Part 3 The Scythe of Time takes a Swing
"Ah, M. du Boudreault! Yes, monsieur, your room's ready. Yes, yes, a suite. Oh, certainly, monsieur! The bellboys will be there in a second."
The Rapier had just opened recently in the heart of New York, and for this time of year it was almost full. This Frenchman had his in the nick of time. When the manager saw M. du Boudreault in the flesh, she almost hugged and kissed him if not for the crowded foyer.
M. du Boudreault looked like as if he had just stepped out of a woman's fantasy. Stylishly short hair, it was silver in colour and slightly curly. His face had a quality of broodiness, but it shattered each time he smiled. The grey eyes twinkled lazily in their depths but also very perceptive and sharp. The manager thought he was some kind of bird of prey watching everyone's movement. The aquiline nose completed the effect.
The hand, when they shook each other's was large, and hers was engulfed in its warmth.
He was also tall, and further accentuated by the tan trench coat he wore that seemed to cover the widest shoulders she had ever seen. This man was large, and his smile could wake up the dead and send them straight to heaven. What else does a woman need?
Her imaginations were shattered, however, when she heard his smooth-and-rough voice said in a charming accented English, "This is my wife, Carole du Boudreault. Carole dear, say bonjour, will you?"
The wife turned out to be a woman no younger than her aunt in Philadelphia, who was ten years older than her own mother. "Bonjour, mademoiselle," Mrs Boudreault said to her. She seemed to be a bit dazed and out of focus. But then who wouldn't with such a wonderful specimen of manhood beside her?
Some women have all the luck, the manager thought dryly.
When the bellboys were out of the room, Louis' demeanour immediately changed. His smile died and his brows lowered to a single line, the eyes beneath them sharp and piercing. Deadly. The door was locked in a matter of seconds. His 'wife' stood motionless in the middle of the suite, dead as a nail.
Louis walked to her front and snapped his fingers twice. Her dazed look disappeared and terror immediately replaced it. "You! What have you done… where is this?"
"Settle down, my dear," Louis said, his voice soft in contrast to his handling. He had her shoulders in both hands and hooking a chair from his side, he pulled it towards him and forced her to sit on it. She struggled wildly to free herself from his hold. A bad move.
He took out a rope from nowhere and wrapped it around her twice before settling in front of her. "Don't move or I'll kill you."
"Do it, you son of a dog!" she shouted, hoping that anyone noticed them. "Do it and I'll be happy."
She felt her head tilt to the left in an instant and pain started to spread from her cheek to all over her face. He had just punched her. She heard him chuckled and slowly faced him. "What are you laughing at?"
Louis shook his head. "No, my dear. Your time isn't now. It will come, but not now. Not until everyone's here. You'd like that, don't you?"
She let her head hang low. "I don't know what are you talking about." Her mouth felt thick with blood and loath for this man who seemed to kidnap her for no reason.
"Oh? Then what if we did a little refreshing in that head? Clear up a little cobweb? Early spring-cleaning, if you like."
He said these as he walked around her leisurely with the rope ever tightening around her. Now the rope came to an end and he tied it into a tight knot. Twice. She could sense what was he going to do to her, and she started to whine. "Not again,…, please, not again…?"
Louis nodded, his smile would have been comforting if not for the steel quality of his voice when he spoke. "Yes. Again."
His hands on both temples, she began to feel the pricking sensation on her head which intensified into drilling. He was raping her mind, making everything there contort and meaningless. When it ended she felt violated, empty. All she could do was scream.
Louis merely smiled at Mel's screams. The honeymoon suites are supposed to be soundproof.
It was morning. Several policemen had just walked out of X-Mansion after asking them questions regarding yesterday's murder. As for the stranger's identity, the police still couldn't establish a solid description, but it was possible that this man was wanted for several swindling cases in Paris and two in the UK.
Hank hung upside-down from a parallel bar, his forefinger upon his lips. His eyes were closed and his forehead was deeply creased. Beside him, hanging from his tail, was Kurt. His pupil-less eyes blinked now and then, also trying to think.
"You know, Mein freund, this is getting nowhere," Kurt finally said. He released his tail's grip from the bar and fell lightly onto the floor. "My head's getting heavier with all the blood and the thinking going at the same time."
Hank opened his eyes slowly. "It's really strange. First of all, Professor Xavier claimed he did not detect any distress wave from outside from 3 p.m. to the event of the discovery, which is, as he has told me, a few minutes to five. At this time, though, he could detect Jubilee's distress wave and several others who were with her.
"Secondly, the strange circumstances of the body itself. It seemed that the murderer wanted us to find the body. And the curious state of his clothes. Come to think of it, the only article of clothing that wasn't swapped was the underwear."
Kurt fingered his lips. "Not to mention Melinda's disappearance. That makes her look like the perpetrator even more. I don't like the look of this. It's too strange."
Hank jumped down from the bar. "Jubilee said to the policeman that she didn't touch the snowman but instead she saw the mauve sweater poking out of it. Why conceal it if the murderer wanted us to find it quickly in the first place? What's the use of building it in the first place?"
Kurt tilted his head to the side. "This might be a childish thought but, could it be it was intended to frighten someone? In particular?" Hank threw Kurt a questioning gaze. "Rogue told me that the snowman seemed to be ominous and scary under the twilight yesterday. And she recalled that everyone screamed when the body fell out of it, including herself. A bit dramatic, isn't it? But it's a Hohepünkt, a flourish of climax in frightening proportions. It worked on every woman that evening."
Hank's eyes began to widen. "Thank you for the suggestion, Kurt. I think I know just who shall I be talking to next. But first, a little research."
Charles sat inside his study thinking. This whole business seemed too wild to set aside, now that one of the house member had gone missing, and even the police couldn't help them locating Melinda Farstein. It wasn't past 24 hours, so Melinda wasn't as yet classified as missing or kidnapped. No letters or phone calls, either. Hank just now had volunteered to do some research on the dead stranger in the Internet with the help of Ray Quinton Felix, a new member whose hacking is his expertise.
It was strange, the way his thoughts seemed to continually slipping aside yesterday. It wasn't natural, and he knew it. It was as if something blocked his mind, thus creating what he would call a 'dodge-field' in telepathic sense. Compared to now; he could spread his telepathy around the mansion and he could learn anything he wanted from the house members. Unlike yesterday.
Immediately he sent out for Logan telepathically. The latter arrived a minute later, looking sleepy and angry. "What do you want?" he muttered.
"Logan, is it possible for you to distinguish normal human from mutants through only scent?"
"You woke me up for a quiz? What's this, the 'Who wants to be a Mutant' show?"
"Just answer the question," Charles said, each word punctuated by a knock on the oak table.
"Heck, no."
"You did mention something about how they smelt."
Logan scratched his head. "I did. I said one particularly stink big time. But there's also Mel and the dead guy. Like I told ya yesterday, three people."
"This guy who stank big time. Have you ever come across him?"
Logan shook his head. "I'd remember if I did. This guy's got anger peppered all over his scent. Too strong-smelling. I don't like 'im a bit. An' now Mel's gone. This guy's gotta pay a lot."
Charles knitted his fingers together. "This man could be a mutant."
This remark made Logan rose his brows a bit. Charles gave him a serious look. Then he told Logan what happened prior to yesterday and how it would have been possible if the intruder was a mutant. "It's no wonder, then, how he could do so much; covering his tracks, making himself invisible to my telepathic surveillance."
"Ya know, prof," Logan said, "I'd reckon we invest in one of them security cameras. Ya gettin' too old for these kind of things."
"Find Remy. Tell him I need to meet him in the underground facility right away."
So was Hank's message for Kurt to relay to Remy. Hank thought of him right away after seeing his strange behaviour for the past few days. After teleporting himself a few times across the mansion he finally arrived in Remy's room. It was empty. The window was open wide while the cold air blew inside. Shivering, Kurt closed it.
Slowly he became aware that someone was crying outside of the room. He found that the door was locked and he unlocked it. Jubilee was outside, sobbing silently. When she realised Kurt was beside her she immediately stood up and began to leave. Kurt was swifter.
"Child, you will tell me what's the matter with you. Why these tears."
Jubilee wiped them, then shook her head. "Nothing. Really, I'm fine."
"There is definitely something. Now, Jubilee. Tell me. Why are you sitting in front of a locked room crying. And why did Remy left the window open while he's not inside."
Jubilee looked up to him. "He really did it?" Her eyes began to fill up with tears again.
Kurt's eyebrows rose questioningly before Jubilee realised that she'd just let the cat out. Then her inner reserves broke apart and amongst her tears Kurt learnt what had happened to Remy from Day One.
Driving wasn't his favourite mode of transportation, but Remy had to settle for it. He had no other choice; he had no personal savings and he wouldn't want to use the motorcycle in this snow. Fortunately the roads were clear by evening and the snow had somewhat melted away from the roads, so driving wasn't that dangerous. His thieving skills hadn't left him after all these years of abstinence, and Charles' MR2 Spyder Toyota became the latest proof.
The third card arrived right after the police had left. He had found it in front of the open window, lying there like some bomb waiting to explode when the right buttons were pushed. The ones in his head. This time he didn't question how it got there.
With a thick face he had asked Jubilee to interpret the meaning for him, to which she had stated a price: reveal this whole mess to the X-Men. He had agreed, with a backdoor plan slowly hatching in his head.
"This is the Ace of Swords card," she had said, her eyes glued to him, not trusting him to move even an inch. "It means you have to make a decision, and a very analytical one at that. But before you do, you have to remember that there are only two choices available. Once you picked either one of them, it's no turning back."
To Remy there was nothing analytical. It was an invitation to settle old scores, which he had tried so hard to bury beneath the sands of time. Now it resurfaced, sporting an uglier head and higher stakes. The decision he had chosen had led him to betraying Jubilee by locking her outside of his room and escaped through the window into the garage. Ultimately, to here.
"No turnin' back, huh?" Remy said to the rearview mirror, his sunglassed eyes stared back at him. Then his eyes fell upon a newspaper that lay on the seat beside him. It was an announcement of a hotel's soft opening named The Rapier in New York.
He never read or kept a newspaper in his room, but today he had noticed it was upon his bed, and the date was about two weeks ago. Just moments after he had found the card. It didn't take a genius to take two and two together to figure out what it all meant.
Slowly he began to hum to himself and then the words came tumbling out. He didn't feel remorse or anger this time, only complete peace. Au contraire to the lyrics he was singing.
Oh! Jour plein de larmes,
Où l'homme ressuscittera de la poussière:
Cet homme coupable que vous allez juger:
Épargnez-le, mon Dieu!
Seigneur, bon Jésus,
Donnez-leur le repos éternel.
Ah! that day of tears and mourning!
From the dust of earth returning,
Man for judgement must prepare him;
Spare, O God, in mercy spare him!
Lord, all pitying, Jesu blest,
Grant them Thine eternal rest.
What a great way to start a long journey.