Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 16

Charles held on to Jean's arm as they walked quickly away from the dead boy lying on the street. He felt chilled by the rutheless savagery of what could really only be considered children. It was no wonder Gambit showed such nonchalance toward death. Charles had always been bothered by that attitude-- though Gambit seemed willing to respect his wishes and avoid killing the enemies he fought whenever possible. And not that Gambit had ever seemed to enjoy killing. It was just that he didn't seem to care one way or the other. Charles wasn't certain it was possible *not* to have some kind of emotional reaction to taking anothers' life. Yet he wondered, if *he* had grown up in such circumstances, would he have any of the moral standards that he considered to be such an integral part of himself?

He and Jean turned down a new street. They had both noticed the way the streets were beginning to all point in the same direction, and this was a broad thoroughfare that might give them a more direct route. As they walked, more lights began to appear. Strings of white and colored lights were wrapped around some of the second floor balconies, and paper lanterns hung from awnings and were strung between lamp posts. More people began to emerge, some sitting at outdoor tables and others simply gathered in the streets. The mood was festive, and the night bright. Music wafted out of the doorways, and spilled over into the street. This was the image of New Orleans Charles was familiar with. His mood lifted.

Loud laughter drew his attention upward. A group of teenagers were gathered on one of the balconies. From their dress and the music that blared from the doorway behind them, it was obvious that the party was well under way. One of the girls turned sharply, her braids fanning out behind her head. Charles stopped and watched more closely. She was laughing. One of the boys turned her back towards him and kissed her deeply. Even in profile, his red hair and angular features were unmistakk able. Remy and Belledonna. They paid no attention to the two who watched them from below.

After a while Charles shrugged and moved on. Next to him, Jean's expression was disapproving. He looked at her questioningly.

"They're so young," she supplied by way of an explanation. "If that was my daughter, I think I'd kill him."

Charles couldn't help but chuckle. "You weren't more than a year or two older when you started dating Scott."

Jean flushed and smiled ruefully. "I'm showing my age, aren't I?"

They walked on, and the lights and music quickly faded behind them. The city returned to darkness and silence. The buildings were taller here, and the street seemed to narrow. After a little while, there were no more cross streets, and they were left with only one direction to go.

"I think we're almost there." Charles could see that the buildings ended a short ways ahead, but couldn't tell what lay beyond that point. He was unprepared for what they found when they reached the end of the street.

The street emptied into a huge circular court. Other streets entered as theirs did, at intervals around the circle. The entire thing was paved with bricks, and in the center of the court, a huge black tree grew. The trunk would take three people joined hand in hand to reach around it. Uprooted bricks lay in haphazard piles around the base. The branches of the tree seemed to explode outward, obscuring any view of the sky. They waved wildly, looking more like tentacles than traditional branches, and made whistling noises from the speed of their passage through the air. The tree had no leaves, Charles realized, nor did it look like it was meant to. Instead, the surface of the trunk and branches were smooth and supple, almost like a snake's skin. Occasionally, there was a sharp *crack* as a branch struck another branch or the ground, and they could feel the vibration through the soles of their feet.

But what caused Charles' blood to run cold was the man suspended upside down in the middle of the tree. Gambit's arms and legs were wrapped in the black tentacles, and the tattered remains of his combat uniform hung off of him in strips. As they watched, one of the tentacles came whistling through, striking Gambit with the force of a whip. A fresh line of blood appeared on top of the old. Gambit did not respond.

Jean stood with a hand clapped over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with horror. Charles felt his own hopes sink. The tree and Gambit's physical condition were a reflection of the damage to his psyche. The tree was old and established, so the original trauma must have happened sometime well in the past, but Elizabeth's attack had reopened the wounds. Gambit was once again subjected to whatever pain had ripped his telepathic abilities apart in the first place.

Very cautiously, Charles approached the tree. He had no idea yet what it represented, or what kind of harm it could do him, so he ducked as the tentacles flashed by overhead. When he reached the trunk, he reached out and touched it, hoping to read something of its nature.

The world exploded into pain, like a spike driven through his skull. He was aware of a black gulf that threatened to suck him down. It was colder than anything he had ever experienced, and it seemed to simply draw the life out of his blood, absorbing him. He felt like he was being sucked down into nothingness, as if everything he was, every thought, every hope, every dream, every heartbeat, were being torn out of him.

Charles yanked his hand away from the tree with a cry and collapsed to his knees, shuddering. Now he understood what had happened to Gambit. He felt Jean wrap her arms around him and looked up.

"It's death," he told her through chattering teeth.

"Whose? Remy's?" She looked up into the tree at the still form.

Her eyes were wild.

"No." Charles closed his eyes and tried to force his body back under his control. "Someone else's. It doesn't matter who."

"What do you mean?"

"He killed someone-- telepathically-- and couldn't drop the link. This is what the feedback did to him." Charles indicated the black tree.

"He murdered--" Jean was pale.

"Murder or self-defense. It doesn't make a difference." Charles was beginning to get his breath back. They both flinched as a tentacle slapped the ground near them, scarring the bricks.

Jean relaxed a little, and gave Charles a hug. It was probably more for her own reassurance, but he appreciated the comfort nonetheless. "So how do we get him out of there? Can the tree hurt us?"

"Yes. But I can see no reason not to use our powers now. We can't do Remy any further harm, I don't think."

Jean nodded. Her telekinetic powers could release Remy from his prison without forcing either of them to make contact with the tree again. It was odd, Charles thought, that they only seemed to be able to directly manipulate another's mind through the physical references they were familiar with. Jean could easily use a form of her telekinetic powers here, or a sword, since she had practiced with one extensively, but she would find it far harder to grow wings or use an energy blast, or mimic some other kind of mutant power.

He watched as invisible hands uncoiled the thick black tendrils. He could see the strain on Jean's face, and joined her in the effort. Since telekenesis was not a physical power for him, it was a difficult endeavor, but he wasn't the premier telepath on the planet for nothing, he told himself as he gritted his teeth.

Eventually, they brought the mangled body down to the ground. Jean erected shields to ward off the tentacles that snapped at them. Charles picked up Remy's limp form and they retreated from the tree. As they did so, the world around them began to lose its solidity. The physical was impinging on the mental-- Remy was regaining consciousness. Charles allowed himself to release the body he held, which evaporated along with the rest of the city around him, and then followed the warm link back to his own body.