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Subject 101, Part Sixteen
Reply to Shelly and SherriPosted to the Roswell Slash list October 11, 2000
TITLE: Subject 101
AUTHOR: Shelly and Sherri
RATING: R for violence and yucky descriptions of it LOL
DISCLAIMER: Roswell characters don't belong to us; any other characters do...
FEEDBACK: thrive on it, makes us write more...LOL
AUTHORS NOTE: This is an Alternate Universe story so we're basically making up our history as it goes along. ALSO this story will feature GRAPHIC m/m sex, with a few non-consensual scenes thrown in. If you don't like that kind of stuff, then please don't read it. Chapters that contain graphic sex will be rated NC17.
Max came up out of unconsciousness, to find himself lying on his side, body curled up in a tight fetal position, and he blinked bleary eyes, nose twitching with the itching sensation of a lock of dark hair hanging down across it. With a groan he straightened out, his body trembling with the effort, oddly drained, and the heel of one foot came into sudden contact with something firm and yet yielding, wet to the touch. He raised himself on one elbow, giving a little shake of his head to clear hair from his eyes, and the movement made his head spin, Max closing his eyes tightly till the sensation passed.
When he opened his eyes again he looked down the length of his leg and swallowed hard to see what lay there. A naked Simon sprawled on his side, eyes staring in sightless accusation, the thickly muscled torso split down the middle and blood oozing still from the exposed cavity, with the ropy intestines spilled out on the floor beneath him. Something thick and wet clung to the heel of his feet and Max clawed at the floor, struggling to pull himself away from the body, one flailing hand slapping against the cooling flesh of another body. Raised his head to find himself staring at the torn decapitated body, identifiable only as Celia's by the small breasts and ebony skin.
Gasping, Max rolled away, struggling up to his feet, and looked wildy around at the carnage in the room. Fiore slumped in his wheelchair, head flung back at an unnatural angle and the white shirt he wore torn and red with blood, Shiro stretched blessfully out on his stomach and head turned to the side, features frozen in a grimace of agony.
Staggering back, Max waved hands in front of his face, as if he could banish the image of their bodies, and he saw on the palms of his hands blood. Their blood...
He fell to his knees to retch till he brought up nothing more than bile and wiped hands on the carpeted floor, a soft continuous moan issuing from him as he tried to clean his hands. But as much as he scrubbed at the carpet he couldn't get them clean and he stared down at his hands, hands that shook spastically. He'd killed them, killed all of them--God, he had just wanted them to *stop*, he hadn't meant to kill them, he really hadn't...
But that doesn't make them any less dead, does it? whispered an ugly voice in his mind. And you *did* mean to kill them. You wanted them *dead*. Admit it!
Max shook his head, taking one unsteady step back and then another, trembling hands held out before him. He'd killed them, *killed* them, and, yes, he had *wanted* to hurt them, God help him. Had let that power inside him loose to strike them down. Murderer...murderer...he didn't deserve to live anymore than they did...
Glass crunched under bare feet, cutting into the soles of his feet, and his eyes were drawn down to one long shard of glass. He knelt down to pick it up, the sharp edges of the glass biting at his fingers, to send blood seeping down them, and turned it to lay against his wrist. Nothing but pain in his life, everywhere he turned, no reason to live, and it would be so much better to just have it done with, one quick slice and it would be over. No more pain, no more fear, no more suffering...
::MAX!:: A voice screamed in his mind, her voice, the voice of the girl from his dreams, and it caught him with the shard of glass pressed into the flesh of his wrist, just a little trickle of blood going down to the crook of his arm. Felt the connection open up between them, felt her love and concern for him flood him, driving back the pain and dark despair, wrapping around him like a warm, soft blanket. Soothing him, comforting him, drawing him back from the edge, and he fell to his knees, arms around himself, weeping under its onslaught. How could someone love him like that, after what he had done, after what he had become...he was so dirty, so tainted...
Though she wasn't here, it was as if he could feel her arms around him, her hand stroking his hair, the rub of her cheek against his, hear the soft murmur of her voice. No words that he could hear or understand, just the husky sound of her voice, its tone soothing him, gentling him, as one would a frightened animal used to blows rather than kindness. And then words that he could understand, as she drew back to look into his eyes, her hands on other side of his head to hold his gaze.
::Come to me, Max. Find me. You know where to go...I'll be waiting...::
She leaned to press a soft kiss to his forehead and he closed his eyes under the brush of her lips against his skin, another sob wracking him. When he opened his eyes again, she was gone, leaving him alone again, kneeling there on the floor.
* * *
The heavy fall of rain pounding against the roof of his house and the gray skies glimpsed outside the window fit Jack's mood perfectly. He sat on the couch before the coffee table, a bottle of beer in one hand as he stared morosely down at the reports spread out over the smooth wooden surface of the coffee table. It had been four days since Domino had arrived at the precinct to whisk Max away and he hadn't managed so much as a glimpse of the kid in that time, even during his sporadic surveillance of Domino's apartment. He'd been planning to take some time off, to see what he could do to get the kid out of Domino's clutches, but the discovery of the girl Lisa's body had nixed that idea.
The detective assigned to her case--Clarke was all too happy to let him have the case, having a heavy caseload of his own to sort through. Another hooker that picked up the wrong john, was the general consensus, but to Jack's mind it was too much of a coincidence, given her connection to Max. From the coroner's report she had been raped before she was stabbed, the ligature marks on wrists and ankles indicating she'd been bound as well. Running that profile through the computer, he'd come up with another half dozen cases very similar to that one...and all street kids, four girls and two boys.
And if there were that many...chances there were more, thought Jack grimly as he took a pull on his beer, scanning the reports laid out before him. And he'd bet that the kids involved belonged to Domino's stable at one time or another. But proving it...well, that was something else all together...
Didn't bring him any closer to figuring out how to help Max...but if there was some way to tie this to Domino...
A knock at his front door brought him up to his feet, beer in hand as he went to the front door. Unlocking the door he pulled it open and blinked in shock to see Max standing on the other side of the door. A Max barefoot, clad in jeans and an oversized shirt plastered to his skin by the rain, shivering as he stood on Jack's porch.
"I-I-I didn't know...where...to-to-to go..." stammered Max through chattering teeth, arms wrapped tightly around his shivering form.
"Shit! Come in, come in..." said Jack, grasping him by the arm to pull him into the foyer and shutting the door behind him. He dashed back into the living room to strip the afghan off the back of the couch and wrapped it around Max, rubbing the soft material all over him to try and dry him off as he guided him to the bathroom at the back of the house.
"Strip out of those and I'll get you something dry to wear." he ordered Max and dashed to his bedroom, to get sweat pants and sweatshirt. By the time he returned Max's damp clothes were on the floor, forming a small pool of water, and the afghan covered him from shoulders to knees. Jack handed Max the clothing and turned his back while Max dressed; once done, he eased Max down onto the toilet seat and snatched up a towel to dry his hair.
"Killed them...killed them..." said Max, still shivering as he huddled on the toilet seat, surrendering meekly to Jack rubbing hair dry.
"Killed...who?" asked Jack slowly, stopping in mid motion to stare into haunted amber eyes.
"Reynold..." whispered Max. "I didn't mean to...I just wanted them to-to-to stop...and it...it just *happened*! I couldn't control it..."
"Control what?" Jack frowned.
In answer Max lifted his hand, turning it palm out, and the palm of his hand started to glow an angry sullen red. The light surged, tendrils of it reaching greedily out, and instinctively Jack threw himself back, bruising tailbone on the linoleum floor with the hard impact. Max closed his hand tightly into a fist, the red light fading away, and tears filled his eyes. "I wouldn't hurt you..." he whispered.
"What...what was that?" demanded Jack roughly. "What the hell are you..." He broke off as Max flinched back at his words, withdrawing into himself, and pushed slowly up to his feet.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here..." said Max softly as he went to the bathroom door.
Jack moved to intercept him, placing an arm across the doorway to block. "No. Don't go. I'm sorry...you just...startled me." And that was an understatement if there ever was one. What the hell was the kid, that he could do something like that? And what did he mean...killed them? A shiver ran down Jack's spine, goosebumps rising on his arms. "Talk to me, Max. You can trust me..." he entreated the kid.
Max stared at him for a long moment, the need to believe Jack so naked in his eyes, as well as the need to trust him, but it battled against a lifetime of disappointment and suspicion, of painfully learned lessons. Someone had hurt him for a long time, someone had taught him the folly of trusting anyone...and it was so hard to rise above that...
But at last Max licked his lips and began to haltingly tell the tale.
End of part 16
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