Chapter Three
Jean had come to a decision.
It had taken only two days of frantic phone calls, confusing catalogues, and impossible store workers who were absolutely no help at all.
She wouldn't wish planning a wedding on her worst enemy.
It didn't matter who they were, or what they'd done. No one deserved this chaos. Add to the mix sudden migraines accompanied by whispering voices that constantly informed her that the world was coming to end and, well, it hadn't been a good week.
Jean pressed her fingers to her temples and prayed silently that the voice could just keep quiet until she finished deciding on a color scheme. For something that was supposed to be so happy this was hard!
She chanced a look at the clock and groaned. It would be another two hours before she could plausibly call off this wedding planning using the excuse that she needed some sleep.
"Problems?" Inquired an amused voice from behind her, and she turned to find Scott.
"Why is it," she asked, annoyed, "that you always disappear whenever a wedding catalogue shows up?"
"Because you're sooo much better at this sort of thing?" He tried, dragging out the o's in 'so.'
"Nice try." She retorted, gazing in frustration at the pages before her. Blue and white? Pink and white?
"How about because I'm not so great at the whole 'seeing colors' thing?" He suggested, tapping his visor with his index finger. Jean felt a twinge of guilt. She shouldn't have said anything. But then she looked up to see the look on his face. She could read him like an open book. He still just wanted to get off the hook.
"Better." Was all she said.
"We should break the mold and do something wild." He told her, glancing down at the pages. "Orange and silver. Chartreuse and day-glo blue." He was trying to make her laugh and she could tell already that it was going to work.
"It's a plan." She retorted, grinning. "It should be chartreuse and silver. Really throw them off."
"Absolutely." He told her, sitting down on the chair next to hers and throwing an arm around her shoulders.
Pain. Searing pain. And a voice. A whispering, confident voice...
When are you going to learn that the end of the world is impossible to avoid?
And that I am impossible to ignore?
She drew in a sharp breath and turned to see Scott looking at her, concerned. "Are you all right? Something wrong?"
"Nope." She said lightheartedly. "Just tired."
He looked at her for a moment longer and then seemed to shrug it off. "Fair enough. Take a break."
"I think I will." Jean said, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in her head. "I'm going to see what's on T.V."
Jean hated T.V. She thought it was mindless. And since she could do so much with her mind she disapproved of letting it rot.
Scott watched her walk out of the room, concerned.
On the surface it made perfect sense. Wedding plans would make anybody stressed, or so he'd heard. Worrisome. Difficult.
But he knew Jean.
And something was going on.
Jean flipped through the T.V. channels. PBS. CNN. Disney. She stopped there. They were showing Mary Poppins. Just as good as anything else on. She watched idly as some kind of tea party on the ceiling ensued, and slowly let her eyes drift closed.
She really should tell someone. Really. But much as she tried to persuade herself, to work up the courage, she couldn't. Why bother? What, after all, could anyone do?
It was probably just the stress. The stress of planning a wedding and teaching. That plus being a telepath. Maybe it was some kind of telepathic illness. Get overly stressed, hear voices in your head. Evil voices. Predicting apocalypse.
She heaved a sigh. When she didn't even believe her own fabrications it was sad.
But what else could it be? There was no reason for voices to talk in her head unless she was going crazy – and she wasn't. She'd know.
Wouldn't she know?
Yes, she decided. She would know.
It must be the stress.
Headaches were perfectly common when a person was stressed. Even migraines. So she watched as Mary Poppins danced on the rooftop with a bunch of chimney sweeps and told herself nothing could possibly be wrong.
For the next week Jean went through her life with the premise that the migraines (and the voice) resulted from stress. She took a self-enforced vacation. She got out of the manor as much as possible. She avoided wedding plans. She avoided people she knew. She volunteered for grocery and post office runs. And, almost to her surprise, nothing happened. The little voice only awakened a few times, her headaches were minimal. Overjoyed she promised herself to take it a little easier and went back to her regular routine, and the wedding plans (in moderation).
But it came back.
She almost cried in frustration when, at 11:00 PM at night she awoke to a pounding headache, and a repeating voice in her head.
You'll try. You'll fail.
Try.
Fail.
The world is ending.
She stared into the blackness of her room, her heart throbbing and her chest heaving. Suddenly her room was unknown to her. It was dark and all the old, familiar objects became sinister and foreboding. Suddenly she was panicking. Her breath came quicker and quicker. She thought the headaches, the dreams, the voices, were over. Done. Through. But it was back. She couldn't stop it...
The room seemed to be blacker than it had ever been before. Even the moon was obscured by clouds, the stars seemed to be blotted out, and she could hear the voice echoing over and over in her head...
"Jean?"
The voice was clutching at her, trying to consume her, wrapping itself around her like a snake...
"Jean?"
There were two sudden flashes of fire, bright and inescapable, almost like two eyes...
"Jean!"
The next thing Jean knew she was half-sitting half lying down in her bed, Scott sitting concernedly over her, watching her face anxiously. For an instant she couldn't remember where she was, or even where she ought to be. For an instant all she could remember was that voice. But then she registered exactly where she was and really saw Scott's face. Her stomach clenched.
"Scott!" She said, embarrassed. Had she shouted? How long had he been there? "Hey."
"Hey." He said uncertainly. His face was lined with worry. "What happened? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just a nightmare."
"Just a nightmare?" Scott asked, his eyes questioning, his entire face a worried query.
"Yeah. Don't worry. Why are you in here anyway? Where's Ororo? I didn't wake her up did I?" Jean sat up to scan the room, concerned, but a searing pain in her head and a flash of fire stopped her. She lay back down.
"Ororo came to get me. She said it sounded like you were having a really bad dream. You're sure you're all right?"
"I promise Scott." Jean said, but to her it sounded hollow. She was already making false promises.
"So what was the nightmare about?" Scott asked, probably receding onto what he thought was safer ground.
"Having a chartreuse and silver wedding." Jean teased, and then reached behind her head to fluff up the pillow. Scott fixed the covers around her with careful arms.
"Gonna be okay?" He asked with warmth in his voice, and she remembered exactly why she was marrying this guy.
"Yeah. Go back to bed. Get some sleep. And apologize to Ororo for me would you? I feel bad."
"Happens to all of us." He promised.
She almost laughed. Happens to all of us? Nightmares maybe. Evil voices in your head, probably not so much.
Jean didn't get to sleep for a long time because every time she closed her own eyes a pair of fiery ones flashed within her mind, looking as though they wanted to consume her.
A/N: Finally, an update. I know, this absolutely should have been out sooner. Sorry everybody! Anyway, please let me know what you thought of it. :)