Chapter 10

Logan and Sara got out of the rental pickup, staring at the 'cabin' Warren had given them the keys to. Sara finally sucked in a breath and turned to him. "I think Warren and I need to have a chat about the definition of 'rustic cabin," she said.

Looking at it, Logan had to agree. The cabin was actually a lovely sprawling rancher. Inside there were three bedrooms, a full basement, a spacious modern kitchen with new appliances and cabinets stocked with canned and non-perishable goods. There was a small produce store down the road they had just come up where they could buy whatever groceries they needed. The basement downstairs was equipped with a pool table, couch, bar, and TV/stereo combination. The family room upstairs had comfortable couches and chairs in it, and a large working fireplace. A peek out the kitchen window showed the woodpile beside the tool shed in back of the house was full. The master bedroom had a large king-sized bed in it, and the two smaller bedrooms had queen-sized beds. Sara put her things in one of the smaller bedrooms, but when Logan brought his bag up, she whispered timidly, "Logan…please…" She didn't have to finish. He knew. He moved his things to the master bedroom, hurt by her rejection but understanding of the reasons.

It had only been a few days since the incident. Logan had rushed her out of the mansion because her nightmares had woken everyone. They had heard her screaming in agony and terror three times that night, and each time she had been so lost in the dreams Jean had had to slip into her mind to wake her up. Jean didn't tell anyone what she had seen in Sara's mind, but Scott told Logan later that she hadn't been able to sleep afterward.

Sara hadn't been able to sleep with him in their room, either. She moved back to her old room on the third floor. She had tried to avoid him…all the men, in fact, and stayed as far away from Xavier as she could. She had spent the intervening time packing her things, alone, roaming the garden and the woods. Logan had moved back into his old room temporarily, but had spent little time sleeping there, since he spent most of the night hours lying before her door. The second night she had gone sleepwalking and had almost fallen down the stairs.

The trip to Seattle by plane had been spent in strained silence, with her just speaking a word every now and then, trying to cover the silences, but her gaiety was missing, and they both knew that.

The afternoon they arrived they had taken to get adjusted to things. The view from the back porch was gorgeous. Fall had burst in a riot of color over the mountainside, and the old, weathered mountain watching the house from a distance was mirrored to perfection in the clear, cold lake below it, with a long, green lawn stretching from the back porch to the water's edge. Logan went down to the store to purchase groceries, and the early fall sunset saw him grilling steaks outside as she prepared a salad and vegetables over the stove. They ate in the family room, watching TV, and later after the dishes were cleared and they were sitting in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance, she reached out and timidly touched him.

It broke the ice, and he pulled her to him, wrapping a thick fleece blanket around both of them as she curled up against him. He tried to say something to her, but she simply stared into the flames and didn't answer. So he gave up, just holding her, listening to the peace and quiet of the mountains, until his eyes grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep.

He was awakened by a low moan from the woman beside him. Normally a light sleeper, he was awake instantly, his eyes taking only a moment to adjust to the bright moonlight that streamed in from the window and the glowing embers that were all that was left of the fire he had made earlier. Tears were making silver tracks down her cheeks from her squeezed shut eyes, and her lips moved. The words that came out were so quiet he had to strain to catch it. "Please," she was whispering, "Please, don't hit me anymore, oh, God, Richard, please!" Her voice rose with each word. "Richard please don't hit me anymore please let me go oh God you're hurting me please stopit stopit stopit STOP IT!" she screamed in agony, throwing her body clear of the couch, her eyes open now but seeing nothing but the dream. Logan scrambled after her, pushing the low coffee table out of the way before she hit her head on it. She was shrinking away from him, in the grasp of her nightmare, and couldn't tell the difference between him and the Richard in her dream. He followed her as she crawled away from him, to the corner right beside the fireplace, and he was afraid that if she moved suddenly she would fall into the fire. "Sara," he spoke her name, low and calm and reassuring, "Sara."

She jerked with each repetition of her name, her body convulsing as if she were being tortured. The muscles in her body were taut, her head thrown back, and her strangled gasps punctuated the night's silence. He reached for her, not knowing how to snap her out of it. "Sara!" With a sudden lurch she threw herself sideways. There was the horrible stench of burning flesh, and an agonized scream, and suddenly Sara was awake, clutching the hand that had touched the hot embers and was now blistering. He caught her up, dropping her on the couch, and came back in moments with a cool cloth that would take the stinging out of the burn. It would hold the pain at bay until she could heal. She sat there, sobbing in pain. He wrapped the cold towel around her hand and then hugged her hard, for a long time, until she stopped crying. "Sara," he said when he let her go, "tell me."

She stared at the cloth wrapped around her hand. "He'd just formed his poker club, and it was the first time they'd asked for me. Before, it was whatever prostitute they happened to bring, because no one knew how he'd react to someone wanting to use his wife. But he offered me to the winner that night, and even told them I was a virgin. I didn't want to go with the one who won, because I'd seen him at one of the state functions and I knew he was married. Richard flew into a rage there in front of them and ripped my clothes off, then tied me to the table with his tie and beat me with his belt until I bled. I gave in. I promised to never disobey him again, and he made me prove it by letting them use me, all of them, that night. Some of the guys never came back because they didn't like what he did to me, but they never told anyone.

"After that, he told them that I was a mutant, that I could heal myself. They came back the next night, and found what he said was true; despite the beating of the night before, my body was whole. After that, there was nothing they didn't try and nothing they wouldn't do to make me hurt, to make me scream and beg. It was called the poker club; it was really a sadists' club." She took a deep breath, but the pent-up pain and terror wouldn't be denied any longer, and her words tumbled out on top of one another as if she couldn't talk fast enough. "At first the beatings were painful enough. But I soon got used to it; the human body can get used to practically anything.

Her eyes were glazed as she stared at the dead fire. "Then they found out it didn't really hurt anymore. Richard telepathically probed me when I was being beaten up one night and found I wasn't hurting as much as my screaming made it sound." She drew in a ragged breath. "They came up with other ways of making me hurt. They raped me, they whipped me, they brutalized me, and it didn't matter how much I screamed, or begged. They would hurt me every poker night and expect me to be healed and waiting for them again when they came back. I was their whore, their toy. I didn't have any purpose except to provide them with amusement in the form of my screams." She fell silent.

Logan had to remind himself how to breathe. She had told him something he hadn't thought of. "Sara," he croaked. "Yer a virgin…every time I touch ya…"

She looked at him. "Yes."

"But…that means…I hurt ya…when I…when we…"

"Yes," she said softly. "Every time. But I barely feel it, Logan, really. And you love me. You're gentle. And that balances the pain."

His mind tumbled head over mental heels and landed somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He hurt her. He hurt her. Sara, his love, who had felt pain from her husband, now endured it from him. He couldn't imagine what that must feel like. "I never knew," he said shakily. "Sara, why didn' ya tell me?"

She looked at him in puzzlement. "It's not a big deal, Logan, really," she said gently. "Mostly I don't even feel it." She got up and walked over to the lamp, switching it on to examine the blisters on her palm. She pulled the cloth off it when she saw the skin was starting to heal already, and walked over to him, snuggling down beside him as he turned the TV on. They watched it in silence for a while, and when Logan looked down at her an hour later, she was asleep. Real sleep, this time, not the nightmare ridden restless sleep she had had the last several days. She didn't wake as he carried her to the room she had chosen, and tucked her into the bed. Then he went to his bedroom to catch some much-needed sleep himself.

He woke to bright sunlight streaming in through the window. A glance at the clock showed him it was almost eleven in the morning. He jumped out of bed and opened the door to his room. Sara's door was open, and there was a delicious smell of bacon and eggs wafting from down the hall, accompanied by the smell of strong black coffee. He stumbled down the hall and flung himself down at the kitchen table, accepting with an unintelligible murmur the mug of black coffee she handed him.

Two cups later he remembered what words were. One more cup later, and he remembered how to use them. "Morning," he told her.

She laughed; a sound he hadn't heard from her in a week. "Whatso funny?" he mumbled around a mouthful of eggs and bacon.

She came up behind him, her warm breath tickling the back of his neck. "Your hair," she giggled. "Have you ever got bed head!" and she went off into peals of laughter.

He stumped off down the hall to the bathroom, where he took a quick look in the mirror as he took care of business, and began to laugh himself. He did look funny. Sara joined him, giggling quietly as she ducked shyly around the doorframe and stood behind him. He reached for her, grabbed her, and rumpled her already tousled black mane. She shrieked in laughter and hobbled awkwardly out of the bathroom, with him in pursuit. She made her way into his bedroom and put the bed between them as he tried to grab her. He went left. She went right. He went right. She went left.

Exasperated, he lunged across the huge bed and caught the end of her nightgown. There was a sound of ripping cloth, and he was suddenly holding a pile of fabric, and she stood nude. Before he could apologize, she giggled and lay across the bed opposite him. Sunlight gleamed on the firm smooth skin of her back and legs, which was marred by long red welts from her heels up her legs to her shoulders. The sight sobered him immediately, and he moved closer to her, his fingers tracing the welts lightly.

"I'm sorry," she said soberly.

"For what?" he asked in surprise.

"For not telling you what I was doing and where I was going. I could have avoided all of it if I'd taken you with me. They wouldn't have tried anything with you there."

As she spoke, he was digging in the bag he had placed beside the bed, and he came up with a jar of ointment Hank had given him. "Put this on her welts," Hank had directed. "They are healing, but until they do, they'll hurt. It'll probably be a week before they're completely gone." Logan inspected the label, and noted that it was a topical anesthetic. Until her hand healed, it would probably feel good on her hand too. So he slathered the gel onto her hand first, then started at her shoulders and began to work his way down her back to her buttocks and legs. "Sara," he said quietly.

"Mmm-hmm?" she said drowsily. "Ooh, that feels good."

"How didja come ta marry that son o' a bitch?"

Sara propped her chin on her folded hands. "My dad was in the Army. Gianni Rianetti commanded the base he was posted at during my freshman year in high school. He had a son, named Riccio. My father set up a date between Richard and me. I did like him. He seemed to be the perfect gentleman, kind, considerate, caring, and handsome. All the girls in school wanted to be with him, but he spent his time with me." She sighed. "Then we were both accepted to Columbia, him for law, me for medical. We continued our relationship into college. It seemed to please my father to no end, and I wasn't sure why. The day I graduated Columbia medical school he proposed, and I accepted. I thought I knew him. It turned out I didn't." she laughed bitterly. "I didn't even know my own father. It wasn't until we'd been married for a couple months that I found out that my father had gotten a promotion when I married Richard. And a few months later I found out that my father had forged my name on a prenuptial agreement giving Richard control of the company that my mother left me, Meredith Pharmaceuticals.

"I never knew. My mother had been married when she had an affair with my father, and she had me, gave me to him, and left to go back to her husband." She sighed. "I only saw her sporadically when I was young. Maybe twice in a year, if I was lucky. It was quite a shock when I discovered she left me her company in her will when she died in a car accident six years ago." She sucked in a breath as Logan applied the ointment to a particularly nasty gash at the base of her spine, then continued when the pain abated. "Richard knew, too. That was the only reason he married me. So he could have access to all that money. He was ambitious; he's had his eye on a senate seat since he was in high school. He even changed his name; Rianetti was a large name in the Italian Mafia, and he didn't want the press to find out, so he changed his name to Richard Ryan. So they got what they wanted; Dad got a promotion, Rick got money and a wife the press loved, and me…" she snorted bitterly as Logan listened in silence. "I married the man I loved, and thought he loved me. Guess what? He didn't."

She bit her lip, her eyes faraway as she talked. "Things were all right for a while. The first six months were heaven. We both realized we were mutants—"

"He's a mutant too?" Logan interrupted.

"Yes. He doesn't advertise it, though; no one really knows but me. He never told his parents. He's a telepath." She went on. "Then he started staying out late, and leaving early. He spent less and less time at home. Then one evening when he came home I smelled another woman's perfume on him. I asked him where he had been. He hit me and told me it was none of my business. That was the first time." She sat up, twisting a heavy lock of her hair in her fingers as Logan applied ointment to her lower legs. "It just got worse from there. He would get angry about the smallest things." She was quiet for a moment. "I was working at the hospital late on our first anniversary. I met him at the restaurant. He was upset, and we went home. That night was the first time he beat me unconscious. When I woke the next morning he said it was my fault, and if I hadn't been late and upset him, he wouldn't have hurt me."

Logan growled. "It wasn't yer fault, Sare. Never was. He was tryin' ta make ya feel like it was ta excuse his own behavior."

She nodded. "I know that now, but at the time I believed him. So I tried harder to be the perfect wife, but no matter what I did he still got mad, and he still hurt me. In bed, he became rougher, more brutal, and he hurt me terribly. I complained, and he beat me." She swallowed. "So I stopped complaining. About everything. I tried to tell my dad, but he didn't want to hear it. He was too busy being proud of his rank and being the Senator's father-in-law to care about how I felt. Then one night when I came home I found both of them in the den talking about Meredith Pharmaceuticals. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I was hanging up my coat when I heard my name mentioned, and I stopped to listen. I was furious. I marched in there and demanded to know what they were talking about. Richard got upset. Told me it wasn't my business. When I wouldn't let it go he threw me across his desk, tied me down, and hit me, over and over, with the fireplace poker. He broke both of my legs and three of my ribs before I managed to placate him with my screams and begging. Then, to keep the house staff from finding out, he locked me in the small room you saw in his bedroom. My dad sat there and watched, Logan. He watched all of it, and never said a word."

There were tears in her eyes. "I remember begging him to make Richard stop, begging him to do something, but he just sat there and drank his scotch and stared into the fire. I think the betrayal hurt as much as the beating did. When Richard dragged me off to his room I was still screaming at my father, cursing him for not caring about me. I've never spoken to him since then."

She took a deep breath, and went on. "One night when he was hitting me, he dropped his shields and I saw what was in his mind. He was a sadist. He enjoyed hurting me. He enjoyed hearing me scream. I was scared. I tried to leave, I spent the night at a friend's house. But he found me, dragged me home. He locked me up and tortured me for two weeks. In that time he broke every bone in my body at least once. If it hadn't been for our butler I would have died. He would sneak into the room when Richard went to work and give me food and water, but he didn't dare do anything else. Richard was too powerful.

"So I gave him what he wanted. I obeyed him, became his slave, literally, because I was terrified of being put back in that room. And when he set up those weekly poker games with some of his closest friends, people he knew wouldn't tell anyone about his sadistic tendencies because they were the same, I went along with it. I resisted the first time he ordered me to serve as the 'prize', and he hurt me, and I never said 'no' to him again. That club introduced him to the use of whips and electricity as torture devices, and he got the whips and the car battery to use on me. You saw them."

Logan's hands were clenched in his lap, trying to suppress the boiling anger that washed his mind with red. That Ryan could do this to Sara! He couldn't imagine anyone doing such things to someone they had married. The sheer brutality of it appalled him. He forced himself to listen to the rest of Sara's narrative.

"Then one evening he brought one of his poker friends home and showed him the setup he had. The spent the whole night coming up with different ways to hurt me and I couldn't walk for a week because of what they'd done. That was when I knew I had to leave. He would kill me if I didn't. I talked a friend at the hospital into lending me money, and one morning I left for the hospital and never came home. I hid in my apartment, and began trying to find a lawyer to handle my divorce. I finally found one, or thought I had, several months later, and just got up enough courage to resume my work at the hospital. He harassed me, stopped me at work, tried to get me to come home, but my boss at the hospital had an idea of why I was hiding from him, and told me not to go back. If it hadn't been for her I might have gone back, I was so terrified of him. But the longer I stayed away from him the better I felt. It had been three years since I left when I ran into you and the others, and the rest you know."

She looked at Logan, tears on her face now. "I told myself I'd never get into a physical relationship with anyone else. I told myself I was better off by myself. Then I met you. You taught me what real love was, how wonderful it could be if there was love in a relationship. I love you, Logan."