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2000beginnings 4/4

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  • s.riley@southampton.gov.uk
    Jan 31, 2001
    • 0 Attachment
      for details see part 1

      4/4

      Charles tore the Cerebro link from his head. He had to hurry. He
      grabbed the cell phone from his pocket. "Hank. I have a location for
      you, it's near to where you are. He was listening to the radio so I
      can't be more exact than the town at this time but I'll keep trying.
      And Hank….. you need to hurry – he's in trouble even if he doesn't
      know it yet."

      Charles turned back to Cerebro. Thank god Hank had suggested he
      travel to Northern California to cut down the intercept time once
      they'd established the boy was heading that way. It was pure luck
      that he was so close. Charles prayed it was close enough. When he'd
      located Scott's signature and perceived the radio blast the link had
      been enough, the man with the boy close enough, to get a sense of the
      mans' mind. The thoughts had been too far away, too murky to get more
      than an impression but even that was enough. It was an ugly mind,
      overlaid with the most base emotions. His intention towards the boy
      dominated what little though he could discern and it was enough to
      drive Charles on in desperate fear for Scott. He was close enough to
      sense, but too far away to influence either the man or Scott. A few
      more minutes with Cerebro and he was back on the phone to Hank. He
      wasted no time. "Seaview Motel, Hank hurry!"

      "Consider me there Charles, I passed it on my way into this bastion
      of Pleasantville".

      Scott put the coffee cup down feeling light headed. He was vaguely
      aware of Mike talking to him in that inanely pleasant voice. "What?"
      he mumbled, trying to stand and staggering.

      Mike pointed the remote at the TV set. "Mutants," he
      muttered. "Damned freaks are all we hear about these days. No room
      left in the world for decent people." He noticed Scott trying to
      steady himself against the dresser. "Oh, don't worry about that
      wooziness kid. It's the sedative I put in your coffee, only a mild
      one mind you. Don't want you passing out on me. See, the way I figure
      it, the way its' always worked in the past, is that you're too messed
      up right now to put up much resistance." He hit the volume button,
      the sound covering the crash as he shoved Scott up against the wall
      and then toward the bed. Scott's' knees hit the bed and he sprawled
      forward. Mike grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and scrabbled for
      Scott's' belt. Scott struggled violently and Mike cursed his
      inability to subdue the boy. He yanked Scott up and slammed him back
      into the wall, pulling out a pocket knife as he did so. He held the
      blade to Scott's throat pushing his body up tight against the
      boy. "You're gonna give it up for me one way or the other." he
      hissed. "They all do you see." He yanked at Scott's pants again.

      Scott's' mind was screaming even as he struggled for breath against
      the forearm and blade pressed against his windpipe. * Stupid, stupid,
      stupid, Scott you are so fucking stupid *
      The adrenaline pumping through his system was finally having a
      positive effect and he swung his arms wildly at the bigger man
      without regard for the knife. He finally managed to grab the hilt of
      the weapon from the other man, slicing his palms and forearm in the
      process. Mike was spluttering incoherently, mad ravings
      about `useless street trash' and `ridding the world of its cancer'.
      With a sob of sheer desperation Scott threw all his weight forward
      and both he and Mike crashed to the floor. Mike went oddly still and
      Scott used the pause to scramble back against the wall. His hand felt
      warm and sticky. With a start he realised he still held the knife.
      Mike was still and silent, no sound even of his breathing. Scott
      shuffled forward and bumped into a leg. He froze then slowly ran his
      hand up the still form. He smelt the coppery tang of blood before he
      felt the wet , ragged wound in the mans' stomach. Shakily he felt for
      a pulse. Nothing, he couldn't feel anything. Then a beat. And
      another. Followed by a wet, sucking breath. Scott's' mind blanked. He
      was out the door , blindly feeling his way to the exit before he was
      even aware he was moving. He broke into a run the instant he felt
      fresh air, hot tears coursing down his cheeks even as he tried
      desperately to hold them back. Branches slapped across his face and
      he stumbled, slid all the way down a muddy bank before picking
      himself up and moving blindly through the trees until he couldn't run
      any further.

      Hank stared at the scene before him. The man on the floor was not
      seriously hurt. There was a lot of blood but the wound was not life
      threatening. The man had passed out from shock more than anything
      else. Bloody, smeared handprints on the wall marked the boys exit.
      Hank pulled a handkerchief from his pocket wrapped the receiver as he
      dialled 911. Ambulance requested he turned to covering all signs of
      the boys involvement with this. He couldn't remove the blood but he
      could smear the fingerprints beyond anyone's ability to trace. The
      boys identity should be safe. He could find in his heart no sympathy
      for the man on the motel room floor. Charles has revealed the true
      nature of the man while Hank had sought out the Motel. His only
      concern now was to find the boy. He flipped open his cell. "He is on
      the move Charles. I can trace him as far as the parking lot but I'm
      not sure which way he went from here."

      "Trees, he went into the trees."

      "Thank you Charles, I believe I can see which way he went now. He
      wasn't very mindful of the damage he did to either the trees or
      himself. Do not worry old friend I don't think he is that far ahead."

      Scott turned the bloody knife over in his hands. He could feel the
      shallow cuts on his palm and wrist. They stung more than hurt. His
      mind was blessedly calm as he felt the contours of the knife blade.
      The turmoil in his mind had stopped the instant he had made his
      decision. It didn't seem to matter where he went, people got hurt
      because of him. He attracted disaster where ever he went. First the
      school, then the hospital. Even the sicko in the motel room. Was the
      guy dead ? He was sure that if he wasn't already, he would be soon.
      For a moment there he had allowed himself to believe that someone in
      the world did still care about what happened to him. That maybe he
      meant something after all. He should have known better. First he'd
      lost his parents, then his brother. Genetics turned around and
      proclaimed him a freak and he'd lost his foster parents and his home.
      Now he had probably killed someone and the irony of that was that he
      hadn't even used his damned eyes to do it. In a fit of anger he tore
      his useless glasses off and hurled them away from him before slumping
      back down and jamming his fists into his eye sockets, sobbing
      quietly. When his shoulders stopped shaking he knew what he had to
      do. The moment of clarity was refreshing after so many weeks of
      uncertainty about his future. The world sure as hell didn't seem to
      have a place for him, so he'd solve that problem right now. After
      all – he had the means didn't he ?

      Scott turned back to his contemplation of the knife blade. His mind
      slipped back into practical mode. He'd always been good at solving
      problems at school. What was this if not another kind of problem to
      solve. He'd had a friend on the swim team who's brother had been some
      kind of hospital worker or something. He'd always come in with some
      kind of gruesome tale or another. It had become something of a
      tradition after late night practice at the pool to try and gross each
      other out. He remembered one particular time where he'd recounted the
      tale of some girl who cut her wrists trying to commit suicide. She'd
      slashed them crossways. He recalled that this was wrong. Something
      about having to do it downwards and in a tub of water or something.
      He yanked his sleeve back. He didn't have a tub of water handy but
      couldn't see what that really had to do with it anyway. He felt along
      the contours of his arm. A vein, he guessed he needed to cut a vein.
      Taking a firm grip on the knife he gathered his composure and gritted
      his teeth then cut deeply. He screamed in shock. * Shit that hurt ,
      shit * The knife fell from his hand and with another curse he sank to
      his knees to try to find it. His arm felt like it was on fire and
      everything was suddenly very slick. It smelt awful, bitter bile
      rising at the back of his throat. He sat back on his ass suddenly,
      the sensation in his legs gone. *Fuck it hurt *.

      Hank burst into the small clearing as Scott sat back onto his ass. He
      took a fraction of a second to note the knife and the growing pool of
      blood about the kids thighs where his arm rested then he acted. After
      the scene in the motel room he'd had the presence of mind to grab his
      full medical kit out of his car. Looked like he was going to need it
      here. He frowned even as he tended to the wound. * If ever there was
      proof that a little knowledge was a dangerous thing * he thought to
      himself as he moved swiftly to stem the life leaking out before him.
      * He probably learnt how to do that on the bloody internet * he
      thought sourly.

      "We'll be with you shortly Charles. The medical transfer has been
      approved now that his condition has been stabilised and I have a
      privately chartered jet standing by to get us to Westchester.
      Thankfully the hospital was close to the motel and they had a good
      store of his blood type. Of course as soon as they learned of his
      mutation they were glad to be rid of us."

      "Has he woken up yet, Hank?"

      "No. While I do not hold with sedation generally, I think it night be
      prudent in this case to keep him out until we arrive. Psychology is
      not my strong point and he will need careful handling when he awakes.
      I think it may take both of us to help this young man my friend. Also
      I'm a tad nervous about having him wake up on the jet and
      accidentally giving it a sunroof. I want my charter deposit back."

      Charles smiled in spite of himself as he returned the receiver to its
      cradle. Hank could find humour in the blackest situation. That may
      prove helpful with Scott. Despite the situation, despite everything
      that had happened over the last few weeks Charles could feel hope
      building within him. He had a lot of work to do, not least with
      Scott. But he had his first student. His first chance to begin
      building a future. His fleeting contacts with Scott over the past few
      weeks had given him a sense of the inner strength the boy possessed
      if encouraged to grow. He was determined not to waste the opportunity
      he was being given.




      Yes there is a sequel / second part to this tentatively
      titled "Hope". Unless I get hate mail from this one I'll post it in a
      week or so unless i get it finished sooner.