"How long do you think he's going to stay out here?"
"I don't know. No one knows, honey."
Jean and Rogue were walking through the trees towards the little boathouse facing the lake. Rogue had asked this question of Jean several times and Jean patiently answered it each time.
"I don't know why he can't just live with us again. He's out here alone all the time. Why won't he let the professor help him?"
"That's because he's always been a weird guy, you know that. He always has to put himself through some sort of macho Hemingway crap," Jean says, surprised a little at her impatience with her friend. "I think he just likes to have us wait on him."
"No, he doesn't. He probably hates it."
"I know. I don't know why I said that."
"What does he do out here all day? Isn't he bored yet?"
"He's worried about how he'll behave around us. He doesn't trust himself anymore."
They walked together in silence until they saw the roof of the boathouse. Both women walked up to the door and were surprised to see it slightly ajar. He usually kept it shut at this time of the day and they would leave his plate for him in front of the door. It was completely dark inside the little boathouse. The fireplace was cold and dark. Jean set his hot plate down and knocked softly on the half-open door.
"He won't say anything, you know," Rogue whispered.
"I know. I just keep hoping."
She knocked again. "Logan, it's Jean and Rogue. Open up. We brought some lasagna. You like lasagna." She winced at the absurdity of her last remark. Rogue tapped Jean on the arm.
"Jean, look over there."
Jean turned her head and saw a dark hunched figure seated at the end of the pier. Jean thought, not for the first time, that Logan was the sort of person that if you saw him standing alone somewhere always made you feel sad. There was something different in the set of his shoulders now. He seemed to be gathering himself to himself, like someone who feared he might fly apart. If she didn't know him so well, she'd think that he'd come out here to heal himself but he'd never been able to do for his own fractured psyche what his healing factor could do for his body. Standing there, she felt herself flooded with feeling for him, a feeling that still made her uncomfortable. It caught her off-guard sometimes, how he made her feel, more so on times like this, when she'd inadvertently caught him looking vulnerable.
Rogue took a step forward but Jean placed a hand on her shoulder and stopped her.
"He wants to be alone."
"How do you know what he wants? You don't know what he wants. Maybe he wants us to go and find him and tell him to come home," Rogue said, tears filling her eyes.
"That's just how he is, honey. He's always been this way. There's nothing we can do to stop it and there's nothing we can do to help him no matter how much we want to."
They stood there for another few minutes but he didn't turn around. Jean was sure that he sensed their presence. If anything, his senses were sharper than they had been before. He shivered and his head dropped. Jean sighed and blinked back her tears. The urge she felt to go to him was strong but she resisted it. She felt impatient, almost angry, in a quick solid rush. He was so damn impossible, the most impossible person ever, and the worst of it was she knew there was no way she could ever match that damned will of his. There was nothing else like it. It practically had a life of its own, burrowed down somewhere underneath his skin and pushing through his psyche, resting just behind his eyes.
When he'd been lying near death only a few weeks before, she'd felt his will surface into his consciousness and it had nearly made her feel faint. She'd realized then what she'd only guessed at before, that his life was a constant struggle against what no one could entirely control, only in him it was magnified to a degree that took her breath away and filled her with fear, not for herself or the others, but for him.
Beside her, Rogue began to sob.
"He could lean on us. He could let us help him. There has to be a way," she said.
"He won't let himself do it. He just can't bend. I guess we should be grateful that he hasn't disappeared altogether. Maybe he wants us to watch over him but he just can't bring himself to ask."
After a moment, when it was so dark that they couldn't see him anymore, they turned back.
* * *
Jean walked into her room and sat down heavily on the bed.
"How is he?" Scott said a little stiffly, emerging from the bathroom. He was uncomfortable with the fact that Jean had taken it upon herself to nurse Logan.
"He's the same. He was sitting on the pier, staring out at the water."
"Could you tell what he was thinking?"
"Of course not. He was shielding himself as usual. No one can read him when he doesn't want to be read."
"Usually, his thoughts are loud and clear. Really loud, as a matter of fact."
"Scott, I would do the same for you. You know that so don't be pissy."
"Except that you wouldn't have to."
"I know," she said, smiling at him. He didn't return the smile.
"The professor is worried about him. He can't get a handle on what's going on with him. He's worried about our safety and his too, of course. No one knows what he might do. Logan doesn't even know. I think even Remy is concerned and that's saying a lot."
"Yeah, well, we're all a little worried."
"Professor wants him to go and stay somewhere else and, frankly, I'm inclined to agree with him."
"I don't want to have this fight again, Scott. You know how I feel about that."
"You keep saying that he's come a long way since he's been here but he obviously wasn't prepared for this."
"For Christ's sake, Scott, who could prepare themselves for something like that?"
"I think he's just discovered what he really is and that he hasn't come as far as he'd led us or himself to believe," he said, throwing his towel on the bed.
Jean sighed again, heavily. She was so tired of this argument and Scott just couldn't seem to let it go. She decided to ignore it and she turned over onto her stomach
"I'm just concerned for him, Jean. It's him I'm thinking about as well as the rest of us. We really don't know what's going on inside his head right now. If even you and the professor can't tell than maybe we should cut our losses and let him go somewhere else until he's better."
"I think you're just jealous, Scott, that's what I think."
"He's left before. He's gone other places before for weeks and sometimes months to do whatever it is he does out there alone. Maybe he just needs a little help in going this time."
"Maybe he needs our help in staying."
"Maybe," he said, seating himself on the edge of their bed. "But I'm not willing to take that chance. He can always come back. I'm not saying we should cut him loose or give up on him completely. Jean, will you listen to me?"
"I don't want to talk about it anymore."
Jean thought again of Logan sitting on the edge of the pier and she was flooded with a powerful sadness. If Scott had seen how Logan had struggled through the pain of those weeks than he wouldn't be talking like this. Sometimes she dreamt about him lying down there in the med room. She didn't know if he'd known that she was there with him. He'd only cried out a few times, with a pitiful, inhuman howling that had seemed to penetrate her very skin. He never called to her, never mentioned her by name. Once, near the end, as he was finally beginning to recover, she'd hastily applied a hot washcloth to his head to wipe the sweat from his face, and he'd reached for her hand to hold it tightly. That was the only time he'd acknowledged her presence and he hadn't really even looked at her; he'd just reached for her hand. One day she'd gone down to see him and he was gone. The whole day passed with everyone searching for him until finally Remy discovered him in the boathouse.
She felt a chill at the thought of Logan walking around the mansion at night while everyone else was asleep in bed. He had to have gone to his room to get some clothes. He had some things with him in the boathouse. He must have walked around the mansion at night, thinking God only knew what thoughts.
Anyone who thought that he wasn't still dangerous, that his recent loss had made him less a force to be reckoned with, didn't know Logan very well. His body had nearly healed. The terrible eruptions along his arms and legs had healed. The glaze of delirium that had fogged his eyes had eventually lifted. His body was nearly healthy again, just missing a healthy portion of its adamantium skeleton, but his mind had scars still. It was his mind that she worried about, not because she sensed something broken or aberrant, but because she didn't sense anything at all. His psychic signature was altered, unrecognizable, as if it was being written by a ghost.
* * *
Logan knew the two women were there but he didn't want to turn around. He knew he was supposed to know who they were but he didn't really know and that was unbearable. That's why he'd left the mansion. He'd walked around it at night and known that he was supposed to feel some kind of recognition. He could hear them breathing in their sleep, or tossing about in the midst of dream but he felt no real sense of belonging. The halls were dark and unfamiliar and only the pain in his arms and legs seemed real to him. It hurt to walk. It hurt to think. The chorus of pain inside him was deafening.
He'd walked out into the cold night and only then did the terrible tension in him lift. He was away from the shattering sounds of the others in the house, from its stultifying heat. He hadn't known where he was going. There hadn't been anywhere to go. He just knew he didn't want to lie there anymore, feeling the memory slip from him even as his body healed itself.
It was best that he just walk away. Those people knew him and they would want him to talk. He didn't want to talk. It made him feel tired just thinking about remembering the words. There were no more words, no telling, no talking, no thinking, because all of that would require that he remember.
The two women came and dropped his food at the door like he was a stray dog. It irritated him to think of them standing there, watching him. He'd felt the terrible tension, a vague, raw ache, rise in him again because he knew dimly that he should feel grateful or sad but he didn't feel anything at all. The wind carried their voices to him but they sounded strange and fragmentary, like the voices at the other end of a bad connection.
He sat on the pier until the night came and the moon rose over the lake. Occasionally, the wind would stir and the leaves would blow across the water. He heard the sound of feet padding on the ground and the dog stepped from the trees and stood near the lake. He'd been hoping the old boy would turn up. He smelled like he was one of those wolf/dog hybrids that he'd heard about. The dog turned his head and grazed Logan with its glance. Logan didn't want to scare him away. The dog had been his best companion for the past few weeks. The dog comforted him, accepting his presence as if he were as natural to the landscape as a tree or the water, asking nothing of him. Logan throws a piece of the half-eaten lasagna in the dog's direction. The animal lifted its head and sniffed the air but he was hesitant to move towards the man on the pier. He hunched down and put his head between his paws with a slight whine. Logan and the dog looked at each other for the space of a beat. Then Logan turned away and looked over the water. The dog lifted itself slowly, trotted over to the food and consumed it. He licked his paws with a satisfied groan.
Eventually he would go inside and try to sleep. Maybe he would even try to read the books that were piled on the floor. He'd flipped through them a few days before, mostly out of a vague sense of idleness, but the words were in a language that he didn't seem to be able to speak anymore. They asked him to remember that there had been a past, and they spoke, in a strange way, of a future that he could no longer conceive of.
He popped the claws on his hands. They looked exposed and raw, bone-white and dull in the moonlight. He slid them back under his skin and watched as the wounds on his knuckles slowly healed. The sound of bone grinding against bone startled the dog and he raised his head in alarm before sprinting off into the trees.
He wondered where the dog had come from. He had an uncared for look about him. Someone had probably abandoned him and he'd wandered here for some reason. Maybe the dog had inadvertently hurt someone. He seemed to remember hearing about such things. A family was taken with the novelty of having a wolf/dog for a pet, not knowing that the predator was still there buried inside the domesticated animal, and the dog had injured the family cat or something. Poor guy. He'd never asked to be what he was, neither dog nor wolf, and he'd been punished for it. He had to admire the dog's pluck. Funny how animals never seemed to feel sorry for themselves, not like a lot of people he'd known. The dog probably never thought of the people that had once claimed him. Logan wonders if he would even recognize them if they happened to come looking for him. Still, the poor guy had a defeated look about him. Maybe this was his last stand.
He sighed and rose to his feet. The dog would be back tomorrow, he knew. He'd want to eat so he'd be back.
* * *
Jean walked into the kitchen early the next morning and dug around in the refrigerator for some eggs. Ororo walked through the door just as Jean placed the eggs and some vegetables onto the counter.
"Good morning," Jean said.
"Are you making Logan his breakfast," she asked, smiling, "I was planning on doing the same thing."
"Yeah, I was gonna make him an omelet. Does he like omelets? Do you remember?"
"I think Logan eats whatever you put down in front of him."
"Yeah, you're right about that. He's the only one that doesn't complain about my cooking."
"Did you see him yesterday when you took him his dinner?"
"Briefly. He was just sitting on the pier. He wouldn't look at us."
"I see. Sounds like him. At least, lately."
"Scott said that the professor has some qualms and wants him to leave for awhile."
"He does? That surprises me."
"Me too. I didn't think that he would be willing to give up on him so soon."
"Well, Jean, this is Logan we're talking about. There are rules for most of us but they do not always seem to apply to Logan. Logan himself has ensured that they do not."
"How do you feel about it?"
"I do not want him to go anywhere. I want him to stay right here."
Jean began to vigorously beat the eggs into a bowl.
"It just pisses me off. I know Charles and Scott have good intentions but I just don't like it. I'm not concerned with my safety. I don't think he would hurt any of us--no matter what's happened. It's not like we can't take care of ourselves, you know."
Ororo sat down at the dinner table and cupped her chin with her hands.
"I can understand how they feel. A large part of me thinks they might be right but a larger part of me just wants him close," Ororo said.
"I know the feeling."
Remy LeBeau wandered into the kitchen, looking sleepy. He had an uncanny knack for wandering in just as a meal was being prepared. He, too, would eat practically anything, particularly if he had little to do with the actual cooking process.
"Something smells good. Morning, girls."
"This is Logan's breakfast and you can't have any."
Remy idly scratched his stomach and looked disappointed. "I was hoping for a croissant. Any croissants round here?"
Jean rolled her eyes. "No, we don't have any croissants. I suppose you'll want me to cook you a possum or something for dinner."
"Gambit should take you girls down to the Quarter and buy you some beignets. Dey got good beignets. I miss dose beignets."
Ororo and Jean ignored his last comment. It was necessary to ignore a lot of Remy's comments because one ran the risk of getting bogged down in pointless conversation.
"You two petites still mooning over Logan?"
"Yes, we are concerned about him," Ororo said.
"Is dat what a body got to do to get some female attention around here? Start moping around in de boathouse?"
"Why don't you tell us what you think, Remy," Jean said. "You haven't been here very long. Maybe you can share some impersonal wisdom with us."
"What do I tink? I tink Magneto ripped out his metal skeleton and now he's really pissed off, dat's what I tink."
"Well, that was illuminating, as usual. Thanks for the insight, Remy. I guess we should be grateful it's him out there and not you," Jean said, "You'd have us cooking night and day."
"He want to stay out dere--don't bother me none," Remy shrugged and began rooting around in the kitchen for a box of doughnuts he'd discovered the day before. "He reminds me of dat dog."
"Dat dog dat hangs out around here," he said, munching on a doughnut.
"I never noticed a dog. Have you seen a dog around here, Ororo?"
Ororo shook her head.
"Logan's just like dat dog. Scared of de people."
Ororo and Jean watched him, waiting for further explanation. He went on eating his doughnut, seeing no need to elaborate.
"He's hairy too, just like dat ole dog."
"Remy, what the hell are you talking about?" Jean said.
"Dat dog de people abandoned. I tink he was abandoned. He part wolf or something. He walks like a wolf and he's real hairy all over. He hangs around outside a lot. I feed him sometimes when he lets me get close. Mostly I just leave it for him and he comes and eats it later."
"That's nice of you," Ororo said, a little surprised. Remy hadn't displayed much in the way of selfless behavior since he'd come to the mansion.
"He's a good dog. One day he might let me pet him. Logan got hurt and now he's like dat dog. Wild again." Remy swallowed his doughnut and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Back home, de possums get hit by cars a lot. I hated seeing dat. Dey would walk into the street into the middle of the night, not knowing dat de cars were dere whooshing past and den dey get blinded by the headlights and freeze. Dey just get frozen by de light and den dey don't know what to do so they stop doing anything, only by dat time it's already too late. Dat what Logan's doing. He saw a big blinding light and now he's frozen. He just don't know yet if he's gonna get run over by someting so he's waiting. "
Ororo and Jean blinked at him. It was seldom possible to get a straight answer out of Remy. He avoided all queries, direct or indirect, was prone to cryptic comments, and generally employed an evasion if at all possible. They'd discovered, though, that he noticed more than he let on and would occasionally share some insight in a roundabout kind of way.
"Well, that story doesn't seem to require a response," Jean said, rising from her chair and heading over to the stove. Remy annoyed Jean quite a bit. "If you know so much about Logan, Remy, why don't you make him his breakfast?"
"He don't like me all that much," he shrugged.
"I don't even know that he eats this food. He doesn't seem to notice anything anymore," Jean mumbled to herself.
Remy wiped his mouth and settled himself into the chair. "If you're tired of waiting on him, I met a girl last week that would probably take over de duty."
"What?" Ororo said.
"De little girl dat I met at dat café last week. You know de one. It's a few miles from here and it has dat cute little waitress. Dey wear dose cute little outfits wit de little skirts. She not too bright but she's real cute. Dat's who I was going to see when I saw dat girl."
"Who?" Jean demanded, confused. She was beginning to suspect that Remy avoided making sense on purpose--to drag the conversation out as long as possible. He couldn't just come out and say that he was in the mood for conversation.
"I told you, already. De waitress."
"The waitress knows Logan and wants to help him?"
"No. De waitress at de cafe is de one dat I went to see and dat's where I saw de other little petite. Dey have real good pastry at dat café. De coffee is not dat bad, either. Better den de stuff we got here. You girls should let me take you dere---."
"For Christ's sake, Remy, just tell us who you met," Jean said.
"Okay. I'll tell you de story. I walked into de café and I was wearing my glasses. I sat down at de table dat was in de waitress girl's section and waited for her to come and take my order. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when I noticed dis other girl staring at me. I wasn't going to say anything to her but she was pretty cute so I smiled at her and she smiled back. Turns out dat de waitress girl had de day off so I decided to go over and strike up a conversation wit de girl dat was staring at me. I sat down wit her at one of dose little stool thingies. She was sitting at de bar, you know. So I sat down and said hello. She was real friendly, kinda on the skinny side, but she was real friendly. She said "Too bright in here for you?" and I told her dat I had funny eyes. I said dat de locals wouldn't take to my funny-looking eyes. She didn't say anyting after that for a space and den she leaned over and told me dat I didn't have to hide it from her, dat she knew de reason I wore de glasses. Den she asked me where I lived and I told her dat I lived at de school. She said dat she knew which school I meant. I asked her how she knew and she said dat she had heard of it before. Well, we talked about noting in particular for a while and den she got real quiet and finally she got up to leave. I asked her if I could walk her home. She said sure so I followed her out into de street. And dat's when she asked me if I knew a man named Logan. She said it with a funny tone and I got de distinct feeling dat she knew more den she was lettin' on. I told her sure I knew him and she nodded but didn't say anyting further. Den we got to de door of her apartment and she said thank you and good night and dat was dat."
"That was all? That was all that happened? Why the hell didn't you ask her more?"
"She didn't want to tell me so I didn't ask. None of my business."
"What did she look like? Did she tell you her name? Goddammit, Remy, come clean."
"Well, she had curly black hair and she was kinda on de small side. Nice smile. Big eyes. She had a nice way of walking. I noticed dat right away. She talked kinda funny, real formal-like. She told me her name was Mina."
"Well, I'll be goddamned," Jean said.
"Jean, that would have to be the same Mina. It could not be just a coincidence."
"You girls know her?"
"Sort of. She wasn't here for very long. She and Logan got pretty close," Jean said.
"We never knew too much about her," Ororo said.
"She didn't know too much about herself," Jean said.
Remy didn't look surprised. He reached for another doughnut.
"What should we do, Ororo? Should we tell Logan? How can we get near enough to him to tell him? If he doesn't want to be found than there's no way that we can tell him. Shit, this is weird. You said she lived close, Remy?"
"Yeah, pretty close. Don't know if she still lives dere. Dis was a while back."
"How long ago?"
"A week or two. I tried to call her once but she never returned de message."
"You have her phone number? Why the hell didn't you mention this before?"
He shrugged. "Didn't see de need to mention it. Anyway, she asked me not to."
"She did? And you didn't wonder about that?"
"It was her business."
"Jesus, it's been about five years since she was here. I don't think Logan has even said her name in all that time," Jean said. "Ororo, what do you make of this?"
"Maybe we should try and find her. I think that Logan would be angry if we did not at least try to find her. It is what he would do if he were in his right mind."
"I think you're right. Remy, do you remember where her apartment was? Could you take us back there?"
"Sure, I remember. She was awful cute."
Jean got up from the table and wiped her hands on her jeans. "I should probably tell Charles about this. I should tell Scott too. Remy, I'm going to be mad at you later. There's no time right now and we need you."
"Okey-dokey," Remy said, taking a bite out of his doughnut.
* * *
Remy managed to fish her phone number out of a pile of phone numbers and he called it again. He got someone's voice mail. It was one of those standard greeting things that didn't mention the occupant by name. He didn't leave a message. It was decided that only Jean and Remy would go to find her. Jean didn't think that it was wise to have too many people show up at her doorstep. She might not remember anyone but Remy.
"So where did dis girl come from?" Remy asked, as he took a curve at breakneck speed. Jean had unwisely agreed to let him drive.
"That's a good question. No one knows. She didn't really know."
"She got amnesia or something?"
"No, she didn't have a good grasp of time. I still don't know the whole story. Logan never wanted to talk about it but they were close once."
"Why'd she leave den?"
"It wasn't exactly a conscious decision for her. I'll have to explain it later. It was complicated."
"Sounds like it."
"Is this the café that you mentioned?"
"Yeah, dat's it. She lives just around the corner."
It was a large and sprawling house, built around the turn of the century. There was a light in one of the gabled windows on the second floor.
"Looks like someone's home," he said, parking the car.
"That's her apartment?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"What if she's up there with a man or something? That would be so awkward."
"Don't tink so."
"Dunno. Just don't tink so. She looked like a loner to me."
"Yeah, that sounds like her. I wonder what the hell she's been doing all this time. Frankly, I never thought I'd see or hear of her again. I'd almost forgotten about her."
"Well, she hasn't forgotten about you guys, dat's for sure."
They walked together up to the front door. It opened into a dark hallway. Jean followed Remy up the stairs.
"You knock, Remy. I don't know that she even wants to see me. It might freak her out or something."
Remy knocked on the door.
"Chere, you in dere?"
"Jeez, Remy, I said just knock. You're going to scare her."
They heard music playing softly, something classical, and then the sound of footsteps as the music was turned down. After a moment, they heard someone unlocking the door. It swung open. Her dark curling hair was cut to her shoulders. She was thin and fair, like she'd looked before, only she was decidedly healthier looking, with a bloom in her cheeks.
"Chere, you remember me? We met a while back."
"Of course. You're Remy," she smiled at him and turned to Jean. "Hello, Jean. How's Scott?"
"You remember me? And Scott?"
"Yes, I do. Come in, please."
Her apartment was spare but warm and inviting. It was practically unfurnished, just a couch and a coffee table in the living room and a CD player in the corner on the floor. They looked secondhand. There were some books scattered on the window seat.
"You'll have to excuse the mess. I knew I wouldn't be here long so I never bothered to acquire much of anything in the way of furniture," she said, "Take a seat."
"Looks cozy to me, chere. How you been?" Remy was apparently going to treat the whole experience as if he and Jean dropped in on her regularly.
"I've been relatively well, thank you. Can I get you anything?"
"No, no, we're fine," Jean said quickly, fearing that Remy would actually ask her for something to eat.
Jean didn't know exactly how to begin. She was thoroughly taken aback by Mina's equanimity. She hadn't really known what to expect but Mina's complete lack of surprise at their sudden appearance unnerved her. She found herself at a loss for anything to say. No one said anything for a few minutes. Jean began to fidget. Remy and Mina, however, appeared completely at ease.
"You look uncomfortable, Jean," Mina said, finally.
"Do I? I really don't know what to say, Mina. It's been a few years."
"Has it? How many?"
"I never thought I would see you again. No one did, really."
"Yes, that's understandable."
"We thought you'd gotten lost somewhere--we didn't know what to think really. Logan--well, he didn't ever mention you again. I mean, he hasn't breathed a word about it since you--uh--left us."
"Yes, that sounds like him. He still does that. He's not much of a mentioner."
Jean looked puzzled. She remembered when they'd first seen her. It had been in a state hospital, strapped to the hospital bed, doped up on Thorazine. Jean wondered if perhaps Mina wasn't a little unbalanced after all.
"Logan is in a bad spot, isn't he?" Mina said.
"Yeah, he's been through a lot lately. We are all worried about him. Very worried. Except Remy here--he never worries about anything."
Remy winked at Mina and she smiled at him.
"Something smells good in here, chere. What you cooking up?"
"I'm baking a cake. Out of total boredom. I was feeling sleepy and I didn't want to miss you two. I thought baking something would keep me awake."
"You knew we were coming?" Jean said.
"Yes, I knew you were coming. I had a feeling."
"But--I thought that you couldn't use your power--I mean--you always had trouble staying in one place and that's why. . ." Jean trailed off, embarrassed.
"Not anymore. I managed to overcome that particular problem. Good thing, too. It was inconvenient."
"Oh, I didn't know, of course. I just assumed that you would still have trouble with it."
Remy had been watching the exchange between the two women intently.
"I'm confused," he said.
"I'll explain later, Remy. Just sit tight," Jean said.
"Let me take that cake out of the oven and then we'll head back to the mansion. I'm eager to see it again. I didn't know how I'd missed it until I came back to New York."
Jean and Remy looked at her in surprise.
"You do want me to come back with you, don't you? I wasn't wrong about that, was I? Sometimes it's hard to read the visions. They tend to come in fragments."
"Sure, you can come wit us, chere. No problem. Dere's plenty of room."
"Yes, of course. Do you need to ride with us or do you have your own car?"
"No, I don't have a car. I didn't bring enough money for that, I'm afraid, and there was no real need."
"Mina, you know, don't you, that Logan is not the man he was when you were here before? He's been hurt very badly. Sometimes, I don't think he remembers anyone. I don't really know exactly what is going on with him and it's a little frightening. It's a lot frightening, actually."
Mina looked thoughtful for a moment. She didn't respond right away.
"Yes, I know how he is. I know exactly how he is. That's why I came back here."
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