Chapter 3
"Hello, Miss Jean, please come back, I want to know what's wrong with me, please speak to me, hello?" but no reply came, so Taya sat back onto her bed, her head pulsing, mainly because of her feverish temperature but the origin unknown which gradually took her into a deep sleep.
DONG...DONG! Taya abruptly sat up in a cold sweat as a wave of nausea swept over her, the church telling her how early it was. She ran towards the window just in time to eject a torrent of blood-tarnished vomit onto any unsuspecting drunk below. Tears streaming down her face she called upon her mother who rushed to her side, lay her back in bed with a damp cloth on her forehead. Her mother quickly got some lavender and placed some upon her pillow to aid her sleeping, kissed her cheek and went back to her own room.
"Yuck, hospital smell," Jean thought to herself, looking up at the ceiling above her. Averting her eyes to the left she saw Scott, dozing in a chair wearing a small mask over his nose and mouth. Flowers covered the cabinet beside her bed, and she recognised the small X on the greetings cards. Scott's eyes opened and met hers.
"Hey honey," she whispered, reaching out a clammy hand to touch his.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" he replied, combing his fingers through her hair. Jean turned towards the kidney dish by her bed and after a pregnant pause, projected blood into it.
"Apart from the blood, slightly better I suppose," Jean spluttered, replacing the kidney dish. Scott gently kissed her forehead, the mask gently brushing her hairline, "The professor wants a word, I'll leave you two for a bit, do you want anything from the food hall? No, you don't, ignore me," Jean managed a smile as he left and her professor entered the room.
"How are we feeling Jean?" Charles asked telepathically, not wanting to waste any of Jean's physical energy. He was wearing a similar mask to Scott's, which made her feel even queasier.
"Terrible Professor, I feel as if I have the plague!" She replied, "Do they know what's wrong with me?" A look of deep concern and anticipation was strewn across her face, waiting for the hopefully good news.
"Tuberculosis, Jean, I don't know how you contracted it, but that's what you have, all the symptoms are there and should be quickly treatable as this form was destroyed a while ago, you should be fit soon."
"That would explain the masks, but I don't understand, I had my TB jab when I was 12, how did I get it," answered Jean, puzzled.
"Rest, I'm sure all the answers will found, in due time." And with that, Charles Xavier wheeled himself out of the room.
A Cold sweat dripped down Jean's forehead, hot and cold flushes flowed through her body as she tossed and turned on the bed, writhing with the pain in her lungs, burning as if millions of tiny hot needles were pressing into her chest. Her breathing now restricted, she woke with a start. She sat up, wiped the icy beads of sweat form her brow, "surely the antibiotics must kick in soon, it's been two weeks and I still can't sleep." Wandering towards the small window, she looked out on to the night-lights of Manhattan, an eerily beautiful sight. She opened it, breathed fresh air and let the breeze gently touch her face. Then, as if on the breeze, she heard a soft, sorrowful voice, calling her name, "Jean, Miss Jean, are you there? Miss Jean, I think I'm dying, please help me." A chill went down Jean's spine and she focused all her energy on the voice, trying to find it in the hospital, in New York, in America...then she remembered.