Chapter 7

The first trucker who offered her a lift was a garrulous fellow from Alabama, who recognized the lingering traces of the South in her accent and asked her too many questions about where she was from. Rogue made up some story about running away to meet her Internet lover in Canada.

"I told him I'd be wearin' a pair of gloves," she said seriously, holding up her hands. "So he could recognize me."

"Sure wish I could take you all the way to meet him," he said, sounding sorrowful. "But I'm unloading in Bar Harbor and heading home to see my family." The trucker had told her all about his wife and his little boy, and Rogue watched the gleam of pride in his eyes as he spoke about the child. "Think he might grow up to be a baseball player. He's got a real good arm."

Rogue wondered what he would do if his boy grew up to be a mutant, but she didn't ask. Instead, she made non-committal noises to his stories, staring out of the window, watching the miles of highway disappear beneath them. Eventually the trucker, whose name was Dallas, stopped talking and put on a Johnny Cash CD. As the Man in Black sang about burning rings of fire and Fulsom prison, Rogue found herself lost in a rare memory of home; listening to Hank Williams records on the porch, reading a magazine while her cousin JB drank Evan Williams and Coke. It was a happy memory, and she shuddered thinking she might have lost it forever if she hadn't run away.

Maybe all this will be worth it, after all.

When they arrived in Bar Harbor, the trucker pulled his rig into a gas station and Rogue hopped out, shouldering her bag, and thanked him for the ride. She offered him some money, but he held up his hand and shook his head. "You don't mention it. Least I could do for a fellow Southerner lost up here with all these Yankees."

Rogue had grinned at that, and her goodbye held more of a drawl than she was accustomed to. She almost asked if the trucker could take her home with him, back to South, because he was a good sort of person and she didn't think he'd stolen anything from her.

No. He probably hates mutants and would push you out of the door when he found out. Or else he'd try and make you sleep with him. Don't trust anyone.

She needed to find another ride, but she was hungry, and there was something nagging at her mind, as if she'd forgotten something very important that she was supposed to do here before leaving. As she'd never even heard of Bar Harbor before, it was a strange feeling.

The town was very picturesque, with quaint little shops and outdoor cafés with bright crisp awning. She walked down the street, feeling too grubby and out of place amidst all the cheerful freshness, drifting almost aimlessly.

I have never seen so many bed and breakfasts in my entire life.

Eventually, the smell of food lured her to stop in one of the restaurants, and she counted out enough bills to pay for a bowl of chowder and a hunk of French bread. She had intended to sit at one of the little tables outside and eat, so she had the woman wrap it up to go, but when she got outside she noticed that all the tables were full.

Perhaps she'd go find the ocean, then, and eat on the beach. That would be a nicer view, anyway, and she might as well find something to occupy her during her brief stay.

She'd have to walk a ways out of town to find a ride—she didn't see a plethora of semis
cruising down the narrow streets—and she should probably rest a little, anyway.

She carried her lunch and headed towards the ocean. It was so different than at home—instead of the warm blue waters of the Mississippi Gulf, the water was cold and gray, uninviting. As she meandered down towards the store, she looked for some place to eat. There were a lot of benches and tables, but most of them had people around, and she really wanted to be alone.

Rogue walked a little further, and then came to a halt as she approached a simple wooden pier stretched out over the sea.

It was the sort of thing tourists probably took artsy black and white photos of and framed in their living rooms; plain weathered wood stretching out over the cold water, a seagull perched on the rail, as if someone had commanded it to do so to complete the scene. It wasn't a particularly sturdy looking thing, but something about it seemed so familiar.

That's when she remembered. It looks just like the one in my dream. It did; right down to the single light post stretching up from the wood, metal gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. At night, if the fog was thick and rolling in off the ocean, it would be the exact same scene.

I've never been here before.

Ah. Someone else, has, obviously.

She wondered idly if it was Troy. He was the last person she'd touched, and he was a native of the state, so it would make sense that it was him. Still, something about that felt wrong.
Unsure why she was doing it, Rogue strolled out on the pier, carefully lest the wood give way. When she reached the light post, she looked up at it, curious.

This just seems so familiar. It doesn't feel like Troy...what is going on?

She sat down on the edge of the pier, settling her bag beside her, and unwrapped her lunch. The soup had cooled a bit but was still good; she ate the bread, which was very crusty, and eventually she remembered that she had no where to go, no plans, and very little money.

The thought significantly diminished her appetite.

She sipped at her watery soda, tossing breadcrumbs into the water and watching sea gulls plummet and dive after the pieces. She felt strangely unmotivated to get up and get a move on, though the sun was setting behind her and the horizon was beginning to darken. The wind blowing in off of the sea was becoming cooler, and the temperature was dropping, but still she sat there, staring into the water that slowly changed from gray to black beneath her.

As the hour grew later, she wondered if maybe she should stay the night in the town. Except that she'd not seen any motels she could likely afford and there was no way she would be staying at the Black Friar Inn if even the Motel 6 was a bit too pricey.

If you don't want to sleep outside like a vagrant, you better get up and start walking.

Except that as soon as she resigned herself to a long walk in the cold dark back to the interstate, the light suddenly flashed on. It threw a cold spill of light down on the wood, right where she sat. Curious. She would have sworn that it couldn't have done that; hadn't the lamp been angled the other way...?

That sense of familiarity grew, and the presence in her mind wasn't Troy. She stared at the lone piece of metal surrounded by all that wood, and suddenly, Rogue thought maybe she knew who remembered the pier. If she was right...

Then she really, really needed to leave. That would be the last person she wanted to run into, wouldn't it?

So what? He's been here before. He's probably been a lot of places. So what if he likes the ocean? Maybe he just remembers the pier.

She stood up warily, shivering as she huddled in her sweater, and decided to go ahead and leave Bar Harbor behind her. Except that she saw something very strange heading towards her in the fog; running lights. A boat.

It's a harbor. There's a lot of boats.

The boat came closer, thought it was still very hard to see. Suddenly, the light switched off, and her unease turned to dread as her body tensed, ready for battle.

"Rogue?" The voice that floated out of the darkness was one she hadn't heard since Alkali. I'm sick of this kids' table shit.

"John?" Incredulous, she watched as the fog cleared to reveal the figure of a man in a boat, and sure enough, it was him; a little taller than she remembered, facial features a bit more pronounced, but there was no mistaking the voice.

His face was illuminated by the glow of flame, flickering madly in the wind. It wasn't a very large flame, but for him, it was more than enough to be dangerous.

"We saw you on the camera." Her jerked his chin up towards the light post. Ah. It's a surveillance device. His voice sounded flat, unfriendly, and she lifted her hands to show she wasn't carrying any sort of weapon, and that her hands were gloved.

"Oh." She eyed the fire nervously. He wouldn't really burn her...would he?

"Xavier send you?" He made no move to extinguish the flame.

She was pretty sure he'd do something bad to her with that fire, if she gave him any reason. They weren't friends, not any more.

"No," she said slowly, her mind racing. "I'm...I'm not at the Institute anymore."

"Uh-huh. Get in the boat."

"John, listen to me," she pleaded, having no idea what awaited her in his boat but sure it wasn't good. "I swear, this is just a coincidence! I didn't mean to be here, I was on my way to Canada, and--"

"Rogue, I really don't care. I was told to put you in the boat, and if I have to chase you and blow things up and drag you in here, I'll be pissed. It's fucking freezing out here. Now get in the boat." He waved the flame at her, which she thought made him look sort of ridiculous but more like the John she remembered.

"Who told you to put me in the boat?" She was stalling for time, wondering if she could make a run for it. She could, probably, but it might mean leaving her bag behind and everything she had—including her money—was in there.

"Who do you think? Look, Rogue, I am so not playing around here." He was scowling, but the flame was still bright in the darkness.

"Why in the hell should I trust you not to kill me?"

"I couldn't tell you. But you're the one that came here, and you caught our attention parading underneath the camera, so get in the damn thing or try with the running so I can see how good my aim's gotten. Either way, could you make up your mind?" He raised the silver lighter a little. "In three seconds, it's going to be very hot on that nice wooden pier," he continued, sounding bored. "One. Two. Thr--"

"All right!" Rogue snapped, picking up her bag. She tossed it down into the boat, thinking this had to be the dumbest decision she'd ever made. "Look, I'm not here to sign up or anything, okay?"

"Tell it to Magneto." He clicked the Zippo closed and watched as she perched on the edge of the pier, looking nervously down.

"Can't you just let me go? I swear I won't--"

He raised the lighter again, rolling his eyes. "Rogue--"

"Right," she finished, then hopped down into the boat. She ended up falling backwards, the boat lilting sharply as she fought for balance, and then righted herself. He was smirking at her, the expression maddeningly familiar.

"Eating too much?"

She glared at him, and moved her fingers to her glove, trying to distract him as she surreptitiously tried to bare her hand. "Not really, considering I'm homeless. So why are you on boat duty?"

He put the gun out of the way, but he was holding a pair of handcuffs. "Nice try. Arms out."

Making a sound of disgust, she held her hands out, wondering if she should try and touch him with her face, or--

He snapped the handcuffs on her wrists and pushed her over towards a seat. Once there, he found a length of rope and motioned for her to sit. "Don't wriggle or anything."

Humiliated that she was being tied to a boat seat by John of all people, she remained silent and still as he began tying her. She shifted a little, waiting for an opportune time to kick him.

He paused for a moment in tying one of the looser knots, and Rogue went for her chance and kicked out, knocking him backwards so that he fell on the floor of the boat. Unfortunately, when she tried to move, the knots tied themselves tighter and she found she had effectively trapped herself.

"Where did you learn that?" she demanded, annoyed at his smirk.

"Boy Scouts," he snapped at her sarcastically, and then turned back to the controls and began humming the theme to Gilligan's Island as he turned the boat and headed back out into sea. Rogue watched the pier fade away and added it to her list of "Places I Never Want to See Again." Which could really be amended to "The Entire State of Maine."

"So why'd you leave?"

She'd been cursing her incredible stupidity and chalking up to stress and a lack of protein in her diet when he spoke. "It doesn't matter. I just left." Something about telling him the whole sordid tale worried her—was she still loyal to the Professor, then?

No. You just don't want him to laugh at you. Besides, it's none of his business.

"Okay, don't tell me." He flipped on a switch and some music began playing, but he scowled and flipped it off. "Mystique and her Miles Davis fixation," he muttered, and Rogue shivered in the cold.

"Where are we going?" she asked, wishing she'd put on a heavier sweater.

"Somewhere." He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. "You won't answer my questions, I won't answer yours."

"He missed you, you know," she said suddenly, remembering Bobby after Alkali, cleaning out John's side of the room. "Did you...did they tell you about Dr. Grey?".

"Yeah," he said shortly, and his tone of voice was almost as cold as the night air, so Rogue didn't speak again, and instead wondered if he was going to throw her to the sharks. He'll have to kill me first.

She was already cold from sitting on the pier, and now it was hard to feel her face as the wind brutally whipped against her, tangling her hair. She suffered in silence, refusing to ask him for anything, envious when he pulled a mask over his face that probably kept the cold wind from chafing him like it was continually doing to her.

Balefully, she wondered if he had to drive the boat because he was the lowest person on the villain totem pole. For some reason, that thought gave her a vicious sort of satisfaction.

Eventually, the boat slowed and she saw something dark and frightening rising like a monolith out of the water. It looked like an island, and the boat was heading right towards it. Right as they approached the rocky façade, a door opened smoothly to admit the boat.

Before he piloted the small water craft inside, however, he put the boat on idle and walked over to where she was sitting. He actually looked somewhat remorseful as he looked at her. "I'm, um, ...sorry about this."

That sounded ominous, but all he did was lean down and pick up her bag from the floor of the boat. That, and toss it overboard.

"Hey!" she shrieked, as the last few things she owned went sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic. "That's...John, I don't have..." she stopped speaking, grateful that he wasn't watching her as she was crying. I'll blame it on the wind in my eyes, if he asks.

"I know. I didn't have anything either. It's better that way." With that, he went back and started the boat again to presumably dock it within the cave. "Boss's orders. And Rogue? It's just Pyro now. No one calls me John anymore."

Rogue stared out into the darkness and wondered what horror awaited her next.