Professor…
Could he sense her? Jean wondered, closing in on the mansion. After gliding past a stationary kestrel in mid-dive, she slowed just outside Xavier’s office. He was frozen at his desk on the other side of the glass casement, eyes closed in concentration, with his index and middle fingers pressed against his temples.
Maybe he was trying to reach her. The terrifying celestial music was building to a crescendo. Grey shivered as she recalled the scream that had ignited the sky in her nightmare. She would do anything not to hear that again.
Professor, please…
Looking at her hands, she saw they glowed like burning embers; yet she felt made of ice. She was alone in this chilling non-time, isolated from the living world. The sonic vibrations began to shift the mansion. She had to contact Charles; he could stop it. She parted the large panes that separated them with her thoughts, but didn’t go inside for fear of setting the Institute ablaze. She touched Xavier with her mind.
Help me!
She lifted his body out of his chair and pulled him up through the window. His eyes were still shut as she turned him to face her. She wrenched them open.
“Jean!” Xavier shouted. His suspended limbs trembled.
You must stop it! Stop the Crystal!
The flames surrounding her shone in Charles’ mirror-like black irises. His shaking ceased.
Together, Jean. We must work together.
He stretched out his arms to take hold of her flaming fingers. She held him back telekinetically.
What are you doing? I’ll burn you!
Your hands will become my hands. Our minds must join.
The cataclysmic shriek she dreaded shattered the air, rippling Charles’ skin.
Jean, now! It’s the only way.
I understand.
He reached for her again. The flames licked his flesh and singed the cuffs of his tweed jacket. As he tightened his grip, his words reverberated.
You will see everything, all that I know, and all that I am. And I will see you.
The smell of suntan lotion floated on a summer breeze. Jean was running. But she couldn’t run that fast. She was small, just a child.
Annie!
She was racing Annie Richards across the street. Rose-orange sunlight glinted in the headlights of a large, black car. Suddenly the world became a wall of red. The back of her head smacked against the smooth surface of the road. She couldn’t breathe. People were crying and shouting. She wanted to cough but her lungs were too heavy. The blood cleared from her sight, letting her gaze at the gold and scarlet clouds above.
You’ve been hiding this… I was the one who died, not Annie. I’m supposed to be dead.
No, Jean, but you were with her. You felt it. You brought me to this moment before, when our minds first merged. Why are we here now?
I don’t know.
Icy nothingness was closing in around her. An ambulance siren in the background grew faint. She stared past the crowding human shapes into the sunset beyond. The burning colors formed the image of a giant falcon. Fiery wings swept down from the heavens. The warm flames gathered her crushed ten-year-old body.
Phoenix… Was I always Phoenix?
You are Jean Grey. This is the Phoenix.
She was drifting tens of thousands of feet above the Earth. A massive white hot eruption roiled the horizon. Below great rivers of fire issued from the epicenter of the blast and consumed the land. Dropping down into the lower atmosphere, she choked amid thick smoke and noxious vapors.
Then the ash and smog dispersed to reveal the devastated landscape the flames had left behind. The cliffs to the east of the Kensico Reservoir were scorched. Burnt stumps were all that remained of the glorious pine, oak and maple trees. Where the Institute had stood there was a smoldering pit.
She let the wind carry her along, as if she were a stray leaf. Passing over Westchester County she witnessed hunks of misshapen metal steaming on the butchered highways. Further south, a wasteland pocked with melted steel skeletons filled her vision. It had once been the towering metropolis of New York City.
I will cause this. You saw it when you were linked with Apocalypse. That day, when we got back from Egypt, why did you send Warren after me? Why didn’t you let me go?
Because I love you, Jean. And I don’t believe in fate. We can change the future. There was also a voice I’d never heard before. It said you were our only hope… Shi’mor…Nos Immorata…
Charles’ last words sounded strange. They were slightly higher in pitch but deeper in tone.
Shi’mor Nos Immorata…
Jean realized she was no longer holding the hands of the Professor. The palms she pressed felt cool like marble. The eyes in front of her were dark pools, shimmering with stars. It was the queen with the crown of blue feathers. She spoke without moving her mouth.
You are Shi’mor…the Phoenix, Nos Immorata. D’ken has awakened. He calls the M’Kraan.
The ear-splitting screech resurged full force, tearing through Jean’s consciousness.
The M’Kraan…the Crystal! Stop it!
Only you can do that, Jean.
The Professor reemerged, replacing the mysterious woman. Charles was burning; yet his voice was calm.
You are creating this reality. This is a psychic projection. The Crystal isn’t here, Jean. Inside my office, there is a syringe on the desk. You have to inject its contents into your bloodstream. It will make all of this go away…
Jean woke up in her old room on the second floor of the mansion. The rising sun poked through the curtains. Pushing off the covers she found she was wearing a faded t-shirt and leggings – her typical sleepwear. Who had changed her clothes? Where was the Professor? She couldn’t sense him at all. She couldn’t sense anyone.
She remembered the injection. The crook of her right arm was sore and thoroughly bruised. Her head ached. Rubbing the back of her skull she detected a large bump. She must have fallen when she was outside with Xavier. He would have gone down as well, and his skin… How badly had she burned him?
She jumped to her feet and rushed out into the hall. Ororo Munroe was coming up the stairs.
“Jean, I was just coming to check on you. Are you all right?”
“Ororo, what did I do?” Jean collapsed against Storm. The Windrider held her.
“The Professor will be okay. You should rest.”
Jean backed away. “I know he’s hurt. Please let me see him.”
“He’s in the recovery bay with Hank. I’ll go with you.”
They hastened down the steps and over to the high speed transport. The computer recognized Ororo’s speech when she requested “Sub Level 1.”
Jean’s breathing was shallow and rushed. Storm couldn’t recall Grey ever appearing so distressed. How would the girl react when she saw Charles’ true condition?
Hank McCoy noticed them on the corridor monitor as soon as they arrived on the floor. He turned to the bandaged patient in the hospital bed behind him.
“Charles, Ororo has returned and Jean is with her.”
“Let them in.”
Jean ran into the room. The Professor was propped up on several pillows but he seemed rigid and uncomfortable. His arms lay by his sides encased in regenerative liquid packs. One of his legs had a support beneath it, and she could discern a large brace from the lumpy outline of the sheet on top.
The most difficult area to look at was his face. His eyebrows had been singed off and his ears and scalp were wrapped in gauze. Raw patches of pink spread over his cheeks. He smiled at her with blistered lips.
Jean fell to her knees. “Professor, I…” Her chest shuddered. “I wish I was dead!”
Storm bent down next to her. “You never meant to hurt anyone. And the Professor is improving every minute.”
“Ororo, Hank,” Xavier rasped. “I’d like some time with Jean.”
Storm arose.
“If you need us, you know where we’ll be.” Hank followed Munroe into the hallway.
“Jean, get me something to drink, would you?” Charles tried to lean back.
Across the room a pitcher lifted into the air and poured a stream of water into a plastic cup. Jean walked to the chair near Xavier and sat down. The container, topped with a straw, flew into her hand. She brought it to his mouth.
“I was hoping you would sleep in for a few more hours,” he said after a sip. “I’ll be far more attractive by lunchtime. The new healing factor Hank synthesized from Logan’s DNA is remarkable. It knits bone fractures, grows skin, amazing. If it could rebuild a damaged spinal cord, I’d be out jogging right now.”
“You have to let me go.” Ruddy tearstains marked Jean’s face.
“You cannot leave us.” The plastic cup sailed away and regrouped with the pitcher on the countertop in the opposite corner. “We need you.”
“You need me to blow up the world?”
“To save the world, Jean. That’s Lilandra’s message. Apocalypse unveiled one possibility; the codex has shown us another.”
“But I didn’t simply receive a message, or project a psychic communication. It was real. The flames were real… You’re hurt.” A tissue puffed out of the box on the table to the Professor’s left and flitted into her grasp.
“Jean, your psionic projections have the potential to become very real. Moira has developed a new compound…”
“M56. It was the substance in the syringe.”
“Yes. It was my last option.” Charles marveled at how pretty she was, despite the blotches and the harsh lighting of the medical unit. “It prevents extreme monoamine neurotransmitter fluctuations.”
“I get it. It can impair telepathy, and maybe end the dreams I’ve been having.” Jean’s focus wandered to the ceiling.
“The decision is yours. The drug is highly experimental of course. To maintain the effects you will have to take a pill every twelve hours, if not more frequently.” Since it seems your powers have rebounded quite rapidly.
But, it’s just another tether.
That’s the point, Jean. You must stay tied to the ground. Keep your feet and your thoughts on Earth.
“What about astrophysics?”
“We’ll allow an exception for astrophysics.”
“I’ll take the pills.” Jean stood and moved towards the door.
“Hank will give them to you.” Xavier followed her with his eyes. “I believe Scott is available to drive you back to the city.”
Scott attached the hood of the Austin-Healey and waited in the driver’s seat for Jean. He brought up the music on the stereo. She came out wearing a light pink sweater and an old pair of black pants he hadn’t seen her wear for at least a year. They looked really good on her. Don’t stare, he instructed himself.
When she got in he didn’t say a word. She reached into the rear seats, retrieved the adamantium fiber vest, and pulled it on. Once she fastened her seatbelt, he shifted into first gear and drove off.
Neither of them spoke throughout the trip to Manhattan. Scott knew conversation was not what Jean needed. She needed time and space to think.
The car stopped on Morningside Drive. Jean grabbed the handle to leave, but released it. “Scott, tell me, what happened? What did you see?”
He turned slowly. “We were at the traffic light and I guess I said the wrong thing… You started levitating and lit up. Then you were gone.”
“You were holding my leg.”
“Until you pushed me off.”
“Can I see your hands?”
Scott presented his palms. “Here.” They were fine, no signs of contact with fire.
“I didn’t burn you?”
“Not at all.” He pulled away.
“Well, I better go.” She opened the door.
“Jean?”
“Yeah?” she answered, leaning into the vehicle.
“This came for you.” He passed her a crimson invitation with an ‘H’ and a pitchfork in a circle.
“What is the Hellfire Club?” she asked.
“It’s some ancient society group down near Wall Street. They’re having a big party for the Professor.”
Jean read the names ‘Mister Sebastian Shaw’ and ‘Miss Emma Frost’ on the inside of the card. “Emma Frost, she’s a telepath.”
“The Professor mentioned that. It might be an interesting evening. So, if you’re feeling better…”
“I don’t think it’d be a good idea.”
“Keep it, in case you change your mind.”
“All right.” Jean smiled at him. Scott watched her walk into Hamilton Hall.