Note: shorter this time. I divide chapters where I feel there is logical break in the story rather than by size, so there will continue to be variety in the length of chapters. We're back with Rogue for a while now.

Thanks for the continued comments. I hope the story continues to please.

Chapter Nine

Fantasies are never real. That thought nagged Marie as she and Peter headed upstairs. Whatever she might imagine about Scott, he would always be her hard-assed team leader, never her fantasy lover. All this touching and closeness might be twisting her into knots, but for him it was just a somewhat embarrassing necessity. She needed to remember that.

"What happened here?" Peter had rounded the corner first. He stopped so abruptly Marie almost ran into him. She peeked around his body. Someone had trashed the hallway all the way from the stairs to Scott's room. Two maids were already cleaning up the mess.

"Someone is going to get serious detention for this," the older of the maids grumbled, seemingly oblivious to Marie and Peter's presence. The younger one silently collected shards of broken ceramic from the carpeting.

"A student did this?" Rogue asked, hoping all this destruction was the result of a temper fit.

The older maid startled and looked up. Then she scowled. "There's been a lot of stress around the school these days. You the kids who are going to clean out Mr. Summer's room? We thought it was going to be done yesterday."

"Yes," Peter answered as he pushed ahead through the debris. The maids didn't try to stop them from entering the room. Marie agreed about the stress. A student might have lost control and trashed the hallway. She hoped that was all the mess in the hallway meant. Still, she would feel a lot better about things once she'd assured herself Scott was all right.

The fact she didn't see Scott as soon as she entered his room didn't distress her. She'd known he would fold again before she returned. But, when she ran her hands over the mattress and he didn't reappear, her heart began to race. He'd promised he would stay right where she could find him. If he'd left, he would have a good reason.

She called his name, then moved rapidly through the room, searching. On the first pass, she became slightly panicked. The sensation grew as she made a second circuit. "Peter, I can't find him."

"Rogue." He sounded patient and tired. That tone only added to her distress.

"I know you can't help me look, but maybe you can at least help me think where he might have gone. Why would he have left the room when he said he'd stay?" She couldn't stop skimming the air with her hands, first at waist level, then lower in case he'd fallen. He'd have to be unconscious, or worse, if he hadn't heard her call.

"Rogue stop."

Marie looked up at Peter. He stood, shoulders slumped, arms folded tight across his broad chest. That he'd been humoring her by coming up here was evident on his patient, reluctant face. Marie didn't need to be a telepath to read everything he felt in his stance and expression. He hadn't been looking forward to this moment of confrontation, but had been sure it would come, and being Peter, he hadn't shied from what he saw as a friend's duty to pull her out of delusion. "Mr. Summers isn't here, Rogue."

"Well, I can see that. I already said we need to figure out where he went." Please agree, she pleaded silently. Please don't insist I'm lying, or confused, or insane.

"Probably he never was."

Probably, he said probably. Her stomach wouldn't lose that sinking sensation, though.

"He was. And I can prove it," she countered. There had to be some proof around here. Scott had been solid and real for at least half an hour. He'd taken clothes from the dresser. But, how could she prove that when she didn't know an exact inventory of his clothing? Her gaze fell on the stack of clothes she'd folded earlier and set on the corner of the bed. "See those shirts? They were on the floor earlier and I picked them up and folded them."

"Mr. Summers threw clothes on the floor?" Peter pointed at the chest of drawers across the room. "The man stacked loose change. In order. By coin size."

"He's been depressed recently," Marie muttered, but she could see how in substantial that argument was. She continued to scramble for proof. "Okay, if I wasn't here, how do I know he had a pistol in his nightstand? Go ahead and look. I haven't gone near that drawer, so how could I know if I wasn't here earlier?"

Peter did open the nightstand drawer and look in. "Proves nothing."

"It proves I was here."

"I never said you were not here, only that Mr. Summers wasn't," Peter pointed out. Kitty's indignant outrage and Bobby's quiet disappointment had been easier to take than Peter's patient logic. He was right, again. Her being in the room wasn't the same as Scott being here.

Or was it? "Wait. Think about that. If Scott wasn't with me, how did I get into the room in the first place? I'm not coded for entry into his bedroom, after all."

"Door wasn't locked."

This wasn't happening. Not again. There had to be proof. "What do you mean it wasn't locked?"

"The professor asked Bobby and I to pack Mr. Summers' things. He took the coding off the door lock yesterday. Anyone could enter."

"This is ridiculous. Why would the professor pick now to clean out his room? There won't be new students, or teachers, for a month."

"I don't know. Bobby thought is was about Alkali Lake."

Scott's supposed death and Dr. Grey's return, he meant. Marie let Peter's information sink in. Scott had put his hand on the panel and she'd turned the knob, but she'd paid no attention to whether the lock actually cycled open or not. She'd been too focused on Scott and his injuries.

His injuries -- she went to the trashcan and looked for evidence of the butterfly bandages she'd closed his wounds with. The can was empty, but, in all honesty, she couldn't remember if she'd thrown the bandage wrappers away or just tossed them on the floor where they could have landed anywhere. Or the maids could have been in here to clean the evidence away. Another dead-end.

Marie set the can back down then wandered to the bed. The whole room felt ordinary now. A bit dusty, perhaps, but not at all threatening. Whatever danger had made her so skittish had evaporated along with the evidence of Scott's presence. As each scrap of proof turned to dust her belief in Scott's existence crumbled. She sank down onto the edge of the bed.

Her self-assurance faded as well. She could want a love that helped her be the best she could be. She could want to be more than the girl whose touch killed. But, wanting wasn't having. And who was she to have such grand thoughts anyway. Her mother used to say that dreaming was no way to make a life. Was that all she'd been doing today -- dreaming a life she wanted to avoid the one she really had?

Marie clenched her fists. She wouldn't give up that easily. "I'm not crazy, Peter."

"I know," he said.

That surprised her. "What then?"

"Manipulated maybe." He was frowning. His shoulders hunched deeply in his reluctant-to-say-what-I-think stance. "The school's been strange. The professor seemed harried. Bobby and I decided not to clear the room right away, in case he changed his mind."

"So you think something is wrong with the professor?" Marie knew she'd need to coax him. That last speech was a lot of words for Peter. He had to be growing tired of talking.

"The professor. Ms. Munroe. Everyone."

Marie wanted to cling to her version of events -- Scott was real and only she could help him. She could save someone important. And maybe fall in love? Yeah, right. Peter's explanation made a lot more sense. Something or someone was manipulating everyone at the school, herself included. "So, you think something made me see Scott?"

Peter blinked at her use of the familiar name, but nodded. "Could be illusion."

Illusion. The word sounded slippery and invasive. She liked the thought of being crazy better than the idea that someone knew about her secret longings, her fantasies and frustrations, well enough to use them against her. The idea made her feel invaded in a way she didn't know she could. And yet, it was unavoidable.

Scott was gone. There was no evidence of his time with her in the room. He wasn't inside her head like every other person she'd touched since her power manifested. He was only the ghost memory of hands on her face, or skin beneath her cheek. Illusion. Manipulation. She pressed her lips tight and thought about throwing up.

"Sorry," Peter offered quietly. "I wish he were real. We could use him."

"Against whatever is doing this to the school?"

He gave another quick nod.

"The Eater." The name popped out the instant she thought of it. "Peter, maybe it's not illusion. Maybe it's all what Scott said. He told me there's this thing called The Eater of Souls. It attacked Dr Grey somehow and he's worried it will do things to the people at the school if he doesn't stop it. It tried to make him kill himself."

"There's not Eater of Souls." Peter sounded absolutely sure.

But, Marie wasn't ready to surrender her answer on his confidence alone. She felt she was fighting for all her dreams. "How can you know that? The Eater of Souls could explain what's so weird about the professor and the others. It could be the danger I sensed in the room when Scott was here."

"You made it up."

"Excuse me?" She was on her feet now, toe to toe with the much taller Peter before she thought. And yet, staring at him, all the outrage just drained out of her. It might have been the edge of pity in his voice, or the real fear that she was grasping at anything to avoid losing the answer she wanted so desperately to believe. But, she just couldn't fight him with gusto.

She continued with less bravado. "I'm not exactly creative, Peter, and The Eater of Souls is a pretty strange name to make up."

"Which is why you, or whatever is messing with you, borrowed the name from Ms. Munroe's mythology class."

Marie could only stare at him. Mythology class?

Peter sighed. "Senior year, final term. Egyptian mythology. The Eater of Souls is a monster that devours the souls of the evil dead. It really freaked you, Rogue."

She did remember then. Ammit, The Eater of Souls, had given her more than one nightmare. The whole Egyptian concept of death as a journey through a dangerous world where monsters could devour you terrified her. She wanted to believe her mother -- when you died angels came to walk you into heaven where you'd always be safe. Marie had put the idea of soul-eating monsters all totally out of her mind as soon as the class was over. But, those fears could have been lurking in her subconscious, available to whatever real danger wanted to use her now.

She curled her arms around her body and stepped away from Peter. The thing Scott described did sound eerily like the Egyptian myth. He'd said the Eater took a soul at death. It dwelt in a near-but-not-near folded space, just waiting for someone to die. Marie shivered.

"So, Scott's gone, or dead?" she said to make herself hear the words. Her dreams were dying, leaving just the girl whose touch kills. She thought of one more possible proof, and almost didn't say it. "But, you know, he took a shower while he was real, if he was real."

"I can check." Peter entered the bathroom. Sweet patient Peter, always willing to give you one more chance. Marie knew the outcome before she heard him call out, "The shower's dry."

"Is there a towel? He could have wiped it down," she shouted back, more out of stubbornness than real hope. Scott stacked coins and all. He would clean his shower. But, she didn't have any heart left for the argument. It was time to accept the inevitable. If Scott had been there, he was gone and she would never find him again.

"Hamper's empty." Peter reappeared from the bathroom. "I guess the maids could have cleared it."

More likely, the towel, like Scott, had never been there at all. "If they did, do you think they'd even remember what with all the mess outside?"

He reappeared in the bathroom door. "No."

The whole of it just hurt. Marie wasn't sure why. Disappointment, certainly, was part of the pain. And embarrassment. But, mostly it just felt like loss. She really wanted to cry, just not in front of Peter.

"Peter!" Bobby's voice sounded in the hallway. "Rogue?"

"Here," Peter called. He went to the door and looked out.

A moment later, Bobby stood in the doorway, panting. "I've been searching for the two of you. What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Rogue thought she saw something." Peter was covering for her, and Marie could only smile at the small kindness. She swallowed and tried to wipe her eyes quickly enough that Bobby wouldn't see.

"What's up, Bobby?"

"The professor is dead."

"What?" She and Peter chorused. That dread feeling returned to the pit of her stomach, but this time it had nothing to do with Scott.

Bobby ran both hands through his hair. "He died a few minutes ago."

This cannot be happening. "How do you know?"

"Are you kidding me? Every telepath in the school just felt it." Bobby's eyes were wide. He seemed to be beating down the same panic Marie fought. What would they do without the professor?

"Pete, you, me, Kitty, and Rogue are the only X-men around. We have to get the rest of the kids calmed down." Bobby seemed to add her almost as an afterthought, Marie noted. But, she was already too numb to care.