Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 15

"How literal is this representation?" Jean continued to stroke the child Remy's hair as she talked to Charles. The boy's shivering had eased, and she was becoming aware of other things. Like how painfully thin he was. Most boys this age were wiry little rakes anyway, but she could feel each rib where it pressed against her. This child was sliding into starvation.

Charles looked around. "We know that Remy was orphaned-- or abandoned-- at a fairly early age. I would not be surprised if that part is a literal copy of his memories. His ability to speak Shi'ar obviously can't be. I'm not certain how that fits in. He does understand English in this representation."

He paused. "You do realize that we can't do anything for him here. We haven't found Gambit, just a piece of his memories."

Jean felt a sharp pang of sorrow as she looked down at the child in her arms. "I know." She looked back up at Charles. "How could someone do this to a child?"

Charles shook his head. "We can only hope that his parents had no choice. Come, we should continue." He put a hand under her elbow to help her stand.

Jean reluctantly moved Remy out of her lap. She stroked his face and tried to summon a smile. "I'm sorry, little one." Then she stood. The child stared at her for a moment, fear and loss written into his small face. Then he bolted back into his hiding place under the stairs. Jean swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

"How sad."

"Yes." Charles caught her hand in his. "But it is part of a past that we cannot change." He paused, sorting his thoughts.

"It does illuminate a great deal about Remy's character. I never realized how hard it must be for him to trust. A small child like that on the streets would have been an easy target for a lot of different kinds of people. Yet he survived, somehow, and is remarkably sane, all things considered."

Jean nodded. "It does feel different than when we went into Logan's mind after he was injured. There, we were trespassing. I was afraid it would be the same with Remy, as private a person as he is. But he seems to be willing to have us here."

"I have often felt that Remy would like to share his life with us--"

"But doesn't dare? Except for Ororo and Rogue, of course. And even then, I don't think he has told either of them very much about himself. Ororo doesn't care-- she has said as much. And Rogue. . . well," Jean shrugged. She wasn't certain what to think about their current estrangement. Bobby had said very little when he returned from Seattle without either Rogue or Gambit.

They were walking again, delving even further into this mind-version of New Orleans. Jean wasn't familiar enough with the real thing to know if there were any differences, or to know where they were going. Charles seemed to be wandering aimlessly.

"Do you know where we're going?" she asked.

"Not really. I am hoping that Gambit will present us with some kind of clue as to where we should go. As you noted, we are welcome here. He seems to want our help, but I don't know how much ability he has to reach out to us. I'm just trying to keep my eyes open."

"Any ideas yet why he was speaking Shi'ar?"

Charles' expression quirked. "Well, he has absorbed the language in the past. He has also been to the Shi'ar homeworld with the X-men. All I can guess is that it's some kind of carry over from that."

Jean read his expression and smiled. "In other words, not really."

Charles returned her smile. "Exactly."

They continued on. They were in a more populated part of the city now. People occasionally passed them, intent on their own business. Lights burned in some of the windows, though the yellow warmth still did not seem to reach very far into the streets. Prostitutes lounged on the corners, umbrellas raised against the rain. Cars drove past, windows dark. The tires made familiar hissing sounds on the wet streets.

"Hey, miseur!" The sudden voice startled them both. Jean spotted the owner of the voice, a boy of about seven or eight perched on a stack of wooden crates at the mouth of the alley they were just passing. "Dis no way t' be treat'n de petite belle, neh?" He indicated the rain.

Jean and Charles shared hopeful looks. It was Remy again. He was still painfully thin, but seemed healthy enough. Jean hid her amusement at the strong maternal instinct that he evoked. She could just imagine the adult Remy's reaction if she ever mentioned "maternal instincts" in conjunction with himself. Her husband would likely throw a small fit.

"Y' be need'n a place out o' de rain, oui? I c'n take you an' de belle someplace nice. Safe n' dry, like de lady deserve. `Course, I gotta ask a small finders fee." The boy watched them with all appearances of helpful solicitude. Jean was forced to hide another smile. *No wonder you're such a scoundrel, Remy.*

Charles watched the boy with interest. "Actually, we're looking for someone. Maybe you can help us find him."

Now that was an interesting tack to take, Jean thought.

The boy's gaze became calculating. "Maybe. Who de lucky homme?" He was watching Charles intently.

"A thief. His name is Gambit."

Jean saw the flicker of recognition in the blue eyes. "Gon' cost you, miseur."

"How much?"

Jean found her mind wandering as they negotiated. The detail of the city around them was truly amazing. Most of the time, a person's projected subconscious was much more of a fantasy setting, or at least a mesh of many realities. She had often encountered mindscapes filled with bizarre creatures, and where the basic laws of physics did not apply. But this city seemed completely normal. She wasn't certain if that indicated a high level of logical thinking on Remy's part, or if, perhaps, he'd simply had his illusions stripped away at such an early age that this hard realism was all that was left. He certainly didn't *act* like someone completely grounded in reality. She would have expected this kind of mindscape from Bishop, not Gambit. Still, what Remy really thought about most things was an acknowledged mystery.

The boy jumped down from his perch and started off. Jean shook off her introspection and followed with Charles.

"Do you think this will work?" she asked him.

Charles shrugged. "It seemed like the thing to do. And we are making progress, at least."

They followed their guide onward. The city remained dark, but the

rain had tapered off, Jean noticed. And it was warmer. That might indicate a shift in seasons, if what they saw was based on Gambit's actual memories.

Jean was beginning to get a feel for their direction in the winding city streets. It almost seemed as if the streets were beginning to orient toward a central point, some distance ahead of them. They were finally getting close-- to something important, anyway.

The boy Remy froze, dropping into a defensive crouch. Jean and Charles looked around in surprise as figures emerged from the darkness, surrounding them. Charles grabbed her arm.

"This is a real memory. They aren't seeing us." He indicated the seven boys that now ringed them. The boys were obviously members of a gang, and ranged in age from about twelve to seventeen or so. The leader was a lanky type, with long dirt blonde hair. He was dressed in brown leather and held a baseball bat that whose end had been sharpened into a point. And as Charles had observed, they paid no attention to the two adults, but looked straight through them to the object of their interest.

Remy turned slowly, watching the tightening circle.

"I don't like this, Charles," Jean said. But she knew there was nothing either of them could do. Except maybe to close their eyes. "We shouldn't be here. This is private."

Charles turned to look at her. "I know. But I don't want to lose our guide if we don't have to. Gambit is still lost in here somewhere."

"Well, well. Lookee what we got here." The leader was tapping the bat into the palm of his hand. "T'ought y' got away wit it, eh, kid?"

"T'ink again." The leader's voice turned deadly serious. The circle began to close quickly as the boys moved in. Jean knew they were intent on murder and she turned her head against Charles' shoulder, though she continued to watch out of the corner of her eye.

Remy turned around once more inside the circle and then launched himself at one of the gang members, arms extended. Jean could see that he held a long shard of glass in one hand, probably what passed for a knife. The boy's surprised expression told her that he didn't expect this prey to attack. He threw up his hands with a shout as Remy collided with him. They both went down in a tangled heap, and then Remy was rolling to his feet. He bolted for the nearby drainpipe and was a story up before the other boys realized what was happening.

After a few moments of confusion and shouting, several of the gang members started up a fire escape on the same building. Remy had just reached the roof and was pulling himself up over the ledge. Jean saw the small form disappear from view and silently wished him luck. Then she returned her attention to the boys still gathered on the street. They were looking down at the one Remy had attacked. As they moved around, Jean got a glimpse of the prone form. He was dead, she knew immediately, with the ragged glass fragment protruding from his throat. Blood pooled on the street and ran down the cracks between the cobblestones. The light from a window above reflected dimly in the spreading blood. Jean shivered.

She did not resist as Charles drew her away from the scene.