Hawk and a Handsaw

By DocPaul

Author’s email: DocPaul2002@yahoo.ca

Series: No

Rating: NC-17  

Spoilers: none, this is an AU. Non-Roswell. The characters are Roswell characters, and the setting is Roswell , but there are no aliens. Never have been. Never will be.  

Disclaimers: The concepts and names are the same, but the characters belong to me. I give them life, more life than Roswell , better lives.  

Warnings: This is a universe of my own making. If you are expecting to see canon Michael and Maria, or any other character, you might want to skip this story. There are aspects the same, familiar, but for the most part, this story is not Roswell .  

Summary:  Maria DeLuca comes home to a world of shadows, forgotten memories, haunted by faces she cannot remember, as they unravel into a deadly circumstance, and fear makes every face an enemy.  

Author’s note:  Hawk and handsaw are both cutting tools; but also both birds, if handsaw quibbles on hernshaw, “heron,” a bird preyed upon by the hawk.

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Hawk and a Handsaw

“I am but mad north-north-west.

When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.”

~Hamlet~

For Mike

Chapter 1 

Memories are a strange thing. Sometimes they’re no more than recalled smells, sensations, or just a sense of déjà vu. Places were like that for me. I want to start by saying something true, austere and wrenching to the gut.

“I remember Amy.”

However, that’s not true. I don’t remember Amy. My mother. No, not really. For the longest time I used to sit around and think my thoughts of fantastical places, other worlds, other times, and a life different from the one that I live. I want to say, “I remember Amy,” but I can’t.

Amy DeLuca is but a dream, a shadow in my mind. Shakespeare once wrote, “A dream itself, is but a shadow.” I woke up one day to learn that I lived my life in a shadow, and there, trapped in the gloom, was Amy. She still is.

So I have to start by saying instead that, “I remember Grandma.”

Lila DeLuca was my mother’s mother. Amy’s mom. She was a woman who stood taller than most, at a mere five foot three, and slim as a thistle. She was smart and swift, kind and gentle, and with tensile strength untold. Lila was my everything. All the love I ever knew and understood, I learned from her. She taught all the sense of being my mother’s daughter to me. Moreover, every day I’ve lived, I’ve lived with the knowledge that I’m nothing like Amy. But, I want to be.

If life is a series of events and people in a procession of living, and those people and events determine the course of a life, then my life was drawn and set by both Lila and Amy DeLuca. They gave me many things beyond my hair, eyes, and mouth. They gave me a madness, a life of shadows, and a walking dream called Roswell .

Roswell .

The sun pounds down on the vast open plains of the desert floor. Desert. It sounds dead, lacking in life, but it merely denotes a lack of annual rainfall. I remember the desert from childhood. I loved it. It was a vast land of open spaces, adventure and mystery. Lost in thought and alone, I used to walk the desert as a child, running from something, or maybe just searching. In all those times, I was never alone. I felt someone with me, a quiet guide, watching, observing, and protecting me from afar. I never knew my father. No one did. No one but my mother, and silent she was in all things about him, even his name. I learned early that even adults have secrets. I think that one thought, that moment of clarity, changed me forever. I grew up at seven, and died at eight. It’s a terrible thing to live an entire lifetime in one year.

Roswell was my memory. It held all the truths I could no longer remember, or the ones I chose not to forget. To some, Roswell was a place to leave. A place to hate and despise. It was a trap, a place to regret when a person was caught in the fair distinction of being born and raised there. That was me. Maria DeLuca. Born there, bred there, and ultimately delivered from there. Every day of my life, I regretted that deliverance. It ruined my life.

It wasn’t always that way. It was never how nature designed my life to be.

My destiny was to be one of the many trapped in the Roswell quadrangle, born, bred, and raised to die there, always wanting more and embittered by the knowledge that this was all there would ever be. That was my destiny. At the age of almost eight, ripped from Roswell , destiny changed.

Amy disappeared that year.

~~~

September 13th

The highway. Darkened payment with running lines stretching into the blackness. There was a cleanness there. Nothing. Solitude. No expectations. No doubts. No lies. No betrayals. The road was the road. It was deceptively non-changing. During the day it looked long and winding, far seeking, and endless with a light pavement, almost welcoming in a promise to take one from here to there. At night, the distances shortened. The road became dark and dangerous with the beam of light defining sight, a moment, and a possible mistake. There was no here. No there. Just that place, that small patch defined by the high beam, but it too was a comfort. The road is the road. It was there. It was always there. Waiting patiently.

Maria shook her head at the thoughts clouding it. Roswell . Thirty-six more miles due south. Almost there. Almost.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Maria rubbed her forehead and finally turned down the music. Roswell . Home. The only home she ever felt or really knew. It was so far from Chicago . Almost a world away. As Chicago receded to the background, Roswell rose like a Mecca in a sea of desert. Home. Solitude. Peace.

A place to begin again or perhaps a place to resume something started long ago.

It would be different this time. Different. She wouldn’t be there anymore.

Maria swallowed a sob. Oh Lila! Grandma! Gone.

Wiping a single tear with the back of her hand, Maria rolled down the window to let the hot dry heat of the desert steal the coolness from the air conditioned interior. Twenty-three years old. Fifteen years was a long time to be driven away from home. For seven years after Amy left, Roswell was the place she visited only in the summers, or for Thanksgiving and Christmas. At fifteen, he stopped even that.

Her father. Peter DeLuca. Her father, but not her father. Actually, her uncle, Amy’s brother. He took her from Roswell and raised her in Chicago . It was a moment that was both the worst thing that ever happened to her, and the best. Worst, being removed from all she knew and loved (from Lila), and best because she got a brother out of the deal, her cousin Sean. For the first six months after her mother disappeared, she lived in Roswell with Lila. A little girl pitied by everyone, deserted by a nameless father, and then again by her mother.

Something inside her was diseased. Different.

Not to Lila. Grandma loved her. Wanted her. She would always be there. She’d never leave. That was until April, this year. Lila died. Lila left.

Maria was startled from her thoughts. Damn! Did it again! You have got to stop that shit! No more daydreaming! No more wandering off in your own brain. Speak, dammit! Speak! Live!

There it was. Thirty-six miles whittled away to nothing. Passing the ‘Welcome to Roswell ’ sign showing an alien waving at her, Maria headed home, down a long treed avenue of older majestic houses in Roswell . They weren’t like the newer additions, or the older hovels. Artisans, people who came from an older, gentler world who tried to recreate what they had left behind, built these houses. Her great-grandfather, Ryan DeLuca, Lila’s father, built the DeLuca Manor. His family left Louisiana when he was a teenage boy. He missed the world of New Orleans . The grace of the South. The beauty of his native home. As soon as he was capable, he began to rebuild what he lost. All his time and money went toward creating a home that reminded him of the one left behind. It was a three-story home with a sweeping wraparound veranda and another upper one around the second story. The third floor contained dormer windows looking over the roof covering the upper veranda. All the wood was imported. Stern heavy dark oak and mahogany polished and beautifully constructed. Loved.

Lila once told Maria that she couldn’t remember anything about her father except the smell of worked wood and polish. The one thing Lila learned from her father was a love of the house where she was born. Her first marriage took her from the house for fifteen years, but widowed, she returned home. An unexpected second marriage created out of the necessity of an unplanned pregnancy threatened to remove her from the Manor again. Lila couldn't leave. The marriage, doomed from the beginning, ended swiftly. Pregnant with Amy, Lila strode into the courthouse and filed a petition of annulment from her husband. Denied initially, due to her obviously pregnant condition, it took her less than ten minutes to harass…um, well... to convince them that she was right, and they were wrong. She walked out of the courthouse pregnant, single, and once again a DeLuca.

Amy never met her father, or the man that donated his sperm towards her creation. She was also born and raised in that house. She too remained a DeLuca, and raised a fatherless child. A year later, Lila gave birth to Amy’s brother, Peter, fathered by yet another unknown man.

Maria laughed. Guess when she decided to have a child, she would just forgo the husband and father bit and go with artificial insemination. There was obviously a legacy among DeLuca women, and Maria doubted such a firmly entrenched tradition would ever change. She hadn’t always thought that way. She vowed once, that she would never create a child and leave them fatherless. She would make sure her child knew its father, and for a while, she worked towards that end, the breaking of the DeLuca women's curse. Now? Now she wasn’t so sure the legacy wasn’t the best way.

Billy.

No. She would not think about him. Not today.

Maria stopped her car and looked up at the house. Silent. Cold. It looked alone and angry. Her fault. She had left it alone too long. Over five months.

Maria slowly turned the car into the cobblestone drive and followed its sweeping lines around the back of the house to the garage and covered carport space leading into the back of the house. The garage was technically what her great-grandfather would have called a gatehouse with a spacious upper apartment. However, it was always ‘the garage’ to them. Parking her car in the courtyard, she got out and looked around.

The area was well tended with gardens and trees pruned, and the lawn mowed. A low stone fence outlined the courtyard and separated it from a long expanse of green lawn. Frowning, Maria tried to remember if the management company was keeping it under control. She’d have to find out. Whoever was doing it was doing a great job. No need to break a system that already worked. However, the house? Damn. Her great-grandfather would have wept. It was still majestic, but badly in need of what had been missing for a long time. Upkeep.

Uncle Peter hadn’t been interested in carpentry, and he hated Roswell and the DeLuca house. Sean only spent summers there. The house passed from generation to generation of DeLuca women, and during the course of that journey, it had suffered. Maria sighed. Lila had had plans. Big plans. She had wanted to do renovations, bring the house back up to its former glory, but time had slipped away. Now it was too late. Lila would never see her childhood home restored, but Maria would. At that moment, that second, Maria decided. She had a project.

Ignoring the back door, Maria walked under the crossway that ran over the drive to the back veranda and around to the front door. The veranda creaked and moaned under her weight of only a little over a hundred pounds. Fixing the veranda was of utmost importance, along with the front stairs. Maria could hear no sound when her finger pushed the doorbell. Great. Broken doorbell as well. The list of repairs was growing and she hadn't even entered the house. Using her keys, she entered the cold quiet house. Lila. It missed Lila. She missed Lila.

“Grandma...” Maria sat on the bottom stairs and lowered her head to her knees and cried. She rocked herself for comfort in that cold dark home.

~~~

“Where are you?”

“Watching. Waiting. Whaddya want?”

“Just…” There was a pause on the other end. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Michael sighed. Why wouldn’t he be?

“So did she come?”

“Tonight. She came tonight. Look, Maxwell, unless you want something can I talk to you later?”

Max sighed. Still Michael. After all these years, he was still the same. “She can be a problem, you know that, right?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Max. We’re no longer kids, and I’m not your best friend anymore.”

Same words. Same argument. Years could go by, and it never changed. Not when they were fifteen. Not when they were eighteen. At twenty-three almost twenty-four, it was the same story. “You can’t tell her…”

“No. No, I can’t. I gave my word. I promised. I don’t break promises. Not to you, not to anyone.” Michael twisted the knife, knowing that Max was living a lie.

“Michael…”

“Just leave it alone. You don’t understand. You can’t. This doesn’t involve you. None of your business. My business.”

Max was quiet on the other end. Michael waited until finally Max hung up. Disconnecting his cell phone, Michael reached for his thermos as he sat back in his truck, watching the house. Home. She was finally home. Daughter of Amy.

~~~

So tired. After carting all her stuff inside, Maria checked out the kitchen. There was food, even perishables. The management company must have stocked the house for her. It took a while for Maria to decide which room she wanted. She stood in the doorway to her grandmother’s bedroom, and couldn’t enter. Not yet.

Her childhood bedroom was too small, and strangely after all those years, it seemed different. It felt masculine, forbidden, like a domain with distinctive repellant vibes. Maybe it was the remnants of all those years while she was  forced from home. Maybe a residual anger remained, making the room untouchable.

Maria backed away and moved down the hall toward a closed door. It had been open once, but Maria’s face frowned as she tried to remember when. Amy’s room. Her mother’s room was large and airy with light from windows. It was a large corner room with a window seat.

As a child, she had sat in that seat watching her mother get dressed, brushing her hair, and laughing. Closing her eyes, all she could hear was the laughter. She had no other memory of her mom.

Maria entered the room and sat on the edge of the large bed. It was high and comfortable with a feather pillow mattress, a large comforter, and a homemade quilt draped across the foot. The room still smelt of Amy. Opening the bedside drawer, Maria could smell the scent more intensely, lavender with a touch of sweet patchouli, white rose and gardenia. Picking up a few bottles, Maria sniffed them. Getting up she walked over to the dressing table and sat down, staring at her face in the mirror.

Twenty-three years old. Her own reflection was a stranger. Her eyebrows were trim and arched along a natural line. She never had to pluck them. They were naturally thin and well defined. Her skin was clear and milky with a slight blush to her cheeks, with a missed softness to her cheekbones which recently had become gaunt and angular because she had lost too much weight.

There was a slight cleft to her chin, almost unnoticeable until she became stubborn. The rest of her face was lean and insignificant. Maria ignored her most brilliant features. Her face was more than angular lines, clefts and white skin. Her mouth was hard to miss with the natural redness of her lips, puffy and bee stung. Women paid small fortunes to have collagen and dyes added to get what genetics had given Maria. Her nose was small and pert, filling her oval face perfectly, with a cute roundness to the end, slightly upturned. However, her eyes held a person’s attention. Green. Sparkling and brilliant with golden flecks in their deep recesses. Her emerald green eyes were like priceless gems with topaz added in, and a darker green, almost violet, around the edge of the irises that turned her eyes to a deeper dark green when she was emotional.

However, Maria never got emotional. She hardly ever felt anything. That was until recently. Recently she broke a lifetime mold of silence, and let anger and madness find a home in her small slight body. Rage. It started before she left Chicago , and had continued on, despite being home in Roswell . Silence and indifference finally gave way to a madness, an abiding anger.

This was her room now. It felt warm and alive, and Maria felt comfortable for the first time in a long time. She was tired. Weary. She should make something to eat, but food didn’t hold any attraction for her. Did she even feel hunger anymore? She couldn't remember. The bed looked so inviting, but Maria forced herself to go into the bathroom attached to her room and bathe. It was a respect thing. She couldn’t sleep without first removing all the dust of travel.

Yelping, Maria gritted her teeth and waited for the water to get warm. It took forever, and she was too impatient to get to bed. The bathroom was antiquated, and the fixtures rattled and groaned. Great. New plumbing. A larger hot water heater too. She liked long hot baths and showers. Leaving the bathroom, she looked at her bags and sighed. Too tired to unpack tonight. It would have to wait.

Searching in a drawer, she found a folded antique slip, silky and beautiful. They didn’t make them like this anymore. This belonged to a bygone era before women wore jeans and cut-off shorts. Strange. Her mother was sort of a peace activist, so people told her. Into the freedom generation of the late seventies and early eighties. Strange that she would wear undergarments more in keeping with women of the thirties and forties.

Maria quickly searched the drawer.

“Oh, I love this!” Holding it up to her body and looking in the full mirror in the corner by the window seat, Maria smiled. Mom. Don’t remember you, but you definitely had grace and style!

~~~

Michael agreed as he watched the scantily dressed figure in the window as it tried on clothing. As Maria held up the slip, he watched as a smile moved across her face. Damn voyeur. Michael didn’t even blink, he just settled back and watched the show. Damn, she was even more beautiful then he feared. This wasn’t good. Not a damn bit. Parked under a tree, deep in an adjacent arbor almost behind the house, it felt strange that he somehow knew she would pick that room, and not her old bedroom. He drank his coffee and continued to watch, even after the light in the window went out.

Amy. It felt like Amy had come home too.

~~~

Shadows ran the length of the garden. It was dark, too dark. Darker than anything she could remember. Crouching and too tired to stand, she hid under the hedge, unseen and unheard. It was a surprise. It had to be. The shadows lengthened and elongated into a monster…stark and forbidding. Bad. Very Bad. Very bad things.

Her heart galloped in her chest at a fast pace, and fear tasted rusty in her mouth. No. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. No. Hand to mouth, she stood on shaking legs; too young to really understand anything except it was bad. Very, very bad.

Walking backwards, she struggled to stay upright, tripping on her own feet. In a partial crawl, like a lobster, she scrambled backwards.

No!

I didn’t mean it!

I didn’t!

I won’t be bad. I won’t cry. I won’t beg. I won’t…

To her knees, then her feet, she took flight. If they didn’t see her, didn’t hear her, didn’t know, then it would be just a dream, a bad dream...a nightmare. It came for her. In her hair. Waving her hands in fright, running, running…she couldn’t stop it. The screams. Screaming and screaming, she ran into the night...

“Maria? Baby? C’mon, sweetie. Wake up. It’s just a dream. Just a dream.”

Maria heard the soothing voice, felt the comforting hand. Thank God! It was just a dream. A nightmare. Like so many, she had before, but over the years, they faded.

“Maria, it’s okay. I’ve got you, my little love. It’s okay.”

Maria snuggled into the familiar smell and softness, snuggling in the warm embrace as the hand patted her head, calmed her quaking insides. The raging beat of her heart slowed, leaving nothing but an ache in her chest, a remnant of a heart stressed too long.

“Grandma, I thought you left me,” she said softly.

A small chuckle and a kiss on her brow, and the soft hand continued to sooth away the fear and pain. “No, little one. You will never be free of us.”

Maria opened her eyes to stare into the eyes of her dead Grandmother’s face…

Screaming, Maria sat up in bed. Her hand to her mouth as her other clutched her chest. Heart attack. Can’t breathe! Can’t breathe!

~~~

Michael was drifting to sleep in the cab of his truck when the earth-shattering scream pierced the night.

“Fuck!!!” He sat up so quickly he spilt his coffee in his lap.

Chapter 2:

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Michael said sourly as Max slid into the booth seat across from him. Pouring more sugar and cream in his coffee, Michael rested his head back against the seat. Go away. Just go away.

“We need to talk.”

Okay. We do it the hard way. “No. Nothing to talk about.”

“You were out there all night, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“And nothing happened, right?”

“No, something happened.”

“Good! Then she’s okay, and you can shut the door…”

“I said something happened.” Michael repeated, interrupting Max on a tirade. “She screamed. Around three-thirty in the morning, she woke up screaming.”

“You heard it?”

“I heard it. I spilled coffee all over my truck and myself. Almost went into the house, but before I could make the back door, her light came on, and she was pacing in the window. So I didn’t go in; I went back to watching.”

Max sighed and noticed Liz coming towards them. Liz Parker. Smiling he waited until she came to stop next to him. His girlfriend.

“Coffee, Sir?”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Michael swallowed rising nausea. He looked up at Liz and then away, as she deposited his eggs, steak and fries in front of him. Great. Doesn’t she ever do anything but work when they come to eat? Michael purposely ignored the two gooing all over each other, Liz’s smile was simpering sweet, nauseating with a touch of feminine smugness, that really made what little liking he might have had for her disappear. It was hard to respect a woman fucking another woman’s man, especially when the other woman was the man's wife, seven months pregnant with their third child.

Michael looked at the wedding ring on Max’s finger and purposely turned away from it. It was a joke. One huge fucking joke. Max was his friend. Sort of. They came from different social groups, but as teenagers had played basketball together. Not a sterling, “invite me to your house” friendship, but still they had been friends. When they were fifteen, their friendship solidified over a shared secret. Now their friendship was hardly that. More like nodding acquaintances. Maybe they might have stayed good friends if it had not been for one thing.

“Mikey, sleeping in a dumpster again?”

Michael rolled his eyes. Isabel. That was the one thing. Max’s evil, bitchy sister. The Bitch of Roswell . He didn’t even bother to look up at her. Tailored and groomed, Isabel's constant look. Well-coifed with a shrewish look that would never leave her face. Pasted on her face for so long, the look had taken up permanent residence. Ever have your parent tell you not to do a face, or it might get stuck? Well, they weren’t lying. Isabel had a stick up her ass, a sucked-on condescending look on her sour puss since high school, and that look was there to stay.

“Isabel. Still fighting all those venereal diseases, I see. I heard they had to move you to an investigational antibiotic once you started practicing your blowing techniques on the partners of the hubby’s firm. So how is that promotion going? Did he get it yet?” How could he miss? He had married the firm’s senior partner and major shareholder’s daughter. Michael noted the new hairstyle. Isabel Evans-Ramirez used to have long blonde hair, but now it was a short brunette style. Mistake. It didn’t do much for her, and without the long blonde hair, she no longer looked the sexy Amazon bitch. Now she was just a drab bitch. The short style framed her face, making it appear round.

Max sighed. “Would you two give it a rest?”

Isabel snorted and threw herself down in the seat next to Max, giving Michael a glare. He looked back at her with disinterest. It was all packaging. Expensive on the outside, empty air on the inside. Jesse Ramirez, you’re a dead man.

“Why are you talking to ‘Trailer Park'?” Isabel asked her brother.

Michael grabbed more fries and purposely ate them with his mouth open, letting a few of them spray in Isabel’s direction. Hell, it wasn’t worth it. He had places to be. Enduring the high and mighty Evans was too much. He'd rather take a nap. Finally, something he could appreciate.

Liz was back, rubbing up against Max in a suggestive manner. Michael rolled his eyes. Damn, there went his food back up the other way. “Can I get my bill?”

“Sure. Do you want a doggie bag?” Liz asked noting how little Michael had eaten.

“Nah. I think I’ve got ample grease in my bloodstream to guarantee a coronary. Think I’ll go pick up a pack of cigarettes and start smoking.”

“Good,” said Isabel nastily. “Anything that rushes you towards death faster.”

“If that were the case, I could let you try to give me blowjob again. I’d die of sheer boredom or impotence,” Michael said with a sarcastic smile.

Before Isabel could retaliate, Max quickly interrupted. “Michael, we’ve gotta talk…”

“Later! I’ve got work.” Michael tossed money on the table to cover his tab. The Crashdown. He couldn’t wait to get out of that place. On his way out of the diner, he ran smack into Deputy Kyle Valenti, High School jock gone wrong. Law enforcement gone wrong.

“Valenti.”

“Guerin.” Kyle walked around him.

Ah, Roswell ... Some things never changed. The hierarchies established in small-town high schools continued into real life. He was Michael Guerin, orphan with an abusive foster father named Hank. He was the Roswell reject, the bad boy who had a juvenile sheet longer than an arm, but not as long as most people’s memories. His bad times had been from twelve until sixteen. After sixteen, he was better. He got into a better situation, but no one remembered that. They only remembered the bad times.

~~~

“Hey, boss, you look angry.” Courtney passed Michael a cup of coffee as he entered the trailer. Michael grunted.

“Whatcha doin’ at the work site, Courtney? I pay you to answer phones at the main office.” Michael sipped his coffee, searching through his desk. The architecture plans and papers were overwhelming.

“You do. I brought down the important mail. Haven’t seen you in the office in a few days, so…”

“Yeah,” said Michael, moving her aside off the corner of his desk. “I hired you as a secretary, not a watchdog. I don’t need a babysitter.” Michael looked up when Alex Whitman entered the trailer. He nodded. “Is the building inspector here yet?”

“Nope. He’s late. So are you.”

“Yeah, so I’ve been informed.” Michael pointedly looked at Courtney. “So how about going and doing what I pay you to do? Otherwise, you can always go back to waiting on tables for a living.” Courtney made a huffing sound and took herself off.

Alex winced at the slamming of the door. Michael was oblivious. He went into the back room, which was a bedroom, and searched for a clean shirt. Alex followed and leaned his long lean frame up against the doorjamb, watching Michael change into cleaner clothes and wash his face.

Michael Guerin was a tall man with a large frame. It ran to the lean side, but it was still substantial. His light brown hair had golden highlights. A face that was long and angular offset them. The golden brown of his eyes belied the lack of warmth in his demeanor. His mouth was wide with noteworthy lips. It was strange to see those lips in a smile that wasn’t sarcastic or wry. Most of the time, he frowned. His hands were large, as large as his body in proportion, but for their size, they were surprisingly skillful and gentle. He was a man who worked best with his hands. Overall, he was highly attractive, except for one thing. There was an etching of anger about his mouth, strong lines of indifference. Michael wasn’t what anyone would call a warm man.

“She’s trying desperately to get your attention,” Alex said softly.

Michael shrugged. “I realize that.” He wiped his face with a towel. “I don’t like obvious women, especially ones with hard beady eyes. They're happy to use their bodies and looks to get them places, and it's usually the direct opposite from the place that their lying mouth will tell you about.”

“Harsh, partner.” Alex said smiling slightly. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a cynical asshole?” No one else would dare.

Michael snort. “You. Often.” He pulled the clean t-shirt over his head, ignoring the bed in the bedroom. He resisted the need to take a nap.

The trailer was a modified trailer, used as his on-location office. Moved from work site to work site, it provided the perfect workspace. A renovated living room, dining room and kitchen provided a makeshift office with desks for him and Alex and an architectural table for plans. Tacked with project notes, maps and plans, boards covered the wall. The kitchen was a place where they stored lunches, drinks and made coffee with the back bedroom a place that Michael had been recently sleeping. Courtney, the sex kitten, knew that. She was ever trying to establish herself in his bed.

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” Alex leaned his hip, his arms crossing. “Didn’t you go home?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Maria DeLuca?”

Michael looked at his best friend. Alex Whitman had been the biggest surprise of his life. In high school, they had barely talked. They ran in different crowds. Alex ran in a geekish group of computer wizards who played Dungeon and Dragons and an artsy group of wannabe rockers. Michael's group had a member of one. He was a loner. Alex’s love of heavy metal music and a makeshift band called ‘the Whits’ made them friends. Michael used to go to all their performances. They weren’t bad; they just weren’t good, either. Michael wasn’t quite a groupie, but he became a regular. Despite his long nerdish looks and enthusiastic attitude, Alex found himself suddenly having something in common with Michael Guerin. He too was outside the accepted social crowd, despite coming from an influential family.

It was the year after high school, when he was playing bars with the Whits, that Alex joined Michael in the business of construction. He needed the work, and Michael had a talent for everything hands-on. Together they built a fledging construction company that, after four years, was finally coming out of the red and showing real profit. Sort of.

Michael nodded. “She came home last night.”

“Hmm.... So, Stalker Boy, how is the woman?” Alex frowned. He vaguely remembered Maria DeLuca. He had taken a bath with her a few times when they were puppies. He played with her in grade school before she moved away, and a few times during the summers. “I take it you spent the night watching her?”

Michael sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his tired body. He nodded. Yeah, he watched her. Watched over her. Whatever you wanted to call it.

“She…” Michael licked his lips, quickly scratching his right eyebrow. Alex’s eyebrow went up at that. A telltale sign signaled that Michael at his limit of tolerance. Uncertain. Ready to prevaricate. “She was there.”

“There?” Alex smiled to himself. “I see.” Oh yeah, he saw a lot. Michael wasn’t ready to talk about the mysterious new resident of Roswell . Without saying a word to him, she already had Michael on the defensive. “So, this looks like trouble.”

Michael looked up sharply, standing away from the bed. “No trouble here. I know what I’ve gotta do!”

“You could wait and meet her, see…”

“No. She didn’t even bother to come home when the old woman died. What’s there to know? Just another heartless DeLuca. I know her, or all I need to know. I’ll deal with her myself.”

Alex moved out the way so Michael could move back into the office. “Oh, I bet you will.” He lifted a brow, but refrained from continuing. Years of friendship with Michael had taught him when to back off. Michael didn’t give up much. Not until he had to.

“You ready to work?”

Alex laughed. Born ready. He was the numbers cruncher. The paper man in the business. He liked to get his hands dirty, but the office and computers was his domain. Michael handled the physical stuff running the construction crews and work sites.

“I’m very ready. Big shock to get to the main office and see our secretary gone. Now, how did I know she would be down here sniffing around you like a bitch in heat?”

“You hired her, not me. I told you she had that hungry look.” Michael made a sour face. Courtney was a tissue girl. Something to be used and easily discarded. Michael was too busy to even use her right now, too smart to want to, so basically, he wanted her out of his space.

Alex laughed. “I’m insulted. She sees you as the partner to fuck, and not me. Chopped liver again.” He picked up some files. “In my next life, I'm going to be the sexy bachelor everyone wants to take a ride with. Eh, cowboy?”

“Have at it, partner.” Michael frowned. Where the hell was that building inspector? “So what’s on the agenda this morning?”

Alex went to grab a cup of coffee. Courtney was a shitty secretary, but at least she could brew a cup of java. “The new project. Wheeler Chemical’s expansion. I think we should drop out of the bidding.”

“It’s a lot of money.”

“It’s too much money, Michael. We’re pushing it right now.” Alex sat on the side of the desk, his long leg swinging. He was a tall man, as tall as Michael was, but leaner. His dark hair was short on the neck, cut close, but not too close. His eyes were a dark brown. He was attractive in a subtle way. Alex was charming with an easy friendly manner. People overlooked him. That was a mistake. There was an intensity to his stare, a firmness in his attitude. People tended to misjudge and discount him. It had worked to his advantage. In business, he was a cutthroat. It had helped to push Guerin-Whitman to the forefront of construction businesses in Roswell and surrounding area. They were moving into the Las Cruces business as well.

“How close are we?”

“We aren’t in the red, but teetering on the brink of bankruptcy if this project falls through in any way.” Alex sighed. “Our cash flow is heavy in the negative. We need to bring in assets or close some sites. Too many crews going at once. Payroll is becoming a problem.”

Michael rubbed his face. “I can dip into private funds to meet…”

“No way! We talked about this. It was why we incorporated.” Alex blew out the air in his lungs forcefully. “This last project was too large for us. I told you that. We had to put too much of our money into it to cover the construction materials on top of labor. It’s bleeding us dry.”

“We’re two weeks out until completion, Alex. Can we swim for two more weeks?”

Alex nodded. “We can swim. It’s a little deep, but no delays!” Michael shrugged. “I mean it, Michael! We need our payoff to cover the materials and stuff we fronted.”

Michael looked out of the trailer window at the largest project their growing company had contracted. A five building Industrial Park near completion. Eighteen months of work. They had pushed all the limits to win the bid, despite Alex’s protest that it was too much for their small company, too fast. Michael wanted it. He wanted it, and between the two of them, they got it.

“Just hold off the sharks, Alex. I’ll bring it in ahead of schedule. I’ve got ten teams doing final cleanup. The inspector clears us today, and we're golden. All that will be left is the air conditioner inspector and final building.”

“Good. We need a payday.”

It had been a long time in coming. Alex and Michael drew no money from the company except the bare minimum. They used all their resources to meet payroll for their workers and pay the bills. Both of them were banking on the major project payoff. Small projects over the past eighteen months kept the company in cash, but it had been a hard tight ride.

Michael sighed in relief as the building inspector’s car drove up. “Amen to that. I could use beer money!”

Alex laughed. “Let’s go charm the man.” Alex looked at his partner. “On second thought, let me do the talking. You try not to piss him off.”

Michael grunted.

~~~

“Ms. DeLuca?” Maria looked up, putting down the magazine she had been reading. “Mr. Ramirez will see you now.”

“Thank you.” Maria said politely, standing and smoothing down her dress front. She was dressed in an elegant dress, formfitting, yet tasteful. The secretary noted the designer label as she held the office door open for the client.

Jesse Ramirez stood and smiled at Maria, coming forward to shake her hand. He was a tall lean handsome man of Spanish origin. Maria responded to the warmth of his smile. “Ms. DeLuca, I’m Jesse Ramirez.” He shook Maria’s hand in a two-hand hold. “Can my secretary get you something? Coffee?”

Maria nodded. “Coffee would be appreciated.” She allowed Jesse to lead her to a chair, as he looked over at his secretary, “Kathleen, could you please see to a coffee tray?”

Smiling warmly at her boss, she quickly complied. “Of course, Jesse…..Sir.” She shut the door on her way out.

Maria waited until Jesse sat down at his desk. For a moment, she had been afraid he would sit on the edge of his desk in front of her. The possible closeness was daunting.

“Mr. Ramirez, I’m confused.”

“About what, Ms. DeLuca?”

Maria cleared her throat. “I understand that the DeLuca accounts, specifically my Grandmother’s, were handled by a Mr. Philip Evans.”

“They are. Were. I’m afraid that Mr. Evans, our senior partner, is retiring soon. He’s been moving his accounts around. Since the old woman, um..., Ms. Lila’s passing, there have been no DeLuca’s in Roswell . Mr. Evans moved the account to my books.”

“I see.” Maria did. The DeLuca accounts were no longer a high priority.

“Of course, your family’s accounts are of the utmost importance to the firm. After all, DeLucas have been managed by us since the firm began, starting with your great-grandfather.” Jesse smiled charmingly as the secretary brought in the coffee server. “Thank you, Kathleen.”

“Ms. DeLuca, would you like cream or sugar in your coffee?”

“Black. Thank you.” Maria politely waited until the secretary poured her coffee, Jessie’s and then left the office again.

“Ms. DeLuca…Maria. May I call you Maria?” Maria nodded her consent. “Philip realizes that you are a concert violinist with a busy professional schedule. Your uncle contacted the firm informing them that you would be leaving Roswell , and moving all the accounts to a firm in Chicago, the firm he uses. Mr. Evans is greatly saddened to see the end of such a long relationship, but since there are no DeLuca’s in Roswell …”

“That is incorrect,” Maria said softly. “I’m a DeLuca, and I am very much in Roswell .”

Jesse laughed. “Of course, but you’ll be resuming your concert tours, and…”

“Actually, I won't. I'm taking a hiatus from the concert circuit.” Maria smiled tightly. “But, of course, if the firm is unable or unwilling to continue to serve my family accounts, I am sure I can find another firm here in Roswell that will meet my needs.”

Jesse sat up straighter. “No! Of course, we’d be happy to continue working for you, Ms. DeLuca... Maria. I guess we were misinformed of your intentions.”

Maria smiled tightly. “Indeed.”

Jesse sat back a little. “I should tell you that there has been a purchase offer for your house and lands….”

“Seeing how I intend to live in my house, and have no intention of selling, I am afraid the offer is premature.”

“I see.” Jesse looked at the file in front of him. It had a phone request by Peter DeLuca asking them to initiate sales procedures. “Your uncle….”

“Is my uncle. He has no power or rights with regard to my personal estate or business. I am your client. Perhaps you should ask me what I would like done.”

Jesse quickly closed the file. “Of course.”

“First, the house. Am I able to take over ownership and live there?”

“Yes. Absolutely! You missed the reading of the will. A copy was sent to your address in Chicago .”

Maria sighed. Of course it was. “I’ll be needing another copy. Also, my current address and information should be changed to my grandmother’s house.”

“Immediately. I’ll see to it.” Jesse could feel the unease prickle along his spine. “You can take control of the house, no question. All the papers are in order. It will be another six months before we close on the estate, but ownership isn’t in dispute. You realize of course that you only co-own the house?”

Maria nodded. That was to be expected. Sean was the only other living grandchild. Lila would have wanted him to have a part as well. “Yes, that's fine. There is no problem between us. We easily share, I promise you.”

“Then that's good.” Jesse sipped his coffee. “Was there anything else you needed immediately?”

“Renovations. The house needs repairs. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. It’s your house. Feel free to do anything necessary. Your grandmother set up a renovation fund for the house, but it won’t be accessible until after probate. So you'll need to keep receipts so you can be refunded.”

“Thank you.” Maria reached into her bag and extracted a card. “This is my personal lawyer in Chicago . He’s new. I informed him that he would need to transfer many of my accounts to Roswell and work in close proximity with you on the rest. I’ve left mainly major investment portfolios with the Chicago branch and managerial concerns with my agent. I transferred the rest to your firm, including my personal accounts, and smaller investments. You’ll see to this?”

“Absolutely.” Jesse cleared his throat. “Ms. DeLuca, since your family is no longer leaving the firm, would you be more comfortable if I had your account returned to my father-in-law, Mr. Evans?”

Maria shook her head. Standing up, she waited until Jesse joined her. “Not at all. Mr. Evans gave you the DeLuca account, then it would appear you are now my lawyer.”

Jesse seemed genuinely pleased. Before he could comment, he could hear voices outside, and then a flurry of noise. His door opened.

“You can’t go in there! He's currently with a client! Mrs. Ramirez...!”

“Don’t be silly!” Isabel Evans-Ramirez entered her husband’s office in a huff. “Oh!” She stopped at the sight of her husband and Maria standing there. “Darling! I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized that you were with a client. I thought your secretary meant the phone.”

Maria noted the tall elegant woman. Her brunette hair was short and fixed in a bob. Her clothing and makeup were impeccable, and overall, the woman looked like she had stepped from a fashion magazine. Isabel's unwavering stare, and the coldness in her brown eyes had Maria stepping away from Jesse. That, and the overly bright fake smile, somehow grotesque with the bright red lipstick accentuating it.

Jesse sighed, and led Maria to stand next to his wife. “No. I’m not on the phone. Ms. DeLuca, may I present my wife, Isabel?”

“Mrs. Ramirez,” said Maria politely, not enjoying the raking cold brown eyes along her body, taking in her clothing, hair and makeup.

“Evans-Ramirez. Isabel Evans-Ramirez.” Maria made a slight gesture of acknowledgment, making no overt indication that she recognized that her new lawyer was married to the firm's senior partner's daughter. Her family’s former lawyer, Philip Evans. “Ms. DeLuca, I heard that you were returning to Roswell . Such a small place for a world renowned pianist, such as yourself.”

“Violinist.” Maria corrected, her eyes narrowing. Isabel Evans-Ramirez knew what instrument she played. It was evident in her eyes.

“Of course. I heard you play once in Chicago . How small Roswell must feel to you.”

“I like small. Large metropolises can be highly overrated and impersonal.” Maria turned and offered her hand to Jesse once again. “If you’ll excuse me, I have other errands to run.”

Jesse shook her hand, holding it longer than necessary. Maria saw Isabel’s eyes narrow, and a tight frown pulled at her mouth, deleting the large fake smile she had pasted on her face. Maria quickly pulled her hand free and rushed from the office, happy to be able to breathe again.

Well, what the heck was that?

~~~

Maria found her way around town without much problem. A lot of Roswell had remained the same. Quickly moving along the streets, she located a recommended doctor and made an appointment. The grocery was limited in its stock, or limited in that they didn’t have home delivery and a full service deli. Maria stood for a long time, concentrating on all the products on the shelves. Damn! She might need to learn to cook.

Frozen. Anything frozen would be good. Bagged stuff. That was easy. Maria left the store with an incredible supply of junk food.

Drugstore. Bank. Lawyers. Dry Cleaning. Doctor. Groceries. The essentials of life. Roswell in all these years had not changed that much. The Crashdown. Maria smiled. That and the UFO Center . Crossing the street, Maria admired the new front of the Crashdown. The flying saucer was classic.

Mmmm, the smell of greasy burgers! Maria entered the establishment, and she seated herself. A woman around her age came up and set down a glass of water and handed her a menu.

“Thank you for landing at the Crashdown. I’m Liz, and I’ll be your server. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A Coke would be lovely.” Maria said softly, her voice slightly husky. Who knew that this old diner would make her feel like home?

“Anything in that? Vanilla, cherry, or….”

“Cherry.” Maria said quickly.

The woman smiled and left Maria to look at the menu. That took a while. The place was so outlandish, Maria kept getting distracted from the menu to look around, not at only the décor, but the local color in the form of its patrons. Giggling softly under her breath, she noticed a young man wearing Spock ears.

Placing the cherry Coke in front of the elegant blonde-haired woman, the server waited politely. Maria looked out of place in the small family-run diner. Maria didn’t seem to notice the waitress forcing her to clear her throat. “Would you like to order?”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Maria’s cheeks took on a healthy blush, which increased as the waitress looked at her critically. She was skinny. Maria recognized that look. She preferred the term ‘slim,’ but in truth, she was too skinny. The last six weeks had taken a terrible toll on her health. “I was looking around. Some places never change, do they?”

The waitress huffed. “Unfortunately. Do you need some more time to decide?”

Maria looked at the menu. “No. I think I could sit here forever and never get through it all.” Maria gave the woman a pleading look. “Cheeseburger, extra pickles, and no onions. Does that compute somewhere in this menu?”

That got a slight smile, not warm, but definitely amused. “It does. Do you want fries with that?”

Maria’s eyes went big. “Fries! Large! Absolutely! Oh….and an extra thick chocolate shake?”

“Extra thick. Gotcha.”

Maria smiled and handed over the menu. Leaning on the table, she looked around planning to occupy her time with local watching. Technically, she was planning on becoming a local, so it was like research.

“Maria? Maria DeLuca?”

Maria looked up at the male voice. A tall lean man with dark hair, and deep brown eyes smiled at her questionably.

“Yes?”

His smile increased. “Alex Whitman! You probably don’t remember me.”

“Alex! Of course I do!” Maria started to stand, but Alex forestalled her by taking a seat in the booth. “I remember you in some graphic detail. Do you still have that birthmark on your….?”

“Hey!” Alex looked around dramatically. “Not so loud! It gets the ladies all curious.”

“I bet.” Maria studied the invader of her table. Alex Whitman. She had played with him as a child, and in the summers when she visited. She hadn’t seen him since she was fifteen. He had grown up nicely. Very nicely. “So, still in Roswell ?”

“For my sins. I co-own a company.” Alex critically examined Maria DeLuca. She was still the little girl he remembered. Time couldn’t hide those lips, those eyes, and that smile. It was chance that he had seen her. He was in to pick up his and Michael’s late lunch. Here was an opportunity to see up close and personal what Michael had watched all night.

“So, you survived the teenage years.” Maria sat back, amused. “You told me that you were destined to die tragically at eighteen.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “I told all the girls that. Got me more dates. Who could pass up the opportunity to boohoo over a dead boyfriend? Of course, when eighteen came and went and I remained alive, women stopped taking me seriously.”

“And there is the tragedy.”

“Indeed.” Alex’s eyes couldn’t wander far from her face. It was a seriously gorgeous face. Maria DeLuca had grown up well. Her lips that dominated her face as a child, were now her most noteworthy feature. That and her eyes. “You grew up nice. Very nice.”

“Hmm, this from the boy that used to call me ‘Fish Lips?’” Maria said in a huff.

Alex placed a hand on his chest, covering his heart. “That wasn’t me!” Maria snorted again and looked away. “Really. I was a victim of a bodysnatching.”

“Was that before or after you talked Sean into eating worms?” Maria asked curiously.

“Um…” Alex leaned an arm on the table to moon at Maria ‘Fish lips’ DeLuca. “Which is the better answer?”

“Neither. You called me ‘Fish lips’ before and after.”

“I was abducted out of the crib. A mere baby. I can’t be held accountable.”

“Too bad they never brought you back, huh?”

The appearance of Maria’s food and the waitress saved Alex from commenting. He looked up and then away as she put down the plate.

“Alex…” Maria frowned as the waitress said Alex’s name softly, her voice had a slight squeak as she cleared her throat. “I…I didn’t know you were expecting company,” she said to Maria.

“She wasn’t. I was just catching up.” Alex barely spared a glance at her. “Think you could get my takeout order?” he asked coldly.

She turned red and nodded, scurrying off. Maria frowned at the interaction. Maria munched on a fry thoughtfully.

“Old girlfriend?”

Alex snorted. “Hardly. Old friend.” Alex looked at Maria. “I take it you don’t remember Liz Parker?”

“Liz?” Maria turned her head to find the other woman. “No! That’s not Liz! Our Liz?” No. She didn’t look anything like Maria remembered her. Strange, she looked the same, but not.

“I said that for years, but unfortunately it is.”

Maria frowned. Certainly she remembered Liz Parker. They used to play together with Alex. Liz’s grandmother was Lila’s best friend, in a strange and evil way. Claudia Parker and Lila DeLuca had spent a lifetime together complaining to the other. They had a very strange friendship.

“Liz…I remember her differently for some reason. Smart. She was always talking about moving to a large city, and becoming an award winning scientist.” That woman looked about ten years too old to be Liz Parker. Not in a hard way, or anything. She still had a youthful body and face, but there was a haggard, worn look about the eyes and mouth, and the lack of makeup and moisturizer was putting on the years.

“Yeah, well...dreams die hard. She got sidetracked around fifteen.”

Maria frowned. Looking at the slim brunette with her hair all screwed up off her face, it didn’t seem right. The Liz she remembered was vibrant. Alive. Enthusiastic. Funny and laughing. Carefree. This woman was none of those things. She frowned. Her hair was up and untidy. She seemed to be arguing with someone behind the orders window.

Maria watched as a man walked into the Crashdown. He was tall, not as tall as Alex, but about six feet. His hair was short and dark. He was thin. He leaned over the counter and called to Liz. Her face changed. She smiled, and quickly left what she was doing to drag him into the back room.

Alex noticed Liz leaving too. He rolled his eyes. “Great! I’ll never get my lunch.”

Maria nodded at her plate. “You can share my fries.”

“Thanks, DeLuca, but I’ve got to get back to work. I better go try to find someone who actually is working.” Alex paused looking down at Maria. “I heard about your grandmother. I was very sorry about that. She was a great lady.” Alex meant that. Lila DeLuca was stately, regal, real Roswell royalty in a good way. She never treated people as being beneath her, but always with open respect and honesty.

“Thank you,” Maria said quietly. Some things took time to get used to, and the loss of Lila was one of those things.

Alex scratched his reddening neck, smiling boyishly. “Well, I best get back. It was good to see you. We’ll have to get together sometime and talk old times. Before you leave.”

Maria frowned. What the heck was up with that? Seemed liked every person and their brother wanted her to leave town.

“No hurry. I’m not leaving. I’m moving home to Roswell .”

~~~

“Not now, Alex.” Michael said in a huff. “The damn delivery came wrong today. I had to send it all back. They’re not going to be able to get the stuff to us until early next week. Sonnabitch. That puts us behind.”

“Your lunch, your royal crabby one.” Alex tossed Michael’s takeout on the desk. Going to the refrigerator, Alex pulled a bottle water for both of them.

“About time! I was wasting away here.”

“Hmm, yeah, I can see through you and all. Going all ghostly on me.”

“Geek.”

“Freak.”

Alex sat back and observed his partner coolly. “So I met Maria DeLuca at the Crashdown.” That got Michael’s attention. “You could’ve mentioned that she's a knockout. That she has the face of an angel, and the mouth of a sinner.” Alex smirked. “I pulled wood just looking at her, but damn when she spoke….”

“You talked to her?” Michael’s voice took on a real edge.

“Back off, Sparky. It’s a free country. She’s not your property, and I can assure you, others will talk to her too. Those legs. Those eyes. Those lips. It happens.”

Michael rolled his eyes and took out his sandwich. Dammit. It was wrong. They put on the wrong cheese, and there were no onions. Cold. Alex probably sat there with Maria, talking letting his lunch get cold.

“So what did she say?”