Chapter 8
Charles Xavier was sitting in his office reading a scientific paper on the purported origins of mutation. Utter rubbish, he thought to himself. Despite his disregard for the credibility of the report, he found himself fascinated by its absurdity.
"Hey Chuck, you hear about what happened last night?" Logan asked the older man as he entered the study and tossed a newspaper on the desk.
"Yes, Logan, it sounds like a terrible accident," Charles replied distractedly, not looking up from the article.
"Yeah, 'accident'. One of the kids in the report is swearin' up and down that one of the other kids caused it. Said red beams were comin' outta the other kid's eyes, and that's what caused all the damage."
"Oh?" Charles prodded, his curiosity now piqued.
Logan smirked. "Thought ya might find that interestin'."
"Where's the child now?"
"The kid with the 'laser eyes'? They dunno. He's missin' – hasn't been seen since last night."
Xavier pondered that for a moment, fingers steepled in front of him. "I think this would be a perfect opportunity to test Cerebro," he mused, glancing at his colleague.
"Ya really think it's ready for that? Ya just finished the final modifications."
"No better time than the present, wouldn't you agree? This missing boy –"
"Scott Summers," Logan supplied.
"Yes, Scott Summers. If Scott is indeed a mutant, he may very well be in need of our help. Cerebro is our best chance of finding him."
*****
Hundreds of miles away, Scott was making his way as far from Essex House as he could. He was overly cautious, ducking into doorways or alleys anytime he saw a police car cruise by. He was grateful that in her hurry, Ellen had put him to bed fully clothed after his collapse yesterday – he even still wore his beaten up sneakers.
Sometime later Scott found himself in the heart of downtown. He observed the countless homeless people, individuals ranging from children his own age to elderly folks who looked like they had amassed a life time of memories in shopping carts and bags. Unsure of when, or even if, he'd suffer a repeat of the previous night's events, Scott wouldn't allow himself to seek shelter with others; instead he hovered on the outskirts of areas populated by larger groups, if only for the security of knowing people were close by.
"You lost, kid?" a voice asked from behind him. Scott spun around and came face to face with a grizzled old man, face lost behind a wild mass of hair. The man's breath and body odor were overwhelming, and Scott stumbled back a step to escape the stench.
"N-n-no. I'm fine, thanks," Scott replied simply.
"You sure? You don't look fine – you looked scared outta your mind. You runnin' from something?"
After the initial shock over the man's appearance wore off, Scott was able to realize that the stranger really was only asking out of concern. Amidst the layer of dirt on his skin, and through the unruly hair, kind brown eyes peered out at him.
"Um, something like that," Scott finally admitted.
"Something bad happened, huh?"
Scott nodded and looked away; he didn't want this strange man to see the pain he was sure was evident in his eyes.
"You should go home – or find someplace else to go. The street's nowhere for a kid to be. Trust me."
"I can't go back," he said, his voice verging on cracking.
The stranger regarded Scott steadily. "You be careful, then. If you need anything, any help, you can find me on that bench over there," he said, motioning to a bench at the far end of a small park. "Ole Tim'll look out for ya."
Scott's head snapped up. "Your name's Tim?"
"Sure is. What's yours?"
"Scott. Tim was my best friend's name," Scott admitted, a knot forming in his stomach. God, he hoped Tim was alright.
"I'd better take a look around," Scott said after a lengthy silence during which Scott was scanning the area.
"Want some company? I can show you some of the good spots."
"No thanks, I'll find something myself."
"Ok then," Tim relented, the reluctance obvious in his voice. "Just remember where you can find me. See ya, Scott."
"See ya," the boy replied, watching as the old man hobbled down the street, pushing a small cart of belongings.
Scott spent the rest of the day trying to find something to eat. He swallowed his pride and accepted a half-eaten sandwich and partly-drunk bottle of juice from a business woman who passed him huddled in a doorway, but that was all he'd eaten in more than 24 hours. His stomach was growling, and worse than that, he could feel another migraine starting to form.
*****
Charles exited the large room in the sub-basement with a look of disappointment on his face.
"Any luck finding him?" Ororo asked. While Logan readied the jet in anticipation of needing to move out in a hurry, she'd been waiting for Xavier to emerge and to let them know what their next move would be.
"I'm afraid not. But that simply indicates that the boy has not used his powers since I connected with Cerebro."
"So what would you like us to do?" she asked, concerned about their possible new recruit.
"I think you and Logan should go try to find him. I will keep trying to locate Scott using Cerebro, and will notify you immediately if I am able to get a lock on his position."
In the ready room, Logan was confronted by an annoyed teenager.
"Why can't I go with you? I'm bored," Jean complained. "I won't get in the way, I promise."
"No way, Red," Logan told her simply, turning his back on her so she couldn't manipulate him with the pout he knew was already in place.
"Why not?" she asked, her tone bordering dangerously on a whine.
Logan sighed and turned back to her, regarding her carefully.
Jean at 13 was a far cry from the terrified little girl who had arrived at the Institute three years before. She was overly mature for her age, a result of both her traumatic life experience and her enviable intelligence. Still unsure of herself and insecure around her peers, she avoided most social situations where she'd be expected to interact with kids her own age; she preferred the company of adults. She found it extremely difficult to make friends with other children, and was subject to merciless teasing at the private all-girls' school in which Xavier had enrolled her. Jean was an easy target for bullies because she was different. Everything – Jean's height (she towered over the other girls) and blossoming good looks, her unusual family/living situation, her intelligence and bookishness, her natural athleticism, and her shaky self-esteem – made Jean stand out.
"Sorry, Red, not this time. Me and Ro need to go alone."
"Ro and I," she corrected under her breath, then sighed resignedly. "Fine. Will you at least tell me what you're going to be doing?"
"Possible recruitment mission. And don't you go tryin' to correct my grammar. I know what's right, I just don't care."
She ignored his chastisement. "You mean another mutant kid?"
"Maybe. That's what Charles thinks, but he can't track him down with Cerebro."
"So, it's a boy?" she asked, carefully pasting a neutral expression on her face.
"Yeah."
"How old is he?"
Logan grinned. "You thinkin' of this kid as a potential boyfriend or somethin'?"
Jean blushed deeply and scowled at him. "No! I was just thinking it would be nice to have someone my own age around here."
Still grinning, Logan finished packing his rucksack and hefted it over his shoulder. "Sure ya were, Jeannie. But you're in luck – he's yer age. So if we can find this kid, you'll likely have yerself a little playmate."
*****
It was nearly sundown by the time Scott's migraine had returned full-force. Without access to pain killers, Scott was helpless. Earlier in the day, he had found a spot to hide behind an overflowing dumpster. He had dragged over some flattened cardboard boxes to place on the ground, to keep himself dry from the mysterious liquids that had seeped out of the garbage in the dumpster. Scott had wedged another box above his head, creating a make-shift roof over his little shelter; he hoped it would help to keep him out of sight.
Scott was now curled up on his side, back against the wall, eyes closed tightly, trying to will the pain into submission. The pressure simply seemed to build the more he wished it away.
Someone banging on the dumpster startled Scott so much that, despite the pain, he shot upright and opened his eyes. The dumpster was thrown across the alley by bright red beams, slamming into and through the opposite wall.
No! Scott thought frantically as he shut his eyes tightly, realizing it was starting again. He tried to scramble to his feet, but we held down by a heavy arm.
"Whoa there, Scott, relax, it's Tim," the old man's voice was calm. "Let's get you outta here before someone comes looking after the commotion."
Scott allowed himself to he helped up and led away.
*****
Professor Xavier had sent Logan and Ororo the coordinates as soon as Scott's powers presented again. By the time they arrived in the alley, however, all that remained was the damaged wall and destroyed dumpster.
"Looks like it was the kid, all right," Logan muttered. He crouched down by the cardboard he suspected the boy had been using as a bed, and got his scent.
"Do you think you'll be able to track him?" Ororo asked, looking around them sadly. It pained her to think of anyone, let alone a defenseless child, living in such an environment.
Logan grunted in reply and sniffed the air. "He and someone else – someone with really bad hygiene – went off that way. Guess the accommodations weren't to his liking," he said dryly.
*****
"So it went away after last night?" Tim asked, trying to understand what was happening to Scott.
The boy nodded. "It just stopped. And the headache went away."
"Was your head hurtin' earlier tonight?"
"Yeah. But it's fine now. It's like, as soon as I let IT out, the pain goes away."
"Do you want to try opening your eyes again?"
"No!" Scott snapped, then repeated, "no" in a softer tone.
"Does it feel like it's stopped?"
Scott thought about it for a long moment, and shook his head. "I don't think so. It feels different than before. It's like a buzzing, it's pressing right here," he explained, bringing the heel of his hand to the spot between his eyes.
"But you won't know if you don't try," Tim reasoned.
"The old man's right," a new voice said from the shadows. Scott scampered backwards on his hands, afraid that this stranger now knew his secret.
"Relax kid," the voice said. "Why do kids always act so damn scared of me?" he asked, amusement tingeing his voice.
"It must be your way with people," a second voice, this one a woman's, answered. "Are you Scott Summers?"
Scott hesitated before answering. "Yeah. Why?"
"My name's Ororo Munroe, the other man is my colleague, Logan. We're here to help you," she explained.
"Help me how?" Scott asked, suspicions raised.
"We'd like to take you to our facility in upstate New York. It's an institute for young people like yourself, people with gifts. We would like to teach you to control your new powers."
"Gifts? Powers? What the hell are you talking about?" Scott snapped in frustration.
"Scott, you're a mutant. These optic beams you emit, they're your mutation."
Shock had silenced any smart-alecky retort. "A mutant? What does that mean?"
"It means that you have an active gene that normal humans don't have. It makes you special – it allows you to have special abilities. The mutation itself is different in everyone, and there's no way of predicting how one's mutation will manifest," Ororo explained patiently.
"So these beams that come out of my eyes...they're my mutation. And you could teach me how to control them?"
"That's the idea," Logan agreed. "Unless ya think ya can control 'em on yer own."
Scott shook his head. "I don't think I can," he admitted, shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Try it," Tim encouraged. "I'll aim you at something you can't hurt, and we'll see if they've gone away again."
Scott reluctantly agreed, and allowed himself to be positioned accordingly. When he was told to, he opened his eyes and saw that he was in a park, in front of a large rock, almost a boulder – then the blasts turned the stone to rubble.
"Guess that answers that question," Logan muttered.
"I need something to keep my eyes shut," Scott pleaded. "Anything. I don't want to open my eyes by accident. I don't want to hurt anyone."
"Duct tape?" Tim offered, digging through one of his tattered sacks.
"Better than nothing," Scott agreed, placing the offered strip firmly across his eyes. The cool gumminess clung to his skin, pulling slightly as he raised his eyebrows to test how secure it was. It wasn't comfortable, but it was better than the alternative.
"So, it is decided then?" Ororo asked. "You will come with us back to Westchester?"
Scott took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Let's go to this institute place. If it'll help me control these things, I'll do pretty much anything."
Logan snorted derisively. "Don't sound so excited kid, or we might just leave you here."
"Sorry," Scott said, half smirking in the darkness. "Do you think they're ok?" Scott asked Tim under his breath.
"Yeah, I do. They seem like good folks who really want to help."
"Why have you been so nice to me?" Scott finally asked the question he'd been rolling around in his head all evening.
Tim was silent for a moment, then spoke with a heavy sadness in his voice. "You remind me of my grandson," he replied simply.
Scott nodded, not really knowing what to say other than, "Thanks, Tim."
A large hand clapped Scott on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Scott."
The boy nodded. "You too."
"Aw, I'll be fine, don't you worry. Just concentrate on learning to control those powers of yours, so you can go on to have a good life."
"Are you ready to go, Scott?" Ororo asked, taking his hand gently in her own.
Again, Scott nodded. "Let's go," he agreed, and Ororo led him away, away from his old life, away from Essex House, and away from the pain and fear. He suddenly wasn't so afraid about the future.
~~
Coming Soon, Chapter 9
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