Author's Notes: Uhm. Hiya. I'm back. Only took a few months, there. Sorry. But, yeah, thanks for the reviews!
- Queondapio – You're just as important to me! I'm glad you like it! ^.^ Don't go away!
- Neurotic Temptress – Wow you're all interested… I hope I don't let you down. J
- Ishandahalf – Must… withstand… peer pressure… ::Buckles::
- Heartstar – I'm trying! I'm trying! ^_^
Disclaimer: It tried to escape from me, and it got a little damaged. ::Dusts off disclaimer.:: "Tehse carahcthers dun't bleong ta me, dno't sue me!"
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Marie wasn't at school the next day. Remy stood in the doorway of his first period class, ruby eyes behind the impassive dark shades taking a good, slow look around. He ran a nervous hand through his hair before dropping it and shoving it into a jean pocket. The muddy red strands fell haphazardly back into place.
She wasn't here. Something clutched at him, spreading from his heart into cold icy tendrils through his skin. What could have happened to her? Too many tings, thought Remy. Far too many tings. The possibility she was simply ill or ditching school was briefly considered and then dismissed just as quickly. Marie just wasn't the type to ditch school without a lot of persuasion, and that combined with yesterday's events made Remy certain something had happened to her. It was a cold certainty, and gave him no comfort.
He sat in the back of the classroom, absent-mindedly projecting an aura of interest and casual attention while ignoring the droning of, "…the hypotenuse of the triangle becomes 158, but only if…" and thinking. There was no question of waiting around to see if she came back, hoping his worries would vanish like cigarette smoke. If nothing else, Remy felt he was a man of action. No, the more important question was where to look for her. He had absolutely no idea where she lived, and it was extremely unlikely the school office handed information like that out.
"More dan one way to skin a cat," muttered Remy, folding his arms and waiting darkly for the period to end.
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"…an' she asked me to bring her de make-up work, but I don' know where she lives," lied Remy, bland as could be and patient as a cat at a mousehole. Hands were folded behind his back, weight rocking onto his heels, and powers projecting earnest trustworthiness with everything he had.
Mr. Achosi was buying it. It had certainly taken some effort; he'd had doubts earlier, thick in the air and almost tangible to Remy. But now Achosi was nodding and reaching for his computer mouse, convinced the devil child meant no particular harm. It took a lot out of him, to overcome that immediate suspicion of him… damn dese devil eyes…
But there was no time to curse what he was – again. Achosi was rattling off an address. Remy memorized it with negligible effort. He left the school office, sun shining off the edges of the dark lenses. Stride long and expression stubborn edged with controlled, biting worry, the devil child set out to seek his rogue.
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Remy leaned against a telephone pole, occasionally taking a bite of a half-wrapped Snickers bar. He didn't even taste it; people noticed a careful stare less if the person doing the staring seemed to be staring idly while he ate, smoked, or otherwise occupied his hands. Smoking he had used before, but here it might attract more attention than he liked. Hence the caramel, chocolate and nuts. He tended to like spice more than sugar, so he took his time on the candy.
The dark glasses held steady as his gaze flickered up and down the innocent neighborhood. The house across the street wasn't much to look at: two stories, four windows, door with a nice brass knocker. He'd been watching it for a good two hours now, from one position or another. Marie hadn't made an appearance; he'd seen shadows and curtains ruffle as if someone passed, so he knew the house was occupied. He wasn't close enough to sense anything inside the house; a fortunate thing, or the whole street would be pouring their emotions into his head. Hard to concentrate with that sort of thing going on. Five or six people with strong emotions, he could probably handle. Fifteen? Floor him flat. No, his powers were of no help here. All he could do was wait.
"Merde," muttered Remy, unable to keep his patience. Man of action and all. "Remy be waitin' here 'til his clothes go out of style, an' dey-" he stopped. The pale green door opened, admitting the rat-faced man, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. Marie's father. The identification made Remy's blood chill again, and he immediately took off the dark glasses in a slow easy movement, chomping another bite of the candy. Without the glasses and his eyes another direction, it was a better chance he wouldn't notice Remy lurking about. It was a good bet; the man drew his hand across his nose, from wrist to the edge of his thumb, sniffing and wiping the hand on the t-shirt before hopping into his truck. By then Remy had vanished, taking refuge in a café he hadn't yet entered, watching from a booth seat as the truck drove away. The dark glasses swept back on, a sneer finding its way onto his lips unbidden. An approaching waitress alerted him with her suddenly sharpened curiousity, and he had time to modify his expression as she approached. She eyed the dark glasses and then the young man as a whole appreciatively, snapping her bubble gum. "Watcha want?" Too friendly grin.
Remy allowed a carefully constructed sly smile to touch his lips. "From you, cherie?" The smile blossomed into a charming grin. "Lemonade to go… extra sugar." The waitress smacked her gum again, giggled in too high of a note, and took herself off behind the bar. Remy let the smile die and the mask fade. He turned sharply to look back out the window at the house. He didn't know how much time he had to get in there and get out again. But he was willing to bet it wasn't long.
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He stood on the porch and looked up at the door, eyes sliding up wood paneling in peeling white paint as the door loomed up in front of him. He didn't have time to dawdle, and forced himself to stop second guessing and knock. The sound echoed in his head, and seemed too loud. He stood, on edge, listening. There wasn't a sound from inside; no one even approached the door. He tried again, almost wincing again at the sound. Think, Remy. Exhale. Rapidment. A glance up the street as he slid a lock pick from one of their hiding places into his palm. Remy had a past he tried not to think about often, because it simply scared him silly. But he was good at what he had been, and only a fool threw away skills and learning, even if they were rather unsavory- and Remy was no fool. The pick slid in as if it belonged there. By feel, Remy expertly maneuvered the pick to trip three different mechanisms and twisted. Click, said the lock, disapprovingly. The Cajun put a gloved palm against the door, feeling paint flake off under his fingers, and pushed gently.
The first thing that hit him was the sheer mess of the place. The furniture was in good condition (trust a thief to know), but it was arranged haphazardly, as if to keep it out of the way. Every window had curtains drawn across it, shadowing the house in a dim, distrustful light. Discarded clothing was draped here and there, a stack of plates that would need a good scrubbing was on one table on top of yellowing newspapers. The second thing was the smell. Not of rotting things or of dust, but of alcohol. A lot of it. It made his eyes water at first, and he shook his head to clear it. A memory flashed behind the onyx and red, making him flinch, but he forced himself calm. Cautious as ever, but eager to get out of the view of the street, Remy moved in and shut the door behind him, very gently.
He took a moment to consult his powers- and felt nothing. If there was anyone in the house they were unconscious or dea- no. "No," Remy said, to himself fiercely, in harsh whisper. Remy moved up the hallway, black lace up boots sliding carefully along, pausing so Remy could peer around the first corner. Kitchen. A mess, like everywhere else. No one there. He didn't see any open bottles of alcohol, though. Curious. The next doorway proved to lead to the living room, where an average sized television held forth from a corner. A couch was shoved up against one wall, half covered by a pile of blankets. Not pausing for more than a moment now, fighting off the choking cold feeling that kept getting in the way of proceeding, Remy moved up the staircase just ahead.
Like most two-story houses, the bedrooms were up here. The main bedroom was at the end of the hall. A woman lay on the unmade bed, sprawled uncaringly over the skewed covers. At first Remy was certain it was Marie and he hastened into the room two steps before discovering his mistake. This woman was years older, careworn lines creasing the edges of her eyes. She wore an old college sweatshirt and jeans. She had Marie's fine auburn hair, her defined cheekbones and her wiry but filled figure. You could see the family resemblance. The scent of alcohol was stronger here, hitting him in literal waves, one or two discarded bottles that glistened, empty. He had to fight off his own demons again before he could think rationally. The woman was drunk, passed out, actually. Remy was close enough to recognize the signs. She had a bruise purpling on one cheek, though, and fingermarks lined in the yellowish blue of an old bruise encircling her forearm. And that was just what he could see. Remy felt the heat gather behind his eyes, and he didn't need a mirror to know they flared with a hellfire of their own. "Merde." Remy said, taking a quick look around the room – no Marie – and striding out. She wasn't here, where was she? What happened if that… slimy son of a bitch hurt her and hid her somewhere? Down thee stairs and through the hall toward the front door… he had to call the police, make it sound like a domestic complaint, and then he-
Remy came to a sudden stop in front of the living room doorway, peering in, red eyes edged with bleak black shining in the dim light. The blankets on the couch just moved, and there was a flicker of unrest that Remy had come to recognize as someone dreaming. He had no knowledge of actually entering the room, but instead found himself leaning over Marie, the dark brown of her hair flowing over one shoulder, lashes brushing her cheeks. One full lip was cut and a light bruise ran the edges of her cheekbone, harder in some places to a deeper blue. Backhanded her, Remy thought, fighting down rage, this time, enough to rival a fearful child's memories. She looked so still and quiet that if he hadn't felt the steady flicker his powers detected, he would have sworn she was no longer living. But she was, and he bent down, reaching to cradle her uninjured cheek in his fingers, whispering her name.
The response was immediate. The flicker flared into alarm! surprise! that battered suddenly at him as those incredible eyes opened twice. Her eyes focused, and she made the transition to completely awake faster than he expected. "Remy!" He quickly withdrew his hand and she struggled upward. She had a short-sleeved lavender shirt on and he could tell, even in the dim light, where someone had taken both her arms and shaken hard enough to leave marks. Marie followed his gaze and could only stare a moment with her jaw loose before he saw that southern spark in her eyes.
"What are you doin' heah!" the accent was thicker when she was moved by something, Remy thought, somewhere in the back of his mind. Remy stood but refused to be defensive, speaking sharply. Nothing short of an earthquake was going to wake the woman upstairs.
"I come to see if you were okay, Marie! That bastard came yesterday and den you weren't at school, what was I suppose' to tink, huh?" The fire-eyes challenged her, bright with anger. "What is goin' on here, cherie? Why you still here with that pere of yours? No one treats women like dat- I saw your mother upstairs! C'est malade!"
Marie's mouth opened and closed like a fishes, emotions fleeting behind the deep greens. She struggled upright out of the blankets. "How dare you come in heah! You- What Ah do is mah business, how dare you come in mah house?! How did you get here, you fool of a Cajun! Ah should-" Marie gasped, hands flying up over her mouth as if she just realized Armageddon was at her heels. "You have to get out! Jim is-"
"De sick son of a bitch left a half an hour ago," Remy snapped, eyes flaring up again. Marie stepped back a pace, looking up at him in startlement. But she didn't have time to argue.
"Go befoah he comes home!" Marie was panicked, and somehow it sunk in past Remy's consuming anger at the rat-faced man. She was ushering him toward the hallway.
"Remy not leavin' you here, Marie." Remy dug his heels into the carpet and easily stopped their progress, turning over to literally put his arms around her in a firm, frighteningly truthful embrace. "I thought sumptin awful happened to you," he said into her hair, softly. Marie stood with her forehead on his chest, reveling in the feeling of caring. Someone was worried for her. But then her concern came back to her in a sharp needle-like lance. She forced herself to struggle out of his embrace, forcing the part of her that ached for it away.
"Ah can't go, Ah have to-" And then she stopped in horror, breath freezing in her chest, at the sound of a truck in the driveway. "He's heah!" She looked around and grabbed his wrist, ready to pull him toward a closet, "Hide!" She whispered, harshly, pulling.
But there was a resistance, and Remy didn't move. Marie looked up and was both awed and frightened to see the red eyes aglow hellishly in the dim light. "Bien. Let him come." Marie didn't know what the Cajun had in mind, and she didn't think she wanted to know. She kept forgetting he was a mutant, and maybe he had powers he never told her about.
"No, you can't, he'll-"
He still didn't look at her but rather at the door with a boiling, bloodthirsty eagerness sheathed in calm. "You tink I can't take him, chere?" he inquired, in a voice that chilled her.
"No, that's not it! Remy, please." The choked pleading in her voice made him look down at her, eyes subsiding into smoldering embers. She pulled him toward the closet again as the truck door slammed outside. "Please, for me." Remy hesitated, the desire to hurt that disgusting bastard almost overwhelming. But he could never ignore those green eyes, and reluctantly allowed himself to be pushed gently into a musty smelling closet that rustled with snow coats and heavy jackets. "Stay here! Please!" The angel eyes met his one last time, the auburn hair haloing pale complexion. Then she shut the closet door as the front one opened.