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Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
 
 
 

Distraught - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Flitz
Last updated: 08/24/2008 12:48:30 PM

Chapter 2

Muscles quivering sporadically the young mutant thief known as Remy LeBeau paced, a personification of rage. His barely shoulder length auburn hair tangled about his face, his hands clenching intermediately, breathing short shaky gusts through his nose.

How dare they, the Cajun thief fumed grinding his teeth, what gave them the right? His father had just been murdered, and the police hauled him away before the blood dried. No innocent to governmental indiscretions Remy was still aghast at their audacity, abducting a Guild member was not an intelligent decision. It hadnít been a legal arrest, but the one thing the child thief had learned about rules was they werenít followed by those with the power to step around them.

Reveling in his anger the teenís crimson orbs burned brightly in the unlit room. The belittling sympathy from Xavier, and the offhandish behavior of both Cyclops and Logan goaded him. And before, watching all the officials scurry around his temporary cell aboard the helicarrier trying to make a deal, appraising him as if they could envision dollar signs, it made him sick.

No longer on display for snotty bureaucrats and pretentious administrators he had let his emotions run rampant. The anger pulsed through him, throbbing with his heart beat before he forced it down. The lanky teen knew he had an irrepressible temper that flared wildly, but living in rage was for when you were out of options. If he wanted to escape he needed to plan and anger blinded him from seeing beyond the moment.

Planting himself dourly on the maple framed bed, he gave up his fruitless pacing and silent curses. For the first time he noted his surroundings, an unusual mixture of technology and antiques according to his appraising eye. No phone of course, but a television, DVD, stereo, alarm clock and what he assumed was an intercom built into the wall. The furniture was made of dark maple as a matching set to the half sleigh bed. There were two unopened doors supposedly one for a closet and one for an attached bath. The room had been done up in dark green and cream, suggesting a relaxed atmosphere that created a hefty dissonance with the vengeful thoughts rebounding in his skull.

Running a quick hand through his hair distressed, the teen closed his eyes tightly no longer able to focus and avoid the surfacing litany jabbering in his mind. The events from scant hours ago replayed warped out of sequence. It was inescapable, Jean Luc, his pere was dead. Gunned down like a common criminal in the alley instead of the great man he was. Repeating it again it still retained its quality of the surreal. It wasnít supposed to happen like this; it wasnít supposed to happen at all.

The mutant thief remembers only vaguely being manhandled into custody, consciousness slipping out of his grasp. The teen hadnít become overly concerned until the police cruiser was pulled over and he was transferred onto the Shield helicarrier. In his hometown Guild connections would have easily gotten him out of jail. An international espionage agency that had its base in the sky would take considerably more skill. Shield officers had questioned him extensively but he hadnít said a word. Well worn and weathered mental defenses kept out their telepaths scrabbling against his shields prying for information.

The agents themselves hadnít been forthright with information, but thieves were required to know every government op. Their dark blue uniforms seemed standard for the higher class government agencies, but the helicarrier had narrowed it down to two options, Safe or Shield. Glaring at those who surrounded his cell Remy had been able to identify the organization by the presence of one man, Nick Fury. Operating head of Shield he matched his file perfectly, eye patch, slight graying at the temples and biting a cigar he was unmistakable. Remy had expected incarceration from the vaunted agent, not a school to result. No explanations had been offered, and Remy knew better than to engage in conversation.

He recalled being yanked out of the NOPD cruiser, and the sudden feeling of utter stillness that had descended at the activation of the collar. The familiar flow of energy around him was gone, so too was the light shimmering that overrode his vision detailing higher energy sources.

However, there was still another to consider. His power to charm. The teen wasnít sure why this power had remained unaffected, but it had always felt separate from his charging powers, maybe the device only had the ability to dampen one power type. Remy had considered using his charm, but often unreliable in nature it might only serve to worsen his situation. For now it would be the better choice to rely on something more stable with less chance of backlash.

Frustrated the red haired youthís thoughts slipped backward again, his hand trembling before he forcibly steadied it. Jean Luc was dead. The phrase kept ringing through his consciousness no matter how much he tried to deny it. Dead, it didnít seem right, didnít seem fair. They hadnít been on Guild business, if they had both would have been wearing body armor, and after dealing with the gutless shooter it would have become another tale of retribution at the Guild meeting houses. Had Remy chosen to walk on the opposite side of the alley he would have caught the stream of bullets, not Jean Luc.

Jean Luc had saved his life by taking him off the streets. No matter how self-reliant the young boy had become, Remy couldnít fool himself into thinking he could have safely remained on the streets as a physically mutated child. Remy had been unable to return the favor.

Glancing at the dried substance that covered his person, the Cajun teen rose unsteadily to wash his fatherís blood from his hands. He blearily recalled a biblical quote about the blood of the father, but couldnít remember the context. He hadnít had anything to do with his fatherís death, had he?

The distressed youth made it to the bathroom watching as the blood stained the water and swirled lazily down the drain. Blood soaked jeans stuck to his muscular legs uncomfortably and he considered changing clothes as well, but decided against it. He didnít want to accept anything from these people. It didnít matter whether they called it a school or not, he didnít want to be here, it was his prison.

Leaving the bathroom quickly, he thrust back intruding thoughts of his family to focus on an escape. Remy scanned his room? his cell he corrected viciously, anger resparking. He knew that he was on the third floor of a Victorian styled house, but that wasnít particularly enlightening.

Remy moved to the sole window, checking it for the possibility of an escape route. Even if he was on the third floor, he should be able to climb down, or if not, he was desperate enough to free-fall in hopes of a graceful landing. Throwing aside patterned curtains and hauling up cream blinds he was taken aback by the sight of actual bars on the window.

He blinked jerking his head back in surprise, the window wouldnít be his escape that he was sure of. The red-headed teen almost looked for the moon to be shining through to paint bars on the floor as well but it retained its darkness. Crimson and ebony eyes gave him incredible night vision rendering the pervading gloom negligent. He reached out a hand to finger the bars, wrapping both hands around them he set his forehead there resting momentarily.

If he had his full powers, he could have easily laughed it off and blown them, and the teen was just in the right mood to do so. But the collar digging into his neck served to remind him he had been bereft of his powers since Shieldís arrival. The thought of being permanently caged catalyzed ingrained thief instincts. Turning about swiftly he tossed the room with an ease that suggested it was a practiced art. Rifling through the desk, the dresser, running his hands against the walls, he didnít find what he was searching for.

The teen was feeling contemptuous to his captors, not being able to speak freely was wearing on him. With that thought in mind he decided to leave the room in its disheveled state. Xavier had to know he was planning an escape, or his room wouldnít have metal bars on the window, he wasnít giving away any new information. Briefly he wondered if this room had been detailed earlier, or if they had made it just to house him. If the second were true, he was slightly daunted at the level of their preparedness considering warning of his arrival must have been minimal.

His search had proved the room vacant of anything that could remotely be used as either an effective weapon or a lock pick. Even the hangers he found in the small closet were plastic. But he was somewhat satisfied to know that he hadnít found any cameras or listening devices either. Unknowingly he returned a hand to his collar, fingers running gingerly over the inhibitor, cold metal remaining unwarmed by his tanned skin.

Remy knew he had to get back to his home in New Orleans, to Tante Mattie and Henri. Theyíd be able help him, if he made a quick escape he might even get to attend his fatherís funeral. The Guilds had to be in an upheaval, the thieves would be demoralized and the assassins pacing the borders. Realizing his own attention was fleeting the teen brushed away his concerns for the Guilds forcing himself to concentrate on more immediate matters, like cataloging the room. A task he knew he had set for himself several times only to be continually diverted.

There was only one air vent in the room, but it wouldnít fit his tapered frame even if he resorted to dislocating a shoulder. Besides which, the red head didnít relish the idea of potentially becoming lost in an unknown duct system. Crimson eyes swept through the room once more noting every detail, searching for something he might have overlooked.

His gaze settled on the electronics array, fairly impressive but not helpful in its own right. He might be able to pry off the cover on an outlet to obtain a suitable wire, but the threat of electric shock convinced him to find another option. From the fleeting glance he had of the mansion he knew the style suggested it had been around for over a century. But the hardware in the room suggested it was had been updated significantly. The television caught his attention as he saw his own red eyes reflecting back at him. If this mansion had been updated regularly since its foundation perhaps there would be something he could use.

Most people had cable television, it was a given though today it was usually accomplished with satellites. Before the abundance of satellites, a cable line came up through the floor to attach to the TV, most people forgot they were even there and didnít bother to remove them.

Now slightly regretting leaving the clothes from the dresser strewn about the floor the teen moved them aside quickly, hand searching the dark green carpet. He pulled back a questing hand as it caught on something sharp. Reaching his hand back under the maple desk he felt more cautiously and pulled the cable to him. There it was plastic casing and all. Wishing for his duster he bit into the casing with his teeth before starting to strip it the rest of the way with nimble fingers.

His trench coat had nearly become his trademark; he found it easy to store necessities like weapons, food, tools, or to hide objects he just might not have obtained legally. Unfortunately his coat was probably in a dumpster somewhere or more likely an evidence locker since he had shed it as an impromptu bandage for his fatherís wounds. Having successfully removed the casing Remy was able to pry the small but sufficiently thick piece of metal from the twine of wire, it wasnít as long as heíd like but it was the best option he had.

Stepping cautiously toward the door the anxious thief almost expected it to fly open of its own accord. He eased his hastily created pick into the lock quickly bending it to the correct shape, one of the first tricks heíd learned before graduating to much more advanced modes of breaking and entering. Although this was his first time of actually trying to break out of somewhere, he spent most of his life trying to get in. A few moments of silence passed before he tasted victory heralded by a muted click. His heart skittered; he was getting out this school, away from Shield and back home where he belonged.

The crimson eyed teen edged open the door peering out stealthfully before a sudden scowl blossomed on his face. Throwing the door open the rest of the way he let it rebound off the frame noisily. Before the door sat his own personal guard, Cyclops.

"I thought you might find a way to pick that lock," he commented mildly "what did you use? I thought I cleared everything out." Leaning against the opposite wall Cyclops watched the near escapee sizing him up, feral expression of hatred etched in the mutant thiefís features, nostrils flaring tightly, eyes slitted like a cat.

Remy was indeed taking the measure of the man before him. Xavier explained everyone at the school was a mutant and the red shades the twenty-four year old wore made him appear menacing even with the slight smile. Extra caution should be used when dealing with unknowns, but the thief was an admirable fighter even without his powers and was considering taking his chances with a brawl.

A cold trickle found its way through the room, a telepath ghosting past the Cajunís shields. The red-tinged glasses on Summersís face glinted as he tilted his head in consideration, "Can you feel that?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

The thief realized he must have given some signal to betray his startlement and recomposed himself so no more emotions could leak through. Inside he was boiling, heat rushing through his limbs at the obvious defeat. The other manís threat was clear, before Remy would be able to depose of Cyclops he could easily send a telepathic shout to the rest of the mansion if he hadnít done so already. Completely caught up in devising an escape the teen had ignored the door until his escape. If he had paid more attention he could have caught the slight shift in shadows that would have betrayed the manís presence.

If the captive thief were to escape, it wouldnít be with a group of mutants clamoring on his trail. A strong feeling told him that Cyclops wasnít going to be surrendering his post anytime soon, and the continuance of the telepathís presence convinced him to grudgingly move back into the room. The door swung back near silently, but the potential for hostility was thick enough to wade through, viscous in the air. Lip curling in defiance, Remy consoled himself with the knowledge that there would be another opportunity, patience was key to a thiefís existence.

Biting back the bitter sigh that threatened to escape, the adrenaline rush that heíd been coasting lapsed with frightening speed. The teenager felt the moisture return to his eyes that he had thought heíd banished but whether from frustration, anger, or depression he wasnít sure. Disgusted with himself he lay down on the hunter green comforter.

Mentally exhausted he succumbed to slumber, failed plans of escape blurring with the final moments of his father. Holding on to a hand that grew weaker, desperately pleading for him not to leave.

 

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