Chapter 8
Future, Past, & Present Tense
"Time is the fire in which we burn"
-Gene Roddenberry
F*U*T*U*R*E
I trudged out of the classroom and into the cold December weather, accompanied by my forty-odd classmates. Two finals down, two to go, I thought with a moderate amount of relief. There was just enough snow to be annoying but not enough to be any real fun. The wind was bitingly cold - especially without my powers. But at least the sun shone brightly in the afternoon sky. After having stayed up for nearly three days straight, I was looking forward to going to bed.
Being awake for many hours to study was sort of like a badge of honor at school; it afforded you bragging rights. At the same time, the combination of exams, stress and fatigue was very disorienting. It made everything take on a dreamlike quality. I should call Professor Xavier, I thought. _Just to let him know I'm all right. And tell him.Tell him.? Tell him what?_ I plodded up a set of stairs, pondering.
I'd put off thinking about the whole X-Men "debacle" for two days.And I still hadn't decided if I would accept Professor Xavier's offer to stay on and train - get better at my powers - or not. Even if it were temporary. _What would that mean exactly?_ _Does that mean I'd become an X-Man?_ Maybe an auxiliary member, I thought with a private chuckle. I could just imagine the way that'd work out.Anyway. _What should I do?_ Even in the short time with Xavier, I've done more with my powers than I'd thought possible. _And I knew 'perfect practice makes perfect'._ Ugh.
_Would it be so bad? Spending a couple weeks in New York rather than going back to see my parents? Associating with infamous psuedo-celebs wouldn't be so awful, I suppose. And going home isn't always relaxing. If I moved more of my stuff to the room I'd had in the mansion - it could almost be fun. Plus Ororo, Warren, and Kitty had been cool to hang out with._
_On one hand, it had been good to be around other mutants again. No more hiding; I could actually use my powers. And they actually had quasi-normal lives, beyond the occasional explosion and bad press. I shouldn't delay any longer; I owe them an explanation and a decision. Especially if I'm going to being living with them for a few weeks._
_But why would I do that? Why should I consider living with them? Maybe that attack was an isolated incident. I'm not affiliated with any super groups or anything. Perhaps it was a coincidence that the fight occurred right when the X-Men showed up to interview me. Maybe they were the reason I got attacked? Or had they staged it so I would come running to them?_ I shook my head at that last bit of cynicism; it was too calculated and didn't fit the M.O. of the X-Men.
I silently ticked off my reasons for hiding at the X-manse: safety, survival, and training. The first two were still in dispute - at least in my mind. But the third one.now where else could I receive proper training on my powers? _And who better to train me than a guy equipped with a super gym who had experience working with other mutants?_
_The bottom line is - am I going to be comfortable living with these people for a while? And what will I gain from it?_
_To the first point - yes I think so. To the second.? Better control over my powers. And now that my powers have grown and are growing - I'd really need that kind of help and tutelage. Maybe learning how to use my powers better with the X-Men would make my membership unnecessary._
I laughed to myself. _As if they'd be so gung-ho about me joining anyway. It's not like they threw me in a costume and told me to be ready at a moment's notice for the next mission. If I take Xavier's offer at face value - just an opportunity to better learn how to use my gifts, then how could I go wrong?_
_But what's Xavier gaining out of this? Just an idle way to pass the time? Taking in stray muties, train 'em up, send 'em back into the world to cause chaos and mayhem? Mutant brainwashing perhaps?_ I frowned slightly. Now that's a very disquieting thought.I looked down at my feet while stomped along the well-salted sidewalks back home. *Crunch, crunch, crunch.*
I sucked cold air deeply into my lungs and exhaled. _Xavier's not a cult leader._ I smiled to myself, having forestalled some of the nagging doubts. I lifted my head to study the leafless trees dotting the campus scenery. _The settings around campus were so drab and dreary in the winter. Not like in West Chester._ My gaze roamed around the nearly lifeless school, currently dotted with the weary-ridden student.
And that was when I saw her. Standing there. Across the street. Watching me as my classmates wandered past her, seemingly without a second glance.
She stood out amidst the zombie-like undergrads; a spark of life surrounded by the walking dead. Straight shoulder-length blond hair. Blue - almost colorless - eyes. Her familiar stance of poised confidence. But flawless features aside, it was her presence that drew my attention to her. Catelyn could always stand out in a crowd. I don't think it was just the fact that she was rich, pretty, and well-dressed - although she was definitely all of those things. She just had this aura about her.
I stopped and stared. Right in the middle of the sidewalk. Simply stared. I was vaguely aware of the stream of people brushing past me to cross the intersection. My heart leapt into my throat. A stray breeze made her silken hair flutter. With a toss of her head, she shook the errant strands away from her face. She regarded me solemnly, a haunted look in her eyes. Then she smiled slightly.
"You all right, Tres? You looked like you've seen a ghost," a familiar voice said at my shoulder. I blinked, and looked away. When I looked back, Catelyn was gone. "You need some rest, Chico," she said. "You're looking pale."
"Huh? What?" I said. _What happened? Where is she?_
"Where's that brilliant repartee, I've come to know and love over the past three years," Sandra said. I looked at her dully. Her teasing tone turned to one of honest concern as I looked into her deep brown eyes. "You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Fine. You're right. I do need a siesta," I agreed. _A long one._
She wove her arm around mine half-pulling me the rest of the way down the steps and across the street. I kept turning this way and that looking over my shoulder. Blindly, I cast my power about, trying to 'search' for her, but she was gone. Without a trace.
Sandra led me all the way back to 'The House' - as she laughingly called it. She said I always spent too much time there with my fraternity brothers. I was too distracted and worn out to contradict her today and because she was also drained from our last final, she didn't seem to notice too much. "All right. Vamonos. To bed," she said, very business like. "Go get some sleep. You can study later," she said.
"Yes, senorita nurse," I said. She struck an authoritative pose - hands on her hips, head cocked to the side. It was her 'I'm Going To Give You Hell' Look that I had become quite familiar with.
"No joking. Go get some sleep. Ahora! Hasta mañana," she said, turning to saunter back to her off-campus apartment.
"Ciao," I called after her before heading inside.
I slowly climbed the stairs to my room. I longed to jump into bed, climb under the sheets and escape from the world. But I couldn't. Not just yet. I had to make a phone call.
I tossed my bookbag in the corner with one hand, while dialing with the other. I had memorized the phone number, having agonized over going back to New York. It rang twice before someone picked up.
"Xavier's Institute," Professor Charles Xavier said.
"Hello Professor. This is Tres.How are you.?" I began to play with the cord. Luckily, I didn't have long to be nervous; the conversation was quick and relatively painless. Afterwards, I undressed and crawled into bed. Sleep came quickly.
P*A*S*T
It'd been a while since he'd sent for me. But he had taken Dean.what was it? Hours ago? Days? Who knew? It was worse when he sent only for Dean. Then I'd be alone in the dark. I loathed being alone now. Bereft of even rats to keep me company, I was left with a raw paralyzing fear devouring me until Dean was brought back in, offering little comfort in his half-conscious state.
Reunited, we'd huddle together in the dark. I could feel Dean's hand on the top of my head, mindlessly brushing the bristles of hair that had grown in over the time we'd spent here. I couldn't sleep. It was too cold and too damp to sleep more than a few minutes. And I hated the dark. Plus, there's no guarantee that I'd wake up here if I closed my eyes. I shivered uncontrollably. It was terrifying to think I could wake up somewhere else if I dozed.
_Maybe he's done. Maybe he'd leave us alone. Maybe now he'd let us go._ "Please. Just let us go." I didn't realize I'd spoken aloud until my cellmate answered.
"It'll be okay," Dean said. "It's all gonna be okay." He patted my head again, affectionately. Mindlessly. "It'll be okay." I didn't know if he actually meant what he said or if he was really carrying out a reflex action. _I wonder if he's going insane. You'd have to, to be able to endure what we had.And still believe things would be 'Okay'._
That thought was particularly depressing and brought fresh tears to my eyes. I'd long since passed the point of being ashamed of crying.
When I first woke up here, I'd no idea that Dean was around; we'd been separated. Then the cool, unctuous Voice had come. And with it, the pain. Pain, humiliation, and powerlessness. Fighting had proved futile. Without powers, escape was impossible and resistance was pointless. Begging, pleading, screaming, tears, nothing had moved the impassive Voice to release me. To stop the torture. Eventually, after an eternity, I was freed. Sent back to my cell. That was when I'd been put together with Dean.
We were together for a time - a very short time. But then we were separated when the Voice took him away from me. That time we were apart was The Worst. Dean was my friend - my rock; I clung to him like an orphan to a security blanket. He was my only familiarity in a world that was suddenly too harsh and unforgiving to comprehend. To have him snatched suddenly away was worse than the initial isolation. But now we were together again. I huddled in the relative safety of his embrace.
I felt a new scar on his bare chest, one that hadn't been there before. My own body had minor cuts and bruises on it, mostly from where I'd twisted and pulled against restraints. There were also burns from the electro-shock therapy and one chemical burn. The Voice had told me that they would all be healed. But the Voice promised so many things.And took away so many others. _Who knows what to believe anymore. Right?_
At that point, I was still pretty lucid. But, the cycle of emotional, mental, and physical abuse was far from over. As time passed, even Dean's familiar touch became anathema. Soon, the only thing that comforted me was the rage and the desire for revenge. I had cursed everything and everyone in my life by then. Leaving me here, alone, to rot, to suffer. I screamed myself hoarse more than once, until hands would hold me down, to keep me from hurting myself.
Over and over again, I thought, if only I had my power. _If only. I'd destroy everything within my sight._
And then - one day - the darkness was lit with a faint light. I scrambled away from it. Suddenly the room exploded in a dazzling array. And she was there, glowing white, looking like a vengeful angel, terrible in her wrath. Behind her was someone else. I scuttled further into the corner of the cage, asking to be left alone. It's another trick, I thought. _Another trick by the devil._
"You're not real," I said aloud. "You're not real at all. Go away. Go away!"
"Oh God," she said in a sad, pitying way. Then in a more determined voice, "I'll free Tres and Dean. You two stand watch," she ordered. Then she stepped into the room. "There's a power suppressor here, so be careful," she advised. Raising her hands, she spoke a single word in a language that seemed somehow familiar. Delicate fingers traced symbols in the air. "Okay - the lock should be open," she said more to herself than me. "Watch my back." She began to stride purposefully into the room tossing her blond hair back out of her face. Looking around once, she knelt down slightly
"I'll have you outta there soon, Tres," she said to me. She reached for the lock, then pulled her hand away as if in pain.
I watched her closely. The Voice had pulled a trick like this once. Making me think that rescuers had come. "You're sick, ya know. What kinda sadistic bastard are you that gets pleasure out of a cruel trick like this. Again," I spat the words at her.
She looked up at me, mumbling something under her breath. "There's some kind of enchantment on this lock. I'll have to null it out first, then open the cage," she called back to the others.
"Hurry up," said an impatient male voice.
"I am," Catelyn insisted. "The magicks are powerful - not run-of-the-mill type stuff," she explained while I watched, arms wrapped tightly around my knees.
"I didn't think anything was too powerful for you," the haughty male voice said.
She didn't even respond to his dig. Just started moving her hands around in strange ways with a few more words. She reached for the lock again and this time pulled it off. She swung open the door, then and beckoned to me. "Come on, Tres," she said to me. "We're getting you and Dean out of here." Looking over her shoulder, "Help me with Dean! He's in a bad way and too heavy for me to lift," she said.
One of the two came over, stooping down to crawl into the cage. With a whimper, I backed away even if the face were. I remembered it. But it must have been years since I'd seen him? Right? Or did it just seem like ages.? The guy had reddish-brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail and he came fully into the cage. He knelt down and shouldered the insensible Dean. In a sudden fit of possessiveness, I threw myself at Dean, latching onto him. _I wouldn't let him be taken. Not again._
"Go'n' be all right, Tres," he said, watching me with his strange eyes.
"Tres!" This was the blond female - Catelyn. I looked at her, mistrust once more making me back away. _He'd never gone to this length with his deception. Toying with me, getting my hopes up then dashing them to pieces._ Everything was so confusing. I didn't know what was real anymore. Drawing my knees up under my chin, I buried my face in my hands and began to sob, wishing it would all just go away. "Come on," she coaxed. "It will be okay. Just come with us. You're safe now. No one will hurt you anymore."
"We have to go," said the other guy - the one standing guard. I looked up, sniffling as Ponytail half-carried, half-dragged Dean to the entrance - a ragged hole in the wall.
"If this power suppressor weren't blocking my powers, I could use my telepathy," Catelyn said. "Guess it's magic to the rescue once more," she said as if exasperated. She wiggled her fingers once more, and the world fuzzed. "I'll wake him once we're away - we may need his power," her voice floated above me. Then I was unconscious.
* * *
"He's only 15, how much could he weigh?" demanded a female voice.
"Then you carry him," came the other voice. This one was male.
"Is he okay, though?" A familiar male voice asked.
"Dean?" I mumbled through the murkiness.
"Good, he's awake," said the first male voice - the one with the short-cropped jet-black hair. Suddenly, I was shifted, lowered to the ground. Even that little movement was agony. I cracked my eyes open. At least the left one. The right seemed to be stuck. Through the eye that worked, I could see four concerned faces looking down at me.
"Can you heal him?" Dean asked.
"I can try. He's injured pretty badly," Catelyn said. "The worst damage is psychological," she explained. "I need to fix that first."
"Telepathy?" asked Ponytail._What was his name again?_
"Yes," she said. Just then I felt a cool touch on my forehead - and inside it as well. I cried out - in surprise and outrage. Then I felt a gentle psychic 'caress'.
[I'm sorry. I am not trying to hurt you,] she said. [I'll be quick. You're just confused.] The pity and compassion were palpable. Literally. [I'm blocking your pain receptors. You won't feel me doing anything to you. Just that I'm here.] Soothing empathic hands massaged my mind, relaxing me. Then she bent her will to the task.
My thoughts were jumbled, disarrayed. Catelyn was picking them up, and re-ordering them. The only way I can think of to describe what she did, would be to compare it to assembling a puzzle. As each 'piece' was laid in place, things began to make sense. It's a crude analogy, but it sufficed. As each thought was organized, I became more aware of my surroundings. The whole process takes a while to describe. But.
[Just hang on. I've.almost.got.it.] "There!" Catelyn declared.
The fog suddenly cleared from my mind, leaving me to deal with the raw ache of days of torture. Nevertheless."Catelyn," I said. I tried to sit up - weakly - but she pushed me back.
"Shhhhhh. Just rest. I need to heal you. It'll only take a minute," Catelyn explained.
"Hurts." I said through the haze of pain.
"I know. I won't take long. I promise. Just lay back. I have to concentrate," she said. Her blond eyebrows drew together as she began to draw on the mystical energies required for her spell.
"Your efforts would certainly save me the trouble," came the Voice. With the sudden clarity of thought, I realized that my powers were active. I reached out with my 'scanning' sense, and locked onto the Voice - 'seeing' without seeing. I rolled in that direction, and hurled my power at him.
The guy with the jet-black hair turned to me. "That must be some dream."
P*R*E*S*E*N*T
It had been the same every day for the last three days. I'd been having the nightmare over and over again. Every time I closed my eyes I would see it all as if it were yesterday. Worse than that.I'd wake up with a splitting headache.
Today was different though. Usually I had to relive Catelyn's death. But today.I rolled over and realized I wasn't alone in my room.
I sat up quickly in bed. It wasn't a huge surprise. My fraternity brothers were forever coming in and out of the room - plus I had a roommate. But the other guy in the room wasn't my roommate. In fact, he wasn't even a student here.
"I apologize for the rude awakening," he said. "But you appeared to be quite.uncomfortable." He gestured at me.
I looked down at my hands, which were aglow with my power. I banished the energy without a second thought. Then I hurled the covers off and swung my legs out of the bed. I was fully awake now.
My uninvited guest eyed the dorm room with barely concealed contempt. He had draped himself over a free chair in the room with practiced, pretentious, ease. In these surroundings his designer attire stood out in sharp relief, like a diamond in the rough.
"As I was saying - that must have been quite some dream you were having? For a moment, I thought you were going to set the bed on fire," he said.
It took a moment for me to place his face. You just don't expect phantoms from the past - and your nightmare - to suddenly become flesh and blood. At least - not in a normal person's life. _Guess I'm not normal._ "Shinobi?"
"Present and accounted for," he said with a hawkish grin.
_It couldn't be._ I studied him. His hair was longer. He looked bigger. But it was definitely him. _What was he now? 22? 23?_ He still looked very polished. And he still affected that arrogant, I'm-better-than- everyone-else demeanor. "What are you doing here?"
"Tsk tsk tsk," he clucked. "Do old friends need a reason to visit each other?"
My mood plummeted. "We're old friends?"
"Or something like that," he said.
"What? Were you in the neighborhood? Thought you'd drop by and say 'hello'?" I had mixed feelings about this guy. Shinobi Shaw - the guy was 100% egocentric. Back in high school, he'd wanted to be the leader of our little group. His superior, uncharismatic, attitude had made true leadership impossible. _He was better suited to dictatorship._ He'd never directly done anything malicious, he wasn't what you'd call my bosom buddy. But he had helped me and the others in that final fight. "Sorry," I said, trying to be more positive about his sudden appearance. "It's good to see you again. It's been - "
"Nearly four years."
I frowned. "You're right. I haven't seen or heard from you in all that time. And now you show up in my room." I considered how best to broach the topic. "You were never one for wasting time on pleasantries. So let's cut to the chase. Here you are. You show up after four years of being incommunicado?" My eyes narrowed. "Is something wrong? Did something happen?" My eyes widened. "He didn't come back did he?"
Shinobi raised a hand. "Calm down. Nothing like that," he said. He shifted nervously though. "Although you are right. I did come here with a purpose. Two actually."
"I see." I folded my arms across my chest. "And those would be.?"
He paused, shifted in his seat again, then rose. For the first time, I saw his flawless façade crack; underneath, there was a tired visage pinched with sadness. "Are you going to.?" He swallowed hard, and looked away. "Are you going to Boston?" He asked in a soft voice. "To visit her grave?"
"I haven't been to that cemetery before," I said simply. "It's kinda hard to explain to your parents you that you need airfare to Boston because you want to visit the grave of a friend of yours without telling them." A lump swelled in my throat, I choking off the rest of my words. I took a moment to compose myself. "I wasn't planning on it."
Shinobi nodded slowly in comprehension. "I know. I'm going. I've been there every year since the accident. I've even seen Dean, there."
My ears perked up. "How is he?" I tried to sound casual.
Shinobi smiled. It was a wolfish, joyless expression. He knew he'd needled me. "He looks good. He's dealt very well with his loss."
"We've talked," I said looking at my feet. "I even got a letter from him yesterday." Which I hadn't had the heart to open, yet. "But I haven't seen him since school." I exhaled loudly. "So now you know I'm not going to the high school reunion in the cemetery. What was the other reason that made you come to Pittsburgh?"
"I wanted to be sure you were all right."
I arched an eyebrow at him. "Why?"
Shinobi laughed. Mirthlessly. "I never thought you were stupid, Tres. Or are you going by Clayton now?"
"Tres."
"I never thought you were particularly stupid, Tres. Do I need to spell it out for you why I would be concerned?"
I glared at him. "You're right - I'm no idiot. No more than you are compassionate. But I don't have time for games either, Shinobi. And while it's good to see an 'old friend', my patience is wearing thin." I jumped down from the bed. When I touched the ground, I was glowing again. I didn't bother to snuff out my powers though and let them convey my mood better than words. _I may be wearing boxers from Sears, and he may be clad in a suit from Armani, but I will not be intimidated by this snobby upstart._
Shinobi regarded me coolly, as one would regard an insect. "I can see four years has done wonders for improving your patience and temperament." I let a little power leak from my eyes, azure fire dancing in my vision. Shinobi noticed. "I was concerned. It was all over the news. 'Mutants responsible for mass destruction in Pittsburgh. Film at eleven'," he quoted.
"So." It was as much a noncommittal statement as it was a question.
"So.Sentinels attacked you. And the X-Men," he added. "Now where do you think those Sentinels came from? Who do you think manufactured them?"
His bluntness gave me pause. "Do you know?" I asked.
"Of course. One of the privileges of wealth and station."
I rolled my eyes. "Spare me one of your 'I'm-better-than-thou-because-I've- got-money' speeches," I said. "If you have information I'm glad to hear it. If not.," I indicated the door, "please feel free to leave at any time."
Shinobi sighed and then began to pace in front of me. "Really. I'd think you'd be a little more generous with your time. Especially since you'll benefit greatly from what I have to tell you."
"This isn't a game, Shinobi!" I snapped. He stopped mid-stride. "People could've gotten hurt or killed. I could have been hurt or killed. I don't have time for your nonsense." We stared hard at each other for a moment. "I can see you haven't changed at all."
Shinobi lifted his head a little higher. "As I was saying before you interrupted me with your childish outburst," he said condescendingly. "I know who was responsible for manufacturing the Sentinels that attacked you. And where they were made," he said. "I wanted to tell you."
I was immediately suspicious. "Goodwill? From you? That's an unflattering look on you, Shinobi." _And way out of character._
He crossed the short distance between us until we were standing toe-to-toe. "Do you want to hear what I have to say or not, Tres?"
I stared him straight in the eye, but didn't try to calm myself. Finally I said, "What?"
Shinobi began to speak once again. I didn't interrupt this time. My body shield swirled more violently the longer he spoke. When he was finished, I was silent. "You're not going to say anything?"
I turned away from him to look out the window. "Do you know why?"
"A contract for your life," was all he said. "And the Sentinels needed a test subject. Make sure all the design specifications were right."
"Who?"
"I don't know. I couldn't find out. But it was a lot of money. Twenty," he said.
"Good to know I'm not a cheap kill," I said. "Thank you for the information," I said icily, focusing on the winter-stripped trees in the courtyard outside.
"You're welcome," he said.
"Is there anything else?" I asked raggedly.
"No." He shook his head, then added, "That's all I know."
"Then, go," I whispered.
There was a pregnant silence where Shinobi seemed uncertain. "I'll leave you alone now," he said quietly. "Please give my regards to my father when you see him," he said hauntingly.
I didn't look at him as he left the room. "I will, Shinobi. I promise," I swore. The door clicked loudly behind him.
* * * * *
This story © 2003 Sherman Taylor
Clayton "Tres" Darkmoon © 2003 Sherman Taylor
The X-Men, Professor Charles Xavier, and all constituent
characters © 2003 Marvel Comics Group.
This story is not for sale and is not to be distributed without
permission of the author.
Please electronically mail comments to CommanderInChf@aol.com.
All constructive criticism is appreciated.
Future, Past, & Present Tense
"Time is the fire in which we burn"
-Gene Roddenberry
F*U*T*U*R*E
I trudged out of the classroom and into the cold December weather, accompanied by my forty-odd classmates. Two finals down, two to go, I thought with a moderate amount of relief. There was just enough snow to be annoying but not enough to be any real fun. The wind was bitingly cold - especially without my powers. But at least the sun shone brightly in the afternoon sky. After having stayed up for nearly three days straight, I was looking forward to going to bed.
Being awake for many hours to study was sort of like a badge of honor at school; it afforded you bragging rights. At the same time, the combination of exams, stress and fatigue was very disorienting. It made everything take on a dreamlike quality. I should call Professor Xavier, I thought. _Just to let him know I'm all right. And tell him.Tell him.? Tell him what?_ I plodded up a set of stairs, pondering.
I'd put off thinking about the whole X-Men "debacle" for two days.And I still hadn't decided if I would accept Professor Xavier's offer to stay on and train - get better at my powers - or not. Even if it were temporary. _What would that mean exactly?_ _Does that mean I'd become an X-Man?_ Maybe an auxiliary member, I thought with a private chuckle. I could just imagine the way that'd work out.Anyway. _What should I do?_ Even in the short time with Xavier, I've done more with my powers than I'd thought possible. _And I knew 'perfect practice makes perfect'._ Ugh.
_Would it be so bad? Spending a couple weeks in New York rather than going back to see my parents? Associating with infamous psuedo-celebs wouldn't be so awful, I suppose. And going home isn't always relaxing. If I moved more of my stuff to the room I'd had in the mansion - it could almost be fun. Plus Ororo, Warren, and Kitty had been cool to hang out with._
_On one hand, it had been good to be around other mutants again. No more hiding; I could actually use my powers. And they actually had quasi-normal lives, beyond the occasional explosion and bad press. I shouldn't delay any longer; I owe them an explanation and a decision. Especially if I'm going to being living with them for a few weeks._
_But why would I do that? Why should I consider living with them? Maybe that attack was an isolated incident. I'm not affiliated with any super groups or anything. Perhaps it was a coincidence that the fight occurred right when the X-Men showed up to interview me. Maybe they were the reason I got attacked? Or had they staged it so I would come running to them?_ I shook my head at that last bit of cynicism; it was too calculated and didn't fit the M.O. of the X-Men.
I silently ticked off my reasons for hiding at the X-manse: safety, survival, and training. The first two were still in dispute - at least in my mind. But the third one.now where else could I receive proper training on my powers? _And who better to train me than a guy equipped with a super gym who had experience working with other mutants?_
_The bottom line is - am I going to be comfortable living with these people for a while? And what will I gain from it?_
_To the first point - yes I think so. To the second.? Better control over my powers. And now that my powers have grown and are growing - I'd really need that kind of help and tutelage. Maybe learning how to use my powers better with the X-Men would make my membership unnecessary._
I laughed to myself. _As if they'd be so gung-ho about me joining anyway. It's not like they threw me in a costume and told me to be ready at a moment's notice for the next mission. If I take Xavier's offer at face value - just an opportunity to better learn how to use my gifts, then how could I go wrong?_
_But what's Xavier gaining out of this? Just an idle way to pass the time? Taking in stray muties, train 'em up, send 'em back into the world to cause chaos and mayhem? Mutant brainwashing perhaps?_ I frowned slightly. Now that's a very disquieting thought.I looked down at my feet while stomped along the well-salted sidewalks back home. *Crunch, crunch, crunch.*
I sucked cold air deeply into my lungs and exhaled. _Xavier's not a cult leader._ I smiled to myself, having forestalled some of the nagging doubts. I lifted my head to study the leafless trees dotting the campus scenery. _The settings around campus were so drab and dreary in the winter. Not like in West Chester._ My gaze roamed around the nearly lifeless school, currently dotted with the weary-ridden student.
And that was when I saw her. Standing there. Across the street. Watching me as my classmates wandered past her, seemingly without a second glance.
She stood out amidst the zombie-like undergrads; a spark of life surrounded by the walking dead. Straight shoulder-length blond hair. Blue - almost colorless - eyes. Her familiar stance of poised confidence. But flawless features aside, it was her presence that drew my attention to her. Catelyn could always stand out in a crowd. I don't think it was just the fact that she was rich, pretty, and well-dressed - although she was definitely all of those things. She just had this aura about her.
I stopped and stared. Right in the middle of the sidewalk. Simply stared. I was vaguely aware of the stream of people brushing past me to cross the intersection. My heart leapt into my throat. A stray breeze made her silken hair flutter. With a toss of her head, she shook the errant strands away from her face. She regarded me solemnly, a haunted look in her eyes. Then she smiled slightly.
"You all right, Tres? You looked like you've seen a ghost," a familiar voice said at my shoulder. I blinked, and looked away. When I looked back, Catelyn was gone. "You need some rest, Chico," she said. "You're looking pale."
"Huh? What?" I said. _What happened? Where is she?_
"Where's that brilliant repartee, I've come to know and love over the past three years," Sandra said. I looked at her dully. Her teasing tone turned to one of honest concern as I looked into her deep brown eyes. "You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Fine. You're right. I do need a siesta," I agreed. _A long one._
She wove her arm around mine half-pulling me the rest of the way down the steps and across the street. I kept turning this way and that looking over my shoulder. Blindly, I cast my power about, trying to 'search' for her, but she was gone. Without a trace.
Sandra led me all the way back to 'The House' - as she laughingly called it. She said I always spent too much time there with my fraternity brothers. I was too distracted and worn out to contradict her today and because she was also drained from our last final, she didn't seem to notice too much. "All right. Vamonos. To bed," she said, very business like. "Go get some sleep. You can study later," she said.
"Yes, senorita nurse," I said. She struck an authoritative pose - hands on her hips, head cocked to the side. It was her 'I'm Going To Give You Hell' Look that I had become quite familiar with.
"No joking. Go get some sleep. Ahora! Hasta mañana," she said, turning to saunter back to her off-campus apartment.
"Ciao," I called after her before heading inside.
I slowly climbed the stairs to my room. I longed to jump into bed, climb under the sheets and escape from the world. But I couldn't. Not just yet. I had to make a phone call.
I tossed my bookbag in the corner with one hand, while dialing with the other. I had memorized the phone number, having agonized over going back to New York. It rang twice before someone picked up.
"Xavier's Institute," Professor Charles Xavier said.
"Hello Professor. This is Tres.How are you.?" I began to play with the cord. Luckily, I didn't have long to be nervous; the conversation was quick and relatively painless. Afterwards, I undressed and crawled into bed. Sleep came quickly.
P*A*S*T
It'd been a while since he'd sent for me. But he had taken Dean.what was it? Hours ago? Days? Who knew? It was worse when he sent only for Dean. Then I'd be alone in the dark. I loathed being alone now. Bereft of even rats to keep me company, I was left with a raw paralyzing fear devouring me until Dean was brought back in, offering little comfort in his half-conscious state.
Reunited, we'd huddle together in the dark. I could feel Dean's hand on the top of my head, mindlessly brushing the bristles of hair that had grown in over the time we'd spent here. I couldn't sleep. It was too cold and too damp to sleep more than a few minutes. And I hated the dark. Plus, there's no guarantee that I'd wake up here if I closed my eyes. I shivered uncontrollably. It was terrifying to think I could wake up somewhere else if I dozed.
_Maybe he's done. Maybe he'd leave us alone. Maybe now he'd let us go._ "Please. Just let us go." I didn't realize I'd spoken aloud until my cellmate answered.
"It'll be okay," Dean said. "It's all gonna be okay." He patted my head again, affectionately. Mindlessly. "It'll be okay." I didn't know if he actually meant what he said or if he was really carrying out a reflex action. _I wonder if he's going insane. You'd have to, to be able to endure what we had.And still believe things would be 'Okay'._
That thought was particularly depressing and brought fresh tears to my eyes. I'd long since passed the point of being ashamed of crying.
When I first woke up here, I'd no idea that Dean was around; we'd been separated. Then the cool, unctuous Voice had come. And with it, the pain. Pain, humiliation, and powerlessness. Fighting had proved futile. Without powers, escape was impossible and resistance was pointless. Begging, pleading, screaming, tears, nothing had moved the impassive Voice to release me. To stop the torture. Eventually, after an eternity, I was freed. Sent back to my cell. That was when I'd been put together with Dean.
We were together for a time - a very short time. But then we were separated when the Voice took him away from me. That time we were apart was The Worst. Dean was my friend - my rock; I clung to him like an orphan to a security blanket. He was my only familiarity in a world that was suddenly too harsh and unforgiving to comprehend. To have him snatched suddenly away was worse than the initial isolation. But now we were together again. I huddled in the relative safety of his embrace.
I felt a new scar on his bare chest, one that hadn't been there before. My own body had minor cuts and bruises on it, mostly from where I'd twisted and pulled against restraints. There were also burns from the electro-shock therapy and one chemical burn. The Voice had told me that they would all be healed. But the Voice promised so many things.And took away so many others. _Who knows what to believe anymore. Right?_
At that point, I was still pretty lucid. But, the cycle of emotional, mental, and physical abuse was far from over. As time passed, even Dean's familiar touch became anathema. Soon, the only thing that comforted me was the rage and the desire for revenge. I had cursed everything and everyone in my life by then. Leaving me here, alone, to rot, to suffer. I screamed myself hoarse more than once, until hands would hold me down, to keep me from hurting myself.
Over and over again, I thought, if only I had my power. _If only. I'd destroy everything within my sight._
And then - one day - the darkness was lit with a faint light. I scrambled away from it. Suddenly the room exploded in a dazzling array. And she was there, glowing white, looking like a vengeful angel, terrible in her wrath. Behind her was someone else. I scuttled further into the corner of the cage, asking to be left alone. It's another trick, I thought. _Another trick by the devil._
"You're not real," I said aloud. "You're not real at all. Go away. Go away!"
"Oh God," she said in a sad, pitying way. Then in a more determined voice, "I'll free Tres and Dean. You two stand watch," she ordered. Then she stepped into the room. "There's a power suppressor here, so be careful," she advised. Raising her hands, she spoke a single word in a language that seemed somehow familiar. Delicate fingers traced symbols in the air. "Okay - the lock should be open," she said more to herself than me. "Watch my back." She began to stride purposefully into the room tossing her blond hair back out of her face. Looking around once, she knelt down slightly
"I'll have you outta there soon, Tres," she said to me. She reached for the lock, then pulled her hand away as if in pain.
I watched her closely. The Voice had pulled a trick like this once. Making me think that rescuers had come. "You're sick, ya know. What kinda sadistic bastard are you that gets pleasure out of a cruel trick like this. Again," I spat the words at her.
She looked up at me, mumbling something under her breath. "There's some kind of enchantment on this lock. I'll have to null it out first, then open the cage," she called back to the others.
"Hurry up," said an impatient male voice.
"I am," Catelyn insisted. "The magicks are powerful - not run-of-the-mill type stuff," she explained while I watched, arms wrapped tightly around my knees.
"I didn't think anything was too powerful for you," the haughty male voice said.
She didn't even respond to his dig. Just started moving her hands around in strange ways with a few more words. She reached for the lock again and this time pulled it off. She swung open the door, then and beckoned to me. "Come on, Tres," she said to me. "We're getting you and Dean out of here." Looking over her shoulder, "Help me with Dean! He's in a bad way and too heavy for me to lift," she said.
One of the two came over, stooping down to crawl into the cage. With a whimper, I backed away even if the face were. I remembered it. But it must have been years since I'd seen him? Right? Or did it just seem like ages.? The guy had reddish-brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail and he came fully into the cage. He knelt down and shouldered the insensible Dean. In a sudden fit of possessiveness, I threw myself at Dean, latching onto him. _I wouldn't let him be taken. Not again._
"Go'n' be all right, Tres," he said, watching me with his strange eyes.
"Tres!" This was the blond female - Catelyn. I looked at her, mistrust once more making me back away. _He'd never gone to this length with his deception. Toying with me, getting my hopes up then dashing them to pieces._ Everything was so confusing. I didn't know what was real anymore. Drawing my knees up under my chin, I buried my face in my hands and began to sob, wishing it would all just go away. "Come on," she coaxed. "It will be okay. Just come with us. You're safe now. No one will hurt you anymore."
"We have to go," said the other guy - the one standing guard. I looked up, sniffling as Ponytail half-carried, half-dragged Dean to the entrance - a ragged hole in the wall.
"If this power suppressor weren't blocking my powers, I could use my telepathy," Catelyn said. "Guess it's magic to the rescue once more," she said as if exasperated. She wiggled her fingers once more, and the world fuzzed. "I'll wake him once we're away - we may need his power," her voice floated above me. Then I was unconscious.
* * *
"He's only 15, how much could he weigh?" demanded a female voice.
"Then you carry him," came the other voice. This one was male.
"Is he okay, though?" A familiar male voice asked.
"Dean?" I mumbled through the murkiness.
"Good, he's awake," said the first male voice - the one with the short-cropped jet-black hair. Suddenly, I was shifted, lowered to the ground. Even that little movement was agony. I cracked my eyes open. At least the left one. The right seemed to be stuck. Through the eye that worked, I could see four concerned faces looking down at me.
"Can you heal him?" Dean asked.
"I can try. He's injured pretty badly," Catelyn said. "The worst damage is psychological," she explained. "I need to fix that first."
"Telepathy?" asked Ponytail._What was his name again?_
"Yes," she said. Just then I felt a cool touch on my forehead - and inside it as well. I cried out - in surprise and outrage. Then I felt a gentle psychic 'caress'.
[I'm sorry. I am not trying to hurt you,] she said. [I'll be quick. You're just confused.] The pity and compassion were palpable. Literally. [I'm blocking your pain receptors. You won't feel me doing anything to you. Just that I'm here.] Soothing empathic hands massaged my mind, relaxing me. Then she bent her will to the task.
My thoughts were jumbled, disarrayed. Catelyn was picking them up, and re-ordering them. The only way I can think of to describe what she did, would be to compare it to assembling a puzzle. As each 'piece' was laid in place, things began to make sense. It's a crude analogy, but it sufficed. As each thought was organized, I became more aware of my surroundings. The whole process takes a while to describe. But.
[Just hang on. I've.almost.got.it.] "There!" Catelyn declared.
The fog suddenly cleared from my mind, leaving me to deal with the raw ache of days of torture. Nevertheless."Catelyn," I said. I tried to sit up - weakly - but she pushed me back.
"Shhhhhh. Just rest. I need to heal you. It'll only take a minute," Catelyn explained.
"Hurts." I said through the haze of pain.
"I know. I won't take long. I promise. Just lay back. I have to concentrate," she said. Her blond eyebrows drew together as she began to draw on the mystical energies required for her spell.
"Your efforts would certainly save me the trouble," came the Voice. With the sudden clarity of thought, I realized that my powers were active. I reached out with my 'scanning' sense, and locked onto the Voice - 'seeing' without seeing. I rolled in that direction, and hurled my power at him.
The guy with the jet-black hair turned to me. "That must be some dream."
P*R*E*S*E*N*T
It had been the same every day for the last three days. I'd been having the nightmare over and over again. Every time I closed my eyes I would see it all as if it were yesterday. Worse than that.I'd wake up with a splitting headache.
Today was different though. Usually I had to relive Catelyn's death. But today.I rolled over and realized I wasn't alone in my room.
I sat up quickly in bed. It wasn't a huge surprise. My fraternity brothers were forever coming in and out of the room - plus I had a roommate. But the other guy in the room wasn't my roommate. In fact, he wasn't even a student here.
"I apologize for the rude awakening," he said. "But you appeared to be quite.uncomfortable." He gestured at me.
I looked down at my hands, which were aglow with my power. I banished the energy without a second thought. Then I hurled the covers off and swung my legs out of the bed. I was fully awake now.
My uninvited guest eyed the dorm room with barely concealed contempt. He had draped himself over a free chair in the room with practiced, pretentious, ease. In these surroundings his designer attire stood out in sharp relief, like a diamond in the rough.
"As I was saying - that must have been quite some dream you were having? For a moment, I thought you were going to set the bed on fire," he said.
It took a moment for me to place his face. You just don't expect phantoms from the past - and your nightmare - to suddenly become flesh and blood. At least - not in a normal person's life. _Guess I'm not normal._ "Shinobi?"
"Present and accounted for," he said with a hawkish grin.
_It couldn't be._ I studied him. His hair was longer. He looked bigger. But it was definitely him. _What was he now? 22? 23?_ He still looked very polished. And he still affected that arrogant, I'm-better-than- everyone-else demeanor. "What are you doing here?"
"Tsk tsk tsk," he clucked. "Do old friends need a reason to visit each other?"
My mood plummeted. "We're old friends?"
"Or something like that," he said.
"What? Were you in the neighborhood? Thought you'd drop by and say 'hello'?" I had mixed feelings about this guy. Shinobi Shaw - the guy was 100% egocentric. Back in high school, he'd wanted to be the leader of our little group. His superior, uncharismatic, attitude had made true leadership impossible. _He was better suited to dictatorship._ He'd never directly done anything malicious, he wasn't what you'd call my bosom buddy. But he had helped me and the others in that final fight. "Sorry," I said, trying to be more positive about his sudden appearance. "It's good to see you again. It's been - "
"Nearly four years."
I frowned. "You're right. I haven't seen or heard from you in all that time. And now you show up in my room." I considered how best to broach the topic. "You were never one for wasting time on pleasantries. So let's cut to the chase. Here you are. You show up after four years of being incommunicado?" My eyes narrowed. "Is something wrong? Did something happen?" My eyes widened. "He didn't come back did he?"
Shinobi raised a hand. "Calm down. Nothing like that," he said. He shifted nervously though. "Although you are right. I did come here with a purpose. Two actually."
"I see." I folded my arms across my chest. "And those would be.?"
He paused, shifted in his seat again, then rose. For the first time, I saw his flawless façade crack; underneath, there was a tired visage pinched with sadness. "Are you going to.?" He swallowed hard, and looked away. "Are you going to Boston?" He asked in a soft voice. "To visit her grave?"
"I haven't been to that cemetery before," I said simply. "It's kinda hard to explain to your parents you that you need airfare to Boston because you want to visit the grave of a friend of yours without telling them." A lump swelled in my throat, I choking off the rest of my words. I took a moment to compose myself. "I wasn't planning on it."
Shinobi nodded slowly in comprehension. "I know. I'm going. I've been there every year since the accident. I've even seen Dean, there."
My ears perked up. "How is he?" I tried to sound casual.
Shinobi smiled. It was a wolfish, joyless expression. He knew he'd needled me. "He looks good. He's dealt very well with his loss."
"We've talked," I said looking at my feet. "I even got a letter from him yesterday." Which I hadn't had the heart to open, yet. "But I haven't seen him since school." I exhaled loudly. "So now you know I'm not going to the high school reunion in the cemetery. What was the other reason that made you come to Pittsburgh?"
"I wanted to be sure you were all right."
I arched an eyebrow at him. "Why?"
Shinobi laughed. Mirthlessly. "I never thought you were stupid, Tres. Or are you going by Clayton now?"
"Tres."
"I never thought you were particularly stupid, Tres. Do I need to spell it out for you why I would be concerned?"
I glared at him. "You're right - I'm no idiot. No more than you are compassionate. But I don't have time for games either, Shinobi. And while it's good to see an 'old friend', my patience is wearing thin." I jumped down from the bed. When I touched the ground, I was glowing again. I didn't bother to snuff out my powers though and let them convey my mood better than words. _I may be wearing boxers from Sears, and he may be clad in a suit from Armani, but I will not be intimidated by this snobby upstart._
Shinobi regarded me coolly, as one would regard an insect. "I can see four years has done wonders for improving your patience and temperament." I let a little power leak from my eyes, azure fire dancing in my vision. Shinobi noticed. "I was concerned. It was all over the news. 'Mutants responsible for mass destruction in Pittsburgh. Film at eleven'," he quoted.
"So." It was as much a noncommittal statement as it was a question.
"So.Sentinels attacked you. And the X-Men," he added. "Now where do you think those Sentinels came from? Who do you think manufactured them?"
His bluntness gave me pause. "Do you know?" I asked.
"Of course. One of the privileges of wealth and station."
I rolled my eyes. "Spare me one of your 'I'm-better-than-thou-because-I've- got-money' speeches," I said. "If you have information I'm glad to hear it. If not.," I indicated the door, "please feel free to leave at any time."
Shinobi sighed and then began to pace in front of me. "Really. I'd think you'd be a little more generous with your time. Especially since you'll benefit greatly from what I have to tell you."
"This isn't a game, Shinobi!" I snapped. He stopped mid-stride. "People could've gotten hurt or killed. I could have been hurt or killed. I don't have time for your nonsense." We stared hard at each other for a moment. "I can see you haven't changed at all."
Shinobi lifted his head a little higher. "As I was saying before you interrupted me with your childish outburst," he said condescendingly. "I know who was responsible for manufacturing the Sentinels that attacked you. And where they were made," he said. "I wanted to tell you."
I was immediately suspicious. "Goodwill? From you? That's an unflattering look on you, Shinobi." _And way out of character._
He crossed the short distance between us until we were standing toe-to-toe. "Do you want to hear what I have to say or not, Tres?"
I stared him straight in the eye, but didn't try to calm myself. Finally I said, "What?"
Shinobi began to speak once again. I didn't interrupt this time. My body shield swirled more violently the longer he spoke. When he was finished, I was silent. "You're not going to say anything?"
I turned away from him to look out the window. "Do you know why?"
"A contract for your life," was all he said. "And the Sentinels needed a test subject. Make sure all the design specifications were right."
"Who?"
"I don't know. I couldn't find out. But it was a lot of money. Twenty," he said.
"Good to know I'm not a cheap kill," I said. "Thank you for the information," I said icily, focusing on the winter-stripped trees in the courtyard outside.
"You're welcome," he said.
"Is there anything else?" I asked raggedly.
"No." He shook his head, then added, "That's all I know."
"Then, go," I whispered.
There was a pregnant silence where Shinobi seemed uncertain. "I'll leave you alone now," he said quietly. "Please give my regards to my father when you see him," he said hauntingly.
I didn't look at him as he left the room. "I will, Shinobi. I promise," I swore. The door clicked loudly behind him.
* * * * *
This story © 2003 Sherman Taylor
Clayton "Tres" Darkmoon © 2003 Sherman Taylor
The X-Men, Professor Charles Xavier, and all constituent
characters © 2003 Marvel Comics Group.
This story is not for sale and is not to be distributed without
permission of the author.
Please electronically mail comments to CommanderInChf@aol.com.
All constructive criticism is appreciated.