Times to Come

Warning: This story contains graphic violence.

Disclaimer:
Wolverine is the property of Marvel comics and is used here without their permission. All other characters are mine, and may not be used without my permission. The characters in this story are not meant to resemble any person, living or dead.

I open the door an' know instantly that somethin's wrong. Somebody else's been here. The scents 'r unfamiliar, but they're all over the place, more like they've been here for days or even longer, instead o' just the few hours I've been gone.

I check out the room. Nothin's been moved, but it ain't quite right, either. I move away from the door, keepin' quiet. Not that I think whoever's waitin' is gonna be surprised, but old habits are hard ta break.

The apartment's got two bedrooms, which is way more 'n I need, but it was available when I needed a place o' my own. I slip down the hall to the first bedroom, the empty one. Only it ain't empty. I can hear someone breathin'.

I push the door open, slow an' easy. The breathin' don't change. The room was empty when I left, now its full o' furniture. The breathin's comin' from the bed. I move on into the room, but there's nobody else here. Just me an' whoever's in the bed. I take another step, an' I'm startin' ta think I'm in the wrong apartment.

The person in the bed's just a kid. A little girl, about two years old.

She rolls over an' opens her eyes.

"Daddy?"

I am definitely in the wrong place.