She'd even painted a nude of Max, which he'd semi-reluctantly posed for. She'd had him sit facing away from her, then she'd proceeded to paint every curve and ripple of his well-defined shoulders, back and thighs. He looked like a Greek god. She still had that painting - in the back of her closet.

Liz couldn't escape the feeling that something was wrong. She'd been feeling this way for the past few days. And Max had missed school today, which was a rarity. Being alien, he never got sick. Without that tried and true excuse, Max was a student with perfect attendance.

The discomfort of the uneasy feeling in her stomach had eventually driven Liz out to the balcony with the easel and a palette of watercolors. Lilies tonight, she told herself. Lilies were calming. So beautiful in their simplicity. No nudes of the resident aliens, which were beautiful but definitely not simple.

"Liz? Are you up there?"

Liz put down her brush. That was odd - she could usually sense when Max was headed her direction. She'd even known when he'd perched outside her window and watched her sleep. But she hadn't felt his presence this time.

She walked over to the edge of the roof and looked over. It wasn't Max. It was Michael.

"Hey, Michael." She was genuinely happy to see him.

"I knocked on your bedroom door," he explained. "I guess you couldn't hear me out here."

"I decided to paint a little. Why don't you come up?"

Michael eyed the ladder. "Geez, is that thing safe?"

Liz cocked her head. "If it held Max, it will hold you."

"Alright, but if I fall, I'm kicking your ass when I finally get back up."

Liz laughed and moved to cover her paints. Michael nearly tripped over the top rung of the ladder and landed with a thud on the roof.

"Geez, next time answer your door," he chided.

Liz shrugged. "What's going on, Michael?"

Michael drew in a deep breath, suddenly found it hard to look at her. "Something happened, Liz. I think I need your help."

They sat together under the stars as Michael explained the situation to Liz. She listened, her eyes round, at the horror Michael relayed to her.

"And this was what Max's dreams were about?" she questioned when Michael had finished the story.

"Apparently. God, Liz, the door was locked, the windows were locked. She was just...gone."

"Oh, how horrible." Liz looked away for the first time, trying to comprehend what Isabel must be going through. Wherever she was. "Do you even know where to start looking?"

"Not a clue. Max said that he has always been aware of Isabel. Not really conscious of her whereabouts, but he could always connect with her. Like she was a part of him. Now he says he can't feel anything."

Liz tried to imagine Max's grief over losing a part of himself. It was the same as Liz losing the part of her that was Max.

"Liz, I don't think you can help us find Isabel."

"But you said you needed - "

"I need you to help with Max."

Liz swallowed hard. "Max...what's wrong with Max?"

Michael looked to the stars. "This all happened on Friday. It's Monday. He hasn't moved out of his bedroom since. I don't think he's eaten. He's got the shades pulled, and he refuses to talk to me. He won't even help me come up with a plan to find her. He just pulls his blankets over head and tells me to go away."

"What do you think I can do?"

Now Michael looked at her. "He loves you, Liz. Maybe you can get through to him."

God, just try harder. She's there somewhere. Just reach out with your mind. Call her. Isabel. I'm right here. Let me help you. Tell me where you are. Oh, please, Is....

Max stifled the sob that threatened to escape. He'd been in this room for three days, trying to retreat into his own head. It was the last place he'd seen her - all hot and bothered because he'd tried to protect her. He couldn't forget the look on her face, her beautiful face, as she disappeared into that abyss. The images of her demise had replaced all of his torturous reflections of Liz. He'd give anything to be reliving the pain of Liz at his moment.

Liz.

Max pulled the covers from his head and looked slowly toward the window. Liz was near. He just knew it. He gingerly swung his legs over the bed. Every muscle in his body ached from lying in the same position for days.

Max walked over and pulled open his curtains. It was night...which night? He'd lost all sense of time. It could have been ten minutes ago that Isabel had disappeared. It could have been ten days ago.

Liz was standing on the other side of the glass.

Max pushed open the window, and held out his hand to help her inside. She took it and climbed in, wordlessly. Max held her hand lightly, felt the electricity. He looked into her eyes.

"Can I hold you?" he asked simply.