Subject: [OTL]: [Kitty Pryde] Stripped Bare 3/3, R Date: Sat, 15 Mar 2003 07:31:38 +0000 From: shreelana@yahoo.com Then She was already floating on meth, a good strong dose drifting down her veins. Why Mali had to.... Maybe she should have waited. Or maybe it was better this way. They were arguing, Kitty dimly aware that this should bother her. Instead, she felt almost amused. "Well at least I'm not a god-damned Mutie lover!" Kitty felt the world tilt, the puzzle it made in her head settling into a different configuration. Irritatingly, there were still pieces missing. "You're one of Them, aren't you." She said dreamily. "Not content with extermination 50 years ago, you try hatred again and again, perpetuating it against me and my people." "The fuck are you talking about, Pryde?" "My people--so many were killed in the Death Camps. And you want to start that all over. Mutant registration. Pure blood." "Uh... yeah. Riiight." Mali began to back away, the look in Kitty's eyes scaring her. There was a disconnectedness to her roommate, as if she wasn't all there. It was a very wrong thing to see. "Don't walk away from me, bitch!" Kitty caught her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall with frightening speed. "You shouldn't've said that, y'know." Her fingers stroked through Mali's terrified face. "Can't have you reporting this to Them. Sorry. It's nothing personal." And she was, Mali sensed. Sorry. Uncaring. There was something greater in control of her friend, a deep sorrow and anguish that went back years. In her eyes was every hell visited upon mutants. It was the last thing Mali saw. -- Now They had questioned her for hours, pain and disgust leaking off of them. Disdain for her, for what she was: murdering drug-addicted mutant bitch. The Jewish part might even have added to it. Each one was a label she couldn't escape, no matter how she tried. In her mind's eye... Her refuge was the cold numbness that had filled her after the shower. It kept the jagged edges of emotion from tearing her to shreds. Memory was little comfort, her mind playing that scene in the street over and over again. The cold distanced her, turning it into something someone else might have done. He had been so cute, young for an officer of the law. And so surprised with his heart in her hand. Wrenching reality dropped on her, and she fought it off, wishing for the oblivion to return. "Are you listening, Ms. Pryde?" No. She stared at the man on the other side of the table. He was so tired. And he'd been on the scene, too. "I missed it. Sorry." He sighed tiredly, "Do you understand the rights I've read you?" "Yes." Not really. But every American had some vague knowledge about anything they said being used against them in a court of law. She tried to care. But couldn't. She'd lost too much. "Then in a moment, a guard will come to take you down to the holding area. She'll book you and take your picture." "OK." The cold was slowly seeping back in. Distantly, she wondered if she would ever feel her fingers again. -- Then Someone was calling her name. *They* always seemed to know it, no matter how well she hid. Irritating. "Kitty? C'mon, you should be here. I thought you'd said you would." Ralph sounded petulant, even to himself. As he entered the living room, he brightened, seeing Mali sitting in her favourite chair. "Mali, my dear. Have you seen Kitty?" It was one of those over-stuffed types that stood on freakily spindly legs. He'd always thought her silly for liking it. "Mali?" Again, there was no reply from the seated girl. He sighed, "Look, I--" He paused, mind finally focussing on several things at once. There was a scent in the air of fear and... blood. And Mali wasn't sitting on the chair. She was.... inside of it. Partially. His brain fought not to recognise what it was seeing. It failed. His mouth opened in a wordless cry as he realised that blood soaked the dull yellow carpet below the chair, turning it a dark orange. "Oh my god. Oh my god." He touched her, unaware he'd moved closer until his hand caused her head to flop to the side. Her eyes stared up at him, empty. He fought down the bile rising in his throat. The blood smell in the air made it that much worse. He turned away. "Mali. I'll--the police. Need a phone. Ohgodohgod. You have to be ok." "Your god can't help you now." The voice came from behind him. He whirled. "Kitty! You--" It was her eyes. They stopped him cold. The warm brown was gone, replaced with something far chillier. Agate. Yellow. They were the wrong colour, the wrong vibrancy. Her pupil was so dilated that there was only the slight ring around them. "What about me, lover?" She asked, reaching out to caress his cheek. "Kitty, what's going on--Mali--" "She tried to tell Them about me. I had to stop her, you understand there was no other way." She tilted her head, lips smiling at him, eyes still blackly cold. "But she's DEAD." "Yes. Pity that. Oh, well. I never liked that chair, anyway." "What about the carpet?" "Yellow is so passe." He hit her, determined to wipe that smugly blank look off her face. It scared him. His hand passed *through* her, causing him to go off-balance. He staggered. She took advantage and stepped into him, her hands finding the correct holds to send him flying into a wall. "Silly Ralph. Didn't your mother tell you never to hit a woman? She'll always hit you back." A framed photo of the three of them fell, the glass shattered. Shoving against the wall, Ralph staggered to his feet. A trickle of blood escaped a shallow cut on the side of his face, but he ignored the sting. Terror touched him, causing him to remember the last time his supplier had sent someone to reduce him to paste over some stupid accounting squabble. Kitty wasn't sane. There would be no buying her off. Considering the evidence of Mali, he probably wouldn't live to bribe another cop. -- Now "There was blood on your computer keys. Why?" Questions, again. This time by a serious-faced young man. He was so earnest, so willing to help. If she believed that, it might be simpler to just step into the two-way mirror and never come out again. "I sent an email to a friend." Pete would have sneered at that description. But it was simpler than the truth. Lover, ex-lover, friend, confidante, bastard... "Ah. We have been trying to get that file open--and others." What a stupid thing to say. As if he couldn't believe she'd have friends. "Why?" He coughed, uncomfortable, "I'm asking the questions." "Oh." So, ask them, you idiot. "Why email this friend?" "Because." "That's not an answer." She focussed on him, almost amused, "It's the only one I have." Over his shoulder, she could see the glass, and wondered vaguely what the men behind it were thinking. "Very well." He pondered her, eyes noticing the tiny marks, the scars on her wrists and hands from badly applied needles. "What happened?" Everything. "Too much." Knowing about it was different from remembering, she told herself firmly. For a moment, though, the ice cracked and the naive 13-year old who'd thought her power was nifty keen tried to scream. She fought, refreezing before that could leak out. "I -- we were going to go out. Ralph and I." "And?" "I wasn't in a great mood, I... I took some Methamphetamine. Maybe too much. To try and feel better, more in control. Mali was there, she started picking at me, mocking my drug dependancy." She paused, "I was so sure, you know, that I wasn't a druggie. The whole idea disgusts me. I could quit anytime." A half-sob escaped the control, "I'm such a fucking idiot." "You and Mali were fighting?" "Not at first. Then she made the comment that Ralph was only fucking me to pay for my drug habit. And I slapped her. She..." Kitty looked away from him, the memory slithering across her inner eye, "She said something that made me think she knew I was a mutant. And she was planning to out me. It goes a bit hazy, there. But I..." "You what?" "I think I snapped. Things changed, time stopped." Maybe if she approached it obliquely, worked up to it... "And then you killed her?" Maybe not. "Yes. I phased her--into the chair. The screams--my god--" Her voice choked, memory wrapping her in sticky folds. She couldn't see him anymore, the room fading into the background as Mali stared up at her in shock. "I didn't know people could sound like that." "What happened next?" The calm analytical voice cut through the sticky memory. "Ralph arrived. I--I killed him, too." "Why?" "I think--" She frowned. "I thought he knew I was a mutant, that he was going to tell." Kitty looked at him, her eyes focussing again. "Don't. I don't want that sort of leniency. No insanity plea, no, duress plea. I killed my two best friends. I deserve to die." He blinked, "Tell me about the policeman." The colour drained from her already pale face. "If there was anything else that damned me..." She looked into her memory and shuddered. "I held his heart in my hand--I had so much power..." He touched her arm. "He was just there?" "Yes. NO. Sort of. Any of them--that's what hurts. I could have killed any of them and not cared." "Because of drugs." "That's a stupid thing to say." She snorted, "Yes. No. Because. Maybe. The drugs merely gave the possibilites free reign. I already had the potential for evil, and that's what counts, isn't it." He sighed. "You enjoyed it?" "Yes. I did." She finally lost her battle, the amusement fading into pain and sadness. Memory broke through the ice again, and she buried her face in hands as blood pooled in the yellow carpet again and again. Dimly, she heard him sigh again, then speak softly. "Interview terminated." -- Then The cursor was blinking at her, as if waiting for the next line to come. There weren't anymore lines, though. Not for her, not for Mali, not for Ralph. Kitty choked on bile and turned away from the accusing screen. Her gaze crossed over the blood on the carpet, and she lost the battle. Scrambling up, she ran, half-falling against the wall as she tripped over Ralph's foot. The floor seemed a good enough place to lose her breakfast. It hadn't been all that heavy, anyway. A sound from outside made her crawl to the window, and she blinked, recognising the lights. They had come for her. -- Now Ororo Munroe looked up at the slate-grey edifice of St. Louis's city jail. It wasn't precisely ugly. It was more... tired and dilapidated. Nearby, she could see the towering structure of the newer jail which was still unfinished. Now, IT, was ugly. All orange stone and shining windows. It reminded one of nothing so much as a giant phallus. Ignoring it, Storm entered the building in front of her. The guard at the desk seemed genial, even after he heard who she had come to visit. Mutant terrorists were apparently old hat for him. He called another guard--this one female--and she led Storm back to the visitors' room. The room was long, stretching out on both sides with small cubicles down the lengthy center. In the middle of the cubicles plexiglass seperated the visitors from the inmates. Storm sat down at the one she was directed to, and waited. It wasn't nerves anymore. She was calm now, ready for anything she saw. Knowing everything you saw on TV and in the movies, she expected Kitty to be beaten and scared. Maybe even filthy. Movement came from the other side of the plexiglass, and Kitty appeared, a guard leading her. Storm watched her sit down, the collar around her neck so very disturbing. It's little red LED blinked every so often, if it was almost hypnotic. Kitty herself looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the skin on her face seemed stretched across fragile bones. But she wasn't scared. Picking up the phone as directed, Storm said softly, "Kitten." "Ororo." "You look unwell." A soft laugh echoed up the phoneline. "I killed three people with my mutant powers." "Oh, Kitty..." "You should be disappointed, Ororo. I killed. For no reason. Hell--I took drugs. Even when I knew it was a bad idea." "I am sad." "Yes, well, I'm sure there's a lot of that going around." She looked away, as if bored. "Kitten--" "Why are you here?" "To see you." Concern echoed in Ororo's voice as she tried to understand what she could say that would return her Kitten to her. "Well, now you have. You can go back to the Professor and tell him what a monumental failure I am. Like David and Guthrie and X-Force." "Kitten, this isn't like you." She half-laughed, "I have blood under my fingernails, Ororo. How is anything supposed to be like me?" "They haven't allowed you to bathe?" "No one can see it, soap doesn't get rid of it." Her voice broke, then, turning harsh with unshed tears, "I smell it at night, thick and cloying. And so sticky on my fingers..." "Oh, Goddess..." Kitty shook her head. "She's given me no quarter--I deserve no quarter." With a sigh, Storm stood. "I must go and consult, Kitten. I shall visit you tomorrow." "You do that." But she didn't seem to care, standing up and turning away even as Ororo tried to reach out to her, encountering the plexiglass. "Kitten..." -- Feeling vaguely as if he should be watching over his shoulder, Sam made his way into the visiter's room. Perhaps it was his past as a mutant terrorist, but the police station made him vaguely uncomfortable. Kitty was already there, slumped in a chair, absently looking at nothing. He noted the circles and bruises under her eyes and sat down. "You look like shit." "Thanks." Sam sighed. "I'm sorry." "Nothing you could have done." Kitty looked away from him. "I did this to myself, Sam." "I know." "You didn't have to agree so quickly." They were both silent, then, each studying the other. Sam found a part of himself deeply saddened at the changes in Kitty. The once vibrant girl was too pale and lifeless, and her eyes were old now. As if she'd seen too much, and couldn't ever forget it. He noticed her hands as she clenched one. Pink, chapped skin. As if she were using abrasives on them. The knuckles were skinned badly, and her cuticles looked as if she'd chewed them. "Something wrong, Guthrie?" "Your hands." "I can't wash the blood off." She looked at them, picking at one fingernail. "I've tried, but I can still see it. Still smell it." He winced, recognising that there was something damaged in her eyes. Like Domino, Kitty had seen and done one thing too many. Only, Domino could come back from it. Kitty... Kitty couldn't. He could see it in her eyes, the way she moved. The trembling in her hands that she tried to hide as she moved them restlessly. "Kitty..." She shook her head, "Don't, Sam. There's nothing to do. Nothing to say. I killed, I'll pay for it." Grimacing, Sam looked away. A reminder, again. Ex-mutant terrorists... But she hadn't meant him. Probably didn't care, or wouldn't. And it was in the past. Far in the past. They were doing good now. He had to believe that. "Why?" "You want me to make excuses? My parents didn't love me, I'm a mutant, I never fit in, I never had one lousy date in high school--there's a thousand reasons, Guthrie. In the end... I just did it. It's over. It's done with." "Is it?" "Yes." She nodded emphatically. "It has to be. I can't, I can't--I can't deal with this, Sam. I can't live with myself if I don't pay. If it isn't over." "And if it never is." Her eyes widened, and she shuddered. "I'll go insane." "Aren't you already insane?" He asked mildly. Kitty's lips whitened. "I know what I've done. Oh, god, I wish I were insane, sometimes. But I'm not. I'm perfectly sane." She ducked her head, tucking her chin into her collarbone. "It will never go away." A soft cough interrupted them, and a guard was there to tell them her time was up. "I'll be back, Kitty." "Sure." He touched the glass, wishing he could hug her. "I will." -- Then "Mali?" "Hrm?" Lazy sunlight, accompanied by a warm breeze drifted over the two young women as they sprawled under the shade of a tree on campus. Kitty tried to remember her question, and failed. So she asked something else, instead. "Have you ever wanted to fly?" "If we were supposed to fly, where are the wings?" Unbidden came the image of Warren Worthington, metal bladed wings spread as he arced through the sky. "Point." "Besides. Birds fly. We merely get high." Mali's life philosophy was terribly unsophisticated, Kitty decided. "So... We should live, get high, and die?" "And screw. A lot. And eat chocolate, pizza, and marmalade." "Ugh." "Not all at once." "But--" "No buts, missy." "Yes, ma'am." Mali snorted, and tossed a handful of grass at her. "Anyway. Life is good." "If you say so." "I do." -- Now Perhaps it was the very nature of the crime that let them go to trial so quickly. But Kitty was convicted of murder exactly two weeks after she'd first been arrested. The jury were of a rather volatile opinion--they wanted to see the mutant burn. The judge was slightly more lenient, perhaps guessing that the defendant was forever damaged by her actions. She was given life in prison, with no chance for parole. That night, they finally slipped up. They left her just enough for her purposes. And Katherine Pryde left the world, needle in her arm, vacant stare in her eyes. An overdose, some said. Deliberate suicide, came from others. For Sam it was the final confirmation that some people were not capable of being fixed. No matter how much you wanted them to be. Ororo Munroe left the states for France, where she buried herself in the mountains. In Westchester, Professor Charles Xavier sat in his study, and wept. And, somewhere, near Skokie, IL, one woman read the obituary. Stone-faced, she cut the piece from the paper, then shredded it. After all, as her one call to St. Louis had made very clear, her daughter was no longer her responsibility. -- Epilogue Now Pete Wisdom staggered into his flat. This last mission for WHO had taken a hell of a lot longer than they'd thought it would. All he wanted was a shower, a bottle of whiskey, and bed. Not necessarily in that order. His computer was on, he noted absently as he passed it. He must've left it on when he'd left. Maybe because he thought he'd be back soon. He shuddered at the thought of how much crap it'd probably accumulated, sitting on all this time. With a sigh, he detoured, intending to shut it down before sleeping. The little mail icon was flashing in the corner. Curiosity won out over exhaustion. He clicked on it. To: PWisdom@WHOnet.com From: K.Pryde@wustl.edu Subject: Something is very wrong. Pete. Something awful has happened. Maybe you can make sense. I can't. I miss you. Please. Kitty. Attachment: diary.txt * I don't know why I'm doing this. It's not something I would normally do. And, I don't know why--am I doing this for me? So I can come back and read this later, when I'm... gone? My children? I don't want kids. Really.. And, and... Pete. Pete never wanted kids. Why am I thinking of Pete? Fuckhead left me. he fucking LEFT. he left. And I'm here. Now. High on.. something. I don't know what it is anymore. I don't know what I want--Ralph is nice. But, but... Who am I? * I'm sober today. It's... not fun. I feel like I could jump out of my skin. Mali says it's normal. I don't like it. There's no safe feeling. No blanket comforting me. There's just... me. and the world. This diary, journal, whatever... I begin to think it's a mistake. But it's scary, sometimes, looking over what's here. This is me, though. And I have to understand me. Love me. Whatever. * Is it normal for things to go black while you're giving a presentation? The nurse thinks I'll be fine. Me, I don't know. Mali's said she'll get Ralph soon. I hope so. * i can see the stars all of them are blue they love me. * I put this in an encryption. I'm glad, the school is starting to run programs to read people's hard drives--those connected to the network by email. That's what I was told, anyway. Not a clue if it's true. Better safe than sorry, I always say. And besides. My diary, my information. I heard they look for information on drugs. Trying to stop people like Ralph, I guess. Except that Ralph is completely computer illiterate. So I guess they're going after me, instead. Lucky I started this with it 'crypted. * I don't know why I'm recording this. Maybe because I feel the need to torture you. Me. Me. Not you. Who is this you, anyway? Like I'd... Like I could send this anywhere. * Sam came to visit today. He didn't say why--or rather, he said he was just in the area. Right. Xavier checking up on his Failure again, I'm sure. Luckily, he didn't bring the rest of the X-Brats with him. I might have had to kill Tabitha. Or she might have noticed... Yana would have, once. She would have noticed the circles under my eyes, the track marks on my arms... My god, when did I get so pathetic? Screw it. Ugly or not, stupid or not... This is me. A Failure. Xavier's. * Pete. Help me. There's no going back anymore. What I've done... Oh, god. Someone's here. -- It ended, there. And he blinked, staring at it. Kitty. Drunk? High? It boggled his mind. He'd never thought she'd go in for that sort of thing. With a yawn, he shut the computer down. Best to deal with whatever it was in the morning. Besides. It was over two weeks old. Whatever had happened was dead news now. -finis- Final notes: I'm blanking on the page numbers and textbook name I've based some of this off of. *headshake* I think I'm too tired to remember. But. One of the things I do remember (and something which did NOT make it in here) is that amphetamine psychosis is.... basically paranoid schizophrenia, in effect. It can cause the person suffering from it to hurt themselves, those around them--even those they love. I'm afraid I probably cut a few corners. No matter. Ciao.