Well,he intended to rent it,but he found it had already been rented and waiting for him.By Bob of course,who else?

While buying a few supplies to bring up with him (although he now suspected Bob had had it stocked up),he conversed with the store owners,Veronique and Yves,in their native French:they spoke English,but it was a little broken.

(And it was no shock he spoke French-he was Canadian,right?)

They referred to the owner of the cabin as "Roberre",a nice foreign man who came by very erratically,and bought very little,although he always overpaid and refused to accept change.He never rented a Sno-Cat or other type of snowmobile or similar equipment,and they weren't sure how he got too or from the cabin,which they almost thought was a myth since neither had ever seen it,nor heard of it being built.Much like Roberre,it seemed to just sort of appear one day.

Bob and his little white lies.Since he wasn't Belial anymore,why did he even bother?Force of habit?Or maybe he found it funny:Bob did an astounding amount of things just because he thought they were funny.

Roberre always wore ski goggles or polarized sunglasses,so they had no idea what color his eyes were,but just by virtue of him being handsome,charming,and generous with his money-as well as being so gentle with this elderly couple-Logan knew damn well it was him.He could probably change his appearance like Mystique,albeit in a different way-in the mind's eye,not physically-but who he was never really changed.He knew how truly awful people were,how despicable they could be,and yet he never collectively hated them;he never turned his back on them.Why?

He would never understand him.Not one bit.

Logan saw the smoke curling up from the chimney,smelled the sharp scent of burning pine,and he tried to remember if he left a fire going in the hearth before he left.He must have.

But why couldn't he remember leaving?

His breath formed into icy clouds before him,the air so cold it felt like he was inhaling ice crystals that scraped the back of his throat raw,but as much as he hated the cold,he liked it better than the oppressive heat.The air seemed cleaner;it was easier to pick out the dozens of scents in the wind,everything from trees to small mammals to even a certain type of bird that liked to perch at the very tops of the highest trees and watch for prey trying to scavenge for food in this snowy wasteland.He realized,in retrospect,he liked this place so much because it would be impossible to ambush him here.The conditions that hampered everyone else were beneficial to him.

A quick scan of the snow showed that only birds and a snowshoe hare had been close to the cabin.But wait a second-if he had left,where were his footprints?

What was the last thing he remembered?

He gently pushed open the front door,tensed for anything,as he scoured his mind for his most recent memory. Was it looking through the bookcase?

There was a bookcase in the sparsely furnished main room,full of a hodgepodge of books that Logan would swear Bob had customized for him.There were old books on the Bushido (Samurai) code written in Japanese ;several conspiracy type books (secret government projects,blah blah blah);several books on neurology (!),the brain,and memory recollection and loss;a demon dictionary;a book of military history (he didn't understand that at all) and,in what he assumed was a spasm of Bob's perverse,ever present sense of humor, there were several trashy romance novels and several openly soft core porn books,all wedged between books on building your own cabin and making your own deer jerky.He was sure there was another joke in the placement of the books,but he wasn't completely sure what it meant.Or maybe he just didn't want to know.

He knew there was someone in the room as soon as the door was open a crack-he could smell them-and his hands had already balled into fists at his side as the door swung completely open and a figure stood up, rising from where they had been sitting on the small,wood framed sofa.

"Hello,Logan,"she said,turning to face him,her pale lips curved into a small,sad smile.

He froze in his tracks,feeling a shock that hit him as hard as a bullet."Naomi?"He said breathlessly.Framed in the orange light of the fireplace,he knew he could be wrong,he knew he could be seeing someone else,but there was no mistaking her smell,her voice,or her artificially scarlet hair,which glowed in the firelight like lava."What-what are you doing here?"

She shrugged."I don't know.I guess I just wanted to see you."

"You don't remember me,"he pointed out,forcing himself to come inside and close the door to keep as much of the heat inside as possible.Compared to the outside,it was as warm as an oven in the cabin,almost hot,but he knew it was just because he'd been out in the cold.In a couple of minutes,as soon as he acclimated to the temperature change,it would probably seem a little bit chilly in here."Do you?"

Her smile widened,yet seemed all the more sadder for it."Here I do."

And Logan's heart sank as he realized he was dreaming.He must have fallen asleep reading one of those  curious books.But rather than dream of being vivisected or tortured,he was having a dream of her.He wondered if Bob had pushed him-sure,it had been two days since he last saw him,but Bob had that kind of power.He could do anything he put his mind to,and usually did.

Suddenly,as he took off his jacket,now wet from melting snow,he thought of a song he heard playing on a tinny radio at the last gas station he stopped in before coming up here.He didn't know what the song was,all he knew was the first line:"I am still living with your ghost."Logan figured he lived with a lot of ghost;Naomi was simply the latest.

But he missed her,and he felt a pang of regret as he hung his fleece lined bomber jacket on the coat rack by the door."I'd ask how you're doing,but since you're not really here,I guess it doesn't matter."

"I'm always here,Logan.Reality is subjective,don't you think?"

That was a very Bob thing to say.But since he spent time in Bob's body and somewhat in his mind,maybe it was some after effect of the whole thing.A psychic hangover.

His hands felt hot and prickly with a pins and needles sensation.He knew he should wear gloves every time he went out,but he didn't always;he didn't get frostbite like a normal person.He healed.He always healed.

Well,physical wounds anyways.

When he turned around,she was there,and threw her arms around him,embracing him tightly,resting her head against his shoulder like she almost always did."I've missed you,"she sighed,her breath hot against his neck.

This wasn't real and he knew it,and the thought of this being some sort of Bob manipulation angered him,but still he put his arms around her,feeling the slightest electric tingle as he always did when he touched her (she wasn't nicknamed Electra for nothing),and held her tight,breathing in her familiar and missed scent."Not like I've missed you,"he admitted,feeling a hollow ache somewhere beneath his breastbone.He did miss her; he just tried not to think about it.Just like he tried not to think about Mariko,or about the possibility that he was some sort of hitman for the bastards who mutilated him,even before they got him on that table.

She buried her face in his neck,the tiniest spark shooting out from the contact,a familiar pain,and murmured, "You know I'm safe,Logan.I wish you were."

"I'll never be safe."

"You don't know that."

"Yes,I do,"he admitted,feel a sudden wave of sorrow crash over him.Safety was for normal people,and maybe a lucky few mutants,but he would never know such a thing.That was both good and bad.

After a moment,she pulled back,smiling lazily at him,in a way that made the dimples on her cheeks stand out. She had a lovely face;she looked as warm and alluring as he knew she could be,once you got past her natural, instinctive wariness.She had a good reason for it-before him,she had always been afraid to touch people,sure she'd accidentally electrocute him.For him,the pain didn't matter.In fact,he got used to it really fast,and even got a sort of erotic charge out of it (no pun intended)."Why don't we warm up,huh?"

He raised an eyebrow at her,unable to keep from smirking."You know I'm all for that."

Actually,what she had in mind was sitting in front of the fire with a stiff drink,which was an okay secondary plan to him.

As it turned out,Bob had a small root cellar,as cold as a freezer since it was beneath the frozen ground,and it was well stocked with all sorts of things.He even found a small pantry cupboard full of very unusual foodstuffs-Dehydrated miso noodle soup bowls,anyone?Rice candy?Dried Serrano chilies?Four different kinds of pasta,three different kinds of couscous,and five different kinds of rice,as if anyone needed that much starch-and in a small cabinet on which rested a lantern(and which he thought was an end table) was a small but surprisingly well stocked bar.There was a lot of good stuff in it too:Bob obviously didn't care much for the cheap stuff.

He and Naomi sat on the floor on the fireproof rug in front of the hearth,backs against the lip of the sofa,each with a glass of single malt whiskey in their hand.Oh sure,it burned going down,but the extra warmth provided by the whiskey was nice,even if he couldn't enjoy the slight buzz of the alcohol.

He did feel strangely tired,though,maybe from all that slogging through the snow-when it was up to your knees,it was like trying to walk through deep,setting concrete,and even with his system he got tired now and again-and Naomi must have picked that up because she pulled him down.She remained seated,but he rested his head on her thigh as she stroked his hair,static electricity making his hair crackle between her fingers.He stared into the fire,watching the yellow orange flames threaten to form patterns as it consumed the pine logs,but before his eyes could interpret what he saw,the patterns broke and tried something different,as if they were deliberately trying to be annoying.And even with that,and the electricity in Naomi's touch,he could feel himself drifting off.Could you fall asleep in a dream?Well,hell-why not?

"We would have made a good team,"she said finally,as if she had been thinking about it for a long time.

"We did make a good team."he replied."For a little while.Too little."

Her fingertips stroked his brow,and he longed for her with an almost palpable ache.He always wanted to go upstate and visit  her when he did return to the mansion,but the thought of seeing her and her never recognizing him,save as some sort of man from a past that no longer existed for her,was just too painful.He had to be content with knowing she was safe.

(And suddenly he remembered Bob,in his seedy back office,telling him what seemed like a long time ago now:"Now it's your duty to remember her,Logan.Even if those ten years weren't taken from her,time would have taken her eventually.You know that,she knew that.So the Naomi before has to live in you now.Do you  think you can handle that?Do you think you can live with that?")

He still didn't know if he could.He was trying,but he wasn't sure it was working.

Suddenly,he realized:"Is this who you are?"

He looked up at her,and she glanced down at him,smiling faintly,amused and maybe just a little sad."The ghost of the Naomi you knew?Maybe."

"Because the real one still doesn't know who the fuck I am,"he sighed,looking back at the flames.He knew this
was a dream,or some kind of post-push delusion,but he hated to be told it by Naomi herself.Itself.Whatever. Regrets made tangible.Why was he not surprised?

"Did I ever tell you I loved you?"He asked,wondering if a fragment of her remembered personality would have a more reliable memory than he did.

"You didn't need to.I kinda already knew.I loved you too,you know,or did you think I'd get myself brain fried for just anyone?"

"I wish you hadn't.It wouldn't have made any difference if I'd taken the hit-I'd remember eventually."

"You'd had enough taken from you.My turn.Besides,Logan,you know that may have worked out for the best.I forgot all about Shrike's mindfucking-and killing him;I forgot about being hunted like a rabid dog;I forgot about killing my own treacherous sister.Perversely,it may have been a mercy.Just like forgetting all about Mariko may have been a mercy for you too."

He tensed at the mention of his late wife's name,and was about to snap at her to never make a joke like that again,but she wasn't joking,and she wasn't here anyways.He was,in a way,having a conversation with his own subconscious." I forgot about her before Lethe even touched me?"

"Not about her,no.But maybe a few details here and there.How she died,what happened afterwards...the brain will happily forget a trauma,Logan,or something its owner decides it can't live with.Happens to all of us. If not,most psychiatrists and hypnotherapists would have to get real jobs."

He thought about that for a moment,the crackle of the flames filling the silence,and he realized exactly what she was trying to tell him."You're saying I forgot about Mariko before they sicced Lethe on me?"

"Not about her,no.But if some of the details blurred a bit,would you be surprised?"

"No."Did his mind heal itself over,just like the rest of him?He hoped not.The thought was disappointing...but all that surprising?Maybe not."Shit,"he sighed,"I'm a real head case,ain't I?"

"No,Logan.You're simply Human.You forget that sometimes."

"Maybe it's hard to remember."

She didn't say anything,just continued to trail her fingers over his forehead and through his hair,and he closed his eyes,watching the patterns of living shadows the flames created behind his eyelids.Every now and then they looked like the silhouettes of faces,but they came and went so fast he could never identify any of them.

He knew the scene around him had changed-the flames had died to blackness,and he was laying on something even harder and more uncomfortable,yet still familiar.He was almost afraid to open his eyes-what if he was back on the table again?-but he smelled Naomi,so he assumed it wasn't.He opened his eyes,and confirmed it wasn't,but he was far from happy.

They were laying in the back of the truck they had stolen on their ill fated trip to the Grand Cache base.It was the last time they were together,the last place where they made love,before their inevitable stop at the gas station where an ambush was waiting for them.He got captured,she blew up the station (and a number of soldiers),and the last time he saw her in person was inside the base,minutes before she attacked Lethe to save him and lost the past ten years of her life.

It was still an uncomfortable place,made strangely cozy by the wind howling outside and the snow piling up against the vehicle,and Naomi still snuggled up against him,burying his face in his neck,slipping her hands underneath his shirt."What's the moral here?"He asked her,nuzzling his face in her hair.It smelled like rain and apples,just like it did back then."Bob didn't do this to me just to make me feel melancholy,did he?"

"I don't know.You tell me."

"I can't."

"Try."

"I'm gonna kill Bob one of these days,"he sighed,not really serious since he was pretty sure it couldn't be done,at least not by a Human.

"Have you noticed your tendency to love the impossible,the unattainable?"She asked,brushing her lips against his neck."You love what you probably can't have,which makes it easier,doesn't it?It's frustrating,but at the end of the day there's no real responsibility,and no one to endanger because of you,and not as much pain of loss."

That made him almost inexplicably angry,but he couldn't see taking it out even on a simulacrum of Naomi."I hope you're not sayin' I didn't love you until you lost your memory,'cause I-"

"No,that's not what I'm saying,"she assured him,her hand cupping the back of his neck.That gesture felt familiar,gave him a strange sense of deja vu:yes,Naomi had done it before,but so had another woman, although he couldn't remember who or why."I'm saying...oh,forget it.For a man who has few memories,you spend a lot of time living in the past."

He groaned,rolling his eyes."And this is an extension of his 'lose the baggage' speech from the roof.Yeah,I get it now."

"I'm not sure you do.You have to let go of the things that do nothing but hurt you,and move on."

"Yeah,well,I'd love to,but some of those things that hurt me are huntin' for me,darlin',and somehow I think suggestin' they let go of the past ain't gonna go down well."

"I don't mean forget everything,and you sure as hell better not forget me,"she said,pulling back to look him in the eyes.Her smile was gentle,although the look in her cerulean eyes remained somewhat sad."I think you just need to find a new pastime,besides searching for answers you may never find and slowly driving yourself crazy."

"I am not giving up,"he insisted,wondering why everything was aligning against his search for answers.

Okay,so he had yet to find much of anything,but still quitting was for cowards,even if you were so far behind you might never catch up.

"I'm not saying you should.I'm saying take a break.As strong as you are,even you need a rest sometime.It's a pity I have to remind you of that."She kissed the bridge of his nose,and said,"If you're not going to do it for yourself,do it for me.Live for me."

And suddenly,when she pulled back,he saw Mariko,smiling at him...

Logan opened his eyes and found himself staring at the ceiling,alive with the jittering shadows of the flames in the fireplace.

There was a book,titled 'The Modular Brain',sitting splayed open on his chest,and as he sat up it fell closed in his lap.Great-Bob pushed him to dream about the two women he had failed most miserably in his life:his forgotten wife,and Naomi."Thanks,Bob,"he grumbled,rubbing his dry eyes.

He must have been asleep for a few hours,as the fire had burned down a great deal,leaving only the bottom log and a whole mound of smoldering embers.

He set the book aside and got up,taking two pine logs he had cut only yesterday from a pile in a brass container beside the couch.He tossed them in the hearth,watched them snap and briefly cough sparks as they finally caught fire,and he wondered if either of them-Naomi and Mariko-ever forgave him.

It was a stupid thought,of course:Mariko was long since dead,and the Naomi he knew was,and couldn't remember him to forgive him.But he hoped they had in their hearts if nowhere else.

It was then he heard in his mind a voice that sounded like Naomi's,but was probably a fragment of Bob-or even his own subconscious-"Maybe you should forgive yourself."

"Oh,shut up,"he muttered,then realized only crazy people talked to themselves.Well,hey,he probably was nuts-so fucking what?

He was dressed in nothing but jeans and a black muscle shirt,suggesting he had been in for the night and not slogging through the snow,His boots were close to the fireplace,put there to dry after he came in,but they were bone dry now,almost baking.From that,he decided he'd been asleep for at least six hours,maybe more. That would teach him to try and read a book on neurobiology.He should probably just stick to the laughable porn.

Through the ice frosted windows,he could see pale grey light starting to bleed through the glass,and he knew,somewhere beyond the clouds,the sun was rising.The time here went faster than he thought it would, but maybe that's because he had the ghosts of his past and present to keep him company.

He dug one of those fancy Dis cigars out of the pocket of his leather bomber jacket,hanging on the rack by the door where he had hung it up several hours ago,and also pulled out the adamantium coated Zippo lighter Bob had given him a long time ago now.That man was in his life too goddaman much.

He lit up the cigar and put the lighter back in his coat pocket before opening the door to the cold.

There was no porch,so he simply sat down in the doorway,planting his bare feet in the snow as he looked out at the scrubby pine forest surrounding the cabin.In the half light of early dawn,the snow had a bluish cast,and he could easily imagine himself on some alien ice planet,or as the last man on Earth.That last thought wasn't quite as terrifying as it used to be.

He heard the rabbits out there,there soft padding on the snow as gentle as the sound of snowflakes falling, smelled them,watched the birds flit from branch to snowy branch,their songs clear and loud in the still,cold air.

He smoked his cigar,watching the plumes of smoke freeze like clouds of breath,and could feel something vaguely pressing against his thigh in the left pocket of his jeans.He didn't need to pull it out to see what it was. There was one book he found in the nightstand beside the simple bed;not a Gideon bible (according to Bob,that was just a Belial practical joke anyways,and the more he thought about it,the more perfect sense that made),but a book of Russian poetry,by a woman named Anna something,long Russian last name.He had not taken Bob for the Russian poetry type,but hell,Bob was capable of anything.As he was putting the book back,a small bookmark fell out,wafting to the floor like a dead leaf.It was just a small ivory bookmark,nothing special at all,until he realized there was a quotation printed on it,in black italic letters.It was simply this:' "The most merciful thing in the world . . . is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents." -- H. P. Lovecraft.'

It was then he realized Bob had left that for him,and it pissed him off.He crumpled up the bookmark and shoved it in his pocket,although he couldn't remember why now.He was probably going to throw it in the fireplace,but-irony-he had forgotten.Somehow that figured.

Maybe he wanted him to look at the poetry book,why he had no idea,but it was in Cyrillic,for fuck's sake!Did he think he read Russian,was that it?Or did he just think he was a poetry type of guy?Either way,he hadn't taken the book out of the drawer again,and didn't intend to before he left.Whenever that was.

When did he plan to leave?Did he ever plan to leave?He'd been here three days,and the peace was incredible.He could have been at the ends of the Earth,the last person alive on planet Earth.It was a nice feeling;he'd never felt so close to being at peace before.

Except at night,when the ghosts came,the memory shards like pieces of flying glass,slicing through him,past him,leaving him unsettled  and feeling somewhat lost.What the hell did he think he was doing?Did he even know?No,he didn't,and that was far from new.That was the general way in which he went about things.If he actually knew what he was doing,he'd be even more dangerous than he already was.

His feet tingled,not quite numb from the cold as the snow melted around them,and from the errant spills of hot ash,and he wondered what he was going to do with himself.

Was he going to continue to wander aimlessly around Canada,hoping for a clue?Was he going to go back to L.A. and wait for Bob to dig up more of his past,no matter how sordid?Or was he going to go back to Westchester,and take Xavier up on his offer?

He couldn't remember Mariko,but he could remember Naomi,and he knew,if she were here,she'd want him to go to Westchester.Not only to help keep others safe,but to keep himself as safe as possible,under the perilous circumstances of his confounding life.Bob could still troll for information;he did fine without him.Bob was always fine.And hadn't he been wandering around Canada for a long time now?What exactly had he found,beyond frustration and pain?Bob was right-the men who wanted him would come after him eventually. This was not over.He feared this battle would never be over.

"So,Logan,"he asked himself quietly,startling a snowbird who had landed close to the covered Sno-Cat."What are you going to do?"

And in the silence and bird song of the blue early morning,he sat and waited for his answer.

THE END