Names are abbreviated
Chaos: Oh but of course!
Queen: Yeah, in Chapter Two she explained to Logan that she's learned to control it, but every now and then it slips on without her wanting it to.
Veronica: shakes head sadly What needs to be done needs to be done.
WantDreams: Would you like some of my hot cocoa? Lol. Anyway, it will definitely be "something more scary or heart clenching."
Tara: Thank you so much.
Brynn: Lol. I'm glad. A lot of people hate cliffhangers!
Blix: I'm thrilled that you're thrilled. It must mean I'm doing something right!
Anonymous: I'm excited over writing their reactions. This will be so much fun for me!
Snoob: Hey, I had to find a why to heat this story up somehow. I'm glad you approve.
Beanie: Thank you so much for the boost in confidence.
Jo: Lol. I had to throw that in there. He is just one sexy man.
Blue: That is so sweet of you. You know, without support from reviewers like you then I wouldn't bother posting my stories. Thank you so much.
Chapter Nine
Dark Visions
Part One
Marie sucked in the air around her. She glanced frantically at Logan, her eyes betraying her, screaming out her fear and alarm like a loud bullhorn in the fog. "Wha-what does that mean," she asked, her voice wavering. She peered down at the small child. How could someone so innocent frighten her so much?
Logan rubbed Keira's arms soothingly. "Keira, tell me what you saw."
"A man is holding a gun. Screaming. Lots of blood." She paused, her glazed eyes staring straight into Logan's hazel orbs. "You," she whispered. "I see you."
"What am I doing, Keira," Logan pressed gently, digging for clues.
Keira's eyes welled up. "Crying."
"I'm crying?"
She nodded her head, looking scared and lost. "You're on your knees and crying."
"Why am I crying," Logan questioned, curious and perplexed. Why am I there? Why would I be crying? I've never cried.
"I don't know."
Marie tentatively kneeled beside Logan, gazing warmly at the little, tortured girl. "Keira," she spoke softly. "Where am I?" She hated doing this. She hated probing the small child for the gory details. Marie had seen her own unfair share of death. She'd absorbed countless of murder victims at countless crime scenes. It was horrific and soul shattering. Yet, she wanted to know – needed to know – what Keira saw.
The little girl's lip trembled and she reminded Marie of an unwanted orphan she'd seen on TV the night before.
Keira gulped. "There's so much blood. So many tears."
"Keira, was I shot? Was I shot by the man with the gun?"
Keira buried her head against Logan's shoulder, sobbing. "The mirror's broken," she cried. "A ripped picture. Knives. Broken wood."
Marie, confused, looked up into Logan's face. He shook his head and mouthed: "Later."
--
When Logan stepped out of Keira's room, Marie pounced on him. "What the hell was that, Logan? What did all of that mean? Is this going to happen soon or years from now?"
Logan grabbed her arm, dragging her away from the door: out of Keira's earshot. "Sometimes her visions aren't clear. She sees them more in snapshots than anything else. And I don't know when it's going to happen, but she usually sees these…images within a few weeks of someone's death."
"A few weeks," she gasped loudly. She felt her knees giving out. "Do they always come true?"
Logan led her to a chair and forced her down onto it. "As far as I know: yes."
"Logan," her tone was quiet and small. "I may hate my life, but I…I don't want to die. Not now." She gazed up at him, begging for some sort of sign that things would be ok. Those things Keira saw could be changed.
"We need to tell the professor."
Part Two
Marie wandered numbly into her room, kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto her bed. Xavier had been worried, promising he would search Keira's mind for more clues, but he didn't want to disturb the child while she was resting. So, he'd told Marie to rest herself and that he would send for her when he had more information.
Marie was exhausted; slipping into an edgy sleep almost immediately after her head hit the pillow.
Explosive pain shot through her body like a million needles digging into her nerves. She screamed as he shoved himself into her again and again like a scorching, sharp iron. Tears blurred her vision. The bruises on her face were already swollen and inflamed.
"Come on, bitch," he sneered, shoving himself in and out of her with harsh thrusts. "You know you like it. You like it real hard and rough." He gave a few more sharp pushes into her, his orgasm rippling through his body.
She threw up, the vomit sliding down the side of her face and pooling onto her hair.
He laughed. "Stupid bitch." He yanked up his jeans and then reached for the knife he had discarded while raping her. "Now it's time for a sculpting lesson."
He stabbed the knife into her abdomen, piercing through her flesh as if she were nothing more than a piece of meat.
She shrieked in agony as he carved into her. She knew she was slowly being murdered and the faces of her children danced in her line of vision.
'My babies', she thought. ' My poor, precious babies.'
"…poor, precious babies," Marie moaned before jerking awake, her eyes wild and glazed.
A pair of strong arms clasped her and she flailed against them.
"My babies," she screeched. "Where are my babies?"
"Calm down, Marie," Logan barked. "You don't have any babies. It was just a dream."
Marie swallowed hard, her own senses returning to her. She collapsed against Logan's arms, tears streaming down her face as she wailed in agony. She could still feel the torment and torture of the man raping her and killing her; the thought of never seeing her children again shredding her to pieces.
No, she told herself. Not my children. They're not mine. I wasn't the one raped or murdered.
Logan hesitantly smoothed back her hair, concerned. "It's all right, Marie. It was just a nightmare."
"No," she cried. "It was Sandy Moore's nightmare. Her rape and murder. They aren't my kids. They're hers."
"What are you talking about?"
"She was a victim. Her mutilated body was found hanging from her stair's railing. He made me touch her. He made me touch all of them."
"Who?"
"Cody." Marie lifted up her head, her face streaked with salty tears. "He's a detective. He made me go to crime scenes and touch the dead. I would absorb their memories in order to find their killers."
Good God, Logan thought, regretting the way he had treated her when he'd first brought her to the mansion. "I didn't know," he said.
She wiped away the moisture from her face and tried to collect herself. "What are you doing in here anyway?"
"I…I," he looked around as though seeking an excuse from the furniture.
"Were you…checking on me," Marie asked.
He folded his arms stiffly across his chest and cleared his throat, but said nothing.
Marie slid off the bed and gazed up at Logan in astonishment. "Why? I thought you hated me."
He grunted.
"Don't you grunt at me, mister," she scolded lightly.
A silence fell between them that wasn't comfortable or uncomfortable. It just was.
Marie's stomach growled and she smiled sheepishly up at him. "I guess I'm hungry," she murmured. "Do you know what's for dinner?"
"Pot roast."
Marie made a face of disgust. "Yuck. I hate pot roast. May as well eat soupy cardboard sprinkled with rubber."
Logan chuckled. "You're a picky eater, aren't you?"
"No. I just don't like eating shit."
Marie could see a thought bouncing around in his head and waited patiently until he finally said, "There's a pizza place not too far from here. I was planning on ordering some anyway."
"Are you offering to share your pizza with me," she inquired with raised eyebrows.
He shrugged. "Depends. Do you like extra cheese, pepperoni, and sausage?"
"Oh yeah," she groaned, just imagining the pizza was making her mouth water.
Logan grinned. "Then I'll share it. Under one condition."
"What?" Anything, she thought. I'd do anything for a slice of pizza right now.
"Don't ever mention this to anyone. I've got a reputation to keep."
Marie laughed. "Deal."
End Chapter Nine
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