Unbreakable - Surviving the Truth · (Roswell Fanfiction) ·

ONE

"Elizabeth Parker," the elderly man announced slowly in a warm and gentle voice, spreading his arms out in an inviting gesture. Like he thought I would run straight into them and accept his offered hug.

But I did not know Max Evans' grandfather, George Evans. Because of that reason alone, I should not be particularly inclined to accept his welcoming embrace. But to be honest, there was something compelling about him. Something that made me feel safe. Something that made me want to get to know him.

Looking at Philip Evans' father, who up until two minutes ago I had believed to be dead, it felt as though I had known the man forever. Like he was the long lost grandfather that I never knew I had.

His smile was warm, his brown eyes kind. They almost twinkled, his eyes. As if he was carrying a secret that only he knew. The eyes brightened with warm humor at my hesitation and, without appearing disappointed, he lowered his arms and accepted my chosen distance.

George Evans echoed my silent conclusion. "You don't know me, Elizabeth." He lowered his voice to add, giving me a confidant wink, "Or is it Liz?"

Lost for words, I nodded.

I searched out Max's hand. He was standing silently next to me, his mind quiet, his stance still. His only sign of life was the light squeeze of my hand as our fingers interlaced.

George Evans smiled kindly and repeated, "You don't know me, Liz, but I have met you many times."

This should not surprise me. After all, the aliens were no strangers to the art of erasing memories. Still, I was both surprised and a little disappointed by the elderly man's statement.

To be honest, I was mostly disappointed. Max's grandfather seemed like a person that I would want to keep my memories about. He seemed like the person that one would love to have in one's life.

"When?" I croaked, my throat dry as sandpaper.

"The first time was when you were merely a couple of days old," George Evans replied. "It had just been confirmed that you, like your mother, carried the gaea gene." The expression in his eyes grew sad, the compassion that filled them clogged my own throat up with emotions. "I'm so sorry about your mother, Liz."

I tried to swallow. Max squeezed my hand. My throat prickled with sudden tears.

"Thank you," I whispered, diverting my eyes to a spot in the floor one foot ahead of me.

"I have watched you grow up," George Evans continued after a couple of seconds of silence. "I have spoken to you on the street once or twice. If my memory doesn't fail me, I believe you were skipping rope with your friends one of those times." His forehead wrinkled in contemplation. "And another time you were coloring the pavement with crayons or something alike."

I frowned. "You have spoken to me?" If it had been any other stranger telling me that he had been watching me grow up and even made contact, it would have scared me. But I felt no shivers, no danger, only curiosity.

"You might only remember me as a random man on the street," George Evans said and shrugged his shoulders. "Probably not enough to make a permanent imprint in your memory. It was not supposed to affect you or make you remember me. I only wanted to speak with you."

His eyes moved from my face to Max's, making me follow the direction of his gaze to the blank face of my boyfriend. "I'm sorry I left you, Max."

Max's face was pale, almost white, as he squeezed his lips together, a deep line between his eyebrows.

"And I'm sorry I left you, Isabel," George Evans continued, looking at Isabel.

George Evans addressing others brought my attention to the fact that I was not alone with Max and his grandfather. The grandfather had probably spoken to the others in the room while Max went to get me, considering that Isabel's face was a teary mess and even Philip Evans appeared to be having trouble keeping his emotions in check. In fact, Philip Evans looked like he was about to simultaneously cry with relief and scream in anger. An odd sight to witness.