Remy LeBeau stood at the bottom of the stairs staring up at the front door of the mansion. His hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. His bag was across his back. The wind whipped his coat around his legs. The rain would be there in a few minutes. He could feel his sister in the gathering storm. He closed his eyes and felt the tears gather at the lashes. He blinked them away. He opened his eyes to gaze at the place that he'd considered his home. He remembered the first time he'd seen the mansion. It had been nothing more than a hole in the ground. It had been leveled by one of the many teams' enemies. Storm had been unconcerned and things had worked out, despite the lingering slimy feeling that the Shadow King had left in the back of his mind.
The memories swarmed up of those early days before he'd remembered that he wasn't one of them, before he'd become Cyclops' spy and Xavier's thief. He remembered the easy days of laughter sandwiched between the fighting. His heart summoned up Rogue's face as she looked over the candlelight at him asking him if he wanted to talk about his wife's death, then smiling as they took a carriage around the park.
Then, in an instant of cracking thunder, those memories vanished. He mounted his Harley and gunned the engine. He saw Logan's face in the upstairs window watching him. He put on his helmet, out of courtesy to the concern in Xavier's eyes as he looked out from his office. It wasn't his home anymore. Rogue was gone and Scott was missing so there was no lingering loyalty to the team. Logan would find him or not as the whim took him. Storm would be happier to never see him again. The pain in her eyes was killing him.
He sped out of the campus and onto the wet pavement beyond the gate. He wove between the cars towards someplace he didn't know. He wasn't sure where he was heading. He didn't know who would take him in. He was alone again. He couldn't go back to Sinister, not without losing the tiny shred of humanity he was holding to his heart. He couldn't go to Jake, not until he found a way to restore him to himself. He couldn't go to New Orleans, even if he was the Guildmaster. He couldn't stand the cold emptiness in his father's study.
His attention wavered from the road for a moment, and illuminated in the lightening he saw the face of a child watching him. He pulled toward the side of the road, but the face was gone when he looked for it. He started up again and felt the slickness under his wheels. He was tempted to take off his helmet and feel the tears in the rain. He wove back and forth until he could barely remember what road he was on. He saw the child more clearly this time. She was there and she wasn't. It wasn't like Kitty in the middle of a phase either. This was a different feel. She was keeping pace with the bike.
He felt his heart flutter as he sped up. He knew he shouldn't. He couldn't risk his life now, not without an heir for the guild. What would they do? He was supposed to be their savior. He laughed bitterly to himself. He couldn’t save himself, how could he save anyone else.
The streets became residential again and he didn’t know why he knew the place. He found himself at the back gates of the mansion. He shook himself and turned away from the school. He stopped as he saw the little girl standing in the shelter provided by the enclosure of the gate. Remy stepped off of the bike and turned it off. He approached her. She disappeared through the gate. Her white dress should have been soaked to see-through levels, but it was crisp cotton.
The thief shook himself and turned on the bike. He had to get away. He was seeing things. He hadn't realized he was that crazy yet. He lifted his hand to gather a handful of the tears that rained around him. He poured them over his helmet and took them as his due. "I'll miss you, padnat."
He left down the back road again, taking turns at a whim, hoping his path would lead him into the depths of the countryside. He passed a vineyard and knew he was on the right track. He was deep in the middle of the country when he saw her again. She was laying in a ditch next to the road. He nearly spun out, stopping to check on her. There was no little girl there, just a scrap of white clinging to the end of a vine. He put it into his pocket. He shook his head. This sort of thing was why he had to leave. There were too many lies of omission in his life.
The road was more dangerous now. The winds were coming up and he could see the oil floating atop the water. The midnight moonlight was obscured by the dark clouds. He had to outrun the storm before he could be free. He knew that. He had to leave his sister completely. She was the last one he'd ever hurt and he was hurting her by his mere presence. She was turning reckless and he worried for her safety. She was beginning to act as if she had no reason to live and he couldn't see her throw her life away. Not when it was to prove that she believed in him.
The little girl was in a cornfield the next time, but he ignored her. She flickered as he passed her. The storm was behind him now and he sped up on the drier roads. He pulled into the next gas station and filled the tank, hiding the shaking of his hands in the simple action. The attendant watched him. "You need to stop and get some rest," she told him bluntly. He smiled at her.
"Y' know any place a boy like me could rest his sorry head?"
She smiled back at him. "There's old woman Morris' place. It's the big one with two lights in the front yard. She'll give you a room for a fair price."
"At this time of night, chere?"
She nodded. "She doesn't go out in the day. She's allergic to the sun."
Remy nodded. "I'll try her then," he said, not intending to do any such thing.
The girl behind the counter caught his wrist. "It's not safe driving at this time of night around here. Go to the left on the next street. Take a room for the night."
He felt pinned by her eyes. He nodded and left the store. He turned as instructed and found the house. There were candles in the front window. He parked his cycle. He slipped up the path, feet making no more sound than a cat as he padded up the stairs to the door. He knocked on it and it gave way to reveal an old woman. Her skin was parchment white. "Tracy called from the station. Come in young man. I'll get you something warm to drink, then send you up to sleep."
"Merci," he said. He dropped his head as he took off his coat.
"And take off those glasses, boy. There's very little I haven't seen taking in creatures at this time of night." He reluctantly took off the shades. He hung his coat on the rack, leaving it with a reluctant pat. He accompanied the old lady across creaking floors to the old but sturdy kitchen of warm wood and a small stove.
She looked him up and down, then pointed at the table. "Sit down. I'll make some tea to make sure you sleep the night."
That's all right, mademoiselle, I be fine."
Hush, child."
He folded his hands in his lap, feeling guilty about her fussing over him. She turned and set a teacup in front of him. He nodded his thanks and took a sip of it. It was warm and sweet and he realized suddenly that he'd been cold.
"Now, what's your name?"
The idea of lying to this woman fill his heart with dread as she looked into his eyes without fear. Her eyes were as red as his own. "Remy."
"And I'm Rebecca."
Nice t' meet y', Mademoiselle."
"Come now, don't be dense. My name is Rebecca. We're both adults here. I'm not as old as I look, well, most of the time, I'm not." She winked at him. "Now, Remy, are you running to or away from something?"
He slumped forward, putting the tea cup down carefully. "I'm . . . I don' know no mo'," he said softly. "I t'ought I was over runnin', den folks got hurt by what I done b'fore. I ain't got nowhere t' run t'."
"Then you'll stay with me until you figure out your path."
"Rebecca, I. . ."
"Nonsense. You'll stay here. You'll get warm and get some rest before you decide where you're going. And you'll fix up the parts of the house that need it. Then, if you haven't decided by then, you'll get a job at one of the farms, or in town."
Remy blinked. His mouth worked a bit. "Oui, Rebecca."
"Don't worry. I won't work you too hard." She patted his hand. The feeling of skin on his own was foreign to him now. He felt the wave of pain cresting in his heart. He cleared his throat.
"Which room, Miss Becca?"
She beamed at him. "Follow me. I'll clear up here. I don't go around in the sunshine, hear? I don't abide it in the house at all. You keep the drapes closed and the doors too."
"D'Accord."
She led him up the stairs. "My room's on the first floor. Don't you worry about waking me. I sleep like the dead. You'll be in here. The bathroom's just down the hall. The door with the wreath on it. My last tenant thought it was sweet. I think it's cutesy. If you want to take it down feel free. This floor will be yours unless I need to take in some other unfortunate little bit."
"Merci."
"Sleep well."
Remy smiled at her. "Good night." He stepped into the room and couldn't help but smile. It was a cheery light blue with deep wood trim and a sturdy wooden bed. A captain's chair and a writing desk were in one corner. A small dresser was next to the bed. The window was covered by a stained glass mural of a ship on a stormy sea. He closed the denim drape and set his bag on the floor next to the desk. He barely stripped before crawling into the bed and burying his face in the pillow. He pulled the quilt up and fell asleep to the soft scent of cedar.
****
"Yes, Tracy, I took him in. What else could I do? The poor thing was dead tired by the time he got here. Took him too long to look for help, I think. Now don't you worry, you did the right thing. You just keep watch."
Rebecca Morris put down the phone. She climbed the stairs carefully, to avoid the squeaky ones. She opened the door to the captain's room and stepped inside. She looked down at the sleeping young man. She stroked his hair. "Only sweet dreams tonight, child." She cupped her palm and blew into it as if blowing confetti into the air. His eyelids fluttered, then stilled. She left him to sleep, closing the door behind her.
****
Remy woke quickly, but he didn't sit up. He wasn't exactly sure where he was yet and pretending to sleep seemed the best option. A moment later, he remembered and turned his head to look at the window. It was covered by the thick drape, but he could see sunshine leaking around the edges of it. He sat up. He stretched, feeling surprisingly good. He'd pushed it a little far the night before, he acknowledged. If he'd gone any longer he would've ended up under the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler.
He cleaned up and changed into a fresh tee-shirt. He didn't have much. Just a backpack with his tools and a change of clothes. He couldn't stay too long, no matter how nice Miss Becca was. He couldn't make himself call her Rebecca, even in his mind. He explored the house, noting that there were a few pieces that needed to be taken care of. He nodded. She was right. He could fix the place up for her while he decided. It would make a difference to her and it wouldn't hurt him.
He fixed himself a small breakfast and a pot of coffee. He collected the paper from the front step, but didn't read it. He left it sitting on the table for Miss Becca when she came down. He found the key to her shed in the junk drawer and went to investigate what she had back there. Behind the lawn-mower and snow-shovels was a good toolbox and a circular saw that seemed to need a little bit of work. No matter, he could fix that too. The little tasks of setting up the tools and fixing the saw kept his hands busy, but his mind still ran in frantic circles. He needed a good, stiff drink. It was three o'clock by the time he decided to clean up and find the local bar.
*****
Sergeant Willis glanced at the young man who'd just come in to Billy's bar. It was a little early for most of the locals. This one was definitely not a local. Billy looked up with a smile of welcome. "What can I get for you, son?"
"Bourbon, neat."
Billy chuckled. "You rooming with old Mrs. Morris?"
"Oui."
Billy nodded. He poured the drink. "This is Sgt. Willis. You just got into town last night?" The boy nodded. "Then you haven't heard about Maggie yet."
"Maggie? She related to Miss Becca?"
"No, it's not what you're thinking. I'm not warning you off someone's daughter."
That got Billy a wry smile. "You best warn them off m'. I ain't really a catch right now. Who's this Maggie, then, cher?"
Willis stepped in. "She's a little girl who went missing two weeks ago." He fished out a picture. The young man glanced at it. Then, he frowned, studying it. He lifted his shades up and ducked his head. The detective felt his brows raise. He wondered what the boy was hiding. It could be anything from bruises to a missing eye to a strange eye color.
"Was she wearing a night-dress when she went missin'?" the young man asked. "I found a scrap of white in a ditch last night. Pulled over cause I couldn't see too well. I take y' there?"
Willis blinked. "I'll drive, you direct."
The man bolted down his bourbon. "Name's Remy."
"Tom Willis. You got a last name, Remy?"
"Got one. Just ain't sure it's mine right now." Remy pulled out a ten and dropped it on the bar. He fished in his pocket for a second. He pulled out a scrap of white cloth. "Y' gonna want this, I t'ink. Was plannin' to use it for my hair now it's gotten long again." Remy shrugged.
Once they were settled in the car and started down the road, Willis began to question gently. "Why did you stop? Did you see the scrap?" He was used to Mrs. Morris' boarders being flat broke and willing to use anything they found to survive.
"T'ought there was someone in the ditch. Stopped t' help, but there weren't nothing there but the scrap." The young man shrugged. "Expect I'm goin' crazy."
The delivery was so matter of fact that the police officer frowned. "Why do you say that?"
"I seen a little ghost girl since I left home. Don't make no sense. We lost un bebe not a chile." Remy went still. "Merde," he murmured, staring at his hands. They were shaking.
"You and your wife lost a baby?" Pity welled up in Tom's chest.
"Non, m' sister. I was gonna help her raise it. She only lived f' about a mont'. Heart defect."
"She isn't married?"
"She was raped. I find the homme that done it, I'm gonna kill him."
Willis chuckled. "You probably shouldn't say that to me."
That startled a brief snort from his passenger. "Don't matter. Can't kill him anyways. Like a cockroach."
"You just need a bigger shoe."
"Heh. Y' okay f' a cop. Turn left here." Remy directed him to the ditch where he'd found the fabric. They stood, looking down into the ditch. There was nothing to indicate a grave. Remy turned in a tight circle, surveying the area. "Oui, this is it. Sorry, cher. Looks like nothin'."
Willis didn't answer. He studied the bottom of the ditch. "Go back to the car."
"Sergeant?"
The police officer looked at the confused face. "Go back to the car. I'll be there in a minute."
Remy shrugged. He settled into the front passenger seat, door open. "Mind if'n I smoke?" he called out.
"Use the ashtray not the ground."
"Oui, M'sieur." Remy gave him a two fingered salute. He lit his cigarette and stared out across the field. Willis bent down and pushed at the soft soil. His gut screamed at him to arrest the young man who'd brought him here, but there was no reason to do so. Miss Becca didn't take in murderers. He called his deputy to bring the equipment. He looked up. He couldn't tell exactly what Remy was looking at because of his shades, but it looked as if he were studying the clouds. He tipped his head back and looked up. Damn, there was a storm coming in.
"We're going to be here for awhile. You need to get back into town?"
"Non. Put away the tools b'fore I went t' find a drink. Miss Becca say she don' like the sun, so I figure it'd be good f' ole Remy t' get out the house f' awhile. That's toward the ocean, oui?" he asked, voice thick.
nodded.
Remy's head bent. He appeared to be praying and Willis decided to let him be. He got a tarp from his trunk to protect the ground when the storm hit. Willis' deputy, Ballard, rolled up with the van of supplies and a few extra hands. "Willis?"
"Help me get this tarp up. I think we have a burial site. Ground's sunken in here."
Remy's head snapped up. He looked paler than he had. He lit a new cigarette off of the old one. He stubbed out his old butt in the car's ashtray. Willis made a note to grab it for testing, just in case. It didn't take them long to find the first sign of a body. It was a tattered pink nightgown. It wasn't Maggie. Who the Hell was it?
Remy didn't do anything but smoke and watch as the team of deputies gathered evidence. The ME, Dr. Lamb, showed up a little later. She bent her head in a silent prayer before she carefully checked over the body. She took a few samples that she needed, then carefully stowed the body into a bag and took the little girl away. Willis leaned against the side of his car. "Cigarette, cher?" the young man offered. "Didn't see much, but, that weren't an adult was it?"
"Merde. Chilen shouldn't have t' worry 'bout dyin'."
"No, they shouldn't. Where else did you see your ghost girl?"
"All over the place." Remy gestured down the road. "Been wit' me since I left home." He stilled. "Y' t'ink this ain't a one time thing. Y' t'ink some psycho's targetin' your town."
just mine. The only kid missing here is Maggie."
"T'ink I need a drink, me."
Willis dropped a hand to the young man's shoulder. He squeezed. "Seems to me the scrap you found was just a coincidence."
"Don't believe in those. Not anymore. I'm gonna walk back t' the bar. See y' there, I suppose."
"You see anything else, you let me know."
"Oui, Monsieur."
****
"Bonjour, Miss Becca. Y' want m' to make some breakfast?" Remy offered. The older woman chuckled. She shook her head. She patted his cheek.
"You're a sweet one. I'll just have some coffee and toast. Don't worry yourself. And what did you get up to today?"
Remy smiled wryly. "Fixed up some of the tools and started makin' up a to do list. Went down t' the bar and helped the sheriff t' find a body. Looks like I ain't goin' t' be leaving town soon."
The older woman chuckled. "You weren't going to be leaving at any rate. Not right now. You still look warn. A few good meals and a few nights of real rest, then you can start talking about leaving." She busied herself making coffee. Remy settled back at the table with a book that he must have found in her library. It was an old leather-bound thing that she'd picked up because of the color. "What are you reading?"
"Three Musketeers. Y' speak French?" he asked gesturing to an open page.
She shook her head. "No, I just like books."
He smiled at her. "Y' sound like Papa. Always surrounded himself wit' books. Course he speaks ten languages. Made m' learn Latin. Like that'd help m'?" He rolled his eyes.
"How horrible. Your father made you study." She clucked her tongue. "I tell you. Parents are the cruelest people in the world aren't they?"
That startled a laugh from her boarder.
"And what else did your cruel father force you to learn?"
"Greek, Arabic, English, Parisian French," he sneered the term, "Latin, Spanish, Ancient Egyptian. Makers' marks. Architecture. Electricity. Plumbing. Carpentry. Furniture making. Paintin'. Sculpture. Sewin'. That was m' Tante t' be honest. Cookin' was Tante Mattie too. Fencin'. Parkour. All sorts of t'ings."
She looked at his ragged jeans and tee shirt. "A sound classical education. Did he send you to Europe?"
"Oui. F' six months or so. T' stay wit' friends of his. Want the Sistine Chapel me. Y' ever hear it went missin' it was me."
She laughed at that. He looked at her with the supreme dignity of a cat and she laughed harder. "Why Remy, you didn't tell me you were a thief." She waved it off. "Nevermind. I don't care what you do so long as you don't do anything illegal while staying in my house."
"What y' feel on speedin'?"
She looked down her nose at him.
"Oui, Madam." He gave her a little-boy smile and she let him get away with it.
"Now, you go to bed early," she told him. "Don't try to stay up with me. I'm an old woman with an old woman's quirks."
"Prefer nighttime m'self." She raised her brows. "Oui, Miss Becca, Remy'll go t' bed early like a good lil' boy."
"Good."
****
TBC