The Vanished rh-7 Page 3

  "Okay, you can't be stopping in the middle of the street like that," Michael said, trying hard to keep his voice from sounding harsh. "We'll be dead before we ever get to breakfast."

  Adam wandered over to the souvenir store, staring up at the pseudo-flying saucer.

  "Too bad it's not the real one," Michael said, standing next to Adam. "But somehow I don't think whoever stole it is going to make it that easy to find."

  "Whoever?" Adam asked, raising his eyebrows. "I just figured that Project Clean Slate had it."

  Michael's stomach twisted just from hearing the organization's name. "Clean Slate's history, remember? The place was flattened." He eyed Adam carefully. "Unless… wait," Michael said. "You don't know of other compounds or something, do you? There aren't… more of them."

  Adam shrugged. "Not that I know of, I guess."

  Michael wished he'd sounded a little more definite. Swallowing hard, Michael stared up at the fake ship. If there were more Clean Slate agents out there and if they'd somehow gotten the ship…

  "How will we get Alex back now?" Adam asked, putting Michael's fears into words.

  Michael's stomach turned. "I don't know," he replied. "We'll think of something."

  "Can we get some toast for breakfast?" Adam asked suddenly.

  "No toast," Michael said, managing a small smile. Adam's life was so simple. But Michael supposed that was what happened when you grew up with no knowledge of the outside world. "This morning I've got a surprise for you."

  Michael led Adam down the sidewalk toward the doughnut shop on the corner. Wait till Adam gets his first taste of crullers with hot sauce, Michael thought. I'll never hear about toast again-it'll be doughnut shop, doughnut shop, doughnut shop until we feed him his first slice of enchilada with toothpaste.

  As soon as Michael opened the door of the tiny shop, he was hit by a blast of greasy, sweet-smelling heat. He looked up at the rack behind the counter to see which doughnuts were left and caught a glimpse of mustard-colored aura out of the corner of his eye. A very familiar aura.

  Two places ahead in line was Mr. Cuddihy, Michael's social worker.

  Damn, Michael thought. He hadn't been home to his foster family, the Pascals, in a week or so. Hadn't been to school, either. First he was in the compound. Then he was trying to save their collective butts from DuPris. And now there was the Alex situation. There was no way he could follow all the Pascals' two billion rules and do what needed to be done to get Alex home.

  He had to get out of there, pronto. He grabbed Adam and started to steer him toward the door.

  "Michael, wait, what's a bagel?" Adam asked in a loud voice. "Can I get it toasted? With butter?"

  At the sound of Michael's name, Mr. Cuddihy turned around and locked eyes with him.

  Michael froze in his tracks. Busted. He gave his social worker a shrug and a rueful smile.

  Mr. Cuddihy stepped out of line and put his arm around Michael's shoulders. "Look who it is!" he said. "Michael Guerin, my favorite magician. I heard you've pulled off quite a disappearing act."

  Cuddihy's idea of humor. Ha. Ha.

  "You heard that, huh?" Michael said. "Listen, I can explain-"

  "No need," Cuddihy interrupted. "I don't know what you had planned this morning, Guerin, but your plans have changed. You and I have an immediate appointment back at my office."

  "I'll meet up with you later," Michael told Adam. He definitely didn't want Cuddihy asking the toast boy any questions.

  "Much later," Cuddihy added.

  Great, Michael thought. I wish my powers included the ability to mute people.

  ***

  Michael faced Mr. Cuddihy across a large cluttered desk. Mr. Cuddihy's office was cramped and reeked of the peppermints he ate constantly since he quit smoking, but Michael had spent so many hours in this room that he felt comfortable. Comfortable enough to space out during Cuddihy's predictably endless lecture on responsibility.

  After a few minutes Cuddihy seemed to be winding down, more or less, so Michael tuned him in again.

  "… without even calling," Cuddihy was saying. "That doesn't sound like any kind of respect to me. The Pascals were good enough to take you into their home, give you a roof over your head, and you didn't even let them know if you were dead or alive. And it was something that could have been avoided if you'd bothered to pick up the phone."

  "When you're right, you're right," Michael said.

  "Well, you're going to call them and apologize," Mr. Cuddihy said. "In fact, I want to hear from them that you did some serious groveling."

  "No problem," Michael replied.

  For a moment Mr. Cuddihy gazed at Michael in silence. Finally he let out a long sigh. "The Pascals and I weren't the only people looking for you, you know."

  That got Michael's attention. He sat up straight in the metal folding chair, causing a loud, obnoxious creak. All the tiny hairs on his neck stood on end.

  "Who?" he blurted out. Had the Clean Slate people tracked him down? Had DuPris contacted his social worker? "Who else?"

  "Oh, I doubt you know these people," Mr. Cuddihy said. "They had some news to share with you… good news, actually."

  "Who?" Michael repeated.

  "A legal firm representing a man named Ray Iburg," Mr. Cuddihy answered. "I believe you knew him, although I'm not sure how."

  Ray? Michael thought. What could Ray's lawyers possibly want with him? He wasn't even aware that Ray had lawyers.

  "My friend Max worked for him at the UFO museum," Michael explained slowly. "We both hung out there a lot. He gave us our own sets of keys."

  Mr. Cuddihy nodded. "That's not all he's given you," he said. "Iburg's lawyers have informed me that there was a very interesting clause in his will, which he added recently."

  "Yeah?" Michael said, clueless as to where this was going.

  "Oh yes," Mr. Cuddihy said. "The upshot of the clause is that if Iburg didn't check in with his lawyers for one month, they were to take immediate action. All of Mr. Iburg's belongings-including the museum, the apartment, the car, and everything contained therein-are to be turned over to you, Mr. Michael Guerin, free and clear, for use as you see fit."

  Michael stared at Mr. Cuddihy. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

  "I told you it was good news," said Mr. Cuddihy. "See, this is why I'm someone you should keep in touch with."

  "There has to be a catch," Michael said. This wasn't the kind of thing that happened to him.

  "No catch," Mr. Cuddihy said. "It's a bizarre request, but it's legal. And since good things seem to be heading your way at this point in time, I thought I'd help out a little myself. There's no reason to torture the Pascals with your presence any longer."

  Michael blinked at his social worker. "What are you saying?" he asked.

  Mr. Cuddihy smiled. "I've decided to help you get emancipated minor status. You're almost eighteen, anyway, and now that you have your own place to stay and you have the museum for income, I figured we could ease social services' burden of taking care of you. I don't see any reason why you shouldn't live on your own."

  Michael sat back in his chair and gaped at. Cuddihy. "Really?" he choked out.

  "Really," Mr. Cuddihy confirmed. "Of course, you'd still have to stay in contact with me until your birthday, but our biweekly meetings should be more than sufficient." He popped another peppermint, chomped it. "Michael, I know you've had a rough time over the years, and you've handled shuffling between homes better than anyone had a right to expect. It's my pleasure to tell you congratulations. And good luck. So how does this all sound to you?"

  "It sounds… it sounds unbelievable," Michael said. He pushed himself out of his chair as Mr. Cuddihy came out from behind the desk. Michael reached out his hand for a handshake.

  "Enough with the formality," Mr. Cuddihy said. "I'm happy for you, Michael." Before Michael had time to back away, Mr. Cuddihy reached out and gave him a bear hug. Michael stiffened automatically, but as he looked down at the social wo
rker who had kept an eye out for him for years and who now had set him free-free-Michael couldn't help patting the guy on the back.

  "Thank you," Michael said as Mr. Cuddihy let go.

  "You have to promise me you'll show up for our meetings," Mr. Cuddihy said, trying to be businesslike again. "That's a firm condition of this whole deal."

  Michael stood beside the social worker, what felt like a totally dorky grin on his face. A meeting every other week? For no more foster home boogie? For being able to live on his own? For being in control of his own life?

  "I'll be there," Michael promised. "You can count on me."

  THREE

  Liz wandered down the aisle of the auditorium at school, searching the rows for a glimpse of Max's shaggy blond hair. The auditorium was packed with students-all there for a mysterious all-school assembly during the period before lunch.

  Finally she spotted Max a few seats in from the aisle in the middle of the auditorium. She squeezed through the row and plopped down into the empty seat beside him.

  "Hey," she said. "Any idea what this is all about?"

  "Huh?" Max replied. He turned to face her, and his beautiful silvery blue eyes seemed glazed.

  "The assembly," Liz said. "Do you know what it's about?"

  "Oh… no," Max said. He offered her a weak smile. "Sorry, I was… I was thinking about something else."

  "Alex?" Liz asked.

  Max nodded. "The ship was the only hope we had of getting him back. I mean, it was a long shot, but it was a shot."

  Liz reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of his weary eyes. "All of us are going to have to get together later and figure out what to do," she said.

  "Yeah," Max said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I'm drawing a blank."

  Liz peered at his gaunt, drawn face. He looked a little stronger than he had yesterday but was still obviously worn-out. He was gorgeous, of course, but Liz was starting to think that Max would look gorgeous to her if his hair fell out and he erupted in oozing volcanic zits. She was that far gone.

  "You okay?" she asked.

  Max turned to face the stage as the principal, Ms. Shaffer, walked toward the podium.

  "I'll live," Max said. His voice sounded far away, as if it was an effort to speak.

  Slumping back into the hard wooden seat, Liz thought that maybe he should have taken a sick day and spent the day with Rosie and Jerry and Ricki. She knew he couldn't tell his parents the real reason he was feeling so out of it, but couldn't he have pretended he had the flu or something so he could get some rest?

  She was about to ask him that very question when Ms. Shaffer called for attention. The auditorium got a fraction quieter as the lights dimmed. Liz waited for Max to take her hand, but he continued to stare straight ahead, his hands clasped together in his lap. Wasn't this the guy who said touching her was absolutely essential, like breathing?

  Well, it's not like he doesn't have a lot on his mind, Liz thought, swallowing her disappointment. She knew that Max felt responsible for everything that happened to anyone in their group of friends, and that meant he had to be blaming himself for what had happened to Alex. Which was an accident. Or more accurately, it was DuPris's fault. Certainly not Max's fault.

  As Ms. Shaffer blathered on about someone she was very pleased to introduce to them all, Liz leaned against Max's shoulder and concentrated on sending him happy, positive love energy Maria would approve.

  Liz decided that she would find a way to distract Max once the assembly was over. She basked in his nearness, wishing they could be alone together right now. The moment they had some privacy, she'd give him the kind of kiss that was guaranteed to take his mind off his problems, at least for a little while.

  "Okay, everyone," Ms. Shaffer called, "may I present Kasey Dodson, the new interim sheriff of Roswell!"

  Liz sat up, suddenly alert, and exchanged a startled look with Max as the crowd of students around her applauded halfheartedly. She shouldn't have been surprised-after all, Sheriff Valenti had been killed at the Clean Slate compound. Even though no one but them knew that's what had happened, everyone knew the sheriff was gone. Obviously the town would have to appoint someone new. But Sheriff Valenti had been such a mainstay of her nightmares that Liz hadn't even allowed herself to consider that he might be replaced.

  But here she was, the new sheriff. Liz watched as Sheriff Dodson walked toward the podium. She was a tough-looking woman with shoulder-length dark hair and a lean, muscular body under her brown uniform.

  "Thank you, Principal Shaffer," Sheriff Dodson said with a smile. She had a warm, smoky voice that made her sound friendly, but Liz wasn't going to be fooled by that. She knew better than to be taken in by appearances-after all, Liz was dating an alien disguised as a human.

  "Roswell has never been a town with a high crime rate, and I pledge to do my best to keep it that way," Sheriff Dodson continued. "This town has always been safe to enjoy even at night… and barring an alien attack, I see no reason why that shouldn't continue to be true."

  Most of the students laughed at her joke. Everyone in Roswell loved its weird reputation as UFO central. But a shudder ran through Liz from head to toe.

  What did she mean by that? Liz wondered, rubbing her arms to ward off the sudden chill that had invaded her body. Was she joking, or was that a threat? Is she another Clean Slate agent like Valenti?

  Liz glanced at Max. He was shaking his head. He had to be as worried about this new development as she was-if not more.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to calm her pounding heart.

  Liz and her friends would have to watch Sheriff Dodson carefully… very carefully. Valenti had come uncomfortably close to discovering Max, Isabel, and Michael's secret. In fact, he had discovered it. He'd just been killed before he could tell anyone.

  Liz knew that Michael thought Project Clean Slate was destroyed along with the compound, but Liz wasn't so sure. It was quite possible that the organization existed outside of Roswell. And if it did, it made sense that Project Clean Slate would place another of their group in a hot spot like Roswell.

  Just what we need, Liz thought. Something new to worry about.

  Four months ago her biggest worries had been getting to work on time, making valedictorian, and making sure her parents never had to worry that she'd end up like her sister, Rosa, dead from an overdose. She'd been constantly stressed, but that was nothing compared to obsessing over whether or not some secret agency-or some evil alien-was going to show up one day and kill you and your friends. Or that one of your friends might never make it back from another planet. It was insane. If only she could make everything go back to normal so she could hang out with Maria and Alex, make out with Max, study for SATs, and just worry about stuff like the prom-

  Stop. You've got to deal with reality before it deals with you, Liz told herself. No matter how twisted reality is.

  "… and if you need to talk about anything or if you have something to report, please don't hesitate to stop by the station," Sheriff Dodson said. "I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you very well."

  The students applauded, but the sheriff's words sent a shiver racing down Liz's spine.

  I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you very well.

  Liz had to make sure that never happened.

  ***

  Max was in shock.

  As he filed out of the auditorium beside Liz, so many worries demanded attention in his mind that he couldn't keep track of them all. How to get Alex back. How to find the ship. How to find DuPris and deal with him. How to keep connecting to the collective consciousness without risking permanent brain damage. How to keep his alien identity secret. And how to avoid a new sheriff who might or might not be someone who wanted him dead.

  Max followed Liz through the dispersing crowd in the hall. How was he supposed to handle all this stress while feeling more exhausted than he'd ever been? He was so turned around and tired that he felt like his whole life was
happening underwater. And he knew he needed to be alert in order to survive.

  "Hey, Max, are you there?" Liz asked.

  He looked up to find that he'd followed her up the stairs and over to the supply room across from the bio lab.

  "Wait. Shouldn't we be in the cafeteria?" Max asked.

  Liz opened the supply-room door and stepped in. "Get in here," she said with a mischievous smile.

  Max hesitated. "I don't think we're allowed-"

  Liz groaned, grabbed his arm, and yanked him into the room with her, closing the door behind him.

  Max leaned against a wall next to shelves covered with battered microscopes and Bunsen burners. "So what did you think of Kasey Dodson?" he asked. "Think I have another psycho stalker?"

  "Besides me?" she asked. She used her body to press him up against the wall. "I don't know about you, but the smell of formaldehyde… it makes me crazy."

  Max just looked at her, his brain a cluttered fog.

  "Crazy?"

  Liz put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the lips. Instantly the fog started to clear.

  "Oh," Max said when she pulled away. "Crazy." He smiled as he tucked his hands under the hair that fell like a thick, silky curtain around her face.

  He pulled her closer, releasing a long exhalation of breath as her warm, soft body pressed against his. How could he have allowed his worries to interfere with getting his minimum daily requirement of Liz? He was so stressed, he hadn't even been thinking about kissing her, and that was wrong. Deeply wrong.

  His lips found hers again, and he opened himself up to the intense passion of their kiss. Liz tasted sweet and deliciously alive. Max could feel his heart racing as her tongue glided across his own, sending tingles of pleasure echoing throughout his body. As always, kissing Liz made him feel inside out, as if all of himself was concentrated on the one small, soft spot where they were connected. It was the best feeling Max could ever imagine.