Saturday, October 21:
Jean Grey came to herself, and took stock of her situation before she opened her eyes. She was stiffer and more sore than she could ever remember having been before, chilled to the bone, and lying on an unyielding surface. She opened her eyes to see blue sky above her, cloudless blue sky. She raised herself on an elbow and looked around. She was lying on a butte…
How had she got there? She did not possess the kind of power that would let her fly all the way from New York to…somewhere out West via telekinesis.
She did not, but it seemed that her 'heart' did. She searched her mind for any trace of the other, and found nothing. Maybe I'm not looking in the right places.
Getting to her feet, she surveyed the desertscape, seeing little but rocks, sand—a road, which meant humans were not too far away, scrubby trees, and sparse grass here and there. It was time to call for help, if any there was…Straining her telepathic abilities to their limits, she tried in vain to reach the professor. Nothing.
Unless a helicopter showed up and gave her a lift, the only way down off the butte was by way of her telekinesis. I feel like I was ridden hard and put away wet, as my horse-loving sister would say. Do I have the strength to get to the ground on my own? It's an awfully long way. I guess I have to trust that 'she' won't let me get killed. That's a lot to take on faith, but it's out of my control. What other choice do I have?
I wonder if that's how Grace feels all the time?
Turning around, she saw a gleam of sunlight off metal in the distance. That's the way to go, then. Metal means people are around.
The metal turned out to be a trailer, currently empty, but with signs of ongoing occupation around it. The effort of getting there left her with a headache and a burning thirst, but she waited, mindful of the laws against breaking and entering, for several increasingly miserable hours before she opened a window with her telekinesis and climbed inside.
After taking care of her most pressing needs, she called the professor on the trailer's phone. "Jean!" he exclaimed with relief and concern in his voice. Poor man. He worries so about us…Deep down she knew he was more concerned about her than any of his other students, but she had never acknowledged to herself why that might be. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. At least I think I am. According to the phonebook, I'm somewhere near Phoenix, Arizona. I don't know exactly where. Are Grace and Rogue all right?"
"Rogue is cut and bruised. Grace—came very close to a miscarriage, but apparently if she remains lying down for a week, and remains calm, the damage to her placenta will heal."
"Oh—I'm so—I don't know whether to say I'm sorry or relieved. What happened?"
Professor Xavier explained. "Something happened to you, the nature of which is difficult to explain."
"You mean that…AAah!" A sudden pain shot through her head. 'Don't tell him. Don't say anything.'
"Jean? Are you there?"
"Barely. What should I do now?"
"Remain where you are—if you are in a safe location, that is. I located you via Cerebro. As we get closer to you, I should be able to establish direct telepathic contact. Are you in a safe location?"
"I broke into somebody's trailer—."
"You broke into mine." said a voice behind her. Jean turned to see a man who she knew of, although she had never met. William Stryker.
Stryker was having a terrible week. His attempt to get rid of Grace Engstrom by an air strike had failed, at the far-too-expensive cost of two planes and two pilots. He had a confirmed hit, watching from his vantage point with a pair of binoculars, the X-jet had come apart, and he had gone home with a feeling of 'mission accomplished'. Although the losses were regrettable, if that woman were dead it would be well worth it.
Then he had Marine StarCare's lawyer, that Lewes fellow, call Angevin on some pretext to find out how they were reacting—and it turned out she had not only survived, she hadn't been on the plane at all—she had gone back to Angevin's that night, because his wife was a doctor and she wasn't feeling well.
Getting rid of Jean Grey and Rogue, although not bad, was disappointing. Now it seemed the only casualty was Rogue…
"How do you come to be here in my home, Dr. Grey?" he queried.
"Not by chance." She hung up the phone, despite the frantic squawks from whoever was on the other end. "Hear me now, little man, that I would take you apart into your component molecules save that we have mutual enemies."
"Mutual enemies? Who?" Oyama drew close behind him, listening and watching.
"Grace Engstrom and Rogue," she replied.
"They're your enemies? I would have thought you would call them friends."
"They're Jean Grey's friends. Not mine."
"You mean to say you're not Jean Grey?" Her eyes were a lurid yellow, with red flames in their depths. He could believe it was not Dr. Grey who spoke, but some other.
"Not right now. Listen to me: Grace Engstrom is what you fear. She is Mother Eve. But disposing of her and her child is not enough. The maiden Rogue is their backup. If she remains alive, they'll have her bearing fruit in Grace's place. They may not even wait for the other to be killed first."
"But Rogue's power means she can't be touched."
"No longer. They changed that. Nor was Grace Engstrom fertile before they made her so."
"They. They. Who are they?" he spat.
"They are—the voice inside you that tells you it is wrong to hate mutants as you do. The voice that says your son became what he did because of you, because you disciplined your wife and son until their flesh and bones broke and bled. They speak to everyone alive, mutant and human both, but Rogue and Grace listen."
His mind reeled. They were his weakness—his softness—his adversary. Everyone's adversary. "Satan…?"
"If you like. They mean to destroy me. I dare not approach them—but you—you can. They dare not harm you. You can kill Grace, Rogue and the children they will give rise to."
"One devil cannot abide another, is that it? But I am washed in the Blood of the Lamb, and—."
"If you like, Stryker. I have told you. Even if they should destroy me, in you I have planted the seeds of my revenge." The walls of his trailer shivered once, and dissolved. Jean Grey leapt up into the air on great wings of fire.
"Wait—Damn. I would have liked to know who got that child on Grace Engstrom." He looked around at what had been his trailer, and was now—nothing. "Damn!"
