Chapter Text
They call me Medusa. I’m not a Greek goddess. I’m just a mutant. And like so many of us, the ones that don’t get to be the heroes, I hate my powers. My powers have granted me a long life that keeps me looking young and the ability to become wealthy by creating any kind of stone or mineral that I want. But the powers have been a curse as well. I can not touch any living thing with my bare skin or it will slowly turn to stone and die. And thus, I am always alone.
I live in a thirty room house on the coast of Maine. It is a lovely house with a view of the ocean. I have all the best clothes and designer shoes. I never wear them but I have them. I have so much jewelry that I have filled a vault with it in my cellar. No one knows about that vault. I would happily give away all the jewelry I own if it would help some hungry person somewhere in the world. But I can’t do that anymore. Sixty years ago it was easy. I needed to only touch an insect or a mouse and turn it to the stone of my choosing. Well, not entirely of my choosing. I’ve never been so good with diamonds and emeralds or gold. I can make Jade, Agate, and Turquoise quite easily though and with a little effort I can make silver. After I made them, I would sell the stone and give away any money that I didn’t need. Except that I was eventually discovered by government programs that were keeping watch on mutants. My stones were unique and could be traced back to me. These days I have to be very careful about using my powers. I am dangerous. I don’t want to be locked away.
I am afraid to have friends or even household staff to care for my big house. There have been too many accidents. I wear gloves but even that is not a guarantee. Gloves can break. Or some unsuspecting person might touch my face or my arm. Once I touch someone there is nothing I can do to stop their transformation. All I can do is watch, over the course of about four minutes, as they scream in agony, turn to stone, and die. I’m not willing to ever watch someone I love die like that. So I have remained alone for many years. I don’t go out of the house. My groceries are delivered to my home by a person I have never actually seen. I leave an envelope of money for him under the welcome mat. I have tons of cash from years ago when no one was tracing my powers. I’m sure the delivery boy wonders why the money is so old. I’m sure the neighbors wonder why the crazy woman never comes out of her house. Sometimes neighborhood kids try to sneak into my house. They seem to believe it’s haunted or that I’m not a real person. I make sure to terrify them into never coming back. I won’t be the cause of their accidental death. I’d rather they were afraid of me.
Some days I don’t want to live at all. Most days actually, I don’t want to live at all. But that’s the other problem with my powers. I can’t seem to die. I have tried on several occasions to end it all. I healed from the knife to my wrist, from the gunshot wound, from drowning in the bathtub, and from an overdose of pills. I remember just screaming in agony after each of those incidents. I didn’t want to still be alive. There was nothing to live for. There still isn’t.
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My thoughts are pulled from the pages of the book I am reading to the sound of knocking at my front door. No one in this town comes to visit me. They know better. They know that I will not answer the door. That I will call the police to be rid of them if I have to. Whoever is knocking doesn’t know this about me. Warily I go to the door and stand there in front of it, trying to decide what to say. I haven’t spoken to an actual person in weeks. Not since one of the neighbor kids hit a baseball into my backyard. It’s very difficult to remember how to be social when I have been alone for so long.
“Rosa Preston? We know you’re in there.” Says friendly sounding man with a British accent. “We just want to talk to you. We don’t mean you any harm.”
“I don’t accept visitors.” I finally find the words I have been looking for. “You need to leave.”
“Please, we’ll only take a moment of your time.” The man says. “I am Charles Xavier. I come from a school for mutants, perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
I have heard of this school for mutants. I saw something about it in the newspaper. I wasn’t impressed. It honestly sounded dangerous to have so many mutants in one place like that. Dangerous for the humans we could accidently hurt and dangerous for the mutants to be so public about their location. “You really need to leave.” I tell him a second time.
“If you won’t open your door, my friend Logan here is going to open it for me. It is vitally important that we talk to you.” Charles says.
“Fine. Then talk from out there.” I say. I don’t want to call the police on fellow mutant, mostly because I don’t know how much they might resist arrest. I don’t want to see any more humans get hurt.
“Perhaps you could come to the window?” Charles asks.
With a sigh, I move to the window to the left of the door. I pull back the drapes, letting in a flood of sunlight. I unlock the window and open it, then slide a chair up and sit where I can see out.
“Thank you.” Charles says. He is in a wheelchair and has rolled it to his own space in front of the window on my porch.
The man standing next to him, Logan I assume, has taken a stance leaning against one of the wooden pillars holding up the roof. His arms are crossed. He has a bored uncaring attitude about him.
“We came to talk to you about your gifts.” Charles goes on. “I have a machine that helps me to find all the mutants in the world. Your gifts are…”
“They aren’t gifts.” I say, raising my hands to shut the window and end this entire stupid conversation. Anyone who would call being a mutant a gift is insane.
“Wait!” Charles says and for some reason I stop. “Many of our kind dislike their powers. You wouldn’t be the first. Tell us, what is that you can do?”
“I can kill people.” I tell him bitterly and this time I really do shut the window.
“Logan we need her.” I hear Charles say from outside.
“She ain’t interested. We can’t recruit someone who doesn’t want to be recruited.” Logan says.
“I know, but if the rumors about her powers are true, she could be a great asset.” Charles says.
“We’ll just have to come back again tomorrow.” Charles says disappointed. “And the day after that and after that...persistence is the key.”
“Maybe, but don’t you have that speech to give tomorrow?” Logan says as they move towards the steps. Logan lifts Charles down the two steps and sets him down on the flat patio stones at the bottom.
“Yes. You’re right I do. I’ll need you to stay in the area Logan and try a little longer to get Rosa to talk to you.” Charles says as he rolls his chair away.
“How long is a little longer?” Logan asks.
“As long as it takes.” Charles says as they head toward the van parked at the end of my drive.
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I am reading a new book that had just arrived in the mail when a knock sounds on my door for the second day in a row. I had really hoped that Logan would not come back again. I struggle to think of something incredibly rude or disturbing that I can do to convince him to go away. I’ve had to be creative to get rid a visitors a few times in the past. I once went to the door covered in fake blood and my visitor ran away screaming. Logan doesn’t seem like the type to be frightened away by the sight of blood.
I set the book aside and get up from my easy chair. I pace back and forth between the front door and the coat rack, trying to think of what to do next. Suddenly I have an idea. I’ll just try to sound crazy. That should scare him off.
“It’s not a good time.” I shout out at the door. “I’m busy...I’m busy making spider pies! Go away!”
“Did you just say spider pies?’ He calls from on the porch. He sounds confused. Good. This is working.
“No, not spider pies you imbecile.” I say, using my best maniacal witch voice. “I am weaving a web of lies! Now be gone before you are caught in the web!”
There is only silence outside. I hear a sigh. “What the hell are you thinking Charles?” He mumbles.
“Yes, yes, go back to Charles.” I say, trying to keep up the ruse. “Tell him that I don’t need to be born again, I have the power of the great goddess. She will sustain me that I may be reborn.”
“Uh huh.” Logan says. “How about you just cut out the act and talk to me like a normal person?”
Great. Maybe this isn’t working so well as I had thought. “You must leave.” I plunge on anyway. “You must leave. They are coming! The green men… they are coming…”
“You know what?” Logan says, irritated. “I’ll just come back tomorrow. Maybe you’ll have your head on straight by then.”
And with that he leaves me. I rush to my library room to start finding ideas on what to do about him tomorrow.