Disclaimers:
See chapter 1.
Chapter 5: The Chronicles of Life & Death
Staring down at the pair of, though admittedly flat, but undeniably feminine breasts, Emma had one question:
How the hell had she missed that?
Her question was answered a second later as she caught sight of the tattered remnants of previously white bandages, fluttering to the floor. Which only brought about the new question of why they had been bound in the first place…?
Emma smirked to herself, at least her facial features made a lot more sense. Then she realised she was still staring and uncharacteristically flushed, averting her eyes. In doing so, she caught sight of Henry. His eyes were glued with seemingly fascinated incomprehension at the girl's bare chest. Annoyance flickered in her.
"…Well, what are you waiting for?" She said sharply, jolting him out of his frozen state. "It's nothing you haven't seen before!" He had the grace to look embarrassed as he adjusted his small wire-rimmed spectacles.
"Ahem. Quite. Er, well," He placed his stethoscope on her chest, listening intently to her breathe and then placed two fingers on her arterial pulse point. "Definitely internal bleeding. Several of the ribs are broken and the lungs have been punctured. The scratches and bruises are mostly superficial, but she's lost a lot of blood, her pulse is extremely weak. And-" here he peeled back an eyelid and hissed. "A number of blood vessels have burst in her eyes. Her body must've been under extreme pressure…" Emma crossed her arms protectively over her flat stomach and bit her lip. She remained silent as he carefully ran a hand-held scanning device over the body. Henry's agitation was palpable as he visibly struggled to try and conceal something from her.
"What else." It wasn't a question.
Hank took a deep breath. "Emma, from what I can tell, she's suffered massive trauma…Her liver and kidneys have been perforated by the angles the ribs have broken at…The amount of blood she's lost…She's obviously been malnourished and starved, if the ribs weren't so distorted you'd be able to see the skin around them is abnormally sunken…in this state, amenorrhea has probably set in and at the very least, her immune system is severely weakened…With the amount of sugery she needs, it's very unlikely she'll survive." Emma's jaw clenched and she glanced down at the broken girl. Eyelashes rested gently against her unnaturally pale cheeks and her breathing sounded wet and shallow, while blood oozed out of the corner of her mouth. The torso was frighteningly thin and decorated with a tapastry of bruises, though the usual shape of the ribcage was crunched unnaturely inwards.
"Can you shed anymore light on how she appeared here?" He asked anxiously, "Anything may help me at this point."
Pushing aside the sensation of unreality at his words, Emma reached out mentally and projected the confused minutes leading up to and including the girl's unexpected appearance, into Hank's open mind. He gave a sigh.
"I suppose it was too much to hope for…" His brow furrowed slightly. "Do you think she's a mutant?" Emma was slightly nonplussed, it seemed logical but really hadn't occurred to her.
"There's no evidence to suggest not…And the fact she came through a slit in my classroom ceiling to suggest 'yes'." She answered dryly.
'My God,' she suddenly thought, suddenly horrified 'on top of her injuries, she's probably suffering from over-extending her powers too…' Apparently Henry had come to the same conclusion, because he glanced at her wide-eyed.
"What about a blood transfusion?" She asked throat dry and mind flicking feverishly over various possibilities. Maybe she could give some…
Hank shook his head.
"Wouldn't make a difference at this point. From what I can make out, she's inhaled large quantities of carbon monoxide and it's bonded with her haemaglobin…She's gone into acute shock. Her body is shutting down, it's a miracle she's survived this long. It's doubtful she'll regain consciousness." He sounded tired and defeated.
She felt oddly responsible for this girl who had (literally) fallen into her life. The thought of losing her before she even knew her name made something inside contract painfully and a feeling of panic sweep over her.
"What about Warren's donation? If she is a mutant it could save her." She asked deceptively calm and hiding her rising sense of panic. Hank looked at her in surprise. Warren Worthington III AKA "Archangel" was an extremely rich businessman with the mutation of super-strong wings which were capable of flight. He also possessed a healing factor contained in his blood. It enabled him to heal others by mixing his blood with theirs, provided they had a matching bloodtype to his. He donated blood several times a year to the Hank's Med Lab and to other, carefully selected causes.
"My God. I'd completely forgotten!" Hank looked horrified at himself and immediately leapt up. He raced off towards the refridgerated section of the Med Lab to find it.
Emma stepped closer towards the bed again and placed one hand on the girl's forehead, stroking it lightly. It was icily cold to the touch.
"Emma, would you mind leaving please?" Hank called as he hurried back, a red packet held in his hand. Hesitantly she made her way over to the door, but stopped and, had she been anyone else, she would've been accused of hovering. But she was the White Queen and she did not hover.
"You won't need my help?" She asked, more reluctant than she liked to leave the girl alone. Hank shook his head distractedly.
"I need to keep things as serile as possible. With her blood level and immune system's white count so low, it's imperitive to ensure she doesn't catch anything. Warren's blood can only do so much." As he spoke, his hands moved with deft efficiency which belied their bestial appearance, hooking her up to an IV and prepping her for the transfusion. "Blood transfusions have to supress the immune system to ensure the body doesn't attack the new blood and reject it, so I need to be even more cautious…The slightest exposure to any bacteria is potentially lethal for her at the moment." Emma turned away and placed her hand on the door, pausing for a long moment before giving herself a mental shake and leaving.
The door closed with a terrifyingly final click behind her.
With outwardly confident movements, she began to stride down the corridor, away from the Med Lab, but she'd only taken a couple of steps before she halted. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fists and her mouth became a thin pale line.
Turning on her heel, she spun around and strode back the way she'd came, face expressionless.
'Darling, what are you doing?' She wondered, exasperated, while she flicked her hair over a shoulder. She halted outside the Med Lab door and finally, after a long moment spent staring at it, slumped down the wall next to it and leaned backwards.
She couldn't leave yet.
'What's wrong with me?' Emma thought tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose tightly and closing her eyes. For once, she found herself completely unconcerned about the undoubtably undignified postion she was in. Stilling her breath, she cast her mind back over the events of the day; analysing and mulling over everything that had happened to try and isolate what had managed to rile her up so badly she was losing her composure.
Scott.
'Well, it can't be that much of a surprise, darling…' Her mouth curved into an elegant sneer. Emma recalled his total disregard of her in her own classroom. It was completely understandable to be concerned about the welfare of your only child, 'His only link to Jean' her mind supplied, but to not even ask if she was alright? He barely talked to her at all now. Take this morning for example…
And for God's sake! What was that irrational behaviour about?
Emma could agree with and support his concerns about a complete unknown coming into the Mansion, but to the point where he'd rather sacrifice an, as yet, innocent life? It was a little much for even the Brotherhood to beat up Mystique that badly for her just to infiltrate the Mansion.
Anger flared within her. His casual disregard of the girl's life struck a little too close to home with his treatment of her.
She wasn't a sex toy or a stand-in to be so easily ignored.
Maybe it was time Scott was shown that.
Her heart feebly protested against any course of action. As long as she didn't do anything, things would remain the same.
And safe.
She desperately did not want to be by herself anymore, even if it was a lie.
God, she was pathetic. Emma let the feeling of revulsion sweep over her.
For all her deliberations last night, things still remained unchanged. She was afraid to leave Scott. She thought she'd found in him what she had been unknowingly searching for all these years and to have the veil ripped from her eyes was, to say the least, a disconcerting experience. To have the lie exposed meant that she had been fooling herself for a long time. It meant she had to begin the search again. And she wasn't sure she had the strength to do so anymore.
Everyone wanted something from her. Money, power, sex. It was all and yet not, the same. What she desired, needed, craved, never even entered any of their heads.
She had a gift that enabled her to manipulate anyone into giving her anything but the one thing she desperately craved.
Sometimes she wished she didn't have telepathy. At least she'd be able to fool herself for awhile…
'It doesn't seem to be impeding you now, dear. You seem to be doing an absolutely fabulous job of avoiding the truth at the moment.' A snide voice told her.
At least with Scott she wasn't alone. He was someone to hold and be held by. He was handsome, in a boyscout-ish way. She still loved him, didn't she?
But she'd been feeling more alone now than ever before and actual physical closeness between them had become rarer than an honest insurance salesman in hell.
Had she ever really loved him? Or just what she thought he was?
'You've made your bed darling, now I'm afraid you'll have to lie in it. With Scott.' She told herself.
Snorting in self-disgust, she drew her knees to her chest and rested her head upon them. Trying once again to relax, she shut her eyes.
God, she was tired.
Unwanted, she felt a lethergy creep up upon her; insidious and irresistable, although she did struggle briefly. Emma tried to distract herself from her previous disturbing thoughts and the growing tiredness by turning her attention to the more pressing issue on her mind; the auburn haired girl.
Her inability to contact her was worrying. She'd never met anything or anyone before who was naturally undetectable to telepathy. There were those that had incredibly powerful, nigh on indestructable shields; case in point being Psylocke. Elizabeth had,
after the Shadow King incident, become unable to use her own telepathy as well as being immune to any form of others' telepathy– including telepathic attacks, probes or even attempts at communication. Her current psi-shields were now of enormous strength but completely out of her control and she was unable to lower them and 'invite' telepaths or other psychic beings into her mind. But despite this, Emma could still sense those shields.
Vaguely she remembered that Forge had created an item that performed a similar function of making mutants invisible to telepathy, but he'd stopped making them after the Brotherhood insisted on stealing them, which had lead to all sorts of interesting problems…
Where exactly had she come from? Why had had she come here? Admittedly the Mansion was often the focus of biazzare and unexplainable phenomena, but could Scott possibly be right? Could it be some elaborate Brotherhood plot? It was unlike Mystique to stoop to such an unoriginal plan though…
Inexplicably, she felt her thoughts calm and a gentle feeling of peace came over her as sleep began to overtake her senses. The best comparision she could come up with to explain the feeling, was it was as if she was a cat being stroked into relaxed pleasurable state by a beloved friend (cats do not have 'owners'). A comforting warmth enfolded her, a siren song luring her into sleep. The exhausting nature of the emotions Emma had experienced and the sudden drop in adrenaline running through her veins meant she could summon no defence against it. She succumbed quickly to the darkness' embrace.
Emma was dreaming.
She was certain of it, but it didn't feel like any dream she'd had before.
Surrounding her, there was only an endless black. It was impossible to see anything. Then, out of the dark, a pinprick of light appeared before her.
Curious, despite the potential danger, she took a step towards it and suddenly she was enveloped. A roaring sound rushed in her ears, bright shapes coloured her vision and completely disorientated, she fell into a defensive position, closing her eyes.
When she ventured to open them she was taken aback by the scene that met her eyes.
A lone streetlamp flickered fitfully, illuminating a dirty alleyway; rubbish bins strewn around haphazardly with their contents spilling out, covering the damp ground. Lying amongest them, a small body was curled up into a foetal position. The dull glare from the lamp reflected off the body's reddish hair and although the figure was much younger looking, Emma knew it was her
Emma took a step forward, instinctively.The girl was young, probably about thirteen, she estimated and seemed so small against the backdrop of refuse. Experimentally, she crouched down and reached out trying to stroke her brow. Her fingers dissapeared through the forehead and reformed once they had passed through. Emma raised an eye brow, she'd never had a dream like this before.
Emma extended her powers, intending to wake her up.
It didn't work. She couldn't access them.
Frowning she sat back on her heels.
'What is going on?'She thought to herself, confused.
As she mulled over possible explanations, she became aware of a scratching, scrabbling sound. Glancing around, she saw faintly beyond the lamplight's feeble range, dark shapes flitting about. A sense of dread came over her. Beyond the circle of protective light, glittering red eyes glowed with infernal fire.
Out of the darkness, slinking like a foul wave of pestilence came the most disgusting rats Emma had ever seen. Without realising it, she took a step backwards, accidently leaving the girl unprotected. The abnormally large, black furred and gaunt beasts circled the body slowly as Emma watched in growing horror. Innocent in her unguarded state, the girl did not stir. She tried desperately to distract the creatures attention, but it was to no avail. She was intangible and powerless. They crept closer and closer until they were less than a handsbreath away…
"OI!" A loud masculine voice shouted. They scattered, hurrying back to whatever hell pit they had risen from, all the while chittering and squeaking angrily, furious at the loss of their kill."Bloody scavengers…"The voice muttered and a tall, broad-shouldered teen strode into view. "Just me bleedin' luck…" A hand brushed back clean shoulder-length brown hair, a marked contrast to his dirt-stained clothing. He couldn't have been more than sixteen."Hey there kiddo, you okay?"He called out, raising his voice. He clambered unconcernedly over the piles of rotting and decaying rubbish. As he crouched warily over the insensate girl, Emma moved up behind him, both relieved at his timely intervention and suspicious of his motives.
"Hey, kiddo come on."The youth shook the girl's shoulder. "Rise and shine."Amazingly the girl stirred. "That's it, that's a girl. C'mon you gotta get out o' here before the coppers turn up. Vagrancy is still a crime y'know."
Blinking owlishly, she opened her eyes and peered blearily up at him, then moved past to stare directly at Emma, her hazel orbs crinkling in confusion. The same face she'd contemplated before, although much younger, met Emma. There were the same cheekbones, same delicately curved ears and same full lips. Only her hair was different; shoulderlength instead of it's new boyish style. Absurdly, a wave of affection swept over her; she felt protective towards this young, fresh faced and unmarked creature. As the girl continued to gaze steadily at her, Emma held her breath, certain she could be seen, but then the girl's focus shifted, becoming less intense and she was finally released, left feeling oddly bereft.
'Interesting,' she thought. This 'dream' was beginning to add up to something very disturbing indeed.
"Where…?" The girl asked, her voice high and unbroken.
"In a back alley offa Hoffman's Street. Got mugged didja?"The boy asked, helping her to her feet. She instantly wobbled and he quickly supported her weight by tucking his shoulder underneath hers. She reached up and touched the back of her head. It came away sticky with blood.
"I-I think so…My head hurts…" He looked sympathetic.
"S'alright kiddo, been on the street long?"He asked casually, but Emma saw a genuine heisitancy lingering behind it.
"Yes." She said quickly, looking away without meeting his eyes. He grinned at the patent lie. However, he ignored it and continued.
" 'appens to the best o' us, darlin'. Not to worry, I know just the place that'll fix you up, no questions asked. By the by, me name's Gareth. Or Gar if you 'ave an 'angover."Gareth smiled charmingly. "So, what's your name, kiddo?"
"I'm Jeze-"She paused slightly as if uncertain of whether to divulge the information or not. "Jez."
"Jez? An' what's that short for?"He asked grinning at her scowl. It looked like her real name was a sore spot.
"None-of-your-business." She drawled, rolling her eyes. He laughed delightedly.
"Ooo, the cub 'as claws! C'mon what is it? Let me guess…Jezebel?"She refused to respond, only glared silently at him. He continued to laugh, green eyes crinkling in amusement, then sobering minutely, he asked. "D'ya 'ave any family you want me to get 'old of?"A dark look passed over her face. It was clearly a painful memory of an old festering wound, that had never completely healed over.
"I. Have. No. Family."She spoke coldly and clearly, enunciating each word and her amber eyes flashed. Her arms went around her waist, hugging tightly, evidently trying to comfort herself. Emma noticed one hand unconsciously stroked her back gently, as if it hurt.
Gareth visbly softened. "I never had much time for family either." He said, smiling softly to her and dropped his apparently fake accent for the first time.
He glanced back into the alley they were leaving. "Looks like you dragged yourself in there from of the street. Still had some sense in you at least…It's probably what kept you alive.Until those rats showed up looking for an all-you-can-eat buffet, anyway."
Jezebel's eyes went wide and she shuddered violently. Gareth shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "C'mon," he said more gently, "Let ol' Gareth help you out. He'll you set you right." Emma, although she retained none of her usual telepathy, could see the sincerity shining earnestly in his eyes and relaxed slightly. Jezebel was safe with him.
Hesitantly the girl asked, a hint of fear in her eyes, "not a hospital?"
"No, no, nuffin' like tha'. Just a mate of mine, who owes me a favour." Gareth spoke soothingly and Jez relaxed.
"Thanks." For the first time, Jez smiled.It lit up her entire face making her appear ethereal and charming. Emma found the edges of her own lips curling upwards in delight at the sight.
Then everything went black.
You come in cold,
You're covered in blood.
They're all so happy you've arrived.
The doctor cuts your chord.
He hands you to your mom.
She sets you free into this life.
And where do you go with no destination, no maps to guide you.
Wouldn't you know that it doesn't matter, we all end up the same.
These are the chronicles of life and death and everything between.
These are the stories of our lives, as fictional as they may seem.
You come in this world, and you go out just the same.
Today could be the best day of your life.
And money talks in this world,
That's what idiots will say
But you'll find out that this world,
Is just an idiots parade
Before you go, you've got some questions.
And you want answers
But now you're old, cold, covered in blood,
right back to where you started from
These are the chronicles of life and death and everything between.
These are the stories of our lives, as fictional as they may seem.
You come in this world, and you go out just the same.
Today could be the worst day of your life.
But these are the chronicles of life and death and everything between.
These are the stories of our lives, as fictional as they may seem.
You come in this world, and you go out just the same.
Today could be the best day of,
Today could be the worst day of,
Today could be the last day of your life.
It's your life, your life.
- Good Charlotte, The Chronicles Of Life And Death
Author Notes:
One young, attractive story WLTM: a reader for reviews/comments/conspiracy theories etc. Enjoys: long and short reviews. Flamers need not apply.
Ignore me, I'm in a playful mood ;D