Easier to Run

Easier to Run

Remy LeBeau stood at the bottom of the stairs staring up at the front door of the mansion. His hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. His bag was across his back. The wind whipped his coat around his legs. The rain would be there in a few minutes. He could feel his sister in the gathering storm. He closed his eyes and felt the tears gather at the lashes. He blinked them away. He opened his eyes to gaze at the place that he'd considered his home. He remembered the first time he'd seen the mansion. It had been nothing more than a hole in the ground. It had been leveled by one of the many teams' enemies. Storm had been unconcerned and things had worked out, despite the lingering slimy feeling that the Shadow King had left in the back of his mind.

The memories swarmed up of those early days before he'd remembered that he wasn't one of them, before he'd become Cyclops' spy and Xavier's thief. He remembered the easy days of laughter sandwiched between the fighting. His heart summoned up Rogue's face as she looked over the candlelight at him asking him if he wanted to talk about his wife's death, then smiling as they took a carriage around the park.

Then, in an instant of cracking thunder, those memories vanished. He mounted his Harley and gunned the engine. He saw Logan's face in the upstairs window watching him. He put on his helmet, out of courtesy to the concern in Xavier's eyes as he looked out from his office. It wasn't his home anymore. Rogue was gone and Scott was missing so there was no lingering loyalty to the team. Logan would find him or not as the whim took him. Storm would be happier to never see him again. The pain in her eyes was killing him.

He sped out of the campus and onto the wet pavement beyond the gate. He wove between the cars towards someplace he didn't know. He wasn't sure where he was heading. He didn't know who would take him in. He was alone again. He couldn't go back to Sinister, not without losing the tiny shred of humanity he was holding to his heart. He couldn't go to Jake, not until he found a way to restore him to himself. He couldn't go to New Orleans, even if he was the Guildmaster. He couldn't stand the cold emptiness in his father's study.

His attention wavered from the road for a moment, and illuminated in the lightening he saw the face of a child watching him. He pulled toward the side of the road, but the face was gone when he looked for it. He started up again and felt the slickness under his wheels. He was tempted to take off his helmet and feel the tears in the rain. He wove back and forth until he could barely remember what road he was on. He saw the child more clearly this time. She was there and she wasn't. It wasn't like Kitty in the middle of a phase either. This was a different feel. She was keeping pace with the bike.

He felt his heart flutter as he sped up. He knew he shouldn't. He couldn't risk his life now, not without an heir for the guild. What would they do? He was supposed to be their savior. He laughed bitterly to himself. He couldn’t save himself, how could he save anyone else.

The streets became residential again and he didn’t know why he knew the place. He found himself at the back gates of the mansion. He shook himself and turned away from the school. He stopped as he saw the little girl standing in the shelter provided by the enclosure of the gate. Remy stepped off of the bike and turned it off. He approached her. She disappeared through the gate. Her white dress should have been soaked to see-through levels, but it was crisp cotton.

The thief shook himself and turned on the bike. He had to get away. He was seeing things. He hadn't realized he was that crazy yet. He lifted his hand to gather a handful of the tears that rained around him. He poured them over his helmet and took them as his due. "I'll miss you, padnat."

He left down the back road again, taking turns at a whim, hoping his path would lead him into the depths of the countryside. He passed a vineyard and knew he was on the right track. He was deep in the middle of the country when he saw her again. She was laying in a ditch next to the road. He nearly spun out, stopping to check on her. There was no little girl there, just a scrap of white clinging to the end of a vine. He put it into his pocket. He shook his head. This sort of thing was why he had to leave. There were too many lies of omission in his life.

The road was more dangerous now. The winds were coming up and he could see the oil floating atop the water. The midnight moonlight was obscured by the dark clouds. He had to outrun the storm before he could be free. He knew that. He had to leave his sister completely. She was the last one he'd ever hurt and he was hurting her by his mere presence. She was turning reckless and he worried for her safety. She was beginning to act as if she had no reason to live and he couldn't see her throw her life away. Not when it was to prove that she believed in him.

The little girl was in a cornfield the next time, but he ignored her. She flickered as he passed her. The storm was behind him now and he sped up on the drier roads. He pulled into the next gas station and filled the tank, hiding the shaking of his hands in the simple action. The attendant watched him. "You need to stop and get some rest," she told him bluntly. He smiled at her.

"Y' know any place a boy like me could rest his sorry head?"

She smiled back at him. "There's old woman Morris' place. It's the big one with two lights in the front yard. She'll give you a room for a fair price."

"At this time of night, chere?"

She nodded. "She doesn't go out in the day. She's allergic to the sun."

Remy nodded. "I'll try her then," he said, not intending to do any such thing.

The girl behind the counter caught his wrist. "It's not safe driving at this time of night around here. Go to the left on the next street. Take a room for the night."

He felt pinned by her eyes. He nodded and left the store. He turned as instructed and found the house. There were candles in the front window. He parked his cycle. He slipped up the path, feet making no more sound than a cat as he padded up the stairs to the door. He knocked on it and it gave way to reveal an old woman. Her skin was parchment white. "Tracy called from the station. Come in young man. I'll get you something warm to drink, then send you up to sleep."

"Merci," he said. He dropped his head as he took off his coat.

"And take off those glasses, boy. There's very little I haven't seen taking in creatures at this time of night." He reluctantly took off the shades. He hung his coat on the rack, leaving it with a reluctant pat. He accompanied the old lady across creaking floors to the old but sturdy kitchen of warm wood and a small stove.

She looked him up and down, then pointed at the table. "Sit down. I'll make some tea to make sure you sleep the night."

"That's all right, mademoiselle, I be fine."

"Hush, child."

He folded his hands in his lap, feeling guilty about her fussing over him. She turned and set a teacup in front of him. He nodded his thanks and took a sip of it. It was warm and sweet and he realized suddenly that he'd been cold.

"Now, what's your name?"

The idea of lying to this woman fill his heart with dread as she looked into his eyes without fear. Her eyes were as red as his own. "Remy."

"And I'm Rebecca."

"Nice t' meet y', Mademoiselle."

"Come now, don't be dense. My name is Rebecca. We're both adults here. I'm not as old as I look, well, most of the time, I'm not." She winked at him. "Now, Remy, are you running to or away from something?"

He slumped forward, putting the tea cup down carefully. "I'm . . . I don' know no mo'," he said softly. "I t'ought I was over runnin', den folks got hurt by what I done b'fore. I ain't got nowhere t' run t'."

"Then you'll stay with me until you figure out your path."

"Rebecca, I. . ."

"Nonsense. You'll stay here. You'll get warm and get some rest before you decide where you're going. And you'll fix up the parts of the house that need it. Then, if you haven't decided by then, you'll get a job at one of the farms, or in town."

Remy blinked. His mouth worked a bit. "Oui, Rebecca."

"Don't worry. I won't work you too hard." She patted his hand. The feeling of skin on his own was foreign to him now. He felt the wave of pain cresting in his heart. He cleared his throat.

"Which room, Miss Becca?"

She beamed at him. "Follow me. I'll clear up here. I don't go around in the sunshine, hear? I don't abide it in the house at all. You keep the drapes closed and the doors too."

"D'Accord."

She led him up the stairs. "My room's on the first floor. Don't you worry about waking me. I sleep like the dead. You'll be in here. The bathroom's just down the hall. The door with the wreath on it. My last tenant thought it was sweet. I think it's cutesy. If you want to take it down feel free. This floor will be yours unless I need to take in some other unfortunate little bit."

"Merci."

"Sleep well."

Remy smiled at her. "Good night." He stepped into the room and couldn't help but smile. It was a cheery light blue with deep wood trim and a sturdy wooden bed. A captain's chair and a writing desk were in one corner. A small dresser was next to the bed. The window was covered by a stained glass mural of a ship on a stormy sea. He closed the denim drape and set his bag on the floor next to the desk. He barely stripped before crawling into the bed and burying his face in the pillow. He pulled the quilt up and fell asleep to the soft scent of cedar.

****

"Yes, Tracy, I took him in. What else could I do? The poor thing was dead tired by the time he got here. Took him too long to look for help, I think. Now don't you worry, you did the right thing. You just keep watch."

Rebecca Morris put down the phone. She climbed the stairs carefully, to avoid the squeaky ones. She opened the door to the captain's room and stepped inside. She looked down at the sleeping young man. She stroked his hair. "Only sweet dreams tonight, child." She cupped her palm and blew into it as if blowing confetti into the air. His eyelids fluttered, then stilled. She left him to sleep, closing the door behind her.

****

Remy woke quickly, but he didn't sit up. He wasn't exactly sure where he was yet and pretending to sleep seemed the best option. A moment later, he remembered and turned his head to look at the window. It was covered by the thick drape, but he could see sunshine leaking around the edges of it. He sat up. He stretched, feeling surprisingly good. He'd pushed it a little far the night before, he acknowledged. If he'd gone any longer he would've ended up under the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler.

He cleaned up and changed into a fresh tee-shirt. He didn't have much. Just a backpack with his tools and a change of clothes. He couldn't stay too long, no matter how nice Miss Becca was. He couldn't make himself call her Rebecca, even in his mind. He explored the house, noting that there were a few pieces that needed to be taken care of. He nodded. She was right. He could fix the place up for her while he decided. It would make a difference to her and it wouldn't hurt him.

He fixed himself a small breakfast and a pot of coffee. He collected the paper from the front step, but didn't read it. He left it sitting on the table for Miss Becca when she came down. He found the key to her shed in the junk drawer and went to investigate what she had back there. Behind the lawn-mower and snow-shovels was a good toolbox and a circular saw that seemed to need a little bit of work. No matter, he could fix that too. The little tasks of setting up the tools and fixing the saw kept his hands busy, but his mind still ran in frantic circles. He needed a good, stiff drink. It was three o'clock by the time he decided to clean up and find the local bar.

*****

Sheriff Willis glanced at the young man who'd just come in to Billy's bar. It was a little early for most of the locals. This one was definitely not a local. Billy looked up with a smile of welcome. "What can I get for you, son?"

"Bourbon, neat."

Billy chuckled. "You rooming with old Mrs. Morris?"

"Oui."

Billy nodded. He poured the drink. "This is Sheriff Willis. You just got into town last night?" The boy nodded. "Then you haven't heard about Maggie yet."

"Maggie? She related to Miss Becca?"

"No, it's not what you're thinking. I'm not warning you off someone's daughter."

That got Billy a wry smile. "You best warn them off m'. I ain't really a catch right now. Who's this Maggie, then, cher?"

Willis stepped in. "She's a little girl who went missing two weeks ago." He fished out a picture. The young man glanced at it. Then, he frowned, studying it. He lifted his shades up and ducked his head. The detective felt his brows raise. He wondered what the boy was hiding. It could be anything from bruises to a missing eye to a strange eye color.

"Was she wearing a night-dress when she went missin'?" the young man asked. "I found a scrap of white in a ditch last night. Pulled over cause I couldn't see too well. I take y' there?"

Willis blinked. "I'll drive, you direct."

The man bolted down his bourbon. "Name's Remy."

"Tom Willis. You got a last name, Remy?"

"Got one. Just ain't sure it's mine right now." Remy pulled out a ten and dropped it on the bar. He fished in his pocket for a second. He pulled out a scrap of white cloth. "Y' gonna want this, I t'ink. Was plannin' to use it for my hair now it's gotten long again." Remy shrugged.

Once they were settled in the car and started down the road, Willis began to question gently. "Why did you stop? Did you see the scrap?" He was used to Mrs. Morris' boarders being flat broke and willing to use anything they found to survive.

"T'ought there was someone in the ditch. Stopped t' help, but there weren't nothing there but the scrap." The young man shrugged. "Expect I'm goin' crazy."

The delivery was so matter of fact that the police officer frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"I seen a little ghost girl since I left home. Don't make no sense. We lost un bebe not a chile." Remy went still. "Merde," he murmured, staring at his hands. They were shaking.

"You and your wife lost a baby?" Pity welled up in Tom's chest.

"Non, m' sister. I was gonna help her raise it. She only lived f' about a mont'. Heart defect."

"She isn't married?"

"She was raped. I find the homme that done it, I'm gonna kill him."

Willis chuckled. "You probably shouldn't say that to me."

That startled a brief snort from his passenger. "Don't matter. Can't kill him anyways. Like a cockroach."

"You just need a bigger shoe."

"Heh. Y' okay f' a cop. Turn left here." Remy directed him to the ditch where he'd found the fabric. They stood, looking down into the ditch. There was nothing to indicate a grave. Remy turned in a tight circle, surveying the area. "Oui, this is it. Sorry, cher. Looks like nothin'."

Willis didn't answer. He studied the bottom of the ditch. "Go back to the car."

"Sir?"

The police officer looked at the confused face. "Go back to the car. I'll be there in a minute."

Remy shrugged. He settled in the passenger's seat, but didn't close the door. "Y' mind if I smoke?"

"Use the ashtray not the ground."

"Oui, M'sieur." Remy gave him a two fingered salute. He lit his cigarette and stared out across the field. Willis bent down and pushed at the soft soil. His gut screamed at him to arrest the young man who'd brought him here, but there was no reason to do so. Miss Becca didn't take in murderers. He called his deputy to bring the equipment. He looked up. He couldn't tell exactly what Remy was looking at because of his shades, but it looked as if he were studying the clouds. He tipped his head back and looked up. Damn, there was a storm coming in.

"We're going to be here for awhile. You need to get back into town?"

"Non. Put away the tools b'fore I went t' find a drink. Miss Becca say she don' like the sun, so I figure it'd be good f' ole Remy t' get out the house f' awhile. That's toward the ocean, oui?" he asked, voice thick.

Willis nodded.

Remy's head bent. He appeared to be praying and Willis decided to let him be. He got a tarp from his trunk to protect the ground when the storm hit. Willis' deputy, Ballard, rolled up with the van of supplies and a few extra hands. "Willis?"

"Help me get this tarp up. I think we have a burial site. Ground's sunken in here."

Remy's head snapped up. He looked paler than he had. He lit a new cigarette off of the old one. He stubbed out his old butt in the car's ashtray. Willis made a note to grab it for testing, just in case. It didn't take them long to find the first sign of a body. It was a tattered pink nightgown. It wasn't Maggie. Who the Hell was it?

Remy didn't do anything but smoke and watch as the team of deputies gathered evidence. The ME, Dr. Lamb, showed up a little later. She bent her head in a silent prayer before she carefully checked over the body. She took a few samples that she needed, then carefully stowed the body into a bag and took the little girl away. Willis leaned against the side of his car. "Cigarette, cher?" the young man offered. "Didn't see much, but, that weren't an adult was it?"

Willis shook his head.

"Merde. Chilen shouldn't have t' worry 'bout dyin'."

"No, they shouldn't. Where else did you see your ghost girl?"

"All over the place." Remy gestured down the road. "Been wit' me since I left home." He stilled. "Y' t'ink this ain't a one time thing. Y' t'ink some psycho's targetin' your town."

"Not just mine. The only kid missing here is Maggie."

"T'ink I need a drink, me."

Willis dropped a hand to the young man's shoulder. He squeezed. "Seems to me the scrap you found was just a coincidence."

"Don't believe in those. Not anymore. I'm gonna walk back t' the bar. See y' there, I suppose."

"You see anything else, you let me know."

"Oui, Monsieur."

****

"Bonjour, Miss Becca. Y' want m' to make some breakfast?" Remy offered. The older woman chuckled. She shook her head. She patted his cheek.

"You're a sweet one. I'll just have some coffee and toast. Don't worry yourself. And what did you get up to today?"

Remy smiled wryly. "Fixed up some of the tools and started makin' up a to do list. Went down t' the bar and helped the sheriff t' find a body. Looks like I ain't goin' t' be leaving town soon."

The older woman chuckled. "You weren't going to be leaving at any rate. Not right now. You still look worn. A few good meals and a few nights of real rest, then you can start talking about leaving." She busied herself making coffee. Remy settled back at the table with a book that he must have found in her library. It was an old leather-bound thing that she'd picked up because of the color. "What are you reading?"

"Three Musketeers. Y' speak French?" he asked gesturing to an open page.

She shook her head. "No, I just like books."

He smiled at her. "Y' sound like Papa. Always surrounded himself wit' books. Course he speaks ten languages. Made m' learn Latin. Like that'd help m'?" He rolled his eyes.

"How horrible. Your father made you study." She clucked her tongue. "I tell you. Parents are the cruelest people in the world aren't they?"

That startled a laugh from her boarder.

"And what else did your cruel father force you to learn?"

"Greek, Arabic, English, Parisian French," he sneered the term, "Latin, Spanish, Ancient Egyptian. Makers' marks. Architecture. Electricity. Plumbing. Carpentry. Furniture making. Paintin'. Sculpture. Sewin'. That was m' Tante t' be honest. Cookin' was Tante Mattie too. Fencin'. Parkour. All sorts of t'ings."

She looked at his ragged jeans and tee shirt. "A sound classical education. Did he send you to Europe?"

"Oui. F' six months or so. T' stay wit' friends of his. Want the Sistine Chapel me. Y' ever hear it went missin' it was me."

She laughed at that. He looked at her with the supreme dignity of a cat and she laughed harder. "Why Remy, you didn't tell me you were a thief." She waved it off.

"Nevermind. I don't care what you do so long as you don't do anything illegal while staying in my house."

"What y' feel on speedin'?"

She looked down her nose at him.

"Oui, Madam." He gave her a little-boy smile and she let him get away with it.

"Now, you go to bed early," she told him. "Don't try to stay up with me. I'm an old woman with an old woman's quirks."

"Prefer nighttime m'self." She raised her brows. "Oui, Miss Becca, Remy'll go t' bed early like a good lil' boy."

"Good."

****

Remy woke with a start. He thought he heard his Stormy crying and went to comfort her, until he woke for real, tucked into Miss Becca's blue room under the soft quilt she kept there. He bit his lip as grief welled up like a hurricane swelled river and tried to drown him. He buried his face in the pillow. He would not cry. He would not. He pushed the grief away, shoving it into a box in his mind. He'd deal with it somewhere else. Somewhere where he couldn't hurt anyone. The Danger Room? Scott's slightly sarcastic voice in his head suggested. The remembered sarcasm helped steady the thief. He managed to get out of the bed and to the bathroom without being crippled by the pain of his memories. He looked into the mirror. "Y' couldn't stay, Remy," he told himself. "It was like t' kill y'."

He was in the yard, working on the back porch when the sheriff found him. The man didn't speak for a long moment. He crossed the back yard to steady a piece of pine for the circular saw. Remy nodded a thank you and cut the piece to size. "You look like Hell, son," he said quietly. The younger man swallowed. Yeah, that pretty much summed up how he felt too.

"Been a bad year," he said finally.

Willis cocked his head in silent inquiry.

"M' sister was raped. Had a baby. Baby died. M' boss and friend disappeared. M' girl." Remy swallowed hard. "Found a way t' kill herself even on suicide watch. An' everyone was lookin' t' me t' take care of everyt'in'. Mon pere's gone and I'm t' take over the business wit' m' ex-wife. M' best friend ain't talking to me." He gestured to the sky. "I just can't take no more." He put the wood on the ground and hugged himself absently. He didn't look at the older man. He couldn't. There was too much of his brother there and Gods, that was a slap too.

Willis nodded. "Come with me, Remy."

"Where we goin'?"

"We're getting lunch. You're underfed."

Remy considered that. He wasn't hungry; hadn't been for months. "I'm fine, cher."

"Remy, come with me or I'll tell Mrs. Morris you're being stubborn."

That startled a laugh from the thief. "Fine. Let m' put up the tools. In case we get rain again."

Willis helped him move the tools. "You want to walk or take a ride?"

"Don't matter," Remy replied. He couldn't make himself care. He'd walked to the bar the day before. The town wasn't that big.

"I'll drive then. Just in case we find something."

"What 'we', cher? Ain't seen no more lil' girls."

Willis shook his head. "Come on. I'm buying you lunch."

"Don't worry, cher. I can pay my way." Remy looked down at his jeans. "This is fashion, non?"

"Not if you broke them in yourself. At least not according to my daughter."

"This daughter legal?" Remy asked.

Willis' eyes narrowed. "No."

Remy sighed. "Too bad. Could use a date, me. Some pretty femme t' spoil who ain't out f' my blood."

"Think that'll make it a better year?"

"Can't make it no worse." The sheriff helped put the wood away, then steered Remy to the cruiser. The younger man sat in the passenger's seat and stared out at the town. There was something strange about the place. Maybe it was the clean streets that looked like something out of a movie. Or maybe it was the fact that he wasn't riding in the back of the police car. He picked at the hole at his knee.

"So what do you want to do when you grow up?"

That startled a sharp laugh from Remy. "Y' act like y' get a choice, cher."

Willis' lips twitched up into a smile. "There's always a choice, son."

Remy snorted. "Y' start callin' m' 'son' or 'old son' we gonna have trouble. Jus' call m' Remy."

"Tell me about the man who hurt your sister."

Remy's throat nearly closed. He stopped breathing for a heartbeat. He swallowed roughly. He looked up at the old beige fabric that lined the roof of the car. "M' blood father. He kidnapped us bot'. Raped her. We got out, but, merde." Sinister's placid countenance rose in his mind's eye. The scientist meant no harm. He even had the gall to consider creating the child a gift. "Pull over, cher. I need t' move."

Willis parked the car and Remy was out on the sidewalk a moment later. There were three small handprints in the square he was standing on. He knelt to trace them. So young and innocent. Dieu, keep them this way, he prayed. "I'm sorry." The cop looked down at the handprints. "I was hoping to just be able to help catch him or warn against him."

"I don' t'ink about it much. Took Stormy 'bout a month t' decide t' keep it. Hurt her so bad. Spent time in her gardens and not talkin' t' anyone. An' he don't even understand what he does hurts folks. He don't understand and I can't make him." But he could. The professor and Jeannie had been making non-subtle hints about the changes in his abilities that had happened during their captivity. He was likely going to develop into some kind of spook. Sinister always had liked the idea of modifying him. More like than not, he'd done it while Remy was unconscious.

They stayed there in silence for a full minute and a half according to the little clock in Remy's subconscious. "Come on. The diner's not far and I promised you a meal."

"Y' just want m' statement."

"That too."

****

Willis sat down heavily behind his desk.

Ballard cocked his head to the side. "Need coffee?"

"Just need to know why parents hurt their kids."

His deputy grimaced. Mike Ballard had two daughters that were just entering into their teens. "This have to do with Mrs. M's newest stray?"

"His father raped his sister in front of him."

"Ah."

"And she got pregnant. The baby died less than six months ago."

Ballard blinked. "I didn't think he was that young."

"That's the thing. He's not. From what I can gather neither is she. So it was just some psycho power play." Willis shook off his musings. "The report back from Dr. Lamb?"

"You're not going to like it."

already don't like it."

Ballard stood up to pace while he read. "The body is female. Age is somewhere between nine and fourteen. She is likely Caucasian. Cause of death is a gunshot to the forehead. She's been buried there for at least four years."

"Christ." That was when Willis had been the deputy and Ballard handled the clerk duties. "Is Krakowski pulling the files?"

"Yeah. I got her started as soon as I found the dates. She's also been on the phones all day with the neighbors. We've got three missing girls that match Maggie's description."

"How long between them?"

"About four months. The oldest one is a year ago as of two weeks ago." Ballard looked down at the papers in his hand. "Tom, this could have been going on for years. That asshole who used to sit at your desk would never have told anyone about it." His lips twisted up on the right into a half-smile. "Looks like Old Lady Morris' magic to me."

Willis snorted. "Right. If that holds, then her new stray should be able to find all the missing girls and the murderer. Given that the last time I saw him, he was heading to Billy's to get a bottle of something to help him pass out, I don't think that's going to happen. No, we'll find them. We'll get second shift to go through the files and try to find our girl."

she's from here."

"Mike, you are just a fucking ray of sunshine."

"It's a gift."

****

Rebecca put her hands on her hips. Her lodger smiled at her sweetly. "You, my sweet little boy, are drunk."

He blinked at her. "Non? I hadn't noticed. Y' want some? I t'ink I got some left." He shook the rum bottle and it sloshed. "Oui. I do."

She snorted. "And why are you drunk at nine o'clock?"

"Been drunk since t'ree or so. It's fun. Don't got t' t'ink. Y' want some dinner? Mebbe Bananas Foster f' desert?"

She laughed. "No, sweetheart. You go back to your bottle and I'll make myself some breakfast." She stroked his bangs out of his face. Despite the heavy five-o'clock shadow, he looked young. Her lodgers got younger every year. He turned into her touch like a cat.

Remy read t' y' some? Y' got some good poetry here." He gestured with a small green leather-bound book.

"You can read while I eat," she agreed. "Shall I make you something to soak up the rum?"

"Non. Ruins the rum." He settled bonelessly in a kitchen chair.

Something unexpected twittered deep in her body. She turned away so he wouldn't notice. He was a handsome devil. He reminded her of her late lover. They'd never married, though she'd been willing. She'd never been able to get pregnant. That was a blessing. It gave her more energy to deal with what came after his death. No, she told herself firmly, he is too young. If he needs that kind of healing, he'll find one of the willing young things at the bar. His voice rolled over her with sweet poetry. She smiled. Martin had bought her that book just before he left for England. Something to remember him by. Warmed by the pleasant memories and the company, she made a more extensive breakfast than she'd planned. There would be plenty to share.

****

Remy sprawled on the couch next to his landlady. He'd dumped the last of the rum into the fire for the gods. The bottle lay abandoned on the hearth. He snagged a book from the stack on the side-table. Miss Becca had the unread parts of the newspaper neatly sectioned and folded on the table next to her. The read sections were growing in a pile on the floor. The flickering light of the fire was all that light the room. It should have been too warm, but that wasn't really a problem for him. He was used to warmer temperatures than New York usually had at night. He read easily in the low light. As he read he gravitated toward the older woman. Eventually, his eyes grew heavy and he laid his head on the worn velvet next to her hip.

She stroked his hair as he hovered somewhere between sleeping and waking. The gesture reminded him of something. A ghost of a memory teased him. He reached out for its worn edges and pulled the feeling of safety and contentment toward him. It was a tattered memory of a woman who treated him kindly. He couldn't remember where or when, just that he'd loved her then. It was enough for now.

****

Ballard leaned against the car while Willis crossed Mrs. Morris' lawn to hold up the edge of a board to create a top-cap for the porch. Her latest stray shook his head. "Y' sure you ain't psychic, cher? Always seem to turn up when I'm wishin' I had another hand."

"Nope. I just keep circling until I notice you're getting near the end of a section."

The young man snorted.

"And how's the hangover this morning?"

"Don't get hungover, me." Remy smirked. "Did feel like a dead cat took residence in m' mout' though. Teach m' t' drink rum." He shrugged. "Somet'in' I can do f' y', Sheriff?" He looked over at the car. "Oh, y' have a friend wit' y'?"

"Mike Ballard. My deputy."

"Bonjour." Remy touched his forehead in an absent salute.

"Those other places you saw your ghost girl, how far from town were they?"

"Hang on." Remy finished putting in a few more screws. "Y' want t' go f' a ride, oui?" He sighed. "Won' be much help. I didn't track where I was ridin'. Just wanted t' be away from where I was. I'll go ridin' and see if I recognize anyt'in' this afternoon. D'accord?"

Willis nodded. "Stop by the station is you recognize anything."

"Oui, M. Willis. Now, I got some sandin' t' do. Merci, f' the loan of y'r hands." The young man nodded to Ballard, then easily jumped over the fence to get the sandpaper from the toolbox. Ballard held his tongue until they were in the car. Willis pulled out toward the burial site.

"Tom, you really think he'll find something?"

"My gut says yes."

"Huh. I sort of miss Gladys. She was one hell of a psychic. And she was trained."

The sheriff shrugged. "Can't have everything. She found her parents and went home again. Can't begrudge her that."

"So they didn't freak out that she was a mutant?"

"Her mother told her that 'the sight' ran in the family and that she shouldn't have run away in the first place."

Mike laughed. "She was prettier though."

"True enough. Let's grab lunch after we look around and head back to the office. Krakowski will be missing us."

"She'll get used to it. I did."

****

Remy settled his helmet in place. Given his luck, the sheriff would see him without one and give him hell. Probably tell Miss Becca so she'd yell at him too. He revved the engine. He took off just under the speed limit to wander the edges of the town. Well, chere, he thought to the little ghost girl, you still around? He drove aimlessly, making sure not to get outside of the ring of twenty miles he'd made for himself. He relaxed into the ride, learning the lay of the land in what was quickly becoming a new base of operations. There was nothing to steal here, but there were also no memories, and no well-meaning people to badger him about talking.

A flicker in the corner of his eye was the only warning before the ghost was there. She stood still and solemn, looking at him with tear-filled eyes. He pulled to a stop, but she didn't disappear. "Who are y' then, petite?" He flipped the front of his helmet up. She didn't speak, just faded away like smoke. He opened the storage under his seat and found the chalk he kept there for putting guild-marks onto buildings. He marked the fence post with an x in a circle. He cringed back from the mark as soon as he'd made it. He'd intended just to put a cross on the wood, not that. He put the chalk away and drove on.

After an hour, his shoulders still felt like elevator cables. He pulled up in front of the sheriff's office. He took of his helmet and stared at the unassuming building and it's plain black and brown sign. He mounted the three steps to the front door with his helmet dangling from his fingers. He pulled open the door and stood for just a moment. Crossing the threshold was the first time he'd voluntarily entered a police station. He smiled automatically at the woman behind the first desk. She gave him a customer service smile in reply. "Bonjour, chere. Sheriff Willis in?"

"Yes. He's here. Let me call back to his office. What's this about?"

"Jus' say Remy's here."

"Oh, you're the one staying with Mrs. Morris. I'm Lisa."

"A pleasure t' meet y'." Remy felt his smile tightening. Bon Dieu it was a good thing he hadn't taken of his sunglasses. He didn't want her to notice the smile didn't make it to his eyes.

"Just go down the hall. You'll see the desks beyond the interview room." She pointed down the hallway.

"Merci, chere." He noted absently the way the pulse on the side of her neck surged and the light blush that grew on her cheeks. Merde, he'd have to be careful if he had a lady-cop crushing on him with a few words. He screwed down his control of his charm. "Sheriff?"

"Hi, Remy."

"Saw her again, if'n y' want t' go look. Ain't sure it's anythin'. Pro'bly ole Remy goin' nuts is all."

"Come on. Let's go take a look."

Willis looked tired. There was a stack of files on his desk. Remy cataloged them absently. "Merde," he whispered, reaching for one folder. "Dis one's from Westchester, non?"

Willis smacked the back of his hand. "Police files are confidential."

"Right, cher. Remy'll just sneak in durin' the overnight and take a look. Pas de problem." He shrugged. Mentally he snorted at himself. It was something he'd just hack from the server if he were really interested.

"No, you'll do no such thing. Yes, she's from Westchester. You've heard about the case?"

"Oui. Pretty t'ing wit' freckles and a mean fast-ball. Only 'bout nine years old. Was all over the news when she was took. 'Bout t'ree years back." He frowned. He narrowed his eyes on the name, willing the memory to come. It was getting to easier to think the past few days. Still, it took time for the memories he knew were in his mind to surface. "Dragged the lakes in the neighborhood jus' in case. Summertime. Just went 'poof' out of her room. Didn't take her sneakers or not'in', accordin' t' the papers. Helped t' search the woods f' her, but we was pretty sure she weren't there."

"We?" Ballard prompted quietly.

"Whole county turned out, it seemed." Remy felt the frown pulling at his lips. "She ain't the lil one y' just found. From what her mom said, ain't no way she'd be wearin' pink."

"Let's go see this new site. We're supposed to be getting more weather this afternoon." Willis herded the young man

Remy sighed. Of course they were getting rain. Stormy was still upset. "Right."

****

Ballard's eyebrows rose when they stopped by a fence-post with a chalk-mark on it.

"Marked it when I saw m' ghost-girl." Remy leaned against his bike, smoke wreathing his head. The dark glasses seemed almost red as the afternoon light illuminated him from behind. "If'n this is real, y' owe m' a bottle of rum and a candle so's I can pray t' get rid of it."

Willis shook his head. "You'll learn to control it."

"Don't need nothin' like this in m' life an' that's f' sure." The young man ran a hand through wild bangs. He sighed.

Ballard looked into the strip of grass between the road and the field. "I'll get the shovel."

"And a tarp. I'll get the camera."

"Just in case, oui?"

Ballard paused at the pleading tone. "Just in case." Something relaxed in the young man's shoulders. Too bad that relaxation wouldn't last. The edges of the burial site weren't something he'd have noticed if he hadn't been primed and if he hadn't worked with a psychic before. Gladys had found them two dead bodies and five missing people before she'd left town. He did miss her though. She was pretty, smart, and not interested in men. She was refreshing. Krakowski was already swooning over this one. Too bad she hadn't unbent enough to let Gladys date her. That might have kept her in town. They found the first bone four feet down. Remy looked up from his book when the dirt stopped hitting the pavement. "Fuck," Ballard said quietly.

"Take that t' mean it weren't a mistake?"

"No."

Remy bent his head. His bangs obscured his face. "I go get y' some dinner then, I suppose. Since y'all are gonna be out here f' awhile."

"We'll get something later. Thanks, though."

Ballard shook his head at his boss. Idiot. "Why don't you go for a ride?" he suggested.

Remy snorted. "Ain't gonna relax enough t' find anything. 'Sides it's gonna be dark soon and Miss Becca'll be upset if'n I'm too late."

"You can head back, if you want. We know where you are. No reading police files." The deputy narrowed his eyes at the suddenly studied innocent posture.

"Course not, cher. Remy'd never do somethin' like that."

"Bullshit. I'll call Lisa and tell her not to let you in the back without us."

"Y' just out t' spoil m' fun ain't you." Remy put on a mock-pout. "Fine. I'll just sit here and read m' book. Y' tell m' when I should head back so's not to be out too late f' whatever curfew y' got 'round here."

"No curfew. Just a lot of clean-living people."

****

Willis looked over the autopsy report. He sighed. Ballard didn't bother to look up. "Same as the last one. Think we should call the FBI?"

"You want to put the handcuffs on Remy or shall I?"

The sheriff snorted. "True. Wonder if we'll get another body today?"

"Well, cher, looks like m' timin's just perfect." Remy leaned against the wall. His chin was covered in stubble. He hadn't bothered to shave. Mrs. Morris wouldn't care. They'd have to watch Lisa though. Her last boyfriend had been an idiot biker. At least Remy had some construction skills.

"You saw your little girl?"

"Twice. Couldn't sleep, me. I show y' where. Mebbe y' let m' look at some of the files? Better'n readin' in the paper."

"No, police files are confidential."

"Y' keep sayin' that, cher, but then y' go and trust in some sort of ghost-girl that y' can't see on m' say so and I start thinkin' that y' ain't that narrow." Remy raised a brow in challenge.

"Mrs. Morris would have my head if I tried to seduce you onto the force."

The younger man blanched. "M' brother'd be spinnin' in his grave, he heard such talk. I ain't ever gonna be a cop."

Willis felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Come on, then. Show us where our victims are."

"Y' got more faith'n me. I'm just goin' mad. Major depression wit' psychotic break." Remy nodded decisively. "Makes more sense'n me seein' ghosts."

Ballard laughed. "Well, you're not the first psychic we've worked with. Train it up and we'll be able to swing a paycheck for you."

Remy's jaw worked for a moment before he settled on saying, "Merci." He shook his head. Willis clapped him on the shoulder as he passed by. Remy jerked back as if he'd been shocked.

"Are you okay?"

"Mebbe Remy had a small spill on his bike. Not'ing major. Just bruisin'."

"I'll get the doc to look at it for you."

"It's fine, cher. Remy knows his body well 'nough. Been hurt worse. Let's go prove which one of us is the crazy-man."

Ballard snorted. "That's Tom. I've met his wife. He's absolutely insane."

"See if I invite you over for BBQ next time I make it."

A small smile scurried across Remy's face. He led them to two more bodies.

****

"Miss Becca, I been seein' a ghost-girl, but she don't seem to be any of the girls that been killed."

Becca pulled Remy's hand across the couch until she could hold it in both of hers. He was a good half-way through his rum. "And have you been telling Thomas where to find these little girls?"

"Oui. Don't mean I like it none."

Becca patted his hand. "You'll get control of it soon enough, dear. Have you been sleeping?"

"Not last night, non. Hopin' the rum'll help t'night."

"Getting drunk every night isn't good for you."

Remy snorted. "Better'n nightmares."

"Come closer, Remy. Lay your head down here." She patted the couch next to her thigh. "I'll tell you a bed time story."

He looked at her skeptically. She kept her gaze steady. Something he saw there decided him. He laid down and closed his crimson eyes. "Once upon a time when the world was younger and the sun was old," she began.

****

Remy woke to a tight ball of worry in his stomach. He was on the couch in the parlor and he didn't remember what story Miss Becca had told him the night before. It didn't have knights or dragons, he knew that much, but he couldn't bring the real memory into focus. He laid there, with his eyes closed, smelling the lingering wood smoke and rum. The loa brought dreams, Tante told him once. Maybe that's what his little ghost-girl was. Some relative he didn't know.

"Why was you at the mansion?" he murmured. There were no dead children on the grounds there. There were no answers for him in the smell of smoke though. He opened his eyes to the plastered ceiling. There was a small crack between the crown moulding and the ceiling. He'd have to re-caulk and paint it. His heart clenched. Rouge usually took care of the moulding and trim when they were restoring part of the mansion. She could hover better than Jean or Storm. Storm and Jean took care of the outside details. He and Rogue took care of the inside. The rose colored walls of Miss Becca's reminded him of the rose wallpaper that was still sitting, stacked unevenly in the back hallway waiting to replace the yellow walls that neither of them had ever liked. A tear fought its way out of his eyes and dripped down his face until it ran into his ear. He blinked rapidly.

No help for it now. He had to do something with his hands or he'd sit and stare at the walls seeing calm green eyes. He made himself breakfast. It tasted like ash and he could almost understand why she'd stopped eating.

The back porch needed sealing and painting. Then, maybe he could add little gingerbread to it and start making the place look like the Victorian lady it had once been. White for the porch and then some blue and green details. Miss Becca seemed to love the sea. Maybe he'd see if there was a hobby shop and pick up some paints. He'd loved painting once.

****

"You want to go check on your project?" Ballard asked.

"No, give him a day to rest up. He'll stop by if he finds anything more." Willis rubbed his eyes. He dropped the file folder onto the no pile. He picked up the next one.

"Maybe we should take him up on having him read folders. He might get a hit."

"Not until he's trained a little longer. Mrs. Morris told me he's having trouble sleeping. And the barman says he's buying bottles of rum to take home rather than drinking in the bar."

Ballard grimaced. "I'll talk to him. Or we could get Lisa to do it."

"No, not Lisa. His girlfriend killed herself."

"Jesus Christ."

"Yeah, his sister's rape, dead baby, and dead girl. I'm not going to push him right now."

"Poor bastard." Ballard opened his next folder. "I think I've got a winner here. Lorraine Giles. She was wearing a pink nightgown when she went missing. One city over."

"Call doc's office and tell them you're bringing it over. Let them share the wealth."

"I'm just such a giving person like that."

****

Remy's hands remembered how to layer the paints, even as the thoughts of the model distracted him. Storm's face was roughed in. Her hair wild and tangled with flowers and leaves. The background of orchids and ivy was soft focus, but her eyes would be sharp and crystal clear. She was a goddess and he'd show her as such.

The soft glaze of layers gave her skin the luminous glow of lightening running under her and through her. Her white hair whisped across the canvass. He built the oranges, greens, yellows, and pinks of her favorite flowers as they peeked through her hair and kissed the edge of her skin.

Lost in the world of his paints and memories, he never felt Miss Becca's hand smooth over his hair. He ate the food she left without noticing. He never even saw her smile.

****

Willis checked over the porch. It looked solid. "Got the sealer on it yesterday, I see."

"Oui. Doin' the primer t'day. Y' want t' help?"

"Wish I could. You seen your ghost lately?"

"Non. Ain't gone nowhere but the hardware store and the craft store. T'ought the girl behind the counter at the craft store was gonna mug m' though."

"Dark hair?"

"Oui."

"Bethany. She's our resident punk rocker."

"She a painter too?"

"Yeah. Mostly abstract something or other that the big city types seem to like."

"That's cuz they be fools and easily lead. Ain't sayin' all abstract is a con, but sure 'nough most of it is. Ain't like DiVinci or somethin'." A stripe of primer ran down the back of Remy's left arm.

Willis snorted. "Sounds about right to me. Bethany is serious about it."

"Got t' be t' sell it. Why she still workin' at the store? Don't she got an agent?"

"She's just out of high school."

Remy didn't stop painting. He frowned at the underside of the porch. "What that got t' do wit' things? She needs t' find a gallery and just get her stuff out there."

"She wants to find a husband first."

Remy snorted. "Ain't no fun bein' married that early. Trust m', cher. Someone's got t' break her of that idea."

"You?"

"Ain't m' thing. Don't give advice me."

"Too bad. She won't listen to anyone from around here."

"I'll take a ride later. Mebbe m' ghost-girl'll show up b'fore the rain."

"You think it's going to rain?" Willis looked up at the cloudless blue sky.

"Oui. Gonna rain."

The sheriff took that as true with a nod. "I'll see you later then."

****

"Miss Becca?"

"Yes, dear?" She looked up from the newspaper. Remy shifted uneasily from foot to foot. She looked at him with raised brows.

"Y' let m' paint y' a portrait? Need t' get back int' practice." He needed to remind himself that there was something left in the world that he could love. He'd supported himself doing streetside paintings in Paris for a summer. He'd still been pure then, no deaths to mourn, no blood on his hands. Maybe he could recapture some of that innocence in gesso and pigment.

She laughed in delight. "Of course. If you want to paint a wrinkled old lady like me, feel free."

He gave her a pale version of his smile and went to get his sketchbook. He drew several quick drawings to remind himself how to do it. Then, he started doing little doodles to remind himself of what he wanted to draw around her. She propped her head on her chin as she read her book and he felt it as she forgot his presence. That was just perfect.

****

Ballard looked up from his file. "Are you sure we shouldn't let him take a look at the files? If he's getting good information, it would help us find the victims more easily."

Willis scrubbed his eyes. "I can't make him a deputy when he won't even give me his last name."

"We'll call him a consultant. That worked well enough last time. Though I still contend that she was cuter."

"She was a she."

Ballard snorted. "True. That makes a difference. What does Mrs. Morris say about him?"

"That someone hurt him and that he needs his rest. So we're not allowed to pester him." Willis held his hands in front of him like a choir boy. "I promised we wouldn't."

"But you're going to go see him right?"

The young man in question cleared his throat in the doorway. "Got one more f' y'. And I'll look at the files and we don't tell no one I done it. Just give y' some eyes. Figure you got t' double-check anythin' y' been told anyhow."

"True."

The men followed him on his bike. He stopped at the edge of a field. He looked off into the field and not at the burial site. He seemed pale. Willis settled him on the hood of the car with an evidence jar for an ashtray. Ballard carefully strung out the crime scene tape and started the excavation. They found the small body just as Lamb arrived at the scene. The doctor's eyes narrowed as she saw Remy. "Is he your new psychic?" she muttered quietly. Willis nodded. "Fair enough. You've got another child for me, I'm guessing?"

"Yes."

She bent her head and whispered a quick prayer before she went to work. He admired her for that. He was ready to give up on faith. He went to lean against the car. "You don't have to stay."

"Ain't no reason to go, neither." Remy rolled the cigarette between his fingers. They were stained with paint near the cuticle. "Y' smoke, cher?"

"No. And you shouldn't."

Remy snorted. "Been smokin' since I was fifteen me. No reason to stop. Not like m' wife cares or m' sister's got un bebe t' worry on. Non, Remy's gonna smoke an' hope that the gods take him quick."

"You play poker?"

The young man paused a moment at the change in topic. "Oui?"

"There's a game at the bar. Starts at 8 every Thursday. Penny stakes."

"Merci. Mebbe Remy'll drop by. Ain't played in mont's me. M' regular game sort of dropped off when Scott went missin'."

"Scott?"

"M' friend. M' boss too. Everything's been fucked up since den." He shrugged. "Ah, who knows, life non?"

"Yeah."

"Ballard, come here. We need a hand with the body-bag."

****

"Who is she?" Miss Becca asked. Remy looked up from his book. He found himself staring at the face of his sister.

"That's Stormy. M' sister."

"She's beautiful."

"Oui." Remy put in the bookmark. "We ain't related by blood. Picked her up when she was a runaway and I was lookin' for a travelin' companion. Needed someone t' show m' how t' live again."

"Is she that much younger than you are? The white hair is deceiving, I'm sure."

"Well, it's a long story, but she ain't as young as I t'ought she was when I picked her t' be m' lil' sister. She's actually older'n me by a few years. Seems a lot older when she's playin' regal and frowning at me."

"And are you running away from her as well?"

"Ah, merde, Miss Becca. Ain't nothin' f' me t' say t' her right now. She deserves a little time off from havin' t' look at m' and see everythin' that went wrong." He blinked rapidly. Miss Becca crossed the room and pulled him into a hug despite his protests. She felt good. Warm and soft. He let himself breathe in the soft smell of her soap and the fresh crisp scent of apples in her shampoo. He closed his eyes. She rocked him gently and stroked his hair.

"It's okay to cry, baby," she murmured into his hair.

"If'n I start, I ain't never goin' t' stop."

"Hush. It's okay. Sweetheart, I'm used to getting a little wet."

He choked out a laugh. He tightened his grip around her waist. It was enough just to be able to touch someone. He thought of Rogue and the careful orchestration it took to get her into his arms. The first few tears fell and he fought them. Them burned the back of his throat and were like acid in his nose. "I can't. Miss Becca. I can't."

"You just relax and let yourself calm down some. Then, you can drown your sorrows in rum and I let you sob into my lap like a Victorian poet."

He snorted at that. "Best let m' get a tissue. And mebbe I drink Champagne instead of rum t'night. I tell y' all about m' girls and y' can explain why Rogue done killt herself and Stormy can't look at me."

"It's a date." She gave him a firm squeeze. "I'll just make some dinner. I drink red wine, by the way."

"And Remy'll go get somethin' t' drink." He pulled back. It was like forcing himself through a training mat to move. He wanted to bury his face in her chest and let her mother him. He forced his spine straight like Scott pretended he needed to do to be a strong leader. Maybe it would help. The man had survived losing his girl and his children after all. There were worse examples to follow. He tipped his chin up until he felt almost arrogant. His chin twitched under the force of his tears. No, he wasn't going to lose it until he could blame it on the champagne.

****

Ballard leaned against the newly repaired railing and surveyed Remy's work. "Good job. You planning to do some work inside now?"

"Gonna shift t' the night-shift f' that, actually. I'll need t' do it when Miss Becca's awake. And not hung over." He twisted his lips into a wry approximation of a smile. "Y' here to let m' look at pictures?"

"I'm here to offer you an official position as my office's psychic. We've had one for the last twenty-five years."

Remy stared at him for a very long moment. "Bon Dieu. Mon pere finds out about this he gonna beat m' black and blue," he muttered to himself. "Oui, M. Remy'll keep lookin' f' little ghost girls. Long as that means I get t' look at files too?"

"It does. It'll give you a nice and shiny new ID card too. One that you don't have to pretend it real."

"Hey, now. Remy's ID's are good in all fifty states. And a few countries too." He stuck his tongue out at the sheriff. Ballard chuckled.

"It also comes with a paycheck."

Remy stilled. "Oh. Non. Don't need the money. Merci. Bad enough I'm workin' wit' y'. M' family finds out I took y' money, they'll kill m'. It just ain't done." He thought for a long moment. "Put it in a trust fund, non? F' the future. Some kid wants t' get out of town, y' help."

"I'll do that. If you change your mind, let me know."

"Oui." The young man took a long drag on his cigarette. "Let's go look at files then, cher. Y' can drive or we can walk."

"I walked over." They rambled through the town quietly. Remy chained his cigarettes. The wreath of smoke above his head was vaguely disturbing, like a little cloud of doom. "So why don't your parents like the police?"

Remy shook his head. "Non, cher. Me workin' f' y' don't give y' pryin' rights. Jus' let it be. Bad enough we got real skeletons t' deal with, no need t' be diggin' up other ones." He stopped suddenly, eyes focussed squarely on a picture in the window. "Who's that?"

"Our star, Maggie Lawson. She's got a series of books and a new television show."

"Huh. Looks familiar. Mebbe I've seen her."

"You should give her a try. They're good books. Even I liked them."

Remy snickered. "Not a reader, cher?"

"I read enough case-files."

"Ah, but t' lose y'self in a book. It's beautiful." Remy sighed out a breath of grey smoke. He ran a hand through his hair, loosening his ponytail absently. His bangs slipped down into his face. He didn't bother to blow them out of his eyes.

****

Remy sorted the files quickly. He had his own system of filing and he didn't want to have to explain it to anyone else. It wasn't as simple as being alphabetical or by date. It wasn't even by age. He'd never processed things in a linear fashion. It was one of the reasons he and Xavier fought. He didn't think the same things were important. He sat cross-legged between the two desks with three stacks of files in front of him. Ten files later, he rubbed his eyes. "This one ain't one of the missin'. She was killt."

"By our man?"

"Non, by her parents."

Ballard and Willis frowned at him. "That case hasn't been solved."

"Non, it ain't been prosecuted. She was a mutant. Her father killt her. Her mother buried her."

Willis leaned forward. "How do you know that?"

Remy chewed at his lip and looked between them. "It said here in the notes. She be positive f' the x-factor. And there were traces of blood on her papa's clothing. They just didn't have enough evidence t' proceed." He shrugged. "Get y'self a telepath and have them ask. They find the truth. Ain't a jury that'll convict on that evidence, but most like you could get them t' confess with a little pressure. Merde, Remy probably be able t' do it. If'n he had a some time with the mother."

"Not the father?" Willis kept his voice calm.

Remy's eyes focussed on a scene in another place and time. He could see the small battered body on the floor and the grim satisfaction of the man standing over it. It wasn't this poor girl on the floor though. It was a tween the team had been too late to save. He and Logan had taken care of the man without telling Scott. The death of children always tore up their field leader. He remembered Logan's claws glistening with blood before they pulled out of the man's chest. Remy had torched the place and made sure no one called the fire department until it was too late. A little hacking later and no one even remembered the man's name.

"Remy?" The soft voice pulled him back to the here and now. "You're sure about this?"

"Oui."

"I'll talk to Smith and see if he's willing to reopen the case. It might be time to close some of these files." Willis took the file from Remy's hand. "You keep looking and see if you find your ghost."

"Oui, M." Investigating murders and disappearances was a challenge. It kept his mind occupied enough that he hadn't even thought of his Stormy in two hours. At least until the storm started to buffet the windows. He frowned at his sister's tears. De sole, Stormy, he thought. De sole.

****

"Time to knock off for the night." Willis kept his voice calm. Remy nodded absently and flipped a hand at him.

"Know how to close a door me. Ain't like y'all got locks worth mentioning."

"Remy. Time for dinner and bed. Especially if you're thinking of running a night-shift."

"M. Willis, don't y' worry non about me. Y' got plenty on y'r plate. Let m' keep going and see if I find the pattern. Easier t' sell a jury on a pattern than a vision, non?"

Something warm curled around his chest. He frowned. "Are you trying to manipulate me, Remy?"

The young man looked up. The frown on his face deepened. "De sole. Weren't on purpose. M' charm gets away from m' sometimes." The warmth dissipated. "Still, I leave y' good notes on the board there, oui? Then, I go t' bed when I'm feelin' more tired."

Willis narrowed his eyes, but there was no rule on their books that said that their consultant had to be accompanied while looking at files. "Fine. Do not stay here beyond midnight. You'll worry Mrs. Morris."

"Oui, M."

"And no smoking in the building."

All he received was an absent nod. He studied the psychic for a long moment. This was Remy in his true element. The housework was just something to keep his hands busy. The paints that stained his fingers were probably the same. This was someplace he excelled. Hunting down a stubborn lead or finding a sliver of information. The boy was a researcher. He'd have to take him to the library and get Sharon to tempt him into volunteering. She was good at the tempting part at least. Willis smirked to himself. Marion the Librarian had nothing on Sharon Watts. Remy looked up through his bangs and over the top of his glasses. It wasn't enough to truly show off his eyes and that might be an issue sometime soon. "Who y' thinkin' on, cher? Hopin' it ain't me. I ain't got the reserves t' be seducin' a cop."

Willis blushed bright red. "The librarian. I think you'd like her."

Remy snorted. "Mebbe in another life."

****

Sharon leaned over the counter a bit to study Willis' newest victim of matchmaking. "Why, hello there." She gave the young man her best smirk.

He barked out a laugh. "Chere, don't bother puttin' on a show for this po' boy. He ain't got the heart f' it."

"Too bad." He was just her type. Tall and well-built with a bit of bad boy scruff and hair that she itched to wrap around her fingers. She gave him a more friendly smile. "So what can I do for you?"

"I thought you might need a little help. And Remy here is trying to stay out from under Mrs. Morris' feet for a few hours."

She raised her brows. "Translation. You want me to seduce him to make him smile. Failing that, you want me to interrogate him until I worm all his best fantasies out of him. Or, failing that, you want me to give him a rolling cart and set him to shelving or weeding the collection."

"Sharon, I would never imply that you were a woman of loose virtue to a new person in town. I simply thought that he might enjoy helping you with your research. He's got a head for details."

"Merde, cher. Stop. Y' just makin' this worse. Bonjour, Miss Sharon. M' name is Remy. Willis here tried t' put m' on his payroll and now he feels responsible f' m'. F' a belle femme like y', Remy'll do some work. Just t' make sure the tec here don't get too fussy."

Sharon licked her lips. "You speak French?"

"And English. Passably."

"Anything else?"

"Now, that's f' m' t' know and you t' find out, non?" Remy made shooing motions at Willis. "Go. Y' done y' duty t' introduce m'. Go back t' work and see if'n what I wrote makes any sense."

"Take good care of him." Willis winked at Sharon. She shook her head at him. They'd had a beautiful fling once. Weren't many men in the town who couldn't say the same though. He left Remy to her care. Hopefully, she wouldn't beak him.

****

"Now, what y' need m' t' do, chere?" Remy asked. The librarian smiled at him. It was a sister's smile and that was just what he didn't want to see. "Books t' shelve?"

"Are you good with computers?"

"Oui."

"Then, I have data entry that needs to be done. I've been digitizing the old microfiche so the kids can do computer searches." She ushered him into a small, cramped back office that was filled with towering stacks of paper and a poor isolated computer and scanner. Remy winced when he realized the poor thing's case was choked with dust.

"Mebbe y' let m' clean some?"

"Touch my stacks and die."

"Dustin' okay? Need t' clean out the fan on this poor computer."

"There's some compressed air in the top drawer. I'll show you how to work the scanner and leave you to your own devices. Stay as long as you want."

"Y' promise not t' try t' make friends?"

"I promise. Although, if you want to go to dinner some night, let me know. We can talk about how Tom is the world's biggest busybody and whether or not I should bother expanding the language courses."

"Keep it t' business and oui." Remy nodded. "I ain't lookin' f' anythin' more than that."

"Don't worry. Just because Tom can't keep it in his pants. Or, well, any of the men in this town who aren't married." She shrugged. "Hell, I'd sleep with Magneto if he'd pay for a new computer."

Remy shuddered. "Don't say such t'ings, chere." He paused. "Not t' say too much, but you ain't Magneto's type I don' t'ink."

"Not all mutations are visible," she chided.

"That a confession?"

"Depends. Are you Tom's new psychic."

"Looks like."

Sharon grinned. "I just happen to have a photographic memory and the ability to predict where the roulette ball is going to fall. Nothing that's really a talent."

Remy pushed his shade up to the top of his head to expose his eyes. He put a finger to his lips. Her eyes widened and her smile turned brilliant. She mimed locking her lips. He dropped the glasses back over his eyes. He turned his focus to the little computer. Sharon pressed against him shamelessly as she showed him how to work the special program for the transfer. He nodded at her instructions. It felt strange to feel the softness of her breasts against his shoulder. She was warm and her perfume smelled lightly of jasmine and roses. She curled her fingertips into his hair. "Chere."

"I know. I know. I'm not going to get a chance to pet you, so I'm stealing my opportunity right now."

"If'n y're nice enough, I'll give y' a peck on the cheek, oui? Y' got an external database f' these?"

She guided him through a few more parts, then left him to his own mind. He worked methodically through the papers. He stared at the picture of the missing girl. She didn't look like his ghost, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was the first one. He emailed a copy of the article to his own address. He needed to follow up on it with Willis. Could be he was insane. Could be that her brother had lost his head.

****

Ballard was startled to find Remy reclined on the floor a stack of files under his head. He was sleeping relatively peacefully it seemed with a mug of strong coffee gone cold in front of his nose. He had a newspaper wrapped in his arms like a bizarre teddy-bear. Ballard cleared his throat. "Oui, I heard y'. Let m' know when Willis gets here."

The deputy shook his head and went to his desk. Everything seemed to be just an inch off from where it was supposed to be. "Remy, did you mess with my desk?"

"Mebbe. Y' tell me."

"Did you move everything? How long have you been here?"

"Miss Becca tried t' send m' t' bed around one, but I weren't tired. Figured I'd best get out from under-foot though, so Remy come here. Took a nap. T'ink y' lady tried bringin' m' coffee this morning." Remy poked at the coffee mug. "Sweet of her." He was still wearing his sunglasses, which made the entire scene a little more ridiculous.

"All you need is a beach towel and an umbrella."

Remy flashed his teeth in what might have been a smile or might have been a warning. Ballard didn't push any further. Remy settled back into sleep. His breathing was too light for it to be anything more than him just staying still though. "If'n I has a nightmare, just kick m' boot. Don't touch m'."

"I won't." Their last three psychics had a problem with being touched too. He wondered if it was something to do with their powers or if they'd all been abused before Mrs. Morris straightened them out. His mind wandered along his memories. He didn't remember Mrs. Morris ever looking any younger than she did right now. He didn't get to see her much, of course, since he didn't have to work the night-shift if there wasn't something pressing. His wife had been one of her runaways. Remy's breathing settled and he drifted into something that resembled real sleep. That was good. Mrs. Morris would have their hides if something happened to one of her kids. He opened his email and sorted through the alerts. There was a new missing girl. "God fucking damn it," he muttered.

"Don't let Linda hear you using language like that. She'll get testy."

"Morning, Tom."

Willis nodded to him. He looked down at the young man on the floor. "My hips ache just looking at him."

"Getting old, man."

"Don't I know it."

"Got a possible lead for y'all." The psychic didn't move from his spot. "Y' know Milton Franklin?"

"Old man who owns the farm on the far end of town," Ballard supplied.

"His sister went missin'. Back when he was still a young'n." Remy sat up. He pulled a stack of white paper from the floor behind him. "And I got a feelin' – just a feelin' mind – that he's y'r boy." He handed over the stack of information to Willis.

"We'll go ask him about his sister's disappearance."

"Non, look at it all first. Y' askin' him about his sister's murder. Recon it was his papa who done it. And he hid the body so his papa couldn't do nothin' to it. Then, he started takin' girls t' protect them. He travel much? Figure y'all might have noticed if all the little girls done gone missin' in town."

"I don't know him that well." Willis frowned. "You go on home and get some real sleep. I'll look into this."

Remy gave them a lazy wave from the door a moment later. "Diner open this early?"

"Yes."

"Bien."

"Well fuck me," Willis muttered.

"Don't let Linda hear you."

****

"Miss Becca?" Remy shifted under her gaze. He felt like he'd just had a three hour lecture from Cyke and she'd only just looked at him with a frown. Not even Mattie had that skill.

"Where did you sleep yesterday?"

"Floor of the sheriff's office." He bit his lip and looked through his bangs at her.

"Don't try out your little-boy look on me. You will go upstairs and get a proper rest tonight. Am I understood?"

"Oui, Miss Becca." Remy went up to his room. He wanted her to be his mother so badly. He wanted to be able to curl up on her and take her for granted and all the things he imagined a mother would put up with. He looked at the half-finished portrait of his Belladonna. He should finish it before the oils dried too much. He opened the thinner and uncovered his paints and set to work. Her hair was stuck to her cheek with the humidity of the swamps. There were leaves and knives and beads all tangled up in its length as it tumbled over her shoulder. Her mouth was curled up in a smile that was half-way cruel. He made her blue eyes spark with the heat of her passion. The swamp built up behind her in dark greens and vibrant flowers. Her collarbone was exposed by the blue tank top and he detailed the edge of her lace bra. This was his wife, not the Guildmistress he left in charge of their united guild. Merde, he needed to call her.

He finished the portrait before he looked at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning again. If he woke her up, she'd actually kill him. He wanted to hear her voice though. He dialed his cellphone. "Remy? Where the Hell are you?" Belle demanded.

"New York, just not with the team," he told her. "I had to get away for awhile. I didn't see anything in my email."

"When was the last time you checked it?" Her voice was sour. "Never mind that. You're alive. Are you unmaimed?"

"Oui. There's nothing wrong with my body."

There was a long pause. "What haven't you told me?"

He eased down on the far side of the bed in the dark shadow thrown by its bulk. There, he could press his back to the wall and duck out of the light. "Told you about Rogue? And about Stormy's bebe?"

"That Rogue was sick, yes. And that Storm had a little girl that was yours, which means she was mine. Annabelle."

There was thick silence. "Rogue's dead."

Belladonna took a deep breath. She let it out in a hiss. "I'm sorry you loved her enough that her death hurt you."

"That's my Belle. Purposefully honest."

"Oui. And Annabelle?"

"Died. Heart defect." Remy's voice caught. He heard Belle's breath hitch. They'd wanted children. Two or three young children to fill up their row-house in the French Quarter that Marius had given them for a wedding present. He was practically sterile though and Belle, she'd had two miscarriages. He flashed to the morning they'd found her. Annabelle was a beautiful child with mocha skin and Remy's red eyes. She had her father's hair and her mother's nose. She was wearing a white silk confection that Betsy had found for her. She lay still in the cradle. Her lips were blue. Storm had called for Hank while Remy had simply touched her cold skin. There was no pulse and his powers had told him that he could charge her body. She was well-dead when they found her.

"Husband?" Belle's voice called him back.

"De sole, chere. Got lost for a moment."

"Do you need me there?"

He took a startled breath. "Is it possible?"

"Oui. Of course it is. Tell me where you are and I will come. Gris-gris as well. To watch over us."

One breath, then two passed while he considered it. "Non. Not right now. It's... I hear her crying on the wind."

"Oh, Remy." They stayed for a moment, simply listening to one another breathe. "Call when you need me and we will destroy Vegas."

He felt a wan smile on his lips. "Vegas. We get married again, non?"

"Non. You will marry Storm this time."

He barked out a laugh. "Merci."

"Sleep, husband." It was delivered in a general's voice. "I will pray for the little one." That was much more softly spoken.

"Goodnight, sweet wife." He hung up the phone and crawled into the bed, not even bothering to take off his jeans. He buried his face in his pillow and cried for his dear Annabelle.

****

Rebecca carefully settled a cup and pitcher of water on the bedside table. She sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed down Remy's hair. He turned into her touch like a cat. His face was tear-streaked. He didn't wake as she stroked gently over his hair. "Sweet dreams," she whispered. She tucked the quilt around his shoulders. She carefully closed the paint thinner container. She placed his pallet back into the ziploc bag he used to keep it wet. "And who are you, I wonder?" she murmured to the blonde who stared out from the painting. There was more than a hint of recklessness in her face. The tangle of her hair and the delicacy of her collar made her look like she'd just finished a party. She was a happy memory then. That was a good thing. She covered the portrait with the canvas wrap. She dropped the brushes into the small open container of thinner. It probably wasn't the way they should be stored, but it would keep them from getting hard. She turned off the lights and shut the door behind her. The cheap dried flower wreath swung on its hook.

She went to her own rooms then. There was no reason not to take a nice bath and read for a bit. She poured a measure of lavender oil into the bath as it ran. She undressed carefully. She studied herself in the mirror to see what age she was today. She washed away the makeup that emphasized her age lines. It wasn't that she didn't have wrinkles, mind, just that she sometimes made sure they were obvious. Her body was just starting to sag, like she'd entered middle age. She needed to start walking around the town again. But she still had a room to let and she didn't want to not be there when her next child needed her. She slipped into the bath. The warmth surrounded her and she relaxed into it.

****

Remy rubbed at his eyes. It was nearly noon and he needed to get to the hardware store for paint. The front porch and the living room needed to be repaired. He frowned at the brushes in the cup of thinner. He didn't remember putting them there. In fact, he barely remembered getting into bed. Miss Becca must have done it for him. Just for that he needed to make her something special. He rubbed at his fingertips, but the green paint there didn't rub off. He shook his head. He'd forgotten how paint felt under his nails.

He realized he was humming an old lullaby when he took off his helmet. He shook his head at his own foolishness. He stopped dead. His little ghost girl was standing just outside the hardware store. He stepped toward her and she retreated. She was frowning at him. He couldn't decide if she were impatient or just upset. She led him through the back alley to a simple residential street. She stopped just outside the smallest house on the block. She rippled and faded away. Remy bit his lip. He wrote the address on the back of his hand. He looked left, then right. He had no idea where she'd led him. He turned right and started walking. Maybe something would trigger his memory.

****

The skies didn't turn cloudy in the afternoon. Willis cheered the return of normal weather. Remy stood, shifting from foot to foot by the car. "This is the place?"

"Oui."

"Inside or out?"

The young man pointed to a patch of scraggly wildflowers. "Just there."

Willis studied the area. He frowned. The edge of the wildflower patch was too even. He hoped to God it wasn't another little girl. Dr. Lamb was going to kill him. He needed to find out if it was private property or if the town owned it. He called Ballard. "Call the judge and find out if we need a warrant for the space between the Warden's fence and the road."

"Y' can ask them f' permission. If'n they say 'no', y' still know more'n y' did."

Willis frowned. "Innocent people refuse searches."

Remy rolled his eyes. "Y' ain't askin' t' be allowed inside. Y' askin' to dig up part of the space between the fence and sidewalk. If'n it were evidence in a trashcan, it'd be legal, non?"

"I'll wait for the judge's decision."

"Small town. Only way t' get a judge t' answer that quick is t' have dirt on him. Tell y' true."

"Judges are actually capable of caring about justice."

Remy snorted. He lit a cigarette and crawled up onto the hood of the car. He laid back across it and stared up at the cloudless sky. "Y' keep believin' that. Mebbe it's actually true. I ain't never met one that weren't more interested in findin' a frail f' the night or a bit of cash t' pay f' his meals. Worse'n lawyers. Lawyers ain't taken an oath."

"I'll introduce you to a nice lawyer."

"She work part time t' make up f' that?"

Willis chuckled. "You'll like her."

"Tec. Willis, y' a matchmaker at heart. Y' remember I got a wife and jus' lost m' mistress, non? I ain't in the market."

"Friends are always good to have."

Ballard called back. "Judge says that a warrant is on the way. I'll bring it with the tarp.

"Don't forget shovels."

"I'll bring one for our psychic."

"Somehow I don't think we'll get him to dig."

"Hell no!" Remy stated.

"I'll bring it anyway. In case he gets bored." Ballard hung up.

"Y' brought m' on as a psychic, not hard labor." Remy put an arm over his eyes. "Probably need the exercise." He sighed.

"You don't have to stay."

"Y' say that, cher, but I got t' see it t'rough. Keep t'inkin' I'm goin' crazy."

"Well, I'm not a shrink..."

"Y' know, I lived wit' a shrink. Pretty sure he was a crazy bastard."

"I don't even want to untangle your love-life."

Remy sat up. "Merde. Non! Ain't never slept wit' him." He shuddered. "Ain't m' type." He pointed at Willis. "Y' owe m' a drink f' that."

"When this is over, I'll buy the drinks."

"Deal."

****

Remy stretched. He twisted until his back was loose. He looked across the backyard. He did an experimental jump to test the ground. Then, he did a tumbling run across the grass. He smiled and did a chain of backflips back to his starting position. He ran through a series of sumersaults and rolls that would get him through the cameras and lasers in the Vatican. Just because he didn't have a pilot on hand to fly it away, didn't mean he couldn't start his plans for the Sistine Chapel. That thought caused a sharp shard of ice in his heart. Damn it, Scotty, why'd you have to be self-sacrificing?

Then again, Stormy knew how to fly. Maybe he could get her to focus on a flight path to make it out with the thing. He braced himself for a moment, perched like a cat on the top of the fence post. The crushing pain didn't steal his breath this time. No, he was hollow, lonely, no matter how many people tried to help him. He missed his sister, but her tears were still coming every afternoon. He could feel her in the storms. Someday he'd be able to face her again.

He did a slow walkover to the next post. Then stretched his spine again. It popped in the small of his back and he grimaced. His Papa would hide him for slacking off in his practice no matter how upset he was. The wood was rough on his hands and he made a note to sand it down and paint it for Miss Becca before he left. He jumped to the ground and landed with a roll what would take him under enemy fire and set him up underneath Bete if they were fighting in the usual formation. His breath caught at the shame that settled in his gut. Henri deserved a phone call if nothing else.

He came up and ran through the usual kata before taking a running start at the stockade fence in the back. He was at the top of it in seconds. He let himself drop to the ground and ran the back of his wrist across his forehead. He was losing his touch. There was a slow clap from the porch. "Impressive," the sheriff told him.

Remy dropped him a theatrical bow that he didn't feel capable of smiling through. "T'row money not flowers," he said. The bantering call was automatic from years of running occasional magic shows on the street. Slieght of hand was good practice.

TBC

Meteora Index

XM Bedroom