He hadn’t a clue where he was and yet the place seemed eerily familiar, as if he had been here a time or two. There were no sounds or smells to assault his senses. It was as if the world had shut down around him. He dearly wanted to just lie down and rest instead of monotonously moving forward but his feet plodded on as if of their own will. The path did not change and he began to wonder if there was an end. He sighed and noticed there was no echo. Nothing felt right about this, nothing at all. You’re dead, Logan thought as he made his way down the long, dark tunnel. There can’t be any other explanation.

The light dimmed and Logan put his hands out in front of him. This had to be the wrong way. He turned around as if to go back to where he started but it was just as dark and looked just as forbidding. Shrugging, Logan moved forward again. He felt no fear in the decision, only concern. Wasn’t he supposed to be with someone? Or meet them? Where was he anyway? Who was he for that matter?

Logan reached over to touch one of the walls and felt nothing. His hand went into it as if it were a vapor. Curious now, he walked through the mist. There was an intense light and he stiffened, trying to adjust. Everything Logan ever heard about death had mentioned a light at the end of the tunnel, not through a side door. Trust his death to be as screwed up as his life had been, Logan mused.

When his eyes had adjusted, he found himself in a dark gray room with a low ceiling. The intense light had faded into a man. He wore an old-fashioned coat and top hat and an expression of delight on his white-mutton-chopped face.

"Delighted to see you, my boy! Merry Christmas!"
Logan blinked. Christmas wasn’t here already, was it?

"Step lively now and mind your head." The man eyed him sharply, his benevolent face creasing into a smile. "Nothing much left, I’m afraid. Makes this tricky, it does. Can’t show you what you’re forgetting if it’s missing in the first place."

Logan shook his head as if to clear away the cobwebs. "Can’t show me what? Who are you?"

"Charles Dickens, my boy."

"I’m dreaming or I’m dead," Logan muttered.

"Take your pick," came the cheery reply. "You’ve one foot as much in the grave as out. Now play along like a good chap."

---

Marie’s anxiety has now turned to out-and-out panic as her strength allows her to move vast amounts of snow at a time. She is no longer frightened that she could hurt him with an accidental blow, she is terrified she will not find him at all. Her throat is raw from screaming. The avalanche caught them by surprise and her attempt to fly them off the hiking trail only resulted in Logan’s coat tearing in two as he fell back into the crushing movement of snow and toppled trees. Trembling, she checked her watch again. It has been five minutes. Even as she pushes the red panic button for help, she knows the jet can only fly so fast. Logan’s life is in her hands and she fights to unclench the iron grip on her heart as she powers her way through more of the drifts.

---

Gradually Logan became aware of things around him. The room was twisting and growing and he looked up into what appeared to be a forest canopy.

"Where are we?"

Dickens grinned. "When I penned that novel of mine, I never dreamt of the adaptations that would come after. Amazing how commercial an enterprise Christmas has become, don’t you think?"

"I guess," Logan said as he watched the tree trunks solidify with startling clarity. He started to reach a hand out to test them.

"Oh, they’re not real. This is your mind’s version of what the world was like when you woke up. Nothing here is solid or sure, not even yourself.” Dickens produced a cane and sliced through Logan with it. Nothing happened. It was as if Logan himself were a vapor.

"Woke up? I’m not sure I get you," Logan slowly responded. "What does your story have to do with me?"

"It’s not what my story has to do with you, old man, it’s what you have to do with my story. You were reading "A Christmas Carol" the other night to that delightful little child Megan and it made quite an impression on your mind and heart." Dickens winked. "Not that you’d tell anyone though, eh?"

"So is this where I see the ghost of Christmas Past? How can I? I have no past. What little girl are you talking about?" Logan growled.

"Now don’t go on like that. A writer like myself knows a terrific character when he sees one. Take Scrooge for example. Such a pleasant chap in his childhood and then greed overshadows his life and he forgets all that came before. In the end he turned out magnificently. Have you no wish to hold out the same hope for yourself?"

"I may not have been such a good person in my past…"

"That is the problem you have with your past, isn’t it? You don’t know what you were and you let it overshadow what you have become." Logan was beginning to become annoyed with the chipper English accent. "What you were doesn’t matter anymore, does it?"

"I thought it didn’t. But what if I remember it all someday and turn out to be…"

"Oh ye of little faith." For a second Logan swore Dickens was sporting a red visor. "You’ve never been accused of being an optimist, have you?" The top hat was tipped in a gesture of respect. "I bow to your pessimism then. You will always be an evil git, children will run away from you in fright, and women will scream while men hunt you down wherever you go, chasing you with pitchforks and torches."

Logan’s face flushed with anger. "Knock it off. I’m not evil."

"Excellent, now you’re being sensible." The hat was popped back into place as Dickens sat down on a tree stump that appeared out of nowhere. "You have a few clues, you know. Reading bedtime stories to a child? Unquestionably, a strange sort of entertainment for a mass murderer, eh? Falling in love as well? I shudder to think that a monster would have enough heart for that kind of action. Teaching others? Not exactly the course a truly wicked man would choose, now is it?"

Logan only grunted. Years of uncertainty had built a mental shield too solid to crumble so easily to a few words of encouragement, even if those words seemed tantalizingly true. Had he read stories to a child? Could he teach? What was that about love? Was he a decent person? No, he shook his head. He could kill so easily. A good man wouldn’t do that; couldn’t do that. He may not be evil, but he wasn’t good either, Logan thought to himself.

That part about love, though, it whirled in his brain, causing a pain he couldn’t avoid. A vision swam before him of a woman. It was terribly out of focus but he desperately clung to it. He knew her, didn’t he? Green eyes glowed in a vision of dark hair framed with white. She seemed to laugh at him, as if to ease his self-doubt. Did she think he was good? She shouldn’t. He clamped firmly down on his emotions and looked over in time to see the sad smile on Dickens’ face.

"I see this will be harder than anticipated," the man commented. "We have to do something to get your dander up, then."

---

Prayers, deals with God, cursing, pleas for her lover to return to her; nothing had helped and she was running out of time. Even Logan needs air, her thoughts reminded her brutally. He’s dying and she was going to be alone. Oh, God, not alone, not without love. A wail of anguish escaped her as she surged forward again, trees and snow flying out of her path.

---

The mansion rose out of the gloom of the forest, its cheery lights like a beacon in the darkness. Dickens led the way to the doors and straight through them while Logan followed. He wondered fleetingly if Kitty felt this kind of a chill when she passed through solid material. Then he paused. Who was Kitty? He didn’t wonder long as shapes and figures whirled around and through him. Children - he heard their laughter and, despite himself, he smiled in response. Dickens motioned to trail in their wake and Logan moved to comply.

There was a gathering in the dining hall, a great feast in celebration of the holidays. Everyone was there. No, something was missing, something important. Or was it someone? Logan looked around. Wasn’t someone else supposed to be here? Was it the woman? There were no empty seats and he shrugged to dismiss the nagging ache in his gut but a nauseous feeling overcame him and he gasped in pain, seemingly unable to breathe.

"We’ll have to hurry," Dickens said when he saw Logan’s dilemma. "You know this place."

"Yes," Logan managed to say. "It’s…," he stopped. The word ‘home’ had been on the tip of his tongue but something prevented him from saying it. Was it true?

"Ah, now we are getting somewhere." The man’s eyes sparkled. "You’re correct, my boy. This is your home now."

"Who are they? Do they know me?" How could someone want to be around a killer like him, especially children?

"Of course. You know, that brain of your is a magnificent thing. Filled to the brim with a vast amount of knowledge and experience, and yet your personal life only takes up a fraction of it. It is that we are trying to restore."

"Who’s we?" Logan asked through gritted teeth. The pain was becoming more intense.

"Why, your mind and your body, dear sir. This is, as you have surmised, a hallucination on your part, the part of you that wishes to survive. You have suffered a trauma and have forgotten that which helps you live. I am here to guide you."

I’m dead… I’m dead… I’m dead…, Logan thought each time he struggled to breathe.

"If you believe that, you might as well lie down right now and give up."

Logan sank to his knees.

---

She found him. Three tree trunks had cruelly mangled him, pinning him into a position he could not free himself from and crushing the breath from his body. Gingerly, Marie pried the trees up and flung them aside. What struck her was the look on Logan’s face. He seemed so peaceful, as if asleep and having the best dream ever. His features were blue, however, indicating death, not sleep.

She did not hear Scott and Ororo’s approach as she breathed for him but she was thankful that they had grabbed the medical kit from the ‘bird.

"I didn’t know or I would have brought Jean, too," Scott said as he knelt down and pinned one of Logan’s forearms underneath his knee as a precaution. "He’ll make it, don’t worry."

From the vantage of a loving hug from Ororo, Marie watched the leader’s fingers tremble slightly as he put a mask over Logan’s nose and mouth and began to squeeze the airbag that fed it.

---

"Do you really want to die?"

Logan looked up from his kneeling position, right into the sparkling eyes of the man in the top hat. Wasn’t there something he was forgetting? Something he had to do? Someone he had to see?

"I…don’t…know."

"At least you didn’t say yes. Scrooge didn’t want to die either, not while there was still hope. Do you have hope?"

Logan searched inwardly even as his breath seemed to leave him. "I don’t…remember." A child ran by and a woman followed. It was the dark-haired woman, the one with the green eyes and the distinctive white lock of hair. "I’m…trying."

"You are indeed. Perhaps we need something. A ghost or two?"

With a wave of Dickens’ hand the room darkened and a makeshift stage at the end of the dining hall was lit with lamplight. Logan watched the children put on a play based on "A Christmas Carol". He listened as the ghost of Christmas past softened the flinty heart of the miser and Logan began to see a parallel of sorts. Greed had stolen the heart from Scrooge just as Stryker had stolen his mind. Except there was no past he could be shown, no mother or father that ever embraced him, no holiday dance to meet a pretty girl, no wife or child to greet him at a home that didn’t exist for him.

Logan realized the second ghost was on stage now, showing Ebenezer where good works could make a difference and kindness could bring life to a child who might otherwise have no future. A dim memory surfaced of a choice made to help children, help…the woman. What was her name? Had he tried to do good deeds and failed? Coldness crept through him and he shivered. Had he already had his second chance? The faces of the audience gleamed dimly in the reflection of light from the stage. Their names were on the tip of his tongue but it was as if they were sitting on the other side of an abyss he couldn’t cross. Pain wracked his body and he cried out. Someone shut off the lights and he was plunged into darkness.

A dim light rose before him. It was the man again, Dickens he said his name was. Only this time he was changing, melting into the woman again.

"You have to make a choice, Logan. Do you want to rest, to end the pain forever? Or do you want to have another chance? You’ve always avoided Christmas. Now it’s knocking on your door. Can you let the spirit of Christmas in? Can you take a chance and choose to live?"

Scrooge had another chance. He had seen what he could do with his life. Scrooge wasn’t a killer, though. He didn’t know what it was like to butcher another person. Those children didn’t need him. They would be better off without him. How can you keep Christmas in the heart of a beast?

The woman smiled and touched his cheek. Pain gripped him. Her touch, he had felt it before. She had shown him death and he had chosen to live. Her name was Marie. She was life. She was living. She was giving. She was…like having Christmas inside you. She was love. A shudder wracked his body at the thought. She was love. How could he give up if she loved him? Especially since he loved her…

---

Scott stopped and pulled the respirator from Logan’s face. Ororo choked back a sob. There had been no response from Logan for the better part of ten minutes.

Marie sat numbly, staring at his peaceful face. He could finally rest now, she thought. He didn’t have to worry about outliving her or being alone in the future or any of the other thoughts she knew he felt about his mutation. No more pain for him she thought through her own haze of agony.

There was no warning. Logan simply inhaled sharply and a cry escaped him.

Leaning forward, Marie grabbed his shoulders. "Fight it, sugar! Live!"

Again Logan sucked in a breath and shuddered at the pain it brought. His color changed rapidly from blue to tan and the horrible wounds began to magically disappear. Scott rocked back and off the forearm just in time as Logan sat up and opened his eyes.

---

"We should have taken their advice and gone back on the jet and you know it," Marie admonished as she drove them across Canada. "You almost didn’t make it that time."

"I know. I just want to spend a day or two getting back, if you don’t mind, just the two of us. We'll still make it in time for the celebration and can even stop and get a few things for the kids." Logan sighed. "I'm sorry I talked you out of that earlier. You were right. This is the time of year to celebrate things, especially being together." His eyes closed at the remembered pain of losing everything. "I’d like the chance to make it up to you, if you'll let me."

There was a flushed glance from under a streak of white hair. "Don't get me wrong, Ah’d like that, just you and me and a couple of days alone together, but Ah'm wondering whether you're really okay. Ah mean, you wanting to get presents for people?" She threw him a concerned glance. "What changed your mind?"

"I guess I had some sense knocked into my head from those trees back there." Logan reached a hand across and gently kneaded Marie’s right shoulder. "I've spent so much time alone and had so much stolen from me, it's hard to trust that I can really have a life again, but if I don't take that chance, I'll end up losing what's being offered to me now."

She grinned delightedly. "Well, Ah was hoping you’d get around to figuring that out eventually, sugar. Ah’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you and you know it."

"Me, too." He reached over and took one of her hands from the steering wheel and kissed it. "Merry Christmas, Marie. I love you."

Marie blinked back tears. That was the first time she had ever heard him utter the holiday phrase.

"Merry Christmas, Logan. Ah love you, too."