Chapter 11: Now
Logan fumbled around in one of the shallow drawers in the kitchen, looking for something to write with. They had picked up a few more things here and there in the last couple of weeks after settling into Hay River, enough apparently to not be able to find shit when he was looking for it. Finally, after a bit of time, he snagged a marker from the bottom of the drawer that would do the trick, turning back to the task at hand.
Smoothing out the already-wrinkled brown paper of the lunch sack, he carefully wrote “Laura” in his blocky, untidy scrawl. Then, frowning a bit at the name, he added the last name “Howlett” underneath it. Now, the look of how both names fit together stared back at him. He had ensured registering her name at the school only went as far as the building. These towns were so small they lacked the organizational structure of whole districts, and Logan was hoping they’d keep it that way. He had already gone through the hassle of driving a couple hundred miles out west a few days ago to set up forged Canadian birth and vaccination records for her, based in part on some of the information they had in the Transigen packet Laura had carried with her this whole time. As Logan forked over the money and was handed the fake documents, he instantly knew they were substandard at best, but he hadn’t been able to afford something better. A fed who was good at his job would be able to tell it was a fake, but Logan figured it would be enough for a couple of part-time receptionists manning the front desk at a rural middle school. And he had been right.
As he looked down at the rumpled paper bag again, Logan frowned a bit more. He had no real clue if parents did this for their kids anymore. God knows his experience was limited. Other than the school of life, the only educational institution he had ever been around was Xavier’s, and a four-course, nutritionally balanced, and usually hot lunch every day was a far cry from a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on somewhat stale bread. The learning curve was going to be steep. He fucking sucked at this.
He could hear Laura in her room getting ready, knowing that she had been in there far longer than it normally took her. Kay had been nice enough to help Logan get her ready for the school year, and, on the same day Logan had gone to pick up the forged paperwork— regretfully lying to Kay and calling it an errand to pick up more tools— Kay had driven Laura into town and had helped pick her out a few more clothes at the department store with the money Logan had given them. It wasn’t much more, but she had a few new things at least. Better shoes. Logan had been a bit put off that Laura had insisted on keeping the jean jacket from Oklahoma, but Kay— God bless the woman—hadn’t asked questions as she had dutifully scrubbed out the bloodstains from the cuffs.
“She’s a wild kid. Falls down a lot and scrapes her palms,” he still had said.
“Æç nátsÿr, nághaye,” she had quietly murmured back. “It is her way.”
Finally, after what had seemed like forever, he heard the flick of the light and the door opening, and Laura padded into the kitchen. Logan took note that her attention to her appearance had been a bit more careful. She had on a new pair of jeans and a blue shirt with the words Chase your dreams! on it, and Logan noted that she also wore a purple clip in her hair they had bought a few weeks ago from the grocery store. And, of course, that damn jean jacket from the casino in Oklahoma. Logan noticed, however, despite the new ensemble, Laura still looked uncomfortable.
“Para la—uh—el almuerzo,” Logan began, trying to use a little Spanish to cheer her up. “Para el almuerzo…ah fuck it… peanut butter and jelly ok?”
“No me importa,” she grumbled as she put her pack on the counter and stalked over to the freezer. Logan frowned as he watched Laura moodily take out a couple of Eggos, shutting the door loudly behind her. He stood back a bit then, crossing his arms slightly, the animal in him instinctively giving Laura space, but other than that unsure of how to handle Laura’s mood. Although she was quiet often, abject sulking wasn’t usually her thing.
“You nervous?” he finally asked, knowing full well that, just like him, if she was not in the mood to share she wasn’t going to.
“No,” she said, popping the waffles into the toaster and turning around to wait.
“Then what?” he asked. Laura just sighed again, steadily breathing out of her nose. Finally, biting her lip and staring at the crumpled brown bag with her new name on it lying on the counter between them, she asked, “Why are you making me go?”
Fuck. He fucking knew it. Logan tiredly ran a hand through his hair, a bit frustrated.
“Jeez, kid. You were excited to go a few days ago. What changed?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, shrugging her shoulders as she nervously fidgeted with her jacket sleeves. The waffles had popped up from the toaster but remained ignored in the appliance.
“Look ,Laura, it’s for the best,” Logan said, loosening his posture a bit as he leaned against the counter with both hands, staring at her evenly. “You gotta chance at something real, something normal, at least for now. You gotta go,” he said resolutely. Laura frowned a little, but offered no more push back.
“Remember the rules, right?” he asked more solemnly.
“Don’t kill anybody,” she said. “And no claws.”
“Yep. I don’t care what kind of problems you run into. Unless Transigen and the fucking Reavers all pop out of the woods and start mowing people over, no claws. Or they will find us,” he added.
“Y tú?” she added quietly.
“Gotta couple of jobs set up for this morning, but I’ll see ya this afternoon,” he said, grabbing his coat that had been folded over the closest armchair. He stared at her for a moment as she stared at the floor.
“I don’t want you to leave me there,” she finally murmured, so softly Logan’s own hearing barely picked up on it.
“Hell, kid,” he muttered. “There’s no need to make it into something bigger than it is. You’ve been through worse.”
--
As the Bronco pulled up to the short, one story building though, Logan immediately started doubting if their life and times slicing Reavers’ jugulars before Hay River was actually worse than the scene before them. Kids were everywhere, and a group of middle-aged women stood between the entrance of the building and the spot where the Bronco had just pulled into. Logan could instantly hear their conversation dropping off as he killed the engine, and they stole a glance at the car. There were seven or eight of them, far too many. Always in fucking packs, women. Except for the ones he liked. An image of Marie alone on Xavier’s veranda involuntarily floated through his mind, before he quickly shut it off.
“Te están mirando,” Laura was saying. “They’re staring at you.”
“At us,” Logan grumbled.
“No. Tú,” she said evenly, turning back to look at the women. Logan bent his head down a bit and peered from behind Laura through the passenger window. Shit. She was right.
“How do we scare ‘em off, do you reckon?” he asked, only half-joking, knowing he was eventually going to have to get out of the goddamn car.
Laura arched a single, very Logan-esque eyebrow at him, and devilishly looked down to her hands with a knowing glance, before turning back to him. They both grinned.
“Heh. That would do the trick, but we gotta actually stick it out in this place longer than a month or two,” he murmured. Laura exhaled deeply.
“Si… then vamos,” she said pulling the handle to exit the Bronco. Logan felt a swell of pride for her steadily increasing determination. She was finally realizing there was no way out of the situation and was now choosing to take it head on. ‘Atta girl. Logan also opened his door, walking around the side of the car a bit hurriedly to catch up to Laura as they headed toward the gaggle of women and the entrance to the doors beyond.
Laura was brave as hell, ruthless too, but Logan noticed as they walked closer to the school, Laura’s hand grabbed his, tightening quickly around his scarred knuckles. Fuck. He sure as hell didn’t look it, but every single day that passed, he wondered if he was growing soft. The fucking kid was killin’ him.
Meanwhile, Logan cursed their good hearing as they both picked up what the other adults assumed they couldn’t as they walked toward the group.
“There they are.”
“She’s starting the sixth grade, isn’t she?”
“No mother, from what everyone is saying.”
“He’s so tall. You think he was in the army?”
“I heard he was a Navy Seal back in America.”
“Helluva good physique, for his age.”
They shut up as Logan and Laura finally walked passed. Laura glared up at the women as they did so, but Logan ignored them, keeping his stare straight ahead, focused on getting Laura to the door in one piece. More and more children had started picking up their pace to get into school on time. Meanwhile, though, as flashes of primary colors and the tinny sound of lunchboxes whirled around them both, Logan knelt so he could look Laura directly in the eye. She stared back at him solemnly, her eyes dark and knowing.
“Kid...” he said, trying to find the words. They were already talking in another way, their way, but he wanted to leave her with something to hold onto today. Logan sighed.
“Don’t let anyone fuck with you,” was all he could add. The best he could do.
“Si, papa,” she said, nodding once, before she turned, hands gripping the straps of her backpack on her shoulders, her stride more determined and unwavering as she headed to the front doors, and Logan was assured that she would set the whole fucking world on fire if it got in her way.
He stood slowly, keeping watch the whole time as she disappeared behind the door. Finally, turning around, he saw that all the women were staring at him once more. Maybe because he felt weird about the whole thing, or maybe because he was desperate for a bit of recklessness, he dug down deep, calling up some of his old, timeless swagger, and threw them a predatory smirk as he walked by. He smelled arousal on at least a few of them as he passed, and he grinned, sure to take some pleasure in realizing he still had it in him to make a few of them silently pine, helpless from his power over them. Serves ‘em right.
--
Logan had deliberately set up several jobs that day with clients, knowing he was likely to be on edge. Despite his lies to Kay a few days ago, he had picked up some supplies in the past few weeks, intent on making the work last. In his days before Stryker, and certainly long before Westchester, he had done a bit of carpentry and masonry work for various jobs. Logan was grateful that, despite the jump in time, his muscles remembered some of the movements as he worked with the tools, even as his mind fumbled around with the details.
And so, he had spent more and more of his time sawing, plastering, hanging drywall and installing ceiling fans, and he found the work oddly peaceful. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out that Logan was a physical being. If he couldn’t fight and destroy things in his wake, and it was obvious with each passing day his body wasn’t so keen on doing so anymore, maybe he could spend a little time patching things back together. Making shit work again.
He had done two relatively light jobs this morning, racking up a couple hundred bucks, and he found that whatever strange dread had resided after parting with Laura on the school’s doorstep was beginning to fade. Johnny Cash was now on the radio, and in a rare move he turned the music up. The windows of the Bronco were almost always rolled down this time of year. It was a bright, clear day and by the afternoon he suspected it would be truly warm verging on hot, a rarity for late September. Knowing what sort of severity the winter ahead would likely bring, he’d take a decent day if it was offered to him.
For the third and final job of the morning, Logan made his way to the southern part of town, relying on a map in the passenger seat, still a bit unfamiliar with the streets this far south. Wrapped up in a decent mood, Logan noticed a little too late that the already small houses in town were getting smaller, a bit more neglected and run-down as he drove past. Logan usually could have cared less, but as the Bronco rolled up to a small, practically dilapidated thing, Logan was learning that in these cases he had his work cut out for him. It was supposed to be a patch job, but in houses like this, one smaller problem usually led to another larger problem, and so on. And he wasn’t a fucking construction engineer. He breathed out, grabbing the bag and leaving his jacket in the Bronco. Logan’s boots were heavy on the concrete, weeds stubbornly coming up through the cracks. He noticed straight off that part of the siding on the house was giving way, and Logan smelled the vague, indiscriminate whiff indicative of termites. As he got closer to the door, Logan had the urge to turn around. This had trouble written all over it.
However, trying to keep his word and honor Kay’s offer to help by setting up this string of work, Logan summoned up a little courage, the sort he had seen in Laura this morning, and pressed the doorbell, trying to quiet all the warnings his senses were pummeling him with. At first, he heard nothing. No rustling about, no footsteps. Logan waited on the stoop for a moment, before knocking briskly on the door. Still nothing. Just as he was about to turn around and make his way back down the stoop, the door cracked just slightly, and he was able to make out a face of a young woman who had recently seen the ugly side of some violence. A black eye, a cut on her forehead, lips swollen. Shit. He regretted his decision to stick around instantly.
“Yes?” she said meekly, still refusing to open the door the whole way.
“Uh, miss, sorry to bother you, but I’m here for the drywall…problem?” he inquired.
“What?”
“You might know Kay…she set it up,” Logan offered unenthusiastically. Finally, familiarity struck the young woman’s features, and she weakly smiled, her twisted lips turning upward into something that was a bit more grotesque than welcoming. Someone had beat the shit out of her, and recently.
“Oh yes, right… that was today. Sorry. Ok. Come in,” she said, before shutting the door to take the chain off of it and letting him in. His unease grew as he walked inside. The place smelled of alcohol, a smell he knew so well he could follow it blindly to the end of the earth. Magazines and newspapers littered the floor, and the TV blared in the background. But the worst was the dust and suspected asbestos, and upon entering the house, he could feel his lungs seizing up.
“Can I get you something? Water?” she asked, suddenly a little more alight with concern as she watched him cough violently. Logan heaved heavily as the air fucked with his lungs, but he was already shaking his head. The last thing he wanted to do was take something from this woman.
“Ah, no ma’am,” he finally croaked. “Just…where’s the damage at?” She flushed a bit at this, but still led him to the dining room. A busted wall came into focus, and again, Logan didn’t like the look of it. For one thing, it was more than a one-hour or even a one-day job, a lot larger and more pronounced than what had been described to him originally. For another, this house stunk of domestic abuse, if not something worse. Logan had been around a long time; he knew terror when he saw it.
He coughed once more into his hand, noticing new blood and wiping it discreetly on a handkerchief he had taken to carrying around with him when she had her back turned. Finally, he set the work bag down on the table, fumbling around for a tape measure.
“You got kids, sir?” she asked, and he noticed she was reaching for a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka in the kitchen, pouring it into a plastic cup, hands shaking.
“Uh, yeah,” he muttered. “Just the one, though.”
“Boy or a girl?”
“Girl,” he said, suddenly uneasy in divulging any more information. The woman was inoffensive enough, beyond her evident day-drinking, but whoever had caused the harm was sure to be lurking somewhere ‘round here. Meanwhile, the young woman had come over just a little too close next to him, plastic cup in hand, as Logan measured the size of the hole in the wall.
“You keepin’ her safe?” she asked, and Logan bristled, turning to see her complete disregard for personal space.
“Uh, ma’am…”
“Angelica,” she said slowly.
“Yeah, this job looks like a lot of work. I sure as hell don’t have everything I need to complete it. If it’s alright with you, I can refer you to some contractors,” he kept talking, even though he knew not one damn contractor in the area, “Maybe if I come back…” she stopped him then, putting one hand on his forearm instinctively. It wasn’t a come on. It was a fucking cry for help.
“Please don’t leave,” she asked desperately.
“Excuse me?” Logan asked, his voice low and cautious.
“He’s already here,” she said, whipping around to the front door just as Logan heard a car in the driveway rolling up. Fuck.
A man was shouting at the top of his lungs outside, something incomprehensible, before Logan and Angelica looked at the same time to the front door, which they both knew had been left unlocked.
“Ang! Angie! Who the fuck’s car is that out there in the street?” It was then a man in his late twenties burst in on them like that, Logan tall and brooding in the dining room, the younger woman still holding Logan’s arm tightly. Logan noticed she pivoted a little, slipping behind him somewhat. The man’s eyes got big for a minute, before a leer evolved on his face.
“And just who the fuck are you?” he said, already rounding on Logan.
“Here on repairs,” he said, his muscles tense and coiled with unease. Just then, the usually dormant Wolverine poked his head up into the air, the promise of violence on the wind.
“Yeah, the fucking handyman. You’re the new asshole in town all the guys down at the bar have been talking ‘bout,” the man said, before walking close to them both, turning to the woman.
“You call this guy to come over?” he accused.
“No, honey, I set it up through my mom’s friend.” She finally let go of Logan’s arm, and moved a bit closer to the guy, but he wasn’t listening to whatever she was saying.
“Fucking figures, you trying to pull the wool over my eyes, always whoring around behind my back,” he spat, now pacing the kitchen manically, wiping his nose on his dirty sleeve. Crack, maybe methamphetamines, Logan’s senses whispered in his ear. Logan stifled another cough for as long as he could, before it finally overtook him.
“Can you fucking quiet down old man? I’m trying to have a conversation with this bitch,” Logan stood back from where he had been slightly bent over, sneering as he did so, claws singing underneath his skin, awakened and ready.
Now’s not the time, sugar.
He growled a bit as he stood straighter, unsure of what to do.
Logan. Laura. Think of Laura.
“Maybe I-” he began, before he was interrupted.
“--should get the fuck out of my house? Yeah, sounds like a fucking plan.”
---
Logan got in the front seat of the Bronco, slamming the car door shut as he did so. His hands gripped the wheel, once more peering at the dump in front of him. He already had memorized the plates of the rusty Mustang sitting in the driveway, along with the address.
And what are you gonna do about it, sugar? You got-
“Yeah, I know. Laura.” The fact of the matter was, there was nothing he could do, other than report the asshole to the cops, and that’s a phone call he would definitely be making. But it was the first time in a long time that he hadn’t responded the way he would have normally. Without Laura, he would’ve killed the fucker than gotten the hell out of Dodge. But now… it had taken him so long to get themselves set up, and— mentally sending his regrets to the woman inside— he wasn’t about to destroy it all in the name of some old thrill in seeking justice. He didn’t even fucking know the lady, couldn’t explain the entire situation if he tried.
As he exhaled slowly and started the car once more, suddenly the cheap cell phone he had bought a couple of weeks ago started incessantly ringing. Logan answered.
“Mr. Howlett?”
“Yeah?” Logan asked, increasingly wary.
“We have your daughter, Laura, here at school, and she has been suspended for the rest of the day. We need you to come and pick her up immediately.”
“Christ, what’d she do?”
“Mrs. Gundalson will explain once you arrive.”
“Who’s Mrs. Gundalson?”
“The principal, Mr. Howlett.” With that, the call ended, and Logan made a right turn instead of his planned left, cursing under his breath as he did so.
--
Logan found Laura sitting in the hallway, on a bench by a row of lockers. Laura was wearing a scowl, one leg tucked up by her chest. The purple clip was now dangling in her mussed hair and there was a dirt smudge on her face, but she was, of course, unharmed. He couldn’t say the same for the other sorry son of a bitch. The blonde boy next to Laura had a split lip and a bruising purple face and held a bag of ice to his head. It was obvious that they both had been instructed to sit there, but the boy was trying as hard as possible to lean away from Laura, as if she were some sort of rabid animal about to snap.
“Wait there,” he told Laura sternly, but she barely looked up at him. Five minutes later, he also found himself in the principal’s office, trying to figure out what had really happened. The woman was stout and stern in a maroon suit, and had a glare that could have likely brought a fucking sentinel to its knees. She curtly explained to Logan that the skirmish had occurred during recess, after some sort of game of kickball had gone savage, although the principal hadn’t been around to see it happen and wasn’t so sure who had started what. But the end result was pretty clear.
“So, she clocked a kid. Why are you sending her home?” Logan had asked the woman across the desk.
“We take physical violence around here very seriously, Mr. Howlett, especially for students who lash out on the first day.”
“I thought she was provoked,” Logan said, eyes narrowing.
“And that means she gets to respond with physical violence?” the woman countered. Logan paused a this, jaw falling a little, entirely and completely thrown off by this line of ethical questioning.
Ooh, I like her. She’s tough as nails.
Shut up, Marie.
“Children provoke each other constantly, Mr. Howlett. Especially middle schoolers,” she said again, folding her hands, elbows resting at her desk. “Laura’s going to need to learn how to control her anger. We can’t have kids coming home with concussions on a daily basis.”
“A concussion?! I thought she punched him,” he asked.
“Exactly,” the woman said, offering him a stern look that made even Logan squirm a little.
After Logan and Laura had been dismissed, they said nothing as Laura opened the passenger door of the Bronco, tossing her bag inside and climbing in the front. For a moment they both sat face-forward, Logan weary and Laura fuming.
“The first day, Laura,” Logan finally grumbled as he turned on the engine. “The first goddamned day. It better have been self-defense.” Laura said nothing, however, crossing her arms and looking out the passenger window instead, out rightly ignoring him.
“Hey, look at me,” Logan growled, snapping his fingers in the air between them. Laura dramatically turned toward him, eyes on fire. “Listen, kid. I just got chewed out in there by that lady and it was fucking terrifying, so you’re going to tell me what the hell happened.” Again, steely silence. Logan outwardly groaned. It was like looking in the goddamn mirror sometimes with this kid.
As they drove home, Logan’s frustration began to fester, fueled in part by how powerless he had felt while on the job, along with suffering from Laura’s refusal to tell him anything the entire car ride home. Laura was already out of the car and was kicking the door shut with her foot as Logan killed the engine, parking it out front of the antique shop. Logan got out and limped behind her, determined to get some fucking answers, when he noticed she was headed to the door of Kay’s shop and not to the private entry off to the right that led up a second set of stairs to their apartment.
“Laura, again, what the fuck made you wanna hit him?”
“What was I supposed to do?! You said no claws,” she finally grumbled, pausing at the shop door and turning back to him.
“And I’m sure as hell glad I did. Jesus Christ, Laura, what were you gonna do? Gut the fucking kid? Disembowel an eleven-year-old?!” Laura only offered a smoldering glare in return and then opened the door, realizing the power she had over him. Now that Kay was in earshot, she had effectively killed that part of the conversation. She was calling sanctuary on his ass.
“Home early?” Kay questioned, looking up from her store ledger at the two of them spilling into her office, practically spitting at each other like cats.
“At school, un niño, un cabrón…” she said to Kay, spitting on the floor in front of her feet, much to Logan’s distress, before rounding on the older mutant once more. “Usted me dijo…you said, don’t let him fuck with me.” Logan guiltily crossed his arms at this, as he watched Kay look to him and then back to Laura.
“Ok, you two. Enough,” she finally sighed, dragging over an old leather stool from behind the counter, patting its cushion and gesturing for Laura to sit. Laura did so moodily, while Logan grumpily paced the dusty floorboards in front of the counter.
“Laura, what happened?” she asked calmly.
“She was playing kickball with some boys, and things got way too out of hand-” Logan interrupted.
“You said—” Laura started again.
“—I know what I said. But, Jesus, you gave the kid a concussion. Can’t you just … make friends with a couple of the girls your age? You know, have tea parties and all that shit?” That’s when Laura straight up growled at him, and he had to stop everything in him from snarling back.
“Laura,” Kay said, shooting a look at Logan that obviously communicated she wanted him to shut his trap and let the girl talk. “What did they say that made you so angry?”
She got quiet, fingers messing with the patches of fraying leather on the old stool.
“I was better at them at it. What do you call? Kickball. Se enojaron. They were jealous. El niño called me a name, so I punched him. Puñetazo,” she said these words sharply, like a slice of a knife, while she ruthlessly mimicked punching the kid once more, one fist hitting an open palm.
“What name?”
“Que?”
“What name did he call you?” Kay asked quietly.
“Half-breed,” she said. Logan suddenly felt another sort of anger burn within him, as he gave Kay an almost accusatory look.
“A racial slur around here. She looks a little native, nághaye,” she said to Logan, adding, “Athabascan, even.” Logan was increasingly becoming torn between wanting to finish the job and kill the little racist fucker with the split lip and feeling guilty for giving Laura such a hard time for defending herself.
“What’s wrong with how I look?” Laura asked quietly.
“Nothing, sekui —” Kay began, but Laura had already whipped her head around to Logan
“Do they know I’m a mutu—” Laura started to ask, but Logan glared at her so severely that she shut up, although she shot him a look back. The silence hung in the air for a bit, before Kay spoke once more.
“There are many reasons for people to hate, sekui,” she said slowly, before looking up to both of them, her gaze a little too knowing for Logan to really feel at ease.
--
Introduction Essay
Write a paragraph introducing yourself to the class. This is your time to share your story! Tell us about your family, your friends, and what you like to do. Be ready to share with the class tomorrow. We’re excited to have you here!
My name is Laura. I am 11. I don’t know my mom. My dad is a repairman, but he used to help save people. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I like to listen to music on my ipod.
Logan picked up the piece of paper from the little desk he had recently bought her, realizing that was all Laura had written. The little monster was now despondently watching Dawn of the Dead in the living room, after she said she had finished up with her homework. Logan looked at the instructions again, frowning. He knew she was a sharp kid, dedicated even, but adjusting to the world around her and making friends didn’t seem to be in the cards for her just yet. Logan glanced around her room. He didn’t come in here often, allowing her to have her own space, but he did notice that, whether it was her nature or her age, he kept a tidier room than she did. There were a couple of magazines around, the books she kept borrowing from Kay’s piled up on the floor next to her bed. The sheets had been replaced twice already, but the claw marks in the wall closest to the door were still there. That hadn’t been the result of a nightmare; she had been awake for that little tantrum, and he knew he’d have to patch, maybe replace, the wall soon or Kay would likely have their heads. Logan stared at the claw marks once more, two angry tears in the faded flower wallpaper, revealing the framing of the wall underneath. Finally, he set down the essay on the desk in quiet frustration, definitively making up his mind on what to do.
“Let’s go, kid. Off the couch,” Logan said, walking into the living room.
“Donde?”
“The lake,” he said simply. She finally took her eyes off the television, looking at him.
“But it’s dark,” she offered.
“So?” Logan asked, shrugging before grabbing jackets for them both. “Last time I checked you can see in the dark just fine.”
--
The water was a dark, smooth mirror. The lake house stood a ghostly white behind them. They had been out this way a few times now, and it had become their place of sorts, despite the fact the house still stood empty, belonging to someone, belonging to no one. He had gestured to Laura with a quiet tilt of his head to follow him up the stairs, and now they stood on the deck, looking down on the lake quietly.
“Papa, why are we-”
“Shhh,” Logan said back, looking at her. “I need you to stop thinking for a moment, Laura. For now, I need you to listen. Just… become your senses.”
Laura looked at him quizzically, before she turned back to the view of the lake. Finally, he could feel her letting go a bit as the sounds overtook them both, a chorus only they could hear.
There was laughter in the distance, kids miles away along the side of the lake. The crackle of the fire, crickets chirping, the water rippling, the smell of smoke in the distance, the dewy scent of lake water, mildew, the humidity hanging in the air, the milk thistle dying. All of these sounds: a chorus song. They both could always hear them, but usually it was a matter of tuning them out. Now the overlapping noises cradled them both, nestled in the dark night.
“You hear it all?” Logan finally murmured, looking once more to Laura.
“Si,” she whispered.
“That’s life, kid. Pulsing through everything. And—in a way—you’re lucky… to get to hear it all. Most people, they don’t get that,” Logan trailed off, taking in the sight of her. Laura bit her lip a little, quietly staring off at the surface of the lake.
“And this anger you’re feeling…that rage?” Logan added. Laura looked at him then.
“It’s a double-edged sword, kid. And they put some of it in you, and the rest you come by naturally. You’ve got this thing inside you, and sometimes it’s screaming so loud you can’t stand it, demanding blood, but you can’t let it out. You gotta learn to control it, Laura. All of it. I know at school you gotta pretend a little. I know you have to. But…I want you to try doing something like this… when that thing inside ya gets too loud, or needs more space. Try listenin’ to the sounds the world’s making, and let that thing become you, if only for a few seconds. It’s…like meditating…or at least our fucked-up version of it,” Logan finished.
Laura looked up to him then, realizing the extent of what he was trying to get across to her. She finally glanced out across the water once more, then turned back.
“Gracias, papa,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome, kid,” he said, before turning to face forward again, a guilty, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The truth was, throughout his entire fucking life, he hadn’t been able to find anything to stop himself when the animal really wanted out, even in moments of peace. They were what they were, and at times, what they were was bloodthirsty, starved, desperate for a kill. But Laura didn’t need to know that yet. And there was nothing he could say to change it.
--
Down in the military barracks, fifty feet under the ground in the middle of October, the cold was finally getting to him. The anticipation of the mission had tightened its grip on everyone. After hours of struggling to get to sleep, Logan had finally fallen into a light doze, before he heard the opening of a door, and his ears pricked at the noise. He relaxed a little though, hearing and knowing her sound and weight of her soft footprints by heart. When he turned she was there, lying on top of the covers next to him in the dark, inches away. She was shrouded in the same t-shirt from earlier, but now she wore gloves.
“Marie, what’re you-” he started, but couldn’t seem to finish.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Logan looked at her evenly in the dark, trying to stifle something black rising up in him. He had never seen Marie from this angle, and it did her all kinds of justice. He wanted to watch her from this angle, hair falling softly on the blankets, constantly, all the time, for fucking forever.
“You still mad at me?” she whispered tiredly in the dark. Logan exhaled.
“No, darlin’. You don’t owe me anything. I’m not anything you signed up for.”
At this, she frowned, but said nothing.
“Rogue, whatever you have planned tomorrow,” he finally reached out and instinctively brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Remember these are extractions. We’re not trying to bring down the whole of the Canadian military-”
“Let’s not talk about that. Just…keep me company tonight?” Logan stiffened at her words.
“Marie…”
“I know, sugar.”
I know.
Logan awoke with a start, sitting up so fast his body protested immediately, coughing and sputtering, his mind still woozy from the dream. Or had it been a memory? It was an old one, whatever it was, a dark one, the kind from the old Marie, from before she had….before…
Before what, sugar?
Before what?
Fuck his nightmares. Fuck them to hell. And fuck the unrelenting voice in his head, the nagging, leering softness of the subtle drawl in her words. He was talking to ghosts, to nothing. Along with his body, he was now losing his fucking mind.
Why would you think that, sugar?
“Because you’re dead,” he said simply to the dark.
Logan-
“Twice, Marie. Twice.”
And he was already out of bed then, fumbling around for a shirt. He realized he had fallen asleep with his jeans still on, and it was only a little past ten at night. He had passed out after a miserable coughing fit shortly after Laura went to bed, and he hadn’t been asleep for more than thirty, shitty minutes. He growled in frustration, finally leaving the bedroom, intent on alcohol. Sniffing around the fridge, he realized there was none.
“Shit,” he said aloud, and then, as his mind grew more anxious, he stomped down the back stairs to Kay’s shop. She was still there, thank god, cashing out for the night, sipping tea.
“Headed out,” he said.
“What? You alright?”
“Fine, can you just… stick around a while longer? Just keep an ear out for Laura if you can? No more than an hour.”
Kay stared at him through her readers, the steam off the tea rising up in white coils beside her.
“If you’re seeking trouble, you’ll only find it, nághaye.”
“No helping it, Kay. Trouble fucking loves me.” And then he was putting on his coat and slipping out the door into the night, glad to be rid of that apartment, rid of the weight of his own crushing responsibility, and rid of her goddamn voice.
--
He had picked up a fifth of Jack from the liquor store and had drank it on the way over. He walked down the street, hand gripping the bottle in the brown paper bag tightly. The alcohol sung in his bones, but his blood boiled. It still took a lot, but a whole lot less than it used to, to get him drunk, and he was well on his way. As came up to the establishment, the only bar like this in town, he tossed the empty in a trashcan and opened the door. Logan found the fucking asshole sitting in the corner with his friends, drinking. Exactly where he wanted him. A shop bell rang at his entrance, and they turned to look at Logan, hulking and seething in front of them all. The air left the room, the whole place quiet.
“Can I have a word, outside?” Logan asked, looking directly at the man who Angelika had called honey.
“You don’t know when to stop. Hey guys, this is the asshole everyone’s talking about,” he said, to a couple of his hunting-gear buddies, and they started snickering.
“Yeah, my wife won’t shut up about him. Not sure why, now. Look at him. Looks like he’s been carved up with a Swiss Army Knife,” another one of his comrades joked for a few laughs. Logan’s snarl deepened, and he took a step toward them all. Once more, the man from earlier stood up, and Logan realized the man wasn’t scared yet. In his mind, Logan was the outnumbered one.
“What’s your name, bub?” Logan growled.
“Dwayne.”
“Dwayne, eh? Dwayne, you wanna come outside or tell me right here why you fucking get off on beating the shit out of women?” That did it. A couple of the men’s faces fell. So, at least from some of them, this had been a little secret that Dwayne had been keeping.
“You got no right coming in here and throwing accusations around like that,” another man, Logan noticed was significantly bigger than Dwayne, spat, standing up. A fucking bodyguard. Perfect. The man walked a few steps closer, and Logan grinned.
“Yeah, that’s it, come closer. I dare you, bub,” he taunted, and the man did so. Just as he was an arm’s length away from him, Logan grabbed his left hand and yanked it behind his back, throwing the man’s head hard against the table while stomping the knee joint on the man’s right leg, and the man fell to the ground in agony. He spat on the floor next to him, sweating, as he looked up at the rest of the crew. He had already noticed Dwayne was packing, but now the handgun was at the ready, pointed directly at Logan’s temple.
“I’ll blow your brains out if you don’t get the fuck out of here, man,” he said. Logan stopped, seething, before stalking off through the door and into the street, knowing the guy would likely follow him. It was then he heard the fucker again… opening up the door and following him outside, hand still waving the gun around.
“And that bitch deserves what she got,” Dwayne yelled after Logan. “She’s a fucking cunt.”
Logan whipped his head around, nothing now but pure and raw instinct. A sick pain shot through him as his claws tore through one hand. He threw his fist up into the fucker’s gun, and, with a flick of his wrist, the metal fell apart and to the floor like a bunch of ribbons, and Logan saw he had taken a couple fingers with it, too. Dwayne started screaming, and that’s when Logan quickly retracted his claws, cursing inwardly in pain, and grabbed the guy by the mouth, effectively throwing him up against the wall outside of the bar, not giving a shit who saw.
“Shut the fuck up,” Logan snarled.
“You’re a goddamn freak,” Dwayne managed to spit out, and Logan’s hand lowered to squeeze his throat, bloody knuckles right underneath his chin, taunting him.
“A goddamn lethal freak, you motherfucker. Stay the fuck away from that girl I met today, you hear me? Or you’ll wish you hadn’t. And if you breathe another word about me and what I can do to anyone, and I mean anyone, I’ll fucking decapitate your head from your sorry ass.” The man struggled to breathe, before Logan let him sag to the ground. Logan turned around, breathing hard, glad to see no one else had been outside to witness that little procession now that it was over, before he stalked off down the darkened street. In the background, the chorus of sounds still resonated in the air, the spark of fire, the milk thistle in the wind, and the animal within him sung in vicious joy. When provoked, you respond with violence. This: his fucking night song.
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Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for all the generous encouragement and feedback. Chapter 12 should be up by the end of the weekend. Happy Friday to you all! :D