Lazarus

So. Here I am again. Fighting the government in a decrepit building. Odds stacked against me. How many times must I do this before I am finally free? How much blood do I need to spill before they get the message and leave me alone? How many people must I kill to save somebody I care about? I'm tired, but I guess I have hypothermia to thank for that. I'm not a hundred percent fit. Maybe rushing in like this was a mistake. Maybe I should have gone back to Grimes and Abdul and made more plans. But I'm tired of planning, too. Strategy is fine, in small doses, but I prefer action. Once more unto the breach…

17. Shattered Glass

Something loud shattered the peace of the night. Connie startled as the sound of falling glass tinkled across the floor. Jester jumped at the sound, too, withdrawing his mind from hers as he straightened up.

Gunfire rang out, and Connie very nearly screamed at the closeness of it. All around her people were shouting out, orders like 'Stop him!' and 'Don't let him get close!' were barked out by the General, who stood well away from the action, flanked by two guard-dog-like soldiers.

"Connie!" Wade called, and his voice, though weak and pained, was like a soothing balm to her torn and tattered soul.

"Wade!" she shouted back. "I'm over here! Be careful, they have a—!"

A hand was clamped roughly around her mouth before she could warn him about Jester. But Connie was through playing nice. She bit down hard on the fingers which gagged her, tasted blood which wasn't hers, and heard Jester's scream of anguish as he pulled his hand away from her face. He struck her with his other hand, his fist smashing into her cheek, knocking her and the chair over. She went crashing to the floor, her head banging sharply on the cold concrete.

Her vision went blurry, and it hurt to move her head, but she craned her neck to one side, to where glints of metal shone briefly in the shadows. Cries and screams and gurgles and grunts of pain accompanied each glint, each gunshot, and something flashed brightly, like a tiny bolt of lightning shooting through the air.

"I've got him!" came a soldier's cry, and Connie's hurt lurched inside her chest. "I've hit him with my t—URK!"

A gleam of metal, and something rolled across the floor, coming to a stop right in front of Connie. It was a head, and it blinked once before the eyes rolled back. She screamed, tried to turn her head away, tried to forget the corpseless head—yet one more nightmare piled on top of what Jester had already given her.

"Damn it, Jester!" the General barked. "Get inside his head and shut him down."

"I… I can't! I can't get in!"

If there was a tone of voice Connie would have ascribed to her tormentor right then, it would have been 'frightened child,' and his fear filled her with a malicious glee she would not have thought herself capable of before being put through this whole ordeal.

But there was no time to relish his anxiety. Another round of bullets hailed through the shadows, and Wade called out.

"Connie, close your eyes!"

She closed them just in time. There was a loud boom from above, the scream of metal and glass and stone torn apart in a fit of violence, and then she heard cries of dismay from one of the soldiers. In her mind, she saw everyone run for cover as the whole ceiling, weakened by decades of neglect, came crashing down.

This is it, she thought, as small bits of debris began to pelt her exposed, bound body. This is how I'm going to die.

But she didn't die. She felt her body covered with another, and even as the ceiling fell the ropes which bound her hands and legs were sliced away.

"We need to move. Now," Wade said quietly. "Keep your eyes closed, there's a lot of dust. I'll carry you."

She wanted to object, to claim that she could move on her own, that she wasn't so weak and helpless that she needed to be carried. But her own body betrayed her; limbs which had only moved twice a day, when she was escorted for a bathroom break, were simply too weak to support her.

Wade scooped her up in his arms, and Connie kept her eyes closed. She sensed movement, knew she was being carried away from the scene of men being crushed by falling ceiling, and was glad that she couldn't see what was happening. Her single hope was that Jester was one of those killed.

"He's getting away!" The General's voice boomed now, an edge of panic and anger to it. "For God's sake, somebody stop him."

A shot rang out, and then three more. Connie felt Wade stiffen, then he tripped, and she went sprawling to the ground, banging her head again. She slid a short distance, the skin of her hands grating against the floor, then came to a stop and dared to open her eyes as her heart pounded a heavy rhythm inside her chest.

She realised now that the soldiers hadn't truly been aiming for Wade; their vision impeded by clouds of dust, they'd been shooting blind. Wade himself was a few paces behind her, trying to push himself up from the floor. One arm was bloodied, the white of bone visible in spite of the dust, and one leg didn't seem to want to work properly. He looked up at her, his face beneath the torn and loosening bandages a mess of dust and tumours, and nodded his head to something behind her.

"The door's only a few feet that way. Get out and get somewhere safe."

"I'm not going to leave you," she said. After everything he had done to free her, she would not abandon him now.

"You have to." He took a deep breath, clearly in pain but trying to hide it. "Part of the plan. Get as far away from here as you can. I'll be right behind you. I promise. But all of this will have been for nothing if you don't get away. Please, Connie."

"I'm going to hold you to that promise," she said. Then, feeling like a traitor and a coward, she turned, pushed herself to her feet, and ran as fast as her twice-banged head would manage to the door. It turned out to be a fire door, and she had to throw her full body weight against it to make it move. With each passing second she expected to feel a bullet in her back, a hand on her shoulder, knife-like fingers inside her mind… but there was nothing. Her captors had been disorganised by the explosion, and their attention was taken by the proximity of their quarry.

The fourth time she threw herself against the fire door, it flew open, and she went sprawling to the ground. Rough asphalt met her already raw hands, and the scent of nearby water grew stronger. Glancing back she saw nothing but blurred forms moving within the grey dust, shadows of her antagonists descending upon Wade.

The urge to return and help him battled the urge to flee. As she lay there, drinking in the fresh night air, logic kicked in, and sided with the latter. Returning would not help Wade. At least, returning alone would not help him. But she could find a payphone and ring the police and they would have to help. She'd just not tell them that Wade was a mutant. She'd say that a group of armed men had kidnapped the both of them.

She got up and ran around the building, until she came to what looked like it at once been a road but now mostly looked like weed-ridden asphalt. A small voice yammered inside her head with every step that took her further from the collapsing building, accusing her of abandoning her friend when he needed her most, but she ignored it, and ignored the guilt gnawing at her stomach.

Bang.

Something whizzed past her head, and it was only when a second something clipped her hair, sending red locks flying, that she realised she was being shot at. Without a second thought she threw herself on the ground, fighting against the instinct to run faster, to put as much distance between herself and the shooter as possible. The third shot missed her entirely; whoever was shooting seemed to have lost sight of her momentarily. Perhaps he thought he'd hit his mark.

A harsh, white light suddenly filled her vision, flooding her whole world with bright pain. The engine of a car roared past her, and she pushed herself to her knees, watching as a taxicab, smeared with mud and with what looked like branches sticking out of the windows, shot past in a blaze of headlight glory. The dull sound of something metal hitting something meaty told her exactly what had happened to the soldier shooting at her. Hopefully he hadn't suffered.

Tyres screeched as the cab came to a halt, and a dark-skinned man stuck his head out of the window. Connie recognised him as one of the drivers who sometimes took her home after work; not the usual one, but not a stranger. His face was the most welcome sight in the world.

"Miss Harrison, we must get you out of here immediately!" he said, beckoning her forward.

Her medical training overcame her fear and caution, and she waved the driver away as she approached the man in fatigues lying prone on the floor. One arm and one leg were splayed at unnatural angles, but when she held the back of her hand to his nose she could feel the heat of his slow breath. He was alive… for now.

"I hope he has medical insurance," said the driver, as he stepped up beside her to examine the body. He kicked the gun away from the unconscious soldier, then pointed at his car's number plate, which had been smeared with mud. "Good job he can't get my number. Bastard."

"Listen," Connie said, making a grab for the man's shirt, fearing he might leave her to deal with this situation alone. "We have to rescue Wade."

"Mr Beau said I was not to interfere with his rescue plans," the driver replied.

"Who… who's Mr Beau?"

"The madman who just blew up a building."

Connie shook her head, and stepped forward, making the driver step back when he caught the expression on her face.

"Well, the rescue plan has worked. I'm safe. Now this is my rescue plan, and I say you're going to help me."

He threw his hands up in the air. "Fine, fine. What do you want me to do?"

She nodded to the building. "I was thinking of a little demolition derby."

"You want me to crash my car through a building?!"

"Well… yes. It's for a good cause."

"But my car is my livelihood! And that is a good cause, too!"

"I won't be argued with." She marched to the car, got into the back seat and slammed the door shut. "Either you can drive," she called out of the window, "or I can. But I don't know how to drive. So it's up to you."

He grumbled, but obeyed. Only as the car was speeding to what the driver hoped was a weak spot in the wall did Connie stop to consider whether this truly was a good idea. But by then it was too late, because the car was going over thirty and they were rapidly running out of room in which to stop.

The crash would have done any Hollywood movie proud. The building proved weaker than expected; the car didn't so much crash into it, as through it, finally coming to a stop about ten feet in. When she sensed all forward momentum cease, Connie lowered her arms from her head and looked out into dust-choked darkness.

"A…are you okay?" she asked, trying her hardest to keep her voice from quavering. Not easy, considering she'd just been shot at several times and then forced a man to drive a car through a building.

"I think I've dislocated my livelihood," he complained. "But I am uninjured."

"Good." She leaned out of the window and yelled, "WADE!"

Oh God, what if we hit him? What if he's underneath the car? What if we've killed him whilst trying to save him?

There was movement. A shape appeared in the dust, and Connie opened the door to allow Wade to get in the car. Then, she froze, as she found herself looking down the barrel of a gun. The soldier's face was streaked with blood and grime. He aimed his weapon, and his finger tensed on the trigger.

Two feet of metal erupted from his chest, spraying blood across the car. Connie closed her eyes and turned her head, and when she looked back she found Wade standing over the fallen body. He looked blood-soaked, battered and bruised, but he was still standing.

She threw herself into his arms, very nearly knocking him to the ground. For a long moment she did nothing except hug him, letting her heart have a moment of rest, convincing herself that this was real, that he was safe.

"We gotta go," he murmured, one hand stroking her hair. "They fell back to regroup when the roof came down but they won't wait for long." He looked over her shoulder, at the once-yellow, now dust-and-mud-coloured cab, which had two broken windows, a badly dented fender and a rather pitted roof and hood. "Do you know your car has trees sticking out of it?" he asked the driver.

"Yes, they are for camouflage."

Wade merely laughed, and Connie helped him on to the back seat.

For a wonder, the engine was still running, and the driver didn't need instruction. It was as if he had been saving people from the military and driving getaway for all of his life. He popped the gear to reverse, backed out of the carnage he'd created, and swung the vehicle around before speeding off down the asphalt lane. Only when the building was out of sight did Connie relax and turn to Wade.

"Thank you for rescuing me," she said. "A lesser man would have left me. Saved his own skin."

"A lesser man might have skin worth saving," he shrugged.

"You're a hero, Wade. You can try to down-play that all you like, but I'll never forget what you did for me." She glanced through the back window, resisted the urge to bite her lower lip. The road behind was clear. No sign of pursuit. No need to worry. "Looks like we got away."

"Not for long," he scowled. "As soon as they've reorganised, they'll come after us." He leant forward, tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Sorry, Achmed, but the longer we're with you, the more danger you're in. And your… ah… vehicle isn't exactly inconspicuous now that you've camouflaged it. And, you know… driven it through a building."

"It's okay," the driver said. "Qadeer has sent directions for a meeting point. You're to be transferred to a new taxi whilst I go into hiding until my car is fixed."

They spent the ten minute journey in silence, too elated and drained to comment so soon after the rescue. Connie couldn't help but look out the rear window every thirty seconds. Images of Jester chasing after her kept flashing through her mind. Wade, meanwhile, had taken to studiously observing the bandages on his hands. He kept trying to re-arrange them to cover his skin, but after his brave rescue little was left of them except dirty tatters. The driver remained focused on the driving, keeping to smaller streets as much as possible to avoid the inevitable attention he would draw on the main roads.

When they reached the rendezvous point, they found a much cleaner, less battle-scarred cab waiting for them. Connie thanked their driver, and followed Wade into their new chariot. The driver introduced himself as Abdul.

"Hey, you've got the same name as your boss!" Wade said.

"No I do not. My boss is not called Abdul."

"Then he lied to me. That dirty liar. Hope his pants are on fire."

"Qadeer said I am to take you anywhere you like. The further, the better, he says," said Abdul.

"In which case, I need a moment to think," Wade replied. "I gotta come up with a safe place."

Connie knew that it was now or never. Before Wade could suggest they split up, she threw in a suggestion.

"I have an aunt in Washington. They'd never find us there."

"Washington… it's not really far enough," Wade said. "They'll probably have spies all over the big cities."

"I meant Washington state. Not D.C. She lives in the middle of nowhere. Literally."

"But that is across the whole country!" said Abdul. "I cannot drive you that far, it would take days!"

Wade scratched his chin, his eyes thoughtful, gaze turned inward. "They'd be looking for us on the road. Probably set up a block around New York, try to stop us escaping. Best thing we could do is stow away on a boat, go wherever the tide takes us, but that's a bit predictable, and they'd probably expect it. Say, Achmed, is there a train yard near here?"

"Not very near, but I could take you to the station."

"No, not a station. A yard. We'll ride freight across country. Make our way west." He glanced at Connie, and she saw uncertainty etched onto his face for the first time that night. "You sure your aunt won't mind you showing up with a mutant freak like me?"

"I promise she won't mind. She's a little… eccentric. One of the reasons she lives the life of a recluse."

"Then it's settled. Abdul, take us to the nearest train yard!"

"Wait," Connie said. She rested a hand on Wade's shoulder, trying to restrain his enthusiasm. "I can't just up and leave. For a start, I've been wearing the same clothes since they kidnapped me. I need a change."

"I can… procure you… some new clothes on the way."

"As well," she said, ignoring his implication of theft, "they'll be expecting me at work. If I don't show up, someone's bound to call the police and report me as a missing person."

"You could call them from the road and tell them you're leaving the city to join a travelling European Circus!"

She shook her head. "Wade, I'm being serious."

"So am I! Those European Circuses really get around. Is the plural of circus 'circuses' or 'circi'? Because if cactus is cacti then shouldn't it be the same for circus?"

"Wade—"

"I know, I know, being serious. Okay, let's be serious. You can't go back to your apartment. Not even for a change of clothes. It's too dangerous by far. They'll be watching it. They'll snatch us both the second we get near it."

"Alright. I still have a bag of clothes at Simon's, from when we stayed with him. Let me at least get that, and whilst I'm there I can write a letter of resignation. Simon can take it to work for me the next time he's in."

A scowl darkened Wade's poorly-bandaged face. "Caldwell. That jerk nearly ruined my whole rescue plan by calling the cops. We should stay away from him."

"I can't, Wade. I need to get my bag. I need to settle things here. And despite how you feel about him, Simon is my friend, and has been for years. I need to say goodbye. I need to… I need to write a note and ask him to post it to my mother. She deserves to know that I'm safe, that I haven't just disappeared and been murdered."

"Bah, fine! We'll go to Caldwell's place. But this is a bad idea."

She let out a sigh of relief and gave Simon's address to Abdul. The taxi set off, and Connie took one final look out of the window. Nothing. So far, so good.

"You're cold."

She looked up to see Wade watching her, and she realised he was right; she was shivering. But she wasn't cold. Events of the past three days had finally caught up with her. Tears of relief now stung her eyes.

What if this is all a dream? What if I'm not really safe? I might still be in that warehouse. This could all be an illusion conjured inside my mind by Jester. One more way of torturing me.

"Come here," Wade said, and he pulled her over on the seat, letting her rest her head on his chest so he could wrap an arm around her shoulders and still her shaking.

"You're wet," she pointed out.

"Yeah. Had to swim a river. Can't say I'd recommend it."

A moment passed in silence. Streetlights bathed the inside of the taxi in orange.

"What was it like?" he asked at last. "Being there. Not knowing if I was coming?"

"I knew you were coming," she said, and felt him squeeze her tighter. Her eyes closed of their own volition as she recalled Jester's cold, horrible fingers, rifling through her memories like a Rolodex. The deaths he made her witness. The anguish and torment he exposed her mind to. "I just… I don't want to talk about it."

"It's okay." His arm tightened around her shoulders. "They'll never hurt you again. I'll take care you of. I promise."

The sky was beginning to lighten as the taxi pulled onto Simon's street. As his apartment block loomed into view, Wade pushed her gently away from him, and looked down at her.

"There's something you should know. Eddington… he betrayed us. I went over there, the day after you were taken, to try and get him to help, but he was gone. Entire place had been cleaned out. It was almost surgical. His lackeys claimed he'd taken a job across the country, but I can't believe that. The timing's too convenient. Caldwell thinks he might have sold us out to the military, in return for them funding his research or whatever."

Connie felt her heart constrict, found a whole new emotional low to descend to. Eddington. He'd been so kind, so friendly… had it all been one big lie? Had he seen Wade as his ticket to financial gain?

The taxi stopped outside the apartment block. "Are you coming inside?" she asked Wade.

"No." He put so much anger and hatred into the word that she almost flinched. "Caldwell almost ruined everything. He went and did what I specifically told him not to do. If I have to look at his smug, arrogant face… I don't think I could restrain myself. And I don't want you to hate me."

She reached out with her hand, touched his half-bandaged cheek with her fingertips. "I could never hate you, Wade." She planted a brief kiss on his cheek, and then turned for the door handle. "I won't be long. We'll soon be safe."

Once out of the cab she hurried across the rode and entered the apartment building. She took the elevator up to Simon's floor, tapping her foot impatiently as she slowly ascended. Had the damn thing always been so slow, or was it only because she was in a hurry that the elevator seemed to be moving at a snail's pace.

As it passed the seventh storey, the reality of the situation hit her. Her life, as she knew it, was over. She would never be able to go back to her apartment. She would have to cut the ties to everything she had ever known. Stay away from family and friends to ensure their safety. Nobody but Simon would know why she'd run off. They'd all think she'd gone mad. Responsible Connie Harrison, abandoning her work and her family.

The door pinged open, and she took a deep breath as she stepped out. The low lights of the hallway created shadows she'd never noticed before. Was this to be her fate, from now on? To see darkness in places where before she'd seen only light? To be always on edge, feeling hunted no matter how familiar her surroundings.

She knocked on Simon's door. Then she knocked again, louder, and at last it opened. He looked like he hadn't had a wink of sleep in days; dark shadows hung beneath his eyes, his hair was a mess and judging by his shadow of facial hair, he probably hadn't shaved since she'd been captured.

"Connie?" He blinked, as if unsure of whether to believe his eyes, then stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. "I thought I'd never see you again! What happened? Did they let you go?"

"Of course not," she replied. "Wade rescued me."

He pulled back and ushered her into the apartment. Like the hallway, it was full of shadows, pale light cast by one of the lamps, the curtains closed against the oncoming morning light. Connie could see the questions in his eyes, but she didn't have time to answer them. Not now. She'd asked so much of him, and now she needed to ask just a little more.

"Do you still have the bag of clothes that I left here?" she asked.

"Of course, in the spare room. Why?"

"I'm going on vacation."

His eyes widened, alarm registering on his face. "What… what do you mean?"

"It's not safe for me here, Simon. They'll come for me again, because they know Wade will never leave me to their 'mercy.' I have to go. We both do."

"But they don't want you, they just want Wade!"

"And I'm not going to let them get him," she said. It was hard to keep the sadness from her voice, to keep it strong and sure; Caldwell looked crestfallen, like he'd just lost his childhood pet. "I know you have a lot of questions, but it's probably safer for you if you don't know the answers. Once it's obvious we're no longer in the city, things should get back to normal for you. But I couldn't leave without saying thank you for all that you've done. For being a friend I could rely on."

His eyes were empty, face blank, so she stepped around him and made her way towards the now-familiar spare room. She only made a couple of spaces before his hand on her arm stopped her, his grip so firm that it was bordering on painful.

"Connie… you can't," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "Don't you see? Everything you've been through… it's because of Wade. He's a mutant and a killer. You can't go with him. I won't let you. It's for your own good."

"You can't stop me from going, Simon. I'm a grown woman, and I can make up my own mind." She pulled forward, freed her arm from his grip, and went to the spare room. When she got there, she realised she was shaking, and sank down on the bed. Strength, Connie. You need to have strength. Just a few more minutes, and then this will all be over. Just a few more minutes and you'll be off to live your new life on the run. A fugitive. But Wade will take care of you. He won't let anything happen to you.

The thought of Wade waiting for her in the taxi gave her the strength she needed to pick up her bag and march back into the living room. It was time for one last goodbye.

Simon was waiting for her, his arms folded across his chest, his posture riddled with guilt and indecision. The shadows of the room seemed to cling to his lower body, hiding his legs, making it seem like he grew out of them.

"It's time to say goodbye," she said.

He shook his head, squared his shoulders. "I told you I wouldn't let you do it. Why can't you understand, Connie? I love you. Everything I've done, I've done for you. Wade is a danger, a liability as long as you're with him. You can't have feelings for a man like him. They were supposed to make you forget. You're supposed to be with me. Me!"

Simon stepped forward, into the light, and his face was twisted with barely-controlled rage. She was so shocked by his expression that at first his words didn't register, but when they finally sank in, she recoiled in horror, as if he was carrying the plague.

"Eddington didn't sell us out," she whispered. "You did. You told the military where to find me. How to capture Wade. And what about Eddington? Did they make him disappear, too? What were your terms? They wipe my memory and make me think I love you, and you get all of Eddington's research? You get the next Nobel Prize? You get rich while Eddington languishes in some military lab, forced to churn out new innovations to further the military's agenda?"

The look on his face told her that her accusations had more than a hint of truth to them. Everything clicked into place, like pieces of a complex jigsaw puzzle. Half-remembered conversations now took on new contexts. Simon's professional jealousy of his old college friend, and his envy and mistrust of a mutant who'd won Connie's affections despite having known her for only a few short weeks… she saw these things with eye anew, and marvelled at her own ignorance and stupidity. Wade had warned her that Simon had feelings for her. She'd seen for herself how Simon was jealous of David's success. How could she have been so stupid? Why was it that only now, after she had been given the answer, she could clearly add two and two together to make four?

"They're already on their way, Connie," he said. Never before had his voice sounded so sinister. What had happened to this man, this once-caring surgeon, to turn him into the very monster he claimed to abhor. "They'll capture Wade this time, make no mistake. And afterwards, I'll get my reward. It doesn't matter that you know what I've done. They have ways of making you forget. After tonight, you won't remember Wade. You won't remember anything, except how much we care about each other. I will make you happy, Connie."

"Happiness based on a lie? Is that what you want for me?" she said. Tears sprung into her eyes, trickled over onto her cheeks. "I could never love a monster like you, Simon. Wade might have done terrible things in his past, but at least he wants to be a better man. You? You had everything. You never wanted for anything in your whole life. Everything's been handed to you on a silver platter. But you haven't figured out yet that love can't be handed to you, or forced… it grows from trust, and honesty, two things you obviously know nothing about. There's not an ounce of trust or honesty to you, Simon. You're as barren as salted earth and I'd rather die than let a man like you touch me!"

She ran past him, tears blurring her vision, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. She tried to elbow him with her free arm, but her bag got in the way, so she let it fall to the floor and swung for him. He pulled his head back in the nick of time and quickly recovered from her feeble swipe. He grabbed her free arm and pinned it to her side, then dragged her back towards the sofa.

The old Connie would have screamed for help. The new Connie had survived the incident in the alley, and being tied to a chair for three days and nights, and being forced to live through the indignity of relieving herself in some pit in a warehouse under the watch of two guards, and everything Jester had caused her to endure in the confines of her own mind. The old Connie had been a victim. The new Connie was a fighter. So, as he dragged her backwards, like a spider dragging a fly into its sticky lair, she let out a cry of unrestricted rage and flung her head back, catching his nose with the hard part of her skull. He let out a cry of pain, and let go of her arms, and she turned on her attacker, lashing out with her fists.

Anger was on her side, but height and weight were not. Simon brought up his arms to protect his face, then launched himself forwards, breaking through her flurry of fists and knocking her over. There was an almighty crash, and Connie felt something cold around her scalp. Her whole body went limp, and she started to float upward, upward…

She hovered above a terrible scene. A woman with red hair lay on the floor, the remains of a glass-topped coffee table around her. Her blue-grey eyes were open, unseeing, and a puddle of red was being soaked up by the cream carpet beneath her. From this angle she couldn't see, but she knew there was a piece of glass from that table, lodged in the woman's neck. The knew that the woman's head had taken one knock too many tonight. The glass, which had shattered upon the impact of her fall, had sliced through the carotid artery and lodged itself into the spinal cord. The red-haired woman with the unseeing eyes had felt no pain as her life ended.

A man crouched over her, cradling her head in his lap, his tears spilling onto her pale, dust-stained face. He might have been handsome, once, but Connie now saw with eyes unfettered by the illusion of life. The man's face was bestial. Grotesque. A demon of its own creation. He hadn't realised it yet, but no amount of sobbing, not amount of reiterating "Connie, Connie, I'm so sorry, please forgive me…" over and over would ever bring her back. And she would never forgive him.

There was no heat here. No warmth. But neither was there cold. There was no darkness, but no light; merely an all-present sense of illumination. Strongest of all was a feeling… a feeling of things left undone. Business left unfinished. Battles left to fight. But it all seemed so distant. So far away. Such things no longer mattered… did they?

"Connie."

She turned, and saw a man standing behind her. Had she possessed a heart, she would have felt it pound at the sight of the man, but she was merely a spirit, no longer shackled to life by a physical body.

"Come with me, Connie."

He held out his hand. She noticed he was surrounded by a beautiful white light. A light that she wanted to experience for herself. So she took his hand, and let him pull her forward.

"Where are we going, Dad?"

He smiled. Just as she remembered. He smiled because she'd rode her bike without stabilisers. Because she'd recited her ABCs forwards and backwards. Because she'd got the highest GPA in her class. Because she'd been accepted for the first job she'd ever applied for, in the hospital. He smiled because he was her father, and she was his little girl.

"I'll tell you while we walk, love."

Together they set off into the light, and Connie did not look back.

o - o - o - o - o

Wade's cheek tingled with the remembered feeling of Connie's touch. When he noticed Abdul watching him in the rear-view, he scowled.

"Keep the engine running," he said. "I'm heading to higher ground to keep a lookout."

Heading to higher ground was easier said than done. He'd managed to hide it from Connie so far, but he'd been shot three times. His body was doing its best to heal itself, but it was still working on the damaged leg, and the hypothermia. Plus he was starving.

He set himself the goal of the gargoyle on the roof, opposite Caldwell's apartment. The horizon was beginning to take on a blue pre-dawn tinge, and so far everything seemed quiet, but Wade did not rest on his laurels. He'd saved Connie, and just about managed to evade the clutches of the military, but they would never underestimate him again. Next time they would not send a dozen men armed with tasers and pistols, but a whole platoon carrying bazookas. Next time they wouldn't go for the capture, but the kill.

Climbing with three bullets still lodged in the body and a gammy leg was an unwanted challenge. Rooftops which had once been no problem for him now became inconvenient obstacles. Climbing ladders was awkward. Shimmying up drainpipes was nigh on impossible. Leaping and rolling and feats of amazing acrobatics were out of the question. Puffing and panting, he finally made it to his destination, and sank down beside the gargoyle.

"Howzit going?" he asked the stone figure.

"Coo." The nearby pigeon replied instead.

"Yeah, I know how that feels," he said. "I got shot last night. I don't think I've ever been shot before. Pretty sure I'd remember that sorta pain, even with all the government head-tampering. You ever been shot?"

"Coo."

"No, I guess not. Not really much meat on a pigeon, huh? Be grateful you're not a dodo. Those guys are all dead, you know."

The pigeon turned its attention back to scavenging around the roof for crumbs, as if that was a logical place for crumbs to be, and Wade looked out to Caldwell's apartment. The curtains were closed, so he couldn't see in, but he hoped Connie wouldn't take too long saying goodbye.

"Coo," the pigeon said.

"He asked what I'm gonna do now," Wade translated for the gargoyle. "Glad you asked, pigeon. I'm not really sure. I mean, I foresee a lot of freight-car riding in my immediate future. Guess I'll have to learn The Code or whatever it is drifters speak. After that? I dunno." He leant against the stone figure, rested his head against his fist. "Connie says she's got an aunt who lives out in the Washington wilderness, so I guess we'll just hide out there for a while. But eventually we're going to need more, right?"

"Coo."

"I agree. I personally don't need much more. Don't get me wrong, it'd be nice to have a car, and a cure for cancer, but I think I'm a pretty simple guy. As long as I got a roof over my head and no government snipers shooting at me, I'm happy. But Connie… I figure she's a different kettle of fish. She's lived in this city all her life. She's got friends here. Favourite restaurants. Taxi drivers who know her name. Homeless people she steals fruit-cups for. She's gonna want things like that out in the wilderness of Washington, too. But… what if I can't give her those thing? What if I just keep ruining her life, over and over again?"

The pigeon cocked its head. "Coo coo?"

"Well, I can't just leave her, can I? I mean, she's all I have. And apart from that crazy hermit-aunt, I'm all she has. And, y'know, I really do like her. I'd do just about anything for her, as evidenced by my getting shot. I keep thinking that maybe it'd just be easier for her if I left her alone… but I know how lonely she'd be. And that wouldn't stop me from worrying about her. And… and she doesn't see me as some freak who got cancer. She sees things in me that I never even knew were there. You ever had that?"

"Coo."

"I suppose the life of a pigeon is a lonely one. But you're a good-looking pigeon. Your feathers are all shiny, and you look well-fed despite the suspicious lack of crumbs here. There's gotta be more out there for you than a rooftop and a gargoyle. Uh, no offence, buddy." He patted the gargoyle's head.

A screech of tyres on the street below pierced the quietness of the air, and the pigeon took to flight in a flurry of feathers. Wade peered down, and saw Caldwell's mid-life-crisis mobile speeding out of the underground car park. The car hit the main road without even stopping to check for traffic, then disappeared around a corner, tyres squealing in protest.

Alarm bells began ringing inside his head. Caldwell loved that car; no way would he drive it like a lunatic unless he had very good reason.

Wade left his perch and dropped down to the roof some seven or eight feet below. He landed painfully, but not badly, and set off at a jog towards the next roof. His sense of urgency told him that going down to street level and entering the apartment through the front door would be faster. His sense of survival told him entering via the front door would be monumentally stupid, so he traced the previous journey he'd made out of the apartment, the night when he hadn't wanted to join Connie and Caldwell for dinner.

Across the roofs. Up and down ladders. Shimmy up a drainpipe. Side-step along a ledge until he reached the bathroom window… which was unfortunately locked. He lifted his arm and hit the glass with his elbow. It shattered, drawing blood, but it didn't hurt him badly enough to stop him knocking out the rest of the glass and climbing in through the window.

The inside of the apartment was in darkness, the curtains closed, only a single lamp switched on. Wade moved silently on tiptoes, senses alert for any sign of ambush. He made his way into the spare bedroom and found it empty, checked Caldwell's room with the same result, then entered the kitchen. Much as he wanted to call out for Connie, his urge to not give away his position was stronger.

In the kitchen, he narrowed his eyes against the lamplight as he took in the living room and dining room. Just as he was beginning to think the place was empty, he saw a shoe. It was Connie's shoe. The same one she'd been wearing when she'd been abducted. But why would she leave her shoe here?

He stepped around the dining table, and stopped beside the sofa. He looked down, and all thoughts ceased. Connie was lying there, unmoving, her clothes crimson with blood. Her eyes were open, looking up at the ceiling, but she didn't blink.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening, thought Deadpool.

But it was happening. She didn't look to him as he approached. She didn't reach out for him as he knelt beside her. She didn't smile at him as he reached out and traced the pale skin of her cheek with a hand grimy and poorly bandaged. She didn't laugh and say, "Joke!" as he ran his fingers along her neck, searching for a pulse. She didn't offer him comforting words as tears spilled from his eyes. She just lay there, not seeing, not speaking, not breathing… not being Connie anymore.

A scream registered with his ears. He looked up, saw a woman pushing a cleaning cart standing in the open doorway, a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror. When he looked at her she screamed again and ran off. But Wade didn't care about the woman. All he cared about was Connie, and he'd failed her. Let her down.

Tomorrow morning's news, said Deadpool. Mutant kills woman in swanky apartment. Apartment owner missing, presumed murdered by same mutant. We gotta get outta here. Like, right now.

Wade leant forward, let his lips brush across Connie's forehead as his fingertips brushed over her eyelids, closing them forever. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wish I could do it all over again. I wish I could tell you how much you meant to me. I'll avenge you, I swear."

It was too much. He switched off. Let himself grow cold and numb. Faded into the background, where he could live with the memory of Connie as she had been, smiling at him and full of life. He let Deadpool take over, because Wade was just a man, but Deadpool was a survivor.

The bathroom window beckoned. The sun was creeping up over the horizon, bathing the whole city in its yellow-gold glow. Soon the rest of the world would be waking. Parents going on school-runs. Businessmen buying their bagels on their way to work. Children begging for just another ten minutes in bed. An army of underpaid immigrants heading off for another long day of toiling for their families, saving for the day when their dreams would come true, and the land of the free and home of the brave would provide for them all.

For Deadpool, there was no school-run. There was no bagel on the way to work. No just another ten minutes in bed. No saving for the day when his dreams would come true. The land of the free and the home of the brave was an illusion. A lie. And there was no room in his existence for lies. There was only the chase. There was only vengeance. The military could wait. First he had to find the man who'd killed two people tonight; the woman Wade had loved, and the man he'd wanted to be for her.

No matter how long it took, he would see Caldwell die.

o - o - o - o - o

The police detective and his partner stooped beneath the cordon, the yellow and black do-not-cross line swaying gently in the breeze. They stopped to confer with one of the forensics team, then sent the crime-scene photographer off to the lab to develop the pictures he'd taken.

"Whaddya think?" asked the detective.

His partner sucked in the air between his teeth. "Beats me. I get the feeling the eye-witness is nuts." He glanced down, consulted his notepad. "Unknown intruder of unknown height and unknown gender, but possibly male. Wearing a pair of jeans and a blue Knicks t-shirt. Indeterminate ethnicity due to heavy bandaging covering all skin. Sounds like the cleaner's had a couple a' drinks before starting her shift."

They both agreed that it was all very mysterious, and that depending on the state of the apartment owner when he finally turned up, he might be their suspect. Then they got into their car and left forensics to wrap everything up.

They did not see the two men standing on the street corner posing as municipal workers fixing a busted hydrant. They did not see the two men talk quietly into a walkie-talkie, reporting back that something called Weapon XI was nowhere in sight. They did not see the men leave the hydrant, get into a grey unmarked van with false plates, and drive away.

Nor did they see the old vagrant who pushed his rattly old shopping cart along the other side of the street. They did not see because the eye is very good at not seeing the things it wishes not to view, and very few people want to see the homeless and the mentally ill. But the man pushing the shopping cart saw them, and he saw the two men posing as municipal workers. He saw the latter make a call on their walkie-talkie, saw them get into their grey unmarked van with false plates, saw them drive away.

Then he pushed his shopping cart along a couple more streets and stepped into one of the many entrances to The Warren. There, he was met by another drifter.

"Sergeant, sir," Duckie said, tipping an imaginary hat. "Cheap-Shoes saw that car again. Over on Williamsbridge Road, in the Bronx. Stopped outside some sorta tech shop."

"Good work, Duckie. Tell Cheap-Shoes there's an extra pair of socks for him."

The old vagrant left his cart in Duckie's tender care, and made his way to the nearest payphone. He had only a few coins left, but it was worth spending one on this. He slid it into the slot, dialled a number, and waited for the answer. When the line got picked up, he wasted no time on pleasantries.

"Luke? This is Obi-Wan. I got a lead for you. I'll meet you in the usual place. Oh, and bring a clean pair of socks."

- To Be Continued -

Deadpool's Note: Wow, that was just about the best ending for a story ever. NOT! Now, raise your hand if you were expecting a happy ending. C'mon, let's see 'em up there.

Anyway, The Author (y'know, that cruel individual who makes all of us suffer and die?) says I get my very own SEQUEL SEQUEL. Here are the selling-points:

Travel abroad! Old faces! New faces! Cameos galore! Mystery! Intrigue! A whole new Origin-Story spin-off! Suspense! Revenge! Multiple Government Conspiracies (that is, conspiracies of more than one Government, not many conspiracies of one Government)! Bank Robbery! More 80s Awesomeness! Did I Mention The Cameos?!

Buuuut first you have to endure some stupid crappy story about stupid crappy angels from something called "Supernatural" (lamest name for a TV show EVER!) so tune in NEXT FRIDAY (yes, real-Friday, not pretend-Friday like it is right now) for the stupid angel story because once that finishes I will be back, like the Terminator, but with a better accent and more wanton destruction.

Love, Deadpool xxxx