Title: Bad Touch

Author: Katjen

Rating: PG 13

Summary: Kind of a retelling of Rogue's story.

Disclaimer: Not mine, Marvel's:)

* Okay so I lied and brought this back *g*. It seemed like most people liked this chapter as an intro and truth be told after going back and re-reading it seemed like something was missing having "The Lifer" be the starting point "Cody's" ghost was haunting it I guess so anyway it's back now, and I promise I'll stop picking and leave the damn thing alone : ) *

***

The bench feels thick and muddy beneath his palms. Dirt lines the grooves in the wood dulling the ridges, and he curls his fingers over the edge. He blinks, trying to clear his head, trying to figure out where he is. There is a small window on the wall in front of him high up, too high to see out of and there are two bars forming a cross over it that break up the thick stream of moonlight into four equal parts. It leaves a pattern on the dust beneath his feet and he changes it as he swings his legs back and forth, his shadow blacking out the squares.

It's a long way down.

If he had rolled off while he was sleeping he could have broke something, because he isn't on a bench at all. He's on a ledge just big enough for one ten-year old boy to fit comfortably with a stack of comic books and a flashlight. And he had rolled off once. Broke something. An arm. He hadn't been able to play little league all summer.

He swings his legs once, twice, three times, surrounded by the colorless dark and the damp smell of old rain. He knows where he is now. He's in the shed behind the house. His old hiding place. He's not supposed to play in here anymore though. Daddy keeps his tools in here now. He can see their sharp edges gleaming among the shadows below his feet. The skeletal wheels of Momma's old bicycle hangs on the wall by little blocks of wood. That's how he must've gotten up here, by using the blocks as foot and hand holds. That's how he used to do it before Daddy stuck the ten-speed up there, trying to keep him from camping out on the ledge. Good to know he can still make it up without disturbing anything.

He swings his legs one last time and lands with a soft thud and a cloud of dusty dirt, clearing the whole mess of junk beneath him he's not allowed to touch. He can tell it's late. Way past dinner. Momma and Daddy are probably worried sick. He's gonna get a scolding for sure

An owl hoots from the trees as he steps out into the backyard. The grass is high and it swipes against his bare legs tickling and scratching. He looks up at the house. All the lights are off. That's weird. Even if Daddy had gone looking for him Momma would have been there sitting in the kitchen waiting to skin his hide when he finally came home. But the kitchen is as dark as the rest of the house. He stops at the bottom of the porch steps and calls out, "Momma ? Daddy ?"

Nothing.

He goes up the steps, opens the front door. The house is too still. He picks up the phone in the hallway, dials Granny Jane's number.

"Hello "

"Granny Jane? D'ya know where Momma and Daddy are? Ah just got home an' no one's he-"

"Who is this?"

"It's me, Cody, d'ya kno-"

"Now listen heah, if this is yo' idea of a joke it's not funny " her voice is shaking with anger. Granny Jane's kind smiling voice has tears in it. She hangs up on him. He stares at the receiver. He's about to dial again when he hears it. The click, click, clicking of claws on the linoleum. The house has never felt so big and scary and unfamiliar, but Duke's here and that makes him feel a little better. He smiles, relieved he's not alone anymore and hangs up the phone as the Great Dane's head pokes out of the kitchen.

"Hey Duke, where is ever'body? C'mere boy " Duke stares at him. He slowly slinks out into the hallway, his head low, his tail not waving all crazy like it usually does. It's straight back, taut enough to rest a plate on. His ears are down flat on his head. "Duke?" Duke's lips skim back over his teeth. They glint in the darkness, a low growl crawling up from his belly. "Boy?" His dog lurches at him and he's too stunned to do anything but stand there. The impact of Duke's big body barreling into his sends him flying against the stairs where he cracks his head against the railing. He holds his hands out trying to protect his face, feels teeth scrape against his palms and a stinging that goes all the way up his arms and into his brain as he puts his hands around Duke's muzzle trying to hold his mouth shut.

He freezes up for a moment feeling like he'd just stuck his finger in a light socket, his back arched, neck stiff, fingers clawed in front of his face instead of wrapped around Duke's snout. He suddenly collapses in a boneless heap and slides down the stairs. Duke's lying at the bottom of them. He's not breathing. He's dead.

"Momma " he whimpers. He turns and runs up the stairs, he runs to their empty bedroom and crawls deep under the covers, rolling himself into a tight ball. He doesn't know what else to do, where to go. Granny Jane hung up on him. She's mad at him. Duke's dead. He's all alone in his big scary house. He wants his Momma. He wants his Daddy. He closes his eyes tight, starts counting to a hundred. He falls asleep at ninety-six.

He wakes up an hour later and it's still dark, the house is still too quiet. All there is is his shallow breathing. He listens to himself, stares at the ceiling. The covers he had hid under are now twisted around his legs pinning him down leaving him open to the air, exposed. He's still alone. A sob rises in his chest. He sits up, catches his reflection in the dresser mirror in front of the bed and stops.

A girl stares back at him. He knows her.

That's where he was before he woke up in the shed. With her. At the tree by the river, taking turns swinging on the rope. He'd watched her white Sunday dress swirl around her tanned legs like melting whipped cream in a cup of hot chocolate. He'd thought she was as sweet as that easy despite the act she put on and he had told her so expecting to get his butt kicked. He had kissed her to make sure the beating would be worth it and the next thing he knew he was waking up to the darkness of the shed he didn't even remember going into.

He untangles himself from the sheets, crawls to the edge of the bed and the girl crawls towards him too. He reaches out, traces her pale cheek, his fingers sliding along the cool glass. He touches his own face. She touches hers. He opens his mouth, says her name, and she does it too. He steps away from the mirror, and she echoes his movements. She looks confused, she looks scared. She looks down at her ragged dress, dirty and torn and he feels it swish against his legs like streamers. He looks down at his bare feet, clenches his fists in the skirt, his long hair swishes against his cheek. It's not blonde and it's shoulder length, matted and brown.

She looks at the room, at the rumpled bed, the painting above it, the ceiling fan turning a lazy circle, the dresser with bottles of flowery smelling lotions and perfumes, the brush with gold strands tangled in the bristles. She doesn't know how she got here. She leaves the bedroom, wanders down the hallway. She goes to the next room hoping to recognize something.

Toy planes hang from the ceiling by strings. There's a bookshelf with trophies and ribbons in blue and red and white. There are clothes on the floor, a bookbag, a baseball mitt, comic books and markers. This is a boy's room. This isn't her room. This isn't her house. She's not supposed to be here

A car door slams outside.

She runs out into the hall and stops, her eyes catching on the portraits hanging on the wall. A family. Momma, Daddy, Baby. She watches the boy get bigger and bigger in the photographs until she recognizes him. Cody. That boy from school who was always looking at her. She saw him today. They met up after church and went to the swimming hole. He-

The door downstairs opens. She hears a gasp and goes to the top of the steps, looks down. There's a woman down there, touching a dog that's lying so still it's either in a coma or just plain dead.

"Hey!"

There's a man down there too. He's staring at her. "Hey!" he says again. "Yoah that girl, that girl mah boy ran off with whatcha doin' here what happened to ya Ya bleedin' girl " He comes up the stairs, his hands out reaching for her and suddenly she remembers. She remembers Cody reaching for her. Cody pressing his lips against hers and the bad thing happening.

The man looks like him. She can see his sandy hair flopping over his forehead like Cody's does even in the darkness. His fingers brush against the tattered sleeve of her best dress. Cody did this too right before he kissed her, right before she- "Don't touch me!" she screams and jerks herself away from Cody's daddy because she thinks she killed the dog, she thinks she killed Cody and she thinks she knows how she did it.