Cameron held the receiver tight to her ear. She knew that made her look really tense. She gave the ticket guy an apologetic smile. "Just let me let it ring a few more times," she whispered. He nodded, giving her a sympathetic smile back.

Milk it just a little longer, she coached herself. She counted five more rings, then reluctantly hung up. "I guess he's not home. He works out of the house, so he should be there, but-"

Cameron shot a glance at the clock, then she leaned toward the ticket guy. "Um, is the bus station open all night?" she asked, keeping her voice soft, but not so soft the audience behind her in the waiting area couldn't hear.

"Only until six," he answered.

"Oh. Okay." Cameron felt her pockets one more time, then turned and headed to the door. She'd figured out that's how it worked best. No begging. No sob stories. She let the little fishes come to her.

"Excuse me, miss?" a voice called just as Cameron's fingers snagged the door handle. She turned around, a who-me expression on her face.

A middle-aged woman gestured her over. "Why don't you let me loan you money for the ticket?"

"Are you sure?" Cameron asked, widening her brown eyes as if she just could not believe this was happening.

The maternal-looking woman opened her purse, counted out the bills, and pressed them into Cameron's hand.

"Oh, thank you so much," Cameron said graciously. "Please, write down your address so I can send you the money when I get home."

The woman dug out a scrap of paper and a pen and wrote down her address. Cameron made a big show of carefully placing it in her pocket. Then she did everything short of grabbing the woman and kissing her. Why not? She deserved to feel good for her twelve bucks.

And maybe someday Cameron would send her the money back. Cameron had a list of all the people she'd promised to mail money to. If she ever got settled someplace and got a job, she would pay it all back.

With one last smile over her shoulder at the woman, Cameron rushed up to the ticket window. She bought her ticket and headed straight to the bus. It was more than half empty, so she had no problem finding a seat to herself.

In less than ten minutes they should be moving out. She couldn't wait. With the exception of Michael, Roswell had nothing but bad memories. She focused her gaze on the back of the seat in front of her, trying to imagine that the bus was already on the road. Someone had graffitied a heart and dagger on the thick plastic. Cameron reached out and traced the design with her finger.

The memory of Michael's mouth tracing the hummingbird on her shoulder hit her so hard, she almost gasped. She could practically feel the warmth of his lips.

She dropped her head back on the torn seat cushion and gave a muffled groan. In some ways it was one of her worst Roswell memories because it was always going to be linked to the memory of the shattered look on Michael's face when he realized she'd betrayed him.

Maybe someday, when she was, like, forty, scientists would figure out a way to do memory surgery, where they just burned out any piece of brain that held a bad memory. She'd be the first in line. Maybe they could even let her keep the hummingbird memory and destroy the shattered look memory.

She snorted. Even if the technology did get developed, it's not like it would work for her. If all her bad memories were lasered out of her brain, she wouldn't have enough gray matter left to operate a can opener, which meant the image of Michael's disappointed face would be etched in her head for the rest of her life.

The driver climbed on the bus and started collecting the tickets.

The conversation with Michael began replaying in her head. She didn't want it to, but she couldn't stop it. She listened to herself explaining why she'd given Valenti Max's and Isabel's names. Why hadn't she apologized?

Too late now, she thought. She pulled her ticket out of her pocket. Besides, an apology wouldn't make him stop hating her.

The driver reached for Cameron's ticket. She didn't let it go. "I forgot something," she blurted out. She bolted out of her seat, stumbled down the narrow aisle, flew down the steps, and hit the parking lot running.

It was a couple of miles to the museum, and there was probably a bus that went there, but Cameron didn't want to waste time trying to find it. She wanted to get to Michael, spit out her apology, then exchange her ticket and finally get out of this town.

A few blocks later she reached the main street. She hung a left and kept running. It was a straight shot to the museum now. She pushed herself hard, almost glad when her lungs started to burn. It distracted her a little from what she was about to do.

When she reached the museum, she darted around to the side door and pushed through without breaking her stride. She raced to the staircase and went straight up.

She found Michael lying on the living-room floor. Her heart constricted at the sight of him.

He's asleep, she thought. But there was something about the slackness of his mouth and the absolute stillness of his body that told her she was wrong.

Cameron stared at him for a long moment, unable to move. She realized that Michael's eyes weren't completely closed. She could see a sliver of white beneath the lids. She moved her gaze down to his chest. Was he even breathing? She couldn't tell.

She slowly approached him and poked his shoulder with her toe. "Michael! Wake up!" she shouted, her voice coming out weirdly high and breathy.

He didn't even twitch.

"Michael!" she shrieked. She jammed her toe into his shoulder. His body slid a few inches but remained still.

She knelt down, drew in a shaky breath, and lightly pressed her fingertips against the base of his neck.

She didn't feel a pulse.

Maybe it was just too weak to feel. She lowered her head and pressed her ear against his chest.

She didn't hear a heartbeat.

She squeezed her eyes shut and listened harder. She heard a pounding sound, and for one exhilarating second she was sure he was alive. Then she realized the sound was coming from the stairs. She shoved herself to her feet just as Max appeared, with Liz right behind him.

"I think Michael's dead," Cameron cried.

Max shoved his way past her and took Michael's head in his hands. He closed his eyes and started taking deep, even breaths.

Cameron turned to Liz. "Can they bring back the dead?" she asked urgently. "Is that one of their powers?"

Liz shook her head, her eyes on Max and Michael. Cameron locked her teeth together. She was afraid if she tried to ask another question, even say another word, she might start screaming and never stop. Her jaw muscles began to ache as she stood there, waiting, watching.

Michael's left foot gave a jerk, then his eyelids snapped open. He stared up into Max's face. "Prince Charming, I've been waiting for you for so long," he muttered.

A hoarse laugh burst from Cameron's mouth, and the tension in her muscles eased up.

Max didn't answer Michael. He jumped up, strode down the hall to the bedroom, and flung open the door. "Adam's gone," he announced as he hurried back over to Michael.

"Where's Isabel?" Michael demanded, shoving himself to his feet.

"She stayed home sick," Max reminded him.

"No. She was here. We were kissing. That's the last thing I remember," Michael shot back.

Max and Liz ran toward the kitchen. Michael rushed to the bathroom. Cameron stayed where she was. Kissing, she thought. Michael and Isabel were kissing.

"Adam must have knocked you out and taken Izzy with him," Max said when he, Liz, and Michael had returned to the living room.

"Why are you so sure it was Adam?" Cameron asked.

"Michael's brain stem had been pulverized from the inside," Max explained. "Only another one of us could have done that."