X-men: World of Gray

Chapter 37

Chapter 37…

It was only five in the morning and somehow the Long Beach Freeway still managed to be overrun by traffic. Getting Angel where she needed to go was taking more effort than Sean anticipated, and as he inched the Imperial forward by a whole two feet, he couldn't help but glance to his right. In the passenger's seat, Angel sat, her face more glum now than sick. Her arms were crossed to her chest like she was afraid Sean would change his mind and take her back to the cabin.

"We're almost there," he assured her.

She didn't bother replying.

Sean drew his attention back to traffic. In the distance, he could see the ocean line of the Pacific; they'd get there faster if they hiked. Nonetheless, Sean kept to the road. Hank was right. They couldn't be like Erik. Sean wasn't certain what he and his mutant friends were, but he knew what they weren't.

Sean had already driven Angel to the Mount Sinai Hospital near Beverly Hills, and had her checked out. She had suffered a minor concussion and the doctors had monitored her the rest of the day and night. It had been a tedious several hours.

Nonetheless, caring for the girl hadn't relieved Sean's nerves all that much. Yes, they were playing nice, but that was only temporary. By tomorrow, Sean might end up having to face Angel, and knock her into the side of a bus or something.

"I'm sorry about the duct tape," he muttered anyway. "We were just trying to help our friend. That's all we want, you know."

The girl sighed like the apology was somehow bittersweet. "I'm sorry, too."

"Really?"

She nodded. But as her gaze met Sean's, a dark feeling jabbed him in the stomach. Her eyes held the slightest touch of guilt, like she knew something he didn't.

Pain. It struck like a heartattack—powerful and completely out of his control. With a gasp, Sean wrenched his head back in his seat. His foot jerked on the gas pedal and the Imperial slammed into the Buick in front of them.

He didn't care about that. What he did care about was the agony wracking throughout his head and where the hell it could be coming from. It could only be one thing.

The telepath, Emma Frost.

As soon as that thought grabbed his mind, a cloud of red filled the Imperial's backseat. Sean had only an instant to notice the amused look on Azazel's face before the other man snagged his hands to him and Angel, and then all three disappeared from the car.

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Another day, and Charles and Moira travelled all over Long Beach. They drove along the coast, up to Rancho Palos Verdes and then back down to Huntington and Newport Beach. Then, they journeyed inland, up the Costa Messa Freeway, passing Santa Ana, Anaheim and Norwalk until they finally reached Los Angeles.

The entire way, Charles submerged himself within his telepathy. He concentrated on the road ahead as if he was trying to move the traffic with his mind.

All his effort proved futile, however. Hank and the others were out of Charles' telepathic range or he was simply not catching their presence. Either way, by the time Moira and he found a hotel off of Olive Street in downtown LA, the determination in Charles' eyes had vanished.

After settling with the front desk, Moira got the room's keys and parked. From the passenger seat, Charles started to haul his wheelchair from the back before Moira had a chance to loop around the car. The footplates were stuck and as Moira reached the side, Charles had already given up on it.

"I've got it," Moira assured him.

Without protest, Charles rested his head against the door frame and waited for Moira. He didn't argue with her; he didn't try to help. As Moira tugged at the wheelchair, she tried to keep her attention ahead. Nonetheless, her eyes drifted to Charles.