Sebastien pushed his food around idly with his fork. Almost a week had
passed, and he was still being treated like a frail thing, like something
that needed to be protected. Jean Grey monitored his health and was almost
certain, she said, that he was going to be fine. Great, he thought. I'm not
gonna die of anything but boredom.
There was a tension between the adults in the mansion, and he was almost certain that there was an altercation behind closed doors late one night. Cyclops was sporting an ugly bruise on his temple, and talk amongst the students had Logan as the culprit. Sebastien could believe it. Logan always seemed to carry with him an air of violence, and that intruiged him. The more he thought on it, the more he liked the very idea of the man. This man's character was forged out of something deeper and harder than the average being. God only knew what he'd seen during his lifetime.
Sebastien looked up and saw Chamber standing before him, on the other side of his table. He offered Chamber a smile. "If you wanna sit here, you don't have to ask."
"I wasnt going to ask."
Sebastien made a gesture towards a chair near Chamber. "Well, since you were going to be so impolite, don't let me stop you."
Chamber sat and looked across at Sebastien, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. Sebastien pushed his food tray aside and smiled.
"I saw you watching Logan on the basketball court," Chamber said.
Sebastien shrugged. "Yeah?"
"You admire him, don't you?"
"I thought everyone admired him."
Chamber nodded. "Yes, but they also fear him. They know what he's capable of. You've seen what he's capable of, and you're not afraid."
"I think he's an interesting guy. He saved my life."
Chamber sat back in the chair, and looked around the near empty cafeteria, then his eyes settled on Sebastien. "You see, I've been trying to figure you out."
"Why?" The annoyance in Sebastien's voice made it sound like a whine.
Chamber shrugged. "There seems to be more to you than meets the eye."
"Don't make me your pet project."
"Your arrival here has caused quite the stir," Chamber went on, as if Sebastien had said nothing. "The argument last night had a lot to do with you. And I think you know that."
Sebastien raised an eyebrow. "Seems to me that there were troubles before I came here."
"Whatever. It seems that tensions have risen in those around you. You seem to have that effect on people."
Sebastien flinched, and stood up. "Well," He said. "Fascinating little theory you have there. Be sure to run it by your teachers in class."
And with that, he walked out.
Mrs. Blacksmith blew her nose and looked up at Morgan with red rimmed eyes. She sat in Morgan's cramped little office, her lawyer beside her. The lawyer was advising her not to say a word, that Morgan would have to drag them before a judge to make her talk if need be.
"No," She said forcefully. "I think detective Morgan deserves the truth."
Morgan sat back in his chair and kept his eyes on the woman, trying to keep any thought or emotion from tainting his gaze. He set down a tape recorder on his desk and the lawyer protested. "Is that really necessary?"
Morgan shrugged. "Mrs, Blacksmith? Is the tape recorder bothering you?"
She shook her head. Morgan smiled triumphantly at the lawyer.
"You know that would never be admissable in court," He told Morgan.
"Yes, thankyou for that, Perry Mason," Morgan replied. "I'm well aware." His tone softened as he addressed Mrs. Blacksmith. "Lets start. Now, when I last spoke to you, we discussed Jeremiah, and we talked of his family life."
"Yes."
"You informed me that Eugine Blacksmith was the boy's father, when in fact he is not."
"Yes."
Morgan leaned foward in his chair and rested his forearms on his table. "Why did you tell me that?"
She sobbed and looked at her lawyer, whose face was turning mottled pink. "You do not have to say anything," He warned her. "None of this helps his investigation."
She waved a hand at him and looked at Morgan. "It was easier this way," She said in a soft voice, looking down at her lap. "I was so young when I met Jeremiah's father. Just a girl really.....Back then the only honourable thing was to get married before anyone knew you were pregnant. Jeremiah's father was not interested in becoming a husband or a father at such a young age, so he just took off. His ambitions took him to Washington, and I was left alone with my shame. That was until I met Eugine. He went down on one knee after only three dates, said he wanted to look after me, and he could provide for me. He never knew I was expecting, and when I finally did tell him, we were already married a week. He thought Jeremiah was his."
She broke into sobs and covered her face with her hands. "And his real father, Joe Fabien, went on to work for the Friends of Humanity," Morgan said softly. "He helped establish a ragtag bunch of extremists into a well orchestrated political party."
Mrs. Blacksmith nodded. "Yes, he did. And I never saw Joe again. I hoped that I could hide the past, and for the longest time, I got away with it. Eugene was a good father and Jeremiah adored him. But they were so different, almost polar opposites, physically and emotionally," She sighed deeply, and she looked into the middle distance, her eyes focused on nothing. She sounded like a little girl as she continued. "Things might have continued on like that, if it hadnt been for that letter."
She reached into her purse and held out a stiff white envelope. Morgan took it and withdrew the letter inside, instinctively treating it like evidence, only handling it with the tips of his fingers. He read the letter slowly, and let the words sink in.
The missing part of the puzzle.
"Someone wrote that letter, sent copies to Jeremiah and Eugene. Jeremiah received his letter on the day of his 17th birthday."
Morgan re folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. "You think somebody within the friends of humanity sent the letter?" He asked.
"I think so. Jeremiah was so confused. Not only did the letter inform him that Eugene was not his father, but also it told him that his real father was an american hero, who died serving the Friends of Humanity. Jeremiah never forgave me for lying. He hated me for not giving him the chance to even meet his real father. He felt robbed of a real life, and then he disappeared."
Morgan stopped the tape recorder, looked at Mrs.Blacksmith with a reassuring smile. "Thankyou," He said, and he meant it. "You've been most co operative."
Mrs.Blacksmith nodded. "My honesty came too late though, didnt it? I've lost my son, and I betrayed the trust of a truly wonderful husband."
Morgan had nothing to say to that. The lawyer leaned foward now, all pretense of a fight having left him. "Tell me, Detective," He said. "How did you come across this information?"
"By mistake. I had a conversation with a young officer about soem aspects of this case, and he told me something that fired up my memory. Mrs.Blacksmith showed me some family albums when I visited, and I noticed a photo her and Joe Fabien. I didnt take much note of it at the time, but she was in the early stages of pregnancy in that photo.The date on the photo put it about a month before she met Eugene Blacksmith."
"How did you know when she met Eugene Blacksmith?"
"Another photo in the album. Titled 'Eugene and Mary", the date printed on the bottom."
The lawyer sat back, claerly in awe. He looked to Mrs.Blacksmith, who just hung her head. There was nothing left to say. "I want him back, detective Morgan, and I have been truthful with you this time." She took a shuddering breath, then looked at Morgan with a steel gaze. "I believe Creed has my son."
Morgan felt his stomach knot. She was voicing his own theory. Despite this, he said, "What makes you think that?"
"Creed is the first and last person he'd run to right now. The man has an immense influence on my son. I don't trust the man, detective...." She broke off, then looked at the handkerchief in her fist. "...I think they are planning something terrible, too."
Morgan nodded, tried to look calm. His palms were sweating and he wiped them on his trousers. "Mrs.Blacksmith..."
"I spoke to the mother of one of those poor boys who died. Her son told her that the Friends of Humanity were in final preparations, that Creed wanted to make a statement to the world."
"How is he meant to do that?" The lawyer asked, snatching the words out of Morgan's mouth.
"I don't know. I wish I did."
Morgan stood up and moved around his desk, shook hands with the lawyer, took Mrs.Blacksmiths hand in his. He understood this woman. "I'll bring him back," Morgan said quietly.
She smiled sadly. "I know."
Earl Landers downed his fourth whiskey in one quick, savage gulp. He wiped his moth with the back of his hand and his eyes watered, and he motioned for the bartender to pour another. The bartender complied, watching the big man warily. As the drink poured into its tumbler, the bartender looked up and his eyes brightened. Wiping his hands on his apron, he said, "Can I help you sir?"
Landers played with his whiskey, fished an icecube out of the glass and crunched it between his teeth. He thought it was the height of rudeness to speak over somone's head like that.
"Gin and tonic," The voice behind him said.
Landers crunched another peice of ice and shrugged. The other man was beside him now, and he was short, with a shiny bald head, wearing a three piece suit. He looked kinda familiar....
The other man spoke to him. "Mr. Landers."
Landers turned on his barstool and saw that the bald man was in a wheelchair. "I'm him," Landers said.
"I think it's time we talked."
"What about?"
"Something you started that I'm going to finish."
Jean rubbed her temples and tried to concentrate. The papers in front of her were swimming in and out of focus and she could feel the weight of the past few days bear down on her. She sat up in her chair and stretched. There was no use trying to grade papers like this. She felt inclined to give them all a D in her present mood, and while some perverse side of her would have enjoyed doing it, the rational side told her to take a break.
She pushed away from her desk and walked out of the room. The mansion was dark. Everyone was asleep. She padded through the dark hallways, sensing the rythmic harmony of the night, letting the dreams of others wash over her in waves.The deliciousness of such a feeling only tainted by the dark fringe of nightmares trying to invade.
She went outside and felt the cool night air lift her hair. She closed her eyes and sighed. For some reason, she felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her body. The mansion sometimes felt more like a prison than a school. She walked out onto the manicured lawns behind the huge structure and made her way towards the pond. Sometimes she would sit at the pond for hours at night, picturing what life may have been like had she not chosen to join Xavier. She might have started her own medical practice in a quiet suburb, might have lived a "normal" life. But Charles Xavier sought her out.
She remembered it clearly.
Her first year in residency in an Emergency Room both amazed and exhausted her. She was fascinated by the human body's ability to cope with massive traumas and cruel tricks of nature, and she was inundated by the mental anguish that came with each case.
One night, a young man stumbled into the ER, clutching his sides. Jean could see the blood seeping through his fingers at an alarming rate. His skin was pale and his brown hair clung to his sweaty forehead in tendrils. He was being assisted by a dark skinned young woman with strikingly white hair and equally striking pale eyes. Those eyes locked onto Jean's and she helped the young man to a trolley.
"Please help," The woman pleaded.
Jean lifted the young man's chin and smoothed his hair back from his face. He was weraing a pair of deep crimson wrap around sunglasses. "Take those off," She said in a cliiped tone. "I need to look at your eyes."
He gritted his teeth. "Thats...Not really going to be possible..."
"Oh?"
The dark skinned woman nodded earnestly. "The glasses are not important. He's wounded."
Jean nodded and pried the man's fingers away from his side. His black shirt was torn in ragged strips and his skin was shredded. "What caused this?" Jean asked as she inspected the bloody mess.
"I kinda...got into a fight..."
"With what? A bear?"
"Something like that."
Jean sighed. She knew he was lying, but she couldnt peirce his thoughts, or the thoughts of the dark skinned woman beside him. Odd.
Several hundred stitches later, the young man was able to leave the ER, helped by his white haired friend. She watched them go and bowed her head, wondering how she was going to write this up in her report. The white haired woman reappeared in in the doorway minutes later, however, and she was walking alongside a bald man in a motorized wheelchair. He wheeled up to her and smiled.
"Dr. Grey?"
"Yes."
"My name is Charles Xavier. The young man you just treated is one of my students. I thought I might thank you personally."
She smiled graciously. "It's not necessary, sir."
He nodded. "I wonder how many words of thanks you get around a place like this," He said. "I beleive the only other person was the mother of a young man who...died after being shot. You did the best you could but he died on the operating table. She gave you a yellow flower. His name was Reece."
Jean's eyes widened. "How did you--?"
"Call it a gift. It's similar to the one you possess."
"You can...You can..."
Xavier laughed, but his lips didnt move. Then his voice echoed inside her head, larger than her, but contained inside her mind at once. "Yes, Jean Grey. I can read minds, just like you. I can teach you how to control your gift."
He held out a business card with his name printed in bold letters, and an address for Xaviers School for Gifted Youngsters on the other side. "Come to visit us, Dr. Grey. If for nothing else, to check on your patient."
There was a tension between the adults in the mansion, and he was almost certain that there was an altercation behind closed doors late one night. Cyclops was sporting an ugly bruise on his temple, and talk amongst the students had Logan as the culprit. Sebastien could believe it. Logan always seemed to carry with him an air of violence, and that intruiged him. The more he thought on it, the more he liked the very idea of the man. This man's character was forged out of something deeper and harder than the average being. God only knew what he'd seen during his lifetime.
Sebastien looked up and saw Chamber standing before him, on the other side of his table. He offered Chamber a smile. "If you wanna sit here, you don't have to ask."
"I wasnt going to ask."
Sebastien made a gesture towards a chair near Chamber. "Well, since you were going to be so impolite, don't let me stop you."
Chamber sat and looked across at Sebastien, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. Sebastien pushed his food tray aside and smiled.
"I saw you watching Logan on the basketball court," Chamber said.
Sebastien shrugged. "Yeah?"
"You admire him, don't you?"
"I thought everyone admired him."
Chamber nodded. "Yes, but they also fear him. They know what he's capable of. You've seen what he's capable of, and you're not afraid."
"I think he's an interesting guy. He saved my life."
Chamber sat back in the chair, and looked around the near empty cafeteria, then his eyes settled on Sebastien. "You see, I've been trying to figure you out."
"Why?" The annoyance in Sebastien's voice made it sound like a whine.
Chamber shrugged. "There seems to be more to you than meets the eye."
"Don't make me your pet project."
"Your arrival here has caused quite the stir," Chamber went on, as if Sebastien had said nothing. "The argument last night had a lot to do with you. And I think you know that."
Sebastien raised an eyebrow. "Seems to me that there were troubles before I came here."
"Whatever. It seems that tensions have risen in those around you. You seem to have that effect on people."
Sebastien flinched, and stood up. "Well," He said. "Fascinating little theory you have there. Be sure to run it by your teachers in class."
And with that, he walked out.
Mrs. Blacksmith blew her nose and looked up at Morgan with red rimmed eyes. She sat in Morgan's cramped little office, her lawyer beside her. The lawyer was advising her not to say a word, that Morgan would have to drag them before a judge to make her talk if need be.
"No," She said forcefully. "I think detective Morgan deserves the truth."
Morgan sat back in his chair and kept his eyes on the woman, trying to keep any thought or emotion from tainting his gaze. He set down a tape recorder on his desk and the lawyer protested. "Is that really necessary?"
Morgan shrugged. "Mrs, Blacksmith? Is the tape recorder bothering you?"
She shook her head. Morgan smiled triumphantly at the lawyer.
"You know that would never be admissable in court," He told Morgan.
"Yes, thankyou for that, Perry Mason," Morgan replied. "I'm well aware." His tone softened as he addressed Mrs. Blacksmith. "Lets start. Now, when I last spoke to you, we discussed Jeremiah, and we talked of his family life."
"Yes."
"You informed me that Eugine Blacksmith was the boy's father, when in fact he is not."
"Yes."
Morgan leaned foward in his chair and rested his forearms on his table. "Why did you tell me that?"
She sobbed and looked at her lawyer, whose face was turning mottled pink. "You do not have to say anything," He warned her. "None of this helps his investigation."
She waved a hand at him and looked at Morgan. "It was easier this way," She said in a soft voice, looking down at her lap. "I was so young when I met Jeremiah's father. Just a girl really.....Back then the only honourable thing was to get married before anyone knew you were pregnant. Jeremiah's father was not interested in becoming a husband or a father at such a young age, so he just took off. His ambitions took him to Washington, and I was left alone with my shame. That was until I met Eugine. He went down on one knee after only three dates, said he wanted to look after me, and he could provide for me. He never knew I was expecting, and when I finally did tell him, we were already married a week. He thought Jeremiah was his."
She broke into sobs and covered her face with her hands. "And his real father, Joe Fabien, went on to work for the Friends of Humanity," Morgan said softly. "He helped establish a ragtag bunch of extremists into a well orchestrated political party."
Mrs. Blacksmith nodded. "Yes, he did. And I never saw Joe again. I hoped that I could hide the past, and for the longest time, I got away with it. Eugene was a good father and Jeremiah adored him. But they were so different, almost polar opposites, physically and emotionally," She sighed deeply, and she looked into the middle distance, her eyes focused on nothing. She sounded like a little girl as she continued. "Things might have continued on like that, if it hadnt been for that letter."
She reached into her purse and held out a stiff white envelope. Morgan took it and withdrew the letter inside, instinctively treating it like evidence, only handling it with the tips of his fingers. He read the letter slowly, and let the words sink in.
The missing part of the puzzle.
"Someone wrote that letter, sent copies to Jeremiah and Eugene. Jeremiah received his letter on the day of his 17th birthday."
Morgan re folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. "You think somebody within the friends of humanity sent the letter?" He asked.
"I think so. Jeremiah was so confused. Not only did the letter inform him that Eugene was not his father, but also it told him that his real father was an american hero, who died serving the Friends of Humanity. Jeremiah never forgave me for lying. He hated me for not giving him the chance to even meet his real father. He felt robbed of a real life, and then he disappeared."
Morgan stopped the tape recorder, looked at Mrs.Blacksmith with a reassuring smile. "Thankyou," He said, and he meant it. "You've been most co operative."
Mrs.Blacksmith nodded. "My honesty came too late though, didnt it? I've lost my son, and I betrayed the trust of a truly wonderful husband."
Morgan had nothing to say to that. The lawyer leaned foward now, all pretense of a fight having left him. "Tell me, Detective," He said. "How did you come across this information?"
"By mistake. I had a conversation with a young officer about soem aspects of this case, and he told me something that fired up my memory. Mrs.Blacksmith showed me some family albums when I visited, and I noticed a photo her and Joe Fabien. I didnt take much note of it at the time, but she was in the early stages of pregnancy in that photo.The date on the photo put it about a month before she met Eugene Blacksmith."
"How did you know when she met Eugene Blacksmith?"
"Another photo in the album. Titled 'Eugene and Mary", the date printed on the bottom."
The lawyer sat back, claerly in awe. He looked to Mrs.Blacksmith, who just hung her head. There was nothing left to say. "I want him back, detective Morgan, and I have been truthful with you this time." She took a shuddering breath, then looked at Morgan with a steel gaze. "I believe Creed has my son."
Morgan felt his stomach knot. She was voicing his own theory. Despite this, he said, "What makes you think that?"
"Creed is the first and last person he'd run to right now. The man has an immense influence on my son. I don't trust the man, detective...." She broke off, then looked at the handkerchief in her fist. "...I think they are planning something terrible, too."
Morgan nodded, tried to look calm. His palms were sweating and he wiped them on his trousers. "Mrs.Blacksmith..."
"I spoke to the mother of one of those poor boys who died. Her son told her that the Friends of Humanity were in final preparations, that Creed wanted to make a statement to the world."
"How is he meant to do that?" The lawyer asked, snatching the words out of Morgan's mouth.
"I don't know. I wish I did."
Morgan stood up and moved around his desk, shook hands with the lawyer, took Mrs.Blacksmiths hand in his. He understood this woman. "I'll bring him back," Morgan said quietly.
She smiled sadly. "I know."
Earl Landers downed his fourth whiskey in one quick, savage gulp. He wiped his moth with the back of his hand and his eyes watered, and he motioned for the bartender to pour another. The bartender complied, watching the big man warily. As the drink poured into its tumbler, the bartender looked up and his eyes brightened. Wiping his hands on his apron, he said, "Can I help you sir?"
Landers played with his whiskey, fished an icecube out of the glass and crunched it between his teeth. He thought it was the height of rudeness to speak over somone's head like that.
"Gin and tonic," The voice behind him said.
Landers crunched another peice of ice and shrugged. The other man was beside him now, and he was short, with a shiny bald head, wearing a three piece suit. He looked kinda familiar....
The other man spoke to him. "Mr. Landers."
Landers turned on his barstool and saw that the bald man was in a wheelchair. "I'm him," Landers said.
"I think it's time we talked."
"What about?"
"Something you started that I'm going to finish."
Jean rubbed her temples and tried to concentrate. The papers in front of her were swimming in and out of focus and she could feel the weight of the past few days bear down on her. She sat up in her chair and stretched. There was no use trying to grade papers like this. She felt inclined to give them all a D in her present mood, and while some perverse side of her would have enjoyed doing it, the rational side told her to take a break.
She pushed away from her desk and walked out of the room. The mansion was dark. Everyone was asleep. She padded through the dark hallways, sensing the rythmic harmony of the night, letting the dreams of others wash over her in waves.The deliciousness of such a feeling only tainted by the dark fringe of nightmares trying to invade.
She went outside and felt the cool night air lift her hair. She closed her eyes and sighed. For some reason, she felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her body. The mansion sometimes felt more like a prison than a school. She walked out onto the manicured lawns behind the huge structure and made her way towards the pond. Sometimes she would sit at the pond for hours at night, picturing what life may have been like had she not chosen to join Xavier. She might have started her own medical practice in a quiet suburb, might have lived a "normal" life. But Charles Xavier sought her out.
She remembered it clearly.
Her first year in residency in an Emergency Room both amazed and exhausted her. She was fascinated by the human body's ability to cope with massive traumas and cruel tricks of nature, and she was inundated by the mental anguish that came with each case.
One night, a young man stumbled into the ER, clutching his sides. Jean could see the blood seeping through his fingers at an alarming rate. His skin was pale and his brown hair clung to his sweaty forehead in tendrils. He was being assisted by a dark skinned young woman with strikingly white hair and equally striking pale eyes. Those eyes locked onto Jean's and she helped the young man to a trolley.
"Please help," The woman pleaded.
Jean lifted the young man's chin and smoothed his hair back from his face. He was weraing a pair of deep crimson wrap around sunglasses. "Take those off," She said in a cliiped tone. "I need to look at your eyes."
He gritted his teeth. "Thats...Not really going to be possible..."
"Oh?"
The dark skinned woman nodded earnestly. "The glasses are not important. He's wounded."
Jean nodded and pried the man's fingers away from his side. His black shirt was torn in ragged strips and his skin was shredded. "What caused this?" Jean asked as she inspected the bloody mess.
"I kinda...got into a fight..."
"With what? A bear?"
"Something like that."
Jean sighed. She knew he was lying, but she couldnt peirce his thoughts, or the thoughts of the dark skinned woman beside him. Odd.
Several hundred stitches later, the young man was able to leave the ER, helped by his white haired friend. She watched them go and bowed her head, wondering how she was going to write this up in her report. The white haired woman reappeared in in the doorway minutes later, however, and she was walking alongside a bald man in a motorized wheelchair. He wheeled up to her and smiled.
"Dr. Grey?"
"Yes."
"My name is Charles Xavier. The young man you just treated is one of my students. I thought I might thank you personally."
She smiled graciously. "It's not necessary, sir."
He nodded. "I wonder how many words of thanks you get around a place like this," He said. "I beleive the only other person was the mother of a young man who...died after being shot. You did the best you could but he died on the operating table. She gave you a yellow flower. His name was Reece."
Jean's eyes widened. "How did you--?"
"Call it a gift. It's similar to the one you possess."
"You can...You can..."
Xavier laughed, but his lips didnt move. Then his voice echoed inside her head, larger than her, but contained inside her mind at once. "Yes, Jean Grey. I can read minds, just like you. I can teach you how to control your gift."
He held out a business card with his name printed in bold letters, and an address for Xaviers School for Gifted Youngsters on the other side. "Come to visit us, Dr. Grey. If for nothing else, to check on your patient."