Following week he tried to regain the blissful state of numbness he had managed to create almost immediately after the accident. Now he didn’t have Xavier’s considerable funds backing him up, so drugs were out of the question. Booze wasn’t helping much, and barflies he picked up only annoyed and aggravated him from the moment he laid his eyes on them to the moment he kicked them out of his bed and the dingy room he had rented.
Yes. He had rented a room. He had gotten as far as the N.Y. City before paranoia had dug its claws deep in to him. He knew Xavier wasn’t mean or stupid. The man would do anything and everything in his power to keep Marie D’Ancanto happy and satisfied. She was probably their best asset in case the already inflamed relations between mutants and humans bloomed to a full-fledged war. But he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of worry that crept upon him every time his mind strayed thinking about the girl in question.
When everything else failed he packed his meager belongings and returned to the road, turning his motorcycle south. Following routes that had been ingrained to his backbone during six long years, fighting occasionally when he needed food or gas, or if the weather made him seek shelter from yet another dingy motel along the way.
The town was exactly the same as he remembered until he turned to Magnolia Street. Already faded scent of ashes landed on him, making him stop and park the bike to the side of the road. He walked the last stretches, stopped and stared for a long moment.
He had known it the whole time he had been driving to this direction. He had known, even expected it, but somehow it still caught him by surprise. Between two light blue houses stood charred rubble where Marie’s white little house had stood earlier. Rains had already washed off most of the soot and ashes, revealed the innards of the building as it stood there like half eaten carcass. Ugly reminder of things that had happened probably soon after they had left the town with the beaten up excuse of a truck. And he just knew he wouldn’t be coming this way never again. There was no reason to pass the ruins of what used to be.
That night he spent in town, beating up rednecks that were just a tad too eager to step in to the cage with him, and that were just a tad too eager and hungry for blood. Fights left him with a decent wad of cash, his own lust for blood somewhat sated, and a foul taste to the back of his throat. He had nearly killed a man. Fucker had been too stubborn to stay down after first round.
Later that week he stumbled upon yet another mutant. Young girl with the ability to control insects. He fucked with her and left her with generous amount of cash instead of contacting Xavier. Resulting fuzz would have been too big compared to the girl’s usefulness in the big picture.
All in all, it took him two whole months before he found himself sitting on his bike, outside of Xavier’s. Night was silent around him. He turned off the engine and pushed the bike for the last meters of the driveway to the main building. Xavier had most likely known he was coming back even before he had known it himself, but there was no reason to advertise his return further. They’d find out he was back in the morning.
He was walking around the building, back door was usually left open for late-night visitors, when he spotted light coming from the library’s windows. He wandered closer, curiosity getting the better of him.
She was sitting behind a table, a candle burning next to the book she was reading. Every once and a while she jotted down notes to a booklet, then continued reading, curling a strand of hair with unconscious move around her left index finger. She was clothed from head to toe, long woolen socks covering her feet from toes above her knees, white, modest cotton nightgown shrouded her body, covering even her neck with white collar. But her hands were bare. Long, slender fingers, skin almost as white as the cotton of her gown, red nail polish looking almost obscenely dark and fresh, as the blood that had been dribbling from his knuckles last night when he had gotten in to rough and tumble with some uptight pricks at the City.
He lit a cigar and leaned against the tree growing just outside of the window, letting his eyes rest on her bent head and shoulders. Every once and a while her head rose and she rubbed her forehead, small lines appearing to the corners of her eyes as she was thinking about something. He dropped the cigar to the ground and crunched it under the heel of his boot. Walked to the window and rapped softly with his knuckles on it, startling her momentarily.
“Hi. How have you been?” She asked after opening the window. He leaned his arms against the sill and let his head rest on top of them, keeping his gaze fixed to her face.
“The same… Better… Worse… Who the fuck knows? How about you? These pricks treating you right?” He asked.
“I’m good. Prof pays well, and the work aren’t as hard as I have gotten used to earlier.” She was sitting on the table, dangling her feet over the edge, just above the floor, her toes barely touching the cold linoleum. Candle was spluttering in the light breeze, casting her shadow to the far wall, making it sway back and forth almost as if she were dancing in front of him, twirling along in soundless valse.
“Where have you been?” She asked. He shrugged his shoulders.
“Here and there… They burned your house.”
“Those bastards!” She hissed, anger sparkling briefly in her eyes.
“South Park?” He asked.
“What?”
“Wasn’t that from South Park? Saw one episode few weeks ago.”
“You watch cartoons?”
“No. I was in a bar, and it was either watching South Park or no TV at all. Barkeep had some serious issues with that show.”
“Yeah… So… Came to stay?” She asked. He shrugged his shoulders again. He could tell from her scent what she wanted the answer to be. He could tell many things from her scent, but everything was covered with thick layer of silent need and yearning. She was alone.
“I guess I could… I could stay for a while…”
She grabbed a set of keys from the table and threw them to him.
“I can’t sleep anyways, I have some books to catalogue. My room is in the third floor, last door on the left. As long as you don’t pee on the bathroom floor and don’t rifle through my diary you can crash in there.”
“Pee on the floor? Jesus, woman… I’ll see you at breakfast, okay?” He asked. She nodded and closed the window, leaving him alone in the night.
He grabbed his knapsack from the saddlebag of his bike and entered to the building looming in front of him. Corridors were silent. It looked like everybody else but Marie was sleeping. It suited him well.
His boots thudded softly against the thick carpet as he made his way to the elevator waiting at the corner. To his surprise it now required a key. He picked the one that seemed that it could fit and choose the third floor. Door slid shut behind him and he could feel the car rising.
There were no signs of life on the third floor. Long corridor stretched in to darkness in front of him. Only scent aside from wood polish and dust was Marie’s. She lived alone up here. He made his way to her door and pushed it open.
Room was small but tidy. Filled to the brim with neatly organized piles of books and stacks of papers. The bed was tucked away in the corner, looking like it was more of a necessary evil than anything else. Chair and desk in front of the window looked good. He could detect first signs of use on them, small patches on the desk where she rested her elbows; padding of the chair was slightly dented.
He dropped the knapsack to the corner, drew out his shaving kit and a towel and undressed. The people would most likely complain about late shower at morning, but he wasn’t going to pass the opportunity to scrub off accumulated dirt, dust and sweat from his skin. And he had a feeling that Marie wouldn’t much appreciate if he left smudges to the linens on her bed.
Half an hour later he curled on to the bed, warm, Marie-scented covers wrapped tightly around him, and closed his eyes.
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