She was¡¦ amazing. Green mist swirled around a glowing interior, shaping out a curved female body that was cloaked in a certain fuzzy quality, as if the image were out of focus, but promised something so perfect if it could be seen in clarity. Her hair was long, down to the middle of her back, and he thought it was braided, but such details were hard to see. She seemed to pulse with life, seemed to radiate energy¡¦ and as his eyes followed the thread that he¡¦d followed here, the glowing filament that originated in the back of his right hand, he saw that it led to her, straight to her chest, the place where he would image her heart to be.

He had seen her before. Never like this. Never so dazzling or incredible, but on a lesser, simpler scale. Even then she had been amazing, lit up with internal life on the desolate and empty Antarctican snowdrifts. She had appeared in a flash of light, burst into existence out of nowhere, and had offered him survival without ever saying a word. But he was desperate, unwilling to resist when he knew that he could have if his mind had had a greater will. His will was gone, stripped away with the freezing cold along with his pride and confidence. He was a shell holding only a tiny fire of desire only strong enough to keep him walking and then, as he lay on the ground with this glowing green entity before him, only strong enough to keep him breathing. And he had no strength to protect himself anymore, and he let her in, his mental walls dissolved with his resolve. He felt her then, felt her offer of life, felt her dive into his brain and take a space there. Felt her side of the deal set in, her control, her ability to smite that last little flame that burned in him. He felt her threat, the sinking feeling that something bad had just happened, the realization that his life might never be his own again. And then he felt the darkness close in.

He remembered. Later, when New Son had found him and when he was lying in bed, struck down by pneumonia, he had attributed the event to hallucination. Granted, he had lived when he should have died. Granted, there was a unnatural vitality right after he woke up that allowed him to venture into the Savage Lands and do New Son a favor before he started to feel the effects of his illness¡¦ but he was a mutant. Strange things happened regularly to people like him.

But here she was again. Real. Or as real as things could seem on this plane of existence. And she had been here in his mind all this time.

*******

They were so close now. She could reach out and touch him should she wish to do so, complete the joining of their minds and open herself to him. It was what she had to do to give him the dreams, to let him violate her, take memories from her mind and experience them with her all over again. But she wasn¡¦t going to let that happen now. She had already sacrificed in that way. Now it was time to try something different.

They had been quiet so far. Now she spoke. "Do you know who I am?" Her voice sounded like the whisper of the wind, echoing and powerful to her own ears, matching the effect she desired.

He looked taken aback, as if he expected the scenario to play out like a silent movie. It took him a moment before he answered: "Y¡¦ de femme dat saved m¡¦ life in Antarctica."

She gazed at him, considering her response. "I¡¦m the key to preventing the future."

It was his turn to stare at her now. She could feel his thoughts turning through his head, even if she couldn¡¦t read them exactly from this distance. He decided to follow the subject she had set, instead of pursuing the multitude of other questions she knew he had. "Why? What¡¦s so bad about the future?"

"You are. The Witness is."

His eyes widened at the name, the same name she knew had haunted his dreams for nights at a time. His features hardened, blue steel, his eyes glowing a bright midnight. "Who are you?"

"I believe I answered that already."

"Non, you didn¡¦t."

Not so fast, he wouldn¡¦t take control of this conversation that easily. She was the dominant one here, and it would remain that way. She didn¡¦t answer, only stood, staring stoically.

He didn¡¦t crack, but reconsidered his approach. "Have you been de one giving me de dreams?"

She smiled, cold and humorless. "Why, yes. Did you enjoy them?"

"An¡¦ de visions about de nanos and Sinister a while ago?"

She couldn¡¦t help commending him on making the connection in his mind. He wasn¡¦t completely stupid, only heartless. "That was also my work."

A pause. The gears in his head were turning again. "What is your connection with Sinister?"

Her head bent to the side and she was unable to prevent the chuckle that escaped her lips. "I have no connection with Sinister. I simply took the fears in your mind and made them into something. I knew he was dangerous." She knew he had caused something bad in the past, had had a hand in creating the future she lived in, if not his exact role. So she had tried to keep Remy afraid of him, to make sure Remy wouldn¡¦t aid him in causing more pain. Just like she was doing now with New Son.

He didn¡¦t look like he believed her. She didn¡¦t care.

"Den why do you have some sort of connection to de scar of Sinister¡¦s symbol on m¡¦ hand?" He gestured with his head, eyes narrowed and suspicious, at the upraised limb, the line of light extending out. She resisted the temptation to look down at her chest, to the place where it reached her.

"To make you paranoid." She smiled another cold smile, knowing he didn¡¦t understand. Knowing that he would try to find all different kinds of explanations for her use of the symbol when the real reason was only because she knew the effect it would have on him. The more afraid he was, the better. The less likely it would be that he would have the confidence or presence of mind to do damage to other people.

"Do you know the power I have over you?" she continued. She felt his reaction to that remark, his resistance. "Do you know that the only reason you are alive is because I choose to let you live? Let me tell you about the future¡¦"

He cut her off. He had the nerve to cut her off. "De way I see it, is dat you are in my mind and dat I never gave you permission to set up your own personal Holiday Inn here. You may have saved m¡¦ life in Antarctica, but dat don¡¦ give you rights to be in m¡¦ head."

"Oh yes is does," she said. "You don¡¦t seem to understand. I could have easily killed you after you did half the job blowing up Sinister¡¦s lab. Your life is in my hands. I¡¦ve given it back to you more than once, and I can take it away at will. You¡¦ll listen to me, boy, if you value your existence. Trust me, the future will be better for it."

He was seething; she could see it, lightning bolting out of his body at strange angles, magnifying his tight stance. He didn¡¦t like being told he was helpless. Hated it even more because part of him believed it. And he felt violated. Just like she had had to feel so many times before because of him. He deserved what he got. She could feel the wells of anxiety/fear/distrust/indignant anger running through him. "An¡¦ how do you know s¡¦ much about de future?" he said with words cut of diamond, brows low and angled.

"I know because I lived it."

And then she stepped forward and touched him, because she knew that was the only way to drive the point home, to break through the resistance of his stubbornness and give reality to his situation. It didn¡¦t matter how much she didn¡¦t want to¡¦ her purpose went beyond her, and she would continue to give of herself until the goal was reached. She felt the connection between them flair open, felt his surprise and recoil as deeply as if it were her own¡¦ and in fact it was as they became one just long enough for her to allow him to relive a memory in her body.

*******

The room was bright and it hurt his eyes. He blinked a few times against the white blur he saw. It took him a few teary seconds to realize that he was staring at a ceiling.

It took him a few more seconds to realize that he was in the real world again. The misty ghost girl was gone now, except for a thin wispy shadow that he could feel across the edges of his mind.

He was in the medlab. His eyes searched the sterile looking room, finding the piles of machinery and supplies that had recently been installed. There were faces, staring over him, and looking/feeling relieved and angry.

Jean was there, and Scott, and Hank.

They were talking he realized, probably to him, and he actually had to put an effort into hearing them, into arranging their voice patterns into words and sentences and ideas, as if oral language was something foreign to him that he was unaccustomed to.

"¡¦you hear me?" Jean was saying. "Focus on the words, piece it all together¡¦ Remy? Answer me¡¦" she sounded concerned.

He wondered if maybe that meant he should be too. His body felt awkward, like he didn¡¦t belong in it.

"I¡¦ hear¡¦ y¡¦" He put the words in sequence with more brainpower than he¡¦d imagined it should take. His brain was clouded with the emotions that filled the room around him, that filled the mansion, all jumbled together in his empathic sense like a tangled ball of string. He could feel himself falling into it all, sliding down into a form that would make him one with those emotions, that would put them on the same plane as him so that he could get a closer look.

Sliding¡¦ deeper¡¦ deeper. *Remy!* She was in his mind, deep in his mind to be able to reach him here. Too deep¡¦ and he realized he had let his defenses slide.

And then the world came into sharp focus as he shut her out and everything else out with strong stiff walls.

He saw instead of felt the concern on Hank, Scott and Jean¡¦s faces. Blinking a few times, he started to feel the burning headache behind his eyes that must have been waiting there for him to wake up. His hand came to his head as he slowly sat up on the bed he had been laying on.

"Remy? Are you back with us now?" Scott asked with the paternal concern of a leader that the man must have admired in Xavier so many times before.

Remy closed his eyes, squinting at the pain. His right arm hurt. He must have been laying on it wrong. "Unfortunately," he mumbled.

Hank was already walking around him doing a preliminary check. Remy flinched away from the doctor¡¦s furry hands but didn¡¦t offer too much resistance. "Well, it seems that you are getting that after-training check-up Mr. Summers here has ordered anyway," Hank commented as he shone a bright light in Remy¡¦s eye.

Remy blinked away, tearing because of his heightened sensitivity to light. "Ow, watch it wit¡¦ dat t¡¦ing furball. Well, don¡¦ I feel lucky." He was starting to put his thoughts in order, to remember what had happened. He was starting to remember how much trouble he was really in.

"You should." Scott managed to catch his eye and hold his gaze, an uncanny ability of his considering the big ruby visor over half his face. "If it weren¡¦t for Jean pulling you back you might not be back."

Remy didn¡¦t say anything. He wasn¡¦t exactly sure what to say, and he figured anything smart would just make things worse considering his situation.

Scott seemed to be waiting for a reply, or maybe an agreement. When nothing came he took it to mean that Remy didn¡¦t care. "Doesn¡¦t that bother you?" He was looking for a connection, a way to reach him, and Remy knew it.

"Should it?" He hated when people tried to do that, to force some kind of link, as if they could understand who he was and communicate with him as a peer. But nobody could understand; that was the circumstance of his nature. Even he didn¡¦t understand half of the time. He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but it was the first and only answer that came to mind that he was willing to give.

For a moment there was a flash of frustration and suppressed anger on Scott¡¦s face, and then it was gone. "Tell me what happened?" His tone was coaxing, without a trace of the emotion that had just disappeared.

Memories were coming back on him now, clear, yet with that dream-like quality that so deftly eludes explanation. He could see her standing there¡¦bright and green and misty in the black darkness that hung around her in a cloud of mystery. And he could remember the feel of her hate burning him as he shared every emotion with her. There was her hand reaching out to touch him, the sudden sense that he was in someone else¡¦s body¡¦ then the graveyard, him living it as if it were real, seeing the Witness.

There was the fear. Insensitive and sterile, sitting in a knot in his throat.

And Scott must have seen it. They all must have seen it. "Remy?" he called gently.

Remy focused on his face, making sure his expression was appropriate again, indifferent, slightly annoyed. "What?"

"What happened? Jean said that she was talking to you but communication suddenly broke off, and when she tried to look for you, you were deep in your mind with an armory of walls around you."

Hank gestured for him to take his shirt off, and he did. The stethoscope was cold and he flinched back. He wasn¡¦t sure exactly how he was going to answer yet. He knew he couldn¡¦t tell the truth, not until he knew more about who the ghost femme was, or what her connection to him could be. He had the unnerving sense that he had unwillingly made a deal with the devil, and he needed to find out more, especially since the Witness was involved. But he needed the freedom to do it on his own, without the X-Men hanging over his personal life.

And so the alternative was to lie. And start the web of deception all over again after he had come back from Antarctica where he was condemned for hiding the truth the first time. He¡¦d begin all over again, with the distancing of himself and the dishonesty and the guilt of not being completely truthful with those that he knew trusted him. But trust was a strong word. Maybe they would never really trust him again anyway. Maybe it was too late and it really didn¡¦t matter so much. Maybe they expected him to lie.

But did he expect himself to lie? Somehow along the way, his subconscious had made a pledge without him knowing it, to do things right this time.

Too bad his subconscious was going to have to be disappointed. Sacrifices had to be made. And as always, his conscience was one of the first to go. There were other instincts that he owed his life to. His conscience had never saved him before. "I made a wrong turn." It was the truth technically, but he knew the connotation was the he had made a mistake. He had known where he was going all along.

"You mean you didn¡¦t come back the way you came to the outside world, like I told you?" Jean asked, tilting her head. Red hair fell over her shoulders.

"Non." He hoped they would stop asking questions, before the half-truths turned into complete and undeniable falsities.

"Where did you go then?"

Why couldn¡¦t it ever be easy? Her green eyes implored him to answer. He looked away, distracting himself with the act of putting his shirt back on. Hank seemed to be done finally, and the furry doctor stepped back to give him some space to maneuver. "Don¡¦ remember," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Jus¡¦ got lost." He wasn¡¦t sure how convincing he was being, but even if his acting was failing him now, they would assume that he didn¡¦t want to talk about it, that he had seen some ugly things in his mind that he didn¡¦t want to share. It fit with what they knew of him and it really wasn¡¦t too far from the truth. Of course they would never guess the details and magnitude of it.

Jean frowned, not looking very satisfied with his answer, but he figured she knew that she wasn¡¦t going to get anything else out of him because she didn¡¦t question him further.

Scott must not have been as perceptive. Or maybe he was just stubborn. "Remy, how about we have lunch together tomorrow. A casual thing, get some time to talk. There are a lot of things I have been meaning to ask you." The man did a good job of saying it without making the appointment sound like a death sentence. He must have felt some conversational time between them was his duty as a leader or something, because Remy knew the man wasn¡¦t particularly fond of him. Considering the amount of grief he¡¦d caused, he didn¡¦t blame him.

It was an offer he figured he wasn¡¦t at liberty to refuse. "Sure, Scotty." He smiled, knowing it probably looked slightly evil.

"Good. We¡¦ll talk about this more tomorrow. Hank, does everything check out?"

"He¡¦s as healthy as a Cajun swamp rat."

"Then you¡¦re free to go back to your room and get some sleep."

Remy nodded and was out of there as soon as he could jump off the bed and walk out the door.

He really hated medlabs.

*******

The screen of the laptop glowed softly in the dark room, him leaning carefully over it so that a dim light was cast across his face. There was the steady sound of the clicking keys as his fingers flew over them, followed by an indignant beep. Another click, another beep. He sighed heavily and leaned back on the headboard of his bed. Gently, he massaged his head.

He was getting nowhere with the disk that Jake Jr. had given him, and he was running out of time.

The clock glowed the numbers 9:00 happily. He wondered why it always seemed to be so overjoyed, no matter what the time was, whether it be two in the morning or three in the afternoon, it always shone brightly. Whatever it was on to make it that way, he wanted some.

A deep sigh. Another beep. This was pointless. He wasn¡¦t going to find out what was on the disk before he had to deliver it tonight to this Schecher man.

He leaned back on his bed and laid down, his laptop still on his lap. And then what, Remy? What you gonna do if you find out it be somet¡¦ing nasty New Son¡¦s got planned? You never doubted dat it would be somet¡¦ing illegal and dat never stopped you before. You gonna play hero an¡¦ risk your hide against New Son¡¦s henchmen? Jus¡¦ cuz of some ghost of de future tryin¡¦ to scare you?

But it was working. Because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was terrified.

He¡¦d spent the entire day "sleeping". Lights off, door closed, not leaving the room even for dinner. What sleeping really meant was that he was calling any connection he could find, searching for information on this Congressman he was supposed to deliver the disk to all over the internet, and coming just short of begging his dad to find something, anything, on New Son, when there was nothing to be found except for petty drug deals, small weapons exchanges, and other crime syndicate types of stuff. Nothing that seemed to have any link to Congressman Schecher, unless he was a drug dealer in hiding.

Remy doubted that. The man had no outstanding record. Except that he was having some financial problems due to a divorce and an agitated soon-to-be-ex-spouse charging him with domestic violence, but nothing had been proven and it might have just been his wife looking to get some money and a way out of the marriage.

Remy sat up again, sliding his finger across the mouse sensor and maximizing the internet browser window on his computer. A news page came up, changing the light patterns across his face. He blinked, the brightness hurting his eyes, especially in comparison to the dark room, but he forced them to adjust and skim the page. There were assorted, uninteresting articles, something about no additional missing children reported in Michigan, a man found dead in a New York City alleyway, a completely inaccurate article about mutant criminals, blah, blah, blah¡¦ and there! There, at the bottom of the page was the article his search engine was targeting. It was about mutant registration. Apparently, if everyone voted the way they said they would, they would be one vote short of the majority needed to get the bill passed. There were still three Congressmen on the fence, who hadn¡¦t made any decisions as to which side they were going to take. Congressman Schecher was one of them.

And that meant absolutely nothing. From what he¡¦d managed to gather on New Son¡¦s profile, the crime boss had never been interested in politics, only money-making activities. And even if Mutant Registration meant something to him, he was a mutant and would no doubt try to influence things so that it would not pass. Nothing wrong with that. If the reason for all this was just to sway the Congressman¡¦s opinion to favor mutants, then all the better.

His hands came up to massage his head and he closed his eyes. He didn¡¦t know what was what anymore. And he was thoroughly convinced that he had gone certifiably crazy. Opening his eyes and deciding to try to copy the disk one more time, he bent over the keyboard and let his hands do what was natural.

This time the beep was long and derisive.

So that was that. He wasn¡¦t going to get anymore information about this thing. He was going to have to work with what he had.

The clock was now gaily announcing that it was 9:15.

He closed down his laptop and popped out the disk, dropped it into a new envelope and sealed it with some water from an unopened bottle on his dresser. And then he began to get dressed: all black bodysuit, traditional trenchcoat, extra cards and the typical thieving picks and tools.

It was time for him to go.