"Here's what's going to happen," Maria told him, going into full Arnold mode. "I'm checking each theater until I find my friend, then we are both leaving."
"You are not-" the movie cop began.
"If you don't let go of my arm, I'm going to start screaming about roaches in my popcorn and a rat tail in my Twizzlers and-"
The Guffman kid turned a red that perfectly matched his cheesy uniform vest. "Fine. Okay. You can go in," he said quickly, releasing her elbow. "But don't bother any of the other paying customers."
"Thanks, sweetie," Maria said over her shoulder. She plunged through the closest double doors and waited impatiently for her eyes to adjust. Then she scanned the rows for Alex. The theater was packed. It was going to take way too long.
Maria marched to the front of the theater and positioned herself in front of the screen, ignoring the popcorn, Hot Tamales, and Junior mints that immediately started flying at her. "Alex Manes, if you're in here, you have three seconds to get your butt into the lobby."
She didn't see anyone stand up, so she bolted back down the aisle, her feet making sucking sounds where someone had spilled a giant soda, and flew back into the lobby. The next auditorium was playing a Julia Roberts flick. Perfect date bait, she thought. This is where he'll be.
This time she didn't bother going to the front of the theater. She just swung open the doors and bellowed, "Alex Manes. I know you're in there. Get your skinny white butt out here-now!"
A tall figure in the back row stood up. "Maria?"
"That's right. I need to talk to you," she yelled.
"Is that your girlfriend or something?" a female voice asked over the shouts of "shut up" from the rest of the audience.
"No, I'm his mother," Maria called back. "And I'm taking him home."
Alex sidestepped out of the row of seats and reached Maria in four long strides. He propelled her back into the lobby and closed the door behind them.
"What is your problem?" he demanded.
"My problem is that just because you happen to have become a babe, you've totally forgotten who your friends really are," Maria snapped.
"And I should do what? Spend every second with the UFO-lovers club?" Alex demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What you should do is stop thinking with whatever it is you've been thinking with and start thinking with your brain." Maria roughly brushed some popcorn crumbs off the front of his sweater. "We need you, Alex."
He pulled two Hot Tamales out of her hair, not bothering to be gentle. "I'm not helping you go after DuPris, if that's what this is about," Alex answered, his voice low. "There is nothing we can do against his power. We-"
"This isn't about DuPris. It's about Isabel," Maria told him.
Some of the color instantly left Alex's face, and Maria knew she had his attention.
"Tell me," he demanded. He pulled her over to one of the padded benches in front of the bathrooms, as far away from the usher as they could get.
"She entered her akino, which you'd know if you hadn't decided to become Roswell's own sex bunny," Maria said.
"It's the girls who are the bunnies," Alex corrected, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did Isabel make the connection to the consciousness?"
"No. She refused." Maria felt un-Arnold tears sting her eyes. "Isabel and Michael took off somewhere without the communication crystals. She's out there someplace dying, and we don't know how to find her."
"Oh, my God," Alex said, his face almost completely white. "I still don't know what you want me to do, but I'm there."
Maria gave him a fast hug. "I knew you would be." She checked over her shoulder to make sure the usher wasn't listening. He was twirling his flashlight like a cowboy and replacing it in an imaginary holster. Not a problem.
"When we were trying to get you back from you know where, your father found DuPris before we did," Maria explained. "He must have some kind of Clean Slate tracking device. You've got to get it from him."
Alex nodded. "It's not going to be easy. My dad has refused to answer even one question about his connection to Clean Slate. But I'll get it done."
He stood up and pulled Maria to her feet, and they headed for the exit. "You'll have to drive me."
"Oh, your girls pick you up, huh, stud?" Maria teased, relief making her giddy. "Wait a sec," she said as they reached the doors. She hurried over to the concession stand and grabbed a handful of napkins. The usher looked like he wanted to say something but didn't.
Maria rushed back over to Alex and handed him the napkins. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"I know your dad well enough to be sure he's not going to want to listen to you if you have lipstick all over your face," she explained.
ELEVEN
Michael watched Isabel sleep, hoping it was only sleep, hoping she hadn't slipped into unconsciousness. His arm was numb beneath her shoulders, and his right leg was cramping from his awkward position lying on the edge of the twin bed, but he didn't move. He wanted to stay as close to Isabel as he could get. Just listening to her breathe those horrible wheezing breaths. Knowing she was still with him.
She rolled her head toward him, sending pins and needles through his numb arm.
"You awake?" he asked softly.
"Barely," she answered. "I was having this dream… where I was being buried… in the sand. At first it… was fun, but all the little grains kept… coming down, and then I could… hardly breathe."
"I want to connect with you. I know I can't really heal you, but maybe I can make you feel a little better," Michael told her. He wished he could somehow pull her pain into his own body. It hurt more to see Izzy hurting than it would to actually experience the physical sensations himself.
"Okay," Isabel answered. Michael inched his arm out from under her, then moved the covers down a little and placed his hands on her chest, just below her throat.
"Your hands are… like Trevor's," she murmured. She paused to take a breath. "Or his are… like yours. I noticed that… when we danced."
Was she totally out of it now? Did she even know what she was saying?
"At the party… in the museum," she continued. "I thought… maybe Trevor and I… he's like you… but without the… feels-like-my-brother thing."
"Don't waste your breath talking about that," Michael told her. "Don't talk at all right now. Let me make the connection."
All he had to do was think the name Isabel, and a rush of images swept over him. Many of the images were almost as familiar to him as those from his own life because so much of his life had been spent with Isabel.
A glistening ship with shimmering sides that looked almost liquid. Max laughing. A sizzling rainbow of auras in a cave. Michael running his hands through his hair. A burned doll.
And he was in. Connected. His second heartbeat was pounding so quickly, it scared him.
Slowly Michael used his mind to examine her body-their body. The contrast between her internal organs and his own was so huge that Michael almost had to break the connection. If she can feel it, you can look at it, he told himself.
The texture of her lungs looked like old paper. As if they might disintegrate into dust at a single touch. He didn't want to risk even brushing them with his mind. A survey of her other organs showed Michael they were all in a similar condition. He carefully allowed the connection to slip, splitting them into separate beings again.
"Couldn't do anything?" Isabel asked.
Michael shook his head. As he looked down at her, he also saw the little girl Isabel, the little girl who'd adored him, who'd been so sure he could do anything.