Chapter Eleven

Quinn stared at her aunt, for a moment stricken by the possibility that this had all been a dream, caused by the disorientation of visiting Amy's home for the first time.

Then she remembered. Soon after she had finished puking up the last of her Good Time Chinese Food lunch, her family decided to switch locations - to escape the stench of vomit as much as anything else. After an extensive debate about hotels, cabins, trailer parks, and which relatives they could stand the most, they finally settled on visiting Amy. Her history of distance from the Morgendorffers would make her a less-obvious target than some, and by the time Phelps figured out their plan, they would have come up with a new one.

DeMartino had resisted at first. He fretted that his interdimensional travel could only handle short distances and few people - he couldn't carry them safely to a spot nearly one hundred and fifty miles away. Then her mother came up with the novel idea of driving to her aunt's; Phelps didn't know what type of cars the Morgendorffers drove, and if they left them to be discovered, he might learn clues that he could use against them. So they drove out of Lawndale, with one of DeMartino's eyes - literally - turned behind them at all times to make sure no one followed.

That evening, Amy had looked stunned to see them on her doorstep, but did not hesitate to invite them in. She gave Daria and Quinn the guest room, and soon after, Quinn collapsed onto one side of the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

As reality now washed over her, Quinn felt stirrings of sickness in her stomach again and had to lie back against the bed board. Amy's wry expression gave way to concern.

"You feeling okay?" she asked, stepping closer. "The rest of your family's long been up --"

"Don't come near me," Quinn said in a low, intense tone. She felt cold prickles on the back of her neck.

Amy's eyes probed her tense face. "What were you dreaming about?"

Just then Helen burst in, with Jake not far behind. "Quinn, honey." She brushed past Amy and sat down beside Quinn on the bed. Seeing her alive and unharmed, Quinn lunged for her mother and buried her face in her shoulder. Sobs tore out of her mouth, which still felt thick and pasty from the vomit. Jake watched with a glum expression.

"That must have been some damn house fire," Amy mused, glancing from one family member to the next.

Helen turned her head and gave her sister a meaningful look. Her eyes were red and hollowed out from lack of sleep. Amy understood. Tugging at her oversized robe, she turned toward the door. "I'll go put on another pot of coffee."

Meanwhile, Quinn remained locked against her mother. Over her shoulder, she could see her father. Although she was coming to grips with the fact that the events in her dream were just figments of her imagination, she still felt haunted by them. My dear, Quinn, would it be so bad if you turned in your father? Hasn't he always annoyed you more than anything else? It's not as though you would miss him...

Quinn gasped, and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't tell where voice had come from, but she had to block it out.

"What's in it for you?" Daria asked, sipping her fourth cup of coffee and nibbling the edge of her bagel.

DeMartino's bad eye bulged at her from the other side of the kitchen table. Overnight, his human flesh had healed back over his alien face, so that he looked normal again. "What do you MEAN?"

"What compelled you to spend over thirty years watching our father's back?"

"Well ACTUALLY," said DeMartino, who then sucked down his eighth cup in one gulp, "thirty earth years is only seven years on-"

"Not answering the question."

DeMartino fidgeted uncomfortably. "He's my friend. And on XULFANEX, friendship ties are as important as family. Plus, I don't think you REALIZE just how much your father conTRIBUTED to our people before he left. He helped get them WATER when the great warlord had blocked off the river. He protected their CROPS so they wouldn't die. Our people were getting STRONGER, preparing to fight, and if the great warlord made your father an EXAMPLE, all that would be lost."

"But isn't it lost, anyway?" said Daria. "While I would never want my dad to return to that place, seven years is a long time for people to carry on without a leader. Who is to say that they haven't been mowed over by now?"

DeMartino thrust his bagel into his mouth and chewed silently for several moments. "I just have to hold out hope," he muttered.

"And even if they weren't, what good does it do you to stay with us? You took a job you hate, had one of your identities destroyed, and if that weren't enough, you've had no significant relationship apart from the one with Dad -"

"DARIA," DeMartino spat, "are you trying to make me feel any REGRETS?!"

Daria frowned. "No. I'm just trying to make sense of this crazy mess. Aren't you homesick?"

DeMartino's face clouded over in thought. Before he could answer, the kitchen door swung open and Amy padded in to make a new pot of coffee.

"Those were some very interesting POINTS you made about the Franco-Prussian war!" DeMartino said in tone of forced cheerfulness. "Do you have any MORE points you would like to make about the Franco-Prussian war?"

"Yes," Daria returned in a flat tone, "but why dispense the fun all at once?"

She wasn't sure if her aunt would buy their act, and indeed, Amy did look at them a bit suspiciously. As she removed the spent filter from the coffee pot and tossed it into the garbage, her eyes narrowed at the sight of DeMartino.

"Do you need any help, Aunt Amy?" Daria asked.

"If you mean 'help' as in 'I'll try to limit my coffee intake to less than ten cups a day,' then I'd say definitely," her aunt returned in a wry tone. "But if you mean help with the coffee pot, don't worry. I can handle scooping some black grounds into a filter."

Daria got up to help anyway. Even though Amy's physical presence brought back painful memories of her parents' split just a few weeks earlier, she felt the need to talk to her aunt. Amy raised a brow with surprise, but looked pleased. Daria reached into the nearest cabinet and snagged a new filter.

"Where's Joel?" she asked.

"At a jazz festival in Newark," Amy replied, opening the freezer to retrieve the coffee grounds. "His band is scheduled to play there for five nights, and I was supposed to go with him, but I didn't feel well." She closed the freezer door, coffee tin in hand. "Which is good, because I don't think I could convince him to take in angst-ridden family members a second time in one month."

DeMartino stood up abruptly. "I HAVE... to... go!" he announced, before fleeing the room.

"Thanks for sharing," Amy muttered. "Try limiting your intake to three cups an hour next time."

Daria watched the swinging door with relief, then looked at her aunt solemnly. "Aunt Amy, do you know why we're here?"

Amy's face grew solemn as well. "I know it's not because of a house fire. Is it?"

Daria shook her head. "How much has Mom told you about her life?"

"Not much. When she was up here a few weeks ago, all she said was that she was dissatisfied."

"What would you say if there was a lot more to it than that?"

Amy smirked a little. "I'd say 'try me.' It can't possibly be worse than the scenario in my mind."

Minutes later, Amy stood as before. "Well okay," she said, "maybe that is slightly worse."

"We're all right, really," Daria hastened to add.

"Are you sure?" Amy asked, gazing at her closely.

"Well no. But if I try too hard not to think about it, it's okay."

"So that's why your friend DeMartino's face looked malformed," Amy mused. "Mishap with a Halloween costume, my ass."

She sighed, and a snicker at the absurdity of the situation escaped her lips. Daria's eyes narrowed with resentment, but then she, too, could not help chuckling.

"Calling Ed Wood: We just found your long-lost script," she quipped.

"Oh no, I'd say this is more of a Twilight Zone episode," Amy returned. "Or maybe one from classic Star Trek. Third season."

Daria was starting to feel a little better. Getting an outsider's perspective made her situation feel less doomsday. Amy reached over and patted her shoulder.

"Have you and your family given any thought to what you might do?" she asked softly.

Daria shook her head. "Beyond 'run as fast as we can so he can't catch us,' I'd say no. Mom and Dad won't even consider staying to fight him. And I think Quinn is in the middle of having a nervous breakdown."

Amy's brow creased with concern. "When you guys arrived, I saw she was covered in something. It looked like -"

"Blood. It was blood," said Daria quietly. "Not hers, but I think from someone who died in the girls bathroom. I don't know if she had anything to do with it, and frankly, a part of me doesn't want to know." With frustration, she watched a stream of fresh coffee fill the pot. "Of all the people I've been able to read, Quinn was never one of them. I always assumed it was because she had no thoughts worth reading, but now I know: The alien part of her must keep a barrier between her mind and outside telepathy."

Amy turned her attention to the sink, taking a coffee mug to rinse. "Can you tell what I'm thinking?" she asked.

Daria squinted at her. "You're worried for us. You're wondering what's going to happen. You're a little frightened of me right now. You wish you hadn't been dragged into it."

Amy looked at her, startled. "But that doesn't mean-"

"You don't care? Yeah, I know. If I were you, I'd feel that way, too."

Amy smiled a little as she ran the mug underneath the faucet. "You're amazing, Daria," she murmured. "If I'd discovered what you had yesterday, I'd be half mad. But you're-"

"Taking it well?" Daria rolled her eyes.

"Been there, heard that?" said Amy sympathetically.

"Give me absolutely no choice, and I can handle just about anything. Unless it involves tutoring Kevin."

Amy chuckled once more. Daria watched her large, swaying robe as she finished rinsing the glass and reached for a dishrag. "And there's something else. Something else you're worried about-"

"What worries you?" Amy asked pointedly. "Seriously, you're handling it well, but inside a part of you must be frightened. If you feel like telling me, that is..."

"No, it's fine." Daria pursed her lips together in thought. "What worries me is that something doesn't add up. I keep getting more information, but there's a piece that's missing. Not all of the pieces fit, and in some cases they fit too well. I can't explain it." She shook her head in frustration. "I just keep feeling as though there's something major that Quinn and I aren't being told."

Amy finished wiping off the mug and handed it to Daria, who promptly filled it with coffee from the pot. She handed it to her aunt. "Here. You could use this as much as I could."

"No, no," said Amy quickly. "That's okay."

Daria laid the mug on the counter and looked probingly at her aunt. "You love coffee," she said. "You couldn't stop drinking it when you were over at our house a few weeks ago. Yet this morning, I haven't seen you touch a drop."

"I'm trying to cut back on caffeine," Amy said, brow creasing with guilt.

"Aunt Amy, what's wrong?"

Amy gazed down at the smooth porcelain of the sink, then turned to face Daria. "Nothing's really wrong, exactly. Things have just been kind of weird for me lately. I don't know... maybe you can explain this."

She undid her robe and lifted her nightshirt. Daria's eyes widened at the sight of her swollen belly, which had to be a good seven months pregnant.