Marie held the grimy phone to her ear and listened to the ringing as it dialed.

'Please, someone be home,' she prayed as she stood in the booking room of the Meridian Police Department.

"Y'lo," a perky female voice answered. Marie could hear music blasting in the background.

"Jubilee. Turn off the music!"

"What? Rogue?"

"Jubilee, I'm in real trouble here. Turn off that damn music!"

"Remy," Jubilee laughed. "Quit it... It's Rogue... Remy, stop it."

"Jubilee!" Marie yelled into the receiver.

"Remy, quit it... No I don't... Remy!" Jubilee squealed, then the line went dead.

"Jubilee!" Marie yelled, but realized that she'd lost the connection. Turning to the surly cop standing behind her, she said, "Um, they hung up. Can I call them again?"

"You got your phone call. One's all you get."

"But, I didn't get to talk to anyone. They won't know to come help."

"Look, mutie," he sneered, "you're lucky you got one call. Now come with me."

Marie was lead away to a room with a table, chairs, and a large mirror on the wall. David's voice, always so quiet in her head, got louder. This room was just like every other interrogation room on those cheesy cop shows he liked to watch. He wanted her to get up and try to see through the two-way mirror. She pushed him down and ignored his excited pleading. She was far too concerned about Logan and confused about her parents to be star struck by a dingy, old room.

Soon enough, two men in cheap suits joined her. One was older, his dark mustache and side-burns sprinkled with gray hairs. He seemed kind, in a fatherly way. The other man was younger, mid-thirties, powerfully built, and immediately intimidating. He threw a manilla folder down on the table in front of her, pictures spilling out.

It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at, but when she did, she felt the bile rise in her throat and she lunged for the trash can by the door, barely making it in time. The pictures were of two blackened corpses, mangled and torn. They were her parents.

Both detectives seemed unnerved by her reaction. The older one bent down and asked her if she needed some water. Marie nodded mutely, trying to keep those horrible pictures down in her mind. Some of the pictures had been close-ups and the rips and tears, grouped in fives, covered both bodies.

Momma always cried when she got the littlest cut chopping the vegetables. She must've suffered horribly. Marie just couldn't think about it, but the more she tried to push the thoughts away, the stronger they were. Momma and Daddy were dead. They'd been dead for years. They didn't come to the wedding because they were dead. They'd loved her and now they were dead.

~Marie,~ Logan's soothing mental voice eased her pain like balm on a burn. ~It's ok, darlin'. I'm right here. I won't let them hurt you.~

'Logan, you're probably dying out there because of me.'

~I'm stronger'n that, darlin'. Don't you worry. I'll come for you soon enough.~

Her inner conversation was cut off when a cup of water was set down next to her by the older detective. She picked up the Styrofoam cup and emptied its contents, swishing the water around her mouth and spitting it out.

When the older man helped her up, she saw that the pictures had been gathered back into their folder, but the folder still sat on the table. She returned to her seat and stared down at her hands clasped in her lap.

"Miss Trent," the salt and pepper-haired detective began, "where have you been these past four years?"

"Logan," Marie muttered.

"Pardon me?"

"My name," Marie said, looking up. "I'm Mrs. Marie Logan."

"Well, now that we've agreed on a name, Mrs. Logan," the younger man said. "Do you mind telling us where the hell you've been for the past four years? While you're at it, tell us why you killed your parents."

"I didn't," Marie replied, vehemently shaking her head. "When I left, they were fine. I didn't even know they were dead until today."

"You expect us to believe that?" he jeered.

"It's the truth. I ran away to protect 'em."

"Protect them from what?"

"From me, my skin. I didn't want to hurt them, so I left."

"So you're telling us you ran away from home within a day of your parents' deaths and that it was just a coincidence?" the strong, young detective asked as the older detective sat down and put a hand on her shoulder. She couldn't help flinching; she was always nervous when strangers touched her, even if they seemed nice.

"Marie... can I call you Marie?" he asked in a gentle voice. She nodded and he continued. "Marie, my partner here's a little upset. He's been working this case since your parents were killed, you see? Well, it's just got us real confused. If you didn't kill your parents, who did?"

Marie sat there, trying to think of anyone who could've done it, but there was nobody. They were well-liked in the neighborhood. Her father was doing well at work. So far as she knew, they didn't have money problems. She could feel Logan trying to help as well. Erik and David didn't have any ideas, and John was convinced that she had done it.

~Darlin', I need to see the pictures again.~

'I can't. Logan, don't ask me to look at those...'

~Gimme control, Marie. I'll look, and you won't have to. I have an idea, but I need to see 'em again.~

Marie nodded and closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she couldn't see anything. Logan was blocking her vision, but she could still hear, touch, smell, everything but see. He was protecting her.

"I need ta see those pictures again," Logan told the detectives in a gruffer version of Marie's voice.

The older man asked, "Are you sure, Mrs. Logan?"

"Yep."

The manilla folder was opened and the pictures were spread out before him. Logan pushed away the wider angles, focusing only on the close-ups. There it was, plain as day.

"There," Logan said, pushing the picture towards the detective who had been kind to Marie, and pointing at the close-up of the wounds to her mother's belly.

"What? Proud of your handiwork?" the younger detective asked sarcastically.

It took all the will-power Logan had not to growl at the man. If he was in his own body, he woulda taken the guy down without hesitation, but he couldn't put Marie in any more danger.

"Those're claw marks. Five-fingered claw marks, not knife wounds. Mar - I don't have claws."

"You're a mutant. How do we know you don't? How do we know you didn't four years ago?"

"I don't, never have. The guy you're looking fer is called Sabretooth. He tracked Ma - me down in Canada. I never wondered how he found me. He musta tracked me from here all the way up there."

"Tracked, how?" the younger man asked, disbelieving.

"Well, he has a real good sense of smell."

`Logan.`

~Yeah, darlin'?~

`I had a map on my bedroom wall from Meridian to Anchorage. You remember that trip I told you I wanted to take? I pretty much followed that route when I ran away.'

"Uh, I also had a map in my room. I wanted to take a trip to Anchorage and kinda followed the route when I ran away," Logan added for the policemen's benefit.

"Do you know this Sabretooth's real name?"

"Uh, no, but it hadta be him."

After several more hours of tiring interrogation, where Marie had to answer and re-answer all the questions posed to her, with Logan's help and support, she was finally placed in a cell.

She was alone, since her skin was dangerous to the other prisoners. Even though the bed was relatively clean and it was about one in the morning, she couldn't sleep. She couldn't stop thinking that her parents' deaths were her fault. Sabretooth had come after her. He must've tortured them when he couldn't find her. They didn't know where she was. There was no way they could've saved themselves. It was all her fault.

Logan's mental voice tried to assuage her guilt, telling her that she didn't know, that if she had been there, she would've died in Magneto's machine. Despite his words, she couldn't help thinking that if she had been there, they wouldn't have died.

~Darlin', you always told me they loved you.~ Logan said.

'Yeah. I think they really did,' Marie replied. 'That's what makes it so hard.'

~If they loved you, they never woulda let Sabretooth take you unless they died first. It wasn't your fault, Marie.~

"Hello?"

"Professor?"

"This had better be good. It's Sunday morning!"

"Trust me, sir, you want to know about this. A hospital in Meridian, Mississippi, is asking for assistance in treating a patient of theirs."

"And I care how?"

"The patient has a chest wound, but they can't open the chest because of his metal skeleton."

The professor stood up so quickly, he banged the back of his head on the top of the cupboard he'd been reaching into and dropped the cordless phone.

When he'd finally grabbed the phone again, he asked, "Weapon X?"

"Almost assuredly."

"What is he doing in a hospital, Cornelius?"

"I asked that. Turns out he was traveling in the company of another mutant, a woman who can kill with a touch."

"Where is she now?"

"The city jail, something about a murder charge."

"Get the charges dropped and send out the team. I want them both."