Xavier had taken the news surprisingly well. It’s not every day you get to hear that you’ll be probably dead within next two weeks. The old telepath hadn’t even blinked when Logan told him that first Legacy victims had been spotted in N.Y. General Hospital.
“And they think it’s a common flu?” Xavier had asked. He had nodded. Xavier had rubbed his forehead, then turned to look out through the window.
“It’s probably better this way. I rather have people die over influenza than mutant plague.”
“Yeah... You guys need anything?” He had asked. Professor Xavier had shaken his head.
“Though I’m sure that Jean would appreciate extra pair of hands when this thing reaches us. And there’s the case of the mystery note as well.”
A slip of paper, few words written on it with sturdy block letters. A warning of sorts, telling them to forget the goddamned bugs and concentrate to techno-mages instead. Nobody knew what those were. Nobody knew what to expect. Nobody knew who had written the message, but one morning it had been sitting on Professor’s desk.
“You want me to keep looking for the writer?” He asked. The Professor shrugged his shoulders.
“Either writer, or those techno-mages, whatever they may be. Clearly the writer perceives them a far more credible threat than Legacy.”
“You know, something in that message bothers me...”
“What is it, Logan?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’m being paranoid, but it looks almost as if I had written it...”
“Did you write it?”
“No. Not that I remember.”
“Well, that settles it, then. But if you excuse me, it’s late already... There’s a room for you at the dorms. Nothing grand, I’m afraid, but...”
“Thanks, professor. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mystery message still in his mind he left the Professor’s office. He felt restless, so instead of going to bed he decided to take a good look of the mansion, learn his way around rather now than later during the next day when halls and corridors would be crowded with students and teachers.
At first he was under the impression that he was the only one skulking around at this time of night. When he reached a small kitchenette near the grand entrance hall he realized that he had company. A girl sat in there.
“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” He asked.
“That’s... That’s none of your business...” The girl rasped. She obviously had difficulties in breathing.
“Well, actually it is,” he said, stepping closer. The girl turned to look at him, giving him quite thorough once-over.
“Xavier just hired me. Technically I’m your superior, so...”
“Superior? ... I don’t give a shit... of your superiority...” She rasped, then turned back to the book she was reading. Conversation over.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat opposite her. For a while they sat, the girl pretending to read a book and he just listening the wet rattle of her lungs.
“What’s the matter with you?” He finally asked. The girl huffed, then cleared her throat.
“Why am I... being such a bitch? I have cystic fibrosis... What’s your excuse?” She wheezed, them grimaced, dug up a handkerchief from a pocket of her bathrobe.
He waited until she was able to quit coughing. Scent of fresh blood assaulted his sinuses.
“Is that why you don’t sleep?” He asked. The girl nodded.
“I have maybe a week... I want to finish this book before I die...”
“So I should fuck off and let you mope here all by yourself?”
“That’s the basic idea...”
“And what if I don’t? You’re going to cough and spit on me?” He wasn’t going to back out now. No girl, dying or not, should have been able to make him do anything against his will.
“If you don’t leave me... I’ll touch you...”
For a moment they both sat in silence, then a smile crept over the girl’s face.
“That... That didn’t come out right...” She giggled, trying desperately not to cough.
“Well, not that I would mind if a pretty lady wanted to grope me, but you said it like it would be a bad thing,” he said, taking a sip from his rapidly warming beer.
“It’s my ‘gift’... I have poisonous skin; I hurt people if they touch me... Kill people...”
“Shit. That has got to be the most fucked up mutation that I have ever heard, kid.”
“Tell me about it...”
The girl turned her attention back to the book. Now she really was reading it instead of just trying to avoid his company. He stood up; perhaps he really should leave her alone. He was at the door when the girl called him.
“Hey...” He turned to look. The girl looked at him, her head tilted and a questioning smile on her lips.
“You think that I’m pretty?” She whispered her question.
Calling her pretty had originally been a slipup from his part, unintentional phrase that crept in to his speech when he wasn’t paying enough attention. But now...
“Yeah. You’re pretty alright,” he said.
“Th... Thanks...”
He left, but not in time to avoid the hopeful smile that rose on to the girl’s face. It annoyed him. It spoke volumes of how she was treated among other students. A simple compliment from a complete stranger and she was ready to set the world on fire with joy and happiness that radiated from her.
He found the room that Professor Xavier had mentioned easily enough. It was small, and apparently he was sharing a bathroom with his neighbour, but it didn’t really matter. He wouldn’t be spending his time in there. Now it was time to sleep, but after that his work would begin. He’d have to track down the writer of the mysterious message, or find the threat mentioned in it and dispose it if possible.
Bed was narrow but comfortable. Moon cast its soft glow through the window. Light was bright enough to keep him awake, but he didn’t have the heart to draw the curtains closed. It wasn’t often when he got to see and actually appreciate full moon. Usually he was either drunk or on assignment at this time of night.
He could almost feel the light on his skin, cold and soft caress whispering over him. Ghostly fingers mapping every inch of him, curling around his toes and fingers, tousling his wild hair. Blunt nails raking over his pectorals, ever so lightly at first, then suddenly increasing pressure until it felt like he was being gutted alive, and he just had to get up and close the curtains, then return to bed.
It was impossible to return to that blessed tranquil he had fallen. Now the pillow felt lumpy. Sheets were scratchy and bed felt like somebody had replaced it with a slab of concrete. He sat up, rubbing his face tiredly. There was no way of explaining his sudden jittery feeling, and he just knew it wouldn’t go away. Not anymore.
He grabbed a notebook and a pen from the bedside table. Called the words of the mystery note from his memory and scribbled them over a crisp white page, trying not to think about too hard what he was doing. He pulled the original note from the pocket of his jacket and unfolded it.
Two messages were identical.
“Holy shit.”
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