X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 11

Chapter 11…

Hank McCoy was a smart guy. It was the one thing he was certain about—he could analyze problems and uncover solutions. As he stood in the center the debris that had been Charles' bedroom, however, not one solid hypothesis would surface.

Erik had kidnapped Charles. Hank had heard Charles' telepathic call for help. So had Alex and Sean. None of them made it there in time.

Charles' physical therapy clinic had already called several times already, inquiring about missed appointments. With each call, the woman on the other end sounded more displeased; she insisted Charles needed help.

Closing a hand around the end of Charles' bed frame, Hank released a small growl. Erik had entered their lives at the least opportune time. How wonderful it would be to offer the other man the same inconvenience.

"Hank," Sean called from the bedroom's entrance, "any luck yet?"

Tapping his claws on the bed frame, Hank sniffed the air. It wasn't the first time he'd done so over the last two days. He didn't recognize the scent, but it was sweet. And strong. And he knew whatever it had been, it had rendered Charles unconscious within seconds.

Chloroform was the only practical conclusion.

It still didn't answer the real question here—why on earth would Erik abduct Charles in the first place?

Stepping away from the bed frame, Hank walked to the only other piece of furniture that hadn't been demolished by Erik's powers or Sean's sonic scream—the nightstand. Charles' medications were missing, leaving only the lamp and an empty bottle of scotch on the oak surface.

Dropping to the edge of bed, Hank snatched up the bottle.

Sean wandered into the room. Making his way to Hank's side, he reached out and took the bottle from him. "I thought he was doing all right, you know. I mean, he seemed like he was doing all right, all this time."

Hank sighed. "That's what he wanted you to believe."

Brushing a hand across his furry blue head, Hank studied the room again. Other than the trace of chloroform in the air, Erik had left no other clues. He hadn't even busted the front door to the mansion; he simply twisted the lock with his mind like he didn't want to inconvenience anyone.

Shaking his head, Hank stood. He turned towards the door to leave—a light caught him. It was tiny, like a weak flashlight that was barely capable of clearing any darkness away. A nightlight, glimmering inside Charles' bathroom.

Hank twisted back around. He stepped beside the bathroom's door, and crept it open. Inside, the room was completely altered for Charles' needs. A shower bench sat in the tub; the cabinets under the sink were gone. Latex gloves rested behind the toilet and grab bars were installed on the walls.

To the right was a small linen closet. Hank opened it. Inside was an array of medical equipment—catheters, medicine bottles, disinfectant solution, and other items Charles required.

"What is it?" Sean asked as he peeked inside.

Hank stared at all the items. Charles needed each one. He needed them everyday. Most people wouldn't think of that. Not even someone as clever as Erik.

"We need to start doing a search," Hank finally said as he faced Sean.

The other man tipped his head like Hank was trying to communicate through hand signals.

"Of what?" the other man finally asked.

Hank motioned his head to the linen closet. "Medical supplies. Medicine—equipment. All bought on the same day. Everything someone would need if they suddenly had a paraplegic guest staying at their house."