Dismal Angel 2010 - Episode 9
Chapter 3: Morning that I dread
Jean Grey sighed as she turned her cellular phone off, she was standing in the hallway outside of the Hospital Wing, she'd been trying to get through to Professor Xavier, but with no luck. And her powers weren't allowing her to contact him through telepathy from Bayville to Washington. It seemed hopeless.
She stepped into the hospital wing infirmary, and looked at Hank McCoy who was examining Remy LeBeau as if he thought he might have missed something. "I still can't get through…I just keep getting cut off, or keep hearing static," she sighed, "He doesn't have his communicator with him – which makes sense, considering he's probably in a meeting…"
"It's 2 a.m. Jean, I doubt he's in any meeting, he's probably sleeping," Hank replied, "which is what we all should be doing right about now…"
Jean sat down upon a chair, watching Hank, "Rogue's anguish is so strong, Hank, it's affecting my powers. I know she's not even remotely empathic, but…her pain…its like hearing loud screams echoing all around me, I can't block it out…" she rubbed her head.
"She loved him," Hank replied, "its understandable…you would probably be the same way if something happened to Scott."
Jean nodded, she ran her fingers through her thick red hair, "I can't imagine what she's going through right now. She's been through so much, and Remy's suicide is probably pushing her right over the edge…"
"She shouldn't be alone, tonight," Hank said thoughtfully, he studied the marks from the rope on Remy's neck, his brow knitting to a frown in concentration.
Jean gazed over at him, "why do I sense that you're frustrated, Hank?" She asked carefully.
"Are you using your powers on me?" Hank asked, but smiled softly, knowing Jean wasn't meddlesome enough to do such a thing, but to tease her about it was something he would do quite often.
"Of course not," Jean replied, "it's this thing I have…every so often, even when I'm trying to shield my mind from the thoughts and feelings of everyone around me, somehow when emotions are running high with people nearby, or if I'm not concentrating quite hard enough, my powers still sometimes pick up the occasional emotion or thought…"
"I know," Hank said kindly, "And it's sweet of you to be concerned," he added, "my frustration is just fatigue induced, I suspect."
"How so?" Jean gazed down at Remy's lifeless body. Now all he was seemed to be an empty vessel, almost like a lifelike wax work dummy lying upon the bed.
"I can't help but feel I'm overlooking some major detail. It's probably just my imagination…but still."
"I doubt you could be overlooking anything, Hank," Jean comforted, "Your attention to detail is second-to-none, you notice things with some extraordinary inhuman perception…perhaps that's a mutant power," Jean winked.
Hank sighed, "if it is, then the power is letting me down, I feel it in my
bones."
Jean gazed down at Remy's body
once more, then decided to pull the sheet of the bed
over him. "I think its time we respect
his body now," she said softly, "examining him won't prove anything, it was
suicide…and besides, we should leave the examining to the proper authorities –
if the Professor chooses to take that path regarding this…"
Hank pushed his glasses up his nose, "tonight isn't so bad, its morning that I dread," he admitted.
"Why?" Jean queried, her green eyes quizzical.
"Tonight, everyone is mostly stunned because of the death – Rogue is devastated, sure…but by tomorrow…it'll really sink in…"
Jean's expression changed, distress showed in her eyes, "what if she tries to join Gambit, Hank, it wouldn't be the first time she's tried…"
Hank nodded, "I know, but…Rogue is in a better mental place than she was back then. She'd be sad, sure, for a very long time, perhaps, but I don't believe she's a danger to herself anymore…"
"I hope you're right…"
Rogue had been sitting on the bottom steps of the staircase in the foyer for some time, she'd tried to get to her room, but her grief seemed to have supped every ounce of energy she'd had, leaving her so drained she couldn't even get halfway up the stairs.
Tears still came frantically, devastation had set in, leaving her feel as if her heart was nothing more than the wreckage left from Remy's final act. He'd finally done it, he'd finally took everything of her there was to take, and this time it hadn't even really him, just a stranger to his own body.
"Rogue…"
She looked up to see Kurt Wagner there, he still had his jacket on and it seemed he'd just arrived back, yet to see the look on his face seemed to explain that he had already heard the news.
"Kurt…" Rogue sobbed, unable to say much more.
Kurt sat beside her and put his arm gently around her, "I know…I just got back, I bumped into Jean in the Garage," he pulled her to him and hugged her, "I'm so sorry."
Rogue sobbed into his shoulder, he was the only one she felt she could turn to right now.
Kurt rubbed her back softly, "in the grand scheme of things, they say things like this happen for a reason, and if he did what he did, there may have been good cause," he comforted, "perhaps there is some greater good…"
Rogue pulled away, pushing him away from her at the same time, "how can you say that?" she sobbed.
"I'm sorry…"
"You don't believe this could have been fated…" Rogue stood up, feeling weak in the knees, she began to climb the stairs slowly.
Kurt stood too, watching her, "sometimes such things are…"
"Forgive me if I'm not in the mood to hear how my life is over because its all for the greater good…"
Kurt teleported himself to the steps in front of her, "wait…his life is over, YOURS isn't," he said, "You know he'd never want you to take that attitude…"
"Wouldn't he?" Rogue demanded, "sure seems like he made sure I'd feel every ounce of pain I can out of my relationship with him – even without him being conscious of it…but we can blame Kitty for that…" she uttered, and got to the top of the stairs, "I'm going to my room, just leave me the hell alone, all of you!"
She headed up towards her room, when she reached her door – a large six panelled mahogany door with her name engraved into a small brass plaque – she was surprised to find it open. She could have sworn she'd closed it before having left.
She glanced down the hall, the windows were open, and a slight breeze was wafting in. She decided it had probably been blown open by the wind and therefore ignored the bad feeling she'd gotten by it. She headed across to the dresser taking off her earrings. She sat down slowly at the dresser, and stared at her face, her tanned cheeks were tearstained with mascara and eyeliner, and her lipstick had slightly smudged past her mouth. She reached for a makeup removing tissue from her box and began to wipe her face carefully. In the mirror, something caught her eye. In the reflection, she could see a piece of paper flapping around in the breeze from her open window. She couldn't remember having left it there.
She got up, forgetting what she was doing, and headed over to the cabinet. The paper was held down by a scented decorative candle, and it was face down, although through the back Rogue could clearly see the indents in the paper of the words. She pulled the paper out from under the candle and turned it over.
Written in black biro on an Xavier's letterhead A4 sheet of paper, was the final words of Remy LeBeau, scrawled in a quick messy hand. Rogue sat down and began to read carefully.
Rogue,
I feel obligated more or less that I should write you to tell you why I've done what I've done, that way, at least someone knows the truth, right? Now that I know the truth, that my life was one of deceit and dishonesty…it seems that I should at least apologise to you, though I can't remember any of it what so ever…
Kitty told me about me and you…apparently having some kind of romantic past. Seems plausible, even though I can't remember you I'm instinctively drawn to your beauty, and charm. Seems like if me and you had been an item – and I was going to get my memory back – I'd have at least remembered you…how could I forget someone like you…so beautiful…
But I have to do this, because…if my memory does return, does this not mean I risk doing the things I've done in my past all over – after all History is supposedly doomed to repeat itself, and I don't think I could bare doing that to you – it seems from what Kitty told me I've hurt you so much and I wish I could atone for that somehow, but it seems I'll never be able to.
The only thing I can do to ensure that I don't hurt anyone else, and betray and deceive anyone else – especially you – that I should do what I'm going to do…and perhaps, when I'm dead…maybe you'll thank me…
I'm sorry, and I hope you forgive me,
Remy (?)
Rogue dropped the letter, tears welling up in her eyes once again. The letter spoke so casually about the suicide as if this were something that hardly meant anything at all, it was so…shocking. And the writing was definitely not Remy's handwriting, it was almost childlike. But still, this did not surprise her, as with no memory, how would he remember how to write like himself.
Rogue collapsed onto her bed in fits of tears, little left of her heart to feel anything except grief, she cried into the letter, tears staining the ink on the paper – the last thing Remy LeBeau probably touched before he threw himself off the balcony. His final words to her, his final apology,