Shadows of the Mind
by ALC Punk!

It slithered through the night, hunting. It needed someone warm, someone good. Someone just right. Shadows covered it, letting it slip through them as it muttered inaudibly to itself.

"Must find...."

--

The wind blew cold around him, whipping the trench out and exposing his jean-clad legs to the bitter cold. Remy cursed in N'awlins French and tried to wrap the edges around himself again.

He hadn't wanted to be out, frankly, he would have preferred his warm and cozy motel room. But instead he was stuck out here. Playing decoy. Damned Wisdom.

"Just a quick, easy job. Play decoy me, while I get the information I need."

Yeah, right. He snorted and watched the wind whip away the smoky shreds of his breath. Of course, getting paid was a nice reason to stand out in the cold like this. Especially if it got him out of the X-Mansion and down into the city.

New York, city of dreams, home to several hundred thousand disenchanted people. Even in the cold of winter, they scurried to and fro. Hopping on this train, going downtown to club, uptown to club, and the park to play. Even at night the city glistened with life. Remy dodged a large group of business-types who were obviously drunk and on their way back to their hotel.

He liked the city, liked the manicness and the sense that anything could happen. But what he didn't like was the wind that whipped between the tall buildings and funneled straight into his face, freezing his nose and lips. With another mumbled curse, he pulled a small scarf out his pocket and wrapped it around his lower face.

A pair of fingerless gloves were already on his freezing hands. He sighed and slipped his handsd back in his pockets, shivering as another gust of wind hit him.

The shadows around him flittered. He blinked, then shook his head, ignoring it, like a good New Yorker.

A few blocks away, a mugger accosted a young woman and then was attacked by a shadow. The shadow muttered about innocence and light as it killed him. The young woman fainted.

Remy Lebeau was not a praying man, nor was he keen to die. But then, the shadows deepening around him weren't noticeable. Until it was too late.

Pain shattered his thoughts, doubling him over and leaving him curled up on the concrete. Blackness swirled over him, chittering and mumbling as it consumed him. A moment later, or an eternity after, he rose and stood, shaking, feeling it like oil on his skin, like pinpricks in his eyes.

Help. Innocence. There was something, he needed to do something. To help someone.

And then Remy found his mind splitting, being consumed and destroyed. He fought back, using everything he'd ever learned about fighting telepathic assault. Blades ran along his nerves, and he bled from a dozen cuts as he fought. At least, he thought he did.

But he wasn't. He was fine. And on the sidewalk. Remy stared down at his hands, noting the blood that slowly dripped to the dark sidewalk under his knees. He'd gripped so hard, his nails had cut into his palms. It was that pain which had drawn him back from the edge of insanity.

Remy Lebeau stood, staggered, and then leaned against the nearby telephone pole. He was fine. Dammit. And Wisdom owed him, bigtime.

Straightening, he stalked down the street, remembering that there had been a scream earlier. Earlier?

And the shadows followed him, melting into his coat and boots, swimming around his legs and chest. Glimmering deep in his eyes.

It had found someone, someone stronger than it. But it could wait. Didn't it already control him?

Yessss.

--

The man was dead, neck bent at a nasty angle. The girl, on the other hand, was not. Remy carefully checked her pulse, then sat back on his heels. A glance at his watch proved it was time to head back and be warm, but first, the girl needed to awaken. And then he'd walk her home.

Remy snorted, wondering when he'd suddenly gotten all chivalrous. Not that it mattered, he couldn't leave a young woman out on the street. Even if it was New York.

Dark hair, medium brown skin, nice cheekbones, short build. The woman was cute, probably, when she was awake. Remy waited, knowing she couldn't be out for much longer. Hopefully.

He was right. She groaned and her eyes fluttered open a moment later. "Oh. Ow." She flinched as she spotted him, "Who the hell are you?"

"Remy." He stood and offered her a hand.

She ignored it, struggling to her feet, and moving away from him as she did so. "That's nice. I'll be going now." Her eyes spotted the dead man. "Oh my god." The colour drained from her face and she looked at Remy, fear in her eyes, "I saw... the shadows..."

"The shadows?"

But she was over her fright, now, calm again, "Never mind. Thank you. Good night." With a dismissive nod, she turned and walked away from him.

Remy Lebeau chuckled and sauntered after the woman, watching that she made it home safe. Oddly, she didn't seem to notice him. Although she made it home safe.

--

It waited as the new host took a shower, then stretched out on bed and flipped through the local channels. A phone call and discussion of payment. And then he slept.

Time to go to work.

--

Remy woke up feeling stiff and sore and dirty. And his mouth tasted like something had crawled in it and died. With a moan, he staggered into the bathroom.

"Holy..."

His face was a mass of bruises as were his upper arms, fists, shoulders and back. His legs seemed to have escaped whatever beating it was he'd gone through, but the rest of him...

With a wince he turned the shower on and stepped in, yelping as the water sluiced down onto his sore flesh. At least it was warm.

As the water poured over him, he tried to think, tried to figure out what had happened. He'd gone to bed fine, and woken up beaten, dirty and... tired? He blinked blearily, realising that he was tired. As if he'd slept less than the eight hours he should have had by the clock.

He stared at his hands, wishing he could-- "Merde." Shadows flowed over his hands and arms, swirling around them and sliding in and out of his skin. He watched in morbid fascination as the bruises began healing, the pain slipping away as the shadow-fingers moved higher up his arms.

Razer-edged pain glimmered at the edge of his brain, reminding him of the assault the night before. The assault...

Remy came to himself curled in the small bathtub, water pelting down on him and blood streaming from one hand. He'd punched a hole in the tiles, scraping his knuckles deeply. With a grimace about having to pay for that, too, he slowly stood and turned off the water.

"What is going on?" He demanded aloud, stepping over to the mirror and staring at his bloodshot eyes.

Nothing. Nothing's going on. Something whispered in his head.

He stared at the mirror, then whirled to confront the figure standing behind him. "What are you?"

Nothing was there. Except.... The shadows stared back at him.

"Who are you?"

We are nothing. You do not see us.

"Oh, but I do." Remy's clenched fist sparked pink, power running around it and up his arm.

You should not.

"Who. Are. You?" He demanded, biting every word off.

We are unique. We are one. We are.

"What have you done to me?"

Nothing. It was done to you, to us, as we fought. Many brave, many innocent are safe now.

The shadows chittered and slithered around him. You are safe now. Safe with us.

Madness, he thought, it was all madness. Wasn't it? They couldn't talk. Shadows were shadows.

'I saw... the shadows...'

The shadows, which moved and writhed over him, healing the rents and tears in his skin and then sliding under it, into it. Disappearing into him.

Shock rattled through him, sending him towards the bed, staggering.

It will be all right. We are here.

Would it? It would? They were here. They. Who were they? Remy rolled onto his stomach and stared sightlessly at the wall.

The pattern was a nice, demure rose and green leaf combination, winding up to the ceiling. It covered most of the walls, all but the one where the bathroom was. That one had a light orange wallpaper with daisies in yellow and blue on it.

Blue on orange. Sort of glaring, like red on green. Blood on white sidewalk, staining it deeply. Blood on his hands, on their hands. Evil blood.

Innocent blood.

No. Not innocent. They were not innocent. Hiss.

Remy blinked. the shadows coalesced in front of him, hissing and moving agitatedly. Never innocent. Always evil blood.

"You... You took over my body, my mind. We--I--you killed. Who?"

No one, everyone. Only bad. No good.

Remy dragged himself out of bed, shaking his head, "It doesn't matter. If I killed someone, they may be after me already."

Safe. Is safe. We made sure.

The shadows drifted closer, began wrapping around him, seeping into him, blanking everything out.

Don't leave us.

"Who are you?"

We are.

-=finis=-

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