El Grande Rojo Cueva.
It took five and a half hours to receive the public tour of the cave. They ate lunch at a little spot designated for just that. And, as both Ororo and Scott suspected, they found nothing of use, except that the Wilsons had explored not usually toured terrain. "Why is the tour only offered for this portion of the cave?" Scott asked.
"It's a tourist attraction," Frank Perry said simply. "Not a lot of people do serious caving down here. It's all about the myth. During that Mexican holiday, The Day of the Dead, there is a cave walk and this cave is all decked out with spooky stuff. Like a haunted house, kind of."
Scott and Ororo were beginning to understand the cave a little better. The people of Jim Hogg County only used it for touristy reasons, period. The Wilson's were outsiders and did not know much about the myths surrounding it; they were also amateur cavers. They were lucky to have found the bird-man's body; God only knew how long it would have taken for him to be discovered if not for the Wilson's inexperience.
Ororo asked, "Is there any map of the cave that you can buy? That shows beyond the public area?"
"As far as we know, Frank and I are the only ones who've taken to exploring it. Always together, of course," Tanya said.
"We'd like to see as much as you can show us," Scott said.
"Alright," Frank said mildly. "It's been a few years since we've gone to 'em, but I brought all of our drawings and maps of the place."
Ororo remembered her conversation with Remy last night, and suddenly missed him tremendously. She would be cave exploring with two guides who only began charting this cave with drawings because their son died here. Grieving parents taking her on an adventure into their healing process. She tried mightily in her best stoic voice, "Is there a greater chance of collapse in the other parts, not seen by tourists?" She wasn't sure she sounded all that brave.
Frank smiled, "Honey, this cave might be creepy because of its legend, but anyone could live here without any worry to their home fallin' down around them."
Scott got that sudden feeling that he was just about to think of something important, but lost it. Frustrating as it may have been, he couldn't dwell on it. Tanya pulled out a map and said to her husband, "Let's explore our Old Lover's Cavern first, okay, Frank."
Scott's frustrated feeling was replaced by the icky image of these two getting it on in the cave by just the light of their beams. He shook his head to clear it and fought against saying 'ick' out loud.
Frank said, "Lead the way, darlin'."
Oh, gross and grosser, Scott thought, but followed them anyways. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but something told him this cave held at least more than a hot spot for Frank and Tanya's consummation.
The Lab. 4:07 P.M.
A S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent knocked on the door to the laboratory, interrupting her inner debate whether or not she should be concerned that she hadn't yet heard from Scott. Jean told the Agent to come in. The Agent, whose name Jean thought was Peterson, said, "The victim's sister is waiting for you in the lab office. Let me know when you're finished."
Jean nodded, and thanked her, following her out to the office. She closed the door and glanced at the woman who might be able to answer the questions she and her team were wondering about. She was rail thin, and deeply tanned. She looked to be in her late forties, though the obvious signs that she was a smoker, or her sunbathing, could have accelerated her physical age. Jean extended her hand and said, "My name is Dr. Jean Grey, and I'm sorry to have met you under these circumstances."
The woman stared at her hand for long enough for Jean to wonder if she had ever shaken hands as a way of introduction. But finally, she extended her own, and Jean found it dry. She said in an equally dry and papery voice, "My name is Vicki Montgomery, and I believe you have my brother Harry."
Harry Montgomery. Finally a name to go with the battered body she had spent the last two days working on. "Would you like to see him now, Ms. Montgomery? Or would you rather just give me a picture?"
"I'll do both," Vicki said, in her very thick southern twang.
Jean nodded, though she wasn't sure Vicki should just get up and rip off the sheet just yet. "When was the last time you saw Harry? Were the two of you close?"
Vicki paused, her fingers twitched, and Jean realized that this simple woman probably did her best thinking while smoking. Jean could not offer her a cigarette, even if she did have one, indoors, and had no desire to inhale countless chemicals while the woman thought, either.
Finally, Vicki said, "I don't reckon it was more than a month since I seen him. He tol' me he was gonna fly south for the winter." She nodded and looked down at her lap, as if that explained everything.
"A month ago wouldn't have been winter," Jean said softly, "Were you concerned or did Harry often talk like that?"
"You mean like bat shit crazy?" Vicki asked. Jean could only nod once. Vicki replied, "No, Harry ain't crazy. That's how I knew something was wrong with him. When he tol' me on the phone he was flyin' south. I says to him, 'you dolt, Louisiana is south enough', but I'll be, he done found a more southern spot, didn't he?"
"You talked to him on the phone when he said that, or did you see him in person?" Jean needed clarification, especially if Harry's body had only recently turned bird-like. She wasn't sure how Vicki might react to her brother having large wings with feathers and scaly bird legs with clawed feet.
"Oh, just on the phone that time, but we seen each other jus' before then."
Jean took a breath and said, "Vicki, do you have a picture of your brother?"
"Harry didn't like cameras so much. But when I married my first husband, the rat bastard, I made Harry take a picture of the two of us. Then, when I got married again, he says that I don't look no diff'rent so he wasn't taken another." She dug into her purse and continued talking, "You know, I tol' those guys all about Harry, an' theys pretended they could handle it. But, in the end, well, it wasn't true."
The first hint of grief began to creep into Vicki's monologue and Jean knew it was sinking in. She took another breath; this was the hardest part of the job, talking to people who would go through many different levels of grief in a short period of time. The grief of strangers was very hard to digest for Jean, because she couldn't put up mental barriers fast enough; she was never certain which ones she might need.
Vicki handed her the wrinkled photo and it was so obvious that it was one of the only ones she had that it nearly made Jean sob outright, but she blinked them back and swallowed the burning lump of grief in her throat as hard as she could. She could cry later, she would let herself cry for a long time if necessary, but not now.
Jean studied the photo and saw that Harry had weird shaped eyes, as his corpse did, and feathery dark hair, also visible on his body. But his feet weren't in the photo and where were his wings? She decided to tread lightly, "Harry will look different now."
For a woman with an inability to use proper English, she was quick to catch on at this point. "Cause he's dead or 'cause of his feet?"
"He has wings too," Jean said quietly.
"Well good," Vicki replied, her voice breaking a little now, "He always wanted to fly."
El Grande Rojo Cueva. 5:00 P.M.
Three and a half hours left of daylight, not that it mattered now. The cavern had long ago tunneled to a dark, dreary place. Four headlights penetrated through the dark, shining back and forth against the walls, ceiling, floors. Frank and Tanya had not come this way. It was a thought Scott had had many times over the past few hours.
But he had yet to voice it out loud. He wanted to keep exploring, marking spots as he went like the proverbial Hansel and Gretel. The only difference was he was leaving fluorescent tags and not breadcrumbs – just a bit more advanced. And his Gretel was Ororo, who was leaving nothing except the fingernails she was biting off. She was dreading the thought of being lost, no doubt. Don't worry, Ororo, whatever's down here probably doesn't eat fluorescent tags.
The smallish passageway they were currently walking through opened suddenly and unexpectedly into a rounded out cavern. Not big by cavern standards, in fact, they could see the wall of the other side within the beam of their headlamps. What was remarkable, however, was that, dead in the center of the smallish cavern was proof that someone had resided here. A bed made of twigs and leaves, a ratty blanket in the center. It was curiously shaped much like a nest.
San Antonio HQ. 4:27 P.M.
It was obvious that Vicki wasn't yet ready to identify her brother's body. She, like many a grieving family member, was trying to force back the inevitable understanding that the person you loved will never again be physically close to you.
And Jean was willing to let Vicki have as much time as she needed. The tiny ear piece made a beeping sound, indicating Hank was trying to contact her. She pressed the button, noticing the awe-struck look on Vicki's face. "Go ahead, Hank. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Jean. But, I think I've gathered everything I'll need for the time being."
"Should I take you out now?"
"Not yet. You won't be able to without squishing me, I'm afraid. Give me a minute to grow a little."
Jean smiled at Vicki and said, "Come with me."
Vicki followed her out of the office and into the laboratory. She immediately drew her arms close to herself, as if she might ruin something. Jean drew her attention to a small glass container filled with grass, twigs – it was some sort of home for an animal.
"Whatcha got in there?" Vicki whispered.
"I want you to see something," Jean said, seeing Hank was larger now, and put her hand into the terrarium. Hank hopped on and Jean very carefully put him on the floor several feet away from herself and Vicki's feet.
A sound that could only be described as weird whirred quietly and a man grew seemingly out of thin air. Both Vicki's hands covered her mouth and she gasped. "What on the Lord's green Earth just happened?"
Hank smiled slowly, but knew that Jean should do the talking. For all Vicki knew, he could have been a hologram. Jean knew Hank understood her, and so, relying on the emotional importance of the situation, she stretched the truth the tiniest bit. "This is my friend, Dr. Henry Pym. He and I are mutants. Just like your brother, Harry."
Hands still clasped over her mouth, Vicki trembled slightly and tears began to trickle down her face until she was crying hard enough to actually sob. Jean helped her into a chair and held her wet hands in her own until Vicki could speak. Hank did remarkably well just standing there. Awkward or not, here was his introduction to mission work.
Vicki composed herself with a few tissues Jean gladly gave her and said, "I knew he was different, you know?" she struggled through her thoughts, eventually settling on something Jean found profound, given its source. "I'm so glad Harry wasn't alone. Do you think he knew that?"
Jean didn't need to stretch the truth this time. "Yes. I think Harry did."
"I would like to see him now," she muttered quietly.
Once again, Jean held back tears, relying heavily on her reserves. "Certainly, Vicki. Follow me."
Town Hall. 7:00 P.M.
The most frustrating part of the day was the fact that he'd heard through a neighbor of the Manuelos that they had no interest in talking to the authorities about the death of Miguel. They had said they tried that and were turned away.
The temperature hadn't dropped much, the humidity not at all, but he was bothered less by the heat than he was his situation. Sheriff Jim Whitely sunk down in the chair across from him. "I was hopin' the Manuelos would've come today. Sure you were too."
Remy simply nodded. "I understand her reasons for avoiding this conversation, though."
"Connie – Miguel's mother, is the sweetest woman on the planet, 'cept for my own mama, of course. When her son died, she could cling only to her Church. You might try talking to the priest of the parish – Monsignor Martin Menuous."
Remy again nodded.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you want. We don't lock the place at night. However, if I don't come home to supper, my wife will pout somethin' awful."
Remy smiled, the good sheriff probably never had a twelve hour day before – at least not before Miguel. Holding up his hands in surrender, he said, "Don't let me keep you from supper, Jim. I wouldn't want to be the reason you're in the doghouse."
Sheriff Whitely smiled back and winked, "Somehow I figured you'd understand. Have a good night, Remy."
After the Sheriff had gone, Remy leaned back into the chair, his pen in his mouth and his fingers clasped behind his head. He had lots to think about, but to be honest, Ororo was the loudest thing in his head for the moment. He hadn't heard from her in twelve hours, unusual, to say the least. For the time being, though, he was going to do his best to not worry. After all, he reminded himself, he had a lot to think about.
Dallas HQ.
Emma had gotten a hold of everyone except for Ororo and Scott. She found it somewhat odd that they would still be cave diving, but then, she found cave diving in general odd. It was certainly not an adventure on her bucket list.
She was armed with enough data on everyone involved to sink a boat and she was ready to join her team in San Antonio. Her plane wouldn't arrive until almost midnight, so it was best to leave a-sap. Her bags were neatly packed and a nice low-level S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent had carried them downstairs for her.
She went to the terminal and saw the charter plane for the first time. It was small, like a Hot Wheels version of the SR-71 Blackbird and she immediately didn't feel safe. She wasn't fond of normal sized airplanes, how would this teeny thing handle if there was a storm?
She gulped down a rather girlish feeling to squeal in horror and also did not allow her body to shiver. She boarded the plane and told the pilot to make it a smooth one. And she told the flight attendant – yes, there was only one – to make it a rocky one. As in their best gin, on the rocks.
She settled in to the seat, letting the liquor work its magic as the plane ascended into the hazy Texas skies. She closed the blinds to her window; she didn't wish to see the inky clouds erasing any attempt a star gazer might have at doing what he does. She, herself, was an avid star gazer when flying, if one could see the stars, then there was always a better chance of a smoother flight. It made perfect sense in her mind, anyways.
The time for being indignant ended quite abruptly as she felt a pull from her vast psychic reserves. Something was amiss. She concentrated on it, allowing it to come to full force. And nearly dropped her drink in her lap.
It was unusual for her to sense anything at all unless there was a psychic storm coming. And to be fair to those who loved storms…