The Shadow Walker series, Separate Trails
By JF
Jackson
Part One
Time: The Present
Place: New Orleans, Remy LeBeau's house
Yawning, Remy shuffled into the kitchen and started the coffee maker. The clock above the stove read 10:00. He stared at that for a moment, then stared at the coffee maker. Again, he discovered that no matter how hard you stared at a coffee maker, it did not make the coffee drip any faster.
Scratching his stomach, he looked for cigarettes. There were none on the table, and since he was wearing only boxer shorts, there were none on his person either. He had a little debate with himself if he should go look for his cigarettes now, or wait for the coffee. He compromised by taking a cup and putting it under the drip of the coffee maker and letting it fill half way. He pulled the cup out with one hand and replaced the pot with another.
Sipping the coffee, he wandered into the living room. His coat was lying on the sofa, where he had left it last night. He headed over towards it, turning on the stereo. He found the cigarettes in one of the pockets of his coat. Lighting one up, he sat on the sofa, one hand still curled around his coffee mug.
The tuner on the stereo was still set to 92.3, WCKW. He could not remember how it got there. Maybe Gabriel set it to that when he was over. Maybe the girl he brought here last night had. Oh, dat was a disaster, he thought.
It had started out innocently enough, these things always did. He and Gabriel, out of sheer boredom, decided to go out, have a few drinks, listen to some music, and kill some time. It started out like that, but Remy had been...hungry. He had not drunk any blood since Gabriel had fed him. Since they were in a bar, he decided to do the logical thing, pick up a meal. That part had been easy, there were plenty of women around, plenty that were more than happy to go home with him. He finally chose one and left with her. If Gabriel had any opinions on this, he did not offer them, which Remy was glad for.
He brought the girl here and set about on the task. Luring her into the bedroom was not hard. After a couple beers in the living room, she had practically dragged him there. Everything proceeded as planned. Clothes came off; the ritualistic mating dance began. Remy put his own spin into it, biting her neck and drawing blood.
That was as far as it went.
Somewhere, in the middle of it all, the desire Remy had for her left. The blood was good; there was no mistake about that. It was sweet, warm, and delicious. But the desire to bond with her in a physical way was gone. He knew he could not have, even if he tried. Instead, he probed her memory, altering it so she would think more happened than it did. It easy, almost too easy.
"Wow, that's the best I've ever had," was her only comment.
Her remark filled Remy with a sense of self-loathing. Am I still a man? He wondered, looking up at the ceiling. Or have a lost that? Am I now just some new creature? Not man, nor mutant nor vampire, but some cross between them? All and none? Will this become habit? Picking up women for blood and filling their heads with memories that never happened? Like Rhiannon's song said, Where do I go from here? Who do I know from here? I'm on the outside looking in.
The only good thing was that the girl had left instead of spending the night. He did not know what he would have done if he had to wake up and see her again. She left her telephone number on a strip of paper on the dresser. He knew he would never call her.
Crushing his cigarette out in the ashtray, Remy tried to clear his head. On the radio, the morning jocks, Walton, and Johnson were in the middle of one of their typical prattle sessions, this one mostly involving picking on Governor Mike Foster. Play some music, he thought. Play something dat I can listen to, something dat will take my mind away from my own thoughts.
Almost as if he had sent them a mental command, their talk ended and music played instead. Dat's better. He took a swallow of coffee and leaned back to listen:
Forgive me if my
fantasies might seem a little shopworn
I'm sure you've heard it all before. I wonder what's the right
form
Love songs written for you, it's been going down for years
But to sing what's in my heart seems more honest than the tears.
I am curious, don't
want to hurry us.
I'm intrigued with us.
Ain't this song a bust?
I don't care, dark star.
His eyes widened. No, he thought. No, no. no. Not dis song. He knew he could just get up and turn off the radio, or find another station, but he did not. He just sat there, listening:
I met you several years
ago,
The times they were so strange, but I had a feeling.
You looked into my eyes just once,
An instant flashing by that we were stealing.
Another time you felt so bad,
And I wasn't any help at all as I recall.
We didn't quite know what to do so we left the wanting be
Still there for me and you.
Well, they had not met "several years ago," but it seemed like it. Looking into his eyes? Yes, she had done that several times, as he had as well. Both of them, trying to figure the other out. Even as she had tried to push him away at the beginning, she also tried to pull him closer. Feeling bad? Yes, that was there. Sometimes it seemed to Remy; Rhiannon spent most of her time feeling bad about herself, and about everything she ever did. Was he ever any help to her? He would like to think he was, but the truth was he probably was not.
Dark star, I see you in
the morning,
Dark star, a' sleeping next to me.
Dark star, let the memory of the evening
Be the first thing that you think of
When you open up your smile and see me, dark star.
It's easy to be with
you
Even with the storms that rage beneath your search for peace.
We must make some time together
Take the kids and find a world that's ours to keep.
Now you've got me dreaming girl.
It's been so long that I thought that I'd forgotten how.
My heart is once again my soul.
We touched, we did, you know we did, no more teasing now.
Easy to be with her? Yes and no. Kids? Well, she had a daughter. She had not seen her in years, but that did not mean she was not a part of her heart and soul. Stop reading so much into this stupid song! he ordered himself.
Dark star, I see you in
the morning,
Dark star, a' sleeping next to me.
Dark star, let the memory of the evening
Be the first thing that you think of
When you open up your smile and see me, dark star.
He suddenly laughed, almost spraying coffee out of his nose. Well ain't dat appropriate, he thought. I wonder how you doing, Darkstar, AKA. Rhiannon, AKA Mesmerize, AKA whatever you callin' you'self dis week? What'cha up to now dat I'm not dere? You goin' for another X-Man t'take my place? Le'see, you had me, Scott an' Bobby. You tried for Logan but he turn you down flat. Mebe now dat you ain't a kid, he take a crack at you. If not Logan, mebe Bishop. Might loosen him up a bit. Or, how 'bout Joesph? He take Rogue from me, why not you too? Joeneto, de love machine.
Even as these thoughts were coming to his head, he was ashamed for having them. It seemed like he spent most of his time alternating between missing Rhiannon and thinking terrible things about her. Dat's what 'appens when you get de chance to climb into someone's head and see dere memories, he thought. You get a good dose of all dere bad feelin's 'bout demselves. He knew part of him was still angry with her. Angry that when he had bonded with her, instead of just bonding, she had turned him into the same thing she was a human-vampire cross. He also knew, deep down, that it was as much his own fault as hers. But he was not ready to admit it yet.
She's my lover, she's my sire, a regular Freudian nightmare, he thought as he wandered back into the kitchen, for a full cup of coffee this time. He brought it back out, sat on the sofa, and lit another cigarette.
He wondered about this bond with Rhiannon, if it was still there or if distance and the fact that he had so far refused to tap into it was affecting it. He suspected it was still there, just waiting for him. Sometimes, at night, he dreamed about her. Strangely disconnected almost always erotic dreams about her. He suspected that the mental walls they had both put up grew thin when they slept, and when they were both sleeping at the same time, they were able to connect on some level. Which mean she been 'aving de same kind o' dreams, he thought. Wonder what dey do t'her? Wonder what she do 'bout de problem? He knew what he did about it, and he was starting to feel like a pre-teen boy again.
More out of curiosity than anything else, he gently lowered the walls, trying to probe the bond. What you doin' right now, Rhiannon, he thought.
A light sweat broke out on his forehead as he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He did not want her to be aware of him, if he could avoid it, but he did want to check on her.
Suddenly a wave of nausea hit him and he almost vomited on the sofa. Quickly, he jumped to his feet, running for the bathroom, coffee, and bile struggling to come up. He barely made it, falling to his knees and pouring the contents of his stomach into the toilet.
As quickly as he could, he shut down the bond again. The moment he did, his stomach began to settle. Rising to his feet, he walked over to the sink to clean out his mouth. What de hell game is dis you playin', Rhiannon? he wondered as he brushed his teeth. It never occurred to him there might be a very good reason for her nausea.
Time: The Present
Place: Jackson Square, New Orleans
Yawning, the girl looked around the "square." One hand clutched tightly at the handle of her guitar case, the other held onto a strap of her backpack, which was around her shoulders. Ah don't think Ah've ever been so tired in my life, she thought. Ah hate buses. There was no way Ah could have slept surrounded by those weirdoes.
She spotted an empty park bench. Summoning as much energy as she could, she made her way over to it and sat down. She imagined if her legs could speak, they would sigh in relief. She had gotten off the bus several hours ago, tired then, but afraid to stop. Ever since, she had been walking around the streets. Ah'm an idiot, the girl told herself. What was Ah thinking, running away with less'n eighty bucks to my name? Make that less than ten with the ticket an' all such. Shoot, Ah'm in so much trouble Ah might as well jess take that knife in my pocket and stick it in my throat.
Despite her negative thoughts though, the girl could not help but shake the feeling of relief that washed over her. No matter what the future held, even if she did get to the point where she wanted to die, she was free. "My life is in my hands now," she muttered. "No one is ever gonna to make me do anything Ah don't want to." If only she could find a place to sleep for a few hours!
Part of her knew she was stupid to try this. New Orleans was a big place and the only reason she had come here was because of a memory she had when she was four years old. A man she had met. He found me and he brought me back to Sarah and John, she thought. She fought back the tears that always came to her eyes when she thought about Sarah and John. Of all the foster families she had lived in, she loved them the best. They had been planning to adopt her until a car accident had taken their lives. Don't think about that, she told herself. Think about why you're here. Think about finding him, Gabriel Knight. He helped you once when you were lost, maybe he can help you again, cause if there is one thing you are now, Kierra Lestan, it's lost.
She rose from the bench, her legs protesting. Since her legs were unhappy, her stomach decided to join forces and growl at her, reminding her she had not eaten anything since the two candy bars she bought when she got off the bus. "All right, all right," she muttered, not caring if she looked crazy to the other people in the park. "Ah'll git somethin' t'eat, jess shut up an' quit grumblin'." She spotted the Lucky Dog vendor and smiled. That'll take care of one need. She looked up towards the sky, noting the sun was high over head. "With any luck at all, I'll have 'im found by th'time it gits dark," she murmured.
Eyes narrowed into steely slits of black and red, Remy stared at the telephone. He had been doing this on and off for a few hours and nothing had changed, the telephone was exactly the same.
Do I call or do I not? he asked himself. He picked up the telephone, hearing the dial tone blearing. That had not changed. The phone was still working. He hesitated, looking out the window. The sun was beginning to set. What a waste of a day, he scolded himself. Either do it or die. He clicked the receiver, resetting the dial tone, then punched in a number.
When he heard the first ring, he almost hung up. He realized he was gripping the telephone so tightly his knuckles were white. "Why am I doing dis?" he whispered.
The second ring had barely begun when the telephone was answered. "'Lo, Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning."
Remy breathed a sigh of relief at the deep, gravely voice. He had been afraid Scott would answer the telephone, and he was not sure what he would have said in that case.
"Hey Gambit," Logan said.
"H-how did you know it was me?" Remy asked, brows furrowing.
"Heard your sigh. Y'know, you even sigh with a Cajun accent," Logan said.
"Oh." Remy fumbled for his cigarettes.
"Particular reason why yer callin'?" Logan asked.
"Uhm..." Remy hesitated. All afternoon he had thought about what he could say, how he could put this, but now he had actually made the call, all the words he had rehearsed in his mind seemed to fly out of there, never to return. "Uh... I uh... 'ad a question..."
"Really?" There was the faint trace of amusement in the X-Man's voice. "We haven't heard word one from you in a little over three months an' suddenly, clear out o'the blue ya call t'ask a question? Must be a mighty important question."
"Oui, it is," He managed to fish a cigarette from the pack and light it. "I-I need t'know if you'd do me a favor."
"What is it?"
Remy took a deep drag and blew the smoke from his nose. "I-is dere any chance you can go an' check on Rhiannon for me? I-I can tell you where she lives." He found the words rushing from his throat in an effort to explain himself before Logan could object or question. "You don' 'ave to tell 'er I sent you. She may not like dat anyway. But could you jus' go an' check on her?"
There was a moment of silence before Logan spoke. "Why you want me t'check on her? You miss her?"
"Oui, of course I miss her," Remy said, scowling. He did not want to tell Logan about feeling her nausea earlier. "An-an I jus' wan' someone t'check on her an' see if she's all right."
"She was takin' care of herself before you came along. What makes you think she can't, now?"
He wanted to hang up the telephone. Why was Logan questioning him? "I know dat, I jus' wan' t'make sure she's okay. Is that wrong? I mean, I did kinda... jus' run off on her."
"Over three months ago," Logan reminded him. "Why the concern, now?"
"I don' know!" He took a deep drag from his cigarette, trying to steady her nerves. "I jus' 'ad this feeling somet'in was wrong!"
"Don't get your jock in a knot, I'll check on her," Logan suddenly said, a trace of amusement in his voice.
He was surprised at the rush of relief he felt. "Okay, Logan. She live on-"
"I can find her, easily," Logan interrupted. "She's living at the mansion."
"She's what?" Remy asked.
"Livin' at the mansion. Well, it was real nice talkin' t'ya Remy."
"Wait a sec!" Remy protested. "Why is Rhiannon at the mansion?"
"Why don't you come back an' ask her yourself?" Logan said. "See ya' around, Gumbo."
Before Remy could protest again, there was a click. He hung up the telephone. "Merde!" he cursed. "What de hell is goin' on dere?" Why would Rhiannon be at the mansion? Was Logan having one on him? After how Rhiannon and Scott felt about each other, he figured the last person Rhiannon would ever stay was the X-Mansion.
"Somet'ing really strange goin' on up dere," he muttered to himself. The telephone rang. He picked it up and said, "'ello," hastily, half-expecting it to be Logan.
"Hey, bloodsucker."
His lips twisted into a wry grin, despite is anger at his earlier conversation with Logan. "'Ello, Gabriel."
"Aw, I'd think you'd show me a little more enthusiasm that that," Gabriel's voice purred in his ear. "Do you treat all your former dinner partners this way?"
Remy chuckled. There was something about Gabriel that made it hard for Remy to stay angry and he had no clue what it was. Something about the man's easy-going nature, just seemed to click with Remy. Typically, one might almost expect them to be enemies. After all, Remy was a half-vampire and Gabriel was a Shattenjäger, someone who hunted down those things that went bump in the night. Then, on the other hand, the both of them had too much in common. They were both good-looking men who knew it, and were not afraid to use it to their advantage. Besides just physical good looks, they had a similar easy-going charm. Normally, it would be too many differences and too many similarities to make it easy for them to get along, but they did. More than that, they had become friends. "What up, Gabe?" he asked.
"Nothin' much, really," Gabriel admitted. "I just closed the store and I'm bored out of my skull."
"Oh, counting de daily take jus' exhausted you, right?" Remy joked.
"Nah, Grace does that," Gabriel quipped back smoothly. "I can't possibly be expected to handle figures that large."
"Yeah, de whole fifty cents, right?"
"Nah, it was only a quarter. It was one of the slow days." Gabriel chuckled, then changed the subject. "Wanna do something tonight?"
"Like what?" Remy asked.
"I dunno, walk around, look for trouble," Gabriel said. "It's been... one of those days, you know what I mean?"
"Oui," Remy nodded, although Gabriel could not see the gesture through the telephone lines. "Sure, I keep you company. We can find trouble together."
"Sounds good to me. Wanna meet me at the store?"
"All right," Remy looked up at the clock. "I can be dere in 'bout an hour. Dat sound good?"
"That sounds fine. See ya then, bloodsucker."
"See ya den, Shattenjäger."
To Be Continued....
The song Remy heard on the radio is called Darkstar, by Crosby, Still's and Nash.