The Outsider (8 page)

Max raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really?” he teased.

“Okay, every once in-a while, like when I'm sick or something, I still sleep with him,” Liz admitted, blushing. “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“Lucky guess. You sounded just a little defensive when you said you put him on your dresser,” Max explained. “It really bothers you that I got images from your mind, doesn't it?”

Liz looked down at her boots. Even though Max had only seen stupid little things from her childhood, it
did
bother her. What if he were just being polite, telling her the stuff that wasn't important? What if he really had seen everything, like how angry she felt at her sister for dying? He would think she was a horrible person — and she couldn't bear that.

Max wouldn't lie to me, she told herself. If he says he only saw the ugly cupcake dress, then he means it.

“Maybe I overreacted,” Liz said slowly. “It's not like you were intentionally spying on me. But, well, how would
you
feel if I knew all your secrets?”

Max stared at her as if she were an idiot. And suddenly Liz felt her face flush. How could she have said that? She
did
know Max's biggest secret, something much more intimate and personal than anything he knew about her.

Max sat down on the little bench. He patted the spot next to him. “Come on, I want to try something.”

“O-kaay.” Liz wished that hadn't come out sounding so apprehensive. Why couldn't she remember how to act around Max anymore?

She sat next to him. Her shoulder brushed against his. She wanted to move back, but she held herself perfectly still. If she kept jumping away from him, Max might think she was afraid of him or something.

And I'm not, she thought. Not much.

She wanted to feel completely comfortable around Max, the way she used to. But it was like there was a loop in her head playing the words
he's
an alien, he's an
alien
over and over.

“I've never tried this before, but I thought maybe I could make the connection go the other way,” Max told her. “So that you could invade
my
privacy and get some images from me.”

Liz blinked in surprise. What would it be like to see into Max's thoughts? I'd probably be the first human to ever see into the mind of an alien, she thought. The scientist in her was totally excited by the opportunity. But it wouldn't be fair to Max.

“You don't have to do that, Max,” Liz said softly. “I was being a jerk about the whole thing. You saved my life — I should be down on my knees thanking you, no matter what your method was.”

“No, we have to try this,” Max insisted. “Think of it as an experiment. Or as a free movie — the
Max Evans Show.
”

He sounded like a little kid trying to convince his baby-sitter to let him stay up until eleven. He's trying so hard to make me feel okay about what's happened, Liz thought. Why can't I do that for him?

“I have to touch you, okay?” Max asked. “That's how I make the connection.”

If he can heal with a touch, can he kill with a touch? The question leaped into Liz's mind. Without thinking, she backed away from Max on the bench.

Instantly his blue eyes grew darker, as if a thick black curtain had fallen over his emotions.

“Never mind,” he said quickly. “It was a stupid idea. Why would you want to be connected to me?”

Max started to stand up, but Liz grabbed his arm. She couldn't let him feel this way, feel as if she were disgusted by him.

“I want to do it. Really,” Liz told him.

Max sat back down, smiling. He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ears, then gently cupped her face with his hands, Liz felt a shiver rush through her body. And it didn't feel quite like a frightened shiver.

Max leaned close, so his face was inches from her own. His gaze drifted to her lips, and for one long, shocking moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he began to speak, his voice low and soothing. “Now take deep breaths, and try to let your mind blank out.”

Her heart was beating so hard, she could hardly breathe at all. Liz concentrated on pulling in a long, deep breath, then she let it out.

Max matched each of his breaths to hers. She could feel the warm puffs of air on her face each time he exhaled, and the smell of his wintergreen Life Saver filled her nose.

She'd never seen such intense blue as his eyes. It was almost like looking through a deep, deep pool. . . .

Liz realized she was leaning toward him, wanting to be closer, wanting to see
through
those amazing eyes. . . .

She closed her eyes, but she could still feel his eyes on hers. She tried to focus all her attention on her breathing. If thoughts began to intrude, she imagined them drifting away, soundless and weightless.

She heard her heartbeat slow as her relaxation grew deeper and deeper. Slowly she became aware of a second heartbeat. Max's heartbeat. It was like they shared one body now.

An image appeared against the dark screen of her eyelids. A child with bright eyes ripping free of something that looked like a cocoon. Another image quickly replaced the first. A Mr. Wizard junior chemistry set. The images came faster and faster. A sky filled with acid green clouds. A bowl with two turtles sunning themselves. A pair of almond-shaped eyes without whites or irises, just pure black.

Then Liz in the elementary school library, her dark brown braids touching the page of her book. Liz, a little older, swinging at a baseball. Liz standing proudly in front of her ninth-grade science fair project. Liz dressed up for the junior prom. Liz smiling, frowning, giggling, crying. Liz lying on the floor of the cafe. Liz staring at Max with an expression of horror on her face.

Liz opened her eyes and found her gaze locked with Max's. She reached up and slid his hands away from her face. She pressed her fingers together to keep them from trembling.

“Did it work?” he asked. “Did you see anything?”

Liz nodded, not trusting her voice. She'd seen
everything.
She knew everything.

Max was in love with her. He had always been in love with her.

Liz read the question for the third time. “What were the benefits of the gold standard?”

I did study for this test, she thought. I looked at my notes and reread the key parts of the chapters. So why do I have no memory of what the gold standard even is?

Liz skipped down to the multiple-choice section and sighed. A, B, C, and D all sounded like reasonable choices. But even E, none of the above, was a possibility.

Where was her head? Yeah, like I haven't had any distractions lately, she thought. I only almost died. And then found out a guy I've known half my life is an alien. And then found out that this alien guy loves me.

Max Evans loved her. Liz was still trying to wrap her mind around that.

She glanced at the clock. Only twenty minutes left. Maybe she should flip a coin — if she could figure out how to flip a coin for multiple-choice questions. Maybe heads on the desk — A, tails on the desk — B, heads on the floor —

Liz felt a tap on her shoulder. “The principal needs to see you right away,” Mr. Beck said softly “Take your things.”

Liz grabbed her backpack. She knew everyone was staring at her as she made her way to the door. They were probably all trying to figure out why honor student Liz Ortecho was getting called to the principal's office.

Why
would
Ms. Shaffer call her out of class? she wondered as she hurried down the hall. It had to be something big. She swung open the office door — and saw Sheriff Valenti lounging against the long counter that divided the room. His mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes, and his face was expressionless as usual.

“Sheriff Valenti needs to ask you a few questions,” Ms. Shaffer said.

Liz jumped. She hadn't even realized the principal was there. The second Liz entered the room, her eyes had locked on Valenti.

“Let's go.” Valenti pushed himself away from the counter and headed out the door. He didn't say a word as Liz followed him down the hall, out the main doors, and over to the parking lot. He didn't say a word as he opened the back door of his car for Liz or as he slid behind the wheel and started to drive.

Liz stared at the back of Valenti's head through the metal grill separating the front and back seats. She knew he was playing some intimidation game with her — and it was working. He was freaking her out. Had he found out what really happened at the cafe? Did he know Max healed her? Did he know
everything?

Make him tell you what he knows, Liz coached herself. Don't volunteer anything. Don't start talking just to fill the silence. That's exactly what he wants. She leaned her head against the seat, trying for a bored expression. She felt as if any word she said, any tiny gesture she made, could put Max in danger.

The air in the car smelled like cigarettes, and plastic, and sweat, and something medicinal. She wanted to crack the window, but she doubted that windows in police cars roiled down.

Valenti pulled into the parking lot of a small mustard yellow building near the edge of town. He got out of the car and closed the door with a quiet click. Liz almost wished he'd slammed it. At least then he'd seem human. Instead he was an ice man, totally in control. She knew she couldn't play him the way she had Elsevan DuPris.

He opened her door and started across the parking lot. Liz scrambled out and caught up with him. She lengthened her stride until it matched his. They walked across the parking lot and through the building's glass double doors side by side. She wasn't going to walk three paces behind him like a pathetic little puppy dog.

As they walked down a long hallway covered with ugly specked linoleum Liz tried to remember every detail of the story she told him at the cafe. She needed to be able to repeat it back to him today without slipping up.

Valenti stopped abruptly and swung open a door On the left. He stood back and let Liz enter the room first, then closed the door behind them.

Liz couldn't stop herself from giving a tiny gasp as she stared around the windowless room. A morgue. She was standing in a morgue. Liz had seen way too many cop shows not to recognize the stacked rows of metal drawers along one wall.

Oh, God. This wasn't about Max. She was here to identify a body.
Who?
her mind screamed.
Who is it?

Valenti brushed past her and strode along the wall. He grabbed the handle of one of the drawers and slid it open. The sound of the tiny metal wheels rolling in their tracks sent a chill through Liz.

“I want you to see this,” Valenti said, his voice calm and cool.

There was a body stretched out on the cold metal of the drawer. A plastic sheet covered it from head to toe, but Liz knew if she walked over there, Valenti would pull back that sheet, and she would have to look. She didn't want to. She didn't. If she looked, it would be real. It would be someone she knew.

Tears filled her eyes. When Rosa died, Liz had never seen her body She could never bring herself to look, even to say good-bye. Now she had no choice. Whose body was this? Why wouldn't Valenti just tell her what had happened?

Who is it?
Liz's feet moved toward the drawer.
Papa? Mama?
She couldn't stop herself from going over them. She couldn't stop herself from looking down at the body She couldn't see much through the plastic, but she could tell that the corpse wasn't anyone she knew.

White-hot fury ripped through her. She whirled toward Valenti. “How could you do that to me? You let me think that . . .” She couldn't finish. If she said one more word, she knew she would start crying. And she wasn't going to give Valenti the satisfaction.

Valenti didn't answer. He took the top of the plastic sheet in both hands and pulled it halfway down. “What do you make of the marks on this man?” He sounded as if he were just making casual conversation, as if he had no idea he'd just put her through the most terrifying moments of her life.

Or as if he didn't care.

Liz stared at Valenti. She saw her own face staring back at her from the mirrored lenses of his shades. She felt as if she had fallen into some strange dream. Nothing made sense. Valenti was asking her to help him study a stranger's corpse? Why?“The marks,” Valenti repeated.

I have to do this, she thought. It's the only way I'm going to get out of here. She slowly lowered her eyes to the corpse. The first thing she saw was two handprints on the man's chest — iridescent silver handprints. She knew that if she placed Max's hands over those marks, they would be an exact match.

If he can heal with a touch, can he kill with a touch?

I guess I have the answer to that question, she thought. Sour bile rose in her throat.

“I . . . I've never seen anything like them before,” Liz stammered. She needed time to think, time to figure out what to do. Maybe Max had a good reason for killing this guy Maybe the guy was attacking him or something.

She forced herself to look at the corpse's face. The man looked about her father's age, His brown eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. His lips were frozen in a grimace of pain.

Liz gagged. How could there be a good reason for killing this man? For killing anyone?

“That's interesting,” Valenti said. “Because my son, Kyle, mentioned that he had seen similar marks on your stomach.”

“He was wrong. It was just a temporary tattoo.” She ripped her shirt out of her jeans and held it up. “See. No marks.” She smoothed the shirt back over her stomach.

The handprints had been fading a little at a time. If Valenti had brought her in one day earlier, she wouldn't have been able to back up her story.

“Can we go now?” Liz asked. It came out sounding a little too much like a plea, but she couldn't help it.

Valenti ignored her. “I've seen marks like this before,” he said. “They are made by the touch of a particular race of alien beings.”

Liz's mouth dropped open. “You believe in aliens?”

What had happened to her nice, orderly world? The world ruled by the periodic chart? A week ago the only people who believed in aliens were tourists. Suckers who would go gaga over a photo of a melted doll. Now
she
had absolute proof that aliens existed. And the sheriff — Mr. Ice Man — was telling her he believed in them, too.

Valenti reached up and slid off his sunglasses. He shouldn't have bothered, Liz thought. His eyes were a cold gray that revealed nothing of what he was thinking or feeling.

“I am going to tell you something that I have never told a civilian — not even my own son,” Valenti said. “But you're a smart girl, and you can help me. I am an agent for an organization called Project Clean Slate. Our purpose is to track down alien beings living in the United States and make sure that they pose no threat to the human population.”

Liz gazed at him, trying to ignore the emotions rushing through her. Max killed someone, Max is an alien, Max is dangerous. Max loves me.

“This organization was formed in 1947, the year of the crash. That was the year we realized that aliens exist, aliens with the technology to travel to another galaxy.”

“But everyone knows that UFO was a downed weather balloon,” Liz said weakly.

“Don't play games with me, Ms. Ortecho,” Valenti answered. “I know you've had contact with an alien. I suspect this alien somehow survived the 1947 crash, perhaps as a child who was still incubating. And I want to know what you are going to do about it.”

Liz shook her head. “I don't know what you — ”

“The alien who healed your gunshot wound killed this man,” Valenti interrupted.

“I wasn't shot. I fell. I broke a bottle of ketchup.” I wish that story were true, Liz thought. I wish I could go back to living in the safe little world where I knew all the rules, and there were no real surprises.

“That alien will kill again,” Valenti continued. “Can you live with that? I saw your face when you thought it was someone you loved lying under this sheet. If you continue to protect the alien, one day soon someone will be standing right where you are, identifying the body of his mother, his father, his sister, or even his child.

“You can stop that from happening. All you have to do is tell me where to find the alien.”

Liz took a deep breath. Then she pulled the sheet up so that it covered the dead man's face.

“I don't believe in aliens,” she said.