Everything was always Max or alien centric.ДЄfter Max died, she became very introspective. She spent so little time focusing on herself. There had been so much going on in her life during that time, all of it Max related. She seldom gave it any real thought, but she did jot it down in her journal each time it occurred. But after he left, the feeling persisted. Back then, sheвЂ™d attributed the feeling to him, he had, after all, been watching her. The first time sheвЂ™d felt like someone was watching her was when Future Max came. Warily, she took her seat and opened her journal again and began to read. She looked around, looking at the passengers nearby, but nobody looked familiar. Just before she sat down, she felt the familiar eerie feeling.

Once in the narrow aisle, she released the breath she hadnвЂ™t been aware she was holding and walked toward the empty seats. Liz climbed over the man, praying that the bus would remain steady. She spied an empty pair of seats several rows back and she gathered up her belongings and carefully stood up. She craned her neck, trying to see past the sleeping man next to her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her body stiff from sitting so long. She thought maybe if she could pinpoint when the feelings began, she might be able to find a clue as to what was going on. This time, she was trying to find when it started, this feeling of being watched. This time, she wasnвЂ™t looking for memories of Max. She flipped through journal, skimming pages. She couldnвЂ™t stand to be without it for in it was her life with Max. Before she sent it to her father, she made a copy. This wasnвЂ™t her original journal that had been sent back to her father, with the request that he burn it and spread itвЂ™s ashes on the graves of Max and Alex. Her seatmate asleep, Liz reached into her backpack and extracted her journal. She changed busses, routes and direction several times, but she could never shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

Nothing anybody could say could dissuade Liz from her decision to leave, and on a brisk fall morning, she climbed aboard a bus heading east. But I canвЂ™t do that if IвЂ™m hanging on to the remnants of my old life.вЂќ I need to get on with my life вЂ“ or start a new life. вЂњMax is dead, heвЂ™s not coming back, and seeing all of you, day after day, just makes it harder to bear. вЂњMichael, I have to do this,вЂќ Liz sighed. He didnвЂ™t know which was harder, telling Liz and Isabel what had happened, or getting in that damned microvan and leaving, knowing theyвЂ™d never see Max again. She withdrew into herself and didnвЂ™t talk to anybody for a long time. Isabel reacted in typical Isabel way, she yelled and screamed and cried. Someone, Michael could only assume they were a part of the Special Unit, forced his motorcycle off the road. Max was dead, and it was his fault.ДЄfter they fled the gym on that fateful graduation night, the Special Unit had followed them as they made their way out of town. Michael flinched at the harshness of her words. вЂњWhat Max would have wanted is immaterial, Michael. вЂњLiz, Max would have wanted you to stay with us,вЂќ Michael answered. She didnвЂ™t know who he was, or where he was, but he was watching her, day and night. Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to first to Melinda Metz, then to Jason Katims and 20th Century Fox.

Two sides of the coin oblivion