Lost in the Dark

The science lab is the quietest place on Earth. There’s the usual ambient noise; machine running, air conditioning or heater, muffled voices and footsteps from up above, the dim buzzing of the fluorescent lights. It’s quiet, though, the quietest place in the mansion. Especially on a Friday night.

It’s like a secret place. The mansion’s huge, and there are so many rules that we’re all dying to break. Drinking, smoking, sex, gambling, tripping, whacking off – things we all need to do more than anything else and aren’t allowed to. The Professor thinks he’s all-knowing, but if he was, nobody would be left here except Scott and Ororo. This place isn’t sleazy or anything. It just gets that way on Friday and Saturday nights.

There are a thousand places to hide here.

I know that some people used to hang out in the escape tunnels, but nobody wanted to go back there after the mansion was stormed by paratroopers and shit. We were all scared, even though we won’t admit it. Hell, I almost shit my pants I was so freaked out. The tunnels are out now, but that doesn’t stand in anybody’s way. The only people who ever really used them were the stoners, and they’ve found a new place at the back of the garden where there’s a blind spot in the security cameras. The boozehounds are scattered depending on their beverage of choice, though most of them hang out in the attic and upper floors. We have a few serious card players who move from place to place. If you want to play rea real money, there’s a walk-in closet in one of the unoccupied guest rooms. I’ve hung out there a few times, but I keep losing all my money to this Southern kid who thinks he’s king of the world. I like the smaller games better, where you can play for pennies. That’s allowed; there are usually nightly games in the rec room. Rogue was there with a bunch of girls. They were having a “girls only” night, or some shit, I think they were giving each other makeovers between hands.

Professor X had called the paratrooper invasion and the Alkali Lake catastrophe “unfortunate, traumatic events,” but everybody’s gotten over it for the most part. There are a handful of kids who’re still wetting the bed over it, but it’s mostly the little ones, and no one gives them hell about it. I know that Scott, Logan, and Ororo will never be the same, not after Jean’s death and all, but the Professor seems to think that if we give it enough time, everything will go back to the way it was before.

That’s bullshit, and I told him that once, but I think he just dismissed it post-traumatic stress disorder or something like that. His parents aren’t hysterical about his “little abnormality.” That’s what Mom keeps referring to my mutation as; it’s just a “little abnormality,” like clubbed feet or crooked teeth that can be fixed.

I can’t talk to her anymore. I can’t say more than five sentences without having to hear her break down and sob about how sorry she is that I’m like this. I know it hurts her when I don’t take her calls, but I can’t listen to her anymore. It hurts to hear her cry.

“Bobby, honey, you’re brother’s sorry about what he did – ”

“Oh yeah? How’s Judas been lately?”

“Please, honey don’t talk like that, he loves you, he’s sorry, he was just frightened, that’s all – ”

I slammed the phone down without realizing that I was screaming at it. “Don’t you ever call back!” I couldn’t listen to her lie for Ronnie. He didn’t really love me anymore. He didn’t want me for a brother, he didn’t even want to know me. I was the freak to him. I was ruining Mom and Dad’s marriage, I was making them depressed, I was fucking everything up on purposOut Out of spite. Mom wanted to think that he loved me, that I was still his brother, but he didn’t and I wasn’t.

I sat in the empty science lab and stared at the wall. I wondered absently about what John was doing and how he was. I still couldn’t picture him in league with Magneto and Mystique. They’d done so much damage – the attack on New York, the attempt to wipe out the human race. How could John identify with that? Didn’t he realize that we’re all part human?

I could hear the opening and closing of doors in the distance, and Scott entered the room. I nearly fell off the chair. To say that I wa exp expecting this would be an understatement. He seemed just as shocked to see me and nearly dropped the plastic cups he was holding.

“Bobby? Jesus, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I…um…” I shrugged. “I just wanted to be by myself for a while, I guess.”

He shrugged. “Can you help me out?” He approached the counter and put the cups down. I recognized them immediately – blood sample, urine sample, throat culture. We had just finished a unit on how to test blood and urine in Medical Science. It was the only course I really liked.

“Sure,” I said, sliding off the chair and washing my hands at the sink. Scott was staring at the samples. He picked up the blood sample, then raised his head and turned to me.

“Bobby, you can’t tell anyone about what we find,” he said.

“Is this yours?”

He shook his head. “Someone I know,” he said after a while. “He got…he’s…he’s been hurt pretty badly. I need to – we need to…we just need to know if he’s sick or something.”

“OK.”

It seemed pretty far from OK, though. Scott rattles easily, but he can usually hide it. Whatever was going on was really bothering him. I helped him set up the machines that would test the blood for diseases, watching him carefully and wishing I could see his eyes. Your eyes never lie about how you really feel deep down in, bu, but Scott’s glasses hid them. Maybe it isn’t someone else’s blood, I thought. Maybe it’s Scott’s. Maybe Jean was sick, or he isn’t feeling well, or he’s paranoid or -

“Oh shit,” he whispered. I’d been focusing on his face for too long and realized that the machine was spitting out the results. The blood had tested positive for syphilis. I swallowed, stepping back as Scott put his hand against his forehead. Oh God, it is his blood. Oh…oh shit…what do I do? “Thanks Bobby,” he whispered. “Go on upstairs now, OK?” I nodded and left, nearly running out of the room.

Oh God,God,God, oh God, holy fucking shit! What do I do? Scott has syphilis! I wasn’t really looking at where I was going or paying attention to what was happening around me. I was halfway through the kitchen when I realized I’d put myself on automatic pilot and was heading for the back door that lead into the garden. I opened the door and stepped outside. The air had a warm, slightly boozy smell to it, and if I really inhaled I thought I could smell reefer. I followed the smell, heading through the garden towards the benches. Trees loomed like shadows, their branches stretching and reaching. I barely noticed them. I followed the half-imagined smell of the reefer. I need to forget this, I thought. I need to make this disappear from my mind…

“Where you off to in such a hurry?”

I stopped short, my head whipping around. The Southern kid who usually ran poker and blackjack games was sitting on a bench, rolling something around in his hand. I shrugged, suddenly aware that I must look worried. “Nowhere.”

He gave a slight nod and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a small red lighter. I stared hard at the object in his hand and smiled faintly. A hash-pipe. I as not imagining the marijuana. He lit the pipe, slipping the lighter into the front pocket of his shirt before taking a drag.

“You want some?” he asked without looking up. I nodded, aware that he wasn’t looking at me and sat down beside him. He handed the pipe to me and I inhaled sharply, letting the smoke fill my lungs completely before slowly exhaling. “What’s on your mind?” he asked nonchalantly as I handed him back the pipe.

“Nothing,” I replied, waiting to feel the slight buzz of the drug.

“You seem upset,” he said, taking a drag and passing it back to me. “No, not upset. Disturbed. Like somethin’s brin rin you.”

I shrugged and puffed on the pipe before handing it to him. “I just want to forget something,” I said after a moment.

He nodded. “Understood,” he said as he took the pipe. “You don’t have to talk about it; Remy here was just curious.”

I only nodded as we continued to pass the pipe back and forth. I heard laughter in the distance, accompanied by the clinking of bottles. The boozers were getting rowdy. I glanced in their direction, staring into the shadows and the darkness, barely able to make out their shapes. “They’re gonna get busted if they don’t keep it down,” I said absently.

“Nope,” he said, taking the pipe from me and refilling it, “they’re busy inside. Somethin ain’t right in there.” He took a hit and passed the pipe to me. I took it and stared at him, still holding it in my hand, away from my mouth. “They’re preoccupied with something big,” he glanced back at the boozers, “so tonight, they don’t notice if the drunks are a little loud.” He looked back at me. I noticed that his eyes had a reddish tint to them. “Or if we’re a little high.”

I forced myself to take one last hit before passing the pipe back to him and wandering off towards the hedges on the east side of the mansion, away from the boozers.

This was beyond Scott now. Somehow, everyone was involved. Everyone but me. Remy was right, something was very wrong inside the mansion.