A Means To An End

by MidLifeCrisis

The time has come for Logan to terminate what remains of Weapon Plus Program or die trying. Sequel to MORE THAN YESTERDAY LESS THAN TOMORROW. Rated M for Language and adult sexuality. SUSPENDED.

8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

They surround the car. For a split second primitive instincts squeezes out rationality. Feeling trapped, high wattage rage courses through my arms, priming muscle and metal. Control, Wolverine! This isn't the enemy.

Rolling the window down, I ask, "What the hell happened?"

"Don't really know," answers Rex Livingston who lives with his huge family two doors down. "About an hour ago there were two explosions; boom, ka-boom! One right after the other."

Someone else, can't recall the name, gestures his arms to the sky, "Happened so fast. I was shoveling snow from the driveway. Damn near knocked me off my feet."

"I don't believe this," Susie whimpers into my shoulder.

"Anybody hurt?"

"No, thank God," replies Livingston. "And as far as we know nobody's home at the Creeds."

I nod as Susie replies, "Minor miracle."

Paranoia ratchets up as I spot a pair of cops elbowing through the crowd. One of the neighbors murmurs through my open window, "Your guys turn for the inquisition. These two got a severe Lone Ranger and Tonto complex going on."

I snicker, "Heigh-ho, Silver."

One cop takes my side of the car, sizing me up; the other's trained on Susie. "You're Doctor and Mrs. Harris?" quizzes the cop closest to me.

Susie's raises her head from my shoulder, the smallest crooked smirk plays across her mouth. "Try Doctor Harris," she points a thumb at herself. "And Mister Logan."

He goes red faced, "Sorry, ma'am."

The other cop cuts in, "Would you both mind sitting in the patrol car? We need information."

I look him straight in the eye to convey how much I do mind sitting in a cop car, "I'm good right here."

They glare back as Susie nods in compliance with their demands. Even though I sense they're cold and tired, I ain't giving an inch. It's a struggle to keep animosity out of my voice, "Whadaya need to know?"

"Where have you and Doctor Harris been?"

I point to the doghouse attached to the roof rack.

"In the last twenty four hours, sir?"

Susie's catches on and pipes up, "Why is that important?"

"We need to investigate every detail, ma'am, until we rule out accident or otherwise."

Susie's eyes grow wide, "Otherwise?"

She's shocked. I ain't. "We were at Xavier's School over there on Graymalkin Lane."

"What's your business there?"

"We both work there," Susie replies, rummages through her purse and hands over her business card.

No outward reaction from either cop? I suck in a deep breath. Ah yeah, there it is; surprise, curiosity, a twinge of anxiety pouring from the one closest to me.

Suspicion and disgust oozes from the other and he snipes, "Do you have your registration cards?"

"I beg your pardon," Susie ices him.

"Xavier's is that mutant school. You two work there. Law says you're supposed to be registered."

Susie fires back, "Officer, I fail to see what this line of questioning has to do with the issues at hand."

The other cop zings a shut your face glare at his partner and cuts in with a conciliatory tone, "Do you folks know the whereabouts of your neighbors?"

I answer, "No."

"Can you give us any information about their habits, family in the area, how to contact them?"

Can't tell ya. Probably none and wouldn't tell ya if I did are my unspoken answers in that order. I know one of ya is just trying to do a job but I gave my word to Creed, just like he did to me, not to talk. And with Himmler-junior on the case we're done.

Susie's more forthcoming spilling minor details that anybody in the neighborhood could've given up if tuned into the usual chit-chat over the backyard fences.

"Do either of you know what line of work the Creeds are in?"

"Linda's a physical therapist but I don't think she's working right now," Susie offers and then looks to me to fill in the remaining blank.

My answer is a cold, straight- ahead stare. These fuckin' kindergarten cops haven't run Creeds name through their database? Bet they'd get off knowing I got a murder rap.

Figuring out me and Susie ain't gonna be much help, they hand us their cards with a less than friendly reminder to contact them if we think of anything that might be helpful.

An attractive, familiar brunette makes her way to Susie's side of the car. "Hey you two," offers Leora Weinberg, neighbor and wife of Susie's obstetrician. She recoils, her gaze locking on my pirate patch. But she's a lady through and through and continues with only a mild hitch in her voice, "It's obviously going to be a while before you can get to your house. I've got hot soup and sandwiches." She gives me a friendly wink, "The beverage fridge is stocked to over flowing."

"Sounds good," we answer together.

There's a crowd inside Weinberg's McMansion which shouldn't surprise me because the neighborhood is pretty tight. I can take the partying, gossiping, neighborly stuff in small doses but I'm not like these people. I don't want to be like them even if I could be.

They start in with tentative inquiries about my eye patch. Downplaying it 'til they push harder, I lie. Well, stretch the truth saying I got debris in it.

Sympathetic and satisfied, they dive into amateurish speculation over the fire. Trying to draw me in I play dumb and swill down the beer handed to me when I walked in. The usual explanations of gas leaks or some other flammable are offered. Somebody says the cops mentioned a meth lab and that gets a mix of reactions including a laugh from me. But the voice of paranoia inside is hammering me to get down the street and check things out for myself.

I know it's not going to be a meth lab for reasons the neighbors don't need to hear but I'm not naïve enough to believe the gas leak theory-not the accidental kind. I check on Susie, who's sitting amongst a gaggle of women in the kitchen, and tell her I'm gonna find out when we can get back home.

There's yellow tape blocking off the perimeter and cops loitering in and outside of their cars. Luckily, I don't see the anti-mutant Gestapo.

I ease up to a pair leaning against their patrol car, "So, what do ya guys know so far?"

"Who are you, sir?"

"The lucky one."

That gets me strange looks.

"Mine's the one still standing. The wife wants to know when it's safe to come back."

Their guard comes down. An Officer Williams, by his badge, replies, "At this point very little we can discuss, sir. Witnesses report hearing two nearly simultaneous explosions. We've got no reports of anyone smelling gas, no reports suspicious activity…"

"So yer tellin' me ya don't know squat."

"Correct. Once we get it cooled down the fire marshal can begin investigating."

I nod. "Listen bub---Officer Williams, mind if I get closer?"

"Stay to this side of the engines," Williams warns.

That's a given. Blistering heat rolls off the site making it impossible without protective gear or a healing factor to get too close. Despite the distance between, it's a miracle both houses on either side of Creeds didn't go up. There are two huge pumpers spraying a wall of water on ours and the other to keep it from happening.

The smoke and chemical effluent burns my throat and nose. My good eye waters cutting down on visual acuity. It know it's gonna bite like a bitch but I take a deliberate and deep breath through my nose. All I'm getting is diesel fumes from the trucks.

Finding an upwind to the trucks and down wind to the fire takes a bit of doing, namely slipping undetected between a house down the block and then through the back yards. Any air movement is going toward the street making it easier to separate what's what in the chaotic swirl of odors. Wood, insulation, household chemicals, you name it but the sinus ripping tang of propane is notably absent; probably shut off at the street main by the fire company.

Damn!

There it is.

I'll never forget the stink of this stuff. Not your common variety for sure. Nope. This is special stuff; an accelerant designed to leave no discernable burn patterns, detectable residue or odor. Somebody with the skills can make it look like anything they want. And unless things have radically changed there's only one place I know to get it.

Another scent registers in my brain making me reel and stagger backwards. Oh, Jeezus! I gag and fight bitter gorge rising from my stomach. Leaning over a stone wall at the property's edge, it's a close contest but I keep down the sandwich and beer.

Fuck, fuck! Who bought it? Creed? No, Sabertooth's a survivor—just like me. His wife?

Fuck it all to hell! This could be our house; my wife! I feel the burn. My claws instinctively engage, reacting to an intense mix of rage and revulsion.

Shifting winds swamp me in the stench. I grit my teeth and clench my eyes against nausea and a horrific premonition: The charred, shapeless corpse of my wife. This time I do lose my lunch.

xxx

Surveying the damage that I've already prepared her for Susie sighs deeply. "So much for our quiet evening at home together."

"Not tonight," I can't hide the disappointment and gloom in my voice. I want; need home just as much as she does but I can't risk it. Fires produce toxic shit that lingers for days and neither of us want to risk exposing the twins. Then there's the circumstances surrounding the fire. 'Til I figure out how everything fits together there's only a few options I've got open to keep her safe; Xavier's being practical, for now.

"Babe, gotta board up these windows and rent a dryer fan. Get our stuff together and I'll drop ya back on my way?"

"Mmm. Before you do that can you haul out the shop vac for me? I'll tackle the water."

"Nah darlin'. I got it. Don't want you getting in this mess at least 'til it's not smoldering and I can clean up some."

"You're right." She bows her head and her shoulder slump, "Thank you," comes out in a whisper of relief. "I don't think I've got what it takes right now." She turns and trudges in slow motion through the kitchen, across the family room and down the short hall leading to our bedroom. I hear her muttering to herself, complaining about the mess and inconvenience.

xxx

No surprise, I get back to campus late. Susie's in my old suite curled up in her favorite granny- flannel nightgown with the lights on low and the TV news droning quietly.

"Hey darlin'."

"Hey yourself." She sounds beyond weary and hopeless.

I go to the bedside and rub her shoulders, "You ok, darlin'?"

She nods slowly, "I will be."

Stripping off my clothes I've got half an ear on the TV: Late this afternoon, in the Stoneleigh neighborhood of North Salem, tragedy struck. A massive explosion followed by a devastating fire gutted one home and damaged two others. At least one person is reported dead, though at press time the identity of the victim has not been released. Preliminary reports indicate that a Methamphetamine lab may have been the cause of the blast. We'll have more updates as they become available.

Susie scoots to the end of the bed, "One person dead! Oh my God! Logan, I thought the Creeds were out of town."

"Wasn't them."

"Huh? How do you know?"

Shaking my head, she doesn't need to know the gory details.

"Logan! Don't do that."

"Sue, let's not go there."

"Did you see anything?"

"Yeah," I sigh suddenly feeling as weary as she looks. "They pulled a body out. Too small to be Creed and from what I could tell it wasn't female."

She sighs, "You don't think Creed and someone else was cooking up meth?"

"Fuck, no! Not in a billion years."

"Wonder what then?"

Fibbing, "Dunno," I step into the shower.

"How bad was it at the house?" she asks a few minutes later.

Through showering and toweled dry, I slide into bed next to her, "Could've been a helluva lot worse. Kinda chilly cleaning up the water, ya know?"

"I can definitely tell," she says, her hand resting on my thigh. "Even with a hot shower you still feel chilled."

I drape one arm over her shoulder and slip one hand down the front of her nightgown, "Well hell, darlin', c'mere and warm me up."

"Yaah!" she jerks away. "Hands to yourself, bub."

"I labor all evening long and this is the thanks I get?"

"Looks like it. Just call me an ungrateful wench."

I buried my face into her soft hair breathing in her sweetness. Instead I get a snoot full of fatigue and tension. I pull back, "What's wrong?"

She sighs, "Would you be totally put out if I take a rain check for tonight?"

Tenderly cupping her chin, I see the weariness in her eyes. Thank god I ain't sensing any pain. "Whatever you need," I murmur and kiss the tip of her nose.

She cuddles beside me, whispers she loves me and in no time is snoring like a band saw.

I'm dog tired and still hurtin' some from the explosion's aftermath but my brain won't shut off. Propped against the headboard fiddling with strands of her hair I'm lining up a bunch of dots in my mind. First Ruchinsky contacting Creed a couple weeks back. Then, going after the kid; make that kids according to Marla's story. Now, Creed's place torched. Connected? Does shit stink?

Don't want to but I'm gonna hafta track Creed down. The cocksucker is supposed to keep me and Charles in the loop. If he's welshed I'll make him believe the bad ol' days with Weapon Plus were a Sunday school picnic.

I can't get the vision of her burned body out of my mind and I'm not being paranoid thinking Susie won't be safe back home. I'll bet serious bucks that Creed didn't send Linda up to her folks just for a friendly visit. If the dots connect like I know they're gonna she's squirreled away someplace safe from Ruchinsky and anybody else who's on Diebel's payroll.

I can feel it; there's a freight train barreling down the tracks and it's aiming to run me and everything I care about straight to hell.

Well, fuck that.

xxx

Guess I slept but too soon the eastern sky outside the bedroom window's turning pink and gold as the sun starts its slow climb from the horizon. Prying myself from Susie's clutch, I'm gonna brew up a big pot of coffee and the get started on repairs back at the house.

Down the backstairs leading to the kitchen, somebody's already beat me to the coffee. Its rich aroma combined with something sweet baking in the oven makes my stomach rumble.

"Don't Charles ever give you a day off?" I tease Mrs. Burns as she sets a tray of piping hot muffins on the granite countertop.

"Wouldn't know what to do with a day off. Have a seat; I need my favorite taste tester."

I wave her off. "Thanks but I gotta get goin' Got a shi—butt load of work to do."

"Better if you fuel up first. Give me just a moment and I'll send you on with a thermos." She holds up two huge blueberry muffins, "And a couple of these."

Mrs. Burns' homemade muffins? Hot coffee to go? Don't need to think real hard on this decision. "If I wasn't already hitched lady, I'd marry ya for your cookin'."

She laughs warmly, "You'd be standing in a long line."

xxx

Susie pulls into the drive a couple hours later and gets a kiss and a scolding from me, "What the hell ya doin' here?"

"I live here." She bends over as much as her expanding belly allows and dotes on dog breath who's wiggling all over himself and licking her fingers. "Oohh hello you great big ol' Yogi Bear."

What the fuck? "Yogi Bear?"

She giggles, "Yeah. Saw it on the TV this morning and I thought perfect name. He just looks like Yogi Bear?"

"What is a Yogi Bear?"

"Cartoon character. You know; Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo? They live in Jellystone Park."

I shake my head. Got no clue what she's blathering about. If it's lame as I suspect no dog o'mine's gonna be called Yogi Bear. And Boo-Boo? Stuff that! "Thought ya weren't gonna name him."

"I'm not, officially. Just a suggestion, my love."

"Right. How 'bout plain ol' Bear?"

"Common."

"Fuck sake, darlin'. He's a mutt."

"Ok, ok. But I think…..Oh never mind. Bear's good."

I shoot her a better-believe-it eyebrow then steer the conversation serious, "Listen Sue, thought we agreed ya shouldn't be here 'til I'm sure this place is cleaned up and safe."

"We did and I figure one more night on campus. But I've got things I can do around here while you're doing the repairs."

"I don't want ya doing any thing heavy."

Ignoring me, she surveys the garage, "Wow! You're really going to town. I'm impressed."

"Better be, "I say flexing my biceps. "The plan is to get it all ripped out and wallboarded before tonight."

"Cool! But don't over do it."

"Nah, I'm good." To convince her, I hoist a stack of soggy debris and haul it out to the driveway.

She sized me up closely, "Your eye? The headache?"

"No worries." It's a white lie. It still feels like there's rocks and ground glass where my eyeball should be. At least the ache inside my head where my optic nerves connect is just an ignorable annoyance. Except when it feels like somebody's poking me in the brain with a blunted stiletto.

"I'll do the finish work in the laundry tomorrow. At least enough so you can use it. The garage ain't that critical."

"Ok," she replies but I don't think she's totally convinced. "What can I whip up for breakfast?"

Been a while since I finished off Mrs. Burns' muffins so I'm feeling peckish, "What do we have?"

"Pancakes. And I think I've got bacon in the freezer; provided it's not trashed and I can navigate my way over to it."

"Hang on." The distance between her and the freezer is littered with debris and my heavy boots crunching over it is safer than her shoes. "One rasher of bacon. Catch!"

She snags my easy toss, "Make it two if we have it."

"Cooking for an army, babe?"

She winks, "Army of one."

She watches me for a few minutes slicing through another section of wall. "Now I know why you downplayed help from the neighbors."

I nod and keep hacking. "Left 'em to help the Loudon's on the other side. Besides,Vic and Tin Man are coming over later."

"His name is Peter and I'm glad you mentioned that now. Think I best stir up a big pot of something then. One more mission to the freezer, Bright Eyes?"

"High maintenance, ain't ya sweetheart."

"Always. How about a package of that venison?"

For a pot of venison stew she can be as high maintenance as she wants to be.

She snags another toss and goes to the kitchen muttering how we're supposed to be having down time. Yeah, well downtime is great and I don't appreciate a project like this but me sitting on my ass for a couple days? Don't think so.

The aroma of frying bacon makes my belly rumble. Time for a break. Nab another mug of coffee and filch a strip or two of pork.

"Boots off and brush the dust off before you come in here," she scolds just as I'm about to cross the threshold between the laundry and kitchen.

"Picky, ain't ya."

Brandishing a spatula, she grins wickedly, "Have a seat; first batch is ready."

She places a maple syrup smothered stack of pancakes and about half the rasher of bacon at my place at the breakfast bar and about a third as much at her place. She smells of weary resignation and between bites she sighs.

After the third sigh, I'm thinking I better find out what's on her mind, "What?"

"Oh, I don't know."

I keep shoving food in my face, not particularly in the mood for deep analysis of anything; at least not that I wanna share.

She stirs a puddle of syrup with her finger then licks it, "I feel so...helpless…out of control. You know?"

Not really but I nod, mouth too full to answer.

She nibbles a piece of bacon. "I guess I really shouldn't complain. It could have been so much worse."

"Uh huh."

"What did you really find poking around next door?"

"Other than what I told ya last night, not much." Glad ya can't smell the scent of a lie.

"Wonder where the Creeds are?"

I shrug and swig my coffee. That's next on my list to find out.

She sighs again, "I'm surprised we weren't bombarded by Wendy or Marla last night. Wonder how they're doing?"

There's another topic that sets my hair on fire, "No news is good news."

"I guess so."

She looks me over and up and down, her woe-be-gone scent transforming into a mix of curiosity and anxiety, "Logan, I need to ask you about something."

Ah crap! I ain't gonna like this, "Sure."

"Yesterday when Hank and I were going through one of the DNA databases I found something about you."

She's just full of fun stuff to dig up,"Yeah?"

She's wound up tighter than a roll of duct tape as an explanation of what she read comes tumbling from her lips. "Is it true?"

"Prob'ly."

She gasps, "I . . . I just don't believe it. You . . . you couldn't do something like that."

I touch her lips with my finger, nodding slowly.

She brushes it away, "No, not voluntarily."

"That….and worse."

She whips her head from side to side, disbelief pinching her pretty face and pouring out of her like sweat, "You couldn't wipe out an entire family!"

"Listen to me," I command, gently taking her hands in mine, "I've seen what you're talking about . . . and it probably doesn't make a hoot of a difference . . . but . . . that family wasn't the kind yer thinkin' of. Think mafia, Japanese style."

"You had to be brainwashed."

"It's possible but… brainwashed or not, I did kill."

"Well yes, I know that. In combat. People don't get medals for bravery knitting booties for the enemy."

Can't help chuckling at that mental image, "Susie, you read part of my service record. You know what I did."

"Of course. Counter Intelligence."

I snort and shake my head, "Black ops counter-intel. I did the dirty work no one else would or could."

"But Logan…"

"No buts. My job was to kill even before they fucked me over at Alkali Lake.

"In the line of duty, self defense."

I wanna yell get a clue, darlin'! "Do you know what a berserker rage is?"

"I know it's an old Norse term; something about fierce Viking warriors. But that's ridiculous. It's mythology."

I can't hold back a sarcastic laugh, "Remember the Alkali Lake discs? Me hacking up those guards?"

"I try not to."

"It's an example of what happens, what I'm capable of."

"Defense mechanism against extreme physical and emotional trauma…."

No patience for a string of psycho babble, I clamp my hand over her mouth, "True then but not always. If the other guards hadn't put me down I'd have slaughtered every last one of 'em."

"You don't know that and even if so you'd be completely justified."

How the fuck do I make her understand I slaughtered every living thing down to lab mice busting out of that place? No, it's something I better let lie if I got any brains.

"Great chow," I say and deliver a quick peck on her forehead. "Gotta get back to work if we don't wanna be looking at holes in the walls tonight."

There's a frustrated expression on her face as she sucks in her breath. Her lips move to speak but she stops, darts her eyes and exhales, "Hoo-kay!"

xxx

I'm a fuckin' coward and a fraud. She needs to know. Needs to face it; face me as I was. Hell, as I am.

The slap in the face truth is I don't wanna face the consequences. When she finally realizes what I really am she'll discard me like used toilet paper.

Just thinkin' about it stirs up nightmares. Though not as often anymore there are times when my dreams still warp into nightmares. Lurid memories of torture coil inside my subconscious, a poisonous beast that springs from the darkness and devours me.

And flashbacks, like right now. That video of her father's: An endless re-run inside my head that I can't switch off. Flickering images of terror, pain, death and destruction scored as permanently in my mind as Nightcrawler's carvings on his skin.

"Grraarrrrgh!" I exhale a muted growl and rip into another soggy portion of sheetrock while chaotic screams of dying men and women and the banshee wail of sirens echo through my mind.

The smell of Susie in the kitchen searing meat mixed with the acrid reek of smoke blackened sheetrock infiltrates my nose and stirs something inside me. My stomach lurches as I'm plunged into the past. The meat is me, my flesh and hair flash fried after taking out Alkali Lake's main power conduit with my bare claws.

Blood red auxiliary lighting turns the augmentation chamber into a vision of hell. Add severed limbs, the stench of blood and spilled guts; ya get hell on earth.

Stimulated by the scent of fear and pain rising from the pulsing heap of dead and dying I release a wild, feral howl.

More soldiers burst in, swarming ferocious insects. Machine guns stutter. Bullets whiz past like comets in the red gloom. Cordite scalds the back of my throat and eyes. My flesh goes numb where bullets rip into me turning my body into one massive wound.

Bullets ricochet, deflected by adamantium. One unlucky bastard gets a complimentary face lift. Another's head splits open like a rotten watermelon.

A bullet rips through my cheek. Meeting adamantium tooth prosthetics, it shatters into a hundred fragments. Hurts like a motherfucker. Evening the score I thrust a single claw straight into the bastard's heart and spit blood and metal into his death mask expression.

Relentlessly, I plow through them severing limbs, slashing throats, ripping bellies. The savage creature possessing me relishes vile oozing entrails, slick blood, screams of agony. It will not be sated without the satisfying feel of claws ripping flesh, cracking bone. There is no stopping; not 'til the very last one is dead and the spillway flows freely with blood.

I sense frantic movement above in the observation platform. It's them: Diebel, Stryker and Ruchinsky. I know the names now but that day their names were wiped clean from my mind.

Lust for revenge drives me forward like a dervish. Taking the stairs four, five and a time I'm stopped dead by a reinforced door. No matter. Metal and concrete shriek as my claws render them useless.

I'm confronted with a phalanx of soldiers and more blazing but ultimately useless firepower. Fueled with adrenalin and pain I roar and charge into the fray, my claws slashing a wide arc. In the time it takes me to reduce them to a silent heap of bloody, raw meat my primary prey escapes.

I howl my frustration.

Bloodlust explodes in my in my brain, consuming me in incandescent hate, scourging the last vestiges of humanity in my soul. Possessed by the berserker, I'm engulfed in murderous rage and it's exhilarating, addictive, orgasmic.

Plunging deep into the bowels of the compound I wreak bloody carnage every step of the way. The air is thick with fear and death. Men, fighting for their lives, assault me, desperate to repel the monster cutting through their ranks.

Ahh-ooo-gah! Ahh-ooo-gah! Harsh; urgent this latest siren drowns out the first. What the fuck?

"Flood warning! Flood warning! All personnel will evacuate the base immediately! This is not a drill," booms a frantic voice.

I feel a vibration coming through the floor. Damp, heavy air blows cold through the passageways. Soon the entire underground complex will flood, not with blood but with tons and tons of water and the compartments, much like a submarines, will lock down automatically sealing everything tighter than a sarcophagus.

Fear strikes like a rattlesnake, its venom searing through my mind. The antidote is my rage. I will not be trapped in a watery coffin. I will not die. Not here.

Fast rising water, cold enough to numb flesh turns hallways into sluices. People are panicking, shouting, their boots pounding liquid staccato echoes against the cement floor. The solid ka-chunk of slamming compartment doors sound the base's death knell.

The scent of prey, an irresistible magnet, over rides my fear. With a roar, I sprint through the passages. Slipping on blood and gore I plow ahead, vaulting myself up ladders as fast my arms take me.

I run into a squad of armored and armed goons heading for the exit. They keep moving, firing over their shoulders, their gun muzzles spitting death my way as they run for their lives.

A few stupid fucks form up execution style and fire point blank. Immune to the pain, I charge through the hail of lead, my claws scythes that cut through flesh as if it was wheat.

An eerie stillness descends like the eye of a hurricane. The moans of the mortally wounded rise like the stink of shit from piles of humanity scattered around me.

Something splashes at my feet and then another. Bullets dropping from my body like heavy raindrops into a blood red sea. And beneath it all the giant water pumps beat like a heart as they turn corridors into arteries filled with ice water.

The berserker calms and reason crawls its way back into my riotous mind.

They sought to form me into the perfect weapon.

They did.

They thought to control me.

They thought wrong

The adrenalin surf I'm riding recedes like the tide before a tsunami. In its wake comes pain. Pulsing and pounding to the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat. Every breath is torture as blood bubbles from gaping holes in my chest. Fever hot as a blast furnace rages as my healing factor struggles to seal tattered flesh and knit organs back together.

I look down at myself, flesh turned into a ghoulish canvas painted with gushing blood and sweat—with claws!

That's when I see them clearly for the first time. Six impossible spikes protruding from my hands; sheathed in clotting blood and gore. Gaping in total incomprehension and shock the awful truth explodes in my mind.

I am a monster!

A thing to be hated and feared.

An inhuman, vengeful killing machine controlled by no one.

They win!

Daggers of self loathing rend and rip into my psyche. My soul shrivels. My mind fractures and separates as the last of my sanity crumbles and scatters like desert sand.

And I still hear it. The scream. Mine-- unearthly, agonizing, desolate, inconsolable reverberating through the flooding passage.

That's all there is. No, not quite. I remember a door—opening a door and being blinded by glistening white. Then, nothing until I woke up naked and frostbit in a frozen pool of my own blood. No idea who I was. No memory of what had been done to me; of slaughtering every living thing in my path. Hell, I didn't even remember the compound just a few miles away. I became the animal Stryker said that I am and the only thing I knew; felt instinctively, was that like any wild creature I had to get away from everything tainted by man.

xxx

"Logan!" Susie's panicked voice wrenches me free of this flashback. "What's wrong?"

Snickt! My claws slide into their housing.

"Huh?"

Holy shit! A minute ago I was tearing out sheetrock. Now I'm crouched on the concrete floor like a terrified dog. "Nothin'," I reply, my voice a rough whisper.

Too quick she's by my side and catches on that my hands are shaking. "Nothing my butt! You screamed like—like I don't know what and you're white as a ghost."

Feel like a spook too.

"I knew you'd over do it," she scolds and massages my knuckles with her soft fingers. "Healing factor or not, tough guy, don't ya think it takes more than a day or two to get over being blown up?"

I nod, happy to go with her ready excuse rather than thrashing out what the real deal is. "Gotta get this done. I'll be ok." Standing, I stretch and crack my joints to convince her.

"Sure ya will." She grabs my hand, "C'mon inside and take a break until Vic and the rest of them get here."

She settles me in a seat at the breakfast bar and deposits a bottle of water in my hands. Next, she's got that damn stethoscope of hers hooked to her ears.

"Lift up," she commands, referring to my sweatshirt.

"Knock it off. I'm ok."

She huffs and reaches for my wrist, "Like it or not I'm taking your pulse."

"What's that gonna prove?"

"Hush." Silently, she counts off from her wristwatch. "Nothing really, I suppose. Makes me feel better though."

"Darlin', I'm ok. Really."

"Liar! Something happened out there. Now why don't you give me a hint?"

"Dammit Susan! What part of ok don't ya get?"

"If your definition of ok is huddled on the garage floor and shaking like a leaf then none of it."

She ain't gonna give up and I don't wanna go into it—admit a lame flashback still gets to me. Best thing to do is clam up no matter how pissed it's gonna make her. Gulping down half the bottle of water, I let my eyes rove anywhere but her.

She gets me but she ain't ready to quit. Instead, she tries a different tactic. Flitting to the refrigerator she pulls out an arm full and commences making a gargantuan BLT, heavy on the bacon and mayo.

"All right," she says taking the seat next to me. "If you don't want to talk it's ok. Sorry for pushing."

Here we go. Guilt trip city. I ain't playing, babe. "Good sandwich."

Yep, there it is. A little halo of irritation.

"'Tay-ta chips?" she asks as the phone rings. She's closer so I don't bother trying to answer.

"'Lo," she chirps.

I over hear, hey mom. Can't tell which kid it is.

"Hey Travis. Thought you were on your way back to school?"

Yeah, well, I'm supposed to be but Dad's unavailable.

"Unavailable? What's that supposed to mean?"

It's AFU. Uh, sorry. He and Christine had a fight. He left and now I can't get him on his cell. So, I need you to take me back to school. And I gotta muster at eighteen hundred hours.

Way to go Allen. I owe ya for getting Susie off my back.

Covering the mouthpiece, she rolls her eyes to the ceiling and mutters a couple of rarely indulged four letter words aimed at her ex-husbands lack of manhood. "All right kiddo, I'll be there quick as I can. Are you at the house?"

Uh huh. Hey mom, don't hang up, Matt needs ya.

Matt gets on and it's clear he's in a state of mild hysterics. At more than one point Susie holds the phone away from her ear to preserve her eardrums.

"Matthew! Listen to me. Calm down. Take a deep breath. I'll be there in a few minutes. You can ride with Travis up to West Point and we'll get this straightened out…Yes, of course you can stay with me…..You know he doesn't mind….. He cares about both of you guys….. Matt, if you want me to get there you hafta let me off this phone and get into the car……I love you too, son. Everything's going to be ok"

Every so gently she cradles the phone back on the charger. Her complexion is puce with rage. "Gaaaahhhhh!" She snatches the head of lettuce and hurls it into the sink. "I will castrate that son of a bitch. Did you hear?"

"Yep. Want me to go with ya?"

"You know I do but I'm thinking it's best if…."

"Ya handle it ya'self," I finish her sentence.

Her mouth curves into a sad smile, "Uh huh. It's kind of my problem. Beside with carpet and upholstery cleaners coming I need you here to supervise."

"Your problems are my problems, darlin'. I'm good for what ever ya need."

She kisses me on the cheek, "Wish you reciprocated in that department."

Damn! One thing's for certain. She is a persistent wench.

Heading for the coat closet she rattles off instructions for the stew she's got going in the slow cooker, reminds me not to forget about my dog and promises she'll be back as soon as she can. "By the way," she adds before stepping outside the front door, "you don't mind Matthew staying until this is settled, do you?"

My answer is a thumbs up. What answer could it be? Even if I did object it's her kid and her house. The real question is: After the weird shit that went down in Canada can the kid put up with me full time?

"Love you," she says and is gone before hearing me reply, "back at ya."

xxx

"Oh ho my friend, doubles!" Hank gloats over the dice roll. "You really are off your game this evening."

A grunt and a shrug is my response.

He is whipping my ass; has been for a couple of rounds of Ace-Deuce backgammon. My losses might have something to do with the fact I've got a load of shit on my mind and have the headache from hell. Guess the eyeball's still got a lotta healing to go.

'Course maybe the headache's from talking to my mother. Pain in the head, neck or ass; all three-- that's what Elizabeth Howlett does for me. Finally managed to get her on the phone to offer condolences over Robert. True to form or whacked out with grief, and I don't give a shit which; the bitch went off on how it's all my fault and what a worthless bum I am. I clicked the phone off in mid-rant. Wonder how long it took her to figure it out?

West Point's only about an hour from here but I know Sue won't be back any time soon. She won't turn Travis over until one minute to muster and then I figure she'll take her good ol' time with Matt. Can't say I'm not curious about the crisis du jour but sure am glad it ain't of my doing this time.

Duded up in a tux, Charles and his lady friend, Genevieve make an appearance. "Gentlemen, we're off to the city."

"Right," I grunt.

Of course Hank makes a big hoo-hah over anything in a skirt. "My dear," he stands, takes her hand and gushes, "You look ravishing."

He's right, though. She's no spring chicken but she knows how to present herself and it's easy to tell she's was a helluva a looker in her younger days.

Charles takes Hanks predictable behavior around the ladies in stride, "Things seem in good order. Vic and Electra have the watch tonight. Henry, I've released Wendy back into the care of her mother. At the moment they both seem quite comfortable in the fourth floor apartment. It would be helpful if you checked on them before departing this evening."

"Consider it done."

"Logan, I concur with your decision to occupy the boathouse for the foreseeable future. I'll have a crew there tomorrow to make it ready."

"Hey, ya don't need to do that. I asked for it so it my problem."

"You'll have your hands full convincing your wife, so I'll be blunt; shut your mouth and accept the assistance."

That his way of saying stuff it? Guess so. "Uh, thanks."

"You're welcome and good evening gentlemen." Charles whirs out with Genevieve lilting, "Bonsoir," and quick stepping it beside his wheelchair.

"Avoir une bonne, darlin '," I call after Gen. Hank ain't the only one who appreciates a nice skirt.

Couple of minutes after Charles and Gen depart, Dog-breath, heretofore named Bear according to my wife, who's been crashed at my feet the whole evening, perks his ears. He hears tires crunch in the driveway that runs just past the staff lounge before I do. Glancing out the bay window, it's Susie's SUV.

"I know you two have significant issues to discuss so I'll bid you adieu," Hank declares. Making his way out, he suggests, "Rematch tomorrow? While you're basking on the hyperbaric chamber?"

"Rematch, yes. Hyperbaric chamber? Fuck no, Blue," I grumble, making my way to the main entrance.

"We'll discuss it." Making his way down the hall toward another exit, he calls, "Pleasant evening, my friend."

Like hell we will are my thoughts as I open the front door for Susie and Matt. She rates a soft peck on the lips and I take her coat, "Hey darlin'."

"Mwah" she smooches in return.

Matt's outwardly calm but there's a whole lotta hurt and uncertainty pouring off him. What the fuck did that so- called father of his put him through?

Ain't exactly sure how to relate to the kid. Should I hug him? A slap on the back? Opting for no contact I'll let him make the first move. "Hey kid, glad you're here."

He nods and murmurs, "Thanks." There's awkward silence as he bobbles back and forth on his feet and fidgets with the strap to his back pack.

"C'mon son," Susie comes to the rescue. "Let's get you settled and we'll talk more later."

Half and hour later she joins me in my old suite. "So, what's the deal?" I ask as she settles cross- legged at my feet.

"He never learns," she sighs.

"Sit here," I gesture to the beat up recliner I'm hogging.

"No thanks, my back hurts from being in the car so long." She stretches and wiggles her backside. "This feels perfect."

I shrug, "Who never learns what?"

"Allen. He did it to me and now he's done it to Christine."

Massaging the small of her back, I suggest, "Playin' around?"

"Yep. And the boys got to witness the entire showdown."

I wince, acutely aware of what the boys might be going through from my own recovered memories.

"Mmm, that feels nice." She relaxes to my touch and continues, "Needless to say the whole thing brought up some things they remember from our split."

I press a kiss on the top of her head, "You doin' ok?"

"Yeah. I just feel bad for all the kids. There's two little girls who just got the rug ripped out from under them as well."

"Sucks."

"Uh huh." She goes quiet while I work her shoulders over. "You know what's ironic?"

"What?"

"They've been together just about as long as Allen and I were together."

I grunt, not exactly sure what I'm supposed to say to that. "So, how long is Matt staying?"

"As long as he likes."

"Don't ya think Allen might have something to say about that??

"Already addressed. I called my attorney."

"Sandra?"

"Yep. Since Allen basically abandoned the boys and Christine is not exactly putting out the welcome mat, I've got a strong case."

"You sayin' he left and didn't tell them where he was going?"

"Sort of. Travis played back the voice mail he left. Apparently he's staying at the Ritz Carleton in the city and will be looking for an apartment. Said he'd fetch them later tonight."

"Later being anytime and Travis couldn't risk it?"

She nods, "Logan, how do you feel about this?"

"I'm ok with it. I mean, hell, the boys were always part of the deal when I married ya."

She wraps her arms around my legs, "You're something special, you know that?"

"Why's that?"

"Because a lot men would pitch a fit having step- parenting thrust on them."

"Lotta men out there don't have the balls to do the right thing."

"That's why you're special. You don't back away from what's right even if it's not easy and I love you for it."

Tell me that when I dump this on ya, darlin'. "Speaking of the right stuff that's hard to do…"

Her whole body seems to sigh, "Oh boy. I don't like the sound of this."

"I need ya to do something for me…"

She gives me doe eyes, "Oooh-kaay."

"…And it ain't gonna be easy."

Chin on my knees, she declares, "Can't be any tougher that the junk we've been dealing with lately."

How'd I get so lucky as to win a half glass full type of gal? Time to drop the bomb. Hope she don't dump the glass full on my head. "I want us to stay here on campus."

Spine straight, she pivots on her butt to face me, "What?"

"In the boathouse."

"Are you nuts? Why?"

"Because there's shit going on and you might be in danger."

"Logan that's a really tall order. What stuff? What kind of danger? You are talking a temporary thing, right?"

"You gotta trust me on this and do as I say."

"I do and I might but I need details, mister."

"The fire next door was not an accident. An accelerant was used."

"Arson?"

"Uh huh."

"That's sick. But why?" She gasps and I smell her fear. "Good lord! Do you think it's a hate crime? I mean Creed doesn't exactly cut a low profile if you know what I'm getting at."

"No. The job was way too professional."

"You really think so?"

"I know so and if my hunch is right it ties in with….Listen, there's been things happening that I haven't told ya about."

Her piss off meter's started to register orange. "What things?" she grinds and pushes away from me.

"Chill darlin'."

She gives me a look that would freeze magma.

"Here me out, Sue. Please."

Arms crossed, her implacable expression is scary. "This better be good," she snips.

"Ok. Do you remember the neighborhood Christmas Party a couple weeks ago?"

"Yes."

"That night I was talking with Creed. He told me Ruchinsky approached him."

"Ruchinsky?"

"Hatchet man for Replications and Weapons Plus."

"Replications? As in the ones after Wendy?"

"Yes."

"Shit! Why did he approach Creed?"

"They want him back; reactivated."

Intense astonishment colors her expression, "What the hell are you saying? Creed was involved with Replications?"

"No. Weapons Plus just like me and just like me they used him in the early Replications program."

She's fighting panic. "Oh my god! They've approached you? They know you're alive?"

"No. I dunno. Nothing's happened to make me think they know about me yet."

She pauses and I can almost see her struggling for an ounce of calm, "Yet. That's the key word isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"So you're afraid that if they do discover you're alive they'll come after you and I'll be caught in the middle."

"Or worse, they'll use you to get to me."

"How does the fire figure in this?"

"I told ya I'm sure it was arson. The accelerant is one that only we…Weapons Plus used."

"We? Oh god Logan, don't paint yourself with them."

"Babe, I ain't gonna lie to ya. I was with them. Voluntarily at one point. My hunch is, and I need to confirm it with Creed if I can find him, the fire was set as a warning…"

"A warning?"

"Yeah, join up or else. You don't tell those bastards no and walk away."

"Then why would you risk bringing the threat right to the schools front door?"

"Two reasons. Charles suggested it and it beats the other option."

"Other option?"

"Yeah, shipping you and now Matt to some remote location. At least this way you can have some semblance of a normal life."

"You're seriously suggesting we isolate ourselves here?"

"Dead serious."

"For how long?'

"Not long, I promise."

"Like you can predict," she mutters. "What about my practice?

"Start maternity leave early."

"Oh right! And what kind of excuse am I going to give? I won't have a position to go back to when this blows over."

"Better unemployed than dead, darlin."

"That's a bit much." Her tone is thick with skepticism. "I can't just drop everything every time a boogie man from your past says boo."

Get your head outta your ass, I almost shout. "Fuck it is, Susan! You know these boogie men have vast resources. If they're pulling together a team of surviving operatives…"

She cuts me off, "Ok, ok. Take a chill pill, Logan! Help me up," she says, and grabs my hands. "I'm not keen on this idea at all but I'll give it some thought."

I'll be goddamned. Just by her scent I can tell she's shoveling a load of shit at me. Hands on her hips and that damn whatever half- smile of hers, why don't she just come out and tell me where to get off?

"If it comes down to the wire, you'll do what I tell ya even if I gotta hog tie ya and lock ya in the underground."

Her jaw drops in shock as clouds of rage gather in her in her eyes. For a second I'm thinking she just might deck me. Stomping to the bedroom, she turns to face me by the door, her voice measured and low, "You can take that attitude and shove it up your ass." Pausing and arms crossed, her expression could reverse global warming.

She looking for a reaction? An apology? For me to back down? Pushed her hot button or not that ain't gonna happen.

"Oohhh you," blasts from her lips. She slams the door hard enough to knock a sconce off the wall, its glass globe shattering on the hardwood floor.

Guess I ain't getting any tonight.

Her raging hormones could set off a Geiger counter so reasoning with her right now is pretty much out of the question. Wadding up a sheet of scrap paper I grumble, "Aw fuck it," and toss it into the nearby trash can.

It ain't late and I ain't sleepy so I guess I'll prowl the mansion; see what's doing. Maybe grab a smoke and raid the kitchen. As I make my down the backstairs leading to the kitchen lingering trails of scents register in the background of my mind. Stuff like teenaged body odor, perfumes and potions the girls like to layer on, adolescent hormonal surges. Most of 'em I filter and dismiss as the usual clutter that assaults my senses every single stinkin' day.

Something's different. Off kilter. Bad off kilter. More potent that the usual teenage angst I've learned to tolerate.

Closing my eyes I suck in a deep breath parsing who's passed through here recently. There's been too much traffic and food smells mix it up so I can't separate individual scents well enough.

At the bottom of the stairs the scent of misery is stronger and I notice light coming from beneath the bathroom door. In stealth mode I edge closer, my own sense in overdrive. Holy shit! I smell blood. Lots of it.

Adrenalin surges through my veins. Dread twists my gut.

"Kid?" I shout and turn the door knob. It's locked. I hear rustling, the sound of metal clinking on porcelain.

"Go away," comes through like the squeak of a mouse.

Dammit, I mutter to the ceiling. Voice low and level, I command, "Open the door now."

There is only silence.

Screw this! I deploy a claw; insert it between the door and frame, easily cutting through the lock. Wrenching it open I damn near pull it off its hinges.

Oh my god! "Stop!"

A utility razor poised millimeters from her right wrist; she's curled into a tight ball between the toilet and sink. Blood dribbles down her legs and arms; soaks her oversized t-shirt.

Crisis at hand my mind goes on a sort of auto-pilot freeing my subconscious to assess and act or not, depending on the situation. Amplified and focused, my senses tell me it looks worse than it is. She ain't cut anything vital-yet. But she's hurting bad inside and projecting crushing grief and black despair that spikes deeply into my psyche.

Goddamn you Charles. Thought you were gonna stick by the kid; make it right for her.

Despite warning bells jangling in my brain over the burning she dished out our last encounter I crouch down level as I can with her. She's got the potential to fry my brains if she wants to.

Our eyes meet and lock on each other. Hers are liquid pools of sadness.

Clutching the razor blade, her hands shake. I'm fisting so she doesn't see how badly mine are.

Inside, my own heart's about to pound outta my chest and it's a struggle to keep my voice even and soft, "Please…."

Breaking eye contact, her eyes dart to the razor, the door behind me and then back to the razor.

Her scent shifts subtly. God, no! I don't need fear complicating the situation. "I ain't gonna hurt ya, angel."

"I know," she whispers.

"Put it down," I coax and inch closer.

She shudders, "You don't understand…"

I'm almost close enough to grab the blade away from her, "Help me to understand."

"No! Don't!"

Damn! She's read my intentions. I go still, conveying retreat through my body language, "Wendy, you don't wanna do this."

She shakes her head no whispering, "Have to."

Before I can deploy another tactic, conjure up something to say, she shifts gears on me.

Thrusting the blade in the air, she's angry and defiant, "You really don't get it. I'm not trying to kill myself."

I think the kid's gone 'round the bend.

Keep an even strain, bub. "What are ya trying to do?"

Voice rising in pitch and volume, she lets loose a rapid fire volley of rationalizations, every one of 'em ringing true. Listening to the words, feeling the pain she's projecting, I've been where she is; done the very same thing. Cut myself on the outside to ease the pain on the inside.

Out of ammo or about to reload, I don't know which but she tosses the blade and it clatters across the tiled floor coming to rest at my feet. Covering her face with trembling, bloody hands she dissolves into a puddle of misery.

Scooping her up in my arms, I croon, "I know baby. I know…"

Seeing her suffer the same pain I felt at fifteen when my whole world crashed makes it a struggle to keep my own emotions in check. My heart feels ready to bust and I fight back actual tears making fast tracks carrying her to Susie's clinic in the west wing of the mansion.

XXX

Authors Notes: Sorry this took so long. Massive writers block. It's necessary I take an even longer break between now and the next chapter. I've got a continuing ed. course I must focus on with a killer exam due in March. Thus, I'm going to put a hundred percent into it. Thanks to my best beta for several lines and her usual electrifying prods.

Happy Holidays to y'all. Send me a holiday gift and review. (and not just good ones; I like to hear the real deal no matter what.) MLC.

Obligatory Disclaimer: Marvel owns everything except Sue, Matthew, Wendy and a few others. I'm not earning a penny. (but I will say this: after reading Cerasini's newest, I should be earning something. What kind of junk does Marvel let past its agents?)