A Year and A Day Austin, Texas/Los Angeles, California by Jenn
July 5, Los Angeles
Dear Jubilee,
Okay, I got some time to kill and thought I'd better update you on what's been going on. By now, the Professor probably told you about what I found in Austin--sorry, babe, I didn't have time to write you much there.
Things I have learned:
One--being a contact for Xavier is only good if you have great life insurance.
Two--Logan still has bad taste in women--and maybe you should tell Jean.
Three--a good party is one where you don't get arrested.
The Professor had a few contacts in town and, considering my usual lack of success, I decided to see if the pattern would continue. Five are supposed to be here--three run what amounts to being a mutant-rescue group, set up when Xavier and Eric were still living and working together. They went with Xavier after the split and I met one, Anna--she's really great--and really scared.
Seems a girl showed up here--a damned half-assed way at that--from Chicago the long and rural way. The girl's a mutant, but Anna had barely found her someplace to live before she disappeared. Interesting thing--the Specter-person sent her, with specific instructions for Anna that Anna now doesn't have, because the chick is gone. You get the picture? I don't either, but it gets odder.
Of those three undergrounders, one is missing and one is on the run, apparently. And the missing guy wasn't like the others--his public life was upper middle class lawyer and he wasn't exactly the kind that jumps up and leaves a wife and four kids. Now here's the kicker--Logan was in contact with him before he left. Like, three days or so beforehand.
So I've got a girl, Logan, and missing contacts strung across the country and I don't have any answers at all except Anna's going underground--she's pretty wealthy and a recluse to boot, so she can do it easily. Anna doesn't know what's going on, no one knows, and I'm thinking that whatever it is, I definitely don't want to be involved if the participants tend to go bye-bye on short notice. Xavier knows, so I guess he'll have to find someone new for this area.
Anyway, just for the hell of it I stopped by to see the wife--she took one look at me and slammed the door and said she didn't want anything to do with my kind and to get off her property that second or I'd be in jail.
So I left quick, my friend, and left tire marks on her ever-so-pristine driveway. Okay, I'm not being fair, her husband is missing but--damn, I didn't nab the poor guy!
But I'll bet you're wondering what I've been doing, besides sitting around trying to solve a great mystery.
Well, I went down to the mall and spent some time getting some new clothes--mine are shot to hell now. Then I went to check out a few places I've heard Logan mention from time to time. Then I went back to the motel and--well, this is sort of cute.
One of Logan's exes showed up. Dina.
Now ya know, I'm not advertising my presence or anything--in fact, I've been using one of the IDs Xavier gave me since I left Harlingen, since there are a few people I'd really prefer never found out who I really am or where I'm going. But ya know, she heard I was looking for Logan and stopped by to chat.
See, I asked around some in the less reputable bars in the city--there are a lot, though I eliminated sixth street real quick--not his kind of place. It's not a huge shock to guess that His Broodingness isn't exactly popular, right? Well, this little out of the way place north of the city--oh yeah, they remembered him. So--well, he got involved in some kind of brawl--not his fault this time, I understand he just happened to be sitting near the participants and for his bad luck was almost knocked out--well, you can imagine the mood that put him in. Anyway, to make a long story short, one of the idiots fighting decided it would be fun to take him out too, and the guy was definitely in the hospital, with some really unusual wounds. This happened back in March, so I got to find out a little more than I usually do.
She's not a stripper. Wait, it gets better. Nor is she a hooker--don't have heart failure there, Jubes, I know, you're thinking the same thing I am--huh? So I took some breaths and while I looked for something to drink, I tried to figure out exactly who and what she was. Red hair (what a surprise!), big blue eyes, really pretty if you like the delicate type (didn't know he did). Really demure, and I got her some water and it turns out she's a paralegal and she picked him up at that disreputable north Austin bar--apparently, watching Logan fight is a turn-on and really, for that I can't blame her--and they had quite a memorable night together.
I swear, he has *got* to get some girls that can keep their mouths shut. At this rate, nothing he does is going to surprise me and that's not a good way for relationships to start. I mean, a little mystery is kind of fun, and--never mind.
And have I mentioned she has a voice like a tortured cat? Soprano don't cut it--I'm still in shock the windows didn't break when she spoke. She also trails a cloud--a *cloud*--of perfume behind her like a blanket and within a few minutes I started sneezing and getting all watery-eyed, and you just can't look intimidating when you're blowing your nose with toilet paper. So Dina-girl immediately felt her superiority to me and showed it, which would have been really funny if she'd stood above five one at best. In heels.
Anyway, she did end up giving me some information that I didn't have before--namely, where he was going next and even when he left, which is more than I'd been getting.
Verbatim--this conversation was too surreal to not remember.
"So how do you know Logan?" she asks me while she puffs away on a cigarette and tries to look really wise and sophisticated. Uh-huh.
How the hell do I answer that? So I'm scrambling for a reply--you know, I should have an answer ready, but the weird thing is, I couldn't think of a damned thing, probably because of the perfume fog that is threatening to turn my eyes into water faucets--and she kind of smiles this little condescending smile.
"He's a very--energetic guy." She puts so many worlds of meaning in that--I'm pretty sure she didn't guess the image I got from that was of Logan doing track and field, and it was all I could do not to laugh in her face. Or sneeze--perfume and smoke do not a good combo make, dear.
If she's trying to make me jealous, it's not working. I have Logan in my head, for goodness sake, I know what he does and who he does it with. And I should really have told her about the red hair thing--
Damn, that was an opportunity wasted.
"Yes, he's very energetic," I agree, so sweetly you wouldn't even recognize me, Jubes, I swear. "And I'm so glad his condition hasn't--well, slowed him down, you know."
Well, Dina blinks and gets all fish-mouthed and it's all I can do not to start giggling, but I try to keep my expression serene--think Jean here--and smile like there's nothing weird at all about what I just said. And sniffling, because--well, I can't help it. But it does work, for what it's worth--I probably look so pathetic that she can't imagine I could be straight lying to her.
"Condition." She drops the word like a brick.
"Oh." I sat back and tried to look really shocked, dropped my voice and then leaned forward--which in hindsight was a mistake, since that jumped the perfume factor up by twenty and my nose kept twitching. "You know--oh you don't."
So Miss Dina gets awfully nervous all of a sudden and gropes for her cigarette and takes a deep drag before she speaks again.
"What condition?" Her voice, if possible, becomes even sharper and somewhere in the world some fine crystal shattered.
"Well--he's been on medication for this little--problem he picked up in Rio," I explained, and I swear, she lost every trace of color. For the life of me, I couldn't think of a single disease--I blame it on the perfume hampering my wits. But she took the implication well enough and got up so fast that she almost tripped over her heels--six inches, Jubes, I'm not joking.
Well, that ended *that* little interview and now I had Logan's next target--hehehe--and a good idea of where to look for him. I called to get tickets on the next flight here, Los Angeles, and the next available flight was early the next morning, so I considered my options and decided to go downtown for a bit--
--and you can probably fill in the blanks here.
I fell in with some college students from the local university and they didn't even blink at my attire, which was rather nice. So we go from club to club and sheesh, I spent a really indecent amount of money and generally had a blast, even if every damned one of those girls was dressed in clothes that would have fit in my pocket--there was that little of it. Me in gloves and long sleeves, as you can imagine, was a little odd, but then, there are weirder outfits, so I was good to go and I let them think it was religious--question, Jubes, what religion would require the cover of that much skin? I know we learned it in religion class, but I can't remember--and that would come in useful maybe.
Well, we moved on to someone's apartment, and this is where things got fun--sit back hon, you're going to choke.
Well, I wasn't drinking much because I really just wanted to be on that flight, ya know? And flying with a hangover isn't my cup of tea. So okay, I'm staying light on the beer and was trying to clear the liquor from my head when it happened--and you know it had to, and it wasn't my fault at all, I was really in the wrong place at the wrong time.
One of the girls started stripping. She was beyond drunk, Jubes--I mean, she was like, walking at a weird angle and she was laughing at everything, even the trees, and the trees weren't doing much, so maybe that was my first clue that these kids weren't just drunk. So I start thinking that I should get back to the motel and maybe just stay there, boring or not--I've got to buy some books so this kind of thing doesn't happen anymore.
Well, she starts removing her spandex--peeling it rather, which was kind of fascinating, because I've been watching pros and she's not half bad--well, she wouldn't be if she didn't keep falling over and having to right herself each time. Well, she gets her top off and starts on the skirt--if you can call a piece of stretchable skin, as it were, smaller than the width of my palm a *skirt*--and one of the guys jumps up to help her and somehow they get tangled in each others feet or something, because they both fall over and knock the keg on the floor.
Now me, you're wondering what I'm doing? Well--his name was George and he was an engineering student and really nice--if you like the arrogant, every-girl-wants-me type. He was sober enough to talk, which was something, since the other kiddos were not talking if they could help it, having other interests to keep them busy. So I'm sitting on the couch with Mr. Man, trying to avoid his cute little attempts to feel me up and nursing my beer--and they distracted me when the keg went down--and it went, down, Jubilee, with style. It was nearly full when it met it's untimely end and splashed its way across the room--all over my boots up to my knees.
Anyway, I got distracted and Little Georgie apparently never heard about Georgie Porgie, who made the girls cry, because he leaned over and tried to kiss me--
--and inevitably, he got himself one hell of a headache when he gets up. Plus, he tasted bad, which was topping injury with insult. And I have a few new memories that keep me up at night, and I don't sleep well these days anyway.
So I push him over and no one notices anything--I mean, people are passed out everywhere--so I think, okay, I'm so out of here. So I get up and start getting to the door, poking among the kids lining the floor and doing things that any self-respecting person would try to avoid doing in public, and wonder of wonders, the door opens when I'm five feet from it--and it's the police.
Drug bust, love. Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't say it. I know already.
It was instinct. Jubes, I'm carrying false ID and I'm a mutant--neither one of those circumstances is likely to make them exactly friendly with me--at best, I'm going to jail for a night and lose my ticket to Los Angeles and my stuff from the motel--at worst, I'll be here for a few months and get a trial, and--Jubes, I can't be found in Texas. I can't afford it. Even Xavier would have problems getting me out of this, if he even found me in time.
I don't even want to *think* how Scott and Logan would react.
So I panic and make a run for the balcony--what, now I think I can fly?--and just stand there looking down and I wasn't nearly as sober as I was wanting to be, because the drop didn't look that bad. And the police are yelling at me to freeze and I just--well, I got a hand over and started the drop.
And a hand caught me before I could let go and I looked up--and it was him, from Rio. And he *recognized* me. I saw it in his eyes, they just lit up like Christmas had come to hell or something.
No, you don't know about that, do you? Never mind--suffice to say, this guy, who serves the public on the fucking police department, who's supposed to uphold the fucking *law*, has a history with me now. And something happened in me, Jubes--I can't explain it. I mean--shit, this sounds so damned--
I got a hand back up and pulled him over with me.
And he hit the ground on his feet and grinned--and I was right, he was the one. Blue eyes, blonde hair, vicious as anything the devil ever put on this earth and his favored weapon has always been something sharp and I have the scars to prove it.
"Marie."
And he knew my real name. I never used anything but Erin until I got back to Harlingen. I didn't even have any other IDs until I got back to Harlingen, they were all safe and sound in a bank box. But he looked at me and knew me and knew what I was--he saw everything in Rio and I'll never forgive, Jubes, not until the day I die.
He had gloves on and attacked---he was good, I'll give him that, but then, he should be, shouldn't he? And he avoided everything I threw at him--he knew my style now, you see, and I couldn't take my gloves off--I didn't want that thing in my head, even for a second, even for the time it would take to knock him out---because hon, I wouldn't have let it be only a second. And he got a good punch at my face and almost broke my damned nose before I tripped him and he landed on the pavement--and I wanted him dead, Jubes. I mean, I straddled him and pulled his gun and put it to his head and just stared in his eyes--I could taste it.
I didn't. But I wanted to, and I still do, and there are some nights when I wake up and think that it would be a better place if I had, if he could never do to anyone else what he did to me, what he did to the others.
This isn't who I want to be--I hated Magneto for strapping me to that damned machine of his and I hated my parents for disowning me--but this is so different--it's filthy and I can't get it out of my head. It--it just clings to me, and it wakes me up at night and--and Jubes, I--never mind. I'm sorry, but I can't yet--I don't know if I ever can.
Well, to finish this off quick, I got away and grabbed my stuff from the motel and spent the rest of the night in the airport lounge. He's doubtless still in intensive care in Austin, Jubes, so no one could really identify me, and even if they did, they were looking for Elizabeth Andrews, not Marie Summers, and Marie Summers had her hair all twisted up under a scarf so that pesky white streak didn't give her away.
Okay, I'm outta here--I need a drink or a nap or something. Give my love to everyone.
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