Empathy
Chapter 6
by
NYC
"Miracle" by Vertical Horizon
It's taken much too long/ to get it right
Would it be so wrong/ to maybe find someone/ a miracle
And all you really need/ is everything you could never be
And so you'd give it all/ for a miracle
Chorus--
Is there a trace/ inside her face/ of a lonely miracle
And so you wait/ and lie awake/ for a lonely miracle
You never really know/ what it is/ not until it goes
And if it comes again/ if it's a miracle
But what you miss is love/ in everything below and up above
And could she bring it all/ a miracle
(Chorus)
All you wanted was a (miracle)
All you needed was a miracle/ A miracle
And all you wanted was a (miracle)
All you needed was a miracle/ A miracle
It's taken so long to get it right/ could it be so wrong
To maybe find someone/ a miracle
(Chorus)
He lived in a rather nice place, Melody noted with a touch of envy. It mattered little, though...if she had asked for it, he would have given her a place just like it, even better. But she did not want to do that. She had turned from that path many years ago--it was going on at least ten, she was sure--and she had no desire to turn back.
And no reason, not really.
She got off the bike and carefully secured it, then started up the walk. There was a light snow falling--it always snowed so early here--but it was beautiful, like angel's tears.
It had been a long time since she'd thought snow was beautiful.
Her tennis shoes made no noise as she made her way up the stairs to the front door, but the door opened with perfect timing, and he was standing there, looking every bit as young as he had the first day she'd met him, but not at all like the man she had first known.
It was funny, how someone could change so completely, and yet to her eyes still seemed the same. Maybe it was because he had been such a core part of her life for the last fifteen years, her only anchor as she floated through this weary world.
"Melody," he said with genuine pleasure. He pulled the door open--all his doors opened inward, a safety precaution he'd made personally, because just because you'd had a total change of heart didn't mean that the sins of your past would just disappear--and moved aside to let her in.
"Hi, Andrew," she said, unable to help feeling a special sort of affection for him.
"I wasn't expecting you for at least a few more days," he said, taking her damp coat from her shoulders. He looked her up and down and clucked his tongue. "I wish you'd let me buy you some better clothes."
She brushed some flakes of snow off her T-shirt and jeans. "This is fine," she said, and then gave him a pointed look. "You haven't been watching me again, have you?"
He held up one hand. Perhaps as little as five years ago, that joke would have stung him hard. But this time he merely smiled. "Absolutely not, scouts honor."
"Like you were ever a Boy Scout," she said, going deeper into the house. "Got anything to drink? Anything warm?"
"Hot chocolate?" he offered. "Or maybe some brandy? But no, you're obviously driving."
She sat down on his couch, leaning back. "Wow," she muttered, "you've really got yourself set up here."
"Yeah, well, we can't wander forever," he said, coming into the room. "The water's in the microwave." He plopped down on a nearby chair, watching her closely. "I don't think I'm going to be leaving this place for a long time."
Her head shot up. Now this was news. He'd been as closely linked to her wanderings as any human being could be for at least twelve years now. The first three they had moved together, each watching the other's back, having no one else to trust.
Where the relationship had changed, she would never be able to pinpoint. But it had. For that last year, they'd been involved.
Tragically, mistakenly involved.
"You know, after all these years," he said softly, "I think some of your powers have rubbed off on me."
She scowled. "Don't call them powers," she reminded him.
"Oh, well, your sensitivity," he amended. "In any case, I know this isn't like our usual visits. You actually seem to be happy to see me."
She wanted to tell him that she was happy to see him, but that would just stir him to start on his old talk, the one she'd been getting every time she laid eyes on him for the last six years. Since he'd found God.
Her eyes scanned the room. Yes, there were religious items here and there, but he had toned it down a bit. In the beginning it had been like an obsession, and she remembered how he had nearly moved into a Catholic University library in one particular town. He could absorb books like some people absorbed sunlight, and so quickly it was unnerving. It was probably one of the reasons he'd gone on to science, because he didn't flinch at any amount of work that could be thrown at him. He thrived on it.
As she sat there, in his living room, cool gray in the late afternoon shades of twilight, she pondered how different this was from when they had first come together. She had dispised him, and now he was more like her family than her own parents.
How extremely odd.
"Lost in old memories?" he prodded gently, frowning slightly. "What brought that on? Usually you run from them."
She shifted a bit uncomfortably, then realized that she had to tell him. "I found Ferro," she stated.
It felt like he froze. "When?"
"A few days ago, in a bar. Actually, he found me." She looked down at her hands. "He's changed, you know."
Silence. Unable to bear it, Melody pressed on.
"He goes by the name of Logan now," she said, "and uses Wolverine as a codename when he works with a bunch of people that call themselves the X-Men."
"X-Men?" It was a sharp, abrupt statement. For a moment, there was a flash of the old Dr. Logan. "What does that stand for?"
"That part, I can't tell you," she said sadly, "but they are mutants...like him."
"Not like him," Andrew said, with just the smallest lilt of a smile.
"No, not like him," Melody agreed. "But he's with them. He's been looking for the answers as to why he woke up naked in the snow fifteen years ago with a king's ransom in adamantium fused to his skeleton."
"And did he find them?" Andrew prodded.
"Some of them," Melody said. "He had serious amnesia from the trauma, but seeing me sort of undid a lot of that."
"It happens," Andrew murmured, as if to himself. "Very commonly, actually."
She shrugged. "Well, not all the memories have come back to him yet, I think. He knows people that have certain telepathic skill that might be able to help sort them out."
"You could help him," Andrew pointed out.
"It doesn't work like that, you know," she sighed.
"Yes, but," and he hitched, as if it was still painful to walk down that road, "considering the connection you two always shared, your presence would probably be extremely helpful."
She shrugged. She knew better than to argue with Andrew when he had his mind made up.
* * * * *
She didn't know what she was doing with him still. Maybe it was because she really didn't have anywhere else to go. Nowhere at all. The thought of facing her parents was just too painful, and she had no other family she could run to. Her grandparents were hundreds of miles away, she had no aunts or uncles or anything like that. Just her and her parents and her sister.
That was it. And now, all she had was him.
It frightened her, as she watched as he moved calmly, quickly into the motel office, getting them a room. He seemed so in control of himself, like he'd planned all of this. And yet, the whole time, she'd known he was being honest with her. He wasn't tricking her or getting ready to betray her trust.
Something had happened to the man. She sort of wanted to know what it was.
He came out of the office, looking down at the two keys that he had. He walked around to the passenger side and lowered his head, motioning her to come out. She obeyed, although it was hard to move. Her skin felt all tight and stretched too tautly over her bones. Her muscles ached, her bones felt like they were grinding together, and worst of it all, her scalp itched like a bitch because she hadn't had a shower in a month.
She had to be the most wretched looking creature on the planet. But as she followed him, he turned and looked at her, and with something almost like compassion, he reached over and got his arm around her shoulders, supporting her weight a bit. He pulled her against him, and she felt herself melting into him, so thankful for the gesture that she didn't even know why, but she thought it might drive her mad with confusion and gratitude.
He unlocked the door and she stepped inside. She didn't hesitate--she went right for the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water ran so hot it should have burned her, but she didn't care. She pulled off all her clothes and as a second thought, shut the door behind her. Then she stepped into the scalding water and breathed a sigh as if she were entering heaven itself.
She didn't know how long she spent there, but she managed to find a washcloth and she nearly used up a whole bar of the cheap soap that was in the room. She used a whole bottle of the equally cheap shampoo on her hair, washing it several times, and when she was done and feeling like a human being again, she stepped out of the bathtub and realized that she had no clothes, just the dirty, sopping things she had worn here.
And the bathtowels weren't enough to cover her, she noticed with chagrin, now that she was clean enough to care. Hell, after what had happened to her in that military-complex- whatever-the-hell-it-had-been, she didn't care who saw what anymore. So with one of the bathtowels barely around her chest, she opened the door.
To find one of his shirts hanging on the doorknob, clean and immaculately white, and soft. Very soft. At least he had good taste, she decided as she pulled it on. It was just long enough to cover her. She pulled her underwear out of the heap of dirty clothes and turned to the nearby sink, pulling the plug and filling it up to wash the garment. She wished she had a bra.
She came out this time, rubbing her wet hair with the towel, considering cutting it off completely if Andrew had a pair of scissors somewhere, or could go get her a pair.
He was sitting on the bed, facing the window. She didn't make much noise as she came into the room, but he knew she was there--it wasn't a large place, and it had wonderful acoustics. She sat down on the other side, facing the other way, laying another one of the towels on the bed first, and then proceeding to attempt to comb through her hair with her fingers.
"I'm sorry," he suddenly said, very softly.
She jumped. She considered asking him to repeat himself, but didn't. "Yeah, me too," she sighed, feeling exhausted.
"No, Melody," he said, his voice a bit louder, more grave. "I mean, I am really sorry. For more than I can ever express to you." He paused, weighing his next words. "I know they treated you horribly, but at least they left you alone. I had to work hard to keep them away from you long enough for me to figure a way out for both you and Ferro. They wanted to do things to you, things that made being completely ignored except for meals look like heaven. I don't know how I did it...I'm not saying that so that you can admire me, I mean it. I don't know how it all went off. I don't even know how I managed to clear a path for you to get Ferro out."
"You don't?" she whispered, her fingers dripping with water from her hair.
"No," he said, his voice low...humble? Was that what she was feeling from him? Gingerly, she tried to focus on the sensation, and then pulled away. She wasn't ready for that yet...wasn't ready to admit that he was right.
"So how did it happen," she said.
He didn't reply for long, drawn out minutes. She considered turning and looking at him, but her back wouldn't move. She realized something itched terribly, and she reached up, only to have her fingers come up against the scabs on her back, the scabs from the whip he had used on her, only once but enough to scar her. During her captivity she hadn't had anything to do but sit around and they had healed without much further attention. But now that she'd bathed, cleaned them out, they were beginning to sting.
How they had kept from getting infected with all her natural body dirt constantly clogging them was a bit of a mystery, but there were bigger mysteries afoot in this room at the moment and she had to put first things first. Something had happened to Andrew...something great and terrible that had changed him somehow, and she had no idea what it was.
He turned and reached across the bed. Melody was stunned to feel a brush against the back of her hair. He lifted up several of the thick, wet clumps and began combing through them. It took a long time, and Melody continued to work at it from her side, letting the silence hang. When he was ready, he would tell her.
Days passed. They waited in the motel room, as if they were expecting someone to show up at any time. A lot of times, Andrew paced the long line in front of the bed. They slept in it, but he didn't get under the covers--instead he just slept on the top, on his back, with his hands neatly folded across his chest. He didn't move when he slept. It was a rather easy arrangement. The only time they went out was to eat at the same diner just a block or so down the road, and they went for brunch and dinner. He always paid. She had no money, he seemed to have an endless supply of it.
When a week passed, Melody began to wonder what was going to happen. For a while she'd just been too happy in the quiet and with the clean-ish bed and having a bathroom instead of having to pee in a tin can. And the food, compared to the stuff she'd been served, was excellent. But it wouldn't last, she knew. It was a fluke, them being like this, just like it had been with Ferro. Was there something about both father and son that drew her to them? She should have hated this man. He confused her, baffled her, infuriated and frustrated her to no end.
But he was all that was there. She had to deal. And she was, a bit too well.
He was rather easy to be around. He kept his emotions to himself, not always wanting to cry on her shoulder, yet she felt the connection with him, the gentle camaraderie he seemed to need. After about seventy-two hours of his company, Melody came to realize something extremely important about him.
He was thinking. About everything. Running it over and over in his head, going through theories and hypotheses and all sorts of other long fancy words she sometimes used to show off. He was pondering and even meditating. He spoke sometimes, but she could always tell that his mind was still going, compulsively.
On the seventh day, he seemed to come to a sort of conclusion. When she woke up, he was sitting at the small table they had bribed the motel keeper into loaning them, and he had breakfast laying there, some bagels and cream cheese and even a thin package of smoked salmon. It didn't look all that great, but Melody ate it anyway.
It actually tasted good.
"Melody," he began, considering her thoughtfully over his tall paper cup of coffee, "what religion are you?"
She gave a small shrug. "I was Catholic...feels like a long time ago."
"Ah," and this interested him. "You believe in miracles?"
She almost laughed. "Not really, no," she said.
Puzzled, "Why not?"
She gave him a very sharp, ugly look. "Why do you think?" she ground out through gritted teeth. He seemed to consider this, and leaned back.
"You know the truth?" he said in a low voice, "we should have been caught. You should have been caught the second you stepped into Ferro's pen, but you weren't. You should have been caught in the snow. Ferro should have been found by the dogs when you buried him and ran to lead them away. You should have been caught before I found you. I should have been killed by that electric fence when I lifted it up, and finally, we both should have been caught when we went back to look for him."
"What about now?" Melody asked, looking out the window nervously. "Do you think, even now...?"
"Even now," he nodded, "which is why we're going to leave in a few days. I don't know where we're going to go, but I've got some ideas, I'll run them past you later," he added with a dismissive wave of his hand. "My point is, you see, when I plotted this scheme, I said something very flippant before I actually went to go get you."
"And what was that?" she asked.
"I said, 'God, if you're listening, I sure could use a miracle, and you know I'd never ask for anything so silly unless I was really scared, and I never am."
She shook her head, grinning a bit. "You are full of yourself, aren't you?"
He waved his hands again, like an umpire calling a "safe." "Forget about that...listen to what I'm saying. We did it. We pulled it off."
"Surely there's gotta be another reason," she said, shoving some more locks and bagel into her mouth. "I mean, I'm probably making a mistake by feeding your monstrous ego, but I'm sure you double and triple checked everything."
"But I was discovered," he countered, and added, "No, really, I panicked--and that in itself it amazing. I never panic. I thought they were onto me, but I've gone over that, too, and I don't think they were--they will be when they find out I'm gone along with you and Ferro. You don't have to be as smart as me to figure that one out."
She sighed and leaned back in her chair, throwing down her napkin. "Look, don't go finding God on me right now, okay? I need you to be here. This is stupid, you realize? You and me, running off together? We'll kill each other outside of a week."
"We're still fine, and we've been together a week," he said. "And isn't that just another addition to this incredulity? Somehow, you and I have been thrown together--"
She cut him off with a glare. It hurt, suddenly, looking into that face that was so much like Ferro's. She shut her eyes, tears threatening and her trying desperately to hold them back.
She missed him so much.
She leaned forward in her chair and began to cry.
They left the hotel on Tuesday night, traveling in the dark. They drove to another state, found another motel, and then another and another and another for almost three months. They never talked about religion again, but Melody saw the results.
He was changing. At first it had seemed shocking because her first impression of him had been so monstrous and then each time after that had been separated by chunks of more time. But now, being with him every day, falling into a companionship with him, getting to see him so up close, it was like it wasn't even the same human being.
More time passed, and then more. They stayed together, moving into apartments and then leaving again, unable to get comfortable anywhere. For some time they kept it friendly, but soon they lapsed into a relationship that Melody knew was a mistake from step one, but she was so attached to him that she couldn't bear the thought of losing him, so she stayed.
How they separated would forever be foggy in her brain. When the relationship fell apart, as it was doomed to do, and while the relationship had lasted a substantially long time, a year of their lives, maybe a bit more, it hardly seemed worth mentioning. She decided it was time to move on without him. It wasn't a matter of declaring independence. It was a matter of stagnation and the desire for change, any change, no matter which direction that change was in, up or down.
But it was really too late to get away from him. He never upset or bothered her, but he followed her, and she let him, happy to have him close, but not too close. And she moved from place to place, getting more and more destitute as the time passed, her face getting older, her clothes getting more worn, her places of residence getting sleazier and sleazier. She'd turned to unorthodox sources of survival, but they always fell apart, and Andrew came and got her out.
Three years before she and Ferro, now known as Logan, were reunited, Andrew no longer held back what she knew had been coming from day one. He'd found religion. He'd found God. And he seemed determined to bring her with him, no matter how much she fought. So she let the distance get larger, and would sometimes tell him not to follow her just yet, give her some time. Each time, she determined that she wasn't going to call him, tell him where she was, but she always did.
Then she found Logan.
And here she was.
* * * * *
He was angry at her. More angry than he had ever been at a human being in his life. And that was saying something for Logan.
He was so angry he couldn't sleep. He just lay awake, staring into the dimness that his eyes could easily penetrate, and worry about her. Worry about himself. It was not like him to be like this, and it made him madder still.
And she'd only been gone for one night.
He'd almost killed Scott. Never in his life had he been in such a blind rage to the point where he could have done serious harm to someone who had become a...well, not a friend, but as close as he would ever get. He'd grabbed Scott twice as hard as the first day he'd met him, and roared into his face, demanding to know why the stupid blind man had loaned his cycle to her, and let her leave without saying goodbye, and hadn't at least come and told him that she was going, not until hours after she'd left.
He'd wanted to kill him. But instead Scott had snarled back at him, "You know, maybe if you weren't panting after Jean so much, she wouldn't have felt the need to go!"
The statement had been so low, so dirty, and yet had hit so right on the mark that Logan had let go of him. Jean came up to them, furious.
"Scott, how could you--" but she stopped herself, so angry she couldn't speak and not wanting to cause a scene for her lover right in front of everyone and humiliate him even more than Logan had started to do.
"No," Logan had cut her off. "No." He'd wanted to say something else, but he couldn't speak for some bizarre reason. Then, after the wave of rage passed, Scott relaxed a bit, and said;
"No, Jean's right. I'm...I'm sorry."
He sounded like he might choke. Logan had left him alone, going to take out his anger on object that didn't feel pain so keenly.
He finally dozed off, his body needing rest, especially after it became exhausted under all his anger, and he had a nightmare. He hadn't had a nightmare in the last several nights, but he hadn't said anything to anyone, not wanting to put any more pressure on this chunk of coal than necessary, thinking the diamond within might shatter.
The nightmare started out like the others had, with the men cutting into him, over and over, the pain, the flashing, blinding, agonizing white-hot pain--
But she was there, freeing him. She was in his room after they had finished, and Logan was tired and weak and he hurt, but she had come to free him and he was so happy to see her he could hardly breathe. She looked horrible, and she stank of uncleanness, but it was her and he wouldn't have cared if she'd been wearing animal dung for clothes, he'd have followed her anywhere.
She led him into the snow, dragging him relentlessly, her strength not giving out. But he was too tired, he had to rest. She got angry with him, trying to get him to stand up, to move on, that he had to run because they would catch them soon. He sank down into the snow, his body so hot it melted the snow into a pit around him, and he fell inside, unable to get out.
He called to her for help. She just looked down at him, disgusted, her arms folded, unwilling to extend her hand. She turned and stepped out of his sight, and he began to claw and scratch and kick his way back to the top. He had to get to her...he couldn't lose her!
It took forever; it felt like trying to swim through ice and fire. Every part of his body ached, and when he got to the top, she was gone, and the men were back, with their dogs. He was too weak to fight them, and they lunged at him on all sides, their dagger-like teeth tearing into his flesh again and again until they stripped him down to his metal skeleton, which lay blood-soaked in the snow, slowly turning into metal ice and then cracking apart---
Logan came to and realized that his bed was drenched. He sat up, trying to clear his head. As much as he wanted to believe that it was a nightmare, he knew that some of the dream had been true. It was a distorted memory.
Maybe while she was gone, he'd show her a thing or two. Maybe he didn't need her as much as he thought to help him sort out his past.
To hell with it, he thought, he still missed her so bad it hurt.
* * * * *
"At least you had the sense to take me up on the clothes," Andrew said as he strapped the thick burlap backpack onto the saddleweights of the motorcycle. She tossed him a smile.
"You really didn't have to, you know," she said with a sigh. "It wasn't so bad."
"Like hell," he said, and she started, looking at him funny. "What is it?"
"You sound like him," she said thoughtfully.
"Like who?"
"Logan."
He turned a little pale. "Ah. I see." He finished with his task and buried his bare hands into his armpits. "So are you sure about this?" he asked, looking at the icy rain. "It's going to get bad, you know. I know that you promised a week, but still, I know your new friends wouldn't want you to get killed, or wreck his bike."
Melody revved up the cycle. "It can handle it," she said over the roar. "But I don't think Logan can. He's going to be pissed off enough at me, I don't want to make it worse."
Andrew looked off down the street. He could hardly see the end. "No, Mel, I mean it," he said, suddenly extremely worried. "It's really bad--I don't think you should go."
"Well, I'm all packed, so I'm going," she said stubbornly. "See you soon!"
He was about to really object, even yell at her if he had to, but she tore off down the road, and before she could get thirty feet away, she suddenly skidded, turned onto her side, and rolled into another car, wheels first.
The last thing she heard was Andrew screaming her name.
When she came to, she was in a hospital gown in a very stark white room. For a second, she panicked, she wanted to sit up and scream, remembering her captivity, being locked up with no one around, and she jerked up a bit, finding IV's and confining high bars on either side of her---
"Hey," came a familiar voice, gripping her arm. He reached up and stroked her hair, forcing her back down. Melody's eyes refocused and she saw Andrew, even though she had already felt him and knew he was there.
He sent her a soothing stream of calm. "It's okay," he said, still stroking her hair. "It's all right. You're safe, I promise."
"Where am I?" she asked shakily.
"You had an accident," he replied calmly, mother-like. "You fell off the bike, it hit another car, and you got caught underneath. But you're lucky--you hit your head and mangled your arm and leg up a little bit, but it's mostly scratches. They want to keep you overnight for observation, though, since you got knocked out."
She moaned and relaxed against the pillow. "My God," she groaned, "the bike? It is okay?"
He chuckled. "It's fine. Your friend may have to give it a new paint job, but it's fine, I promise."
She shut her eyes. "I promised Scott not a scratch," she muttered.
"Well," Andrew sighed, "I can take a look at it."
She would have thanked him or something, but she felt so tired she could hardly get her mouth to work. She shut her eyes again, descending into blessed darkness.
When she woke up again, Andrew wasn't there. She was alone, and the floor seemed to be rather quiet. She lay there for a long time, at first steadying her mental shield, for in a place like a hospital it just didn't do to be an empath who wasn't well guarded. She even idly flipped through her television's channels before flatly deciding that she was really, really bored.
Gingerly, Melody lifted her arm to see how bad the damage was. There were long marks down her arm, like claw marks, she thought uneasily. And there was a scrape that made her a bit sick to look at on the soft underpart of her arm, but it wasn't deep, and there was a nice gauze pad covering it from her sight when she wasn't trying to look at it.
Then she went for her leg. Her kneecap was wrapped, but as she lifted it out of the bed and put some of her weight on it, she realized that it was fine, it hardly hurt. She sat up and tried the other leg, and felt fine. Then she looked down at her hand and realized that they had taken her IV out.
Thank God for small favors, she thought with a sigh of relief.
She leaned back against the bed, resting for a second. Any moment now, some nurse was going to come in and object and force her back into bed, and she didn't feel like wasting her strength until she was more certain of not getting caught.
It seemed like everyone was asleep.
Melody gazed out the window and saw how dark the sky was. How late was it? She wondered. It could have been any time between 8 and 5 in the morning, the way things went around here during fall.
And as her mind wandered, it caught on something. Or was it someone?
Melody focused on it. There was a lot in this hospital that she was filtering out. When she had come to the first time, she suspected that that had been one of the things that had knocked her out again so quickly.
And after all these years, only now was she beginning to think like Andrew, she thought with a rueful smile. Shaking her head, she straightened onto her feet.
She felt it again.
This time it was a bit more steady, like a flickering red light in the very back of her mind. It nipped at her like a tiny little insect. Out of all the things in the hospital to be feeling, why was this one getting through her shield? Well, whatever it was, investigating it sounded a lot more interesting than just standing here.
She made her way out in small steps into the hallway, then down it, and even managed to sneak into an elevator. She randomly pressed a button, distracted by a sudden noise out in the hallway, the fear of being discovered and forced to return to her room. She barely looked down, she didn't know what number she had pressed. The doors opened and she stepped out, relieved to find the place just as quiet as her floor had been.
She looked around, wandering a bit. She had socks on her feet, thankfully, and she made no noise as she padded down the hall. She must have wandered into the intensive care unit, or maybe something like it. She had never seen the real inside of a hospital, just in movies, and one of her favorites had been "While You Were Sleeping."
It felt like forever since she'd been able to curl up somewhere, comfortable, with a Coke and a bowl of popcorn and some chocolate and just watch television, content, not having to worry about anything or anyone...
It had been forever. She hadn't done that since she was 19 years old.
There was a room with a long glass window that looked out into the hallway, but on the inside a heavy shade had been drawn, aided by blinds. In the doorway, Melody could see a woman sitting in a chair, looking very tired. Lonely.
Inexplicably drawn to the room, Melody tried to stop herself. She tried to give herself a dozen reasons why she should just go back to her own room and take another long nap, but something had gotten into her and she couldn't resist. She'd been spending too much time with Professor Xavier--she was reaching out and just touching the heavy cloud of emotions that was gripping this small room.
She reached the doorway before she could finish listing off the dozen reasons, and looked inside. There was a girl in the bed, maybe 19 years old, and she had deep bruises all around her eyes, around her face. Her arms were deathly white, and she was hooked to machines that beeped. There were tubes in her nose and an IV in her arm, infusing her with blood.
The woman in the chair looked up at Melody. She seemed startled, but her exhaustion was so complete that Melody sensed her wondering if Melody was real or not. "Hello," Melody said, trying to clear up the phantom.
It didn't work. "Hello," the woman replied, tentatively. Her voice was hoarse, ragged. Another look at her cheeks showed tear stains and there were heavy bags under her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
It wasn't an unkind statement, simply one of inquiry. Melody shrugged. "I had a little accident, but I'm okay, and I got bored, so I was wandering around." She looked at the girl in the bed. "Is she going to be okay?"
The woman's shoulders raised slowly, as if the movement hurt. "I pray...I trust...but the doctor say," and only then did Melody notice that the woman had a Spanish accent that might have been beautiful under other circumstances, "that she feels alone. She thinks she has no reason to stay."
"Stay?" Melody whispered, feeling a dark shadow pass over her. "You mean she might..." No, she couldn't say it. The word caught in her throat and refused to come out.
The woman nodded. She stood up and reached over and gently, so gently pulled away a small cloth that had been covering the lower part of one arm. The bandage there was stained with blood. "She cut longways," the woman said, near tears again. "The doctors had such a hard time closing it. They almost...lost her..." The woman sighed a ragged sigh and sat down again, pulling the chair closer. "So they tell me to stay and give her hope. But she can't hear me. So I pray that God will tell her for me."
Melody nodded. "How long?" she whispered.
"Just this morning," the woman said, rubbing her eyes. "I've been here all day. Just praying."
Just praying...Melody took another step forward, gauging the angle of the IV, wondering what the wound under the bandage looked like, remembered a brief conversation a long time ago with someone whose name had disappeared into the other scraps of her past where they had told her that cutting longways, that was the way to end it.
She might die.
Slowly, Melody reached out and just gingerly laid her fingers on the girl's arm. Smooth, white skin, thin with lack of care. She moved her hand up, getting nervous about the IV, and tried her shoulder, but the thin hospital cloth felt itchy, and she tried again, this time touching the girl's face, her cheek, just lightly.
There it was. Melody closed her eyes. She tried to ease herself into it, but it was like being pulled into a tarpit. Such darkness of spirit, such despair--Melody had never felt this, not even when she'd realized that Ferro was gone, and that she would never find him. She had wanted to die then.
This girl had done something about it.
*I understand.* It was a simply phrase, but thrust into her psyche, riding on a wave of emotions like compassion and empathy and encouragement, it was like pouring a bucket of water into a paper cup. It overflowed, running down the sides, threatening to tear it apart.
Melody pulled the bucket back, ebbing the flow of emotion, letting it slide down in a smooth stream so that the thin mouth of the girl's wounded spirit could absorb it. No, it wasn't enough--Melody was a stranger, no matter what gift she had. This girl's darkness was too much. It threatened to backflow into her, and Melody could almost see it reaching, like the inky black tentacles of a deadly jellyfish.
She opened her eyes, saw the woman there. This was her mother. That much Melody could see. The girl knew she was there, but even now she felt like a burden to the other woman, just bringing her more pain, just making her want to die so that she could stop hurting everyone and destroying everything she touched.
Melody reached across the bed and extended her hand to the woman. She didn't speak, merely gazed at the tired face, and the mother reached up and put her soft, wrinkled hand in hers.
It was like someone had turned on a blacklight in a room filled with brilliantly colored posters. It flowed through her like electricity, making her skin tingle, the finer hairs all around her head stand on end. Chills went up her spine and found their way into her face, up into her temples, making her brain feel like it was humming. It was almost too much, that thin paper cup was going to break apart--
And then, it expanded. It reached. It pushed the darkness away and widened its mouth to take in these new waters of life. And just as Melody thought she would burst if she held on a single second longer, she let the mother's hand gently drop to rest on top of the girl's other arm. Over the bandage, very lightly, like feathers.
Jenny. The girl's name was Jenny.
Melody staggered back. The woman was too awe-struck to try and stop her, and her gaze was too intent on Jenny's face. She pulled her chair up closer and stroked the girl's pale face, whispering to her in Spanish words that sounded so sweet, Melody wished she could understand them.
She thought of her own mother. She hadn't thought of her in at least ten years. She had stopped missing her then. It had seemed futile to miss what one could never have again. Then, quietly, as if she had never been there, Melody slipped out back into the hallway.
She sat down on her bed, her mind still lost in what had just happened. She had done something good with her powers, and for a moment, the pain had been worth it. She felt like she had accomplished something, and she hadn't been afraid to touch another human being and let them into her heart.
It was a small miracle unto itself.
There was a soft rapping on the door. She looked up and a man was standing there with a familiar Roman collar. She almost winced. She could sense this man had been sent here, probably by Andrew.
He wasn't going to give up, was he?
"Hello," the man said, stepping just a foot into the room, giving her her space. Immediately, she found herself liking him. She didn't know why. Maybe it was like the reasons why people so instantly seemed to take to her, whether she wanted them to or not. "My name is Father Linus. Am I bothering you?"
She shook her head, pulling the blankets a little tighter around her waist. In this hospital gown she felt almost naked. The priest approached and pulled the chair at the small desk out, sitting down by her feet. "I was wandering around. I saw you with the people downstairs."
She nodded.
"Do you know them?"
"Nope," Melody replied. "I overheard a few things, and the woman...well, she just seemed like she needed a little company, so..." Melody shrugged.
Fr. Linus smiled and nodded. "Yes, Margie has been a member of my congregation for a long time. She loves people, which is a rare thing in today's world."
"Yeah," Melody agreed with a chuckle. "I've never liked them much."
"Um hmm," Fr. Linus said with a smile, watching her. "Well, it was a very kind thing you did."
"I just held her hand," Melody said. No sense in confessing all her sins, or her secrets. She hadn't been to confession since a year before she'd run away from home.
"So what are you in here for, may I ask?" he said.
"I had an accident," Melody explained. "Messed up my arm a bit, but other than that I'm okay. They're just keeping me over night for observation."
"I see." He considered her. "Can I ask...do you go to a church at all?"
She should have given him a good look that meant, "I knew you were gonna get around to that." Sometimes these guys could be worse that Jehovah's Witnesses, but at least he was keeping the tone light, conversational. "If I say no," she said slowly, "are you going to try and tell me why I should go back?"
"Well, that is sorta my job," he said with a shrug, but it wasn't at all apologetic. She was getting something from him...something very odd. Like he knew her. It was weird, to connect so instantly with someone. She felt a terrible urge to just come clean with him.
"I was Catholic," she said, "a long time ago. I stopped."
"Can I ask why?"
She shrugged. "Didn't seem to be getting much in return," Melody said, a bit flippantly. "I mean, they ask a lot. It isn't a religion for wimps, as Carla from Cheers once said," and she chuckled lightly, knowing that used to be her father's favorite saying.
"Yeah, I remember that show. But that was a superstitious sort of Catholicism. You see, the real deal is much less...well, militaristic? Maybe that's not the right word. Maybe I'm looking for something like, economic--you put a coin in the slot, you get the jackpot. You light a candle, you get a prayer answered. Candles help, rosaries help, but if it isn't in your heart, if in the end you don't just give it up to God, all of that's just for show. I don't know if you remember your Gospels too well, but Jesus was always getting upset at the religious people who did so much for show. Man, the rituals of the Hebrew faith!" The priest rolled his eyes. "I had to do research on it while I was in seminary, so I'm kind of a guru about it. It was really overdone. And half these people had no concept of what they were doing. Like a lot of people just go through the motions at church today. It's discouraging."
"Yeah," Melody said, "I have a friend who's a born-again Catholic." She rolled her eyes a bit. "He probably sent you down here."
Fr. Linus shook his head. "Nope. I told you, I saw you before." He leaned forward a bit, conspiratorially. "I saw what happened."
She frowned at him, feeling the slightly flicker of fear. "Saw what?" she whispered. "What happened?"
He smiled at her. "How you helped them. I sensed it."
Her frown deepened. "Sensed it?"
"Yeah." His smile softened. "I'm like you, Melody. Maybe not as strong, but I can do the things you do. I felt what happened, how you were able to bridge that gap." He shook his head in wonder. "You are strong, you know that? I wouldn't have been able to do that, and I've tried."
She just stared at him, completely stunned and baffled.
"Oh, I'm sure it's not approved Church practice, but sometimes when I'm counseling people they just don't get what the other person is feeling. I've had a few tweaks here and there, but you were like a channel. It just flowed between you from one to the other, like water."
She realized her jaw was hanging open. "You're an empath?" she squeaked.
"I've never heard it called that before, but yes," he replied, casually, like he was telling her about fishing or bowling.
"And how do you stand it?" she gasped.
He seemed surprised. "Stand what?" he asked innocently.
"Feeling everything all the time," she all but blurted out. "I mean, everyone wanting to get under your skin, wanting a piece of you, always being aware of so many emotions...it makes me want to scream!"
He considered her statement. "How long have you been able to do this?" he said.
"Since I was six, I think," Melody said, considering. "It was weird, I never thought about it at the time, but I know I used to get so upset whenever my parents would take me out to things like movies or baseball games or anywhere where there was a big crowd. I'd be upset for days, not being able to sleep half the time and crying myself to sleep the other half. It was horrible. They sent me to shrinks, psychologist, and when I got older they even tried to get me to see a Priest but he didn't understand...he thought I was making it up." Her face darkened. She had never told that to a living soul before.
"So you sort of stopped believing, didn't you?" he said gently, reaching out and touching her wrist. "You felt abandoned, so you abandoned right back?"
"Yeah," she said flatly. "I mean, what was the point, anyway? Why did God make me like this when he knew perfectly well that I couldn't handle it? I hate people. I couldn't control myself for years. I ran away from home, from everybody. I got attentions I never wanted," and she had to bite back old anger over what Andrew and his people had done to her, and her anger at herself for leaving Logan without telling him, "and all it ever brought me was pain. So if you think I think that God cares about me at all, and you're about to tell me all about how he died for us, etc., etc., just save it, okay? Because I don't want to hear it. If God really loved me, he'd just let me die so I could have some peace."
She fell back onto the pillow, mentally exhausted by her outburst. Fr. Linus didn't say anything for a long time, but she could feel him thinking. Finally, he said, "Do you want to die?"
She considered the question. "As opposed to what?" she muttered.
He shrugged. "Maybe doing what you did down there. Doing some good with your gift."
"Give me a reason why I should," she shot back.
He blinked, looked at her. "Why, you know the reason, Melody," he said. "I'm not as strong as you, but I know all you've ever wanted is to be happy. Didn't it make you happy, to be able to help?"
She shrugged. "Yeah...but I can't do stuff like that. I can't handle it." She rubbed her face. "You're a holy man, at least try and explain to me why God would let me be like this. I mean, I feel like every day, when I wake up, I'm walking out onto a battlefield that no one can see but me, and I don't have anyone to help me fight."
The priest straightened. "Well, that's easy," he said. "I'm not going to say a word. I'll let God talk for himself."
She raised her eyebrows, amused. "Oh, really?" she said. "I thought the Catholic Church didn't believe in seances."
He chuckled. "Oh, come now--" and he pulled a Bible from his small satchel. "You know, St. Francis, over four hundred years ago, opened a Bible one day and from the three things he read at random he founded his whole order. And it's lasted until now, thriving, even! You going to debate the tactic of St. Francis?"
"I guess not," Melody said, smiling a bit. "Okay, hit me."
He had the Bible upright in his palm and let it fall open. It fluttered a bit, and then landed on one page. "From Judith," he said. "Oh, how wonderful. It's from the Apographa, in the Old Testament. Protestant Bibles don't have this."
"I see," Melody said. It amazed her, how much she had forgotten.
"From the book of Judith, Chapter...eight, I believe. It says here: 'Besides all this, we should be grateful to the Lord our God, for putting us to the test, as he did our forefathers. Recall how he dealt with Abraham, and how he tried Isaac, and all that happened to Jacob in Syrian Mesopotamia while he was tending the flocks of Laban, his mother's brother. Not for vengeance did the Lord put them in the crucible to try their hearts, nor has he done so with us. It is by way of admonition that he chastises those who are close to him.'" He looked at her. "Do you want me to try again?"
"Please," she replied, suddenly unable to talk.
"Okay." He closed the book, held it up, spine against his palm, and let it fall open again. This time, it flopped to the New Testament side. "Romans, Chapter 6: 'We even boast of our afflictions, knowing that affliction produces endurance, and endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope, and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.'"
She could hardly breathe now. He smiled at her. "Again?" he suggested. "St. Francis had three."
She could only nod. He flipped the book again. It turned to a Gospel. "Luke, chapter 9: 'If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.'" He looked at her. "I don't think it gets any clearer than that."
She shook her head, finally able to speak. "No, I guess it doesn't." She still felt troubled. "I just don't know why God would make...mutants."
He shrugged. "God loves variety, little heart," he said, rising. "But 'mutants' sounds like such a dirty word. I don't like to use it myself."
"But that is what we are, isn't it?" she asked. "We're mutants."
He shrugged. "Believe what you want. But you are...and it isn't that God loves us as we are. We are, because God loves us."
And he left her then, letting her chew on that thought for the remainder of the night.
"Well, you've checked out fine," the doctor declared the next morning, glancing at Andrew. "You can take her home anytime."
"Good," Melody said, flinging back the pathetic white blanket and getting to her feet. "I need some clothes."
"Done," Andrew said, setting a shopping back down by her feet. "I'll wait outside."
She had actually slept well last night, Melody pondered as she pulled on the nice, feather-soft blue sweater and new gray jeans that Andrew had brought her. Her mood was better than it had been since she could remember. Maybe it was a good dream, she thought. Sometimes a good dream could pick up at least her morning, depending on where she was.
Andrew pushed her in the wheelchair all the way down to the first floor, and Melody realized with a shock that this was where she had been last night. She looked around, wondering if--
Yes, there it was. They were going to pass by the room, and as the first corner of the bed appeared, Melody saw that someone was sitting by it--no, several someones, and there was loud talking and laughing coming from it.
Just as they came into full view, Melody saw the girl sitting up in the bed, her worn, tired face seeming a little less despairing on this fine day.
Outside, Melody noticed that the sun wasn't out, but at least the ice rain had stopped. When they got to the curb and Melody stood up, she realized with a real disappointment that the rain had, however, effectively frozen everything.
She looked up. The sun was peeking through the clouds, breaking threw. A few stray beams hit the nearby tree, lighting up the ice that had fused itself to the bark. It looked like the limbs had been coated with diamond. It was beautiful.
"There we are," Andrew said, his hand on her shoulder, keeping her steady. She looked and saw that his car was there with a towing platform attached to the back, with the cycle on it. "Get in the car."
"No, really, I can ride the bike," she said. "I'm fine, really."
"No, no, no." Andrew shook his head and his voice remained perfectly level. "I'm driving the both of you back. No arguments. Now get in the car."
She sighed and shrugged and obeyed. There was little reason to do otherwise.
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