Escaping the Past
Chapter 5
by
AnomalousGirl
This story contains characters that are the property of Marvel Comics and Fox Entertainment. This is in no way intended to be an infringement on their rights.
She had been running for hours. She didn't know how many. It felt like forever. At first she had run like the proverbial bat out of hell, crashing through the woods, heedless of where she was going, knowing only that she had to get away. As the hours had passed, her pace had gradually slowed to a graceless stumble. She had fallen several times, and the last time it had taken a while to convince herself to get back up again. A helicopter had passed overhead not long ago, but she didn't have the energy left to worry about it any more.
If they found her... they found her. Part of her even wished that they would. She was cold and tired. Her jeans and sneakers were wet, and her hands and face were scratched from her headlong charge through the woods. Her entire body ached. Maybe if she was lucky they would just shoot her, and then it would all be over with.
What would they do with her? What did they do to mutants? That's what they called people like her wasn't it? A mutant? What did they do with mutants that killed people? Did it matter that she hadn't meant to?
It had started the morning before, back in Pittsburgh. She'd been traveling for a couple of days already, and had spent the long, uncomfortable night in the terminal, too scared to sleep. She had discovered early on that it was safer to sleep on the bus. There were too many weirdoes hanging out in the bus stations at night. She had no money for video games or the coin operated televisions, so she had spent most of the night reading castoff magazines and newspapers. She had also found a dog-eared romance novel, but had decided to save it for the long ride ahead.
The number of people waiting for the 9:30 bus to Philadelphia had grown steadily larger as the morning had progressed. It was the bus that hit every little stop between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, adding hours to the trip but saving her a little on the fare. Time had been the only thing that she still had plenty of.
Shortly before they were to board, she noticed that the guy across the aisle was watching her. He was older, probably in his thirties, but kind of attractive, in a scary-cool sort of way. He had smiled and offered to buy her coffee before the bus came. When he asked her name, she told him it was Lisa. It was close enough to her real name that she hoped it would keep her from slipping up. He had introduced himself as Mike. While they were drinking coffee, he'd asked her if she was on break from college, and she'd been stupid enough to believe he really thought that.
Her plan had been that if anyone asked, she was going to visit her grandmother in Philadelphia. When he'd asked her that way though, she'd quickly decided that living with her grandmother while she went to college in Philly sounded better than just a visit. He had smiled, telling her how lucky she was to save the housing fees. She'd been pleased with what she'd thought was a clever deception, and even more pleased at being treated like an adult. She realized now that he had known all along and had been laughing at her.
Mike had stayed close to her after that, chatting with her until the bus came, and then taking the seat next to her. At first he was really nice, telling her about his little boy that he had come to Pittsburgh to visit, and covering her with his jacket when she fell asleep. He had even bought her lunch when the bus had stopped in Altoona. But as the long day had worn on, he had become a little more than friendly. Every now and then he would reach over and stroke her leg as he spoke, or push her hair off her shoulder and let his hand rest there for a moment. She knew now that he had been laughing at her then too.
She'd felt confused and somehow intimidated, even though it had seemed that he was being nice. Surely a more experienced girl wouldn't be freaking out at a few touches she told herself. It wasn't like he was groping her or anything. She didn't know how to tell him to stop without sounding like a fifteen-year-old who had never even been on a real date, which of course was exactly what she was.
He had told her that he was getting off in Harrisburg. A friend was picking him up because he lived in a small town about an hour further down the turnpike. As they had drawn closer to Harrisburg, he'd suggested that she cash in the remainder of her ticket and let him give her a lift to Philadelphia. His friend wouldn't mind, he'd said. It wasn't far out of the way at all. They partied in Philly all the time. Maybe she would like to go out and party with them? Think of the money she would save, not to mention the time. He made it seem like such a logical decision, but she was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, so she had told him no. Her grandmother wouldn't like it, she'd said, and she wanted to keep the peace. She had been pleased that she could come up with such a reasonable excuse. He had tried a couple more times to convince her, but then let it drop. He'd also backed off on the touching, limiting himself to her hand for the most part. By the time the bus had pulled into Harrisburg, she had almost forgotten how nervous she had felt. In fact she'd felt a little sad at having to say goodbye.
There was a forty-five minute layover in Harrisburg, and almost as soon as Mike had disappeared through the terminal doors, another guy had started hitting on her. This time though, she was really scared. This guy was rough looking, with tattoos and a pierced tongue. He had followed her around, even waiting outside the ladies room when she had taken refuge in there. It was while she had been hiding out in ladies room that she had come across the hotline number. It hadn't been merely a number scratched on the wall, but an ad from a personal column that had somehow been burned into the metal. Confused? Afraid? We can help you. We understand. The phone number was simply a word, MUTANTS. It had seemed like a sign from heaven. The phone in the ladies room had been broken, but she had felt that she couldn't wait, not even another minute, much less the rest of the trip to Philly. So she had gone out, and found the tongue-ring guy waiting for her. She had run to the security guard who had promised to keep an eye out for her until it was time to reboard the bus.
She thought now of the woman who had answered the eight hundred number. She had said that her name was Jean. She had been really nice, telling her about the school, about the other kids there. Kids who were like her. At first, she had been afraid to tell the woman anything, afraid that it was too good to be real. But her voice had been so gentle, so much like her mom's. It had made her want to cry. She had been working up the courage to tell the woman that she would meet her in New York, when suddenly the line had gone dead.
A tattooed arm had reached from behind her and broken the connection. She had opened her mouth to scream, but he had clamped a hand across her face, pressing something sharp against her side. He had threatened to stab her if she made a sound, and with his arm around her, he had propelled her across the terminal. She had looked frantically for the guard, but he had been no where in site.
The guy had just forced her through the exit doors, when suddenly she was jerked free. It was Mike. He had shoved her to the ground behind him and grabbed her attacker. The guy had broken free and ran, with Mike following close behind. They rounded the corner of the building, and there was a loud clatter. Then there was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed by grunts, and cries of pain. A moment later there was another crash and the sound of running feet. Mike came from around the corner. His cloths and hair were a rumpled, but he didn't look hurt. He was shaking one of his hands, then stopped and rubbed his knuckles while he smiled at her.
It had all happened so quickly, that she hadn't been able to even think about getting up. He hurried over to kneel down beside her. She had started crying then, loud wrenching sobs that made her head ache. Everything felt like it was crashing down on her at once. The terror of the last few moments in itself would have been enough, but she was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The last weeks, months even, before she had ran away had been an ever-worsening nightmare, but she quickly closed her mind to that. All of this was bad enough, without thinking about what had driven her from her home.
Mike had patted her on the back while she cried, telling her to get it all out; she'd feel better after a good cry. It should have been a comforting thing for him to say, but she had felt that somehow he was mocking her. It had taken her awhile to pull herself together. The tears, once they had started, wouldn't let up. She didn't care what he thought of her, what anyone thought. The only thing that mattered was the deep well if fear and pain that had filled her to overflowing. After awhile though, it hurt too much to keep crying. Her head was pounding and her throat burned. Even her skin hurt from the salt in her tears.
As the torrent had slowed, she had become aware of her surroundings again. It was evening. The September sun was just setting behind the mountains. She was sitting on the sidewalk in downtown Harrisburg and people were staring at her as they passed by. Several times people stopped, but she heard Mike tell them that she was fine, that she was upset because her Grandmother had just passed away. It seemed like such an odd thing to say, why not just tell people what had really happened. When she had asked him, he had responded with a strange smile, "was she really sure she wanted to report it to the police?"
She had realized then, that he had known all along that she wasn't a college student. He had helped her up then and brushed off her clothing, telling her that it was a good thing that his friend seemed to be running a little late.
Even though she had been grateful to him for rescuing her, all the nervousness she had felt on the bus had returned, and then some. So she had thanked him and said that she had better hurry back inside before she missed her bus. Back inside the station though, things just kept getting worse.
She had been on the way to the ladies room to wash her face when the security guard had stopped her to express concern about where she had gotten to. He had been even more concerned when he saw her tear stained face. He had seemed like a kindly, grandfatherly man, and she had been tempted to tell him the truth, but Mike's comment about the police was still fresh in her mind, so she had repeated the lie about her grandmother dying instead. But worst of all was when she said she wanted to wash up before the bus left, only to be told by the sympathetic man that it had already pulled out. The guard had tried to reassure her by telling her that they would honor her ticket on tomorrow's bus, but of course that meant staying in Harrisburg for almost an entire day.
All references to characters belonging to the X-Men Universe are (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities. All rights reserved. Any reproduction, duplication or distribution of these materials in any form is expressly prohibited. No money is being made from this archive. All images are also (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities; they are not mine. This website, its operators and any content used on this site relating to the X-Men are not authorized by Marvel, Fox, etc. I am not, nor do I claim to be affiliated with any of these entities in any way.