Pulse, Part Two

by Tangerine

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light within the cafe. It was dim and dark in corners where she was sure unimaginable horrors were hidden. The shadows still held some allure to her, she still felt their call though she had not used them in months. In fact, the last time she had relied on her shadow power at all was during her confrontation with Apocalypse, and she'd rather forget that whole experience.

The dark still terrified her, so she slept with the lights on and blinds pulled open. She thought now she was just doing it out of sheer paranoia, for the cries of the blackness were quieter than they had once been, the song was not quite as strong, but they still reacted to her. She saw how they lurched whenever she passed by.

She loved being a mutant or mystical creature or whatever it was her body had become, but part of that worried her. She had relied on them too long, and now she refrained for the sake of the baby but it was like an addiction: hard to stop completely and always there in the back of her mind.

She sat down at a table by the window, ready to wait. She was, after all, an hour early. In her mind, she felt the people around her take slight notice then return to their tiny little lives. She had been seventeen when her powers had come into full swing, but they had been building for some time. In truth, she knew the moment she had been blessed with awareness that she wasn't like the other children. God had made her special. 

Betsy ran ahead of Brian, resisting the urge to push her quiet brother into the river that ran alongside the English road and climbed on the wall separating them from the water. "Brian! Come look, the sight's marvellous!"

"Betsy, get down, please," Brian said wearily, clutching his books, and hers, tightly to his slender chest. At seventeen years old, he had yet to fill out anywhere but up, and his gangly form sometimes took away from his handsome face.

"But Brian, look!" She pointed across the moors, bringing a hand to shield her eyes. "Look! The sun's just beautiful this time of year. The colours are magnificent. I've never seen a purple sky before. Isn't it lovely?"

"Yes, yes, now come down here," he urged, standing at her feet but refusing to look up in fear he might catch an unwanted glimpse of her knickers. "Betsy, please, you've got to start acting your age and become a lady."

"Pah!" She exclaimed, hopping down to stand beside her brother, and she grabbed him tightly, hugging him and squeezing tightly until he finally dropped his books. "You've got to loosen up, you're beginning to sound like mother and father, and you're too young for that yet. Come, Brian, climb up here with me. Please?" She added slyly, grinning until Brian finally broke down and nodded slightly.

Brian threw one of his long legs on the brick and proceeded to pull himself up beside Betsy who had climbed up the wall like an alley cat in London. Brushing the dirt off his uniform, he stared where she looked. "It's nice."

"Nice?" Betsy scoffed at him, hitting him on the arm. "It's beautiful! Look at the colours, look at how peaceful it is. How often do we see things like this, Brian? Never because we're always locked up in that horrible school, and it's ever so boring, Brian, and you don't have to wear this horrid kilt." She held out the feet of material that hung from her hips. "Someday, someday I'm going to get away from here and have a life of adventure. I want to pilot a plane, I want to be a model, I'm going to marry someone as rich as I and we'll be the richest and most admired couple in all the country. Everybody is going to wish they were me, Brian. I'm tired of this dull life. I want something more."

"You already have more than most people, Betsy, just leave things as they are."

Betsy frowned and opened her mouth to respond before a wave of pain hit her head and she winced, muffling her cry. She had been having headaches since she was young, and for years, they had not been anything that she worried about though no doctor could ever explain why she got them, but for the past few months, they had grown in their severity and their length, and she began to suspect something might seriously be wrong.

"Another headache?" Brian asked gently, helping her down from the wall and led her to sit on the soft grass. She nodded slightly, shielding her eyes from the bright sun in the distance. "Perhaps you should tell mother or father, Betsy, it could be serious."

"No," she muttered, blinking slightly as she brought her hand into her lap to join the other. "I'm fine. See? It doesn't hurt anymore. Please don't worry, Brian," she added in caution, fearful he might tell someone else of their secret, but her painful wince gave her away and Brian face grew more grim.

Please, Brian, I am sure it's nothing, she insisted, patting his hand away, then looked up in surprise as he tore his arm from her grasp and his eyes widened in shock. "What? What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Brian stared at her. "You said that in my mind!"

Betsy raised a blonde eyebrow then laughed. "Stop fooling, Brian, you were scaring me!"

"I wasn't kidding," Brian murmured, bringing a hand to his forehead, "and it really hurt, Betsy, my head is throbbing. I don't pretend to understand what it was you did, but I clearly heard your words in my mind."

Betsy's face lost her grin and turned pensive, thoughtful as she looked intently at him. "Are you sure, Brian? If this is a joke, I can assure you it isn't funny."

"I wouldn't toy with you like that," Brian mumbled, his lips tightly pursed as he closed his eyes tightly, leaning his head away from Betsy, who moved beside him, pulling his hands from his face so she could see him.

"You're crying?" She spoke softly, using her sleeve to wipe the tears from his face. "I hurt you, didn't I? I'm sorry, Brian, I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. Will you be okay? Should I take you to Doctor Woodrow?"

Brian shook his head, his well-kept hair unusually untidy. "I'll be fine."

"I don't believe you," Betsy said, pulling him so he stood. "I hurt you, and I have to do something to help you. How bad is it? Can you walk? Perhaps Jamie can help. He knows things about headaches and such."

Brian said nothing but winced, attempting to muffle a painful groan. "Lord, Betsy, it really hurts. It's as if my brain is on fire. I'm not sure if I can make it home."

"I did this," she muttered angrily, sitting him back down, "and perhaps I can undo it. Do you trust me enough to let me try that again, Brian?"

"Need you even ask that of me?" He replied, catching her eyes, and she nodded, placing her hands on either side of his head. She wasn't sure, but her intuition told her it might work better with physical contact.

Narrowing her blue eyes, she concentrated on his mind, on her own, on bringing them together, and for a handful of long, apprehensive seconds, nothing happened, but then there was flash of something, of understanding, of power.

Brian? She tried, and Brian almost pulled away but nonetheless stayed where he was with a visible struggle with the immense pain. Betsy saw the fight and toned down the force but increased the concentration. Is that better?

Having brought his hands on either side of hers as to shield himself, Brian nodded and relaxed slightly. Betsy took this as a good sign and once again reduced the power but increased the concentration she applied to his mind.

Poking around cautiously inside his mind, she began to see things with eyes she never knew she had, and suddenly the world itself opened up. Caught unaware, she fell backwards, breaking the link with Brian.

"Betsy?" Brian cried out, but she shook her head, her quiet way of saying she was unhurt, and he fell back to nurse his own headache, which still hurt but was dying in intensity and pain with every passing moment.

Betsy opened her mind's eye again, and for the first time in her life, she saw Brian as more than what he looked like and said, but as what he felt and thought, and she was awed by it. Brian always seemed so uninterested in life, in anything other than school, but she felt now, deep within him, there was a fire and passion burning. Someday, he'd come into his own and be a great man.

But even his body no longer looked for the same, for it was now coloured with vibrant shades and values of light, which flowed in and out of him and formed the pictures which allowed her to see his mind. It was not so much that she could see, but she could feel that they were there, she saw without even having to open her eyes. She had been given the gift of sight, and she knew she would never lose it. 

Betsy smirked slightly at the memory, for it had proven true. Her eyes had been torn from her sockets by Slaymaster, effectively leaving her blind, but she never lost her sight, she never stopped seeing the reality, even if it was slightly altered.

"Can I get you anything while you wait?" The waitress asked, startling Betsy out of her recollections. Betsy shook her head slightly, turning away from the smiling face. It was obvious the girl was over-worked, tired and stressed to a breaking point, and Betsy couldn't bear to look at a face so false. "Okay, if you need anything, just call me over. I'll be happy to help."

Betsy paid little mind to her, thinking maybe she should use her telepathy and ease the girl's weight, but she figured that would be unethical, according to Professor Xavier anyway, but then again, Xavier wasn't here. Betsy had no idea where the founder of the X-Men had disappeared to, and frankly, she really didn't care.

A soft pink light flashing to life around her head, she focussed on the woman's mind, drawing out the stress and the headache and replacing it with more energy, more determination that she could get this job done without first going mad. There, that hadn't been so hard, and she hadn't harmed anybody.

The door opened, letting the slightest breeze into the still tea shop, and Betsy didn't have to turn around to know Charlotte had arrived, in fact, she had known the moment Charlotte had stepped out of the car into the sweltering heat, when she had stubbed her toe on a garbage bin outside, when she thought for the seventh time that meeting with Betsy was strange, odd when they had never paid any mind to each other in the past. Betsy knew everything she had done. There were no secrets.

Charlotte was in for the surprise of her life.

Betsy stood slowly, gripping the table to aid her in her desire to stand on her two feet, and she turned to face who Charlotte, who nearly fell to the ground in surprise but managed to stay upright, gaping and speechless.

Betsy had never intended to keep her pregnancy a secret, but it had happened anyway. She had secluded herself these past few months, having contact with only Meggan, Brian and her doctor, so not a soul was aware of her current state. Sometimes, it made dealing with her grief easier and other times, it made her soul ache because she was alone.

"So he didn't die after all," Charlotte finally said, breaking the silence that had passed between them.

"Not entirely," Betsy conceded quietly.

"That's good to know." Charlotte sat down at the table, placing her purse to the side beside Betsy's as Betsy dropped her body into the chair. "It's harder than you thought, isn't it? I married my husband knowing full well he was a cop and he could die, but I tried not to think about that. When he did die, Lord, that was like a kick in the gut. I thought I had dealt with the reality of that, and I had, but that didn't make his dying any easier to take."

"I knew for so long he was going to die," Betsy admitted, closing her eyes. "We talked about it, discussed it, and I promised him I wouldn't let the grief consume me, but I have, and it hurts so much, all the time, never ending."

"It'll never end, Betsy, but it will dull in time, have faith in that."

"I'm sure it will." She had not intended for her voice to be so laced with heavy, bitter sarcasm, so it surprised her when Charlotte reeled back in mild distaste, a thousand unspoken words racing through the officer's head, and all of which Betsy was reluctantly privy to.

After a few brief moments of uncomfortable apprehension, Betsy's voice, dull and mournful, spewed out, "I'm sorry. I did not wish for it to sound so cruel, but it did nonetheless. Forgive me, I fear I have no control over the black cloud that follows me everywhere. I'm so sorry." She buried her head in her hands tearfully. "I'm so sorry."

Charlotte placed a gentle hand on Betsy's shaking wrist, softly pulling her hands away. "You don't need to apologise."

"But I must!" Betsy protested sadly. "From the inception of this pregnancy, I have slowly been losing a part of me. It's not my soul, I'm sure of that, but I fear it is my mind. Every day, it becomes harder and harder to keep the voices out and me in. There are times where I can no longer tell who is me and who isn't. We all sound the same to my ears. I'm going mad."

Charlotte remained silent, wondering what the British ninja and mother-to-be expected of her. They were strangers, but Betsy had, for some unknown reason, chosen Charlotte as her confident, and it baffled her.

Charlotte's expression grew more troubled as she caught the woman's purple eyes with her own. There was something in them that she couldn't recognise, something that Betsy held in her that wasn't quite human, and it frightened her.

"You see it, then?" Betsy asked softly. "You see what I see. Nothing's the same, everything has changed! I'm no longer human, no longer mutant. The shadows are still and silent, but I know they are there, watching me, waiting for me to remember them, and at times, I recall the peace they gave me, the freedom, the release. I want that. I want it all, but I don't want to lose myself. I'm so tired of this, of life, of living."

"Don't say that!" Charlotte said firmly, taking a grasp of the situation before Betsy lost total control. "Don't you ever say that! You have a baby growing inside of you, a tiny life that is depending on you to deliver it safely into this world, and if you give up, it is not you that loses everything. It is that baby's, Warren's baby."

Betsy shrank away from the harsh words. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I never mean it. It isn't me. It isn't me!"

"Who is it then?" Charlotte asked, her patience waning. "And while we're at it, can you explain to me what I'm doing here? Do you expect me to be an audience to your lunacy? Or is it a case of the big bad mutant wanting to scare the shit out of the tiny, insignificant human? Huh, Betsy, why am I here?"

"I'm not a mutant," Betsy murmured, brushing her dishevelled hair back into the ponytail.

"Why am I here?!"

"I didn't know who else..."

Charlotte cut her off, raising a hand to silence the woman. "Why?"

"You knew him, you loved him, I was... I think I was hoping to feel a glimpse of that, to be reminded because I can feel myself forgetting him. He's like a memory, now, a fading memory and I don't know how much longer I can hold onto him. I only wanted you to remember what I could not. I'm sorry."

It was only then that Charlotte stopped focussing only on Betsy and finally turned her attention to the other patrons in the cafe. Much to her surprise, they seem to be paying no mind to them whatsoever. It was almost as if they were invisible to the patrons, as if their eyes...

"Could not see us," Betsy finished the thought. "They can't. My mind won't allow them to see us in other way that is we were talking softly over tea."

Charlotte grabbed her purse and stood up rigidly, seething in anger. "The next time you are in the mood to screw around with somebody, Betsy, it better not be me. In fact, I would recommend you forget my number right now."

She stomped out of the cafe, turned left at the street and disappeared out of view, and Betsy, watching her go, turned back to her imaginary cup of tea and stared as the demons in her soul began to slowly emerge, one by one, like an army, ready to fight, ready to kill, ready to forget themselves in the darkness of despair.

[next part]

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