"You're right," Michael agreed. It was possible that the consciousness could still hear what was going on around Max even if Max wasn't actively listening. The guy could be nothing more than a radio wave transmitter at this point.

Michael led the way into the kitchen and stood behind one of the chairs that surrounded the table.

"Before we go on, there's something I have to tell you," Trevor said, standing across from Michael as the others pulled up chairs.

Michael felt another wave of trepidation rush through him. Trevor's tone had made it clear this was going to be big.

"I know you all want to help shatter the consciousness because you think it will free Max." Trevor shifted his weight uncomfortably. "That could happen. But it's more likely Max will die."

"What?" Liz spat, her voice full of panic.

"When the consciousness rips apart, the beings that form it probably aren't going to survive," Trevor continued, watching Liz carefully. "Since Max is on earth, maybe it will be different for him, but…"

Michael sank down into the chair in front of him. He felt like he'd been kneecapped.

"We can't," Isabel said, staring at Michael. "We can't do that to him."

Maria touched Michael's shoulder so quickly, he almost thought he'd imagined it. "We don't really have a choice, do we?" she said, glancing from Isabel to Liz. "If Max was the way he was even a few days ago-sometimes totally absorbed in his connection to the consciousness, but sometimes not-then, well, then at least he'd be able to have some kind of life. But now…" She let her words trail off, and a heavy silence fell over the room.

"Now he's basically dead, anyway," Isabel said tonelessly.

"Iz-" Michael began.

"No, Michael, she's right," Isabel said, holding up her chin. "Shattering the consciousness might kill Max, but it's also the only way we might be able to save him."

Her words came out sounding ice encrusted, but Michael knew her better than that. Inside, where no one could see, she was wailing and pulling out her hair. Michael knew that whatever they were going to do, they had to get it over with. None of them could live like this for very long-without knowing what was going to happen.

"So what do we do? What's the new plan?" Michael asked, ready for action.

Trevor kicked the kitchen cabinet with one heel. "I don't know," he confessed.

"Maybe there is some way we could boost the power of the two Stones we have," Alex said, leaning his arms against the table. "Maybe we don't even have to get the third one."

Isabel looked up at the clock above the stove and stood quickly. "I can't do this now," she said. "My parents are expecting me home for dinner. It's family night. No missing it." She let out a short burst of breath, and her eyes filled with tears. "I guess I'll have to tell them Max is still working on his science project with Liz or something." Isabel shook her head back as if she was trying to keep the tears inside. "It's been three days of excuses for why he's not home now."

"Maybe I should change my face and put in an appearance as Max," Michael said. "We don't know how long it's going to take to figure out a way to shatter the consciousness. Max can't be missing in action for weeks."

"I'll do it," Trevor volunteered, stepping forward. "That way you can stay with Max."

"Really?" Michael said. Trevor confirmed with a nod. "Thanks, man. You should plan on staying there for a while. Isabel can coach you."

"Maria and I are scheduled to work tonight," Liz said. "Everyone try to come up with a plan, and we'll talk at school tomorrow."

"Good," Michael said as Isabel, Trevor, Maria, and Liz headed out.

"Want me to hang out and keep you company?" Alex asked.

Michael shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"At the risk of sounding like a feminine hygiene commercial or something, call me if you need to talk," Alex said as he left the room.

Michael continued to sit at the table, the silence wrapping around him, pressing down on him until he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"It's Max. It's still Max," he burst out. He slammed to his feet and strode to the bedroom, then sat down on the side of the bed next to Max.

"Knock, knock." Michael reached out and tapped gently on Max's forehead. "Remember how you used to love those knock-knock jokes when I first met you? Some of them were really lame. I've got to tell you, I only laughed to be polite. You know what a polite guy I am."

Max's eyes stared up at the ceiling, glassy and blank.

Michael knocked on his head again, a little harder this time. "Knock, knock." He waited a moment. "Okay, I'll answer for you-who's there?" Michael continued the joke, doing both parts himself. "Boo. Boo who? What are you crying for, you big baby?"

He brushed Max's hair off his forehead. "Remember that one?" he asked.

There was no answer.

Michael had the eerie feeling he was never going to hear Max's voice again.

"So, this is Max's room," Isabel told Trevor as she opened the door to the bedroom. "Pretty basic. Computer. Books. Clothes. Assorted Liz Ortecho memorabilia in a box in his closet he thinks I don't know about."

An arrow of pain sliced through Isabel. Max was so different from the guy who had collected all the Liz stuff. Different. Yeah, right. That made it sound like he was just going through some guy testosterone surge and acting like a jerk or something.

God, she wished that was all that was wrong with him.

"Anything else I need to know?" Trevor asked.

"Just try to act Max-like-responsible, logical, somewhat saintish, and… and…" Isabel swallowed hard. She glanced around the room, looking for something that needed straightening. Why did Max have to be so neat? She had to have something to occupy her hands, occupy her brain.

Isabel spun toward Max's bookshelf and started to rearrange the books by height. "I'm sure you'll be fine," she finished, eyes on her work.

"Michael told me you always clean when you get scared," Trevor commented matter-of-factly.

"I'm not scared. And Michael should keep his big mouth shut," Isabel answered automatically. She hesitated with her hand on one of the tallest books. Maybe she should be doing this by color.

"You're not scared?" Trevor asked. He leaned against the edge of the bookcase and raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, so I am," Isabel confessed. She moved her hand from the tall book to one with a red binding, then back again. Which way was better-color or size? Or maybe author? She jerked her hand toward a book by Asimov.

Trevor reached out and grabbed her by both wrists, tugging her over to the bed. He sat down and pulled her down next to him. "Talk to me," he said, his gray eyes intent on her face.

"I'm not in the mood," Isabel snapped. She couldn't believe this guy. They barely knew each other, and he was expecting her to let herself go all soft and squishy. Yes, they'd had one nice dance. Yes, he'd helped her get through her akino without connecting to the consciousness. But that didn't mean she was going to serve her psyche to him on a plate. That was just not her style.

She met his gaze with a challenging one of her own, waiting for him to apologize for getting all Montel on her. He just looked right back at her.

"I was afraid most of the time I was with DuPris," Trevor told her finally, breaking the silence. "Especially when I had to connect with him so we could combine powers. The stuff I saw in his head… I'm never going to be able to forget it."

Isabel studied him for a long moment. "How early on did you connect with him?"

"Pretty much right away," Trevor admitted.

"And you stayed with him even after you knew what he was? Even after you knew he was evil?" I really don't know Trevor, she thought. The guy obviously had some serious issues. How could he have stayed on as DuPris's little personal assistant, knowing the truth about him?