posted on 10-Feb-2003 12:30:50 AM
Title: What Dreams May Come

Author: Me

Rating: Will be NC-17 eventually I imagine

Summary: This is darker fic in the beginning but it will lighten up. Liz has been taken prisoner, she needs to be rescued, you'll have to read it to find out more as I don't want to give it away yet.

Author's note: Although many of you may recognize the title as a feature film a few years back, it was orginated from Shakespeare. I obviously am not Shakespeare and do not own the Shakespeare quote, nor do I own a good portion of these characters. Feedback is always encouraged and always appreciated.

If you would like to reply, please reply here:



To be, or not to be ... that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take up arms against a sea of troubles - and by opposing them end them?
To die... To sleep... no more...
And by a sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to..
Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished!

To die... To sleep...
To sleep? Perchance to dream!
Ay there's the rub! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause...

- Hamlet's speech upon contemplating suicide


There are not a lot of things that I am certain about anymore.

I don’t know what day it is, what year it is, or even what month it is, for that matter, let alone how long I have been here. I don’t know that time actually exists anymore; it all seems to flow together into one big mass of my existence. I am almost positive, though, that I do indeed exist.

I haven't the faintest idea of where I am or how I came to be here, at this exact location in the time-space plane. I have not seen the outside of this enclosure in a very long time. I am fairly sure, however, that here is nowhere on earth. It’s just this internal feeling that I have.

I cannot tell you who my captors are or why they have brought me here. I just know that I am a prisoner.

I carry no memory of ever actually being taken, but I believe that it must have happened at some point because I know that I wasn’t always here. I hold memories of a lifetime that existed before this bleak abyss.

Some days I think that I am crazy, that this is my imagination. Better still, I convince myself that this is a dream and that I will wake up shortly and be at home again.

The only reality I know of is the one that I create for myself.

How, then, can I distinguish between fantasy and reality? From what I know and don’t know?

Confidence fails me often.

One thing I will never doubt, though, that I cannot allow myself to doubt, lest my very existence become lost, is who I am.

I am Liz Parker.

[ edited 2 time(s), last at 10-Feb-2003 1:31:31 AM ]
posted on 10-Feb-2003 12:45:59 AM

Every morning I wake and find food has been brought to my incarceration site during my slumber. It’s not really morning, though. It’s just a period of time shortly following a period of time that I have spent sleeping. I imagine that sometimes morning happen twice, maybe three times a day, that is, within what a day used to be to me.

The food is never anything special. Just basic nutrients for me to live by. It all tastes the same, becomes the same, is the same to me.

I haven’t the slightest clue as to how it gets here or who brings it. There are no doors to my cell, no windows, nothing. Yet every morning, there is food.

Twice, I have tried to stay awake to see how this enchantment comes to be.

The first time, I simply feel asleep at my watch.

The second time, however, something unexplainable in my terms of the universe happened. I swear that I was awake the whole time, drowsy but distinctly awake, and I had been awake for a very long time. I have no idea how long, just that it was long. One instant there was nothing, and the next instant it was just there. The food was. I suspected I was foolish, that I had slipped into sleep for just the briefest moment, unbeknownst to myself. But there are times when I am sure that I was awake and that it did just appear.

I can make no plans of escape because there is no way to escape and nowhere to escape to.

But I am sickened of being here, nowhere, everywhere, anywhere. I simply cannot take this any longer. I am becoming more and more insane with the progression of time. Sometimes I feel as if I shall burst if I cannot go free, if I am not released, if no one will answer the endless questions of my mind.

It was at a time like that when I decided that it was time to end this madness, to liberate myself from this forlorn confinement, this desolate isolation. A time like that when I chose not to pursue any past I once had into the future. A time like that when I determined that I would exit my existence.

I simply cannot sustain myself any longer. Any morning I could awaken and not know who I am. Any moment I could doubt that I am Liz Parker. Any time now I could cease to exist anyways. When that morning, that day, or that time comes, I do not want to be.

Am I a coward?


A failure?



Quite likely.


Most definitely.

I choose to opt out nobly in a time when I can still recall what I was previously living for. I choose to depart with dignity in an era when I can still claim my sanity.

At first I thought that I could simply starve myself to death. But the ever present temptation of food in the unlimitedly renewable resource that it came eluded me all too easily.

I thought I might hang myself on the clothing that I hadn’t worn for a regrettably extensive while. The clothing that was always freshly clean every morning. Disgustingly clean.

I found the problem with this was that I simply had nowhere to hang myself from. Any piece of furniture in my room was invariably bolted to the floor or attached to a wall and the unblemished ceiling loomed far above my head.

I tried to drown myself in the ever flowing fountain, the only source of water in my captivity. Unfortunately, every time I managed to submerse my airways for more than the briefest period of time, the fountain simply ceased flowing. This became a great source of frustration to me.

Shortly after I begin these fanatical escapades and flirtations with death, anything remotely sharp within my constriction magically disappears by some unknown force and becomes replaced with a blunt alternative product or device.

All at once I fly into an unannounced, enraged frenzy, heaving anything mobile, defacing all surfaces, destroying all that I can. Drained, I fall into a sobbing heap in the middle of the floor. For a very long time I lay there in the fetal position, eyes swollen shut, tears staining my dirty face.

For the first time in a long time, I allow myself to become engrossed in my world from before, immersed in the innocent and naive girl I was.

I think of my family, my parents whom I love so much.

I think of my home, in Roswell, New Mexico, of the house I grew up in, of the Crashdown.

I think of Maria, how much I adore her, how much I admire her, how proud I was of the person she was becoming. I think of how influential she was on my life. I think of all that we have been through together, good times and bad.

I think of Alex, how much I miss him, how sad I am that we won’t grow old together, but how I will cherish his memory until the day I die.

I wonder if they will all miss me and grieve my disappearance as I did his. Will they be as devastated? Oh how I long for the sweet, pleasured rest of death that Alex possesses but I cannot.

Finally I think about Max Evans. Max, my soul mate. Max, whom I passionately care for. Max, my other half. Max, my destiny.

Max, who, in being loved by him, has sent you to this prison, my mind screams at me. It does not matter who my jailers are, Max was the judge that handed me this sentence.

When I finally open my eyes to my drab world once again, I find that everything, every minor detail of the room, has been restored exactly to the way it was before, the way it is every time I wake, the way it is was the day I first woke here, minus any pointed objects of course.

The room is perfect. Always orderly, always precise.

The temperature is always just right. One reason behind my lack of effort in dressing myself each morning. Even the water, given my intended use, is exactly at the optimal degree.

The furniture is flawless.

The sleeping quarters unnervingly comfortable.

Everything is clean.

Everything is white.

Everything is perfect.

Since the day I arrived here until the day that I leave, everything will always be exactly perfect. Horribly perfect.

I have never had any hope of being rescued. I will not allow myself such a weakness. For if I don’t even know where I am, how can anyone else? How could they find me in this sealed compartment even if they had a faint idea? I could be millions of miles away in another galaxy or buried directly below the exact spot where they are standing.

Rescue is unachievable, escape is futile.

Life is precious, and for a good portion of mine I remember trying to preserve it. Yet, I have found that now that I wish to obliterate it, it has become simply non-disposable.

Every time I go to sleep I will that I won’t wake up, but I always do.

I sleep often because my dreams are the only place that I can be free. But it’s only false freedom because eventually I have to return to my body, to this nightmare I am living.

Maybe I am not living. Maybe this is hell. Maybe I’m dead.

I could never be so fortunate.

Then, one day, out of the blue, my salvation comes to me in a most unexpected form.

I awaken in an unusually bad mood, as I always do to find that I have awakened. I rise to find the new food that has been left.

I stare at it all for a moment in disbelief before I am overcome with sheer joy.

The end has come.

On the table in the middle of the room lays a vast array of fresh fruits and vegetables, not an uncommon occurrence. But there, between the tomatoes and the oranges, for the first time, lays a small but reasonable helping of mushrooms.

All of my life I have been extremely allergic to any kind of mushroom. My only hope now is that this meager serving of this vulgar fungus is enough to truly finish me off.

I rush quickly to the table and speedily gobble up the horrid cuisine that could be my death.

And I wait.

And nothing happens.

Blast this damned, cursed hell and it’s artificially simulated nourishment!

But it is real.

As the mushrooms ignite, I begin to convulse, and my entire body catches fire.

I burn and the world spins beneath me.

I crawl to my bed and lay there, awaiting my appending death, my sacred salvation.

Fireworks explode before my eyes, in my head, throughout my body.

I catch one last glimpse of the perfect, white ceiling above me before the world turns black.

posted on 10-Feb-2003 1:11:28 AM
PROLOGUE - Part Three

I’ve always wondered what dreams may come, after life has expired, or if in fact death is like a dream.

I’ve heard the stories of near-death experiences of people who were “heading towards the light” or had their entire life flash before their eyes.

I didn’t see a great light, and there were no flashes.

I did however find myself in some sort of dream.

It's that day, that day my life was changed forever, that infamous day at the Crashdown. I know it at once.

I am me, except at the same time I am not me. I am inside myself, watching myself, but I am not myself. Or at least, I can’t make myself do anything. I have to sit inside myself and let things play out the way that fate determined my destiny. It’s like someone else is playing me. Someone else is Liz Parker and I’m just along for the ride.

Then it happens, all of the sudden. Even though it has happened before, I am not expecting it.

The bullet rips through my tender flesh and I try to breathe. Liz Parker tries to breathe.

Darkness falls over me. I try to keep my eyes open, but it is so terribly hard. Liz Parker fights to live.

Then, out of the darkness he comes. My angel, my savior. Max Evans leans over me, the brightness of the world behind him.

Max says something to me, but I cannot hear what he says. He looks worried. I only smile, for I know that the end is near.

Max Evans looks into my eyes and places a hand on my stomach where my life bleeds out of me, soaked into my ridiculous mint dress.

I feel something strange, something foreign, something non-human, begin to coarse through me. My entire being tingles.

I see things, visions of things, indescribable things. Things that I have never seen before, not even in my craziest dreams or wildest imaginings, celestial bodies, space. I see fear. I see frustration. I see hope. I see truth. I see love.

I am alive. Max Evans kneels over me and I am alive. Liz Parker is alive.

I open my eyes with a start. I am in a strange place. It is not my previous prison, but a new different prison.

But there are colors.

The walls are a warm yellow and no longer produce the familiar alive hum, exuding illumination.

Light comes from above, a single globe in the center of the room.

It comes to my attention that I am alive. It seems.

My previous actions rush back to me, and I am filed with hopeless despair.

The nightmare continues.

I sit up.

My body feels strange, foreign. Different.

Movement seems surreal.

How am I alive?

I died.

I felt death.

I died.

Is this a dream? A part of death?

No. It feels too real.

I breathe air in and out.

This cell is different. There are many things here that would have been absurd in the last.


A door.

Clothing is laid out on top of a storage unit across the room. It is real clothing. Not a white paper gown like there was in the last prison.

I get up and walk over to it.

It is a grayish jumpsuit. But it is not white. And it is real cloth. A thick cottony spandex, except far more durable.

I pull it on and zip it up to slightly above my breasts.

I pick up a belt and thread it through the loops of the suit.

It is not an ordinary belt, I can tell immediately.

There are buttons on it. And little compartments. None of which will engage in my curiosity.

I push a button on the wall and a drawer of the storage unit pops open. Inside I find a flat slab. I press buttons to other drawers but none of them open.

I take my slab, a perfect black square shape, smooth surface, about a centimeter thick.

I take my slab over to the door. Or what I assume is a door. No handle. A passageway perchance.

I take my slab and I pound it into the cracks around the edges, producing a loud, ringing, echoing clang as my slab clashes with the metal door.

“Stop,” an omnipresent booming voice bellows through my cell at me, scaring me nearly out of my wits. “Ms. Parker, please calmly have a seat. A Negotiator will be with you shortly.”

I try to locate the source of this Big Brother of mine but I cannot. I reluctantly take a seat at the table in the center of the room. There are only two chairs, and I take the one opposite from the door, my eyes never leaving it.

I sit, watching the door closely, waiting for this “Negotiator” to make an appearance.

It is not long before, true to the word of the voice, the door opena.

A middle-aged, short, stocky, balding, dark haired man enters the room.

I lean back in my seat, unfazed that this is the first other life form I have seen in God only knows how long. I’ve been through too much to be so easily thrown.

“Ms. Parker,” the Negotiator says with a smile, holding out a hand. “Pleased to finally meet you. I’ve been studying you case for quite a while.”

“I bet,” I mutter, shaking his hand.

“I am your Negotiator. You may call me Tarenk. How are you feeling?” He asks.

“How do you expect me to feel? I was just dead. I’m confident of it. Except now for some reason I’m still alive. Ever heard of resting in peace?” I retort, systematically crossing my arms over my chest.

“Ms. Parker, the Emperor felt it was in the best interest of the Antarian Alliance if you remained living,” Tarenk replies. “We had another body fashioned for you shortly after you died.”

“I suspected that asshole Khivar was somehow behind all this. Wait! What?! You FASHIONED a body? What the hell does that mean?” I shout at the bald man.

“It was imperatively within the Emperor’s wishes that you be kept alive. The failure of the Department to do so was very upsetting. We had to genetically recreate your body shortly after you choose to take your life. A most unfortunate incident,” the Negotiator tells me.

“What’s unfortunate is that I am still here,” I snap. “How does fashioning a new body work these days? I’m afraid I missed that chapter in biology.”

“We took your DNA and tried to produce a clone, however these attempts were unsuccessful because of your incompatibility with Antarian atmosphere. Simulations of the Earth air structure were insufficient. Eventually we had to reconfigure your DNA, added a slight mix of our own to initiate the rebirth process. You now contain some genetic aspects of a hybrid. Regretfully, it was the only way we could complete the project. However, you will find that your new body is far more adaptable to this planet and you no longer have to live in such an enclosed environment. You will also find that your new body is less destructible, and we can and will not hesitate to quickly revive it if it becomes necessary,” Tarenk explains.

I stare at the man in shock. Eventually what he’s said sinks in.

“So I’m like Max now?” I ask quietly.

“Essentially, yes, you are like the former King Zan, Earth alias Max Evans, but not entirely. It was a different process and a differing ends we were trying to achieve. And the technology that was used on you is vastly improved. The insertion of your essence, your soul as you call it, so you will maintain the same memories was far more superiorly done,” He tells me proudly.

Max knows I’m dead. We were connected. He’d have felt it.

“Max knows I’m dead,” I say. “Did you tell him I’m alive?”

“Max was not told of your death. But you are correct in assuming he knew. We are not sure how the intelligence was leaked. It still remains under investigation. He has not been told of your life, though. The Emperor wishes to save this information for an opportune time. His plans for negotiations by taking you hostage were greatly disrupted when you chose to terminate your existence. However, an upper hand has already been regained so you will be saved for a more appropriate use should a new conflict arise,” Tarenk replies.

So essentially no one knows I’m alive and there are no plans to make it known. I’m one of those wait-and –see where it's most useful type deals. What the hell kind of plan is that? Actually not a bad one since no one will be making irritating rescue attempts, what, with there being no one to rescue.

“I see. That’s wonderful. In fact, I’m really excited for myself. Being forced to be a pawn in such a grand, elaborate plan such as this. Exactly how long was I dead before I was brought back?” I question.

“Shortly,” He answers.

“In Earth time, tell me how long I was dead,” I implore, willing him to answer.

“Almost a year. Your new body had to gestate for a period of six months. We compensated for the age difference in the creation process. Your body is exactly tuned to your former self, only with a few minor improvements. Are you enjoying it?” He asks cheerfully, trying to change the subject.

“How long was I in prison before that?” I demand to know.

“A little over four years,” He responds.

“So I’ve been missing from Earth for five years?” I ask.

“Yes. But we don’t want you to think of Earth as your home anymore. Since your stay has been and will be so extended, we think it is in your best interest if you accept this as your home. We would like to bestow you with privileges so that you are happier here. We would very much not like to have to revive you again or have to return you in bad shape to Max Evans should the need arise,” Tarenk tells me.

Since when am I property?

“I’ll leave you to think things over a bit and I will return at a later time. I’m sure you will have questions,” Tarenk says.

Tarenk gets up and walks over to the passage.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you Liz Parker. I look forward to many meetings in the future,” He smiles.

I don’t hear him. I’m already lost in a world inside my head, contemplating the news that has just been laid before me.

I’m not Liz Parker. Liz Parker is dead.

posted on 10-Feb-2003 1:23:09 AM
PROLOGUE - Part Four

Lizzie, little innocent Lizzie Parker. How in the world did you get yourself into this mess?

I’m dreaming. This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming. I’m dead.

Maybe you are in a coma, Elizabeth, you know, maybe this is just one big dream world that your foolish mind concocted.

Liz! Liz! Wake up! Wake up!

Hahahahahahaha. Silly girl. This isn’t a dream. This is your life. Your Reality.

No, it can’t be. I’m Liz Parker. I’m an honor student. I, I’m a good person. This can’t be my life. It just can’t. I have plans. I’m going to Harvard. I’m going to study biology. This isn’t me! This isn’t ME!

THIS IS. This is you. This is your life. This is your fate. This is what Max Evans brought you. Misery. Death. Life.

Max? Brought this? You’re right, Max Evans did bring this fate. If it weren’t for him, I’d be at Harvard. If I’d never met him, I’d be alive.

No, you fool, you’d be dead if he hadn’t saved you. DEAD.

You are dead. Dead as a doornail. Your body is lying around here somewhere, and Khivar has probably done a million and one things to it. YOUR BODY. This isn’t even you. It’s a fake. A clone. A copy. YOU ARE DEAD! At least if you had never met Max you’d be resting in peace!

NO! It can’t be true. It just can’t.

IT IS. Wake up and smell the coffee, Lizzie, if you that is even your name anymore. You died. You killed yourself. You wussed out on life. You are DEAD. And now this part of you, this you that they brought back to life, this fake, tainted you is forced to live on forever as Khivar’s personal pet, a bargaining chip at best in some war you had nothing to do with and has nothing to do with you. You, Lizzie Parker, are a failure. You’re pathetic.

I’m NOT. This isn’t my fault. If I’d never met Max Evans...

You’d be dead, Elizabeth?

I’d be dead, but I’d actually be dead. I wouldn’t be some ghost of myself in a biologically engineered body serving in hell.

Elizabeth, you’re so ungrateful. You’re ALIVE. Living. What can you do dead? Nothing.

WHAT CAN I DO ALIVE? NOTHING. I might as well be dead. I lived in hell for four years!

Now you will most certainly live in hell for eternity Elizabeth. Max Evans might have rescued you. You should have waited; he could have been coming any day.

Waited? WAITED? You waited four years! Sheesh. Max Evans abandoned you. He left you in no man’s land for FOUR YEARS. How long were you going to give him to pull it together? Cripes. He wasn’t coming.

He loves me! He just didn’t know where I was. Khivar, this is Khivar’s fault. Khivar hid me away so well that Max couldn’t find me. It’s not Max’s fault. He loves me; he’s my soul mate.

Some soul mate he turned out to be. Asshole. He left you Lizzie. LEFT YOU. He abandoned you. He never came to save you, and he never would have. Don't deluded yourself. He’s content to live out his happy little existence on Earth. He’s not a leader, and he never was. He’s a loser. Max Evans is worthless, and so are you if you can’t accept the truth.

But, but, Max? I love him.

Hahahahahahaha. You LOVE him? See Lizzie, look what happens to you when you get so wrapped up in other people that you can’t see yourself. You were far too busy waiting for Max to rescue you, pretending you weren’t waiting for him to rescue you, that you forgot to save yourself. Save yourself, Lizzie. No one else is going to save you so you better just save yourself.

Save yourself, Elizabeth? How? How would you ever escape? Where would you even go? Home? To Earth? Like this? A fake? A fraud? A shadow of your former self? You’re just as much an alien now to that planet, that home, that life as Max is if not more so. And besides, everyone thinks you are dead by now. How would you explain things to your parents? To the authorities?

That is very true my dear Lizzie, very true. So why go home? You have a new life, a new chance. Make something of yourself for once. Maybe you won’t even need to escape. You can’t, really, and hope to survive. The universe is a big place. Power, Lizzie. Power. The universe runs on power. You need to get your hands on some of it. Forget Max Evans. Forget Liz Parker. LIVE and create yourself.

Forget Max Evans? Impossible, Elizabeth. He’s still your soul mate.

Well this is his fault! He deserves to be forgotten. The good-for-nothing asshole couldn’t even rescue me. How could he sleep at night knowing that I’m out there, somewhere, kidnapped. How? He had four years to find me, to strike a deal with Khivar if he had to. I died for him, but now I must live for myself!

How dare you blame him Elizabeth! Khivar could have easily used your life as leverage. The only person here to blame is you! He came back from the future and warned you to stay away. Maybe his fate was to return to Antar with Tess. Maybe they could have overcome the ambush that was supposedly waiting for him.

Tess! That murdering bitch. She has to have had some part in all of this. She probably told Khivar... And to think I would let Max return with her after what she did to Alex!

He would have found out about her treachery soon enough my sweet Lizzie. This is a mess. Your life is a mess. You are a mess. But it doesn’t have to be like this. Power, Lizzie! Power! The only way you can ever really escape is with power. Finally stand up for yourself and take some responsibility. You died, but you don’t have to be dead. LIVE.

LIVE, Elizabeth. Live. Take responsibility for your actions. Stop blaming other people. Max can’t help you now, anyways. Help yourself. Stop living in reminiscence of the past, or you will never have a future.

Yes, I’ll live. I can get through this. I can get out of here. I used to be very smart. I still am. And now I am stronger. My body is. I can feel it. So long as my mind is still strong, I can do this. I can get out of here. I can leave this prison behind. I just have to be clever. I just have to think. Whoever I am, I can do this.

Best of all, I don’t have to worry about being Liz Parker anymore. Liz Parker is dead.

I stand up suddenly.

“I wish to speak to Khivar!” I shout at the ceiling. “I’m ready to negotiate a more reasonable solution to my existence!”

Silence hangs in the air for a few brief seconds before the door to my cell slowly opens. I hesitate, but only for a moment, before I confidently strut out the door, leaving behind my mindless prison forever.

posted on 10-Feb-2003 1:29:24 AM
I'm slowly going to be editing and posting the parts to this, please be patient.