Part Two The Past Catches Up
"Oh my God," Charles suddenly muttered.
He was inside of his study as Jean and Scott argued softly over the paper he had given them. But he hadn't been focusing. His mind tend to slip away into someplace unknown and dark, and almost each minute Scott had to raise his voice to recall his attention to their discussion. He had wondered why.
Now he knew why. Charles's hovering wheelchair immediately moved to outside of the room, leaving Scott and Jean both agape.
Jean, Scott, follow me. Someone's in trouble.
Seconds later they heard Jubilee screamed outside.
They raced and Charles hovered over to the front yard, where snow was still thick from the evening accumulation. Logan had Jubilee in his arms, comforting her as she cried out, "It's Mel, it's Mel, oh my God it's Mel…,"
In the middle of the front yard someone had built a rather clumsy snowman, minus the eyes and the toothy grin. It was dark, and one can only see clearer if one stood closer, which Remy did.
"Careful," Rogue's voice floated in the cool air. She could feel something akin to menace hung about the crude snowman. Remy seemed not to hear this, and if he did, no acknowledgement came from him.
Some parts of the snowman had crumbled and it revealed some fabric. Remy recognised the colour; it was Melinda's mauve sweater that she always wore. On several places there were dark splotches, and Remy slowly pulled the piece of fabric out. At first it didn't budge. But something made him look at the foot of the snowman.
Something dark and sticky flowed from inside the snowman to his feet. At the same time whatever that was inside the snowman fell out in front of him. Jubilee and the rest of the women screamed.
"It isn't Melinda."
Jubilee looked up questioningly, her hands gratefully holding a cup of hot cocoa. "What do you mean, it isn't Melinda? That's her favourite sweater, I'm sure of it."
Charles nodded solemnly. "That's her sweater all right. The body, however, isn't hers."
A hush fell over them. Logan broke the silence. "In any way, it definitely isn't her. That popsicle was a man dressed in Melinda's clothes."
"Who is the man, then?" Ororo asked. "Why in the Goddess' green earth did he have Mel's sweater?"
"We don't know who he is and why. Police is on the way, though. Maybe we'll be able to get something from them."
Logan sneered at Charles' remark. "Like they care. Next thing we know some of us here suddenly got arrested."
"And where is Melinda? Did she kill this man?" Jean asked. Personally, she couldn't even imagine Mel killing a fly.
"Maybe she accidentally kills this man and panicked and ran away," Scott suggested.
"And took her clothes off and exchanged it with this man's? Now there's a novel way of making a panicky escape." Hank stared thoughtfully at the crumbled snowman outside through a window. "It's a crazy thing to do: if you killed someone, you'll want to get away as quick as possible, no tarrying around." Hank turned to face the rest of them.
"It's absolutely illogical. If you killed someone, you'd want the least obvious way to dispose of the body. But - if Mel did it - she instead took her sweet time to make a snowman for means of concealment and exchanged her clothes with the dead man. Not to mention it's freezing outside."
"I smelt three individuals there," Logan said suddenly. "One was Mel. The other two I never smelt before. One stinks big time." As in character.
Warren added, "I saw Mel talked to someone at the same spot where you guys found the body. I didn't see very well who, but I was certain it was a man."
"Yeah, I second that. I was with Warren," Bobby cut in. "They seemed to be arguing and I wanted to take a look, but Warren stopped me."
"Did ya boys got a good look at the man?" Both shook their heads. "Well, if you did, that woulda made things easier." Logan mused over these. "Can't find no prints, shoes or foot. All were snowed in earlier on."
Charles closed his eyes for a while. "I trust Logan's sense of smell, but when the police comes don't tell them anything about the third person. They'll think we made it up. I'll do the talking."
"You mean mind-manipulating," Logan said.
Charles did not have to use his mind powers when the police came, because the police seemed eager to leave the place the moment they realised who they came to deal with. Charles only told them the necessary points, making no mentions about the third person Logan claimed to have smelt, only the possibility of a third person involved due to Melinda's disappearance.
"Are you suggesting she has an accomplice, sir?"
"No, heavens no. Melinda's been with us for nearly five years and she's a good woman through and through. She has no criminal records whatsoever. She couldn't have done this."
"And she's… not a mutant?"
Logan's growl issued from deep his chest. Charles held up a silencing hand to him. "She is not one of us, yes. But she's been working for us as a cook as I've told you before and I give you my word, she's not the kind who'd do these senseless things."
Later, after giving them Melinda's full name and particulars and her photo, Charles asked the officer to inform him when they found the dead man's identity. They left hurriedly into the night.
Remy was back in his room. He held something none of those who found the body outside just now knew existed. It was another tarot card. When the body fell out of the snowman, his cat-sharp eyes noticed something stuck to the throat. Not stuck, more like buried in his throat. Somehow the card slit the man's throat and that caused the massive bleeding inside the snowman.
Before anyone saw it he deftly pulled it out and kept it inside his coat pocket. The blood upon the card had dried, making a grotesque Rorschach-like pattern all over it. He flipped it over and over again, watching it with deepening curiosity.
There was a knock at the door and he immediately put the card back into his coat pocket. "Remy?" A whispered call. Jubilee.
"Come in," he quickly said. "Close de door." She did.
"It was him, wasn't it?" Jubilee finally said after they sat in silence for a moment or two. Remy nodded, placing the card he had found on the table between them.
"Why would he take Melinda, Remy? Some kind of warning?"
Remy shook his head, looking totally lost. "Gambit's not sure. Not'in' made sense. Why would de Trois kill dis unknown man and take Melinda?"
Jubilee shivered, although the room was pleasantly warm. "Maybe Hank's theory is right. He probably made the snowman and the clothes swapping to make everything more obvious. It's like he wants his presence known."
"Oui. To moi."
Jubilee went on. "Isn't it strange? Professor could have at least sensed something was happening to Melinda. He always has his 'danger antenna' cocked up, right? How did he manage not to detect any stress waves?"
Remy stared at the card on the table. "Pierre de Trois is a mutant," he slowly said with hatred.
Jubilee's eyes became round.
"His powers are almost illusion-like. He could project an image to a person's mind from miles away, scaring de hell out of a person or creating a false sense of security. Like he can make you walk to de top of an 80-floor building and walk right over and you'd still be smilin'. He's also a psycho-stealth. Which I presume has gott'n stronger over these years."
Jubilee pondered a while. "Including Professor's telepathic ability?"
Remy nodded gravely. "Just like dat." He snapped his fingers.
"Then that explains it," Jubilee muttered. "Let me see this card." She turned it around towards her. "What was its position when you found this card?"
Remy's eyebrows rose a margin. "Upside down, stuck deep in his throat." Jubilee immediately pushed the card away. "Is it important?"
"Very." She stared at the card a little more before pulling it back with the tips of her fingers. "This card is Three of Disks. Normally it would give a general meaning of construction. In tarot cards, whenever you pull a card upside down, its meaning is also converted. You said it was found upside down…"
Remy breathed out each word slowly. "Destruction… mon Dieu."
"Yeah. Mon Dieu indeed," Jubilee echoed him. "I think we're dealing with a nutcase here, Remy."
"You do not know how nutty dis one is," Remy said, his eyes fixated upon the bloodied card.
Jubilee started to say something she thought she might regret, but she wanted to say it. "Remy, I think we should tell the rest of the X-Men about this."
Remy's head snapped up. His eyes were burning red. If looks could kill, Jubilee would have died twice over. Bravely she went on. "Look on the obvious, Remy. Clearly this… this de Trois is stronger than both of us put together. Let alone if you wanted to fight this nutcase."
"Jubilee, you promised, cheré. Not a word to dem."
"Remy, be realistic for a moment here. Look who you are up against to. Even you said he's gotten stronger. Look what he did to that poor man. He cut his throat with a tarot card!"
"I beat him in de past. I'll beat him just the same in de present." His expression was of an obstinate child, sulking and brooding.
"You know, Remy, I didn't even ask you why you pulled me into this mess. I thought I could help you by telling you what de Trois is trying to tell you, then work you up enough courage to tell this to the rest. But you seemed to have other motives." When he didn't answer she went on. "What happened between you and de Trois? How bad was it that after all these years he returned lusting for you blood?"
Remy bit his upper lip in constraint to an urge slapping her in the mouth. Instead he said between the tight lips, "Get out."
Jubilee looked at him in disbelief, Remy losing his patience a new sight to her. Her expression then hardened. "Something happened, right?"
"Get out, chére, or I'll do somet'in' I might regret later." His voice was laced with potent anger.
Jubilee backed away, her expression still hard and cool. She put on her red sunglasses. "Why didn't you think of that before you fought Pierre de Trois years ago?" With that she walked out of the room.
Silence filled the room. For a moment Remy stared at the card, its upper tip smeared with dried blood, a Three of Disks. Construction converted is destruction. In a second Remy was on his feet and he kicked at the table to the door. The door banged shut.
A string of French profanities flowed out as he walked angrily to the window and braced his arm against the panels. "Damn you, Louis du Boudreault," he hissed. He grabbed something off a table beside him, charged it to the fullest and threw it outside. It shattered the snowman.