Shattered Bonds [Book Three]

Chapter 4: Ghosts of Future Past

         The mansion was usually quiet at this time of night.

        "Back to bed, please." Charles spoke calmly to the students as he wheeled himself down the hall. Students stood with their doors open, their eyes trained on one of the rooms towards the end of the corridor. They stared on in anxious fear, hearing the groans that traveled through the walls as though they might collapse on them. Nevertheless, Charles persisted, following behind Hank's lead towards the source. "Back to bed, please, everyone."

        The youngest of students hid against their door frames, whispering to one another. "She's doing it again," one boy whispered to his roommate by his side, only stepping back into their rooms once Charles passed by.

        "Back to bed, Jesse," Charles called to one in particular, turning his attention to the others. "Come on, now. Spit-spot, back to bed. Carrie Anne, come on now, darling. Back to bed."

        Once every student returned to their rooms and closed their doors, Charles turned to face the wooden door hiding such raw power behind it. He gave a nod to Hank, who carefully placed his hand on the door handle and twisted, gently pushing the door open for both of them to peer inside. 

        The first sound to reach their ears was the sound of her breathing, labored and erratic. The only light in the room came from the moonlight flowing in from the uncovered window, but it was enough for them to clearly see Jean on her back in bed, her head tossing back and forth in the throes of what had to be another one her nightmares. Charles held his mind off from hers, already wary of what he was seeing.

        Her hands clenched and released the blankets by her sides, a sheen of sweat on her skin that gleamed in the moonlight. 

        "Never seen it like this," Hank remarked gently by Charles's side, pushing the door open completely for them to get the full view.

        "Nor I." Charles could see the wall above Jean's bed bubbling as though it were burning with no flames. He took in a deep breath, thankful that he had been the one to come down instead of Christiana; though powerful and close to Jean, he knew she could not withstand the turmoil raging in Jean's mind at a time like this. "Don't let any of the children come this way."

        Cautiously, Charles continued into the room, getting a better look at Jean's surroundings. The bubbling of the walls was spread throughout the entire room, finding paintings and covering each wall with a growing deterioration and decay along its surface. Nevertheless, Charles continued to wheel himself to the side of Jean's bed, seeing how her face was twisted in pain and anguish from her dreams. "Jean."

        She gave no answer, just as he suspected. It was difficult, waking her like this, and he suspected it would be even harder to wake her with her powers on a subconscious high-alert. Warily, he began to let his mind seek hers, wincing and gripping the arms of his wheelchair as he just brushed against her mind. She let out a pained moan in her sleep, the dream getting worse by the second.

        Charles had no choice but to dive right in. His eyes slipped closed, and he grunted to himself as he forced himself into her mind, searching for her in her own nightmare. 

        She was lost. Many dreams flowed in a single thought that just kept progressing until one woke, but nightmares tended to operate differently—especially Jean's nightmares. There was no consistent flow to it, only images and flashes, bright red if not dark. Fire burning everything in its wake, turning cities, people, everything into ash that still smoldered after having perished. 

        It was the feeling that came with the images that made Charles's hands come up to his own head, holding tight to his cranium as though it might help him stay locked within his own head. There was pain, so much pain and anguish that masked a certain fury within her, the images changing with each instant. A glimpse of buildings burning, of a world perishing, winds carrying ashes away in a rush of powerful wind, gathering together as if to make something new. Then the glimpse of a figure, of eyes Charles could never forget to belong to his wife, but it is gone as fast as it came.