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"Man is the only
creature that refuses to be what he is."
-Albert Camus
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Chapter Four: The Only Creature
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For the next few weeks, Nat spent her time relishing the thrill, and the panic, of not having to hide her abilities. At first, she did little more than make things spark, afraid of causing damage to Moira's facility as well as being relatively unsure how to focus such energies, but after the first few days she found that she could really let it fly. She would stand on the cliffs of Muir Island and send great flaming balls of fire into the air, where they would hang suspended like some sort of strange, fiery mobile floating on invisible strings, before coming crashing down into the sea. There would be a faint hiss and a trickling trail of black smoke as the throbbing display of heat and destruction was extinguished in a moment under the icy waves of the Atlantic.
One day early in the second week, a friend of Moira's, a red-headed man named Sean, came to the Island, and Nat watched, fascinated, as he shattered boulders with a scream. Nat hung back in the room when he came in for tea, in such awe that she was almost too afraid to say anything. Still, his appearance was like setting eyes on an angel compared to meeting Moira's son.
Kevin MacTaggart had the body of a freckle-faced nine-year-old, and a telepathic ability that could scare the devil into submission. Nat had been in his presence for barely a minute, silently following Moira as the older woman went to spend some time with her son, when she felt herself growing dizzy. When she looked around and saw the walls beginning to drip blood, she'd tried to make her way to the door, only to find it blazing with fire. And this fire was hot, even to her. Dogs were barking in the distance, as if her ears had been packed with cotton, and she remember the look of horror on Moira's face when the older woman whirled around, finally noticing that her young charge had followed her. By the time she fell to the floor, it was writhing with snakes, and, as suddenly as it had begun, things were normal again. Kevin had refused to eat for three days, shouting until he coughed blood, infuriated at the sight of his mother's gentle concern for the girl.
Nat wondered silently if this had been the way that Morgan felt at the sight of Lily's flaming nightgown, this sense of overwhelming terror in the face of someone, something, so much more powerful than herself. She collapsed on her bed in silence, a fever raging in her body and the threat of a different fever making her hands ache. Hank brought her water and offered soup and Popsicles whenever she stopped moaning in pain, but she turned away his kind offers with tears in her eyes. She clutched at her belly and stifled the urge to vomit, sweat springing up on her flesh. On the third day, when Kevin finally agreed to swallow a few bites of toast and a bit of tea, Nat's fever broke and she lay on her bed, shaking in her sleep, as Hank gently toweled her cheeks and forehead.
And Nat realized that she, too, was afraid of mutants.
Unfortunately, she was also afraid of the rest of humanity. With normal humans, she was afraid of their hatred, their anger and their fear. With other mutants, she was equally afraid of seeing herself: an outcast, a creature with incredible strength, rejected by the entire world. She was afraid of their power.
Moira was more than willing to discuss Nat's abilities with her, which in fact became something of a nuisance as time wore on. Usually it was in a clinical sort of way, while Hank stood behind the doctor and smiled sheepishly, shrugging when Moira's attentiveness grew to the point of annoyance. Nat was measured and poked and measured and poked some more, as Moira took careful notes on every little change in the heat of the fire she was generating, the distance that she could make it fly, the destructive capabilities of smaller, more intense blasts of heat, and the effects of her occasional headaches and blasts of fever. Often, though, Moira and Nat spoke of other things relating to being a mutant. Moira had no personal experience in the matter, of course, but she really appeared to know her stuff. She seemed to know when Nat felt bitter or confused about her "gifts", as Moira called them, even when Nat just sat there with her eyes on the ocean, not uttering a word. Apparently, the way she felt was pretty standard, Moira said. That didn't make it any easier, and Hank's repeated attempts to convince her that she was "normal, for a mutant" left her feeling rather trivialized.
But Nat never spoke of her fear.
She also had long talks with Hank, and the young man instantly struck a chord with her. He was the only other mutant that she had known on a personal basis (and been aware of), but he also had plenty of stories to share. He told her of a school he had attended as a teenager, across the Atlantic in New York state, where he and other young mutants learned to harness their abilities and learn to keep them under the tightest of control. He could speak of this place and the man who ran it at long length, with a wistful gleam in his eye that seemed to say it was far longer than two years since he'd been there, acting as a team member, student and teacher all at once.
And Nat dreamed. Mostly, now, the dreams of fire and ash and screaming for help were gone, and in their wake remained a new sort of dream, in which she could walk down the street and light a stranger's cigarette with her finger, and he would thank her, and no one looked at her strangely or hurtled insults at her back. She would awaken after these dreams and lie on her back in bed, twisting her hands in the sheets and staring at the high white ceiling, imagining what it would be like and simultaneously cursing and laughing at herself for her ridiculous notions. For the first time, she had experienced the rush of being herself in front of others and not being chastised for it, but it didn't seem to be enough. She wanted to be normal. Here, on this remote island with a brilliant scientist, a charming American mutant and a psychotic little boy, she could use her powers and not be attacked, but she was still the homeless little freak-girl dragged in from the cold.
Sometimes, the dreams were worse than the nightmares.
Nat had been with Moira and Hank for nearly four weeks when, over a supper of hot tomato bisque that seemed to coat the bones against the coastal storm blasting away outside, a phone call came in. Moira got phone calls all day, from this scientist or that researcher, but never after the hour of eight and rarely on the home line. Hank tipped his chair back slightly, surreptitiously trying to listen through the wall as Moira answered, and a great clear smile spread across his face. His blue eyes gleamed behind his narrow-framed glasses and he returned to his meal with renewed vigor as he gobbled up his soup.
Nat jumped up and ran to the other side of the table, nearly knocking over Hank's bowl in the process, and pressed her ear against the wall next to his head. He chuckled at her, but she slapped at his shoulder. "What is it? What's she saying? Come on—"
"If ye really wanted t' know, I'd hae told ye, Natalie."
With a little yelp of alarm, Nat skittered back to her seat, twiddling her thumbs in her lap and trying to look as if she hadn't been eavesdropping. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she managed only a sheepish smile in her own defense. Moira was back in the doorway, watching with a glint of humor in her eye, but Nat didn't pick up on it. Now I've done it, she thought, mentally banging her head against the wall.
Sensing Nat's horror, Moira smiled broadly and settled herself back in her chair, folding her hands daintily in front of her on the tabletop. Nat smiled back, but her cheeks reddened and her eyes were fixed firmly on the butter dish.
"Wheel, it sounds like we'll be havin' guests this weekend."
Nat started slathering a wheat roll with jam, watching her hands move as if she'd never seen anything like it. "Really? That's…nice."
Hank grinned even wider. "It's better than nice, dear girl, it's marvelous! Professor Xavier is coming to see you!"
Nat's hands went weak and the butter knife fell with a clatter, chipping the edge of the fruit bowl. The roll fell into her soup, making a fantastic splatter of red on the breast of her sweatshirt. "Coming to see me? Here? This weekend?" Nat's voice was shrill, her eyes widened like the clear green bottoms of old bottles.
Hank reached across the table and patted her pale hand with his enormous one. "It's not as bad as all that, I assure you. You'll undoubtedly like the professor, and he'll probably be bringing some of the students with him. I've been wishing that you and Jean could meet."
Moira's smile had faded, and her pale brow was creased. "I was sure tha' ye were going t' be thrilled…"
"I was. I mean, I am. I mean…that's great. Wonderful." Nat tried to smile but felt her eyes begin to fill with traitorous tears. Trying to smother them with her fingertips, she pressed them back into her eyes as if it would stop their flow. She turned away from the table, gulping at the air to regain some composure, utterly humiliated at her childish display. "I'm…tired. I'm g-going to go to bed early tonight. Sorry about the m-mess, Moira."
She pushed her chair aside and fled from the room, leaving Moira and Hank at the table, open-mouthed and stunned.
"I really was sure tha' she'd be thrilled…"
In her room, Nat was sat slowly down on the edge of her bed, which made a squeal of ancient springs, and stared out the window.
They were coming. To see her! Her eyes wanted to cry, and her stomach wanted to lurch about as if she were still on board the fishing boat that had dropped her here almost a month before. Her head wasn't sure what it wanted to do. Still ashamed over her apparent disregard of Hank and Moira's kind words, and of the professor's impending visit itself, she tried not to think about it. In the darkening evening, she sat watching the waves crash against the rocky seawall, wondering if Kevin could see the water from his room. She supposed so. It was an island, after all.
It was going to happen this weekend. It was Wednesday, so she still had a full two days on Muir before they came. What if he brought all of his students? She'd seen pictures and listened patiently to Hank's stories. That was more than enough for her. But what if they wanted to bring her back with them? Back to their school, where she'd be living with all of them, all those dangerous freaks and oddities? Then again, would it be so bad if that's what they wanted? Surely Moira wouldn't force her to go. Would she?
A bitter rage at the entire situation rose in Nat's throat as an angry howl. She hurled her pillow at the wall and wished it would break something, disappointed as it landed harmlessly on the top of the dresser. This had only been her room for a month. It wasn't fair for it to be taken away so soon.
As easily as the fury, a new sense of guilt was beginning to creep up on her. She was hating these people before she even met them. It was simple enough to hate someone that you didn't know, Nat knew this better than most people, and she was beginning to feel a bit sorry that she hated them so much already. In the end, they were like her.
But that was exactly why she was afraid of them.