Snapshots

Part Two

If you're going through hell, keep going.

-Winston Churchill

She remembered clearly the first time he had arrived. His body, drugged and unconscious, had been roughly thrown into the dirty cell next to hers, his flaccid limbs bending in every direction, his head hitting the ground with a sickening thud. She had watched with narrowed eyes as the guards kicked the boy around a little before leaving him to slowly rot in his prison. She had seen it all, and she had begun to pity this boy, whose name she did not know; the boy with the strange mask over his eyes. She figured that those eyes were terribly dangerous and she longed to have a look at them, to know what they could do, to know what had landed him in this awful place.

She remembered him waking up, hours later. She had watched him the entire time, barely blinking, knowing he was alive due only to the slight rising and falling of his lean chest. It was faint enough not to notice, but she knew it was there. She didn't see his eyes open, but she knew he had woken. The rest of his face bunched up in terror. His body tensed and his head ready in a hundred different directions, searching for answers that were not visible to him. She knew he was blinded. She could hear the horrified hitching in his throat; the petrified breathing of a boy who had just had something very important stolen from him. Slowly, she crawled towards the bars that separated them.

"It's okay," she whispered her lie, "Everything is going to be okay." He stopped moving so violently and his head whipped in her direction. His breathing calmed as he clumsily struggled closer to her, until there was nothing but two inches and metal bars between his face and hers.

"Where am I?" he asked in a voice that was far too brave for his frail and broken looking body.

"On the Island," she answered, unsure of what other reply would suffice. "There's a bunch of us here."

"Mutants?" his voice starting shaking again, and she knew in her simple answer she had confirmed his awful suspicions.

"Yeah," she sighed, wishing she could take back her words and hide this beautiful boy from the appalling truth of their situation.

"Who are you?" The question was unexpected, posed with an almost threatening growl. Frowning, she stuck her hand through the bars and placed her palm against his smooth cheek, hoping to calm him.

"My name's Emma," she whispered, "I'm a friend."

"Scott," his voice was breathy as he reached up and placed his hand over hers, "Nice to meet you."

---*

She remembered the first time they had gotten into trouble because of each other. It was a memory that, no matter how hard she tried, remained fresh in her mind and would continue to do so for as long as she lived. Had she known Victor was watching, nothing would have ever come to be and the scars that plagued her and Scott, both physically and emotionally, would have never existed.

Victor had always looked at her a little longer than was necessary every time he passed. He had always held her a little bit tighter than was necessary each time he brought her to the experiment rooms. For a time, she had enjoyed the attention, thinking that she could use it to her advantage. And then, Scott arrived and everything Emma had ever known before flew straight out the window.

She remembered holding Scott's hands through the bars, his fingers gently caressing her bony knuckles, too slim from lack of eating properly. She remembered how they would each lean their heads against the metal and whisper sentiments to one another. She remembered how their breaths mingled as they spoke and silently laughed, passing the time in hell until they reached heaven. But most of all, she remembered the look in Victor's eyes when he had seen them. For a moment, there was absolute jealousy and rage, as if no one had the right to touch her in that way, save for him. Quickly though, it replaced with sinister humour and Emma knew that something was to go terribly wrong.

They didn't come right away, though Emma knew they would eventually. Victor was trying to lull her into a false sense of security, as a predator was apt to do. She wasn't fooled. She barely talked to Scott for two days, hoping to spare him the horrors of jealousy-driven revenge. It was a waste of time on her part. They came two days later, and they took Scott first.

She remembered screaming as they knocked him to the floor and beat him severely. There were four of them, including Victor, against a thin and feeble Scott, who was weak from experimentation and hunger. They kicked and punched until there was hardly an inch of visible skin beneath the blood and bruises. Then they picked up his broken body and took it away, leaving nothing but a pool of blood in their wake.

Emma didn't sleep for the next thirty-seven hours, her stomach flipping, a feeling of bile rising in her throat every time a guard passed her cell. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she saw him approaching. Shakily, she got to her feet, her face fierce.

"What did you do with him, you animal?" she hissed, her voice so much more hoarse than she remembered.

"With who?" he grinned, revealing his sharp teeth. Emma felt her stomach wrench. If she ever got out of here, Victor better hope he was miles underground.

"Scott," she growled, "I swear, if you…" her voice trailed off as she was unable to bring herself to think of the possibilities. Victor began to chuckle.

"Your boyfriend?" his eyes narrowed at the use of the word, "He's alive, sunshine. You want to see him?" He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and jingled them in front of her face. Emma shot him a dirty glare as he unlocked the cell and let himself in. She didn't dare pull anything, for fear that Scott's life hung in the balance of her good behaviour and bad behaviour.

"There's a good girl," Victor cooed, running his fingers through her limp hair before firmly gripping her arms and leading her out of the place she had come to know as home.

They were keeping Scott in an empty, grey room, tied to a chair. Her eyes welled with tears to see him alive, though he barely looked like the Scott she remembered. What she could see of his face was swollen and purple and his hair was matted with blood.

"Oh God," she whimpered, wishing she could run to him and hold him tight. His head perked up at the sound of her voice.

"Emma," he whispered, his mouth dry and his lips chapped, "Emma…"

"Scott," she could no longer hold back her tears as she struggled to free herself from Victor's possessive grip, "What did they do to you?"

"You kids make me sick," Victor made a gagging noise before kicking Emma forward, his boot knocking against her slender back. She fell face first to Scott's feet, her chin skidding across the concrete floor and cracking open. Before she could shake the dizziness from her head, Emma heard the cocking of several guns. Her heart sunk into her stomach. They were going to shoot. Bullets would not damage her, but they would kill Scott. And she was going to have to watch. Horrified, she jumped to her feet, placing herself defensively in front of Scott, her body suddenly glimmering with a million tiny diamonds.

"You can't do this," Emma tried to sound braver than she felt, "Stryker won't let you."

"Stryker's not here," Victor chuckled, "What he don't know, won't hurt him. The poor kid died of starvation or something."

"He'll want a body," Emma was grasping at straws now. She did not hear a single sound coming from Scott. She wondered how he could be so brave as to not beg for his own life.

"Ready," Victor winked at her, "Aim…Fire."

Emma closed her eyes, expecting to feel the bullets ricochet off her body. She expected to hear the sounds of gun fire and Scott's pained gasps as she proved to be not enough to protect him. Instead, there was nothing. There was simply shocked silence. She morphed back to normal form, her eyes open and taking in the sights of the room.

The six gunmen around her lay bleeding on the floor and a man, the one she remembered they called Wilson, had Victor pinned against the wall with a rather menacing katana blade. The fair-haired man was almost as thin as Scott, but his eyes burned with intense anger.

"Are you stupid, Creed?" Wilson hissed, confusing Emma greatly. Beside Victor, this Wilson character was Stryker's left hand man. Surely, they had planned this together.

"Wait," Wilson continued, "Don't even bother answering that."

"Get off of me, Wade," Victor commanded. So that was his name, Emma thought as she watched the two men in shock, Wade.

"We need the boy," Wade stated, "He's going to make me magic. You're not going to screw that up. Now go and put them back before I clip your fingers." Wade released Victor, spitting at his feet and walking away without paying any attention to Emma or Scott. It was something out of a fairy tale. Emma suddenly remembered that no matter how much like hell a fairy tale looked, there was always a happy ending. All you had to do was reach the end.

Author's Note:

Thanks for reading and to everyone who reviewed the last instalment. I do hope you enjoyed this one as well. Please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome, and so are suggestions for future chapters. Thanks again. –Viviene.