Disclaimer: Marvel and 20th Century Fox own the rights to the X-men characters. Any other recognizable pieces (songs, poetry) belong to their respective owners as well. This writing is in no way an attempt to infringe on those rights.
Summary: Logan makes his way back to Xavier's mansion after searching for his past.
Notes: I deny any argument that there should be a relationship between Logan and Rogue. However, my muse doesn't (damn her). For this piece, for the sake of legality, Rogue is above the legal age of consent.
This also incorporates elements from the Wolverine comic (near and including issue #65).
And finally: yes, that's exactly how you cape out a deer hide.
Enjoy!
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Of Madmen and Angels
His shoulders were hunched against the slight drizzle. He could hear a car coming from behind him. He kept walking, not turning around. He needed a ride, but knew his chances of getting one in what he was wearing were nil.
But as the pick-up was passing he stuck out his thumb. The truck kept going, swerving slightly to avoid him.
He hunched his shoulders more.
Up ahead, the truck slowed.
He looked up and hurried his pace.
The silver truck was rolling slowly as he walked up beside it. He reached for the door handle, but the woman driving said,
"Wait—you aren't going to kill me or anything, are you?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but she interrupted him.
"Oh—never mind. It was a stupid question. I've almost stopped. Hop on in."
The truck stopped completely and he pulled himself into the cab.
The woman glanced over him. His shoulders were still hunched and he stared straight ahead.
"I'm Kelly."
"Logan," he replied softly.
She continued to glance at him. He knew he looked bad—dirty, tired, needing a shave. He looked crazy. Maybe he was. He didn't know anymore.
"I know what you're thinkin'," he said quietly after seeing her glance in his direction again.
"Are you telepathic?" she asked.
Logan looked over at her quickly.
"I was kind of wondering about the suit," she admitted. "I wondered if you were crazy, from some space ship, or are just really confident." She looked over him again. "I still haven't ruled out the space ship theory yet."
Logan smiled a little.
Kelly smiled with him. "Where're you headed?"
"How far you goin'?"
"Oh no," she replied. "I read that story. You may be a psycho-killer, but I prefer not to know. All I do want to know is where you need to be."
Logan looked at her. His bright blue eyes were dull under the heavy black eyebrows.
"I need ta get ta New York," he said seriously.
She whistled. "New York? That's a long trek."
"Where are we?"
"About four days away. How did you get here? Did your . . . car break down?"
"No. I've been walkin' aways. Can you take me as close ta New York as possible?"
"Where in New York?"
"Westchester County. Salem Center."
"Is that anywhere near Maine?"
"No . . .."
"Damn. I always wanted to go to Maine. Oh well. Maybe on my way through I'll hit it."
"What? You'll take me ta Westchester?"
"Sure," Kelly shrugged. "Haven't got anywhere else to go. Hey—there's another one!"
The truck's tires squealed on the wet pavement. The second the vehicle stopped, Kelly jumped out of the cab without hesitation, leaving it still running. She ran behind the truck. Logan watched her in the mirror with dull interest. She disappeared into the ditch. Logan got out of the cab to follow her.
She was standing beside a deer carcass.
"Not very big," she said, apparently to herself. "Oh well. Thank god the wind's blowing, deerie—you'd be stinking to high heaven."
Logan watched her walk to the deer's head and hoist up its head by its spike antlers.
"And the rigor mortis is gone! This is a bad sign, Bambi."
Sighing, Kelly picked up a hacksaw and cut into the deer's skull. She removed a small section of the skull under the antlers and left the body. She turned to climb back up the slick bank.
"Logan!" she exclaimed. "You startled me!"
"What're you doin'?" he asked softly.
"Keeping the antlers from road kills. Sometimes the hides too. People don't realize how much they waste when they leave them."
She struggled up the bank. He didn't help her. She waved the gory saw at him.
"I've got quite a few of these racks in my bed," she told him, walking back to the truck.
Opening the tailgate and cap, she gestured for him to come over. Logan was surprised.
The racks were clean and most of the bones preserved in salt, so there was no
stench of decay as he expected. Kelly dipped her newest set of antlers into a barrel of salt to coat the skull and tossed it carelessly into the bed. Logan noticed she didn't flip it towards the bigger racks.
"I left home and started driving and began picking up racks along the way. I'm surprised at how many I've found—I expected the bucks to drop their antlers by now." She shrugged and looked at him. "If you want me to drop you off in a town I will. It's morbid, I know, and I don't expect you want to travel with someone this sick."
Logan looked at her calmly. "Believe me, darlin'," he said quietly, "you ain't seen nothin'."
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The rain continued. It was light but thick and hung like a blanket over the road. The two didn't talk much. Kelly hummed lightly to herself. Suddenly she grabbed a miniature tape recorder between them and said into it in a surprised tone,"
"Emily! I'm crushed!"
She calmly put the recorder back down. She saw Logan looking strangely at her.
"Sorry," she apologized. "Inspiration hits at weird times. I think I can use that line in a story or something."
"You a writer?"
"Just for myself. It's a private thing. I've found out most of life is, unless you're lucky enough to find someone who will love you through it."
Logan stared at her. "Yeah," he whispered. He was quiet a moment, then asked, "You mind if I smoke? Actually, do you have any . . .?"
"Cigarettes are in the glove compartment. There's Cloves, Jezebel's, and Marlboro Lights. I don't have any cigars. Sorry."
He had started to reach out and open the compartment. His hand shook slightly and he almost stopped, but with a quick motion he opened the door. A cigar fell out into his hand.
"Oops--guess I did have one left over," Kelly said, shrugging. "Check it first—it might be stale."
Logan smelled it. It was fresh. He glanced at her, but Kelly didn't see it. She pushed the truck's lighter in.
He squeezed his eyes shut a moment. The cigar lay too heavy in his hand. He opened his eyes when he heard the lighter snap out.
Biting off the end of the cigar, he spit it out the window and lit the remainder. His first drag was long.
"You want one?" he asked Kelly, gesturing to the cigarette packs.
"What? Oh—no, I don't smoke."
Logan directed his smoke towards the crack of the window as he asked,
"You don't smoke? Then why do you have so many packs of cigarettes?"
Kelly turned to him. Seriously she replied, "In case somebody wants one."
She turned her attention back to the road, but Logan continued to watch her intently.
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At dusk Kelly pulled to the side of the road and began examining a map under the overhead light. The rain had stopped. Logan leaned against the hood of the truck, watching the sky's colors fade from orange to pink to purple to blue. Slowly, one by one, the stars winked on.
"Well, we're quite a few miles from the next town," Kelly said beside him.
Logan jumped. He hadn't heard her come up behind him. He hadn't even heard the truck door slam.
"What?"
"Sorry I startled you."
"S'okay. . . that doesn't happen very often."
Kelly examined him in the fading light. "No," she agreed, "I bet to you it doesn't it."
"What?"
She ignored his quick question and went on with her original thought. "It would take us about an hour and a half to get to the next town," she said. "Personally, I don't like to drive in the dark. So usually when I'm on the road I pull over and don't drive again till morning. Then I can drive all day without getting too tired. And I don't miss any deer. Will it bother you?"
"Sounds okay," Logan whispered, turning back to the sky.
"Good. We'll eat and get some sleep."
"You have food?"
"Of course. Did you think I was starving myself out in the wilderness? I'm not that weird."
She walked back around to the cab. Logan followed her.
Kelly opened the door and pulled down the seat. In the small space behind the seat were two small coolers, a sleeping bag and some blankets, and a duffel bag.
"Here," she said, pulling out one cooler, "help yourself."
In it was more food than Logan had seen in a long time. Fruit, meat, bread . . . his stomach growled.
"I mean it, Logan—dig in!" she laughed. "I'll get more tomorrow. What do you want to drink? I have water and iced tea and some soda."
She didn't mention beer . . . Logan wondered if he asked about it if it would magically appear.
Before he could ask, however, Kelly said, "Sorry I don't have any brews. That I know for sure."
Logan tensed a little. "Water's fine."
She tossed him a plastic bottle.
"If you want warm food I can build a fire," she offered. "I've got some fresh venison in the back. It would take awhile to cook but definitely be worth it."
He almost smiled. "That's what I've been livin' on for a long time, darlin'. I think I'd just rather have a sandwich."
"Okay."
They sat on the hood of the truck and ate. Kelly relaxed against the windshield.
"Look at the stars," she said quietly. "I don't think they'd be prettier anywhere else in the world. In Canada they're so big you could just reach up and grab a handful."
"You from Canada, Kelly?"
"No. I was out West in the U.S. for awhile though. The stars are big there too, but not like this. It's like—oh look—a shooting star!"
She pointed up.
"Make a wish," Logan said lightly.
Kelly shook her head. "Not from my family, not from my family, not from my family," she muttered with her eyes closed.
"What?" Logan asked, amused.
Kelly looked at him. "Shooting stars are supposed to be pathways for souls to follow to reach heaven or hell. If you see one you say 'not from my family' three times quickly so no souls from your family would be tempted to cross the path.
"At least, that's what some tribes of Indians believed."
Logan had grown quiet. "I didn't know that," he finally whispered.
He didn't say anything more. Kelly was silent too, still staring at the sky. Eventually the moon rose.
"Well," Kelly said, "I'm tired. Would you like some different clothes to sleep in? I've got some sweats and a stretched-out old tee shirt you could wear. It looks like you've been sleeping in the outfit you have on for quite some time."
"I have," Logan replied simply. "If they'd fit I'd like ta wear them."
Kelly slid off the hood. Logan followed her. She pulled out the duffel bag and began digging through it.
"No—no . . . not those, you don't want my panties . . . "
Unnoticed, a pair fell to the ground. Logan picked them up.
They were silk. A pale peach in the overhead light. Logan closed his fist, feeling the smooth material crush in his hand—reminding him . . . Marie wore silk scarves, and gloves. Different colors, to suit her mood. He could recall every pair. . . a blue, a pink, a black—which he always joked suited her best—and . . . a peach . . ..
Logan closed his eyes and squeezed his fist tighter.
Eventually he became aware Kelly wasn't making any more noise. He opened his eyes.
She stood in front of him, watching him solemnly.
"Can I have my underwear back?" she said softly.
His hand was shaking. He wondered how crazy he looked to her now. Swiftly he opened his fist.
"I'm sorry," he apologized without meeting her eyes.
Kelly scooped them off the ground and returned them to the duffel bag without a comment. When she turned back around she seemed to have forgotten the incident.
"Here are the sweats and shirt, as I promised," she said, holding them out.
"Thanks," he whispered, taking them quickly. "What are the sleepin' arrangements?"
"Well, usually I just sleep in the cab. I think it's going to rain some more tonight. You're welcome to sleep on seat with me. It may be crowded but at least it will be dry."
"I'll sleep back in the bed."
"With those smelly, bloody antlers? No way! I wouldn't make a total stranger do that. Sleep in the cab with me. I insist."
"You trust me that much?"
"Are you going to rape me, Logan?" Kelly asked in reply.
Logan glanced up. She was looking straight in his eyes. "No," he told her quickly. "I'd never . . .."
"Then I don't have anything to worry about."
Kelly turned and began to pull the sleeping bag and blankets out from behind the seat. Apparently to her the matter was closed. Logan went to the back of the truck to change.
The pants were too long and the shirt almost too tight around his neck, but it felt good to be out of his outfit. He walked back to the cab.
"Not too bad," Kelly appraised him. "A little tight . . . here, let me help."
She took a knife and cut her own shirt to make it looser in the neck. Logan could smell the old blood on the knife. Kelly slid it back in its case.
"Well, I'm going to sleep till dawn," she announced. "I'll take the side with the steering wheel, Logan."
"But . . . " he began to protest. He was too late. Kelly was already in the cab.
Logan went to the passenger side and climbed in as well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning they began driving again. The sun was shining brightly. Kelly fooled around with the radio, but got nothing in but static. Then she was distracted by a dead deer.
"My god! Look at this one!" she exclaimed, standing over the buck.
The deer was massive—a fourteen point. Kelly grabbed the antlers. The deer's head lifted easily.
"What? Wait a minute . . .."
Kelly reached down and grabbed the deer's lolling tongue. Blood fell out of its mouth.
"He's still warm! Somebody just hit him and left him here?! I don't believe it," her voice trailed off as she thought. Then suddenly she looked to Logan. "Do you mind if we're a little late getting into town?"
"No . . . why?"
"If there's an outfitter maybe he'll pay for the hide. Especially if I cape it out."
"How long . . . ?"
"Not very," she assured him. "This guy's still warm—not more than twenty minutes?"
"Okay."
Kelly got out her knife. Quickly she flipped the deer over and slit its belly.
Logan watched her. She was swift—a few cuts and she began peeling the hide off its back. Blood stained her jeans and shirt.
"Want some help?" Logan finally asked.
"I don't have an extra knife," she replied, distracted. "In a minute you can help me get the head off. It's easier with two people."
"All right," he replied, not offering to help again.
In about fifteen minutes she had skinned up to its neck.
"Okay—do you want to twist or hold?"
"I'll twist the head off for you."
"Thanks," Kelly said with a smile. With a grunt she shoved her knife through two vertebrae of its neck. "Okay . . . go ahead, Logan. I'll hold him."
Logan took hold of the buck's antlers. He paused a moment, then with a quick twist, the deer's head came off with a wet crack.
"Wonderful!" Kelly said. She stood up. "Damn. I'm covered in blood! I'll get changed real quick. Would you mind salting this hide? Don't be stingy with it—I'll get some more in the next town."
Logan silently agreed.
She stepped behind the truck to change. When she got back, the hide was rolled and the deer had been quartered. Logan was wiping off her knife in the grass.
"I don't have room to store all that."
"It'll keep till we get ta town. Somebody'll be able ta use it."
She shrugged. "Good point. No sense letting fresh venison go to waste."
He loaded everything into the bed.
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The town was tiny.
"Roaring place," Kelly remarked dryly. "But at least they have an outfitters, a diner, and a gas station—even if they're all in one store."
Logan nodded.
"I'll see if the guy wants that cape and some antlers," she said, pulling into the parking lot. "You can see if they've got clothing."
Surprised, he turned to her.
"You think you're riding back to New York in my clothes or that outfit I picked you up in?" she said seriously. "No way. Grab some jeans and some shirts. I insist."
Then she shut the truck off and got out.
Inside the store, Kelly immediately went to the counter and began talking to the owner. She waved Logan off to the clothing racks.
He half-watched as she talked to the man. Then she gestured for the man to follow her to her truck. They returned five minutes later.
"Do I look like a poacher?" Kelly was exclaiming. "If I was a poacher, I'd already have a buyer! I wouldn't bring them in here unannounced and offer them to you!"
The shop owner sighed. "Well, you do have a point there. The season's over. I'll give you ten dollars for the cape and fifty cents a rack."
She did some quick figuring in her head. "All right. Do you want the venison too? It's free."
"No—I've got enough. But there's a Salvation Army down the street. They'll be happy for it."
"Great." She turned to look for Logan. To the owner she said, "Go ahead and take the stuff from the bed. They're pretty well preserved. We'll be getting a few more things too, okay?"
"Right."
Kelly walked over to Logan, picking food off the shelves and flinging it into a basket as she went.
"Finding stuff?" she asked him.
"Yeah."
"Good. You'll need some shoes . . . " Kelly glanced over him. "There's some boots on the next shelf."
"What?"
"Boots. You look like you should be wearing cowboy boots."
Her eyes were steady on his.
"Yeah," he replied, dropping his eyes.
They found a pair that fit and carried everything to the counter. Kelly picked a few cigars out of a humidor and tossed them on top of the pile. Logan watched her in surprise but didn't comment.
"Do you run the gas station too?" Kelly asked. "I'll need fifteen dollars worth."
The store owner nodded. He added everything up, subtracted the amount he promised her, and gave her the bill. She paid cash. The owner wished them good day as they left.
They walked to the next door diner. Logan went to the men's room to change, then shave. He waited for the nick he gave himself to heal. He didn't look in the mirror anymore. He went back to the table.
Kelly smiled at him. The restaurant was fairly loud, but they were quiet. They were just finishing coffee and waiting for the waitress to bring the check when she startled him by saying,
"Mutant."
Logan started as if he'd been hit. "What?"
Kelly nodded over his shoulder. Twisting around, Logan saw the headline of a man's paper screamed, "MUTANT MENACE!" He turned away.
The waitress brought their check over before he could say anything. He was silent as they got gas, delivered the venison, and headed out of town.
They traveled for about an hour. During that time Logan smoked two cigars and chewed on another without lighting it as he thought. Finally he said,
"What do you know 'bout mutants, Kelly?"
She shrugged. "Why?"
"Do you think they're all bent on destroyin' everythin'?"
She shrugged again. "I'd have to say no. The only ones you hear about are the ones who're killing people and stuff. You know how the media exaggerates everything bad and ignores the good. So there's probably mutants who just want to get along."
"Yeah."
He watched her profile but she didn't look at him. Now he'd drop the bombshell.
"Are you a mutant, Kelly?"
Kelly looked over at him slowly to counter, "What about you, Logan?"
"Yeah . . . " he whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm a mutant."
He re-opened his eyes. Kelly was still watching him. She nodded.
"If they're all built like you it couldn't be that bad," she said lightly. "I've heard all mutants have a different ability. What can you do, Logan?"
"My skeleton's adamantium. So are these."
With a thought the blades on his left hand slid out. They threw reflections on the ceiling.
Kelly didn't gasp or jump. Carefully she touched a blade. They disappeared.
"Adamantium. That's interesting. It's not quite as pretty as—" she began. She slipped a ring off her finger and handed it to him. "—platinum."
The ring was a yin-yang, the adamantium masculine chasing the platinum feminine endlessly. The pale silver was the same shade as the lock of Marie's hair. Logan's hand shook. She didn't ask for it back.
"Adamantium is so much stronger, though," she continued. "Unbreakable, right? And platinum is softer and shinier. But even with so many differences they work well together. They compliment."
"Yeah," he gasped out.
"But an unbreakable skeleton and knives in the backs of your hands aren't natural, are they? What's your original mutant ability?"
"I . . . I heal. The healin' factor my body has makes it almost impossible for me ta be seriously hurt for long. That was why I was chosen ta receive the metal skeleton—I could handle such extensive damage ta the muscles.
"I also have heightened hearin', smellin', and sight. Like an animal."
It was the longest speech he had given. Logan looked almost breathless.
"Like an animal," he repeated in a whisper. Kelly was silent. He turned to her suddenly. "Are you afraid of me? Am I a freak? What if I attacked you right now?"
"I'm not worried," she replied.
"Why do you trust me? Why ain't you scared?!"
Instantly he was looking down the barrel of a .45. She had pulled it from under the seat so fast he hadn't seen her.
"I don't think even a mutant healing ability could repair your brain if it was blown out against the window."
Her eyes were cold. He blinked, and the gun was gone. Her eyes were friendly again.
They stopped beside a deer, but it was a doe. Flies made the carcass black. Kelly drove on.
"You skinned that buck quick," Logan said. "Where'd you learn it?"
"My dad. We used to butcher during deer season. Skinning was my favorite. Deer are easy because their skin is pretty thick and they've got a thin layer of fat. Some times I wonder . . .."
"What?"
She shook her head. "It's gross. You'd think I was psychotic. Never mind."
"You want ta know what it would be like ta skin a person," he said softly.
She glanced at him. "Yes," she agreed.
He watched her. She paid earnest attention to the road.
"Kelly . . . you could skin me."
She glanced at him again. "What?" she asked with a shaky laugh. "I couldn't—"
"Not my whole body. Just parts. I'd heal faster than you think."
"I . . .." Kelly looked over at his arm. He was serious. "Do you bleed?"
"Yeah."
"You'd let me?"
"Yeah."
She pulled the truck over.
Logan got out of the truck. She joined him, nervously fingering her knife. Logan stripped out of his shirt and offered her his back.
Carefully she put her hand on his back. It was firm and warm.
"Everything will grow back? Hair too?"
"You'd be surprised ta know how much my back's been ripped up, darlin'. Not
even a scar."
Kelly licked her bottom lip and raised her knife.
Logan gritted his teeth as the blade made a razor thin cut. He lowered his head as he felt her pull the skin away from his muscle. She was careful, though, and her knife didn't slip into his muscle. Then, in a second, it was over.
Kelly walked around in front of him, carrying a scrap of skin.
"Do another," he said.
"What?"
"Do another," he insisted. "The hide on a deer's different all over its body. People are prob'ly the same way. Do a piece of my stomach."
Her left hand was covered in already dried blood from his back. Her fingers slid down his chest to his stomach lightly. Logan closed his eyes—sometimes, before sex, other women had done the same thing. He tried to swallow passed the lump in his throat.
Kelly's knife sliced into him. This time she hit muscle. Logan looked down.
Blood was streaming over her fingers again. Logan couldn't see how she could cut through the fascia and pull just the skin away with his blood obscuring everything. But in only a few seconds she finished and held up a sliver of his tissue.
Quickly she dropped it.
She watched him heal and brushed a fly away. In a minute the only indication he'd been cut was the blood matting the hair on his stomach.
"No more," Kelly said quickly. "Doing a dead deer is one thing, but a live person is another. I'll get something to clean you off."
She hurried back to the truck and wet down a shirt. Quickly she cleaned off his back and dried it while he wiped the blood from his stomach. He put his shirt back on.
They returned to the truck.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Logan smoked a cigar and watched Kelly for any signs of uneasiness now that she knew the truth. She was calm.
"Do you know what mutant power I'd like to have?" she asked.
"What?"
"The ability to manifest things that no one else has ever seen."
"Like what?"
"Like . . . dinosaurs. Things like that. And things from mythology. Yeah. Sabertooths and cyclopses."
Logan jumped.
Kelly paused. "No," she said thoughtfully, "that's not the power I would like. I'd like to be able to know other people's memories. Not just talk to them, and have them explain, but to actually feel and experience what they've experienced. To be them."
Logan flinched and pressed a hand to his forehead. "I know a woman like that," he choked with a trembling hand over his mouth.
Kelly looked at him. "And do you like her?"
But he turned away and didn't speak the rest of the day.
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His dreams that night were dark and confusing. Sudden twists made him walk into walls as he tried desperately to catch up to everyone. Marie and Sabretooth and Cyclops and Jean walked hand and hand until Marie tripped. Then the other three turned on her and ripped her apart. In their frenzy they turned on each other. He screamed as their bloody bodies were swallowed by the ground. He rushed to the spot and was suddenly at the edge of an open grave. The four beckoned to him. He tried to back away but his feet slipped in the blood-damp dirt and he slid straight to the bottom of the pit where he was helpless against the already dead four—he tried to scream—
—nothing came out. He woke himself up trying. The sun was already in the sky and the cab was getting unbearably hot. He sat up.
Kelly was already awake.
"'Morning, Logan."
He couldn't answer with a dry throat. She handed him a bottle of water she'd been drinking. He drained it.
"Ready to hit the road?"
He nodded. She started the pick-up and pulled onto the road.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Logan was as quiet as he'd been the evening before. His thoughts kept jumping around erratically. He didn't notice Kelly drive passed two fair sized bucks.
She flipped through the radio again, and still received nothing but white noise.
"Haven't these people heard of radio stations?" she said angrily. "Do you mind if I put in a tape?"
"What? No, I don't care."
He turned back to the flashing scenery.
Logan didn't pay conscious attention to the music but some of it slipped through. Kelly must like Elton John—he recognized the singer because Jean played it all the time. Storm seemed to enjoy him too, but Marie and Jubilee would have thought it too slow and depressing compared to their techno-funk.
Kelly sang quietly along with the tape. Her voice blended well. Logan began to listen with more attention.
Kelly noticed. "Not many people have heard the next song," she told him. "It's called Indian Sunset."
Logan winced a little and paid attention to the words. Kelly didn't sing.
There was no song after it. Logan sat silently a moment more, staring at the landscape whipping by. Then it blurred and suddenly he burst into sobs.
Immediately Kelly pulled her truck over to the side of the road. She slid over to Logan.
She hugged him. He was shaking and squeezed her arm tightly as sobs wracked his body.
"Oh Logan . . . " she whispered. "Oh Logan . . . "
She soothed him and smoothed his hair. She ran her fingers on his flushed face. She didn't tell him not to cry or shush him but only whispered his name over and over.
Gradually his weeping slowed. He looked at her with bloodshot eyes.
"Was it about Alkali Lake?" Kelly whispered.
He squeezed his eyes shut again. His lip quivered.
"There was nothing there!" he said loudly, beginning to shake again. "My past is blank, I've got nothing!"
"Oh Logan . . ." She hugged him tightly.
"N-now it's ov-er . . . completely . . . I've lost who I am. . . now it's really-really gone . . .."
Kelly stroked his wet cheek.
Finally, again, he stopped. He wiped the snot off his nose. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Do you feel better?"
Strangely, he did.
"Sometimes it helps to cry," she said simply.
"I feel like . . . like I've finally washed the dirt off my hands," he confided softly, almost embarrassed. He opened his fist. The palm was spotless.
"Good," Kelly whispered. She closed his fingers and squeezed them. "That's the way to begin to go on."
Logan blinked at her, still sniffling, and nodded.
"Good," she said again. "Now let's get you home."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She turned the tape over a little further down the road. Another Elton John song, Goodbye, brought tears to his eyes again, but then he drifted off watching the scenery again.
Clouds were ganging up on the sun, like the first day she picked him up. Light drizzle began.
Kelly sang a little more, but as the day grew grayer she stopped to focus on the road. It rained harder.
The style of her music on the tape changed. It was faster, harder, keeping pace with the storm. A new group sang about murder and how poets cried. Elton John came back on praising a pinball wizard. And finally another group told the story of a man seeing and following angels.
Wild thoughts flashed through his head. His past, who he was, gone—twice . . . pinball. He used to play pinball. That's where he saw his first angel, who spoke in rhymes. Then came the cage, and the beatings that never seemed to hurt him enough. Through their bars he saw his second angel. Angels . . . they haunted him—an angel, the angel, his—
"Angel," he whispered.
"Marie?" Kelly asked.
"No!" he screamed, turning to her. "Who are you?! Why are you doin' this ta me?!"
Kelly blinked.
"Why are you doin' this ta me?!" Logan screamed again and lunged for her.
She threw herself out the door as he came towards her, out into the rain.
Logan hadn't noticed she had stopped the truck. He crawled out after her.
The rain obscured the landscape. It was cold. His blades and her revolver glittered in a bright flash of lightening.
"Who are you?!" he pleaded desperately.
Kelly watched him but didn't answer. He didn't dive for her again—now he was frightened. His eyes focused on her gun, pointed at his face.
"Kill me!" he begged suddenly. His tears were hot on his cheeks compared to the rain. "Kill me—shoot me an' take me with you!"
She was silent.
Logan stretched out a hand, his blades still extended, to try to make her understand. "I thought I was dead already. But if I was dead you wouldn't be ready ta shoot me," he said feverishly. "So-so kill me now an' take me where I'm supposed ta go. Ta heaven or hell or limbo or where ever—I know what you are! Please, please kill me!"
"I'm not going to kill you, Logan," Kelly said, and dropped her gun.
A flash of lightening and the boom of thunder accented the gun striking the pavement.
Logan screamed in anguish and grabbed his head as he sank to his knees.
"I know how you know 'bout me!" he screamed. "You knew it all—from cigars ta mutants ta this—" He threw the adamantium/platinum ring at her. The dark adamantium continued to chase the silver platinum. The ring bounced at her feet. "—ta—"
A rumble of thunder drowned out his words.
"—an' everything else! Don't make me suffer any more! End it! You have ta end it—on't torture me! You ain't allowed ta torture me! You ain't allowed—" he broke himself off with deep, painful sobs. "An-angels ain't allowed ta hurt . . . "
"Logan," she said, going to him. She knelt beside him. He couldn't look at her. He flinched as she took his hand. "Logan, can angels bleed?"
"I don't know!" he shouted painfully, shaking.
Kelly turned his hand over. His three blades shone dully. She closed her hand around one and in a swift movement, pulled her hand up it. The blade was razor sharp and sliced her palm easily.
Blood filled the cup of her hand.
Logan was whimpering, refusing to look at her. She pressed her hand, blood and all, to his face. He tried to pull away but she held her hand there until he took a breath.
"It's human," he whispered.
He looked up at her. She nodded slowly. His breath was hot as he panted into her palm and his sobs began again. He shook violently.
They were soaked and their hair was plastered from the rain but Kelly held him in the road where he was while she wiped her blood from his face.
"But my angel bleeds," he whispered to her in a desperate attempt.
"Marie?"
"How do you know?"
"Do you ever make her bleed, Logan?"
"No . . . no," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I would never . . . never do something like that! But other people have made her bleed. I've seen them! But I would never hurt her . . . Marie."
"Maybe you hurt her when you left?" she suggested softly.
Logan looked up quickly. Fearful of her slight accusation he quickly shook his head. "No . . . "
"Logan," she whispered.
He gasped awkwardly for breath. "I know I did!" he shouted.
He covered his face. She rocked him slowly.
Eventually his sobs slowed to occasional gasps.
"How do you know?" he asked. He clutched her arm desperately. "How do you know?"
"You talk in your sleep," she told him simply, and helped him back to the truck.
No one had ever said that about him or to him before.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They reached the Canadian/U.S. border by night-fall. They slept in the truck in the United States that night.
It was another six hour drive to Westchester county.
"Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Kelly said, stopping at the front gate. "I've heard of this place."
Logan looked at her. "Will you come in?" he invited. "You can have a real supper an' sleep in a real bed. For as long as you want. I owe you that much."
"And the Professor won't be angry that you just "invited" someone to stay?" she smiled.
"I'll talk ta Chuck. He won't mind . . . he might even ask you ta stay." Logan watched her expectantly, but she made no remark. "Please, Kelly."
She relented.
Logan took her into the house. Things were strained—no one was openly hostile to him, although Bobby and Jubilee acted as though they wanted to be. He introduced Kelly all around.
While Kelly's attention was distracted talking to Scott, Jean tried a gentle probe on her mind, just to see what was going on between her and Logan. She had decided Logan may not be telling the truth when he told them Kelly had simply "picked him up."
But as she began Kelly looked over to her. Jean knew her probing--at least this light--was unnoticeable. As Kelly watched her, though, she stopped. Kelly smiled.
Finally Logan asked his question.
"Where's Marie?"
He voice was barely above a whisper.
The group fell silent. Charles sat back to observe. The group shifted uneasily. Scott scratched the back of his head, then took Jean's hand as she dropped her head too.
"What's . . .wrong with Marie?" Logan asked fearfully, his voice quivering. "Where is she?"
Ororo lifted her blue eyes to Logan's. She stared at Logan a moment in silent anger, then turned to Jubilee.
"Would you please ask Marie to join us?" she asked the girl in her exotic voice.
"Yes," she replied. She disappeared out the door.
Twenty minutes passed before she came back.
"She won't come," Jubilee announced.
"What did you tell her?" Logan asked.
"I told her you came home with another woman," Jubilee replied easily.
Logan dropped his head and pressed a fist to his mouth.
Kelly looked around the room. Only Scott seemed to want to smooth things over. The Professor still sat impartial but not disinterested.
No one spoke for a long time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Logan tossed and turned. He couldn't sleep at all. This was his room and his bed and something was missing. Marie hadn't made an appearance yet. Always before, even separated by walls and people he could sense her, smell her, and now he couldn't find a trace.
He pressed a hand to his forehead and decided he needed a glass of water.
Once downstairs he decided he needed some fresh air.
Kelly was sitting on a bench on the patio. Silently he sat down beside her.
"Look at the stars," she said quietly.
A wave of deja vu slid over him.
"They're so small . . . so far away. So impersonal," Kelly continued, and looked at him. "Logan, I'm leaving."
The bluntness startled him. "What? Kelly—"
"It will be easier this way," she interrupted. "For everyone . . . for you and Marie."
"I don't know if things will—"
"Logan, we knew each other for four days, right?"
" . . . yeah."
"And not once did I give you a piece of advice you didn't ask for. Right?"
" . . . no. You didn't."
"Tonight I'm going to break my own rule," she whispered. She lifted his chin and looked into his eyes. "Logan, you can make this work again with Marie. You'll have to work very, very hard to restore her trust and build everything back up. But you can do it. Go slow. Don't shout. Don't get frustrated and, in turn, get physical. Be patient. And most important: insist on telling the truth."
He dropped his eyes as tears filled them. His voice shook as he whispered, "I don't know if I can. My god—I just left and could barely even give a reason why!" His tears fell because of the pain in his chest.
"Has Marie ever seen you cry?"
He looked confused. Wiping the tears from his cheeks and eyes he replied, "No."
Kelly raised her eyebrows and discreetly pointed above his right shoulder.
Logan turned.
A slight girl stood on the balcony, her scarf blowing a bit in the wind. She was looking down on them.
"Marie . . .." Logan whispered desperately.
She turned and disappeared into the darkness of the house.
Logan whimpered as she left. More tears fell.
"Patience and honesty," Kelly told him again. "Good bye, Logan."
She stood up.
"Wait!" he cried, suddenly panicked. "Didn't Chuck—didn't he talk ta you about stayin'? Won't you stay?"
Kelly smiled at him.
"Please . . . then tell me again. Are you an angel?"
"I never told you in the first place. You yourself said that angels bleed, Logan."
"So you are?" he insisted in desperation.
"Angels and mutants both can bleed. Good bye, Logan."
She turned and moved away from him.
"Don't go!" Logan managed to choke. Her steps hesitated, then resumed. Rage flashed through him. "You—you think you can just leave?! How can you—you're a bitch. You're terrible!"
He only caught the profile of her face as she whispered as the wind, "Every angel is terrible."
He wanted to call after her again, to demand she stay, but his throat betrayed him and closed up. She turned a corner of the house and was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Every angel is terrible
Yet, alas, I still sing to you
most deadly birds of the soul,
knowing of you.
If the archangel now, perilous,
from beyond the stars
took even one step toward us
our own hearts,
beating higher and higher,
would beat us to death.
Who are you?
--Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies, second elegy