She watched the child play, his favourite cuddly bear clutched by his side as he ran up and down the length of the hallway of their stately home. The place richly furnished with expensive but subtle taste was decked out with the finest paintings, the best antique furniture and the richest carpets, in the deepest reds, browns and greens.
Smiling she shook her head slowly as the five year old ran narrowly avoiding the priceless Ming dynasty vase that toppled slightly on its antique walnut perch, it was steadied by a maid who heaved a deep sigh of relief when the child took to finally collapsing at his mothers feet exhausted at last.
Evelyn P Woodhouse-Browne was sat in the large armchair outside her husband’s study; she stroked the soft hair of her son’s head and smiled wistfully. What is it that we wish for our children, she wondered. To see them successful, to see them happy, to see them loved and cherished?
She wanted all of that for him, and more, but above all this she wanted him to remain ignorant, at least until she was ready, she wanted him to remain in the dark as to who he really was.
The nervous smile still playing on her lips she looked up as the door to her husband’s office opened and a small troupe of suited men stepped out, her husband in the middle they flanked all of his sides, he was a successful senator, a public figure and as such a prime target for the mutant terrorist element the news channels regularly assured Evelyn was plaguing their streets.
They were all heavily built their suits and silk ties clinging to their toned bodies, the sunglasses they each wore hiding their eyes, Evelyn slipped easily in between the bodyguards and fell into step with her husband, her son clutching her finger tightly as the family walked.
She turned her head slightly to offer a quick glance to the only female of this tight unit, she wore a sharp suit jacket and pressed skirt, her firearm holstered, the sunglasses framing her pale face, a small smear of lipstick on plump lips.
And her hair, Evelyn’s eyes always strayed to the woman’s hair. She’d been in service to the Woodhouse-Browne family for over a month and as of yet, Evelyn still hadn’t mustered up the courage to ask the female bodyguard about the peculiar colouration of her hair.
Two toned, the white streaks were pulled back merging into the dark elements of her hair, pinned into a tight ponytail, the hair swished slightly from side to side with every confident step she took.
Evelyn stared into the black reflection of her sunglasses, Marie she’d said her name was, just that Marie, a word she’d softly spoken right back when they’d hired her, just that, Marie.
She offered nothing more, but Evelyn had been assured all the same, maybe it was the maternal instinct inside her, but for some reason she convinced herself that a woman would empathise, would share that sense of protection, would take better care of them all, and make sure nothing happened to her son.
She saw Marie’s head tilt slightly to the side, her gaze shifting to her son, and the edges of her mouth twisting into a small wry smile. Evelyn looked back at her son; he was smiling as well, a full toothy grin just for Marie.
Evelyn held on tighter, as the large entrance doors to their house loomed in front of them, her heels tapping quickly over the marbled floor of the vestibule, the bodyguards shifting in closer as they stepped outside.
This was the part she always dreaded, the transference from home to car, that moment in between in which they were left completely vulnerable, she held a sharp breath as the doors opened and they stepped out into the light.
Marie would never understand them, humans; she would never understand their motivations, their objectives, and their means to an end. She stared at the Woodhouse-Browne family, at the father, senator Jonathan J, successful speaker, handsome, rich and all round good guy, at least where his own kind was concerned.
Marie had listened to his speeches, in the Senate, the way he had spoken so eloquently about neutering mutant women, had talked about effectively stunting the growth of mutant female babies, so they couldn’t reproduce, and the ‘unfortunates’ as he termed mutants that had already been born should be numbered and marked from birth.
The mutant registration act was not enough he argued, nope, good Ol’ JJ Woodhouse-Browne was all out for numbering, marking, and effectively castrating the Mutant race, he would have seen mutant children wiped off the face of the earth.
And they tell us we’re the monsters, the abomination, the unclean, the mistakes and the freak of nature, Marie shook her head slightly. He deserved to die, his life she would take gladly.
Her attentions turned to the woman, Evelyn, Marie smiled coldly to herself, she’d seen lots of women like Evelyn, wealthy, daddy’s rich little white girl, pampered and useless, they’d never seen the horrors of the life Marie had been born into. For her Marie felt nothing but indifference, of Evelyn she couldn’t care one way or the other.
But what of the boy? Five years old and being born to such parents, a loving but weak mother, and a father hated by an entire race, she had been that child once, and it had taken nothing short of a miracle to ensure she had survived.
Her thoughts raced back to him, back to Logan and that night in his cell, the lies she had told him and that empty promise she had made. A familiar dull ache settled on her heart and she felt her jaw clench.
This child’s death she would regret, but she had a contract to fulfil, events had already been set in motion, there was no going back, not for her, and not for the Woodhouse-Browne’s.
‘And they say ah’m a monster,’ Marie gritted her teeth, her conscious digging away at her, furious whispers in her mind as she stepped out into the sunlight, ‘and in your case they’d be right.’
Marie stood in the doorway barely a few feet away from the car, stared as the boy and his mother climbed into the back of the black sedan, she watched as the maid came running out of the house behind her calling out to the Senator about his urgent call that he just had to take.
They rushed past her, the senator and his bodyguards, leaving the wife and child vulnerable, with only the car driver and one other suit sat in the front, Marie reached for the sidearm she wore underneath her jacket and stepped forward firmly.
Her heeled boot sank into something soft, surprised she looked down to see the child’s cuddly teddy lying in the gravel walkway, she bent down to pick the toy up, her blood suddenly pounding in her ears at a hundred miles an hour, she fought to calm her breath, fought to gain control as images of the child flashed insistently behind her eyes.
Suddenly the passenger door flew open as the five year old ran out screaming he had lost his teddy, followed by his hysterical mother, Marie watched helplessly as they barrelled towards her, one hand clutching the toy and the other still hovering on her firearm.
And in her mind’s eye, in those hectic few minutes all she saw was Logan, in the forest back to when she had been seven years old, running headfirst into the light and in the sight of his gun, she remembered his sacrifice, the price he had paid.
Marie shook her head, the way for her suddenly clear, pulling the child to the ground, and his mother alongside she dove on top of them, shielding their bodies with her own as the black sedan they had been sitting in only seconds ago exploded...