Disclaimer: Roswell, its characters and situations, are owned by the WB. No infringement intended.

Author's Note: This story is the part of an evolving future storyline. All the stories currently in this storyline are included in order on the Future Arc page.

All I have to do is look into your weird dark eyes even from far away and I can see all the way back

to that crash in the desert and a radio tower and the soldiers from the Army of the United States of America and the first time I laid eyes on you after you killed my uncle

and afterwards walking out and looking up to see the stars shifting into a connect-the-dots v-shape which was your home which I did not even know was your home yet and I still don’t even know the name of

which tell me was not a sign

which is why I was not surprised when I found out that you were going to the hockey game tonight although usually I would have been because you’re a medical doctor and not into hockey I thought but anyway go Bruins and all that

I call the Fleet Center which is where they hold Bruins games now because they took apart piece-by-piece the old Gardens. I say, I want to see the hockey game tonight, can I still get a ticket, how early should I come and how long will it last and is there parking nearby – all these busywork questions before I slip in the one I really want an answer to

is there any way I can find out where a friend of mine will be sitting where his seat is as I am an old friend of his whom he would like to hear from I am sure

--there is a hesitancy on the other end

--a catch of breath with which I am familiar as I seem to incite this kind of reaction in various people

of a certain age and intelligence and looks which in this instance I cannot verify as I cannot see the man on the other end of the phone but I would guess that he is weak-looking maybe even wearing a bow-tie

so I am not surprised to hear him recite the expected I’m sorry but we are not allowed to give out that kind of information over the phone and I would not be able to retrieve it in any case since so many people attend Bruins games go Bruins and all that

so I say, of course, how can you give out that kind of information as you don’t know me from hubble and for all you know I could be an alien hunter or an axe murderer (hahaha) but he doesn’t laugh just listens real hard like he might be trying to make out some telltale background sound that he can later tell the police so they can trace where I might be calling from

* * * *

I leave my apartment for the game early telling my roommate I’m going out drinking with Bob and Joe my friends from the Big Dig the most expensive construction project in the history of the United States of America which is where I work these days after the hospital fired me even though it wasn’t my fault

which is why I work on the Big Dig when I’m not watching your office or your house

I leave my apartment to go to the game go Bruins and all that

my jean jacket pockets filled with snacks, a chocolate bar and two packs of Oreo cookies, the kind you get from vending machines because that’s where I got them

and my Swiss Army knife that folds into itself, which I bought at the knife store downtown for forty bucks, in my left pants pocket not that I know what I’ll do with it but I feel better having it in my pocket so I can run my thumb sometimes along the closed side of the razor-sharp blade

* * * *

Looking for where you might be sitting in the hockey arena is easier than I think

you and your friend with the hair and your two little girls stand out not because you’re tall or particularly good-looking but because you’re different-looking, calmer and different from anyone else in the entire place which is something my uncle always said before you killed him would be how I could pick you out in a crowd

which is something I knew anyway because I have been watching you for so long

I sit down at the end of the row of seats where you and your friend with the hair and your two little girls are sitting, staying in the background as I don’t want you to notice me yet--

I waited a long time for this moment, I say to myself ignoring the lady beside me who is looking at me funny because I am having a conversation with myself, a long time--

I don’t want to ruin things now that I finally can talk to you about all the things which I want to talk to you about, you freak

or maybe we don’t need to talk

maybe I can just act, I think as I finger the knife in my left pants pocket

you and your freak friend with the hair are the reason that my uncle is dead even if you didn’t pull the trigger that killed him

because you and your freak friend are not from around here

and I know that just like I know that the connect-the-dots v-shape in the sky is where you and your friend are from, you freaks, because it’s my business to know everything about you because I watch and I learn and I go through your trash

and because I used to hear bedtime stories about you from my uncle who was also good at his job which was hunting you down

you menaces to society

you freaks

but you and your freak friend killed my uncle before he could finish the job

so today’s my lucky day because you’re both here at the hockey game

go Bruins and all that

I get up and move several seats closer to you shoving past the lady who keeps looking at me funny, snarling at her, shut up bitch, shut up, under my breath which she hears and gasps at not that I care

until eventually I am sitting beside your daughter who I know is your daughter because she has weird dark eyes just like yours

take a guess what I do next

your daughter is this little brown-haired girl, six years old I think, who has your weird dark eyes which could be black or brown or yellow, I can’t tell

she looks like you

another freak

she doesn’t blink an eye but looks up at me -- watching me -- like she already knows that something isn’t right

and now it’s my turn to hesitate and wonder can I carry it off

ignoring those feelings I look down at her straight and ask her what’s her name

and she keeps watching me but doesn’t say anything which is probably what you told her to do probably telling her that little kids shouldn’t talk to strangers and she’s a little kid and I’m a stranger aren’t I even though you killed my uncle

so I say, go Bruins and all that, but it comes out sounding like a question

and I put out my hand like your little girl will shake it like I’m a prospective employee even though she is only I think six years old

and she just keeps watching me with your weird dark eyes, sitting very still like I know you do sometimes and your wife too

and feeling uncomfortable I say, so that’s your dad, but it comes out sounding like a statement when I wanted it to sound like a question

and she just keeps watching me with your weird dark eyes

all of a sudden she looks down and following her look I see that my hand is bleeding, the hand that was in my left pants pocket with the knife which wasn’t open but which maybe has a sharp part on the dull edge where it folds into itself or something

and she says, oh look you’re hurt

and I shove my hand behind my back so she can’t see it anymore with her weird dark eyes which are so much like yours that they make me feel nervous

but she reaches out one star-like hand and grabs my hand holding it gently between both of her small hands and says, I can help you if you let me

I hesitate, hesitate, hesitate--

then I let her--

when she takes her hands away, I am not bleeding

after that I get up from the seat beside your daughter--

I can’t sit there a second longer--

and I see you watching the entire thing and I know that I can’t carry it off with your eyes watching me

it’s better when I watch you, you freak

I back away as you begin to get up to check things out, looking very protective and concerned about your daughter

I back away because I know I can’t carry it off

I’m not half the man my uncle was

maybe I should be wearing a bow-tie

Author’s Note:

This story is an adaptation of Julia Alvarez’s short story, "The Stalker," from her book, "¡Yo!." It borrows its structure and rhythms (and in a couple of places, especially in the first section, key words and paragraphs) from Ms Alvarez’s thought-provoking story. This story was a writing exercise, nothing more. No malicious infringement intended.

On a contextual note, this story takes place when Max and Liz are still living in Boston. Michael and Maria and their whole family are visiting; Michael has dragged Max and Claudia and Nicole to a hockey game, leaving Maria and Liz at home with the twins, Stephen and Leo, who have that weird fever that strikes all Czechoslovakian children when they’re two years old.

Back to The Future Arc