Enough of my rambling... here is the story.

"That fuckin' asshole," Victor Black screamed as he slammed the door to the apartment. "Ah work my goddamned ass off an that fucker jess gives me shit!"

Justine Miller or, as Victor thought of her, Justine Black, looked up from the couch. She had been staring at the ceiling, waiting for Vic to come home. She did a lot of that, or she went down to the storage area in the basement of their apartment and sat there. Victor lost count of the number of times he had to drag her out of there. "Hi, Vic," she said.

"That ain't much of a greeting," Victor snapped.

"Oh, sorry." Justine rose from the couch, came over, and put her arms around him. He hugged her back, a bit too tightly, lifting her off the ground. Holding her, he turned, pushed her against the wall, and kissed her, hard.

When he finished kissing her, he drew his head back and looked at her, still holding her. "It's not the same. Your tired."

Justine shrugged. "I don't think it makes much of a difference."

"Yes it does," Victor disagreed stubbornly. "You need it, doll. Ah think it's time again."

Justine sighed. It was always time. "I'll go out after dinner," she mumbled.

There were times when Justine wondered if her life with Victor, well, sucked. She had been living in the basement of her parents house, where they had locked her after discovering she could raise the dead, a little trick she performed on Victor, after he had drown. They thought she was the anti-Christ. Victor thought that her bringing him back to life had bound them together. Maybe that was true. She did know that she was rather grateful Victor rescued her after many years in her dark prison and they ran away to Boston. The reason why they ran away from Jericho South Carolina was because people were starting to get suspicious at the number of dead bodies turning up. Victor seemed to believe he had to kill people, absorb their souls, and feed them to Justine. Justine did not think this was necessary, but it did not matter to her.

Ah can go out during the day, she thought as she walked into the kitchen to make dinner, while Victor relaxed on the sofa. That's gotta be worth somethin'. The sad fact that she rarely did go outside did not play into the picture. She would be going out tonight. She had to get someone for Victor to kill so he could absorb their soul. But that was all right. She had her own tricks to do what he wanted, tricks that really did not hurt anyone. Or at least she thought they probably did not hurt anyone.

If he knew what you could do, how much you could do, he'd be afraid of you, she thought, glancing over at Victor as she set about making their dinner. Victor liked to think he was the strong one of the relationship, and she let him think that. In truth, she was stronger than him, which said something rather pitiful about the state of their lives.

"Kin I put on some music?" she asked.

Victor nodded. He was doing what she had been doing earlier, staring at the ceiling. "G'head, babe."

She pressed the play button on the tape player. The tape inside was already cued to play her favorite song, the only one on the whole tape she really liked. As the music filled the tiny, dark, apartment, she sang along:

All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain..we can be like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...

Victor frowned. "Why you always playin' that fuckin' song?" he asked.

She smiled serenely. "Because Ah like it."

Valentine is done
Here but now they're gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet
40,000 men and women everyday...Like Romeo and Juliet
40,000 men and women everyday...Redefine happiness
Another 40,000 coming everyday...We can be like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...

"Well, Ah get awful sick'a hearin' it," Victor commented. "Ah mean, it's kinda weird, don't ya think?"

"Ah like it," she repeated. Closing her eyes, she sang along with the last verse, her absolute favorite.

Love of two is one
Here but now they're gone
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn't go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew then disappeared
The curtains flew then he appeared...saying don't be afraid
Come on baby...and she had no fear
And she ran to him...then they started to fly
They looked backward and said goodby...she had become like they are
She had taken his hand...she had become like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper.

She shivered, hitting the rewind button on the tape. She envied the woman in the song. There was a part of her that was very scared she could not die. It would make sense, if she could raise the dead, that death might avoid her completely. Yeah, sure, Christ did die, but that had been pre-arranged by God. In her case, it might be different.

"It creeps me when you sing that last part," Victor said, sitting up and looking over the sofa at her. "Ya get too int'a it. Do ya wanna die, Justine?"

"Don't be silly," she said, rather than answering him. "No one wants to die."

Victor shrugged. "Yeah they do. It's called suicide. Cowards."

She bit her lip and hit the play button again. Victor glared at her, but said nothing. She played the song six times before dinner was finally ready.

When dinner was finished and the dishes tossed into the sink to soak, Victor eyed her carefully. "Wear somethin' nice, babe."

"Okay." She shrugged and walked into the bedroom. "Something nice," meant the short leather skirt he had bought for her and a tight shirt. It did not really matter, she could wear a gunnysack for what she was going to do, but Victor did not know that. Victor thought she went to bars or places like that to pick up "souls."

She put on the skirt and a blue tube top. Although it hardly seemed worth it, she put on makeup and did up her hair. When she was finished, she walked out in the living room so Victor could see how she looked.

He was sitting on the sofa, watching TV, cigarette dangling from his lips. When he saw her, he clicked off the remote and nodded his approval. "You look real nice, babe."

"Thank you," she said, softly, heading to the door.

"Remember, no funny stuff," Victor warned her. "You kin let 'im kiss you or somethin' like that jess t'get him interested... but don' let him touch the goods. Lead him here."

"I will," she said. What did Victor know? Most of them were disorientated and confused. She led them to the apartment like little lost lambs. By the time they realized what had happened to them, they were dead... again.

"Ah mean it, Justine," he warned her.

"Ah know you mean it," she said. "An' don't worry. Ah won't let em' touch me. Ah'm yours. How many times Ah have t'tell you that?"

He smiled. "Ah, jess' don' want you t'ever forget it, babe. You're mine. Forever and ever."

"First the souls, then the bodies," she said solemnly.

"Tha's right," he agreed, smiling. "We'll start with the souls... then later, the bodies."

Her brow furrowed. She did not say anything, but she was not sure that she even liked having sex with Vic. It seemed like an awful lot of sweat and grunting for not much of a purpose. He seemed to like it though, so she did not refuse him. If Victor wanted something and did not get it, he became kind-of mean. She had two missing teeth and had trouble hearing out of her left ear to remind her of what happened if she refused Victor something he wanted. She supposed she deserved it. "Okay."

"Hurry back."

"Ah will." She walked out the door, singing softly. "We'll be able to fly..."

Trent Winters took a sip of his coffee and cursed. "Fuckin' hot!"

In the back of the van, Joe Richardson laughed. "I warned you, you stupid jerk."

"Fuck off, Daddy's boy." Winters said, drumming his fingers along the dashboard, breathing through his open mouth to cool his tongue.

"Don't you ever call me that," Richardson said, his eyes narrowing.

"You gonna stop me, Daddy's boy?" Winters asked, turning to look at him.

Richardson looked up from the makeshift desk and looked at Winters for a moment. Winters' cold grey eyes were staring at him, as if trying to drill a hole into his brain. He shivered. He did not like looking at Trent Winters; he gave him the creeps. Not only was Winters a very ugly man, but he was a dangerous one. Joe supposed he should just be grateful the he was on their side. "Can we drop it?" he asked, not impolitely. "We do have work to do."

"Same work we've been doin' these last three weeks," Winters said with a sigh. "Watchin' and waitin' for that mutant scum t'leave the building. The problem is it never does. Are you even sure you've got the right building?"

"This equipment is the best," Richardson defended. "My father paid big bucks to have it designed and it doesn't lie. There is a mutant in that building with incredible power. It just blows the scales off. Our job is to find out who it is and get rid of it."

"My job is to get rid of it," Winters reminded him. "You're too much of a pussy to pull the trigger."

"That's why my father hired you," Richardson muttered.

"That's right, Daddy's boy, and don't you ever forget it." Winters turned back in his seat and lit a cigarette.

"Must you?" Richardson asked, crinkling his nose in disgust.

Just as Winters was about to give Joe his opinion of people who were bothered by cigarette smoke, the front door to the building they were watching opened, and a woman stepped out. The moment she did, the equipment in the van started kicking into high gear, beeping and buzzing. "Lemme guess, that's our kid."

"Very good, Winters," Joe said, sliding into the passengers seat to get a look.

Winters peered through the window, looking at the woman. "Some threat."

"Don't let them fool you, " Richardson said, taking his binoculars from around his neck and peering though them to get a closer look. "All of them are dangerous and that little woman is whacking the scales at ten plus." He had to agree with Winters though; she did not look nearly as dangerous as the equipment indicated. A thin woman, with a pleasant enough face, or at least he supposed it was under all the makeup. She dressed like a prostitute, but it was obvious the role was not a comfortable one for her.

Winters reached up and ran his face along the scar that ran from his throat to his right eye as he watched the girl. He was not even aware that whenever he saw a woman he touched the scar. It had been a "gift," given to him by a hooker that had been a bit upset at Winters' reluctance to pay for services rendered. That hooker had been his first kill. He found death much more powerful than sex. Sex was just fulfilling a biological function, but killing was power. When you ended someone's life, you proved you were the boss; you were god. Winters liked being god. "Should I ice her?"

"No, not right now," Richardson said. "Not here, too many buildings. "

"I've killed people in broad daylight in the middle of the street," Winters said calmly. "Don't make a bit of difference to me."

"Which is exactly why my father had to use all the influence he had to get you out of prison," Richardson snapped. "SCAM is supposed to be reforming you, asshole. We play it my father's way, we follow the scum and make sure there are no witnesses."

"Watch it, Daddy's boy," Winters growled. "I could kill you just as easily as I could kill that little piece of ass. Then who would your daddy go to when he was a little... tense."

Richardson bit his lip, choking back the first response that came to his lips. Winters was right. He was Daddy's boy. He had been since his mother died when he was twelve. He might have been daddy's boy, but that did not mean his father really loved him. He wanted his father to love him; he wanted it very badly, though he tried to pretend he did not. But Doug Richardson was a man with a mission. The mission was to wipe out mutants, and it left little to no time for the useless emotions like love.

If we can just get rid of them all, then my father will have time for things, he'll have time for a life, for me, Joe thought. He clenched his fist, trying to keep his emotions under control. "Let's just get this over with," he suggested.

"Gee, now that's an idea," Winters muttered sarcastically.

Justine paused on the steps to the building she and Victor shared, thinking about where she should go. The morgue was always a good place, and it was usually pretty easy to bring them back, they had not been gone long. The drawback was that there were too many people. She wanted to do it as quickly as possible tonight, which meant she needed a place where bodies could be found, bodies that were not watched over very closely. She could break into a funeral home, that worked pretty good, except that sometimes there was a bit of commotion the next day when people realized the body that was supposed to be buried was gone. She tried not to do it that often for that reason. Sometimes she just lucked out and found a dead body. She had a feeling though, that tonight would not be one of those nights.

"Down to the water," she muttered. The harbor was great. People were always getting lost in the ocean, drowning, accidents, whatever. There were years of corpses in the Atlantic Ocean to work with. Of course this method had its drawback in that it took the most out of her. It took a tremendous amount of energy to bring someone back who might have been gone for a very long time, but it was usually the least conspicuous way.

She walked along the streets, not even aware that she was being followed. She had a good feeling about tonight, a feeling she could not explain. Maybe whoever I bring back tonight will be the last one, she thought. Maybe they'll finally be able to give Victor something, whatever it is he's looking for. It was a nice dream, one she strongly doubted, but nice to have anyway.

On the way down to the harbor, she stopped in a Laundromat and told them a lie about leaving some clothes there awhile back and did they find them. They showed her a room in the back where a lot of bags of clothing were kept. She picked a bag that looked as if it had a large variety of different sized clothing and told them that was the bag. The clerk barely nodded as Justine thanked her and left the building. So many clothes were left in Laundromats and never claimed, what was one bag?

It ain't really stealing, she told herself. It's just...claiming somethin' no one wants. She needed the clothing for whoever she brought back. She could not very well bring them home naked, Victor would suspect.

She walked down to the harbor, taking her time. She wanted to wait until it got later. The later it was, the less people around. Boston was a big city, but she did not think they would be any kinder than the folks in Jericho if they discovered they had someone who could raise the dead in their midst. Not that the area she was going to was very populated late at night. A couple of warehouses and a dock. But it was never good to take any sort of chances. Lately, she had a feeling she had taken too many at times, and she tried to cut down the risks.

She walked down to the waters edge and stared out into the murky, dark water. "Come to me," she murmured, putting the bag of clothing down next to her. "C'mon, show me who you are. Who's gonna make Victor happy t'night?"

Her ability worked best when she knew who the person was that she was trying to bring back, or at least what they looked like. When she had no idea, just an oceanic graveyard to work with, it made it much harder. But not impossible. Over the years she had learned that damned near nothing was impossible for her when it came to bringing back the dead. Some things were just more...difficult than others.

Faces started floating just behind her eyes. Different faces, men, women, and old, young. It did not really matter who it was, but she knew it better be someone that Victor would believe she had picked up in a bar. A couple of times she had brought back a woman and old Vic had been a little suspicious. A man was better. Preferably a man who had at least died in the last ten to twenty years. Any earlier and they might be freaking out over cars and spouting terms she just knew were wrong.

Her eyes still open, she let the faces sift throughout her mind. Finally one came up that seemed right. Okay, you're it, she told herself. She closed her eyes and began to concentrate. Picturing what this person looked like when he was alive. His body, his skin texture, his hair... everything. He had been cremated. She tried to envision every bit of him that had scattered about the ocean coming together, gathering in the water to one spot, not too far from where she stood.

Her eyes squeezed tighter, her fingers curled into fists, her fingernails digging into the palm of her hands. She could not see the funnel of light beginning to form over the spot she envisioned her victims remains gathering, but she knew it was there. It was a good light too. This had been a good person. That made her rather sad, it was much easier to lead someone evil off to a second death than it was to lead someone good.

Now form the body, do it in your mind. You've done it before, you can do it again, she thought. She started picturing the young man again. Pictured his body beginning to form, the bones first, then the muscles, the tendons, and various other parts she could not name. Her formal education ended when she was twelve years old and had been forced to live in the basement of her parent's house, but she knew all too well what parts made up a human body. If not by name, by the visions in her head.

She never saw the van parking by one of the warehouses, right behind her. She was too lost in her mission. She liked this part to be done as quickly as possible, but it had to be done right. If she started giving him a brain, and awareness of what was happening, too soon, the shock and pain could prove to be too much and they would just die again. Then she could either try to bring them back again and do it right, or abandon them and find someone else. The problem with abandoning them was that there was now a half formed corpse floating about the harbor, which could raise some pretty big suspicions, especially when it was discovered this person was cremated.

Heart, liver, blood. Don't forget about blood, she told herself. Don't think 'bout lungs till later, when you've got him closer to the surface. Jess take it easy an' do it. That's it... slow and steady.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Joe asked, staring out the window at the water. Well, not actually at the water, but at something hovering above the water and feeding down into it. It looked like a small twister, but instead of being composed of wind, it was composed of a bluish/white light.

"Yeah," Trent said, "What the fuck is the bitch doing?" He shook his head, getting annoyed at all the buzzing the equipment in the van was doing.

"I have no clue," Joe whispered. "But she's doing something."

Trent reached over and began snapping off switches. "I think we've figured out by now that she's doing something, you damned machine," he muttered. "So shut the hell up."

Joe hardly noticed that the equipment was working, he hardly noticed that it was being turned off. He was too busy watching the sight before him. What was this woman doing? How was she doing it? She looked like no one. Some cheap little slut, about as powerful as a Barbie doll, doing something that no one should be able to do. And I have no clue what it is, he thought. I just know that it isn't baking cookies. As much as mutants repulsed him, they also fascinated him. Why them? What evil spirit had allowed them to have so much power? And why could not God, who was all-powerful, stop it? Why did God not just give it to those who deserved it, who would do his work with it?

Winters shook his head, and rolled his eyes. "Look, we gonna watch the pretty light show or take care of her?"

"Huh?" For a moment, Joe completely forgot about Trent Winters. "Oh.. yeah, you're right. No sense in just watching. Let's just take care of her."

"Sounds good t'me," Winters reached down and pulled a gun from under the seat and put his fingers on the door handle. "You gonna wait here, right?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Joe did not have the stomach for the rough stuff.

"No," Joe said, surprising him. "I'm coming with you. "

"Whoa, finally gonna show you're a man," Trent commented, with a smirk on his face. "Well, suit yourself. Just promise me you won't puke."

"Shut-up." Joe muttered as he reached for the door and opened it. He did not know why, but he knew he had to see this person close up before..

We end her miserable existence.

It was almost done. The body was almost perfect. The skin was there, the heart was pumping, and Justine was slowly bringing the body to the surface. She started envisioning his lungs, picturing them getting ready to work. She already gave him a brain, but she had not turned it on yet. When you get to the surface, she thought, although he could not hear her. Everything will turn on when your head breaks the water.

She did not hear the two men creeping up behind her. She was so close. Soon she would have Victor's soul for the night and once he was happy, maybe she could get some rest. This always took so much out of her.

He was almost alive. He was almost ready. She put one last mental push, as his head rose above the water and gave it all. The lungs, the brain. He was a bit further out than she would have liked him to be, but that was okay. He would make it to the shore; they always did, to find her waiting. Perhaps they thought she was an angel, here to take them to heaven, but it did not matter. Their second chance at life would not last long enough for it to matter.

"Hey Bitch!"

She did not turn around, because she did not hear them. She lost all track of the world when she did this. It was one of the reasons why it scared her so much. How easy would it be for someone to catch her?

"Justine!"

That voice she heard. Clear, distinguished, with a trace of an accent. It was a voice she had never heard before, yet she knew it. Not with her ears, or with her head, but with her heart. It was as if she had been waiting all her life for this voice.

She whirled around. "You... you came," she said and she smiled. Although she had never seen him before, he looked familiar. His white hair shone in the faint moonlight. He was smiling at her, coming towards her.

Winters stopped for a moment. He thought he had seen everything, but this one topped the cake.

He was pointing a gun at the stupid bitch and she was smiling, for God's sake. Looking right at him... or maybe right past him, and smiling, as if he were her long-lost lover or something. He had seen a lot of strange reactions in his life, but never this.

Against his better judgment, he turned around to see if there was someone behind him. There was not.

He looked over at Joe. "Were you expecting this?"

Joe was starring at the girl, mesmerized. Her face was glowing; tears were beginning to stream down her cheeks, not tears of sadness, but of pure joy. Despite her cheap make-up, the girl was suddenly beautiful, as if in this moment, she had managed to go beyond human, beyond mutant, and transform into something next to angelic. "N-no," he finally stammered. Suddenly he did not want to see her die. He wanted to grab her, to hold her and talk to her, find out what it was that had changed her, how she had found this peace that he never seemed to be able to find himself. He wanted to get to know her, what made her tick, what made her special. Maybe, if he could find those things out about her, a bit of it would rub off on himself. We're not going to hurt her, he thought. I won't let it happen. I will protect her.

Winters frowned. It was obvious the girl was on some sort of mental trip and Joe was falling right into it too. Her arm was outstretched now, as if trying to reach towards him, or maybe to whatever she was seeing just beyond him, that really was not there. Either way, it did not matter to him. He had a job to do.

Pointing the gun to her chest, he pulled the trigger.

Justine never heard the shot, nor did she feel the pain. What she did know was that she had been trying to reach out for him, but something, some force bigger than both of them, was blocking her. Then, suddenly it went away, and she was able to reach out, to touch him. She did not feel her body falling away from her, as her spirit emerged, alone. All that mattered was now he was here.

"I know you," she said, her voice sounding different, because now she heard it, not with her ears, because her ears, like her body, were dead. Now she heard with her spirit. "I've never met you, but I know you."

"I know," he said. "I-I wanted to save you when you were alive... I was supposed to save you when you were alive. When we both were alive, but I did not."

"It doesn't matter," she said, looking up into his face, into those eyes that glowed with warmth. No one had ever looked at her like that before. Like she was someone, not for what she could do, but simply for who she was. "All that matters is that you're here now. You finally came for me."

"Yes," he whispered. He reached out and touched her cheek lightly, with the backs of his fingers. "I'm here for you."

His fingers felt warm yet cool on her face. Like wind and sunshine. She was weightless. All the fears, all the burdens life had placed upon her were gone. For the first time ever she was completely free. Laughing, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "What happens next?" she asked. "Where do we go from here?"

He returned her embrace, smiling. "Why don't you tell me?" he asked. "I think you know the answer."

She laughed again, for she did know, just as she knew him. "You..." she began, then stopped, as another rush of joy pushed through her. She knew behind her that her body was lying on the ground, bleeding, and broken, but it did not matter. She looked at him. "It's so simple, Erik. You've come to take me home."

Shivering in the night air, the man wrapped his arms around himself. It was all he could do, because he had no clothes.

He was confused and disorientated. He had no clue how he had gotten here. One minute he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, the next he was floating in the water, struggling to breathe, feeling like his body was on fire.

He knew where he was; he just had no clue how he got here. When he made it to the shore, he saw police cars, some sort of commotion. Even in his confused state, he knew to stay far away. Police had a tendency to get mighty suspicious of naked men appearing in the midst of trouble.

He wandered the streets, keeping to the shadows so no one would see him, until he managed to find a building where someone had laundry on a clothesline. He stole a pair of sweatpants and ran off when he heard a dog barking. He found a quiet spot between two buildings and put the pants on. They were a little short in the legs, a little too wide in the waist, but it was better than being naked. He drew the drawstring tighter around the waist and tied it.

I... I have to do something. There has to be someone who can explain what's going on to me, he thought.

He finally found a pay phone. Picking up the receiver, he dialed an 800 number. Please, he thought. Let her be home and let her be able to tell me what the hell is going on. One ring, two rings three rings.

Finally, someone answered the telephone. "Xavier's institute for Higher Learning."

He knew the voice; it was Beast's. "H-hi Hank, c-can I s-speak to Sikudhani?" he asked.

There was dead silence. "Hello?" he said, wondering if he had been disconnected.

"I-I'm still here," Hank said. "Uhm... Siku doesn't live here anymore." Hank's voice sounded very cautious, which rather surprised him.

"C-can I have her new number?" he asked. He would figure out what was going on later, why she would have moved without telling him later. Right now he just wanted to hear her voice.

"Who is this?" Hank asked.

That surprised him. He had called Siku enough, Hank should know who he was. "It's me, Sean Mason."

The End.