***

Moving through the crowds of people in the hall prior to the warning bell, Maria felt weak. She'd never had such full-bodied dreams before and they scared at her. She'd been surprised to find her hands were not ragged strips but the dissonance of Michael encased in salt was so much as to keep the surprise pleasant.

She hadn't experienced anything so horrifyingly graphic since Isabel had made a guest appearance-

"Oof!" Maria fell to the ground, cogent enough to be glad she wasn't carrying books.

"Oh, hey, Maria," Max said distantly as he helped her up.

"No harm, no foul."

"Well, okay then," Max turned away.

"What's your hurry?"

"No hurry, just class. School, remember."

The five-minute bell rang.

"Actually, Max, I wanted to ask you about Michael."

He looked her in the eyes. She noticed the tense set of his shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"Um, is something wrong –I mean, you know, he's good right?"

"Basically, yeh. He tends to be self-sufficient when he's not being, uh, Michael-ish."

Ordinarily, Maria would have laughed. "Oh, okay."

He waited until he turned right before he broke into a run towards the parking lot, vaguely making out her parting, "Are you sure?"

***

"Maria DeLuca?"

"Hi, I came back." She smiled half-heartedly, one-hand still planted on the stained glass wall.

"I'm glad, I've got your paperwork done." Ms. Clarke led her to the office. "I had that wall put in specially. Years ago, I wasn't sure why."

"It's comforting," Maria responded. Though she'd slept hours last night, she was tired but too terrified to fall asleep.

"Actually, Maria, I wanted to ask if you've seen Michael today? He was supposed to come in today and he never came. It's never happened before."

"I haven't seen him either." She hadn't seen anyone today, except for Max in the hall.

"Well, do you think you could take him something for me?" Ms. Clarke pointed to a paper-wrapped square, "Michael's art project, Mr. Hinds said he didn't dare keep it in the classroom."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks, Maria. Michael's lucky to have such a good friend."

"Yeh."

***

Ten minutes later, the blonde was breaking into Liz's bedroom through the window. She had walked because she couldn't very well take the limousine on a truant's quest. Finding no one there, she went on to the Evans'. None of them had been in school. Not Michael, Liz, Isabel, Max, or Alex. No way was this a coincedence.

Even though she'd grown up in Roswell, Maria could appreciate the New Mexico sun. She was wearing four-inch platforms that had never been meant for anything more strenuous than crossing your legs. Why the hell did Alex have to live so far away?

She could see the jeep through the Whitman's open garage. What is going on, she thought as she collapsed on the doormat.

***

"I can barely see him," Isabel said again.

"What do you mean you can't see him? He's right there." Alex patted a comatose Michael on his bed.

"No, she's right," Max answered tersely. "He's fading –and I can't sense him."

"Try touching him," Liz suggested. There had to be a reasonable answer for this. "Maybe it's an alien thing."

Max's hand swept right through chest and didn't stop until it hit the comforter.