Invisible Touch
Part One
She sat in an open field, her wavy hair rustling in the cool breeze. Her open palms were stretched across the dirt beside her. Eyes closed, she let her other senses take over – she could distinctly smell roses and salt water, not that she knew where either scent was originating from. With each soothing breath she inhaled, a taste of cinnamon caught in the back of her throat and lingered there. Her ears picked up on a faint tapping noise, gradually moving closer and increasing in volume. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She was hundreds of miles away from any other human being, and yet she heard what sounded almost like a hammer. It was rather disconcerting. Barely moving, she opened one eye and studied her surroundings. Tall stalks of corn and ancient oak trees had suddenly shot up in the distance and slowly, large planks of wood were assembling themselves around her. There were no humans, no hammers, yet the hammering sound persisted as the beams built themselves higher and higher, trapping her within a wooden box. Panic swelled in her chest and she almost screamed. Instead, a gentle and familiar voice called to her.
"Abby, wake up. Abby!"
Abigail's eyes shot open, dark green and alert. Glancing around her, she saw no other occupants in her room, yet someone had said her name. Someone had pulled her from that awful dream.
"Over here, fille." The sound of knuckles tapping against glass made Abigail turn sharply towards her window, her heart beating a mile a minute. Somewhere between relief and rage, Abigail sighed. The pale face pressed against window was a friend, though she was seriously contemplating pushing him down from his perch on the large aspen branch. Hurriedly, she shot out of bed and rushed to the window, opening it. The boy outside made a move to enter. Abigail shook her head and held him back.
"Are you crazy?" she whispered, "You tryin' to wake up de whole house?"
"Course not," he grinned crazily, his auburn hair blowing in the cool night breeze, "Jus' wanted to wake you, belle. You gonna come on out wit' me?"
Abigail glanced over her shoulder and the clock mounted on her bedroom wall. It was almost three in the morning, the neat ponytail she had fallen asleep with was now tousled and she was convinced someone had heard Bastien's attempts to wake her.
"Une minute," Abigail grinned, "Lemme jus' grab a coat." She hurried over to her closet and pulled out a long, black sweater, shrugging it over her light cotton pyjama shirt. She returned to the window, where Bastien was holding his hand in, waiting to help her through the tiny space. Already small for eighteen, it was no problem for Abigail to fit through. Leaving the window open only a crack and climbing down the branches of the aspen tree expertly, Abigail's mind suddenly turned to her father, the man who had taught her to sneak so well.
"Papa's goin' to kill you one of dees days," she muttered. She heard Bastien chuckle. "He knows I sneak out wit' you," Abigail continued, "Can't say not'in' dough, he's de one dat taught me 'ow."
"Your dad is a magician," Bastien replied as they reached the bottom of the tree, "I swear, some of de stuff he does is impossible."
"You 'ave no idea," Abigail grinned, noticing Bastien's car – an old beat up Jeep – parked just outside the gates to her house. "Where we goin'?"
"Down to de bayou," Bastien grinned back, taking Abigail's hand. "Laissez les bon temps rouler, mais non?" The couple reached the black jeep and Bastien opened the passenger door for Abigail. She thanked him with a quick kiss on the cheek before she hopped up into the car, her legs cold as the wind blew straight threw her thin pants. Bastien walked around the car and got into the driver's side, revving up the engine louder than was necessary. Abigail shot him a dirty look. If no one had heard anything already, they certainly had now. Bastien smirked playfully and pulled onto the main road, turning up the radio – a rock station. Abigail didn't mind, though she preferred jazz. Bastien sang along to a few songs, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, Abigail listening for a few minutes before a horrifying though struck her.
"Merde," she cried out, "I forgot my shoes." She looked down sheepishly at her white and pink socks. Bastien burst into a fit of laughter.
"An' you call yourself a sneak, belle," he chuckled, "Oh mon Dieu."
"We 'ave to go back," Abigail frowned.
"No chance," Bastien reached over the stroked her flushed cheek, "I'll jus' 'ave to carry you."
Abigail laughed and propped her shoeless feet on the dashboard as Bastien pulled off the main road, turning the car's high beams on. They were no longer driving on a road; rather the car ran down a small rocky path surrounded by trees. Finally, Bastien stopped and turned off the car.
"We'll walk from here," he told Abigail, getting out of the car and walking over to her side. He opened her door and lifted her easily out of the car. Bastien set her up on her back, as if giving her a piggyback ride. Abigail smelt the swampy air as soon as the car door opened. She breathed deep, enjoying her late night getaway. Bastien began to trek across the wet ground, his boots covered with mud after only a few steps. As they pushed past some cypress trees, Abigail could see a wildly running dark stream a few feet away. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, making her jump. Bastien stumbled at the sudden movement.
"Easy dere, belle," he chuckled, "Ain't no one 'ere but us."
"Sorry," Abigail laughed nervously. As romantic as she though the bayou was, she was still found it a bit creepy.
"S'okay," Bastien said, "'ere we go." He set Abigail down on a rock. She could feel the wet moss on her exposed skin, but said nothing. It was better than being set down on the marshy floor. Bastien rested his forehead against hers, a grin playing on his lips. Abigail smiled back. For a moment, she sat in silence, completely lost in the sound of rushing water and Bastien's heavy breathing.
"Je t'aime," she whispered, placing a light, teasing kiss on Bastien's lips. His left hand reached up and stroked her cheek.
"Me too, belle," he pulled her close and the couple began to kiss passionately, Abigail wrapping her arms around Bastien's neck and Bastien protectively cradling Abigail's waist and back. Very suddenly, Abigail's head began to spin and as her eyes shot open, her vision began to blur. She pulled away from Bastien, suddenly weak and feeling as though she was going to pass out.
"Somet'ing wrong?" Bastien asked, his dark eyes full of concern.
"Je ne sais pas," Abigail murmured, massaging her head with her palms, "My 'ead started to 'urt."
"Oh," Bastien began to rub small circles around her back, "Wanna go 'ome?" Abigail nodded, noting the slightly put out look in her boyfriend's eyes.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. Bastien shook his head, picking Abigail up and heading back towards the car.
"Don' be," he assured her. Abigail smiled and closed her eyes, once again feeling light headed. Her hands began to tremble violently. Bastien must have noticed because he quickened his pace, hurriedly placed Abigail in the car once they reached it, and sped all the way back to her house. Abigail kept her forehead pressed against the cool window for the entire ride and Bastien turned his music off completely. They reached Abigail's house in record time. Bastien stopped just in front of the gates.
"You wan' me to walk you to de door?" he asked, staring at Abigail worriedly. She shook her head, a small, almost lucid smile on her face. "Call me when you feel better," Bastien instructed as Abigail began to get out of the car, nearly tripping. He bit his lip.
"I'll be fine," she assured him, "Jus'…a little out of it. À demain." She waved and lurched up towards the front door, not even caring who saw her arrive home at this hour. She felt like she was going to die. The door was unlocked and creaked when she opened it. Vaguely, Abigail suspected that someone was waiting up for her. As she stepped inside, the dark entrance hall suddenly lit up and she saw a familiar figure leaning against the wall to her right.
"Bonjour, petit."
Abigail turned to see her father looking at her with stern eyes, yet a playful grin on his lips. His grin completely disappeared as his eyes fell upon her pale face and glassy eyes.
"Abby, you feelin' okay? Did dat boy 'urt you?"
"Papa…" Abigail's voice trailed off feebly. Remy rushed forward to his daughter, grabbing her shoulders to steady her. Abigail looked up at her father, straight into his anxious red eyes. In an instant, she felt her world slip away. There was no longer the entrance hall to the LeBeau manor with its ornate woodworking and cherry wood staircase. There was darkness and in the darkness there were small flashes of images – Abigail, who felt completely healthy once more, could see herself in these images, crying. She could see a badly beaten Bastien lying by her feet. She could see herself laughing at the image. She saw her mother – a beautiful lady with long green hair, lying in a hospital bed looking more tired than was natural. Abigail wanted to reach out and hug her, but the image disappeared as fast as it had come. She saw herself, limp in her father's arms, lifeless. Her father was crying, screaming. She had never seen him so upset. It was horrendous and she wanted to leave the scene, but something was rooting her in place. She could not move.
Abruptly, the images vanished and Abigail was back in the entrance hall, her knees shaking and her fingers twitching. Her head was still a little sore, but she was too busy trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened to notice the pain. That was when she heard the heart-wrenching cries.
Her father was crouched low on the ground, howling in pain. His arms appeared to be holding something that was not there. He was mumbling the same words over and over again – Abby and petit. With horror, Abigail realized what she was seeing – what she had just done. She knelt down to her father, wrapping her slender arms around him.
"Papa," she said softly, "It's okay. I'm 'ere. I'm alive." She closed her eyes and rested her head in the crook of his neck, repeating her sentences into his ear. It was not working. Abigail began to worry. What if she had done some serious damage? Jumping to her feet, she began to shout for help.
"Louise! Mattie! Anyone 'elp…please!" Abigail heard footsteps thundering down the stairs and four people appeared by her side. Abigail grabbed the arm of the closest person, not even bothering to see who it was. Her father still had tears running down his cheeks.
"'Elp him," she cried, tears forming in her own eyes.
"What on Earth happened, child?" Abigail recognized the voice of the cook Maya.
"I t'ink…I did it," her voice cracked and the tears began to fall freely. Maya stepped forward and knelt down to Remy.
"Boy looks like he's in a fright," she muttered, resting her hand on his forehead. She began to speak in a language Abigail recognized as Haitian Creole. After a few moments, Remy's eyes shot open and searched wildly around the room. His eyes fell upon his daughter and widened in shock.
"Abigail," he whispered hoarsely. Maya stepped back as Abigail jumped into her father's arms. She sobbed into his shoulder as he hugged her tightly.
"I t'ought I lost you," he whispered quietly. He shot a quick look up at the servants who had entered the room, and they knew to leave and give the family some alone time. Remy nodded at Maya as she turned away, thanking her.
"Papa," Abigail's voice was croaky, "What did I do to you?" Remy ran his fingers through his daughter's hair, almost unable to believe what had just happened; what he had just experienced.
"I t'ink we 'ave a little problem, petit," he said, sighing deeply.
Author's Note:
So this is a story centering on Remy and his daughter. It takes place after X-Men Origins and completely disregards anything that happened the other X-Men movies, just because I'm cool like that. Eventually, though the characters from the first three will be incorporated, as Remy and Abigail will eventually make their way to New York. I do not own any character that is owned by Marvel or Fox. I own Abigail, that's about it. I like reviews. They make me write faster. I also appreciate constructive criticism. I really hope you liked this. Let me know and thanks for reading. –Viviene.