Part Two




Confutatis maledictis*




He was barely aware that Rogue was holding his shoulders. "Gambit, what's the matter?" Instead of answering he pushed her aside and bolted out of the room. Piotr was quick to catch her, avoiding her falling onto their makeshift snack table. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," Rogue whimpered as Piotr released her slowly. "But I don't like that look he had in that red eyes of his."

Jubilee was silent. She noticed the way Gambit had watched her for a split second before he ran out of the room. She didn't like it either.



Gambit ran into the hall and out of the door. Outside the grass was wet from the midnight dew and the air was cold; the winter remnants still clung to the air. He glanced around wildly and through the main gate as if looking for something. Or someone.

"Where are you!? Where are you, dammit!!" shouted Gambit. The sighing breeze answered him and nothing else.

"You're dead! Dead! Die and never return!" His knees buckled, he fell onto the wet grass knees first and began to punch madly at the grassy ground. "DIE!"

"There he is," Rogue said as she ran out of the door towards Gambit. "Gambit! Can you hear me?" Behind her Piotr and Jean walked out.

He kept on punching the ground madly, occasionally hitting his head. "Gambit, honey, what's wrong?"

Suddenly Gambit froze, his fists clenched tightly, the tendons on his neck strained tightly that Rogue could see the tension under the poor light. Small stifled sounds escaped his lips, almost inaudible if not for Rogue's close proximity. He let out a long pained sigh before he collapsed. Rogue shouted his name aloud as she caught hold of him.

"Somebody get the doctor! I think he's epileptic!"



"Hey mister, move it."

Half a mile away, at some forgotten side of Westchester near the small church, two punks closed in to an old man who had his arms akimbo. "Yeah," said the second. "Move on. This here's our territory."

As the old man turned, both felt a brief stab of fear. A strange smell wafted from him, much like a rotting carcass. The old man grinned at them, not amiably but a cross between something obscene and frightening. The first punk poked the second in the ribs; he slowly stuttered out a threat. "You gotta move, old man." Adding to the effect he showed a slender penknife. The second smiled and confidence started to show on his face.

"My dear children," said the old man with an alarmingly cold voice they both would have sworn they heard it cracked somewhere. "You wouldn't try to mug an old man, would you?"

"Heh. Anyone who passes this spot gotta pay, you haggard piece of meat." He flipped the penknife skillfully. The other took out a long plank that had nails sticking out at the other end and started to swing it dangerously. "Some way or the other."

"Do you know that it's bad manners to talk like that to your elders?" the old man asked them calmly.

Haughtily the first punk replied. "Tell that to my dead elders, grave-bait!"

A sudden change in the old man's expression made both of the punks wished they never crossed him. "Don't worry. I'll send you both to meet them. Personally."

A moment later the nuns inside the small church who were on their nightly vigil heard some unearthly screams. It seemed so close that they hastened to finish their prayers earlier than usual. For the past week the neighborhood had became rather dangerous.



It was morning when Gambit finally woke up. Immediately his head began to ring. He had to sit still for a minute or two before it slowly went away. Moaning loudly he tried to stand up, but his feet wouldn't comply. His painful moan reached Hank's ears who was reciting 'Macbeth' to himself to while away the time. In a second he was beside Gambit who moaned continually.

"How's the Cajun? Better?" Hank asked as he helped Gambit to stand.

"Uh… if you t'ink ringing heads are a good sign den Gambit is damned fine." He held his left temple; seemed to him that the pain was coming from that area. "What happened?"

"I should have guessed you didn't remember. That bump on the head looks pretty serious to me. I'll tell you the abridged version. You played bridge with Rogue, Piotr and Jubilee then someone called. Next thing we knew you ran out and started to imitate an angry bull. Then you suddenly went all frozen that we thought you got epilepsy."

"Gambit never had one," he said, groaning.

"Well, so we thought. Fortunately you stabilized when we got you here and stable you have been until now." Hank sat him down on a comfortable chair, got him a mug of hot coffee and pushed towards him a plateful of cookies. "I'm going to call on Rogue. She wanted to sit here but I asked her not to."

Gambit nodded gratefully as he sipped from the mug. When he saw Hank reached for the phone and started punching the buttons everything flooded back into his head like opened floodgates. He had to let the mug down and gripped the sides of the chair to restrain himself from the pain. Eyes closed now, he began to recall what actually had made him 'frozen', as Hank had called it.

Tired travelers and candles all alight
Spray on the white walls with red to my delight
Tonight you see me tomorrow no more I.

Like insistent nursery rhyme the words played in his head over and over again. Gambit tried to stop the ricocheting terror and finally did as he slowly opened his eyes.

It was like opening a manhole with an elephant sitting over it. What he saw when he opened his eyes was the worried face of Hank, Rogue and the not-so-concerned Logan. "Hell, I should like to see that again," he remarked insensitively. Rogue's gloved hand found its mark on his earlobe and pulled it.

When the angry growls from Logan was over attention returned to Gambit. "Gambit, what's the matter? You had us spooked out."

Tiredly he asked, "What happened?"

"You didn't know? You sat there, writhing with pain like someone gave you electrocution. Then you started to bang your head on the table - good for you Hank moved it before you did further damage to yourself."

"Don't know," was all he could say. "Can someone give me some paper and pen?"

Hank quickly supplied them and Gambit started to jot down the words he heard just now. "Tell me what you t'ink about dat," he said to Hank when he was done. Hank studied the paper closely and stared at Gambit suspiciously when he was done.

"You're sure you didn't lose any bearings when you banged your head out there?"




"You say this was a message?"

Xavier stared at Gambit. He scanned his mind earlier, and he came up with nothing suspicious, like brain damage or something attributed to temporary insanity. "Yes," he replied firmly.

"From who?"

"Louis du Boudreault," said Jubilee as she stepped into the hall calmly.





*when the wicked are confounded

To be continued...