Strangers in the Dark

Bending over she rang the water out of her hair, watching it run down the shower drain. She could almost swear even now that part of the water was still red, even though it wasn't. She'd never forget all of it running down her skin when she first stuck her head under the shower head and water cascaded through her hair. A faint shudder ran through her and she steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her and she tried to push that picture away, again.

She looked at her face in the foggy mirror, thinking over the events again. She could remember the basket ball game, She could remember getting a "very berry"- strawberry smoothie at the ice cream place with Melissa, and she could remember waking up in the god awful room 7 hours later and the events after that.

But the black out was a complete gap in her mind again. And then there was him.

Jean started drying herself off slowly, standing on a small carpet in the bathroom. Remy. The name sounded French and that went along with the accent. He'd saved her, bandaged her; and all for nothing- yet. Faint shiver, both due to her thoughts and the cooling air in the bathroom. Laying the towel on the counter, she slipped back into the black t-shirt. Why'd he help her? Could she trust him in the least? What was in the part of her memory which remained blank? She picked up the towel drying her hair partially and then folded the towel, placing on top of the down toilet seat cover.

(If the questions don't kill me first this aching throb within my skull will)

She picked up a comb he had and ran it through all her hair. Studied her face again. Her eyes were still a jaden green color, and her skin an almost pale white. Her red hair for the moment fell completely straight, but only because it was still wet; and soon it would get the normal waves and curls again as it dried. She was still the same and yet everything was different. Yesterday she'd just been the popular cheerleader, with one secret- now......Now she was the girl who'd been laying in a pool of blood, surrounded by carnage, chased by the cops and rescued by him. The guy from both the game and the school. It had taken for the shock to wear off for her to realize it, but it was him. and now he had a name.

Remy.

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"Why were you there?"

He spun around surprised. She'd snuck up on him, and that was an incredibly hard thing to do. She stood there in the doorway in only his black t-shirt again that fell half way down her thighs, her hair still wet, with her hands and fingers laced together in front of herself. She seemed to have regained her assured composure again. He put on his poker-face that betrayed no emotion to answer her,

"Better question, chere. Why were YOU?"

The words struck a cord in her. Since she had awaken in that bloody "tomb" she had been striving to find out why. "I - I don't know. All I remember was walking home from a friends how, and then the next thing knew, it was 2:30 in the morning and I had just woken up . . . there . . ." The sudden onslaught of terrifying memories rush back at her, making her shiver. Her head turned away as she could feel the beginning of tears. She didn't know this Remy from "Adam" but she sure wasn't going to let him see her cry.

Damning himself for bringing so much back upon her when she was still "shell shocked", Remy quietly walked up to the tall, trembling, fire-haired beauty and gently put his arms around her, tilting her towards his chest. His fingers ran through her freshly-washed hair that smelled so nice, whispering consolments and reassurements in French.

Once more, Jean let her guard down a fraction as she accepted his hold. With her world having turned a backwards 720 revolution, and no one to turn to until she found out the truth, it was - comforting - to be able to trust someone now. Listening to his voice relaxed her. He murmured those french words like a mantra, soothing her.

(Damn, how I wish I had paid attention to those French classes Mom made me take!) Regaining composure, she stepped back out of his hold and leveled her eyes to him.

"Now that I've told you what *I* was doing there, I think its your turn. Also might help if you told me where *we* are now."

Remy sighed, he knew this was coming. Stepping back and sitting on the corner of his bed, he looked up at her, his face unreadable.

"Would you believe dat I happened t'be in de area?"

The scowl on Jean's face enunciated her disbelievance.

(Well, it's *partly* true!)

"Actually, I was out working late, when I saw de cops racing. Naturally curious, I followed dem, and when I was close enough t'see de firefight 'bout t'break out, I saw you on de roof, scared and bleeding. Ya didn't look like no criminal t'me, chere, and believe me, I've seen m'share of crooks. So, after ya headed for de fire escape, I followed ya, t'see if I could help." He put on his charming smile again, "Never could resist a lady in distress."

Jean sighed. It sounded almost ... plausible.

"Fine, but what were you doing at the school?"

"Ya saw me?" Remy inwardly scolded himself (damn, I mus' be slippin'!) "Act'lly a friend o' mine goes t'dat school, so I visit him from time t'time. He mentioned you, said dat he had a class wit' you, so I looked up on ya." He smiled again, "He was right when he said ya were a stunning woman."

Jean was able to suppress the blush, but couldn't erase the small smile that came to her face. "And who is this friend of yours that I may think him?"

Remy smiled again, seeming to pull her eyes hypnotically into his own, "Now, now, chere, it would be wrong of me t'go and tell my friend's crush what his identity be."

Jean shivered again, as she shook her head to regain her senses. She didn't know what it was about him, but she could almost feel herself being "enchanted" by him, almost like . . .

(... the flute to a snake)

"Alright," she replied slowly, "Now the third question, where are we?"

Remy gave a small smile of pride, "My room, chere." He gestures around to the small, simple bedroom, "Dis be a Guild safehouse. We be safe here for de meanwhile."

She walked in finally from the doorway, sitting near the head of the bed. She crossed her legs uncomfortably and then grabbed a pillow putting in on her lap and resting her arms on it. She watched him almost 'too' closely. His stories for the most part sounded plausible. Ah, if he head would stop pounding she might be able to pick up if he was telling her the (real) truth. Everything she was getting was sketchy and fuzzy; but then so was the rest of her head right now. She frowned remembering it was like this for the first few hours the other times, too.

"No. No, where are we exactly?"

"A few dozen miles from de city, chere."

Her jaw almost dropped a sudden shocked expression, but she set herself tightening her lips faintly at a rush of emotions that were all starting to grate inside madly with no release so far. Her tone almost sounded angry;

"S-so far? You took me aw-Why? Why'd you bring me here?"

He was a bit surprised by this sudden turn and said light;"Well, Jean, you pass'd out cold in my arms and I t'ought it be better den leave you to de cops, non?"

A flushed brightened her pale cheeks suddenly and she looked down at the silk pillow in her lap, twisting part of it absently around her finger.

"I-I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped at you. Thank you for everything you've done for me, Remy. It's all just this- it's- it's," a faint sigh escaped her lips as she reached up moving her curling bangs from her eyes and she sat back against the head of the bed," it's all just happening so fast."

"S'okay, chere, you were someone who ended up in de wrong place in de wrong time, last night. It's natural you're a bit shak'n up."

"Last night? What time is it now?"

Glancing at his watch, he stifled a yawn, "Quarter t'six, chere. We best get movin' soon."

"Moving?" This caught Jean like a frying pan upside the head, "Go where? Home?"

Remy looked at her, saw the hopeful gleam in her eye at the mention of returning home. But was it safe right now for either of them to do so? Only he knew what she was doing there . . . or supposed to have been doing there. The feds in this area weren't stupid. They'd piece it together and would be swarming her house like mosquitoes, waiting for her.

He ran a hand through his hair, combing it back from his face.

"Non, Jean, we can't. Not yet. De situation too delicate. De cops be swarmin' dat warehouse, and won't take dem long t'put two and two together and be all over y'house."

His ominous words brought back Jean's overwhelming guilt. Those people . . . had she really been the death of them? Never would she lash out at anyone, certainly not these mass of people whom she didn't know. But her powers . . . that blackout . . . could her powers had taken over, driven her mad? The thoughts increased in speed as they tore through her anguishing ming. The police were after her. She couldn't go home. They'd be waiting for her. But . . . what if her powers kicked in again? Might the same thing happen again? Would she wind up hurting Remy?

"N-No," she choked, clutching the pillow tighter. "I have to leave. . . "

Tentatively, Remy approached her, and outstretch hand of comfort reaching for her, "Jean, I'm sorry, but y'can't go home yet . . ."

The bottle of emotions within her was rattling, ready to break lose the cork. She angrily shot out, slapping his hand away. Her voice rose, "Don't you get it?? Those poor people in the warehouse . . . their hellish deaths . . . *I* caused it!!"

The shock, the repulsion, the horror she expected to see written on his face wasn't there. Instead, it was more of a confused look. Was he that dense? Or did he not know of what happened? "Chere, how . . . ?"

Jean swallowed hard as she gripped the pillow even harder. "I . . . I have these . . . "blackout" episodes.

They started not too long ago. I'm a . . ." Instantaneous memories of the news broadcasts with their stories of mutant hating hysteria made her rethink her next words, ". . . I mean, I have a mental condition. Doctor's have . . . diagnosed it . . . but they don't have a cure." Jean turned her head away, she couldn't bring herself to see his reaction. "Oh, Remy, you have to believe me! I'm not crazy! I'm not some kind of lunatic!! I - I never ASKED to be this way!!"

She was so lost in her confession to reject the feel of his arm circling her shoulders consolingly. "No one ever does, chere. We take what we givin'. Dere ain't no return on genetics. An' I never said ya were crazy. But, s'il vous plait, continue . . . "

Nodding, Jean finished, "I remember being out with a friend, and then, the next thing I knew . . . I woke up in this strange warehouse. It was almost pitch black inside, and I could feel myself laying . . . in their blood . . ." She shivered. "I found a flashlight . . . and that's when I saw them. Next thing I knew, the cops were fast showing, and I knew I had to get out of there. I found the hatch to the roof and climbed out that way. The police had swarmed the building, and one of them had fired at me. The bullet ricocheted off the ledge of the roof and cut into my leg. They called in their helicopter force, and that's when I thought of the ladder. Next thing I knew, I landed in . . . um . . . your arms, and the rest you know."

Remy took her chin in his hand, turning her head gently to look her in the eye. "Do y'honestly believe, chere, dat *you* caused de death o'all dose people?"

Jean bit her bottom lip, turning away from guilt at the strange feeling the look of his eyes gave her. "It's the only thing that makes sense. I don't remember what happens in those blackouts . . . I could become a completely different person. How else would I have wound up there?"

Remy sighed as he watched her self-formed guilt eat her away inside. He sympathized wholly, he knew the torture of guilt all too well. But how could he put her mind to ease, without revealing his own guilt? His own shame?

"Well, chere, we don' know for sure dat what happened," he offered, "But one thing for sure, we gon' have t'find out, t'clear us . . . "

"Us?" Jean's head snapped back around to face him at the mention of the word.

Remy smiles his most charming smile. "Oui, *Us*. Dey book me as well, prob'ly, f'r 'accessory for murder' and 'housing a criminal'."

Jean laughed bitterly. "Okay, *us* then. Well, how are *we* going to clear *our* names?"

Remy's expression turned serious. "By doin' some homework on dis."

"Where do we start?"

Remy thought for a moment. "Well, those people must have had something in connection, or a reason for all of them t'be dere. Before findin' ya, I didn' see no smears o' blood outside de warehouse, an' no killer, no matter how good, can get de stain o' blood outta concrete."