"It's supposed to," Liz said. "That's the point. It's supposed to jerk you out of your thought pattern or something. Although there is another method you could try." She tried to sound all serious, but she could feel her lips curving into a smile. "It's kind of experimental, though."

"It doesn't involve anything like placenta, does it?" Max asked. "It seems like every new cure has something to do with placenta. Did you see in the news about using blood from the placenta as sort of a substitute for a bone marrow transplant?"

"It has nothing to do with placenta," Liz promised. "It has to do with kissing me. See, whenever you're about to step on the plane for another one of your guilt trips, you kiss me instead."

"Well…" Max hesitated. "I guess I should keep an open mind about these new experimental treatments." He slid one hand under her hair, skimming his fingers over the sensitive skin of her neck. "I'm actually starting to feel a little guilty right now."

"Oh, really?" Liz wrapped her arms around his waist. "Well, let's see if the Ortecho method works." She kissed him-a long, slow kiss that spread warmth through her entire body. It was so amazing to be able to kiss Max whenever she wanted to. That was one good thing that came out of him getting so sick. He finally realized what a waste it was for them to be just friends.

Liz raised her head a fraction of an inch. "Did that help?" she asked, her lips still so close to Max's that they brushed against his with every word.

"Yeah. It did. A lot. But there's something else I'm feeling guilty about," Max answered. "I, um, um, I ate the last coconut cookie last night. And my dad loves coconut cookies. I just feel terrible about it," he said in a rush.

They kissed again. Liz's laughter turned into a little gasp as Max leaned back on the bed, pulling her down on top of him. Her long hair tumbled down, forming a curtain around their faces.

Liz felt like everyone in the entire world had vanished as Max began kissing her neck, flicking his tongue across the little hollow at the base of her throat. Every sense was filled with Max. Nothing else mattered.

Then she heard the front door slam.

Footsteps ran down the hall. And she thought she heard the sound of Isabel crying.

"Should we go out there and talk to her?" Liz asked.

"In a little while. She probably needs to be alone first." Max slid his hands down to Liz's waist. "Besides, I'm starting to feel sort of guilty again. It's not really fair that Isabel is fighting with her guy while I have you in my bedroom."

"Yeah," Liz breathed. "I'm feeling a little guilty about that, too."

Cameron strolled through the doorway of Michael's cell as if she couldn't even see the two guards with machine guns flanking it. "I'm having sort of a Planet of the Apes moment here," she said as they locked the door behind her. "You know that scene where they put the woman in the cage with Taylor the astronaut? Sort of as a present?"

Planet of the Apes, Michael thought. He and Maria had watched that during one of their late night movie marathons a few weeks ago. Back when things were normal between them, before she told him she loved him. He couldn't even think about that now. Not in here. It would make him stark-staring wacko.

"Yeah, I know the part you mean," Michael answered. He raised an eyebrow. "So am I supposed to unwrap you now?"

She snorted. "I wouldn't try it. Not unless you have a very high threshold of pain." She sat down on Michael's cot. "Where's your weird little friend?"

"Adam? The guards said they'd bring him over later. The doctor wanted to do a couple more tests on him," Michael said.

"What's his story? Is he, you know, all there or what?" Cameron asked.

Michael felt a surge of protectiveness. He'd only known Adam a couple of days, but already he felt like family. The kid definitely needed someone to look after him, and since there wasn't exactly a line of volunteers for the job, Michael had decided to step in.

"Adam was born in this place," Michael explained. "Everyone here treats him like he's five years old, so that's the only way he knows to act."

Michael noticed Cameron's brown eyes widen a fraction. That got to her, he realized. She's not quite as hard as she thinks she is.

"And what about you, Mickey? What's your deal?" she asked.

"I just got here. The pictures the travel agent showed me made the accommodations look much more inviting," he said.

"It's true. The hot tubs were supposed to be pink marble. I don't know about yours, but mine is just white porcelain," she shot back, doing a snobby rich girl impersonation. "Unacceptable."

She ran one of her fingers back and forth along the rip in the knee of her jeans. Michael noticed she had a tattoo-some funky little design-on the back of her hand. Usually Michael thought tattoos were trendy and chintzy. But on Cameron it worked.

"No, really," she said. "How did you end up in here?"

Michael figured everyone in the compound knew he and Adam were aliens. But she obviously didn't. Yeah, there were some yellow splotches of fear in her olive green aura. But nothing like what he'd expect to see if she knew the truth. That was a whole different kind of fear than the fear of being held prisoner. It was the fear of the unknown. Of the other. Of the monster.

"You first," Michael answered. He didn't think it would be long before someone told Cameron the truth about him. But for now, for tonight, he didn't want to deal with her pulling away from him.

Cameron wrapped her arms around her knees and laced her long, graceful fingers together. "I ran away. Our friend the sheriff found me. He made this deal with my parents. If they'd allow me to live here and participate in some tests of my psychic abilities, he'd, I think the expression he used was, take me in hand. Meaning, make sure I studied enough to get good SAT scores. Make sure I didn't run away again. Basically make sure I was a good little girl."

"And they said yes?" Michael asked.

The edges of Cameron's aura darkened to an oily gray. "Oh, yeah. They said yes. I get the feeling he may have given them some cash to sweeten the deal." She let out her breath in a long sigh. "But even if he hadn't, they probably would have jumped on it. They aren't too crazy about having a freak for a daughter."

There are a lot of sick puppies in the world, Michael thought. People who would sell their own daughter… they had to be the sickest. "How old were you when you first realized you could… do things other people couldn't?"

Her aura's yellow splotches widened, the gray rim grew darker, and jagged streaks of red appeared. Talking about this was stressing her out majorly.

"You know what?" Michael said quickly. "It doesn't matter. We're both freaks. That's really all we need to know about each other. Let's talk about something else."

"Like getting out of here," Cameron agreed, her voice low and tense.

"Wait. They're bringing Adam over," Michael cautioned. He and Cameron watched in silence as two guards escorted Adam to the cell. Michael could hardly stand to look at Adam's face. The color was drained, and his eyes… his eyes looked dead. No more life in them than a couple of marbles.

"What did they do to him?" Cameron whispered.

"It's what I did to him," Michael answered. "Remember when he touched the sheriff and started screaming? He was screaming because he saw images from the sheriffs brain. I don't know which ones exactly, but I know for sure he could have seen the sheriff kill a couple different people."

"Wait. How is that something you did?" Cameron asked.

"I told him to touch the sheriff even though I knew he'd see things that would probably give him nightmares for the rest of his life," Michael answered. "He thinks of the guy as his dad. Or at least he did."