Disclaimer: I feel adventurous today. I'm going to forego the disclaimer and see what happens. I mean, it's not like Marvel's gonna start pointing guns at me and threatening my life, right? *bottomless pit suddenly appears beneath feet* Oh, for the love of - !

A/N: Okay, I told myself to jump right into this chapter after posting the last one, which I did. However, I didn't take into account the time I had to spend researching - not that I utilized everything I researched! So anyway, that's my lame, half-assed excuse for the week! ; )

~ T., Mag Carter, Jean1, Lucky439, Christy S, Katalina, Sarah Coldheart, Kia Purity - Thank you so much! Your encouragement means a lot! *calls out elves to distribute candy canes* (Yup, that's right, I've got elves! I'm that influential. : )

~ ishandahalf - You can tie yourself into a straitjacket unassisted?! Wow! That's talent, my friend! ; ) So, from what I can shift out of your post (Much appreciation, btw, for the long reviews!) you had two main concerns, both of which are addressed in the following chapter. Hope that helped, 'cause Lord knows most of the time I'm useless when it comes to things like that! ; )

~ Bitchy Little Pixy - First off, love your screen name! Damn, why didn't I think of that? Second, glad to know I'm not the only looney toon around here! We should all get together and form a club or something! And lastly, Rogue? I don't know... I'm just the writer. The plot bunnies don't tell me anything...

~ Matthew - Thank you for the kind words about the story! At this point, I'm debating whether or not I should feel sorry for you. Of all the stories you could have come across on this site, you stumbled upon the one with the author whose fics come with high-risk insanity factors attached to them. ; ) Nonetheless, welcome back to ff.n!

~ Sujakata - Well, I can tell you that the flashbacks are an integral part of the story so I doubt we've seen the last of them. That being said, I gotta ask, where the heck did you get postal pigeons?! We've already got more than our fair share of rabid plot bunnies running rampantly around the site! We can't handle another species from the animal kingdom!

~ Disturbed Courtney - You can put on your own straitjacket too?! Why aren't you people on some kind of TV show? Oh, before I forget… *wrestles little Remy out of Courtney's grasp* He has to finish the story! Let go! Courtney! Don't make me sic Rogue on you!

~ TrinityC - Okay, so let's recap, shall we? We have two people who can slip into their own straitjackets, and now TrinityC's singing karaoke while hanging off a cliff! Can nobody else see the TV potential here?!

~ lovelyaceinthehole - Thank you very much! I appreciate the time you took to tell me exactly which scenes appealed to you and why. At least I know I'm not screwing up completely!

CHAPTER 3
Mary

"So, I bet you're wonderin' why we came over," the sheriff commented, bringing the coffee mug to his lips while watching Remy from over the rim.

The nineteen-year-old Cajun's eyebrow rose ever so slightly. "De t'ought did cross m' mind," he responded casually. But in truth, Remy was sure he already knew the answer.

The entire town had singled him out since the time he was seven. Whenever something troublesome or out of the ordinary occurred in Hazard, the first person that came to everyone's minds was little Remy LeBeau. They were quick to think of him when Molly Cliffton tripped and broke her leg not three feet away from him. Or when the high school star quarterback came down with a severe case of pneumonia after eating in the diner. They even went so far as to whisper his name in connection with the dry spell they experienced one season. It didn't matter how ridiculous the speculations sounded, they were sure that everything odd that occurred within their town was somehow a result of Remy's presence.

The devil's spawn, as some called him. No normal child should have been born with eyes that burned like fire, they said. Of course, the words were not supposed to reach Remy's ears, but with Hazard's entire population murmuring them back and forth, it was impossible not to overhear. The town's tall tales burned through the grapevine for several years before slowly but steadily dying down. Just as Margaret had promised, the townsfolk had gotten used to his unusual eyes. Though still slightly favoring the other children over him, they more or less accepted Remy into the community.

Until the young boy became a young man.

Puberty hit Remy during his twelfth year, and along with it, his rather destructive kinetic powers announced their arrival – in a none too subtle manner. The first time his mutant abilities manifested, several full-grown trees simply exploded in the blink of an eye. Remy was lucky that the nearby houses were spared from the resulting inferno. The incident, however, resurrected the whispers and murmurs that had been dead for a number of years. If possible, they were stronger and more outrageous than before.

Remy soon learned to erect a shell around himself as protection against the hurtful words that floated about. He would pretend that it didn't bother him at all, but both Margaret and his mother knew better. The jovial manner and devil-may-care attitude fooled neither of them. Remy was learning to become a loner as a defense against the stories being stirred up about him.

With that reminder suddenly popping to the forefront of his brain, Remy wondered what he'd done – or rather hadn't done – to set off the residents of Hazard that time. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the deputy wandered over to inspect the framed photos once more. It struck Remy as odd that both men were so interested in that particular part of the room. He caught what was supposed to be a discreet glance between them and wondered at its meaning. But before he could dwell any longer on the exchange, the sheriff spoke up.

"You know Reverend Johnson's girl? Marie?" he asked, fixing his gaze on the young man before him. "You two are pretty close, aren't you?"

Outwardly, Remy's demeanor didn't change. Inwardly, he was confused.

Marie?

- oOo -

It was another lazy summer afternoon. The sun was unrelenting in the sky, glaring at the earth intensely. His forehead creased in exertion as he fought against a particularly stubborn nut and bolt. Eventually, Remy felt the bits loosen beneath his wrench. With a grunt of satisfaction, he straightened and began alternatively stretching both his arms to work out the kinks. He then peeled off his shirt and used the cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow. He stared at the piece of machinery standing before him. It was still far from anything that resembled 'good working condition,' but he was determined to return it to its former glory.

A long, low whistle drew his attention. He turned to see a young girl standing in the garage's Main Street entrance.

"That's some piece o' work," she commented, smiling amicably.

From the distance that separated them, Remy could see that she was tall for her age, but still a couple of inches shorter than he was. Her face bordered the fine line between youthful and mature. He estimated that she was also sixteen years old, if not younger.

Her words, as well as her whistling, stroked a cord in his male ego. He was standing, shirtless, next to a piece of fine motoring hardware. Which 'piece of work' was she referring to?

He cocked an eyebrow and let a tiny smirk play across his lips. "Merci, chère. I work out." He could see the slight blush that rose to her cheeks when he deliberately misconstrued her words.

"Ah was talkin' about that," she corrected, pointing to the motorcycle he'd been working on.

With mock disappointment, he said, "Oh." He threw a grin in her direction to let her know he'd been teasing her.

She returned it with one of her own and moved further into the garage, examining his handiwork. "Nice choice. A Harley FXB Sturgis. Early eighties?"

He paused a moment, startled that she would know the manufacturer much less the model of the bike. "Eighty-two," he confirmed.

"How's it run?"

"It doesn't. Bought it from a guy couple o' towns over. His poppa was de original owner. T'ing was, he died less dan a year after he got it from de dealer. His son's been keepin' it in deir garage all dis time – in mem'ry o' his poppa, 'cause he loved de bike so much."

A look of sorrow came across her features as she turned back to the motorcycle. "That's so sad."

"Oui," he replied, taking in a deep breath to continue his impromptu tale. "De son didn' share his poppa's enthusiasm f'r bikes, but he jus' couldn't bring himself t' sell it 'til now. S'been over a decade since someone's ridden her, much less turned de ignition. Engine needs t' be looked at, maybe change couple o' parts, work on de rust spots an' give it a new paint job. Plus, I plan on addin' in some o' m' own modifications."

"Looks like you've got yoah work cut out fo' ya. But at least you got somethin' ta work with. You ain't startin' from scratch. You could be done with ev'rythin' in 'bout six months or so."

"I could," he agreed, picking up the wrench he'd left on the ground, "if I were workin' on it ev'ry day. T'ing is, I barely get in an hour each week."

"Busy chasin' skirts?"

He smirked. "Somet'in' like dat."

She turned back to the bike. "Eighty-two, huh? Did you know that was th' last year o' FXB production?"

Again, he was shocked by her knowledge of what was primarily considered 'boys' toys.'

"Li'l bit o' trivia," she added, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "They also had to layoff almost half o' their workforce that year."

"Was also de time dey started de custom-paint program. Not t' disrespect de deceased or not'in', but lima-bean green?"

"Ah was gonna ask you 'bout that. 'Til you mentioned th' new paint job yoah gonna do."

"Any suggestions, chère?"

"Ah'd go fo' pure black, if Ah were you," she said thoughtfully. "Black's always classic."

He smiled. "I'll take dat under advisement." He walked slowly over to his workbench and deposited the wrench he was carrying. "So, how is it dat a pretty femme like yaself knows so much 'bout bikes?"

Dryly, she replied, "Ah don' know if Ah should take that as a compliment, or an incredibly sexist remark that only guys can know 'bout stuff like this."

"How 'bout we stick wit' de first one?"

"All right," she conceded, smiling. "Mah daddy has a friend who's a motorcycle nut. He restores them an' then sells them off ta dealers. He usually handles th' older models, though – fifties, sixties, sometimes older. Ah used ta help him out a lot." Her eyes brightened as an idea struck her. "Ah could help you, too. That is, if you wouldn't mind."

Remy nearly choked at that statement. Combining his two favorite hobbies, motorcycles and pretty girls? There wasn't even need to mule over the decision.

"On one condition," he stipulated. He could have sworn her face fell slightly at those words.

"What?"

"You give me de pleasure o' knowin' ya name."

"Oh!" She suddenly became flustered. "Where are mah manners? Here we've been talkin' fo' a good ten, fifteen minutes an' we ain't even been properly introduced."

"Well, if we're gon' be proper 'bout it den I'll be a gentleman an' start." He made a show of bowing formally, one hand at his stomach, the other across his back. "Bonjour, mademoiselle. Je suis Remy LeBeau [Good day, miss. I am Remy LeBeau]."

Dropping into a curtsy, she returned with, "Bon après-midi, monsieur. Je m'appelle Marie Johnson [Good afternoon, sir. My name is Marie Johnson]."

Once again, he looked at her in amazement. "Parlez vous Français, chèrie? [You speak French?]"

"Kinda. Ah understand it more'n Ah can speak it."

Mmm. When will dis fille stop surprisin' me? He flung his discarded shirt over one shoulder. "So, since ya offered t' help fix up de bike, I'm gon' assume ya moved inta town?"

"Jus' t'day, actu'lly. Daddy's th' new reverend over at th' church." She fingered the handlebar of the motorcycle. "So, Ah guess Ah'll be seein' you there ev'ry Sunday."

He shook his head. "'Fraid not, chère. 'M Catholic, born an' raised."

She smiled wryly. "Ah shoulda figured. New Orleans?"

"Yup. An' yaself?"

"Mississippi. Down by th' river. Jus' like this town." She glanced at him hesitantly and then shyly inquired, "Remy, Ah know we jus' met an' all, but could Ah ask ya somethin'?"

He had a feeling he already knew what she was going to ask. "Sure, petite. What's on ya mind?"

"Yoah eyes... are they really like that?"

Bingo. In the back of his mind, Remy wondered how long it would be before the rumors hit her full force. He was pretty sure that once she'd heard them all, her offer to help with the Harley would 'mysteriously' disappear.

"Uh-huh. Had dem all m' life." He didn't really feel like elaborating any further than that. Why bother, when she would more than likely walk out the door and never return?

Marie fell silent. Then slowly, she raised a hand to her hair and undid the binding. Remy was surprised to see the sharp contrast of brilliant white against her auburn locks. It had been skillfully hidden within the complicated folds of her French braid.

"Ah'm usually not too shy 'bout it, but Ah didn' want ta go through all th' curious stares an' questions on mah first day in town," she said by way of explanation.

Remy nodded. He knew the feeling.

"Marie?" a voice called from outside the garage. "Honey?"

"Ah'm in here, Daddy!"

A tall, middle-aged man with the same shade of brown hair as Marie appeared in the entryway. "There you are, sweetheart. Ah just passed by th' general store. Ah think we should stop in before we head home, and see what we'll be needing."

"Sure." Marie took her father's hand and led him over to Remy. "Daddy, this is Remy LeBeau. Remy, this is mah father, David Johnson."

"How're you doing, son?" Reverend Johnson greeted warmly, extending his hand.

With a nod, Remy accepted it. "Can' complain, m'sieu. An' yaself?"

"Good, good. Weather's kind of hot today, isn't it?" the older man asked conversationally, but Remy caught the quick and meaningful look toward the shirt hanging from his shoulder. The tone he was using wasn't the typical are-you-trying-to-seduce-my-daughter, I'm-threatening-you-with-your-life-if-you-are type of tone. It was more of a gentle suggestion, a warm warning towards propriety.

"Not'in' out o' de ordinary actu'lly," Remy replied, slipping back into his shirt.

The reverend smiled. "Well, we should be going, Marie. Still have a lot of unpacking ta do. It was nice meeting you, Remy."

"You, too."

"Bye, Remy," Marie said, about to follow her father out the door.

"Marie," he called. He waited for her to turn before adding, "Jus' wonderin' what grade you'll be in come fall."

"What grade will you be in?"

"Eleventh."

She smiled sadly. "That's too bad. Ah'm a year behind you. Ah'm gonna be a sophomore. But it's a small school, right?" She resumed her trek out of the garage. "Maybe Ah'll make a pest out o' mahself an' hang 'round you constantly."

Remy grinned as she disappeared around the corner. He certainly hoped she would.

- oOo -

"Hey."

Marie turned from the contents of her locker to come face to face with Remy. "Hey yoahself, sugah."

"You busy?"

"Yes," she answered sorrowfully. "Ah am swamped with th' strenuous activity o' gettin' out o' this school before th' teachers decide ta add another period ta our day."

"Well den, have no fear, petite. I'm here t' whisk you away from dis hellhole. Follow me."

Ten minutes later, they were walking through a grassy field and turning into a small cluster of trees.

"Where are we goin', Remy? Main Street would be a li'l ways more down that road we got off of."

"I'm hurt, chère. Don' you trust me?"

"Not if yoah gonna lead me inta a snake pit, no."

He laughed. "Jus' want t' show you somet'in'. Don' worry so much." Lifting a low-hanging branch, he gestured her forward. "After you, mademoiselle."

"Why thank you, kind sir," she drawled, deliberately emphasizing her accent even more.

"Keep goin' straight. You'll know when we get dere," he informed her when she hesitated before him. "So, how was ya first week in de nuthouse?"

She threw him a smile from over her shoulder. "C'mon now, school ain't that bad."

"Not f'r some," he joked, but Marie could hear a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"It's been okay so far. Ev'ryone's pretty friendly. Oh!" She turned suddenly to face him, an enigmatic smile tugging at her lips.

"Quoi? [What?]"

"Th' guidance counselor was suggestin' that Ah take some extra credit classes, an' guess what Ah took."

"Mrs. Roberts' course on needlepoint?"

She looked at him in indignation before swatting him on the arm. "No!"

"What, ya too good f'r needlepoint?"

"French class, ya swamp rat! Ah'm takin' up French!"

Although he didn't show it, secretly he was pleased. At least there was one way they could break down the academic barrier of junior and sophomore status that separated them in school.

He forced a look of perplexity and timidity onto his features. "You tryin' t' stalk me, chère? First comin' t' de place where I work, an' now takin' m' classes. We should t'ink 'bout maybe gettin' you some professional help."

She scowled at him before turning on her heel and venturing forward once more. "Ah'm seriously beginnin' ta wonder why Ah hung out with you all summer."

"'Cause o' de charmin' good looks an' debonair style."

"Yeah well, far as Ah can tell, those qualities are gettin' overshadowed by th' cocky attitude." She stepped past the last of the trees and came to a stop just before the riverbank. The river itself was fairly quiet, flowing with the untroubled ease of a baby sleeping. The trees that lined both banks were a good couple of feet from the water's edge, their branches drooping down and shading the area with a canopy of leaves. "It's beautiful."

"Ya like it?"

Nodding, she remarked, "It reminds me o' th' ol' Mississippi back home."

"T'ought it might. C'mon," he said, motioning her to follow him once again. He led her further up the river until they came to a large fallen tree. The ample trunk stretched before them like an organically designed sitting area in Mother Nature's living room.

"How perfect!" she exclaimed, resting her books on the bark and hoisting herself up. "Lord, Ah think Ah could sit here all day an' not get tired o' th' view."

He nestled down beside her. "Know 'sactly what you mean, chère."

There was something about his words that made Marie feel he'd done just that on a number of occasions. "How'd this tree get like this?" she asked, hoping to get his mind off whatever had started to bother him.

"Tornado passed t'rough here 'bout five years ago, knocked her down clean. But her roots are still secure in de ground. She's still growin', jus' sidetracked a li'l. Kinda like people, I guess." He smiled, returning to his previous devilish manner. "But de best part is behind us."

"Huh? What're you – ?" Following his gaze, she caught sight of the small, hidden area at their backs. It looked big enough to hold at least four people comfortably and she was willing to bet that it was perfectly concealed from view.

"I used t' come here a lot. Jus' hang out an' t'ink a bit."

"'Used to'? You don' anymore?"

"Haven' been out here in a while, not since I started workin' at de garage last year. Any free time I've got goes t' helpin' m' maman or fixin' up de Harley wit' you."

She pretended to frown at him. "You should've taken me here sooner, Remy. It looks a lot like Caldecott. 'Cept th' river's a li'l smaller, o' course."

"O' course." He glanced at her. "You wan' lay down an' rest some?"

Looking at him quizzically, she replied, "On th' tree bark? Kinda uncomfo'table, don'cha think, sugah?"

He smirked. "Not on de tree. On de grass, in de li'l 'cove' in back o' us."

"Ah don' know, Cajun. You know how hard it is ta get grass stains outta yoah clothes?"

"Well den, make sure you don' roll around in it like a dog, belle." He slipped down from the trunk and into the shelter of trees. He pulled a large checkered blanket out of his bag. With several flicks of his wrists, he shook it out and spread it along the ground. He made a show of bowing to her and indicating the covered grass. "Ya bed awaits you, mademoiselle."

At the word 'bed,' Marie stiffened. "Remy LeBeau, did you bring me out here ta try an' seduce me? 'Cause Ah can tell ya right now, Ah'm not gonna stand fo' somethin' like that, mistah."

He blinked at both the speed with which she delivered her words and the words themselves. "Non, petite. S'not'in' like dat. S'jus'... jus' t'ought I'd share dis spot wit' you. I mean, we've been gettin' along great f'r de past couple o' months, an' I..." He sighed. With more confidence, he declared, "Look, maybe dis was a bad idea. Maybe we should jus' head on home."

She slid down next to him. "No, Ah'm sorry, Remy. It's jus' that... well, you gotta admit that it looks kinda suspicious. Ah mean, secluded area, romantic settin', blanket." She pointed to the cloth beneath their feet.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, he quipped, "Ya t'ink pretty highly o' yaself, chère, if you believe I look at you in dat way."

"That goes double fo' me, Cajun." She gathered her books and settled down on the blanket.

He watched as she opened one book and began thumbing through the pages. "Homework?" he asked.

"One o' th' finer points o' high school. Teachers load on more assignments than even th' good Lord would approve of. Ah'm surprised you ain't bogged down with them yet."

Stretching out, he drew his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. "Who said I ain't? I jus' got a more effective system."

"You wait 'til th' last minute an' then cram like crazy?"

He grinned back at her. "Knew dere was a reason we're such good friends."

"Well, Ah don' have th' luxury o' yoah slaphappy lifestyle. School's always been kinda hard fo' me an' Ah gotta work at it."

"Why?"

"What d'you mean why? Don' you think finishin' high school's important?"

He shrugged.

"Well, Ah do. Ah'm never gonna get out o' these small-time towns if Ah don' apply mahself." She glanced down at him. "What're you gonna do after high school?"

"Don' really know. Never really t'ought much 'bout leavin' Hazard. Dis is where m' maman plans on stayin' an' 'm not sure I could leave her by herself. What 'bout you? You plan on goin' off t' college in a big city?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation. "Well, college is still up in th' air at this point, but Ah do wanna travel up ta New York. Ah mean, Ah love mah daddy an' ev'rythin', but sometimes Ah jus' feel like there's somethin' missin'. Y'know?"

He nodded in understanding. "So, you jus' gon' go sightseein', or do you actu'lly plan on havin' money an' makin' a livin' up dere?"

"Promise you won't laugh?"

Remy almost did laugh at the cautious expression on her face. "Cajun's honor," he swore with a wink.

"Like that's worth anythin'," she muttered.

"Ahh c'mon, chère. Promise I won't laugh."

"All right." She took a deep breath. Casting one last glance at him, she announced, "Ah want ta go ta New York ta become an actress." She waited for him to burst out into hysterics. When he didn't, she turned to look at him. He was serenely regarding her, as if he expected her to continue with what she was sharing. "What, no snappy comment 'bout how ridiculous it is?"

"No," he answered soberly. "Why should I laugh at someone else's dreams? If it's important enough t' be considered a dream, den it's important enough t' take seriously."

She was humbled by his response. "Thank you," she whispered.

He acknowledged her with a slight smile. "You gon' remember me when ya a big star out dere in de world?"

"'Course Ah will," she said cheerfully. "Ah'll come back here ta Hazard, an' pick you an' yoah momma an' mah daddy up on mah private jet. An' then we'll all go off ta eat dinner in some city in Europe."

"Which city?"

"Whichever ya want. It's mah private plane, ain't it?"

"Dat's a nice dream, petite. Don' you lose dat, y'hear?"

She laid down on her stomach next to him. "What 'bout you, Remy? Don' you have a dream?"

He looked at her sadly. "T'ink I f'rgot how t' dream, chèrie."

The melancholy behind his words almost broke her heart. Although she'd spent a lot of her time in Remy's company over the past few months, she still didn't know that much about him. She knew he and his mother were originally from Louisiana, and that they moved to Hazard when he was just a boy, but the other details were sketchy at best. The rest of the townsfolk had been more than eager to share the gossip and stories they'd been fabricating over the years. But she simply couldn't equate the 'devil' in their stories with the charming, sharp-witted boy she met on her first day in town.

She glanced at him once more. His head was turned toward the fallen tree next to them, looking out into the clear country sky. She couldn't help but think how peaceful he looked, as if being in that one spot, out of all others on Earth, was enough to settle his restless spirit.

"Remy," she began, drawing his attention back to her. "Ah've been meanin' ta ask you. Yoah... yoah a mutant too, right? Like me?"

He studied her a moment before answering, "Oui."

"Can you do stuff? Ah mean, do ya have powers?"

Instead of responding, he began rustling through his bag. Finally, he pulled out a can of soda. He stood up and placed the can several feet away from them, further into the cluster of trees. She watched in fascination as he seemed to meditate over the can, touching the top softly with his finger. She noticed a faint hint of magenta spreading across it. Eventually, he rose and retook his seat next to her. She eyed him curiously as he found a pebble lying close to their blanket. With a precision that astounded her, he tossed the pebble toward the can. It skimmed off the top and exploded in a fountain of soda and aluminum.

"Wow," she breathed. "How'd you do that?"

He shrugged. "Don' really know. Jus' know dat I c'n make an object glow like dat. Den when somet'in' hits it, it explodes."

"An' ya know how ta control it?"

"Didn' used to. Took me a while t' get it under control." He gestured to the area outside their cove. "Dat's why I came here a lot when I was younger. I was tryin' t' handle m' powers. De whole place was a bunch o' scorch marks. One o' de reasons nobody else would come near dis spot. Dey t'ought I was doin' all sorts o' black magic an' devilry."

"Wait a sec, you mastered yoah powers on yoah own?" she asked incredulously.

"Wouldn't actu'lly say I 'mastered' dem, chère. Dey're managed enough so I don' go 'round blowin' t'ings up."

"Even still, that's impressive."

Remy was pleased with the compliment. He'd never had the opportunity to talk about his powers in a positive light before. They had always been something to reign in, to be careful about. When you were capable of blowing a person away – literally – bragging about the ability seemed like the last thing to do. Especially in a town like Hazard.

"What 'bout you, petite?" he asked. "C'n you do stuff?"

She smiled and set her book aside. Scooting closer to him, she took his hand in her own. As she peered down at their joined flesh, an expression of intense concentration came over her face. The look was so severe, Remy was afraid it would permanently mar her soft features. Closing her eyes, she knitted her brow even further. A moment later, she smiled again.

"You had bacon an' eggs fo' breakfast this mornin'," she reported, her eyes still shut. "With lots o' spices. An' you were jus' a couple o' seconds shy o' bein' late fo' first period," she gave him a disapproving look, "'cause you were watchin' a horror flick on TV last night."

"How did you know dat, belle? You a mind-reader?"

"Kinda." She reached over and picked up a pebble. A familiar pink glow soon engulfed it. With a flick of her wrist, she threw the stone into the underbrush. A second later, a small pop was heard, followed by a thin wisp of smoke.

Remy turned to her in confusion, one eyebrow quirked in question.

"It's in th' touch," she explained, raising their joined hands for emphasis. "Whenever Ah touch someone, Ah can absorb their thoughts an' mem'ries. Since yoah a mutant, Ah can absorb yoah powers, too."

"So, you got dem f'rever now?"

"No. Whenever Ah borrow powers, it's only temporary. Ah lose them eventually. Ah only had th' connection open fo' a li'l while, so Ah didn' get much o' yoah mem'ries. But if Ah'd held on longer, Ah could've seen yoah whole life."

He let out a low whistle. "Dat's a pretty cool power t' be havin', chère."

"If you would've told me that when they first came about, Ah'd've cussed you out fo' all Ah was worth."

"Why's dat?"

"'Cause mah powers come with their very own side effect. Whenever they're activated, th' person Ah'm touchin' blacks out an' doesn't come to fo' some time."

"But ya touchin' me an' 'm jus' fine," he pointed out.

"Well, that's only 'cause Ah can control it now. Ah couldn't back then." She released his hand as the expression on her face grew distant. "We had a neighbor back in Caldecott; her name was Raven. She was a mutant too, an' she helped me ta learn how ta control mah powers.

"It was a really rough process. Th' first year, Ah couldn't touch anybody. Always had ta make sure Ah was covered from head ta foot. Can you imagine goin' through life that way? Not bein' able ta touch anybody at all? Took Raven an' me almost three years ta do it, but Ah certainly think it was worth it." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Ah miss her."

"Do you still keep in touch wit' her?"

"No. Ah wrote her a couple o' times since we moved out here, but she hasn't written back."

A silence fell between them. It went on undisturbed for several minutes until Remy finally decided to break it. "Is dat what dat pullin' sensation was? Ya powers takin' a piece o' me?"

"Yeah. It didn' hurt you, did it?"

"Non. Jus' makes me wonder what would happen if you held on too long."

She sighed. "That's not 'sactly somethin' Ah wanna be thinkin' about. One time back home, Ah held onta a boy fo' too long an' he ended up in a coma fo' a week. Ah was walkin' 'round fo' th' longest time thinkin' how wrong it felt peein' sittin' down."

He cracked a smile at her comment, but then sobered when a thought hit him. "Does it hurt you, Marie, when you use ya powers?"

Her eyes became distant once again. "Not anymore. It used to. Raven showed me how ta turn them on an' off. Most o' th' time Ah leave them off, so Ah don' have ta worry 'bout bumpin' inta people. But whenever Ah have them on, an' Ah'm stoppin' th' flow o' someone's mem'ries like Ah was doin' with you, Ah kinda get tired. Like Ah was runnin' 'round th' track in gym class all afternoon." She shook her head to clear it. "You know what, Ah'm gettin' sick o' talkin' 'bout mah powers. Let's talk 'bout somethin' else."

"All right," he conceded. "So, ya t'inkin' o' headin' up t' New York after high school. How're ya plan on gettin' over dere?"

She stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Well... Ah figure walkin' is a sure thing. Plus, there's th' added bonus o' all that weight Ah'll lose. 'Course it'll take me 'bout a year ta get there, but it's not like Ah got an appointment or anythin'."

"Oh, ha-ha, petite."

She grinned. "Okay, fine. Honestly, Ah was thinkin' o' flyin' or maybe rentin' a car an' drivin', but both o' those options are gonna cost a lot o' money – money that Ah don' have. So, Ah figured Ah'd jus' catch a ride with anyone who's headin' east, maybe jus' share gas money or somethin'."

"Ya gon' hitchhike?! Chère, are you crazy? Do you know how easy it would be f'r a psycho t' pick you up an' kill you wit'out a second t'ought?"

"Stop bein' so melodramatic, Cajun. People aren't as bad as yoah makin' them sound. 'Sides, Raven didn' teach me how ta defend mahself fo' nothin'."

"Nuh-uh," he declared, shaking his head firmly for emphasis, "you ain't hitchhikin' up t' New York."

She wanted to laugh at his overbearing expression. "Yoah bein' ridiculous, Remy. One, Ah ain't graduatin' fo' another three years. An' two, Ah don' 'sactly have a lot o' options, y'know."

"I'll take you."

She did a double take. "What?"

"I'll take you," he repeated. "On de Harley. I'm sure we'll be done fixin' it up by den."

"We've only been friends fo' a couple o' months..." she said, astounded by his offer.

"So?"

"So, yoah offerin' ta ride halfway across th' country with someone ya jus' meet a couple o' months ago?"

"You were t'inkin' 'bout hitchhikin' wit' people you don' even know."

"Yeah, but they wouldn't be goin' out o' their way fo' me."

"Can' 'sactly let you thumb a ride, now c'n I? An' you a preacher's daughter t' boot. How d'you t'ink I'd get inta Heaven wit' dat on m' shoulders?"

She was still shocked by his proposal, but passed it off as nothing more than friendly banter. After all, the date in question was still a handful of years away. No doubt he would eventually forget his casually thrown promise.

Playfully poking him in the chest, she warned, "You better watch what ya promise me, sugah. Ah'll hold you ta that yet."

- oOo -

"Remy?" Sheriff Miller waved his hand in front of the vapid expression on the young man's face. "Remy, did you hear what I said?"

Snapping back to attention, Remy blinked. "What?"

"I was askin' if you an' Marie Johnson were close."

Remy quickly regained his composure. "Oui," he replied. "I'd say so. We're friends."

The older man leaned back in his seat. "When was the last time you saw her?"

Remy's mind whirled. Where were these questions leading? "Why?" he asked.

"Just answer the question, Remy," Deputy Stephens ordered.

"Non." The two men looked almost shocked at his outright defiance. "I'm sorry, m'sieus, but what's goin' on?"

He saw another look being exchanged between them, neither bothering to conceal their actions. In the end, it was the sheriff who answered him.

Watching intently for Remy's reaction, he said, "We got a call from the reverend early this mornin'. Marie never made it home last night."


*GASP!*

All hail the return of the cliffhanger!
(C'mon, guys! You knew there had to be at least one!)