Frank brought the priest up to his feet. He glanced at the cross decorating the altar. It was a large, sturdy cross that Frank guessed could probably support the priest's weight. Frank grabbed some wine red velvet cords on the way up. /Unfortunately, / Frank said to himself, /there aren't any nails around, but I'll make do. /
The Punisher was a very resourceful man. He had to be. He learned to make the most of what he had back in 'Nam, and life as a vigilante reinforced the 'waste not, want not' philosophy he acquired as a necessity. He regularly took what he gleaned from the gangsters or other assorted criminals he put down to fuel his vengeance. But Frank would take nothing from the priest but his life.
"You can't do… you can't do this to me. You're a Catholic…and I heard that you were in seminary." The priest stammered, his face black and blue.
Frank went back in time for a mere instant, remembering being clad in black robes. He believed in God, then, but could never find it in him the ability to forgive. He dropped out of seminary, then met lovely Maria on a bright day. The sun had turned her hair to molten gold. "I'm a bad Catholic. I dropped out because I can't forgive and that would be a bad trait for a priest to have. But at least I'm not a fucking pedophile."
Maybe Frank still believed in God, deep inside, but it was a belief tainted by pain and sorrow.
He struck the priest hard enough to daze him, then tied him securely to the silvery cross. Enrico lay at the Father's feet like a supplicant. Frank leapt down to the floor and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The priest sweated and begged for his life, then began praying frantically to God.
"I have no mercy for you. I've wasted enough time." Frank aimed his gun, shooting at the priest's feet, then wrists. "In the name of the Father, the Son."
Another shot hit the Father in the middle of his forehead. A fount of red spilled down and the priest's body went slack. Frank turned to see Rogue slightly behind him, a thin puff of smoke emerging from the barrel of her gun.
"And the Holy Spirit." She said, then gave Frank her attention, as if she expected him to object somehow. "Ah deserve mah vengeance. Ah suffered at his hands, too." Rogue saw Enrico, and strode to him, double tapping him in the back of the skull. The two shots rang sharply through the church.
Frank came up to her, standing by her side. "He was already dead. I killed him."
"Well, now he's doubly dead and there's no doubt." Rogue's voice quavered a little. She was cold even though she was draped in his warm coat. Droplets of blood were drying on her face. "Ah can rest easier knowin' he ain't comin' after me. Ah needed to make sure of that, Frank. Can you understand?"
It almost sounded like she was begging for him to understand. "I do." And he did. He studied her with an intent eye. She had been through some struggles he couldn't comprehend. Other struggles, he could. She was tough and he wondered if he had somehow changed her in a way that would not be able to be fixed. Not just him, Frank amended, but her experience here in a place that was meant to be holy and a refuge.
"Ah don' know what to do. Ah have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Can't go to the cops. Whatevah is left of the Gnuccis will get me." Rogue said, her voice wan and plaintive. "Can Ah come home with you? You really are the only person Ah can trust right now. Ah have no money or friends to go to."
Frank grunted and turned toward her. "I don't run a home for wayward mutants. I hear there's a place in Westchester."
"Fuck mutants. Fuck heroes. Fuck wayward homes." The vitriol in Rogue's tone peaked Frank's interest in the young woman. "Ah'm sorry, but…Ah just can't. Ah'd tell you why, but not here or in public. Ah ain't askin' to permanently move in, but to stay for a day or two while we figure somethin' else out. Besides, Frankie, can you really see them takin' me in? Be honest."
He thought for a moment before saying, "No. I don't think they would." In truth, he doubted she'd fit in with the other mutants. There was a haunted and defiant expression to her, one that spoke to him of her deep trauma. Sometimes there was a heavy price to pay for survival, and he knew that Rogue paid for it with part of her humanity. He had paid for it piecemeal by piecemeal both in Vietnam and that sunny day in Central Park. Perhaps it wouldn't be amiss to keep her with him until he found out just how much she knew about him and how his personality would be affecting her.
He remained unconvinced, however, to the dubious wisdom of having her back at his warehouse apartment. Frank saw with sharp and piercing clarity that Rogue was already down the path of being like Kathryn. A woman used up by the dark part of life. Or worse, he considered, ending up with his fate.
"We need to leave, Frank." Rogue said. She wanted out of there and to finally feel freedom on her skin and smell the air. She didn't even care if the smell was of garbage. It would be sweet to her.
He nodded. She was right. But he decided that they weren't going directly back to his base of operations. Not until he found out everything he could about her past and about why she didn't care for other mutants. He sensed a story there, and one that was probably quite sordid. He opted to have them go to the motel he was at earlier. He'd grab her some more clothes, she'd take a badly needed shower, and they would be able to get some rest.
He gestured for her to follow him, and they passed into the long cold dark of the street.
He waved down a cab and gestured for her to get in first. Frank gave the cabbie a hundred and told him to keep the change. It remained unspoken that the cabbie would keep his mouth shut. A quick look at Frank's expression in the back seat confirmed that he should stay silent. Frank stared out the window at the huddled masses of humanity. /They don't care about anything other than themselves, about what they'll have for dinner or about their next date. They are completely wrapped up in their own little world. Some of them will have that world smashed by reality and be unable to cope. /
The old man, grizzled by war and nightmares born in flesh, glanced down at Rogue. She was wrapped up in her thoughts, but it was for a good reason. /She's young enough to be my daughter or granddaughter. / A stab of regret made him wonder what type of person Lisa would be now. Kind? Like Maria? Or would she have been more thoughtful and introverted? He shoved that line of thought aside. All that would accomplish was unproductive pain.
The cab slowed then stopped in front of a motel. Rogue looked at the motel, then shrugged. Anything was better than staying at the church and she knew Frank had his reasons. One of which being that he did not quite trust her and she accepted that. She had to. She couldn't blame him. He lived a long time in the brutal life he chose for himself. Trust did not come easy, if at all, to a man like Frank.
They went into the motel. Frank talked to the man in a low voice and the motel clerk nodded something and put a key into Frank's hand. The brassy metal played with the low light. Rogue noted the motel was older but clean. At a curt nod from Frank, she followed him down the narrow hall. Her bare feet trod down the faded carpet and she noticed the quaint and kitschy pictures that lined the walls. She then stared at Frank's broad back. Frank looked at the key and halted in front of a solid door.
A click of the key presented a room with a large bed in the center. As Rogue entered, she sighed with relief as she saw a bathroom and an adjoining room with another bed in it. Not that she was scared Frank would be untoward, but she found herself grateful for privacy. She decided to take the adjoining room. If someone like the Gnuccis found them here, they'd be forced to fight their way through Frank.
"What size of clothes and shoes do you wear?" Frank asked. Rogue's wardrobe was woefully inadequate and she definitely needed shoes. Cold cement did not do wonders on feet, even if it were for a mere moment or two. In fact, Rogue needed to be in the shower as soon as possible. He knew Rogue was cold and filthy. The warm water would do her good.
She blinked, then stammered. "Ah wear a size 8 in clothes and about a 7 and a half in shoes." Rogue didn't even think about clothes. She possessed nothing but the rags on her and was thankful that Frank considered her needs.
He moved toward the door, his large frame threatening the door. "Good. I'll bring food back and then we'll talk. Catch a shower and try to relax. I'll be asking you some hard questions." He left and she heard the door click as he locked it.
The shower felt divine as she reveled in the luxury of it. The miniscule bar of soap and small bottles of shampoo were just adequate enough to get clean. She stepped out of the shower and dried off. After wiping the condensation from the mirror, she examined herself. Pale skin and a face just a little thinner than what she was used to. Eyes that had seen a lot. She sighed. There was nothing to be done about that but get on with the business of living.
She wrinkled her nose at the bloodied and now useless pile of clothes. Rogue carefully put them in the garbage basket and washed her hands. /If Ah had Purrell, Ah'd douse mahself in it. / She thought with a hint of alacrity. She combed her mass of hair with a flimsy brush found on the sink. Rogue managed to make her hair more presentable, but mulled the option of cutting it short. /Maybe later. /
She wrapped the towel around her and slid into her room. She flounced down on the bed and turned on the TV. The rambunctious antics of Bart Simpson played out on the screen, followed by Homer chasing him through the house. Rogue smiled, grateful for the humor and to be alive. She fell asleep halfway through the episode, lulled by the feeling of safety and pure warmth.
It was sometime later when she felt the soft thump of objects landing near her. Rogue looked up, eyes heavy and noticed a pile of clothes. "Thank you, Frank." He shrugged, then closed her door so she could get dressed in peace. She went through the clothes and found a pair of jeans and a tank to slide into. They were a little loose, she noted with a critical eye, but she hoped to gain a little weight. Her hand smoothed over her stomach and she heard a low grumble, a demand for food.
After dinner, which consisted of a healthy salad and a chicken breast, she sat back and tried to gather her thoughts. She knew that Frank was going to grill her or rather let her grill herself. She didn't like it, but as his essence still rumbled around in her head, understood it. She delayed the inevitable, taking a drink of water, studiously looking at her new tennis shoes.
"You can start anytime." He had a sense of déjà vu. It had been earlier in the day that he interviewed Marc Simpson, which had, in turn, led him to Rogue. He thought it was a fitting end to the day.
"Well, Ah was born Lorelai Williams, but Ah prefer to be called Rogue." Rogue began, then told him the rest of her story. She remained resolute. "After mah momma died, Ah was put in the foster care system. No one really wanted me til Ah ended up with a nice family. They were going to adopt me, then mah would be dad touched mah butt. Ah went and got a kitchen knife. Ah was twelve at the time." She closed her eyes to block out the memory.
After a few moments, she continued. "Needless to say, given mah background, they believed his story of innocence. However, Ah was removed from that house and put into another foster home. Ah did overhear mah case worker say that she was gonna put me in a 'juvenile detention' facility. Ah was scared she meant prison, so Ah ran away." She paused and got a glass of water. The look on his face was blank, neither betraying anger or sadness. "Knowing what Ah know now, Ah nevah would have pulled a knife on him, but Ah digress."
She finished drinking and put the glass down with a clink on a nearby end table. "Ah lived by mah wits on the street for about six months. It was then Ah met… a woman who would take me in. Her name's Mystique and she's a mutant. A shapeshifter, in fact." Rogue thought hard. "Of course, she took me in because Ah was a mutant. It certainly wasn't out of the goodness of her withered black heart. She taught me all sorts of things, like how to take care of her guns and how to use them. Also, she was groomin' me for somethin' that Ah wasn't aware of. Apparently, she wanted me to steal a specific target's powers. Ah refused, and when Ah refused, she 'sold' me to the Gnuccis. That's how Ah fell in their hands."
She sighed. "It's also why Ah just don't want to be turned loose on the streets. Ah could never be certain if she were behind me. That is, if the rest of the Gnuccis didn't get me first." Rogue added, "And as for the cops, Ah'd be shot for resistin' arrest as soon as Ah turned mahself in. The NYPD killed fifteen mutants last year for just that thing. And no one cared. Could you imagine what would happen if one of them made contact with mah skin? Ah don't want to be a statistic, Castle."
Frank sat back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. Rogue made very valid points. The remainder of the Gnuccis would be after her and might hire, or make deals, with other Families to have her killed. As for the police, yes, she was right about the fifteen mutants dead this year. Probably right about getting shot, too. The Punisher had followed those stories and his gut told him that he might be making visits to some cops this year. It wasn't that he was for mutant rights as much as he simply hated corruption in the clergy and law enforcement as much as he hated organized crime. He'd heard of Mystique, a truly dangerous criminal and some would say, terrorist for mutant causes.
"Did you ever participate in Mystique's activities?" He asked, blue eyes on her. "I know she's active in a group called the Brotherhood." /Of Mutant Assholes. / He muttered to himself.
"No. Well, except for cleanin' her guns and stuff. Ah didn't do anything to hurt someone. Ah don't like to cause pain."
"That brings me to another question. Did you like killing those men at the church?" The point of that question was to see if he might need to keep a tight rein on her. He thought he had seen stirrings of ice blue in her eyes.
Rogue shook her head. "No. Ah didn't like it. Ah meant it when Ah said that Ah don't like to cause pain. But, Ah'm not sad they're dead. Some people don't deserve to live."
He pondered what he'd do with Rogue. Any way he examined her problem, she was screwed royally. Unless she came with him. Rogue was a troubled, but basically decent, young woman. /Life had given her a hard hand. /
"What makes you think you'd be safer with me? All I do is get people close to me killed." Frank shot the question to her.
"And everyone Ah touch dies. "Rogue retorted. "Ah know Ah'm a target hangin' out with you, nor do Ah care. Frank, Ah have nothin' else goin' on in my life. Ah ain't going back to Mystique. Ah sure as hell ain't gonna join up with a bunch of mutants. Let me help you out. Ah can gather information for you and Ah can go places you can't. Let me make something useful out of mah life. Plus, you can use me as bait to get the rest of the stupid Gnuccis. Or maybe go after Mystique."
He doubted Rogue would ever have a normal life. She'd seen too much and then there was her power, which only served to isolate her. "Ok, but we go about problems my way. When I say to do something, you better do it."
She smiled. "Deal."