Five Years After Capture
Rachel's Age: 13 Years Old
I never realized before how beautiful his eyes are. His black pupils reflect the overhead light so that they look like two gold orbs. But there's no life there. I keep staring into those eyes, trying to will him back to life, but he doesn't move. Running footsteps are coming closer and closer. Somehow, I'm not sure why, a part of me knows that I need to be fleeing. I have no clue who sent the oncoming army, or what kind of army it is, or how they are armed, or if they are armed. But I know that they will harm me. I should turn and run. But instead, I just stare into those beautiful eyes.
He's not dead, I tell myself. He can't be dead. He doesn't die. The stampede gets closer. Every second I stand frozen here, I'm losing more and more time. But I can't seem to make myself run. I hear the door being kicked down, and just as I turn my head, gunfire showers across the room at me. Two bullets head straight for my forehead.
My eyes pop open and the bullets are gone. The room is black. My head rests on his chest, which is rising and falling as he breathes in, slow and deep. Nothing like the glow to make a man rest peacefully. Closing my eyes again, I listen to the drumming of his heart, and think about the dream. I keep having the same nightmare. Creed and I are fleeing someone—a whole lot of someone's, actually—and then he jumps in front of me and gets shot. Then I sit there like an idiot and get killed myself.
But it's more than just a dream. I'm not sure how I know it, but I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Victor is going to be killed, and the nightmare keeps coming more and more frequently. Somehow, I know it'll happen soon. He just told me that he had a mission coming up next week. I wonder briefly if it's a trap. I want to be there when it happens. I'm convinced I'm the only one who can protect him. I've been developing my powers and it turns out that I'm a really strong telekinetic, maybe even as strong as my mom. Part of me argues that after all, I was there in the dream, so I don't seem to be any kind of protection. But when it happens in real-life, I answer, a tone of stubbornness in my head, I'll be prepared.
His breath sputters and he snores. That's my cue to leave. I lift myself, ready to head to my room, and the second I do, a fist clamps around my throat. This is always a risk when you fall asleep with Creed. His defensive reflexes are amazingly fast, and he always grabs the nearest living thing when he feels the slightest movement, even in his sleep. But he wakes the moment his arm flies at me, and when his eyes come into focus, he realizes what he's done. His hand drops immediately and he stretches his arms above his head.
"What time is it?"
I smile. "Not late. I just finished the glow so we couldn't have been asleep more than a couple minutes."
His brow furrows in the dark, and the gold reflections of his pupils flash to my face. "You havin' more nightmares, kid?"
For a second, I hesitate. Then throw caution to the wind. "Victor, we've got to talk." He groans before he sits up and turns on the lamp. Light bursts into the room instantly, before I can remind myself not to look at his body. His shoulders and traps cast big shadows across his collar bones and sternum. Next, my eyes fall on his pecs. They are huge and square. Beneath them, eight hard abs are laced on either side by so many rows of obliques that he looks like a professional wrestler on steroids. The thin sheet covers everything from the waistline down…and it's a damn good thing.
Forcing my eyes back up to his, I think strategy. We've had this argument a thousand times, and it never goes my way. Should I try to explain this sickening feeling of impending danger or should I just jump to the end? Victor's always been a bottom-line kind of guy. Well, here goes. "I want to work with you," I announce.
This time, his answer comes in less than one second. "No." I wait for more, but he gets up without another word. His boxers pass right in front of the lamp, showing shadows that make me blush.
"Where are you going?"
"What the fuck does it look like?" he yells over his shoulder on his way to the bathroom. I hear the distinct trickling of urine hitting toilet water for a minute or two. After a flush, he comes back into the room and immediately starts pulling on yesterday's jeans.
"Hey," I say, alarmed. "What are you doing?" He doesn't answer. Now he's tying the lace of his boots. "Wait!" I yell. "Just let me explain, okay?"
"NO!" he shouts. "I don't wanna hear it." His voice is calmer now. He takes in a breath. "It's not up for debate, kid. You are not workin' with me. Period." He throws on a gray tank top and reaches for his leather trench coat. Turning back to me, he adds, "And you're not gonna badger me 'bout this anymore."
"Look, it's not like I don't know what you do, okay? I'm okay with it. I want out of the house; it's driving me absolutely nuts. And I should learn a skill. You know, something besides cooking raw steaks." I smile at my joke, but he still won't even look at me. "You could train me; no one could train me better than you."
He chuckles. "Nice try, kid. I'm always on an ego-trip, so playin' to my vanity don't work on me." He heads for the door, but I dash in front of the threshold and stand in his way. "Move," he growls menacingly. It makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck, and not in the way you'd expect.
"I-I'm sorry," I say, though I'm not sure why. "I take it back, okay? Just don't go." If his next job is only a week away, there's no way that he'll come back before then. I know Victor. If he leaves now, especially in this fury, he'll be gone for ages. Please just stay.
I meant to think the words, but his eyes flicker and I realize that I must've said them telepathically. His face falls. "You don't want me 'round in a mood like this," he sighs, but then his voice gets hard all of a sudden. "Now get outta my way. Don't make me move you. 'Cause you know I will."
"Please just tell me you'll come back." I can barely believe my ears. I've never begged him. Ever. Not even when he used to thrash me for hours.
He hangs his head. "Kid—"
"Rachel. You know my name's Rachel."
He looks up into my eyes. I pray like hell that they aren't tearing up. "Rachel," he whispers. He opens his mouth to say something else, but shuts it without finishing his thought. Then he shoves me out of the doorway. My knees hit the floor just as I hear the door slam behind him.
When I wake up, I'm breathin' deep and fast. The smell of blood reaches my nose 'fore I acknowledge anything else. I sit up and find myself in a hotel room, on the lone bed, covered in blood, next to a female corpse. It only takes a second for me to remember everythin'. Rachel workin' me over for the hundredth time. Me leavin' in a hurry. Wanderin' 'round the country for several days 'til time came for my assignment. Headin' down to Antarctica and into the Savage Land. Killin' Lupo 'cause apparently he didn't like Magneto's orders these days. Fightin' off the other Mutates. Travelin' all the way up South America into North America 'til I found my way back in the good ole U.S. of A. All this took about three weeks. Well, I ain't gone without the glow for three weeks in years. Needless to say, my thirst got the best of me again.
I look down at the mangled body. Searchin' the old memory bank, I realize there were eight other girls, mostly whores, and not a one of 'em could satisfy me. I just woke up, an' I'm already plannin' to grab another one. My fingers scrape over my scalp while I'm thinkin' 'bout Rachel.
That girl's turnin' out to be a real liability. Why the hell would she want to learn to kill people? Or is it that she just wants to work with me? That one just seems like too much. It ain't a secret to anybody, least of all me, that I'm no picnic to hang out with. And yet she asked me to stay. She practically begged me. It nearly knocked me off my feet to hear her like that. She's always been real strong, even when she was jus' a pup, even when I was beatin' the shit outta her. Four years of me waitin' to hear that girl beg for her life, and when she finally breaks down, all she wants is for me to not run off. And I ran off.
What do ya expect? That's what you do best, ain't it? I grab the lamp on the hotel nightstand and chuck it. It shatters against the wall. I've got to get back home, I decide. I don't know if she'll even be there, but I've got to at least find out. Rachel's got no one in the world but me, and that's my fault. 'Least I can do is stick by her. And I could really use the glow right now.
The alarm clock tells me it's three o'clock in the morning. I curl into the sheets, breathing in his scent. I keep telling myself I need to stop this. He's been gone for almost a month; he's not coming back. He's deserted me. That means I'm free. I should pack up and head for the X-Mansion. But I just keep cleaning the house during daylight, pretending that any second now he'll come home. And I keep falling asleep in his bed at night, pretending he's lying right next to me.
All of a sudden, my nostrils catch the thick scent of blood and pine, and my ears register a low growl. Hot breath blows on the back of my neck. When I whip around, I come face to face with Victor. We're so close that my nose almost touches his chin, and my heart starts racing. I tell myself I must just be dreaming.
But in the two second beat that I'm waiting for him to disappear, I realize there's something absolutely…feral…about him. I have never seen him like this. He's drenched in blood. His hair is matted with twigs. He stares into my eyes like he's never seen me before. He's broadcasting fury and disgust and above all hunger. He's all instinct and pure emotion. As I gaze into his black eyes, I see now that this is no fantasy. This is real; he's really here. He's really back. But something is wrong. The hunger is growing every second we look at each other. The glow. He came back for the glow.
I speak softly, afraid to stir anything up in him. "Victor?"
His breathing is heavy. "I'm not—" He trails off, but I hear his thoughts loud enough, and I finish the sentence for him.
"—good at apologies. Yeah, I know." There's a long silence. "Look, Victor, I don't need an apology, okay?" I put my hand on his chest. "Just don't ever leave me again."
When he speaks, his voice is like gravel. "Never."