The dial tone sounded. Logan looked at the phone, his fist squeezing tighter and tighter, crushing the plastic case. "Logan," said Jean, coming to his front. Logan's eyes were the clouded ones of a shock victim. Jean grabbed his shoulders and shook. "Logan!" He jolted and looked at her.
"He's dead," he said. His voice was dull.
"Who?" said Jean patiently. "Who was that?"
"He's dead," said Logan again. Suddenly he erupted by Jean, claws flashing out, slashing her bed and mattress and flinging the frame on its end. "HE'S DEAD!" Logan screamed.
"Who?" Jean shouted. Logan let out a primal cry, one Jean hadn't heard from him in a long time. She tried to stop him, but he shoved her so she overbalanced and sat down hard on the floor, then raced out the door and down the hall. She heard his boots go down the stairs, and then a moment later a motorcycle roaring away.
"Jubilee, is his bike still gone?" said Jean wearily the next morning. She knew she had blue rings under her eyes, and her hair wafted around her head in a messy cloud. She had canceled her morning classes and sat at the giant kitchen table with a mug of Kurt's industrial-strength German coffee. Jubilee was making her morning health-food concoction at the stove.
"It's gone," she confirmed. "He hasn't called, either." Jean laid her head down next to her cup.
"Why did I get this mess dumped on me, Jubilee?" The younger woman shrugged.
"Can't help you there, Jean." She tasted some of the colorless porridge on the end of her spoon. "How is it a mess, anyway?"
"Logan thinks Victor Creed is playing with his mind. He got a telephone call last night that upset him, and now I think he's gone off to dismember Victor, or something equally impulsive. Logan is like a walking tornado—you never know which way he'll blow next, or who he'll blow into."
"Victor sent you that package?" said Jubilee in surprise. "I thought…"
"What?" said Jean, turning her head slightly to look at Jubilee.
"Oh, nothing," said Jubilee. "It doesn't matter, stupid thought." Jean was too wiped out to question.
"Okay. Tell me if he comes back."
"Yeah," said Jubilee. Jean got up; holding her coffee mug like it weighed a thousand pounds, and traipsed back to her room. Jubilee didn't interrupt her bleak state by telling her Mariko was arriving that night, and after she ate and left to teach her period, she forgot it too.
Mariko rubbed her eyes as she got off the Korean Air 767. The huge jet was luxurious and accommodating, but sitting on it for twelve hours would test anyone. She also had the added stress of not knowing how her reunion with Logan would turn out. She brushed the strands of hair in face behind her ears, and straightened her wrinkled cotton pants. Her eyes scanned the departing crowd anxiously. He was standing back, outside the carpeted area of the gate. He had his perpetual unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth, and Mariko sighed, even over her nervousness. The filthy habit was what had annoyed her most during the time they shared. She noticed with approval, however, that he had trimmed his hair and shaved. In fact, he looked more polished than she'd ever seen him. He was even wearing black cotton pants, instead of grimy jeans. Mariko smiled slightly. This would be all right. "Hey, Mari," he said as they met in the walkway, taking her coat and carryon bag with an easy motion.
"Konnichi wa, Logan," she returned. "Ogenki desu ka?" He looked at her.
"Right." Mariko chuckled.
"You're incorrigible, Logan, pretending you don't understand me." He laughed.
"Yeah. Ain't I a riot?"
"Aren't I," she corrected automatically. Logan responded with his typical sigh.
"Nice to see you again, sweetheart." He slipped an arm around her shoulder. Mariko hid her surprise.
"You said something about Jean the last time we spoke," she said, then cursed her tongue.
"Eh," Logan shrugged. "She's not doing it for me right now." His hand massaged the round of her shoulder. They were walking among the people like a couple. Mariko felt a tiny thrill. They claimed her bag quickly and then Logan led her out to the car park, his arm having migrated to her waist.
"Logan-sama," she said, stopping. "Are you sure about this?" Logan pulled her along again, Mariko almost stumbling.
"Yeah, darlin', what's to be sure about?"
"Well for starters," said Mariko, digging her heels in. Her feet simply skidded; Logan was too strong. "You have not seen me for nearly two years." Logan stopped then, and looked down at her, almost a leer. The expression looked odd coming from him, and Mariko felt something curl in the pit of her stomach.
"You're as good as ever, Mari, 'less you've let yourself go in some way I can't see." Mariko bristled.
"That is highly unlikely." Logan jerked her on again, yanking her around a pylon to a nearly empty, dark section of the garage. Mariko let out a breath when she saw the silhouette of his jeep. Then her anxiety rose again when Logan pinned her against the pylon, his breath hot on her neck, the taste of him close.
"Missed you, Mari," he whispered. Mariko felt her heart pounding. This was wrong, terribly wrong… Steel blades gleamed in the feeble garage light. The last thing Mariko saw was a terrible smile; the last thing she heard was her own scream.
It was two a.m., and Kurt was the one who answered the pounding on the front door of the mansion. Wrapped in a red plaid bathrobe and faded pajama bottoms, inky hair ruffled, he was the last thing the two police officers expected to see. Kurt was too used to the reaction, and too tired to care. "This the Xavier Institute?" said one suspiciously.
"Da," yawned Kurt. "How may I help you?"
"May we speak to the head of the institution?" said the other cop. Kurt stood up. They were too wide-awake, too brisk for his liking.
"What's this about?" The cops shifted uncomfortably. Kurt knew they were debating whether to tell the blue mutie anything.
"There's been a murder," the first one said finally.
"I don't understand this," said Jean, when she had been woken and shown the two NYPD homicide detectives into her study. Jubilee and Warren were also up and standing anxiously in the background.
"The deceased had a card with this address written on it," said the first officer. "This address."
"Who has died?" said Jean. She was struggling to keep her calm.
"Her wallet gave her name as Mariko Yashida, a resident of Japan." Jubilee clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Oh my god! Mariko is dead?" The detectives, Jean, Kurt and Warren turned to her.
"You knew the deceased?" demanded the second detective.
"Well, yeah we all did!" said Jubilee. Her eyes were wide. "She was coming over here to visit Logan…I forgot." Her cheeks colored. Jean glared.
"What are you saying, Jubilation?"
"Mariko phoned the school number and said she was visiting. I forgot to tell you, Jean. I'm sorry." Jean let a breath out through clenched teeth.
"What's your name?" said the first detective, standing and coming over to Jubilee.
"Jubilation Lee," she said quietly, aware of Jean's glare on her face.
"Ms. Lee, can you tell us about this?" said the detective. He took a plastic bag out of his pocket. Inside was a white scrap of paper, blood droplets liberally scattered over it. Jubilee felt her stomach lurch. The ink was still visible through the red. Hastily scratched Japanese characters, and a phone number.
"It's Japanese," said Jubilee almost mechanically. Blood…
"We gathered that much," said the detective. "What's this number? What's the writing?"
"What's the relevance of this?" Jean snapped, standing up. The second detective held up his hand to placate her.
"It's Logan," said Jubilee, the shock of Mariko's blood wearing off. "The writing is a name. Logan. And this is his cellular telephone number." The second detective closed in on her as well.
"This Logan, would he be about five foot six or eight, black hair, kind of wild looking?" Jubilee nodded.
"Detective…" said Jean, but her voice wasn't angry so much as shaking with trepidation.
"This Logan," said the first detective in perfect concert with his partner. "Is he a mutant? A mutant with some sort of…weapon in his hands?"
"He has claws," said Jubilee. Jean shoved between the detectives and crossed her arms.
"What is the meaning of these questions?"
"The meaning, Dr. Grey," said the second detective, "is that this Logan is the man we have on tape. Killing Ms. Yashida."