Part 11 - The World is Not Thy Friend
The house was old, not necessarily run-down just... antiquated. It had been around since before the Civil War, used by members of the LeBeau family to man a stop on the Underground Railroad and after as an occasional hideout when they found themselves hounded by the law for one reason or another.
But the sweeping plantation house hadn't been regularly inhabited in close to twenty years. The drafty rooms and finicky power supply and low-pressured running water left a lot to be desired and, much to the horror of all, there was no cable for the TV.
But it was very quiet. The closest neighbor was a ninety-year-old widower who lived ten miles away and, even though Juliette could sometimes feel him if he cried for his wife, there was no one else to bother her.
It was just her and her papa, all alone together, fighting to preserve the girl's fragile sanity.
"Jules," Remy called sternly, knocking on her bedroom door to announce his presence even though they both knew she'd felt her father coming, "Unlock dis thing right now, petite."
"No!" Juliette shouted in return, voice muffled by the pillow she was crushing down over her face as she tried to force the tears out of her eyes, "Go away!"
"When has dat ever worked?" He questioned, just a hint of humor in his hard voice. Jules could feel him leaning on the outside of the door, the concern he was trying to keep under control compressing around her mind like a vise. "Dis door ain't gonna stop me," He warned, "You forgotten who I am? De Prince of Thieves ain't never met a lock he couldn't pick, and certainly not one dat would keep him from his Princess."
Sobbing in earnest now, trembling and miserable as her whole head throbbed, the teen shrieked, "Just leave me alone! I don't want dem to come! How could you say dey could?" She hated herself for how weak she'd become and just... didn't want her papa to see her like that. Didn't want anyone to see her like that.
The lock clicked just seconds later and the hinges on the door whined shrilly as a set of light footsteps tracked into the room. Jules felt the bed sag as Gambit laid down beside her, pulling her into his arms. She felt better in an instant, safe and secure and loved, and she absolutely hated it. It wasn't fair her papa could make her feel that way just because he wanted her to. The love was better than her own panic but was still... a violation, one that she couldn't bring herself to tell him about. It would only sadden him, maybe even make him afraid to be around her. She didn't want that.
Kissing the girl's forehead, Remy remarked, "Didn't mean to upset you, mon amour. I just thought... you're doing so good and your cousins are always asking about you. I thought you might be ready to see dem but if you're not, den dat's alright. I won't push you yet."
Jules sniffled, grasping handfuls of her papa's shirt and burying her face against his broad chest. She took a deep breath, letting his familiar scent of spice and sweat engulf her, giving her just one sense to focus on.
It was so hard to deal with her mind now, so hard that sometimes--often--she found herself thinking it just wasn't worth the effort.
Little things set her off and her reactions were... extreme. She couldn't seem to control them, like the part of her brain in charge of telling her not to cry just because she couldn't get the pickle jar open had been washed away by the floods of foreign emotions she was constantly vulnerable to.
Being isolated, limiting the other minds infringing upon her own, helped keep the teen from being completely overwhelmed but... it wasn't a solution. Papa was right: she couldn't hide forever. Her family wanted to see her and she was going to have to learn to deal with her empathic powers if she wanted them to ever be able to again. The several weeks she had been in the house with only her father were enough to help her heal from the initial trauma, help her get used to the idea of being so... changed. Now it was time to start working toward... building the new version of herself that the changed world required.
"Princess?" Remy questioned softly, tenderly petting his daughter's hair as she cuddled against him with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, "You listening? I said I'd tell dem not to come today, alright? Dey'll be disappointed, but I'll explain you ain't feeling up to it yet and dey'll understand. Maybe we can try in a few days."
"Non," She murmured, resolved and unusually coherent now that she had Remy so close, "Dey can come. I... I'm just so scared, Papa."
Feeling his daughter's tears wet the front of his t-shirt had become a daily occurrence over the past weeks but that still didn't mean Remy would ever get used to it. "I know, mon ange," He soothed, forcing more feelings of love and reassurance to the forefront of his thinking, hiding the fear and anger, "I'm scared, too. But you'll be ok. It's just gonna take some time."
xxXxx
Simon let Ani drive. The fifteen, almost-sixteen-year-old was halfway back to the hospital before Simon realized it and called him a stupid prick, reassuring his brother that he was still his old self. The detour made them late and Simon's constant, anxious bitching made the other inhabitants of the red pickup all wish he hadn't been entirely his old self.
His recovery was just about the strangest thing any of the doctors had ever witnessed. After nearly a full month in a coma due to injuries he suffered trying to stop his baby cousin's rampage, the seventeen-year-old's heart stopped. He was clinically dead for fifteen minutes while assorted medical personnel shocked and doped him.
Thirty seconds after being declared dead--the young man hadn't told a soul that he distinctly remembered hearing "time of death, 20:13" from one of the doctors and a broken wail of anguish from his maman--Simon's brown eyes flew open and he began choking around the tube that had been shoved down his throat.
The Lazarus Phenomenon, he heard one of the doctors tell his parents, a person spontaneously and inexplicably returning to life after resuscitation has been abandoned. He was one lucky bastard and, after the breathing tube, I.V., and catheter were finally removed under his cross insistence, he felt almost as good as new... rested even, if a little bit stiff.
But the next few hours passed with every member of his family coming by to tearfully welcome him back into the world of the living... every member except for Jules and Uncle Remy. It didn't take long at all for him to begin demanding to see his baby cousin, asking if she was alright and what happened to her after he passed out.
His family made excuses, lame, transparent ones he didn't buy for a second. Frustrated, he lifted Nico's cell just before everyone was swept from the room at the end of visiting hours. As soon as the obnoxious nurses and hovering doctors finally left him alone, Simon dialed his Uncle Remy.
"What you want, Nico?" The thief's voice came from the other end, strained and hoarse and exhausted. The ambient noises in the background made it sound like he was on an airplane.
"It ain't Nico," The teen reported, "It's Simon, and I wanna know why de hell no one will tell me where you and Jules really are. Is she ok?"
Simon heard a deep sigh before his uncle stated, "We on a plane back from New York and... she's been better..."
By the time the explanation was over, Simon was shouting into the phone. All that kindly assorted medical staff came rushing back into his room and promptly sedated him. He would've been outraged if he hadn't been... well, unconscious.
The extent of his physical injuries was a row of staples holding together the rapidly healing gash on the back of his head. The lack of brain damage was surprising, but nevertheless a reality; he had some abnormal brainwaves, but nothing the doctors were very concerned about. Luckily, that meant he was allowed to go home after just a few days. His parents and Tante fussed and coddled, but, as the weeks wore on, the boy's mood could only be described as crotchety. Uncle Remy relayed everyday, sometimes several times and with increasing frustration, that Jules didn't want to see him or any of the rest of the family, that she wouldn't even talk to them over the phone.
And then, that morning, Uncle Remy had declared that he'd had enough, that the cousins should come over and surprise her no matter what she said. Because it was about time she started trying to get used to her new power. Simon had been thrilled, as had Nico and Ani. Christien, however, was sulking in silence in the backseat.
"What de hell's wrong with you?" Simon growled, glaring at him in the rearview, "You ain't seen Jules in over two months and you're acting like we're dragging you to de dentist!"
Blue eyes flashing angrily, the thirteen-year-old redhead fired back, "She's de one dat left!! She didn't have to, but she did!! Right when we all needed her!! She didn't say goodbye, or try to explain! We just got home and found a note!! I thought I was her best friend but, apparently, I'm only worth a note!!"
Sagely, Nico slung an arm around the boy's thick shoulders and calmed, "You can't be mad at her for dat. She was scared, thinking she was gonna blow up de rest of us, and she needed to try to get some control. She didn't handle de situation de way any of us wanted her to, but dat's over. She's suffering for de choices she made and she needs us to be dere to help her."
Christien remained quiet but continued to sulk, staring out the window as the thick swampland passed by the on the sides of the bumpy dirt road.
After nearly two hours of traveling, the four boys finally pulled up on the old house. Remy was waiting at the end of the mile-long driveway, waving at them to stop. He hopped in the front seat beside Simon, shoving the teen to the middle as he turned to survey all his assorted nephews. The man looked so much older than his thirty-seven years, face tired and lined with worry.
"Past dis point," He warned gruffly, "You're all to keep de thinking to a minimum. Jules can feel everything you do and it hurts her bad if it's too loud or too negative. Don't get upset if she starts yelling or crying. She can't help it sometimes and feeling you get upset will just make it worse for her. Everybody understand?" He got some grumbles of agreement from all around and, as satisfied as he could be, nodded at Ani to continue along the road.
The house was deathly quiet when they entered and Jules wasn't in the sitting room where Remy professed he'd left her. "Stay here," He ordered without a backwards glance as he rushed to track down his daughter, "And don't think too much."
The boys milled around awkwardly.
xxXxx
Remy found his daughter in the small bedroom she'd claimed, huddled in the back corner of the closet, rocking and crying quietly as she clasped her hands down over her ears. "What is it, petite?" The thief asked, sinking down beside the girl and pulling her into a tight embrace.
"He-He ha-a-ates me!!" Jules wailed between hysterical pants for breath, tears streaming down her pale face as her slight body shook.
Remy frowned. "You mean Simon?" He questioned, hugging his daughter close and brushing gentle kisses against her forehead, "Oh, bien-aimé, Simon don't hate you. He couldn't even if he wanted to."
"Si-Simon's here?" The girl whimpered, surprised and confused, "What's he doin' here?"
Pressing down the rising concern, Remy very patiently answered, "He's here to see you, remember? We talked dis morning about him and de other cousins coming to visit today."
Jules frowned as she searched for a memory of the event and found nothing. After only a moment, though, she had to abandon her efforts. Crying out in pain, the girl clapped her hands down over her ears again and buried her face against her father's broad chest. "He's yelling at me!!" She sobbed heartbrokenly, "He's yelling at me for leaving!! I'm sorry!! I didn't mean to hurt him!! Tell him, Papa!! Tell him I'm sorry!! Make him stop yelling!!"
Again, Remy had to forced back his anger, voice shaking only slightly as he whispered, "Of course, ma princesse. I'll take care of it." Disturbed that she barely acknowledged him picking her up off the floor and tucking her into bed, the thief then stalked back down stairs.
"Which one of you's got de abandonment issues?" He demanded of his assembled nephews, trying to remain calm but perfectly aware that he must look pretty damn scary. This fact was confirmed when, with barely a moment of hesitation, Nico, Simon, and Ani all pointed straight to Christien.
"Get out," Remy ordered unflinchingly, making the thirteen-year-old behemoth scowl darkly but not argue as he turned on his heel and stormed away. "Wait at de end of de drive, Élan," He called after the boy's retreating back. The front door answered with a violent slam.
Turning to face the three young men who remained, Remy weakly announced, "Dere's some lunch out on de kitchen table. You can help yourselves while I try to get Jules to come down." The mutant then stalked back upstairs without another word.
xxXxx
Forty-five minutes of awkwardly picking at peanut butter sandwiches later, Simon noticed Uncle Remy standing in the doorway. It took a moment to recognize that the girl beside him was their Juliette. She looked... different. Terrified, for sure, ruby-onyx eyes wide and nervous and sunken in their sockets as she clung desperately to her father's side. She was also much thinner, paler, bordering on unhealthy, and... she'd grown at least four inches in height.
"Jules," Simon breathed, immediately jumping up and running across the room to seize his little cousin into a crushing hug, "You had me worried sick, petite! Are you ok?" He held her out at arms length to get a better look, making a mental note to tattle on both her and Uncle Remy to Tante about the girl's weight loss, which had been grossly under-exaggerated.
For a long few moments, Jules just stared up at him, expression blank and full of wonder. "You're different," She finally accused, "What's different?"
Simon smirked, ruffling his shaggy gold-blonde curls a bit as he confessed, "Ain't had a haircut in two months, for starters. Haven't been getting my daily dose of de princess, neither."
"No," Jules argued, stoic as she stared, tilting her head to the side like a bewildered puppy still trying to decide good or bad about its brand new home, "Not dat... something else..."
For a long, uncomfortable stretch of minutes, the kitchen was silent. Simon squirmed under Juliette's cold, unwavering stare.
But then the girl winced, tired eyes snapping shut as she drew in a sharp breath and stumbled backwards for Remy to steady with an ever-ready hand. "Alright, mon amour?" The mutant questioned lowly.
"Uh huh," She replied noncommittally, seeming confused and disoriented as she peered around the kitchen, searching for some physical attacker to the pain she felt, like she didn't remember... the teen seemed so scared and disoriented and confused, and it was heartbreaking for her cousins to watch.
"OW!! OWOWOW!!!" Jules screamed, brutally slamming her hands down over her ears as she fell back again, as her knees gave out and her father cradled her protectively against his chest. And then she was crying like a baby, sobbing like none of the young men had seen her since she actually was a baby. She was babbling and choking and Remy was squeezing her tight, glaring at them over the top of her head, accusing and threatening and reminding them all to keep their emotions in check. Their horror was hurting Jules and their guilt at hurting her was hurting her more. It was a vicious cycle.
"Either stop or go wait with Christien!" Remy shouted, starting to regret this plan, terrified by his daughter's uncontrolled trembling and obvious pain.
The LeBeau boys ran.
"How is she?" Christien Benoit questioned with feigned disinterest when he saw his cousins rushing down the road. All three were visibly disturbed, too afraid to even speak because they didn't want to hurt their baby cousin.
A little over an hour later, they were all lounging sadly by the side of the dirt road when Uncle Remy came down the drive with the red pickup. When he parked and got out, they could see that he looked more exhausted than ever. "She's sleeping," The man reported, his own voice raw and strained, "I don't think she can handle anymore for today... I... I'm sorry."
And so they piled in the truck and went home, not arriving until dinnertime and not able to talk about what they'd witnessed that afternoon to anyone, least of all each other.
Juliette LeBeau was broken and they didn't know how to fix her, if she could be fixed at all.
xxXxx
"Has either of you heard from Remy?" Xavier questioned, not doing a very good job of hiding his anxious concern.
"Ya," Logan replied gruffly, slinging a supportive arm around his wife's shoulders as he smelled her sadness, "Yesterday. He called and talked for a bit. Didn't sound too hot."
While the information did not surprise the Professor, it nonetheless depressed him. "How is Jules fairing?" He pressed, showing a surprising amount of guilt and apprehension as he fidgeted with a few random objects on his big wood desk.
"Not well," Ororo answered, voice soft and serious, "They tried bringing her cousins to visit. She barely saw them at all before becoming overwhelmed by their presences."
With a quiet sigh, Xavier tented his fingers up against his thin lips. His eyes were focused and shrewd as he stared out ahead of himself, as he answered, "I wish there was more I could do for her."
"You tried, Chuck," Logan said, "Not your fault the girl booted you out her brain and cemented the door shut."
"Has the short-term memory loss improved at all?" The Professor went on, unwilling to discuss his own short-comings.
"When not confronted by an abundance of foreign sensation, she is fine," Storm stated, "Remy said the same about the insomnia, nausea, and hysteria. I'm afraid the depression has not changed."
Xavier nodded slowly, thinking hard over the information and quickly deciding that, while it was not ideal, it was at least encouraging. It was at least a start. "Thank you," He said, offering a tight almost-smile, "Please, tell Remy I will always be willing to do anything in my power to help."
"He knows," Logan grunted as he and his wife stood, "He's pissed, sure, but he knows you'd do anything you could. Gumbo don't hate you like the rest. He don't trust you worth a damn but he don't trust most people so don't be too broke up about it. Night, Chuck." The pair left, left the man in the wheelchair to contemplate those words.
Ororo was never a chatterbox but she'd been unusually, disturbingly quiet ever since Jules left. Logan tightened the arm he had around his shoulders, worried and uncomfortable. "Ruby got a' A on her math test," He blurted out, for once unwilling to let the silence go unfilled.
He was graced with a slight, soft smile, his wife leaning against his chest and humming, "That is wonderful. I know you two have been working hard together."
"Girl's smart," Logan answered, hoping like hell that he wasn't blushing, "I didn't have too much to do with that."
He left the rest unsaid because he wasn't entirely certain what the rest was.
xxXxx
Tante wheedled the story out of the boys the next morning. Simon tattled shameless; Nico wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, seeming disappointed in himself for some deep failure.
After rewarding them with breakfast, Tante placed two phone calls. The first was to Lapin, to tell him he needed to talk some sense into his son before she smacked some into the Élan. The second was to Remy, to inform him that she was coming to stay with him and Jules, that she would be arriving as soon as it could be arranged and wouldn't take no for an answer.
Simon drove her out the next day, the long journey quiet and both travelers deep in their own thoughts. Remy wasn't there to meet them at the bottom of the drive and Simon was very reluctant to approach the house without permission. He didn't want to hurt Jules.
But Remy wasn't answering his cell either and that was not a very good sign. Simon drove cautiously, entered the house quietly, and froze at what he saw.
There was blood, so much dried blood, and glass broken out of a blood spattered picture frame that was swinging and close to falling from its crooked perch on the wall. The glass crunched underfoot as he went in, as he tracked more bloody footprints across the dark tile floor and ran to find the source of all the gore.
It was just around the bend in the hallway and turned out to be Jules' head. His baby cousin was curled in a ball on the floor, her eyes wide open and fixed even as blood from the cut on her temple ran into them. She looked like she was crying tears of blood.
Remy was kneeling over the girl, trying hard to stem the bleeding even as he gasped desperately for air. His face was pale and ashy, his long auburn-silver hair coming out of the neat ponytail he was keeping it in those days. He'd been unable to get up from that spot since four o'clock in the morning.
And nothing about it was fair. Nothing at all.
xxXxx
"Why?"
As Simon gently picked shards of glass out of his baby cousin's skull, that question was the only question bouncing around in his.
Jules continued staring out the window, as she'd been since he carried her up to her room. She seemed calmer, a little bit more lucid, but she still wasn't talking.
"Look at me, petite," Simon demanded sternly, still very careful as he cleaned the blood from her pretty face.
Seeming startled by hearing a voice, the girl flinched and finally turned to peer owlishly at who she saw. "Simon," Jules forced out, swallowing thickly as real tears finally sprang into her eyes, spilling down her cheeks and streaking white lines through the crusted red staining them. Without further warning, she threw her arms around his neck and began to sob.
"Simon, it was awful!!" She cried, blood and tears and snot soaking into the teen's t-shirt, "I thought I was ok but den I-I-I got so scared and it hurt so bad!! Like dere were a whole bunch of great big teeth sinking into my chest a-and it felt like I was gonna die and it wouldn't stop!!"
"Shh," Simon soothed, cradling Jules against his chest as the little mutant trembled uncontrollably, "Nobody's dyin'. I got you. We gonna get through dis."
She sniffled and clung tightly to a handful of his shirt, ruby-onyx eyes wide and shining as she stared up into her cousin's face. "How come you don't hurt?" Jules questioned very softly, seeming both grateful and wary of the fact, "I can still kinda feel you in my head, but it don't hurt like everybody else."
"Don't know," Simon answered quietly, reaching out to rinse his washcloth in a bowl of warm, clean water before pressing it back to Jules' temple, "How come you ran your head into a wall?"
Jules frowned, her hand coming up to feel the cut and coming back down tinged red. "I don't remember doing it," She whispered, so lost and afraid, "I-I just wanted whatever was happening to me to stop." Her small body shook with a convulsive sob as she once again buried her face against Simon's lean chest, "I just want it all to stop!!"
xxXxx
On a walk to clear his head, Simon came across a small patch of blood and deer tracks near the edge of the swamp water not quite fifty yards from the house. He concluded that a gator must have killed a large buck the night before; he also concluded that feeling the animal die must have been what triggered Jules' episode.
He reported this to his uncle, who was still being fussed over by Tante as he slowly recovered from the asthma attack he gave himself when he was chasing after his hysterical daughter. Remy claimed that it didn't make sense; he and Jules had been nearly a month in the property that was bordered on all sides by swampland. Animals must have killed other animals at other times during that month and she didn't feel them then, so why now?
When Simon presented these facts to Jules, she grudgingly, shamefully revealed a small supply of very strong prescription sedatives, confessing that she'd found them in with her things when she was unpacking. They were from Dr. McCoy and included a note, filled with apologies and well wishes and instructions for safely taking the drugs should the girl start to feel too overwhelmed. She hadn't planned on using them, but the insomnia was so bad and she felt so nauseas and scared when the voices wouldn't let her sleep through the nights, when she could feel her papa refusing to sleep unless she was. She couldn't be responsible for making her papa sick on top of fraught with worry and had started taking the medication regularly.
It helped. A little.
The night before, Jules had gotten sick, which was not uncommon those days, and she threw up the pills soon after taking them. She didn't think of taking more, of the possibility that the sleepy little animal twinges she sometimes got during the day would be more active in the dark until after she began feeling the panic and terror of the hunted deer. By then it was too late.
She begged Simon not to tell. It was the only thing that helped her get the little sleep she managed and she only took the amount Dr. McCoy said in his letter; she didn't want her papa to know. He would be disappointed in her and he would make her stop. Remy had similarly experimented with depressants to quiet his powers when he was in his teenage years; it very nearly became an addiction and he would not allow his daughter to follow the same route.
Simon didn't know what to do. He didn't want Jules to be in pain, but he also didn't want her dependent on drugs. Driving home was a chore. The trip was long, the sky was dark, and he had quite a lot on his mind... so much so that he didn't realize just how fast he was going until he saw the flashing lights in his rearview mirror...
"Merde," He groaned, slowly guiding the truck to the side of the highway and praying silently for a bit of leniency. In retrospect, Simon realized what a bad place he chose to park; it was dark and sheltered, nearly invisible from the road.
"Evening," The officer, young and oozing cockiness, greeted as he pointed the intense flashlight beam right into Simon's eyes, "License and registration."
Simon easily surrendered both, hoping to get out of the stop with just a warning. He was really not in the mood to have to deal with a traffic ticket on top of everything else.
The officer suddenly snatched his wallet out of his hands, which was extremely strange, and stared at the smiling photo of Jules that Simon had in it. The cop flipped through a few more and his whole demeanor changed. He grew cold and angry, once again blinding Simon with his flashlight as he demanded, "Do you know why I pulled you over?"
Already bristling at the treatment, the blonde held his hand up to shield his face from the light and responded, "Oui, monsieur. I think I might've been speeding just a bit."
The cop remained silent but Simon could sense his deep glare from behind the blinding flashlight beam. "Eh..." He attempted, "I'm very sorry and won't never do it again?"
Glaring fiercely, the policeman challenged, "You think you're funny or something, you little punk?"
"Huh?" Simon answered in confusion.
"Step out of the vehicle," The officer ordered, glaring coldly down through the open window.
Simon could have screamed, but simply sighed and did as he was asked. No sooner had he set foot out of his car than the policeman grabbed him roughly by the collar, pinning his arms behind his back and slamming him facedown against the hood. Before the young man could protest, he had a pair of cuffs slapped around his wrists.
"What de-" He protested weakly, attempting to shove himself up, shove the cop off his back.
However, before he could do either, he caught the barest hint of movement in the corner of his eye and the rear of his skull erupted into searing agony. He could almost feel the tender row of staples that were holding it together burst apart. For a few moments, Simon could not see, could not breathe. During those moments, he vaguely registered the fact that the cop had just viciously clubbed him.
When the pain subsided a bit, when he could open his eyes without feeling completely nauseas, Simon straightened up and glanced around. Even though his vision was a bit fuzzy, he could see the officer standing over him, angry and smug. He shoved Simon's own wallet into the teen's face, holding Jules' photo almost too close to make out.
"Who is she?" The cop demanded, practically frothing, "Who's the little fucking mutie bitch?"
"Va te faire foutre!!" (kiss my ass) Simon raged back, struggling furiously against the handcuffs as he advanced on the officer, "You don't talk about her like dat!!"
Before he could get very far, the cop hit him again, raising his club and bringing it down against the blonde's temple. He saw stars, stumbling over into the mud at the side of the road.
"Every cop in the city's been looking for the mutie," The cop spat, "She blew up half of downtown, made us all look like idiots, and then vanished without a trace. Now you tell me her name and maybe I won't kill her when I find her!"
He was lying, Simon somehow instantly knew; he could see it clear as day, see the cop standing over Jules' naked and beaten little body, see the cop laughing cruelly as he pointed his gun at her and-
BANG!
Simon's body twitched in time with the phantom shot, pulling him back into reality. He was breathing had, terrified but so much more angry, almost so much he couldn't see straight... though that maybe have had something to do with the blood he could feel trickling down the back of his neck and the side of his face. He was dizzy, his gaze blurry. His head was throbbing, burning intensely from the inside out, and he stared dead into the policeman's eyes. "Allez à l'enfer," (go to hell) Simon hissed, spitting on the man's feet.
He was never quite sure when things changed. Once second, the cop was raising his club, about to strike Simon once more, and the next... he just... wasn't. Looking suddenly dazed and confused, the officer let his arm slowly drop, let the baton slip from his limp fist and into the same mud puddle in which Simon was sprawled. The man's gaze was far-off, blank, as he turned around and marched past one of the large trees that was sheltering them from the view of the highway.
Only a few moments later, Simon heard tires screech, heard two tons of metal obliterate two hundred pounds of flesh.
Shaking, stunned, he found himself unable to move for the longest time, not until he began to hear sirens and the part of his brain that was in charge of self-preservation kicked in.
He picked his cuffs, retrieved his wallet from the ground and all his information out of the patrol car. He knew the license plate number, if it was called in ahead of time, would never lead back to him; he wiped his blood and prints from the officer's dropped baton. Still trembling convulsively, the teen got back in his truck and slowly, carefully, drove a few miles down the side of the highway with his lights off before finally rejoining the normal flow of cars.
The waves of nausea and dizziness, the blood soaking into the collar of his shirt didn't disturb or frighten him half as much as the fact that, before it had actually happened, he'd had a fleeting wish for the officer to walk himself into traffic.
xxxxxxxxxx
Ta da!! Finally, right? Hehe, ya. Sorry this one took so long. I was a little stuck on it and then school and real life interfered, but hopefully my recent success in finishing this chapter means that I am newly inspired and I'll have more for you soon! Reviews, as always, are highly encouraged and greatly appreciated :-)