“Charity, I wanted to talk to you because you seem to be withdrawing onto yourself much more than is healthy.” Professor Xaviar was never one for pleasantries when there was an issue to discuss. “Jean has told me you’re having a lot of trouble sleeping and Hank is concerned about the toxin levels still in you blood. And I am concerned about you.”

Being the scared wus I had become I couldn’t even look him in the eye. All I really wanted was to be left alone to sort things out, but I knew it wasn’t working. But I couldn’t face these people who helped me with my nightmares. It was bad enough that most of them knew already, but they don’t fully understand all that I had done. They didn’t see me kill the young children and burn down the houses with pictures on the wall of a smiling family, because they had been mutants. And every once in a while we had been wrong and innocents had been killed as well. I guess they were all innocents, but I didn’t see it that way at the time. I almost wish I couldn’t remember at all.

As the silence started to drag on, Xaviar was still as patient as ever. Sometimes it was a relief to talk to him, but more often now I just couldn’t choke out the words. Today, I couldn’t even look up.

“Perhaps, what you need is a bit of a vacation; get out of this musty house and see some new faces. Jean and Scott are planning on visiting the Massachusetts house and I thought you might like to go. Most of the students there are closer to your age and you might like being around some new people.” So now they were sending me away too. “We obviously can’t help you here and Emma, the head mistress there might be able to understand you more. She has had her own nightmares and might be able to help you better. We want to help you.”

I’m amazed, the professor actually seemed to be worried about me. I looked up at him and for a moment I thought he might be trying to help me instead of sending me away But the numbness that accompanied my waking hours returned and I wasn’t thinking much of anything.

***

“How are those genetic scans going Hank?” Jean walked into the lab with a sandwich in one hand and a large glass of juice in the other. “I brought you something to eat because you missed lunch. Again.”

“My apologies Jean, but Charity’s genetic make up is fascinating. I’m inferring that the reason that she wasn’t picked up on the HC’s genetic scans is because the standard genetic sequence that indicates the potential for a successful mutation, the so called X-factor, isn’t present. She seems to have some slight variations in a few different areas of her genetic makeup that are causing her abilities. By our classifications, she isn’t really a mutant. Well, technically any deviation from the genetic norm is a mutation but the particular deviation that causes things like telepathy or any sort of the standard mutations isn’t present. At least as far as I can tell. A full gene sequencer would help, but,” A set of massive shoulders shrugged up and then down, “Alas, I became engrossed in the quirks of her genes. Did you know that the her talent is more related to telepathy than we first thought? I think with training, she might become quite a strong telepath. Although it is hard to tell exactly how the differences compared to a standard telepath, you for instance, will affect her abilities. Ah, my favorite, roast beef. I don’t suppose we have any Dr. Pepper left in the house?” Hank had finally noticed the sandwich that Jean had placed on top of the pile of papers surrounding his computer. “I want to reanalyze the toxins that are in Charity’s blood tonight and I fear I may be at it for a while.” Which for Hank meant till noon the next morning.

 This immediately got Jean’s attention. She had let her mind wander off as Henry started into one of his infamous explanations that left everyone wondering if he was still speaking English. This one wasn’t bad, it was just that Jean had other things on her mind and was still keeping up the mental peek at Charity as she was talking to the professor. It seemed like there was a gleam of interest in her about what was happening.

But as the last words filtered through, she looked up and horror filled her at the thought of Hank pulling a long shift in the lab. “Oh no you don’t. The guys still haven’t forgiven you for the last time you did that. The new bathroom was only finished last month and I don’t care how much you want to reanalyze things, I’m shutting off the power to your lab a midnight. You can go back to it in the morning. Besides, I thought you said they were pretty much gone now. It’s been nearly a month now.”

After almost pouting, a facade that would have most people running for their lives, Hank’s face lost the look of fascination and took on a stony cast, indicating the worry this guy was going through. “There is still this one chemical that is stubbornly refuses to dissipate. It’s barely detectable and I’m having trouble finding it’s exact chemical make up but I suspect that is part of why Charity is not making any emotional progress over the last month. I believe it might be exaggerating an existing mild chemical imbalance pushing her into the deep depression. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was suicidal.” Jean winced at that all too true statement. “Of course the mental trauma and stress of the awareness of what she has done for the last few years of her life, haven’t helped matters either. However, the toxin still left doesn’t seem to be breaking down either, and this I fear might lead to more troubles if she’s ever exposed to something like it again. I don’t even know what it is. For all I know it might actually be a part of her unique mutation. That is why I want to spend some more time analyzing. But I will remember to quit before it’s too late and if you insist on shutting down the power at least give me enough notice to save my work?” Hard to say no to person nearly three times your size and while the worry was still on his face, there was a gleam in his eyes begging her to let him stay up late.

“Well, I suppose so, but don’t push your luck bud. I have to get back upstairs. Did Charles tell you Scott and I are taking her to see the kids at Sean’s and Emma’s?” A nod confirmed this. “Well, I have to pack, cause Scott still manages to forget his underwear if I don’t pack them and I really do want to talk to Charity before we leave tomorrow.”

***

I was flipping through the channels on the TV just catching a glimpse of the station before changing it. There wasn’t much on, it was a Saturday afternoon, and I had my pick of racing, wrestling, or football. I ended up on the news station. Not much was happening in the world right now; a few anti mutant riots, a few wars breaking out in eastern Europe, pretty standard fare. Back to flipping through the channels. Football, basketball, wrestling, some inane cartoons on the kiddy station, home improvement show. Oh here was something interesting; My Classic Car. Not. Back to the new station. They were on a local section now. Not anything too major. Just a murder a little way out of town.

“Police are estimating the time of death to have been approximately three weeks ago. The cause of death hasn’t been determined but there was evidence of a brutal attack followed by a slash to the neck. Police have identified the body as nineteen year old Jason Haringer and are asking for information about his where abouts in the days leading …”

I wasn’t listening any more, I didn’t want to hear any more and turned into myself. I couldn’t believe it. Jason couldn’t be dead. He was with his uncle in Tulsa. He said he’d be there until he could find a place of his own. But I haven’t heard anything from him in weeks, since just after he left. He’d had trouble finding a bus to his uncle’s and he called me while he was waiting. He couldn’t be dead.

But the police identified the body from the dental records and his mother had come to identify the body. I wondered if she watched as they killed him.

***

Jean was startled from her packing with an intense feeling of anguish and despair from Charity. This lasted for a few moments before it abruptly stopped. Sending a quick mental call to Xaviar, she ran to the last place she had seen her, finding no one in the TV room. By that time, everyone in the mansion was looking for Charity. That’s when the tail end of the news report filtered through to her.

“Police believe his death was related to his involvement in an anti-mutant cult know as Humanity’s Chance. The funeral for Jason Haringer will be held tomorrow at the Last Hope Chapel. All who knew him are invited to attend. On the lighter side of things today . . .”

“No.” it came out as a whisper. No wonder she had disappeared.

***

I could tell everyone was looking for me, but I didn’t care. All I could see was Jason’s face as he left the mansion. It was all my fault. He left the HC because of me. He betrayed them because of me. He stayed here with me. The HC went after him because of me. I caused his death. I caused so many deaths. Jason’s voice joined with the chorus that screeched in my head.

You killed us. Look what you did to us. We just wanted to live. But you had to kill us. You killed us. You killed me.

Over and over in my head. I went into the kitchen passing a distraught Rogue, who unconsciously moved out of my way. I went to the drawer and pulled out the small paring knife that Jean kept to a keen edge. I knew that the voices resounding in my head weren’t real. They couldn’t be. But I had to listen to them as they listed my crimes against humanity. I had killed so many people I couldn’t remember them all. And yet I heard all their voices echoing in my head. I was so tired.

I went into my room and locked the door behind me. I looked at the knife in my hand and thought about how easy it would be to die. I wouldn’t feel anything then. The voices in my ears would be quiet, and nothing would ever matter again. I didn’t think about the people who had taken me in, or how my death would affect them. All I could feel was the despair and how everything I felt was my fault. Jason’s death was my fault, the deaths I participated in were my fault. I didn’t deserve to live.

I could feel the bite of the knife as it sunk into my forearm. I dragged it down, digging deep between the two bones in my arm, and was rewarded with the spurting blood. I tried to put the knife in that hand and cut my other arm, but I was so tired and my arm hurt so much. I watched the blood as it pooled on the ground and soaked up into the carpet. I couldn’t feel anything now. It didn’t hurt any more. Nothing hurt. The voices were still there, calling out to me, over and over but now they spoke nothing but my name. But they were getting softer now, and I could feel the peace I so longed for surrounding me, enveloping me in it’s darkness.

***

Logan was trying to follow Charity’s scent, but it wasn’t easy. She had taken to wondering around and he could smell her everywhere. And there were so many other smells to confuse the trail. He had tracked her to the kitchen and then out again, down the hall to the women’s wing of the mansion. Looking at the row doors he quickly jogged down to her room. The door was locked. It wasn’t locked the first time Jean had run down there and the scent of blood was flooding out under the door. Letting out a bellow to the others, he sliced through the lock, opening the wood door and ran to the figure lying on the floor in a large pool of blood. Grabbing the bleeding arm, he dug a finger into the pressure point in her shoulder, then tried to press close the lips of the wound with his other hand and stop the flow of blood by sheer force of will, hoping he wasn’t too late.

***

She was just laying there on the bed, not moving. Hank supposed that the combination of blood lose and mental fatigue was enough to knock anyone out. But she had been out for a couple of days and he was getting worried. He was finally getting somewhere on the strange chemical in her blood, but he was a long way from finding a counter agent. He was sure that the compound was what had caused such a deep depression. He just wish he’d realized the full extent of it earlier. Now he could only hope there was enough of Charity left inside that wanted to live. So far there had been little improvement.

***

Charles was sitting alone in his office, contemplating the past week and what he could have done differently. In reality, there wasn’t much, but still the guilt was weighing on him, dragging down on his shoulders. There must have been something he could have done. Henry had talked to him about the element in Charity’s blood and how it was probably exaggerating, if not causing the emotional problems. The news of Jason’s death had just been the last blow. There was another weight that pulling down his spirit.

Xaviar guessed that the guilt placed upon her by her father because of what she was with the guilt she placed on herself for what she did, combined with the imbalance and then Jason’s death was enough to push her over the edge. She was so close. She had refused to take any medications that might have helped and short of putting it in her food, there was no way they could have given it to her. Besides which it could take months for them to work. What did he do wrong?

***

There was a shadow over the entire mansion. It was one thing when a friend was hurt in a fight. That was hard enough. It was so much harder when they did it to themselves. Wolverine snapped around and planted a kick in the air. He should have found her sooner. Two quick jabs followed the foot. He should have been able to help her more. Logan moved through the movements of the Kata, willing the movements to calm his mind and help him control his thoughts. So far it wasn’t working.

***

Jean sat enclosed in the arms of her husband. Both of them seeking comfort in the arms of the other. Neither of them speaking a word; neither of them could speak a word. They simply allowed the other to feel all that they were going through and understand the pain they felt. An exchange of grief, silent, heavy and seemingly endless.

***

At first it was simply a few noises I could hear around me, the bleep of monitors and such. Than a slight ache in my arm and then light filtering in through my eye lids. Not a lot, but some. And then I remembered what happened. Jason was dead, and I tried to kill myself. Granted I was running on the theory that I wasn’t dead and I could be wrong. But the last time I thought I was dead, I wasn’t. It was almost a habit.

The last time though, I wanted to open my eyes to find out. I wasn’t sure I wanted too this time. I just wanted to be gone. Dead wouldn’t be bad. But I wasn’t dead and the living had to live. Some how. The guilt was still there but the voices were quiet. I still saw the faces, but they no longer screamed in rage at me. I didn’t have peace but I was no longer at war with myself. I just was. And I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

***

just a little note: if you're really depressed now and want to be cheered up, try reading the Drunk Scene, or Lori's little ditty on her page, called Bathroom Symphony