Alex said I have to confront my fears, so I guess that's what I'm going to have to do, no matter how terrified I feel. One way or another, I have to stop feeling like a victim.

Even if it kills me.

“Maxwell, we need to talk."Perched in the back of the Jeep, keeping watch over Morton's motel room and convertible, Max lowered his binoculars as Michael approached the parked vehicle. He scowled impatiently, squinting against the intense morning sunshine. "Have I ever told you how annoying 1 find that nickname?" he grumbled.

"Trust me, you've got bigger problems, bro," Michael informed him as he clambered into the front seat of the Jeep, then twisted around so he could speak to Max directly. Although it wasn't even eleven yet, the temperature in the quiet motel parking lot was already climbing toward the upper nineties; Michael wiped his sweaty brow with the front of his T-shirt and put on a pair of shades to protect his eyes from the glare. It's way too hot out here, he decided. Lousy weather for a stakeout.

"Like what?" Max asked skeptically. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and Michael noted other signs of strain in his friend's face and manner. His face looked gaunt and sunburned, while his whole body seemed noticeably tense and jittery. He fidgeted with the binoculars in his lap and kept looking away from Michael to check on the Chevy parked on the other side of the busy highway. Was Max's ragged state caused by simple lack of sleep and concern for Liz, Michael wondered, inspecting his friend carefully, or was Maria right that something more serious was going on? "Tell you the truth, Max, you've looked better." Not wasting any time with chitchat, Michael confronted Max with Maria's theory that the young alien leader had picked up a bad case of post-traumatic stress disorder via his intimate connection with Liz. "Kind of like catching mono, if you know what I mean."Max responded with instant denial. "So what are you saying, Michael, that I'm suffering from the emotional equivalent of secondhand smoke or something? Don't be ridiculous." He sneered at the notion. "And since when are we taking psychiatric advice from Maria DeLuca of all people? I mean, no offense, Michael, Maria's a sweet person and all, but she's definitely a bit on the flaky side."As opposed to your girlfriend, who freaks out when a flock of bats fly overhead? Biting down on his tongue, Michael resisted the temptation to spring to Maria's defense. "That's not the point," he argued. The sun was baking his brains, but he knew he had to get through to Max somehow. "You and I both know that youVe been acting weird ever since Liz spotted Morton at the caverns."Not at all," Max insisted defensively. "I'm just taking seriously a serious situation, the same way I always do. You heard what Isabel said; not only is Morton's crooked deal mixed up with the Crash somehow, but he also knows about Liz, which puts her in genuine danger. Excuse me if that makes me a little uncomfortable." He turned his back on Michael and placed the binoculars back over his eyes, once more aiming the lenses across the street at the closed door to room #19. "Now then, if your little one-man intervention is over, I'm kind of busy here."But Michael wasn't about to be dismissed so easily. "Bullshit," he told Max bluntly. He leaned back between the Jeep's front seats and roughly snatched the binoculars away from Max's face. "I want to keep Liz safe, and find out what Morton's up to, as much as you do, but that's what we're talking about here. You look me in the eye and tell me that you weren't on the verge of completely losing control last night up on the ridge. I saw your hand heating up like an acetylene torch last night, Max, and don't tell me you did that on purpose!"His face flushed with anger, Max grabbed wildly for the stolen binoculars, which Michael defiantly held up above his head, out of Max's reach. "Give me those, Michael!" he growled, clenching his fists at his sides. "I don't have time for this psychobabble garbage."No way, Max!" Michael stood up on the Jeep's front floorboard, making sure Max couldn't get his hands back on the binoculars. "Not until you admit that there's something seriously wrong with you, that you're not acting like yourself." The blazing sun beat down on Michael's head and shoulders, toasting the back of his neck and making him even more in a hurry to make his traumatized friend see sense. "Look at me, Max!" he challenged. "Tell me everything's okay with you. I want to hear you say it!"Damnit, Michael!" Max roared, the veins in his neck standing out like hydraulic cables. He threw up his hand and unchecked power burst from his open palm. A blinding flash hit Michael like a tidal wave, sending him tumbling backward over the Jeep's windshield and onto the vehicle's hot metal hood. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and the binoculars flew out of his fingers, crashing to the pavement several yards away. After sitting in the sun all morning, the Jeep's army-green hood seared his bare arms where they came in contact widi the overheated metal. Still somersaulting backward, Michael managed to use his own momentum to roll awkwardly off the Jeep onto the blacktop below, landing with a thud upon the baking asphalt. Ouch, he thought, wincing in pain. Did someone get the license number of that ballistic missile? Fortuitously, the Days Inn parking lot wasn't terribly active this late in the morning, most of the visiting tourists having already gotten an early start on the day's sight-seeing and outdoor activities. Even still, Michael felt obliged to leap instantly to his feet, ignoring his bruised and battered flesh, and call out to whomever might be listening, "I'm cool! Nothing to worry about! Just a little fall, clumsy me!"A pair of slow-moving senior citizens, wearing matching Hawaiian shirts and straw hats, regarded Michael uncertainly from the sidewalk in front of the motel. How much had they seen? he worried, hoping that the entire incident had happened much too quickly for any eyewitnesses to really grasp what Max had done. "Sorry for the excitement, folks," Michael said loudly, brushing the dust and grit of the parking lot from his arms and clothes. "A flashbulb went off by mistake," he improvised, despite the absence of any visible camera. "Gave me a bit of a start, I guess, but I'm okay now. Just a couple of bumps and scrapes, that's all-in fact, his ribs felt like they had just been pounded on with a sledgehammer, making him flinch with every breath, and there was a suspicious black scorch mark on the front of his T-shirt which, quickly turning away from the two apprehensive retirees, he quickly made disappear. Is anyone buying this? he wondered, fully aware of just how lame his impromptu explanations sounded. Or am I ending up on the front page of the Weekly World News or maybe on "American's Most Incriminating Alien Videos"? He held his breath as the elderly couple shook their heads disapprovingly and muttered darkly among themselves, but then they continued on their way to the coffee shop, apparently not wanting to get any more involved in whatever suspicious activity the two teenage boys were involved in. Thank God, Michael thought, expelling a sigh of relief once it became obvious that the two old folks were not about to start screaming "Alien!" That was a close one, he realized.

The crisis averted, Michael turned toward Max, who stood frozen at the back of the Jeep, staring in dismay at his own open hand. He looked utterly crestfallen, a mixture of shock and remorse written all over his face, which had gone pale beneath its outer layer of sunburn. "Oh my God, Michael!" he exclaimed, hopping out of the Jeep and rushing across the pavement to where Michael stood, grimacing in pain. "Are you all right?"Well, I'm going to think twice about getting between you and a vendetta again," Michael said wryly. After furtively looking around to make sure no one was watching, he peeled up his T-shirt to inspect the damage, which turned out to consist of a nasty black-and-purple bruise concentrated over his breastbone. Most of his chest was sore and sensitive to the touch, but, thankfully, nothing felt broken or seriously injured. "I'll live," he stated.