The Jean Grey School, Westchester New York
The Past, Seven Weeks Ago
Remy LeBeau was ready to pull himself out of bed sometime after nine o'clock; closer to ten o'clock, really. He hadn't forgotten to set his alarm clock. In a fit of pique the night previous he had decided to never again be shocked into alertness by the sound of the alarm's persistent blare. He had yanked the offensive device from the wall by its cord and then tossed the clock out the open window. He had triggered an explosive charge in the clock and it had detonated somewhere out over the lawn. Remy was resolved that the next time he climbed out from under the covers, it would be because he was good and ready to face the day.
He slowly lifted his head from beneath the bundle of warm blankets, his bedroom blessedly dark due to light-blocking shades on the windows. He could hear the muted sounds of footsteps and voices from the ground floor below. Classes at The Jean Grey School for Higher Learning were well underway. It was Tuesday, after all. Remy had no intention of joining the throngs of students and teachers. Though he'd spent a good deal of time in bed, he hadn't slept at all. Remy was preoccupied; his thoughts turning over and over in his head like the cogs of a clock.
Remy had spent the last few weeks breaking down his plan into small, accomplishable goals. It was unlike him, this careful planning. But for now he preferred his carefully constructed thoughts for the future over confronting the tumultuous reality of the present. Today was the day he'd marked as the deadline, the day of execution. The final part of his plan included finishing cleaning out his room.
His room was usually maintained in a state of entropic organization, where the detritus of the everyday disseminated itself about his living quarters. His room used to be littered with papers, packs of playing cards, dog-eared paperback books, and baubles that amused him. He'd tacked things onto the walls, marring the otherwise pristine surface with holes. But over the last few weeks he discretely began removing the clutter. At first it was just a few things here and there that meant very little to him. Then he'd started pulling down the pictures, the posters, and the photographs, then touching up those little dimpled holes left behind in the paint and plaster. Anything that still had some use left in it was packed up and picked up by AMVETS. Looking at the cleared desk and the white walls made Remy feel better, a little lighter maybe. So it continued. He ruthlessly culled the contents of his room, removing all things extraneous. It was time for one last survey around the room before it was done, sweeping out the corners and taking the last of it away.
This was going to be a whole new experience for him. He wasn't going to leave anything else up to chance anymore. He wasn't going to follow the whims of his heart or make decisions based on gut instinct. That approach had failed him time and time again. Maybe it was time, past time, to start using his brain for once. He would be embarking on a new lifestyle, but today there was still time for one last wild, noisy, chaotic hurrah; a goodbye to life as he knew it.
Remy shuffled over to the window and drew up the shades by their cord. He grimaced at the scene beyond the window. Outside was another cold, dreary New England day one could expect of early February. He doubted he could ever grow accustomed to days like today, where the bare black tree limbs stabbed up into a bleak gray-white sky. Here and there, clumps of dirty snow sat in the flattened yellow grass and fenced either side of the drive where it had been shoveled over the winter months. A chill rain smattered the window. In Salem Center, New York, it would be a miracle if the temperatures climbed past forty. In New Orleans, there would be sixty-degree temperatures, sun, bougainvillea and Jessamine in bloom, daffodils and pansies and salvia.
Remy stared out at the lawn, scanning the landscape. Beneath a distant oak, he thought he spotted a small flash of color. It was a bit of bright yellow; an early crocus perhaps? The sight gave him a brief hint of hope until the wind caught that scrap of yellow and sent it skittering across the dead leaves. It was a late-slip from the school, nothing but trash discarded by one of the less obedient students.
He released the cord and let the shade drop back into place plunging the room once more into darkness. Remy flicked on the desk lamp which created a small circle of light. The glow spotlighted his laptop, his current partner in crime. He then moved to his closet and opened the doors. Most of the hangers were empty save for the one with his coat. Another held a pair of jeans that would complement one of the two remaining shirts he had left. He held the shirt to his nose to see if it passed the sniff-test. Maybe one more day of wear, he concluded. If anyone had noticed he'd been wearing the same ensemble day after day these last two weeks, they hadn't thought to comment. It would have been nice to have remained in the background and have continued to go unnoticed a few weeks ago. The way he preferred things to be.
Remy pulled his mostly clean shirt over his head and then tugged up his jeans. He slipped his hands through the arms of his jacket and settled it onto his shoulders. His duffel bag was at the bottom of the closet. He removed the bag from the closet and sat it on the unmade bed. The laptop was unplugged and nestled inside the duffel bag which was then re-zipped. As an afterthought, he stood on his toes and swept a hand over the upper shelf of the open closet. His fingers came in contact with something tucked into the far back corner. Surprised to have found anything, he reached up and with the tips of his fingers, tugged the item to the shelf's ledge. It was a box. As he pulled the box forward he could hear the contents inside shift around. Once in his hand, Remy recognized the old cigar box he'd hidden away since moving back into the school after its grand reopening. Remy took the box down and walked back to the bed, then sat on the edge of the mattress with the box on his knees. He ran his hand over the box's lid before flicking it open.
There was a mix of random ephemera inside the box. Remy reached out to grasp the top of the nearby metal wastebasket and draw it closer to the bed. At the bottom of the box was a sheaf of papers that had been folded over three times. It was a thickly folded packet of legal documents; the beginning and the end of a marriage that never was. He wasn't sure why he'd retained the documents or if he even should. He let the papers slowly charge in his hand and then let the packet drop into the wastebasket. The charge began to eat away at the paper. He could see the flicker of light on the insides of the wastebasket as the documents began to disintegrate into ash. Returning to the box, Remy picked up the next item. It was a photograph of a dark-skinned girl with platinum-blond locks of hair. The girl was mugging for the camera, lighthearted and laughing. He hadn't seen that girl in a long time, his Stormy. But she hadn't really been a girl at all to begin with. The photo followed the documents into the bin. A bent and faded playing card stared up at him from the interior of the box. It was the Queen of Hearts, her visage bloated and swollen from water-damage. Remy had destroyed so many playing cards in his life. This one had nearly destroyed him. He flicked the card into the bin where it hit the side of the metal can with a hollow sound before joining the other fragments of paper. A lady's glove was cast from the box, as were a few hand-written letters. Remy didn't watch them burn, but only continued to peruse the box for more items to be rid of. His fingers found a few strings of beads. Those he would need later, so he pocketed them.
Last in the box was a velvet pouch. When his fingers made contact with it, he felt a sudden shock of memory so strong he withdrew his hand as if burned. He was overcome by a strange feeling of deja-vu. It was followed by a feeling that something was missing, that he'd lost something important. He shook his head slowly in an attempt to dispel the strange dreamlike sensation. He knew without looking what the bag contained; a ring, a three stone diamond ring. A classic and elegant piece of jewelry meant for a classic and elegant girl. Remy wondered why he still had it, why he hadn't hocked it after all this time. With hesitation, he put the ring into his coat pocket with the same trepidation as if he'd just held one of his own charged cards against his heart. He considered tossing the empty box into the wastebasket as well, but then set it on top of his duffel bag.
With his final task completed, he shouldered his duffel bag and stepped out into the hall. Remy took one last glance at the empty room, then let the door close behind him.
~ oOo ~
Next time: Gambit makes a sandwich! ;-)