Part 8

Sitting in the tub with the curtains drawn, isolated from the outside world, Liz felt faint and drained. Her limbs were jelly, jiggling like Jell-O. She couldn’t see. It was all a blur. The only thing she could make out were the candle flames and swirls of blue, green, red, yellow, orange, and pink. The blood was flowing out of her one drop after another.

Looking down on the bathroom floor, she could see vaguely spots of red, the size of dimes and pennies. Her breathing had slowed to gasps of air. Her lungs were beginning to burn. A shiver came over her. Cold chills ran down her back. Something was going to happen. Something bad.

At the mysterious headquarter…

“Roswell?”

“Yes sir, Roswell sir.”

“Aren’t the Royal Four in Roswell?”

“Yes sir, the last time we checked, they were still there.”

His lips curled into another reckless wicked grin.

“Good. We can kill two birds with one stone then. Nicholas!”

The small boy appeared, bowing his head low in greeting and respect.

“Yes sir?”

“You stay here and watch this place while I’m away. I need to go somewhere.”

“Sir?” Nicholas asked, raising his eyes from the ground to look at his king in the eye. “Is it true? Are the rumors true? Is Kalien still alive?”

“Yes Nicholas, she is.”

Something flickered in Nicholas’ eyes, love, happiness, joy, and even a dash of fear.

Back to Liz…

Her heart was pumping less and less blood. The oxygen was getting cut off from her head, not traveling far. Black and gray spots danced in her eyes. It was like watching a slow paced film. Each shot flashing into her mind 5 minutes apart. Her hands were stiff and tight, she could barely move her fingers or toes. Pictures were swimming in her eyes.

Pictures of her parents hugging, former Sheriff Jim Valenti with his gun drawn, Maria in their work uniform with those silly antennas bouncing on her head, Alex strumming his guitar with a grin on his face, Kyle dribbling a basketball and balancing it on his index finger, Isabel painting her nails and changing the colors with a wave of her hand, Michael with that oh-so familiar scowl on his face, Tess hugging Max.

*Sweet Max.* Her brain whispered. *Whose heart I crush with my bare hands whenever I got the chance. Sweet Max who gave me everything. Sweet Max, how I love you but can never tell you so. I love you. Forgive me.*

Outside the tub, she could hear faint footsteps approaching.

*Mom? Dad?*

The bathroom door opened.

*No, they would knock first. This is someone else, but who?*

Her brain was getting fuzzy, she couldn’t think. The pain in her body and lungs was fading. She couldn’t feel anything. Numbness had taken over. She didn’t know if it was a good thing or not. Regrets were beginning to form. But it was too late. She had gone too far already to take it all back.

The curtains were parted by a man’s hand. Liz’s mind gave one last sign before succumbing to the demanding darkness where she would be protected. Or so she believed.

*Max.*

Next Day…

“Liz, honey, we’re home!” Mrs. Parker said, knocking on her daughter’s door.

When she got no answer, she knocked harder. “Liz, are you awake?”

There was still no answer. Mrs. Parker turned the knob but it didn’t budge. Liz doesn’t lock her door, something’s not right here.

“Jeff! You better get over here now! And bring the screwdriver with you too!”

Mr. Parker came running up the stairs to assist his wife. They unscrewed the knob and opened it, expecting to see their daughter still sleeping in bed. But there was no one in the bed. It was made, sheets tucked in carefully, though the pillows were missing.

They looked around the room, spotting the bathroom door a jarred. Mr. Parker went to Liz’s balcony and Mrs. Parker was left the job of checking out the bathroom.

She opened the door cautiously, wondering where her daughter was when she suddenly grew pale white and screamed. Mr. Parker caught the falling Mrs. Parker as she went into a dead faint. He looked into the bathroom and his own face grew white, whiter than the white of ghosts.

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