I found out yesterday that as of tomorrow Netflix will no longer have Roswell or The X Files.  These are two reasons i got and kept Netflix even though things i took for granted there are always disappearing, such as The Silence of the Lamb, which they had for years.  I guess they’re trying to make way for more of their own productions, which is too bad because most of them are not even watchable.

But this is about Roswell, not Netflix.  Writing my version of this story is the most formidable challenge as a writer i’ve had for a while.  I realized soon that if i didnt trim the material down i would end up with something like War and Peace.  After cutting down the material in this story i knew that more would have to go or i’d end up with something like a James Clavell novel, which is still thick enough to stop a .45 caliber ACP slug.

So i learned to cut more and still maintain the integrity of the story.  By that time i hit a major logjam and spent weeks deciding how to proceed given that at this point late in the first season everything changes and a slew of characters come in and the old ones begin to change.  What has been emerging is a moody, surrealistic story like the original Destiny Road (2009).  And i really like how i managed to redefine Max and Liz, the core of the entire story.  Max emerged as a cranky, moody alien who is so stressed he’s always close to the edge but who never falls off.  And i managed to give Liz a kind of maturity and character she never had in the TV show.

I was going to open the next chapter with a fine metaphor-“The cast iron wind is a dirge screeched by a choir of lepers draped in rags.”  I’ll save that one for some other story.  I hope you’ve enjoyed reading these as much as i have writing them.  The tv show is far richer and more complex than it appears if you just watch it.  I’ve learned to love the show even more than i did, and respect what everyone involved with it was trying to do.

Maybe it’ll come back to Netflix.  But it probably wont for a while.


Roswell 45: Isabel

Days and weeks slouch by as February staggers toward March and rags of dirty snow cling to the ground in the back yard before a copse of dead trees that once sheltered the last wolves.  Alex keeps trying to date Isabel and she keeps dismissing him as politely as she can.  She likes Alex, maybe because superficially he is like Max but she does not reciprocate his feelings for her however meager or fulsome.  She wonders if he is still not speaking to Liz but that’s not something one asks.

Liz told her that she thought Alex would keep quiet but she wasnt sure.  So Isabel decides to dreamwalk into his mind to answer that question.

As Isabel tries to walk into Alex’s mind she crosses some threshold into dreams, hers and his.  Dreams and visions that sail on gossamer wings borne up by currents from roiling things in the night, hot erotic fantasies come to life or dreams of blood and vengeance that only the wicked vessel of the heart may contain.

With a shock she sees Alex in bed with not a stitch on.  He rolls over and says, Hi, Isabel.  How’s your sex life?

How’s my sex life?  She sputters angrily.  It’s fine.  How’s yours?  Go fuck yourself.

Dont be mean to me, he says, laughing.  He touches her hand and she gets in beside him and they do unspeakable things until she wakes with a start and night sweats.  Is that why she keeps pushing him away?

Of course it is, she says to herself.  She wasnt seeing into his mind.  She was seeing into hers.  And she is terrified.  For herself and for all of them.

Roswell 44 It’s Great to be Home

Providence and blessing are immediate.  The night, the minute.  No tomorrow.  Tomorrow is now.  Tomorrow was last night.  Such things held dear in places in the heart are provenanced in grief and ashes.  And yet i  have Liz to myself this priceless morning and so am uncommonly unafraid, though i have been afraid all my life.  And i wonder if i am happy because this is a thing i have not known and i cannot put a word to what i feel.

I cant sense her mood for she is silent as the sphinx.  I clear my throat and say, U know what they say about a house divided.

What about it?

Just hold that thought when they give us the third degree.  Or whatever they give us.  Maybe an intervention.  That what they call it?

She pushes her hair back from her face as we ride thru the desert.  She says, U mean tough love.

Tough love is bullshit.  It’s when they lay for the sumbitch when he is exhausted and helpless.  It’s another word for bullying.  And your friends turn on you and the last is the first and the first the last. And the ones you thought loved you become sadists and bullies and thugs.

What got into you, Max?  I was just really happy to be here with you.  Now you’ve got me worried.

Dont listen to me.  I dont know what i’m saying.

Her eyes are taciturn.  She says, Max, everything we did, everything we felt.  Was it all about that thing?  

The artifact.

Yes, the artifact.  We dont even know what it is.


Yet.  I mean, Max, was it ever just about us?  You and me?  Because somebody could feel like they served their purpose.

Furious, i turn my head toward her and say, Is that what you think?  Then i stifle myself and laugh bitterly and say, That could cut both ways. Oh, hell, some girls would give anything to fly thru outer space.

Dont be flippant.

Then dont be insecure, Liz.  Stop being suspicious of me.

She says nothing.  It’s still early enough that the streets of this diamond morning are hushed and hollow as a Sunday when i pull the jeep into a parking space a block from the Crashdown out of sentimentality or holy dread of what is to come or both.

As we walk down the street she takes my arm and says, So maybe you think U saved me from a life with Kyle.

Inertia can be a real bitch but even so, with or without me i dont think a life with Kyle was ever your destiny, Dushka. 

So what is my destiny?

Well, i say.  I only know the part i’m hoping for.

I put my arm around her waist and pull her roughly to me, whether to show them all solidarity or just to say fuck you.  When i open the door to the Crashdown it looks like the whole town is in there, a virulent mob that no ceding nor surfeiting of blood could appease.

Uh-oh, Liz says.

I smile at them say innocently, It’s great to be home.

Roswell 43 The Sable Night


The eraser room.  Smell of chalk dust and inchoate sexual memories.  I see something that looks foreign on Liz’s neck.

Dushka, i say, That is the biggest hickey i have ever seen.  Did i give you that?  I hope so, because if i didnt, then…

Of course you gave it to me but i didnt know it was there.

Has anyone else seen it?  People been looking at you real funny?


Well, it’s not that easy to see because your hair covers it.  Here.  Let me fix that…

I put my left index finger on what is really a creepy looking lesion and there is a muted flash of green and the hickey disappears.

Thanks, Max, she says.

My pleasure, i say.  Now open wide.

When she does i put my tongue in her mouth and everything in my visual field changes…scenes that look ancient but are not even a century old yet old enough that everyone in them looks like intruders from another age.  The desert.  Smoking ruins of a twisted metal thing.  Soldiers from a 1940s movie scrambling out of jeeps with drawn weapons.  Perspective changes and i am looking up out of a shallow grave inside a transparent plastic coffin.  Dirt being thrown hurriedly over the coffin as the soldiers sprint toward something unknown…

And then the eraser room door is flung open and a seething Pruneface glares at us.  A face that is usually merely unspeakable becomes unthinkable.

Uh-oh, Liz says.


Outside a glass windowed room where Liz’s mom and my mom are in with a mellow voiced teacher.  I am fidgeting because i am never in trouble at school and dont know what to expect.  Liz sits beside me and holds her arms rigidly in front of her and looks at the glass wall poker faced.

It’s your fault, i say.  If you hadnt been so fuckin loud…

She turns on me angrily and starts to speak until she sees that i am smiling.

Just wanted to lighten things up, i say, yawning and stretching.

She laughs and shakes her head.  I’ll never be bored with you, Max.  You’re different every day of your life.

Is that good or bad?  I say.

Liz says nothing.  When they start talking in the glass room we can hear easily.

What exactly is an eraser room?  Liz’s mom demands.

It’s a small room we use to clean the erasers so chalk dust doesnt get all over the school, the even voiced teacher says.  In this dry climate it can get to be a bit much.

I’m a little lost, my mom says.

She is lost because she is a dingbat.  I love my foster mother but she has never been the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Was Max in there with Liz cleaning erasers?  She says and breaks off when the truth begins dawn on her.

No, the teachers says calmly in a golden voice.  They were, uh…making out.  Foreplay, not erasers.  Why dont we go out and talk to them?

He does not wait for an answer but opens the door and walks out and smiles at us.

Miss Evans?  Mr. Parker?  He says with a toothpaste ad smile.

This is all completely wrong, Liz says adamantly, shaking her head.

What did i get wrong, Liz?  Teacher says.

It’s wrong that we’re here at all, Liz says indignantly.

Then perhaps, he says expansively, you should have been quieter.

I think i’ve heard enough, Liz’s mom says.

Mom, this is not what you think, Liz says.  Dont you believe me?

What is it then?

It’s a misunderstanding, Liz says.

They also cut a class, Teacher says.  Now, Max and Liz are both honor students and i know we’d all like to keep it that way.

I’m sure there’s an explanation for it, my dingbat mother says.  Max would never miss a class unless there was a good reason.  Max?



Liz and her mother walk stiffly toward the the back exit past faces Liz has come to hate and to live for the day when they are but bitter aftertaste of a regimented but vacuous time.

Mom, this isnt as bad as it looks.

U already said that.

It’s not like i never kissed a boy before in my whole life.

Liz, i dont think it was the kissing so much as the volume.

This is being blown out of proportion, Liz says in frustration.

We’ll talk about this later tonight, Mom says.  Come straight home, understand?

I cant.  I have detention.

Then come home right after that, Mom says.  Then she walks out the exit without looking back.  Liz stares after her while everyone works hard at not looking at her.  And Liz feels the trepidation and chill of a mortal loss anyone feels when a bridge has been burned behind them.  Alea iacta est.


Later, at home.  Liz scowls and tries to do homework but she is too tightly wrapped and just fidgets and chews on a pencil.  Her mother putters around her like she’s working herself up to something.  Finally she seems to come to some kind of decision and starts walking toward Liz.  Liz throws a dagger look at her that is halfway between leave me alone and drop fucking dead but Mom keeps right on.

Mom stops in front of Liz and says, Honey?

Yes?  Liz says coldly.

You really have strong feelings for this boy, dont you?  Max, i mean.

I have a very hard time talking about these things, Liz says, avoiding Mom’s eyes.

Well.  I have to talk about this so if you cant talk just listen.  Can you do that?

I guess so.

Dont ever have sex, Mom says earnestly.  Dont ever leave this house.  Dont ever stop being my baby girl.


Because once you enter that world, you know, sexual intimacy, everything changes…

Mom, please…

I just want you to know that you never have to lie to me about these things.  Really.  Okay?

I guess so, Liz says with extreme caution, wondering if she is being set-up.

After a few long looks Mom gets up and leaves and Liz sighs with relief.  But Mom stops at the door and turns round and starts to speak.

What?  Liz says crossly.

It’s just that one moment i look at you and you’re my baby and the next you’re…

Liz laughs harshly.  She says, Stop trying to control me.

I’m trying to keep you safe, Mom says.  When have i ever tried to control you ?

Because you never had to!  Cause i’ve always done everything you want and you think it’ll always be that way.  You dont even see me.

Then help me see you.  Talk to me!  Mom says and walks over and touches Liz’s face.  She says, Liz, you’re warm.  You must be getting sick.

I’m fine.

You’re not fine.  You’re burning up.

Stop it, Mom.  This is my body and i dont have to tell you everything about it.  One day i may have this same conversation with my daughter and i may look back and regret saying this.  But that’s some day and right now i cant talk to you.

With that Liz flounces into the bathroom and slams the door and curses in layered whispers.  She thinks of these half alien kids and the passion they have for finding home.  Michael’s taciturn relentlessness, Max’s bend-but-dont-break-craziness, Isabel’s Borg Queen malevolence and how much they want to find what they never will have here.  And that’s when she realizes with sorrow that discovery and loss are both the same thing.



What did you see, Liz?  I say.

What did you see, Max?

No.  You first.  I dont want to put thoughts in your head.

The crash, she says.  Some kind of wrecked ship that really looked alien.  Soldiers from the 1940s running toward it.  Then i was looking up from a grave while somebody threw dirt over it.

That’s what i saw.

There was more, Liz says.  I sketched it…

I take the sketch from her and look at it and say, i know where this is.  Been hiding from us all the time.  It’s the old radio tower on Highway 42.

Max, isnt Highway 42…

Yes, i say gravely.  Just a couple of miles from the crash.

There’s something buried there.

Yes there is.  I should go to Michael.

Is that really what you want to do?  Liz says with a flash of atypical coyness.

Nah.  Fuck that.

Because if we’re gonna do this it has to be tonight.  Mom’s really suspicious and may ground me for all i know.

Come on, then, i say.  Let’s hope what’s out there isnt just where somebody buried their dead parakeet.


I fidget as i drive and fumble with the player until i find Bitter Sweet Symphony by the Verve.

I didnt think you listened to music like that, Liz says.

Like what?

Anything less than a hundred years old.

Doesnt have to be that old.  As long as it’s older than me.  I just had a yen for something from the roaring 90s.

Lost in the nineties, RU?

No, i say, shaking my head violently.  Just lost.  As usual.  IDK what’s wrong.

At least you’re not listening to Chopin.

Why that?

You do that when you feel the shittiest.

What i’m feeling is beyond shitty.  It’s right here…

As i pull off the road and into the creosote desert i am glad i’m driving a jeep with new tires.  I get two shovels and a trenching tool and walk a few feet to where whatever it is is buried.

What now?  She says.

Now we dig, i say, handing her a shovel.

The vault of heaven is sable strewn with diamonds.  Against the gunmetal firmament a meteor flames and dies.  The universe, cold and indifferent.  The biological world where life strains and seethes at the roots of meaning and desire.  A coyote yips and a train comes on miles away and howls for the crossing like a soul damned of all salvation.

Just before my shovel hits metal i see a glow in the ground and know that this trip was not for nothing.  A metal thing effulgent and throbbing and radiant with a brilliance that seems alien and inimical.  I shovel off the fine soil and the glow seems to coalesce into a coherent beam that seeks an unknown ubiety in the heavens.  Liz reaches down and picks it up and it doesnt so much to die as crawl into itself.

Give it to me, i say curtly.

When i touch it it seems to thump as it comes alive with the peculiar radiance of the pendant that i touched in the cave with River Dog.  The artifact is metallic and the size and shape of a humongous egg.  It bears the same glowing symbol that was on the pendant and on the cave walls.

Is this from your home?  Liz says.

IDK.  I dont think it’s from this earth.

Maybe it’s a signal, she says.


We walk in roiling silence to the jeep and i put the artifact away.  I stop and stare at the ground and say, I’m tired.

I’m not, she chirps.

I get the sleeping bag and unroll it onto the ground.

I dont want to go home, i say.

I dont either, she says.  We both deserve this.

Sure we do, i say.  They’ll kill us when we get home.

Do we care?   She says.

No.  We do not.

After we make love she slides off easily into the cavern of sleep but i fret and fidget and it’s near dawn when i finally pass out.


I was asleep when night’s velour curtain was drawn back from a red and gold morning on a wasteland barren, silent, godless as the plains of Gomorrah.  I open my eyes and see Liz staring at something.  The sun is blocked by a human silhouette with a cowboy hat.  I cannot see his face nor any feature as he stands six feet away.

He finally says, This is private property.  You kids better get on home.

Roswell 42: Home?

The spring this year in Roswell comes as a softening.  Even when it’s cold there’s no bite to it.  Some love it and some dont because it portends the brutal heat and torrential rains and flash floods of the summer.  I’m one of the latter.

But it’s still February and this morning’s still muggy and cold.  Walking to school past weeds frozen into ice pipettes and dry husks of seed pods sheathed in glass webbed shells of old ice spanning the ditches and the wrought iron trees along the desolate walkways seized with hoarfrost.  My steps tired and wonky from the cold outside me and inside.  Alienation and lonely desperation swelling in my stomach like a malignant, growing egg.

Liz is here.  It seems she has always been but i’ve known her more than in passing less than a year.  She is what i need but not enough.  What i need is to stop running and stop being afraid all the time but that may never happen and even if it does i may already be too maimed for it to matter.  Maybe i already am.  Why do i have to keep running like Richard Kimble after a one armed man that may not even exist?  You may as well ask me why it rains.

Hey, dushka, i say in a strange voice.

Max, i have to talk to you, she says.

What about?

Well.  After these make out sessions i’ve started to have er…visions.

Visions?  I say.

Dont say it like that!  She snaps.  Visions of time and space and maybe…maybe home.  Your home.


Later we sit outside in the grayness.  Voices around us muted as though eaten by the strange humidity that makes it both too close and too cold.  I see my reflection in a flat of water on the sidewalk and i look unearthly to myself.  And for a panicky moment i see a comic book version of ET and wonder if i am actually seeing myself for the first time and if this is what i really look like.  We dont see things the way they are but the way we are?  True or false?  I sure hope not.  I shake my head violently like a dog shedding water and frantically blink my eyes a few times and everything looks right again.  I guess i am overwrought and depressed.  Nearly getting killed by Hubble didnt help.

You saw stars?  I say to her.  Like they guy said in 2001?

I was…we were moving into a starfield that looked like a ship going to warp on tv.  There were these…red stars but they didnt seem right.  And finally i could see Earth as we moved toward it.  It just expanded and the vision stopped.  I looked it up because i thought i’d seen it before and i have.  Look at this, she says as she hands me some electronics.

You saw this when you looked it up on a search engine?

It didnt take long.  I’ve seen it before.

This is the Whirlpool Galaxy.  It’s a double spiral like the Milky Way but we’re in a position to see its top or bottom, same thing.  Is this what you thought might be my home?  It’s unlikely.  About 23 million light years away.  Why not look closer to home…

What about those red stars?

I sigh heavily.  I say, If it were red giants or red dwarfs you could only see them from relatively close so maybe you did have a vision.  You drew something from my mind that i didnt know was there.  But then there are plenty of red giants and red dwarfs.

But whatever it was i saw is maybe real?

It’s probably real, i say miserably.  Like you took it it out of my mind.

But i was close to something else, Max.

And it’s just after making out that you get these?  Well.  That’s what the eraser room is for, i say.

Roswell 40: Alien Hunter

The night of the first day of the UFO convention Hubble stands outside the UFO center with Valenti.

Looking for someone?  Hubble says pleasantly.

What did you come back for?

Well, i’ve been tracking what’s been going on around here for the last few months.  The shooting in September at the Crashdown.  What happened over there?

Valenti is seething.  He says, You got to my father when he was at his weakest and you pushed him over the edge.  Because of you i had to have him committed.

You’re giving me more credit than i deserve.

You get the fuck outta town!  Valenti says.

I thought we already talked about…

I’m not talking to you as the sheriff now.  This is coming from me, from everything you cost me.  I dont ever want to see your face again.  Ever.

I can understand your being upset, Hubble says.  But remember this.  All those years your father has been in that nuthouse i’ve been living in my own hell.  Now from what i hear your Dad isnt all there these days.  And i bet you still have a lot of questions.  About your father, about that silo murder and why he was arrested for it.  I’m the only person in the world who has the answers to those questions.  I was there.  I saw it all.  I’m your link, Junior.  So before you run me outta town you should think about that real hard.  I can help you.  We can help each other.


At the nursing home Valenti talks to his father.

It’s cold in here, Dad says.  Like an icebox.

Dad, try to focus.  The night of the murder at the silo.  Hubble was there?



Hubble couldnt let go of his wife, Dad says.  That was his problem all along.

Valenti sighs heavily, Dad, he says…

His wife and kid, Dad says.

He didnt have a wife and kid, Valenti says.

Dad looks at Valenti sideways, conspiratorially.  Dad says, They’re trying to kill me.


Valenti in his office with Hubble.

Thanks for hearing me out, Jimmy, Hub says.

Valenti stares at the glossy photos Hubble shows him.  Pictures of various dead people with the alien handprint with the bioluminescent glow on them.

This guy has been leaving carnage all over the southwest for decades.  No reason to think he’s gonna stop now.  Those handprints are the only trail he leaves.  It only lasts a day or two and disappears so i always carry a camera with me.

Where did you get these?  Valenti says.

I know you’ve been investigating this but you’re a weekend enthusiast.  It’s been full time for me.  I got nothing but time.  One of them’s my own work-the girl.

Who is she, Hub?

That’s not important, Hubble says uncomfortably, evasively.  The others i procured.  Like i said, i have connections.

Who are they?  The victims, i mean.

They’re just people.  People with bad luck.  People in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Jimmy, listen.  Your father may have made a mistake that night, pulled the trigger on the wrong man.  But he wasnt crazy.  Not then.  But you already know that, dont you?  You knew it when i showed up here.  It was in your eyes.  All your father wanted was to make the world a better place and they crucified him for it.  This isnt some happy go lucky ET we’re looking for.  This is a killer, Jimmy.  If you know something about it then it’s our duty to team up and do something.  What about this kid, this Max Evans?  Does he have something to do with all this?

IDK, Hub.  He’s only sixteen.

This alien is a shapeshifter, Hubble says.

Roswell 39: Convention

Poets, mystics, fascists, fools.  All converge on Roswell for the annual UFO convention held by the UFO center.  Max stands outside the UFO center in an uncommonly ugly alien suit, handing out flyers.  The Crashdown is right across the street so he can see Liz and cannot avoid stealing glances at her.  He is acting like a love sick adolescent because that’s what he is.  He is also part alien but that is all but irrelevant because he is in love and when you are in love nothing else matters.

The Crashdown does most of its yearly business this week and it is packed.  And no customer looks remotely sane.    Right now Liz is bringing food to a guy with moth-like antennae and a body suit that looks like an insectile carapace or exoskeleton.  It’s in segments and would not look out of place on the ocean floor.  His companion sitting across from him has the same costume but it just doesnt suit her as well.

Okay, Liz says.  I have one green eggs with moon rock hash and one convention special.  Can i get you guys anything else?

The insect man regards her with peremptory condescension and says, I am Zinaplox from the planet Zodogon.  I come to enslave humanity and return to my home planet.

Well then, Liz chirps brightly like the twinkie she is, It’s great that you’re starting out with a nice, hearty breakfast.

When Zenoplox is halfway thru his meal Maria walks past him and he tells her that he is Lipitor from the planet Zocor and is here to destroy Earth.

Of course you are, dear, Maria says and walks past without looking at him.



When Sheriff Valenti opens the door of his office he can barely see the man in the dark with his feet propped on Valenti’s desk.  From the dark the man says, been a while, Junior.

How did you get past the front desk?  Valenti says, checking his anger.

Better beef up security, the man says.  He holds up a picture of Kyle and says, Heard you had a boy.  Bachelor myself.  No kids for me.

You’re not welcome here, Hub.

Oh, Junior.  I expect more from you than small town threats.  Well, i just wanted to stop by.  Regards to your dad.  From what i hear you’re starting to come around to his way of thinking.  See ya, Junior.

As Hub is leaving Deputy Hanson walks into Valenti’s office.  Who was that?  Hanson says.

That, Valenti says grimly, Is a bona fide alien hunter.  Maybe an alien killer.