Michael
Guerin, The World’s Greatest Alien Investigator
By DocPaul
Author’s email: DocPaul2002@yahoo.ca
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none,
Disclaimers: The concepts and names are the same, but
the characters belong to me. I give them life, more life than
Warnings: This is not canon, so if you expect it,
don’t. Things change. People change. It happens.
Summary: A
Michael POV documenting his investigating technique as the World's Greatest
Alien Investigator.
Author’s note: This is a fluff piece for me. Thought
you could use a relief from angst. Much of this first piece is taken directly
from the movie, Zero Effect. It is a total rip of the story in many places. This
first story is to serve as an introductory piece to future installments, all
which will be original. This is more a ‘flavor’ piece to set up the series,
so excuse the blatant borrowing from the movie. I promise to make no money off
this, and all part not written by me should be credited to the movie.
Michael
Guerin:
The
World’s Greatest Alien Investigator
~For Mike~
Life
is a strange movement of shadows on a wall, memories strung into patterns of
emerging fluidity. In all things there is a beginning and an end. Continuity of
life, streams along a path, ever moving, caught in a forward inertia, altering
only to outside pressures and circumstances. That is what I like about living.
The patterns it leaves on the walls. The histories. Perhaps it is because there
is a cleanness in understanding these patterns, discerning them, and somehow
convincing your inner Id that you have the answer to the greatest question of
life. Why do I exist?
I am
Michael Guerin. I am an alien. And I am, without a doubt, the Greatest Alien
Investigator on the face of the Earth.
It is
not without serious reservation that I begin this long and arduous task of
documenting my special techniques used in investigating a crime. I intended this
task to be done by my ever faithful assistant, but she assures me that my
perspective is nothing if not individualistic, unconquerably complex, and
without a doubt, deranged. I tend to ignore most of her observations, since it I
that is the greatest of investigators, and not her.
“So you going to help me, or not?”
“Not.”
“Maria…”
“Don’t Maria me. I am not going to sit
here while you go on and on about your techniques, translating your skewed views
and ‘observations’ in a pious account of your investigating technique.
Reality check. I do most of the work!”
“Maria, I am the alien investigator. The
greatest alien investigator that the world has ever known! With this title comes
great responsibility. I have to document my techniques.”
Maria sighed, rolling her eyes. “Did it
ever occur to you that you are the only
alien investigator on the planet Earth?”
Michael frowned. What did that matter?
“Where are you going?” Michael paused. Damn. She really was going to leave.
“Maria…I need your help.”
“No. No you need someone to do the grunt
work. Forget it! This human chica is going shopping!” Maria paused at the
door. “Look, it’s not like I could in any way really capture all the special
nuances of your unquestionably complex neurotic brain.” Maria shut the door
quickly before he found another reason for her to do all the manual labor.
That
is not to say that my assistant does not, at times, deserve some recognition for
the observations and parts she plays in the overall kaleidoscope of my
investigations, but in truth, her competence is what led me to offer her the
position she currently inhabits in my life and affairs. I have been the one
unique experience of her life, and in a moment of glaring honesty, the types
that tend to find their way into an inner psyche around the early hours of the
morn, I admit to finding my life experiences enhanced by her devotion and very
presence.
So to begin, it is perhaps best to start with an examination of
technique. There are two noteworthy components—Observation and Objectivity. I
like to refer to them as the Obs. Absolutely pure objective detachment is
necessary in any case. I am without a doubt the most objective observer the
world has ever known. I, at an early age, found myself alone, isolated and
detached from weighty human attachments. It was in this isolation that I found
myself more an observer of life and people than a participant. It was from this
loftier position that I was able to clinically and unemotionally examine the
inner workings of acts versus reactions. There is not a human nature that I have
not observed or noted. It is in understanding the basic motivational
architecture of the human brain that I, a person born to be always on the
outside looking in, was able to understand the psychology of the
Born
to observation, I was able to classify types of behavior, leaving no possible
outcome to chance. I can state without pause that rarely do people’s reactions
surprise me, for at all times, I have already anticipated the outcome.
“What is this?”
“What?”
“This….what is it?” Maria held up a
brown paper bag and shook it at him.
Michael scratched his eyebrow. “That’s
your birthday present. You said you expected one, right? So, there it is.”
“I see.” Maria opened the plain brown
paper and looked inside. Closing it, she stood staring at the man lounging on
his worn second hand sofa, and shook her head in amazement. “This is beyond
anything you’ve ever done.”
Michael smirked. “I thought you would
think so.” Three shops. A day of torturous thought, and he'd found it. The
perfect present.
Maria pulled the pair of needle-nose pliers
out of the brown paper bag. “What am I suppose to do with them?”
Michael looked at her incredulously. What?
Did she never pay attention? “They’re for you to carry in your car.” Her
blank look made him frown. “You know, when your car stalls, you have to
reconnect those two wires. The pliers are the necessary tool.”
Maria closed her eyes for a moment and
Michael saw her mouth moving. He could swear she was counting under her breath.
“Maybe you could’ve taken the car to the garage and had them fix the loose
connection?"
Michael didn’t even blink. Okay. So he
could’ve done that. But that wasn’t the point. “Look, this way when you
get stranded, you don’t have to bug me to come help you out. You can do it
yourself.”
“I see. So this is a way to make me
independent?” Michael nodded happily. “Thoughtful.” Michael smiled even
bigger. “Good. Then I guess you’ve outlived your usefulness in my life.
After all, I now own pliers.” Maria tossed the ugly brown bag on his floor and
quickly vacated his apartment before she shoved those pliers somewhere where
they would do so much more good. Jerk.
Michael frowned at the door as it shut, and
actually winced as the resounding slam echoed through his apartment. Scratching
his eyebrow, his forehead creased as he tried to determine what the hell he did
wrong this time? Women. They were an unstable combustible component to already
unstable system. Whereas most human reactions are known, there are a few
exceptions to that rule.
Now observing the suspect or client in their own environment is almost
a necessary part of any investigation. Never is behavior more revealing. A
person moves in their own space with a comfort and form that is rarely seen in
places where they have no control. Façades and hidden variations dictate the
course of social interactions, and when in a public place, outside their own
range of personal environment, a person will alter their outer behaviors to
reflect what they deem acceptable. This is not so within their own habitat.
So when determining the validity of a statement, or the sincerity
behind that statement, you should at all times look at where the suspect is, who
they are talking to, and then compare that to the given information presented
within their known environment.
“This means something to me, Maxwell.”
Max shared a look with his sister. “I know
that, Michael.” Max looked around. “We all want to know where we come from;
not just you. It’s important to us too. But, it is too dangerous to just run
out there without caution. We have to be careful, guarded. We have to have a
plan. Wait. Wait until it's safe.”
Michael looked at Isabel and she nodded her
head, agreeing with Max. Of course she agreed with Max. She always agreed with
Max.
Michael looked away. “Yeah. Whatever.”
It was later that he stood across the street
from the Evans' house watching them; observing them in their natural habitat.
They were playing basketball with their adopted parents. Laughing. Happy. They
would never help him search, because they already had what he was looking for.
Family.
Michael walked away.
It is perhaps best at this time to include a small section about
following a suspect. There is a basic rule to following. People, by nature, tend
to be suspicious and paranoid. When you follow a person, they will feel that
they are being followed. Suspiciously, and almost with some ingrained guilt,
they will turn to see who is following them. To successfully follow, you have
one tried and true method to assure success each and every time. A person
can’t tell they are being followed if you get there first.
Maria stopped and stomped her foot. “Why
are you following me?”
Michael looked up from where he was reading
a magazine. “Following you? Get real, Maria, I was here first.”
Maria’s eyes narrowed in concentration.
True. He was sitting there when she arrived, but her instincts were telling her
she was being followed. Looking around, she couldn’t find any one else out of
place. Only him.
“Yeah, whatever.” Damn him.
“So whatcha doing here?” Michael asked
getting up and tossing the magazine he wasn’t reading on the seat.
Maria looked up at the list of names on the
directory. “Nothing. I had to get something for my Mom. Why?”
“No reason.” Michael’s eyes followed
hers as he made note of the different names. She wasn’t going to tell him. Not
yet. Six years and she still held things from him until she absolutely had to
admit to it. Michael made note of Maria’s normal doctor’s name.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
Maria asked testily.
“I was.” Michael pointed at a random
name. “I was supposed to pick something up from him, but he's still out of the
office. I have time. Is it heavy, should I carry it for you?”
Maria sighed and stared at the closed
elevator door, glancing up at her husband a few times and then away. “I…”
“Yeah?”
Maria practically stomped her foot in
irritation. “Dammit, you still don’t know how to give a decent present. What
was I thinking?”
Michael crowded close to her, bending down
he whispered in her ear. “You were thinking that those presents don’t really
matter, because I give you better things…more important things. My love. My
trust. My undying loyalty. My baby. And you were thinking that it was time.”
Maria looked at him and her eyes were
glistening with tears. She blinked
them closed. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to give you a special
present.”
That was a problem, obviously. When you are
the most valued assistant to the World's Greatest Alien Investigator, it is hard
to keep anything from him. Maria was often at a disadvantage to his powerful
skills of observation. Hard to miss the morning sickness. The tiredness. The
slight weight gain. He waited patiently for the home pregnancy tests and found
them in the trash, and that look she had this morning, he knew she was finally
going to have it confirmed by a professional.
“You, Maria DeLuca-Guerin, rarely don’t
surprise me.” Maria looked at him sharply and a slow smile moved across her
mouth as her eyes dropped to his lips. “You always give the best presents, but
this one will no doubt be a defining one.” Family. She was giving him a real
family. His own.
This leads us to the next point of investigating technique—Research.
It is hard to know exactly where a suspect is going, to beat them there, if you
do no research. Whereas it was an easy task to add up the obvious clues, or
crumbs as I like to term them, when fretting out my assistant’s secret, when
observing a criminal it is even more important. Research… good research, is a
cornerstone. The better you research a subject, the more likely you are to
unearth motivation. Everyone goes through life leaving crumbs. If you can
recognize the crumbs, you could follow a path back from your own death to the
dinner and movie that resulted in your conception.
Research is not a science, but rather an art. Any one person with even
a little talent or knowing can find the crumbs… the wheres, the whats, and the
whos. The real art is discerning the whys.
For every event, there is a cause and effect. For every crime, a
motive. And for every motive, a passion. The art of research is the ability to
look at the details and see the passion.
“Michael…do you want to…”
“What?” Michael said distractedly.
Maria shrugged. “Nevermind.” She
finished cleaning the kitchen as he watched his game. He had just eaten, but he
could still find room for peanuts. Maria sighed and went into the bedroom to
sort the laundry.
Michael watched her go into their bedroom,
noting the slump of her shoulders. Looking at the television screen for a
moment, he let his mind rush over the recent events. She was distracted.
Recently she started reading the classifieds for houses and bigger apartments.
He noticed the literature she found on house loans, buying and how to finance.
She was watching people she knew in school getting married and having children.
Their lives were settled since they got married. Recently she interrupted her
mother when she started talking about grandchildren. Maria had been looking
through her old childhood pictures, and over a week ago, an old stuffed animal
of hers came out of storage.
Michael went into the bathroom, and quickly
went through the top drawer of the vanity. Birth control. She stopped taking it.
Flipping through the calendar, he noted the last circles. Fertile. Maria was
fertile.
Michael stopped and thought for a moment,
then smiling he went and turned off the television. Standing in the doorway, he
leaned up against the doorjamb and watched her sorting their clothes. “Hey.”
Maria looked up, her beautiful face frowning
at him standing there. “I thought you were watching your game.”
“I was.” Michael pushed his hands in his
pockets. “I was wondering if you would like to do something special this
weekend.”
“Such as?”
Make a baby, or two? Michael shrugged. He
left the doorway and advanced on her. Damn she was so adorable. The way she
hated to ask him to give her things. She hated asking. She was afraid he would
say no. Or tell her something she didn’t want to hear. Something like how he
couldn’t have children, because they would tie him to Earth more, and if he
ever had to leave… She was afraid that since none of them had children, not
Liz, not Kyle and not Isabel, that it meant that children weren’t possible.
She was afraid that her needs and wants would not coincide with his, and once
again, she would have to deny herself for him. She was afraid. Research was
telling him, that this was her passion.
“Such as anything, any where or place you
want to go,” Michael said simply.
“I…” Maria looked up at him as he took
the laundry from her hands and pushed it off the bed. Crowding her, he walked
her backwards a few steps. Sighing, he saw a small smile pull at her mouth. Her
hands moved up his chest, and Michael closed his eyes as his heart thundered in
his chest. Her touch.
An observation he made years ago was that
she was able to move him with a simple touch. A look. It took a lot of research
to ascertain what that meant to him personally, and if and when any specific
circumstance augmented the original feeling. In self-examination, he was more
than happy to admit that in this case, their passion was the same.
Actually, this one passion had been his for
as long as he could remember, and he had waited for it to be hers as well. Given
a little leeway, he would have knocked her up on their wedding night if not
before, but it was one thing to want children, and another to be ready for them.
Over three years married, and she was finally deciding that it was time…that
she was ready. It felt good when all the edges finally came together, the way
they belonged.
“Or we could stay here.” Michael’s
mouth touched hers, opened up to the tentative flicker of her breath on his
lips.
“We could,” she said softly in that
voice she used for him alone. Nurture. She nurtured his lonely soul. The very
isolation that created his powers of observation and objectivity was the one
thing he was happy to have her take from him. He already learned the lessons,
and it was good to let some things go. It does not do to dwell too long in the
past, live in pain, and hide in sorrow.
Michael pushed her down on the bed, and he
followed her down already feeling her hands unfastening his shirt. She laughed
softly as his mouth found her neck, and that laugh soon became a soft moan as
she arched up at his touch.
“I’m not protected,” she said, not
wanting to mislead him.
“Sure you are. I’m all the protection
you need,” Michael whispered back.
“That’s not what I mean, spaceboy.”
Michael just looked into her eyes, his gaze telling her more than words. He
knew. It was okay. Maria face lit up as one of the most beautiful smiles she
ever gave him moved across her face. “What about your game?”
“Sh, can you cooperate here a little?
I’m trying to score.”
Looking for things. When you are looking for something specific, the
chances of finding that one thing is pretty slim because of all the things in
the world, you are looking for just one.
So when you go looking for anything at all, your chances of finding it
are very good, because of all the things in the world, you are assured to find
something.
The most important thing to know about looking for something is that
the thing you are looking for is more than likely right in front of you.
“Okay, so tell me one more time.” Maria
said with her mouth chewing on a fry off his plate. “What is it you are hoping
to find?”
“I don’t know. I told you I’ll know
when I see it.”
Maria raised an eyebrow up at him. “Okay,
that could be a very long process, don’t you think? How will you know you
found it unless you know what you are looking for?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Maria.”
Michael leaned forward, looking around the Crashdown. “It could be
information. It could be something physical, like the key I found in Valenti’s
office that time.” Michael sat back, taking a fry himself to munch on.
He used the bitten off end to jab at her as he stressed his point. “I
told you about that, right?”
“Yeah. You told me.”
Michael smirked. It was genius. “Were you
impressed?”
“Suitably,” Maria said in a hurry,
hoping to forestall him from once again telling her the story.
“You should be. There I was hoping to get
more information about the dead man with the silver handprint. I didn’t know
what I would find, so instead I went into his office, and decided to not just go
for the files, but for anything that looked out of place.”
“The key,” Maria offered to help move
the conversation along.
“The key! It was in hidden in the top of
his thermos.”
“Which was weird.”
“Very weird,” Michael said smugly. Yeah,
he was good even back then. He was better now. He was looking for something now.
Something important. Maria was trying to convince him that she wasn’t that
interested in his quest, but he could tell that she was.
“I don’t get it. You say you are looking
for something, but you don’t know what it is. Right?”
“Right.” Or did he? Sometimes it is mere
a matter of perspective, a fine tuning of the vertical hold on life, to make an
object of passion come into clarity.
Maria sighed, shaking her head. “So I
don’t get it, how do you know where to look, or even where to start?”
Michael shrugged. “I guess I will start
with the first rule of finding something.”
Maria sat back, leaving her hands resting
loosely on the table. “That rule would be?”
Michael took both her hands in his and
pulled her back to the table, closer to it and him. He leaned across and put his
head close to hers as if they were conspirators. “Usually the thing you are
trying to find the most is right in front of you,” he said. Maria searched his
eyes. In front of him? She was in front of him.
“Michael?” Maria’s voice caught in her
throat.
He dropped her hand and moved his own up to
her face to frame it, holding her still. “So perhaps what I am looking for,
have been searching for all my life, is sitting right in front of me,” Michael
said as he leaned over and gently kissed her mouth. “So if you say you’ll
marry me, then I can finally stop looking.”
The ability to blend in. Being that I am a confessed alien, obviously
this important aspect to detail is a glaring one. When you are at all times
outside a norm, it is important to be able to assimilate into a more mainstream
venue. The trained observer gathers his most important information by being able
to move unobtrusively through a crowd without drawing attention to himself. The
art of blending in is to very discretely assimilate. It’s not usually that
difficult, all you have to do is look around, see how the ordinary people are
behaving, and try to behave like one of them.
This technique is certifiable. I have spent a lifetime fitting into
human society despite my obvious alien nature. I can honestly say that I am a
master of this. It is one of the most important aspects of my investigating
technique that has led to my unobtrusive ability to observe, record, and
research all qualifying aspects and conditions of human nature.
“Michael Guerin?” Max looked over when
he heard Michael’s name mentioned. “Where can I find him?”
“He and his wife run and own a business
over on Walters and 36th. It is a specialized construction firm. They
buy, rebuild and renovate houses together.” The store clerk paused as he was
scanning the purchases. “They’re really good. His wife is an architect and
interior decorator, and he is incredible with anything wood. He likes to
build.”
“Michael Guerin?” The man stared at a
card he had in his hand. “Are you sure? The man I am looking for is someone
who can find lost things.”
“That’s him. He’s a strange one. I
went to school with him and his wife. He is stand-offish. Never fit in. Actually
I would say until he hooked up with Maria DeLuca, his wife, most of us expected
him to end up either a street person, or a murder victim. That or live his life
in the State Pen. Shocking how things turned out. And he finds things. Strange
how he does it. It’s like he knows.” The clerk leaned forward on his
counter. “Mrs. Wilson lost her wedding ring. Looked for weeks for it, and she
was afraid to tell her husband she lost it. Actually she accused her best friend
Betsy Taylor of stealing it. Well those two, they got into it real good. Betsy
Taylor, if you knew her, she wouldn’t stand for that, so to spit in Betty Lou
Wilson’s eye, she called Michael and asked him to find it.”
“Did he?”
“Hell, yeah! Gina, Carly Marie’s third
cousin on her Dad’s side told me that Betsy told her cousin Harvey how Michael
said no at first, but finally agreed when she said she would have her niece,
Jennie Carol babysit his friend Steve’s three kids, so Steve could take his
wife out on their anniversary.”
“How did he find it?”
The clerk shrugged. “Big mystery. But he
did it in less than half an hour and with only two phone calls. He asked Betsy
when was the last time that Betty Lou saw her ring. Well everyone knew it was
the night of the Ladies’ Auxiliary. Well everyone but Michael, since like I
said, he is sort of odd. Anyway, Michael called Mr. Peters over at the Town Hall
asking who was responsible for the custodial work at the Auxiliary. It was Joe
Bob Watson. So Michael called Joe Bob, and asked him to check the cleanout drain
in the women’s bathroom.”
“It was there?”
“All that time!” The man hit the counter
chuckling. “Thing was, he found it without ever leaving home.”
“He sounds like the man I’m looking for.
Thanks.”
“Hey, Mister? Whatcha wanting Michael to
find?”
The man looked at the clerk with dark eyes.
“My son.”
~~~
Max knocked on the door. Knocking again, he
looking in through the side window next to the nice large decorative door, he
didn’t see Michael or Maria. The sign at the shop said that they were gone to
a site, and to leave a message. So he came to see if they were at their home.
Stepping back, Max looked at the large house. He loved that house. Someday, he
hoped to be able to afford someplace as nice.
They just bought it two months ago. It was a
wreck. A wreck with potential. He couldn’t understand why suddenly they felt
the need to move out of their old apartment into something so big, but he had to
admit that he wasn’t surprised. Over the last few years they had restored and
designed houses for many people in
The size was what really bothered him. Max
frowned at the huge house. It was a place for a huge family. Not two people.
“They’re not home.”
Max turned to the voice. “Hey, Fly. You
know where they are today?”
“Over on
Max smirked. “I told Michael not to take
the project.”
“Wasn’t him, man. It was Maria. She gave
him this whole guilt trip over it being for family.”
“Yeah, well I guess I know the way
then.” Max waved as he jumped into his broken down Cheville. Isabel’s house.
He couldn’t even think of it as Jesse’s too, since every stick of furniture,
every decoration was exactly to Isabel’s specifications. She graduated from
Christmas Nazi to overbearing dictator. It wasn’t hard to find them. He just
had to follow the shouting.
“No!”
“Michael, it’s my house. I want that
refrigerator.”
“You can’t have it.” Max walked into
the kitchen to find Michael and Isabel facing off practically nose to nose.
Maria was the interesting one. She was digging through the refrigerator. She
came out with some yogurt. He watched as she ignored the other two and dug into
the creamy mixture with gusto. He frowned as he watched her add
“Hey, Max. Come to watch World War III?”
Max kissed Maria on the cheek. “No. I came
to locate Michael, but I guess I can watch this too.” Max looked at the two
practically spitting at each other. “Who’s winning?”
“I would say Isabel, because she always
gets her way. But in this case, Michael's the one to put your money on.”
“Why is that?” Max never knew Isabel not
to win with any of them.
“Retaining wall. The refrigerator will cut
into a retaining wall, and structurally, it can’t be done.”
“You tell her?”
Maria nodded. “Yeah. Both of us. Michael,
a little fiercer than me, but still he told her. She’s not listening.” Maria
waved her spoon at the two. “Feel free to break it up. They have yet to resort
to using their powers to make their point. Now's a good time.”
Max looked at Maria to see if she was
joking, but her head was buried in the refrigerator again, this time she came up
with a bottle of Sunny D.
“Hey!” Max put himself between the two.
“Hey! Really, back off, both of you.”
Michael glared at Isabel and went over to
Maria stealing her orange juice for a swig.
“Maxwell.” Michael handed Maria back her
juice. “To what do we owe this honor? You never leave the
“Normally, no.” Max glanced at his
sister’s red face. “I was at the local convenience store earlier buying a
pack of cigarettes, and I overheard something.” Isabel scribbled up her nose
at the mention of his smoking. Caring none about what he overheard at the store,
she turned her head to the plans spread across the counter. Looking at the evil
wall that was ruining her life, she tried to think of solution that would get
her the refrigerator she wanted.
“So that made you come looking for
Isabel?”
“No, Michael. It made me come looking for
you.” Maria glanced at Max the same time Isabel did.
“What did he do now?” Isabel said with a
touch of irritation.
“Hey!” Maria’s indignation was
apparent. “What makes you think he’s done anything?”
“Maria.” Michael gathered his wife back
to his side. “Spill, Max.”
Max shared a look with his sister. This was
an old argument. They had it time and again. “This stranger from out of town
was getting directions to find you.” Michael remained silent. “The clerk was
only too happy to tell the guy how weird you are, and how you are a finder of
lost things.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. “Great!” Looking
at Michael sourly, “Can’t you just stick to ruining people’s houses?”
Maria opened her mouth to make an angry retort to that uncalled for remark, but
Michael’s tightening arm stopped her. It was utterly unfair. They were
standing in Isabel’s newly renovated kitchen, and it was a work of art,
completely beautiful.
“Michael, you have to stop this. You’re
drawing attention to us, and to
Michael sighed. “Did he say what he was
looking for? Or did you run away in a panic fright?”
“His son.” Max resented that. He
wasn’t hysterical.
Michael looked at Maria. A lost child. Maria
nodded. “We better get home then. Looks like I might have a new job.”
“Michael!” Both Isabel and Max called
after him.
Michael looked back, holding Maria's hand.
“Maxwell, butt out. You have no right to lecture me on putting us at risk.
Isabel, if you hate the kitchen, too bad! Hire someone else to tear down that
wall. I refuse. My final bill will be in the mail.”
“You said no charge!”
“That was only under the condition that
you didn’t get in my face. Too late.” Maria let Michael pull her from the
house. She called Isabel a bitch under her breath.
“Language, Maria!” Michael teased. Maria
never used profanity, and she actually got along with Isabel.
“She didn’t have to jump on you like
that just because her new refrigerator won’t work.”
Michael loaded Maria into his SUV, kissing
her on the forehead before resting his hand on her pregnant stomach. It was
still their secret. “Old habits die hard. You want to hear this guy out?”
“It’s a child, Michael. A lost child.”
Michael nodded. He knew she would understand.
Passion. It explained so many things. It explained the break in my
friendship to Max Evans, a man I once considered my best friend, and brother.
Once you can define the nature of passion, then all the resulting causalities
become merely academic.
Passion is the enemy of precision. Forget the misnomer, crime of
passion. All crime is passionate. This passion moves the criminal to act, and it
is that act that disrupts the static inertia of morality. Max was my criminal.
He was my longest observing case. It was his passion for a once dead girl that
had facilitated his downfall. His fall of grace. Saving Liz Parker’s life was
the moment that his passion acted to destroy the very bonded morality he had to
me and Isabel. I never could forgive him, not for the actual act, but rather the
refusal he had all this time to admit that he did anything wrong. That was
unforgivable. If he'd admitted it, then we could’ve gone on. So his passion
drowned his morality, in the most criminal of acts… an act of blind betrayal.
And it was Liz’s passion that would facilitate her downfall.
“You’re home early,” Liz said as Max
came through the door of their apartment.
“I decided to take off.” Max stood
looking at Liz. He hesitated. In was almost instinct that made him want to tell
her about his fight with Michael, but he held back. Lately, Liz seemed to find
anything to do with aliens uninteresting.
They married right out of high school. Liz
had gotten into Northwestern, but she turned it down. He couldn’t leave
“I saw Maria today. She looked good.”
Liz looked up at that. Guilt was lining her
face. She was avoiding Maria, her best friend, and Maria was avoiding her.
“That’s good. I was meaning to call her.”
“It has been a few weeks. Is something
wrong?” Max sat down next to Liz at the table. They rarely talked anymore.
Both were often silent in their own thoughts.
“No. Nothing.” Liz smiled overly bright.
“What could be wrong?”
Max nodded. He got up to go take a shower.
It was the house. Liz wanted more. She could handle being trapped in
It took over a year of trying before Liz
finally went to the doctor. She was reluctant because of her changed chemistry,
and Max was sure he could have children because of Zan, so that left only Liz.
Sterile. It was a hard thing to say or think about. The doctor pinpointed it as
a trauma she suffered at around sixteen. He said it looked like she had suffered
a trauma in her lower abdomen, that left scaring of her ovaries. The gunshot
wound. Max had fixed it. Healed it, but not before it cause irreparable damage.
It wasn’t just the scar tissue. Isabel
couldn’t conceive either. Her and Jesse were still trying. Finally Kyle went
to the doctor to be checked out. His sperm count was almost non-existent. The
best assumption they could make was that being healed by an alien meant you were
healed, but sterile. Max had healed both Liz and Kyle, and Michael healed Isabel
when he took over Max’s powers. All of them were sterile.
None of them would ever have children.
Liz went back to reading until Max left the
room. Her eyes looked up to follow her husband. Sighing, she closed her eyes and
sunk her head into her hands. It was hard. Dreams. New ones. Old ones. Ones she
could no longer have. She stood outside Michael and Maria’s home, looked up at
the large wreck of a house they both were so excited about, and she
felt…cheated.
She gave up so much. So much. And though she
loved Max, there were parts of her that felt empty. It wasn’t just her womb.
It was a special place inside her that once had high hopes. Dreams.
When you live with no passion at all, other people’s passions come
into glaring relief. It was the stark reality of Max’s passion as he saved Liz
that I saw. That for this abiding passion, he would forsake everything,
everyone, even his own honor. For Liz, her passion was a debt that never could
be repaid. It was why she was trapped and bound to Max for all eternity.
Soulmates? Or life inmates? It was hard to say.
Hers was a passion built out of overwhelming gratitude. One day, a boy
that she never spoke to despite two years as his lab partner, saved her life. In
many customs, a person saves your life, it is theirs. Was that what happened to
Liz? It was hard to say. Over the years, every dream, every ounce of her own
independence was given away to Max. Perhaps the word love was the only way to
make it bearable?
For Max? There was the crime. He risked everything. Not just himself,
but both Isabel and I, without a thought. His passion was a crime to us. It was
a break in our friendship that never found a way to completely mend. What
started as a betrayal, was carried all these years, as a tear in the fabric.
Time and time again, Max, the criminal, and Liz, an emotional blackmailer waged
a game against each other, with all those around them serving as the
battlefield.
That brings me to desperation. In all acts of crime there is a settled
pattern of progression. An understandable flow of events that are merged into a
likelihood of circumstance. That pattern can be intervened and interrupted by a
new component. Desperation.
When you spend enough time around the chemistry of desperation, you
come to recognize the smell. It is a pervasive one, that permeates all stratum
of living tissue. It is the most bitterest of tastes.
One desperate element is combustible, and more than one desperate
element is lethal. When gauging the volatile nature of human’s, these elements
are the free radicals that move like a cancer through even the most loving of
relationships. One fact always surfaces. A person can’t escape their nature.
That which does not destroy us, defines us.
“Liz, hi!” Maria was shocked to see Liz
standing in the doorway of her home office.
“Tell me you’re not pregnant.”
Maria paused. Looking down she sighed. Three
months. They found out three months ago, but they kept it to themselves. The
others would never have children. Her and Michael didn’t even know for sure
they could have them, until that pregnancy test came back positive. She checked
it six times. And still she couldn’t dare to dream.
“I can’t.”
Liz came into the room and sat down on the
side of Maria’s desk, beside the design table. “I knew. I saw the house, and
I knew.”
Maria took her friend’s cold hands in
hers. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” she whispered.
Liz felt tears stream down her face. She
nodded. Looking at her best friend of a lifetime, she quickly hugged her, and
Maria and Liz both sunk to the floor crying.
“I wish I died that day. That he let me
die.”
“Liz, no! No.” Maria pushed her hair off
her face.
“I…” Liz hugged Maria harder, her body
shuddering as she wept. “So much. Too much. Alex. Tess. Max giving her a baby.
All of it.” Liz looked at Maria. “Am I evil to feel so bad for myself? Alex
is dead. Tess is dead. Zan is gone. All I can think of is how I never will hold
my own child, mine and Max’s.”
Maria shook her head. “No. That is not
bad, Liz. It’s not. It is okay to want things you can’t have. It is okay to
wish for a different outcome.” Maria pulled Liz into her arms again, looking
over at the door, she saw Michael standing there. He held up his hand to her,
then closed it in a gesture of support as he quickly left the room.
“I’ve felt so miserable. Max is being
great, but even he can only do so much.”
Maria forced Liz to look at her. “You
living that day was a good thing. For me, it was a good thing. I loved you so
much. Losing you, that would have been hard, as hard as it was to lose Alex. I
can’t imagine it.” Maria wiped a tear away. “I know you're disappointed,
but the difference is not the you can’t carry a child now, Liz. If you had
died, there would’ve been no baby either. Max broke the natural order of
things, thank god! He stole you time. Us time.”
“I know.” Liz pushed her hair off her
face. “I tell myself that everyday. Max gave away Zan. Now I can’t give him
another child. It is so hard. I feel that I owe him. I owe him for picking me.
Maria forced Liz to look at her. “You
don’t. You never did. Listen to me, Liz Parker-Evans. You listen to me. What
Max did? That was Max’s choice. You owe nothing for a choice he made. You
never once asked to be saved.”
“Michael and Isabel, they don’t
think…”
“Stop it. Don’t put this on Michael or
Isabel. What they believe or feel, that has everything to do with their
relationship with Max, and not you. Never you.” Maria pulled Liz to her feet.
“I know this is hard, but you love Max. He loves you. You are together.
Someday, maybe there will be more? Time. Time is a gift you were given Liz.
Don’t waste it on nothing.”
Liz smiled through tears and hugged Maria
again. “What would I do without you?”
Maria laughed. “Perish we should ever find
out.” Maria looked at her life long friend. “There isn’t a day I haven’t
thanked Max Evans in my heart for saving you. He has made mistakes; that is
true. We all have. But inside, where it counts, we are all good people trying to
make a way for ourselves. That has to count for something. Yeah?”
Liz laughed a little. “Yeah.” Liz
touched Maria’s flat stomach. “I’m going to be an aunt.”
“You are! You will be the best aunt any
child could ever want or love. I promise you.” Maria flipped Liz’s hair.
“My children will think you are a fairytale Princess, and I will tell them it
is so.”
Liz sat down and they talked about things,
about their lives, as Michael watched them. Observed from the sideline. It was
what he did best. A person can’t escape their nature.
As we narrow in on the case that overlapped and helped to define my
life, I like to stand back and marvel at how unpredictable it all was. For the
World's Greatest Alien Investigator, I have to admit being astounded at many
turn of events, but in truth over the years I usually account for the
unforeseeable as a factored in DeLuca variable. So my trusty and ever loving
assistant, and wife, has returned to once again pepper my brilliant observations
with colorful euphemisms. In that, I always feel blessed.
So in the case that altered my life, I like to call the unraveling of
events, the case of the would-be King, who broke his word to his family, to
save an unknown girl, and give his brother a chance to come out of the cold.
I have learned to live with the events of my life, and my disappointment in Max,
only because I have learned that there is no world too safe, no life so
isolated, that the world cannot find a way to touch it. In this case, I look at
my pregnant wife, and live knowing that anything involving her will always have
a degree of unpredictability, and I find myself too thanking Max Evans for
saving Liz Parker’s life.
Being that I am soon to be a father, the documentation of a clear and
concise manner of investigating is necessary to lay out the path of
understanding for my child, who will no doubt be the world’s second greatest
alien investigator. My son or daughter’s education will be a careful
demonstration of objectivity and observation, but different in mine, in that
they will not be isolated and detached from human contact. So there we find the
last point on understanding human nature and investigating it. Life is a dynamic
system, and it should be one that actually remains so, because nothing is closer
to death than something that is static.
In all that, we look at the case of the crime, and we see that given
time, extenuating circumstances, that even the most difficult of cases have a
solution. All it takes is objective observation, followed by a clear and careful
intervention.
TBC:
The Case of the Missing Skate Key