GO WEST

Chapter 8: "Can't Find My Way Home"

He wasn't sure why he'd picked Seattle, now that he was nearing this particular destination. After all, the where of it didn't mean much, so long as it was away. He was more at home on the road than anywhere else anyway, he decided, and it felt good to be out on his own.

The stereo was cranked up full blast, playing the newest from Pearl Jam, or maybe Stone Temple Pilots, or possibly Nirvana. Ric couldn't really tell which, but it was louder than the engine of the VW bug (no mean feat, that), and hopefully loud enough to block out memories. Maybe the music had brought him to Seattle -- grunge was about the best description he could find for his life at the moment.

He drained a bottle of Corona, then tossed the empty container into the back seat, with the others. It had been a while since he'd had a good beer, that was certain. Nothing but freeway in front of him. No one to bitch about his vices. Just him, a car, a few hundred bucks, a case of Corona, a pack of smokes, and loud music.

Of course, the car wasn't really his. He wondered darkly if Doug would report it stolen. The way he was feeling, Ric had no intent to bring it back anyway. He and Ramsey had disagreed on a lot of things, but maybe for the first time in his life, he'd be cool about something and just forget the stupid car. They had three others. After all, Ric had helped put this particular piece of junk back on the road.

And when it came right down to it, the money wasn't his, either. His friend Roberto, mutant hero turned multi-billionaire business exec, had put it in a checking account to fund his college education. Now that his education seemed to be done, he'd pulled out all the cash available before they could cancel it on him. He could make it stretch -- he always had before.

The beer and the smokes weren't his either, come to think of it, as they'd been bought with Roberto's money.

At least there was the music, though. He could call that his, even if nothing else was.

Opening his mouth to sing along loudly with the indistinct lyrics, Ric sped down the interstate, into what he hoped was a better future. Even so, he couldn't get the past out of his mind.

Massachusetts Academy, Snow Valley MA
Thursday, 28 October 1993 12:35 am EDT

Emma Frost looked over the scene again, shaking her head slightly. She hadn't at all appreciated being called back to the school in the middle of field testing with the junior Hellions, but upon seeing the state of affairs here...

"Tell me again what happened, Haroun," she said in a crisp voice. "The whole story, as you remember it."

They were in the wreckage of Tarot's room, Jetstream sitting in Marie-Ange's music chair, Roulette sitting against the wall beside him hugging her legs to herself, medtechs fussing over the body of Empath to one side, and Frost standing above it all, the aloof observer. Her face was cold and set, betraying nothing.

Haroun cleared his throat nervously, still in obvious shock. "As I said, it all started at around two-thirty," he began in a tight voice. "The four of us -- Roulette, Tarot, Catseye and I -- were in the training room practicing, when Empath arrived, escorted in by Security. We tried to contact you, but you could not be reached at either of the flyers."

"We were occupied at the time," Frost nodded. "The pilots passed on your message some time later. Go on."

"After that, we all went to the commons -- all but Tarot -- and he told us about his time in Nova Roma, and how he'd completed his mission there. He said also that he'd come back alone because Amara -- Magma -- had decided to stay with her family."

There was a pause as a lackey brought in two cups of coffee. Frost passed them to Jetstream, then watched as he gave one to Roulette. She seemed even worse off than he, accepting it mutely, trembling so much that she almost spilled it all over herself. More than five years with the Hellions, and this was the first time she'd actually seen death in this manner. It had all been fun and games until now.

"Go on, Haroun. Try to relax, and be sure to tell me everything." She could tell, through her telepathy, that he had unconsciously left some things out: that shock had blanked some of the memories. Perhaps later, when he was more at ease, she could help him remember.

"We... spent the afternoon visiting. This evening, of course, Jennifer and I had our trip to Boston planned, and since we couldn't leave alone anyhow, we asked Catseye and Tarot if they wanted to come. Sharon was catnapping, though, and Marie-Ange was writing a letter. She said that she had some studying to do as well. We also asked Manuel, and he said he was jet-lagged, and wanted to turn in early."

"So the two of you went alone," Frost nodded.

"Headmistress, I am sorry that..."

"No, Haroun. This isn't your fault, nor is it yours, Jennifer. I merely need the facts. When did you return?"

"We came in some time before twelve," Haroun went on. "I was... walking Jennifer to her room, when we saw... that Sharon's had been broken into."

"So I've seen."

"The door was broken from the hinges, the desk and bed were overturned, there... was some blood as well. We couldn't find Catseye, so we came here, to see if anything had happened to Tarot, and..."

He trailed off as medtechs carried Manuel's bloodied corpse out on a covered stretcher. A couple of Academy security officials remained behind in the room, taking pictures and gathering samples. Haroun swallowed hard and went on.

"It was like you see it now," he said, waving his hand absently. "Shelves ripped down, things thrown out of the closets and drawers, just scattered every which way. There was blood on the floor, on the walls, on the desk, and then Jennifer... found Manuel..." He trailed off again, waving to the space between the bed and the wall, where he'd been lying.

Roulette closed her eyes and brought her forehead to her knee. The more painful memory was hers, Frost noted. "Was he dead when you found him?"

"Long dead. There... wasn't even a place on his neck to look for a pulse." Haroun looked up at Frost with wide, glazed eyes. "What happened, Headmistress? Do you think it was..?"

"Johnson?" she replied. "I'd say he's our chief suspect, yes. But we've nothing proven, yet. All we know at this point, then, is that Empath was killed rather brutally, that Catseye and Tarot have disappeared without a trace, even to our scanners, and that both of the girls' rooms have been ransacked, correct?"

"Yes, Headmistress. But I do not know how anyone could have eluded the defenses enough to do all of that. Even Johnson."

Frost sighed inwardly. Haroun wasn't aware that dear Devin had already eluded the defenses once. It seemed he'd found a way to do it again.

Security Chief DeCandido poked his head into the room, then. "We just got a report back from the crash site, ma'am," he nodded to Frost.

"Crash?" Haroun asked, looking up at the Chief. "What crash?"

"Later," Frost said to Jetstream. "I'll be ready for you in just a moment, Chief. Now. Haroun, Jennifer, you two may go. Try to get some sleep, if you can. You may need to repeat this story again, and I'd appreciate your assistance in the investigation."

"Yes, Headmistress," Jetstream repeated, standing up somewhat shakily. Roulette, however, did not move at all, even to acknowledge that she had heard.

Caught in a moment of genuine concern, Frost knelt down next to her. "How do you feel, Jennifer?"

"Like I'm gonna throw up, Miss Frost," she replied in a cracked whisper, her eyes red with tears.

Frost laid a reassuring hand upon her shoulder, then looked up at Haroun. "We'll find out what happened," she said, with a sense of finality, as though there were no two ways about it. "It's only a matter of time."

Haroun nodded, accepting his teacher's convictions, and carefully pulled Jennifer to her feet. The two left the room leaning on one another, and only then did it occur to Frost that Jennifer would need somewhere else to stay the night. For now, with Haroun would probably be the best choice. This wouldn't be a good night to spend alone.

Back out in the hall, Sean McDermott peeked in again, unable to contain, nor conceal, his anxiety. "Um, Miss Frost?"

Frost looked at the boy, blinked a couple of times, then seemed to remember suddenly why he was still there. "Ah, yes, Sean. My thanks to you for bringing me back so quickly. I shall remain here."

"Uh, no problem, ma'am. Um... what should I do now?"

"Teleport back to the camp," she instructed him. "You're to tell Beef that he shall be in charge for the time being. Instruct him to gather the students, and have the pilots bring all of you back as quickly as possible. The field testing will have to end a day early."

"Okay," Sean nodded, gulping nervously. "I'll... get back there right away."

"And Sean," she added, before he could turn to go, "I want to make something very clear. Your teammates are no doubt going to be full of questions as to what emergency called us away. You are to tell them nothing of this incident, do you understand? A formal briefing will be given when we have more facts, but until then, no one is to hear of this outside this room. Is that understood?"

"Um, right. Don't worry, I'll keep quiet. Um, I'll be going now."

"Dismissed," she nodded, turning back to DeCandido as the boy left. "Now, Chief, what was it..."

"Pardon me, Miss Frost, Chief," one of the remaining Security officers interrupted, before they could go on. "Ma'am, we're about finished up here for the time being. We're gonna take this stuff down to the lab. There's -ah- something I think you should know about, though."

"And that is?" Frost asked him, arching one eyebrow.

"Well, we've been taking samples of the blood all around the room," he went on, looking perhaps just a bit hesitant. "There was blood staining the bedsheets as well, but it appeared to be mixed with something else."

"Go on."

"Well, to be brutally honest, it looked like semen. I think it's a safe guess your girl was raped." He got this last sentence out quickly.

"Oh," Frost said, very quietly. "Thank you. Dismissed."

DeCandido waited patiently as the other two left the room, leaving him alone with Frost. "I'm sorry, Emma," he said in the silence that followed.

Moving very carefully, she sat down in the chair recently vacated by Haroun and looked up in the general direction of the Security Chief. "Report," she said, simply, but there was a catch in her voice.

"The flyer went down somewhere near Foxboro, between Highway 1 and I-95. The rescue crew's made a pretty thorough search through the wreck, and there weren't any bodies. They're starting a spiral search pattern, to see if they can find any tracks, or anything else."

"I see," Frost nodded, though she did not look at him. "Tell me again how it was stolen in the first place."

"Well, that was the real kick. This whole thing was executed perfectly. Someone knocked out Chapman and his sentries -- apparently with some kind of mental power -- broke in here, and..." He waved his hand absently at the scene, not wishing to articulate any further. "The main console downstairs was shut down and flushed, erasing all storage; we've got no video logs left, so what happened here is anyone's guess. In the process, whoever it was managed to screw with the uplink to the main system in the Underground; we didn't know anything was even wrong until it was too late. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing."

"Obviously. Go on."

"Well, presumably, whoever it was who took them went from here to the hangar, avoiding all cameras. Once there, they knocked out the guards posted there -- this time physically -- then very quietly trashed the security measures there, just as they did here, and stole the flyer. We couldn't get anyone else out there fast enough to stop them. By the time we even knew there was a problem, the flyer was being prepped for takeoff. That was their only oversight all night- they didn't know we'd be able to detect a prep-sequence."

Frost nodded, though she didn't really appear to be listening. "Then how did it crash?"

"Takeoff was a little erratic as it was. Less than a minute later, it was weaving all over the sky, and then it just went down. We couldn't get through to them with any hailings, so we've no idea what happened to cause them to crash."

"Did you track their flight?"

"Of course."

"Good. I want you to trace what there was of their course. Find out what direction they were headed, and why. I want to know where they were going."

"That'll take time, not to mention luck."

"I don't care what it takes, Chief. Do it."

DeCandido took a measured breath. "Alright, we'll get on it."

"Now, where's Chapman? I believe I should have... words with him."

"He's under guard downstairs, along with Tessa and the sentries."

Frost glared at him sharply. "Tessa? What for?"

"We, ah, found her out cold in the hedges around the dorm, same as the sentries. I don't know how she got mixed up in all of this, but..."

"Alright," Frost sighed, standing up. She was still moving with very stiff precision, and DeCandido could tell she was containing a lot of emotion under that cool facade. "I'll be downstairs if anything new is discovered, and you're to notify me at once should this occur, clear?"

"As crystal. I'll get this room and the other taped off."

"Do that. And Chief?"

"Yes?"

Frost at last looked DeCandido in the eye. In all his time with the Hellfire Club, and later with the Academy, he'd never seen such unbridled fury in those eyes. "Find them," she grated. "I don't care how; just do it."

"If they're out there, we'll find them."

Interstate 95, east of New Haven, CT 12:58 am EDT

He drove on into the night, mind moving at barely sub-light velocity, wondering what he'd gotten himself into, and more importantly, whether or not he'd ever get out of it.

About an hour before, he'd been carjacked by a crazy purple-haired mutant and her comatose friend, and given the simple instructions to drive south. That had been about the extent of the conversation, as his cat-eyed mutant kidnapper seemed far more interested in looking back at her companion despairingly, and checking the mirrors to make sure that no one was following them. After a while, though, he simply had to break the tension one way or the other.

"Hey... what's your name?" he ventured.

She looked over at him, her surprised expression suggesting that she'd forgotten he was there. "Whyfor?"

"Well, I'd like to be able to call you by your name. I'm John, by the way. I'm a writer."

"Ah," she nodded. After a moment of consideration, she shrugged. "Can call me Emily, writerguy."

"Oh, that's a pretty name," John said, in what he hoped wasn't too artificial a tone. "What about your friend?"

After a moment of apparent internal debate, Emily spoke again. "Call her Terri."

"Terri. That's nice. So... what do you... do?"

"We are students," Emily smiled then, all but beaming. John wondered where she'd picked up that bizarre accent of hers.

"Students? So... what happened to you? How'd you come to be by yourselves out in the middle of nowhere?" He realized that he was probably going beyond polite conversation by now, but it needed to be asked.

At this question, Emily's features fell back into the brooding, concerned frown she'd presented for most of the trip. Her mood shifts were even more bizarre than her accent, John decided.

"Someone hurt her," she whispered, looking back into the back seat at her numb companion. "Hurt her badly, and in bad way."

John took his eyes from the road for a moment to glance back at the silent redhead lying in his back seat. Terri merely lay there, eyes open, yet seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. He wondered if she'd even blinked once the whole trip. Then, he glanced back at Emily, again noticing that her clothes were tattered and stained with her own blood. "It looks like someone hurt you pretty badly too," he pointed out.

Emily inspected the claw-shaped gouges on her arms. "Hmmmm... Yes, must do something about that." Then, much to John's shock, she took off the torn sweater, tossing it into the floor beside her duffel bag. The shock was not so much from the action as from the fact that she hadn't been wearing anything underneath it, unless you counted the almost invisible wisps of fur.

John looked back at the empty freeway then, determined not to notice the half-naked mutant girl in his passenger's seat. "Um... what're you doing?"

"Cleaning," she answered, simply.

For a long while, John tried to figure this one out. Miles and minutes passed. Then, curiosity gnawing at him, he chanced a brief glance in her direction.

She was licking her wounds.

Interstate 5, south of Seattle, WA 10:06 pm PDT

It took Ric the better part of three minutes to find the controls for the windshield wipers in the dark. The bug had no dome light, and the instrument lights were not nearly enough. He'd never needed the wipers back in La Jolla, and now, out of nowhere, he seemed to have driven right into a monsoon. No light sprinkles, no soft patter of drops -- just a wall of torrential downpour.

Finally, he got the wipers working, and that helped a little. Now, rather than huge drops streaking across the windshield, he had a thin film of smeared water completely obscuring his vision. Perfect.

Rain.

Rain beating on his roof.

Rain falling in sheets thick enough to sleep on.

Rain reflecting the light of his low-beams back at him.

Rain filling his ears with sound.

Rain was the last thing he wanted to think about now.

He turned up the radio, but it was playing a commercial. Flipping the station, he found another one playing Peter Gabriel's "Red Rain."

That had been their song...

He shut the radio off, swearing over the sound of the rain.

After he ran out of things to say, he reached over into the passenger's seat and fumbled in his pack until he found an open pack of smokes. He tried to shake one out, but it spilled the entire pack out on the seat.

Something told him the night wasn't going to get much better.

Determined not to let this bother him, he snatched up one of the spilled cigarettes and stuck it between his lips. Then, he began a frantic search for the dashboard lighter. He knew it had to be down there somewhere... Taking his eyes from the road for a moment, he squinted at the black vinyl dash, trying to make out any features he could.

The next thing he heard was a blaring horn in his ears. While looking down, he'd drifted out of his lane, and nearly run into a Volvo that had crept up into his blind spot. With a vague cry of panic, he grabbed the wheel with both hands and wrenched it back to the left.

The wet asphalt did the rest. Ric swerved away from the Volvo, but quickly lost control. He instinctively slammed his foot down on the brake, which only served to send the bug hydroplaning along the fast lane, at a nearly perpendicular angle.

Ric then did what came naturally. He closed his eyes and braced his arms against the steering wheel, not wanting to see what would happen next.

There was a sense of vertigo, of spinning, and then a jolt that nearly slammed him into the wheel. This was followed by a scraping sound, and at length, a jarring stop that nearly snapped his arms. This time he did hit his head on the wheel, and this stinging pain was all he felt for a few moments.

Then, he opened his eyes and looked up. He'd run off the road and into the center divider.

Shaking, and sober for the first time in many hours, he tried to open his door, but it was wedged against the divider. Suddenly desperate to get out, he lunged across the front seat, opened the opposite door, and dragged himself out.

Rain poured down on him, cooling him off and waking him up from his panic. He looked at the stalled bug, lights still shining into the downpour, and realized that he'd been lucky. If he'd hit the divider head-on, he'd have gone through the windshield. If the car had flipped over, he'd have been squished. If he'd hit the Volvo, he could have killed not only himself, but someone else.

And if he didn't get out of there right quick, a cop would notice him, and that would mean an accident report, and police hassles, and...

...and probably a breathalizer test. Which was exactly what he didn't need.

Making a brief inspection of the crash site, he found the left front fender about twenty yards behind him. It had been stripped off by his first impact with the divider. Not wanting to leave behind any evidence, he ran back, picked it up, and carried it back, throwing it into the back seat next to his case of Corona. He then checked the driver's side, and found it badly scraped against the concrete wall. At least nothing else seemed to be missing, though.

In all this time, he counted maybe five cars passing in either direction, and wondered what had possessed that Volvo to ride in his blind spot with all this open freeway. He yelled out a few good curses in the direction it had gone; it made him feel a little better, at least.

Then, wasting no more time, he climbed back in through the open door, and got back into the driver's seat, making a special effort to put his seat belt on this time. Pausing a moment to slick his now-soaked hair back out of his eyes, he turned the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

With a sudden sinking feeling, he realized that he might be in more serious trouble than he knew.

He turned the key again, and this time, miraculously, it started. "All right," he whooped, getting back into gear and pulling back out onto the freeway. It seemed to be steering okay, and the pickup was just fine.

Nevertheless, he took the first exit he could find, and pulled off the interstate, into a clump of roadside restaurants. Slowly and carefully, he made his way into the parking lot of an all-night Burger King and pulled into the first available space.

Only after he parked did he realize that his heart was still hammering against his ribs. Maybe a burger and some fries would calm him down a little bit. At the very least, it would give him a little time for his BAC level to go back down. He imagined he wouldn't be drinking again for a few days.

When he finally tried to open his door, he found that he couldn't. Apparently he'd bent it badly in the crash, and it didn't want to open more than an inch. With a sound that was half sigh and half growl, he closed it again, locked it, and clambered over to get out through the opposite door.

It was still raining when he got out, so he grabbed his denim jacket out of the back seat and held it over his head as he raced across the parking lot.

Massachusetts Academy, 1:06 am EDT

Frost took a deep breath to conceal her mounting impatience. "Once again, Tessa, tell me what you remember."

Her assistant glared at her. "That's what I'm trying to tell you, Emma: I don't remember."

The interview/interrogation session with Tessa, Lieutenant Chapman, and sentries Avery, Jones and Stewart had been filled with such claims, and Frost was finding it infuriating. "Lieutenant," Frost said in a dangerous tone, "it seems your story isn't checking out."

"I'm telling you everything I know!" Chapman insisted, holding his aching head in both hands. "Miss Tessa came into the dorm, brought me some coffee, asked me for a status report, and we had a little small-talk before she left. After that... I blacked out. I remember seeing that the sentries weren't at their posts, but after that, nothing."

"And you don't recall this visit, Tessa?" Frost asked her assistant.

"Emma, listen to me," Tessa sighed. "I'm not saying that I didn't do it. I'm saying that I don't remember doing it."

"What do you mean, you don't remember? You remember everything!"

"I know that! But there's a blank spot where the last eight hours ought to be. I remember everything until my workout at the gym this afternoon, and then nothing. Zero." She was getting frantic, as she'd never experienced anything like this.

Frost touched her assistant's mind, looking for this supposed blank spot. "Clear your head, Tessa," she instructed, "and I'll see if I can help you remember."

Tessa nodded, closing her eyes and taking a centering breath. Chapman exchanged nervous looks with the other three, not too keen on this display of telepathic power.

Projecting her consciousness forward, Frost strengthened her link with her assistant. She'd always liked Tessa's mind -- it was so neatly organized and uncluttered by random thoughts -- far more analytical than most non-mutants she'd encountered in her years. Tessa's memories were laid out in perfect order and sequence, like books on a shelf.

Then, she found the gap of which Tessa had spoken. The continuity was disrupted by a sudden cessation of memory. Books missing off the shelf, as it were. It wasn't a period of unconsciousness, though, so much as an erasure. Whatever had happened here, it had been wholly unnatural. Someone had gone into Tessa's mind and erased several hours of her life. The first thing she remembered after the blackout was being found lying in the hedges surrounding the hall, along with Avery, Jones and Stewart.

"I don't like this," she whispered as she broke contact. "Anything could have happened in that time, and you'd never have known."

"I know," Tessa nodded, the worry returning to her eyes. "So you'll excuse me if I'm feeling a little shaken."

"You're feeling a little shaken?" Chapman snorted, still cradling his head in his hands. He was covering his fear well, Frost noted, putting it all behind a facade of annoyance.

"Lieutenant, may I examine your memory?" Frost asked him, then.

He looked up at her questioningly, as if he hadn't understood. "How's that again?"

"I would like to examine your memory. Perhaps there is a similar lapse to account for your sudden, unexplained narcolepsy this evening."

"Well... yeah, I guess. Go ahead." He was trying very hard not to be nervous, but he knew as well as she that this would be the only way to prove his story.

She slipped back into a telepathic trance and latched onto his mind, easily bypassing his moderate defenses and seeking out his memory. Here, she found his encounter with Tessa, just as he'd described it. Shortly thereafter, there was a blur of sudden exhaustion, and then the blackness of unconsciousness. It was not the same void that Tessa had experienced, however: merely an induced lack of consciousness.

"Well," she said, breaking contact, "it seems you've been telling the truth, Lieutenant. As for you three, I'll have to examine each of you as well."

Stewart and Avery looked across at each other, eyes wide, but Jones spoke up. "Alright," she said, her voice even. "I'll go first, if you'd like."

"Thank you," Frost nodded, reaching out and making mental contact with her.

After checking each of the three sentries, she found that they shared much the same story. Each of them had been on guard at their posts when things rapidly blurred, as they had with Chapman, and each of them had felt an overpowering desire to find a place to sleep. Comparing these memories temporally, she found that this sleep-command had struck each of the three sentries in turn, and then Chapman several minutes later. Their training in psychic defense had been useless against their attacker.

Finally, she sat back and looked at them. "Alright," she nodded. "You're dismissed. Chapman, Avery, Stewart, Jones, you'll be escorted to your quarters. We can continue the questioning in the morning."

"Thank you, ma'am," Chapman nodded, with no small amount of relief. He and the others stood to go, but not before he shot Tessa a positively venomous look.

As they left, Chief DeCandido poked his head in again. "I've got an update, if you're interested."

"In a moment, Chief," she nodded to him. "Tessa, dear, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to confine you to quarters until we find out what's been done to you, and whether or not it may yet be a threat."

"I understand," Tessa replied. "That would probably be best for now."

Frost nodded again, then watched as Tessa was escorted out by a pair of DeCandido's backup guards. This again left her alone with the Chief. "Report," she sighed.

"No results from the spiral search at the crash site," he told her. "I've got Mack tracing the flyer's trajectory, like you asked, but there wasn't much of a sample. We don't have anything concrete yet."

"And you came down here to tell me that?" she snapped.

"No, I came here to remind you that the Sheriff is going to need to know about this eventually. This is homicide, Emma, and we can't just sweep it under the rug. There are already rumors spreading. We need to make an official report..."

"Without arousing suspicion," she finished for him. "And won't that be a trick..."

"You sound like you don't even care that he's dead," he pointed out.

"To be honest, Chief, I'm still too shocked to know what I feel. I wasn't expecting him ever to return, you see. But yes, I care, because he was a student of mine, and his death is now unavoidably intertwined with the disappearance of two others. I have to care, or I may never see those two again. So you get to work on what we're going to tell the Sheriff, and I'll go check in with your assistant."

"Emma, it's late, and you're looking pretty strung-out. Maybe you should take your own advice and get a little rest."

"I'm still on Australian time, Chief; I've a ways to go yet."

Interstate 95, near Bridgeport, CT 1:18 am EDT

John really wasn't sure how to bring this up to his carjacker, but tension was mounting quickly, and things were building up to a level of urgency that he could not contain for long.

"Excuse me... Emily?"

Emily had been gazing out the window at the passing lights of the city, but at the sound of his voice, she looked around and fixed her bizarre eyes on him. (At least she'd put her sweater back on by now -- that was one less distraction to deal with.) "Yes, writerguy?"

"Um... I don't know how to put this delicately, but... I have to relieve myself pretty quick here... I've been on the road a long time now..."

She gave him a puzzled look. "Relieve?"

"You know... Use the bathroom."

"Oh!" she smiled, comprehension dawning. "Okay. Find place to stop."

Somehow, John hadn't expected her to be so agreeable about it, but by now, he was beginning to expect the unexpected from her. He took the next exit, and was able to find a 24-hour service station to pull into. The place was completely empty at this hour, and looking into the mini-mart, it looked like the night cashier had fallen asleep at his counter. Maybe from here he could make a break for it. There were worse things than being stranded in the middle of Connecticut without a car, after all...

As he pulled the car to a halt next to the self-serve island, though, he noticed a pair of payphones near the restroom doors, and this gave him another idea.

"Um... Emily, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "What something?"

"Would it be okay if I... called my wife? She was expecting me home a while ago, and she's probably worried. I want to tell her I'm okay."

Her eyes went round. "Writerguy has wife? Family, too?"

"Uh, yeah. Three kids."

"Does writerguy love wife and kids?"

John was somewhat taken aback by this question. Emily looked completely serious, though; this was a question of some import to her. He found himself with a sick, numb feeling of what she and her friend might have just gone through... "Yes, of course I love them. They're an important part of my life."

Emily seemed to like this answer, as her smile returned. "Okay, then. Use loo and call wife. Will wait here for you."

"Thanks," he nodded, opening the car door and stepping out.

He decided to take care of the more pressing business first. Besides, he wouldn't be able to make an effective run for it if he were about to burst. Once through in the washroom, he cautiously peeked out, to see that Emily was poking around inside the car, not paying attention to him.

Making a dash just wasn't going to work. With cat eyes and a cat tail, she probably had a cat's nose and a cat's speed as well. Having seen her wicked-looking nails earlier, he didn't want to chance upsetting her.

Instead, he walked up to the phone stall, trying to look nonchalant. He picked up the receiver, keyed in his calling-card number (he didn't have enough change on him to call all the way back to Boston), and dialed home. As he waited for the call to go through, he turned to look back at the car.

Emily had opened one of the back doors, and brought the unconscious Terri out into the air. She carried her to the nearby self-serve island, and propped her up in a seated position on the curb, supporting her and trying to brush some of the tangles out of her long hair. Emily was smiling softly, and quietly murmuring to Terri, looking for all the world as though she were trying to reassure her. Terri was oblivious, of course, but Emily went on. At one point, she pointed to John, turned Terri to look in his direction, and then waved to him, smiling. He waved back, suddenly wishing he could hear what she was saying.

At that point, the call finally went through. After two rings, Ellen picked up at the other end. "Hello?" she said, sleepily.

"Hi, honey. It's me."

"John!" she half-yawned. "Sweetie, where are you? It's so late!"

For a moment, he did not respond. He'd been planning to have her call the police and notify them of the kidnapping, but now, he wasn't sure what to say. "Uh, I've had a little trouble, hon."

"I should say. I was worried about you."

"How're the kids?"

"They're all asleep, John. Where are you?"

All the while, he'd been watching Emily carefully. He hadn't been able to catch much of the one-way conversation, but at that moment, watching the movements of her lips carefully, he was able to read the words she'd been saying over and over again: "We're going to be alright."

"Uh, well, I've had car trouble. I'm getting it taken care of now, but it might be a while until I get back. Give 'em all a kiss for me, could you?"

"Of course," she said, and he could hear her sleepy smile in her voice. "I'm sorry about the car, John. Are you going to be okay?"

Looking right at Emily, John nodded, though he knew his wife wouldn't see. "Yeah. I'll be alright."

"Alright. Love you."

"Love you too, Ellen. Go back to sleep."

"Okay. G'night."

"Good night."

He waited until she hung up before replacing the receiver and taking a deep breath. He hoped he wouldn't live to regret this. Or die to regret it, for that matter.

Letting out the breath in a quiet sigh, he walked up to where the two girls were sitting, and crouched beside them. "How is she?" he asked.

"Don't know," Emily frowned. Then, her expression brightened somewhat as she looked up at him. "Know where to go now, though."

"Where? Is it far?"

"Oh, not much further."

McKinley Shell, Seattle, WA 10:53 pm PDT

On the opposite coast, another weary traveller pulled into a similar all-night service station, parking under the metallic awning surrounding the gas pumps to get out of the rain.

Ric clambered back out of the passenger-side door, then looked around, a somewhat disgusted look on his face. In all this time, the storm had shown no signs of letting up, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

He found a grizzled-looking old dude sitting in a chair outside the station proper, giving him a careful examination. The guy looked like he'd be more at home running some seedy little shop somewhere in the southwest.

"I need to get some unleaded," Ric offered.

"California plates," the man replied.

"Excuse me?"

"Ya got California plates."

"Uh, yeah. That's where I'm from."

"What'cha doin' here, then?"

"Driving. Can I get some gas?"

"How'd ya lose your fender?"

Ric was beginning to lose his patience, as well. "I got sideswiped, okay? And what's it to you, Grandad? I just want to get some gas and get outta here, okay?"

The old man nodded at his explanation, but it was clear he didn't believe it. "Sure enough." He got up out of his chair with some effort, then went into his little booth to turn on the pump. Ric mumbled something best left unsaid and unscrewed his gas cap, taking the nozzle down from the pump and proceeding to fill the tank.

"That must'a been some sideswipe," came the man's voice then, very close by.

Ric started, nearly spilling gas all down the side of the bug. The guy had crept back up on him, and was checking out the scrunched-up driver's-side door. "Jesus, man, what's your damage?"

"Ain't my damage, son," he nodded, pointing at the door. "Looks like your damage to me."

"Profound," Ric muttered, turning the other way and waiting for the tank to fill. For a while, he just let himself watch the changing numbers on the pump display. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the old guy go back to his booth.

Finally, the tank filled, and he shut the pump off, hanging the nozzle back up in its place. Suddenly, there was a loud metallic squeal, nearly making Ric leap up out of his shoes. He whipped around to see "Grandad" standing there, crowbar in hand, next to the now-open driver's-side door.

"No charge," he said, simply, indicating the door.

"How'd you do that?" Ric asked. "I couldn't get it to..."

"A knack," Grandad shrugged. "I c'n put the fender back on if ya want, but that'll cost ya."

"Nah, that's okay, dude. Uh, thanks."

"Weren't no big thing."

Ric considered this, shrugged, then fished in his pocket for some cash to pay for the gas. "Hey, does it rain here a lot?"

"All the time. Yep, we get nothin' but rain up in these parts."

"Really," Ric frowned, sounding none too pleased.

"Yep. Prolly not used to it where you're from, but that's how it is. Lots'a folks don't like rain. Me, I love it. I jus' sit out here and listen to it most nights."

There was certainly a lot to listen to. The sound of the heavy drops against the aluminum roof above was almost deafening. "I guess that's cool if you're into that kind of thing," Ric observed.

"How 'bout you, son? You like rain?"

"That's a good question," Ric replied, under his breath.

"How's that again?"

Ric blinked at him, clearing his head. "Nothing, nothing. You know any good motels near here?"

"Yeah, we got us a Travelodge 'bout a half a mile that way," Grandad nodded, pointing off down the road. "Take the second light to your left, it'll be on your right side. Ya can't miss it."

"Cool. Thanks a lot, man."

"Just doin' my job," Grandad grinned, knowingly.

Ric nodded. "Right," he said slowly. He then got back in the bug, closed the creaking door, and started it up.

Before he could pull away, though, Grandad knocked on his window. Ric opened it up and looked out at him. "Yeah?"

"Don'cha want your change?"

"Nah. Keep it."

"Much obliged. So, you gonna be in Seattle long, son?"

Ric thought about this. "Probably not."

Grandad nodded, twisting one corner of his mouth into a smile. "Take care out there. Road gets slippery in the rain."

"Yeah, I've noticed. Take it easy."

Ric pulled away, waiting until he was out of the station before he grinned. "Pretty Zen, Grandad," he muttered to himself as he drove away down the road.

Grandad watched him go until his taillights disappeared into the rain, then went back to his chair and sat down, waiting for the next one.

McAudry House, La Jolla CA 11:04 pm PDT

Over the past few days, watching the news had become a nightly ritual around the house. Normally, most of them were too wrapped up in college life and their own unique problems to deal with current events, but that was becoming rapidly impossible.

Fires were sweeping over southern California, set either by arsonists or by accident (no one could be sure), blown from tiny blazes to raging hundred-acre infernos by the hot, dry Santa Anna winds blowing in from the coast. Countless homes had been lost, and damage was well into the millions in just a few days.

What was the most maddening was that there wasn't anything they could do about it. A linguist, an illusion-casting pseudo-telepath, a werewolf, and a technoid wouldn't be any good against this.

This night, like the past few, found Doug, Dani, Rahne and Warlock in the whatever room, tuning in the 11:00 report to see the latest. Earlier that day, a couple of smaller fires had broken out in the San Diego area as well, and they wanted to see if they'd been contained yet.

"Fire still rages along the coast tonight, but finally, there is a ray of hope for those Californians still threatened, as Jon Lawrence reports."

The scene went from the concerned-looking anchorwoman to the scene of a blazing hillside in Malibu. Rahne grimaced at the sight, leaning against Dani. "I hate fire," she whispered. "I hate it."

"I know, kiddo," Dani said, reassuringly, as the reporter's voice went on.

"For several days, now, fire has threatened lives, destroyed homes, and taxed the strength of local firefighters as never before. Now, however, they have been joined in their task by two very different firefighters, and for the first time, it looks as though there may be hope."

From there, they went to an aerial shot, taken through a shaky telephoto lens, which showed two figures in a small pocket of smoldered ground, surrounded by fire on all sides. One of them, a man dressed in yellow, seemed to be shooting flames out of his arms. Upon closer examination, though, it was apparent that he was in fact drawing them in, channeling them up away from the ground to be dissipated. As they watched, the other, a man dressed all in black, suddenly seemed to sprout huge black wings, not unlike Rachel Summers's Phoenix-effect, and picked the other one up, carrying him along the edge of the fire. Together, they extinguished a still greater area, creating a path to the edge of the blaze.

"The man controlling the flames has been identified as Pyro, formerly of the government-sponsored mutant group Freedom Force. The other has been identified as Shadowwing, a local hero from the Santa Barbara area. While some have been quick to point to these two metahumans as the source of it all, it has become quickly apparent over the past few hours that they are doing far more to control the fire than to speed it along. Pyro alone has reduced the area of the fire to half its previous size, while Shadowwing has made a series of dramatic rescues, working alongside local firefighters in evacuating the local residential areas, as well as the endangered Pepperdine University."

"Who is that?" Dani asked, as the scene switched to Shadowwing, his enormous black wings eclipsing the fire as he flew a circuit around the area.

"I read about this guy a while ago," Doug nodded. "He and this other mutant are working out of UCSB, kind of like us. They screwed up bad, though."

"What d'you mean?" Dani queried, looking over at him.

"Ssh!" Rahne shushed, trying to listen as the announcer went on.

"With the assistance of two men, a pyrokinetic and a telekinetic, the balance has shifted dramatically in a very short time, and if these efforts continue, southern California may be safe by dawn. Jon Lawrence, KSDL News."

They switched back to the anchorwoman. "Thank you, Jon. In related news, the Santa Barbara vigilante Shadowwing and his partner Wolfsong are still wanted for questioning after their involvement in a metahuman battle that left sections of the University of California at Santa Barbara severely damaged, with minor injuries to several students."

From there, they went on to a break, so Dani hit the mute button on the remote control and looked back at Doug. "So who is this guy?"

Doug shrugged. "He was in the papers a few days ago after that fight they talked about. That's what I meant by their screwing up, though. They went public with their powers and their hero identities, and said they were going to clean the crime and the drugs out of the area. They set themselves up, and they got nailed. Now, they're wanted. We can't let that happen to us."

"Aye, but he seems a noble enough fellow," Rahne pointed out. "He's helpin' with those horrid fires."

"Yeah," Doug nodded. "I think calling him a vigilante's a bit harsh. Hell, I'd like to meet the guy sometime." After a pause, he suddenly looked exceedingly annoyed about something. "You know what ticks me off?"

"I am dying," Dani smirked.

"It takes this guy and effing Pyro to finally do something about this whole mess. No one else stepped in."

Warlock finally spoke up. "Self wonders at actions of Pyro-entity, so often considered villainous by standards of X-Men."

"Aye, but he's in the flames while they're nowhere to be found," Rahne nodded.

"And we're stuck here watching," Doug huffed.

"Doug, you know we don't have that kind of power," Dani pointed out. "If I still had my old wish-creating powers, maybe, but they're gone now."

"I know, I know," Doug said, shaking his head. "But where are the ones with the power? Rahne's right; where's bloody Storm, who could have put that thing out with one big downpour? Why aren't the X-Men doing a thing about this? And where were they for the floods a few months ago?"

"In the Danger Room?" Dani ventured.

"Or out fightin' Mister Sinister, I'd guess," Rahne sighed.

"It bugs me," Doug went on. "Why can't they use their powers where they're really needed?"

"Self believes question to be rhetorical."

"You pegged it, 'Lock."

"Well, hey, we've got this big mutant summit meeting coming up," Dani put in. "What say we bring it up to them there?"

"Oh!" Rahne exclaimed, somewhat surprised. "I forgot all about it. Are we still goin'?"

"I'd like to," Doug nodded. "It'll give us a chance to air some things out, that's for sure."

"You look like you can't wait."

"Oh, let's just say I've got a few questions to ask, Chief."

Manhattan Island, NY, near Pennsylvania Station 4:24 am EDT

John hurried across West 33rd street, steadying the bundle under his arm with his free hand. He was somewhat amazed to see that the car was still there where he'd left it, parked under a "No Standing" sign on West 33rd. Emily had promised to watch the car while he was running her errands for her, and apparently she had been true to her word.

He opened up the driver's-side door and slipped into the car, setting the bag he was carrying onto his lap. Emily, sitting in the passenger's seat, looked up at him and gave him one of her grins. He was somewhat surprised to see that she'd found a copy of his novel, and had been reading it while he'd been away. "Hello, writerguy! All well?"

"Most of it, yeah," John replied, rummaging in the bag to pull out its contents. "I wasn't able to find new clothes for you, as such. There's almost no place open around here; I found an all-night tourist trap kind of place, but that was all." Here, he pulled out a couple of big grey sweatshirts with the "I-Heart-N-Y" logo on them and passed them to her. "This should help a little. At least you'll be mostly decent. I also got a couple of hats, if it'll help."

Emily took the hat he offered her and studied it carefully. It had the same logo as the sweatshirt; with the two pieces together, she'd look like any other tourist with purple hair and a tail...

"Nice," she nodded. "Did remember shades, writerguy?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right..." John nodded, digging further down into the bag and pulling out two pairs of cheap sunglasses. "They're not Ray-Bans, but they're dark enough that no one'll see your eyes."

"Oh, very fine," she grinned, putting on a pair and turning the rear- view mirror so that she could admire herself. "Will work wonderfully."

"I was able to find you a backpack, though, like you asked," John went on, pulling out the last and largest item in the sack -- a red and black vinyl pack. "This'll hopefully be big enough for all your stuff."

Emily nodded again, taking the shades off and setting them on the dashboard in front of her. She reached to take off her sweater again, and this time John had time to avert his eyes first. After a pause and the sound of shuffling fabric, he looked back to see that she'd slipped on the baggy New York sweatshirt, then the hat. She looked almost comical with the cap on, as her shaggy hair seemed to explode out beneath it. She then unzipped the backpack and stuffed her tattered sweater into it, followed by her green duffel bag. "Did not find rolling chair, though?"

"I'm sorry, Emily, I checked the station, and everywhere else, but there weren't any wheelchair rentals. The place isn't very accessible with 'em anyway." He checked the back seat to see that Terri was still lying there, dead to the world. "I'm afraid you'll have to carry her."

"Can do," Emily whispered, continuing to nod to herself. She was about to zip up the pack, but then she paused, considering the book in her lap. "May take this with, please?" she asked, holding it up to show him. "Is wonderful book; would like to read more."

"Sure," he shrugged, not ready to debate the issue. With a nervous, almost flippant fit of generosity, he added "I'll even autograph it for you, if you'd like. I've got plenty of copies at home, anyway."

"Would really?" she smiled, eyes getting huge again. She passed the book into his hands. "Thank you!"

John took the book and fished a pen out of his pocket to sign the inside cover. As he did, Emily popped open her door, stepped out of the car, and opened the back door. Poking in, she moved Terri into a seated position, then proceeded to help her into the other sweater and cap. John set the book down on the top of the pack and turned in his seat to look at the two of them. "Anything else I can do?" he asked. After all, the sooner he could get them on their way, the sooner he could get home to Ellen and the kids.

"Done much already, writerguy, and thank you." She smiled, but didn't look up, as she was intent on getting Terri's arms through the sleeves of the sweatshirt. Finally, she had her friend dressed, and as ready to go as she could be, given the circumstances. Here, at last, Emily looked across the seat at him. "One question, though. Where we going?"

"Well, you said as far south as you could get, as soon as possible, so I got you two tickets on a train to Atlanta that's leaving in about half an hour," he replied, taking a ticket envelope from his jacket pocket and passing it to her. "Is that far enough?"

"Atlanta..." Emily repeated, getting a distant look in her eyes. "Is in Georgia, yes?"

"Yeah. There was another train going as far as Tampa, but it wasn't leaving for another couple of hours."

"Did good, writerguy. Muchthanks." She reached over the seat to take the book and the pack. After setting the one inside the other, she slung it over her shoulders, and reached around to stuff her tail down the leg of her pants. "Now show where stationplace is, please."

"Right," John nodded. He closed and locked the doors of the car, then circled the car to where she was standing. Emily had Terri in her arms, one arm supporting her back, the other beneath her bent knees.

It was only then, standing next to Emily, that John realized how tall she was. She also seemed to be carrying her friend with little to no effort. Feeling the need to do something, John adjusted Terri's hat and sunglasses to make sure they'd stay on.

"It's this way," he said then, leading the way across the nearly empty street. It was only a couple of blocks from there to the entrance to Penn station, and they (thankfully) didn't run into anyone along the way.

"Your train leaves from Gate 6," John explained. "You go down an escalator, then down a flight of stairs, and then down another escalator to the gate once your train's ready to board. Your seat numbers are on the tickets."

"Okay," Emily nodded, turning to face him. She took a deep breath and sighed. "Thank you, John."

For a moment, John was too stunned by the sound of his real name to reply. "Ah, you're welcome. I hope everything works out for you."

"Um... here," she said, holding Terri out to him. "Hold her for a moment."

John took Terri into his arms, seeing as he had very little choice in the matter. Emily took the pack down from her shoulders, unzipped it, then reached into the duffel bag within and pulled out a wad of crumpled green paper. She then put the pack back on and stuffed the wad into his hand, taking Terri back in the process. Before John could react, she leaned forward, gave him a big kiss on the lips, and then retreated into the station, throwing one last smile over her shoulder as she went.

He watched until she disappeared from view, and only then looked down into his hand. She'd given him a handful of bills, and upon closer inspection, he saw Ben Franklin looking back at him from each one. Pausing a moment to count them, he realized that she'd just given him upwards of two thousand dollars. One last time, he wondered at the circumstances that had brought them into his evening.

Then, he decided not to worry about it for now. He still had a long way to go.

"Good luck, you two," he sighed, leaving the station and heading back to his car. Four or five more hours, and this would all be behind him.
 
 

The first escalator was not working, so Sharon made her way down in a half-sideways manner, hugging Marie-Ange as close to her body as she could. By now, they were in a more crowded area, and as could be expected, they were getting a few looks from the late-night denizens. She ignored them.

The stairs were somewhat easier, as it turned out. Following the signs for directions, she found her way to the waiting area, where a few dozen other travellers were doing as the name of the place implied. She was able to find two seats next to each other and relatively out of the way, so she set Marie-Ange down in one before taking off her pack and sitting down in the other.

She looked back the way she'd come, as though still expecting to be followed. At least writerguy was out of danger now. She hadn't had any choice but to involve him, of course, as her need had been desperate, but it was good nonetheless that he was no longer part of the chase.

Here, she made a puzzled face, then pulled out his book and looked inside the front cover, to see what he had written. She had a bit of trouble with his handwriting (as she did with handwriting in general), but gradually, she made it out.

Emily-

Best of luck to the both of you. Go with the Lord,
and find the peace that you seek.

-John Terra

Eyes were upon her. She looked over to see someone across the waiting area leering at her. When he noticed he'd caught her attention, he nodded and winked. Sharon took off her sunglasses for a moment, and let her gaze bore into him; eventually, it was he who looked away, unable to keep eye contact. Catseye could probably stare down a mirror, after all.

The waiting was the most tense part. Before, they had been moving, and now, they had to stop and wait before they could move again. At any time, their pursuers could come to take them, and Sharon had sworn to redhair that this would not happen. There was nothing she could do to make the train come any faster, though, so she waited, whispering encouragements to her friend. "Be safe soon, sweet redhair. Be far away soon."

After an interminable length of time, the announcement was made that the train was ready to board at Gate 6, so Sharon pulled their tickets out of the pack, studied the seat assignments for a moment, then put the pack on and picked redhair up again. Soon, she was lost amidst the small crowd, as they headed down a second escalator (this one was actually working) and to the platform, where the train was boarding.

Catseye had not spent much of her life aboard trains, but she was able to figure out pretty quickly where to go. Within a couple of minutes, she found her way into her car, and maneuvered down the aisle to their seats. A conductor nearly ran into them as they went, and gave her an odd look as they righted themselves.

"What's with her?" he asked, pointing to Marie-Ange.

"Po' thing's all tuckered out," Sharon replied in a deep southern drawl. "Time for us t'be headin' out."

He checked their tickets nonetheless. "Atlanta, eh?" he muttered, looking at them both. "Alright, sit down."

With a convincing enough smile, Sharon set Marie-Ange down in a window seat, then took the one next to it for herself. "Thankee kindly, sir," she said to him.

He leaned a little closer as Sharon stowed her pack beneath the seat. "She had a little much?"

"Beg pardon?" Sharon asked, looking back at him.

"A little too much to drink? Y'know?"

Sharon raised her eyebrows, as though considering this. "Don't think so."

He didn't seem convinced. "Yeah, well if she looks like she's gonna throw up, just get her to the facilities, okay?"

"Sure thing," Sharon nodded, amiably. "Thanks f'r bein' so concerned, sir."

"Yeah. No problem." He punched their tickets and moved on.

After he was gone, Sharon let out a long sigh, and slouched in her seat. This was not the way to be travelling. Like it or not, her looks and redhair's condition were arousing suspicion. Once they got to Atlanta, there would have to be a change of plans.

Not to mention a shopping trip. Studying her ticket, she saw that it would be hours until they reached Atlanta. And they had no music. Catseye had always travelled with a walkman, and being without one was strange for her. In Atlanta, she'd find a place to stay, then go out and buy them what they needed. Money wasn't a problem anymore, after all.

At long last, the train started moving, and Catseye smiled softly. She'd gotten away for now, and brought redhair with her, safely. Quite a bit the worse for wear, unfortunately, but they had one another. When redhair woke, Catseye would tell her that they were safe, and that no one would ever hurt her again.

Massachusetts Academy, 8:41 am EDT

By the time the remaining Hellions arrived from Australia, the situation was nothing short of complete chaos. Rumors were spreading like wildfire, in spite of Pathfinder's continued refusal to tell anyone what he had seen during his teleportational jaunt to the Academy. Cajolements and threats had not broken through his shocked silence, and the result was sixteen very confused and angry young mutants.

Frost was there to meet them in the hangar, having sensed the combined agitation of their very powerful thoughts from some distance. She needed to be there to meet them first thing, so that she could prevent this situation from getting any more out of hand.

Almost the very moment that the first of the two flyers touched down, Buford McGwynn threw open the main hatch and vaulted out, making a very determined beeline for Frost, followed at some distance by his teammates Bevatron and Embers.

"Alright, Miss Frost, I'm sick of the danged silent treatment! Now're you gonna tell us what the hell happened here?!"

"First, you're going to calm down, Buford," she said, coldly. She stared down his furious eyes for a moment, and at length, he relented.

"I dunno how y'expect me t'be calm when this little dude tells us there's been an emergency, but won't say what it is!" He said this last waving to Sean, who'd made a cautious approach along with the remaining Hellions.

"Miss Frost, I'm sorry, I tried..." Sean began.

"Enough, Sean," she nodded to him. "Buford, all of you, Sean was acting under my orders. Are you challenging my authority, then?"

There was a pause, then Buford looked down, still surly. "No, ma'am."

"Good. Now. All you need to know is that yes, there has been an emergency situation. You will all be briefed on what's happened later, when we have more accurately determined what exactly has happened. For now, you will report immediately to your emergency quarters in the Underground, where you may rest, but will be on alert status. For no reason, and I mean no reason, are any of you to leave the Underground until this evening's briefing, are we clear?"

There was some murmuring, but then, reluctantly, her students assented. "Good," she nodded. "All of you, report directly to the Underground, with no stops in between. Farsight, Rabbit, I want to see both of you. The rest of you are dismissed."

She turned her back then, so that there would be no spoken questions, but she heard them all in her mind. They wanted to know why she was keeping this from them, and what had happened to their friends. She could not tell them yet.

Eventually, most of them left, still whispering and muttering to one another, to be escorted to the Underground by Security. This left only two of her students: Marsha "Farsight" Wilson and Gilbert "Rabbit" Dane. They waited both patiently and nervously for the Headmistress to speak.

"I will need your assistance," Frost said at length, "in helping me to solve both a murder and a kidnapping."

She heard Marsha's sharp intake of breath, and turned to look at the two of them. Gilbert swallowed hard and spoke. "W-who...?" he managed.

"The one killed was no one you knew," she said, hoping that would be some comfort. "However, both Tarot and Catseye appear to have been taken, and not without brutal injury. Gilbert, I will need you to help me by checking the site for scents and tracks. Marsha, I need you to focus in on the past, and see if you can determine what occurred."

They were both visibly frightened by both her words and her cold exterior, but they were ready to help her. "Alright," Farsight nodded.

"Excellent. Come with me."

As they went, she put out a mindcall to Chief DeCandido. *Chief, meet me in Dent Hall in five minutes.*
 
 

Gilbert Dane had always been something less than an ideal student when it came to his mutant power. The ability to change his form into that of a rabbit was cute, but that was about all. He had no super-strength or healing factor in his rabbit form, he didn't have an in-between form like Catseye with which he could stomp on people with his huge rabbit feet, and he didn't have much by way of natural attacks. In his human form, he was a fairly mild-mannered, somewhat meek physical science major. In his rabbit form, he was a rabbit. Period.

Still, that rabbit form had proven useful in the past, and Frost hoped it would again. As a rabbit, he had excellent senses of smell and hearing, and he had been trained to use those abilities as best he could.

Of course, upon seeing Catseye's blood-spattered dorm room, his first reaction had been to bolt, as any sensible rabbit would at such a scene. Frost assured him, however, that the danger had passed for now, and she urged him to enter the room in rabbit-form to sniff it out. Reluctantly, he shifted forms and did so.

After a few minutes of searching, though, he came to the conclusion that there were no scents to find. Someone had apparently taken both an air-freshener and a spray deodorant and applied them in liberal doses to most of the room. The smell of blood was still overpowering, but beyond that, there was nothing to be scented over Spring Wind and Sport Talc. The same tactic had been used in Tarot's room as well, making it impossible for him to find anything in either place.

Frost sighed as he finished his search. "Thank you, Gilbert. That will be all. Marsha?"

Farsight looked uneasy. "Where should I start?"

"Catseye's room," Frost replied, leading the way back. Farsight and Rabbit followed behind her, as did a weary-looking DeCandido. "Chief, you believe this was the site of the initial attack?" she asked.

"It seems the most likely," DeCandido told her. "She was the more immediate danger, and if they'd attacked... the other room first, it probably would have caught her attention."

"Sensible," Frost nodded. "Alright. Farsight, if you would?"

"Um... Miss Frost, I'm still not very good at sensing the past; you know that."

"Don't worry, child, I'll be mindlinked with you, and I'll help you."

Farsight nodded quickly, then moved to the center of the room and stood very still. She began to enter a practiced trance, and all of the blood seemed to leave her face, making her chocolate-colored skin seem a shade of dull grey. A look of concentration came over Frost's face as she established a link with the girl. Outside of this rapport, Gilbert shot a nervous glance at the Security Chief, but DeCandido was too busy watching to notice.

For a while, the joined minds sensed only the present. Marsha's psychic senses were moving along with the flow of time, sensing only what was around her.

*Now,* Frost sent to her, *move back, and show me what you sense. Don't worry; I'll be with you.*

Then, quite suddenly, time stopped. Marsha had effectively separated her clairvoyance from the flow of time, and was holding herself at one moment. Frost immediately lost contact with these "extra" senses, as her own consciousness was carried on with the "present." This was tremendously disorienting, as she was now only in contact with the subdued, barely conscious parts of Farsight's mind, while the rest seemed to plummet back in time, becoming a mere echo to Frost's telepathy.

*Good. Now go on; move yourself into the past. Concentrate. Tell me everything. Speak out loud, so the others may hear.*

In her trance, Marsha nodded. "There is... little to sense..." she said, her voice lifeless and monotone. "There is... fear. I feel... yes, it is fear. I sense Security searching the room... they're agitated, and uncertain, but... there's still a lingering fear..."

*Go back, Marsha. Find the source, if you can.*

Frost felt Farsight's mind slip still further away as time pulled her in one direction, and her power pulled her in the other. Her clairvoyant powers were now just the faintest of echoes, but still, she managed to stay whole.

"I... I've found it. Jetstream was here, I think it was... last night. Roulette is with him. They... see what's happened, and they're scared... scared for Catseye, and for... It's not very clear."

*Go further, if you can. Find out what happened.*

"I... I... can't!" Marsha's eyes flew open, and she rocked back on her heels as mind jolted back into body. Frost felt a wave of psychic backlash as her senses caught up with the rest of her, and she broke the link between them.

"It's alright, Farsight, it's alright," Frost assured her.

Marsha looked confused. "There was... nothing! It's so strange, but all I could sense was Jetstream and Roulette coming into the room and finding it like this. Before that... it's like a void... as though no one ever lived here."

"I thought that might be the case," Frost sighed. Several days before, when Brainwash had made his threat on Catseye's life, Marsha had been unable to find him in the past. Her power allowed her to sense the psychic "residue," or the impressions left by thoughts in an area. Devin had always been good at hiding his thoughts; he had no doubt been careful not to leave any residue to read. And of course, Catseye was a blank spot to psychic powers, so from Marsha's point of view, it would be as though Sharon had never existed.

"I'm sorry," Farsight whispered, shaking her head. "Would you like me to try again?"

"Yes, but not here," Frost nodded. "I doubt there will be anything more to find. We should try Tarot's room, however."

Without another word, she led the quartet back down the hall to what was left of Marie-Ange's sanctum. She took a moment to review their thoughts; Gilbert was experiencing quiet, numb terror, Marsha was confused and disoriented, and DeCandido was grimly exhausted. A state that matched her own, truth be told, but there was work yet to be done.

"Again, Farsight. Don't worry; I'll be with you."

Marsha nodded, gave her teacher a nervous, half-hearted smile, then settled back into her standing trance. Again, Frost felt the snap as sense left body, and was whisked away by the motion of time.

"Fear," was the first word from Marsha's lips as she moved herself back into the past. "There is more fear here. Strong fear. Dangerous fear. More than one source. I... see Security here again, and you're here, talking to Jetstream and Roulette."

*You're doing well. Go on, now. Find where the fear begins.*

"I... I feel it getting closer," she whispered, her senses drifting further away. "I've... Oh, my God! He... he's dead! Haroun, he's dead!!"

*Calm down, Marsha. Easy.* She was seeing the scene through Jennifer's eyes, now, reading the terror she'd felt at finding Manuel's corpse.

"He's dead! His throat... oh, my God, someone's killed him!"

*Let it go, child. Move away from it. It's not happening to you. Now, tell me what else you sense.*

There was a pause, and Marsha's mouth opened and closed a couple of times, her face creasing in an expression of horror. Gilbert looked from her to Frost, now genuinely afraid. "Is she okay?" he asked.

"Sssh!" Frost hissed, aloud. *Marsha, can you hear me?*

"I... I'm okay," Farsight whispered. "There was fear there; a lot of it. But... there's more. I can feel it... it hangs over the room."

*Go back, then. Find where it came from.*

After a few tense moments, her look changed to confusion. "Another... gap. Another place where I can't sense anything. Even the fear is blanked out. It's... void..."

Frost took a deep breath, forcing herself not to think about what Devin could have been doing during that empty time. Still, she had to be sure. *Find the other side. Find where the gap started.*

"I... I'll try... It goes on for a while, though... and it started so suddenly... I see... I see..."

*Yes... tell me what you see.*

All of a sudden, Marsha convulsed, and from their place in the past, her thoughts screamed with a deep, unrelenting terror, that grabbed Frost by the link she had forged and held her in a mental death-grip. *Marsha!!*

Farsight screamed to wake the dead. She screamed until she ran out of breath, and then she inhaled sharply to scream again. This time, however, her words were clear. "NO!! GETOFFGETOFFGETOFF!! AIDEZ-MOI!! HELP ME!! SHARON!! HAROUN!! WHERE ARE YOU?! I NEED YOU!! MAM'SELLE FROST!! HELP ME!! MONDIEUMONDIEUSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!! HISEYES...HE'SMADHE'SMAD!! SHARON!! JENNIFER!! SOMEONE HELP ME!!!"

With the combined strength of panic, pain, and desperation, Frost reached across the bridge Marsha had created through time and wrenched her away, dragging her psyche back into her body. The strain was tremendous, and the shock even more so. There was a flash of pain, and the sensation of falling...

When Frost opened her eyes again, she found that she was lying in the floor, her mind afire with agony. Farsight had collapsed beside her, and was curled into the fetal position, shuddering and sobbing with each breath. Frost dragged herself across the floor to her, and took the trembling child into her arms, clutching her tightly. "It's alright, it's alright," she repeated over and over. "It didn't happen. You're safe."

"Mam'selle," Marsha gasped, "aidez-moi, aidez-moi... please..."

"I'm sorry, child, I'm sorry," Frost whispered, holding the girl to her. "You're safe."

She held Farsight until her shaking began to subside, then took another look around the room. DeCandido was picking himself up off the floor, looking positively nauseated. Rabbit was nowhere to be seen, but in a moment, she heard the sound of him in the open bathroom, retching into the toilet.

"Did you..?" she asked, carefully.

"Yeah," DeCandido grunted. "Pretty vividly. Thanks."

"Oh God, Miss Frost, it was awful," Marsha cried. "I was... I was being..."

"I know, I know," Frost assured her. "It didn't happen. But I need you to remember. Did you see a face? Did you see who it was?"

Farsight shook her head. "I... I don't remember..!"

"Marsha, please. You have to try."

"No she doesn't!" DeCandido interrupted.

Frost gave her chief of Security a withering look. "Stay out of this!"

"You've proved your fucking point, Emma," DeCandido told her, in an even voice. "She doesn't remember. Don't force her to have to live through it again, dammit!"

She wanted to argue, but there was some sense in what he was saying. He was as worried about Farsight's well-being as she... perhaps moreso. In her single-minded desire to find the answers, she'd caused her student great harm, that would be a long time healing, if ever.

"Look," DeCandido went on, obviously trying to be civil, "you and I have both been up all night with this. Let me take these two back to the Underground, and you get yourself some rest. We've done all we can for now, and we won't be any good to ourselves, or them, or anyone else until we've had some sleep. This means you. Now, can you find your quarters alone, or should I call you an escort?"

"You can't force me," Frost said in a low, dangerous tone.

"No, but with Tessa under arrest, I'm your second in command, and if you don't go, I'll bloody well override your authority and have you sedated, clear?"

"Chief," Frost said, but it was more a plead, or an entreaty, than a threat. She was at the end of her rope, and she knew it, but she couldn't let herself give in.

He knelt down beside her. "Emma, you've done all you can for now. Call it a night. I've got the morning shift working on things, and they'll take it from here. Do yourself a favor and get some sleep."

Frost took a couple of deep breaths, then looked at Farsight. "Marsha?"

"I- I'll be okay," she managed, making an effort to wipe her eyes. The words were bravado, of course, but given the circumstances, that would be enough.

After a long while, Frost nodded, then let DeCandido help both her and Farsight to their feet. Rabbit, having regained some measure of composure, rejoined them, and he took his teammate's hand, for mutual support. With one last nod to Frost, DeCandido escorted the two students out, leaving Frost alone in the wreckage.

After a while, she left the room, left Dent Hall altogether, and walked across the campus to the administration building. The morning sun was blinding, but worse was the almost palpable psychic tension in the air. Students turned to watch her as she passed, and she could feel their fear in their thoughts. Thankfully, the secret of the Hellions had not been exposed by the night's events, but nonetheless, every student had heard by now that there had been a brutal murder in Dent Hall, and everyone was frightened.

At last, Frost returned to her office, and let herself collapse onto her couch. For a long while, she just lay there, and tried to let her powerful mind think of nothing at all. It didn't work for very long.

Struck by a thought, she sat up, and reached into her back pocket to pull out a small notepad. She'd been taking notes on the Hellions' field testing when she'd been interrupted by the emergency signal from Jetstream. Paging through these notes, now, she found information on creative uses and combinations of powers, teams-within-the-teams, notes on who to keep separated and who not to separate, and last, she found a list she'd hastily composed; a rough of the final team divisions she was to be making that week.
 

The words became a blur. Frost threw the tablet aside, and for the first time in many years, wept bitterly.

Days Inn, Atlanta GA 7:29 pm EDT

Catseye very carefully balanced her various bags and packages between herself and the wall as she attempted to slip the key into the lock. After a few attempts, she got the door open, and she practically let herself fall through the open doorway, with an exaggerated sigh of frustration. Once inside, she just dropped everything on the floor of the rented room, and kicked the door shut behind her.

"Good evening, redhair!" she smiled at Marie-Ange. Tarot did not reply, of course, as she was still unconscious, and had not moved from the bed where Catseye had left her. She had not even shifted position. Nonetheless, Catseye went on talking to her. Perhaps if she kept it up, eventually redhair would hear her and wake up.

"Got much done today," Sharon continued, rummaging through her bags. "Found a disc-player and got some music to listen to." She pulled out a CD walkman and showed it to her friend, along with a set of purse-sized miniature speakers. "Could not find 'Tricia Kaas for redhair, but found Chopin and even Di Lassus. Also got some Yanni and Checkfield for Catseye; hope this is okay. Will look for 'Tricia Kaas another time, okay?"

As she spoke, she took the player out of its box, and opened a package of batteries. Once she had it loaded, she plugged in the small speakers, put a Chopin disc in, and started it playing. The music was tinny and distant through the speakers, but it was still good piano, and good piano always made redhair feel better.

"Did muchmuch shopping for clothes, too," she went on, indicating the new plain white blouse and patchwork skirt she was wearing. She did a graceful turn, modeling these new clothes for redhair. "Is difficult to find good clothes for tall women like Catseye and redhair, but managed just fine. Catseye remembers redhair's sizes, of course, so was able to pick out good stuff. Not too much right now, since not much space in pack, but once Catseye and redhair find new place, will get more."

Next, she pulled out a small road atlas of the United States. "Don't know just yet where to go, but at least will know how to get there now." After that, she reached into a grocery bag and brought out a bottle of Evian. This in hand, she sat down on the edge of the bed beside redhair, and gave her a concerned look.

"Catseye believes redhair has something called catatonia. Why doctor-people named this after cats is strange, but oh well." She twisted off the cap and took a drink of the water, then carefully poured some on her fingers. "Catseye much worried for redhair," she whispered, brushing Marie-Ange's face with her damp fingers, tracing the water across her ashen skin. "Why does redhair not wake? Why does redhair not speak to Catseye?"

The reply, as could be expected, was silence, save for the sounds of piano through the tiny speakers. Catseye sighed, brushing her fingers over the other girl's throat. "What can Catseye do? Please tell."

Again, there was no reply. Marie-Ange's breathing remained steady, and her heart was still beating, but she was simply beyond hearing.

"Catseye is with you," Sharon went on. "We cannot go back to schoolhome, and Catseye is sorry, but will stay with redhair always and care for her. Catseye will find new place, where redhair can be happy and pretty again, and Catseye will not let anyone hurt us again." There was a pause, and Sharon's look became one of concentration. "But worried that Catseye cannot take care of redhair alone. Catseye will feed you and keep you clean, but Catseye not know how to fix catatonia. Cannot go to doctor-person, or will be found. Must be somewhere to go. Tell Catseye where redhair wishes to go, and Catseye will take us there."

There was a pause, as Catseye looked intently at Marie-Ange's immobile face. Then, her own face spread into a wide grin. "Yes. Catseye knows just where to go."

In one excited bound, she leaped from the edge of the bed to the floor, and snatched up the discarded road atlas. After checking the index, she paged back and studied one of the maps intently until she found the place she was looking for. After that, she turned to another map-picture, this time of the whole country. She placed one finger on the lower right, on the dot marked Atlanta, and then another on their destination.

It would be easy. After all, there was no water in the way: only a bunch of lines. Lines couldn't get in their way. And there seemed to be lots and lots of roads going that way -- surely they could find one that would take them there.

Grinning excitedly, Catseye returned to her friend's bedside and showed her the map-picture. "Is not far, redhair," she purred. "Will be safe soon."

Massachusetts Academy, 8:00 pm EDT

Frost took a series of deep breaths and prepared herself for the most difficult briefing session she had ever delivered. From their seats in the Ready Room, her nineteen Hellions watched her, waiting for news they both wanted to and were afraid to hear. She felt their fear beneath the still palpable tension that had carried through the day.

"Thank you all for arriving promptly," she began, letting her gaze sweep across the multi-tiered lecture hall. She met first the glazed eyes of Roulette, then the worried gaze of Rabbit, and lastly, the mixed anger and concern on the face of Beef. "Many of you have voiced concern over having been kept in the dark as this emergency situation progressed, but it was felt best to wait until more evidence was discovered, so that the whole story could be told."

She picked up the thought "So get on with it, already," clear as a bell, from Beef. Looking up at him, she could tell that he had meant her to overhear. What surprised her the most was that he still seemed to have no idea what was going on, and by their thoughts, neither did most of the others. Jetstream, Roulette, Pathfinder, Farsight and Rabbit had kept it quiet, as instructed, and she felt a sick sense of something like pride that they had taken her wishes so seriously even during this crisis.

She decided to begin at what she imagined to be the beginning. "At approximately 1430 hours Eastern time yesterday, the Academy had an unexpected visit from a former student, and former Hellion, by the name of Manuel De la Rocha, also known as 'Empath.'" As she said his name, the monitor screen behind her lit up with one of his file photos. "He was apparently returning from an extended leave of absence. He was checked in by Security, and admitted to the Underground, where he encountered Jetstream, Roulette, Catseye and Tarot, his former teammates. Jetstream sent word to me of his return, and he was admitted to his previous quarters in Dent Hall.

"At around 1930 hours, Roulette and Jetstream left the Academy grounds for a pre-planned engagement in Boston, under the protection of a pair of personal bodyguards. They have reported to me that at the time of their departure, Tarot was in her quarters doing schoolwork, Catseye was in her own asleep, and Empath was in his quarters, getting re-acquainted.

"At 2145 hours, Lieutenant Chapman, stationed in the lobby of Dent Hall, reports that he was visited by my assistant Tessa, who asked him for a report, and exchanged small talk with him. While he was distracted from his post, however, the three sentries within the Hellions' wing of the hall were rendered unconscious by some form of mental attack. After Tessa's departure, Chapman noticed that the sentries had left their posts, but before he could sound an alert, he too was the victim of a mental assault, which rendered him unconscious."

She paused for breath before she went on. "Somehow, over the course of the evening, surveillance cameras within the hall were disabled, and the main Security computer was flushed, erasing all memory and backups, so we have no exact evidence of what transpired next. Our best guess is that Catseye was attacked in her room, and after putting up quite a struggle, was either subdued, or... killed. Next, Empath and Tarot were attacked in Tarot's room. Empath's body was later found on the site, his throat torn out. Tarot herself was apparently... raped, and then taken from the site, along with Catseye. No trace was found of either of the two girls, but Empath's body was left behind."

The room erupted into mental chaos, as thoughts went fugue with anger, confusion, and fear. Among the sharp intakes of breath and vague, choked cries, though, Beef got to his feet. "Who did it?" he demanded. "Who'd do something like that? I'll kill 'em! As God's my witness, I'll kill 'em!"

"Sit down, Beef," Frost said to him, in a hard, quiet voice.

"I don't wanna sit down. Tell us who did it!"

Frost waited patiently, staring him down for the second time that day. Again, it was Buford who eventually relented, getting back into his seat, stewing in his fury.

"I've been working very closely with Security on this investigation, and we have two likely suspects, working in concert." On cue, two new faces appeared on the monitor behind her. "Devin 'Brainwash' Johnson, and William 'Camouflage' Buchwald."

She waited for the initial shock of this to pass before she continued. "All of you present know Brainwash all too well. He is, as you know, a powerful and dangerous mentalist, with the power to bend minds to his will. Camouflage, as many of you older students are aware, was recruited earlier this year, and had the power of physical shapechange, as well as being an untraceable psychic chameleon. Both of them have reason to hate the Academy, and in particular, to hate the two Hellions abducted. It is our belief that Tessa was 'brainwashed' by Devin's power and forced to distract Chapman at his post while he mind-blasted the sentries. It is also possible that the Tessa encountered by Chapman was in fact Camouflage, in an alternate shape. Once the sentries were dealt with, Brainwash could have used his knowledge of the innerworkings of Academy security to disable the cameras and computer. Since Brainwash could not affect Catseye with his powers, we believe Camouflage attacked and subdued her. After this, they moved on to Empath and Tarot. Manuel's powers would be no match for Devin's, and he had no means of defending himself against Camouflage. Tarot, with her extreme vulnerability to mental assault, would also have had no means to defend herself against them. Psychic residue... left by her thoughts... seems to suggest that her attacker... her rapist... was insane. Camouflage, apart from being quite insane, had also, before his disappearance, made several threats on Tarot's life, making him the prime suspect in her rape and abduction."

She went on quickly, so that she would not have the time to hear the shocked, frightened, or enraged thoughts of her students. "At 2330 hours, Security guards posted at the hangar just off campus were attacked and rendered unconscious, this time by physical means. They have no memory of their assailant; only of the pain of being taken by surprise and knocked out. Presumably, Brainwash had taxed his powers by this time, and other methods were necessary. The cameras in the hangar were then disabled, and a Hellflyer was stolen. Early in its flight, however, its course grew erratic, and it went out of control, crashing in an uninhabited area toward the southern border of the state. After watching the records of the flight, it is our guess that one of the captives, most likely Catseye, broke free and attacked her kidnappers, causing the crash. Security teams immediately scoured the scene, but no bodies were found. Since neither Tarot nor Catseye has contacted the Academy, it is assumed that they were taken from the site of the crash by their captors. We have, as yet, heard no ransom demands or further threats, but that may be only a matter of time. Attempts have been made to track the two missing students, but their security beacons have been deactivated.

"In the meantime, Security is making efforts to determine the flight path of the flyer, in hopes of finding the location of Brainwash's base of operations. Until then, we must remain on constant alert status. You will return to your classes tomorrow, under close supervision by Security, but will be stationed in your emergency quarters until further notice."

There was a long pause as she finished. At last, as could be expected, it was Beef who broke the silence. "You mean that's it?!"

"Our hands are tied, Beef," she told him. "At this point, we do not even know where to begin. Once a likely path is found, however, believe me when I say that it will be pursued with all haste."

"Bullshit!" he said. "We gotta do something! You're talking about friends of ours here! You can't expect us to just sit here!"

Frost was tempted to mind-blast him right then and there, just to get him to shut up. A few years before, she probably would have, but things had changed since then. "As a matter of fact, I can," she replied instead, "because there is nothing else to be done. This meeting is adjourned. You're dismissed to quarters."

"We ain't goin' nowhere 'til we get some answers!" he shouted back at her, looking around the room for support from his teammates. There was none there to be found, though. Most were too shocked to stand beside him, while others, particularly those who had already known, were taken by despair. Several, particularly Tarot's students among the C-team, were in tears, and one or two were near hysterics. Seeing this, Beef shook his head, snarled, and stormed out of the ready room, cursing loudly.

Frost watched and waited as the remaining Hellions departed the room in ones and twos, quietly talking amongst themselves. Among them, she saw Embers help a sobbing Floater to her feet and lead her out of the room. She took it as a good sign; they needed unity now more than ever. Only together would they see this through. Frost realized that she would also be needed now as never before. In the dark corners of her mind, though, she wondered if she'd be up to the task of helping her children deal with the loss of three of their own.
 
 

In the men's locker room, Beef's display of anger continued as he and his teammates got out of uniform and back into their civilian clothes. "I don't give a crap what she said! We gotta get out there and find 'em and take 'em back. I swear to God, if I see those assholes, I'll kill 'em with my bare hands!"

"We're very much impressed, Beef," Jestream said in a monotone growl. "Now give us one good method of how to do so."

"Jet, for Chrissakes, you gotta back me up on this! We gotta find a way, man! We can do it!"

Haroun turned and glared at him. "How?" he snapped. "You heard what she told us. There's nothing we can do!"

"Yeah, I bet that's easy for you to say," Buford snarled. "Where the hell were you when they was gettin' taken? Why weren't you here to stop this from hap'nin'?"

With an inarticulate growl, Jetstream grabbed Buford by the front of his uniform, and with the strength of his cybernetic limbs, slammed the much larger mutant into the row of lockers. When he spoke, though, his voice remained remarkably level and contained. "Do you think I'm not aware of this, Beef? Do you think I don't know that I was out having a good time with Jennifer while they were being beaten and kidnapped? Do you think I won't have to live the rest of my life knowing that I could have been here, that I should have been here, but I wasn't? Don't try to give me any more guilt, McGwynn; I have more than enough of that on my own."

"Guys, c'mon, break it up," came a new voice, then. The two looked (way) down to see a terrified Gilbert standing there, shaking his head.

"Get outta here, Rabbit," Buford told him. "This don't concern you."

Rabbit stood up to him, though, and went on shaking his head. "It concerns all of us. They were both my friends too, you know. But we can't do anything right now. We're gonna have to wait."

"Ain't no way," Beef growled. He looked to his right at Bevatron, who'd spent the entire exchange sitting on the bench with his face in his hands. "C'mon, 'Tron ol' buddy. Tell me you at least know where I'm comin' from."

Etienne looked up at the others, and they were all surprised to see his face streaked with tears. None of them had ever seen him cry before.

"Je suis désolé, Beef," he managed, his voice cracking, "but zey are correct. Zair is nozing we can do now but wait. But believe me, mon ami, when ze wait is ovair, and zese men are found, zey can beg for mercy, and I will not give it to zem."

"Nor will I," Jetstream added. "When we do find them, we'll pay them back for what they've done. Pain for pain, and life for life."
 
 

"Jenny, I'm so sorry," Kristina whispered, kneeling down next to where Roulette was seated on the bench. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You can leave me the hell alone, Embers," Roulette replied in a low voice.

"She's only trying to help, Jen." This came from Kelly "Current" Adams, standing at Kris's shoulder. "We all want to help."

"There's nothing you can do, Kel. Not a fucking thing."

They were joined by Gemini, who at the moment, was in his/her female form, giving Cassie's mind dominance. "Look, at least they're not dead."

"No, they're dead," Jenny said, with all certainty.

"We don't know that, Jenny," Kris insisted.

"No. They're dead, alright. What reason do they have to keep 'em alive? Brainfart wanted Sherry dead, and Camoufuck wanted Angie. They got what they came for, and that's all she wrote. They were my best friends."

"You can't be sure of that. No one can."

Jennifer looked up and gazed hard into Kristina's eyes. It was obvious from this alone that there would be no convincing her.

"They're good," Cassie said then. "Too good to get caught easily. I bet they fought back hard."

"I doubt it," Roulette replied, her voice getting bitter. "'Fact, I bet Brainfart had a blast with Angie. He probably made her enjoy it."

"She fought," came a fifth voice, then. The others looked up too see Marsha standing nearby, her arms crossed over her chest.

"What d'you mean, Marsh?" Kelly asked.

"I... felt it," Farsight explained. "She fought as hard as she could. It... just wasn't enough..."

Silence was the only reply, as none of them could think of a thing to say.

Pacific Coast Highway, somewhere near Los Angeles, CA
Saturday, 30 October 1993, 6:28 pm PDT

"No, no, nonononono!"

Rictor's protests did him little good. The needle on the gas gauge stayed right below E, as always, and the Volkswagen's engine continued to cough and sputter as it went. Ric had just about enough time to pull over before it quit entirely.

Growling under his breath, Ric opened his door and all but leaped out of the car, walking a few yards down the side of the road, then back, then a few yards behind the car, and then back again. It didn't get him anywhere, but it helped let out a little of his stress. He could have sworn that he still had gas! Even with the gauge broken, as it had always been, he had a good idea of how many miles he could get on a full tank. He knew that he was close to needing more, but hadn't thought that he'd have run out.

Furious at this turn of luck, and even more so that he could have prevented it by looking at the odometer more often, Ric did what came naturally and yelled at the car. "Stupid blue piece of kraut crap!" he scowled, aiming a good kick at one of the rear fenders. The car did not protest.

He opened the gas cap, then, and put his ear to the tank. Nudging the car, he heard that there was, in fact, gas sloshing around inside. With a sinking feeling, he realized that even though he'd proven that he hadn't flaked, he now had an even greater problem. "Ah, hell," he sighed.

After watching cars go by for a while, he retrieved his jacket from the back seat to protect him from the evening wind off the nearby ocean, and set off down the road, looking for a phone.

At least there was a good sunset going. The Pacific Coast Highway ran parallel to the shore at this stretch, and as he walked, he got a great view of the sun sinking through a few clouds on the horizon, casting red rays over the shore. It was a lot like some of the sunsets he'd seen back at the house in La Jolla.

Enough of that, he thought.

Not far from where he'd stalled out, off the side of the road and near the ocean, Ric saw a large building that looked something like an old bed and breakfast place. It was the only sign of life on this particular stretch of beach, so he decided to start there.

As he got closer, he saw that the place was in fact very old, by the standards of California architecture, but seemed to be in good repair. There was something altogether weird about the place; it seemed to have an aura around it, or an atmosphere. For some reason he couldn't put his finger on, he felt like he was coming home.

A middle-aged woman with greying hair was sitting out on the porch as he approached, watching him. "Evening," she called.

"Hey," he nodded back. "Can I use your phone?"

"Car problems?" she asked, with a lopsided, knowing smile.

Ric hesitated, suddenly reminded of Grandad back in Seattle. "Uh, yeah. Broke down just down the road. I need to call for a tow."

"Well, you ain't gonna find a garage open this late on a Saturday," she shrugged, getting to her feet. "So which are you? Mutant? Runaway? Both?"

She said it so casually that Ric answered without thinking. "Both, sorta." He then realized what he'd said. "What's it to you?"

"Oh, nothing much," she assured him. "We get all kinds around here, but mostly mutants and runaways. Something about the place, I guess. Tell you what; I'll round up Mickey and a couple of others, and they can help you bring your car 'round the back road, so you can leave it here. You'll be needing a room for the weekend."

Everything she said was so reasonable, and said with such a feeling of being exactly right, that Ric found himself agreeing with her. "Yeah, I guess I will. How much d'you charge a night?"

"Ah, don't worry about it for right now. I'm sure we can come to an understanding. She opened the front door and led Rictor into the spacious lobby. For all the space, though, the place had an air of close coziness. The walls and furniture were all bare wood, giving the place a rustic look that Ric found somewhat comforting. Several faded Halloween decorations were hung haphazardly around the place, and several carved pumpkins looked at Ric from the front desk.

"Hey, Mickey!" the woman called out to the room in general.

From upstairs, Ric heard a voice call out "Yeah, Kate?"

"C'mon down here! There's someone I want you to meet!" She then turned back to Ric and smiled. "I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay. All kinds welcome at the Heartbreak Hotel."

"That's good to know."
 
 

Next: "Welcome Me"

Go West #8: "Can't Find My Way Home"
by Jeremy Bottroff, 5 December 1993

This story (c) 1993, 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

"Can't Find My Way Home" performed by Blind Faith, words and music by Steve Winwood, (c) 1969, 1999 PolyGram Records, Inc., from the album BLIND FAITH

Haroun Al-Rashid (Jetstream), Amara Aquila (Magma), Beef, Bevatron, Marie-Ange Colbert (Tarot), Roberto DaCosta (Rictor), Manuel De la Rocha (Empath), Emma Frost (White Queen), Kate The Owner, Danielle Moonstar (Mirage), Ororo Munroe (Storm), Pyro, Douglas Ramsey (Cypher), Rictor, Mickey Silk (Poltergeist), Rahne Sinclair (Wolfsbane), Mister Sinister,  Sharon Smith (Catseye), Jennifer Stavros (Roulette), Rachel Summers (Phoenix), Tessa, Warlock, Danger Room, Heartbreak Hotel, Massachusetts Academy, Nova Roma, Freedom Force, Hellions, X-Men (c) 1999 Marvel Entertainment Group

William Buchwald (Camouflage), Gerald Corvus Jr. (Shadowwing), Gilbert Dane (Rabbit), Jean-Pierre Delacroix (Lightningrod), Thomas Grindle (Hardbody), Robert Jefferson (Bacchus), E. Raymond Joel (Stat), Aaron Jorgensen (Rush), Keiko Kimota (Floater), Jon Lawrence, Michael MacPherson (Dreamwalker), "Grandad" McKinley, Hector Sanchez/Cantolobos (Wolfsong), Castor "Cassie" Spangler and Pollux "Paul" Spangler (Gemini), Akiko Tanaka (Dragon), Daniel Weller (Dough-Boy), Marsha Wilson (Farsight), Kristina Yarborough (Embers), Dent Hall created by and (c) 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

Sentry Avery, Lieutenant Chapman, Chief DeCandido, Sentry Jones, Lieutenant "Mack" McElhatton, and Sentry Stewart are part of the Put Your Readers Through A Security Program program, and these facsimiles thereof may be considered (c) 1999 Jeremy Bottroff, just for the sake of completion.

Kelly Adams (Current), Devin Johnson (Brainwash), Sean McDermott (Pathfinder), Simon Walters (Recall) created by Michael Jones, (c) 1999 Michael Jones/Everbard

John Terra (Writerguy) and his wife Ellen Terra are real people, making a guest appearance in this rather warped alternate reality.

The details of Sharon and Angie's Excellent Adventure through the area of Pennsylvania Station were provided by Keith DeCandido, and good thing, too, 'cause I've never been to New York in my life...  Thanks, Keith.

The Heartbreak Hotel was featured (for the only time, far as I know) in the BEAUTY AND THE BEAST four-part miniseries which Marvel published back in the 1980's.  It was written by Ann Nocenti, and the author recommends it as an alternative to the Average 90's Mutant Book.