Disclaimer: Yeah, that's right, I don't own *diddlysquat* so just
leave me alone! (Though I'm hoping I'll own the special extended
edition DVD X-Men soon!) Ahem:: anyway, I am extremely protective
of Thorn and will hunt you down and do, er, something, if you use
her without asking permission!
Author's Note: So sorry I took so long but a certain sibling ::suspicious cough:: has been hogging the internet. This chapter was much longer than I planned, so Logan and Thorn's meeting comes later. insert demented giggle Rigghhtttt. . .Replies are very, very welcome, as are E-Mails, AIM, and requests to check out other stories! Please, please, will someone inform me how to use italics when I post? Thanx so much! {*.* still means italics and _._ either are thoughts or underline.}
...........
Logan stared up at the building he hadn't seen in 6 months as he swung his leg over the motorcycle, leaning it on its stand. He walked forward; amazed that it seemed so unchanged when it felt like he'd been gone so long. He allowed himself a small smile before shoving open the door and walking in.
Eerie echoes of children's voices reverberated through the halls, accompanied by the sound of his quiet footsteps. He took the steps up the Professor's office, though he wasn't sure why he bothered going, since Xavier probably already knew he was there. He paused before pushing the door open.
Professor Xavier was waiting for him. "Logan!" He said calmly, "Welcome home! This is a pleasant surprise."
"I'm sure," Logan replied dryly, while mentally repeating the word. _Home?_
"Did you find anything?" The professor inquired, wheeling his chair around his desk.
"Yeah," Logan said absently, glancing around the room as though to change the subject "What happened to your plant?"
"I forgot to water it," Xavier answered genially, without even looking back at the huge, dying fern. "Perhaps you'd like to schedule a talk with Dr. Gray?"
Logan could barely keep a grin from his face. "Sure," He shrugged nonchalantly "When?"
"Now?" Xavier suggested.
"Whatever is good for you," Logan said, successfully, as always, hiding his inner emotions.
"I believe Jean is in her office. I trust you remember where it is?" Xavier remarked, knowing the answer.
Logan nodded and wondered absently if Xavier just asked questions to be polite.
"I hope to be seeing you around the school more often," Xavier said sincerely "Perhaps you might even consider teaching a class, like self defense."
Logan raised an eyebrow. The chances of that happening were slim to none. Well, maybe if he could use One-Eye as a demonstration dummy. It would be the perfect job for Scott; it was how he acted anyway.
"See ya around Chuck," Logan said gruffly. Xavier smiled in an almost fond way and Logan realized with a start that Xavier really was glad to have him back. Whoa, that was a weird feeling. He walked back down the hall, inspecting the place as he went. He reminisced thoughtfully as he strode through the school, wondering if his comrades had changed as much as he had.
He arrived at his destination, mentally steeling himself before he opened the door to see the woman he had been missing the most for almost six months. Well, almost the most.
The door opened with a slight creak, betraying Logan's presence. Jean looked up absentmindedly from the paperwork she was skimming over on her desk. She stared at Logan for a moment, as though her mind was not quite registering that he really was there. Her glasses slipped down her nose in astonishment and Logan couldn't help but think about how beautiful she was.
"Logan!" She greeted, taken aback, and Logan considered yet again how odd it was that everyone was actually happy to see him. She rose smoothly from the desk and embraced him warmly. Logan stiffened as she hugged him, but was disappointed to find only friendship there. He awkwardly returned the embrace and she backed away to regard him.
"You look good," She said with a smile.
"So do you," he said truthfully, watching her as she returned to her seat. "How's One-, er, Scott?" He asked.
She smiled affectionately "Still furious about the bike."
"So you two are still . . ." Logan trailed off uncertainly, leaving the words hanging in the air.
"Yes."
There was an uncomfortable silence, which was finally broken by Jean. "How was your trip?"
"Fine," He answered, avoiding the real question she was asking. She wanted to know if he'd found any answers. The truth was yes, he'd found his past, or at least part of it, and it hadn't done him any good.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
His thoughts went back to that day in a remote part of Canada, when he'd located the abandoned military compound. It didn't look very remarkable; just a small, snowy building in the middle of a clearing. Logan clearly remembered clearing the snowdrifts out from in front of the door before managing to heave it open. When he finally did so he was so shocked, he just stood in the doorway, staring at the inner building.
If a tornado had ripped through the compound, it couldn't have looked much worse.
Dirt and leaves mingled with rotting paper and mangled equipment. Thick layers of dust settled on every imaginable surface and the air smelled strongly of the wilderness and animals; Logan could barely detect the scent of human. The whole place looked as though no one had been there in over a decade.
He entered warily, glaring suspiciously at every shadow. He entered the main room of the compound and saw something out of the corner of his eye. His heart stopped.
Logan slowly turned, running his hand along the wall. Three gashes sliced through the metal, as if some primitive beast had vented his wrath on the cold steel. He slid his claws from their sheath of bone and set them into the gashes. A perfect match.
Feeling light headed, Logan returned the blades to his hand and continued through the room. Okay, obviously, he'd been here before- sometime out of his memories reach. He studied the mess more closely now, spotting signs of struggle. His stomach turned as he spotted a bleached skeleton lying in one corner. Had he killed that person? Had he done *all* of this?
The whole place gave him the creeps. It was like walking through an echo of his nightmares, a cruelly twisted version created to torture him. He spotted the glass cylinder from his dreams, the one "they" had put him in while operating. The glass was smashed, but the strong smell of the chemical stored inside was still clear.
He turned a corner and noticed a small room that was really more of a cell. The front wall was one-way glass, so the scientists could observe the patient without him seeing them. It was thick Plexiglas, and should have been impossible to penetrate. Yet there was a large hole cut through it, one that Logan guessed only a metal like admantium could make.
Logan felt sick from rage and an emotion he couldn't describe. Was it remorse? He couldn't be sure, but he was revolted at what crimes he had committed in his animalistic rage. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if he could remember why, or when, but his memory was a blank. Somewhere, a voice in his head whispered the crimes "they" had perpetrated were worse; he had just been lashing out in self- defense.
While these conflicting thoughts raced through his mind, Logan stared at the cot still resting in the center of the cell. Suddenly, a flashback invaded his abstraction.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A younger Logan found himself waking slowly on a cot. The mirror that was his wall showed his face to be clean-shaven and markings, sketches, ran all over his body. Then he became aware of the horrible pain in his left arm.
His arm, it was on fire! The pain was practically mind numbing, while still managing keep him in complete agony. Deep cuts, revealing bone, traced up and down his limb in a fatal symmetry. Glints of metal could be faintly glimpsed as the wounds began to close. He stared, filled with terrified fascination, at the muscle knitting itself together. But even as the gash repaired itself, the pain lingered. Not as potent perhaps, but still lying just beneath his skin. He stood unsteadily, staggering towards the mirror. He knew they were watching. They came after each part of the surgery, admiring their handiwork, fueled by their sick minds. Sometimes they'd leave him in the vat when they had finished, letting the stasis fluid suspend his healing factor while they celebrated.
But Logan knew something they didn't. When they finished the surgery, they would have no way to control him. They had created the perfect weapon, but they never considered how to protect themselves from it. He, the Wolverine, was going to make them pay.
He stared disquietingly into the depths of the mirror, then turned and paced back to his cot. He tested his new claws. A faint pain sliced through his knuckles, but next to the surgery, it felt like splinters in his flesh. One more surgery, his right arm, and he'd be done. They'd be done.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Logan came back to reality with a start. That had to have been the strongest memory he'd ever had. He stared at his hands, then at the mirror. The recollection of that horrid pain washed away his feelings of remorse. Those twisted versions of men deserved death, and he was the one who gave it to them. So be it.
Wandering a little further, he inspected the battered equipment. Noticing a modem that looked better off than the others, he pushed the power button experimentally. To his utter astonishment, the computer hummed weakly and lit up. It took a long time to load and even Logan, who was no computer nerd, could tell it was on its last leg. He clicked on the icon that appeared on the screen, waiting intolerantly while it loaded. Patience simply wasn't his style.
Finally, the document loaded. It was a voice recording, done by the lead scientist on the project. Logan pressed the play button and waited.
". . . Log number 11043. My name is Jayce Grimmley, the leading doctor on the X Project. We will be completing the last of the surgeries today, the coating of the right arm with adamantium. According to Will's instructions, we've added extensions to his claws and. . ."
Wolverines mind spun. Extensions? They were supposed to have *given* him his claws, not reinforced them!
"The patient is recuperating amazingly well, much better than we foresaw. In fact, he's been steadily building up an immunity to the tranquilizers. If we increase the doses any further, the injections could become lethal.
The patient has a long history of violent behavior and I'm beginning to worry about his temperament affecting the outcome of this experiment. I warned Stryker about his choosing of this subject, but he wanted the job done fast; apparently he has a very important opp worked up for the mutant and didn't want to waste time trying to find another mutant with healing factors. I'm beginning to think that mission will never be accomplished.
A chill ran up Logan's spine as the truth of these words hit home.
"The subject, code named Wolverine, has begun to lash out in random acts of violence. He wounded one of my assistants almost to death in one attack and badly mutilated a guard in another. I have no idea how Will intends to contain Wolverine, but our prison won't hold him much longer."
The voice paused and Logan detected a trace of bitterness... and fear.
"Well, to end my brief, and possibly last, log report, I have saved all the information we've obtained in this master computer. No backups, no discs. The material's too dangerous for enemies to get a hang of. I-"
Loud sounds and crashes could be heard in the background of the recording. Grimmley broke off as a siren started.
"Damit, it's another attack. I'll be submitting another report tomorrow. . . If I can."
The recording stopped, leaving Logan to stare at the screen. So many unanswered questions. . .
Logan, as I stated above, was no computer ace. What he needed now was that friend of Rogue's, what was her name, uh, Kitty. Too bad she was hundreds of miles away. Oh well, he'd just have to guess his way through this.
He figured that the rapidly dying computer had enough power to complete one search at most. So what did he look up-his personal file, or this Stryker guy? Growling with frustration, he let his fingers hover over the keypad for a moment before typing in a name- Wolverine.
The computer hummed tunelessly for a moment before a link popped up.
_*PROJECT X-codename Wolverine*_
With slightly trembling fingers, Logan clicked on the file. For a moment, nothing happened. Finally, words popped up, black among an endless white background. Logan read hastily.
_*Experiment subject Logan, first identified in the early Vietnam War-*_
Logan didn't even finish reading the first sentence before the computer gave one last, dying wheeze and the screen blipped to eternity. Logan stared, disbelieving at the blank screen.
No. No, no, no,nonono*NO!*
With a cry of rage, Logan flexed his hands, slashing the equipment to pieces. Gone, the key to his past! Venting his wrath upon the already-expired mechanics, he glared about him, his eyesight tinted slightly red. What had he done to deserve this?
Logan left the compound after assuring himself there was nothing on his past still inside. He revved the bike and took off at an impossible speed, feeling utterly reckless. He didn't have a past, a home, even a name really; only what they had given him. But wait, he did have a home-or at least one that would suffice. He remembered clearly those last words-"We'll be here, if you need us." He sighed. Oh hell, not like he had anything better to do.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Logan felt the flashback ebb away gently, leaving him staring across a desk at the lovely redhead. She was still wearing that concerned look and Logan realized, with relief, that she hadn't read his mind. She seemed to recognize the look on his face and stayed silent for a moment.
"Look, Logan, I know you've probably been through a lot these past months, but I understand *completely*," She paused, letting the words sink in "If now isn't the right moment to tell us what happened."
Logan considered this. If he hadn't known better, he would have decided that this judgment came from her physic ability to read his emotions, but he knew otherwise. It was simply good, old-fashioned womanly intuition.
He nodded "Yeah," He agreed "That'd be great."
She smiled warmly at him and he felt his pulse quicken slightly. "Logan, we really are glad to have you back," She told him kindly.
_Glad to be back darlin_', He thought silently.
She walked with him down the hall, chatting softly about everything that had happened when he was gone. He was only half listening, really. When they reached their destination, she stopped.
"You can walk around the grounds a bit; see what's changed for yourself," She said with a mysterious smile. Logan detected she wasn't telling him everything, but decided to keep the suspicion to himself.
"Thanks Red," he said softly. She waved as he started down the steps.
"Be careful Logan!" She called after him.
Careful? What was that supposed to mean? Like there was anything on the grounds he had to worry about.
If only he knew. . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There it is! Please hit that widdle button dat says "Submit Review" so I won't haf ta sic Wulfe on you. Ohhh. . . . long story there. . . .
Coming soon: _Hostile Meetings._
Author's Note: So sorry I took so long but a certain sibling ::suspicious cough:: has been hogging the internet. This chapter was much longer than I planned, so Logan and Thorn's meeting comes later. insert demented giggle Rigghhtttt. . .Replies are very, very welcome, as are E-Mails, AIM, and requests to check out other stories! Please, please, will someone inform me how to use italics when I post? Thanx so much! {*.* still means italics and _._ either are thoughts or underline.}
...........
Logan stared up at the building he hadn't seen in 6 months as he swung his leg over the motorcycle, leaning it on its stand. He walked forward; amazed that it seemed so unchanged when it felt like he'd been gone so long. He allowed himself a small smile before shoving open the door and walking in.
Eerie echoes of children's voices reverberated through the halls, accompanied by the sound of his quiet footsteps. He took the steps up the Professor's office, though he wasn't sure why he bothered going, since Xavier probably already knew he was there. He paused before pushing the door open.
Professor Xavier was waiting for him. "Logan!" He said calmly, "Welcome home! This is a pleasant surprise."
"I'm sure," Logan replied dryly, while mentally repeating the word. _Home?_
"Did you find anything?" The professor inquired, wheeling his chair around his desk.
"Yeah," Logan said absently, glancing around the room as though to change the subject "What happened to your plant?"
"I forgot to water it," Xavier answered genially, without even looking back at the huge, dying fern. "Perhaps you'd like to schedule a talk with Dr. Gray?"
Logan could barely keep a grin from his face. "Sure," He shrugged nonchalantly "When?"
"Now?" Xavier suggested.
"Whatever is good for you," Logan said, successfully, as always, hiding his inner emotions.
"I believe Jean is in her office. I trust you remember where it is?" Xavier remarked, knowing the answer.
Logan nodded and wondered absently if Xavier just asked questions to be polite.
"I hope to be seeing you around the school more often," Xavier said sincerely "Perhaps you might even consider teaching a class, like self defense."
Logan raised an eyebrow. The chances of that happening were slim to none. Well, maybe if he could use One-Eye as a demonstration dummy. It would be the perfect job for Scott; it was how he acted anyway.
"See ya around Chuck," Logan said gruffly. Xavier smiled in an almost fond way and Logan realized with a start that Xavier really was glad to have him back. Whoa, that was a weird feeling. He walked back down the hall, inspecting the place as he went. He reminisced thoughtfully as he strode through the school, wondering if his comrades had changed as much as he had.
He arrived at his destination, mentally steeling himself before he opened the door to see the woman he had been missing the most for almost six months. Well, almost the most.
The door opened with a slight creak, betraying Logan's presence. Jean looked up absentmindedly from the paperwork she was skimming over on her desk. She stared at Logan for a moment, as though her mind was not quite registering that he really was there. Her glasses slipped down her nose in astonishment and Logan couldn't help but think about how beautiful she was.
"Logan!" She greeted, taken aback, and Logan considered yet again how odd it was that everyone was actually happy to see him. She rose smoothly from the desk and embraced him warmly. Logan stiffened as she hugged him, but was disappointed to find only friendship there. He awkwardly returned the embrace and she backed away to regard him.
"You look good," She said with a smile.
"So do you," he said truthfully, watching her as she returned to her seat. "How's One-, er, Scott?" He asked.
She smiled affectionately "Still furious about the bike."
"So you two are still . . ." Logan trailed off uncertainly, leaving the words hanging in the air.
"Yes."
There was an uncomfortable silence, which was finally broken by Jean. "How was your trip?"
"Fine," He answered, avoiding the real question she was asking. She wanted to know if he'd found any answers. The truth was yes, he'd found his past, or at least part of it, and it hadn't done him any good.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
His thoughts went back to that day in a remote part of Canada, when he'd located the abandoned military compound. It didn't look very remarkable; just a small, snowy building in the middle of a clearing. Logan clearly remembered clearing the snowdrifts out from in front of the door before managing to heave it open. When he finally did so he was so shocked, he just stood in the doorway, staring at the inner building.
If a tornado had ripped through the compound, it couldn't have looked much worse.
Dirt and leaves mingled with rotting paper and mangled equipment. Thick layers of dust settled on every imaginable surface and the air smelled strongly of the wilderness and animals; Logan could barely detect the scent of human. The whole place looked as though no one had been there in over a decade.
He entered warily, glaring suspiciously at every shadow. He entered the main room of the compound and saw something out of the corner of his eye. His heart stopped.
Logan slowly turned, running his hand along the wall. Three gashes sliced through the metal, as if some primitive beast had vented his wrath on the cold steel. He slid his claws from their sheath of bone and set them into the gashes. A perfect match.
Feeling light headed, Logan returned the blades to his hand and continued through the room. Okay, obviously, he'd been here before- sometime out of his memories reach. He studied the mess more closely now, spotting signs of struggle. His stomach turned as he spotted a bleached skeleton lying in one corner. Had he killed that person? Had he done *all* of this?
The whole place gave him the creeps. It was like walking through an echo of his nightmares, a cruelly twisted version created to torture him. He spotted the glass cylinder from his dreams, the one "they" had put him in while operating. The glass was smashed, but the strong smell of the chemical stored inside was still clear.
He turned a corner and noticed a small room that was really more of a cell. The front wall was one-way glass, so the scientists could observe the patient without him seeing them. It was thick Plexiglas, and should have been impossible to penetrate. Yet there was a large hole cut through it, one that Logan guessed only a metal like admantium could make.
Logan felt sick from rage and an emotion he couldn't describe. Was it remorse? He couldn't be sure, but he was revolted at what crimes he had committed in his animalistic rage. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if he could remember why, or when, but his memory was a blank. Somewhere, a voice in his head whispered the crimes "they" had perpetrated were worse; he had just been lashing out in self- defense.
While these conflicting thoughts raced through his mind, Logan stared at the cot still resting in the center of the cell. Suddenly, a flashback invaded his abstraction.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A younger Logan found himself waking slowly on a cot. The mirror that was his wall showed his face to be clean-shaven and markings, sketches, ran all over his body. Then he became aware of the horrible pain in his left arm.
His arm, it was on fire! The pain was practically mind numbing, while still managing keep him in complete agony. Deep cuts, revealing bone, traced up and down his limb in a fatal symmetry. Glints of metal could be faintly glimpsed as the wounds began to close. He stared, filled with terrified fascination, at the muscle knitting itself together. But even as the gash repaired itself, the pain lingered. Not as potent perhaps, but still lying just beneath his skin. He stood unsteadily, staggering towards the mirror. He knew they were watching. They came after each part of the surgery, admiring their handiwork, fueled by their sick minds. Sometimes they'd leave him in the vat when they had finished, letting the stasis fluid suspend his healing factor while they celebrated.
But Logan knew something they didn't. When they finished the surgery, they would have no way to control him. They had created the perfect weapon, but they never considered how to protect themselves from it. He, the Wolverine, was going to make them pay.
He stared disquietingly into the depths of the mirror, then turned and paced back to his cot. He tested his new claws. A faint pain sliced through his knuckles, but next to the surgery, it felt like splinters in his flesh. One more surgery, his right arm, and he'd be done. They'd be done.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Logan came back to reality with a start. That had to have been the strongest memory he'd ever had. He stared at his hands, then at the mirror. The recollection of that horrid pain washed away his feelings of remorse. Those twisted versions of men deserved death, and he was the one who gave it to them. So be it.
Wandering a little further, he inspected the battered equipment. Noticing a modem that looked better off than the others, he pushed the power button experimentally. To his utter astonishment, the computer hummed weakly and lit up. It took a long time to load and even Logan, who was no computer nerd, could tell it was on its last leg. He clicked on the icon that appeared on the screen, waiting intolerantly while it loaded. Patience simply wasn't his style.
Finally, the document loaded. It was a voice recording, done by the lead scientist on the project. Logan pressed the play button and waited.
". . . Log number 11043. My name is Jayce Grimmley, the leading doctor on the X Project. We will be completing the last of the surgeries today, the coating of the right arm with adamantium. According to Will's instructions, we've added extensions to his claws and. . ."
Wolverines mind spun. Extensions? They were supposed to have *given* him his claws, not reinforced them!
"The patient is recuperating amazingly well, much better than we foresaw. In fact, he's been steadily building up an immunity to the tranquilizers. If we increase the doses any further, the injections could become lethal.
The patient has a long history of violent behavior and I'm beginning to worry about his temperament affecting the outcome of this experiment. I warned Stryker about his choosing of this subject, but he wanted the job done fast; apparently he has a very important opp worked up for the mutant and didn't want to waste time trying to find another mutant with healing factors. I'm beginning to think that mission will never be accomplished.
A chill ran up Logan's spine as the truth of these words hit home.
"The subject, code named Wolverine, has begun to lash out in random acts of violence. He wounded one of my assistants almost to death in one attack and badly mutilated a guard in another. I have no idea how Will intends to contain Wolverine, but our prison won't hold him much longer."
The voice paused and Logan detected a trace of bitterness... and fear.
"Well, to end my brief, and possibly last, log report, I have saved all the information we've obtained in this master computer. No backups, no discs. The material's too dangerous for enemies to get a hang of. I-"
Loud sounds and crashes could be heard in the background of the recording. Grimmley broke off as a siren started.
"Damit, it's another attack. I'll be submitting another report tomorrow. . . If I can."
The recording stopped, leaving Logan to stare at the screen. So many unanswered questions. . .
Logan, as I stated above, was no computer ace. What he needed now was that friend of Rogue's, what was her name, uh, Kitty. Too bad she was hundreds of miles away. Oh well, he'd just have to guess his way through this.
He figured that the rapidly dying computer had enough power to complete one search at most. So what did he look up-his personal file, or this Stryker guy? Growling with frustration, he let his fingers hover over the keypad for a moment before typing in a name- Wolverine.
The computer hummed tunelessly for a moment before a link popped up.
_*PROJECT X-codename Wolverine*_
With slightly trembling fingers, Logan clicked on the file. For a moment, nothing happened. Finally, words popped up, black among an endless white background. Logan read hastily.
_*Experiment subject Logan, first identified in the early Vietnam War-*_
Logan didn't even finish reading the first sentence before the computer gave one last, dying wheeze and the screen blipped to eternity. Logan stared, disbelieving at the blank screen.
No. No, no, no,nonono*NO!*
With a cry of rage, Logan flexed his hands, slashing the equipment to pieces. Gone, the key to his past! Venting his wrath upon the already-expired mechanics, he glared about him, his eyesight tinted slightly red. What had he done to deserve this?
Logan left the compound after assuring himself there was nothing on his past still inside. He revved the bike and took off at an impossible speed, feeling utterly reckless. He didn't have a past, a home, even a name really; only what they had given him. But wait, he did have a home-or at least one that would suffice. He remembered clearly those last words-"We'll be here, if you need us." He sighed. Oh hell, not like he had anything better to do.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Logan felt the flashback ebb away gently, leaving him staring across a desk at the lovely redhead. She was still wearing that concerned look and Logan realized, with relief, that she hadn't read his mind. She seemed to recognize the look on his face and stayed silent for a moment.
"Look, Logan, I know you've probably been through a lot these past months, but I understand *completely*," She paused, letting the words sink in "If now isn't the right moment to tell us what happened."
Logan considered this. If he hadn't known better, he would have decided that this judgment came from her physic ability to read his emotions, but he knew otherwise. It was simply good, old-fashioned womanly intuition.
He nodded "Yeah," He agreed "That'd be great."
She smiled warmly at him and he felt his pulse quicken slightly. "Logan, we really are glad to have you back," She told him kindly.
_Glad to be back darlin_', He thought silently.
She walked with him down the hall, chatting softly about everything that had happened when he was gone. He was only half listening, really. When they reached their destination, she stopped.
"You can walk around the grounds a bit; see what's changed for yourself," She said with a mysterious smile. Logan detected she wasn't telling him everything, but decided to keep the suspicion to himself.
"Thanks Red," he said softly. She waved as he started down the steps.
"Be careful Logan!" She called after him.
Careful? What was that supposed to mean? Like there was anything on the grounds he had to worry about.
If only he knew. . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There it is! Please hit that widdle button dat says "Submit Review" so I won't haf ta sic Wulfe on you. Ohhh. . . . long story there. . . .
Coming soon: _Hostile Meetings._
