I knew something was wrong when I woke up.

I stretched, feeling the sunlight streaming through the window. Smiling, I reached beside me to feel for her long, red hair and soft skin like I did every morning.

She wasn't there.

Frowning, I put my sunglasses on. But when I opened my eyes, I didn't see the normal red haze like I had since I was fifteen years old. I saw . . . color.

I took the chance – I yanked off my sunglasses, and I gasped. No destructive red beam, no red. Just color.

But then I felt it welling up in my eyes. I held it back the best I could, but it burst through. Breaking my lamp, I slid my glasses back on.

"Jean?" I called.

I noticed something, then – there was no pillow on the right side of the bed, where Jean always slept. There were no perfume bottles on the vanity – no make up or hair products. I hastily opened her side of the closet – nothing. I looked in the bathroom. One toothbrush, one brand of mens shampoo, no tampons or contacts. I shook my head, and I felt a bit panicked.

I opened the door. "Jean?" I went down the hall, knocking on Logan's door. "Logan?" I called. "Hey, Logan, have you seen Jean?" I twisted the door open.

No beer cans, no messed up blanket. It was clean, like no one had ever lived there. I shook my head. Was someone playing a joke?

Holding my breath, I opened Emmas door – still empty, like the other rooms.

I ran my hands through my hair.

I ran to the kitchen. Opening the cabinets, there was enough food for one person – not for a school of Mutant teenagers.

Even Professor Xaviers office was empty.

I sat down in the empty, lonely living room, and put my head in my hands. There was mail there.

Scott C. Summers

1407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center

North Salem, New York, 10560

They all said Scott Summers. Not Charles Xavier.

I grabbed a phone book and the telephone.