Roy “Handlebar” Handler watched as flames devoured the Charleston Residence, flames cackling and licking the night’s sky. His men bound the hands and legs of the barely conscious teenage girl they had just abducted with duct tape. They loaded her into the back of a black van, slipped in with her, and shut the doors behind them with a loud thud. One of his other men nodded to him, to which he nodded back, and then got into the driver’s side of the van. As his man started up the van, Roy took a drag on his cigar and grinned.
The satisfaction of a job well-done was short lived. Before the van could even get started down the gravel and dirt road, Handler and his men heard the sound of another vehicle approaching. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the country back roads as a Caldecott County Sheriff’s truck rolled to a sudden stop in front of the Charleston Residence.
Handler exhaled a puff of smoke irritably as the driver exited the vehicle.
“Handler!” Sheriff Fleming barked as he slammed the door to his truck and marched around it toward the group of bikers. The gang’s leader glanced at him coldly. “What in th’ hell is this?”
“Bonfire. Ain’t it romantic?” Handler said dryly.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?!”
“Yeah…” Handler said smugly. “Sped up construction of Caldecott’s newest strip mall.”
Handler’s men broke out into laughter. This only served to incite the sheriff even more.
“You fuckin’ idiot! Ol’ Prissy’s daughter claimed her estate earlier this afternoon!”
“Is that who we put a bullet into just now?” Handler asked, looking at his fellow bikers with mock-concern. He began chuckling obnoxiously. “Uh-oh…”
Sheriff Fleming clenched a fist and jabbed his finger at Handler. “Damnit, this ain’t no joke, man! Do you know what kinda heat this can bring down on you? We’ve already got the goddamn ATF and DEA breathin’ down our necks after what happened in Aberville!”
Handler’s face twisted into rage.
“Hey! You hold your goddamn tongue, Avery!” the gang leader said, stomping towards the sheriff and balling up his own fists. “We don’t pay you t’ cuntsplain the law t’ us. We pay you t’ keep our shit on the down low. So why don’t you unbunch your soakin’ panties an’ get to fuckin’ work! Does that sound like a plan, constable?”
The two men stared each other down for a matter of seconds, the tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife, but Sheriff Fleming broke first. He bit his bottom lip and looked away, taking a deep breath as if to ease his nerves.
“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” Handler remarked, flicking his cigar into Sheriff Fleming’s chest. Fleming flinched but didn’t look back at the biker.
Handler turned around, got back onto his motorcycle, and fired it up. The rest of his gang did the same. He took one last look at Sheriff Fleming, shaking his head and scoffing.
“So what are you, hourly? Get on cleanin’ this shit up, hombre… or we’ll find somebody who will.”
Sheriff Fleming put his hands on his hips and hung his head. Handler revved his motorcycle, sped off of the lawn onto the dirt road, and rode off into the night. Several of the bikers revved their motorcycles before setting off down the dirt road behind him and the black van. The lawman started pacing about the lawn until he couldn’t contain his frustration anymore.
“FUCK!”
The satisfaction of a job well-done was short lived. Before the van could even get started down the gravel and dirt road, Handler and his men heard the sound of another vehicle approaching. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the country back roads as a Caldecott County Sheriff’s truck rolled to a sudden stop in front of the Charleston Residence.
Handler exhaled a puff of smoke irritably as the driver exited the vehicle.
“Handler!” Sheriff Fleming barked as he slammed the door to his truck and marched around it toward the group of bikers. The gang’s leader glanced at him coldly. “What in th’ hell is this?”
“Bonfire. Ain’t it romantic?” Handler said dryly.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?!”
“Yeah…” Handler said smugly. “Sped up construction of Caldecott’s newest strip mall.”
Handler’s men broke out into laughter. This only served to incite the sheriff even more.
“You fuckin’ idiot! Ol’ Prissy’s daughter claimed her estate earlier this afternoon!”
“Is that who we put a bullet into just now?” Handler asked, looking at his fellow bikers with mock-concern. He began chuckling obnoxiously. “Uh-oh…”
Sheriff Fleming clenched a fist and jabbed his finger at Handler. “Damnit, this ain’t no joke, man! Do you know what kinda heat this can bring down on you? We’ve already got the goddamn ATF and DEA breathin’ down our necks after what happened in Aberville!”
Handler’s face twisted into rage.
“Hey! You hold your goddamn tongue, Avery!” the gang leader said, stomping towards the sheriff and balling up his own fists. “We don’t pay you t’ cuntsplain the law t’ us. We pay you t’ keep our shit on the down low. So why don’t you unbunch your soakin’ panties an’ get to fuckin’ work! Does that sound like a plan, constable?”
The two men stared each other down for a matter of seconds, the tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife, but Sheriff Fleming broke first. He bit his bottom lip and looked away, taking a deep breath as if to ease his nerves.
“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” Handler remarked, flicking his cigar into Sheriff Fleming’s chest. Fleming flinched but didn’t look back at the biker.
Handler turned around, got back onto his motorcycle, and fired it up. The rest of his gang did the same. He took one last look at Sheriff Fleming, shaking his head and scoffing.
“So what are you, hourly? Get on cleanin’ this shit up, hombre… or we’ll find somebody who will.”
Sheriff Fleming put his hands on his hips and hung his head. Handler revved his motorcycle, sped off of the lawn onto the dirt road, and rode off into the night. Several of the bikers revved their motorcycles before setting off down the dirt road behind him and the black van. The lawman started pacing about the lawn until he couldn’t contain his frustration anymore.
“FUCK!”
“THE HOUSE THAT BUILT ME”
Part Two
Editor's Note: This issue takes place after X-Men Annual 2008 but before New X-Men #1.
Marie Charleston lay sprawled out on her back in a heavy pool of her own blood, lifeless, as her childhood home burned to the ground around her. Skull and brain fragments leaked out of the back of her head from a point blank gunshot that went through and through. Common speculation is that when one dies or is near death they often see a dark tunnel with a bright light at the end of it. In Marie’s case, this was as true as anyone could have possibly guessed…
Darkness clouded her vision, and then a tiny light at the center of her vision broke through and began to grow. The larger and brighter it became the hotter she felt. In fact, it only took moments before the heat became sweltering and she felt as if she were suffocating. Panicked, Marie forced herself to blink several times and tried to shake her head several times before she realized that she was staring face up at the sun. Her breath returned to her and she was able to sit up, to look around, and to register what had just happened.
She was in the Australian Outback in an abandoned town that the X-Men had procured as a base when they were on the run many years ago… or at least a hard light replica of it in the Danger Room. Logan, her comrade code named Wolverine, had ambushed her in a training session and put her flat on her back, knocking the breath out of her. The technology that simulated their training environment had also mitigated the use of her super strength and flight to put her at a sharp disadvantage to her teammate.
“Ugh,” Rogue grumbled as she regained her senses. A shadow suddenly loomed over her. It was Wolverine in his brown and burnt orange costume.
“Get up,” he said flatly.
Rogue gritted her teeth and moved to a squat, telegraphing a sweep kick in the process. Wolverine stiffened his leg and braced himself to negate the attack, then countered with a drop kick to her torso. Rogue tucked in her arm to absorb the blow and rolled with the kick through the dirt. She scrambled up and tossed a handful of sand into Wolverine’s face in order to catch him off guard.
It was a dirty move that would have worked on most, but not him. Wolverine burst through the sand, ducking under a wide-hook from Rogue and side stepping an uppercut that followed. He snatched her by her shirt and raised a fist up to her face, preparing to pop his adamantium claws through her skull. She froze in his grasp, staring down the proverbial barrel of three six-inch-blades, but then he merely backhanded across the cheek and sent her face first into the dirt.
“Damnit, Logan, what in all hell’s the point of this?” Rogue asked as she moved to her hands and knees, spitting dirt from her mouth. She looked up to him and grimaced as she sat on her behind, nursing her injuries from their training session. Wolverine stared down at her with a hardened brow. “Seriosuly, man. You tryin’ to teach me somethin’ or you just like beatin’ up on defenseless young ladies?”
“Listen up, kid, ‘cuz I don’t give this kinda pep talk to too many people,” Wolverne said as he squatted down to her level. “You got power, real power, but powert don’t mean much without the right kinda skill and attitude behind it. There’s no doubt in my mind you can pick up a tank and knock me to the moon with it, then fly up there and finish the job with your bare hands if ya wanted to.
“But life… Life ain’t about how long you can stay on your feet or what you can do when you’re on level ground. It’s about how many times ya can get back up when it beats ya down.”
Wolverine stood up and took a few steps back, clenching both fists at his sides and unsheathing three adamantium claws from both hands.
“So c’mon! Get back up and fight!”
The mushy gray matter inside the gaping hole in Marie’s head began to stir, stitch itself together, and solidify once more. It wasn’t long after that bone marrow began to spill over the brain tissue from the entry wound in her skull and harden, followed by thin layers of skin growing over her exposed forehead.
Marie’s eyes suddenly shot open and she gasped in shock.
“That’a girl.”
******************************************
Sheriff Fleming leaned on the hood of his squad truck, hanging his head low as Priscilla Charleston’s home burnt to the ground. The woman must be rolling in her grave, he thought. He wasn’t about to ease her spirit anytime soon. With a sigh, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and picked up his cell phone, hitting a number on speed dial. As it rang, he put a hand on his hip and began to pace about his truck. Someone picked up on the other line.
“Hey uh, Louanne, it’s Avery…” he said, his voice rising and falling unnaturally. “Sorry t’ call you on the main line like this, darlin’, but I uh, wanna keep this one off the radio. Looks like we got a Code 12 at Ol’ Prissy’s house. Possible S9.”
Fleming continued to pace as the woman on the other line responded briefly.
“Yeah… can’t be certain ‘cuz it’s dark, but I thought I saw some swamp rats,” he said and then sighed deeply. “Buncha trash and beer cans around, too. Coulda been squattin’.”
Louanne seemed to buy it. However, the sweat on the sheriff’s brow returned, this time along with a cold ache in his stomach. He could only hope that Prissy’s soul wasn’t a vengeful one. If the living don’t catch on to your lies the dead surely will, his preacher once told him.
“Alright, thanks, Louanne. I’ll be posted up until fire shows.” Flemming took one last look at the Charleston Residence. “Tell ‘em to uh… tell ‘em to take their time. Nothin’ to save here.”
As their call ended, another brown Caldecott County Sheriff’s truck rolled up to the scene slowly with lights flashing. Fleming put his cell phone away as it came to a stop. In moments, one of his finest subordinates – Deputy Landry Taylor – stepped out of the vehicle and approached him.
“Hey there, Landry.”
“Sheriff,” Taylor replied with a nod. “What in the hell happened here?”
“Code 12, possible S9,” Fleming said, clearing his throat.
“S9?” Taylor said in disbelief. “I didn’t hear it over the radio…”
“Oh yeah, I was just uh… chattin’ with Louanne when I rolled up, so I… y’know, just ended up callin’ it in by cell,” Fleming grumbled with the shake of his head. “Saw some uh, vagrants hangin’ around when I pulled off, but they took off into the woods. Probably long gone by now.”
“Vagrants?” Taylor wasn’t convinced.
“Yup. Damn shame about Ol’ Prissy’s house, really, but damn property’s been abandoned for some time now. Bound t’ happen without a proper caretaker.”
“No, no, this can’t be right, sheriff,” Taylor said with the shake of his head. “I was just by here this afternoon. Prissy’s daughter came into town to collect the deed and the keys, and I gave her a lift after some of Handler’s boys were hastlin’ her.”
Fleming’s eyes widened and the ache in his stomach grew stronger.
“She was in there, sheriff. She might still be!”
The sound of burning wood collapsing interrupted their conversation. Both shot their heads towards the Charleston Residence and watched as the front door crumbled in flames from the inside out. A woman then slowly emerged from the doorway. Taylor bolted across the front yard toward the house and Fleming reluctantly followed.
“Marie?! Is that you?!” Taylor yelled as she stepped off the porch covered in charred flesh and burnt clothing. She clenched her fists as she approached them; three six-inch long bone claws emerged from each hand with a sickening ‘snikt.’ She seemed to growl under her breathe.
Fleming gasped. “Holy mother of…!”
He reached for the revolver hanging from his waist and attempted to side step Marie as she approached them. Taylor was second to draw, but Marie sprinted in-between them with the speed of an ocelot. Fleming took aim with his firearm, but in one swift motion Marie side-kicked Taylor in the gut and stabbed Fleming through his shooting forearm with her claws. Fleming cried out in agony as Taylor hit the ground. Marie pounced on Fleming in a split-second, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform and raising his claws to his head.
“Where’d they go?! Where’d they take her?!” Marie growled in blind rage.
“I d-don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, lady…!” Fleming stammered. “I swear it.”
“Don’t lie to me! Ah heard ya talkin’ to them before they rode off!” Marie said to the sheriff, who only could stare at her in shock. She dug her claws into his shoulder, prompting another cry from the older man.
“Argh! Please, stop!” He pleaded, but Wolverine’s blood lust coursed through her.
Before Marie could finish what she started, Taylor tackled her from the side and sent them careening off of Fleming. The sheriff collapsed to the ground as the two wrestled about the ground, but staggered to his feet in moments and scrambled for his truck. As Marie and his deputy traded blows and wrestled for control, the lithe woman surprisingly strong and feral for her size, Fleming made it into his truck and put it into drive, then peeled out down the dirt road in the direction that Handlebar and his gang went in.
Marie growled in frustration as she heard Fleming make his escape. Taylor seemed more confused than anything. He looked up from their struggle and was taken aback by his superior’s hasty exit. Marie took the opportunity to grab him by the collar and head butt him in the face. Stunned, Taylor fell back with a groan. He regained his senses and looked up to see Marie standing over him, fists clenched and claws bared, a foot digging into his chest. She looked like a dark silhouette against the backdrop of her burning childhood home, one seething with rage.
But then she relented. She breathed in and out heavily, calming her nerves, before she retracted the bone claws back into her hands with a sickening slurp. Taylor watched in amazement as the wounds caused by them emerging from her hands heeled instantly. She then closed her eyes and a change in her physical demeanor occurred. She seemed to relax and soften.
“You’re a mutant,” Taylor said flatly.
“Damn right ah am, so if ah were you ah’d watch that itchy trigger finger of yours,” Marie said, noting that Taylor had gradually been reaching for his piece. “That your boss who just high tailed it outta here?” She scoffed. “Ain’t much t’ look at, if ah’m bein’ honest with ya.”
Taylor just stared at her. The two locked eyes for an intense moment and then he broke his gaze, slowly sitting up. Marie stepped off of his chest and backed up to give him some space. None of this was right, he thought. Something was wrong with this whole picture.
“Look darlin’, ah don’t got time to wrestle with you all night. Though ah could think of worse fates…” Marie said matter-of-factly. “So let’s just see what side of the fence you fall on.”
It was then she entered his mind.
******************************************
When the next generation of X-Men and the original X-Factor reunited under the same roof of the Xavier Institute, Professor Charles Xavier assigned his first pupil – Jean Grey – to aid in Rogue’s training. She had made great progress in her pursuit of redemption and becoming a heroine, and her combat skills were tremendous, but she was stagnant in the development of her powers. She had yet to reveal her real name to her teammates and talking about her past triggered uncontrollable rage and guilt. The trauma that she had experienced as a teenager was significant.
Rogue struggled unlike any other member of the team with confronting her feelings and developing the skills she needed to grow. Professor Xavier had made some progress in gaining her trust and advocating for her role on the team. However, she had a rebellious streak and resisted his mentorship. It was Professor Xavier’s hope that Jean, one of his most successful students and a well-rounded peer with a dark past of her own, would be able to reach her.
The two women found themselves meeting by the lake of the Xavier Estate. It was far from the active and rambunctious mansion where their teammates lived and provided a serene backdrop for their first lesson. They sat on the grass across from each other with their legs crossed. Jean was barefoot and wore pink and purple yoga pants with a dark tank top. In contrast, Rogue wore a long sleeve green shirt with black gloves and black sweat pants. Her clothing didn’t match the seasonably warm weather that late spring.
“Today, we’re going to practice doing a simple emotional self check-in,” Jean said to her softly. She closed her eyes and modeled the exercise she was about to ask Rogue to partake in. “The first step is going to be to ground yourself. Close your eyes and take a moment. Feel your hands on your thighs. Feel your thighs on the ground. Feel the weight of your body on the Earth.”
Rogue sighed, somewhat irritably, but followed Jean’s lead. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands on her thighs. She tried to focus on isolating the feeling in her hands first, then her thighs, and then her weight against the ground.
“Breathe in and breathe out slowly. Try to match my pace.”
Jean took slow and deep breaths, sure to exaggerate them so that Rogue could hear them. Rogue matched her actions yet again. She felt a sense of anxiety creeping up on her that betrayed Jean’s soothing and reassuring demeanor. The anxiety came from the bottom of her stomach and spread throughout her chest. She felt her fingers tighten on her thighs and her teeth grit.
“You’re not trying to block out the sounds around us. You’re not trying to silence the thoughts in your mind. You’re just going to let them pass through you,” Jean explained. Her words seemed to become softer as the exercise went on. “Let the thought or memory or impulse come to you and go just as quickly as the next one comes along. Like the sound of traffic passing by or the sound of birds chirping in the distance. Not every thought or feeling needs a response. Just let them all pass through you.”
Rogue heard the sounds of nature that Jean alluded to: Birds flying by and chirping; the warm breeze blowing across the lake; the distance laughter of her teammates as they played a game of baseball. However, thoughts of her past that she regularly perseverated on trickled through until they became a constant barrage of frustration and anger. She remembered arguments that she had with her mother and the corresponding fantasies of fighting back that went unfulfilled. She remembered the complaints of her teammates about her joining the team and the words she wished she had said to them to put them in their place. She remembered all of the times she hated herself and how she wished that she had someone to blame, but the disappointment in knowing she was solely at fault.
“I think that’s long enough,” Jean finally said after what felt like hours of re-litigating her past failures. “Open your eyes slowly and take a deep breath.”
Rogue did as she was told. She bit her lip and held back a scowl.
“How do you feel?” Jean asked, looking deeply into her teammate’s eyes.
“Ah gotta tell ya, Jeanie… ah’ve never felt more pissed off in my life,” Rogue said with some hesitation. She felt vulnerable and exasperated. “Ah just… ah just don’t like feeling that way. Ah don’t ever wanna feel that way again.”
Jean frowned sympathetically. “Most of the time, people feel calm and relaxed when they have a moment to themselves to reflect,” she explained. “Others, though, intentionally keep their minds and their bodies so busy that they never have to reflect and confront their feelings.”
“You knew this li’l exercise of yours would make me feel like crap?” Rogue asked with a hint of venom in her voice. Jean gave her a compassionate nod.
“I had a feeling it may, yeah,” she said. “But the important thing isn’t that I knew that. The important thing is that you know that now. These types of exercises may be upsetting at first, and that’s okay, but unless you master them you’re never going to be able to gain control of your powers.”
Rogue looked down, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She felt like chucking her teammate into the lake and flying for the hills as much as she felt like tearing out her hair and screaming to the heavens. Those conflicting feelings were all too common back then.
Jean reached across the distance between them and touched Rogue on the arm.
“I’m not trying to tell you this to hurt you, Rogue. I want to help you. We all do,” she said earnestly. “Though my powers are mental and yours are physical, we both enter people’s minds, access their thoughts and memories, and feel their emotions powerfully. Before I could begin to master my telepathic abilities, I had to work on gaining control over my own feelings and emotions. Otherwise, I would be overwhelmed and would risk hurting others… just like you…”
Rogue squeezed her eyes shut and let the tears flow out of her eyes. She knew that Jean was right, but it didn’t make her feel any better. It did, however, give her the courage to take that first step towards realizing what she needed to do.
“Can we do this again tomorrow?” Rogue asked as she opened her eyes and looked back up to Jean. Jean smiled at her brightly and the two suddenly hugged.
“Yeah, we can. We can do this tomorrow and every day for as long as it takes.”
******************************************
Deputy Taylor and Marie rode in silence through the back roads of Caldecott County in his patrol truck, him driving and her staring out the rolled down passenger side window. Neither one of them had much to say to each other but plenty to think about on the long ride back into town. They could barely look at each other for very different reasons.
Taylor had a good feeling about Marie when he first met her, but the fire at her childhood home and the confrontation with Sheriff Fleming turned his first impressions upside down. At first, she seemed like a sassy and free spirited young woman, hardened by a small town southern upbringing. Now Taylor knew that Marie Charleston was a mutant with access to unimaginable and seemingly limitless powers. In a matter of moments, she could go from possessing the physical resilience and prowess of a violent and feral man to exchanging the deepest and innermost thoughts and memories with another person like she did with him.
He knew what she knew, and what he had feared and suspected for far too long. Deputy Fleming, the man who hired and trained him, was deep in the pockets of Roy Handler’s local chapter of a biker gang. They shot up Ol’ Prissy’s home and burnt it to the ground, attempted to murder her daughter, and kidnapped a local girl with impunity. The feds had been trying to make a case against them for years but they always seemed so evasive. Now Taylor knew why.
Marie saw into Taylor’s mind as well. She knew he was a relatively honest and decently mannered man. Being a sheriff’s deputy in Caldecott wasn’t exactly prestigious, but he provided a service for his home town and had the opportunity to genuinely help people on occasion, so he hadn’t exactly resented his lot in life. However, she knew that he had heard whispers of Deputy Fleming’s relationship with Handlebar’s gang and had suspicions that they were running drugs and guns through the town in recent years. Who knows what else they had gotten away with while Fleming was in their pocket?
Like many police officers, Taylor had been conditioned to look the other way and not challenge authority or buck the system unless he had hard and fast evidence of corruption. But the events of that night and seeing into Marie’s mind gave him all of the vindication he needed. There would be no going back from what they planned to do, but both knew there was a girl’s life on the line and they only had so much time to act.
The police truck came to a stop on the dimly lit street.
“We’re here,” Deputy Taylor said, finally breaking the silence. Marie sat up and began to unbuckle her seat belt.
“You coming in?” she asked. Taylor gripped the steering wheel and avoided her gaze.
“I’ve got your back, miss, but I’m no good to you with a bullet in mine,” he finally said. “I’m gonna call in the cavalry, though, I promise you that. You just gimme some time.”
Marie shrugged her shoulders.
“Fair enough,” she said before opening the truck door and hopping out. She slammed the passenger door shut and patted the truck on the side. Taylor nodded to her then put the truck into drive and took off back down the street.
When the truck was gone, Marie looked up to the unassuming, single story government building near the center of her hometown: the Caldecott County Sheriff Department. Sheriff Avery Fleming had escaped her grasp and high-tailed it back to the safest place he could imagine, she just knew it, but little did he know he wouldn’t be safe for long.
“Hang in there, Callie,” she said as she cracked her knuckles. “Ah’m comin’ for ya.”
******************************************
TO BE CONTINUED…
******************************************
AUTHOR'S NOTES
A few months later than I anticipated, but I hope you all enjoyed this issue! Next (and hopefully last) issue will be out in the next month or two. If you have any questions, comments, or feedback please let me know by e-mail or on the message board. Everything – good and bad – is greatly appreciated. Thanks and catch ya next ish!
- Cory Wiegel
June 27th, 2017
Darkness clouded her vision, and then a tiny light at the center of her vision broke through and began to grow. The larger and brighter it became the hotter she felt. In fact, it only took moments before the heat became sweltering and she felt as if she were suffocating. Panicked, Marie forced herself to blink several times and tried to shake her head several times before she realized that she was staring face up at the sun. Her breath returned to her and she was able to sit up, to look around, and to register what had just happened.
She was in the Australian Outback in an abandoned town that the X-Men had procured as a base when they were on the run many years ago… or at least a hard light replica of it in the Danger Room. Logan, her comrade code named Wolverine, had ambushed her in a training session and put her flat on her back, knocking the breath out of her. The technology that simulated their training environment had also mitigated the use of her super strength and flight to put her at a sharp disadvantage to her teammate.
“Ugh,” Rogue grumbled as she regained her senses. A shadow suddenly loomed over her. It was Wolverine in his brown and burnt orange costume.
“Get up,” he said flatly.
Rogue gritted her teeth and moved to a squat, telegraphing a sweep kick in the process. Wolverine stiffened his leg and braced himself to negate the attack, then countered with a drop kick to her torso. Rogue tucked in her arm to absorb the blow and rolled with the kick through the dirt. She scrambled up and tossed a handful of sand into Wolverine’s face in order to catch him off guard.
It was a dirty move that would have worked on most, but not him. Wolverine burst through the sand, ducking under a wide-hook from Rogue and side stepping an uppercut that followed. He snatched her by her shirt and raised a fist up to her face, preparing to pop his adamantium claws through her skull. She froze in his grasp, staring down the proverbial barrel of three six-inch-blades, but then he merely backhanded across the cheek and sent her face first into the dirt.
“Damnit, Logan, what in all hell’s the point of this?” Rogue asked as she moved to her hands and knees, spitting dirt from her mouth. She looked up to him and grimaced as she sat on her behind, nursing her injuries from their training session. Wolverine stared down at her with a hardened brow. “Seriosuly, man. You tryin’ to teach me somethin’ or you just like beatin’ up on defenseless young ladies?”
“Listen up, kid, ‘cuz I don’t give this kinda pep talk to too many people,” Wolverne said as he squatted down to her level. “You got power, real power, but powert don’t mean much without the right kinda skill and attitude behind it. There’s no doubt in my mind you can pick up a tank and knock me to the moon with it, then fly up there and finish the job with your bare hands if ya wanted to.
“But life… Life ain’t about how long you can stay on your feet or what you can do when you’re on level ground. It’s about how many times ya can get back up when it beats ya down.”
Wolverine stood up and took a few steps back, clenching both fists at his sides and unsheathing three adamantium claws from both hands.
“So c’mon! Get back up and fight!”
The mushy gray matter inside the gaping hole in Marie’s head began to stir, stitch itself together, and solidify once more. It wasn’t long after that bone marrow began to spill over the brain tissue from the entry wound in her skull and harden, followed by thin layers of skin growing over her exposed forehead.
Marie’s eyes suddenly shot open and she gasped in shock.
“That’a girl.”
******************************************
Sheriff Fleming leaned on the hood of his squad truck, hanging his head low as Priscilla Charleston’s home burnt to the ground. The woman must be rolling in her grave, he thought. He wasn’t about to ease her spirit anytime soon. With a sigh, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and picked up his cell phone, hitting a number on speed dial. As it rang, he put a hand on his hip and began to pace about his truck. Someone picked up on the other line.
“Hey uh, Louanne, it’s Avery…” he said, his voice rising and falling unnaturally. “Sorry t’ call you on the main line like this, darlin’, but I uh, wanna keep this one off the radio. Looks like we got a Code 12 at Ol’ Prissy’s house. Possible S9.”
Fleming continued to pace as the woman on the other line responded briefly.
“Yeah… can’t be certain ‘cuz it’s dark, but I thought I saw some swamp rats,” he said and then sighed deeply. “Buncha trash and beer cans around, too. Coulda been squattin’.”
Louanne seemed to buy it. However, the sweat on the sheriff’s brow returned, this time along with a cold ache in his stomach. He could only hope that Prissy’s soul wasn’t a vengeful one. If the living don’t catch on to your lies the dead surely will, his preacher once told him.
“Alright, thanks, Louanne. I’ll be posted up until fire shows.” Flemming took one last look at the Charleston Residence. “Tell ‘em to uh… tell ‘em to take their time. Nothin’ to save here.”
As their call ended, another brown Caldecott County Sheriff’s truck rolled up to the scene slowly with lights flashing. Fleming put his cell phone away as it came to a stop. In moments, one of his finest subordinates – Deputy Landry Taylor – stepped out of the vehicle and approached him.
“Hey there, Landry.”
“Sheriff,” Taylor replied with a nod. “What in the hell happened here?”
“Code 12, possible S9,” Fleming said, clearing his throat.
“S9?” Taylor said in disbelief. “I didn’t hear it over the radio…”
“Oh yeah, I was just uh… chattin’ with Louanne when I rolled up, so I… y’know, just ended up callin’ it in by cell,” Fleming grumbled with the shake of his head. “Saw some uh, vagrants hangin’ around when I pulled off, but they took off into the woods. Probably long gone by now.”
“Vagrants?” Taylor wasn’t convinced.
“Yup. Damn shame about Ol’ Prissy’s house, really, but damn property’s been abandoned for some time now. Bound t’ happen without a proper caretaker.”
“No, no, this can’t be right, sheriff,” Taylor said with the shake of his head. “I was just by here this afternoon. Prissy’s daughter came into town to collect the deed and the keys, and I gave her a lift after some of Handler’s boys were hastlin’ her.”
Fleming’s eyes widened and the ache in his stomach grew stronger.
“She was in there, sheriff. She might still be!”
The sound of burning wood collapsing interrupted their conversation. Both shot their heads towards the Charleston Residence and watched as the front door crumbled in flames from the inside out. A woman then slowly emerged from the doorway. Taylor bolted across the front yard toward the house and Fleming reluctantly followed.
“Marie?! Is that you?!” Taylor yelled as she stepped off the porch covered in charred flesh and burnt clothing. She clenched her fists as she approached them; three six-inch long bone claws emerged from each hand with a sickening ‘snikt.’ She seemed to growl under her breathe.
Fleming gasped. “Holy mother of…!”
He reached for the revolver hanging from his waist and attempted to side step Marie as she approached them. Taylor was second to draw, but Marie sprinted in-between them with the speed of an ocelot. Fleming took aim with his firearm, but in one swift motion Marie side-kicked Taylor in the gut and stabbed Fleming through his shooting forearm with her claws. Fleming cried out in agony as Taylor hit the ground. Marie pounced on Fleming in a split-second, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform and raising his claws to his head.
“Where’d they go?! Where’d they take her?!” Marie growled in blind rage.
“I d-don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, lady…!” Fleming stammered. “I swear it.”
“Don’t lie to me! Ah heard ya talkin’ to them before they rode off!” Marie said to the sheriff, who only could stare at her in shock. She dug her claws into his shoulder, prompting another cry from the older man.
“Argh! Please, stop!” He pleaded, but Wolverine’s blood lust coursed through her.
Before Marie could finish what she started, Taylor tackled her from the side and sent them careening off of Fleming. The sheriff collapsed to the ground as the two wrestled about the ground, but staggered to his feet in moments and scrambled for his truck. As Marie and his deputy traded blows and wrestled for control, the lithe woman surprisingly strong and feral for her size, Fleming made it into his truck and put it into drive, then peeled out down the dirt road in the direction that Handlebar and his gang went in.
Marie growled in frustration as she heard Fleming make his escape. Taylor seemed more confused than anything. He looked up from their struggle and was taken aback by his superior’s hasty exit. Marie took the opportunity to grab him by the collar and head butt him in the face. Stunned, Taylor fell back with a groan. He regained his senses and looked up to see Marie standing over him, fists clenched and claws bared, a foot digging into his chest. She looked like a dark silhouette against the backdrop of her burning childhood home, one seething with rage.
But then she relented. She breathed in and out heavily, calming her nerves, before she retracted the bone claws back into her hands with a sickening slurp. Taylor watched in amazement as the wounds caused by them emerging from her hands heeled instantly. She then closed her eyes and a change in her physical demeanor occurred. She seemed to relax and soften.
“You’re a mutant,” Taylor said flatly.
“Damn right ah am, so if ah were you ah’d watch that itchy trigger finger of yours,” Marie said, noting that Taylor had gradually been reaching for his piece. “That your boss who just high tailed it outta here?” She scoffed. “Ain’t much t’ look at, if ah’m bein’ honest with ya.”
Taylor just stared at her. The two locked eyes for an intense moment and then he broke his gaze, slowly sitting up. Marie stepped off of his chest and backed up to give him some space. None of this was right, he thought. Something was wrong with this whole picture.
“Look darlin’, ah don’t got time to wrestle with you all night. Though ah could think of worse fates…” Marie said matter-of-factly. “So let’s just see what side of the fence you fall on.”
It was then she entered his mind.
******************************************
When the next generation of X-Men and the original X-Factor reunited under the same roof of the Xavier Institute, Professor Charles Xavier assigned his first pupil – Jean Grey – to aid in Rogue’s training. She had made great progress in her pursuit of redemption and becoming a heroine, and her combat skills were tremendous, but she was stagnant in the development of her powers. She had yet to reveal her real name to her teammates and talking about her past triggered uncontrollable rage and guilt. The trauma that she had experienced as a teenager was significant.
Rogue struggled unlike any other member of the team with confronting her feelings and developing the skills she needed to grow. Professor Xavier had made some progress in gaining her trust and advocating for her role on the team. However, she had a rebellious streak and resisted his mentorship. It was Professor Xavier’s hope that Jean, one of his most successful students and a well-rounded peer with a dark past of her own, would be able to reach her.
The two women found themselves meeting by the lake of the Xavier Estate. It was far from the active and rambunctious mansion where their teammates lived and provided a serene backdrop for their first lesson. They sat on the grass across from each other with their legs crossed. Jean was barefoot and wore pink and purple yoga pants with a dark tank top. In contrast, Rogue wore a long sleeve green shirt with black gloves and black sweat pants. Her clothing didn’t match the seasonably warm weather that late spring.
“Today, we’re going to practice doing a simple emotional self check-in,” Jean said to her softly. She closed her eyes and modeled the exercise she was about to ask Rogue to partake in. “The first step is going to be to ground yourself. Close your eyes and take a moment. Feel your hands on your thighs. Feel your thighs on the ground. Feel the weight of your body on the Earth.”
Rogue sighed, somewhat irritably, but followed Jean’s lead. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands on her thighs. She tried to focus on isolating the feeling in her hands first, then her thighs, and then her weight against the ground.
“Breathe in and breathe out slowly. Try to match my pace.”
Jean took slow and deep breaths, sure to exaggerate them so that Rogue could hear them. Rogue matched her actions yet again. She felt a sense of anxiety creeping up on her that betrayed Jean’s soothing and reassuring demeanor. The anxiety came from the bottom of her stomach and spread throughout her chest. She felt her fingers tighten on her thighs and her teeth grit.
“You’re not trying to block out the sounds around us. You’re not trying to silence the thoughts in your mind. You’re just going to let them pass through you,” Jean explained. Her words seemed to become softer as the exercise went on. “Let the thought or memory or impulse come to you and go just as quickly as the next one comes along. Like the sound of traffic passing by or the sound of birds chirping in the distance. Not every thought or feeling needs a response. Just let them all pass through you.”
Rogue heard the sounds of nature that Jean alluded to: Birds flying by and chirping; the warm breeze blowing across the lake; the distance laughter of her teammates as they played a game of baseball. However, thoughts of her past that she regularly perseverated on trickled through until they became a constant barrage of frustration and anger. She remembered arguments that she had with her mother and the corresponding fantasies of fighting back that went unfulfilled. She remembered the complaints of her teammates about her joining the team and the words she wished she had said to them to put them in their place. She remembered all of the times she hated herself and how she wished that she had someone to blame, but the disappointment in knowing she was solely at fault.
“I think that’s long enough,” Jean finally said after what felt like hours of re-litigating her past failures. “Open your eyes slowly and take a deep breath.”
Rogue did as she was told. She bit her lip and held back a scowl.
“How do you feel?” Jean asked, looking deeply into her teammate’s eyes.
“Ah gotta tell ya, Jeanie… ah’ve never felt more pissed off in my life,” Rogue said with some hesitation. She felt vulnerable and exasperated. “Ah just… ah just don’t like feeling that way. Ah don’t ever wanna feel that way again.”
Jean frowned sympathetically. “Most of the time, people feel calm and relaxed when they have a moment to themselves to reflect,” she explained. “Others, though, intentionally keep their minds and their bodies so busy that they never have to reflect and confront their feelings.”
“You knew this li’l exercise of yours would make me feel like crap?” Rogue asked with a hint of venom in her voice. Jean gave her a compassionate nod.
“I had a feeling it may, yeah,” she said. “But the important thing isn’t that I knew that. The important thing is that you know that now. These types of exercises may be upsetting at first, and that’s okay, but unless you master them you’re never going to be able to gain control of your powers.”
Rogue looked down, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She felt like chucking her teammate into the lake and flying for the hills as much as she felt like tearing out her hair and screaming to the heavens. Those conflicting feelings were all too common back then.
Jean reached across the distance between them and touched Rogue on the arm.
“I’m not trying to tell you this to hurt you, Rogue. I want to help you. We all do,” she said earnestly. “Though my powers are mental and yours are physical, we both enter people’s minds, access their thoughts and memories, and feel their emotions powerfully. Before I could begin to master my telepathic abilities, I had to work on gaining control over my own feelings and emotions. Otherwise, I would be overwhelmed and would risk hurting others… just like you…”
Rogue squeezed her eyes shut and let the tears flow out of her eyes. She knew that Jean was right, but it didn’t make her feel any better. It did, however, give her the courage to take that first step towards realizing what she needed to do.
“Can we do this again tomorrow?” Rogue asked as she opened her eyes and looked back up to Jean. Jean smiled at her brightly and the two suddenly hugged.
“Yeah, we can. We can do this tomorrow and every day for as long as it takes.”
******************************************
Deputy Taylor and Marie rode in silence through the back roads of Caldecott County in his patrol truck, him driving and her staring out the rolled down passenger side window. Neither one of them had much to say to each other but plenty to think about on the long ride back into town. They could barely look at each other for very different reasons.
Taylor had a good feeling about Marie when he first met her, but the fire at her childhood home and the confrontation with Sheriff Fleming turned his first impressions upside down. At first, she seemed like a sassy and free spirited young woman, hardened by a small town southern upbringing. Now Taylor knew that Marie Charleston was a mutant with access to unimaginable and seemingly limitless powers. In a matter of moments, she could go from possessing the physical resilience and prowess of a violent and feral man to exchanging the deepest and innermost thoughts and memories with another person like she did with him.
He knew what she knew, and what he had feared and suspected for far too long. Deputy Fleming, the man who hired and trained him, was deep in the pockets of Roy Handler’s local chapter of a biker gang. They shot up Ol’ Prissy’s home and burnt it to the ground, attempted to murder her daughter, and kidnapped a local girl with impunity. The feds had been trying to make a case against them for years but they always seemed so evasive. Now Taylor knew why.
Marie saw into Taylor’s mind as well. She knew he was a relatively honest and decently mannered man. Being a sheriff’s deputy in Caldecott wasn’t exactly prestigious, but he provided a service for his home town and had the opportunity to genuinely help people on occasion, so he hadn’t exactly resented his lot in life. However, she knew that he had heard whispers of Deputy Fleming’s relationship with Handlebar’s gang and had suspicions that they were running drugs and guns through the town in recent years. Who knows what else they had gotten away with while Fleming was in their pocket?
Like many police officers, Taylor had been conditioned to look the other way and not challenge authority or buck the system unless he had hard and fast evidence of corruption. But the events of that night and seeing into Marie’s mind gave him all of the vindication he needed. There would be no going back from what they planned to do, but both knew there was a girl’s life on the line and they only had so much time to act.
The police truck came to a stop on the dimly lit street.
“We’re here,” Deputy Taylor said, finally breaking the silence. Marie sat up and began to unbuckle her seat belt.
“You coming in?” she asked. Taylor gripped the steering wheel and avoided her gaze.
“I’ve got your back, miss, but I’m no good to you with a bullet in mine,” he finally said. “I’m gonna call in the cavalry, though, I promise you that. You just gimme some time.”
Marie shrugged her shoulders.
“Fair enough,” she said before opening the truck door and hopping out. She slammed the passenger door shut and patted the truck on the side. Taylor nodded to her then put the truck into drive and took off back down the street.
When the truck was gone, Marie looked up to the unassuming, single story government building near the center of her hometown: the Caldecott County Sheriff Department. Sheriff Avery Fleming had escaped her grasp and high-tailed it back to the safest place he could imagine, she just knew it, but little did he know he wouldn’t be safe for long.
“Hang in there, Callie,” she said as she cracked her knuckles. “Ah’m comin’ for ya.”
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TO BE CONTINUED…
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AUTHOR'S NOTES
A few months later than I anticipated, but I hope you all enjoyed this issue! Next (and hopefully last) issue will be out in the next month or two. If you have any questions, comments, or feedback please let me know by e-mail or on the message board. Everything – good and bad – is greatly appreciated. Thanks and catch ya next ish!
- Cory Wiegel
June 27th, 2017