Part 16: Reflections

Wolverine and Rahne had killed fifty demons on one particular day, and they were quite messy. Rahne, having cleaned up while Wolverine was skinning and beheading their corpses, went outside to stand watch while he washed.

He peeled his demon-skin costume off and stepped into the drain-ditch they had made for pouring water over themselves as a crude shower. He hefted one of the water jugs and poured it over his head, thrilling at the feeling of the cold fluid running down over him. He scrubbed down and took a drag from his last cigar, then got more water, stopping to look inside the jug to perhaps take a drink.

His reflection stared back at him and he drifted. His face, twisted and rippled by the water, made him think of his meeting Exile, and the words Exile spoke to him as he lay bleeding and dying.

“Look at ya, layin’ there,” said Exile as he licked Wolverine’s blood from his claws. “Ya think yer so human, so normal. Bub, you ain’t got a clue what you could be—what ya really are, deep down.”

Wolverine gasped and panted, straining to see past the blood in his eyes and trying to ignore the pain.

Gotta…get…away…Heal…Hide…

“Look in my eyes, ya self-righteous bastard! Look and see what it is that you try so hard to ignore. Yer not human, not on the inside. Yer an animal, born to kill and reave and maim every damn thing that gets between you and the things you want. You could have anything, but yer too damn sissified to face facts. You could be a god down here, with nobody daring to oppose ya. Travel through the discs to get the shit you want, and kill every son of a bitch that gets in yer way. Watcha think them claws are for? Pickin’ yer damn nose? Yer a Death Machine, bub. But ya lack the guts to be all you can be.

“That’s what I am, bub. The god you could be if you’d give in to yer true nature.”

Lies, damn lies…Bleeding…a lot…Can’t stand up…

“This is why ya gotta die, bub. Yer the past—history! Yer the weak thing I used to be, before Limbo set me free.”

Exile sprouted four extra arms, each of which unsheathed their claws. The claws then spun around like fan blades, and noisily closed in on Wolverine. It was then that D’Spayre appeared, and sent Exile away.

Wolverine finally came back to reality. He’d been so caught up in the memory that he didn’t notice his cigar had burnt itself out, burning his fingers in the process.

Not me, he instructed himself. That is NOT ME!

He finished cleaning up and went outside. Rahne was singing, and didn’t notice him. He stood in the shade and listened to her weary but beautiful voice, sending echoes of faith across a barren, hostile land.

“On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, The emblem of suff’ring and shame, And I love that old cross, where the dearest and best For a world of lost sinners was slain.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? He wrestled with it. What’s to love about a damned old cross? If her God was nailed to it, shouldn’t she hate it? Why sing praises about suffering and shame? And if He died for a world of lost sinners, why is there a hell? I don’t get it.

Rahne was humiliated to learn that he had heard her singing, regardless of the umpteen times he told her that she sounded “like the Emperor’s songbirds”.

At his very next opportunity, he again opened her pocket Bible to look for some clue as to why she seemed so at peace, even though she was suffering so much and had so many reasons to hate life and hate God. He read the first mention of a cross that he could find:

“The wisdom of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing.”

Well, no shit. What is this, a fortune cookie? I very well may be perishing before long. How in the heck is a freakin’ cross gonna stop that? I couldn’t stop a vampire with one if my neck was ridin’ on it.

One afternoon it was not quite so dark as it had been, and they lay down on a hillside and tried to relax. They looked up at the sky like normal people in a normal situation, and imagined they were watching clouds roll by.

“Do you suppose they ever did this?” asked Rahne.

“Who?”

“Our alternates. I suppose they must have.”

Dammit, I hate when she does that—talks about them like they’re us. “Dunno. Hard to imagine Exile doing anything like this.”

“The Nightfeeder as well. Maybe doing normal things like this help us to avoid the insanity that drove them to the point where they gave in.”

“So what happened to you while we were split up?” Gotta change the subject!

How do I tell him? He couldn’t possibly understand, no one could. “Well,” she began, “Did you ever know Cypher—Douglas Ramsey? He died a while back…”

“I think so. Wait a minute…Don’t tell me. You didn’t!”

Yes, he’s here. Or, at least, some alternative of Doug is here. It’s so hard to grasp, even now.”

“Is he okay? Should we go get him?”

Oh, how I wish we could. “No…He’s stuck here. We can’t get him out of here.”

“He didn’t hurt you or anything, did he?”

Rahne burst into tears. He hurt me worse than I’ve ever been hurt! I still hurt. No—I did it to myself. I should have known better than to think I could cheat God and stay with Doug!

“Rahne?” Wolverine was perplexed. Was Doug all screwed up, like Exile and the Nightfeeder? Does the water in her eyes never dry up? I’m sick of it! “Rahne, I don’t wanna be a jerk or anything, but…don’t you think you’re getting a little too old to cry so dang much?”

Enraged, she lashed out at him. “Don’t you think you’ve gone TOO LONG without shedding tears yuirself? Maybe if you’d put down that macho shield and let a few things touch you, people might think of you as more of a human being and less of a beast!”

To her own surprise, she moved in and kicked Wolverine firmly between the legs. He went down like a sack of potatoes.

Son…of…a…BITCH! That hurts…almost as much as her words did…