Lazarus


They suspect. But they don't know. If they knew I was at Connie's place, they'd come swooping with their guns and their nets. But the fact that they've bugged Connie's apartment tells me that they're close. Too close. We need to get out of there whilst I figure out our next move.


7. On the lamb

Connie's legs ached and her lungs burned, but she knew better than to complain, or to ask to stop and take a break. Wade obviously thought that urgency was of great importance, and the dark alleys sped by as Connie was dragged forward. Despite the speed, she never felt as if she was in danger of falling… at least, not until Wade stopped suddenly, and she ran right into the back of him. It was like hitting a brick wall.

She heard the rattling sound of a metal cart being dragged, saw one of the blades extend from Wade's arm, and realised why he'd stopped so suddenly. Attempting to divert a tragedy, she dashed forward, placing herself squarely in front of Wade.

"It's okay," she said, wishing she could see his face better in the shadowy darkness of the alley. "He's harmless."

Sergeant Grimes shuffled into view, dragging his squeaky cart behind him. As always, he was dressed in his threadbare coat and badly-worn boots, and when his eyes fell on Wade, they widened.

"A monster!"

"He's not a monster, Mr Grimes," she said quickly, before he could get it into his head to start screaming for help. "He's like you. He used to be a soldier."

"Ha! A likely story. I know a killer when I see one. You shouldn't be here, Miss. Not with this monster."

"Mr Grimes, it's very important that you don't tell anyone you saw us here tonight." She gestured at Wade. "This man saved my life, and now I'm helping him, but we're being spied upon."

"Hmm." Grimes gave Wade a long, protracted look. "I thought so. It's the government, isn't it?"

Wade nodded, and Connie breathed out her relief that he was playing along with Grimes.

"Alright, Connie. I won't tell them I saw you, when they come looking for you. Not even if they torture me! In fact, I'll tell them you went the other way. How does that sound?"

"Thank you. I really appreciate it. And I promise I'll try to bring you some fruit cups as soon as I can."

"Thanks. Well, good luck. And if those government bastards catch up with you, you give 'em hell from me."

Wade took hold of Connie's hand again, and continued their journey through the alleys without a moment of hesitation. Before long she was breathing heavily again, trying to make some sense out of where the hell they were. But although she'd used some of the alleys as a short-cut for years, Wade took her down paths she'd barely even noticed before. She suspected he'd probably planned and memorised this route before she returned home from work; it was an impressive feat, for someone who'd lost his memories.

When at last he led her out of the dark, dank network of alleys, she recognised the street she found herself on. Pleasantway Boulevard wasn't the most accurately named road in New York; located in one of the areas she politely classed as 'seedy', a half-dozen run down motels advertised 'cheap rates' via blinking neon signs. The few takeaways open at this time sold only the heaviest, greasiest of fare, and the smell of cooking fat permeated the air, making Connie feel nauseous.

Wade gestured towards a dirty-looking motel across the road, two of the letters of the neon 'motel' sign flickering dubiously, and Connie felt her heart sink.

"We don't really have to stay there, do we?"

He merely nodded, and nudged her forwards.

With great reluctance she left the shadows of the alley and crossed the road. The motel front door was old and in need of oiling; it squeaked dreadfully when she pulled it open, and drew the attention of the man behind the desk. Connie wrinkled her nose as she stepped into the building. It smelt of stale alcohol and fresh cigarettes. The man at the counter ran his eyes over Connie, and she subconsciously pulled her coat closed around her.

"What can I do for you?" he asked. His white shirt had all manner of stains on it, and his fingers were black and grimy, as if they'd been dipped in oil and not washed properly after.

From her purse she withdrew several ten-dollar notes. "I'd like a room for the night."

"Thirty bucks per night. You staying alone?"

She quickly weighed up her options, and decided she didn't want this man thinking she was a lone woman. "No, my friend's joining me later."

"I bet," he said, running his eyes over her again. From behind the counter he plucked a key from the wall, and held it out by the ring. "Room four."

"Thank you." She slammed the money on the counter so she wouldn't have to hand it to him, snatched the key and hurried down the corridor until she found the right room. Her hands shook, but she finally managed to get the key into the lock and turn it. As soon as the door was open she slipped inside, closed it behind her, and put her back to it. The door had no chain, so she simply locked it and fumbled for the light switch.

The dim yellow light helped to hide the stains on the magnolia coloured walls and ceiling that she knew would undoubtedly be there. The room wasn't large but at least the bed sheets smelt clean, which was something. Remembering her purpose here, she went to the window and opened it as far as it would go.

"Wade!" she hissed out into the night.

A shadow left the alley and crossed the road, and Connie stepped back as Wade pulled himself up onto the window ledge and alighted silently in the room. Only when Wade closed the window and drew the curtains did she feel the nervous tension leave her body.

"What do we do now, Wade?" she asked.

He handed her a pre-written note. We wait here. Plan what to do next. Lie low for now.

"But I can't lie low. I have a job to do. If I don't show up for work, my colleagues will call the police."

He scribbled something down. Good.

"Good? A few days ago, you didn't want the police involved at all!"

I know. But circumstances have changed. The police exist to protect people like you. Innocent people who have done nothing wrong. For the moment, police involvement will make our pursuers… wary. They won't act until they're certain they can take me without being detected, and without interference from outside organisations.

"If you know who's doing this, why don't we just go to the police?" she asked. "Maybe they can protect us."

Wade shook his head. No. The police can't protect us completely. There's no way of knowing how far this goes. Besides, they may hand me over anyway, just to be rid of a problem.

"I wish you had more faith in humanity," she sighed. Then, something Grimes had said flashed through her mind. "It's the government, isn't it?"

I've said too much.

"On the contrary. I don't think you've said enough." She guided him to the bed and sat him down on it. "You involved me in this the moment you saved my life. And I know that you don't have your memories back… not yet. But that you know who's doing this to you, tells me what you remember some things, at least. I want to help you, Wade. I know you didn't intend it to happen, but in saving my life, you've also exposed me to danger. I need to know what you know, if only to try and keep myself safe. I don't want to live in ignorance, not knowing who my friends are."

It will take a while.

She gestured around at the room. "We have all night."

So he told her. And by the time he'd finished telling her his tale, and answering the many questions she asked, he'd used up almost half his pad of paper. Finally, when she'd run out of questions, she leant back in the room's suspicious-coloured armchair and let out a deep sigh.

"I don't know what's worse; that the government would do this to to an innocent man, or that they'd do this to someone who used to work for them."

Wade, sitting cross-legged on the bed, scribbled something down.

I'm not innocent. You need to know that. I can't remember everything I've done, but I know that I've killed before. I've probably even killed civilians… So maybe I deserve punishment. I probably do.

"Punishment and torture are two different things, Wade," she said. "Besides, from what you've told me, it sounds like you walked away from that life. Like you wanted to be a better person."

He glanced down at the brown carpet before responding. I don't feel like a better person.

"Maybe not now. But you will. I have faith that you can get through this. You've suffered enough. Now it's time for your healing to begin."

You sound like a Padre.

"Well, spiritual healing might help your soul," she smiled, "but for now I'm talking about physical healing. That's what I wanted to tell you, before you whisked me away here. Simon's friend at the university has his machine ready. They've scheduled in for surgery tomorrow night."

That was fast. I wasn't expecting it so soon.

"We can wait, if you prefer, but I think Simon would rather to do the surgery as soon as possible."

He wants me fixed and gone. He doesn't like me much.

She didn't dispute that claim, and Wade stood up, pacing across the floor several times before writing something else.

Do you have to work tomorrow?

"Yes, I have the midday shift. I should be finished by seven, so Simon and I will swing by here and pick you up to take you to the university."

Okay. Whilst you're at work I'll go back to your apartment and see what I can do about those bugs.

"Are you sure it's safe?" she asked, feeling her eyebrows lower into a frown.

No. But we can't hide forever. Besides, you need to be able to return to your apartment when I'm gone.

"You do realise you won't be able to leave right away, don't you? There may be complications from the surgery, and you'll need aftercare."

If you're going to play nurse for me, you at least have to wear your uniform.

"I'm serious, Wade," she said.

He gave her a dismissive wave. I know, I know. But remember, I heal pretty fast. And the longer I stay, the more danger I put you in.

"How do you think the government knew where to find you?"

I don't know, he wrote with a shrug. Best guess, they've been on high alert ever since I escaped, and they're probably intercepting all police comms. Likely they heard about the alley and guessed I might be responsible. But they don't know. Not for sure. That's why they had to bug your apartment. They couldn't come crashing in, trying to take me, not without making a lot of noise. Your neighbours would definitely notice, and it's not as easy for them to make an entire block of people disappear as it is a few mutants.

She nodded. His reasoning made sense. Or at least, it made sense if you were part of some elaborate action movie. Connie was still struggling with the revelation that the government which was sworn to protect her could be capable of such atrocities.

"What about your friends?" she asked. "The people who used to work in your team, I mean. Do you have any plans to find them, after you're finished here?"

Not right away. I don't know if I can trust them. From what I remember, at least a couple of them sold me out. Maybe they sold the others out too, or maybe they're all in it together. I'm pretty sure that some of them are dead.

She suppressed a yawn as Wade wrote, but it didn't go unnoticed.

You're tired. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, right?

"I guess." She glanced at the bed. "You should sleep too. I know your body probably doesn't need it, but your mind needs a break every once in a while."

I can't sleep here. It's a strange place. Not secure. And I want to make sure we've not been followed. I can sleep once this is over.

Connie didn't speak her next thoughts; what if this was never over? What if the government hounded him to exhaustion and then captured him again? At that moment, she realised what Wade would do next. For as long as the men who had done this to him were out there, free to act with impunity, Wade could never rest, could not let his guard down for even a moment. It was unlikely these men would ever be brought to justice; they weren't just a part of the system, they ran the system, and even if they could be found and brought to trial, no court of law would favour a mutant.

Sliding under the covers of the hopefully clean bed, she tried not to shiver. She didn't doubt that Wade had every right to be angry with the men who had done this to him, and every right to want to see them punished. But two wrongs did not make a right, and problems could not be solved by murder; violence would only escalate the problem, and make people believe that the government were right to do their experiments, and that all mutants were dangerous.

There was movement from the other side of the room as Wade dragged the armchair to the window and settled into it for the night. He was so afraid, so alone… perhaps she could convince him that violence wasn't the way to solve his problem. He didn't have to kill. He could go away, somewhere quiet, where they would never think of looking for him. Somewhere like Washington, perhaps near where her aunt lived. And Connie could go and visit him a couple of times a year, make sure he was taking care of himself.

She closed her eyes. Yes, that would be best. First she would help Wade recover physically. Then she would convince him that violence was not the solution. She would help him to get away, and start a new life. It was the least she could do.

o - o - o - o - o

Connie's hands shook as she buttoned up her blouse. The women's changing room at the hospital was empty, the other doctors and nurses already on duty or on their way home. Simon was waiting for her, out in the lot, and as much as she wanted to hurry out there, she also wanted to tarry, to put the rest of the night off and make this moment last forever. This moment, she could deal with. It was a moment of possibilities. Wade's surgery might work. Or it might not. Either outcome was just as likely. But regardless of the outcome, things would change. And Connie didn't handle change very well.

Finally dressed, and unable to put things off any longer, she left the hospital and found Simon's car—not the convertible this time, but a larger Chevy. Sliding into the passenger seat, she gave him a tight smile, which he returned.

"Good to go?" he asked.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her stomach was churning; thankfully she hadn't eaten recently. Probably wouldn't be able to keep anything down. Strange; she'd never been a particularly nervous person before. Then again, she'd never been party to a surgery to correct a frankenscience procedure carried out by a covert branch of the government before. Of course nerves were natural.

It started to rain. She didn't know whether that was a good omen, or a bad one. Then she had to remind herself that she wasn't superstitious and she didn't believe in omens. It was raining because the overcast sky was full of water that needed to fall. Because that's what happened when air rose, and cooled. It didn't mean anything. Not really.

The drive to the motel was one of those nowhere-drives, a period of travel in which time seemed to both stop and slip by unnoticed. Connie's thoughts hadn't strayed from the weather. She didn't trust herself to think about what might happen tonight, because thoughts like those made her palms go sweaty.

"I can't believe you spent the night in a skeezy place like this," said Simon, glancing out of the window at the poorly lit motel. "If you'd let me know you needed a place to stay, I could have put you up for the night."

"It was late, and the plumbing in my apartment started leaking so quickly that I barely had time to grab a bag and run out the door before everything was soaked. I wasn't really thinking."

"That much is obvious," he scoffed.

Broken plumbing. It was a feeble excuse. But what could she tell Simon? That whilst she was out, three government operatives broke into her apartment and installed covert surveillance devices hoping to find some evidence she was harbouring an escaped mutant experiment? There was no way Simon could hear something like that and not go in to overprotective mode.

"Where's our patient?" he asked at last, scanning the streets around the hotel. A few figures lurched along, some of them carrying brown paper bags large enough to hold a bottle, others no doubt effected by something other than alcohol. A little vein had popped up on Simon's temple; he didn't like being here. The neighbourhood made him nervous. Connie couldn't blame him; his car stood out as a symbol of wealth, and it wasn't likely he ever drove down the rougher streets of the city.

"He'll be here."

"I bet you were one of those kids who drove your parents crazy bringing home stray animals, weren't you?"

"Wade isn't an animal, Simon. Just because he's a mutant—"

"This has nothing to do with his being a mutant. Some people are just bad. Human beings are capable of doing terrible things. I'm not judging Wade because he's a mutant, but because he killed people."

"To save my life."

"And that fact is the only reason I haven't called the police. The only reason why I'm helping you. I know you feel like you owe him, but I beg you; once this procedure is over, whether it works or not, please let him go. Having him here is too dangerous."

"But he has nowhere else to go." She laid a hand on his arm, pleading with him to understand. "He wants to be a better person," she told him. "He wants to be more than the killing-machine they made him. What you don't see, but do, is that he's frightened."

"That's what worries me. When people are frightened, they become… unpredictable."

"Do you trust me?"

Surprise registered on his face. "What?"

"Do you trust me? Do you trust my judgement?"

"I… yes, of course."

"Then why do you find it so hard to trust me when I tell you that Wade won't do anything to harm me?"

Simon stared at her for a long moment, but just when she thought he was about to answer, a figure dropped down from somewhere above, landing quietly beside the car and making both occupants jump. Feeling guilty for some reason, Connie quickly pulled her hand from Simon's arm. Wade opened one of the passenger doors and slid onto the back seat.

"Where have you been?" she asked him.

Just taking a walk. Getting some fresh air, he wrote, taciturn now that they were no longer alone. Hello, Dr. Caldwell.

"Hello, Wade," said Simon. "Are you ready?"

Now or never, he shrugged.

"Then let's go. Your surgeon awaits."


Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long since the last update. Some other stories, not all of them fanfics, demanded my attention, and when I came back to this I hit a bit of an emotional block I just couldn't get past. If this chapter's a little disjointed and feels a little insubstantial it's because I decided to amputate it and start all the good stuff in the next chapter to try and get past that aforementioned block. Anyhoo, thanks to those of you still reading (and reviewing, thus reminding me that this story needs my attention too) and I promise the next chapter won't be nearly as long in coming.

Deadpool's Note: Next chapter definitely won't be as long in coming. I have a knife to the so-called "author's" head. You'll see progress soon.

Wade's Note: We're also plying the author with alcohol. It seems to help the creative process.