Abandoned Sanctuary

By Imp

A/N: Here's another something – rather short again I must admit. Nightcrawler fleeing back to the church – and thank you everyone who reviewed Ave Maria – I was stunned at such favourable reviews. And you asked for me to write more in X-Men (which I thought already I might like to) – so … you asked for it.

~

Outside the old cathedral doors came an odd sound, like a gun shot in the abandoned silence, breaking the frail fragility of the old church's almost sacred quiet. The doors snapped open, there was light, vague, blue and a bowed figure, stumbling – before the church, over the steps a startling blue web-like haze hung, like a rent in the dark night air – and the figure staggered forward, hands to its head, reeling, pulled inward as if by old instinct and un-assuaged pain. Struggling, struggling and losing to some interminable battle, the figure swayed, murmuring unintelligibly.

The doors creaked, blowing half-shut behind in a cold night breeze. The chattering cry of a bat echoed, bouncing off the stained glass windows and it seemed the church groaned in agony with the tormented visitor, who stumbled another half-step inward and paused, faltering.

The shadows in the sanctuary were thick. Darkness hung from the damaged beams of the high-arched ceiling and crept along the floor. At the very back a forlorn altar stood, covered in dust and yet in the strange dim light refracted through the paned windows and lancing across it, it looked strangely stained, red as if by blood. Above it a crucifix was placed, the broken figure upon it hanging in silent torment from the cross, the tortured figure of Christ, pain-lined face bowed in unbearable sorrow. 

And then in the thick quiet so quick to swallow the brief disturbance of sound, a voice spoke, cracked, desperate and grieved.

"Wie? Warum?" The foreign words fell into the silence to be foundered and swallowed, leaving the sorrowful echo to attest to their presence. And the swaying figure fell, crumpled in the aisle between the long abandoned pews, his voice muffled in the thick collar of his coat. "Christu…Bitte…bitte helfen sie mir… Vergib mir…"  The pleas broke off in a moan. And the figure lay for what seemed an eternity, still as though dead.

The street outside was silent, nothing stirred to break the vigil within. The wind blew, but softly, making the cobwebs swing and the dust fall in red and gold motes to sills and statues. In a small alcove the Blessed Virgin mourned the death of her Son, and near the creaking doors, in shadow, stood the upright likeness of St. Christopher, the Child perched lightly upon his broad shoulders. But they seemed old, and abandoned. Their watch was through cold stone eyes and the cathedral was left, none to watch it, none to care for those who sought peace, let alone to care for the icons.

"Ich kann nicht verstehen…"

Slowly the crumpled figure raised his head, and the stained light from the colored windows shone dimly upon his face. His face which in the light looked grey-blue, illumined by eyes, yellow that gleamed in the dark. But despite the strangeness of his features no close observer would have felt fear, for his face was twisted by pain and grief and his eyes were gazing at the cross, pleading.

"I cannot understand, I cannot remember…" The mutant's voice wavered, his eyes turned from side to side as if searching for the answer, even for the question. "Lord, forgive me… I am lost, and fleeing, but from vhat I do not know, and to where…"

Kurt Wagner's head dropped, forehead pressed to cold stone floor, eyes closed tightly. Images flashed through his mind, pain, and fear. There were voices, screaming; weird light flooding his eyes and mind, rough hands…and pain – no! His eyes snapped open and he started, shaking. He could go no further in the realm of remembrance, because it hurt, because there were no answers no matter where he turned. He knew who he was, he recalled before – but after? After was a maze of twisting images and light, voices that he did not know, voices that he could not place. Nightmares of darkness and never waking, nightmares of waking, waking to what he could not tell, but pain and grief, those always were present. And a sense of being trapped; choked; smothered; broken.

And today? Today he had done something horrible, but as to what…it all rather faded into vagueness and into the distance, and his mind and heart pushed it away, not wishing to know even as he searched to find it.

"Blessed Virgin, pray for me… Lord…forgive me…" Kurt Wagner gasped. "Send someone to heal… I have found no father to speak vith… Help me…I am falling, sinking…"

The words echoed, retreating into the shadows. The mutant's head again was bowed, and before him in the oddly stained light from the dirty colored glass windows, his hand reached, clutching a make-shift, steel cross at the end of a rough rosary, glimmering in the light. The wind moaned.

"Forgive me…" The prostrate figure murmured, voice breaking. "For I know not vhat I have done."

~

A/N: Again: any thoughts? Comments? Criticisms? I'd be happy to hear from any reviewer/reader/author who had a bit of time. I'm not certain how my German is, so forgive any mistakes if they exist – it's a pity Kurt doesn't speak Spanish or Russian. If I got it right though, he says: "How? Why?" – "Christ…Please help me… Forgive me…" – "I cannot understand…" I don't have any notes otherwise so… Toodles -IMP