Sometimes I feel
I don't ever want to feel
Like I don't have a partner
Sometimes I feel
Like my only friend
Is the city I live in
The city of angels
Lonely as I am
Together we cry
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way...
(Red Hot Chili Peppers--Under The Bridge)
While Victor worried about what to do with Janella's "shell", less than twenty miles away, Logan and Scott sat in the recreation room of the X-mansion drinking beer. Normally Scott Summers was barely a social drinker, but tonight he found himself having more than usual, as he listened to Logan's tale of the latest member to the mansion.
"So that's 'bout it, Cyke," Logan said, pausing to take a long pull from his bottle. "Mags finally decided to stop trainin' her, since this is a power she shouldn't use. But, she's stayin here. Mags is gonna find some sorta place for her."
"She can really raise the dead?" Scott asked, his voice rising considerable on the word dead. Logan had a feeling that behind those red glasses; Scott's eyes were wide with disbelief. "Really raise the dead? Like in that book, Pet Semetary?"
Logan snorted. "Not like Pet Semetary. In Pet Semetary they came back possessed by something. When Justy brings someone back, as far as we can tell, they come back exactly as they left." He frowned for a moment, remembering Victor Black, but there was nothing in evidence to show that Victor Black's return from the dead caused him to become a prick. Logan was almost positive he'd been a jerk long before his brush with death. "There's only one person we know of she brought back, an' he's not available for testin'. The most complicated thing she's brought back for Mags is a bunch of mice."
"Mice?" Scott tipped his head to one side, lifting his bottle but not drinking from it. "How are these... mice doing?"
"As far as Mags an' anyone can tell, they're doing fine." Logan shrugged. "A couple were sent to Hank who dissected them and said there was nothing unusual about them, nothin' t'indicate they went t'mouse heaven an' came back. Mags has a cage o' others she brought back in his office. They seem t'be normal mice. I mean, they eat, sleep, run around in that little wheel thing goin' nowhere an' mate. Pretty much like any mouse I've ever known. Mags better be careful, or he's goin' t'end up with several cages full o'them."
"No unusual behavior at all?" Scott asked. "No sign of brain damage or antisocial behavior?"
"None that I can see." Logan lit a cigar and shook his head. "Amazing ain't it? Amazin' an' creepy. I don't envy the kid, that's a nasty power t'be born with."
"Why?" Scott took a long sip, draining his bottle and put it onto an end table.
Logan stared at him. "Why what? Why is it amazing? Or why is it creepy?"
"Oh, it's amazing all right," Scott agreed. "But is it really so creepy?"
"Are you losin' yer mind Summers?" Logan asked, his tone one of slight disbelief. "We're talkin' bout raisin' the dead here."
"Exactly!" Scott's voice trembled, but Logan couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement. "Can you imagine Logan, your loved ones being able to come back?"
"It ain't foolproof," Logan informed him. "According t'Justy, everyone has a biological clock inside em' an' she can't fight the clock. If someone dies of old age, or I'd guess if they really wanted to die, she could bring em' back, but they'd just die again. She claims it works best if whatever died still had time on the clock. Mags thinks that if someone had a strong will to live, she might be able to bring them back indefinitely, but there's no positive proof."
"Look at how many people die because of accidents," Scott pointed out. "How many people die that would have had years left. Think of how many people, how many of us have lost loved ones. Justine..." He paused and swallowed. "Justine's gift could give a lot of people second chances... at life, at happiness."
Logan's eyes narrowed. "I know what yer thinkin' Scott, an I don't like it at all. She's gone. You're married now. Ya got a kid for Christ's sake. So take that thought out of yer head!"
"I didn't mention any names," Scott began.
"You didn't have to!" Logan interrupted. "I can read ya like a book. Second chances at life and happiness..." He shook his head, trying to keep his anger in check. "Cyke, you weren't the only one who loved her," he confessed softly. "But there comes a time when ya gotta let go. Maddie loves ya..."
"Sometimes I think the only reason I married her was because she reminded me so much of... Jean," Scott confessed.
"If that's true, then you're a bigger shit than I thought you were," Logan snapped. "Maddie is a sweet person an' she deserves better 'n that. You'd better do your best to make sure she never figures out she's just a cheap substitute fer yer first love."
"She already has," Scott admitted softly, looking at Logan. "It's not good Logan. We're trying but..."
"Trying?" Logan raised his brows. "If you were really tryin' you wouldn't be sittin' here thinking what yer thinkin. Justine is just a kid for Christ's sake."
"I thought you said she was twenty-three."
"Emotionally she's a kid!" Logan snapped. "I don' care if she's one hundred an' twenty-three. An' even that don't matter. She's a person, not something we can manipulate int' doing what we want. Raise this person, raise that one.' It's wrong Scott. Everyone here knows it, an' deep down inside I think you know it too. Besides..." He leaned forward on the table, staring into the ruby-quartz glasses. "Jeanie wanted to die. She knew she couldn't handle the power of the Phoenix. It was no accident, it was suicide."
"But things have changed! I'm sure if she were given a second chance...."
"She's not going to be given a second chance!" Logan growled. "She's dead. She wanted to die an' we ought to respect her wishes. So get that fuckin' thought out of your head. Got it?"
Scott's head snapped back, realizing how angry and upset Logan was. "I-I'm not saying Justine should bring Jean back... I'm just..."
"Yer just thinkin' that rather than deal with your marital problems, you could just have Justine bring Jean back an' everything will be roses." Logan interrupted, still growling. "Well, life don' work like that Summers. Marriage is a lifetime thing, and, like anything special, if you want it to last, you gotta work at that, not go running at the first sign of trouble." He rose from his seat. "You've had way too much to drink tonight." He stated, looking at the empty bottles. "This ain't you talkin' it's the beer. Go sleep it off Scott, an' get these crazy thoughts out o'your head. Jeanie is gone, it's Maddie an' yer son you oughta be worryin' about."
Upstairs in her bed, Justine dreamed.
It was one of those dreams where she could watch herself, like watching a movie. She was a child in the dream, no more than four. She sat in her bedroom; her old bedroom with its bright yellow walls and flowered curtains. Her mother sat on the bed with her, holding something in her hands, behind her back. "Justine, Ah have something for you, something very special, very important."
Justine's eyes widened at the thought of this unexpected gift. "Really? What is it?" She tried not to bounce on the bed, anticipating a new toy or favorite treat.
Her mother moved her hands from behind her back, revealing a flat object, that looked like a plate. She handed it to Justine carefully.
Justine took the plate, her brows furrowing in puzzlement. It felt hard and smooth, like glass, but when she looked carefully at it, she realized it was so thin and delicate, she could see the vague outline of her hand pressed against the bottom. When she first looked, she thought it was white, but as she examined it closer, she saw it was really every color, like the inside of a seashell. "It-it's pretty, but what
"It's you Justine," her mother said; an explanation that left Justine feeling more confused. "Keep it with ya always."
Justine ran a finger along one of the edges, noting again how thin it was. "Mommy, if Ah carry this around with me, it's gonna break!" she complained.
"That's the risk ya take," Mother said softly. "Protect it Justine, it's the only one you'll ever have. If ya break it, you'll have to live with that too, you'll have t'live with the pieces."
Justine had so many questions, but before she could ask them, the room seemed to dissolve before her eyes. When she focused again, she was older, seven now. She was in the playground at school, obviously it was recess and she sat in the grass with her new (and best) friend Tamara. She still held the plate. Tamara held one too, but hers didn't look as delicate. Tamara's was thicker, sturdier. It was the same white-yet-every color Justine's was, but if you pressed your hand to the back of it, you wouldn't see it.
"How come yours is stronger than mine?" Justine complained. The girls were each examining the other's plate.
"Ah dunno, maybe cause we're different," Tamara said with a shrug. She looked around the playground, pointing to a group of boys. "Look at theirs!"
Justine looked and noticed suddenly that everyone was holding a plate. For some reason she almost expected to see this, but it surprised her to see so many of the plates looked different. She looked over at the boys Tamara was pointing to. Their plates seemed made of stronger stuff too, although a couple of them didn't look as strong as Tamara's. She noticed one boy, a couple years older than her, was spinning his plate on his finger. The plate seemed made of something much stronger, like wood. "Wow, his won't break!"
Tamara shook her head. "Nope, Victor Black is like wood. Crack and splinter, but never completely break. Eventually just rot away."
"That's his name?" Justine asked. She couldn't remember ever seeing this boy before.
Tamara nodded. "Yeah. He an' his Mom don' live too far from us." She looked at her friend, noticing her fascination with Victor and his plate. "Do yerself a favor Justy, an' stay far away from him. He's trouble. He's like a mud hole."
"Like a mud hole?" Justine asked, not understanding.
Tamara nodded. "Yeah. Ever step in a mud hole? You go t'pull your foot out an' it sucks onto your shoe so you pull your foot outa your shoe? Well, Vic is like a mud hole. You get too close he'll suck some'thin outa you."
"What?" Justine asked, horrified.
Tamara shrugged. "Whatever he can git from ya. He don' know how t'give, only t'take. He's trouble Justine. You're a giver an' people like him look for givers."
This was a confusing conversation for Justine. Tamara was sounding very much like an adult and that bothered her. "Ah don't understand," she said, pouting a bit.
"You don' have t'understand now," Tamara said, again sounding too adult for Justine. "Jess remember what Ah said an' keep away from him."
The dream shifted again, this time moving faster. Justine grew up in the dream, still holding carefully onto her plate. Although it still seemed like a burden at times, she didn't mind as much, she supposed everyone had to deal with it. There were a couple times when she almost dropped it, but she managed to rescue it just in time.
She made it a point to observe other people's plates. Some people were careless with theirs, other people were very careful, but everyone carried one around with them. Sometimes they handed theirs to someone else to carry, but eventually, they took them back. Sometimes Justine gave hers to Tamara to carry, and sometimes she carried Tamara's. She noticed that Tamara had an easier time of carrying both plates than she had. She didn't wonder why that was, she just accepted it.
She relived the highlights of her life again, this time holding a plate. The part of her that watched herself in the dream sort-of wondered what this was all about, but another part of her thought this was right. She let the dream unfold and carry her along with it.
Twelve years old and she was at the beach again. Justine-who-watched cringed, this was not something she wanted to relive, but Justine-in-the-dream didn't know. She held onto her plate and watched as Victor Black drown and the same people brought him to shore. This time she could see his plate. It was still wood, but splintered into a million pieces, resting on his chest. When she moved to help him, she tried to hand Tamara her plate, but Tamara wouldn't take it. "Ah can't help you no more Justy," she said solemnly. "If ya gonna do what Ah think ya gonna do, you're gonna be carryin' your own burden th'rest of your life. An' for a lot of that you going to carry it alone."
"You have to help me Tam," she complained, trying to convince her friend, but Tamara just kept shaking her head, no. Finally Justine gave up and went over to Victor, still holding her plate. This time, as she brought him back from the dead, she also watched his plate fixing itself. She stared as the wood seemed to knit itself together, drying out and becoming whole. When she finished, both Victor and the plate seemed fine, but Justine could see something was terribly wrong with his plate. The splintered cracks were still there; instead of being one whole piece of wood, it was fragments, held together somehow.
"You saved me Justine," Victor told her. This was different then the first time. The first time Victor was taken away to the hospital without saying a word to her, but this time he spoke. "Ah belong to you now."
"Ah don' want t'own you," Justine protested. "Ah jess wanted t'help ya."
"It doesn't matter. You brought me back, you own me. And Ah'll never forget it either. Don' you worry Justine. Ah'll take good care of you." He reached out to take her hand, and in doing so he knocked her plate to the ground. It broke in half.
Before Justine could scream or panic, someone came over to her, she didn't know who, but they handed her the pieces of her plate. The next thing she knew, she was in the basement, cradling her plate in her arms, crying over it. She tried frantically to get the pieces to fit, to make it whole again. Nothing worked; she had no way to seal up the crack.
Time sped up again, and the plate was still broken, but she didn't care as much. There wasn't much use for it to be whole in the basement. She didn't even keep the pieces pressed together anymore, so the plate looked whole. Sometimes she stacked them one on top of the other, other times she put the two rounded edges together, so the plate looked like two C's back to back. There was a part of her that thought this might be bad, to not care about it, but in truth, it didn't really matter. Nobody cared about her plate. Nobody really cared about her, so what did it matter that she wasn't whole?
The Blackness came, bringing with him fear, and the smell of death. He told her things, terrible things, things he'd done to other people. At first she would listen, wide eyed and horrified, but after a while, she stopped listening to him. His words upset her, so she tried to block them out. The Blackness didn't mind; he seemed to like her silence. Sometimes he touched her, held her tightly in his arms. She found that sometimes she liked it, liked the feeling of contact, other times it scared her. But she knew she couldn't stop him, nothing could stop the Blackness. She learned to submit, to just let it happen.
Then came the day Magnus came to the basement, bringing light with him, light and sunshine and something else...
Glue.
This time, as he lead her out of the basement, he took the pieces of her plate. "This will not do," he told her.
She shook her head, looking at him in amazement. It had been so long; she'd forgotten the plate was broken. It seemed perfectly normal to see it in two pieces. "What's wrong with it?"
"It's broken." He held up the plate, showing her how the two pieces fit together. "It should be like this." Then, he glued the pieces together, handing it to her. "There. Now it's fixed. We can leave."
"Where's yours?" she asked, taking hers back with a look of wonderment. She could still see the crack, but it was whole again.
"Some place safe," he told her.
"What about the crack? Will it really be all right?"
He smiled to her, a warm smile that filled her with hope. "Everyone's has some cracks in it. Life will constantly try to crack it, but you patch it up the best you can, and go on."
She followed him up the stairs, out of the house. She knew that if he asked her to, she'd follow him to hell. She also knew with him; she wouldn't have to.