The MCRT, Morlocks, MGH and Murder

Part 1: Chapter 9

Remy placed a call to Quartermain after he left the labs. “How close are you to LaGuardia?” he asked. He had to meet Lisa in less than twenty minutes and was driving to campus as they talked.

“An hour and a half yet,” Clay said. “Why? New info?”

“Disturbing info. Emma seems to think Sammy is mutilating himself because he hates himself. And Jean can’t prove differently, though he might just be pulling them out.”

Clay thought about it, about Sammy and Lisa and everything he knew about mutants. “It could be. He’s a teenager now; life as he knows it will be changing for him shortly, if it hasn’t already started.”

“I’m going to be pissed if this entire fiasco is about puberty,” Remy stated and he was serious.

Clay laughed. “Everything is a fiasco when you’re a teenager. You’re not that far removed to have forgotten either.”

Remy said nothing, just coughed. Clay continued, “Look, don’t get the facts straight before we have any. We have a couple of opinions, that’s all. You’re about to talk to Lisa and hopefully, we’ll have Sammy soon. Truthfully, I’ll be relieved if the kid is just having problems adjusting, instead of God knows what else it could be. Let’s stick to Emma’s script for now. It will at least help us get the truth out of Lisa, for once, and maybe it will help hers and Sammy’s relationship.”

“You’re right,” Remy said, though he doubted anything could help Sammy and Lisa’s relationship. He pulled into a parking spot on the other side of the union building. He didn’t want to park near where Lisa would, because Emma wanted Lisa to have almost no time to prepare herself. “We’ve run around the block looking for the kid for less.”

“We certainly have,” Clay said. “Here’s our one chance, though, to have things swayed towards our side. Make the most of it. I’m about to merge so I’ll talk to you when I have Sammy.”

“Call Emma, not me,” Remy said, and they hung up.

Lisa had obviously been to the Academy before, when she had signed Sammy up for it, and so, the place of their meeting was not totally foreign to her, and yet, it was just enough to keep her off her A-game. Emma was sure to choose a site that was more familiar to Sammy then it was for her, driving home the issue that this world was his; the Institute was where he felt comfortable. And it may be what takes him from her for good.

The Holton-Braddock Social Science Building, The HBSS, had a floor designated to younger students, as a way to introduce them to not only other mutants but to life outside the structured boarding school feel the Institute’s companion, The Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters, had.

Lisa had never before set foot in this building and she would never know the extent Emma went to make it exactly how she wanted it. She chose a small round-tabled classroom for the scene. It was a history classroom, suitable for mutant children with a wide range of abilities, but Emma removed anything that made mutants seem otherworldly, like the large revolving chair made of ionized metals that provided energy to some of the mutant kids with energy-type powers. It would appear too science-fiction for Lisa. She switched out the larger chairs with smaller ones, making it give the impression that all of the kids here were as small as Sammy. And she made sure a large poster board of mutant rules was placed on the small display dry-erase in the corner.

Remy was to park exactly where he did and wait inside the Union Building for Lisa to arrive. He was to meet her at her car and walk with her to The HBSS, talking very little and engaging her in only small talk, but not in a happy tone. Emma knew Remy would do as she instructed, but mostly because very little about Lisa made him happy.

He then was to have her sit at one of the two tables in front and he was to sit at the other one, both in the front chairs facing the other. It was to appear a bit like the parent-teacher conferences she had probably skipped when Sammy was little. From there he would guide her into telling him what they needed to know: where Sammy might be and how much of her tale last night was fictional.


Remy leaned against the wall on the inside of the double doors of the union building, where he could see the cars pull in and out of the main parking lot where Lisa was told to meet them. She should have pulled in ten minutes ago, and Remy checked his watch for the third time, wondering if he should call her. However, that was not part of the plan, so he did not.

Eventually, sixteen minutes late, Lisa pulled in rather rapidly into a parking place next to the handicapped spot. Remy zipped up his blue and gray Columbia jacket – he had swapped it with his professional looking pea coat this morning because frankly it was too damn cold to bother with anything less than the one he was now wearing – and met her at her door before she had time to even open it.

On his way to her door he noticed her wiping her face and taking a deep breath. And when he tapped at her window, startling her, and she opened it and got out, he noted she was without makeup and her light brown hair, though freshly washed was without the usual fuss and muss he had become accustomed to.

It could be another ploy for attention, he thought, noticing also her red rimmed and puffy eyes. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had sprayed herself in the eyes with pepper spray just to appear sad. But his ability to read people, his empathy, was telling him differently. She seemed distraught and feeble and looked every bit of her thirty one years. And Remy couldn’t help but feel instantly sorry for her; regardless of the lying, deceitful woman she usually was. Today, she looked like a mother, terrified because her only child was still missing after the twenty four hour mark.

They were quiet as they walked the short distance to the HBSS building; Lisa did not even try to make small talk, but once they entered the classroom, Remy took charge. He led her to the chair that faced the windows and asked her, “Can I get you something to drink? Something hot, maybe?”

She mustered up a small smile, and she looked even paler now that they were under the fluorescent lights. “I don’t think I could,” she said quietly. “My stomach,” she added weakly.

He nodded, and instead got her a paper cup filled with cold water. He put it in front of her and then sat down in a chair slightly too small for his long legs. Emma had wanted it that way, of course. Though, they sat at different tables, the distance between them wasn’t much. That too, was deliberate.

He took off his jacket, because the temperature of the room was overly warm and inviting. Lisa did not remove her coat, and it appeared she had not noticed the shift in temperature from her car to the outside and now here.

Clearing his throat, he lowered his elbows to his knees and clasped his hands in front of his face, as if to appear he was watching something of interest – her. And to appear less threatening, not that that was necessary. Emma was as close as she could be without alerting anyone of her presence, in the conference room two doors down, but linked to Remy’s mind. Remy did not approve of this; actually hated it when she linked minds with him, but he had no choice.

Emma did not use the empathetic skills she had naturally, because she considered them useless, but knew from Remy’s that Lisa did not find him threatening. She was not feeling much of anything at the moment except sadness.

“Lisa,” Remy started, and his voice, partly due to his cold, was quiet, “We need to talk about Sammy.” Remy had disagreed with the opening line, but Emma insisted upon it. Both of them knew what the result would be.

Lisa pulled her lips together until they were blanched white. They trembled loose almost instantly and she buried her face into her hands and started crying. Remy stood up, and retrieved the box of tissues from the teacher’s desk and placed them in front of her. Sitting there while she cried was more than uncomfortable; it was heart wrenching. But Emma knew what she was doing, she had assured him.

“I don’t know where he is,” she said through her sobs, as if she realized their meeting here was because they suspected her of something. “Do you think he’s…hurt?”

Yesterday, she had no problems saying her ‘baby’ might be dead, that he was in a gang, that she was a good mother, and now she struggled with the word ‘hurt’. Remy wanted to assure her, this small, sobbing woman that they might have a lead to where he was. But he was not allowed, just in case they could not find Sammy at LaGuardia. He cleared his throat again and said, “Lisa, I need you to tell me where you think Sammy might go. If he is upset or angry, does he have a special spot?” Emma had instructed him to connect with her as a mother, to put himself and her as close to the situation as possible. They needed to grasp hard unto her fear while they had the chance.

Lisa looked up at him, wiping her eyes with her hands. “He’s never been gone this long,” she whispered. “Why would he do that to me?”

Remy handed her a couple of tissues, and tried to steer her away from the subject of herself. “When I was twelve,” he heard Emma say inside his head, and found himself saying it to Lisa. “I would take the pirogue out through the swamps. Always to this same soggy lump of land.” He would have never actually told her that, hated to be too revealing about his own childhood to anyone, no matter how mundane, but especially her, and he would not have used the words ‘soggy lump of land’ when referring to the spot where he’d spent his time as a child. He was pissed at Emma for taking liberties with his mind. He had been dealing with Lisa for two years and Emma had never met her. He knew how to make her talk without Emma’s instructions.

Lisa said, “I used to take Sammy to this lake. When we lived in the city. He liked to feed the ducks.” She started to cry again.

Remy realized Emma knew water was the connector and had used Remy’s swamp story to pull that from her. He was still pissed about it, though. “Was this before Sammy went through his physical transformation?” Who the fuck said ‘physical transformation’? He warned Emma to stop it.

“Yes, we moved after he turned. He wasn’t so interested in what he called ‘little kid stuff’ anymore after that.” She smiled and said, “As if being ten and a mutant suddenly made him a grown up.”

Remy already knew this, and his irritation spiked. Sammy was spotted at LaGuardia last night. If he had made it that far – if this was about the city with ducks, he would have been back already. This was not some stupid twelve-year-old-going-back-to-his-childhood thing.

Emma said: I’m making her realize the love she has for her child, you idiot. Just keep talking to her. She was, after all, the trained psychologist. She had rearranged her schedule for him, to assist him. The least he could be was grateful.

You’re the one doing all the talking, Remy replied, not at all grateful. He coughed then, an almost bronchitis-sounding cough, and he blamed Emma for it.

Lisa said, “You should have gotten yourself the drink.” She was quiet, and there was concern in her voice. Emma pegged the woman as far from Florence Nightingale, but also pegged her as a woman who would, under any circumstance, get in line to fuck Remy’s brains out. Get in line, sister.

“What?” he asked, between coughs, then understood what she meant, “Oh, right.” He coughed again.

“Are you alright?” she asked, with surprisingly none of her sexually charged attitude. But that didn’t mean Emma wasn’t wrong.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, dismissing her concern easily. He noticed Emma had stopped controlling his words. “Speaking of growing up,” he said, “Before yesterday, when was the last time you saw Sammy?”

“Well,” Lisa said, “He’s busy with school, you know. I try not to bother him too much.”

She had gone back to her usual evasiveness, but Remy knew when to jump at an opportunity. “Sammy’s been missing for over twenty four hours now. This is the perfect time to bother with him.” The hoarseness to his voice made his words sound harsher than he had intended and he knew Emma was not going to be pleased with that. He heard her say: Relate with her, not Sammy.

She took a drink of her water, sighed and looked down at her now tightly clasped hands. “I didn’t see Sammy yesterday. Not at all. This is all my fault, Agent LeBeau. My son is gone and it’s all my fault.” She started crying again, all her tears today were real, Remy was certain.

The pull in both directions, feeling sorry for her and angry at her were threatening his composure, but he reigned it in, as her sobs turned to hiccups. “Lisa,” he said lightly, and touched her knee, “Hey, calm down. Take a deep breath, just relax.” He didn’t want her to hyperventilate or anything. He would calm her down neutrally, but he would not tell her it wasn’t her fault. Because, it most certainly was.

She did as he asked, and after a couple of minutes, the tear flow reduced and her breathing was back to normal. She blew her nose and he retrieved the waste paper basket for her to dispose of her tissues. “You okay?” he asked her.

She nodded, “I’m sorry. This is so hard.”

“I realize that. But, we’re not finished yet.”

“I understand,” she replied.

He took that as a sign to resume questioning her. He cleared his throat, and asked, “Why did you call saying Sammy was missing?”

“Because of the smell and the box under his bed. Because he had called me yesterday saying he was going to come visit me.” Her voice was rising, and he wondered if she might turn hysterical once again, “I let his call go to voice mail. When I got there, he, well, he must have let himself in, he must have been mad at me, left that for me, so I’d think he was dead.” She had replaced sadness with anger, as she continued, “Why would he do that to me? To his own mother?”

Remy was taken aback by her self-centeredness, and yet, still felt sorry for her because she was too goddamned stupid to realize what a mess she had made of that kid. And too goddamned stupid to realize not everything in Sammy’s life was about his attention-sucking mother.

He coughed again, and gave himself a moment to figure out how to play nice. “Has he ever done something like this before? Acted out when he was angry? Not in words so much as some thoughtless action, like he did yesterday.” Saying ‘thoughtless action’ was smooth on his part. As if he was on her side.

“No, never. Never.” She was adamant in her answer, and Remy believed her sincerity.

He thought about what he had asked her at the very beginning, when they were on the phone. Was Sammy having any problems with friends? An upcoming test? He reiterated those questions now. “Why do you think Sammy was coming over to visit you? Obviously not as a surprise, because he told you beforehand.”

“I didn’t receive it right away,” she said quickly, as if that somehow lessened what she had done.

Remy ignored her and repeated, “Did he have something in mind for the two of you? Did he have to talk to you about something?”

“I don’t know,” Lisa said. “I didn’t answer the phone.” Her brutal honestly at this point was almost comical. And she didn’t see it.



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