Morgan Rolled down his car window and grunted. He unclipped his seatbelt
and checked the address that Creed had given him. It was the right house,
but not at all what he was expecting. He looked at the large house that was
surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns and protected by a high white iron
fence, and wondered what a kid from this sort of place was doing with a
group like the friends of humanity. He got out of the car and walked across
the road to the ornate iron gate in front of the house, and noticed an
elderly black man walking towards him. He wore a wide brimmed hat which
cast a shadow over his entire face. Morgan nodded at the man, who reached
the gate and looked through the white bars at him. "The Blacksmiths have
been expecting you," He said as he unlocked the gate and swung it open.
"Mr. Creed called and told them you would be coming."
Morgan held out a hand and smiled. "Vic Morgan. Pleased to meet you."
The older man shook his hand. "Eli Halliday."
Eli turned away and began to walk up a well tended gravel path, not waiting to see if Morgan was following. Morgan caught up with him and looked around the lush grounds that hemmed in the path. "Nice garden," He commented, making sure Eli knew the compliment was directed at him.
Eli smiled and looked sideways at Morgan. "I just make sure it looks like Mrs. Blacksmith wants."
"How long have you been working for the Blacksmiths?" They were approaching the steps that led to the front verandah. Eli shrugged, and sighed, took of his hat and wiped sweat off his brow with his forearm. He looked at Morgan with tired, chocolate brown eyes. His short hair was almost white, and it glistened in the sunlight.
"I worked for old Mr. Blacksmith back when I was younger," He said, playing with the hat in his hands. "So I'd say a good while now."
"They good people?"
Eli shrugged again. He gave Morgan a frown at the question, his mouth set into a hard line. "Can't say that they've been anything but fair to me in my time," He put his hat back on, and wiped his hands on his trousers. "But that dont count for anything." He paused, looked back at the big white house in front of them, and said, "You're here to talk with them about young Jeremiah, I take it."
Morgan nodded. "Thats right."
Eli shook his head. "If old Mr. Blacksmith could see that boy today...." He let his sentence die, and looked back at Morgan.
"You're not fond of him?"
Eli laughed softly, humourlessly. "He made it hard to be fond of him these past few years. But he used to be such a good boy...." Eli began to climb the stairs, and Morgan followed. Morgan knew the old man had said what he had to say. There would be no use questioning him further.
Eli walked across the verandah and stood beside the door. When Morgan joined him, he opened it and they entered the Blacksmiths home.
Morgan was hit by the smell at first; jasmine, citrus and lavender mixed with antiseptic and furniture polish. It looked like every surface that could be polished, had been to within an inch of its life. His reflection glided past on hallway table tops, picture frames, and the honey coloured hardwood floors. Eli led him to a large room with two velvet sofas in the middle, one on either side of a long polished coffee table.
"Sit down," Eli said to him. "I'll fetch Mrs. Blacksmith."
Morgan watched him shuffle out and sat on the closest sofa, almost half sinking into its soft cushions in the process. He righted himself and looked about the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, and there was a faint smell of disinfectant in the air. There were no other furnishing in the room save for the sofas and the coffee table.
The clicking of high heels on the hardwood floor heralded the arrival of Mrs. Blacksmith. Morgan rose as she entered the room. She was a striking woman with iron coloured hair and pale skin that showed only the slightest signs of ageing. She wore a simple blue dress, and clutched a tattered hankercheif in one hand and a photo album in the other. "Mr. Morgan," She greeted him, with a strong voice.
"Thankyou for meeting with me, Mrs. Blacksmith," He replied, and shook her offered hand. She took a seat on the other sofa, tucking her legs in and smoothing her dress with heavily jewelled hands.
"Senator Creed called a short while ago. He tells me you are inquiring about Jeremiah."
"Thats right. I'm trying to peice together what happened that night."
She nodded, pursed her lips. "Such a terrible tradgedy. My heart goes out to the families of the other boys. I just pray that Jeremiah is safe." Her voice wavered at the mention of his name, and she pressed the hankerchief under her nose. "Does it sound callous of me? Praying for my son to be alive when two mothers have to suffer for the rest of their lives...."
Morgan tried to sound as sympathetic as possible. "We are going to try our damndest to find your son, ma'am," And ask the little prick some questions, he thought.
She nodded, and her eyes misted over for a second, before she blinked the tears away. Morgan produced his notebook and took a breath. "Has Jeremiah tried to contact you since the incident?"
She shook her head,a frown shadowing her expression. "No he has not. If he had called, we would have certainly let the police know by now." Her voice had hardened.
He nodded, jotting something in his notebook. "Obviously you and your husband were aware of Jeremiah's involvement with the Friends of Humanity?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"Are either you or your husband affiliated with the Friends of Humanity?"
She shook her head. "Eugine and I are both what you'd call political athiests. We dont really support any one political movement."
"Do you know Graydon Creed?"
"I've met the man at functions and the like. He speaks very highly of Jeremiah, but I dont know him personally."
Morgan jotted this down and looked up. "Do you know anything about the Friends of Humanity?"
Again she shook her head. "As I said, we don't follow politics. We didnt really know of Jeremiah's involvement until recently."
Morgan wanted to ask her what sort of parent she was if she didnt even know who her son was spending his time with. He felt heat creep up from his chest to his neck and pushed these thoughts away. The woman appeared to be genuinely distraught, like every other parent of a missing child that Morgan had interviewed. Always it was the same: Nobody could understand the child anymore. They had given up punishing them, stopped asking where the child was going, who they were with, thrown up their hands to heaven and said, "We did the best we could." But Morgan had sat across from too many of these parents, and he knew when one was not being truthful. Mrs. Blacksmith was holding something back.
She wiped her eyes with the rumpled hankerchief, and slid the photo album across the coffee table towards Morgan. "My boy is missing," She said, as if she'd read his thoughts. "My husband and I will do anything to have him back."
Morgan took the album and looked at its powder blue cover with a picture of a cherub sitting on a cloud, the words "Our little boy" Embossed below. He opened the album in his lap, flipped through the stiff pages. The first few pages were devoted to the baby's stats: Weight, time of birth, hair colour, eye colour. Then the family tree, "Mommy and Daddy" On either side of an illustration of a tree, then the boy's name, then the names of his extended family on both sides. Morgan's eyes skimmed the names, more out of habit than anything else, and flipped to the very back section, where he found several photos of Jeremiah in his mid teens. The boy smiled up at him was blonde, blue eyed and handsome. He patted a german shepherd in one of them, a huge grin plastered on his face. Morgan held up the album, and Mrs. Blacksmith looked up. She smiled sadly. "Oh. That was taken about a year ago," She said. "He's with Bouncer, his old dog." Her voice dropped and her eyes fell to her lap once more. "Bouncer died not long after that photo was taken."
Morgan cocked his head to the side and looked at the photo again. "Would it be possible to get a copy of this one, ma'am?" He asked. "It's very clear, a good shot of his face. If we showed it around, sent it out to a few precincts, might jog somebody's memory."
She nodded. "You can take that one. I have another copy somewhere."
He peeled back the protective film from the cardstock page and lifted the photograph out. "Thankyou," He said as he slipped it into his pocket. "I'll take good care of it, return it once we're done."
She nodded again. "Do whatever you need. Just bring him back to me, detective."
"State your name for the record."
"Charles Francis Xavier."
"Raise your right hand and repeat after me: I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God."
Xavier placed his left hand on the bible before him and raised his right hand while repeating the oath. He looked at the assembled panel, which comprised of six people representing the Department of Education, Child Protection Services, the judiciary (Although this hearing was not a trial), and the senate. Xavier noticed Robert Frost take his seat, and Frost nodded in his direction, making look like a reserbed greeting than the acknowledgement that it was.
The appointed chair was Judge Valery Sinclair, a veteran on the bench, and by all accounts, a very cold and abrupt woman. Xavier knew she felt inferior because of her overbite and hawk like nose, and had convinced herself long ago that power was the only way to make people respect her. He tried not to listen to her thoughts as she rose to speak. The hearing was closed, due to the nature of its subject matter, so her announcement rang out in the hollow room. "Proffessor Xavier, the panel would like to thank you for your attendance here today. This hearing is only to determine the facts pertaining to allegations levelled at your school and its conduct, and its findings are not enforceable by law. However, this panel may make recommendations to the Department of Education to Take further action."
"I understand."
Sinclair sat and adjusted her glasses, glancing breifly at a sheet of paper in front of her. Her green eyes flicked from it to Xavier. "You do not have counsel present?" She asked.
Xavier nodded. "Since this is not a trial, I did not see the need, Your Honor."
Sinclair sniffed and pushed her glasses up her nose. "Very well," She said. "Let's begin. I beleive Mr. Grisholm would like to begin."
Jack Grisholm was the official from Child Protection. He was a large man with a thick black mustache sprouting under his nose. Xavier knew he should be the last person who should be working for Child Protection, as a twelve year old taiwanese boy could attest. He also knew this man did not care for mutants and did not particularly like Xavier. The man shifted in his seat and consulted his notes. Xavier sat with a blank expression on his face as the Grisholm spoke. "Proffessor Xavier, what evidence do you have that validates your claim that the boy was beaten by his father?"
"It was clear by the state he was in when he arrived at the school. He was bleeding and bruised quite badly. He was frightened--"
"Yes, we have read your statement, Proffessor," Grisholm interrupted. "But the question was, what evidence do you have that backs it up?"
Xavier held up a manilla folder. "The medical reports from the school's doctor, detailing the extent of the injuries, along with photographs of the boy's wounds, all dated."
Xavier handed six identical folders to a clerk, who gave handed them out to the panel members. The air atmosphere was heavy as the panel members read the documents, or glanced at them, in Grisholm's case. "This doctor..." He shuffled the papers and looked back up. "...Jean Grey..Is she a qualified medical practitioner?"
"Of course Dr. Grey is fully qualified. In fact, she gave up a career as a general practitioner in favour of becoming the school's resident. She is an extremely dedicated proffessional, and her integrity is above reproach."
Sinclair interjected. "I have met with Dr. Grey on several occaisions, Mr. Grisholm," She fixed him with a look that made the man stop shuffling his papers. "And her credentials and proffessionalism are not in question. Please make your questions more relevent to our main area of investigation."
Grisholm nodded at her, and Xavier could feel cold loathing emenate from him. He looked back at Xavier and cleared his throat. "What do you say to the allegations that your school actively encourages mutant activity?"
Xavier blinked rapidly. "What do you mean by 'mutant activity', Mr. Grisholm?"
Grisholm shifted in his seat. "There are reports that your school is in fact a training program for mutants, and that among its teachers and student population are several known mutant outlaws."
"My school is neither a glorified boot camp or a haven for lawlessness. We do not promote bigotry of any kind," Xavier gave Grisholm a sharp look. "If only the public school system could operate similarly."
Sebastien dove into the pool and the water seemed to reveive him with barely a ripple of complaint. His lithe form glided under its surface, until his head broke and he began to stroke forward. He needed to get some perspective, blow some cobwebs away, start making sense.
The pool room was silent save for the whisper like sound of the water lapping against the pool's sides. He reached out and touched the wall in front of him, looked back at how far he'd come. Smiling to himself, he pushed away from the wall with his feet and drifted on his back, his arms outstretched. He closed his eyes against the sun that shone through the skylight above. He saw limitless red pulsing across his eyelids.
A polite cough echoed through his head, slicing through the jumble of thoughts that flittered through his mind. He righted himself and, treading water, looked around the pool room. Chamber sat on a bench beside the pool, watching him.
"Oh, Its you," Sebastien said.
"It's me."
"Do you always creep up on people like some kinda ghoul?"
"Always."
Sebastien began to paddle over to the side. "Am I hogging the pool? Is it your turn?"
Chamber laughed. "Cant swim."
"Then what do you want?"
Chamber stood up, looked down at Sebastien. "You know what this place is, right?"
Sebastien held on to the side and treaded water. "Some kinda school, I geuss."
Chamber fingered the crimson scarf that he'd wrapped under his nose, covering half his face. He shrugged. "Well, it is a school," He said. "And it isnt."
"That cleared things up."
"Summers doesnt want you to know where you are."
"Why?"
"He's afraid."
Sebastien frowned. "Of what?"
"He's afraid of what it may mean to tell you what we are. To say the words, expose you to it."
Chambers word carried an edge that made Sebastien uncomfortable. "I think I already know," He replied.
"Really."
Sebastien pulled himself out of the water and stood in front of Chamber. He felt better knowing they were on an even footing now. He looked into Chamber's marble-black eyes and nodded to the pool. "You're afraid of the pool, arent you?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.
"No." Chamber felt his chest constrict. "I'm not afraid."
Sebastien just stared into his eyes.
"Neither am I. I know what this place is, what you all are. And," He stopped, looked back at the pool. He smiled. "I dont particularly care. One of you saved me, and now I have a place to stay. Thats all I need to know. The red-headed woman, Jean, thinks I may be one of you."
"And are you?" Chamber was not looking at Sebastien. He was stario the water, watching the sunlight play on its surface."
"Maybe. I dunno. But I'm not normal."
Chamber was mesmerised by the silver chasing itself on the water's surface. The sunlight winked at him. Mocked him. The lapping water felt like laughter.....
Sebastien reached out, his fingers splayed, and his fingers brushed against the thick fabric of the scarf. He hooked them under the scarf, and tugged on it slightly. Chamber looked up and grabbed his wrist, then looked into his eyes. "Don't."
"Why not?"
Chamber dropped Sebastien's hand. Not roughly, but forcefull enough. "I've said what I need to say," He said.
"The water isnt the only thing that scares you."
Chamber walked away, turned his back on the mocking water.
Morgan leaned hos forearms on the counter and smiled at Rubie Donnell, the records Clerk. "How's life treating you, Ruby Diamond?"
Ruby was a fifty five year old woman with flame red hair, pale blue eyes and almost orange coloured lipstick. Most wouldnt gibe her the time of day, but Morgan went out of his way to make her feel appreciated. Never know when you need to ask a favour.
Ruby smiled back at him. "Better for seeing you here, darlin'."
"Good. Ruby, can I ask a massive favour?"
Ruby looked over her rimless spectacles at him. Her eyes narrowed a little, but she said, "Ask away, hon."
"I'm looking at a case at the moment. That business with the neo nazi punks topping themselves."
Ruby nodded. "I know the one. Processed the files not long ago. You want me to pull em up for you?"
He shook his head. "I'm trying to track down a possible third punk, he hot footed it outta there when he saw what happened to his buddies. Thing is, he seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. I've followed a lead and dropped in on the kid's parents, seems they havent heard from him since."
Ruby's eyes glimmered with recognition. He wanted her to pull up a file on the parents! "Vic," She began. "I'd love to help, but for me to pull up any files, you need to have a release form with the captains signature on the bottom. You know that."
Morgan nodded, held up a hand. "I know, but the thing is, I've already run the parents angle by the captain. But this family is influential. One call to the commissioner, captain's telling me to leave that angle alone."
He pleaded her with his eyes and said, "I'll take full responsibilty, Ruby. All you need to do is let me in that cosy little records storage room, let me pull the file myself, You are absolved. I acted on my own." He held up a hand and placed it over his heart, or where he geussed his heart was.
She regarded him with eyes that could strip titanium. "Well," She said with a grin on her face. 'i geuss I could help a bit. You wouldnt know where to begin. Dont want you messing up my system."
"Ruby, you are the queen, the goddess, my savior."
She pointed a finger at him. "You will pay with blood if this comes back to me, you hear?"
He nodded, and believed her.
Morgan held out a hand and smiled. "Vic Morgan. Pleased to meet you."
The older man shook his hand. "Eli Halliday."
Eli turned away and began to walk up a well tended gravel path, not waiting to see if Morgan was following. Morgan caught up with him and looked around the lush grounds that hemmed in the path. "Nice garden," He commented, making sure Eli knew the compliment was directed at him.
Eli smiled and looked sideways at Morgan. "I just make sure it looks like Mrs. Blacksmith wants."
"How long have you been working for the Blacksmiths?" They were approaching the steps that led to the front verandah. Eli shrugged, and sighed, took of his hat and wiped sweat off his brow with his forearm. He looked at Morgan with tired, chocolate brown eyes. His short hair was almost white, and it glistened in the sunlight.
"I worked for old Mr. Blacksmith back when I was younger," He said, playing with the hat in his hands. "So I'd say a good while now."
"They good people?"
Eli shrugged again. He gave Morgan a frown at the question, his mouth set into a hard line. "Can't say that they've been anything but fair to me in my time," He put his hat back on, and wiped his hands on his trousers. "But that dont count for anything." He paused, looked back at the big white house in front of them, and said, "You're here to talk with them about young Jeremiah, I take it."
Morgan nodded. "Thats right."
Eli shook his head. "If old Mr. Blacksmith could see that boy today...." He let his sentence die, and looked back at Morgan.
"You're not fond of him?"
Eli laughed softly, humourlessly. "He made it hard to be fond of him these past few years. But he used to be such a good boy...." Eli began to climb the stairs, and Morgan followed. Morgan knew the old man had said what he had to say. There would be no use questioning him further.
Eli walked across the verandah and stood beside the door. When Morgan joined him, he opened it and they entered the Blacksmiths home.
Morgan was hit by the smell at first; jasmine, citrus and lavender mixed with antiseptic and furniture polish. It looked like every surface that could be polished, had been to within an inch of its life. His reflection glided past on hallway table tops, picture frames, and the honey coloured hardwood floors. Eli led him to a large room with two velvet sofas in the middle, one on either side of a long polished coffee table.
"Sit down," Eli said to him. "I'll fetch Mrs. Blacksmith."
Morgan watched him shuffle out and sat on the closest sofa, almost half sinking into its soft cushions in the process. He righted himself and looked about the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, and there was a faint smell of disinfectant in the air. There were no other furnishing in the room save for the sofas and the coffee table.
The clicking of high heels on the hardwood floor heralded the arrival of Mrs. Blacksmith. Morgan rose as she entered the room. She was a striking woman with iron coloured hair and pale skin that showed only the slightest signs of ageing. She wore a simple blue dress, and clutched a tattered hankercheif in one hand and a photo album in the other. "Mr. Morgan," She greeted him, with a strong voice.
"Thankyou for meeting with me, Mrs. Blacksmith," He replied, and shook her offered hand. She took a seat on the other sofa, tucking her legs in and smoothing her dress with heavily jewelled hands.
"Senator Creed called a short while ago. He tells me you are inquiring about Jeremiah."
"Thats right. I'm trying to peice together what happened that night."
She nodded, pursed her lips. "Such a terrible tradgedy. My heart goes out to the families of the other boys. I just pray that Jeremiah is safe." Her voice wavered at the mention of his name, and she pressed the hankerchief under her nose. "Does it sound callous of me? Praying for my son to be alive when two mothers have to suffer for the rest of their lives...."
Morgan tried to sound as sympathetic as possible. "We are going to try our damndest to find your son, ma'am," And ask the little prick some questions, he thought.
She nodded, and her eyes misted over for a second, before she blinked the tears away. Morgan produced his notebook and took a breath. "Has Jeremiah tried to contact you since the incident?"
She shook her head,a frown shadowing her expression. "No he has not. If he had called, we would have certainly let the police know by now." Her voice had hardened.
He nodded, jotting something in his notebook. "Obviously you and your husband were aware of Jeremiah's involvement with the Friends of Humanity?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"Are either you or your husband affiliated with the Friends of Humanity?"
She shook her head. "Eugine and I are both what you'd call political athiests. We dont really support any one political movement."
"Do you know Graydon Creed?"
"I've met the man at functions and the like. He speaks very highly of Jeremiah, but I dont know him personally."
Morgan jotted this down and looked up. "Do you know anything about the Friends of Humanity?"
Again she shook her head. "As I said, we don't follow politics. We didnt really know of Jeremiah's involvement until recently."
Morgan wanted to ask her what sort of parent she was if she didnt even know who her son was spending his time with. He felt heat creep up from his chest to his neck and pushed these thoughts away. The woman appeared to be genuinely distraught, like every other parent of a missing child that Morgan had interviewed. Always it was the same: Nobody could understand the child anymore. They had given up punishing them, stopped asking where the child was going, who they were with, thrown up their hands to heaven and said, "We did the best we could." But Morgan had sat across from too many of these parents, and he knew when one was not being truthful. Mrs. Blacksmith was holding something back.
She wiped her eyes with the rumpled hankerchief, and slid the photo album across the coffee table towards Morgan. "My boy is missing," She said, as if she'd read his thoughts. "My husband and I will do anything to have him back."
Morgan took the album and looked at its powder blue cover with a picture of a cherub sitting on a cloud, the words "Our little boy" Embossed below. He opened the album in his lap, flipped through the stiff pages. The first few pages were devoted to the baby's stats: Weight, time of birth, hair colour, eye colour. Then the family tree, "Mommy and Daddy" On either side of an illustration of a tree, then the boy's name, then the names of his extended family on both sides. Morgan's eyes skimmed the names, more out of habit than anything else, and flipped to the very back section, where he found several photos of Jeremiah in his mid teens. The boy smiled up at him was blonde, blue eyed and handsome. He patted a german shepherd in one of them, a huge grin plastered on his face. Morgan held up the album, and Mrs. Blacksmith looked up. She smiled sadly. "Oh. That was taken about a year ago," She said. "He's with Bouncer, his old dog." Her voice dropped and her eyes fell to her lap once more. "Bouncer died not long after that photo was taken."
Morgan cocked his head to the side and looked at the photo again. "Would it be possible to get a copy of this one, ma'am?" He asked. "It's very clear, a good shot of his face. If we showed it around, sent it out to a few precincts, might jog somebody's memory."
She nodded. "You can take that one. I have another copy somewhere."
He peeled back the protective film from the cardstock page and lifted the photograph out. "Thankyou," He said as he slipped it into his pocket. "I'll take good care of it, return it once we're done."
She nodded again. "Do whatever you need. Just bring him back to me, detective."
"State your name for the record."
"Charles Francis Xavier."
"Raise your right hand and repeat after me: I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God."
Xavier placed his left hand on the bible before him and raised his right hand while repeating the oath. He looked at the assembled panel, which comprised of six people representing the Department of Education, Child Protection Services, the judiciary (Although this hearing was not a trial), and the senate. Xavier noticed Robert Frost take his seat, and Frost nodded in his direction, making look like a reserbed greeting than the acknowledgement that it was.
The appointed chair was Judge Valery Sinclair, a veteran on the bench, and by all accounts, a very cold and abrupt woman. Xavier knew she felt inferior because of her overbite and hawk like nose, and had convinced herself long ago that power was the only way to make people respect her. He tried not to listen to her thoughts as she rose to speak. The hearing was closed, due to the nature of its subject matter, so her announcement rang out in the hollow room. "Proffessor Xavier, the panel would like to thank you for your attendance here today. This hearing is only to determine the facts pertaining to allegations levelled at your school and its conduct, and its findings are not enforceable by law. However, this panel may make recommendations to the Department of Education to Take further action."
"I understand."
Sinclair sat and adjusted her glasses, glancing breifly at a sheet of paper in front of her. Her green eyes flicked from it to Xavier. "You do not have counsel present?" She asked.
Xavier nodded. "Since this is not a trial, I did not see the need, Your Honor."
Sinclair sniffed and pushed her glasses up her nose. "Very well," She said. "Let's begin. I beleive Mr. Grisholm would like to begin."
Jack Grisholm was the official from Child Protection. He was a large man with a thick black mustache sprouting under his nose. Xavier knew he should be the last person who should be working for Child Protection, as a twelve year old taiwanese boy could attest. He also knew this man did not care for mutants and did not particularly like Xavier. The man shifted in his seat and consulted his notes. Xavier sat with a blank expression on his face as the Grisholm spoke. "Proffessor Xavier, what evidence do you have that validates your claim that the boy was beaten by his father?"
"It was clear by the state he was in when he arrived at the school. He was bleeding and bruised quite badly. He was frightened--"
"Yes, we have read your statement, Proffessor," Grisholm interrupted. "But the question was, what evidence do you have that backs it up?"
Xavier held up a manilla folder. "The medical reports from the school's doctor, detailing the extent of the injuries, along with photographs of the boy's wounds, all dated."
Xavier handed six identical folders to a clerk, who gave handed them out to the panel members. The air atmosphere was heavy as the panel members read the documents, or glanced at them, in Grisholm's case. "This doctor..." He shuffled the papers and looked back up. "...Jean Grey..Is she a qualified medical practitioner?"
"Of course Dr. Grey is fully qualified. In fact, she gave up a career as a general practitioner in favour of becoming the school's resident. She is an extremely dedicated proffessional, and her integrity is above reproach."
Sinclair interjected. "I have met with Dr. Grey on several occaisions, Mr. Grisholm," She fixed him with a look that made the man stop shuffling his papers. "And her credentials and proffessionalism are not in question. Please make your questions more relevent to our main area of investigation."
Grisholm nodded at her, and Xavier could feel cold loathing emenate from him. He looked back at Xavier and cleared his throat. "What do you say to the allegations that your school actively encourages mutant activity?"
Xavier blinked rapidly. "What do you mean by 'mutant activity', Mr. Grisholm?"
Grisholm shifted in his seat. "There are reports that your school is in fact a training program for mutants, and that among its teachers and student population are several known mutant outlaws."
"My school is neither a glorified boot camp or a haven for lawlessness. We do not promote bigotry of any kind," Xavier gave Grisholm a sharp look. "If only the public school system could operate similarly."
Sebastien dove into the pool and the water seemed to reveive him with barely a ripple of complaint. His lithe form glided under its surface, until his head broke and he began to stroke forward. He needed to get some perspective, blow some cobwebs away, start making sense.
The pool room was silent save for the whisper like sound of the water lapping against the pool's sides. He reached out and touched the wall in front of him, looked back at how far he'd come. Smiling to himself, he pushed away from the wall with his feet and drifted on his back, his arms outstretched. He closed his eyes against the sun that shone through the skylight above. He saw limitless red pulsing across his eyelids.
A polite cough echoed through his head, slicing through the jumble of thoughts that flittered through his mind. He righted himself and, treading water, looked around the pool room. Chamber sat on a bench beside the pool, watching him.
"Oh, Its you," Sebastien said.
"It's me."
"Do you always creep up on people like some kinda ghoul?"
"Always."
Sebastien began to paddle over to the side. "Am I hogging the pool? Is it your turn?"
Chamber laughed. "Cant swim."
"Then what do you want?"
Chamber stood up, looked down at Sebastien. "You know what this place is, right?"
Sebastien held on to the side and treaded water. "Some kinda school, I geuss."
Chamber fingered the crimson scarf that he'd wrapped under his nose, covering half his face. He shrugged. "Well, it is a school," He said. "And it isnt."
"That cleared things up."
"Summers doesnt want you to know where you are."
"Why?"
"He's afraid."
Sebastien frowned. "Of what?"
"He's afraid of what it may mean to tell you what we are. To say the words, expose you to it."
Chambers word carried an edge that made Sebastien uncomfortable. "I think I already know," He replied.
"Really."
Sebastien pulled himself out of the water and stood in front of Chamber. He felt better knowing they were on an even footing now. He looked into Chamber's marble-black eyes and nodded to the pool. "You're afraid of the pool, arent you?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.
"No." Chamber felt his chest constrict. "I'm not afraid."
Sebastien just stared into his eyes.
"Neither am I. I know what this place is, what you all are. And," He stopped, looked back at the pool. He smiled. "I dont particularly care. One of you saved me, and now I have a place to stay. Thats all I need to know. The red-headed woman, Jean, thinks I may be one of you."
"And are you?" Chamber was not looking at Sebastien. He was stario the water, watching the sunlight play on its surface."
"Maybe. I dunno. But I'm not normal."
Chamber was mesmerised by the silver chasing itself on the water's surface. The sunlight winked at him. Mocked him. The lapping water felt like laughter.....
Sebastien reached out, his fingers splayed, and his fingers brushed against the thick fabric of the scarf. He hooked them under the scarf, and tugged on it slightly. Chamber looked up and grabbed his wrist, then looked into his eyes. "Don't."
"Why not?"
Chamber dropped Sebastien's hand. Not roughly, but forcefull enough. "I've said what I need to say," He said.
"The water isnt the only thing that scares you."
Chamber walked away, turned his back on the mocking water.
Morgan leaned hos forearms on the counter and smiled at Rubie Donnell, the records Clerk. "How's life treating you, Ruby Diamond?"
Ruby was a fifty five year old woman with flame red hair, pale blue eyes and almost orange coloured lipstick. Most wouldnt gibe her the time of day, but Morgan went out of his way to make her feel appreciated. Never know when you need to ask a favour.
Ruby smiled back at him. "Better for seeing you here, darlin'."
"Good. Ruby, can I ask a massive favour?"
Ruby looked over her rimless spectacles at him. Her eyes narrowed a little, but she said, "Ask away, hon."
"I'm looking at a case at the moment. That business with the neo nazi punks topping themselves."
Ruby nodded. "I know the one. Processed the files not long ago. You want me to pull em up for you?"
He shook his head. "I'm trying to track down a possible third punk, he hot footed it outta there when he saw what happened to his buddies. Thing is, he seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. I've followed a lead and dropped in on the kid's parents, seems they havent heard from him since."
Ruby's eyes glimmered with recognition. He wanted her to pull up a file on the parents! "Vic," She began. "I'd love to help, but for me to pull up any files, you need to have a release form with the captains signature on the bottom. You know that."
Morgan nodded, held up a hand. "I know, but the thing is, I've already run the parents angle by the captain. But this family is influential. One call to the commissioner, captain's telling me to leave that angle alone."
He pleaded her with his eyes and said, "I'll take full responsibilty, Ruby. All you need to do is let me in that cosy little records storage room, let me pull the file myself, You are absolved. I acted on my own." He held up a hand and placed it over his heart, or where he geussed his heart was.
She regarded him with eyes that could strip titanium. "Well," She said with a grin on her face. 'i geuss I could help a bit. You wouldnt know where to begin. Dont want you messing up my system."
"Ruby, you are the queen, the goddess, my savior."
She pointed a finger at him. "You will pay with blood if this comes back to me, you hear?"
He nodded, and believed her.