Soul Killer

by Unknown Author

  “It’s possible,” said Dracula, “that the energy she drained from Ororo sated her, and for the time being, she doesn’t crave any more.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen her in that stable,” Logan replied. “She reminded me of a junkie needin’ a fix. Besides, if she isn’t killing people for their life force, w'hy is she doing it?”

  “Perhaps the assault on her personality has driven her mad,” the vampire said. “At certain moments, she may actually believe that she’s attacking in concert with the rest of the X-Men in a coordinated attack on mankind.”

  Logan grunted. “Maybe, but it doesn’t smell right. Kitty, have you got some kind of image-enhancing program available on that machine?”

  “I’ll see,” she said, clicking the mouse and pulling down other menus. “Yeah, here it is.”

  “Run the video up to where Rogue was yelling about mutant liberation or whatever. That was the only moment when she wasn’t streaking back and forth. Then stop it and give us the clearest, cleanest close-up of her face that you can get.” It took her about a minute to zero in on the raging murderer’s face, then sharpen the picture as much as possible. When Kitty finished, Ororo caught her breath. “I don’t see any redness in her eyes,” the windrider said, “or fangs in her mouth, for that matter.”

  “I’ve made a study of all you X-Men,” Dracula said, “and it’s my understanding that one would expect those alterations to disappear over time.”

  “But the psychic pollution should fade right along with them,” Logan replied. “That’s the way it’s always worked. But obviously she was still acting as vicious as ever.”

  Perhaps it was silly, considering that the whole human race was still in danger, but Kitty felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. Turning in the swivel chair, she said, “Then you think—”

  “That Jeannie was right and I was wrong,” said Wolverine. “We got two Rogues runnin’ around Natchez. The real one that I saw in the stable, who was half vampire, but fightin’ it. And a fake, who’s doing all the high-profile killing. To sucker us into hunting her instead of the genuine article, and to get the government gunning for us.”

  “I think you may be right,” said Dracula thoughtfully.

  “Although if Belasco dispatched an impostor to confuse us, I would expect him to make certain his agent was an exact double.” ~

  “He couldn’t know beforehand that our Rogue was going to wind up with funky eyes and teeth,” Kitty said. “Sometimes she takes on external physical features from guys she drains, sometimes she doesn’t. It’s unpredictable. And even if he had known, he probably would have given the phony Rogue the original face anyway. Remember, he was hoping that none of us would ever lay eyes on the real one again to make a comparison, and he wouldn’t want the authorities to have any doubt that our Rogue truly is the murderer.”

  “I want a quick look at the statements of the witnesses,” said Wolverine. “Then we’ll make off with one of these maps and get the hell out of Dodge.”

  Phoenix sent her awareness sweeping back and forth across the city until the strain threatened to revive her headache. Then, knowing that she wouldn’t be any use to anyone if she exhausted her powers, she reluctantly stopped scanning. She’d rest for a minute and then resume the effort.

  At least, she thought wryly, she no longer felt as if she needed to stand in the driving rain while she searched. It wouldn’t do to help save the world only to perish of pneumonia. She turned to see if Amanda was having any better luck than she was.

  Unlike Jean and her fellow mutants, still cooling their heels in the cramped but comparatively dry space beneath the porte cochere, the Gypsy had chosen to stand beneath the open sky. The downpour pummeled her. Seemingly oblivious to it, she swayed sinuously back and forth, hands upraised, while dim blue globes of light drifted in the air before her. Occasionally one of the orbs jittered rapidly about for an instant, or exploded in a silent explosion of sparks.

  An oval of shadow oozed into existence behind the azure spheres, a disk of deeper blackness hanging on the face of the night. Amanda slowly extended her arm toward it in a gesture of command, Jean felt some sort of charge building in the air, and then the black shape dissolved into tatters, while all the luminous orbs burst at once. Amanda’s features twisted in frustration.

  At once Kurt was at her side, half invisible in the darkness even though Jean was only a few feet away. “Easy, liebchen,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” the sorceress muttered. “I’m trying, but Bel-asco’s shielding spells must be incredibly powerful.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” Nightcrawler said. “Everyone knows you’re doing your best.”

  “I wish I were,” said Amanda glumly. “At least then maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty. But we both know I could do more, if I were willing to pay the price.”

  The Bavarian scowled. “That is not an option.”

  Evidently Dracula hadn’t related everything that had occurred before Excalibur hooked up with the X-Men. Jean opened her mouth to ask her friends what they were talking about, but at that moment, Ororo swooped down from the sky carrying Wolverine by the wrists. “Good news!” she cried.

  “What is it?” cried Piotr. Scowling, throwing off waves of hatred that even Jean’s psi shields couldn’t wholly dampen, he’d been pacing like a caged tiger ever since the infiltration team departed on its errand. Now his muscles tensed as if he expected Storm to serve Belasco up for his vengeance that very instant.

  “Rogue’s not a murderer,” Kitty said, emerging from the darkness and the rain. A black-furred, leather-winged horror, Dracula lit on the asphalt, then flowed into human form.

  “Or at least we got reason to hope that she ain’t caved in to the impulse yet,” said Logan, stepping under the overhang and extracting his crumpled pack of cheroots from his belt. “She’s not the one attackin’ dozens of people at a time, anyway.” Phoenix felt a thrill of elation, and the Canadian gave her a crooked grin. “You can say you told me so if you want.”

  Cyclops said, “Give us a full report.”

  Wolverine proceeded to do so. When he finished, Jean said, “If Rogue hasn’t given in to her bloodlust yet, then obviously her true personality still exists. It’s possible that she can still be saved.” She hesitated. “As a matter of fact, I have an idea of how I might be able to do it.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Ororo said, sitting down on the hood of the Blazer. Though she could walk with all her accustomed grace at need, she was attempting to stay off her bad ankle when possible.

  Jean had tried to keep any trace of her worry from flowing across her psychic link with Scott. But when he spoke to her mind to mind, it was obvious she hadn’t succeeded. This idea of yours is dangerous even by our standards, isn ’t it?

  Yes, Jean admitted.

  Then I think I can guess what it is, and I don’t like it one little bit.

  I’m not crazy about it myself. But you know I have to try.

  Scott hesitated, then grudgingly said, Yes. I do. I’ll watch your back when the time comes.

  “I’m glad to hear about Rogue,” said Kurt, “but—”

  “But this information doesn’t put us any closer to stopping Belasco,” Piotr interrupted. “And we only have a few hours left to find him!”

  “Or to keep Rogue from reachin’ him,” said Logan, taking a drag on his cheroot. “You’re right, but I got some thoughts on that. Check this out.” He removed a map from his belt, squatted, and spread it on the asphalt. His comrades gathered around the display.

  “The dots of red ink are Rogue sightings,” the Canadian said. “Notice that except for this one over here—” he pointed “—they’re all in the southeast quadrant of the map. The one that ain’t was an incident where Rogue roughed some woman up, but suddenly broke off and flew away without killing her, or babbling any gibberish about the X-Men declaring war on the city, either. I’m guessing that was the real Rogue. All the other dots are massacre
s, and like I explained, that’s the phony Rogue. My hunch is that Belasco wants us hunting her in this area because his hideout is somewhere else, and as he pulls the real Rogue closer and closer to him, she’ll be in that same area too.”

  “That makes sense,” said Jean, “but unfortunately, ‘somewhere else' is still most of the map. You probably haven’t narrowed the search area enough for it to make a difference to my psi scanning.”

  “Or to my scrying,” Amanda said.

  “Much as I hate to say it,” said Nightcrawler, his yellow eyes shining in the shadowy vagueness of his features, “in one respect our task seems even more difficult than before. At least the woman we thought we were hunting emerges from hiding periodically to kill. If we were quick enough, we might be able to catch her in the midst of committing one of her atrocities. But neither the real Rogue nor Belasco are doing anything likely to attract our attention.”

  Logan nodded. “Exactly. Which is why I’m thinkin’ that we ought to catch ourselves the ringer.”

  “But that does not make sense!” Colossus said. “What the impostor is doing is monstrous. Of course we have to stop her as soon as we have the time. But you said it yourself. She’s a diversion. Belasco wants us to chase her.”

  “Chase her, yes,” Cyclops said, frowning thoughtfully, “catch her, no. Otherwise she wouldn’t hit and run the way she has. It’s a good bet that she knows where Belasco is, and if we got our hands on her, Jean could pull the location from her mind.”

  “That’s what I’m thinkin’,” Logan said.

  “It sounds promising,” said Kurt, “assuming that we can catch her in time. We have to assume that Belasco has shielded her against long-range telepathy and magic, and she’s roaming a fairly large area. It would be helpful if we could predict where she’s going to strike next. I assume it will be yet another location where there are a large number of potential victims assembled, so she can run up an impressive body count quickly.”

  “Back at the armory,” said Shadowcat, tugging at a tangle in her brown hair, “I wondered if she might hit there. It sure looked like SAFE and the Army were worried about the possibility.”

  Logan shook his head. “They don’t need to be. Remember, Belasco wants the feds hunting the X-Men. They can’t do that if his flunky takes them out. Kurt’s on the money. The fake’ll hit some other place where there are a bunch of people. Beyond that, we need to find the pattern in where she’s popped up so far.”

  “If she didn’t want people to anticipate her next move,” said Jean, “wouldn’t she strike more or less randomly?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Wolverine replied. “But people fall into patterns without realizing it, even when they’re trying not to. I learned that back when I was a spy. Now, our girl probably thinks she was being slippery by hitting at locations that are relatively far apart. But look at this.” He moved his fingertip from one ink dot to the next.

  “It’s a zigzag,” Kitty said.

  “Bingo,” said Logan. “Jumping from west to east and back again, and gradually dropping from north to south. Which means that next time, she ought to show' up somewhere around here.” His finger drew a circle on the map. “We need to figure out all the prime locations for a massacre and stake ’em out.”

  C::>

  Chapter 13

  The shabby, white wooden house looked as if the pounding rain was likely to wash the rest of its peeling paint away. By now, the front yard inside the barbed-wire fence was one big black puddle, the surface of which reflected the lightning flickering overhead. The water stank of the saturated septic tank and drain field buried beneath it. A long aluminum boat equipped with an outboard motor sat on the front porch steps, ready for use in case, as seemed increasingly likely, the Mississippi broke its bonds and raged across the city.

  Rogue had spent the last few hours trying to escape into the countryside, where there should be fewer potential victims to tempt her. Unfortunately, she kept blacking out, and when she came to herself, she invariably found that she’d reversed course and flown right back to Natchez. Now the hunger wrenched at her insides, agonizing, unbearable, and she plummeted toward the home beneath her, her tattered clothing flapping.

  She splashed down beside a lighted window, then peeked through the gap between the curtains. On the other side was a living room, where a black family—a beefy man in overalls, a thin woman with corn-rowed hair tinted the color of a new penny, and a young boy and girl—sat watching a news broadcast on television. The father looked worried, and the mother, exasperated, as if the problems afflicting Natchez were a personal affront. The kids, on the other hand, were happily dividing their attention between the television and the Chutes and Ladders game laid out on the floor between them. They probably didn’t really understand that if a flood came, it could wash their home away.

  Of course, thought Rogue, smirking, if they were already lying dead when the river came calling, it wouldn’t matter. The water could carry them away along with their possessions and give them a burial at sea. The idea seemed hilarious. She floated off the ground, poising herself to smash through the window and attack.

  Then a spasm of horror wracked her. Sobbing, momentarily losing control of her power of flight, she fell into mud and filthy water, then struggled to crawl away from the enticing prey so conveniently at hand.

  Crimson light flowered above her. Lifting her head, she beheld the transparent vision which had appeared to her repeatedly over the course of the day. Adoration, hope, and hatred all welled up inside her simultaneously, the grinding of her contradictory emotions almost as excruciating as her thirst for the vitality of others. “Master?” she croaked. “Angel?” “Yes, my child,” the swordsman said, “that’s right. Are you ready to come to me and let me take the pain away?” “Yes,” she said. “I mean, no! You’re not my friend! I know you’re not my friend!”

  The figure in the cloak and tunic regarded her gravely. Even through the veil of blur that obscured his features, she could feel the pity in his eyes. “I am your friend, and if your mind were your own, you’d know it. It’s the other, the abominable thing that’s striving to steal your life, that rightly regards me as its foe.”

  “How can I be sure of that?” she answered. The shape she was in, how could she be sure of anything?

  “Look deep inside yourself,” the apparition said, “past all the pain and turmoil, and you’ll find the tie of love and trust that binds us.”

  He was right, that was exactly what she felt. But she despised him as well, and had no idea which feelings were truly hers, and which the invader’s. A fresh pang of hunger made her muscles clench, and wrung an anguished groan from between her teeth.

  “Please,” the swordsman said, “I implore you, don’t subject yourself to any more of this torment. Pass through the pain and into glory. Embrace your destiny.”

  Should she trust him? If Professor Xavier were here, what would he advise? As soon as she thought of the telepath, she imagined the ecstasy of absorbing the awesome energies of his mind, and, loving and loathing the predator she’d become, pounded the ground in rage. Her fist splashed up water and clots of muck. “I want to trust you,” she said. “I don’t even remember why I shouldn’t. But...” She realized she no longer knew what she’d meant to say next. Soon, she feared, she wouldn’t be able to frame and hold a coherent thought at all.

  “I wanted to spare you any additional pain,” said the phantom in red. “But perhaps you have to sink even deeper into your sorrows before you can rise again. Go back to the window.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “If I look at that family again, I’ll attack them.” The idea triggered a pulse of anticipation.

  “No, you won’t,” the swordsman said. “I’ll help you control yourself.” He waved his left hand, and the hunger burning inside Rogue weakened, still gnawing at her, but not as fiercely as before.

  Even that measure of relief inspired a profound gratitude, but like all her emotions, the feelin
g was impure, tainted with bewilderment and anger. “Why didn’t you do that before?” she asked.

  “Because it exhausts me,” he said, “and the benefit is fleeting. As I told you, I can do little that will truly help you until we meet in the flesh. Now please, go to the window.”

  She clambered up from the muddy ground and did as he’d bade her. Just as she peeked through the curtains again, her own face appeared on the television screen.

  The sight alarmed her and made her want to flinch away. Instead, she strained to hear the news anchor’s solemn bass voice through the glass.

  “.. . death count stands at seventy-two,” the reporter said. “So far, Rogue has targeted large gatherings of people, so the authorities are urging everyone to stay at home if possible. But if you must leave—if you have to evacuate to escape a flood—rest assured that the police and the military are doing everything possible to protect the evacuation routes, emergency shelters, and other public facilities from another attack. ’ ’

  “No!” wailed Rogue, lurching back around toward the apparition. “I didn’t kill those people! I’d remember!”

  “If only that were so,” said the figure in red. “Yet the truth is that you’ve been blacking out all day.”

  “But if I drained that many people, how can I still be starving?”

  “No one’s essence can sate you for long. That’s a part of your malady. Come to me and let me cure it before you slaughter any more innocent strangers, or any more of your friends.”

  “Ororo.” Her fists clenched, and tears stung her eyes, while at the same time, she relished the memory of just how delicious it had felt to absorb the windrider’s superhuman energies.

  “And not just Ororo,” the swordsman said gently. “Scott. Jean. Logan. Remember the confrontation in the stable where you went to ground?”

  Muddled impressions of the battle crawled through her head. Wielding Storm’s mutant abilities along with her own, she’d crushed her teammates as if they were puny, helpless humans. It had been glorious.