The sky was clear and the sun was bright. Though the air was filled with a late autumnal chill, inside the car it was warm. As Scott pulled out onto the road, his head was filled with so much excitement and adrenaline, he felt like he would swoon any minute. He turned the knob on the dash to lessen the heat pouring on his face, and he forced himself to pull his racing thoughts and emotions together.
He was in the middle of an unknown city in a car he'd just stolen from the woman who claimed to be his wife but who might have been responsible for his kidnapping. It was as chaotic a situation as he'd ever been in, but not more so. In fact, he worked best under pressure.
As the few cars in front of him slowed to a stop at a light, Scott allowed himself a moment of celebration. His plan had worked perfectly. He had a good ten minutes until Julia would notice the car missing. Next would come the panic or anger. At any rate, he was fairly confident he would be well out of the city limits before any kind of search was started. The thought had occurred to him that the car he was driving might have had a tracker, but he was going to have to take that chance. He couldn't risk actually stealing a car. Not yet, anyway.
The light turned green, and Scott turned, following signs leading to the interstate. The movements of his feet and arms as his they switched from the brake, accelerator, and clutch, and as he steered and shifted gears were foreign after such a long time in the hospital. He couldn't help but smile, though, as the familiar motions flowed from him with practiced ease. It felt amazing to be anywhere besides staring at the four walls of his hospital room.
Once again, he pulled his emotions into check. Glancing into the rear view mirror for anything suspicious, Scott accelerated towards the onramp of the interstate, choosing the road heading east. As he merged into the racing traffic, he continued searching for clues as to his whereabouts. His eyes went from license plate to license plate. It quickly became apparent that the vast majority of cars wore Ohio plates. Ohio, he thought. Not far at all. The question remained where he was in Ohio, but that wasn't important at the moment. Changing out of the slow lane, Scott increased his speed to match the faster traffic. He was careful not to let his excitement overtake him, though. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over by the police.
For several minutes, he continued along the road. Finally, he was out of the city limits, and he began searching for the next objective in his plan. It didn't take too long before he spotted what he was looking for--an exit sign. And, gauging from the amount of restaurants and gas stations advertised, it was for a medium sized town. Weaving through two cars, Scott raced down the exit ramp. Squinting through the glare in the windshield, he struggled to search his surroundings. The town looked like almost every other one he'd visited in the U.S., and he knew there was bound to be a general store-type shop around close by. Finally, he spotted something that looked promising. His tires squealed as he slid into a parking space, and he hurried inside through the glass automatic doors.
He stood at the entrance for an instant, but the eyes of the workers turned to stare, so he started moving. With quick steps, he walked down each aisle, gathering up items he knew he'd need. A thick, black magic marker, a pad of paper, a roll of tape, a screwdriver, a cheap pair of blue jeans. He'd gone over the list in his mind a hundred times before. As an after thought, he grabbed a box of granola bars and a ball cap. With his arms full, he approached the check-out line. Feeling suddenly impatient, his knee shook slightly as he stared at the back of the balding man in front of him who apparently couldn't have lived another minute without Hercules Against the Moon Men on DVD and three boxes of Ensure.
He glanced around, but nobody was really paying any kind of attention to him. His eyes stopped on a small circular rack sitting on the counter next to the line. Sunglasses. In particular, his eyes fixed on a pair of silver frames with rather large, bright red lenses. The line moved, and Scott stepped forward slowly, but his eyes didn't move.
You don't need them, Scott told himself. They're just sunglasses. They won't stop your mutant power.
But the sun is bright, he reasoned. I need some kind of protection. I'll be on the road for hours. It might as well be a style I'm used to.
Suddenly, Scott's fixation was broken as an older woman's voice belted out, "Can I help you, sir?"
The line was gone in front of him. He was next. "Sorry," he said as he dropped the conglomeration of goods onto the counter. He watched the elderly woman's spotted hands wipe the items across the laser scanner and his eyes flitted to the display, hoping the total would be within his estimated cost and that he'd have enough cash to cover it all. When she read the total, he was relieved to find he did indeed, have enough cash. In fact, he had a little extra.
With a lightning quick motion, he grabbed the red-lensed sunglasses and tossed them across the counter. "I'll take these, too," he said.
The sunglasses were scanned and dropped into the bright yellow plastic bags. Scott handed over the cash, feeling suddenly slightly ill to his stomach. "Thanks," he said as he snatched up the change and the bags and walked briskly to the door. His hands felt inside the bag as he walked. He pulled out the cap first and slid it over his hair. He'd never much liked wearing a hat, but it was a proven that they offered a certain amount of anonymity. Next, he pulled out the screwdriver. As he walked, he passed another Toyota Camry and repeated the number in his mind. He dropped to his haunches at the back of Julia's car and quickly started loosening the screws holding on the license plate. He dropped the screws onto the ground and tucked the plate under his arm. Walking casually, he did the same at the front of the vehicle, removing the front plate as well. He didn't even look around to see if anyone was watching, figuring that would be even more suspicious, as he unlocked the door and tossed the thin pieces of metal behind the passenger seat and his bags next to him.
Removing the paper and marker, he wrote in extra large letters on the paper: stolen tags, and wrote down the other Camry's license number. Ripping off a few pieces of tape, he exited the car and opened the rear door. He affixed his sign to the inside of the rear window and closed the door. Behind the steering wheel again, Scott slid the key into the ignition. The engine idled, but the car didn't move for an instant. Scott stared at the bag lying on the seat next to him.
Why'd you do it? he asked himself. He stuck his hand into the plastic and pulled out the sunglasses. They were far cheaper than any of the shades Xavier had provided for him throughout the years, and their lenses weren't as thick and heavy, but the color of red was exactly the same. His hands shook slightly as he circled the frames in his hands. Finally, he slid the frames over his ears and, when he opened his eyes, the world around him was re-cast in shades of red. With one simple motion, the world looked familiar again. A sense of calm came over Scott and he felt a wave of confidence surge inside. For the first time in weeks, he felt like himself again.
Still, there was something troubling to him, a feeling deep in his gut he couldn't seem to pinpoint or ignore. Swallowing hard, Scott threw the car into reverse and exited the parking lot. In a matter of minutes, he was back on the Interstate. With a relative sense of security allowed by his forged license number, he leaned back in the comfortable seat and rubbed his chin, driving with one arm. He would stop at the next rest stop, get his bearings and find the best route to New York. Once in the state, he would be good to go. He knew upstate New York like no one else, and, if all went according to plan, he'd see his friends, his home, in a matter of several hours and this whole nightmare would be behind him.