Author's Note: After a long, LONG hiatus, I finally found time to write the next instalment of "Angels at the Crossroads". Along the way, I realized that the original 4th chapter didn't quite work, so I had to start from scratch. But, last assured, I finally finished it.
Chapter 4: On Mists and Butterflies.
Rogue and I checked into "Mystic Lounge", a cheap, yet cozy hotel on the northern edge of Manhattan. We always stopped there because cheap, but comfy and because it's staff didn't ask too many questions. Last time we were there, we wound up getting chased by the cops. Without missing a beat, the desk clerk informed the policemen that the teenagers that just ran up the stairs were nothing more then maids who were late for their shifts. The cops apologized and went on their merry way.
The clerk assured us that he was not a mutant. Really. I doubted it, but Rogue suggested that maybe, just maybe, prodding a man who just saved our sorry, careless aes wasn't such a good idea.
What can I say? Rogue has a way with words.
We left most of our luggage in our room and went straight to Worthington Tower. We took our costumes with us just in case.
We thought we could get into the building quietly, without getting anyone's attention. We couldn't of been more wrong.
The entire skyscraper was surrounded by police cars, ordinary cars, fancy cars and limos. A swarm of reporters gathered by the front doors, trying their best to poke their mikes into police commissioner's face and splatter his escorts all over the nearest walls. A line of armored cops desperately tried to keep them at bay. Cameras flashed so much I wondered how anyone could still see anything. A couple dark helicopters hovered in the sky.
"Commissioner, is it true that Mr. Worthington has a sec…"
"…Are now getting a word from the father…"
"…Move it, kid, we ain't got all day…"
"… Ms. DeAllera, ESP3 is reporting massive disturbances in the local astral plain..."
"…I don't care. Use a toothpick if you have to!"
"… A S.H.I.E.L.D helicopter has arrived on the scene just…"
"…Any world from Candidate Kelly?"
"… Is it a mutant conspiracy, a government plot? You decide…"
I whistled: "Well, it looks like we'll be staying here for a while."
"No kidding," Rogue shook her head and mumbled, "stupid paparazzis…"
"It's been a couple of hours since Warren was kidnapped," I thought aloud, "don't those people have models to stalk?"
"Are you kidding me?" Rogue sneered, "Warren's parents are loaded. It would take a nuclear bomb to pull those parasites off."
"They are not all bad."
"Really? When was the last time a journalist did anything good?"
"Last year of Nixon Administration."
Rogue gave me a strange look.
"You know, Watergate. President's men spying on Democrats, cover-ups, conspiracies of silence, mysteriously erased tapes..."
Rogue moaned silently: "You and your history stuff…"
Before I got a chance to reply, a familiar voice with a distinct touch of King's English caught my attention:
"Listen to me, you shrimp-brained wanker! I have no sodding idea where he is! I've told you that before the coppers took me in and after they let me go! Now piss off!"
And with that last proclamation, a tall, long-legged girl in a purple-and-blue outfit erupted from the crowd in front of us.
"SHION!"
Forgetting all about the cameras and reporters, she rushed towards me, wrapping me in a tight, warm hug.
"I can't believe it," she babbled with joy, "you're here, you're here, you're here!"
"Betsy," I croaked, "your manners…"
"Sorry," she quickly released me, "really sorry. I am just really glad to see you!"
"Really?" I couldn't resist quipping.
"Really."
A beat.
"Wait a minute!"
Suddenly, I had thousands of mikes trying to poke my eyes out.
"Who are you?"
"How do you know Ms. Braddock?"
"Are you Ms. Braddock's lover?"
"What do you know about kidnapping of Warren Warrington?"
Before another reporter can spit out something even more moronic, Betsy showed me aside.
"Do you ponces understand English?" she spat, "Oh, forget I asked. Just leave!"
And, just like that, the reporters turned around and headed for their cars.
"And by the way," Betsy called after them, "erase your tapes!"
Oh crap, I thought, Did she just telepath them?
You always were a smart bloke, Betsy's voice filled my head.
Why didn't you do that earlier? I thought back
I don't like using my powers too much, she smiled, They make life too easy.
It was strange, really. Every time Jean or Professor Xavier entered my mind, I couldn't help but feel a little violated. I know they don't mean any harm, but… It's like finding out that your friends crashed in your house while you were out. But with Betsy, it felt… nice.
We haven't seen each other ever since our cross-continental adventure. Sure, we e-mailed each other every week or so, but it wasn't the same. I've noticed that her hair was a slightly darker shade of purple then I remembered. I hoped she would take my suggestions to heart and add some alternative flavor to her wardrobe. But no, she just had to be a fashion freak. I shook my head. This girl would never learn.
"Excuse me!" a harsh rebuke interrupted my thoughts, "Am I invisible or something?"
Rogue crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently.
"Oh… yeah…." I babbled, "I mean, no… Not at all."
Rogue gave me a look usually reserved for Bobby's attics.
"Sorry, Rogue," Betsy apologised, "Shion was too busy ragging on my fashion choices to notice you."
Rogue's frown softened a little.
"Anyway, " Betsy continued, "I am glad to meet you," she extended her hand to Rogue, "it has been a while."
Rogue stared blankly. Betsy's smile froze into a hideous grin. I felt kind of stupid.
Rogue took Betsy's hand and hesitantly shook it.
Silence
"So," I said, "just when you thought you couldn't feel anymore awkward…"
Rogue and Betsy ignored me
"We should get out of here," Betsy suddenly stated.
"I don't think so," Rogue sniped, "We came here to find Warren. We need clues and his apartment is a good place to start. So until we find some way to get into the building, we are not going anywhere."
Rogue looked to me for support.
"If we wait, someone might tamper with the crime scene," I pointed out
Betsy dismissed my our objections with a brisk wave of the hand:
"The coppers already went through every millimetre of the room. There is nothing to temper with."
"They weren't looking for mutant-related evidence," I argued, "they could have missed something."
Betsy shook her head: "Alright, fearless leader. If you are so determined to get into the building, go right ahead. I won't stop you. I just want you to know that when the crowd dissolved and the clean-up crew with find a bloody, mike-ridden pile of meat and bones, I'll pretend that I don't know you."
And she says Americans are violent…
"You are a telepath," said Rogue. "Can't you just make us invisible or something?"
"No. For one thing, people will try to walk through us. For another, I am not your Professor – I don't have the power to handle the whole crowd. And finally, I can only do something like this to the actual people: it won't protect us from cameras and other video equipment."
"So what do you suggest?" Rogue asked snidely
"I suggest that we get our of here and wait another two hours," Betsy replied, mimicking Rogue, "the crowd should thin out by then."
Rogue looked at me.
"If I anchor to Betsy, I might have a good shot of getting past the crowd." I mused
"Yeah, but you won't have enough anchorage to get up to Warren's apartment," Betsy countered. Looking at Rogue, she added, "come on, don't be so stubborn. I know a nice restaurant a few buildings away from here."
Without another word, Betsy walked away. I went after her. Rogue mumbled something under her breath and followed suit.
"Don't get me wrong, Rogue," said Betsy, "I am worried about Warren too. I just don't want to deal with reporters right now."
"I know," Rogue nodded, "sometimes, I dream about dumping them all into the danger room for half and hour of so. You know, just for kicks"
"I think you are being too kind."
"Really? Do you have any better idea?"
"As a matter a fact, I do."
They went on to talk about reporters, newspapers, and how movies misrepresented their respective sub-cultures. It was amazing, really. Two beautiful women who had less in common then Democrats and Republicans managed to bond over their hatred for mass media. To be fair, they both had pretty good reasons to hate reporters. A few months after the shooting at Columbine, a certain big-shot conservative Fox News pundit stalked Rogue, pestering her to tell him about the evils of Goth movement. When she told him exactly what she thinks about him and his network, he recorded everything on tape and broadcast it on national TV a few days later. Soon, Rogue's already troubled life turned into a personal hell as hundreds of zealous, God-loving Evangelists made it their mission to covert her to the light side, privacy and personal space be damned. Fcking bastard. How could do it to a thirteen-year-old!
As for Betsy, her mere existence was controversial. Her father, James Braddock, shocked the British high society when he married a Hong Kong actress. A rich man from a family that traced it's lineage to King Arthur's time, marrying not only outside his class, but outside his race? Unspeakable! Preposterous! For tabloids, this was a gift from God. For the first few years of her life, just about every move Betsy made was documented, scrutinized and analysed. Over time, the world became more excepting of this sort of thing. The tabloids found other things to mutilate. But every once in a while, a story about Betsy, accompanied by a slew of doctored photos, shows up in the tabloids.
The whole "mutant menace" thing didn't make life any easier for either of them. Betsy had to be very careful to keep her powers a secret. Her family reputation was on the line. As for Rogue, well, she was outed, so she had to face the media onslaught just like everybody else in the Institute… Well, almost everybody else.
It hit me like one of Danger Room's stimulated "rocks".
I was so happy to see Betsy in person that I didn't bother to think why she was there or why reporters were asking her about Warren!
She was the mystery woman!
Oh. My. God.
"Betsy?" I asked.
"What?" she asked innocently
"Were you and Warren…."
"We went out on a date, if that's what you're asking," she smiled
"How? Why?"
"Well, two months ago, our families were attending a charity banquet. We were introduced to each other. With secret identities and family reputations on the line, we had to pretend this was the first time we met. It was kind of fun, actually. We could forget our rather rushed first meeting and start from scratch. By the time the dinner ended, we couldn't take our eyes off each other. Since then, we e-mailed each other practically every day. A few days ago, Warren asked me on a date. I was a little surprised, but he offered to pay for everything. How could I resist?"
I tried to speak. No words came out.
"It was really fun. Warren took me all over New York City. We've seen museums, art galleries, parks and fashion shows. We are at the finest restaurants. He even took me shopping. Can you believe it – shopping! He was a perfect gentleman – up to the point."
I tried to speak. I really did. But as soon as Betsy said "up to the point", my mouth snapped shut and refused to open.
"Yes," She rolled her eyes in the kindly condescending sort of way, "We shagged like there was no tomorrow. And daaaamnwas it good."
She looked off wishfully.
I tried talking again. This time, my mouth allowed me to spit out a stuttering: "Bbbutt…"
"Well, I couldn't wait for Scott, now could I," She grinned mischievously, "He is too wrapped up in that red-headed football queen of his. Oh well, it happens. "
Rogue and I stared.
"What?" Betsy asked innocently, "Why are you looking at me like I am some kind of slapper?"
"You and Scott…" Rogue managed to utter
"…How?" I gasped for words, "When?"
"Oh, we've met during last Christmas," Betsy explained, "What, he never told you?"
Rogue and I shook our heads.
" Figures…" Betsy moaned, "Guys are such idiots, I swear!"
"Did you and Scott…" Rogue asked.
"No," Betsy shook her head, "Trust me, if we did, everybody would have known all about it. Besides, I would never do it with someone right off the bat."
"That's a relief," Rogue mumbled.
I tried to wrap my brain around this new development. I knew that Betsy was always open about her feelings. She enjoyed flirting with guys she liked. Back during our little adventure, I wondered about my feelings for her. I tried flirting with her, but eventually, I realized that no matter what, my heart will always belong to Rogue.
Still, to think that few hours ago, Betsy and Warren were together. In bed. Naked. Doing all kinds of things to each other…
"SHION, STOP IT!" Betsy screamed, "You are imagining it all wrong and sick and twisted and… arg!"
Rogue gave me an odd look
I knew from experience that telepaths have hard time blocking thoughts that are influenced by hormones. Hearing what other people think about you is disturbing as it is. I tried to think of something else. Anything else.
"You are still thinking about it!" Betsy chided
I frantically tried to think of every unpleasant thing possible. Mr. Kelly, Todd's cleaning habits, Helicarrier's Dec 0, anti-mutant rampages, Blob's room. Yeah, that did it.
"Thank you, Shion," Betsy breathed a sigh of relief.
I looked at Rogue. Her face was frozen in a strange smirk. Was she amused? Angry? Annoyed? All of the above?
"You know, Rogue, that's a really interesting idea," Betsy licked her lips, "I wonder if Shion would be up for it."
For the second time in my memory, a flash of crimson spread across Rogue's pale cheeks.
"Stay out of my head," Rogue protested. She sounded more embarrassed than angry.
"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude," said Betsy, "It's just that it was such a powerful…"
Rogue and I gave her a unanimous glare
"OK, shutting up now."
I could imagine what she was thinking. Stupid Americans. Can they be any more repressed?
A smile from her informed me that I wasn't far off the mark
"Anyway," Betsy collected her thoughts, "here is the restaurant. You'll love it here, I promise. "
Ten minutes later, I decided that she was exaggerating. Sure, it was nice and calm. I admit, I did love the white curtains. And the waiters… I swear to God, I haven't seen anyone looking this bad wearing a tuxedo since Kurt showed me the photos from 2002's prom. It's just that the restaurant was a little too… expensive (no, "classy" would be a better word) for my tastes.
I am a rave child. What do you expect?
Rogue looked even less comfortable. While her outfit didn't quite scream "Goth", she looked a tad bit too gloomy for the dresses-and-perty-jewels crowd that dwelt in this shiny establishment.
Thankfully, the restaurant offered a wide variety of choices. I ordered Louisiana Sunburst Salad, Chicken fried rice and a glass of lemonade. Rogue ordered tamagoyaki, yakitori, a cup of Sprite and some French fries. Betsy ordered Annie's Scotch Eggs, a cheesy potato pie, deep-fried fish and a cup of green tea. She promised she would pay the bill, so we could afford to be a little extravagant.
"Now that we finally got all the gross stuff out of the way," I said as I got started on my salad, "we need to figure out what happened to Warren. Betsy, when was the last time you saw him?"
"Right after the "gross stuff"", Betsy replied, "We talked for a while. Then, we fell asleep. When I woke up, he was gone."
"Gone?" I couldn't help but ask.
Betsy didn't seem to hear me: "I thought he went to take a shower or something. I waited for him. But after fifteen minutes, he didn't come. I reached out to him and he… and he… wasn't there. I tried to go farther, but I couldn't… I couldn't… "
Her words turned into uncontrollable sobs.
It just hit her, I realized, she tried to keep it at bay, tried to focus on something else…
Betsy was a strong girl. She had to be. With tabloids eagerly waiting to exploit her every misstep, she always had to perfectly calm, perfectly collected, with a bright smile plastered on her face. Betsy once told me that when she was little, she used to come home from fancy banquets and receptions and cry for hours and hours on end, always in the privacy of her own room. It was the only place where she truly felt safe.
I came up from my chair and held her. Betsy clung to me for her dear life. I knew that everybody was staring. I didn't care. Let them look. Maybe they will learn something.
Five minutes later, Betsy's sobbing finally subsided.
"Oh great," she smiled sadly, "I got my make-up all over your T-shirt."
"Don't worry," I assured her, "Its just clothes"
Betsy spent another minute composing herself and adjusting her make-up.
"Anyway," she said as she put away her make-up remover, "as I was saying before the waterworks started, Warren wasn't there. I called Professor Xavier. Than, I called the police. Lot of good that did! Stupid coppers ransacked the entire place. They took just about everything that wasn't nailed to the floor to the lab. Then, they took me for questioning. I tried not to peek into their thoughts, but somehow, I got an feeling that they thought I killed Warren, chopped him up into little pieces and threw them out of the window. I had to call my dad. Next thing I knew, they were apologizing and swearing that they were just trying to do their jobs."
"Geez, I wish my dad had a S.H.I.E.L.D. security clearance, " Rogue interrupted sarcastically.
"I went straight to Worthington Tower," Betsy continued without missing a beat, "I had to dodge reporters and maneuver though the traffic jams and a whole bunch of very weird people, but eventually, I got there. You know the rest."
"Are you sure you didn't see anything suspicious?" I asked
"As you Americans say "pretty sure"."
"Alright…" I sighed, "Do you think it's safe to approach the building?"
"I don't know," Betsy shook her head, "we should probably finish our food. Then, we can head out and see what happens."
And finish our food we did. True to her word, Betsy took care of everything.
It was the second best formal dinner I ever had.
We walked back to Worthington Tower in silence. I tried to start a conversation, but nothing stuck. Betsy and Rogue were too deep in thought.
I knew those two never really got along, but in the past, they at least tried to be nice to each other. Now, they were like Soviet Union and United States during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The diplomacy went out the window and each side was nervously waiting for its enemy to make a move.
When we arrived, we discovered that most of the commotion already died down. A few cops stood by the building, munching on some snacks. A couple of reporters sat by the news van. I could have sworn they were playing cards. A few scattered crowds of on-lookers stopped by the building, but they lost interest quickly.
As Betsy rightly put it: "Perrfect."
We came into the lounge. Nobody tried to stop us. I wasn't sure if it was because Betsy tinkered with the mind or because they just didn't care.
"There might be someone watching the crime scene," I said as we waited for the elevator, "I better ghost."
"Cool," Betsy nodded, "wWat are we supposed to do?"
"You are supposed to distract the guards," Rogue answered curtly, "Shion might have to return. We wouldn't want cops losing their marvels when some guy appears out of thin air. I'll hang back in case either of you needs help. Shion, you should anchor to Betsy. She has better range."
For some reason, I didn't feel good about the idea. I didn't feel good about it at all.
But Rogue's plan made sense.
"Mam," I quipped, tipping my arm towards Betsy.
"My pleasure," she replied. The green lighting caught her right between her fingers.
Meanwhile, the elevator arrived.
When the door opened on 57th floor, only Betsy was on the elevator. Rogue was shielded by Betsy's telepathic mask. Me, I was making my way through the Middleverse. I changed into my consume as we came up. It had the equipment I would need.
Sure enough, two cops were guarding Warren's apartment. Poor sobs looked bored out of their wit. As soon as they saw Betsy, they dropped whatever they were smoking and straightened their hair.
"Say, boys," Betsy walked up to them, swinging her hips, "do you know where I can find a guy?"
"Depends," the cop leered, "What kind of guy are you looking for?"
Betsy toyed with her hair: "Oh, I don't know his name or anything. He just gave me a call and told me to come over."
The other cop smiled shyly.
I gave my lovely friend an invisible wink and went inside the apartment.
When Betsy said that the cops took away everything that wasn't nailed to the ground, she wasn't kidding. If it wasn't for chalk lines and dust patterns, I never would of guessed that this room once had furniture. I went over to the closet and stuck my head inside. Everything seemed normal. I stepped inside and looked in the secret space behind the closet. Warren's costume and spare street clothes were still there. So was the x-communicator, emergency medical kit and sawing supplies. I smiled. Despite all their obsessive searching, the cops didn't find Warren's secret.
I returned to the normal universe and changed the mask's lenses to infrared. Nothing. Ultraviolet. Same result. I walked around the room a couple of times, hoping to spot anything that the cops might of missed. Nothing. Zero. Zip. Zilch.
I growled in frustration. I knew I missed something obvious, but what? What!
Come on, think, I ordered myself, what kind of kidnapper can possibly walk around without touching anything?
The answer came to me immediately.
Suddenly, I felt a frigid dread crawling up my spine.
My finger slammed into the button on my bracelet.
I hoped it wasn't true. I prayed it wasn't true. I would of moved heaven and earth to ensure that it wasn't true.
In the left corner of the room, a few feet away from the left side of the bed, I saw a colony of dark, silvery moss. I pointed a finger at it. Sure enough, a lighting bolt shot out straight into the moss. Next thing I knew, the smells and humidity of the real world returned.
No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
The silver moss was a telltale sign that someone opened a portal into another universe somewhere nearby. I knew of only one being that could have pulled it off…
I dived back into the Middleverse. If he is out there, everyone was in danger. Rogue, Betsy, Tabitha, Forge, Sam, Jubilee… He could control emotions much better than me. I tried to think back to all the strange reactions, to all the times my friends acted out of character, to all the unprovoked fights and bizarre infatuations.
I ran out of the room. I needed to get Rogue and Betsy out of here. Immediately. I could only hope that Warren was still himself.
But before I could reach the door, I saw a crimson shadow crawling across the window.
"Can't the world just stay sane," the shadow mumbled, "I mean, is it really too much to ask?"
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Disclaimer: Psylocke belongs to Marvel Comics. The version you see here is my take on the character, with a few unique twists along the way.