M I L L E N N I U M

"The Maria Filter"
by S.T. Shimi (stshimi@excite.com)

-----

In grade school, Mrs. Williams was Maria's favourite teacher. She always
praised Maria's poems and told her she could go far if she put her mind to
it. She gave her cinnamon sweets from her capacious desk drawers, and told
her she was a brave little girl and not to worry that her daddy wasn't
around, she was a brave little girl and she was going to make her mother so
proud one day. After one of these countless pep talks, Maria reached out to
hug her as usual.

The world tilted and crashed into bright blues and reds, so blinding and
intense that she felt the rumble of nausea. Mrs. Williams' face swum before
her, concern morphing into implacable cruelty. Over the roar in her ears,
Maria watched as Mrs. Williams reached into her desk drawers and pulled out
a handful of bones dripping redly with flesh. "This is who you are," she
said.

Maria came out of her fugue state and stared, disoriented. There sat Mrs.
Williams, blandly and safely concerned-looking. "Darling, are you alright?"
She asked. "Here, have a cinnamon hot." She turned towards her desk and
Maria ran out of the classroom, tripping over her red sneakers and reaching
the girls' bathroom just in time. After the weekend, she came back to
discover a new teacher in her classroom. Mr. Headley. There were rumours of
Mrs. Williams being arrested, something about the remains of her daughter
found in her freezer. Maria made a new friend in Liz Parker, developed a
crush on Mr. Headley (who kept a jar of tootsie rolls on his desk and who
told her she had a nice voice) and that was the first time it happened and
life went on.

The years had seasoned Maria to the vagaries of her condition. There was
always blinding pain and nausea, bright colour shifts and roaring noise. She
had trained herself to look out of the corner of her eye at the images. If
she looked directly, you see, they talked to her. Come to us, they said.
Look at yourself. And she never had anything to say.

Amy DeLuca was doing her best to raise herself and her child. A new
scheme every week, and a never-growing bank account. Maria never resented
her mother, had always accepted the state of her life. They were parents to
each other and parents kept things from their children, didn't they? Things
that might hurt, disturb, terrify? What she and her mother did best was
adapt to circumstances. Meat was expensive and being vegetarian was better
for the planet anyway. Clothes from the mall were boring and expensive and
conforming and were linked to sweatshops in the Third World. She couldn't
tell her mother about her condition and upset her and how could they explain
it to a doctor and could they afford the fees anyway and maybe there was
something in this alternate medicine thingy and if her mother could figure
it out so could she.

So she researched and she adapted. There were essential oils for her
specific headaches and nauseas and stress points on her body to massage. If
she really concentrated on her breathing when she did yoga with her mother
in their living room (because her mother could only afford two classes a
month for herself) she could even create a little safe zone in her head, and
at the first sign of crashing colours, she could mostly hide in there.

It wasn't something she wanted. That is what she told herself. She
sprayed her pillow with lavender and hoped that she wouldn't wander into a
dream ruled by colours and noises and the pale, brown-haired woman who
smiled at her and asked her to come closer and sometimes turned into a
horned thing with teeth for eyes. If she concentrated she could wake up
sometimes. Other times all she could do was slow down her dream self as she
got closer and closer to the woman who was sometimes a long haired man whose
eyes were cold and whose voice was little razors scraping across the back of
her neck.

But Maria couldn't help herself. She kept her hands hugged fiercely
around her own body, unless she was with Liz or Alex and tried not to brush
against people. She held her breath when it happened and most times, it was
alright. Once or twice, the colours shifted and she saw things that made no
sense, until she read about it in the papers. Billy Eyre, who was part of a
group of jocks who had a sick little game going with freshman girls,
involving videotape and a lot of drugs. Deputy Horn, who had turned out to
have kicked a black man to death and lied about it. Sherrie Gonzales, who
had been cutting herself because the Virgin Mary had told her to. Things she
didn't want to know, about people she had no interest in. Even so, she pored
over newspaper articles about secret government agencies, rumoured
bio-testing, violent crimes. Was she an experiment? Would they discover her
and take her away one day? Were there other people like her? Why did she see
the things she did? Sometimes, she brushed her hand over a picture, of a
wanted killer, say, and could feel herself slipping into the vortex. The
images, the colours.... and as the killer turned to her to speak - that was
what the cypress oil was for, to help her snap out of it. It was like
passing your hand over and through a flame. She didn't know why she did it
but it helped to pass the time.

What would she do without Liz and Alex? It was a relief to talk about
literally nothing and everything, and the louder and faster she talked, the
further she could leave it all behind. She walked down the school halls with
Liz, arm in arm and felt the glad warm pull of friendship. She liked her
life in Roswell. Maybe this thing, it was something in the water. And when
she left Roswell for good, she would leave it behind with her thrift-shop
worn clothes and useless vials of essences.

They came into the Crashdown all the time. Where else were they going to
eat, it was no big deal. She always tricked Liz into serving them she knew
her friend had a crush on the one with big ears. The other two... she felt
the prickling that signaled the onrush of her condition but it never
happened. Instead she felt- nothing. Nothing but regular, bored human (how's
that for irony?) hostility. And her life went on. The day Liz got shot,
things changed. Finally, something so big that it crowded out everything
else. Her concern for Liz was overwhelming and morphed into paranoia and
resentment. What was Liz keeping from her? How could she? After all, if she
could explain her condition she would share it with Liz. That was different
anyway. Of course she ran out screaming after Liz caved in. First of all, it
was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. And then, what was she
supposed to say? "Oh, Liz! This is as interesting as this strange phenomenon
that overcomes me every so often. Do you think I could be an alien too?"

She dismissed this theory shortly after being pulled into the alien
conspiracy. It just didn't seem to jibe with the Samantha-Jeannie powers
they had. And if worrying about Liz was a time-suck, then all of the
labyrinthine plotting was an even bigger diversion from her problems. She
didn't care how rude they were, how ungrateful Isabel and Michael could be,
so long as she could sink into a blessedly blank sleep at the end of the
day, (except for the first few anxious dreams about what she had gotten
herself into). She could still feel the woman on the edge of her
consciousness but she managed to push her away. If Max and Isabel were
ciphers to her, then Michael was simply an enigma. Until the day he'd kissed
her so intensely, she had never given him much thought. But the conversation
they had at the Sultan Sleep-Away made her curious about him.

"He gives off these vibes," she had told Liz. She had felt many things
from him: lust, curiosity, tenderness and furious self-loathing for feeling
said tenderness. And as their relationship stuttered along, she discovered
that the one vibe he sent off constantly was need. Need to find answers, a
need to be with her, a need to push her away, a need to leave, simple
overwhelming need. Her annoyance with his emotional skittishness warred with
her helplessness against his wants. Vibes that pushed out all her thoughts,
took over all her concerns. When Maria touched him frantically, there was
nothing else and oh, how sweet and hot that was.

She loved him. She did. And that made her determination to keep him purer.
She would not, could not lose the one thing that kept her from going under,
no way. She laid up stocks of oils, sprayed her pillows every night and just
kept breathing. After the incident, the night they almost lost Michael, she
drove Liz and Alex home. The others had immediately glommed together and
hustled Michael off. Maria drove, in a haze of hurt, barely hearing Liz and
Alex talk about the corner they had turned, the trust they had built with
the others (hah!). It was over with Michael. Again. Was this really what she
wanted? To exchange one sort of fear for another, one set of problems for an
entire solar system of issues? She was starting to get addicted to him, she
could feel it. But if he wasn't the answer to her condition, what was? Did
she have the courage to find out? It was time to go on her own little vision
quest. Hell, she'd had a little practice hadn't she? 

She didn't spray her pillow that night. 

Everything was a bright buzzing blue. Cerulean blue, to be exact. The first
wave of nausea hit her, and when she stood up shakily, the woman was there.
Come to me, she seemed to say, without moving her lips. Maria found her feet
speeding above the ground. The woman's smile was cold and sweet. You are
mine, she said. Maria swallowed hard and heard her own voice, for the first
time in the cycle of nightmares. You don't know who I am, she said clearly.
The long haired man with the cold, sweet smile reached into her chest, never
breaking his gaze with Maria. He pulled out a shard of glass and held it up
to her. You will know me, and then I will come for you. The woman pushed the
glass back into Maria's chest and watched her sink to the floor in silent
agony. 

Maria woke up with a start. She touched her hand to her beating chest and it
came away bloody. She flicked her light on and found herself trapped in a
bed that was slick and stiff with blood. She tried to scream. She could not.
She tried to move her legs. She could not. She squeezed her eyes shut and
wished for religion. When she opened them again, her sheets were their usual
rumpled blankness. She kept the light on until the morning sun broke loose.
She did not sleep. 

Life went on. Max and Liz broke up again and she found some small measure of
comfort and irony in helping Liz "get over him". She had reached out to
Michael often enough and only gotten her hand slapped away. She felt his
hot, reluctant gaze on her neck and grew better at ignoring it. She even let
Liz bribe her into going on that hideous father/child camping trip. Liz
would owe her, that was all. As if mere money could compensate for
uncomfortable nights sleeping on the ground and putting up with Kyle's
bratwurst eating and bad ghost-story re-enactments. 

Old habits were hard to break. She found herself wandering after Liz late
that first night and stumbled into yet another hushed conversation between
her and Max. Isabel spotted her and rolled her eyes. "Great, why don't we
send up a flare or something?" she said snidely. Maria narrowed her eyes.
Isabel had yet to thank her for helping out with Michael and putting up with
her panic-driven personal attacks. Max and Isabel wandered off and Liz moved
to follow them. Maria grabbed her arm. "You just can't let him go, can
you?" She was surprised, and accusatory. She needed Liz to be strong with
her. She couldn't go to Michael with her own fears and truths, but she
couldn't stand to be alone either. 

Liz looked at her, determination etched on her small face. "I don't want
to. Are you coming?" 

Maria wanted to say no, but she valued her friendship with Liz more. She
moved forward and suddenly the trees tipped to the side and it all went red.
Liz's form wavered and changed into a man, with his back to her, silhouetted
by four tall trees. He held out his hand, it had a stopwatch in it. And as
he let it go, a low gutteral moan filled the night air. The stopwatch hit
the dirt and Liz was still standing there, staring at her. 

"No, Liz, I'm not. I'll see you later, okay?" She turned away and walked
back into the trees. When she turned around, Liz's back was retreating into
the distance, towards Max and Isabel. She turned back around and her feet
took her where she was meant to go all along. 

The four trees stood together in the clearing , like mournful primeval
judges. Maria stood under them and breathed regularly and calmly. She closed
her eyes and wished for happiness, for Liz and for herself. She opened them
again and he was there. 

A young, tall man with dark hair and serious eyes, she bit back an urge to
ask him if he was Max's cousin. He held out a stopwatch. He opened his hand
to let it fall and she rushed forward and caught it. "Careful with that
thing," she said. He looked at her with calm. 

"Do you know who you are?" he asked. 

Maria sighed and began massaging her favourite stress point on the back of
her neck. She couldn't take this anymore. Dreams were one thing , even a
waking hallucination which this appeared to be, after all her life had taken
several leaps into the absurd, but this- "I'm Maria. I'm who I've always
been. And you know, I'm really just a little sick of all this. Are you gonna
tell me what this about, you know, if I'm crazy or an alien or something
because, like, you guys ask me the same things and don't give me any answers
and I'm not into all this mysterious crap, okay?" 

He nodded, impervious to her outburst. "Your time is running out." 

"What-what-what? Is that, like, a threat? What do you mean? Help me out
here, pal-ly." She started to feel sick all over again. Now she was going to
die, is that what he was saying? 

"There will be more signs. It will come to an end." He touched her face. His
hand was cold. 

"You belong to her." 

He pried her hand open and she could see that the stopwatch had indeed
stilled. He leaned in towards her, his voice holding a note of compassion. 

"I will come one more time, Maria. For you." His fingers brushed across her
palm. There was a flash in the sky far away. The stopwatch disappeared and
so did he. 

She stood there for a long time. She waited for the familiar feel of breath
like tiny razors on the back of her neck, before she forced herself to come
back to reality and found her way back to the campsite. She stared at the
embers of the fire they had built earlier. She had told herself forever that
there was something better out there than Roswell, New Mexico. But now,
there was something and it wanted her dead. Something she couldn't explain
to herself or to anyone else. What she would give to sleep without fear
again.... 

"Hey." Kyle stomped over and sat down next to her. 

"Kyle." She didn't feel like talking. 

"Yeah, my night is sucking too. Where's Liz? Oh wait, let me guess. Max."
Her silence didn't faze him. He poked moodily at the pile of sticks and
continued. "Where is my dad, you might ask? I don't know, I would answer.
Off chasing things that go bump in the night . I just haven't decided if I'm
gonna stay pissed at him or start to worry- "he broke off and looked at
her. Silent tears were flowing down Maria's cheeks. Her heart was squeezing
inside her chest and she couldn't speak. Kyle moved closer to her. 

"C'mon now, Maria." He said awkwardly and gingerly put his arm around her.
She leaned into him, her nose in his crinkly warm shirt that grew damp with
her tears. They sat there like that for a very long time and then the
Sheriff came back with Liz and the others and life went on.

Maria grew thin with anxiety. Her hair hung limply and she spoke less, and
only when Michael's safety was involved. She couldn't stay away from him, no
matter what he said to her because his furiously tender embraces had snared
her again. She was a weak-minded fool and she knew it. More than ever, she
craved his closeness, the occupation of her mind with his desires. She
dreamed much less and saw nothing but him. She set aside the newspaper
clippings, the pictures of new and improved serial killers, and thought
instead about "The Relationship". A new project, something she never thought
she could have. Tess' arrival , Max's disappearance...she handled it all
with equal mixtures of panic and aplomb. Then there was Isabel. She had
never liked Isabel. 

As she waited with Alex, worrying about Liz and the others, Maria pondered
her past and her future. Michael had said he loved her. Well, he had said
"maybe" first. So who knew for sure? She cursed herself for not running
after him, clinging to him. But as he had walked away, two things had
happened. First, she thought of what she might have said to him about her
own situation. And if she would have had the strength to let him go for his
own good, if not hers. But also The lenses changed and it was all black and
white. The young man with the stopwatch appeared and smiled. He opened his
hand and his palm was missing, like a giant bullet hole. Through it the four
trees flared out onto her retina and the whole scene rushed closer and
closer to the sound of rubber burning and they had all gone, in pursuit of
Nasedo and future revelations. She thought snidely that she could have told
them that revelations were seldom- well- revealing. Not in the way you
really wanted them to be. Then Liz came back, stumbling and sobbing and she
was in their arms and choking out a tangled story of hologram mothers and
alien warfare and arranged reincarnated mates and.... 

This life could not go on, thought Maria, driving towards the woods in the
Jetta. They had waited all afternoon for the four (The Fantastic Four, as
Alex had gloomily dubbed them) to return but of course, they did not. The
entire affair had grown ludicrous, beyond Sci-Fi Channel plausibility (Not
that she of all people could claim superiority in the matter). What was she
supposed to do now? Engage in soap-opera vixen-like battle with Isabel for
Michael? Continue to loan out the Jetta like some sort of Battlestar? Keep
their secret but do nothing, as Tess (that fucking bitch!) would prefer, but
wait , watch and worry? Every time Maria got up to gently pull Liz away from
the window, she found herself looking for them surreptitiously and saw four
trees in a parched black and white landscape instead. 

"I have to go do some stuff for my mom", she said at last, "I've been gone
a long time." 

It was almost dusk and Maria stood at the edge of the woods. She closed her
eyes and wished for-what? She opened them again and walked forward. The
sounds of nature seemed harsher, dissonant. The rustling of the leaves
underfoot seemed to propel her forward. She could see the four trees in the
clearing ahead, and she felt the beginnings of a familiar prickle on the
back of her neck. Suddenly, surprising herself, Maria used a burst of energy
to turn herself around and she stumbled helter-skelter back whence she came.


She could sense the hissing fury behind her but she did not dare look over
her shoulder. An eternity later she saw her car up ahead and with a sob of
relief she flung the door open , got in and gunned the engine. She finally
dared look behind her and all was blazing red for a moment and then it
stopped. Maria kept her foot on the pedal resolutely. Just as she took her
foot off, she heard the unwelcome blare of sirens. 

"Damn it!" she thought. She was in enough trouble already, what with her
day-long absence. Time to do some vintage Maria tale-spinning. She put on
her most charming, helpful face as the trooper came up to her window. 

"You know how fast you were going?" His voice was mellow and pleasant. 

"I'm really, really sorry Officer. That Big Gulp I had at the last-" 

"License and registration please." His voice was still pleasant. 

She handed it to him with a sigh. It seemed like she didn't need Michael in
her car to get into trouble in it. She pushed the image of him, fiercely
inarticulate, arguing with her on the way to Marathon, out of her head. She
really needed to focus on this particular crisis. He came back. 

"I'm going to have to ask you to step out of your car, Miss." He waved the
papers in her direction. Politely. 

"Well that's just peachy," she thought. What the hell else had Michael run
up using her car? As she yanked the registration out of his hands, her
fingers brushed his and The world went screaming orange and red. The
trooper's face elongated and shadowed and a mirror shattered behind him. A
flying piece of glass stuck in her eye and as the blood rolled down she
heard him say "This is who you are." 

"Miss?" He was waiting patiently. Watching her. Maria took a calming breath.

"I think I should ask for some I.D." 

"That's ridiculous. Get out of the car." His voice had grown gentler, if
that was possible 

"I don't think so." She started the engine. Suddenly there was a sharp
crack, and a blur of glass as the window broke. She screamed and scrambled
to the other side as he fumbled with the lock. She got out on the other side
and started running. He came up behind her and grabbed her around the waist.
She wriggled fiercely and spun around. She thanked her mother for the few
self-defense tips interspersed between paragraphs of the Men Are Evil and
Only Want One Thing lecture and kneed him. In a waking dream she watched him
recover and strike her across the face. She grabbed his arm and bit down on
it ferociously and pushed him away. She tried to run away again and he
grabbed her around her knees. She crawled away from him, kicking hard and
conserving her breath for what might come next. He pulled her inexorably
towards him, his face the picture of calm. The last thing Maria thought as
his fist arced down towards her face in screaming motion was : "That's
funny. Shouldn't there be colours now?" 


She came to slowly, lying awkwardly on her side. Her hands were trussed
behind her and she felt cold, sticky linoleum beneath her. She worked her
jaw experimentally and winced at the tenderness. As her eyes accustomed
themselves to the dimness she realized she was lying next to a wooden bed.
She could hear (him?) shuffling around back behind her, maybe in another
room. She spotted a shadow on the floor, on the opposite side of the bed.
She wriggled closer. She could make out the shape of a person, lying on
their side, facing her. "Hello?" She whispered nervously. "Hello? Look,
maybe we can help each other out here. I'll scoot closer and we can try and
get out of these...." Her voice trailed off. The girl wasn't much older than
her, limp blond hair trailing over one shoulder. She lay stiff and still,
and her eye-sockets were empty and crisping with blood. 

Maria closed her own eyes. Some one might notice she was missing soon, but
how would they know where to find her? Liz and Alex...... And of course, the
Fantastic Four had more important things on their mind. Besides which, she
thought coldly, they had always been better at getting help from the humans
than extending themselves to give it. Not since that first time Max had done
the unforgivable and saved Liz, only to destroy her. She was no one's
sidekick now. All she had was herself and she was not going to die today. 

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out....... 

She felt his footsteps nearer. His shadow fell over her as he squatted down.
She lay limp as he rolled her over. She forced herself to pay attention to
his face as her fingers worked busily behind her. He was so- normal looking.
Then again, so was that FBI agent that she and Michael had tailed. God, she
had been so excited and curious about Michael that- she mentally snapped out
of her reverie. Now was definitely not the time to pine for her boyfriend .
Ex-boyfriend, ex-boyfriend and that's the very last time you're gonna think
about him. Deal? 

Deal. 

He grabbed her by her ankles and dragged her a short distance into the
kitchen. He stood above her, looking down. Her hands were almost free now. 

Breathe in, breathe out.... 

"You have lovely eyes," he said politely, "Like a tropical sea." 

She decided not to reflect on the irony of a compliment she had once longed
to hear because that would involve thinking about someone she had made a
deal to not think about. She cast a glance around her and wished she hadn't.


The glass jars were stacked neatly on a counter, each holding a set of
eyeballs. They had labels on them. Some were peeling and discoloured. 

"I can't have you judge me." So said, he walked to the counter, and started
examining a tangle of knives. Maria's vision blurred and the young man with
his damned stopwatch started to come into view in a green haze. 

"No fucking way!" she hissed silently. "Go pick on someone else!" 

Her hands were finally free and she silently picked her way off the floor. 

She stepped on a loose tile and his head whipped around. She turned and
sprinted out of the kitchen, looking for the door- where the hell was it?-
and felt his hand clamp down on her shoulder. She struggled fiercely,
silently, and he stumbled with her into the mirror by the door. She felt it
shatter behind her and rays of heat went through her back. He let go of her,
slowly and smiled. 

Everything was orange and red again. Behind him the horned and winged thing
of her dreams hovered and sang to her. Come to me. Maria reached behind her
and pried off a broken shard of mirror, uncaring of what her hard grip was
doing to her hand. He reached out and pulled her to him, down onto the 
floor. 

"You see her?" he whispered. "You know who you are?" 

The thing flickered and changed, to the woman, to the man with long hair,
and back to the thing again. But now, now it had her eyes. And it smiled and
reached out a clawed hand. 

Maria looked at him. An ordinary, normal looking man whose face was glowing
and streaked with tears. 

"Yeah," she said, "I guess I do." 

She whipped her hand out from behind her back and aimed the shard straight
at his heart. He put his hands around her wrist and didn't let go, as the
glass ripped past muscle and bone. He gurgled and sputtered and hung onto
her with his death grip. And her head was pounding and her eyes were burning
and her clothes were wet with his blood and with hers and she stayed like
that, with him, even after he became stiff and cold. Hours later, the door
broke down, and Sheriff Valenti was there, with his deputies, and a strange
tall man with eyes as desperate and sad as hers. 

She was lying in bed, in the hospital. She had fended off the Sheriff's
questions and her mother's tearful hysteria. Liz and Alex, the ones who had
sent out the call to search for her, hugged her silently for a long time. "
Where- ?" Her voice trailed off and they shook their heads. Still not back
from their 'mission'. They probably didn't even know something had happened
to her. What would they have done anyway? Michael's initial hysteria would
have been tempered by Isabel's touch and Tess's cold words and Max would
have been tortured and noble and ultimately persuaded to let the authorities
handle it. God, why was she even bothering to think this out. They didn't
know and had put themselves in the position of not wanting to know. That was
all. That was all. 

She stared out of the window. She was too tired to even try to make sense of
everything. She had sent her mother home for her lavender pillow spray.
Better safe than sorry. She heard the door click open and close. The tall
man sat down next to her. His face was creased with experience and his hair
was streaked with gray. 

"Maria de Luca," he said. His voice sounded like he had been smoking
cigarettes rolled with finely ground glass for years. 

"That's me." 

"I'm Frank Black. I work with the Federal Bureau of Investigations." She
said nothing, simply looking at him. After a measured pause he went on. "
Daniel Geyer had been on our lists for a good six years now. He had been
slowly working his way across the southwest, mutilating and killing young
girls. He seemed to believe that-" 

"That's just lovely. Thanks. So glad to have been of service to law
enforcement." 

Silence ensued while he looked at her impassively. 

"Who did you see, Maria? Before you - saved yourself?" 

There was no sound but the ticking of the clock on the wall. 

"What are you- how do you kn- who are you?" 

He shrugged. It only made her more furious. 

"Look, I have had one hell of a day. You tell me what you know, right now,
or- or..." her voice trailed off helplessly. She didn't even know what she
was asking for. 

He reached into the pocket of his dark blue parka and pulled out a newspaper
clipping. She took it from him. An article about the mysterious death of a
politician's wife, in the South. The grieving husband was in the forefront,
a graying and elegant man. In the back, holding a little girl, was a woman
with pale skin and long brown hair and an expression of sweet coldness. She
looked up at Frank Black, her throat clenched. He pointed at the woman.
"Lucy Butler," he said. 

"Who is she? And how could she-" 

"I have come to believe that it is not who she is, but rather what she is
that we should be concerned about. She has been involved in several violent
and inexplicable crimes in my jurisdiction and continues to evade me. She
seems to be most drawn to children, children that she wants to have, no
matter the cost. What do you know about her, Maria?" 

She shook her head slowly, then faster and faster. 

"She comes to me," she said at last, "And I see- things. I always have.
What does it mean, Mr. Black? Who am I ?" 

He squeezed her limp hand with a measure of understanding. "You may not
believe it now, Maria, but I understand more than you know. I will protect
you. And it will be between us. Can you trust me?" 

She nodded silently. "You will win this battle. You are not afflicted. You
are gifted and I will help you understand the best I can. I will not let her
have you." 

A final look passed between them and he got up to leave. 

"Thank you, Mr. Black." Her voice was small. He turned to look at her and
actually smiled a little. "Call me Frank." 

He left, and minutes later, Amy DeLuca rushed in with a panoply of
aromatherapy accessories, followed by the exasperated nurse. 

And life went on. The details of her incident had been mercifully blurred to
the public, thanks to Jim Valenti's otherwise inconvenient fondness for her
mother. The four returned and thus began a delicate summer dance for
partners, with Alex and Liz staying as strong and as determined as they
could be. She shared a few intense moments with Michael, but always pulled
away, doubting his commitment and reluctant to ask for more. Kyle hovered on
the edge, confused and suspicious of them all. Once the Jetta returned from
the shop, the requests for transport and espionage support began again. She
refused them every so often, testing her own resolve. She dreamed much less,
now. When she did, the woman appeared in shadows and did not speak to her.
Yet she seemed satisfied as she mocked Maria from a distance. Sometimes, as
she walked along the streets of Roswell at night, she thought she saw the
young man again, standing there, with his stopwatch at the ready. She
refused to acknowledge him. 

Letters and encrypted e-mails arrived for her daily, from Frank Black. Some
of them she understood. Others seemed too wrapped in millennial apocrypha
for her to understand right away. Religion was a social construct anyway,
wasn't it? 

Her mother experimented with emotional distances and closeness. Amy tried to
persuade Maria to go away with her for the summer. Conventions, vacations,
yoga retreats, anything at all. "We could go to California, honey," she
told Maria a week into the summer vacation. "I know this art dealer who's
been trying to put a show together for me. I know an art opening in
Sunnydale may not put me on the map right away but you never know and it
would be so nice to be somewhere else for a while..." 

Maria regarded her mother with fondness. "I don't know, mom," she said at
last, "Maybe, okay?" 

She went to her room. She sprayed her pillow dutifully, and lit some
rose-scented candles. She looked over Frank's last e-mail before turning her
computer off for the night. All the message had said was : "Rupert Giles.
Sunnydale, California." 

She locked the door and sat in front of her mirror, combing her
shoulder-length hair. She wondered if she should cut it. She put the brush
down and peered at her reflection. She held out her palm and breathed in and
out, in and out. With each breath, the shard of mirror pulsed its way in and
out of her palm, a little further out each time. She closed her hand around
it and watched her shadow behind her, as it danced and shifted in the
candlelight. 

THE END