Otahi: Part Two

by queenB

Jean awoke with a start, her sheets sweaty and tangled around her ankles as the mid-morning sun streamed into her room. She had slept away most of the morning, no doubt her subconscious mind attempting to recover from the trauma of her encounters with the phantoms of both Scott and Betsy.

Shivering as she got out of bed, her sunburn tingled up and down her back and Jean decided on another soak in the tub. After her fingers grew as pruned as the night before, she got out of the bath, applied another coat of aloe and carefully dressed, choosing a crisp, white buttoned shirt that coved as much of her back arms as possible while letting her skin breathe.

Squeaky clean, she stood in the kitchen and saw her dishes from the night before sparkling on the drying rack next to the sink. Jean barely remembered cleaning the kitchen the night before, but it came back to her in bits and pieces... her fighting off sleep by drinking an entire pot of coffee, reading sections of her mystery novel and scrubbing the kitchen and her dishes until they were cleaner than when she had first arrived.

She needed to get out, that much was for sure. Obviously the beach was out of the question with her sunburn, so she grabbed her satchel, stuffed in her wallet, some sunscreen and a book and headed out to the front yard to retrieve her bicycle. Jean took the main road to the west of her house and cut onto a smaller street she hadn't yet explored. She passed the school, the one truck fire station and a row of local pottery shops. At the end of the lane of shops before the street turned back into residential buildings, she spotted a coffee shop and knew she had found her destination. So she ordered a double vanilla latte, found a spot on the well-shaded porch and got settled.

Over the course of the day, she finished her book, purchased another from the small bookstand they had inside and played a game of chess with one of the staff members. Jean won easily. And she didn't even use her telepathy.

As the sun hung low in the sky, she thought it best to retreat from the cafe before she called any more attention to herself. She supposed it wasn't normal for a solitary tourist to waste away four hours in the shop and the staff were starting to ask too many questions beyond the congenial 'where are you froms?' and 'having a good time on the islands?'. Jean didn't feel like socializing and the buzzing in the back of her head was growing.

So she mounted her bike again, taking an Italian soda and a turkey on rye with her and headed toward the sound side of the island to watch the sun set. She found a vacant spot just past the lighthouse and close enough to her bungalow so she could find her way back in the dark. After she walked out the end of a short pier that belonged to an obviously empty rental property, Jean sat with her sandwich and her soda and watched as the clouds grew pink and orange over the water.

Drawing a deep sigh as she observed the show in front of her, she thought what a beautiful place she had found to regain her sanity and composure. She suddenly thought that Scott would have enjoyed Ocracoke immensely, this sunset in particular. He always liked sunsets, though being the early bird he was, he preferred the promise of a sunrise instead of the finality of a sunset.

Jean stuffed her empty sandwich wrapper in her pocket as purple ribbon of sunlight peeked out of the cloud formation at the edge of the horizon.

"It is breath-taking, Jean. You're right, I would have enjoyed this."

She blinked as she looked to her left and saw Scott crouched on the dock next to her, dressed in a crisp madras shirt. It was one she had bought for him in Salem Center after their return from Alaska. Right before, before, ... she couldn't even manage to think the words.

So he thought for her. "Yes, Jean. Before Akkaba... before the Twelve. Before my death. You said the blue went well with my complexion. You always said I looked good in blue."

She managed to breathe. "You did. It was your best color."

They stayed silent for a while, when Jean finally spoke, "So you're admitting it now?"

Her Scott-shaped hallucination turned to face her, his expression unreadable behind his glinting, metal visor. "Admitting what?"

Her grip tightened on her plastic cup. "That you're dead. No wait, it wasn't the death issue you had the problem with. It was the burying you alive."

He spoke blandly, not even cracking a smile. The real Scott would have at least grinned. His manner was another reminder that her mind was playing tricks on her. "But didn't you in a way? Technically, I'm not dead."

Jean clutched her cup harder and it split in her hand, spilling strawberry-flavored soda onto the dock as it trickled between her fingers. "You are. I've been in what's left of your mind. There's nothing of you there. You hurt me. You tried to kill me for getting too close. It may be your body and some of your memories, but it's Nur's face, it's his will. You and everything I ever loved about you is dead."

Finally, Scott smiled. But his thin facsimile of a grin did nothing to assuage her uneasiness. "You're lying to yourself, Jean."

Exasperated, she shook her head. "How am I lying to myself?"

He reached out and touched her hair and Jean couldn't help but recoil. To her senses, he looked completely normal and alive, but he smelled of decaying flesh. "Something's still bothering you. It's why you can't let yourself begin to heal. It's why you won't ever be able to let yourself be happy again. It's why you can't stand on your own."

Despite her attempts not to cry, tears began to stream down her face as she finally accepted there was no one sitting on the dock except herself and she need not put up a brave front to impress anyone.

Next to her, the ghost of Scott whispered in her ear. "So what is it? What is the question that's haunting you? What is it that's eating you up inside?"

Jean sniffled loudly as she shut her eyes tight and cried out, "Why? Why did you leave me, Scott? Why did you choose duty and honor and a son from another reality who you didn't even know over me?! Was our love not big enough? Was I not enough to live for?!"

But as the sun dipped into the wide Pamlico Sound and the sky grew black around her, she heard no answer except for the gentle rushing of the wind over the tall grass. And she was once again alone with her turbulent thoughts.

Early the next afternoon, she stopped at an establishment on the lake to buy some fresh seafood for dinner and found herself haggling with rather salty old man over the price of her purchase. She was having trouble understanding the man's Ocracoke brogue and was resisting the urge to probe him with her telepathy... just to find out what he meant when he was chastising her on the quality of his catch when a gentleman stepped up behind her and put a wrinkled but sturdy hand on her shoulder.

"Uriah, hain't you mommucked this gal enough? She's right. Eight dollar's too much for that sorry slab of blue marlin."

Jean turned her head and addressed the man, "I'm sorry, sir. I..."

But he cut her off with a wink and continued to speak to the man behind the refrigerated glass counter. "I know where you got that fish from. Washed up in Marshall's net two days ago. And that means it was already dead and floated inland."

He then smiled and whispered to Jean, a gleam in his red-rimmed eyes, "Don't fret, now. It's still good meat. Just not as good as he's saying. More than likely he'll lay a cussin' on me after you leave, but I'm right and he knows it."

Clearing his throat and folding his arms over his chest, he smirked, "So what you say, Uriah? Six dollars a piece for this purdy lady?"

Uriah grumbled and shook his head before he finally looked back towards Jean. "How many?"

Jean stepped forward and fumbled with her satchel. "Two, please."

She pulled out her wallet as the elderly fisherman wrapped her purchase in white paper, forgoing the scales and ringing twelve dollars plus tax into the register. She nodded a thank you to the now irritated Uriah and turned to face the man who had aided her in her purchase. He was a stooped but robust man, with hair that was fading from blond to white and a deep-lined face that had obviously seen it's share of sun and wind. Without scanning his thoughts, she could tell he was honest and blunt and an entirely trust-worthy fellow. And any offense she might have taken at him deciding to play the role of knight-in-shining-armor quickly melted away when she realized his overall genuineness.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr...."

He took her hand in his own. "Russell. Harrison Russell. But everyone calls me Harry."

She smiled as she shook his hand and then let it go. "Jean Grey. Pleased to meet you, Harry."

He smiled. "Likewise, miss. Vacationing here with your family?"

She shook her head as she shifted her weight. "No. Just me. Taking a break from it all."

Putting his hands in the pockets of his canvas pants, he nodded. "Sometimes you just have to get away for a smidgeon."

She then nodded in agreement and walked to the door, two well-wrapped Marlin steaks in her hand. Before she could get to he bicycle, she heard him follow her down the worn, wood stairs and turned to see him sling a fishing net over his shoulder.

Smiling up at him and squinting at the high afternoon sun, she said, "I hope I didn't get you in trouble up there."

He walked to his beat up Chevy pick up and tossed the net in the back. "Nothing I can't handle, miss. I'll probably have to rustle up someone else to go fishing with me in the morning. But he won't stay mad for long. Uriah needs to learn to be nicer to the tourists. 'Specially the ones who ain't touristy if you get my drift."

She smirked. "That was a compliment, wasn't it?"

He grinned as he retrieved another net hanging over the rail of the building's small porch. "Yes'm, I believe it was."

"Thanks, Harry."

She walked to her bicycle and put her packages next to the greens and tomatoes she picked up earlier in the afternoon and then hesitated, suddenly dreading returning to her cabin alone. Turning back toward Harry and the docks, Jean asked, "So you're going fishing tomorrow morning?"

"Yep. Seems they're running short of mullet down in Wilmington. Ain't much for eatin', but they're good for catching larger fish."

"And you could use an extra set of hands since Uriah's angry with you?"

Harry loaded the last of his nets into his truck and winked at Jean. "Sounds like I've got a volunteer."

Jean smiled. "If you're willing show a tourist the ropes."

He clapped his hands and laughed out loud. "Jesus H. Christ! Wait 'til them dogs down at the dock see me going out to sea with the likes of you. They'll be talking up and down the ditch, they will."

She grinned as she unchained her bicycle and swung a leg over it. "Don't worry Mr. Russell. Your virtue's safe with me."

Jingling his keys in his hand, Harry said as his laughter faded, "Okay, then. Meet me at O'Neals at seven a.m. Wear some junky clothes you don't mind stinking in. I'll even bring you some breakfast."

Jean situated herself on the seat of her bike and said, "Thanks, Harry. I'll see you then."

As she pedaled out of the gravel parking lot, she heard him laughing and calling up the stairs to Uriah who could no doubt hear him bragging about his 'hot date' through the screen door. She shook her head and momentarily wondered what she had gotten herself into. The girl at the service station was right. The Ocracoke "old salts" would be thrown for a loop. And she wasn't even trying all that hard.

The next morning, Jean rose early, still struggling with the same nightmares, and was amazed she made it to O'Neal's at seven on the dot. The first few fingers of sunlight were creeping over the horizon on the sea side of the island but the sound side where Harry's small motor boat was docked was still cold and dark.

As she chained up her bike, she heard Harry shout from down the pier, "Morning!"

She waved at walked towards him as a few other fishermen looked up from their nets and grinned.

When she reached him, he was finishing tying a pair of old skiffs to the back of the boat and motioned toward a pair of waders sitting on a bench. "Those are for you."

Jean nodded and carried them to the boat as she asked, "You guys do this every morning?"

He shook his head, "Not every morning. Every other one, though. Me, I'm just a part-timer. Here during the spring and summer."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. I live farther up the coast off island the rest of the time."

Jean stepped into the boat and Harry handed her a white paper bag with a biscuit and two sausage patties inside. They were still warm and Harry told her to go ahead and eat while he finished tying up the skiffs and loading the last of the nets. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the thermos that sat in the driver's seat and asked him, "I thought you lived on the island."

He nodded. "Used to. Grew up here. But it's a hard life. Me and the wife moved up to New Bern for work when we got married. Now that I'm retired, I can come down here and make some money when it gets warm."

Jean bit into her biscuit and it was surprisingly soft and sweet. She swallowed it with a sip of coffee and asked, "What's your wife do when you're down here?"

Harry smiled as he hopped into the boat next to her. "Not much seeing as she passed away more than 20 years ago."

Jean frowned and said quietly, "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," He said as he started the motor. "It's been a long time and you didn't know."

Jean sighed quietly as Harry climbed behind the steering column of the 18 foot boat. "You ready?"

She smiled and nodded as she continued to eat her simple breakfast and the boat pulled quietly away from the dock. Jean hadn't seen a sign of her hallucinations since she'd been with Harry. Seemingly, being around other people and other distractions was keeping them at bay.

As they made it out towards the sound, Harry kept the motor running quiet, telling her he didn't want to startle any fish. And that suited Jean just fine. She was looking forward to a quiet day on the water and was in no particular hurry. The village grew smaller behind them, he told them they were going to a place called Six Mile Hammock Reef and that it was best to fish for mullet in shallow water near sand bars or reefs. He told her to look for striped mullet jumping a few inches above the water. It would lead them to a good-sized school.

Along the way, he explained how to use the mullet nets, telling her the best way to catch them was to circle around a school in both the skiffs, holding the net between them with poles attached to each end. They would stand in the boats and pole with one hand, while the other held the net until they met on the other side of the school.

"Hope you're coordinated," he added with a grin.

She smiled. If only the Professor knew what his Danger Room lessons on coordination and balance would be used for, he no doubt would be laughing himself silly. Jean Grey aka Marvel Girl aka Phoenix mullet fishing in the middle of nowhere? Stranger things had happened.

They anchored the boat just off of Hammock Reef, put on their waders and untied the skiffs and Jean tried her footing in the skiff as she used the pole to both steer and propel the small boat. Harry poled his skiff toward her and they sat and watched the water ahead for any sign of mullet.

Harry asked her, "How you doing?"

Jean spoke as the sun rose higher in the morning sky. "Fine. I think I've got the balancing and steering down."

He nodded. "Good, good. See, I knew you'd work out okay."

As they sat, Jean noticed the names painted on both the boats, "Sally" and "Viv," and she asked him their significance.

"My wife's name was Sally and my daughter's Vivian. This way they're always with me." He told her as he squinted at the horizon.

"Where's your daughter, if you don't mind me asking?"

Harry smiled. "She's up north at school. I'm real proud of her, I am. Miss her a whole heap load, though."

Jean could tell there was something more to it than college, so she pressed the matter further. "You do? Why?"

Shaking his head, Harry grinned. "If I had any idea you'd be asking so many questions, I would have left you on the shore. Guess that's what I get for taking a woman out fishing, huh?"

Pursing her lips, Jean said mirthfully, "You don't have to answer the question if you don't want to, Harry."

Just then, Harry spotted a striped mullet not two inches long jump above the water several yards a head of them and the two poled out toward the school. Another one jumped and he took out the inch mesh net, unraveled it and handed Jean a pole.

He winked at her when they were in position. "Meet you on the other side."

They quietly worked around the school and Jean was doing well, keeping her balance and her pole sturdy. She smiled over at Harry and then heard the sound of laughter behind her. She turned her head and saw Betsy perched on the front of the boat, her fingers trailing in the water as she smirked.

"You can't escape your own mind, Jean. Not unless you lose it."

Thrown off-guard, Jean lost her footing and fell into the water, losing her grip on the pole and quickly becoming tangled in the net. As Harry helped her out and retrieved a few fish from the net, far less than he hoped to catch on this first netting, Jean knew she was lucky the water was so shallow here in the sound.

When she was back on the boat with a blanket around her shoulders and a warm of hot coffee in her hands, Harry said matter-of-factly, "Looks like you saw a ghost out there, Jean. Something you ain't telling me?"

She closed her eyes, finding comfort in his genuine concern but said nothing. The gentle waves licked against the dingy as continued to hover over her, making sure she didn't catch cold and that she had plenty of hot coffee as he helped her with her waders and wrung out her socks. He went about his work silently, appreciatively like a person who recognized grief and the confusion of the heart it leaves in its wake. She found the words coming to her throat. "My husband, Scott... he just passed away recently."

He sat down next to her, unaware that maybe Jean had really seen a ghost and that she was much further unhinged than her outward demeanor indicated. "I'm sorry, Jean. That why you're here?"

Jean nodded. "That's part of it. I have friends that are helping me through it. Things have just gotten complicated up there."

"Sometimes it's best just to get away." He nodded his head as he continued, always keeping an eye on the water. "I know the only thing that really helped me after Sal died was being alone for a spell. Viv was still young and she wasn't really sure what was going on. So I kinda had to put my grief on hold. But a whole year passed and I was so busy worrying about her that it just wore at me. I had this dull ache in my stomach for a long, long time. Finally her grandma, Sal's mom, said I needed to go away and make my peace. She watched Viv for me for a month and I came out here. Rented an old fisherman's shack and just was for a solid while. And then one night, I was finally able to say good-bye. Went to the spot where I asked her to marry me. It's not far from here as a matter of fact. And I could feel her there, you know? And she told me to move on with my life in a weird sort of way. Then I could go back to Viv and the life we'd made up in New Bern and be a whole man again."

Jean blinked as she felt Harry turn his head to look at her. "And I ain't never looked back, Jean. She's still with me, in every way. But it's not a burden anymore. It's a happiness. It's hard to explain. But that's what I had to do. You've got to make your own peace, too."

She grinned. "You make it sound so easy, Harry."

He shook his head. "It ain't. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with things. Everyone's got their own time and place. I just hope you find yours before it eats you up inside."

Jean nodded as she looked over at the empty skiff that was drifting next to them. She blinked as she watched Betsy wave at her with a purple-gloved hand. "He's right you know? You are letting it get to you. You're going to have to get over it. You may be something, Jean, but you're not worth letting the world die at the hand of Apocalypse. Nobody's worth that."

Jean ignored her hallucination and pointed out toward the sound. "There. Striped mullet. About three inches long."

Harry slapped his knee and laughed heartily. "Dang. You've got a good eye! You're a natural at this."

Jean smirked and raised an eyebrow as they gathered the nets. "Maybe I won't fall in this time?"

Winking as his outboard motor purred to life, Harry smiled, "Naw. I got faith in ya this time."

As they pulled away from the reef, Jean looked behind her towards the empty skiff. She closed her eyes as she let the wind play through her hair and smelled the salt coming from her still-damp clothes as Betsy's voice echoed in her thoughts before it completely disappeared, "But will faith be enough, Jean?"

The catch was a good one and when they returned to Silver Lake, their skiff-load weighed in at 198.46 pounds. As Harry tended to his catch and sought a buyer, Jean took him aside to thank him for the day and the company.

As he tugged on a few gray whiskers growing from his chin, Harry asked, "How much longer will you be with us then, Jean?"

Jean pursed her lips as she pondered his question. "Oh, probably a few more days. I have to get back to New York eventually, though. You know, responsibility, work. I can't ignore my obligations forever."

"New York? I hear it's real crazy up there."

She smiled. "Yes. Though down here has its share of crazy, too, you know?"

Winking at her, Harry ignored Uriah as he stood behind him and cleared his throat. "Truer words have never been spoken."

He patted her on the shoulder, his worn hands obviously smelling of mullet. "Well, I wish you luck. But until then, look for me around O'Neal's if you need me. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat before you leave. Seems to me you've probably got some interesting stories to tell. And in a place like this, stories are about as valuable as gold."

Just then, Uriah ran out of patience and stuffed a wad of bills into Harry's hand as he rolled his eyes, paying him for his catch. Harry smiled as he asked, "Ain't that right, Uriah?"

Uriah just grumbled and headed into his store as two younger men loaded Harry's catch into a refrigerated locker. Harry was about to offer Jean a portion of the money for her help, but she refused and said, "Just buy me dinner tonight. My choice. I'll see you later, Harry. I expect a good round of stories the next time we meet."

As she walked back to her bicycle and then to her bungalow to change clothes and get the stink of fish off her skin, she suddenly wondered about happy endings... about how Harry's life had turned out picture-perfect despite the loss of his wife and that his daughter was so far away. She fingered the book in her satchel as she threw it into the basket of her bicycle. Perhaps it was all just another illusion, his life was perhaps just a tangled web of lies he told himself so he could sleep at night.

She shook her head as she pedaled back to her cottage. Maybe her problem was that for the first time in her life she had decided she could no longer lie to herself. And while the truth might set her free, the search for it might also drive her insane. Drawing a deep sigh as she stopped in front of the rented cottage, she decided that happy endings were over-rated anyway. Endings were only perceptions to begin with. Human stories are never quite over. As long as someone is still watching, living and breathing, they begin again every day.

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