Max Evans pulled the rented 71 Oldsmobile Cutlass to a stop outside the Mesaliko Native-American reservation. After the jeep had blown up, he had needed wheels again. For the moment, the rented Cutlass fit the bill. He watched the people moving through the village while the yellow dust cloud he'd brought in with him dissipated. The sun beat down on the land, already hot though it was only midmorning.

He couldn't believe he was just sitting behind the wheel. The Mesaliko people watching him probably thought he was bored or lost. And maybe he was lost. Ever since Tess had left with the baby… his son… there had been an emptiness inside him that he'd never before experienced.

Max peered at his reflection in the dust-streaked windshield. I sent my son away, and I didn't go with him. What kind of father would do that?

All his life in school he'd struggled not to get involved with others, to maintain his own personal bubble of individuality. Getting caught up in the lives of others put him at risk because he was different. He'd always known he was different; he just hadn't known how much.

Yet as distant and reserved as he tried to make himself be, he'd involved himself in the lives of others without hesitation at times. That reservation had broken when he'd saved Liz Parker's life at the Crashdown Cafe almost two years ago. The image of Liz falling back when the gunman's bullet struck her still sometimes haunted Max's dreams. He had made a choice that day to use his powers to heal her, and had thrown them together and apart ever since.

Opening the Cutlass's door, Max stepped out into the oven heat that settled over the harsh land. The slow ticking of the Cutlass's cooling engine sounded loud in the silence of the village. A child wrapped an arm around her mother's leg and retreated behind the woman.