Demons

Part Three

 

Remy woke up cold. 

 

"Feels like...someone...stuck my head in de bell...at Notre Dame an'..

.pull de rope," he murmured.  His entire body ached

 

After a moment, his senses began picking up on his surroundings. 

Cold metal floor.  Indoors.  Familiar from somewhere.  Steady hum of

computers.  Presence of another person.

 

He lifted his head and shook the haze from his vision.  A man was

standing on the other side of the room.  He was wearing a silver

metal suit, black boots, a blue belt.  He had black hair and a red

diamond in the middle of his white forehead.  Black strips of cloth

fell from his shoulders and rippled to the ground.

 

"Essex," Remy breathed.

 

"Welcome, Remy," Sinister said as he glanced down.  "Welcome back."

 

Remy shook his head and glowered silently.  Painfully, he stood and

stretched the aches from his limbs.  Feeling warm, he was tempted to

take off his brown leather jacket but glanced at Sinister and thought

better of it.  "What am I doin' here?"

 

"You tell me.  Most immediately, you are here because you went after

the child Tuesday.  Why you did that is for you to decide."

 

"I ain' in de mood for mind games, Essex."

 

Sinister grinned.  "Call it what you like.  A psychological profile.

"

 

Remy shook his head.  "I'm t'rough wit' your experiments."

 

"Years of work, and this is the thanks I receive?"

 

"I'm done wit' you.  I don' owe you anyt'ing."

 

"You make it sound like jail time."

 

"Dere ain' much difference, ‘cept prisoners ain' as often used for

medical experiments."

 

"You were never a prisoner."

 

*No.  Argue later.  Get information.*  "Why did y' wan' Tuesday?"

 

"Surely that isn't your concern."

 

"She be Family.  She be a T'ief.  She came up t' ask me ‘f help."

 

"And you, out of the goodness of your heart, turned her out on the

street, knowing that I - "

 

Remy cut him off.  "Is she my daughter, Essex?"  he demanded.

 

"Does it matter?"

 

"Is she my daughter."

 

"I thought you didn't want to be involved,"  Sinister reminded him

sardonically.

 

"Stuff it."

 

"Yes, she is your daughter.  Genetically, anyway."

 

Remy was dumbstruck.  He hadn't expected it to be so easy.  "Daughter.

  I have a daughter," he whispered.

 

"Only genetically."

 

"Bastard.  Evil."

 

Sinister smiled.   "How am I so evil?"

 

Remy gestured expansively, ignoring pain in his chest.  "All dis. 

Manipulation.  Torture.  Mind games.  See a connection here?" 

 

"And I display these qualities in what ways?

 

 "What y' do t' people.  What y' did t' me."

 

"I did nothing to you, Remy LeBeau."

 

Remy was aghast.  "Nothing?  How c'n y' - "

 

"I did nothing.  Nothing horrible, as you seem to imply.  You joined

the Marauders of your own free will."

 

"Like fuck!"

 

"You had a choice."

 

"I had nowhere else t' go."

 

"Yes, you did.  You know that."

 

"Fuck that!"

 

"Remy."  Sinister's voice had the disapproving tone of a father to a

disobedient son.

 

"Shut up."

 

"I was merely addressing a false accusation."

 

Remy tried again.  "Den what about when I was twelve?  How d' y'

justify dat?"

 

"I helped your mutant powers manifest.  That is all."

 

"Before I had de control t' handle dem."

 

"So you would have time to gain control."

 

"What was Celeste dere for?"

 

"An experiment."

 

"Tuesday?"

 

"A selfish interest, I acknowledge.  I've been following her.  I made

sure the Assassins wouldn't kill her."  He laughed.  "Her family

thought they were hiding her."

 

Realization dawned.  "Aimee told her to come t' me."

 

"It did nothing, only forced me to act sooner.  It was pure luck on

our part that you turned her away.  Else we would have been forced to

take the mansion before the others returned, and even then it would

have gotten bloody."

 

Remy burned with righteous indignation.  "She's a human being, not a

toy f' y' to play wit."

 

"I made her."

 

"Doesn' matter.  Y' can' destroy a girl's life like dat."

 

Sinister raised an eyebrow.  "Who's calling the kettle black now,

Remy?"

 

Remy couldn't help wincing.  *That was low.  Even for you.*  "Don'

call me Remy. Y' don' have de right t' call me Remy."

 

"I don't have the right?"  Sinister sounded amused.

 

"Non."

 

"I made you, Remy."

 

"And I hated y' for it."

 

"The son always hates the father."

 

"Shut de fuck up.  You not'ing but an evil, megalomaniacal - "

 

"What right have you to call me evil?  What have I done that you

haven't?"

 

Remy's mouth moved, but no words came out.

 

Sinister smirked for a moment.  "Welcome home, Remy."  He sat down on

the edge of the desk, the black streamers falling and folding over

the metal to the floor.

 

"Dis ain' my home.  I got a home with de X-men," Remy protested.

 

Sinister raised an eyebrow.  "And what would they say if they knew

all about you?"

 

"Wouldn' matter," Remy lied desperately.

 

"And I suppose that's why Rogue ran away after seeing only a shade of

it."

 

"Don' go dere."

 

"Admit it to yourself if you can't to me.  You are who you are, Remy.

 You can't change it."

 

"I ain' a Marauder."

 

"You deny me?  After all I've done for you?"

 

"I ain' a Marauder."

 

"The way I see it, you hate me for simply letting you do what you

wanted.  Like any rebellious child."

 

"I ain' a Marauder."

 

"Three times.  And now we wait for the rooster to crow."

 

Remy shook his head and pressed the point, "I'm an X-man now.  Y'

can' change dat."

 

"I think I can."

 

"Y' can't."

 

"We'll see."  After a moment, Sinister spoke again.  "Let's check on

Tuesday, shall we?" 

 

"Tuesday..." Remy repeated.  His eyes widened.

 

Sinister pressed a button on his desk, and the wall behind Remy

clicked and began to rise, revealing a sheet of glass and another

metal paneled room.  Two men dressed in white surgical uniforms were

busy at a thin metal table next to the only solid piece of furniture

in the room, an operating table.  One of the doctors was mixing a set

of chemicals; the other was preparing some alcohol and cotton.  Bound

to the table by wrist and ankle was Tuesday.

 

Remy sucked in his breath.  He had seen this too many times before. 

"Bastard."

 

Sinister laughed.  "Think of it as a science project."

 

"Y' killin' people, an' it's a science project?!"

 

"It's all in the name of science, Remy."

 

"You're another Joseph Mengele."

 

Sinister laughed, infuriating Remy.  "One of my...better known

contemporaries?" he baited.

 

Remy shook his head in disgust.  "You're an evil man, Essex."

 

Sinister shrugged and looked back through the glass at Tuesday.

 

Remy watched as one of the doctors cut off the sleeve of her shirt at

the shoulder and dabbed at her arm with alcohol.  "What are dey going

t' do?"

 

"A series of injection."  Sinister folded his arms across his broad

chest and stepped closer to the window.  "To lower her immunity. 

Unfortunately for her the drugs themselves are quite painful."

 

"Lower her immunity for what?"

 

"Legacy virus."

 

Aghast, Remy stared at him.  "I don' believe you."

 

Sinister shrugged.

 

Remy stared back at the doctors, who were giving Tuesday the first

shot.  He looked at Tuesday, whose face was tight with pain and fear.

 He looked back up at Sinister, who was watching the unfolding action

like one would watch a pleasantly dull television sitcom. 

 

"Don't you miss this, Remy?  It's in your blood."

 

Tentatively, he touched the window and found it not to be glass but

something much stronger.  He pressed his hands against it and

attempted to charge it, but the window wouldn't take any energy.  He

let his arms fall away.  Nothing.  He could do nothing.

 

"This is just like old times."

 

With a fierce cry, Remy lashed out at the bigger man.  Suddenly,

before he could tell what happened, he was lying on his back, the

wind knocked out of him.  Sinister pressed his foot calmly into

Remy's chest.  The scientist stared down pointedly, not moving, for

what seemed like forever.  The threat was silent but there.  Remy

didn't even try to move.  Finally Sinister stepped away and resumed

his stance by the window.

 

Remy suddenly realized he had forgotten to breathe.  Remembering, he

turned himself over angrily and pushed to his feet.

 

"As I said, just like old times."

 

Remy glowered silently.  *Not like old times.*

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

"Where dey taking her?"

 

Sinister watched his doctors through the glass.  "You'll see.  Come

on."  He started toward the door.

 

"You ain' going t' hurt her."

 

Sinister stopped.  "Do you honestly think you can do something to

help her?"

 

"Kill me instead."

 

"I won't allow that."

 

Confused, Remy tilted his head.  "Eh?"

 

"I won't let anything happen to you.  You remember Henri's death?  Do

you think that if the Assassins had a choice, they would have

preferred him dead to you?"

 

"He died - instead of me?"

 

"Ironic, ain't it?"  Scalphunter interrupted from the open doorway.  

"Everyone gettin' fucked up to help the traitor."

 

Remy looked from one to the other, choked with guilt he thought he

had buried for the death of his brother.  Henri had bled to death in

his arms...  "I'll kill you.  I'll kill - "

 

Sinister merely laughed.  "Don't make threats you can't substantiate,

Remy."

 

Remy was too dazed to answer.

 

"Come on," Scalphunter said.  "I'll take you to your room."

 

"Room?"

 

"Room, cell, whatever."  He shrugged.  "You'll see your kid in a

while."

 

"Scalphunter."  Sinister stood in the hall behind them.  "No killing.

"

 

Scalphunter grinned and touched his fingers to his head in salute. 

"Sure thing, boss." He took Remy by the forearm.

 

Remy lashed out with a palm-heel strike to Scalphunter's face,

drawing blood.

 

"God dammit," Scalphunter swore as he raised a hand to his face.

 

"Fuck you," Remy spat.  He kicked out, catching Scalphunter in the

stomach before the man could block.  Another kick to the face had

Scalphunter down.

 

*What now?  Fight or run?*

 

Sinister smiled and held out his hands.  His palms glowed white.

 

The next thing Remy knew, he was face-down on the floor, his whole

body stinging, with thin wisps of smoke creeping up from his jacket. 

*Ow...*  He moaned quietly and tried to sit up.

 

Scalphunter gingerly touched his nose.  "Damn.  Forgot how fast you

were."  He wiped at the blood with his shirt sleeve.  "What say we

not do that again?"

 

"Damn you," Remy murmured.

 

"You ready now?"

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

*Henri dead - because of Julien.*

 

Julien...

 

"Nice ceremony, Remy."

 

Remy turned and saw Augustine emerging from the shadows of the Gothic

church.  "T'anks, Augustine.  Assassins sure can plan a party, can'

dey."

 

Augustine shoved his hands into the pockets of his tux and laughed. 

"I can' get over de fact dat y' married one of ‘em."  His pale skin

and blond hair glowed in the half-moon.

 

"Welcome to de nineties."  Remy stared off into the night sky.  The

old church was on a short hill, looking down on the Mississippi.  The

night-black water churned like the Styx, and the city of New Orleans

glittered softly in the distance.  Remy had undone his bow tie, and

the wind had taken his carefully combed hair.

 

"Where's Belle?"

 

"Gettin' pictures."

 

"Dat'll take years."

 

"Tell me ‘bout it."  October nights in New Orleans were pleasantly

cool.  Remy closed his eyes, feeling unusually satisfied.

 

"When's de reception?"

 

"Soon as dey're done."

 

Augustine laughed again.  "You're married.  Christ, I can't believe

you're married."

 

Remy grinned.  "Gotta grow up sometime."

 

"But - married.  Christ."

 

Henri, Remy's brother approached almost silently.  "Swearing so soon

after church, Augustine?" 

 

Augustine smiled.  "Yup.  Gotta get it outta my system before I

become like holy and stuff."

 

"You will never be holy, Augustine," Henri said firmly.

 

"What y' t'ink, Henri?"  Remy asked with a smile.

 

"Y' did it, Remy.  Somehow y' did it."  Henri pulled his brother into

a tight embrace.  "Dat's my boy.  Dat's my little brother."

 

"Ain' a boy no more."

 

"But always my li'l brother."

 

"REMY!"  A voice screamed down from the front door of the church.

 

"Julien?"  Augustine wondered quietly.

 

"Shit," Remy muttered.

 

Julien was silhouetted against the half-moon, an Assassin sword in

his right hand.

 

"I'll go get de Guild leaders," Henri murmured.  "No fighting, Remy. 

Y' hear me?  No fighting.  Dat's y'r brother-in-law."  He slipped

away soundlessly.

 

"REMY, WHERE ARE YOU!"

 

"Here, Julien!"  Remy shouted back.

 

"Careful, Remy," Augustine murmured as Julien approached.

 

"Why?"  Remy asked, expecting no answer.  When Julien was close

enough, he said, "You called, Julien?"

 

"You ain' gon' marry her."  Julien was wearing a disheveled tux.  His

white shirt was untucked, and his sleeves were unbuttoned.  His sharp,

 angular features were slick with sweat, and his eyes darted wildly. 

He looked crazy.

 

"Too late for dat, mon ami,"  Remy said smoothly.

 

"Shut up!  You ain' gon' marry her!  She's mine!  You ain' gon' marry

her!"  Julien screamed,  pointing his sword at Remy.

 

This was getting out of hand.  "Julien," Remy started, holding his

hands out to show he was unarmed.

 

"You can' take her!  She's mine!"

 

"Julien, I can' fight you.  You be my brother now."

 

"I'm not y' brother!"  Julien shrieked wildly.  "You stole her from

me!"

 

"Julien, we're family, now.  De T'ieves and Assassins be family."

 

"Family?!  You can' talk ‘bout family.  You ain' even a Thief an' y'

sure as hell ain' no Assassin!"

 

Remy bristled.  "De only reason you in de Guild is ‘cause y' were

born Marius' son.  Any one else be kicked out long before dis."

 

"Shut up!"

 

Remy took a deep breath and tried unsuccessfully to calm down. 

"We're family," he stated again.  "We need t' stop acting like

children."

 

"You stole her from me, you lying son of a bitch!"  Julien flew

forward, slashing wildly with his sword.

 

Remy jerked back, and his hands grabbed for his dagger.

 

It wasn't there.

 

Neither he, nor Belle, nor their fathers had been allowed weapons at

the ceremony, the joining of the Guilds.

 

Swearing and cursing all tradition, he ducked under another slash and

searching with his mind for a weapon, anything to throw.

 

The ring.

 

He pulled his gold wedding ring off and held it in the fingers of his

right hand, charging it with kinetic energy.  Gold took a good charge.

  "Julien, don' make me do dis," he warned, his eyes glowing

demonically.

 

"Make you do - you stole her from me!  She was mine - " 

 

The explosion, larger than Remy had planned, caught Julien full in

the face.  The Assassin screamed like a banshee and fell to his knees,

 clutching at his head.  His sword clattered on the rocky ground,

sparkling gold in the moon.  Remy picked it up.

 

Julien was still screaming, blood pouring thickly through his fingers,

 down the sleeves of his tux.  Dark stains were spreading down his

neck onto his frilly white shirt. 

 

"Belle was never yours," Remy informed him.  "You're one sick puppy,

Julien."

 

"She's mine!  She's mine!"  Julien howled.

 

"I been wantin' t' do dis for a long time," Remy said.  He was in

complete control and he was loving every minute of it.  His anger had

melted into something more sinister.  "I seen de way y' look at her. 

Dat stops now.  You're a dead man, Julien." The gilded sword felt

comfortable in his hand.

 

"You can' kill me!"  he screeched.  "De peace, de peace."

 

"Dere is no peace."  Remy's eyes glowed brighter, and he grinned

cruelly.  "De marriage hasn' been consummated yet."

 

Julien moaned.  "You can' have her!"

 

"She's mine, Julien."  He lifted the blade high and slammed it down

on the back of Julien's neck.

 

The metal cut deep, and black crimson sprayed like soda from a shaken

can.  Julien was screeching loud enough to wake the dead.  Remy

hacked down again, and the screaming stopped.  Before Remy could

strike a third time, Augustine had rushed up and held back his hand.

 

Remy turned violently and thrust his shoulder into Augustine's chest.

 Augustine stumbled backward and fell.  Remy stepped after him and

lifted the sword again.

 

"Christ, Remy!"  Augustine cried, raising his arms.  "What de hell

are y' doing?"

 

Remy froze.  Augustine tentatively pushed to his feet, shaking. 

"Jesus Christ, Remy."

 

Remy lowered the sword.  He stared at the black remains of Julien. 

He stared down at his blood spattered tux.  He stared at the sword he

was gripping tightly.

 

"Jesus fuckin' Christ."

 

With a moan, Remy let the sword slip from his fingers.  The gold hit

the stone and was hidden in the shadows.  Remy brought his hands to

his face and hair, inadvertently leaving fingerprints of red. 

Staring at Augustine with a despairing and pleading expression, he

murmured only, "Augustine."

 

*He's going to panic* Augustine bit his lip.

 

Remy was deathly pale.  "Julien.  Belle.  Papa.  Oh Saints."

 

Augustine said the only thing he could think of.  "Run.  Get outta

here.  Dey kill y' now, f' sure."

 

"I had t' kill him.  You understand, don' you?  I had t' kill him,"

Remy said desperately.

 

Augustine licked his dry lips.  "It be self-defense, Remy."

 

"Self-defense?"

 

"Jus' run."

 

Remy nodded, backing slowly away.  Then he turned and ran blindly

into the night, away from Julien's body, away from the marriage, away

from the Guilds.

 

Behind him he could see Augustine picking up the sword.

 

Ahead of him he could see nothing at all.

 

 

 

*  *  *

 

 

 

"Hank?"  Bobby walked into the laboratory carefully.

 

"Yes, Bobby?"  Hank turned away from the computer printouts he had

been poring over for the last few hours.  He looked up at a clock to

find it was time for breakfast.

 

"Have you seen Remy since last night?"

 

"No.  I've been in here, and he avoids the laboratory like the plague.

  Might I ask why you must find him?"

 

"Tuesday's gone."

 

"Maybe they went for a walk."

 

"All her stuff's gone.  And his bike is gone."

 

Hank mused over that.

 

"And here's something that's interesting."  Bobby handed Hank the

letter he had collected from the kitchen floor. 

 

"Sinister."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Oh, my."

 

"Yeah."

 

"This is bad."

 

"Yeah."

 

Hank thought for a moment then shook his head.  "We can't go after

them until the others get home.  You are certain he's not on the

grounds?"

 

"Not according to Cerebro."  Bobby shrugged.  "I'm going to town

after I eat something.  Check there, check the train station."

 

"Good idea."  Hank sighed.  "Besides that, I'm afraid we're stuck,

then.  We have no idea if they are even in danger, and little chance

to go after them if they are."

 

 "I'll be back."  Bobby walked off, leaving the letter with Hank.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Bitterly, Remy focused his eyes on the ground in front of him.  His

left hand was on level with his shoulders, dangling from a metal cuff

that was hooked to the wall.  Blood, once flowing freely as he had

snarled and struggled against the chain, now crusted his wrist and

forearm, stiffening his shirt.  They had left hours ago.

 

Only once before in his life had he felt so helpless.  But even then

it had been a selfish fear, a fear for self-preservation, for looking

after his own physical well-being.  This now was fear mixed with

hatred, with indignation, at horror being done to someone whom he

surprised even himself by caring about.  This was revulsion at being

a witness.  At watching and hearing and knowing synapse by synapse

what she had been feeling.  This was the helplessness of screaming

and cursing and hearing only the laughter of old acquaintances

echoing back over the sobs.  This was hatred fueled by ridicule,

anger fueled by flippant curses.  Helplessness fueled by a metal cuff

around the left wrist.

 

They had left her hours ago.  But scars remain forever.

 

He tilted his head back against the cold wall, closed his eyes, and

swallowed hard.  The pictures were seared into the backs of his eyes.

 He touched his free hand to his hair.  A distant part of his mind

told him he needed a shower, but he quickly told it to shut up for

being irreverent. 

 

Rape was the worst thing that could be done to an empath.  Especially

one as untrained as she. 

 

And nothing.  He had done nothing.  So what if the intent was

different.  He firmly believed that men were judged by their actions,

not by intentions, or reasons, or feelings about the actions. 

Nothing.  What could he have done?  But how could he explain that to

her?  He couldn't even explain it to himself.

 

The modified Genoshan slave collar prevented him from using his

kinetic powers, but this collar did nothing for innate powers like

empathy.

 

She had been lying motionless for hours.  He would have thought her

dead but for the faint rise and fall of her chest.  She was

unconscious; for that at least he was grateful.  Maybe she would heal

quickly. 

 

She had fought, though.  She had fought like a cat, writhing and

twisting, biting the arms when they came too close.  He remembered

with something almost akin to amusement that she had scratched

Riptide across the eye and cheek with her nails, even drawing a

little blood.

 

But in the end, of course, there was no contest.  And his curses

hadn't done a damned thing.

 

There was nothing he could do except pray for her, and for himself,

and hate.  The way he had been hating for so long.  Hate, and

remember.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Remy crouched down low and pressed his back against the wall.  He

powered up the cards he held between the fingers of his left fist. 

He had given up his trench coat and Thief colors for a leather jacket,

 well-worn blue jeans, and a black T-shirt from a Kiss concert.

 

An open doorway was to his right, and on the other side Riptide was

kneeling in a similar manner, checking the safety and tightening the

silencer on the sub-machine gun he was carrying.  He looked over at

Remy - Gambit - and grinned.

 

Gambit grinned back and dropped his empty right hand to his ankle,

holding four fingers down.  His black gloves left his index and

little finger exposed, so he could charge up the cards.  He didn't

worry about leaving fingerprints: his mutant ability had burned them

away when he was much younger.

 

Four - three - two - one.  He counted on his fingers.  On zero, he

and Riptide jumped up and burst into the room.  Gambit quickly sized

up the office: room, 20 feet by 40; desk, to the left - startled man,

brown hair.  Gambit took him first.  The charged card flew right into

the man's throat before exploding, spattering his entire work site,

computer, desk, papers, with blood.  The man's glasses hung crazily

off his face.

 

The woman at the next desk stood and started screaming, and Gambit

killed her, too.  She fell into her computer monitor, which fell to

the floor and crashed with a shower of hot sparks.  The movement of

the desk spilled her coffee mug on the gray carpet.

 

Gambit heard the muffled thud of the silenced gun Riptide carried

going off.  Riptide killed the only other two people in the office. 

*Guess no one wants to work at seven on a Thursday night*

 

"Easy pickings," Riptide said.

 

"Easy," Gambit repeated.  "Now de computers."

 

They trashed the office, smashing all the computers, shredding or

burning all the papers they could find.  A young intern interrupted

them and was promptly shot point-blank in the face by Riptide.

 

The office looked like a technological Sarajevo when they were done,

masses of charred metal, piles of colored wires, small fires burning

at various places on the floors and the desks, and a few twisted

human corpses.

 

"How many more computers on dis side of de building?"

 

"One more office.  A small, single office, but it's the guy who

detected the virus in the first place, so we gotta hit it good." 

 

"Let's go."

 

The reason for the mission, Sinister had told them, was that the

hospital had detected a virus in one of its mutant patients.  The

doctor who discovered the virus had classified it as "dangerous -

level four."  He didn't know how right he was.  It had simply been

one of Sinister's viruses, accidentally exposed to human doctors for

the first time, but luckily not yet to the public.  Sinister needed

it contained.  He wanted to destroy all records of it.  The Marauders

had work to do.

 

The office was at the end of a hall.  Riptide pressed his ear against

the closed door and listened hard, but he could only pick out pieces

of a conversation.  Gambit, however, with his heightened senses,

heard everything.

 

"...don't know, she's only had her license for two weeks."

 

"Four weeks, dad, she got it January second.  Come on, Dad, it's a

Bulls game."

 

"I don't know, Marie."

 

"You're not being fair."

 

Riptide leaned toward Gambit.  "Who's in there?"

 

Gambit reached out, using his spatial awareness.  "Two of dem.  The

man we wan' and a girl.  A daughter.  Fifteen?  Maybe sixteen?"  he

guessed.

 

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Cajun?"  Riptide grinned wolfishly.

 

Gambit grinned back.  "I don' know, you as sick minded as I am?"

 

"More."

 

"I doubt dat."

 

"We'll see."

 

"Dibs."

 

"You son of a bitch."

 

"I know."

 

"He armed?"

 

"Non.  And clueless, since Scalphunter cut de internal phone lines." 

He had cut power to most of the patient wards as well. 

 

"Then let's rock and roll."

 

Gambit gestured to the door and mocked a bow.  "After you."

 

Riptide strode past and pushed open the door.  Gambit followed him in.

 

 

It was a small office, no more than ten or twelve feet square, but a

door in the corner led to another room.  To the left, against the

wall, a middle-aged man in a chair in front of a computer swiveled to

see the intruders.  His suit coat was folded on the table next to the

computer.  He wore black rimmed glasses.  A fifteen-year-old girl was

sitting against a wooden table that ran along the far wall.  Her arms

were folded across her chest.  She had on khaki pants, dirty white

sneakers, and a navy blue flannel shirt.  A black sweater was tied

around her hips.  Most of her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but

a few strands fell short and brushed her neck.

 

The man stared at them.

 

"Avon calling," Riptide quipped.

 

"Can I help you?"  the man asked dubiously.

 

"Nah.  We can take what we need."  Riptide pulled the chair back and

threw him to the floor.  "And right now, we need you dead."

 

Slightly dazed, the man raised his arm.  "Wait," he said almost

desperately.  "What do you want?  Money?  I can get you money."

 

Riptide crouched down over him, his feet even with the man's waist. 

"I said we needed you dead."  He put the gun to the man's forehead

and pulled the trigger.

 

The girl screamed.

 

Gambit looked down at the bloody mess.  "Not bad.  Bit sloppy."

 

"Fuck you, Remy."  Riptide stood and wiped at the blood on his shirt.

 "I gotta stop wearing new clothes when we go out like this."  He

turned his attention to the computer, smashing the monitor with a

sharp kick, then stuffing all the loose papers in a trash can to burn.

 

 

With a sob, the girl ducked away into the other room.  She tried to

slam and lock the door, but Gambit was too fast for her and put his

foot in the way.  She stumbled backwards as he entered.

 

It was more an annex that a room.  It was half the size as the other

room, and the only piece of equipment was a copying machine at the

far end.

 

He stood in the doorway, his head tilted down, his hair partly

obscuring his face.  "Bonjour, p'tite."

 

She jerked her head up to stare at his face.  She was terrified of

his eyes.

 

"Tryin' t' run?"

 

"Please let me go," she begged.  "I didn't see anything, I won't say

anything, just let me go."

 

Gambit shook his head slowly, a smile playing on the corners of his

lips.  "Can' do dat, petite."

 

Trembling, she pressed her hands against the copier behind her in an

attempt to stay on her feet.  "I didn't do anything."

 

"Take off your clothes."

 

Marie started to cry.

 

 

Gambit took a step closer.  She tried to back up, but there was no

where to go.  He was standing right in front of her, close enough to

touch, and she would have collapsed had he not held her up by her arm.

  The copying machine filled the room with white noise.

 

"Well?"  prompted Riptide, his hands going to his gold belt buckle. 

The smoke from the papers clung to the ceiling, but the alarms

remained silent.

 

"Well yourself," Gambit answered as he brought Marie to the floor,

laid her down, and started untucking her shirt.

 

She shrieked and tried to twist away from his hands.

 

Had he been alone, he would have awoken as from a dream and realized

what he was about to do.  But Riptide was there, and Remy was caught

in the whirlwind of the past months' adrenaline and violence.  A year

younger, a year older, he would have been appalled and repulsed by

what he had become.

 

"You don't honestly think you'll get away, do you?"  Riptide laughed.

 

 

"Please," she sobbed.  "I swear I'll do anything, just let me go..."

 

"You don't have to do anything yet," Riptide told her.  "Just lay

there."

 

Gambit pulled off the sweater wrapped around her waist and threw it

behind him  He undid her pants and pushed them down.  She shrieked

when she felt his hand between her legs.

 

Riptide stepped over and bent down, French-kissing her.

 

She screamed and pushed at him, but he was much too strong.  She

didn't have a prayer.

 

 "Not bad," Riptide said as they undressed themselves.

 

She curled up into a ball, tears streaming silently down her face. 

"Oh my god," she whimpered.  "Oh god oh god oh god."

 

"Ain' gon' help y', chere," Gambit chuckled.

 

"Please don't; I swear I'll do anything, just don't - just let me go,

" she pleaded.

 

In response, he pushed her knees down and knelt beside her.  He

pulled at her underpants, and she shrieked again when his fingers

brushed her most private parts.

 

"S'okay, chere," Gambit soothed as he stroked her, his other hand

behind her, unhooking her bra.  She shuddered as he pushed her hair

from her face and kissed her.  Her cheeks burned in humiliation.

 

"Tell me y' wan' dis."

 

"Don't, please don't, I didn't do anything."

 

"Tell me y' wan' dis."

 

She was crying too hard to answer.

 

"I c'n make dis hurt a lot more dan it has to."

 

"No don't oh god..."

 

He took hold of her chin, suddenly vicious, pressing his fingers

fiercely into her cheeks, pushing her head into the floor.  "T'ree

words," he snarled.

 

"I - want - this - oh god," she choked.

 

"Bien."

 

She closed her eyes, but the tears streamed down anyway.  He kissed

her again, and she felt him against her.  And then -

 

She screamed as he thrust himself inside her, as he tore past her

virginity.  He raped her slowly, steadily, ignoring her screams and

pleas, until he came.  And then he kissed her one last time and

pulled out of her, and she moaned in pain.

 

He drank in her fear and pain and felt higher than heroin or cocaine

had ever made him.

 

"Well?" questioned Riptide.

 

Gambit lolled his head back to stare at the older Marauder and

grinned drunkenly.  "Word."

 

Riptide shook his head.  "You dumb fuck."

 

"Fuck you."

 

"Stupid, too."

 

"Your mom be stupid."

 

"Your dog's stupid."

 

"Don' have a dog."

 

"If you did, it would be stupid by default."

 

Gambit grinned again and groped for his shorts.

 

Marie lay as still as she could, praying that it was over. 

 

"My turn," Riptide told her

 

She swallowed hard.  "Just - please let me go."

 

Riptide laughed cruelly.  "That'll happen."  She burst into tears

again.

 

And then finally he was done, and she prayed again for an end to it.

 

 "Gotta get back wit' Scalphunter now," Gambit said as he struggled

with his leather jacket.

 

Riptide grunted agreement and tossed Gambit his gun.  "Then kill her

and let's get on."

 

Gambit caught the gun one-handed and, continuing in a single motion,

looked down the black leather jacket he was wearing, aimed down the

metal barrel of the gun, to the trembling girl curled on the carpet,

pulled the trigger.

 

The shot exploded through her.  She died instantly.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Tuesday stirred but didn't wake. Her hands were pressed flat against

the floor.  She had blood on her hands, he could see, blood under her

fingernails from when she had managed to scratch Riptide.  She moaned

quietly in her sleep.

 

He cursed the collar around his neck for the umpteenth time.

 

She had fought against them, but it had done her no good.  He'd done

the same when they tried to put the Genoshan slave collar on him.  It

had taken three of them, Harpoon, Scalphunter, and Scrambler, to hold

him down long enough to get the collar around his neck.  Riptide had

stood by laughing his ass off.  Remy had scrambled away as fast as he

could, on the floor, scared and now powerless as a trapped and

crippled animal.  It hadn't been hard for them to cuff his hand to

the wall after that.

 

He reached up a hand to touch the lock around his neck again.  If he

had half an hour and a lockpick, he might have been able to do

something, but he had neither, and then not even knowing what the

lock looked like further limited his already limited options.

 

She was waking up.

 

"Tuesday?  Chere?"

 

She moved slowly, in obvious pain.  Her eyes jerked open suddenly and

she tensed, as if suddenly remembering where she was.  She whimpered.

 

 

"Chere, s' jus' me.  Remy."  *But how do you feel about Remy now,

chere?*  He knew she was an empath, but he didn't know how strong an

empath she was.  He prayed the walls he had constructed in his mind

would shield her from his connections with the Marauders.

 

She didn't seem to hear.  Fighting back tears, she whimpered again,

deep in her throat.

 

"Tuesday.  It's Remy."  In his mind, he furiously cursed the metal

chaining him to the wall.

 

She started at his voice.  Trembling, she scratched at the ground

with her fingers.  "Non...  Mon dieu - "  She squeezed her eyes shut

but couldn't hold back the tears.

 

"Dey're not here anymore, Tuesday," Remy tried, fighting tears

himself.  "It's me, Remy."

 

She repeated slowly, as if still drugged, "Remy?"

 

"Oui.  Are y' okay, chere?"

 

"I don' feel good."  She pushed herself up to a sitting position.

 

"I know.  I'm sorry."  *Okay, that was about the stupidest thing you

could say.*

 

She looked over at him, her hair in her face because she didn't have

the strength to push it away.  She looked scared, hurt, tense.  She

looked, *hell, she looks exactly like what you would expect a nine-

year-old who's been gang raped to look like.*  She shivered, partly

from the cold.  She had been dressed again in simple hospital pants

and a T-shirt, but it didn't seem to help much. "I wanna go home."

 

"Me, too."  *This is not my home, Essex!*

 

She shivered again and wrapped her arms around her chest.  "Where are

dey?"  She didn't want to know.

 

"I don' know."  He wondered if he should try to hug her or something.

 He had no idea how that would go over.  Then he remembered he

couldn't move towards her even if he did want to.  He cursed the

chain yet again.

 

"Will dey come back?"

 

He hesitated.  He knew too well.  "Don' know."

 

She looked past his words and moaned.  "Mama...  I wanna go home now.

"

 

"I know."

 

"I wanna go home," she repeated.  "I'm scared, I'm really scared, an'

I don' feel good, I hurt all over, an' I wanna go home where it's

safe, ‘cause I'm really scared, Remy."

 

"I know."

 

"I'm really scared."

 

"We'll get outta dis.  I promise you, we'll get outta dis.  We'll get

away from dem."

 

"Who are dey?"

 

"De Marauders."

 

"What d' dey do?"

 

He floundered for an answer.  "Dey - well - dey're mercenaries."

 

She nodded, making him breathe a little easier.  "Who are dey working

for?"  She sounded a little more sure of herself: for a child raised

in the Guilds, the subject of mercenaries was solid ground.  And, he

figured, anything to take her mind off the hell she'd just been

through -

 

"Man named Nathaniel Essex.  Calls himself Sinister."  Not wanting to

go farther, he tried to change the subject.  "You okay, though?"  She

wasn't hysterical like he had expected.

 

"You're bleeding."

 

He frowned.

 

"Your wrist."  She slowly crawled over to him and touched her fingers

to the metal band.

 

"Oh.  Dat."  He shrugged.  *Not that it mattered.*

 

"I couldn't fight dem.  Dey - "  She broke off crying.  "I'm sorry. 

You saw, I couldn't - "

 

"It's okay now.  Don' be sorry."  He lifted his hand, tentatively,

not knowing how she would respond to being touched, and brushed her

cheek where she had been cut with a simple switchblade.  *Sadists.* 

 

 

She looked right at him, her brown eyes filled with tears.  "I'm

really scared."

 

"So'm I."  He swallowed hard.  That hurt to say.

 

"Cause I can' do anyt'ing, I can' fight dem, I tried, but I'm not

strong enough - "

 

"I can' even fight dem."

 

She looked at him and collapsed against his chest, sobbing.  He

hugged her back as best he could with one arm.  "It's all okay now,"

he lied.

 

"I'm sorry," she kept repeating, and he kept lying.

 

For some reason he could never understand, she felt completely safe

with his arm around her.  A sick part of his mind found that

hilarious.

 

 

 

 

 

Keys chattered in the lock of the heavy door.  Remy looked up as

Scrambler entered, smiling as always.  Remy had rarely seen him not

smiling.

 

"Sinister wants to see you," Scrambler told him. 

 

"Fuck Sinister," Remy murmured automatically.  His body was stiff and

sore; he hadn't moved in hours.

 

Scrambler paused dubiously.  "Well, if you really, really want to...

"

 

"You're sick."

 

"So're you."

 

Remy looked away.  Tuesday was leaning against him, having cried

herself to sleep.

 

Kneeling, Scrambler followed his gaze.  "Scalphunter will take good

care a' her."

 

Remy cursed under his breath.

 

"Don't worry.  He won't kill her or anything,"  Scrambler added

innocently.

 

"I know dat."

 

Scrambler giggled and unlocked the metal band around Remy's wrist. 

Remy calculated the consequences of an attack but decided it wouldn't

be worth it.  No chance to get out.  He placed Tuesday gently on the

ground and followed Scrambler.

 

Scrambler directed Remy to a small lab.  The walls were painted beige,

 and for once there was carpet instead of metal or tile.  The only

furniture in the room was a wooden table with an imitation wood top

built into the far wall, forty test tubes in wooden racks sitting on

top.  Sinister was standing against the opposite wall beside it,

studying a rack in his hand.

 

"Knock, knock," Scrambler said.

 

"Thank you, Scrambler."  Sinister was unhurried as he set down the

wooden rack.  "Close the door as you leave."

 

"Have fun," Scrambler giggled to Remy as he skirted out the door.

 

Remy glared after him.

 

"Hello, Remy.  How are you feeling?"  Sinister finally looked up.

 

"What do y' care?"  Remy answered bitterly.

 

"I'm trying to be cordial.  I ask again.  How are you?"  His face

belied his words.  His eyes were satanic.

 

"Been better," Remy said after a long moment.

 

"Are you hungry?  I can get some bread, or wine, if you like."

 

"Non."

 

Sinister nodded.  That was the first test.  "How is Tuesday?"

 

"How do y' t'ink?"

 

Sinister merely smiled knowingly.

 

Remy glared up at him, hatred conquering fear just for a moment. 

"How could y' let dem do dat t' her."

 

"Hypocrite."

 

Remy ignored that.  "How could y'."

 

Sinister merely raised an eyebrow.  "You have changed a lot since you

left."

 

"Damn fuckin' right I changed.  I ain' one of your sheep anymore.  I

ain' a Marauder, and I can see now."

 

"What do you see, Remy?"

 

"I see de scum of de Earth."

 

"Have you ever heard, Remy," Sinister folded his arms across his

broad silver-plated chest and leaned back against the beige painted

wall, "that the traits a man hates most in others are often traits he

possesses within himself?  That while he voraciously condemns another,

 he himself is often more guilty than the object of his curses?  I

have always found that fascinating."

 

"What are y' implying, Essex?"  Remy demanded.

 

"You call me a liar.  You say I use people.  You say I am not above

getting my hands bloody to further some selfish interest.  I echo

these back to you.  You are no better than I.  You are no better than

Scrambler, or your friend Riptide."

 

"Y' lie."  He was shaking.

 

Sinister stepped forward and put his hands on the younger man's

shoulders.  "You feel guilt because you have strayed from who you are

inside."

 

"I know who I am, an' I ain' a Marauder," he protested weakly, almost

overwhelmed by the proximity of the scientist.

 

"You know better than to try to lie to me.  I've known you too well."

 The voice was soothing and soft.  Sinister touched the back of his

fingers to the younger man's cheek.  Remy shuddered and closed his

eyes but didn't pull away.  "It's all right, Remy," Sinister told him,

 then continued.  "I ask for no more than you have already given."

 

"Which is already too much."

 

"I am asking for you to look within yourself and tell me if you do

not feel you are being a hypocrite.  You don't fit as an X-man. 

You're denying yourself, denying your own blood."

 

"It ain' in my blood,"  Remy answered, his stomach twisting.  He was

suddenly cold.  The air conditioning was on. 

 

"I offer you the world." 

 

"Non.  I ain' like you.  I - "  He was dizzy, as if he were staring

down at the wavering earth from a great height.  Hovering near the

edge, about to fall again.  Xavier's preaching rang in his ears. 

Remy wondered if the man's ideals could be enough to save him. 

Hovering, wavering, questioning.  Slipping.  "Am I?"

 

"Remy."

 

Feeling nauseous, Remy turned his head and pushed at Sinister's hands

with his own.  The Thief's hands were small with long fingers, smooth,

 delicate.  Sinister caught both; he wrapped his silver gloved

fingers around and pressed his thumbs against Remy's wrists.  The

black streamers of Sinister's mock cape fluttered and gently touched

Remy's legs.

 

Remy stared at Sinister, his red-on-black eyes wide and pleading.  He

whispered almost inaudibly, "Please, non."

 

"You're mine, Remy," Sinister told him, plainly.  The older man's

face was white as the death.  The red diamond seemed to glow, and his

black lips curled into a faint smile

 

The streamers moved against Remy's thighs.

 

What would the point of further fighting be?  How do you fight a man

who made you what you are?  Who owns you, mind, body, and soul?

 

He fell.

 

Remy closed his eyes and bowed his head. 

 

His cheeks were burning.  His voice was a rough whisper.

 

"I know."

 

Sinister smiled.  He touched his hand to Remy's throat and traced

down to his shoulder.

 

Remy choked back a moan.

 

A single silent tear slid down his cheek.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

He had lost track of time.  With no window to see even night or day,

the hours blurred into one big mess of torture and humiliation.  It

seemed never-ending until Tuesday was returned from a meeting with

Sinister with a particularly odd look on her face.

 

"What?"  Remy asked

 

She said nothing, merely held out her fist.  He extended his hand,

and she gave him a paper clip.

 

Dumbfounded, Remy simply stared.  "Where did y' find dis?"

 

"In his office.  He had some on his desk."

 

"Y' kidding."

 

She shook her head.

 

He knew it was planned.  He didn't care.  Remy lost no time in

unfolding the metal and picking the lock on the handcuff around his

left hand.  He hissed as his wrist came away, raw and flaked with dry

blood.

 

"Y' okay, Remy?"

 

He nodded.  "Oui."

 

Tuesday unlocked the slave collar he was wearing.  Her hands were

shaking, and it took her several minutes, but she succeeded.

 

Remy stood and stretched the cramp from his back.  He extended a hand

and pulled Tuesday to her feet.

 

The lock at the door was surprisingly easy.  Despite himself, Remy

began to feel uneasy, making  Tuesday anxious, too.  "What?"  she

hissed.

 

"Not'ing."

 

"Don' lie."

 

"Dis is too easy."  He held his finger to his lips as he opened the

door.  The hall was empty.  His mind raced as he tried to figure out

where to go.  *Teleport.  The room with the teleportation equipment. 

Can't teleport inside the mansion, but if we can get close enough...

if we can just find the room...*  If not...

 

"Do y' know where we goin'?"  she whispered.

 

"T'ink so."  He stopped, his mutant power telling him - *God no, not

now - *

 

"Remy, if you're lost, there's no shame in admitting it."

 

Remy flinched as he turned around.  *Of course Sinister would find

you, you didn't seriously think - *

 

Sinister looked at Remy and Tuesday as if they were pathetic and

pitiful at the same time.  "If you need directions, just ask."

 

Riptide snickered.

 

Remy held out his hand.  "Look, Sinister - "  *What am I trying to

say?* 

 

"Jus' leave us alone,"  Tuesday whispered.

 

"And why would we want to do that?"  Riptide sauntered over to her. 

 

 

"Philip, please," Remy breathed.

 

Kneeling in front of her, he pressed his face to her hair.  "You

don't really want to leave."

 

"Don' do it, Philip," Remy started.

 

Sinister called Remy's name, and Remy looked over, now transfixed by

the man's eyes.  Remy felt unable to move.  He told himself that that

was complete bullshit, but his body wouldn't mind him.

 

"Tuesday, honey," Riptide whispered.  He brushed the hair off her

face.  Shaking, she raised her hands, but he pulled her close and

kissed her anyway.  She screamed into his mouth, and he giggled when

he pulled away.  "It tickles," he said by way of explanation.

 

Tuesday started sobbing.

 

Remy broke away and looked down at Riptide.  "Philip..."

 

"Yo?"  Riptide stood up and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

 

Remy shook his head in disgust.

 

"You're a wuss, Remy," Riptide said without malice.

 

"We're dead, aren't we," Tuesday whimpered.  "We're dead, we're dead.

"

 

"No," Sinister contradicted.  "Not yet.  You're free to go, if you

like."

 

Remy looked up sharply.

 

"This way."  Sinister led them down a series of hallways.  Remy

stumbled along, his heart beating frantically.  Tuesday had collapsed;

 in a delicious irony, Riptide was carrying her.

 

"I'll teleport you as close to Xavier Institute as your mansion's

shield will allow me to."

 

Remy nodded dumbly, not sure if he should thank the man.

 

"See you around," Riptide whispered as he handed Tuesday over.

 

Remy nodded again.  *That's it?  He's just going to let us go?*

 

There was a shimmering sound, and they were gone.

 

On To Part 4

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