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By the time Magneto floated up the empty elevator shaft at the end of the hall, cloaked in the stink of forged metal, Logan was in control of his emotions if not his body. Beneath his leather jacket a clammy sweat drenched the underarms of his flannel shirt but he schooled his features to impassivity. It was all he could do, his sole defense.
"I see you got out." It sounded stupid and obvious even to his own ears, but he was determined to break the silence first, establish himself as a human being and not some Tin Man toy for the other's amusement.
Magneto smiled and his thinning of lips did nothing to reassure Logan that their reunion would be amicable. "I thought I heard someone knock-knocking on my door. No one but you would announce himself in such a melodramatic way. The whole building shook."
Logan said nothing, endured the other's scrutiny in silence.
"Hmm." Magneto summed up his survey with that faintly scornful sound. "Charles told me of the risk you took for Rogue. I see you've recovered nicely. Having myself experienced to a far lesser extent the effect she has on one, I'm impressed. Yes, I believe you'll serve my purposes even better than what I had envisioned."
Logan bared his teeth in a wolf's grin. "They'll be looking for you."
Magneto's smile was genuine this time. He slowly shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint you, my boy, but the authorities believe that I have resigned myself to my little plastic prison. Why would they look for me? They can see the diabolical Magneto night and day right where they put him. Besides," he frowned, fixing Logan with his steely eyes, "no thanks to you, Mystique needs some recuperation time. Three meals a day, bed rest-- And the food is quite tolerable, I might add."
"The Professor--"
"As gullible as the others," Magneto cut him off. "I have let it be known that I wish to contemplate my sins in solitude. So, no chess, no Charles. Mystique's deception will be safe as long as I have need of it."
"Thought she was busy playing Kelly," Logan commented with forced casualness, hoping to hide his growing panic as he futilely tried to move an arm, a leg, a finger.
Magneto chuckled. "My dear boy, you have been out of touch a while, haven't you? The Senator's private plane went down in the Caribbean when he set off for a well-deserved vacation. Unfortunately, the body will never be found."
The man smiled with great good humor. "Chancy things, those light metal planes," he added offhand.
If Logan could have shivered, he would have. He pressed his lips together. The pleasantries were over, they both knew it. Magneto flicked a finger, raising Logan a couple of inches off the floor, then turned and headed for the elevator shaft. Logan followed, floating like some kind of grotesque kite tethered to its owner by an invisible string.
The stark reality of the laboratory was worse than the nightmares, terrifying as they were. Logan had always believed the dreams were distortions, exaggerations. In fact, he had taken solace in that belief, assuring himself that no one could be so sadistic and merciless to their victims as those shadowy figures his sleeping mind conjured. Now he knew the nightmares didn't convey half the horrors contained in this underground torture chamber. Sharp knives and scalpels, picks, hooks--all ready to slice and sever, pierce and probe. Rack upon rack of electric drills and acetylene torches ranging from large to small. A vast array of metal strips that broke the light into rainbow colors . . . Adamantium, he supposed.
He closed his eyes against it all, turned his head until his cheek touched the cold, metal table and he was facing the icy white tiles. As if tightly shut eyes made all the wicked blades and the cruel fire and the evil bogeyman disappear, the little voice chided.
Magneto had taken him on a tour before having him stripped and fettered to the table, showing him the cooling vat with its viscous liquid, the tools, the forge--
"And the diagrams, my boy! Look at this ingenious multiple swivel hinge for joints. The wrist, the elbow, the hip--they thought of everything! You may be functional but you're not quite complete, you know. In your impetuous way you ran off before they could incorporate this list of refinements. We'll have to see if we can finish their work."
When Magneto came to Alkali Lake two weeks prior to Logan's ill-timed arrival, he had found everything down here in place, as if the ghouls who buried themselves in this hell hole had emerged for coffee one day, discovered what the real world was like, and never came back. He had cleaned up the lab and set to work with his assistant, a vertically-challenged, creepy little guy with thick glasses, an unhealthy greenish pallor, and a scraggly mess of hair that looked like dried seaweed.
The way Magneto told it, his escape from the plastic prison was childishly simple. Mystique had taken the form of the guard closest to Magneto's physical type and was bringing dinner into the cube just when the lights accidentally-on-purpose went off. They made the exchange in the dark and when the lights came up the sensors registered Magneto as remaining in the cell while the guard went his merry way.
All that happened a few days after Logan left the school. Like the Professor, Magneto, too, had heard hints and rumors about the hush-hush installation at Alkali Lake, whispers of the creation of a superior fighting force of indomitable, indestructible warriors. And after his disastrous defeat at Liberty Island by the X Men in general and by one Wolverine in particular, Magneto decided to come up here as fast as possible with the intention of building himself an army.
Logan, meanwhile . . . Well, Logan had sauntered along the way, enjoying the power of Cyclops's bike and the feel of the warm, spring air on his face after the harsh winter, a winter which was still in full force up north. He liked the isolation, too, and the freedom that came with it, if the truth be known. That surprised him when he realized it. Jeez, he'd only been at the school a week or so! But in that short time the Professor and the others had woven him into their lives, with all the commitments and obligations their acceptance required and-- Yeah, in spite of his better judgment, they'd become a part of his life too. Temporarily, at least.
So he rode along at his ease, his only schedule one of late nights and later mornings, spending a couple of days here, three or four there, wherever his fancy took him, in no great hurry, really, to reach his goal. Sure, the last of the winter up there was reason enough to take it slow and casual. Best to wait till it got warmer. He'd ridden motorcycles in snow and ice, even through a blizzard once, but it was a risky, stupid thing to do--and damned cold!--and if a guy had a choice . . .
No matter all the excuses he threw out for taking his time on the road, he knew that the real reason he dawdled was because he was afraid. How many times before had he gone searching for his past only to come up with nothing? And that nothingness proved so devastating a blow that with each disappointment he vowed to never again go on another wild goose chase. He'd even keep that promise to himself--three, maybe four whole months--then once again he'd start asking people questions, sifting for information, looking for clues. Because a man with no past was like a man with no right arm. Logan could get by without it, learn to compensate for its loss. But it left him off-balance, crippled.
Would Alkali Lake be another dead end? If so, let him put it off as long as possible. This way he could dream, at least, of what he might learn. Why, he might even have a family! A wife and kids.
The wife a petite brunette with a sensuous body and fire in her eye--still waiting for him to come home with that carton of milk he went out to buy fifteen years ago. Yeah, right! And the kids? Not kids anymore. Teenagers. Logan didn't know if he could handle that.
So maybe not a wife and kids. Maybe a brother or a sister, parents, somebody else like him. Oh, and they have claws, too? the little voice niggled.
He gritted his teeth. If he pushed himself he should arrive at Alkali Lake by late afternoon. Just get it over and done with, he decided. Although, now he wasn't so sure he wanted to know his past. What if he found out he was a condemned murderer? A scumbag who volunteered himself as guinea pig in order to escape death. It was possible, even probable. He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth.
After all, no one seemed to have missed him, searched for him. He hadn't seen his face tacked up on any post office walls. Plenty of pictures of kids there. Dogs. Cats. Lost: one wolverine. Dangerous if crossed. Surly at best. If found, please call . . . But he hadn't been found. 'Cause nobody ever bothered to look.
And so today, just before sunset, he finally arrived at the complex only to end up in one of his nightmares. DÈjý vu all over again.
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