Ororo, Sean and Emma arrived at an empty mansion. Since the student body had been shifted largely to the Massachusetts academy, only the junior students remained here, and it being a long weekend Storm guessed they had left to visit parents or friends. But someone should be here; Warren's frantic call had made clear the emergency. "What a warm welcome," said Emma sardonically, setting down her expensive Gucci bag. Storm dropped her school duffel on the foyer floor next to it.
"Jean? Logan?" she called out. "Warren? Anyone home?" Her voice echoed back against the high ceiling, but no one returned her call.
"There's nae a soul around," said Sean. Emma closed her eyes briefly and then nodded.
"No one's here. Perhaps dear Warren is becoming hysterical?"
"Warren Worthington and hysterical are not words I would put together readily," said Storm. "You saw the newscast on the plane—someone believes Logan murdered Mariko Yashida." The abbreviated in-flight broadcast had not revealed the death of Kurt, or any of the other events leading up to the deserted mansion.
"Rotten bit," said Sean. "Logan doesn't deserve that kind of an accusation."
"The NYPD has him on tape," said Emma.
"Tapes can be faked," said Storm more sharply than she'd intended. Emma turned one ice-blue eye on her.
"We're all upset, Ororo. I didn't mean anything by it." Storm sighed and smoothed back her hair.
"I know, Emma. I'm going for a walk. Perhaps Jean and the others are out back." Sean shrugged.
"I think we've been stood up, lass, but go check." Emma hefted her bag and went upstairs, probably to take possession of the cushiest guestroom. Storm walked through the kitchen, which was in an awful state, and out the back door. The basketball court and back lawn were deserted. She quickly levitated and checked over the fence in the swimming pool, but it too only bore a few wet towels, no people.
"Logan?" Storm called again. "Jean?" She looked around at the gathering twilight. "Anybody?" Making a small ball of light to see, she walked past the poolhouse and down the path towards Professor Xavier's rose garden. The garden was small, really four hedged walls, a gazebo, some benches, and some prize-winning bushes that had been there when the Professor moved in. Storm thought she saw a flicker of movement at the edge of the arched hedgerow. She moved forward again and stopped, feeling an unreasonable fear prickle up her spine. She made her light brighter, moving her hand over the hedge, which gleamed blackly but showed no sign of life. I'm paranoid, she thought. She took another step forward, and then the wind blew and the thing sprang out violently at her. Storm let out an abbreviated scream when she saw it was a piece of black cloth caught on a twig. "For the love of the Bright Goddess," she sighed, disgusted with herself. "You're hopeless, Ororo." She extinguished her light and felt her heart return to a normal pace.
"Hey 'Ro," said a voice from behind her. Storm screamed in earnest this time, spinning around and rising slightly in the air on her flight reflex. "Hey, geez," said Logan. "What's eating you?" Storm shut her eyes, feeling her hands trembling.
"I'm sorry, Logan. You startled me." He grinned.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to." Storm crossed her arms.
"Where have you been?"
"Right here," said Logan.
"Didn't you hear us calling?" Storm demanded. Logan shook his head.
"Nope. Not a sound. What're you doing here, anyway? You were supposed to be doing a hitch in Massachusetts." He sounded almost accusatory. Storm bristled.
"I came back because I heard one of my best friends had been accused of murder, and the murder of one of his oldest friends yet. Excuse me for caring."
"Hey hey, 'Ro, don't be like that," he laid an arm across her shoulder in a familiar way. Storm saw something black in his hand.
"What's that?"
"A present," said Logan as he slammed the slave collar home.
Jean had been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours or days, she couldn't tell. The collar muting her psionic powers was putting her slowly but surely into a fugue state, and being starving, aching and tied to a pole with a deranged psychopath tormenting her didn't help either. She held her head up with some difficulty as she heard a door open above her, over the ever-present sound of dribbling water. That if nothing else was surely going to drive her crazy. She heard footsteps and then the basement door opened, letting in a slash of light. He was dragging someone, had their arms twisted up in a military grip. The person was putting up one hell of a fight, but Jean could see the red light of another collar around their necks. "Will you stop movin'?" the false Logan growled. Mad, he still sounded like Wolverine.
"I will when you release me!" snapped the other person. Jean's eyes snapped open.
"Storm?!" Storm squinted into the dimness.
"Jean! Jean, what on earth are you doing here? Has Logan gone mad?" Jean could hear the panicked edge to her voice even without mental powers.
"It's not Logan," said Jean. "It's just a…"
"I am a replication of your dear Wolverine," said the clone. He smiled at Storm. "But I'm as near as you'll ever come to getting close to him." He chuckled.
"I hope you burn in torment for many eternities," said Storm in a voice laced with hate.
"Funny. Ms. Grey said basically the same thing when she met me." He tsked. "You ladies sorely need work on your manners." He shoved Storm hard, and she tripped over a cardboard box and went down. "Now," said the clone. "We have a little test for you, Jeannie dear. I believe in the saying 'known thine enemy.' So if you answer my questions correctly, Ms. Munroe will live. Scarred, but alive. If the answers aren't to my satisfaction…" He smiled, teeth gleaming in the blue light. Jean swallowed. She looked at Storm, who she could tell was in shock, her eyes bright and wide.
"Ask me," she said through gritted teeth. He took a few steps towards her, reaching out a hand to stroke her knotted, dirty hair. His hands weren't callused and knobby like Logan's. They had the articulation of a craftsman or an academic—or someone who had spent his entire existence in a padded cell.
"Tell me how you felt, when, after screwing with my dear compadre's head and heart for so many years, you found out he was a selfish, arrogant bastard who cared nothing for you?"
"He cared for me," said Jean. The clone shook his head as if she were a small, delusional child.
"No, Jean, because men like Logan have cold hearts. He does not care for any woman for more than a few hours. Next question: after all the travesties you've been responsible for, as Phoenix and others, and all the heartache you caused a reasonably decent if very boring man, do you think you deserve to live?" Jean looked at him. His question had struck a buried, painful part of her mind. She dropped her head to her chest. He grabbed her chin between two fingers and forced her eyes to his. "Do you think," he said slowly, "that you should die for your crimes against humanity?"
"It wasn't my fault," Jean whispered, feeling tears go down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to hurt those people."
"But you did, didn't you?" said the clone. Jean jerked her chin away from him, pressing her eyes shut as the tears flowed out. The clone slapped her, and grabbed her neck so hard he almost dislocated her jaw. His furious eyes burned into hers. "Didn't you!" He shouted.
"Yes!" Jean shouted at him, wanting the gaze burning with madness to go away. He stepped back from her, went over, and yanked Ororo up by her ponytail.
"And do you think you deserved to die?" Jean shook her head, tears scattering like a salty mist.
"No." His claws came out.
"Wrong answer."
Logan would never win an award for the world's best driver, but right now he was scaring even highway daredevil Jubilee. "Jesus H. Christ on a crutch!" shouted Raven as they almost took a semi head-on. "Would it kill you to watch the road?"
"He's gonna kill us all regardless in a second," said Jubilee.
"Gotta get back to the school," muttered Logan, almost as if he were in a trance. They jumped a median and cut through two lanes of speeding cars to make the turn onto Greymalkin Lane. "That's what he said, and he has her." He looked at Jubilee. "She's alive. For now." The arrived at the school, half-parked on the lawn, and Logan exploded out of the passenger side. Jubilee noticed the rented Lexus parked more conventionally in the drive.
"Emma and Sean are here," she said. Raven was following Logan, who's cell phone was already ringing off the hook.
"You tell the others!" he shouted, making a hard left around the school and heading for the back yard. Jubilee changed course and went inside to inform her former headmistress of the situation.
"You hurt her and I swear, I'll make your death so painful the adamantium will feel like a pinprick!" growled Logan as he jabbed the button on his phone.
"Now now, manners, Wolverine," said the voice. "And Jean is not harmed. She's too valuable. However, she is very uncomfortable, and I'm having such fun seeing how much pain I can subject her to." In the background Logan could hear screaming.
"Jeannie!" he bellowed in frustration. "Goddamn you! Goddamn you!"
"Now that was just rude," said the voice. "I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Do you want to hear where I am or not?" Logan had reached the back of the school, and his practiced eye scanned for any sign of his clone, even though he knew the sadistic bastard was most likely far away.
"Where are you?" he said, his voice the quiet tone that smart opponents knew to be a thousand times more deadly than his growl.
"Ah, I'm so close," said the voice in singsong. "So close and yet I could be so far away. Bit of a dilemma, eh?" The dial tone buzzed in Logan's ear. Behind him he heard Emma, Sean, Jubilee and Raven come piling out the back door.
"Jubilation told us everything," said Emma. "What can we do?" Logan's mind was racing. He loved riddles…and he also loved to taunt. So close and yet I could be so far away…I could be so far away…I could be so far away…
"Son of a bitch, right under my nose…" Logan breathed. He took off at a dead run for the boathouse.