Strangers in the Dark



The first sensation she realized was sound, but it wasn't in her ears . . . it was in her head.

The next sensation she realized was the strange feeling of floating on water . . .

Jean moaned as black swirled to brilliant colors, then finally settles on an ash grey. Blinking to clear the swirling spots in front of her eyes, she found herself staring up at a vaulted ceiling. A single light floated above, giving off a cold, wan, fluorescent light that did nothing to illuminate the room. Jean groaned softly, her head was pounding! The last thing she remembered was returning home from her outing for ice cream with Melissa after the basketball game. From then till now . . . Jean didn't even have a clue as to when "now" was! She turned her head softly, as she saw an outside window. It was night out, pitch black except for the light reflected from the moon.

Lifting her arm to check her watch, she grimaced as she could feel a warm sticky liquid beneath her. The light given from the tiny lonely light bulb fifty feet above her did nothing to help her see what the substance was.

(Mother's going to kill me for ruining my cheerleading outfit!)

Pressing the little light on her watch, she read the time.2:16 AM.What had happened? When she was walking home it was 7:30! Jean strained her throbbing head to try to remember, but it was a blank. Then the horrifying thought hit her.

(My powers must have kicked in!!! )

Shivering more from the thought of the consequences of her powers than from laying in a cooling pool of liquid, she struggled to sit up. Her mind was racing. Something loosely similar to this had happened before, but she was in the safety of her home then, and she hadn't been unconscious long. But the events were similar. At one moment, she was well and fine, fully aware of her actions and her surroundings and then, hours later, she had awaken, lying on the floor, with no conscious memory of what had happened in that missing time frame.

(But then . . . how'd I wind up here??)

Shakily standing, she grimaced as she could feel the dark liquid dripping off of her like a water-based glue. Some of it had dried on parts of her. She lifted her arms to her line of vision, squinting in the faint light to try to identify the goo she was laying in, but the light wasn't near enough for her to see properly. As it was, she could barely make out a dark massive silhouette that seemed to be the only other occupant of the room.

Jean moaned as a new sound rang in the distance, the faint sound of police sirens fastly approaching.

Accompanying the sound was a new resonance in her mind. They were thoughts, voices . . . panicked voices. The thoughts were too rampant for her to singularly pick out what they were saying, but she could feel the general tone.

Fear.

That same fear started to wash onto Jean. What has happened? Turning her head every which way, feeling her soaked hair slicking itself to her forehead, her eyes finally caught sight of something that resembled a flashlight rolling around on the floor. Her hands trembling badly, she bent down to pick up the flashlight.

The flashlight had seen better days; a huge dent creased its casing and it too was drenched in the same strange liquid that also covered her.

(Oh I hope this isn't oil, or gasoline! Those'll take forever to try and clean out on my own)

Fumbling with the switch, she was finally able to active it, shining the faint light upon the dark massive silhouette in the corner.A horrified scream would have escaped her lips if her lungs hadn't sunk down to her stomach in fright. Her jaw hung open, moving to form silent, incoherent words. The flashlight fell from nerveless fingers and landed with a splash upon the floor, spinning and twirling, the light falling like a disco ball strobe upon the horror. Several bodies lay one upon the other, faces frozen forever in looks of horror and sheer terror. Body parts were strewn about the pile of dead humans in a sick collage.

Everywhere she looked, she saw broken bones protruding from cold, pale flesh. The congealing blood ran like rivers down the heap. One person was missing half his head. Another was gutted savagely from crotch to adam's apple. A third had a massive crater where her chest should have been and another's arm was threaded through the gory hole. Jean lost count of how many there were. It was as if the group of people had been fed to the whirling blade of some massive grinder.

Jean struggled to scream, struggled even more to breathe. Shaking terribly, she sunk to her knees, her hand at her throat, trying desperately to breathe. The siren wailed closer, bringing a new thought to mind.

(The police! My God there must be a whole fleet of them!)

Jean started to breathe once more. The police would help her! They'd take her away from this obscene horror, take her home. They'd find the monster who did this and bring it to justice!

The flashlight spun and twirled until the light came to rest on her.

(They'd find the monster who did this . . . )

Jean's eyes widened in terror as she looked upon herself in the light. The liquid that she had awaken in, that had covered her now, practically head to toe.

(Blood . . . THEIR blood!!)

Her mind whirled with thoughts as the breath in her lungs quickened and chilled. Her body felt cold. . . .

(Another blackout . . . don't know what happened . . . blood, THEIR blood . . . the monster who did this . . . the monster . . . )

Tears fell from her eyes as her body went numb with one final thought.

(Did I do this??)

She could feel her heart plummet to the floor. No, this couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening!! This had to be some sick fever dream!! But that blackout . . . what had happened during that time?? Why was she here?? The sirens screamed closer as sudden memories of news broadcasts came to mind; stories of mutants like herself who couldn't control their power, and unleashed it violently upon others. What she remembered most were how heavily they were feared, loathed, persecuted.

(My God . . . I'M the monster!! )

The sirens were approaching at a rapid clip. They were coming. They would see the masses of dead people here, deaths that SHE had wrought. They would tell their families, and their families would grieve horribly, and the police would seek justice . . . retribution . . .

. . .vengeance . .

They were coming . . . coming for the inhuman monster who had brought about this atrocity of genocide . . . coming for the hellish inhuman monster whose sins had gone far beyond anything the German fuhrer had done.

Jean yanked herself to her feet, running, slipping, through the large warehouse, looking desperately for a way out of this tomb she had created.

They were coming . . . for her.

Everything seemed to fall to a haze of surrealism. Half slipping, half tripping, Jean fell to the floor, the pain of a newly sprained ankle fading temporarily under the heavy blanket of heart-racing horror in her mind.

Breathing fast and breathing audibly, she tore to her feet, running for a door on the far wall of the warehouse. Slamming against it, her fingers worked clumsily in her hysteria to try to open the lock on the door. It was useless, the police were here, hoards of them, guns drawn. They had sealed all the exits. She could hear them call into the building on their megaphone, informing her that she was surrounded, demanding her surrender. In her mind, the random thoughts of fear, panic, and hatred that flowed to her mind from the police outside only sickened her more and fueled the fire of her hysteria. The world seemed to be gyrating so fast, and she felt like she was drowning in the typhoon.

The soft sound of a latch being opened drew her sharp attention above her. The sound came from the hatch that led to the roof. Determined, she looked about, practically ripping her blood-soaked hair from her eyes.

A ladder on the far wall led up to a maze of rickety catwalks above her. The flashing, dazzling lights emanating from the police vehicles outside washed the warehouse in its brilliance as she tore towards the ladder, clinging to it like a lifeline. Fighting the shooting pain in her ankle, she climbed till she reached the catwalks. Almost stumbling on the old iron castwork of the catwalk, she finally reached the hatch. Ever grateful now that her time in cheerleading had built some muscle in her coltish legs, she vaulted herself out of the hatch and onto the roof.

The first sensation to reach her was the bitter chill of the rushing night winds. When had it gotten so cold outside? Indeed, the icy feeling reached deep into her bones as the winds chilled the blood that soaked her. Her arms wrapped tight about her, she hobbled over to the ledge of the warehouse roof, looking over. The street below seemed to be swamped in flashing red, white, and blue light, peppered by the small images of police, dressed in black, guns armed and raised.

(It all seemed so unreal . . . how could this be happening to me??)

A cry from below brought her out of her trance. One of the snipers had spotted her and cried out to his associates. The booming voice from the megaphone ordered her to stop or they would open fire. The despairing part of her wished they would. Then she'd fall into that sea of lights below, and awaken in her bed, safe and warm, this all being nothing more than a sick dream.

The bullet that whizzed past her, reflecting off of the ledge of the roof and nicking her in her left thigh scared her back to reality. Jean cried and fell upon the cold warehouse roof. Shaking her head to regain rationalization, she began to think things through, while her hand clutched the inside of her thigh, trying to stop the bleeding. The wound wasn't bad, the bullet had only grazed her, but it was enough to slow her down.

The cops were inside the gory warehouse now, clinically examining her "work". It wouldn't be long until they reached the roof, and then she'd be trapped. On the distance, she could hear the faint callings of two helicopters. They weren't pulling punches here, they knew the severity of the situation. Jean struggled to clamp down on the overwhelming thoughts and feelings of horror and nausea emanating from the officers inside. She knew she had to get off this roof but how? She also knew she had to run far from here, but where? Lord, how was she supposed to know what to do?

The glint of a ladder attached to the roof called her attention like a glimmer of hope. Limping towards the escape ladder, she looked down the side of the roof. The ladder lead to a dark side alley, but the ladder itself was a good fifteen feet from the ground. Part of it must have broken off due to age. The alley was clear of cops for the moment, but it would mean that she would have to take a twenty foot fall and survive.

Gritting her teeth as she heard the helicopters fast approaching, she ran for the ladder, slipping over the side of the roof and gripping the ladder rungs for dear life, trying desperately to keep herself from looking down. It seemed to take an eternity as Jean fumbled down the ladder as quietly as she could, but she finally reached the bottom rung. She could hear the cops starting to patrol the long dark alley way. This was it.

Maybe she'd be fortunate and the impact would kill her.

Taking in her last breath, she let go of the ladder and fell . . .

. . . into the strong arms of a man below her.

Her breath, along with her heart, catching in her throat, she tried to struggle against the mysterious figure who had caught her. The man cursed in a voice smooth and smoky, in a language she wasn't quite familiar with. Keeping one arm around her waist, letting her legs fall gently to the ground, he used his free hand and clamped it over her mouth, quietly moving both of them behind a dumpster as three patrol units pulled into the alley way. There they crouched in the safety of the shadows, watching the patrolmen survey the alley with their maglights. Fear seized every nerve in her body as she attempted to struggle. His long fingers tightened on her mouth, snapping her head back against his shoulder, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

"Don' . . . move . . ." he whispered softly, but Jean could feel the hidden threat, the steel edge, in his voice.

Ceasing her struggles, she sat rigid by him, the uncontrollable tears of fright and pain spilling silently from her jade green eyes. The man must have felt them coarse down his hand, because suddenly his lips were near her ear again,

"Shhhh . . . relax, chere . . ." With a nod that was more of a tremor, she held still as they watched the cops.

"Whatever it was might have gotten out this way" the first cop stated, flashing his light to illuminate the rickety ladder above.

"That's at least a twenty-foot drop!" the other argued, "I don't think anything human could survive a sheer drop like that!"

The other cop turned on his partner, "You saw the sickening carnage inside the scene. You honestly think something HUMAN could have done that??"

The words rang hollowly in Jean's ears, as she felt herself grow cold and the knife twist in her soul.

Suddenly, an electronic voice called out on their walkie-talkies.

"(tsch!) Attention all units! We've found another door to the warehouse facility! Suspect believed to have left through there! All units procede to the south side of the warehouse! (tsch!)"

"You heard the Captain, Howard!" the first officer replied, "We'll keep a unit to watch the alley just in case. Let's hurry and get to the back entrance of the warehouse!"

The two officers hurried off, their footsteps echoing in the alleyway. The car still sat there, bathing the entrance of the alley in its flood of white and blue flashing lights.

As Jean started to breath again, she could feel the man's lips twist into a wry smile.

"Dat be our way outta here, chere. Allons y!"

Releasing his grip on her mouth, he in turn grabbed for her wrist and turn and fled down the opposite end of the alleyway, Jean in tow. Jean grimaced as she ran the best she could on her wounded, bleeding leg and spained ankle, a small part of her marveling how he could run so fast, and yet not make a sound. It was all she could do to keep up with him as he took her flying through random side streets. His grip on her wrist was the only thing keeping her going. She cried out as her hip collided with the side of a wall. The man had stopped, finally, turning back to face her.

"S'okay, chere, we should be clear now. Dere ain't a cop in sight."

Jean finally took a good look at her captor . . . rescuer . . . she wasn't quite sure which. Her green eyes took in his tall, sinewy body covered in black jeans, a black shirt, and a worn-looking trench coat. His reddish-brown hair was long, tied back in a ponytail, leaving the shorter pieces hanging in his face and his eyes . . . his eyes . . .

Jean gasped as she got a good look at his eyes in the bright moonlight. Demon eyes . . . alluring . . . like two pools of darkness, with bright red irises that were . . . glowing?

In shock, the eerie street, the moonlight, his body, and those eyes, faded away at blackness swallowed her whole.