PART TWO

Liz stood open-mouthed at the door, not comprehending their request.

"Miss, could you open the door please?" the blond agent said.

Liz shook herself out of her daze, and opened the door.

"Sorry," she said. "You just scared me for a moment."

"That's all right Miss. We didn't mean to alarm you," he answered, as a taller, dark-haired agent came in behind him.

"This is Agent Jeffrey, and I am Agent Christiansen," the blond man said. "We're sorry to bother you this late at night, but we're scouting the area for a dangerous fugitive," he said.

"A fugitive?" Liz said, alarmed. "What did he do?"

Sanders glanced at Wilkes and hesitated.

"He murdered a woman and her three year old son in Albuquerque last night," Wilkes said.

"Oh my God!" Liz said. "What happened? Why would anyone do that?"

"We don't know. There was no apparent reason for it," Sanders said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo.

"This is him," he said, handing the picture to her. "Have you seen him anywhere in the vicinity?"

Liz looked at the photo. In it was a pale young man, about her age, with intense amber eyes, standing against a background of a stark, white wall. Liz couldn't help but notice that even despite his pale, gaunt look, he was a devastatingly good-looking guy. But his gaze looked almost,haunted. He didn't look like a killer, but then she supposed there were many people out there who didn't.

"No, I haven't seen him," she said, handing the photo back.

"Should I be worried?" she asked.

"https://majestysfanfic.tripod.com/ficnsmain.htm"No Miss," Wilkes said. "More than likely he's moved on. But we are just making residents aware of it on the slim chance he may have come this way. He's very strong and fast. We tried to get a hit on him in Hondo, and he was able to escape unscathed. Which is why we are letting everyone know he may be in the area. If you see him, don't let on that you know anything," he said, pulling out a business card and handing it to her.

"If you see him, you can reach us at this number anytime," he said.

"Well thank you for warning me," Liz said, opening the door. "I'll be sure to call you if I see anything at all."

"Thank you for your time Miss," Sanders said, and Liz locked the door behind them.

Great, she thought. There was a killer on the loose, and she was here all by herself. Wonderful. She now knew that she wouldn't get any sleep tonight. She turned the lights off in the restaurant and walked to the kitchen, planning to make herself a cup of tea. She went to the cupboard to get a tea bag, when she felt something sticky on her foot.

She looked down and stifled a gasp. Across the tile of the floor, which she had somehow stepped over before, was a trail of blood. Her wide eyes followed the trail to the alcove behind the lockers. Biting back fear, she was afraid to move, because she had a pretty good idea who that trail led to. The room was eerily silent. She had nothing to protect herself with, and no idea what kind of weapons he might be carrying. She sidestepped carefully to the cabinets, pulling one of them open and removing a frying pan. Quietly, she shut the cabinet, and moved toward the alcove, expecting the worst. She hated guns, but right now she wished that her parents kept one onhand.

Holding the pan gripped tightly over her shoulder, she hoped against hope that the intruder had already left through the back door.

Squinting her eyes shut, and praying he was gone, she opened them quickly and rushed to the entrance of the alcove, and the sight that met her caused her arm to fall, the pan limp on her palm.

Huddled against the wall, was the fugitive. His hand clutched his stomach, where blood seeped through his white t-shirt. His legs were clad in the drab green of hospital scrubs. On his feet were a pair of shabby sneakers. His skin was extremely pale, and his breathing labored. His eyes were closed, his dark ash lashes accentuated by the sickly milky color of his cheeks. His forehead was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. On his forearms were track-like marks, an angry crimson color, standing out starkly against the pallor of his skin.

Liz knelt, drawn in by the strange beauty of his face. She laid the pan down silently. She knew she should be calling the agents, but something held her back, some intuition, an unspoken, unrecoized thought that made her kneel here, silent, studying him.

There definitely was something wrong with him. Something had happened to him while out there on the run. She tried to make an excuse for the stripes on his arms. Perhaps he had been running through brush. But her analytical mind quickly realized that as unlikely. The marks were uniform, and on the *inside* of his arms. Though it wasn't impossible to get scratches on the inside of your arms while running through brush, it was much more likely that the outside of your arms would be cut, and to have those marks up so high on his arm. They looked like needle marks. Some were faded, some looked fresh. Some looked like burns. Perhaps he was a drug-addict. But that didn't explain the blood on his shirt. She thought that the agents had told her this man had escaped unscathed.

Just then he stirred, his eyes flitting open. They slowly focused on the wall in front of him, and then they spotted her to his left. He quickly jumped, huddled against the wall, and his eyes bored into her.

She felt her heart tighten. Now more than ever, she knew that something was wrong with the picture the Agent's had created in their account. For the man who was pressed against the wall could not possibly be a killer. He looked upon her with eyes filled with blinded terror.

For a short moment they stared at each other in silence, and then suddenly, lightning-fast, he launched himself at her, knocking her to the ground, running past her to the door. As she tried to get to her feet, he seemed to put his hand over the knob of the door, and she heard an audible click as the lock opened.

He quickly pulled the door open, and ran out into the alley, into the night, the rapid thunk of his sneakers slapping against the pavement in Liz's ears as she hurried to the door, trying to see what direction he headed in at the end of the alley.

"Wait!" she cried, but he was already gone.

What had she just seen? Her eyes must have been deceiving her, because she could have sworn she didn't see his fingers disengage the lock. But that had to be wrong. It was impossible.

Well and truly freaked out, Liz closed and locked the door, pushing the bolt of the dead-bolt in place.

*%*%*%*%*%*

Liz sat groggily on her bed at 5 am. She had not been able to sleep, fearing that he might return, but common sense told her he was gone for good. Her insomnia had given her plenty of time to reflect. She still wasn't quite sure why she hadn't contacted the FBI about the mysterious stranger.

Her head told her that there could possibly be a killer still on the loose, thanks to her. But something in her heart told her that there was something more here than the agents were telling her.

She knew that she hadn't imagined things. She saw that he had unlocked the door with what appeared to be merely the power of his mind. Was he telekinetic?

The fact that they told her that he avoided their bullets also bothered her. Why then was he bleeding? And what were those marks on his arms? Granted, he could have been injured anywhere in the time since he had left Albuquerque, but still,

Never one to let something go, Liz had decided to look at the Albuquerque newspapers. Maybe there she could find out some answers.

She went downstairs to make some coffee to wake herself up a little bit, and came back upstairs and logged onto the internet. Within 5 minutes she had found the Albuquerque newspapers and was poring over the headlines from the last two days. A mother/son murder would be big news, most likely making the front page. But there was no mention at all of murders in the entire state of New Mexico in the past few days.

Alarms began to go off in her head. Something was really amiss here. If he didn't kill those people as the agents had said, then why were they after him?

He had looked at her with such fear in his eyes. As if *she* were going to hurt *him*, not the other way around.

Troubled, she logged off the computer and got ready for school.

Already preparations were under way in the kitchen for the morning crowd when she left.

*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*

The fugitive's face haunted her the whole way to school. She couldn't get that look of naked fear in his eyes out of her mind.

Troubled and involved in her thoughts, she didn't even see Maria when she walked in the doors.

"Chica," Maria called after her, snapping her out of her reverie.

"Oh hey Maria," Liz said distractedly, and Maria gave Liz a look. She could always tell when something was bothering Liz. She always awed on her lower lip.

"What's up with you girlfriend? You don't look yourself," she asked, concerned, running her hand through her shoulder length blond hair.

"Nothing," Liz said in a low voice.

"Don't even give me that Liz. I know something's wrong. Spill," Maria said, standing in front of her with her hands on her hips.

"We'll talk about it during lunch ok?" Liz asked. "I'm going to be late for class."

"Ok, Maria said, pointing at her, "But don't think I am going to forget, cause I'm not. We're gonna have a chat."

Liz smiled and nodded. "See ya later Maria."

Liz barely heard any of her teachers in her morning classes, mulling over the events from last night and what she'd found out. He didn't look much, if any older than she was. How much trouble could the guy have gotten himself into?

And then she'd think of his eyes. Even in fear, they were arresting. They'd held hers captivated for that short moment before he'd knocked her over.

But what the hell was she thinking? Last night she was bemoaning the fact that she'd lost Kyle, and now she was mooning over some strange, and probably dangerous guy's eyes. Something was definitely wrong with her. She needed to get a life.

Maria was true to her word. Everyday they ate with Alex, the completing member of their little group. Liz had known Alex since she was five. The three of them were inseparable most of the time, and there was nothing that the three of them didn't know about each other, except for female stuff, which Alex had learned to turn a deaf ear to.

As soon as she, Alex and Liz had situated themselves at a table, Maria brought up the morning.

"So Liz, what was up with you this morning?" she asked.

Liz sighed and put her sandwich down. She knew she wasn't going to get out of this so easily, and she knew Maria was going to freak when she heard that a fugitive had been in the Crashdown while Liz was there alone. She was sure Alex wasn't going to be too happy about it either.

"Did FBI Agents come around your houses last night?" Liz asked.

"Yeah," Alex said, taking a bit of his sandwich. "Some dude murdered a mother and her kid, and they're looking for the bastard," he mumbled between chewing.

"Yep, they were at my house too, why?" Maria asked.

"That guy,he was in the Crashdown after closing last night," Liz said quietly.

"WHAT?!?!?" Alex and Maria said in unison.

"Are you hurt? Did they catch him?" Maria asked panicked.

"I'm fine Maria, obviously," Liz snorted. "And could you keep your voice down please?"

"Did they get him? You called the FBI right?" Alex asked.

"No, actually I didn't," Liz said slowly.

"What? Why not?" Alex practically shouted. "You mean he's still out there?"

"Alex, calm down. I don't think he killed anyone," Liz said.

"How can you say that?" he said exasperated. "You don't know what a killer looks like! All these serial killers, I mean, have you ever seen David Berkowitz? You know, Son of Sam? He looked normal too!"

"Alex,shut up and listen to me," Liz said, exasperated.

"He was hurt, badly. The FBI said that he escaped unscathed, but he was bleeding. He had these burns and marks all over his body. And he was bleeding badly. And I looked in the Albuquerque newspapers. There was no murder of a mother and son. That would have been big news. Plus," she paused, trying to block the vision of his eyes out of her head, "he was afraid of me. I mean petrified. I could see it in his eyes," Liz said.

Alex shook his head. "Liz, you're a sucker," he said bluntly. "He could have killed you. You should call the FBI and tell them he was there."

"No," Liz said, a little too sharply. "There was something else."

"What?" Maria asked.

"I think he's telekinetic, and that's why the FBI is after him. He opened the lock just by putting his hand on the knob of the door," she said.

"Call the FBI," Alex insisted.

"No Alex," Liz said defiantly. "I'm following my gut instinct. There is something very wrong with this picture, and I am not getting involved with it by calling the FBI."

"But,you'll research it and analyze it," Maria said, half-accusingly.

"Look you two. You're my friends and I don't want to fight with you. But nothing happened to me, and it's my decision to make as to whether I want to call the FBI or not," Liz said, indiant.

"Fine," Alex said shrugging, "but if something happens to someone else, I wouldn't want to see you with that on your head."

"Alex!" she said, ready to bring up the fact that no one except the fugitive himself had been hurt, but then decided to let it go.

"Just drop it ok?" Liz asked.

"I have to go, I want to get to the library before my next class," Liz said. "I'll talk to you guys later."

Maria and Alex watched her leave.

"Do you believe her?" Maria asked. "About the guy being telekinetic or something?"

"I believe she believes she saw what she did. I don't know, but if she isn't going to say anything, then that's her choice. The guy's probably long gone by now anyway."

*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%

Liz was well and thoroughly annoyed by the end of her shift that night. Tom had done everything he could to make her job difficult. Didn't he see that the way things had always been done were learned to be the best way by trial and experience?

She found herself running around in circles all night because he insisted his new method of serving customers by circulating the room was the better way to go. Unfortunately the cook didn't understand that and some people's food wound up ready while others at the same table had to wait for theirs. People were losing their tempers over the wait and were taking it out on Liz, both verbally and with her tips.

I am going to have to have a serious talk with Mom and Dad about this guy, Liz thought to herself as she wiped down the counter.

"Liz!" Tom called from the back. "Can you come back here a minute?"

Sighing in aggravation, Liz came out from behind the counter. At least the evening prevented her from thinking about what had happened the night before. All day it had consumed her at school.

"What is it Tom?" she asked as she went through the doors to the break-room.

He sat there with the receipts from the night and looked at her.

"Your Mom and Dad ordered new napkin holders. I would ask Carlos to go out to the shed to get them, but he's gone already. I'm trying to finish closing out the receipts for the night. Would you mind?" he asked, turning back to his papers.

"No," Liz grated, hating this guy more by the minute. What was wrong with his feet that he couldn't take the two-minute walk out back? She couldn't wait till he was out the door for the night.

Heading out the back door, she slammed it behind her with satisfaction. She made her way quickly down the alley with her set of keys. That's it, after she brought the holders in, she was done. She was going upstairs, end of story. After all, she wasn't this guy's personal slave. I mean, she was an owner by association, sort of. She was the daughter of the owners. She shouldn't have to put up with this guy, she thought, shoving the key into the shed door and pulling on the handle.

Yeah, that's right, she thought to herself stepping into the shed, she'd have to start telling this guy what was what. She would have to,

Her thoughts froze as she tripped over the intruder from the night before curled in a fetal position on the floor.

"You," she said softly.

*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%

Hazy thoughts and images had rained through his head. He just wanted to die. That's all he wanted was to die in peace. No more tortures, no more torments, just nothiness.

He couldn't do anything about the others. He wished more than anything that he could, but it was impossible. He had never seen them, but he knew they were there in that hell, somewhere. He felt them.

The days had been a nightmare of running, cowering and hiding, knowing that some unseen menace was after him, and was getting closer.

He had come to this town at nightfall last night, and had sensed the bad men in the area. When he had taken cover in the alley, he knew that he had to stop. He was getting weaker, losing blood. He was dehydrated, and very hungry. And so he had escaped into the first door he saw, manipulating the lock of the darkened building with the little strength he had remaining.

Implanted on his chest was a chip, a cerebral inhibitor that limited any use of his abilities. He had damaged it, but could not completely disable it. Even damaging it as he did caused him to lose a lot of blood, and he knew that he would be taking a risk trying to remove it again. He was too weak.

Gratefully he had stumbled into the darkened room, spying the alcove. The temptation to rest was too great, and he crawled into the corner, making himself as small as possible. Just a little rest. That was all he needed. Just a few hours.

He felt his eyelids become heavy, and the terror that was a constant presence in his mind dulled in deference to his exhaustion. And then he drifted off.

As if in a nightmare, he heard the voices of two of his captors, and the soft, raspy voice of another. It was a gentle voice, and he wondered where it had come from in his dream, and why such an angelic voice would be speaking to the monsters. He could not make out what they were saying, it was unintelligible. But that raspy voice comforted him slightly for some unknown reason. It had none of the cruelty, none of the malice he had spied in the other's voices. All his life he had known cruelty, dispassion, and hatred that had been inflicted on him. A gentle voice was like music to his ears.

And he had awakened to see a human sitting before him, staring at him, and the terror rose in his throat again. But this was not a big human, a man human, the only humans he had ever seen. This one was smaller, finer-boned, curvy in all the places a human man was planed. And her eyes, they were soft, not mean. But that didn't mean that this human didn't have the power to hurt him as the others had, and this thought broke his paralysis.

He panicked, pushing past her, knocking her over, and went to the door. It was locked. Without thinking, running on pure adrenaline, which was the only strength he had left, he unlocked the door with his mind, and opened it and ran out into the night, flashing down the alley. He raced around the corner near the shed, already out of breath and exhausted, and he felt their menacing presence again. Feeling fear rise in his throat, he went to the shed, unlocked it, opened the door, shut it behind him, and fell to the cold floor, unable to move.

For hours he lay there, waiting for death to overcome him, for surely it would come shortly. He swam in and out of consciousness, noting the light that came from under the door, indicating that dawn had come. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything. He just wanted to cease to exist, so he wouldn't have to feel this terror any longer, he wouldn't have to feel the other's pain either.

But death did not come, only a semi-conscious state that he floated in and out of as his body lay like lead on the cold and damp floor of the shed.

He had heard of a higher power from the conversations the man-humans had. Perhaps he was shunned by that higher power because he was not human. Why else would he be left to suffer like this for a lifetime, and even now, lying on this floor, he could know no peace.

Finally, merciful oblivion came for awhile, and his vision hazed, and time ceased to exist.

And then, suddenly, there was light from the doorway, and through the mist that covered his eyes he saw a figure shadowed by the light that was behind it, he heard that gentle voice.

"You," it said, and a warm hand gently touched his face.

*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%