"Revelations Pt. 2"
by Adam Martin

As the wind howled and caused quite a bit of hair frazzling and skirt lifting, Charlotte Jones walked the streets of New York. A destination was certainly in mind as the young police detective briskly strolled down the sidewalk. There were instances in her past that had not been properly laid to bed, and in the life of Charlotte Jones, uncertainties haunted like ghosts. There was an angelic anomaly that she had to have one last conversation with, and it was a chat that she had tossed and turned over for weeks. The relationship. The breakup. His occupation and extra curricular activities. For reasons unknown, the angel known as Warren Worthington the Third still consumed her thoughts. She hoped that this one last meeting would numb the penned up frustrations that kept her from sleeping peacefully.
The incident with the humanistic Sentinels hadn't helped her situation. Her young son, Daniel, had been kidnapped and used for bait, his life and well being placed in jeopardy for a cause that didn't concern him. The cause was noble, Charlotte would not disagree with this, but the life of her son was more important than any dreamer's greatest ambitions. The zealot known as Bastion had turned her life upside down, and nearly caused her son to become another statistic. Another abandoned corpse found in city streets nearly every day, killed for selfish and miserable motives. Charlotte's life was filled with statistics, and the same could be said for her ex-lover whom she would be meeting with in mere moments. Both of their lives had been changed forever, all in the name of the X.
She stopped in front of a lavish, uptown building, pulling her trench-coat tight around her. Angry gray clouds loomed above her in the night sky, and the wind slapped the collar of her coat against her neck. It was a miserable night, Charlotte could see. These were nights where the city called out its outcasts. And once again Charlotte thought about Warren. She could see him standing with his prim posture, blonde hair neatly styled, and she could smell the expensive cologne that seemed to live on his skin. He certainly was angelic, she remembered. A modern aristocrat. A white man at heart, and an idealist in the soul. He could always get her heart to race. And racing, it was most certainly doing now.
She entered the lobby, feeling warm air brush against her face. She thanked the Lord she was in a heated building, and walked across the ritzy lobby toward the elevator. A rotund bald man behind the front desk, wearing an expensive off-white suit and tie, watched her cross the lobby, a questioning glare in his eyes. Charlotte flashed her badge, middle finger raised to where his eyes could see. The rotund man looked away immediately, face red. Charlotte smiled to herself and pushed the "UP" button on the control panel outside the elevator.
After a few seconds, the elevator door swung open, and an elderly gentlemen extended his arm to invite her in. He smiled warmly, (a much warmer response than the man at the front desk). Charlotte returned the smile and found her way into the elevator.
"How are you this evening, Miss?" the elderly gentleman asked, still smiling.
"I'm okay, I guess," Charlotte returned.
"Which floor would you like to journey to," the man continued.
"Penthouse," Charlotte answered. Her heart continued to beat rapidly in her chest.
"Does Mr. Worthington know you are coming, Miss?"
Charlotte shook her head. "I'm an old friend. He'll probably be surprised to see me."
"Well, I should probably call ahead," the old gentleman suggested, pulling a phone from a gold encased panel.
"That's fine," Charlotte responded, thinking how odd it was to be standing in a closed elevator without movement.
The old man pushed a few buttons on the phone, and seconds later he was speaking.
"This is Bryson, Mr. Worthington. I have a woman in the elevator just now claiming to know you. I know how tight you are with security, so I figured I'd phone ahead."
The man paused, listening, and then turned back to Charlotte. "What is your name, dear?"
"Tell Warren it's Charlotte. Trust me, he knows full well who I am."
The man did what he was told, and after a few seconds of nodding his head, hung up the phone. The man then opened another panel with a key, and pressed a non-labeled button. The elevator lurched upward.
"What did he say?" Charlotte asked humorlessly.
The elderly gentlemen smiled nervously. "He sounded a little surprised. Are you an old friend?"
"Scorned girlfriend," Charlotte said with a straight face.
The elderly gentlemen nodded, as if understanding completely. "Should I be concerned about Mr. Worthington's well-being?"
"Only thing that might be hurt on Warren is his pride."
A bell chimed merrily, and the doors swung open.
"Nice meeting you, Bryson," Charlotte said and stepped out of the elevator.
"Good luck, madam," Bryson responded, and the elevator doors quietly closed.
Charlotte walked down the luxuriously decorated hall, admiring the sparkling chandeliers that hung from the ceilings every ten feet or so. It was certainly a Warren Worthington home, she said to herself. She couldn't imagine how much the man was spending on the place, and how much of it was actually worth the high price. She pushed her thoughts away and approached the door. She cleared her throat. Her heart continued its hectic trek, and she rolled her eyes at how nervous she felt.
"It's just an ex-boyfriend," she whispered. "Now knock on the damn door and get this over with."
And with that being said, her knuckled wrapped against the door.
Sounds of deadbolts unhinging and chains being pulled free filled the hallway. After the last deadbolt clicked, the door swung open. Charlotte softly shuddered.
"Charlotte?" Warren said with a plastic smile. "I can't say I'm not surprised to see you here. The last time we spoke, you..."
"...Were admiring a mutant's dirty work at a dance club," Charlotte finished, a slight annoyance present in her tone.
Warren closed his eyes for a second, brushed a blue hand into his wet blonde hair, and sighed. He wore nothing but a white robe, and water still dripped down his bluish face. Charlotte could remember the feel of his lips upon her own, the confident way he held her in his arms, and the demanding nature of his voice. All trivial details now, she thought, and once again pushed the feelings aside.
"I guess I caught you at a bad time," she said, feeling a little embarrassed.
"No...well, I did just get out of the shower, but it's fine. Um...come in, make yourself at home."
Warren stepped aside, and Charlotte stepped into his apartment. She could smell a mix between cleaning materials and cinnamon in the air. It was the same odor she remembered from all those months before, when she had stayed numerous nights in Warren's home and, on some occasions, slept in his bed. The old heart ache and feelings of rejection stung, and a sense of anger swept through her.
"So, who's the new girl?" Charlotte asked bitterly as she sat down upon his leather couch.
Warren frowned as he sat down across from her, legs politely crossed. "Don't tell me you came all the way uptown just to ask that question, Char. You always had too much pride and integrity for that."
"It's just a curiosity, Warren," Charlotte responded. "I mean, wouldn't you want to know who the person was if you were in my shoes?"
"It has been months, Charlotte," Warren said crossly. "I apologized. There is nothing more I can do."
"Is she a mutant?" Charlotte asked, ignoring his previous comment.
Warren sighed again, and shook his head in frustration. After a few moments of silence, he said, "Yes. A teammate."
Charlotte nodded, smiling slyly. "I'm not surprised. There's more T & A in that mansion than a prepubescent teenager could gawk at. So, which is X-lady is the lucky gal?"
"Stop," Warren demanded sternly. "If this is how you are going to act, then I will most assuredly show you the door."
Charlotte exhaled deeply, looking away from his penetrating stare. "I just needed to get it out of my system, Warren. I actually came here with peace on my mind. I just...remembered the hurt for a second."
"Charlotte, maybe this isn't a good idea..." Warren began, a complex expression on his face.
"No, no, I have to get something off my chest," Charlotte said. "It'll just take a second. God...how do I start?"
Warren reached across the coffee table in front of them, and grasped her hand. With an understanding smile he said, "I understand your frustration, Char. I treated you completely underhanded. It was my own selfish stupidity. My mind wasn't working properly, then. You know the story, so I don't even need to go into the whole melodrama. But, I am deeply sorry. I cared for you more than you probably think. I guess, I just needed to connect with someone who understood what I was going through. Someone..."
"A mutant," Charlotte said, softly. "I know the story, Warren, and it's one that doesn't make much sense to me. Black people mainly date black people, white people mainly date white people, et cetera, et cetera. I just thought...I thought, you, of all people would understand the ignorance in that."
This time it was Warren's turn to look away. He seemed unable to give a response.
Charlotte uneasily continued. "I came here tonight, because I have so much on my mind that I have to unload. I'm sure you heard about my son being kidnapped by Bastion in that Zero Tolerance scam..."
Warren seemed to cower as the words drifted off her tongue. He looked like a child who just got caught in a lie. "That was quite a mess for mutants, and especially for the X-Men," was what he said. "I was away during the worst of it, dealing with inner demons of my own. I...should have called..."
"Don't try and think of an excuse, Warren," Charlotte said, though not with spite. "I'm not completely ignorant to your situation. You might be a pretty boy, but I the blue on your face and the metal on your back tells a more horrid tale."
"Actually," Warren began, with a half smile, "my feathered wings...well, they kind of grew back." He pulled the robe down to his wai st, and Charlotte could see the muscular, feathered wings pulled into a harness around his shoulders. She gasped, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Only in your life," she whispered. "Jesus, Warren, they're beautiful."
Warren shrugged. "I can't say I'm not ecstatic that they're back. They're re-growth has helped me piece my life back together. But, I refuse to ignore who is responsible for it."
"Well, enjoy it while you can," Charlotte said. "Anyway, back to what I was saying. Ever since Zero Tolerance, I've wanted to speak with you. It's like...there's this huge welling of emotion behind my thoughts every time I think about you. But, it's not just you, Warren...it's your team, too. Scott, Jean, Bobby, and Hank. All of you guys. I think about all of the sacrifices you've made. And for what? For a silly notion that this world might actually be a great place to live in."
Warren watched intently, eyes wide at the emotion pouring out of Charlotte Jones.
"And you guys are all alone," she continued. "You don't see the Avengers standing up for you guys. You don't see Captain Naïve, or whatever his name is, going on TV and speaking out against mutant hate. No, it's just you and that Charles Xavier, and all of his children. When Bobby came to my rescue during the Zero Tolerance dillema, I thought, 'They really AREN'T human, are they?' Not because you guys are mutants, but because you put your own ass on the line to help me get my baby back. I respect that, Warren. I stand amazed at that. What you guys are doing is completely misunderstood by the ignorant mass of this world, but I want you to know that I understand. And I have nothing but respect for all of you."
Charlotte squeezed Warren's hand, her eyes blazing with passion.
"And then there's you, personally," Charlotte said, in nearly a whisper. "I fell in love with you, Warren because, despite your selfishness and 'head up your ass' attitude, you are the most passionate man I've ever known. I see you, rising up into the sky with those wings, and I can't help but get this feeling that I'm witnessing something spiritual. Here's a man who has put his life on the line every day, so every stupid idiot in this world can live safely. And don't tell me it's because you're a mutant, and you have that responsibility. That's a load of crap, Warren. It's because you have such a great heart and a beautiful soul."
"Charlotte?"
She held up a finger, silencing him. "I didn't fall in love with Warren, the playboy. I fell in love with Warren, the angel. And, I as much as I hate to fluff up your ego, I can't help but say that I probably still do love you. But my reasons are genuine. My reasons are true."
"Charlotte..." Warren began again, but instead of going silent again, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Charlotte was startled at first to be feeling his lips against hers again, but a second later she accepted wholeheartedly.
Three hard knocks slapped against the door. Charlotte shot back onto the couch, trying to catch her breath. Warren, quite startled himself, once again brushed his hands through his hair, disbelief in his expression.
"You might want to get the door," Charlotte said carefully.
Warren nodded, as if that were a splendid idea, and crossed the apartment, pulling his robe back over his shoulders. "Who is it?" he asked, voice cracking.
Silence.
"Bryson didn't phone me," Warren said aloud. "He always phones me when I have visitors."
"You sound nervous," Charlotte said, getting to her feet.
"Do you have your gun with you?" Warren asked, shooting her a grave glance.
Charlotte nodded, and pulled the gleaming pistol from the holster against her hip.
"Is anyone there?" Warren asked again, as Charlotte pulled up beside him.
"Have you been receiving threats, Warren?" Charlotte asked as the silence outside the door resumed.
"No more than usual," Warren answered. "Being an X-Man for most of my life has made me a little paranoid, though I think it's a well-founded reaction. I'm going to open the door. Be ready."
Charlotte nodded. Warren took a deep breath, placed his hand on the door knob, and swung the door open. Charlotte jutted her gun out into the hall, body instinctively positioned to fire. As the door swung completely open, Charlotte caught a clear glimpse of the hall. Her deep breathing ceased immediately, eyes wide.
"Bryson?" Warren said, peering out into the hall.
The elderly gentleman from the elevator slouched against the wall. The white uniform he wore was now stained a dark red. His eyes stared blankly at Charlotte and Warren, as blood continued to spill out a large, ragged gash in his neck. His skin had grown sickly pale. His chest did not rise and fall, and a note had been pinned to the front of his dress shirt.
"Dear God," Warren whispered, shuddering.
"There's a note, Warren," Charlotte said. "I think it's probably for you."
Warren slowly moved out into the hallway. He held his hand over his mouth, and his knees wobbled slightly. He bent down to the body, quickly pulled the letter free from the dead man's shirt, and slid back into his doorway.
"What does it say?" Charlotte asked, as she watched Warren's face turn a purplish blue.
"I need to call the mansion," Warren whispered, dropped the note to the floor, and rushed toward the phone.
Charlotte picked up the letter. Bright red letters jumped off the page, and her stomach turned at what was written:

Hi there, Angel. Your elevator man had an accident. I'm afraid
it was inevitable, this poor slob's fate. He is not gifted, as
we are. He is not strong. He doesn't survive. I'm afraid not many
are capable, such as we. This is only the first. If you want seconds,
you might want to go home. I've had a little fun with
your friends. And don't bother hurrying, because by the
time you read this, they'll be ready for the maggots. This is
my promise to you, sweet Angel. Feel lucky that such
a Higher Power has gazed Its ancient eyes upon you. I know
you'll make Him proud. Unfortunately, I got to go. Now, go call your friends.
No answer? Heh...I told you.

"Warren?" Charlotte called, turning toward the phone. "Did you get in touch with them?"
Warren stared lifelessly back at Charlotte, the phone dangling from his hands.
"No answer."

To be continued...