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Chapter 10
Release
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The air smelt thick with kerosene. Warren stared at the small house that had
become his retreat from reality. Now it would turn to ashes.
He had learnt her real name when they first announced her name along with the pictures produced by the coroner. Heather Warwick. He shook his head.
The champagne bottle was now almost empty. He threw it inside, along with the rest of the stuff he had used for committing the crimes. He knew, after this he wouldn't be the same. He had killed people. Young men, in fact. Young men, who could have had great future waiting for them.
He wouldn't try to reason with himself right now. He felt everything in him had become some sort of twisted and his logic was irrevocably tainted. What he had done, he had done it. And that should be the way it remained.
Thank you, thank you…
Her voice echoed in his mind. Warren shut his eyes and blindly threw a lit match toward the open door.
I would have…
He stood back as the fire burnt brighter, tongues of flame reaching the roof and engulfing it with prodigious speed. He walked on, the flaming house behind him, a lonely, dark road ahead.
I would have…
Warren entered his Honda, closed the door with a slam and sped off. His sight was blurry by now.
I would have…
When Warren finally came to the main road he had to stop. The tears in his eyes were distracting -
Distracting? Damn you! Distracting is when you go to a strip club and look at the women! This is not distracting! This is REAL, man. REAL TEARS. Men cry for the ones they love, man. Do you love her?
"No…" he weakly protested.
Do you love her?!
Warren shook his head defiantly. He hit his head on the wheel continuously, trying to stop the voice that was his own.
Do you love her, Warren Worthington III?!!!
"GODDAMMIT I LOVE HER!" he shouted, tears jerking away from his eyes as he jerked up his head. "God, help me… I loved her…" He covered his eyes with his arms, almost like hugging his own head. "I loved her… I loved her…"
The small litany was drowned in his tears.
The stationmaster saw a tall blond man in black coat and black shades walked toward platform number seven. He had this small bouquet in his hands. Curious, the stationmaster stood there watching. It was almost two in the morning and no one was here except for those who had arrived on the late train.
The tall blond man knelt down. The stationmaster's mind moved; something he had never told anyone before. Something about the body of the girl who jumped in front of the train to kill herself.
"I can't help but notice," someone said behind him. Warren turned. Through his black shades he saw an elderly fat man in uniform of the station. On the left breast was emblazoned STATIONMASTER. Under it was Hope. How appropriate.
"What are the roses for?" the man asked. Warren held out them to him for a while then hid them again. "For someone," he replied.
"You mean the girl who died here?"
Warren closed his eyes.
"That was a sad story, young man," the man began. "I saw with my own eyes how empty she looked as she stared across the platform and jumped when the train was only coming in. They had to use a crane to lift up the locomotive head because some of her… er, body, was squished all the way under."
Warren opened his eyes. He stared at the railway track. There was no blood there, now.
"The only thing that was intact was her lower body and her arms. I was among the one who tried to take out the body." He paused, as if struggling to take something out of his tight uniform pocket. "In one hand I found this."
Warren turned around, this time curiously. "She had this in her hand. It was so tight I had to pry it open with my small screwdriver. I thought it was a small rock or something. I didn't know why I never told the authorities about it. It could have helped them some, but then again, it might not be important."
Warren stared at what the fat elderly man had given him. It was a note, crumpled so badly you could hardly see the writings on it. Very few blood was on it, though, and the writings were still visible, if not barely.
I would have wanted you
Warren felt his eyes sting with unshed tears. He wanted to take off his shades, but the fat man was beside him.
"I'll leave you alone," the man said, as if reading his mind.
When he was far enough Warren unfolded the note and stared at it. Anger had been too long riding upon him, now it was gone and sorrow replaced it. He felt overcome. He had to sit down. Then he broke down and cried like a fool.
Warren sat there staring at the note and the tracks for a few hours. Before he left he placed the three roses on the railway track, put on his shades and went home.
This time to Xavier's mansion. He needed distraction from this feeling… from a small voice that kept on saying thank you and the lips that touched his in a chaste kiss.
From his true love.