Speak No Evil

Moonlight shimmered blue and green in the broken glass cemented atop a red brick wall. He climbed, the jagged points and fine edges pierced and sliced his palms, his chest, his thigh and knee. He let himself fall, a trash can and a pile of rubbish bags cushioned the impact. The sound of ringing tin was drowned in the wake of the swelling rushes and cracks coming from the other side of the wall. He hauled himself off the floor and started walking.

There were alarmed voices, cries and shrieks. He stumbled over an upturned paving slab. It was dark; night fell fast this time of year and the alley lacked lighting. His bleeding fingers ran along the bricks and his feet dragged through dog muck. A sharp pain grew in his chest, it felt like his heart trying to escape, and he halted. The brick was rough against his forehead, he closed his eyes, and despite the pounding in his head, he heard his breathing. Long, rattling breaths heaving in and out; spluttering, gulping, and choking. His mouth tasted like vomit.

When he reached the end of the alley there was a frightful clamor in the street. Women called out to their husbands, children were crying, glass was breaking, and men barked orders to each other. The houses were illuminated by a brilliant red glow. He pulled his hood over his head and turned away from the disturbance. A heavy-built man sprinted past him and a woman with wet hair stood in the doorway of her house wrapped in a towel. In the window were a pair of excited children in their pyjamas. The wind howled, pushing at his back, and he caught the thick smell of smoke in the air.

He came to a stop at the end of the street. For a moment, he stood staring straight ahead with his hands thrust deep within the pocket of his hoodie. His breathing steadied. He turned around. Men danced hopelessly on the lawn of a burning house, avoiding falling debris and trying desperately to do something while at the same time doing absolutely nothing. Women were huddled beneath a street lamp in their dressing gowns, talking at a safe distance. Orange flames licked at the air through broken windows and a tower of black smoke billowed skywards. Sirens approached. He turned his back on his home and walked away.

The Willows
Salem, Massachusetts.

Blinking arcade lights attracted the eyes. The resounding tones of a hundred high scores assaulted the ears, along with the squeal of little kids riding around on amusement park rides. The smell of fresh popcorn mixed with the salty sea air. Kids with sticky faces slurped at drippy ice cream cones. Some ran around on the grassy lawns, beneath the graceful fall of old willow trees.

In some other life, she would have been happy hanging around here, Spectre thought as she strolled along. She ordered some takeout food, watching the antics of pigeons. Life was never so simple was it? These people.. So happy, so carefree. They were irritatingly oblivious to the very real danger standing right next to them.

Her order was up.. She took the brown paper bag and headed back down to the beach, walking along the rocky shore back to the safehouse she'd established in her former hometown. Former, because she was no longer Jocelyn Kane, amateur fortune teller.

She was Spectre.

Spectre didn't have a home.

The house was tucked into a private cove, with it's own pier and boat docks. Far enough from the city to be private, close enough that it was convinient. Running up the porch steps, she called out a brief greeting to Tron, who had come along with her, to set up the location.

"I'm back. Come eat something, huh?"

"Spectre. You have to see this..." Tron sounded serious.

She arched a brow. That in itself was interesting. She dropped the bag on the kitchen counter, then walked into the living room. "Oh?"

The 'technomantic teen' was doing what he did best. "Known anti-mutant antagonists found dead in blaze." He began pulling up information, on the computer screen in front of him, more quickly than her eyes could process.

He continued, "Multiple homicide. Family was on one of the 'quiet lists', the girl apparently was kept hushed up.. Boy's wanted for questioning, not found yet.."

"Where..?", she asked..

"New Britain, Connecticut."

Head down, he followed the pavement and watched himself stagger forward like someone who had lost control of his limbs. It reminded him of his father when he came home after a night out with his old friends. The road was busy with the rumble of cars and trucks, their headlights casting bright glares as they whipped past. The sirens were upon him now, the entire road flashed blue and the traffic came to a halt while the fire engine turned into the street behind him.

There was music. It was faint and fought against the rush of the wind in his ears. Upon reaching the end of the road, he could hear men singing along with the music. He heard laughter and the clinking of glasses. The pavement was alight with warm yellow glows. He walked past the bustling bar, the noise of its patrons and their entertainment sounded distant in his throbbing ears. His stomach turned, he felt the need to be sick but lacked the energy to do so. Inside his pocket, he pinched his hand.

He stepped off the pavement onto the road. Tiny specks of water christened the black tar and twinkled green under the traffic lights. The rain gently pattered against his hood, and he half closed his eyes. There was a screech and terrible crash. A woman screamed then another screech, closer this time, followed by two more crashes. Glass shards cascaded about his feet. Several car horns sounded continuously in the still air. Somewhere behind him, the singing stopped. There were running footsteps. People howled curses. He was shoved onto the pavement on the other side of the road where lay a fallen set of traffic lights. He didn't stop. He didn't raise his head.

The next road climbed steadily. There was a football stadium at the top of the hill. It was where his mother took him for his eleventh birthday. She hated football. He was breathing heavily again, his chest heaved so hard his entire torso bobbed. His breath hung in the air a thin whisp of white before being snatched away in the renewed onslaught of icy gusts. His jaw quivered in the cold.

Long shadows stretched along the pavement towards him. A group of four boys sauntered up to him and stopped dead in their tracks. They were in high spirits; they laughed and jeered and made taunting gestures. His eyes were fixed on his shoes and theirs. They were so close their animated talk formed a pale cloud under his nose, their breath was warm. There was a time when he would've recognised their voices. He felt a finger poke him in the chest. Something changed in him and he looked up. He caught the surprise in their eyes only for an instant before they parted and quickly shuffled past him. His jaw was clenched but the burning in his chest subsided. He trudged on.

Two hours later...

Spectre was pulling off the interstate, heading into the residential areas of New Britain. Tron had stayed behind, continuing to follow up on the story, even as local media was trying to quiet it down.

Typical.

It was only a mutant family, after all. Best just to forget about it and go to sleep. All good little homosapiens have to get up for work in the morning, so they can be the first in line at the drive-through windows for their morning fat consumption, consisting of slabs of sausage and something like eggs on questionable breads..

A muscle ticked in her cheek as Spectre quieted her anger. They may not care about they way the lives of mutants were being destroyed, but some people did.

She arrived and even though she'd parked several streets away, the whole area still reeked of smoke. It didn't take her long to come upon the charred remains of what, just today, had been someone's home. There were still emergency reponse teams, and camera crews hovering about the area, waiting to see if there would be any more to the story.

Spectre didn't worry about being seen. Her appearance dissolved to nothing. She followed her instincts. It was too late for anyone to help the family, and their killers had already met their just fate. Her goal now was to find what the authorities could not. The boy that was missing.

The traffic died. The wet roads shimmered and the only sign of life was the changing of the traffic lights and the departing groan of a car engine. The rain fell thick and fast, large puddles flanked the sidewalk, it soaked through his hood and seeped into his shoes. The howl of the wind was answered by a mad rush of leaves and creaking branches. He lumbered across the empty road, his ankle plunged into icy water and he paid it no mind. The park gates stood tall before him, chained together by a new padlock.

He ascended the iron gates clumsily, occasionally slipping or losing his footing, but he never ceased. The barbed wire embedded itself in his hands, arms and legs. After wrestling free, he fell and the back of his head smacked against the solid path. The rain rinsed his face of blood stains. For a while, he remained on the floor, not feeling the wet or the cold. The sky was filled with stars. They were silent and winked at him through the dark. When her pet rabbit died, his sister believed it became a twinkling star because that's where all pets go. He stirred, slowly rising to his feet.

The path was long and framed by large over-hanging trees which swayed in the wind. Only droplets of rain broke through their dense canopies. Shielded from the wind and the rain, he felt fatigue closing in on him. The energy and warmth had left his extremities. His mind was blank and he shambled forward with great labour. He glanced up and saw a fence at the end of the path and beyond it, a large pond stretched out, the fence wrapped itself around it.

When he reached the fence he stopped. His trembling fingers closed around the rusted metal. The surface of the pond was alive with dancing light; rain drops rippled the black water and tiny jets of white foam leapt into the air. Long reeds whispered in the breeze. He closed his eyes and bowed his head against the battering shower. His limbs were stiff and his body ached. Against the elements, he felt insignificant, and was comforted. His solace was broken by a duck quacking and as memories surfaced, he turned and walked on.

Dry blood caused his shirt and trousers to stick to his skin, his movements made ripping sounds. The path curved in a gradual arc around the perimeter of the pond, on the other side it disappeared into a nest of trees but halfway between there was a shelter. The downpour was relentless; sheets of shimmering rain fell in a silver haze. Wind bit at his face and his leg felt numb. He couldn't walk much further and limped to the shelter. He stumbled inside.

It was an old structure made with grey stone. The walls curled around him in a semi-circle. A series of flimsy wooden benches were braced to the wall, some were rotten and others burnt. The weathered roof allowed steady drips of water to slip inside. Red and yellow graffiti had been sprayed all over the interior. The air was pungent with the sharp stench of urine. For some time he stood still, his weary gaze falling on all that surrounded him. He didn't have the strength to reach a bench and staggered forward a couple of steps. The pain in his bones, muscles, and flesh dimmed and the sickness returned. It started in his gut and wormed its way into his stomach, his gag reflex failed him. The trickle of rain echoed as it dripped onto the hard cement, it drummed the roof with an unyielding rhythmn and beyond the shelter, it hissed in the trees and pond. The sound faded. He felt the world turn under his feet and all fight gone from him, he fell to his knees.

The sickness crawled from his belly up into his chest where it grew. Swelling outwards, it was empty and hot, he started to shake. His face twisted with the pain as it consumed him. During the course of his short life, he'd never imagined such a feeling existed; a pain not intended for a human heart. His fists clenched and when he thought he was about to explode, the thing inside of him rushed up through his throat and he opened his mouth to the heavens. If there ever was a time when he could've used his voice, should've used his voice, the time was now. He didn't make a sound.

Hot tears ran freely down his filthy face. His eyes were shut so tight it hurt. He cried out to God, to anyone, to no-one. His silence hurt him even more, and again, his chest heaving, he wailed to the sky. No-one could hear his pain. No-one could know he was alone. No-one could tell him why it couldn't have been him instead to save his sister from the sound of his screams. He wanted to hear his own anguished voice for the first time; denouncing God, hating man, loving his family; but no earthly sound could justify his agony. His head fell into his hands and he wept, losing all track of time, until he collapsed with exhaustion.

On the cold, filthy floor he curled up and wrapped himself in his arms. He trembled violently and choked on desperate gasps for air. His body was drained and he had nothing left to give. His injuries caused him no more suffering. The heavy panting slowed. He thought about his mother; they didn't have to be apart. He felt himself slipping and took comfort in it. His sobs diminished. He was alone in the world and was ready to leave it. All he had to do was close his eyes and wait.

In the end, it wasn't hard to track him. Even without her psychic abilities, Spectre could have found him. Anyone with even half of a heart would have been equipped with all they needed to follow the tangilble feelings of pain and rage that had marked his passing. The rain could not wash away the anguish and despair, that had left behind their trail.

Spectre found herself moving faster and faster. It seemed to be growing more urgent that she she reach him soon. Although there was no sound, and no one in sight, she still felt like someone was screaming for her, over and over again. Tortured, pained cries. Straight from the soul. She didn't know that kind of pain, had never experienced it herself, but feeling it now.. She prayed she never would.

Not one to ignore her impulses, she ran at the gates in front of her, pulling herself up and flipping her agile form over the triple rows of barbed wire at the top. A puddle exploding on the pavement, where her feet landed gracefully, was the only visible sign of her presence. She continued on, instinct telling her that she was very close now.

Her attention was drawn to a weathered structure. The interior was dark. All was still. There was no sign that anyone was within, yet she moved toward it determined.

She found him, collapsed in a heap on the dirty floor. Cursing silently, she dropped to her knees, afraid to touch him, but they couldn't stay here. She had to get him out of here. Frowning, in her invisible state, she began to surround the space around them with a comforting presence. She would have created a whole field of daisies for him if it would get him on his feet and to the car without much struggle..

Hesitantly, she brushed the hair out of his eyes, wondering how deeply he slept.

It's ok now. You aren't alone.

Somewhere in the black recesses of his conciousness, he felt a warmth. It seemed to have been a long time since he'd felt anything, even the damp floor on his face had faded into nothing. Something had changed around him and he tried to move. He couldn't feel his limbs. The cold he hadn't realised was there dissipated and was replaced by something else - something kind. Someone touched him.

His heart leapt. The touch had been tender and warm. A strength he thought was gone began to stir in his chest. Slowly, his eyes opened. His vision was blurred and dark. There was a voice. A woman's voice unlike any other he'd heard before; she spoke to him and only to him. He felt a flicker of joy - he'd made it. His mouth opened and formed the shape of "Mom".

He was awake.

Although his mouth had moved accordingly for speech, no sounds had followed. If she hadn't been watching him so closely she may not have even caught the word that had formed on silent lips. Mom..

Spectre wished she could bring his mother for him, but it was no good. Everything of his life had been burned to cinder and ash, back the way they had come. There was nothing for him to go back to now, but she would keep him safe.

Not Mom. Think of me as your guardian angel. Can you stand?

She still hadn't shown herself. She didn't want to scare him by just shimmering into appearance before him. He had been through enough, despite the fact that time was against them, she would be as gentle with him as she could.

He closed his eyes and his face twitched with strain. His hand moved, he pressed it flat down against the floor and pushed. There were sharp pains in his arms and chest - he could feel his wounds. His teeth clenched and he persisted until he was sat upright. He looked around and found his eyes couldn't focus.

It took great effort to stand, every part of his body ached and his legs trembled under the stress. He felt cold sweat on his brow. On one knee, he found himself disorientated and unabled to support his own weight but when he toppled to one side, someone grabbed him and held him up. She was indeed his guardian angel. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of her but it hurt too much.

On his feet he staggered forward, one arm held aloft, supported by the stranger. His breathing was shallow and his face pallid. He was taken outside. The rain drops were as cold as his skin. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, allowing his feet and the stranger to do the work. It would be over soon, he told himself.

Unable to stand by and watch him crash back down, Spectre had caught the boy as he fell. She'd wrapped one of his arms around her, keeping him upright, drawing him back out into the rain. She didn't think that he had witnessed the shimmer of her returning into visible form, as he could barely hold his head up.

The poor thing smelled like blood. She didn't know how many injuries he had sustained. She only knew she wanted to help him, but there was no time to inspect him now. They had to put some distance between him and this city.

When they were approaching the park gates, she knew that trying to get him over the barbed wire again would have been an excersise in pain for them both. She had no desire for such heroics, expedience demanded another way through.

Hold on..

Furious at the events of the night, and more than tired of screwing around with the restraints that 'normal citizens' put on public places at night, she grunted as she aimed a savage kick at the padlock holding the little chain together. There was a crash of metal, and the chain slithered like a dying snake to the ground, as the gates swung open.

Let's go.

She returned to him, wrapping his arm around her again and leading him into the shadows, back toward the waiting car.

All that transpired was like a dream; the blurred vision, the distant sounds, the hazy thoughts and fatigued body all gave him the impression that this wasn't really happening to him. He was too drained to make sense of things. As they hobbled over the car he had a thought that he immediately shunned. He felt the wind on his neck and the rain dripping from his hair. His lips quivered with cold.

The woman was strong, she handled him with one arm while opening the car with her free hand. She was gentle, too. He was eased into the passenger seat and she fastened his seatbelt before starting up the engine. There was something strange about her voice but he was beginning to realise that she was no heavenly creature. Still, the question haunted him: Am I dead?

She left his side only long enough to round the car and slide behind the wheel. Before starting the engine, Spectre pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. It was icy to the touch.

No, you aren't dead. You're safe, I'm taking you away from here. Just rest..

Starting the engine, she switched on the heat and left the neighborhood behind, heading back for the interstate. When they'd been travelling in silence for a while, she peeked over at her young charge. He did not look good, not at all. She was going to have to stop before long and see how badly he was messed up.

Still with me...?

So she was a telepath, he realised. He answered her question with a weak nod. His eyes were heavy and he could barely keep them open, if only to stare absently at the dashboard. He felt his body sway with the motion of the car. The bright glare of lights stung his eyes as they turned onto the interstate. Wherever she was taking him, he didn't care. Despite his frailty, he summoned enough strength to leave her with one bitter thought...

You should've left me...

...then he passed out.

She really didn't blame him for feeling the way he did. Not tonight. For a while he would probably wish he had died with his family. It wouldn't seem fair to him that they were gone and that he remained, but Spectre knew there was a reason for it. Not that she was going to start preaching to him. It wasn't her way. She glanced over to respond, but sensed that he just.. wasn't with her anymore..

Cursing, she pulled off at the next exit and into a gas station. Unfastening her seatbelt, Spectre scooted over toward the boy, concerned. His breathing was shallow, but steady. He'd just succumbed to exhaustion again. She leaned over him and pulled the lever, reclining the seat backward in an effort to make him more comfortable.

She risked a quick trip into the mini-mart, returning to the car with a first aid kit, a bottle of anti-inflammatory pills, and another bag with bottled waters, electrolyte sports drinks and quick snacks. She'd also bought the poor kid a clean shirt. She wondered if he even liked Superman..

Don't you die on me..

Moving the car into a less conspicuous spot, she parked, then got to work pulling off his dirty shirt, and throwing it out the window. It was as bad as she feared. He was a mess. Her first order of business was dumping most of a bottle of peroxide over his chest and arms, washing away the dirt and dried blood. She was glad he was sleeping through most of this.. His wrists were still oozing bright red blood, so she started there, patting them dry with clean gauze and pulling the torn skin together with steri-strips. She wrapped his wrists in gauze, then just continued and wrapped his hands as well, as they were bleeding from puncture marks she suspected had been caused by barbed wire.

Come on, kid..

A dream in which he chased his parents through a maze of stacked cars and broken glass kept him distracted from the pain of his wounds being cleaned. The sky above was blood red and burnt ducks fell from it. He heard his sisters laughter and ran in search of her. The cars started to fall, and the falling ducks turned into pieces of wood and plaster. He dodged the plummeting debris and heard a scream. He woke up.

The car had stopped and he was lying down with the woman leaning over him. A strong light obscured his vision of her while she worked. His wounds had been treated, he was covered in gauze and plasters - it was the first time he'd seen the full extent of his injuries. She made him take pills with water and instructed him to drink while she made sure the bleeding had stopped. She seemed satisfied and helped him into a blue shirt.

He felt very much like a puppet; he had no power over his circumstances and little power over his body. That was when he had his first flicker of curiosity as to the woman's intentions. It was his only thought. When her work was done she righted the seat and placed in his lap a handful of sugary snacks, upon seeing which he felt the first pangs of hunger. He couldn't grip the energy bar tight enough to lift it so she unwrapped it and broke it into bitesize pieces. She was patient and waited for him to chew laboriously through each mouthful. It took some time before he was finished then after she'd helped him drink more water, she started up the engine.

He was ready to sleep again and although he was too numb to feel anything, he was aware of the fact that if he was going to live, he was fortunate to be with this woman. As the car pulled onto the freeway, his eyes closed and he drifted off once more.

He slept the rest of the way. Spectre didn't wake him until they had arrived back the the beachside house. On the way, she'd put in a quiet call to Tron to let him know she'd found the boy. There was a room ready, for him to rest in, for however long it took. Killing the engine, she sat for a moment and watched him sleep before gently brushing his mind with a soft prod.

We're somewhere safe now. I'll help you..

She exited the car and walked around it to open his door for him, reaching in to help him out, as one would a child.

Later she would sit and reflect on her sudden maternal mind set where this boy was concerned, right now she just wanted to get him to a real bed so he could pass out into oblivion. A deep, dreamless sleep where he would just heal and nothing more.

By the time he'd awoken, the stranger was ready to help him out of the car. A cool breeze of air rushed in when the door opened, it was invigorating. His legs went stiff under his weight, he nearly slipped out of her grasp but she held him fast. They shuffled from the car and onto the porch of a house bathed in pale blue moonlight. The rain had stopped and all was still save for the sound of crashing waves.

The door was unlocked. They crossed a room filled with open boxes, it looked like she had just moved in, and he heard a toilet flush somewhere in the house. She was not alone. He allowed his head to droop, his chin rested on his shoulders and he counted the number of stairs they climbed: fourteen in total. She brought him to a room with white-wash walls, a single bed, and a window over-looking the sea. He slumped forward and curled up tight, his head buried in the pillow.

Before he slept, he reflected on what had happened to him since he'd been found in the park. When it came to anything that happened prior to that in the day, his mind was adamantly blank. He wondered if these kind of things happen to people. She pulled the blanket over him. He wondered if she belonged to a charity organisation, after all, normal people aren't this kind. He felt her fingers stroke his hair and heard the soft click of the door once she'd left the room. His last thought, before drifting off to the sound of sloshing water and bobbing boats, was if this was a dream, who would he wake up to in the morning?

Two days had passed.

Spectre had checked in on the boy, only long enough to change his bandages, bring him pain medicine and make sure he at least drank some water. Not only did he need to rest, but she sensed he needed space. When he was ready, he would let them know.

Even Tron was taking pains to be on the quiet side. They had finished unpacking, but this time without loud music blasting to entertain them. She had already reported in to Saladin about the events.. now they just had to wait.

At present she sat on the front porch, on an old bench swing with chipped white paint and a very faded floral cushion. She was not swinging, just sitting with her legs tucked up to her chin, listening to the waves and sea birds, trying in vain not to think about the boy upstairs and what he had been through.

He stood at the window and watched the tide lap at the shore. It was a particularly lovely day and he was content to enjoy his surroundings. He rarely got to see the sea. Clouds drifted by, reflected in the pale blue surface which shimmered gold as it vanished on the horizon. The calling of seagulls echoed throughout the cove. It was obvious why the woman and her companion chose to live here, he thought, away from everyone else.

His wounds were healing, fortunately none of the gashes were wide enough to require stitches although they were an infection risk, he'd been told. Despite her frequent visits, he knew little about the mysterious woman, she only spoke to him about his injuries. He never tried to speak to her although he found it difficult keeping his mind blank in her presence. He didn't even know her name.

There were a fresh pair of jeans, socks, and a new shirt at the foot of his bed. His sneakers had been washed. He took a notepad and pen from his pocket, the pages were blood-stained, and he changed into his new clothes. He took the notepad and pen with him since he wasn't entirely comfortable with the psychic thing and for now, he'd stick to what he knew. The house was very quiet and clean, the floors had been varnished, the air was crisp, and everything looked new. It had a very homey feel.

There was a boy sat at a computer downstairs who looked a couple of years older than him. He was engrossed in the activity on the screen; windows popped up and closed at an alarming rate. He was glad not to have caught his attention and turned towards the breeze coming from the open front door. He stepped out onto the porch and saw the woman out of the corner of his eye. He felt suddenly uncomfortable and kept his eyes fixed on a congregation of seagulls hopping around something that had been washed up on the beach.

It was impossible not to know he was coming. Despite the fact that she wanted to give him as much privacy as she could, her mind had a tendency to search for him, even with the distance of several rooms and a flight of stairs separating them. It was not born of a desire to check up on him, so much as to make sure that he was alright. He probably should have gone to the hospital. She was sure the knock to his head had given him a concussion, but he'd slept through the worst of it and was healing up nicely now..

His body would mend. It was his spirit that she was concerned with now. He'd wished for death, he may yet still. She didn't know because she was absolutely not going to rape this boys mind, not after everything he had already been through. When he stepped out onto the porch, she smiled slightly. He looked worlds better.

"Feeling better..?" She spoke this time. He'd not been communicating with her telepathically since the night she had brought him here, so could only assume he did not wish for her to do so either.

Her voice was soft and melodic to his ears, it was the first time he'd heard it and he found it comforting. He was hesitant in looking at her directly, it felt like a violation; she had been by his side for days and he had no memory of what she looked like. He glanced at her; she was young and beautiful; by the warm glow of day she had an unearthly incandescence. She actually looked like an angel. He nodded.

"Excellent. I'm very glad." Spectre dropped her feet from the swing, to the floor and stood.

Walking along the porch, she trailed her fingers along the banister and let him keep some distance between them, if that's what he wanted. She just watched him with open curiosity. Tron wouldn't miss them if they disappeared for a bit, and there was something to be said for walking on the beach and the recuperative effects it could have on one's frame of mind. She gestured toward the shoreline.

"Would you like to walk? I'm sure you have questions and I promise to answer them."

He nodded again and fell into step with her after they had descended the stairs from the porch. First they walked on a wooden path and then there was nothing but sand and water. He felt an immediate sense of freedom. They were silent for a while, he imagined she was waiting for him. He glanced at her, she was ready and smiled. His face was inquisitive, and his hands made a series of gestures. He paused suddenly, feeling sheepish, and delved into his pockets. He pulled out his notepad and pen, he flipped open the notepad and scribbled quickly as he walked. Once he was done, he held it up for her to see:

Who are you?

Smiling patiently, she tried to think of the best way to explain.

"A while ago, someone else lived here. Someone similiar to me, but her name was Jocelyn and she was not a mutant."

Spectre knew about his sister. He already knew, very well, what mutation could do to people. Not the abilities and changes that came along with evolution, but the way it was received. The way it forced families into hiding, and living half lives.

She watched him for a minute then continued. "That life is over. I couldn't be her anymore after my abilities became known."

Bending, she picked up a piece of driftwood and ran her fingers along it's surface, worn and smooth from being constantly battered by the sea. It was not unlike what would happen to them all, if they did not act for themselves. The current society would register and liscence all mutants, restrain them if need be, and wear them down into smooth, harmless objects that floated along in their world.

"Now, my name is Spectre."

His suspicions were confirmed. She told her story like it was a fairytale, it made him wonder what her own past had been like. She spoke like one life had ended and another begun. He didn't take the time to mull over it and instead started writing his next question, the one which bothered him most.

Why did you come for me?

She tossed the driftwood at the water, watching it sink and disappear. "It's part of what we do now, try our best to counter the acts against people like us."

"Tron.." She nodded back toward the house, indicating the other person that was with them..

"..he was the one who learned what was happening the other night. When he told me that you were missing from the scene, I knew there was a chance to save you from that fate and I took it."

Looking out at the sea she was quiet for a long time, words seeming to escape her. How could you say 'I'm sorry they killed your whole family and stole the only life you knew.'

There was no delicate way of putting it.

"I'm sorry, for everything. You aren't my prisoner. You can leave anytime you want, but I should warn you. There is nothing left out there but pain. If they do find you, you will be thrown in a cell, interrogated for information you do not have, and I do not even care to think of what else they might do."

Gently she took his hand. "You can stay. There are more of us. We will help you.."

He found it a lot to take in. Those she spoke of - her and her colleagues, friends, whoever they were - sounded very much to him like a samaritan organisation for mutants. He didn't want charity and had little use for sympathy. His jaw was clenched tight, she had offered her condolences and it was an issue he didn't want to discuss. Perhaps that's why she changed the subject and why he felt her soft skin in his hand. He couldn't hold his pad and write with one hand and he didn't want to let go. He opened up and allowed her a sense of his confusion: He was wanted? How can they help?

He had opened up, ever so slightly. She could feel his emotions running the gamut from confusion to anger, and understood them. This was where it was going to get tricky. Spectre wished she had Saladin's apptitude for oration, at this point.

She knew the fate of those responsible for his families death. They had shared the firey inferno as a resting place and it could only have been acheived by one person.. The one standing before her.

'Do not think that we are all peaceful, do-gooders. This is war. We are on one side of this conflict. There are other people like those who came to your home, and there are those who would do something about them.'

He was starting to feel frustrated and snatched his hand out of hers. Nothing made sense to him: what did the police want with him? He couldn't hide forever with a band of mutants he didn't trust. He started writing in his pad, paused, then scribbled it out. He wrote something else and thrust it at her.

I don't under

Are you suggesting I become a fugative and hide?

Spectre let go of his hand without a struggle. She wasn't anyone, or anything to him and did not expect to be. She dropped her hands to her sides, and her smile along with it, shaking her head.

No. I'm not suggesting you hide. I'm suggesting you fight back, with us.

Then she started walking again.. tucking her hands into her pockets.

He watched her walk away. His anger quickly subsided and he stood with his back to the roaring sea, mulling over what she proposed. She offered him a new life and despite not wanting to let go of the old one, he didn't have much of a choice. He hadn't planned to make such decisions for another two years. Behind him there was another crash of waves and white foam engulfed his feet. He jumped to a safe spot, startled, and feeling the water squelch in his shoes, he grinned.

He sprinted after Spectre, and upon catching her he opened his pad, wrote in it, and presented her with another question:

So what can you do?

She wondered if he would choose to follow her, or just turn around and walk the other way. She would have been scared for him and probably haunted his steps for a few days, had he chosen to leave. The police catching him was one thing, after that who knew where he would have ended up? When she heard his approaching footsteps, pounding into the sand behind her, she smiled and blew out a breath. Then turned to read his newest question.

"I suppose I should start with the most obvious...", she said.. Then she just wasn't there anymore.

He grinned, delighted by the spectacle. He tapped himself on the head, assuming she would understand, and thought: That's incredible! So you can read minds and go invisible? You would make the best spy!

Starting with her pale blonde hair, Specter shimmered back into sight in a silvery ripple, a smile gracing her lips.

I'm one of the lucky ones, and yes.. I have put my talents into espionage on more than one occasion.

Some of them were not so fortunate, becoming physically altered by their genetic mutations, or having abilities so dangerous that biological contact was an impossibility. It was for people like them that they needed to form their own community, away from the rest of the world, where they could learn to adapt their gifts without fear of repercussions..

"You don't have to decide anything today. I have time. I can stay until you know what you want to do."

As interesting as her life may be, he wasn't sure if it was the future for him. He needed time and he was grateful for her patience. Even though she wore an expression which suggested she knew how he felt, he thought it only right to dignify her words with a proper response. As he raised his pen to write, he heard something and froze. It was a faint sound but one he recognised and suddenly feared. He looked intently at Spectre, her eyes were closed and he realised what she was doing. He scribbled on the paper.

What is it?

Their location was no longer as secure as she would have liked. Sirens were approaching, fast.

The first thought that crossed her mind was that Tron was not in the best circumstances. Although a God in the world of technology, he wouldn't last long in a scuffle with the authorities, to say nothing of the boy at her side. He was only just healing, and could not seriously be expected to defend himself against armed men. It was her reponsibility to rectify this situation. They weren't taking the boy, Tron or her without one hell of a fight.

We have to move.. Now.

She took off at a run, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and dragging him along with her, back toward the house.

It was the response he dreaded. She released his sleeve once they were running, allowing him the freedom to sprint and keep up with her. They kicked sand into the air behind them and sent gulls scattering from the beach. Despite their agitated caws and heavy wingbeats, the sound of the approaching sirens was louder than ever. They heard the screeching of car tires as they presumably turned onto the narrow road leading down into the cove. When they reached the house, Tron was at the door looking pale.

"I just picked up on their frequency. They know he's here. What are we going to do?"

Spectre ran up the front steps and pushed Tron back inside the house. "You are going to stay down, and out of sight."

She pointed back to the computer that he had just vacated. "Get on there. Wait until they report that they have him, then scramble their signals, after I make my move. Do not let them call for backup."

Turning her attention back to the boy, she frowned, hating herself for what she had to do.

I won't let them take you, I swear. But, they have to think they have you, understand..?

She disappeared, but ran her fingers through his hair to let him know she was still there.

I'm right here with you, trust me.

Four police cars, sirens shutting down, but lights still rotating in threat - pulled into the gravel drive, blocking in their own vehicle.

"This is the Police. All those inside, come out slowly, hands behind your heads. You are harboring a possibly violent criminal who is wanted for questioning. "

Like hell, she thought...

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard in a desperate attempt to control his breathing. Spectre's soft touch ushered him towards the front door. Through the windows he caught glimpses of the cars and the movement of police officers; he knew they were postitioned in a semicircle around the front of the house, he knew two officers would be in position to the right and left, their weapons patiently trained on the entrance and the rest taking cover behind the open doors of their vehicles, four centre-back and one for each flanking car. He opened the door slowly and stepped out with his hands behind his head. Slowly, he stepped down from the porch and approached the vehicle in front of him.

"Everybody out."

"Where are the others, kid?" asked a woman to his right, she had her pistol pointed at his head. He wanted to tell her there was no-one else. His heart pounded.

"Ok, kid, get down on the ground."

He'd reached the end of the wooden walkway and stood next to the car in which Spectre had brought him. He got on his knees. The woman approached him cautiously, and with her free hand, released a pair of handcuffs from her belt. He heard movement behind him and was aware that three cops were preparing to enter the house. Radio chatter came from the lead response car. He thought of prison cells and interogation rooms, and started trembling.

"Taking the boy into protective custody now, and entering the house. No sign of anyone else.." The woman with the handcuffs spoke into her radio as she bent, opening the cuffs and taking the prone boy by the wrist.

That was when mayhem claimed the day. Two officers, armed with shotguns, stepped away from the police cruiser at the center. Their attention was on the front door, as three of the fellow officers advanced into the house. Without warning, the shotgun weilding pair turned toward each other, taking aim and firing. Matching slugs exploded from the barrels, ripping through the air. Simultaneously both officers were hit, and dropped to the ground out of the game.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

"Call in back up!!"

If Tron had done his job, there would be no help coming.

Spectre smiled darkly, grabbing the woman with the handcuffs by the back of her head and slamming her face into the nearby hood of the car. She too went down in a heap, unmoving..

His forehead smacked against the rough wood the moment shots were fired. He kept low, praying he was not the target of the weapon's fire. The police started to panic, their radios were jammed, and while two officers dived into their cars to call for back-up, the woman was attacked. As she slumped to the ground unconcious, a cry came from the house.

"Step away from the computer!"

"I didn't do anything. Look! I-"

There was a crack and Tron was silenced. From his crouched position on the ground, he turned in time to see, amongst the silhouetted shapes in the window, the figure of Tron being rendered unconcious with a brutal pistol whip. His fear vanished and as anger ignited in its place, he rushed the house at a full sprint. In the open doorway, a policeman appeared and aimed his weapon at him. He leapt and soared through the air, clearing the distance between himself and the wide window beyond the porch. He crashed inside with an explosion of wood splinters and glass.

She was either starting to really like the kid, or she was going to save them all a lot of trouble and kill him! Spectre watched in fascination and horror as he launched himself through the glass and into the house, clearly in a rage now. The two officers left outside with her started to run for the front door, to aid their comrades.

Her head was begining to pound, but she was not nearly done with them. The first onto the porch, stopped in his tracks and suddenly dropped, covering his head.

"I surrender!"

The second ran up behind him and hauled him to his feet. "I've got one of them!", he called into the house proudly. Then dragged his partner toward one of the waiting cars.

He threw him in the back seat and secured him, without a struggle, then walked around the car whistling. He slid behind the wheel and started the engine, feeling like the best gosh darn cop in the land. Then he drove the car straight across the yard, down the beach and into the sea, all the while convinced he was bringing a known criminal to justice.

Spectre smiled and ran to the porch..

He landed in a graceful forward roll at the feet of one of the officers inhabiting the room. As he rose, he swept his legs from under him. Before he fell through the coffee table, the cop lost grip of his gun. It seemed like second nature to him as he turned and saw the other officers; one stood in the entrance and one stood over Tron's body by the computer, both raised their weapons and he knew exactly what he had to do.

Behind his back, he caught the falling gun perfectly in his left hand. He squeezed the trigger, unloading two bullets into the chest of the one in the doorway. He fell back onto the porch. The third officer still wasn't ready to fire. All it took was a kick and the upholstered footstool flew across the room and struck the policeman in the arm, sending his first shot off course.

By the time he fired his second shot, his fallen comrade had scrambled off the broken coffee table and had been taken for a meatshield by the boy. He pushed forward, feeling the bullets slam into the body in his hands. There was a faint click-click and he grinned: the cop had run out of bullets. He leap-frogged over his now deceased meatshield as it slumped to the floor, and cracked the bastard in the head with his own pistol. He, too, fell to the floor dead.

She heared each shot as it was fired. Her heart slammed against her chest in fright as she crossed the threshhold and spilled into the house. There were four bodies on the floor. Tron was one of them, though she suspected he would live, albeit with a killer headache. The other three would not be so fortunate..

She muttered something extremely unladylike..

"Well, I gather you don't need rescuing this time." She couldn't quite keep the admiration from her voice, looking around at what one boy had just accomplished in the span of time it took her to run up the front walk.

The thought suddenly crossed her mind that maybe there was a good reason they had come after the boy, an entire state away, so damned fast, but her mind was quickly turning into a painful pile of mush..

Stepping over a body without a shred of mercy, she dropped to Tron's side, rolling him over to inspect the damage, but over her shoulder she spoke to the boy still.. "You're ok..?"

From the shirt pocket of his last victim, he retrieved an umblemished notepad, it was compact and leather-bound, much better than his last one. Only the first two pages had been used. He used his own pen to write and he extended the note over her shoulder so she could read it:

Yes.

And it was true, he was uninjured and perfectly calm. His breathing was steady, his mind was clear and his hands were still. He took a moment to glance out the broken window at the aftermath of the carnage. He suddenly scribbled something else and held it before her:

You?

"I've been better." She announced.

What a mess.

Well, if they were that determined to find this boy, it would not be long before another, better equipped team would be sent in to finish the job and collect him. They could not afford to sit around and wait for that eventuality. Something of a diversion was required.

Saying nothing else, she rose and went outside. The female officer with the bashed head had been about her size. Spectre crouched at the woman's side and without ceremony, started pulling off her shirt. The woman was not dead, but would wish she was before long.

She pulled on the uniform, over her own shirt and tucked her silver-blonde hair into the hat. Spectre pulled the woman up and dragged her, by her feet, into the house, making sure that her already battered head hit every one of the porch stairs. She left the woman in the front hall, and went into the kitchen, pouring a glass of herself water and popping a few pills from a prescription bottle.

"Can you help me get Tron in the back of one of the cars?" She called out to the boy, turning on the gas to all four burners of the stove, and the oven, opening the door.

He nodded and stooped to pick him up. First, he tried to lift him on his own but, to his surprise, had difficulty. He side-stepped so Spectre could support one arm while he lifted the other. His face was a picture of confusion. They shuffled outside and brought Tron to the vehicle at the end of the walkway. It took a moment to rest him gently on the back seat. After shutting the door, he turned to Spectre and shrugged. She understood and answered.

"Things have suddenly become more complicated and time is no longer on our side. These people want you and until we can figure out why, we'll go to Saladin. He'll know what to do."

He ran to the other side of the car and climbed in. Spectre took a moment to have one last look at the house before joining him. The key was still in the ignition. She started up the engine and the radio sprang to life with muffled voices. Tron's frequency jam had worn off but at least they'll be able to monitor police activity. Before she put the car in reverse, Spectre was presented with another written message. He smiled.

Take me to your leader.

She smiled at the note, shaking her head.

"Great, he'll be so very pleased that I've brought him an alien life form.."

After she turned the car around, preparing to head down the long driveway, Spectre put it in park for one last moment. Opening her door, she slid one leg out and stood, the other knee was still resting on the seat of the cruiser.

It really was a shame, she really liked that house..

She retrieved the shotgun from behind the seat and unloaded on the house.

They drove away, leaving the pencil pushers another blaze to investigate. This one with bodies galore, police officers driving each other into the ocean and not a mutant in sight.

Just another day...

The ignited gas blew a hole in the kitchen wall, sending shattered wood and glowing embers into the sea. He felt sorry for Spectre. Her sacrifice was admirable. As the car sped along the beach, he rolled down his window to enjoy the last of its cool breeze. He fished from his pocket his old notepad, now blood-stained and battered. It had belonged to his sister and she gave it to him one day when he ran out of paper. He flicked absently through the second half of the pad, recalling conversations passed. He knew there were drawings on the front pages. His jaw clenched and he gripped the notepad tight. Then threw it away.

He glanced into the wing mirror and watched it bounce and roll in the sand. Beyond, he saw the house; angry red flames danced in the windows, the white paint had turned brown in places, and ebon smoke climbed out of the cove. A memory stirred. Something other than morbid curiosity kept his eyes fixed on that house as it went up in flames. He found it ironic. His last life ended with a burning house, his new life began with one. He pulled his gaze away to look at Spectre then wrote something for her:

I'm Mute.