The dreary hallway seemed to stretch on forever, even at her sprinting pace, but she knew it was in actuality less than a few hundred feet in length. She also knew, with certainty”a certainty she could not, and cared not explain”that the two rooms she had just skittered past were rooms of unspeakable torment and torture.
Her bare feet slipped as she rounded the corner, nearly sending her tumbling to the floor. She caught herself against the wall, her hand smearing a macabre crimson rainbow across the bricks. She rolled to the left, and with her back pressed tight to the paint, she tried to calm the frenzied tattoo of her heart, her breaths ragged; her lungs burning as if filled with butane.
She blinked rapidly and her eyes stung in protest, her vision blurring. The hallway swayed in front of her and her already nauseous stomach rebelled. She doubled over as a slew of green bile spewed from her in a long, agonizing torrent. She gagged against the foul, bitter taste. Oh, god, what was that stuff? Crimson splotches decorated the repellent bile as she was racked with coughs, her body desperate to purge itself of the toxin.
Weak, she slid to the floor, trembling against the cool cement. She needed to go, needed to move, not sit there wheezing on her hands and knees, she told herself, but her body refused to cooperate. She groaned weakly, her face pressed to the cold slabs. Naked and scared”in pain and uncertain of anything”with only one thought slamming through her brain, she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and wake up from this nightmare...
Maybe, she could rest... just a moment...
Don’t get caught!
The thought slammed through her brain with enough force to snap her eyes open. Her arms shook as she levered herself up and a sharp pain brought her watery gaze down along her forearm. To her horror, she saw a long needle embedded in her skin. It wasn't the first needle that she'd found, but the sight of it was still disturbing.
Upon waking in a small, cramped, hellish torture chamber only minutes ago, she had discovered dozens of needles, some wired others not, jabbed into her skin at various angles. She had been someones life-size pincushion. What nightmare hell was she trapped in?
She grimaced at the thought, and with eyes closed and lips pursed she started to dig the long piece of metal out with a torn fingernail. A broken sound of distress escaped her when she realized that the needle had tubing attached to it, running all the way up her arm. Maneuvering the tip cautiously, she felt the end of the tubing wiggle just below her collarbone.
What the hell had they done to her?
Pinching her thumb and forefinger together she took two quick breaths and prepared herself for what had to be done. One swift wrench and the plastic tubing was torn from its flesh housing.Oh, God! She dropped her head back down to the floor, barely suppressing the scream of agony clawing up her throat. Blood slipped between her fingers in shining rivulets, dripping onto the concrete, creating miniature Rorschachs. She didn't dared look, certain that their bloody appearance would make her stomach turn over once more.
Up. Get up! She rolled onto her back, tears staining her bruised cheeks.Get up!She slammed her elbows into the ground and demanded that her body listen to her brain. Forcing her body to cooperate proved more difficult than she would have liked, but eventually she won out and managed to stagger upright.
She took off down the hall, cradling her wounded arm to her bare chest. Uncertain as to where to go, she made her way towards the flickering red EXIT sign at the opposite end of the hall. She had no idea where the door led, but anywhere had to be better than the macabre little anteroom of Hell she had woken from.
Lingering visions of a reptile looking man, partially dissected on the table beside her, flashed through her mind, making her gag again, but blessedly she didn’t vomit. She didn’t think she could stand another round of the green bile-fluid shit again.
She stumbled when she reached the exit, her feet slipping and the metal door slammed open beneath the clumsy weight of her shoulder, banging loudly into the wall. Shit. She hadn't wanted to make that much noise. She shoved the door closed again and leaned back against it, shaking. She wrapped her arms about herself, trying to hold herself together.
She blinked, finding it even harder to focus in the dim lit stairwell. She had no energy for stairs. She choked back a sob of frustration. Okay, keep it together. Maybe there‘s another way-- Turning, she pressed her face to the small rectangular window of the door, peering back into the hallway. Twin beams of light jumped back and forth at the far end and behind them men in solid black uniforms were running in her direction. The lights skimmed along the bloody trail she had left in her wake.
Perfect.
She flung herself back away from the door. She had no choice, she needed to go. She didn’t have time for delicacy or panic, she needed to get away. With a soft prayer, she vaulted over the railing, dropping the full floor. She ignored the twist of her ankle and repeated the same maneuver again. And again. And again. And again.
She heard the door one floor above her bang open, followed by: “Subject is in the east stairwell, third floor.”
She barely the energy to stand, much less leap. Limping, she pushed the door in front of her open and made her way into an adjacent stairwell. This one read: Emergency Exit Only, and damn if she knew of a greater emergency than getting the hell out of this place.
She pulled open the door and swore when two armed guards met her on the opposite side, their weapons leveled at her, red dots emblazoned on her forehead and chest. “Don’t move!”
No. Damn it, no!
Behind her: more stairs and certain capture; ahead of her: almost certain death.
The choice was simple, really. She ran at the two men. She was on them in a blink, her fist knocking the barrel of one rifle to the left even as she grabbed for the second, yanking the muzzle so that if the guard fired, it would be harmlessly into the wall.
She pushed the gun down, flipping it out of the startled man’s hands, and swinging the butt, she smashed his visor into his eyes. He screamed, loud and terrible, before dropping to his knees. The other guard went into the wall hard with his jaw beneath her foot, and his neck snapping with the force of her kick.
She bent down and quickly removed his jacket, slipping it over her shivering frame. The first man was still screaming, rocking back and forth, blood seeping between the fingers covering his eyes.
She quelled the pang in her chest. No time for remorse.
Wincing at the motion, she bent and scooped up the discarded weapons. She didn’t spare either man a second thought as she turned and burst through the emergency exit, heading for the fire escape.
Another running leap and she was free falling away from wrought iron with the night air kissing her cheeks. She hit the ground hard, somersaulting to compensate for the jarring impact, and then she was up and running again.
Running fast and hard.
Her weary body was shifting into survival mode.
She had her second wind.
She only hoped it would be enough.
Halfway across the dark yard she got the intuitive need to dodge, and not bothering to think about, trusting her instincts to react, she ducked to the left and narrowly avoided the projectile whizzing past her head, but she didn’t falter, she kept running. She had to keep running.
Don't get caught!
Taking haphazard aim with the weapon she had confiscated, she fired back at the guards in the tower as they shot at her. She let out a disgusted grunt when she realized it was a tranquilizer gun in her hand.
Of course they wouldn’t use bullets, she told herself. They needed her alive to torture…
Her thoughts skittered and she grimaced as a dart struck her in her upper thigh. Damn it, stop thinking and just MOVE! She plucked the dart from her skin and tossed it to the ground with an angry sneer.
The piercing blare of sirens broke the night's silence and she could hear shouts and the excited barking of dogs coming from the compound behind her. No more fun and games now; they were coming at her in earnest.
Around her the wind howled and a sudden torrent of rain slapped her face. Thunder boomed overhead, echoing like gunfire. For a moment”a fleeting, silly moment”she had the absurd notion that the storm raged for her. She almost laughed at her own ludicrous thought. The drugs must be making her woozy.
Searchlights snapped on. Jeeps roared to life.
Run!
Her feet slid on wet grass and steel glinted in front of her. She'd made it to a fence... an electrified, barb wire encased fence. Of course.
Refusing to give up now, not when she was so close to freedom, she looked around for another means of getting through. She was in no shape to dig her way under the fence like a mad dog, although the idea was tempting, nor was she feeling particularly enough like Kevlar to endure a barb-wire shaving.
She turned, desperate for any means over, under, or around. Please, please, please... A slim, half dead tree leaned against the metal, its fragile branches hanging over the enclosure, drooping onto the other side.
Thank you.
As fast as her weary body would let her, she climbed the tree, wincing as the bark scratched her in tender places; places not meant to be rubbing against decayed nature. Determination made her resilient, however, and after a minute she was able to drag herself up and over.
Like a lead weight, she dropped down into the thicker, tall grass, almost giddy with relief. That relief was extremely short lived as a screaming pain lanced through her temples.
Her head felt as though it was about to pop! She dropped to her knees, clutching her skull between her hands, open mouthed, silently screaming. She would have sworn her brains were oozing out her ears, but her hands came away gray-matter free. She clawed at her head, trying to make the pain stop. Her fingers scrambled through blood and dirt matted hair, digging for the source of her agony.
There. At the base of her skull, between the tendons in her neck she felt it. A small round circle thing and it was vibrating.
Locater? Bomb? She had no idea what the hell it was, but it was driving her insane. She gripped it the best she could and twisted, like a bottle cap, and promptly dropped face first into the mud, the excruciating pain making her temporarily limp.
It was hooked into her skull! No, no, no!
Undergrowth snapped nearby and she could hear the frantic yips of the dogs echoing all around her. They were getting closer. She could almost smell them. Too close.Don’t get caught!
She gave up her fight with the hellish torture device on the back of her head and scrambled up again, crawling at first, the pain nearly unendurable, then staggering to her feet with grim determination.
Let her head explode. She wasn't going back.
Twigs and fallen branches sliced delicate lines into her skin as she hobbled through the thick patches and rain plastered her gray hair into her eyes. Gray? How old was she? No...white. White hair...
She slipped, slid and fought her way upright again. Stupid. Pay attention to the ground, not your hair!
Her heart hammered in her temples and her body screamed for rest, but she knew if she stopped too long they'd have her again, and she'd die before she went back. She paused, listening for the dogs and men. She paid for that momentary pause when a set of saliva spewing fangs suddenly burst through the bushes, chomping at her. She threw up her good arm defensively, muffling a scream as the teeth sank deep, piercing bone.
Frantic, she groped around the dog’s sleek head, gripped its collar and jerked. The vicious animal was relentless, snarling and tearing into her, its jaws locking down.
Smothering another cry, she gripped the dog firmly around it’s middle and flipped herself in a backwards arc, slamming the snarling beast into the ground. Her arm was released with a yelp, but she couldn’t risk another attack, so she scrambled over the fidgeting dog, and twisted its head to the side with a quick, hard jerk.
It stilled beneath her and she tried not to cry.
No time for tears. No time for remorse. No time...
"This way! I think I see something!" Flashlights beams scuttled across the ground and briefly illuminated her rain soaked, mud splattered form through the thicket of branches and undergrowth. The brief illumination caused the twigs to look alive, like snakes writhing in the shadows.
Prompted into motion by the flickering beams, and the eerie trees, she pushed herself off of the dead dog and ran. Where she was running she had no idea”the destination was as much a mystery to her as her own name, but she knew to go north. She had to get north. North was safe. North...was home.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Logan?”
"Nah. I think I'll just stay here. Not often that I have the place all to myself." The man being questioned propped his booted feet up on the polished coffee table and locked his hands behind his head.
Jean Grey, one of a handful of people known as the X-Men, wound her thick red hair around in a circle before securing it into place with an ornate gold and pearl clip. She tucked a few loose strands behind her ears before turning away from the mirror and towards him. "Yeah, well, I just thought that since we haven’t done this since Storm die…” She cleared her throat, tried again. “Since we haven’t done this in awhile… that you may want to join us.”
Logan inclined his dark head dismissively. “Not really in the mood for pool.”
Gently, she said, “I know it’ll be awkward at first. But, you know, we have to try and move on at some point, Logan. We’re all going: The Professor, Scott, me, Kitty, Bobby…” Jean's voice trailed off as he stood up in front of her, his expression shadowed.
Obsidian eyes narrowed. "I said I ain't goin' Jeannie. Leave it at that."
“I know these last few months have been hard for you. They‘ve been hard for us all. I loved her too, but we””
"Is there any particular reason, sweetheart, that you're still here yapping and ruining what could be my perfect night?” A tick began in the base of his jaw. “I don’t need some cheesy 'rah-rah team' night out, Red. All I need is beer, sex, and sleep. Unless your willing to provide any or all of those three, then get the hell outta my hair and let me have some peace."
Jean flinched as Logan slammed his knee against the coffee table, sending it skidding. He was out of the room a moment later and she was left staring at the doorway, a concerned frown on her face. She should have known he wouldn't open up to her. He hadn't after the mission, or the months since. In fact, he hadn’t opened up to anyone at all.
"I take it Logan still isn't going with us?" Jean’s longtime love and best-friend, Scott Summers asked as he walked into den, her jacket in hand. Tall, rugged, and blessed with all-American good looks and an abundance of intelligence Scott was the catch of a lifetime. Leader of the X-Men he had more responsibility at the tender age of 24 than people most had in their whole lives, but leader was a mantle that Scott was born to wear. Responsibility settled across his broad shoulders like a shawl, not a weight.
Jean sighed and shook her head, taking her coat. "No.” She shrugged into the jacket, buttoned the top. “He insists upon being the lone ranger. Or the stoic warrior. Or whatever it is he thinks he should be to deal with his emotions."
The exasperation in her voice made Scott's lips twitch. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. "You can't save everybody, babe."
"I know that. Really, I do." Jean stared at the door, knowing instinctively where Logan was headed. “I just don’t think Logan does.”
Outside
Logan took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, trying to alleviate the twinge of guilt he had for biting Jean’s head off. She meant well, he knew that, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood for her perpetual cheer. What he was in the mood for was a violent fight, but seeing as to how the only other occupant in his location was a marble headstone he’d have to settle with a smoke.
He stared at the grave marker with a mixture of disdain and anger. He didn’t speak. He never did. There was no one to speak to. Ororo wasn’t in the ground beneath his feet. Her body had never been recovered. So, instead, he just stood. Waiting.
For what? Fuck if he knew.
Striking a match against the marble, he brought it up to light the cigar in his hand. A few silent minutes later he heard the crunch of gravel beneath tires and turned to see two dark SUV’s roll down the drive. The others, leaving for their night on the town. He blew out a cloud of smoke, watched the red taillights fade into the distance.
Even with the majority of the X-Men out, the Institute was far from empty. The student dorms were full, as was the rec room he was sure. But the main house, the one where only the senior staff and X-Men resided was blessedly free of people.
Even still, Logan found that he had no desire to hover around the school listening to the echoes of regret that haunted him. The place literally sang with memories and he was sick of the chorus.
He snuffed the remainder of his smoke in the palm of his hand, grimacing only for a moment. The pain never lingered long. Well, not the physical pain anyway.
He glanced up at the full moon and decided that a night out wasn’t a bad idea after all. Just not one in which he was surrounded by cheery smiles and can-do attitudes.
Fuck that shit.
Time for a stiff drink and, if he was lucky, a good fight.
Three hours later…
Swirling the last remnants of his whiskey around the bottom of his glass, Logan contemplated the sloshing liquid. It was a pretty shade of amber. Almost gold now that it was nearly gone. Wasn’t that always the way? Only when something was gone did you see the beauty in it?
He took the rest of the drink in one shot, slamming the glass back onto the bar top with enough force to shatter it in his hand. He shook out the shards dismissively, splotching drops of blood onto the fake wood veneer.
At that particular moment he welcomed the distraction the broken glass caused. Physical pain was”by far”a more appealing option than the ache threatening to tear his heart apart. A thousand times he had berated himself for being such a goddamn fool; for not giving into his emotions and going after a chance at happiness.
But instead of treasuring what he had, he'd taken advantage, and in the end, the beautiful woman he’d found himself secretly enamored with had been lost. Even at the last, she had been willing to sacrifice herself for him, even after he’d turned his back on her and betrayed what could have been...
With a bitter twist of his lips, Logan had to admit, that it probably served him right on some sick cosmic level. After all of the women he’d seduced, betrayed and left with their hearts broken over the years it was only karmic justice that he had his turn holding the short end of the stick.
Karma was a bitch.
But, Ororo had been different than the others, he reminded himself. He’d let himself get close, had let his guard down with her and had went so far as to become friends with her. Not something he usually did. Frails were for protecting and fucking. And that's as far as it ever went with him”until her.
There had been no hiding behind his gruff exterior with her. She knew him for what and who he was and she still had tolerated his presence in her life. Not only tolerated, but seemed to actually enjoyit...and that’s when he got scared. Yeah, he could admit it now. She scared the fucking shit out of him.
So, what’d he do? Pushed her away. Pretended indifference. Ignored the ache in his chest every time she said his name; every time those blue eyes clouded with doubt. He was a goddamn fool. Fuck, he was Captain of the Fool’s Marching Brigade. All he needed now was his flaming baton.
He swore out loud, removing the last bits of glass from his palm. He dismissed the broken bits altogether and reached for the bottle. He set it directly in front of him, stared at it.
The bartender, a good looking guy with broad shoulders and bushy eyebrows, strolled forward warily. “You okay, pal?”
Logan barely gave him a glance. “Fine.”
The twisted tubing of the neon lights behind the bar flickered momentarily. Logan cocked his head; listening. Sure enough a few seconds passed and he heard a rumble of thunder.
A storm was coming.
Big one too, if the hint of ozone on the air earlier was any indication. Logan didn’t mind. He liked the rain.
It was weird though. No mention of rain on the weather report during the news. Nor had he sensed one approaching earlier. He mentally shrugged. Nothing changed faster than the weather.
Bushy-brows stepped up, reaching out to remove the pieces of Logan’s empty glass. “I don't think you need another drink, pal. You’ve had six in the past hour. Maybe you should ease up a bit.”
“Touch that bottle and I’ll break your fuckin’ thumbs.”
Bushy-brows stopped mid reach.
“Smart man.” Logan took a long pull from his now claimed bottle, swallowing with a wince. Warm and temporarily soothing, he basked in the momentary relief.
Another shock of thunder shook the bar, and Logan shifted in his seat. The lights fizzled overhead, growing dim. Outside, hail tinkered against the glass windows with enough velocity to crack the Budweiser logo. The other patrons in the bar began to fidget uneasily.
“Mild and balmy my ass.” Logan heard one of the women say, her voice a bit shaky.
The hair on the back of his neck on end, Logan stood up, and tossed a fifty on the bar as he grabbed his jacket. Something wasn’t right. By the time he reached the parking lot, a thin coat of ice had crystallized across car windows. Carrying his jacket, Logan darted to his truck.
Some inner voice, the one he usually ignored, told him to return to the mansion. Told him to hurry.
He drove like the Hounds of Hell were chasing him. He had no idea why he felt so rushed, but he knew, just knew he had to get to the mansion. And now.
Despite the slick roads and sleet, Logan rolled into the garage adjacent to the Institute in under ten minutes. The large building had the feel of a bunker to it. Concrete above and below on all sides. Florescent lights shed harsh light, dispelling almost every shadow. Whatever else Charles Xavier had done after acquiring the rolling English estate he had fortified the hell out of the place.
Logan stood just outside his truck, head cocked, listening to the wind howl and keen; sounding almost plaintive. The sound sent chills up his spine.
Despite being indoors he pulled on his jacket, holding the collar up as if to ward of the chill the mournful wind caused. He slid his card key into the slot beside the rolling door, disengaging the alarm. Located on three of the four walls in the garage were sophisticated air monitors that would trigger alarms in every corner of the Institute if you did not insert your card key in under the two minutes, the allotted time to get from vehicle to door.
The garage door whirred, lowering in a smooth glide of steel.
A shadow of movement in his peripheral had him whirling, his six adamantium claws extended.
Shaking and bloody, the ghost of Ororo Munroe staggered toward him beneath the closing door, her hands held toward him beseechingly. Her cracked and bloody lips parted on a gasp. “Help…me…”
Jesus fucking Christ. He was going insane.
She stumbled, pitched forward.
He moved instinctively, retracting and scooping her up before she could hit the concrete. Solid in his arms, smelling of rain and blood, this was no ghost.
He blinked. Swallowed. Blinked again. “’Ro…?”
Dirty eyelids fluttered. “…Help…please…”
Warmth sopped into his flannel, saturating it crimson. She may not be a ghost now, he thought with alarm, but without medical attention, she soon would be.
Logan suddenly wished he’d brought the bottle of Jack home with him. He needed another drink.
