At thirteen, I started hearing voices in my head. A year later, I discovered the voices weren't coming from me, but from everyone around me. The nights were the worst; I heard everyone's dreams and nightmares; for a time, I developed a sleep disorder. By the time I managed to convince the doctors my stepfather hired to treat me that I was no longer hearing voices, I also discovered I couldn't just read thoughts.
Jean was entranced listening to Charles Xavier. The man had led an interesting life, having served as a medic in the army and even been part of the disaster response agency. It was halfway through their journey that Charles told Jean how he began to manifest his powers. Despite some painful memories, Charles's face was a mask of absolute calm, as if he were at peace with his past.
"By controlling my powers, I can see through the eyes of another person or animal. I can make myself invisible and project my thoughts into them. However, a more aggressive use of my powers includes the ability to manipulate a person's memories or completely control them," Charles explained.
" Have you ever..." Jean paused, not knowing exactly how to ask her question.
I once managed to calm a friend, but he realized what he'd done, and our relationship became strained. Another time, I used my powers and my wife divorced me; her last thoughts weren't kind. That was the moment Charles lost his mask, but only for a moment.
He had also opened up to Jean, sharing his thoughts with her. She felt the regret in her mind and heart, and she blinked back a tear.
"Your friend, they were like brothers, they were going to run this school together until they separated. And your wife, who lives in Scotland, married a man who hurt her more than you," Jean explained, recounting the thoughts he had made her.
"Yes, Max was my best friend, but unfortunately, everyone goes their own way. You're young Jean, and you're going to make mistakes. My job and my hope is to teach you how to control your abilities, make reasonable decisions, and hopefully, grow into a young woman and graduate ready to join society," Charles explained, smiling as he rolled down his window.
Jean looked out the window and gasped at what she saw. The campus was vast and impressive, built on a stately estate. It had belonged to Charles's family, on his mother's side, for years. She had left it to him in her will, but he had only returned to the mansion ten years ago, just before the great cataclysm. Sage parked the car and remained behind the wheel. Charles balanced on his crutches; his legs trembled slightly, but he landed smoothly on the ground. He hobbled across the stone pavement, heading for the front door. Jean grabbed her suitcases, struggling with the last one until a pair of hands grabbed it. She turned to the person helping her, a handsome blond boy in a trench coat.
The boy knew it and thought Jean was more than pretty, in fact his thoughts made her blush.
"Hi, you must be Jean, I'm Warren," the young man lifted the bag over his shoulder, winking at Jean.
She stifled a giggle, walked with Warren, and followed the professor's path.
"So, how long have you been at school, Warren?" he asked.
"Scott and Hank have been here the longest, about two years between them, and Bobby has been here four weeks," Warren said.
"What's your mutant ability?" Jean asked.
"You'll find out later, Jean," Warren smiled as they reached the door.
Charles was already waiting, leaning against the wall. Suddenly, snow from the ceiling began to fall onto the carpet. Warren shook his head as he saw a young brunette standing at the top of the stairs.
"Welcome to Xavier School for the Gifted. I'm Bobby Drake, and I hope you survive the experience," the boy smiled as he waved his arm, releasing snow petals.
"You're cleaning that up, Robert," Charles shouted to the running boy.
"No chance, Professor," Bobby laughed .
Jean gazed at the mansion's interior in amazement. The original drab wooden walls had been replaced with bright beige wallpaper. The dressers and tables scattered throughout the rooms were sleek and smooth, newly purchased. Then there were the photos: Charles's mother was gorgeous, and there were even family photos. Two variations: one showed Charles, his mother, and people Jean assumed were his father and sister. The second showed Charles as a teenager with a younger, brown-haired, Caucasian boy.
"After my father died, my mother found love with a colleague of hers, who had a son," Charles said, jumping up next to Jean and looking at both photos.
"Are you still in touch with them?" Jean asked.
"Actually, my stepfather died before the great Cataclysm, and my stepbrother Cain is in prison, a wayward young man I couldn't help, I'm afraid," Charles smiled, though Jean could tell it was a painful memory, without her powers.
He continued on his way, showing Jean the kitchen and dining room. There he explained that, since the student body was small, they were expected to prepare their own breakfasts and clean up after themselves. He also gave her some advice about jobs available for young people in Westchester. Charles granted loans, but eventually the students had to find work somehow. Their walk led them to one of the student rooms, and Charles casually opened the door.
"Okay, sir. You may not have a virus, it could be a memory problem. You need to disable your computer," said the young man inside, sitting in an office chair, a headset around his head.
"Henry has a tech support line. I think he has three hours left on his shift, so you'll see him later," Charles said.
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