CHAPTER FIVE
"Arrgghh!" There isn't a more bull headed son of a gun on the face of the earth. What in the hell does he think he's going to accomplish? Idiot me; I should have kept that mail out of sight for another day.
The test results can't be right though Worthington Labs has never failed me before… Maybe I'll just call Kathi. Oh, piss ants! It's Sunday.
A blue coifed head pokes around the door, "And what do you think you're doing, dear lady? I specifically recall prescribing no duty for the next three days."
Feigning contrition, "Curses, you caught me. But…" I'm struggling for an excuse. "…blame that husband of mine."
A dry chuckle rumbles from Hank McCoy's belly, "I shall. Direct me to the slave driver whereby I shall inflict a severe tongue lashing upon is unsuspecting brow."
Logan will make hamburger out of Hank. "Blood red goes very well with cobalt," I tease.
"Yes, it's the hue of the season I hear."
"He's gone to track down Marla Jennings. Wendy's DNA results are back."
Hank exhales, "Confirming paternity, no doubt."
"Like that was ever in question. Problem is it's raised more questions than it's answered."
"Care to elaborate?"
"Yeah, but where do I start?"
"The beginning is the usual recommendation."
"Luv ya, ya over grown Smurf."
"Papa Smurf to you, my dear."
"Eww, Hank. Don't go there. Have you ever seen what the internet has done to a perfectly innocent children's cartoon?"
"Indeed not and I'll thank you to preserve my proper sensibilities."
"Hah, hah," I quip and think, proper my buns. He's such a gentleman and a character and I'm always grateful for his ability to insert the correct little something just when it's needed most. "First off, I think the sample was contaminated." Sliding the sheaf of paper across my desktop, I urge, "Take a look"
Hank leans against bookshelves behind my desk. Studying intently, bristly indigo brows arch as he slides his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. His tawny eyes narrow, crinkling in the corners, "Fascinating," he mutters.
"See what I mean? Two mitochondrial matches; it's got to be wrong."
Boring into me point blank he declares, "No it doesn't, Sue."
And they thought the world was flat once, too. I can't help planting my hands on my hips and rolling my eyes.
He clicks his tongue and offers, "The Weapon Plus program and its affiliates have developed many biological and technological advancements that defy conventional standards."
"Yeah, Logan said something along those lines."
Hank nods, a knowing and pained expression creasing his features, "And taking into consideration the interest the child has seemingly garnered from the infamous Stanislav Ruchinksy and associates...
"What about that Hank? Logan either doesn't remember or he's giving me the mushroom treatment."
"I won't speculate as to Logan's recall or actions. Why don't we run the cross matches right now?"
"You wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all. My curiosity's rather piqued." He makes himself comfortable at Electra's computer, caddy cornered from my desk.
All becomes quiet except for the hum and chittering of our computers going full bore.
"Damn!" I murmur after several minutes.
"Problem?"
"I'm not coming up with a thing; even tried a few private sites."
"Yes. I'm running into road blocks as well. I believe it's time to access special assistance. I need you to step away from your computer, my dear…."
"I see."
"No, you don't. That's the point."
"Gotcha."
Tap-tapping the keyboard, he explains, "This site isn't top level secure but it's not something Mutant Affairs advertises."
"So you can't Doodle it?"
"No….. Viola!" he exclaims with a flourishing gesture.
"What is this?"
He offers me the chair. "Enter your sequence of numbers."
Data zips past our eyes and in short order my screen fills with an image and a tidy little dossier. "Boy, oh boy! This is handy."
"It can be quite useful." Reading over my shoulder, he murmurs, "Hmm, Mandy Celestine; why does that ring a bell?"
We discover our subject is known as Mantis in some circles. Currently affiliated with the Justice League, she's codenamed Willow.
"Not exactly compliant with privacy laws, is it?" I complain.
"The concern has been raised. But you know as well as I mutant-kind is exempt from such protections and the Justice League has been a not so silent champion of registration."
"So, registration automatically gets you in the database?"
"Oh yes, but there are other ways."
"Bet there are."
"But despite potential misuse, it's still one of the best tools for matching difficult cases."
"I guess." Swiveling my chair, "Any luck with yours?" I ask.
"I'm… double checking….I may have mistyped."
"Oh sorry. Just tell me to clam up."
I wonder…? While Hank buries his nose back into his computer, I can't resist typing in Logan's DNA sequence. It takes just long enough for me to be squirming in my seat.
"Oh, now what the heck is this?" I mutter. A crummy scan of a newspaper article appears on my screen; and it not even in English. Wait. Not so fast. Scrolling down, there's a translation.
…Multiple homicide…key members of Hatsumo and Sons, LLC, one of Japans leading importers and numerous family….distinctive wounds….traces of Mutant DNA….
Telling myself, this can't be right, I retype the sequence and I feel sick when the same thing stares back at me. The phrase 'distinctive wounds' replays in my mind and this time I read for detail.
"Listen to this, Hank."
"Hmm," he replies absently.
"The victims exhibited peculiar wound patterns. Either three precisely spaced stab wounds or equally precisely spaced slash marks. It also appears that the perpetrator was well versed in exactly how and where to inflict mortal wounds."
"What in blazes are you looking at?"
"Something I wish I wasn't. How accurate is this stuff?"
"Very."
"Oh God," I groan. "Be honest with me. Have you looked Logan up on this thing?"
He coasts on this chair the distance between us, "I strongly advise you to regard what you're seeing with extreme caution. And yes, I have researched Logan."
Craning my neck toward the screen, "And this is what you found?"
"Susan, very accurate isn't one hundred percent. Don't jump to any conclusion based on a single, biased newspaper article."
"You're right. But with his DNA matching whatever traces were obtained at the scene of this crime…..Dammit, at the very minimum this thing implicates my husband in a. .. massacre."
His beefy fingers separate mine from the lock of hair I'm fiddling with. "Yank much more and you'll have a bald spot, my dear."
A knock on the door startles us, "Hey there …..Wow! You two look like Doctor Doom just escaped from the SuperMax."
"Tell us some good news, my friend," Hank shoots back.
"Hoo-kay. I'm on my way to the funeral."
"Scott! Oh gosh, is it tomorrow?"
"Day after. Do me a favor. Tell Logan I handled most of the debrief from New Years Eve. All he needs to do is send Charles his report on the Mutant Town incident."
"Oh, what's that about?"
A muscle quivers in Scott's jaw and it's not from grinning. "Don't know all the details but apparently his team tangled with a gang en route to the bridge."
My husband's a disaster attracting magnet. I sigh deeply, "I guess I'll hear all about it at the next staff briefing.
Scott crows, "Which is Wednesday afternoon."
"Yes sir. It's on my schedule. And speaking of a hot topic for the agenda; Wendy's DNA test results are in."
"Oh really?"
"Oh really," I repeat. "It's a mess."
His laugh is hollow, "When's anything involving Logan ever not?"
Hank snorts back a snicker.
"Not funny guys."
"Sorry," they reply. Hank's contrition sounds true. Scott's, having been subjugated to Logan's mercurial behavior in Canada, is merely a polite gesture.
"So what's the story?" Scott asks.
"Have time?"
Glances at his watch, "A couple minutes."
"Pull up a chair," I suggest pointing to the nearest one. "How's your background on genetics?
"Basics."
"Ok, so you know humans carry a pair of genetic materials; a set of traits from each parent. Well…..I'm oversimplifying but Wendy's got three; one paternal and two maternal."
His mouth drops open, the quickly closes, "Want to explain that?"
"Wish I could. According to what Marla told Logan Wendy's conception involves in vitro reproductive technology."
"That's the reason I can't dig up anything on her adoption?"
"Strong clue, for sure but it's opens up another whole can of worms that we'll hafta fish with."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I'm by no means an expert on IVF but this kind of genetic manipulation has only been done at a very limited cellular level."
"Isn't this cloning?"
"No. In cloning all the child's genes would come from acell of a single individual. This is genetic engineering the likes of which is not supposed to be possible in humans."
"Son of a bitch! Does Logan know about this?"
"Yes as a matter of fact he's supposed to be talking to Marla right now."
"So besides Logan, who else is Wendy…umm….related to?"
"That's what we're working on now." Glancing at Hank, "Any luck yet?" He shakes his head.
Tugging Scott's sleeve, "Check this out." In dire need of a moment of comic relief I make like a game show host boasting, "Behind this screen is…..Mommy number one," as Mantis' profile reappears.
Scott silently reads the text. "Alpha level psychic empathy, huh? Not a lady I'd like on the bad guys team."
Hank and I nod.
"Who's the other match?"
"That's what I'm attempting to confirm," Hank replies. "If this computer decides to cooperate."
Paired up behind Hank, we peer over his bulky shoulders and stare at the Please Wait icon on the computer screen.
A scream; the kind that makes your blood congeal shatters our concentration and at almost the same instant I hear in my mind: Emergency! To the library, now!
If it weren't such a serious beckon from Charles the sight of all three of us jockeying to get out the door at the same time would be comedic; something like The Three Stooges. Gentlemen that they are, Hank and Scott grant me right of way and at least for me, in worried silence we practically fly the distance between my office and the library.
xXx
The kids shield neutralized, I gather her trembling little body in my arms. Scrawny, almost weightless, I can feel her ribs through her blouse. "Hush angel. 'S ok."
No clue exactly what she extracted from inside my head but from the way she's reacting, the bitter vapor of her emotions, it's way more than the fact I'm her father.
Breathing in shallow, quick gasps her beautiful face is the color of parchment. Her delicate features contort and blood trickles from her nostrils; a sure sign of a telepathic crisis.
Intimate contact with her is a serious tactical error. She's quick to exploit it, sinking psychic claws deep into my mind, ripping through my shields, vivisecting my soul.
Agonizing physical and mental pain drives my healing factor into combat mode. If a cesspool of horrific mayhem and tortured mental images don't halt her assault my psychic blocks, mounting a seek and destroy mission, are a nuke that will obliterate her mind.
Her mother regains a voice, searing me with acid verbiage. Right now I can't cope with two women in the throes of nuclear meltdown and I growl warning to the bitch.
Mindful but seething, she retreats. Pacing, alternately gesturing with or wringing her hands, she's muttering hateful threats to my manhood and life.
Wendy's eyes dart frantically between me and her mom. Hot tears roll down mottled cheeks and she dissolves into insuppressible sobs.
Unable to stop myself, I pull her closer, "Nobody's gonna hurt ya."
A surge of emotions, hers; chokes me in a tumultuous noxious cloud. She mines the pain of long buried regrets, peels away scabs formed of grief and despair, exposes camouflaged self loathing.
A damnable revelation explodes in the war zone of my mind. My god! She's the ultimate weapon; the only thing I can't fight.
Non existent defenses penetrated, I stand naked, vulnerable in the reflection of emotions I deny. Emotions I cannot, dare not express. She's turned my own blackened and tortured soul against me.
Invaded and overwhelmed, the unholy trinity of berserker, feral and man plunge into dire psychic combat.
The putrid reek of her mother's fear and hatred fuels the berserker and it's only her maternal protectiveness toward the kid that checks its lust for spontaneous combustion.
Feral claims victory. Stripping to the basics it keens wordlessly; my cub …protect her. Rising from my haunches, my nostrils flair testing for the scent of threats.
Wendy whimpers; her pheromones shift subtly. Something coiled inside me releases and reason rebounds forcing the animal's retreat. Feral thought patterns become a man's: She my kid….my daughter. She needs help.
Suddenly, there's a commotion at the door and I catch multiple scents at nearly the same moment
Glancing at the throng, I plead from a core of something undiscovered inside of me, "Charles! Whatever it takes…. help her,"
Unexpectedly, she calms and snakes pencil thin arms around my neck. "My kid… my daughter," she repeats the mantra in my head, her voice a hoarse whisper. Red rimmed, brown eyes glisten, piercing my own, "You…do care,"
Shutters descend. Her head lolls. A whisper of breath seeps between pale lips before she stills like death in my arms.
xXx
A/N: Can't forget the disclaimer. Marvel owns them, I'm simply having fun. Can't forget a thank you to my beta: Thanks! Sorry this took so long. I had huge distractions. This is a tad short compared to other chapters but take heart, Six is begun and I hope to have it posted quicker than this. Please review. I always love to hear from my regulars but I'd love to hear from you silent readers. All praise and fair criticism is welcome and reflected upon seriously. MLC