going to the grocery store down the street or something) and 2. Because I just don’t like it. So again, bear with me here and believe me when I say that it will all make sense. If you have questions or can’t wait until the next trilogy comes out, drop me a line and all will be explained.

Author’s added note 10/20/00: I wrote this story weeks ago and figure that it’s about time to post it since I’m not sure how much longer I will be continuing these stories. What I’ve heard and seen regarding this new season of Roswell has left me pretty unmotivated to a.) watch the show, b.) care about the show, and c.) certainly write stories about the show. However, having said that, I do promise to post the story following this one, since most of it is already written, to at least clear up the possible confusion at the end of this story and give you a glimpse of where I was going with that storyline. Beyond that I think I’m taking a sabbatical. Maybe I’ll have a Roswell enema and do something else with my free time for awhile. Sorry if that disappoints…but believe me, you aren’t anywhere near as disappointed as I am.

(Scene: Walgreens in Roswell. Music playing over the store speaker: The Catchers - Shifting. Max is walking the back aisles looking for glycerin. He finally finds it, and after a few moments of deliberation, chooses a bottle off the shelf and turns toward the front. He heads down the back row and makes a left down an aisle. A few feet into the aisle Max stops, acutely aware that he’s just entered the condom aisle.

He stares down the aisle. Pausing to consider the moment, the opportunity presenting itself, and the fact that the only person in the store even remotely near him is at the very front of the aisle, near the empty checkout, looking at tabloids. Swallowing, Max takes a glance behind him to make sure no one else is around. The coast clear, he steals a hesitant glance at the multitude of little boxes hanging on the wall to his right. He checks the aisle again. Letting out a shaky breath, Max turns back to the boxes and takes a tiny step toward the wall. After one more cautionary glance over his shoulder he leans in for a closer inspection.

While Max is busy educating himself in the fascinating variety of condoms available, the man standing at the front of the aisle glances up from his tabloid. He watches Max for a moment, narrowing his eyes and focusing them on the item Max has in his hand. The man’s face grows dark as he’s mind is hit with the image of the condom box Max is holding.

Max feels a jolt of something he can’t place and quickly looks around the aisle. Seeing the man watching him from 20 some yards away, Max looks down at his hand and back up blushing. He fumbles to put the box back on the wall - what was he gonna do with it anyway - and turns to head down a different aisle to the front. The man watches intently as Max turns and exits the aisle. He stares at the now empty aisle for a moment then hurriedly turns to leave.

As he places the tabloid back into its holder the cover of it, and the tabloid next to it, change from images of Oprah and JFK Jr. to pictures of a dead woman and what looks like a shriveled up baby. The headlines read “Alien Sex Killed My Daughter” and “Abducted Women Dies Giving Birth To Alien Baby.” As Nasedo walks toward the exit he leaves behind horrific tabloid headlines and images at every checkout stand.

Max slowly approaches the front, cautiously looking around for the man who saw him, or did he see him, I mean, the guy was standing a whole aisle away, right? No one else is in the store but the checker popping bubbles and reading a magazine. Max walks up to the register and as he sets the glycerin down notices the tabloids off to his left. His breathing stops for a minute as the headlines hit him.)

Checker: This everything? (Max doesn’t respond) Hey.

Max (shaking his head and looking at the checker): Um…(clearly shaken) yea…no (he reaches out and takes the tabloids and hands them to the checker) Milton always likes these.

Checker (eyeing the headlines and raising his eyebrow): Whatever floats your boat, man.

(Scene: Streets of Roswell. Sheriff Valenti continues to cruise around town, followed shortly behind by an ever increasingly irritated Agent Jones. The Sheriff continually shuffles between driving and checking the review mirror. He marvels at Jones’ arrogance and the rather short distance he keeps. The shrill ringing of a cell phone cuts through his thoughts. He reaches over to the passenger seat and answers the phone.)

Sheriff: Yea, what’ve you got?

Deputy Blackwood: I’m not sure.

Sheriff: What’s your location?

(Scene cuts to the Roswell Industrial Air Center outside of town. Deputy Blackwood sits parked in a beat-up car, a good distance off from the airport parking lot and main building. He has a clear view of the office entrance, and more importantly, Agent Banks sitting outside of it waiting for someone.)

Deputy Blackwood: Air Center.

Sheriff (not expecting that): The airport?

Deputy: Followed the Agent here. He left the Evans boy about three hours ago. Went to the hotel and then came here.

Sheriff: Did he do anything to the boy?

Deputy: Not directly. It was hard to see but I think he took something from the Jeep. His back was turned but he was wearing gloves…collecting something. Sheriff, what’s this kid done this time?

Sheriff: I’m not sure but I know what these Agents have done - and they’ve worn out their welcome. Keep watching him and whatever you see, make sure you get it on tape.

Deputy: Will do.

Sheriff: He does anything to the Evans boy you call me immediately.

Deputy: Yes, Sheriff.

(Deputy Blackwood hangs up the phone and sets it down. He picks up the video camera and uses the zoom feature to get a close up of Agent Banks checking his watch. After a minute or two a man approaches Banks from the direction of the airfield. Banks stands and gives the pilot a small package. The conversation is brief, and Banks watches as the pilot returns to his plane.)

(Scene cuts back to Sheriff Valenti driving around Roswell. He sets the phone down and looks in the rearview mirror at Jones’ car. If the guy was any more arrogant Valenti would be able to see the exasperated look on his face. Valenti shakes his head and makes a right turn.)

Sheriff: Time for you boys to get the hell out of my town.

(Scene: Hills behind Atherton’s home. Exhausted, and definitely looking it, Maria sits on a large boulder watching Michael and Alex - equally as exhausted and showing it - picking up stones and putting them back. Isabel, looking the same, is standing to the side staring back at the house off in the distance.)

Michael (more to himself, but a little louder than he wanted): They’re not here.

Maria (quickly looking over at him): You think? Four hours and four…billion of these later (she throws the rock she holds at the ground), and you’re just now drawing that conclusion? I could have told you that back there. (She irritatingly points in the direction of the house.)

Michael: Right, like you knew.

Isabel (staring down at the drawing, still softly glowing): I just don’t understand why it didn’t work…

Alex (nodding at Michael as he picks himself off the ground): Forget to wiggle your nose? (Faces of irritation surround him) What? I’m sticky, tired, and seriously hungry - very strained conditions for quality humor…that’s the best I can do. (He walks over to Isabel) Besides it did work - that (he points to the paper) is definitely glowing…just means the stones aren’t here.

(Isabel looks at the image again and her eyes widen in panic as the meaning of his words register and begin echoing in her head.)

Isabel: Oh my god! What if someone has them, and they’re not…what if they’re…glowing…or doing something. We don’t even know what these are or what they do. (She looks up at Michael) What have we done?

(A serious silence falls over all of them at the possibilities.)

Maria (finally breaking the silence): There’s nothing we can do now.

Michael (irritated): You think? (Getting just a little angry) This was your stupid idea…

Maria: Like I was supposed to know it was going to work - it’s not like you were trying to ruin my day or…blow something up - those things, you’re good at.

Alex (calmly): Okay, look…I think we’re all tired, irritable and in desperate need of something more substantial than Cheetos and chocolate. Let’s call it a day - it’s gotta be close to four. (He looks at Isabel) She’s right, there’s nothing we can do…maybe Max will have some ideas.

(Isabel looks back down at the drawing she holds and Maria gets off the boulder. She glances at Alex as she passes him, heading down the trail toward the house. Michael runs a hand through his hair and lifts his eyes to Isabel. They share a look of desperation and he shakes his head and follows after Maria. Alex takes a step closer to Isabel.)

Alex: We don’t know where they are. They could be in a box, the middle of no where…

Isabel (looking up at him): What have we done, Alex?

Alex: We’ll deal with it…that’s what we do…crisis happens, Superfriends respond, crisis is resolved, and life goes on. I mean look what we’ve already been through - the whole Spiderman thing, Topolsky, that Tess girl - whatever her name was, Liz in a coma, Invasion of the Sexually Induced Visions…the car ride here…we’re pretty hearty…

Isabel (looking sideways at him): Superfriends?

Alex: Please, tell me you know who the Superfriends are. (Isabel stares at him blankly and he shakes his head and lets out a sigh of playful disgust) What planet are you from? (Isabel just looks at him and he cringes at his poor choice of words) Okay, nevermind…I would like that officially stricken from the record. (He looks back at Isabel, seriously) It’ll be okay…don’t worry about it now…worry about the next five hours with those two. (He nods in the direction of Michael and Maria, apparently in the middle of another heated discussion)

(Scene: UFO Center. Max is up in the library doing ‘research.’ The tabloids are splayed out to the right of the computer and Max is nervously hunched over the keyboard. His eyes keep darting around the room, completely paranoid that Milton will enter or God forbid Liz makes one of her surprise visits. He clears the search field for the database and glances over at the graphic pictures from the tabloid articles. He takes a deep breath then types in “alien” and “sex” into the search field. He pauses for another quick look around the room then hits enter.

The computer thinks for a while and Max nervously fidgets with the little green alien that usually rests on top of the computer monitor. The computer beeps and Max jumps. He calms himself with yet another reassuring glance around the room. He stares at the keyboard. If the articles in those tabloids are any indication of what awaits him on the computer screen, he’s not sure he wants to see it. He takes in a deep breath and raises his eyes.

He scrolls down with the mouse and scans the various titles…not looking good. Most of what he finds are more outrageous articles similar to those in the tabloids. There’s the occasional scientific sounding one and he’s about to click on one when the door opens.)

Milton: I’ve got it!

(Max about falls out of his chair at the sound of Milton’s voice and he quickly tries to recover and hide what he’s doing by grabbing the tabloids and closing the database window…yea right. His attempts only result in the tabloids falling to the ground along with a coke…and a few other things. Though, he does somehow manage to close the database.)

Milton: You okay, Evans?

Max (fumbling is an understatement): Um...yea…you…um…you startled me.

Milton: This is what I love about you, Max - so absorbed in your work - serious and dedicated to the truth. What are you working on now?

Max: Um…I was…um looking for some info about the pecans blooming. Haven’t found anything yet.

Milton: Nevermind that, Max, I’ve had a…a…an epiphany that came to me last night while I was watching T.V. This. (He tosses a piece of paper at Max, but Max is still too flustered to catch it. He bends down and picks it up. He looks at the scribbled picture and then questioningly up at Milton)

Max: This?

Milton: Do you know what this is? This…This (he motions with his arms) is our new exhibit. Forget Elvis…this is where the truth is at.

Max (looking back down at the paper and trying really hard to understand): What…what exactly is this?

Milton (grabbing the paper from Max and holding it out): What does it look like?

Max (studying the picture and just not getting it): Um…well…a…well…an elephant in a boa constrictor? (Milton looks at the picture then at Max) The Little Prince - (he shakes his head) nevermind…

Milton: Don’t you see it…the spaceship?

Max: Spaceship?

Milton: This…(Milton pulls up a chair next to Max) is the outline of the ruins of Chaco Canyon - connect the dots and…look (he traces his finger around the drawing) it’s a spaceship.

Max: Chaco Canyon?

Milton: You know what happened in Chaco Canyon?

Max: I thought nobody knew…I mean they just disappeared.

Milton (looking down at the ‘spaceship’): Exactly…I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it sooner…And this is just the beginning…Alien symbols are everywhere in Native American Art. We’re on to something Max…

Max (gently): Hasn’t that already been explored…you know like the caves of Machu Picchu?

Milton: We’re gonna do the definitive study…this museum will be home to the world’s foremost exhibit exploring the Alien/Indian connection…and there is one…I can feel it - can you feel it, Max?

(Max just looks between Milton and the picture, trying to understand what just happened…and trying inconspicuously to scoot a tabloid under the desk and out of Milton’s sight.)

(Scene: Jones’ car parked off to the side of the road, in clear sight of the McDonalds. The Sheriff’s cruiser can be seen in the drive-thru line. The agent exudes irritation. His suit jacket is off, hair ruffled from many a frustrated hand run through it, and his face is a perfect scowl. He stares at the cruiser, surely thinking evil thoughts when his cell phone rings. He picks it up from under his jacket and answers.)

Jones: What?

Banks: Guess I know how your day’s goin’.

Jones: Did you get the samples?

Banks: Yea, they’re en route. Anything from the Sheriff?

Jones (sighing): Unbelievable…I knew there was a reason I didn’t go into local law-enforcement. (He lets out a disgusted sigh) I’ve seen more of this town then I’d ever care to…

Banks: Nothing?

Jones: Except for his affinity for fast food…he’s straight out of Mayberry. It’s just a matter of time… What about the kid?

Banks: Nothin’ just work, errands, and lunch with the Parker girl. I still think she’s the key…I mean if this kid is what we think he is - what’s she doin’ with him?

Jones: Lookin’ for the ride of her life…

(The conversation continues but the scene switches to the McDonalds entrance. A McDonalds employee, carrying a large drink, steps out of the door and scans the street. He spots what he’s looking for and starts walking toward the car. Crossing the street he cautiously approaches the black car on the driver’s side. Jones stops talking as he catches sight of the kid. He quickly jerks his head out of the window as the kid reaches it.)

Kid (holding up the drink to Jones): Here you go. Uh…(the kid looks a little intimidated as Jones stares at him seething with anger)…the Sheriff hopes you…um…enjoyed the tour of the County…I think that’s what he said…It’s on him.

(He shoves the drink at Jones who can’t speak past his rage, then quickly leaves. He crosses the street as the Sheriff’s cruiser pulls up to Jones’ car. Valenti smiles at Jones, tips his hat and raises his drink then drives through the stop sign. Jones throws the drink on the ground and begins shouting all obscenities imaginable.)

(Scene: The Longhorn Lounge in Angeles, Texas. The door opens as four, clearly out of place, weary teenagers enter. It’s a total dive with lots of thematic ‘atmosphere’. Isabel and Maria look around, mirroring faces of doubt and disgust. Michael eyes the inside of the dive with his usual countenance of irritation and masked worry. Alex smiles like a schoolboy, and heads in-between a hesitant Maria and Isabel, over toward an open booth. Reluctantly, the others follow and slide in.)

Maria (to Alex): Okay, can you, um, explain what we’re doing here and not at the Taco Bell back in, whatever town that was.

Alex: What?

Isabel: Like that needs clarifying…take the keys from him now before we end up at the Alamo…

Alex: Hey…

Maria (cutting him off while looking around): We’re not like staying are we?

Michael (emotionlessly): We’re sitting aren’t we?

Maria (making a move to slide out): Not for long…

Alex: What…is your problem?

Maria: I seriously have to pee, okay? And there is no way I’m using the facilities here…eew.

Michael: There’s a tree out front.

Maria (scowling at Michael): Yea, well if you had to sit down every time you had to pee, then you’d be a little more selective too…

Isabel: Do we really need to be having this conversation? And if we’re leaving we better make it quick because I just made eye contact with the waitress.

Maria: Never make eye contact!…Haven’t you learned anything…?

Alex (uncharacteristically pissy): My back is sore, my hands are blistered, my head is burnt, my stomach is growling, and if I had to sit on a toilet I wouldn’t be able to get off because my leg muscles - however microscopic they may be - are burning - burning - from squatting for four hours straight. I’ve never been to Texas, and God damnit I am not leaving it until I’ve had some authentic cookin’!

Isabel: Someone’s suffering from low blood sugar…

Maria: Fine…but someone needs to clean the bathroom.

(Michael and Alex look at Isabel, who grunts in annoyance and looks at Maria)

Maria: After this morning I think it’s the least you can do.

(Isabel lets out a sigh and exits the booth followed by Maria. On their way to the restroom they pass the waitress heading to the booth with water and menus. She gives them to Alex and Michael and leaves.)

Alex (after a few minutes of perusing the menu): I wonder what part of the cow they use for the Governor Bush burger.

Michael (not looking up from the menu): The ass.

(Alex looks at Michael startled by the comical quip and can’t help but break into laughter. Michael tries to hide a smile from behind his menu.)

Alex: Well we knew it wasn’t the brains - the guy pretty much flunked my Geography midterm…even I know where Serbia is. The guy probably thinks Czechoslovakia’s still a country…

(Michael’s smile widens and Alex laughs. He looks up at Michael, reading his menu, and Alex’s face softens. How do you hold the fate of someone’s life in your hands, and not really know who they are? Especially when life, death, and a lifetime of jail is involved, not to mention the seriously damaging psychological effects this whole thing could lead to…and the sucking away of one’s youth…and…)

Michael (looking at Alex, staring at him): What?

Alex (startled): What?

Michael: What are you lookin’ at?

Alex (shaking his head): You…(he waves his finger at Michael head) do you think my hair would do that?

Michael: I don’t know.

Alex: Right. Does it like take effort, or do you wake up like that?

Michael: What is this?

Alex: What?

Michael: Your interest in my personal hygiene…(he motions in the direction of where the girls went) Has she been talking to you or something?

Alex: No, what, guys aren’t supposed to talk about hair?

Michael (raising an eyebrow): No.

Alex: Damn, I’ve been hanging around girls too long. (He looks up at Michael) We should hang out some time.

Michael (about as surprised to hear the words, as Alex is to have said them): Me and you?

Alex (so much for subtlety): Yea…we should do something - outside the call of duty.

Michael: Hang out?

Alex: What? We’re swingin’ bachelors…I mean, I can’t get a girlfriend and you can’t keep one…(someone shut him up) and you know, Max, is pretty much useless in that department since he’s oblivious to anything outside the Land of Liz. (Alex fiddles with the menu and steals a glance at Michael - who’s still trying to process the whole ‘girlfriend’ comment) Do you play chess? (Where is this coming from? Michael just looks at him more confused) Cuz I think you’d like it…the whole strategic planning and plotting of annihilation…(Oh, God)…not that you’re into that or…I just think you’d like it…the whole intellectual challenge of it.

Michael (dumbfounded): Do you always get this way when you haven’t eaten in awhile?

Alex: You mean, irritable and agitated and talking incessantly? (Alex nods) Yea, pretty much…

Michael (eyes Alex for a lingering moment then returns to the menu): Right. (After a pause) Chess huh?

Alex: I really think you’d like it.

(The table returns to an awkward silence as Alex fiddles with the silverware, while Michael finally decides what he wants. Michael sets down his menu and glances in the direction of the bathrooms.)

Michael (letting out a sigh): What’s with girls and bathrooms?

Alex (shaking his head): Man, it’s a portal to a place, you do not want go…(Michael looks at Alex) Trust me.

(Scene: Liz’s Rooftop, early evening around 6 p.m. She sits on the lounge chair reading her Biology book. She jerks her head behind her at the sound of Max opening up her window from inside.)

Liz: Max, what are you doing?

Max (stopping, a little confused): You said to come by after work.

Liz: Through the window?

Max: Oh, (he continues his progression through the window) Actually your dad caught me, said I should just come up.

Liz: Hmm…

Max: Hmmm?

Liz (looking up at Max’s questioning face): Curious that’s all.

Max (raising his eyebrow): Curious?

Liz: You know, one usually doesn’t invite the enemy up, let alone acknowledge them. You should hear some of the things he says when he thinks I’m not in the room…

Max (as he crosses over toward her): The enemy?

Liz (smiling at him): Well, you are in effect trying to take his only child and eternal little girl away from him.

Max: To a galaxy far far away no less.

Liz (she playfully hits him): That, I think we should hold off sharing.

Max (shaking his head, seriously): Never.

(Liz looks at him as he picks up her Biology book and starts fiddling with it.)

Liz (softly): You know they’d still love you.

Max (reluctantly looking at her): Isabel thinks…

Liz: Max, you’re their son.

Max: I’m not even their race…

Liz: So. (Max looks at her) Doesn’t bother me…and I haven’t known you your whole life.

Max: Yea, well you wouldn’t have known if…

(Liz eyes the side of Max’s face, turned away from her.)

Liz: Some things are a blessing in disguise…just think what you’d be missing out on.

Max (wryly): Like endangering your life, pretty much threatening your future with jail or worse…or being responsible for your body being used for someone else’s sick and twisted games?

Liz: You are not responsible for that…and besides I was thinking more along the lines of the benefits. (Her eyes fall down Max’s face and she bites her lower lip) You know like…this…(she leans over and gently places a kiss on Max’s neck. Pulling only inches away and moving up to his ear) or maybe this…(she places a kiss on his earlobe. Max is in surprisingly good control until she softly bites down on his earlobe)…this I especially like…

Max (shifting so that he’s looking at her): Really? I prefer this…(He cups her face and pulls her in for a slow, lingering kiss. And so begins make-out session #554, or somewhere around there.)

(The kissing intensifies - the exploration of lips, hands, and exposed skin. As Max tries to shift them on the lounge chair to get a little more comfortable…he’s hit with the image of the dead women from the tabloid looking like Liz. He immediately cuts off the kiss and gasps, pulling away from Liz.)

Liz (concerned): Max? What’s wrong?

Max (seriously shaken): Um…nothing…I…I thought I heard something.

Liz (eyeing him very carefully): Are you okay?

Max (looking at her and reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear): Yea, come here…(He pulls her into a hug. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply he tries to push back his panic and erase the graphic image from his mind. After a few moments he opens his eyes and pulls back a little.)

Max (curiously): When’d you get a cat?

(Liz turns and smiles at the sight of the black cat sitting on the roof ledge watching them.)

(Scene: Sheriff’s Office. Valenti sits at his desk fiddling with some electrical equipment in the left-hand upper left hand draw of his desk. It’s a recording device with cords running up to his phone. He checks all the plugs and picks up the phone causing the reels of tape on the device to start turning. He sets down the phone in satisfaction and leans back in his chair. His door opens quickly and a Deputy peeks his head in.)

Deputy: Agent Stevens on line 2.

Valenti (as he sits forward): That didn’t take long. That’ll be all, Deputy. (The Deputy nods and closes the door. Valenti looks at the phone, smiles and picks it up.) I’ve been expecting your call, what can I do for you Agent Stevens?

Stevens: You know exactly what I want. Let’s cut the crap, Sheriff, your interference with our investigation is only making things more difficult.

Valenti: Well now Agent, you never said your investigation included me, did you?

Stevens: Sheriff, our investigation is none of your concern and we’ll take whatever means necessary to ensure that it continues… undisturbed.

Valenti: Could you repeat that Agent, I want to make sure I got that threat on tape. (Dead silence) See Agent Stevens, I may be a small town Sheriff but I’m not stupid - I don’t need to learn a lesson twice.

Stevens: You have no idea who you’re dealing with.

Valenti: No, I’m pretty clear on that but you might want to remind your Agents who they’re dealing with…I’d have spotted him following me two weeks out of the Academy.

Stevens: I’d be careful if I were you…

Valenti: Two threats in one phone call - I must be doing something right. I wouldn’t worry about me Agent Stevens. I’ve learned a few things from my mistakes…and my father’s. Anything happens to me and it’s just a few degrees of separation back to you. And don’t even think about touching my family.

Stevens (laughing): Now who’s making threats…and empty ones at best.

Valenti: I’m just a phone call away from the 11 o’clock news top story…“FBI shoots a sixteen year old girl in the search for aliens.” You think the people of this town thought my dad was crazy…wait ‘til they get a load of you.

Stevens (after a pause): What do you want, Sheriff?

Valenti: I want your boys out of my town by tomorrow morning.

Stevens: This isn’t over.

Valenti: I didn’t expect it to be…and Agent, I’d warn the next batch you send this way to pay a little more respect to the local law enforcement - at least make it interesting for me.

(Scene: Max’s Bedroom late evening, around 9 p.m. Max is asleep at his desk, his History book being used as an uncomfortable pillow, and the pencil he holds threatening to fall out of his loose grip. The door, slightly open, is pushed all the way open as Michael enters. He sees Max at the desk and walks over, promptly dropping the large folder he carries, inches away from Max’s head. The loud noise jolts Max up.)

Max (startled and looking around the desk): I’m up, I’m up…(He quickly looks around the room and finds Michael retreating to the bed) Was that necessary?

Michael (as he sits down on the bed): Don’t even, Maxwell…

Max (eyeing Michael with a slight grin): Well I don’t see any bruises or scratches…

(Michael just glares at him and Max tries to keep the grin from spreading across his face. The moment is interrupted as Isabel enters the room and shuts the door.)

Isabel (looking at Michael): Did you tell him? (Michael cringes slightly and Max looks between the two of them)

Max: The stones…did you find them?

Michael: We found a goddamn rock quarry Maxwell - but it didn’t have the stones we were looking for.

Max: What?

Isabel (sheepishly): We didn’t find them…they weren’t there.

Max (looking away in frustration): I thought for sure they’d be there. (He looks up in time to see an almost guilty glance pass between Michael and Isabel.) What? (Michael looks away, entirely too disgusted to deal with this, and Isabel reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper.)

Isabel (hesitantly): We…(she doesn’t know how to explain so she just opens up the glowing piece of paper for Max to see) We thought we could find them by…

Michael (under his breath): Maria’s stupid idea…

Max (unmoved by what he’s seeing): Why’s it still glowing? (Michael and Isabel look at him dumbfounded)

Isabel (obviously missing something): What?

Max: Why didn’t you make it stop?

Isabel (sanity wavering): Make it stop? We don’t even know how we made it start. What are you talking about?

Max (looking at Isabel): Haven’t you ever helped Mom find her keys?

(Isabel just stares at him, like he’s speaking another language, and Max shakes his head in frustration. He focuses on the image and closes his eyes. He’s hit with a flash of the stones from one of the visions he’s seen from Liz, then darkness. The glowing dims and he opens his eyes. Michael and Isabel both stare at the paper and then Max. Isabel opens her mouth to speak but shuts it promptly. She looks down at the picture and then back up at Max.)

Isabel: How?

Max: I don’t know…we don’t really know how we do any of this…I just think about something and sometimes stuff happens. (Michael just furrows his brow, Isabel remains speechless, and Max quietly adds) Keys are smaller, and usually no where near Mom.

(Isabel shakes her head and looks adamantly at Max. She opens her mouth to speak but gets abruptly cut off.)

Mrs. Evans (from somewhere in the house): ISABEL DIANE EVANS!

(Isabel stiffens, it’s been a long time since that name’s been used. She looks at Max questioningly)

Max: Forget to tell Mom and Dad about quitting the Crashdown?

(Isabel’s face visibly pales as she inwardly curses.)

Mr. Evans (from wherever Mrs. Evans is): YOU HEARD YOUR MOTHER!

(Isabel throws the picture to Michael and turns, quickly exiting the room. Michael looks at the picture then over at Max, who’s rubbing his eyes and stretching his back. Michael reaches over the bed and picks up the drawing, studying it.)

Max (after a long pause): How long has it been glowing?

Michael (shaking his head): Eight hours. (Max shakes his own head and Michael just looks at him) You don’t think we started anything…you know turned them…on?

Max (shaking his head again): No…years of looking for Mom’s keys never started the car.

(Michael stares at the picture and Max silently surveys his desk, his eyes finally falling on the thick folder resting on top of it.)

Max (picking up the folder): What’s this?

Michael (slightly delayed reaction): What? Oh, his book…

Max (looking at it): Oh. (He looks up at Michael) Anything else in the house?

Michael (shaking his head): No…just some personal stuff… Nothing left of what we would’ve wanted. (He looks up at Max) What do we do now?

Max: I don’t know…I don’t know what we can do. That was the only lead…

Michael: We can’t just sit around and do nothing. What about the fourth…the guy in Santa Fe?

Max: I don’t know…Isabel and Alex were working on that…but we can’t go anytime soon, Michael. Liz can’t…

Michael: We can’t just wait around here…there’s another one of us out there Maxwell.

Max: We wouldn’t even know about them without Liz, Michael, we have to wait for her.

Michael (getting up): You, you have to wait for her…I didn’t subscribe to the 24-hour Liz Channel.

Max (also getting up and grabbing Michael by the arm to stop him from leaving): We, Michael, we do this together…(he notices the paper on the bed) We’ve already seen what happens when we split up.

Michael (angrily): Any more little tricks we haven’t seen yet Maxwell?

Max (defiantly): It’s not just me Michael, you can do it too…(nodding to the paper) you made that glow.

(Michael falters a little as realization hits. He looks at the paper and then back at Max. He slightly smiles)

Michael: I did, didn’t I?

Max (relaxing and smiling at Michael): Yea, now if we can just get you stop melting and blowing things up. (Michael cringes at that and pulls out the melted John Denver tape from his coat pocket.)

Michael (handing it to Max, disgruntled): Here. (Max takes it in his hand and looks at it) Fix it.

Max: What is it?

Michael: Just fix it okay?

Max: It helps to know what it was…

Michael: A tape…a stupid tape, alright?

(Max, not wanting to push it, looks from Michael to the melted plastic blob and waving his hand over it changes it back into what it was.)

(Scene: Max’s Bedroom, middle of the night. Music: Alanis Morissette - Uninvited, just the music, no lyrics. The room is illuminated by moonlight creeping in from the window and the soft red glow of the alarm clock - which reads 3:00 a.m. Max sleeps restlessly, and his face glistens - streams of sweat reflecting the moon’s light. His body starts to shake as chills come over him, and he turns on his side, instinctively curling into the fetal position. He continues to shiver and sweat, saturating his pillow and covers. After several long moments his eyes suddenly snap open and he sits up in bed.

He peels the damp blanket off himself and runs a shaky hand through his soaking hair. He lets out a sigh loaded with frustration, confusion, and fear. After glancing at the alarm clock he shakes his head and gets out of bed. He exits the room only to return minutes later carrying a glass of milk. He stares around his darkened room, contemplating what to do now. The kitchen’s no longer safe - one more chance encounter with his mom or Isabel and there’s no way to avoid the inevitable questions of concern…questions he doesn’t have answers for. His eyes shift from the pile of laundry needing to be folded to the textbooks on his desk. Homework it is.

Rubbing at his eyes, he slowly makes his way to the desk and turns the lamp on. He sits down and his eyes fall on the folder resting on the corner of the desk. He stares at the folder, glances over at the textbooks and then back to the folder. Letting out a sigh, he slides the folder over so it’s directly in front of him. After a few seconds, and a few sips of milk, he takes the rubber bands off the folder and hesitantly opens it. The first bunch of papers appear to be correspondence between Atherton and the publisher. Max quickly sifts through them and stops when he sees the title page of what looks like the manuscript.

Max turns the page and looks down at the next one with a furrowed brow. What he reads he doesn’t remember from the edition of the book he read earlier that year…but then again, he hadn’t paid much attention to anything preceding the Table of Contents. There’s only one line on the page and Max reads it repeatedly, curiously…

“Talent alone cannot make a writer. There must be a man behind the book.” - Emerson.

After moments of dwelling on the curious quote Max turns the page and immediately swallows, gagging back fear, and the overwhelming urge to throw up. The page has two words, well only one word really.

“For, N”

Max scoots his chair out, and stares at the object on his desk. Afraid to touch it, to acknowledge it, to recognize the implications. He brings his hands to his head as if the pressure from his fingertips will keep it from exploding. How had he missed this? How had he been so blind, so assuming the first read through? He peers at the book through his hands and releases a shaky breath, as everything he’s ever wanted to know about himself, stares back up at him.

Back to Area 51 (Section IV)