Author's Notes: Thank you to the most recent of four reviewers for getting me interested in this story once more: Mysterious Fan Girl, Rat, Iseult of the Snows, and Star-of-Chaos. And my loyals- I love you! ::Hugs all around.::
Disclaimer: ::Coughs, wipes eyes.:: Yes, uhm… ::Sniffle.:: Characters… ::Blows nose:: not mine. ::Breaks down into sobs.::
___
Remy felt himself come back to consciousness, slowly. It had happened before, and he knew what to expect, and still found himself lost in that translucent nowhere between dark and light. He wondered briefly what woke him, and found his cheeks were wet. Something was dripping onto his cheeks. Drops of something.
Then his hearing came back, and distantly he heard the sound of a woman, sobbing. At first he thought it was his mother, and he automatically struggled back up toward alertness, eager to help her repair the damage his father had done. But as things became clearer, the voice became different; softer… the sobs were harder and forlorn, their creator lost in sorrow she could not escape from.
Marie! His eyes came alive, and vision focused. Marie was there, her petite face above his, emeralds wide and glistening with the tears that had fallen onto his eyelids. He must have said something, her name perhaps, for the eyes widened with undiminished relief.
"Ah! Remy, y-yer alive! I-I thought Ah kil- kille…"
Shaking off a feeling of bone-deep weariness, Remy sat up, hands reaching to enfold her. She threw herself away, in the opposite direction across the kitchen tile, recoiling like a rabbit from a snake.
"No! Don't… don't touch me! Ah… Ahm dangerous…" Her eyes strayed to Jim's body, white and staring in death.
Remy let his hands drop, and stared at her with lips barely parted. To see her so afraid, so alone, and be unable to comfort her- it felt as though something inside him was tearing. Ripping hard, long and deep. The moment stretched and expanded until it took in the whole of his being, and he struggled with the dark feeling for what seemed forever. Eventually he discovered that it was not completely his own turmoil, but much of it came from Marie, still sobbing over her mother's fallen form.
As he realized this, he was able to partition himself from the emotions, put mental walls between him and it, so he could function. To distract himself, Remy stared around the kitchen. The place was a mess. Dishes and broken knick knacks were everywhere. A kitchen knife was on the counter, half a roast on the floor by the refrigerator- and of course, Marie's parents sprawled haphazardly on the tile.
"We… we gotta get outta here, cherie. Now. We… we have to make it look like an accident…" But Marie wasn't listening. She wasn't in a condition to do much of anything, in fact. And, realizing it would be up to him, Remy forced a complete division from what he felt and called up his other self: the other Remy who had forced his way out of the closet, the one that could burn and explode things with a touch.
It took but a moment, but the effect was complete. Devoid of feeling but filled with a sense of purpose, Remy walked over and turned the gas stove on full, leaving the door open. Then he went back to the closet, stepping over the still smoldering door and seeking out a long-sleeved coat for Marie. It was either hers or her mother's, judging from the size. Returning to the kitchen, he put the coat on the table.
Without allowing himself a thought about it, Remy dragged Jim's body into the living room and hoisted it onto the sofa, in a relaxed position. His inner self repressed a shudder, but the purposeful Remy in charge showed not a qualm with this act. It was necessary, and was therefore preformed.
It took Remy some time to get Marie standing and away from the prone form of her mother. It helped that she would not let him near her until she got on the coat and a pair of gloves that were in one pocket. He told her to wait in the hallway, twice, holding the green eyes with his. "Remy'll take care of it, cherie. Go wait. I be right dere."
"But Remy, mah mother, she-"
"Now, Marie. S'il vous plait. For Remy."
Marie went.
Marie's mother Remy gently placed on a kitchen chair, her head down over her elbows, as if she was asleep. She looked so much like Marie it churned his stomach to see all the blood in her auburn hair, but the other Remy got firmer hold of his powers, and the feeling died. She was indeed dead, a fact confirmed by the lolling of her neck. They would have trouble if the coroner saw this, but with Remy had planned, the state of her body now wouldn't matter.
The gas stove was still hissing, but the place was full of the sour smell of invisible danger. Remy returned to the hall and put his arms around Marie, guiding her out the back door. He checked around to see if any of the neighbors were peering out their windows. The lawn was clear. Out behind the line of houses was a field, common in Miton, bordered at the very edge by a copse and a few willow trees. He led her here. She was shivering despite the coat, and seemed lost and afraid. The green eyes were unfocused, and she went where he led with a trust that would have frightened him if he was himself.
But he was not, and he left her back in the copse, returning to the house. At the kitchen window, he made sure the gas had filtered through much of the house. He had closed the oven door before they'd left, so it would seem normal. Then he stepped back a few feet, feeling around in his pockets for a match, or something that would carry his power into the house.
All he came up with was a deck of worn plastic playing cards. In his hand they felt warm, comforting, and familiar, and his clever fingers sought one out and he squinted to read it in the dim starlight. The Jack of Hearts. Fitting.
Crouching behind Marie's backyard bushes, Remy stared heavily at the flat prince with his haughty profile and two swords. The card flickered, lighting the Cajun's features with a devilish violet glow. It flickered once more, and then lit fiery reddish purple. He flung it through the open kitchen window, and ran for his life. Concentrating on delaying the card's potential as long as possible, darting through the shadows around bushes to avoid being seen- and finally he could hold it no longer, and halfway in the field he felt the concussion of Marie's house exploding from the kitchen outward.
He flung himself down into the sweet hay and weeds, daring a look back. A dragon of smoke and sparks uncoiled out of Marie's kitchen, belching fire and shards of broken wood. After its initial roar of triumphant destruction, it recoiled, and the house began to burn, fast and raging.
Remy looked up, not more than a few yards from the copse where he had hidden Marie. She was standing there, hands at her sides, full lips pressed hard and white against each other, the flames of her dying life flickering in her green eyes.