First things first: I should've mentioned it previously, but this is an AU where mutants don't exist. That's why when Remy saw Rogue, he didn't suspect her of being a mutant. Secondly, you guys who reviewed are all quite awesome, and I thank you kindly. The next part of Blue will be out v. soon. In the meantime, here's chapter three of this!
Review and I'll love you forever.
Three
"Succubus," the psychiatrist said.
Remy frowned. "Succubus?"
She gave a nod and began rifling through a book on her desk. "Perhaps you're more familiar with her male equivalent, the Incubus. A succubus is said to appear in men's bedrooms, mount the victim's chest, and then engage the man in sexual intercourse. These 'visits' were commonly reported in previous centuries, but there are some who still see attractive women in their bedrooms." She gave him a tight smile and turned her book. There was a picture splashed across the pages, of a demonic-looking woman hovering above a sleeping man.
Remy glanced at the picture, then back up at the psychiatrist. "She doesn't want t' have sexual intercourse wit' me. We don't like each other," he added.
"Yet."
"Plus," he added, "She can't even touch me."
"Or so you believe at this time."
He frowned.
She went on. "Actually, I mention it because there was a man named Stan Gooch some years back, who tried to trace the existence of these creatures. He came to believe that the succubus who visited him was actually a compilation of many women he'd known, created by his own psyche and given the illusion of a physical presence. If you've experienced some kind of traumatic, or just troubling event lately, it's possible that your mind has crafted a being not unlike Gooch's succubus."
He took a deep breath. "Succubus." He repeated again.
She shrugged. "If you're interested in more conventional answer to your problem, we can look into schizophrenia. Schizophrenics are also prone to hallucinate people that aren't actually around. You're of an age when the disorder commonly makes itself known. Have you recently taken to violent behavior, restlessness, apathy…"
He blanched. "I'm not schizophrenic!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. LeBeau. I'm sure that neither answer was quite what you wanted to hear."
He exhaled softly. She was right; he didn't know what exactly he'd been expecting, but her calm, deliberate explanation of the possibilities wasn't it. He smiled in her direction and stood up. Her office was a spacious, sparingly decorated room with a wooden desk, a laptop, a photograph, and several plants. He breathed in the clean air once more before extending a hand over the desk. "Thank y' for yo' time, Ms. Grey."
The redhead accepted his handshake and grinned, brightly. "I just hope you figure this ghost thing out, Mr. LeBeau."
"She was too young ta be a real psychiatrist," The ghost mused, while he washed his face in the bathroom of the psychology complex. She watched him dunk his whole head into the water and then turned away, bored. "We're not havin' sex, by the way. Ah'm not here ta steal your virtue. Sorry."
"Don't think I got any virtue t' steal," he said. He shook his head, sending droplets in all directions. They passed through her, though she gave him a look of obvious annoyance. "About what she said…"
"Lies."
"How come y' seem t' be able t' pick an' choose what objects pass through y' an' which don't?"
"That's…that's…" the ghost turned away. "It's absurd. Ah don't pick."
"Y' do too!" He responded.
She fingered a string on her dress and sighed. "Ah'm a bad ghost, all right? Ah don't know how it all works just yet. It's a learnin' process an' Ah figured since Ah've got all eternity, why rush?"
"I don't even-" Remy stopped speaking abruptly, because the doors to the bathroom were pushed open and an older, suited man stepped inside. He glanced over Remy for a minute, before heading into one of the stalls. Of course, the ghost had disappeared. Remy rolled his eyes and stalked out of the bathroom. He had an appointment with Bella at a café near the hotel, anyway.
He had a life that did not include ghosts.
Jeans, pink sweater, and wide blue eyes that watched him, amusement flickering in their depths; she looked more innocent than any assassin had a right to. Like she might've been on her way to high school or church youth group or some other place that Bella had never even considered going. The mass of her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. A cheery smile played upon the corners of her mouth.
Belladonna kicked out a chair for him, and offered a sip of her coffee. He accepted, more out of habit than thirst. The flavor was too bitter for his taste, and scalded the tip of his tongue. "So," she said, after. "I got another call from Candra. She said she didn't want us t' move on, after all. She's comin' herself t' pick up da necklace an' we're t' keep it safe until such a time. I tell y', Remy, I haven't got a clue why she wants it so badly. Ever since y' mentioned it, it's been buggin' me."
The fact that it was holding the soul of a girl could've been related, Remy thought to himself, but he didn't say it aloud to Bella. For her, he pulled a deep sigh out of his chest and shook his head, solemnly. "Must be some reason."
"It might be really old," she said. "We could get it tested."
Remy didn't have the necklace on him; he'd dropped it off at the hotel, so that the ghost wouldn't overhear his conversation with Bella. It had occurred to him that she wasn't fully aware of his and Bella's role in Genevieve's death. He thought he might tell her himself –eventually- assuming she didn't vanish for good before that could happen.
Even without the necklace nearby, though, Remy felt a twinge of possessiveness. Tested? He wanted answers, too, but…
But what, he asked himself.
He wanted answers too, but answers that were his and his alone. If the ghost was real, she was really his; if the ghost was not real, she was his psychological disorder. Even Bella, his companion and friend and partner –even she was a trespasser into personal territory. He leaned back in the chair and gave her an easy smile. Sipped from her cup again. "Got anyone in mind, Chere?"
Bella looked around. "I might."
"Not Henri. He's out o' da business an'-"
She glared. "I know, I know. Though y' got t' admit, he was da best."
"In da lab," Remy acquiesced. Henri excelled near chemicals. He'd been a thief by trade, but a scientist in the heart. Once upon a time, that had been a valuable assest to the family. Too bad, Remy thought with a trace of bitterness, that all fairy tales end. He straightened his back. "So who y' got?"
She wrinkled her nose. "No one, actually. I was kind o' hopin' you'd go wit' da Henri idea. It'd been a nice chance t' visit an' get information. We'd know for sure that he wasn't rattin' us out t' Candra."
"I'll work on' findin' someone," he promised. It was a smooth lie; it fell from his lips like fine champagne and sweet treats. At least momentarily, it secured his ghost's privacy. His ghost. The words were funny, until he realized he had nothing else to call her. No real name.
"So," Bella said, conversationally, "Want t' do somethin' later?"
She was lying on his bed, wondering where he was. The ceiling was boring. The floors were boring. The closest and clothes and complementary soaps, shampoos, and shower caps were boring. Her reflection in the mirror was depressing. She closed her eyes and tried to picture her existence before. She'd been a ghost a long time, longer than she liked to recall. At her junior prom, they'd played Buddy Holly and Elvis and there'd been a giant cutout of James Dean because the theme had been Dangerous. Every one had wanted to be him, that lost, lonely, misunderstood outcast; that rebel, that rogue, that forever angel of teenage angst. Her boyfriend, Cody, had worn a leather jacket with his suit and picked her up on a motorcycle he didn't quite know how to drive.
They'd managed all right, at first, and gotten to the prom in one piece. She danced. Someone spiked the punch. A group of friends agreed to meet at Cody's house, and one by one they drifted off to cars and bikes and Rogue had saddled up behind Cody, had wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her forehead into the back of his jacket. He smelled like the poisoned punch, but he assured her there was nothing wrong with his faculties. They were halfway to the house when he slammed on the brakes suddenly. Her hold had gotten lazy and lax, and she was thrown from the bike.
When she woke up, she was lying on a white bed and there was a man standing over her, saying words she didn't understand. But there were cuffs on her hands, on her ankles, one large metal lock on her neck…
She opened her eyes and frowned. Bad thoughts. She'd gone for months without thinking of her own death, but the shock of losing sweet Gen hurt.
"Y' look sad."
She glanced over to see Remy standing in his own doorway, a jacket thrown over his shoulder, like he was about to walk down the runway. He gave her a questioning look. She snorted. "Sad? Me? Ah'm Miss Cheer an' Gaiety, o' didn't ya hear?"
"Must've been watchin' a different pageant," he said.
"Obviously." She sat up on the bed. "Where'd ya go?"
"Lunch wit' Bella."
"An' didn't take lil' me? Ah'm hurt. But Ah guess ya wanted quality time with the girlfriend."
He wagged a finger at her. "We're not havin' dis conversation again."
She dropped her jaw. "We've had it before? Ya got ta forgive me; every time there's a full moon, my memory is reset. It's some kind o' weird ghost trip Ah can't help. Who are you again?"
"Dat is such bullshit."
"Ah, but fun bullshit." She yawned. "Let's do somethin'."
Remy sat on the bed and threw himself into the pillows. "Good idea. We'll play a game."
"No strip poker."
"No kill-the-living."
"No annoy-the-ghost-who-can-make-your-life-a-living-nightmare. Literally."
"No make- the-sane-man-bury-his-silver-necklace-in-the-middle-of-a-deep-lake-where-it-won't-ever-be-found." Remy narrowed his eyes.
"You are such a baby," she answered.
"Me?"
"No, Remy. The other human Ah can talk to."
They stared at each other in silent appraisal for a moment, before Remy finally continued. "I was thinkin' we could play da kind o' game where I introduce myself formally, an' you do da same. I still don't know what t' call you, Chere."
"Goddess will suffice."
"Chere."
"That, too."
"Don't y' got a name?"
The ghost shrugged. "Ah had one, a long time ago. But she isn't me anymore. Her name isn't mine."
"Isn't it about time y' thought up a new one?" He earned himself a raised, doubtful brow. "It'd be so much easier t' deal wit' you if I knew who t' curse da heavens for."
She laughed at that. A name. A soul without a cause. "Call me Rogue," she improvised.
"Rogue. Now dat's got a nice ring."
Here we go. Another chapter done! Yet, while we're chatting, I'm looking for a short-term beta to check out a story (Romy, Jott, post-Evolution) I'm working on that won't be out until… the later months of this year. Anyone interested? Drop me a line; I'm Eileenblzr at Yahoo.
Individual responses:
Sweety8587, Rogue Gal, WolvGambit Le Diable Blanc, Kyo-Kitty, Enchantedlight, Rogue14, IvyZoe, Chica De Los Ojos Café, Gothik Strawberry: I'd say you guys rock, but I bet you already know that. Thanks for reading, super thanks for reviewing, and if you come again the fake drinks are on the house!
Poisoned-Tattoo: Why thank you so much! Glad ya liked it, and lovely hearing from you.
Le Rossignol de la Soriee: Woah. Your name threw me off for a second. You flatter me so; I don't know if I believe that I'm that good, but I'm certainly glad I could impress you. The issue of Rogue's touching was actually one that bothered me too. I addressed it some in this chapter, but the answer isn't entirely clear yet. That's because I'm not sure yet if Rogue's actually a ghost of a real dead person or a figment of Remy's imagination. Thanks so much for your review (which was helpful) and hope to see you again!
SnarkyKat: What did you do? Skip ahead to the review responses and see what I wrote? That's cheating; you can't say mean things unless you've read the story.
Alara: Promises, promises. Heh. I am certainly glad you like the idea of this story; I took great care in stealing it from another, more famous tale. Of course, I've altered it so that it's decidedly more evolution-based, and very unlike it's original, but… Anyway, thanks a bunch and I'm waiting for an update!
Kitsu LeBeau: Is Remy going to fall for the ghost? Well. Possibly? Okay, probably. But not yet, so don't push it! There are an abundance of Marvel blondes that are already written into the story… Thanks!
TheRogueAuthor: Ah, I too watch Full House episodes too often! Where else can you watch the world's problems be solved in half an hour and ogle young John Stamos at the same time? That Uncle Jessie. Thanks for the review!
Ishandapound: You know how they say be careful what you wish for? I read your review and I was all, aww, I want to paint my room! A few days later my mom decides –hey, let's paint the room! It's a lot less fun, all of a sudden. Especially since I'm moving in two months and won't get to reap the benefits of a newly painted room. Boo. Oh, and you should watch A Muppet's Christmas Carole before Christmas in July is over.
Roguechere: Ha! I purposely set it up as Rogue being the ghost to avoid being too much like other stories; plus, there are a lot of Remy-living-in-her-head stories that I wanted to stay clear of. Great to have a new LJ friend!
Lace123: Ahaha. I'm already writing the stories I will then post while in Real College! Who says being dead causes problems? But… there are too many bad stiff jokes out there (plus, I'll probably toss in a few to the story, anyway) so I'll take the higher ground right now. Thanks for reviewing!
Silverbells: Did I say necklace instead of bracelet? I can't even remember which it's supposed to be! Well, as soon as I'm done here, I shall go back and see if I can fix it. Or I'll get tired and put it off for another day. Thanks for pointing I out! Thanks more for the review!
Chained2amask: You know your name is only going to make me want to watch Phantom of the Opera. But the spaghetti will keep me around- for now. Thanks! Mmm. Food!
Freak87: I was just telling a friend about Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice. In fact, I think about it every time I write this story, so you're on the same wavelength as me! I'm happy, but you should be scared. Thanks!
Shira's Song: You want Bella bashing? Gosh, what kind of writer do you think I am? (Don't answer that). I was lucky this time around, I remembered what ellipses were. Honestly, I always forget and call them 'those dot-dot-dot things'. Which I use constantly… see? You can give me the sticky color things, but odds are I'll use them to price myself and various objects around the house and then not update for a long time. Hee. Thanks a bunch!