The Winding Way

*~*~*~DISCLAIMER~*~*~*~*

X-Men is the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. I don't own them. Slavery is wrong. It's something MoJo would do and I don't want to be like him. No sir. That...and I don't want Stan Lee sending Wolvie for my ass. The FDA also wishes me to stress that reading the following fiction may result in the contraction of Wagneritis, a disease that results in the compulsive hugging, squeezing and or glomping of all things blue and fuzzy. So vo do de o do and scoddy woddy do da day. Thank you and on with the fic!


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

2:30 A.M, San Francisco


Leila's footfalls echoed dully in the dimly lit hallway, the cool linoleum floors gleaming coldly. She had no idea where she was going, nor how to get back. Everything looked the same, all cold and forbidding, clean as a morgue and just as quiet. Portraits of old men and women occasionally adorned the blank white walls, but their faces were strangely out of focus, unrecognizable no matter how hard she stared at them. She shook her red gold hair from her face, a pale hand fluttering to her temple as she tried to get her bearings. She felt dizzy. She didn't belong here.

She turned away and started down another empty hall, her pace quickening to match her racing pulse. She needed to get out. She was trapped and didn't belong and she wanted out. She paused only when she could run no further, bent double to catch her breath. She glanced up, her emerald eyes resting on a bronze plaque over the open maw of another empty hall, this one lined with doors. 'St. Anslem's', it read, and there was no more.

A sudden burst of sound made her jump, the hair on the back of her neck prickling weirdly. Laughter, loud and unrestrained as a child's rang in her ears. And, then more silence, broken only by tuneless humming and an eerie scraping sound. As if in a trance she began to move forward once again, something familiar and oddly compelling about the sound. A light spilled out from under one of the doors, bright and pure compared to the dim hallway and the dead portals around her. She rose to her tiptoes, trying to peer into the rectangular slat near the top of the door, but to no avail. The humming was coming from behind this door, that much Leila was certain of.

With a deep breath to steady herself she pushed against the door with all the strength in her slight frame, expecting the door to budge not at all. But, much to the diminutive red-head's surprise, the door swung open easily and soundlessly. She stumbled gracelessly into the brilliantly lit room beyond, blinking rapidly to acclimate her eyes the bright light. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a bed and a nightstand, the rest of the room, floor, walls, and even parts of the ceiling covered in swirls and bursts of form and color, art that had been etched ceaselessly. Each piece flowed and melded easily with the next so it was impossible to decide if it was one piece or many.

Leila gasped and reeled, assaulted by a cacophony of voices, a downpour of emotions that came and went as quickly as a bout of deja-vou. And then she noticed the humming had ceased. She felt eyes on her and turned her attention to the form huddled in the center of the room. Her hair was long, tawny and wild, cascading about her shoulders like sunlight off water. Had she been standing she would have been tall, willowy and graceful, but she was hunched over a blank spot on the floor, busily filling it in with color, a piece of chalk clenched in her hand.

"Randilyn?" Leila breathed in disbelief, her voice barely above a whisper, barely able to move past the growing lump in her throat. The sound bounced off the walls and echoed damningly in her ears. Somehow, Leila knew, it was her fault Randilyn was here, all alone.

"Lei? Oh god!" The other girl cried, tears welling in her sea green eyes. She sprang to her feet and hurtled towards Leila, wrapping her in a fierce embrace. "Please please please please don't leave me here! They make me crazy! They wont let me go! I wanna go home!" She sobbed, her voice muffled due to the fact that she had her face buried in the smaller girl's shoulder.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Leila sat bolt upright in bed, her breathing ragged, her thin nightgown clinging mercilessly to her sweat soaked body. Never before had she dreamed so vividly! And why of Randilyn? She hadn’t heard from her at all in years. Not so much as a phone call or a letter since she had started college as a matter of fact, and that was six years ago! It seemed a different age, a time removed from the world as she examined herself. Twenty five with a degree in psychology, a house in San Francisco, thanks to her inheritance mostly, She had a job, paid bills, went to work.

Those nights out on the streets, drinking and partying seemed to be nothing more than a memory from a dream, but a memory she longed for nonetheless. How long had it been since she'd gone clubbing or even to the movies? How long had it been since she had just gone out for no better reason than to be out? No. While her friends had all moved away, drifting like autumn leaves out of her life with their rock bands and dreams of becoming something more, she had gone respectable. Mundane. She shook her red-gold hair from her face and swung ehr pale legs over the side of her bed, padding noiselessly down her hall towards the kitchen. She plucked a glass from her cabinet and filled it with water, drinking it down greedily as she leaned against the counter. The green neon clock on the coffee maker read three in the morning. She sighed and shook her head, running a hand through her long tangle of hair. Placing the empty glass in the sink she strode to the little room that served as her study. her nightgown whispered about her ankles like a snake whispering secrets to the moon.

She dropped into the leather seat behind her desk and flicked on her computer with practiced ease, waiting patiently for the damnable thing to boot up. Soon the sound of keys clacking rythmically could be heard in the little house as Leila sought her oldest and dearest friend. It was time she breathed a little more life into her existence, and if anyone could to That it was Randilyn Gardner. What she found made her blood run cold. Randilyn had been admitted to a Mental institution shortly after graduating high-school. A Hospital called St. Anslem's. Apparently she had been there the whole of the six years Leila had been going to School and working as an assistant to Dr. Cunningham. Leila frowned and shut down the computer, staring thoughtfully into space. She had to go. She had to do something. It was bad enough she had dreamt of St. Anslem's, but to find out that Randilyn was really there? Something was amiss. Something she was apparently meant to rectify.

She rubbed her slender hands over her delicate pixie face and blew another low sigh. She had always been spiritual, but this was just too much, another event on a long list of strange things that had been happening, things that worried the normally level headed young woman. Things she couldn't explain. Things, she thought to herself, that were probably best left alone. One thing was certain however. She would go and see Ranilyn come morning.