Part 3



Blood on the Wall





All heads turned to her. She didn't look at them but fixed her stare at Gambit who was by now biting his lips to the extent of close to drawing blood.

A long silence followed that if a pin dropped it would echo throughout the mansion. "Kiddo. Reality check. Louis died. His head got blown off. I won't be alive if that were me," Logan said.

"I know. I saw it," she replied, still staring at Gambit. "I was there, too."

"Then why this boisterous theory, Jubilee?" Hank said. "We all were certain he's dead."

"Ask Gambit," she said simply. "He knows better than I do. I know because he looked at me last night. The way he looked at me - it was the same look he had given me when I wanted to tell all of you about Louis the first time around."

By now Gambit was gripping the sides of his seat. He turned from Jubilee's stares to the muted television, which had news on, unable to fight her accusing stares.

"Now I don't want to see him repeat that mistake. It's better for me to tell all of you before he decides the opposite. The last time I didn't, it cost two lives." Jubilee looked away for a moment and coughed nervously. "Gambit, please tell them what you know. This time let us all help you."

But Gambit wasn't paying attention. The muted television presented something else. "Someone please turn up the TV," he said suddenly.

"Gambit we're trying to talk to you now, how can you think of TV at times like this - "

"Turn up dat DAMNED TV!"

Kurt threw the remote to him; it hit him in the ribs but Gambit didn't care. He turned the volume and braced himself.

"… in the vicinity of western Westchester, near the St Christopher Chapel early this morning two bodies were found in what the coroner had described as melted. No further information were released, however the authorities were thinking that it could have very well been a gang fight, although the question of how the bodies became to be in their present state is still in the air…"

Gambit's eyes traveled to the background. Nuns lining just outside of the gated church, curious. Some however had ventured outside and continually crossed themselves as they scrutinized the gate wall.

The once all-pristine whiteness was marred by a splash of blood, long since it had dried.

"Goodness, how did those people die? Look at the blood," Jean remarked.

"It seems more like spurted than splashed upon," the scientist in Hank said. He leant closer. "Did someone record this?"

Gambit nodded. It had been a premonition for him to press the 'RECORD' button. Slowly he said, "It's him. Louis du Boudreault."

All eyes went to him. "Explain." Xavier was staring at him. It was a demand not to be denied.

He took out the paper he had presented to Hank earlier and gave it Xavier. "It is him. You'll know if you read dat carefully, professor."

Xavier took the words in with careful consideration while Jean asked Gambit, "Why are you sure this is Louis? Didn't you kill him? Didn't we all see him die?"

"Gambit know friends and enemies, and Gambit remember dem."

Emma paled. "Was - was the person calling last night - "

"Oui, m'mselle Frost."

"Tired travelers and candles all alight… St Christopher, the patron saint of travelers… candles… church. Spray on the white walls with red to my delight…," Xavier's eyes went briefly to the TV screen and returned his attention to the paper again. "Tonight you see me tomorrow no more I… he's no longer there today. Very sneaky." Xavier remarked as he stared at the sentences. "He sent you these?"

"Right after he called Gambit." Gambit held his left temple; it throbbed duly. "Gambit don't know how, but it hurts a lot. Gambit know no other person knew the motto for L'Enfants en Terriblè* underground access." He ran a nervous hand across his voluminous hair. "An' both are dead."

"That person could be an impostor," Elisabeth said who had been watching silently the entire conversation.

"Non, non… that is not acceptable," Gambit said as he resumed his attention back to the television. "Even the best impostor couldn't fake dat anger and hate." He shuddered. "'Sides, old French is rare. Et rien ne demeurera impuni."

Hank rose his blue eyebrows. "That is old. Reminds me of something…" Hank closed his eyes and just as quick re-opened them. "Nil insultum remanebit… nothing unavenged remains." He groaned. "Oh boy. Here we go again."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked, his pupil-less eyes blinking questioningly.

"The last time Gambit consulted me about this same thing." He faced Gambit. "It seems your friend, if he is indeed still alive, has - or had, whichever way you like - a deep interest in these passages of mass for the dead."

Gambit nodded slowly. "Gambit asked you that time 'cause Gambit wondered whe'er any other hidden message in dem. Gambit knew."

"So, the last question. How in the hell did this turd crawl up from his stinkin' gravehole?" Logan asked. "For Pete's sake, his head got blown off!"

"Sometimes, Logan," Piotr said, glaring at him at the moment Logan swore by his name, "anger could even bypass the boundary of life and death."

"So, you're suggesting we have a zombie that killed two people and sent 'Zombie has been here' messages to Gumbo?"

Xavier stared at the sentences carefully, his forehead wrinkled in deep thought. "Probably more, Logan, everyone." He looked at them, and then at Gambit; he was biting his nails nervously. "Probably more."

The rest of the day was spent in waiting. Gambit was the worst; now and then he'd stare at the main gate through the open door he'd ordered no one to close. As if expecting someone to appear, or more likely from his current condition, not to appear.

"I don't know how long will he sit there and stare at the gate," Rogue remarked to Logan who busied himself with a newspaper. "I mean, come on. For goodness' sake we all saw du Boudreault's head went to smithereens!"

"Told them, but no one listened." Logan flipped another page disinterestedly. "Probably that Cajun's got all shook up from that thing with good ol' Mel." He shook his head. "I still miss her."

Rogue nodded. Melinda had been a cook in the institute for over five years and only after the shocking tragedy that took her life did everyone knew she had been Remy's mother whom everyone thought had died. "I would be, too, if I learnt the same thing too late," she sighed. "But I still don't get this thing. What could possibly made Remy jump into such… such extreme conclusions?"

Logan snorted irritatedly. "Goddammit, Rogue. Go somewhere else with that chatterbox of yours! I'm trying to read here!"

Rogue eyed him strangely if not curiously. "You read a newspaper?" she asked, disbelief evident in her voice. "As long as I can remember you're allergic to the sight of it."

Uncomfortably he shifted in his seat; Rogue was right. He never read a newspaper in his life. Now he sat here and browse through classifieds and sports, browsing but not really taking in whatever that passed his sight. Suddenly he stopped flipping through the pages.

Rogue meanwhile was about to exit the hall when Logan swore softly under his breath. "Holy Mary Mother of God - "

Almost at the uncannily exact time Remy rose from his seat and walked slowly outside. For a split second Rogue was torn between her curiosity of Logan's discovery and Remy's strange act, but her concern for Remy outweighed the curiosity. She followed him outside.

Outside, the clouds had started to darken and the sun was disappearing at the west, coloring the skies with bloody red and orange streaks. She could hear the wind moaning almost mournfully as it passed them - or were they voices? She couldn't tell - and watched as Remy stood fixed on the ground, staring at the gate that was closed shut.

Inside she heard Logan raising hell with whatever he had found in the newspaper.

Closer she moved towards Remy until she was close enough to hear his heavy breathing, labored and shaky. Although the atmosphere was pleasantly warm for a spring evening, she suddenly felt a blanket of freezing air covered the whole yard. It made her shiver.

"Remy?" she asked as she touched his right shoulder. "Let's get inside."

She could only see the back of his head as it shook in negation, but if she saw his face she'd be afraid for his life. "No. You go back inside," he said, his voice unnaturally cold.

"Remy… I know something's wrong." Her voice now was a mere fearful whisper. "I think I know something's entirely wrong. But this time, no one's gonna let you face this alone. We're all behind you. Now come inside." She tugged at his sleeves, motioning for him to move but he stood steadfastly still.

Strangely, too, Rogue began to cease all movements although the better part of her brain literally screamed for her whole being to move. She felt the coldness reached deep into her bones and fancied she could feel it began to chew on her.

A clear voice that seemed to cut through the cold air reached them. "Remy! Rogue! Get inside this instant!"

Shaken, the cold seemed to suddenly lift up from around them, and only then did Rogue started to move and tug at Remy's collar despite of his protests. As both Remy and she raced to the mansion she could almost feel the same cold sensation enveloped their atmosphere again, and the mere thought of it shook Rogue's being to its core.

Stepping inside the mansion, as she closed the door was both the hardest and most wonderful feeling Rogue felt. Turning to Remy she found him still facing the gate although the solid oak door had completely obscured his view. Suddenly he gave out a long high-pitched whimper as he collapsed onto the floor.

"REMY!"

Jubilee made a buzzing noise with her drink. It echoed in the pristine interior of Hank's personal underground lab.

Ray Quinton and him were watching the recorded news again and again. "As far as I can tell there's nothing funny about the whole picture, Hank," Ray said as he paused the scene where the bloodied wall came into view. "Looks A-OK to me."

Hank leant closer. "Still I seem to displace my thoughts on the oddity of that blood on the wall. Something's terribly wrong, but I can't seem to put my finger on it."

"Maybe it's because those nuns," Ray pointed out.

Hank eyed him strangely. "What about those nuns?" he asked pointedly.

Ray heard the tone in Hank's query and he raised a scandalous eyebrow. "Nothing of the sort you might be getting in that brain of yours, Hank. I mean nuns and blood don't generally mix. Nuns are supposed to lead a quiet, peaceful life while crime scenes are far from these holy servants of God should even come close to."

Hank returned to the paused scene. "Mmmm. That's a thought."

"Have any of you think of the ad Logan found late this evening?" Jubilee suddenly asked after all of her methods of distracting the men had failed miserably. If you can't beat them, join them, said the old adage. "Came up with anything yet?"

Ray raised a hand and shook it in negation. Hank stood up and shambled towards a table and went through a wad of papers until he stopped at a certain one and lifted it up against the fluorescent lamp. He fixed the reading glasses he had on as he said, "I wonder where did he find the time to even contribute this ad. When do you suppose the final hour for ad submission?"

"I'd say before evening," Jubilee vaguely suggested. "They have to print the newspapers by night, right? That way the ad will come directly on the next morning newspapers."

"We'll go to The Westchester Daily tomorrow. In the mean time, let's get acquainted with this very puzzling piece of poetry our supposedly dead friend has sent us."

"Will you stop with that attitude already?!" Jubilee suddenly exploded, much to the surprise of Hank and Ray. "Will no one believe Remy except for me? What I see in his eyes when he woke up just now is nothing but hatred and fear. Fear for du Boudreault and for us. His fear is real enough I could describe to you how it tastes exactly down to a sliver. I know this threat is real enough because the way he looks at me each time our eyes meet. It's like back in the time when I first came upon him and he told me what was threatening him. And look at you. Look at your attitude!

"Don't you even care to think why did he act so strange nowadays? No Hank, don't give me any psychological jargons on his condition; I've had enough of tittle-tattle in my head to last a lifetime and I don't need more. He is facing a threat so horrible he could not even dare himself to tell us. He knows something we shouldn't, yet here you shake it off like some mote of dust. That's been your attitude towards him for as long as I lived here. You take everything from him a little bit too lightly."

Satisfied, but not triumphant, she watched their surprised looks and prepared herself to walk out when Hank's voice called out to her.

"Do you suppose we all think like that, Jubilee?"

She stopped and replied, "From what I can see, yes, all of you think alike."

"Yes, it's rather clear, isn't it?" he said, much to Jubilee's surprise. "But we can't help it. I can't help it. Throw in the fact that Louis du Boudreault is dead, plus Remy's recent probable psychological trauma, this all could have been induced by nothing more than his," - here Hank paused for a less offensive word - "fancies."

Jubilee's eyes narrowed. "What?" It was more like a hiss.

"Post-psychological trauma. He could have suffered it and could have been unconscious of it. But now it's taking - "

Jubilee's narrowed eyes shot first to Ray and then Hank, and later back to Ray like some silencer. Both had stopped talking. "I never think you guys could be so dense. Fancies? How can you explain the ad?"

"Remy could have placed it himself without ever remembering doing so," Hank said rather unwillingly.

"Oh, my. Now what? A double personality complex? Come on, Hank!" Exasperated she rose her hands in contempt. "You can do better than that," she sneered.

"It is a possibility," Ray endorsed Hank's opinion, fueling her anger. "In fact there is a case - "

Jubilee was already outside of the lab and banged the metallic door noisily as she went out. Ray stared silently as he transferred his eyes onto Hank. Hank shook his head.

"I should have insisted on the paneled wooden door." He sighed. Then he returned his attention to the newspaper cutting of an ad Logan had found earlier that evening. On it were written:

ladybug's a nifty insect
she likes to come at noon
rainmaker's prefer white
so come with a long spoon.

Under it was the name they all knew whose owner's head was blown to pieces before their very eyes.

"What I'm really intrigued of is the fact that Remy has been cleared sane by the Professor himself. He could find no faults in his head this morning he had examined Remy; Remy even begged him to perform the test. I begin to think that Jubilee is quite right. Remy is in contact with this dead man… somehow." Ray scratched his head as he turned off the television and getting ready for bed.

"If that is so," Hank said gravely as he replaced the ad inside one of his folders, then placing it in his drawers before locking it, "then we better start praying for deliverance from evil."

Somehow the last sentence got stuck in Hank's head and he could never quite get it off from his head.

Not until the next morning.

To be continued...