Speak No Evil

[Mute]

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.

[Spectre]

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."

[Mute]

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.<o></o>

[Spectre]

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.

[Mute]

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.

[Spectre]

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.

[Mute]

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".

[Spectre]

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.

[Mute]

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.

[Spectre]

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.

[Mute]

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?

[Spectre]

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...?

[Mute]

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.

[Spectre]

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..

[Mute]

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.

[Spectre]

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.

[Mute]

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?

[Spectre]

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.

[Mute]

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.

[Spectre]

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.