The idea for this story was born December 2002 when I
was doing some reading about rape. The reading had to do more with the
biological aspects of the crime, specifically that it was a successful
reproduction strategy and as such was likely to remain part of our collective
culture. I also read some opinions about how rape affects men and women
differently – not all of which I believed – but it got me thinking.
One of the things I considered was how most fanfic in
which Scully is raped focuses almost entirely on her recovery. Mulder hurts for
her -- as I believe he would -- but his role is often limited to trying to
comfort her. I started wondering what feelings of his own Mulder might have
about such an incident, and scenes started taking shape in my mind. So,
although Scully bears the brunt of the trauma in StL, I wrote it almost more
for Mulder. Her arc – sadness, fear, anger, acceptance, recovery –
is almost predetermined. Mulder’s path is a bit more wobbly.
So I did a little more reading and a little more
thinking. I knew this story would be a departure for me. It’s a drama,
not a case file. Eek, uncharted territory! I also knew the subject matter is controversial, so I
decided NOT to post it as a WIP. This allowed me to be confident that I had
accomplished what I set out to do before it went public, and also limited the
time for angry hate mail. Win-win!
I started it February 23, 2003. I know this because I turned on my
computer to work that morning and everyone was wishing Scully a happy birthday.
I figure beginning this fic on Scully's birthday means I am going to fanfic
hell for sure. *g*
The title comes from an Emily Dickinson poem:
Split the
Lark--and you'll find the Music--
Bulb
after Bulb, in Silver rolled--
Scantily
dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for
your Ear when Lutes be old.
Loose the
Flood--you shall find it patent--
Gush
after Gush, reserved for you--
Now do
you doubt your Bird was true?
XxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
One
XxXxXxXxXxX
This time,
she left her gun at home. Mulder
had called after
three days
away testifying at a retrial in Oregon -- an old
monster
threatening to escape the box again -- and said he
was back
and she should come over. Phone
curled to her ear,
she'd
heard the sound of his bag hitting the floor, barely
home. She imagined him like the last reel of
a John Wayne
movie,
where the dusty but victorious hero bursts through the
saloon
doors, lit like the blazes from behind, and sweeps his
beloved
into his arms. Or, in Mulder's
case, his cell phone.
"Come
over," he'd said, his voice rich with invitation.
"You're
not tired?"
"Not
yet," he'd said, and she'd shivered.
He didn't
mention files or folders or bogeymen, so Scully
left them
at home too. She left the gun in
its holster on
her
dresser, next to her badge. She bypassed the line of
black
suits in her closet in favor of a long wrap-around
skirt that
she hadn't worn since college. It
still fit, she
realized
with a pleased smile as she ran her hands over the
soft
cotton that hugged her hips, like it had been waiting
for her
all these years.
The question of where to start this story
was one I struggled with for a while. One possibility was to back it up even
farther before the rape. Alternatively, I could have not shown the rape at all
and begun the fic with Scully calling Mulder from the ER.
Ultimately, it starts here for a
number of reasons: 1) They say "start where you want to end up." Part
of my goal was to show how M & S got back to reasonable harmony after the
rape, so I included a bit of preamble to show what I was stripping away from
them. 2) Not showing the rape at all seemed to diminish the power of the story,
and also I thought it was important to show how fast and unbelievable it was to
Scully. 3) The opening phone call establishes the M & S relationship.
She pinned
her hair off her neck and slipped on some sandals
and left
with nothing more than her wallet, her keys, and a
tingle of
anticipation. The night heat
wilted her shower-
fresh
skin, leaving Scully to perform emergency resuscitation
with a
blast of AC in the car. She
checked her progress in
the
rearview mirror at a red light.
Eyes bright and cheeks
pink, she
blew out a long breath and gave up.
Mulder would
take one
look at her and know she was hot.
A car
honked behind her.
It was
silly to be nervous, she thought.
She'd come over
before. She had brought her trench coat and her
files, and
he had
ordered the pizza. But somehow
"Let me help you off
with that
coat, Scully" had melted into "Let me help you off
with that
bra, Scully," while the files and pizza grew cold
together
on the table. Then, just the week
before, he'd
asked her
to come over and help him with his crashed
computer,
so she'd brought her manuals to tackle the problem.
Together
they'd managed some manual relief, but as far as she
knew,
Mulder's computer still remained broken.
His low
voice from the phone echoed in her head and warmed
her ears
anew. Come over, he'd said,
without pretext this
time. No books. No files. Just
come.
She got as
far as Duke Street before she lost her nerve and
stopped
for Chinese. Mulder would be
hungry, she told
herself. And if she showed up with an armful of
takeout
boxes, she
might not look so... expectant.
Decision made,
Scully
drove to Ming's Delight, their favorite hole-in-the-
wall
Chinese joint from Mulder's end of town.
Ming's
shared a block of brick buildings with other small
shops, so
street parking was often a problem.
Scully eyed
the line
of cars out front and turned down the narrow alley
to the
tiny parking lot in back. No neat
white lines and
smooth tar
for Ming's -- their lot featured crumbling
pavement,
a large dumpster and a chain-link fence.
The only
light came
from the open back door at Ming's, which poured
out steamy
air and a long string of loud Chinese.
At the
back, an
urban jungle had sprung up from neglect, as saplings
took root
and brambly bushes spilled out onto the gravel.
Scully
stuck the nose of her car in the leafy thicket and
went in
search of food.
Jun, the
young man at the counter, recognized her and his
eyes
crinkled up in welcome. Scully
ordered their usual
black
pepper beef and Kung Pao chicken.
"And some of the
ginger
pork noodles," she added.
"Oh, and an order of spring
rolls."
Jun's
eyebrows lifted. "You are
hungry tonight!"
Scully
felt her cheeks flush. "I
guess so."
He boxed
the food and tossed in double their allotted fortune
cookies. "For luck," he told her with
a wink. Scully
thanked
him and returned to her car.
Awkwardly, she tried to
balance
the food between her hip and the car door as she
fumbled
with her keys. Then her phone
rang. She set the
keys on
the roof to answer it.
"Scully."
"You're
not here."
His
impatience made her smile. The
good thing about Chinese
food was
that it reheated well. "I'm
five blocks away."
"Ming's?"
"The
very same."
"Fantastic. I could use something to supplement my
plane
peanuts."
"I
figured as much." The heat
from the food burned through
her
skirt. "I'll be right
there."
"Scully?"
"Yes?"
"You
aren't going to make me dress up for dinner, are you?"
"Why,
Mulder? What are you
wearing?" As soon as the
words
left her
mouth, she realized she'd been set up.
"Right
now? Nothing."
Scully
shook her head a bit, letting him enjoy his moment.
"Well,
then," she answered, voice pitched low as she hefted
the food,
"I guess my fortune cookie came true."
She hung
up at his delightedly shocked silence.
Groping for
the keys
with her two free fingers, she missed and the keys
slid from
the roof. "Dammit." She cradled the bag to her
side and
crouched down in the dark. A
breeze ruffled the
leaves. She managed to hook the key ring with
her pinky and
stood up
again, face to face with a man in a stocking mask.
He knocked
the keys and the phone from her hand with a sharp
blow. Scully sucked in a breath as he
advanced. "My wallet
is on the
roof," she said.
"Shut
up." His mouth curled beneath
the pantyhose. She saw
now that
he clutched a knife. "Lose
the food."
Scully set
the bag on the ground. "Take
whatever you want,"
she told
him. He grabbed her bare upper arm
and yanked her
further
into the darkness. The knife
grazed her neck.
Behind
her, she felt him fumbling, and he thrust a small roll
of black
tape into her hand. "Tear it
off," he breathed near
her ear,
"and cover your mouth. Do it
now."
Cold fear
dripped down her spine.
"Please, no--"
The
knifepoint bit into her neck.
"Now."
Scully
complied with shaking fingers.
When she was done, he
turned her
roughly around. She stared at his
mashed features
-- the
blunt nose, the slitted eyes, and his wet, open mouth.
Her knees
threatened to give way.
"Down
on the ground," he ordered.
He followed her down,
knife
coming to rest at her jugular. Her
skirt gaped open
and he
pried her legs apart. "That's
it," he said. "You're
a hot
little bitch."
The rape is deliberately short,
both to illustrate how quickly it can happen and to minimize the
sensationalism. Some readers were upset with me that Scully didn’t make more
of an effort to fight. I think that would have been a valid way to write this
scene, too. It’s not that I think she would not fight, ever. But
it’s hard to know in advance how you will react in this situation, and
she was not armed. So I think this is a viable story-telling alternative and
not necessarily "out of character."
Scully
closed her eyes and turned her head away.
He smelled
like beer
and sweat. Silent tears streamed
down her face
into the
dirt as he yanked off her underwear and unzipped his
pants. She tensed but he pushed himself inside
her anyway.
"You
like this, huh?"
Scully
struggled for breath, panting through her nose. She
heard the
cheerful shouts from Ming's kitchen, smelled the
feast
she'd bought for Mulder. Her
attacker grunted.
Abruptly,
she felt the heat of his body leave her.
Sweat
glued her
T-shirt to her chest. She burned
between her legs.
He rustled
around not far away and she made herself look. He
was
cleaning up, tucking in his shirt.
"You
tell anyone, you're dead." He
pointed the knife at her.
She
watched as he thrashed his way back into the bushes. Her
heart
thudded in her throat but she lay perfectly still,
listening. His noises faded away.
With a
small, choked sound, Scully rose to her hands and
knees. Her muscles were stiff and
uncooperative. She
crawled
out from behind her car and located her phone. Her
hair had
come undone, falling in her eyes, sticking to her
teary
face. She pushed it aside and
ripped off the tape.
After
several shuddering breaths, she leaned back against the
rear tire
of her car and opened her phone.
Her hand shook so
hard she
could barely hit the buttons.
"Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?"
"I--I've
been assaulted in a parking lot. I
need help." She
gave the
requisite information and curled up to listen for
the
sirens. With every twitch of a
leaf, she was sure he was
coming
through the bushes again.
Dirt clung
to her hair. Her underwear was
gone. Scully
shivered
in the muggy night air. She wanted
to go home and
stand in
the hot shower until she felt clean again, but she
did not
move.
She was an
investigator, and this was her crime scene.
This line, the idea of Scully
immediately taking charge of her own crime scene, was something I had in mind
before I started writing. She wants to run it from inside the lines; Mulder,
who shows up shortly, has other ideas.
XxX
Scully sat
alone, her back to the car, with her cell phone
cradled to
her breast. She swiped at her
cheeks with one
hand as
the first black-and-white appeared on the scene. The
ambulance
followed, squeezing through the narrow alley, red
lights
spinning circles in the trees. She
heard radios
squawk
when the heavy car doors opened and the officers
approached. The clump of their boots on the
pavement made
her
nervous. She should stand up,
organize the facts, but
she
couldn't seem to move.
"Ma'am?" The larger man peered down at her. "We're from the
Alexandria
Police Department. Are you the one
who called?"
"Yes." She looked behind him at the darkened
bushes. "Yes,
I
called."
They asked
her name and she told them. The
smaller man
crouched
down next to her, eyes dark behind his round
glasses. "Can you tell us what
happened?"
She could
remember every second but not in any order. The
bits
zoomed in and out of focus in her mind:
his breath on
her cheek,
the blade at her neck, the food getting cold as he
ground her
into the dirt. Her hand went
to her throat. "He
came from
there," she said, indicating the bushes. "A man,
about six
feet tall, twenty-five to thirty-five years old.
He wore
jeans and he had a -- a stocking over his face. No
gloves."
"Race?"
She
pictured him and her throat seized up.
She shook her
head. "Too dark."
Scully
gave the details as though she were recording autopsy
data; how
he had knocked her keys and phone away, had cut her
throat,
had forced her down and raped her.
Two of the
officers,
armed with guns and flashlights, set out into the
trees
after him. A third, the gentle
giant who'd first found
her
huddled against the car, stayed with her while the EMTs
began
treating her wounds.
"Officer
Lou Paulson, Ma'am," he said, his knees cracking as
he
bent. "You say he knocked
your phone out of your hands?"
Scully
still had it clutched close.
"Yes."
"We
should have it checked for prints."
He turned without
getting
up. "Carlos?" he yelled
at the other man back near
the
car. "Can you bring me a
bag?"
Scully's
heart bumped against her ribs.
"I don't think he
touched
it," she said tightly.
"He hit my wrist, not the
phone."
"Can't
be too sure." He held out a
gloved hand, his
expression
softening at her hesitation.
"We'll have it back
to you
real soon, I promise."
Wordlessly,
Scully stretched out the phone for him.
If he
noticed
her tremor, he didn't comment. The
phone rang inside
the paper
bag, and Paulson peered in like schoolboy at
lunchtime. Scully already knew what name glowed
inside.
"Fox
Mulder," Paulson read off.
Scully
nodded, hugging herself.
"He's expecting me for
dinner."
Paulson's
thick brows knit together, and he reached for his
back
pocket. "Here," he said,
handing her his cell. "You
can call
him if you like."
The
foreign phone felt like lead in her hands. She licked
dried lips
and stared at the buttons.
"Thanks," she replied,
but made
no move to dial. Mulder. Tears threatened to
overwhelm
her again. She didn't want to have
to call. She
wanted him
to appear magically without having to say the
words.
The loss of the phone strips
Scully of another layer of control and comfort. It also symbolizes Mulder. (Duh
*g*)
One of the
EMTs appeared with a stretcher.
"We should get
her to the
hospital now," he told Paulson.
Paulson stood as
the two
other officers returned from their mission in the
trees.
"No
sign of the guy," said one.
Brubrek, she thought his
name
was. "We found your keys but
not your wallet," he told
Scully. She rose on shaky legs. Her driver's license, her
business
cards -- he had everything.
"He'll
know where I live," she said, "where I work."
"Give
us your address," the Brubrek said.
"We'll make sure
he's not
headed over there. Where do you
work?"
Scully
faltered. She knew what was
coming. "The FBI."
This is the first of many times
Scully’s job comes into play, along with the notion that somehow her
training should have prevented this from happening to her.
"You're
a Fed?" He looked up from his
notes for her nod.
She could
feel the other men resisting the urge to look too.
He raked
her once from head to toe and returned his eyes to
his
pad. "Don't think you'll have
to worry about this guy
bothering
you on the job then."
"Dana?"
said the closet EMT. "We
should go get you checked
out
now."
Scully
nodded, numb. She moved stiffly to
climb onto the
stretcher,
but Brubrek had one last question.
"Did he take
anything
else?" he asked. "Any
jewelry?"
Scully
swallowed. "My
underwear."
The EMT
covered her with a blanket and avoided her eyes.
Officer
Paulson occupied himself with the trees, and Brubrek
cleared
his throat. "Okay, that's it
for now. We'll talk to
you again
at the hospital, okay?"
Scully
realized she still had Paulson's phone.
"You
keep it," he told her.
"Call your friend.
I'll get it
back at
the hospital."
As they
wheeled her to the back of the ambulance, Scully saw
that the
Ming family had filed out from the kitchen to watch
the
commotion. They stood in silent,
sad formation -- Jun
the
tallest, with his tiny father and two teenage sisters at
his side
-- all still wearing their neat white aprons.
Scully
looked away. She knew she would
never come back there
again.
XxX
Mulder
used two fingers to scissor an opening in his blinds
and peered
down at the street for the fourth time.
Still, no
Scully. He chewed his lip and hit her number on
his speed
dial, but
again, her voice mail answered. It
should not take
her over
half an hour to travel five blocks.
He fished his
keys from
the desk and started for the front door, when the
phone rang
in his hand.
"Scully,"
he said with relief. "Where
are you?"
There was
silence on the other end, and he noticed for the
first time
that the caller ID read "Paulson" not "Scully."
"Hello?"
he tried again.
"Mulder?" She sounded small and far away.
"Scully,"
he said, exhaling once more as he sank onto his
sofa. "What's going on? Where are you?" He heard muffled
voices in
the background.
"I'm
okay," she said, and his blood went cold. He lurched
forward on
the couch.
"Scully?"
"There
was a man in the parking lot," she said, "at Ming's.
He--he... He held me up and took my wallet. He got away,
but the
police came and now I'm on my way to the hospital.
Can you
meet me there?"
"Of
course," he said, already moving.
His heart stuck like
peanut
butter to the back of his throat.
"Are you okay,
Scully?" He stopped at the door, silent for her
answer.
"I'm
fine, Mulder."
Her flat
affect did not make him feel better.
"'kay," he
said. "I'm on my way out the door
now."
"Okay." He listened to her breathe for a
moment. "Mulder?"
"Yeah?
"Please
hurry."
Mulder got
the name of the hospital and tripped over his feet
getting to
the car. He slammed through the
city at high
speed, and
it hit back with a fiery summer temper, red sirens
and crowds
of restless people slowing him down at every
corner. He cursed and banged the steering
wheel. "Come
*on*,"
he hollered at the lumbering cars in front of him.
His tires
squealed as Mulder passed a Buick on the right -- a
make-believe
lane between the side mirror and the sidewalk.
She's
okay, he told himself. You know
she is. She's all
right.
He parked
and yanked the key out of the ignition, jogging
towards
the emergency room. The glass
doors slid open to
chaos --
bandaged people lined three deep, children crying,
and two
admitting nurses trying to keep a lid on it all.
Mulder
sifted through the wounded, moving them bodily if he
had to,
but found no sign of Scully. He
cut to the front of
the line.
"Dana
Scully?" he asked.
For once,
they were too distracted to give him any flack.
"Room
three. Through those doors and on
the left."
A
round-bodied sentry caught him on the other side. "May I
help
you?" she asked, planting herself between him and Room
3.
"I'm
looking for Room 3. Dana Scully."
At
Scully's name, the set of her jaw relaxed. "Ah," she
replied
softly. "Let me show you the
way then. It's right
down
here."
Mulder's
heart hammered as he followed her down the hall.
The
instant access made him more nervous than the refusals he
usually
got.
"Is
she okay?"
"This
way," she said over her shoulder.
"Just let me knock
once, all
right? The doctor is with her
now."
Mulder
hovered behind her as she stuck her head in the door.
He tried
but he couldn't see Scully. The
woman emerged again
and the
door widened to disgorge a second woman, this one
with
longer hair and thinner hips.
"Anne Lehne," she said to
Mulder as
she shook his hand. "I'm
taking care of Dana."
"She's
okay?"
"She's
doing just fine, considering what she's been through."
A thousand
terrible images filled his head.
"Can I see her?"
"Of
course. She's been waiting to talk to you, so you can go
right
in. I'll just be back in a few
minutes."
Mulder
nodded, barely listening. His
heart sped up as he
pushed the
door open with the flat of his hand.
"Scully?"
She came
into view and Mulder's pulse relaxed.
Fine. She
looked
just fine. No mugger had beaten
her to a pulp. There
were no
tubes coming out of her or machines to help her
breathe. She sat on the exam table in a pink
cotton gown,
looking
perfectly whole. He could see a
small bandage on the
side of
her neck and that was about it.
This is the first of another
recurring idea, that rape is something wounds mostly on the inside.
Mulder’s momentary relief here also touches on the idea that just because
you look fine doesn’t mean you are fine.
"Hey,"
he said. "How are you
doing?"
"You're
here," she said, and her chin trembled. She reached
for him.
"I'm
here." He stroked her hair as
she pressed herself into
his
squishy middle parts. She held him
with a fierce grip.
He rubbed
her shoulders gently but she did not let go.
"Scully?"
"There
was a man in the parking lot," she said into his
shirt, not
looking at him. The hairs on the
back of his neck
rose. He knew. All of a sudden he knew.
"Don't,"
he blurted, but she kept talking.
"He
had a knife, Mulder. I was on the
phone with you and he
came out
from the trees before I knew what was happening. He
forced me
down on the ground..." She touched the bandage at
her
neck. "He said he would kill
me. I--I had no choice."
"God,
Scully." His hands roamed
over her back. "I'm so
sorry."
"I
had no choice," she repeated, angry.
"Of
course not. Of course you
didn't."
"He
was going to kill me."
Mulder
reeled. He had never imagined
this. "You're safe
now,"
he said, his voice hollow in the empty room. "You're
okay."
She
snuffled and he felt her hot breath through his tee
shirt. "I don't know how this
happened. I had the food, I
was
leaving, and then suddenly he was there.
He held the
knife to
my throat and forced me down.
Everything was so
fast. I can't think--I can't think how it
happened."
He rocked
her, helpless. He couldn't think
either. "I'm so
sorry,
Scully." He kissed the warm
crown of her head over
and over
and tried to fold her into him.
"Are you hurt
anywhere? Did he hurt you?"
"No." She quivered, sounding uncertain.
There was
a knock at the door and Scully jerked in his arms.
She pulled
away a bit, sniffing hard in quick succession as
Dr. Lehne
reentered the room. Mulder left
one hand resting
awkwardly
on Scully's knee, gnawed his lip and watched her
out of the
corner of his eye as she answered the doctor's
questions. She sat stone still. Her blue eyes were wet,
lashes
glued with tears, and her new smattering of summer
freckles
stood out against her stark white skin.
The gown
was too
big, yawning open at the neck and sleeves and
revealing
the fine slope and bones of her.
So much violence,
and yet
there was barely a mark to show it.
Scully had
absorbed
it all inside.
"We
need to complete the exam now," Dr. Lehne was saying.
"Kristi
here is going to help me check you out and collect
any
evidence that might be useful for later prosecution.
Agent
Mulder can stay here if you like, or we can have him
come back
in when we're done."
Mulder
took his hand from her knee, preparing to go. Scully
conducted
all her medical treatments behind closed doors,
like a
feral cat licking her wounds in private.
"I'll just
be
outside."
She
grabbed his arm.
"Mulder?"
"What?" He stopped and looked at her. "You want me to
stay?"
"Is
that all right?"
"Of
course."
So he sat
in a squeaky, rolling chair by Scully's head while
Dr. Lehne
did the exam. Scully mashed his
fingers in her
hand but
did not move, barely breathing, and so he made
himself
hold still too, until his muscles ached from the
effort. The peach walls blurred around him as
he tried not
to watch
what they were doing to her. He
noticed a tray with
shiny
silver tools on it that reminded him of the dentist,
and he
held Scully's hand a little tighter.
This is the first of another
running theme, which is Mulder feeling like an alien in this strange new world.
As an investigator and psychologist, he would know a lot about the subject of
rape, but watching someone dear to you submit to the rape exam is something
different. Scully’s got knowledge now that he can’t have.
Scully
stared straight up at the ceiling.
She answered all
their
questions in a calm, unwavering voice, but every so
often, he
saw a tear slide from the corner of her eye into
her hair.
He knew
the doctor wasn't hurting her, but he wanted to knock
the woman
out of the way and run out the door with Scully and
never look
back.
"Okay?"
he asked Scully unsteadily.
She didn't
look at him. "Yes."
Dr. Lehne
glanced up. "You're doing
great, Dana. We're
almost
done."
"Almost
done," Mulder repeated to Scully, and she nodded at
the
ceiling. He lapsed into silence, a
little desperate and
totally
tongue-tied, the only man in a room full of women.
I'm five
blocks away, she'd said. They had
been around the
world
together but five blocks turned out to be the only
distance
that mattered. He couldn't think what
he'd been
doing when
the man came out of the bushes.
Did that even
happen
anymore? The man with the knife in
the bushes -- that
man was a
punch line, a spook story, like the guy with the
hook for
an arm and the albino alligators in the sewer.
Wheel of
Fortune. That's what he'd been
doing. I'd like to
solve the
puzzle, Pat.
HANS
CHRISTEN ANDERSEN
Ming's
restaurant, he'd been there dozens of times, had asked
Scully to
stop there for food on her way over more than he
could
remember. God, if he'd
known...
His empty
stomach flipped and growled.
Mulder clenched his
gut to try
to shut it up.
Scully
turned her head and looked at him.
She'd heard. She
knew. They were supposed to be eating
dinner. "Sorry," he
tried to
say, but she turned her head back before he got the
words out.
Dr. Lehne
sat back in her chair. "We're
all done," she said,
and Scully
let out a long, controlled breath.
"You can sit
up now,
Dana. You did fine. Kristi will get you some
clothes,
okay? And then we can talk for a
bit. I'll answer
any
questions that you have, and I want to write you a couple
of
prescriptions before you leave."
Mulder got
to stay while Scully changed, but she kicked him
out for
the final talk. Escaping into the
hallway, he leaned
his back
against the cool white wall and covered his face
with his
hands to stop them from shaking.
His heart felt
like a
baker had pounded it, swollen and bruised inside his
chest.
"Agent
Mulder?"
He jerked
his hands down and looked in the direction of the
voice. Detective Ruben Savioshy was walking
towards him down
the hall
with another suited man following behind.
Mulder
straightened
and prepared for the onslaught he knew was
coming.
Amanda, who watched this fic come down line by line on IM,
always insisted on calling Savioshy "Smith" because it was easier to
spell. I am lucky I didn't slip up
and call him Smith in the fic somewhere. *g*
"Agent
Mulder, tell me I got this information wrong."
"Detective." He couldn't say it was nice to see him
again,
so he left
it at that. The last time they'd
met, Philip
Padget had
been dead in Mulder's basement and Scully'd been
drenched
in her own blood. Mulder
took a deep breath. "I
wish I
could tell you it was wrong."
Detective
Savioshy nodded heavily.
"Okay, then. Tell me
what
happened."
"I
don't really know any of the details.
I--I wasn't there.
She was at
Ming's restaurant, in the parking lot, and a man
attacked
her. That's all I know."
Savioshy
gestured at the door with his pen.
"She's in
there?"
Mulder
looked at the smooth gray door, at the light shining
from under
it. "Yeah. She's talking to the doctor."
Savioshy
turned and said something in a low voice to his
companion,
who nodded. "This is Chris
Clark with the DA's
office,"
Savioshy said. Mulder's handshake
was harder than
he
intended.
"You
have someone in custody?"
"No,"
Clark said, easing his hand away.
He looked at
Savioshy,
who looked at the floor. It was
clear they'd been
through
this routine before. "No, I'm
sorry. We're trying,
believe
me. We're doing everything we
can. That's really
why I'm
here, to make sure we don't miss anything that could
be useful
down the road at prosecution."
A
layperson might have been confused, or grateful, that a
clean-cut,
broad-shouldered man from the DA's office was
looking
after the case personally, but Mulder had spent too
many years
in law enforcement not to know what Clark's
presence
really signaled. "There are
others," he said.
"He's
done this before."
"Yes." Savioshy cleared his throat. "We don't know for sure
yet until
we talk to Agent Scully, but the case as the
earmarks--"
"How
many?"
"Nine,
that we know of." He
paused. "Now maybe ten."
"Ten?"
"The
attacks cover a broad area through three counties. It
took us a
while to realize we were all looking for one man."
The door
opened and Dr. Lehne appeared. She
and Detective
Savioshy
spoke in low voices about sample collection, and
Mulder
felt his legs stabilize beneath him.
This part he
knew. The law -- the investigation -- he
could handle that.
This
starts the crux of the tension between Mulder and Scully. He wants to help in
the best way he knows how, by using all his skills as an investigator. This
part he knows. He feels certain about. He doesn’t feel certain about much
else.
For Scully, it’s a role she
is not willing to cede to him. She’s just had part of herself wrested
away by force, and she’s not going to let Mulder take anything else. She
doesn’t see it as helping. She reacts as though he’s trying to
control her.
Then
Scully came out, wearing foreign sweats and an oversized
white
T-shirt that made her seem even paler.
Her hair was
down flat
and tucked behind her ears, and she'd scrubbed her
face clean
of makeup. Her toes curled in her
sandals as she
hung back
against the doorjamb. It wasn't a
version of
herself
she let many people see, usually not even him, and
Mulder
felt a sharp stab of protectiveness.
"Scully?"
he asked, and she jerked her attention from
Savioshy
to him. "You okay?"
Savioshy
joined them before she could answer him, approaching
Scully the
same careful way that he had when she'd been
soaked in
blood. "Agent Scully,
hello. Sorry to hear about
what
you've been through tonight. Are
you up to answering a
few
questions?"
"Of
course," she answered, drawing herself up. She handed
Mulder
several slips of white paper.
"Mulder, could you take
these to
the pharmacy and wait there for me?
I'll be along
in a few
minutes."
He looked
down at the prescriptions and then at her. "Um,
sure,
Scully. Whatever you want."
"Thank
you."
He waited
a beat but she didn't say anything further, both
she and
Savioshy clearly waiting for him to leave before they
got on
with their business, so he started a slow amble down
the
hall. He peeked back once and saw
Clark nodding at
something
Scully was saying. Savioshy had
his notepad out.
Mulder hit
the button for the elevator and looked away. Here
--
discussion of how to get the sick bastard -- here was
where he
could be of some use. Fuck all
Savioshy seemed to
be doing
about the problem anyway. Mulder
had worked rape
cases
before, some with Scully. She knew
what he could do.
You
profile one sick sonofabitch, you'd profiled them all.
The
elevator dinged and Mulder took a last glance down the
hall
before he stepped inside. In line
at the pharmacy, he
flipped
through the prescriptions, which told Scully's horror
in an
entirely different language: amoxicillin, alprazolam,
D-norgestrel,
and Tylenol 3. The sharp slips of
paper sliced
up his
heart and he found himself trying not to cry in a room
full of
people. He handed the rape
victims' cocktail to the
man behind
the counter, who took one look at the list and
nodded. He could read between the lines. "It'll be about
twenty
minutes," he said gently.
"If you'll just have a seat
over
there."
Mulder sat
in the hard, narrow chair and rested a magazine in
his lap
without looking at it. Scully
appeared about fifteen
minutes
later. He stood at the sight of
her, only to sit
back down
as she took the chair next to him.
She sat like an
old woman,
slow and careful, and he pretended not to know
why. "Everything go okay with
Savioshy?" he asked.
"Yes. I guess I'm glad it was him, all things
considered."
"He's
very professional," Mulder offered lamely, and Scully
nodded. She didn't comment further so he didn't
press.
"Dana
Scully?" the man at the pharmacy window called.
Scully
stiffened. "I don't have any
money. He took my
wallet."
Again, the small indignities seem
much larger now.
"It's
okay. I've got it," Mulder
said, reaching for his
wallet,
but Scully looked near tears again.
"Scully?" He
cupped the
back of her head and slid his thumb behind her ear
in a
tender caress. "It's no big
deal, okay?"
She
squared her shoulders, nodding again.
"I'll pay you
back,"
she said and moved from under his touch.
He got up
and fished
for his car keys while she picked up the
prescriptions. For the second time that night, Scully
left
with a
large bag of take-out food, this kind in capsule form.
She
cradled her parcels to her side and regarded him with
tired
eyes.
"Home?"
he asked.
"Please."
She
hunched down in the shadows of his car.
He drove with
extra
care, as one might with a new baby on board. The car
glided to
a halt outside her apartment, but Scully made no
move to
get out. He took the key from the
ignition and
waited.
"Mulder?"
"Yeah?"
She looked
at him, small face bathed in the half-light from
outside. "I'm sorry about dinner."
"Oh,
Scully." He reached over and
pulled her to him until
their
heads rested together. "Me
too. Me too." He kissed
her cheek,
her eye. She was so tense he
thought she might
snap in
two. "It's okay now. It's going to be okay."
"Yes,"
she said, sounding like she was trying to believe it.
He
rewarded her with more kisses. She
squeezed his leg and
pulled
away.
"Do
you want me to come in?" he asked as she opened her door.
She halted
and peered back over her shoulder.
"Do
you want to?" Before he could
say anything, she
continued
in a rush, "I have things for sandwiches, if you
want. Maybe a bag of chips. It's not much."
He smiled.
"Sandwiches it is."
Inside,
she stopped and stared at her living room like she's
walked
into the wrong apartment. Mulder
stood behind her,
looking
down at the top of her head.
"Scully?"
She
turned, nearly bumping into him.
"Can you find you way
around the
kitchen?" she asked
"I--I'd like to take a
shower." This last confession she made quietly
to his shoes,
as if he
might think her too cliche.
He pressed
a kiss to the part in her hair.
"Go," he said.
"I'll
make food."
"Make
what you want. I'm not
hungry."
He let her
go without argument, and base though he felt, he
went and
inhaled two roast beef sandwiches.
The last thing
he needed
was his belly grumbling in bed with Scully tonight.
Bed, he
thought, and stopped chewing with a lump of bread
stuck in
his throat. Did she want him
there? Maybe he
should
offer to stay on the couch. He had
never slept in
Scully's
bed with her in it, and he wasn't sure she'd welcome
him
tonight. It was still her space.
He
finished his food and cleaned up the plates, but Scully
had still
not come out of the bathroom.
Pacing the soft
carpet in
front of the door, he listened but heard only the
sound of
rushing water. Steam curled out
from the cracks.
Mulder
stroked the smooth wood instead of the woman inside.
The pipes
groaned as the water stopped.
Mulder backed a few
steps away
so she wouldn't think he was hovering.
She
emerged a
few minutes later, wrapped in a fluffy white robe,
her skin
pinked up from all the hot water.
He noticed her
eyes were
red too. "Hi," he said
softly. She shuddered.
"Did
you get something to eat?"
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me. How are you? Any better?"
She opened
her mouth but couldn't seem to get any words out.
He held
out his arm to her. "Come
here." She went willingly
and he
tucked her wet head under his chin, crooning her name
near her ear. Her fingernails pricked his back as her
shoulders
hitched under his hands.
"Anything you need,
Scully,
okay? Anything."
She
nodded, mute, and clutched him tighter.
"Thank you for
coming to
get me."
"Always." He kissed the line of her hair, shower
water sweet
on his
lips. "Are you hungry? Do you want anything?"
"No." She pulled back a bit. "I think
I'm just going to go
to
bed."
"Okay." He let his arms fall away, but Scully
didn't move.
She stood
with her head tipped forward, eyes focused on the
floor,
until a heavy lock of hair slipped down over her face.
He felt
like he should say something further, but he hadn't
the
slightest idea what. Even his
breathing sounded huge,
magnified
off her silence.
"Scully?"
Her head
snapped up.
"Do
you want me to go?"
"You're
going?"
"Not
if you don't want."
"What
I want," she repeated to herself strangely. "Yes."
He tucked
the hair back behind her ear, and she closed her
eyes,
leaning into his hand. "How
about I stay?" he
whispered. "All right?"
She nodded
and led the way to her bedroom.
Scully's sleeping
quarters
were so different from his, full of mirrors and
giant
wooden furniture. He spotted the
loaned hospital
clothes
folded neatly on a delicate chair.
She left him to
go blow
dry her hair, and he sat on the high, firm mattress.
The light
bedspread was white with tiny indigo flowers
embroidered
on it. Mulder stroked one with his
thumb as he
listened
to the roar from the bathroom. He
had no things
here, no
toothbrush or sleeping clothes.
Scully
returned, all business as she prepared for bed, and
Mulder
turned away. He bit his lip and
looked down at his
jeans. After a moment's indecision, he decided
to strip to
his boxers
and leave the T-shirt on. It
seemed more
respectful. When he turned again he saw the expanse
of
Scully's
naked back flash before she huddled beneath the
covers. Naked. Okay. Mild
shock dulled his brain, and he
stood
rooted to the carpet with the top sheet bunched in his
hand.
This was
another choice that some readers questioned. Some folks were not convinced that
Scully would be as physical with Mulder after the rape, that she wouldn’t
want him hugging or touching her, and that she surely wouldn’t be going
to bed naked. All totally possible. I don’t think there is any one way to
play a rape aftermath. I picked this route because I don’t think Scully
would be at all afraid of Mulder. They’ve known each other for many years
at this point, and she trusts him totally. If anything, she fears his reaction
to what has happened to her. Instead of hiding under a bunch of bulky layers,
she strips down to nothing, in part to illustrate how she feels (totally
exposed) and in part to test his reaction.
But I understand readers who were
wigged. So was Mulder. <G>
"Are
you coming?" she asked, and he reached over his head and
yanked off
his shirt in one smooth motion. He
kept the
boxers on.
The
bedside lamp on her side blazed away, and Scully made no
move to
turn it off. Mulder refrained from
comment. She lay
on her
stomach but facing him, so he rolled until he matched
her
position. One wide blue eye stared
at him from the
pillow. "Think you can sleep?" he
asked.
"I'm
so tired."
"Yeah." He reached over and stroked her from
the top of her
head down
to the small of her back. Her eye
slipped closed
so he
repeated the slow caress. She
didn't move and he
thought
she had fallen asleep. His hand
rested near her hip.
She
grabbed it suddenly and tucked it under her, between her
breasts,
and he startled at the feel of her heart beating
like a
trapped bird. He looked closer and
saw that her eyes
were
screwed shut.
"Scully,
what...?"
She cut
him off with a choked sob, curling into herself under
the
covers. Horror flooded through him
and he shifted
closer. He drew her against him, her elbows to
his ribs, and
pressed
his face down into her neck. Hot
tears leaked onto
his chest
as she shook in his arms. His
throat ached. He
rubbed
her, rocked her, but there was nothing he could do to
get at the
pain inside her.
"It's
okay, it's okay," he repeated as she cried.
He wanted
to say she was beautiful. He
wanted to say he
loved
her. But they didn't say these
things, and he feared
if he said
them now she would hate him forever.
He gave her
his hands,
his lips, his tears. He laid her
on his chest and
let her
listen to his broken heart as it said her name over
and over
until they slept.
XxXxXxXxX
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Two
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Fear made
her open her eyes like a jungle cat sensing a
predator. She clawed the edge of the mattress and
did not
breathe. Her heart thundered wildly as the room
came into
focus,
full of gray light and the sound of rain slapping
against
the windows. Her room. It was okay. She relaxed
one
centimeter at a time, squeezing her eyes closed again.
Her body
hurt in places she didn't want to name, and her head
was heavy
with an odd combination of terror and drug-induced
fuzz, an
iron spike wrapped in cotton. She
didn't remember
falling asleep.
She turned
with a jerk and found Mulder dead to the world on
the other
side of the bed, his jaw slack and his porcupine
hair
spread out on her pillow. The
noise inside her hadn't
woken him.
She gave him a sad half-smile and reached out to
touch the
hard slope of his cheekbone and the scratchy
Braille
covering his chin. He rubbed his
face against her
fingers
but did not awake. Scully withdrew
and slipped out
of bed
into her robe.
The bright
bathroom light flickered on and Scully stared at
her wan
reflection in the mirror. Her hair
had flattened
overnight,
making her face seem pale and puffy.
She drew her
hair back
into a tight ponytail at the base of her neck.
Turning,
she fingered the bandage on her throat.
One quick
yank
revealed pink skin and an angry scab shaped like a
knifepoint. Scully made herself look. Next she tugged open
her robe
and regarded the wide bruise darkening on her
ribcage
where his left elbow had pinned her down.
Inch by
inch, she catalogued her new body.
Prognosis: she
would
live. She sighed and swallowed her
pills one by one
before
hiding the bottles in the medicine cabinet again.
The metal
shower rings clattered along the rod as she drew
back the
curtain. She turned the water on
to heat and let
her robe
fall to the ground. Her sore
muscles protested as
she
climbed into the high tub. A bath
would have been better
to ease
them, but she wanted the feel of rushing water on her
skin. She stood under the bracing hot spray,
steam rising,
and scrubbed
the exfoliating cloth over her arms, her
breasts,
her belly. She turned slowly,
rinsing the soap
clean, and
watched the layers of herself swirl away down the
drain.
When she
emerged many minutes later, Mulder wasn't in bed.
She heard
the TV going in the living room.
Hand on the door,
she
hesitated about whether to go greet him, but decided she
wasn't
ready to face him just yet. She
sealed herself inside
her room
and began a careful dressing procedure that featured
soft knit
pants and long sleeves that hid the finger marks on
her
arm. Her hand shook when she tried
to put on mascara so
she left
that step out. She rubbed her
palms over her hips
and
contemplated the door again.
It's just
Mulder, she told herself.
With a
deep breath, she turned the knob and went down the
hall to
find him. The earthy smell of
strong coffee tickled
her nose
before she reached the kitchen, where Mulder stood -
-completely
dressed save for his shoes -- leaning against her
counter. She stopped in the doorway.
Mulder had
a sheaf of papers in his hand that he shoved aside
at her
entrance, as though she'd caught him sneaking treats
from the
cookie jar. She recognized the
pamphlet on top as
the one
that Dr. Lehne had given her.
"It's okay," she told
him, moving
into the room. "You can
look. It's not anything
you
haven't seen before, I'm sure."
"Actually,"
he said, and cleared his throat, "actually, I've
never read
one all the way through before."
She
nodded. "I guess you wouldn't
have had reason to."
"I
didn't mean to pry."
"You
weren't."
They held themselves away from each
other, stiff like
strangers. "I made some coffee," he
said, "if you want."
She let
him pour her a mug, which she wrapped in her cold
fingers
instead of drinking. He sipped his
coffee and
studied a
crayon drawing from Matthew that she had taped to
her
fridge. "A cow?" he
asked eventually.
"A
Dalmatian. Matthew saw the movie
last month, and he says
if he
doesn't get a dog right away, he will die."
He nodded
sagely. "Death by lack of canine ú it's a silent
but
vicious killer. That's how I lost
my best friend Kenny
in third
grade."
"Mulder,"
she said. But she shook her head,
amused, and he
smiled,
really looking at her for the first time since she'd
entered
the room. He held out an arm in
invitation, and she
pressed
against his side, cheek resting on his soft T-shirt.
Mulder
squeezed her lightly around the shoulders.
"Feeling
any better?" he asked.
She closed
her eyes and took inventory. The
truth was she
didn't
feel much of anything. Maybe it
was the drugs. "I'm
all
right."
They
lapsed into silence, Mulder drinking his coffee over her
head and
Scully listening to it slide down inside him. A TV
commercial
sang in the other room.
"I
was thinking," he said, just as the TV switched back to
news. "Maybe I could--"
She didn't
hear what he could do because the morning anchor
started
recapping last night's big stories in a loud, clear
voice:
"Police
are continuing their search for a serial rapist after
another
woman was attacked last night in Alexandria. This is
the fourth
attack in the city inside of three months, and
police are
saying they believe they are looking for one man.
WRC
reporter Sabrina Kimbrough is live in Alexandria with the
story."
Scully
pulled away, drawn to the sound.
Mulder caught her
hand. "Scully..."
She kept
walking until footage of Ming's parking lot stopped
her dead
in her tracks. A woman in a dark
raincoat and red
umbrella
stood not three feet from where Scully had been
forced
down into the dirt.
This part kicks off another aspect
of the story, which is how the media affects both the case and the
victims’ recovery. Given Scully’s FBI background, this scrutiny
would be extra hard on her. She feels rebuked because she didn’t stop the
guy. Mulder, on the other hand, sees it as a call to action. Nothing is being
done to get the rapist.
"...believed
to be at least the fourth in a series of related
attacks
that have occurred in the area over the last few
months. All of the attacks have followed the
same basic
pattern, a
pattern that repeated itself here last night. The
woman had
just been to order takeout from Ming's Chinese
Restaurant
and was returning to her car when a man came out
from these
bushes." The camera zoomed in
on the thick, wet
leaves.
"He
held a knife to her throat and forcibly raped her while
dozens of
people were just a few yards away.
So far, no
witnesses
have come forward."
The story
cut to a tape of Jun's mournful face.
"I talk to
her,
yes. She come in before many
times, very nice. I
didn't see
or hear anything after she leave."
Sabrina,
still in the parking lot, continued the tale. "As
in the
other attacks, the man wore a stocking mask that has
made it
difficult to get a physical description.
This
morning I
spoke to Detective Savioshy about what is being
done to
stop these brutal crimes."
On tape,
Savioshy looked gray and wan.
"We're still
exploring
a number of angles right now. Each
new attack,
terrible
as it is, brings new evidence and new possible
witnesses. We've got men and women working round
the clock,
and we
will find this guy. In the
meantime, the Chief has
stepped up
patrol to try to minimize the chances of this
happening
again."
"Four
women in two months," Sabrina's voice said from off
camera,
"and you still have no suspects."
"No
lead suspects," Savioshy said.
"As I mentioned, we're
interviewing
a number of people who might have information
pertinent
to this case."
"WRC
news has learned that you have linked attacks from last
year to
this same man. Can you comment on
that, Detective?"
"We
have looked at older open cases, yes.
That's all that I
am
prepared to say at this time."
"What
would you say to the women out there?
How can they
protect themselves?"
"Avoid
walking alone in isolated areas when you can,
especially
at night. Be vigilant. If you see or hear anyone
behaving
in a suspicious manner, call the police right away."
It wasn't
meant as a slap, but Scully flinched.
She had
failed to
protect herself. She stood frozen
two feet from
the TV,
devastated. And Sabrina wasn't
done.
"I
carry mace and pepper spray," said one woman she
interviewed.
A second
woman looked defiantly at the camera.
"I've got a
gun and I
know how to use it. He tries
anything with me, and
I'll shoot
his <bleeping bleep> off."
Sabrina
closed from Ming's parking lot: "Indeed, the rapist
may have
caught a fortunate break last night.
A source close
to the
investigation informs me that the latest victim is a
trained
FBI agent, a fact the rapist probably wasn't aware of
when he
attacked her. The source says, and
I quote, 'Too bad
she wasn't
carrying last night, or it could have all been
over right
here.'"
The news
switched over to a possible bacteria outbreak in a
YMCA
swimming pool, but Scully remained transfixed, awash in
flickering
light. Tears smeared the images in
front of her.
When she
still hadn't moved as the breakfast commercial
blared
into song, Mulder touched her shoulder.
She shook him
off.
"Scully,
please."
"Don't." She swiped at her eyes and hurried out
of the room.
Behind
her, his footsteps fell hard on her bare floor. She
kept going
until she could put a door between them.
Mulder
knocked as
she made up the bed with quick, furious movements.
"I
don't want to talk about it," she yelled through the door.
His voice
came back hollow and muffled.
"I won't make you.
I just...
I just want to make sure you're okay."
Her face
crumpled again, pillow hanging from one limp arm as
she tried
to hold in the sobs so he wouldn't hear.
"I'm
okay,"
she called when she could get her breath again. The
watery
words sounded completely unconvincing.
"Scully?"
She
dragged the pillow with her to the door.
Sniffing hard,
she opened
it and looked him the eyes. He
looked scared and
sad, the
way he always did when she cried, no matter how many
doors she
tried to put between them.
"I'm okay," she
repeated.
She went
back to work on the bed, and Mulder followed her
into the
room, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
He watched
her go
back and forth from her side to his side until the
bedspread
was smooth again. He was waiting,
she knew, for
her to
give him some further cues, but perversely she
withheld
any. A basket of laundry sat by
the chair, from
before, so
she set about putting it away while Mulder started
a slow
patrol of her bedroom.
"I
can stay as long as you like," he said at last, "but I
need to
get some things."
She poked
her head out from the closet.
"That won't be
necessary."
He
stumbled over his words, surprised; she'd made a hit.
"Not
to move in, not permanently. I was
just thinking a
couple of
days, the weekend at least, Scully--"
She
returned to her closet, snatching hangers along the rail.
Mulder
kept talking. "All
right. All right, if that's what
you want I
won't argue with you. I just
thought after last
night--"
Scully
froze. Her face flushed hot
remembering how she'd
washed him
in tears. How long before she
could look at him
again not
remember? Outside, she heard him
heave a sigh.
"Okay. Should I just go now, then? Would that be better?"
He didn't
sound angry, just resigned, as if he'd been waiting
for this
eventuality. The weight of his
disappointment bowed
her head,
but she didn't come out of the closet.
"I
have to leave soon anyway," she said. "I have to go down
to the
station and make a formal statement.
They also want
me to look
at some pictures."
He
appeared behind her, blocking out the light. "They have a
suspect?"
"No." She glanced over her shoulder. "I got the feeling
this is
just procedure, covering the bases.
It will be the
usual
lineup of local sex-offenders, and I won't recognize
any of
them because it was dark and the guy had a stocking
over his
head, but I have to go look anyway so that Savioshy
can tell
the reporters that he is doing everything he can."
She
emphasized her last words with a jerk of the hanger.
Mulder
went still. "You have other
channels available to
you,"
he said, low and serious. "If
you want."
She turned
so fast the hangers clattered.
"What's that
supposed
to mean?"
"The
FBI has resources Savioshy only dreams about, Scully.
Maybe the
others have to rely on him for information, but you
don't."
Her skin
tingled with possibility. In the
slanted light, the
narrow
alley of her closet, he was one of their shadow men
offering a
way around the law.
"Mulder... no."
She sounded
horrified
and breathless and tempted.
"Scully,"
he protested, and she shook her head.
"No." She pushed past him into the open air,
glad it was
over,
relieved he'd been the one to say the words. What
Mulder
argued, she argued the opposite.
She could say "no"
now with a
clear conscience.
"No
one would have to know," Mulder said as she sat on the
bed to put
on her shoes.
"I'd
know." She looked up at him.
"And you'd know, and if we
did what
you're suggesting, maybe we'd catch the guy, Mulder.
Maybe we
would. But maybe we wouldn't. And either way, it
would
always be between us."
Mulder
turned his head away.
"Savioshy is out of his
league."
"Maybe,"
she conceded. "But it's not
our call." When he
didn't say
anything, she reached out and grabbed his hand.
"Mulder...
promise me you'll leave this alone."
He sighed.
"Promise
me."
"Of
course I promise." She looked
at him, skeptical, and he
sighed
again as he squeezed her hand.
"I think you're wrong,
Scully --
it is your call. But you've made
it, and I respect
that."
Will you,
she wondered? She imagined him in
front of the
camera with
Sabrina: "It's too bad Scully wouldn't
investigate
this guy, or it could have all been over right
here."
There was
safety in numbers. She was one of
many, the burden
somehow
lessened. You're not like the
others, Mulder had
said, but
it wasn't true. He was ready to
crusade with the
weight of
her and nine other women on his back; she could
barely
stand on her own two feet.
This bit gets at the idea that
Scully both is and isn’t your typical rape victim. She is a rape victim
in that she was raped. She would feel many of the same emotions as other women.
But her job and her strange history with the abduction give her an edge that
most women would not have. Scully is perhaps better equipped intellectually and
less equipped emotionally than most to deal with a rape.
"I
have to go," she said, pulling her hand from his.
He went
for his shoes. "I'll give you
a lift."
"Mulder--"
"Scully,
you're going two blocks from my apartment, which
coincidentally
happens to be my destination.
Besides," he
said, and
broke off.
"What?"
"Your
car. It's, um, still there."
Scully
closed her eyes. She'd forgotten
that her car was
still
parked in Ming's lot.
"I'll
pick it up if you want," he offered, "while you're
talking to
Savioshy."
"No."
She set her jaw and stood up.
"Just drop me off there
and I'll
drive it over."
They set
out in the rain, fat tears streaking down the
windows of
Mulder's car as he drove the same streets that she
had the
night before. She watched the
passing familiar
landmarks --
old buildings and tall trees, the river bouncing
raindrops,
the long stretch of bridge that took her to the
other
side.
The memory
began in her stomach, and viciously she shoved it
back
down. Mulder fiddled with the
radio -- no news this
time -- while
she forced herself to look at the shops
outside. He drove slowly, to ease the way, but
the steady,
inexorable
progress was somehow worse. She
knew what was
waiting at
the end.
Mulder
kept glancing at her. She couldn't
look back.
"Okay?"
he asked.
"Yes." They had reached the street where it
happened.
The
vibrations from the car engine threatened to make her
sick. Her fingers bit into the edge of the
plush seat as
Mulder
made the hard right into the claustrophobic parking
lot. Her car, beaded in rain, was the only
one in sight.
Mulder
pulled up close next to the driver's side. She would
only have
to hop out one door and into another.
"So," he
said as
they idled with the windshield wipers still running.
They were
parked right on top of where it happened.
She looked
at her lap. Even so, she could see
the dark maw
of the
bushes waiting outside.
"So," she said.
"Thanks for
the ride,
Mulder. And everything else. You've been a big
help."
He said
nothing for a moment, and then reached over and
rested one
hand on the top of her head.
"You did everything
right,
Scully. You lived. Anyone can come back here with a
camera
crew and make up a story about what should have
happened."
She nodded
and his thumb slid behind her ear.
"Yeah."
"I'll
be home watching the Yankees make the Twins squeal like
schoolgirls,"
he said, "if you need anything.
Call, okay?"
She looked
up and out at the bushes. "I
should go. I'll
call you
later." His hand fell away as
she opened the car
door into
the windy rain. Two steps later
she was safe in
her own
car. She gripped the wheel,
breathing hard. The
heavy,
waving branches reached out and slapped her hood.
Scully
swallowed and started her engine.
Mulder watched,
blurry
through two panes of rain-mottled glass, waiting to
see that
she was all right.
XxXxX
Even after
all her years on the job, some part of Scully
always
registered the fact that walking into a law-
enforcement
building meant walking into a room full of men.
She was used
to the approach. She slipped
around them in
hallways
-- small spaces they couldn't occupy -- and
surprised
them with her serious presence over and over until
they
stopped being surprised and grudgingly accepted that she
was there
to stay. So she took her badge and
gun and entered
the
Alexandria Police Department to see what she could do to
help
Savioshy with his case.
They had
the AC off and the old windows open, muggy summer
air mixing
with the close scent of human bodies that had just
come in
from the rain. Scully shook the
water from her
umbrella
and eyed the desk sergeant, whom she thankfully did
not
recognize. He pointed her to the
back, where Savioshy
was
working rape cases from a battered desk piled high with
his
children's photographs. His glasses had worn deep red
marks on
the sides of his nose, and he had paper cups stained
with
coffee lined up in front of him.
At Scully's
appearance,
he smoothed his tie over his paunch and pulled a
stack of
files off the nearest chair.
"Agent
Scully, thanks for coming in," he said as she sat.
"Sorry
about this god-awful mess."
She took
in the faxes, the folders, and the mess of memos he
had taped
to every viable surface. The one
stuck on his desk
lamp was
from the Mayor and marked "urgent."
"I
saw you on the news this morning," she said. Savioshy
stopped
shuffling papers. They stared at
one another for a
moment,
and then he shook his head.
"You
want my advice? Don't watch that
crap. I wouldn't
watch it
myself except that the brass hauls me in for regular
quizzes so
I have to know every word they're saying."
"They
said this man has been attacking women for over a year
now. Is that true?"
Savioshy's
chair creaked as he leaned back.
"Yeah. I hate
to say it,
but yeah. It took us a while
to pick up on the
pattern
because we're talking at least three different
counties
involved now. There's a detective
in Metro and
another
one in Fairfax with a desk that looks just like
mine."
"But
no leads," Scully said. The
top folder on his pile had
a fresh
tab with her name on it. She
assumed the stack under
her
represented all the others. Nine,
she counted. Hers was
the
skinniest.
Savioshy
caught her looking and cleared his throat. "Tell
you
what," he said. "Come
with me. You want anything? A
coffee or
a soda?"
Caffeine
sounded perfect, but with the humid air, coffee was
out. "A soda would be great,
thanks." He stopped and
pulled
a Coke out
of the fridge. Scully popped the
top and followed
him down a
hall into a windowless room, which featured a
large map
of the city and surrounding area tacked on the
wall.
Nearby, a dry-erase board listed the dates and
locations
of the attack, which were marked on the map with
orange
pushpins. To Scully, the pattern
formed a snake
through
the cities. She was the belly.
"I
have a theory," Savioshy said as they stood next to the
map. The soda can sweat in Scully's
palms. "See the dates
of the
attacks?"
Scully
looked. The first one was just
over a year ago, near
the end of
May, and the second took place five weeks after
that. They occurred more frequently as the
summer progressed
-- two
more in July, three in August -- but in September,
they
stopped cold for eight months, only to start again in
May.
"I
think he's in college," Savioshy said, "and not in the
area or he
would have kept at it during the school year."
The way the series and fanfic is
constructed, with Mulder and Scully as the principal players, local law
enforcement is often made out to be a bunch of idiots. They are ineffective at
best and criminally negligent at worst. Your average city detective is not a
moron, so I like to make them right about stuff when I can. Here, Savioshy get
to make an astute call.
DC had a
lot of college-age kids walking the streets.
Occasionally
she would pass an intern in the Hoover building
and wonder
if she had ever looked that young. "No prints?"
she asked.
"Actually,
yes. In the third case, he got
sloppy and put his
hand down
on the woman's car. But when we
ran the prints, we
came up
with nothing. That's another
reason I think this
guy's got
to be young: no adult record."
The
stocking face flashed in her memory, features half-human
under the
nylon, and her heartbeat doubled.
Her attacker was
just a
kid. Scully sipped her soda to
give her time to
think. She knew very well that none of the
others had been
allowed to
see the facts spelled out like this.
Savioshy
wanted her
informed, professional opinion.
Any hint of panic
and he
would have her back out front, looking through mug
shots
while a uniformed cop patted her hand.
"You could
contact
schools," she said at last.
"Find out which ones
have a
schedule that matches the timeline of the attacks.
See if
they have had any trouble with sexual assaults on
campus."
Savioshy
nodded. "We're doing that,
but it's a slow process.
There are
thousands of colleges to cover, and we don't have
any way of
narrowing the search at this point."
She looked
at the board again, the names written in messy
block
letters next to the dates: CHAMIAN, DESANTO, WEBER, and
so on,
until the very bottom, where it said "SCULLY." With
no one
else to pin it on, the victims got to own the cases.
"Does
he--does he follow a particular strike pattern?" Scully
asked.
"He's
hit every day but Sunday. Who
knows? Maybe he's too
busy
confessing his sins that day to go out and commit any
new
ones."
Tomorrow
was Sunday. She had not planned to
go to church.
Scully
drew a long breath and swirled the last of the soda in
her can.
"There's
your search factor then." Off
his look, she
explained,
"Start with the religious universities."
XxX
Mulder sat
with his recycling in front of the TV.
Sure
enough,
when he looked for it, it was there in black and
white: two articles within the last week about
the search
for the
rapist. He could have known, if
he'd bothered to
look past
the front page and the sports section.
In Mulder's
world, the
important news always came to him.
There were
coded
emails and files under the door, meetings in darkened
cars and
anonymous faxes in the night. When
aliens were
hatching
in the Antarctic, the local police blotter seemed
like a
bunch of kindergarten cops.
He fanned
the large sheets like cloth and gathered what few
facts he
could. Head in hands, he bent over
the news. No
one told
me, he thought, that it could happen like this.
It was
nearing two hours since he'd dropped Scully off at the
station. He paced often to his thin, rattling
windows, to
see if her
car might be pulling up. The
streets and the gray
sky looked
suddenly threatening, danger lurking on the naked
sidewalks. He checked his phone to make sure it
was working
and kept
his cell in one hand.
But Scully
didn't call.
XxX
The flat,
unsmiling faces in the mug books stared up at her -
- class
pictures from the school of hard knocks -- and Scully
made
herself look at each one for any glimmer of recognition.
She braced
anew at every page but no one seemed familiar.
Her neck
ached, her eyes dried around the rims, and her
nerves
grew increasingly jittery. Each
menacing eye seemed
equally
familiar, equally possible. None
of the men was her
rapist,
but they all could have been.
Just as
Scully declared defeat and closed the last book,
there was
a knock at the door and Christopher Clark poked his
head in
the room. "Hey," he
greeted her with a smile. He
was
dressed in jeans and a faded T-shirt that read, "1998
Boston
Marathon." His dark hair was
curled over his
forehead,
either from a shower or the rain, and Scully
blinked at
the casual attire for a moment before she
remembered
it was Saturday. Her rape was less
than twenty-
four hours
old. "Savioshy told me you
were back here," Clark
said. "How goes the search?"
She shook
her head and pushed the books away.
"I didn't see
his face
well enough to make an ID."
"Yeah." Clark took the seat next to her,
flipping it around
so he
could rest his arms across the back like a little kid.
"That's
par for the course at this point, but thanks for
trying. Every little bit of information we can
get on this
guy
helps."
"I
wish I could be of more help."
"You
can be. That's part of why I'm
here." He rapped his
knuckles
lightly on the table in front of her.
"Listen, have
you
eaten? Because there is a great
little bakery about two
blocks
from here that makes the best chicken salad sandwich
you will
ever eat."
He was
good, Scully realized as her frustration ebbed under
his
relaxed posture and conversational tone.
He had
guileless
gray eyes she was sure played well with a jury. She
had seen
that look somewhere before...
"I
know you," she said suddenly.
"That airline pilot who
murdered
his wife -- Aaron Henderson -- that was your case."
"Guilty." He flashed her a grin. "And so was he. So what
do you
say? Can I buy you lunch?"
"Why?"
He patted
his middle. "Because it's
half past two and my
stomach is
threatening to secede from the union?"
"You
don't need me to eat." She
was tired. She was hungry
too, but
this man was a stranger and she wasn't sure she
could keep
her game face on for another hour while he talked
about
chicken salad sandwiches.
"No." He sobered. "But I will need you in court." She
hesitated,
and he nodded at the door.
"Just hear me out,
Agent
Scully. Any time you want to
leave, it's okay by me."
Her
stomach, empty since before the attack, gave a feeble
growl as
though it didn't expect her to listen.
"One
sandwich,"
she said finally. "I guess
that would be all
right."
She spoke
to Savioshy before leaving and set out with
Christopher
Clark towards the bakery. The rain
had shifted
to mist,
which floated under her umbrella and curled her
hair. Clark walked beside her, heedless of
the elements.
"So,
Mr. Clark," she asked, "do you always invest this much
time in
cases you're not even trying?"
He
laughed. "Not trying
*yet*. And call me Chris."
"Chris,"
she said, "I think I picked the wrong career if you
guys in
the DA's office really have this much free time."
He
chuckled again and pulled a large wet leaf from a nearby
tree. "My daddy was a southern trial
lawyer, the kind that
comes
straight out of the pages of a Harper Lee novel. It
didn't
make any difference to him that we lived in New York.
He learned
his law in old time Alabama, and he preached it
with a
passion I didn't see anywhere else but church on
Sunday. Mama let him thunder on at her while
she did her
cooking,
but what he really wanted was someone to argue back.
She gave
him me, and her kitchen finally saw some peace.
Daddy was
the defense, and I--" He stopped and spread his
arms. "I became the prosecution."
"I
see," she said. Scully
understood about fathers who were
larger
than life.
"So I
don't really know any other way."
He shrugged and
tossed his
leaf into the rain-soaked gutter.
"Work is what I
sleep,
what I breathe, what I eat."
"Except,"
Scully said as they reached the bakery door, "for
the
chicken salad sandwiches."
"These
sandwiches are always an exception."
They ate
at a small table near the window, plates piled high
with thick
sandwiches and crispy chips. Once
Scully started
eating she
realized how starved she'd been, and she did her
best not
to wolf down the meal in front of ADA Clark. As her
blood
sugar rose, she felt almost human again. For five
straight
minutes she was just another patron in a sandwich
shop and
not the woman who had been shoved down in the dirt
and
raped. That changed as soon as
Clark opened his mouth.
"How
are you holding up so far?"
Scully put
her sandwich down and looked at her plate. "Fine"
would
sound absurd. Anything else was
too personal to share.
"I'm
sorry," he said, reading her silence. "I don't mean to
make you
uncomfortable. Forget I said
anything."
She took a
deep breath. "No, it's
okay. I'm managing."
"I'm
really glad to hear that."
After an awkward pause, he
continued,
"Agent Scully, I know you must have seen these
kinds of
cases before, so I figure I can just be straight
with
you: the trial, if there is one,
will be hard."
"I
realize that."
"I'd
love to tell you that we're all enlightened here in the
twenty-first
century, but the dirty truth is, when it comes
to rape
trials, we're not much better than my father's day.
Blaming it
on the victim might be not be PC, but it works
often
enough that some defense attorneys will still try it."
Scully
swallowed and looked out at the wet streets. Having
her life
ripped open for everyone to see was a kind of hell
she didn't
want to contemplate. She believes
in aliens,
they'd
say. Perhaps little green men came
down and probed
her. She likes trouble; just look at her
record. She's had
sex with a
married man. Maybe they could even
get Ed
released
long enough to testify: "She
certainly liked it
rough with
me!" If she'd fuck a psychotic
killer, what else
might she
do?
I wasn’t sure how much of
the trial I would put in at this point. I remembered being surprised not too
long ago that defense attorneys still put the victim on trial as much as they
could when it came to rape cases. It makes sense, when you think about it, but
it still shocked me. I got to thinking how Scully’s past would play with
a jury. I think people would have a hard time empathizing with her. We love
Scully for her pricklyness and her sometimes-exaggerated formality, but a jury
would probably see her as a standoffish snob. She’s not going to weep on
the witness stand and let everyone see her pain. And then there’s all
that weird alien crap...
"Agent
Scully?"
She turned
her head back and looked him in the eyes.
"He
held a
knife to my throat, forced me down in the parking lot,
and he
raped me. Nothing I've done, ever,
gives him the
right to
do that."
"No,
and given the chance, I will say that loud and often. I
just want
you to know what we're up against."
"But
there are others," Scully protested.
"Surely that would
work in
our favor. One woman can be
dismissed, but ten are
harder to
overlook."
"That's
assuming he stands trial for ten counts at once, and
that all
ten agree to testify. I can tell
you right now that
isn't
looking too likely."
"They
won't testify?"
"Well,
things could change. We haven't
even nailed the
bastard
yet, so any trial would be months off."
"How
many?"
"How
many?"
Her hands
clenched. "How many would
testify?"
"Right
now?" He sighed. "You and one other. But I'm
working on
a third woman, and I think she'll come around.
Others
could change their minds when we have the guy in
custody,
and with forensics, I may be able to proceed in some
cases
without the victim's testimony."
Scully
stared at her half-eaten lunch.
Suddenly it was clear
why her
participation was so necessary.
"Hey,"
Clark said softly, and she jerked her attention back
to
him. "Savioshy finds this
asshole, and I will nail him to
the
wall. You have my word. I just need to know that you're
with
me."
Her phone
chirped, and it took her a moment to recognize the
foreign
ring. She fished out her old
cellular, now bulky and
heavy in
her hand. Mulder's number glowed
at her from the
tiny
screen. Irritation flashed through
her; she'd told him
she would
call later.
"Hey,
Scully," he said when she answered.
"Are you still at
the
station?"
"No,
I'm having lunch. What do you
need?"
"Lunch?
It's like three o'clock, Scully."
"Mulder--"
"I
just wondered how you were doing."
"I'm
fine." Scully looked across
the table at Clark.
"Mulder,
now's not really a good time. Can
I call you back
later?" Just then, the girl behind the counter
dropped a
china
plate, startling everyone. Clark's
knees bumped their
small
table and Scully reached out a hand to steady it.
"You're
not at home?" Mulder asked at all the noise.
"No,
I'm with ADA Clark."
"Oh,
okay." Mulder sounded the way
he did whenever she got
called
into Kersh's office without him.
"I'll let you go. I
just
wanted to say..."
She
half-turned, distracted by the scrape of broken china on
the
ceramic floor. A trio of laughing
women walked past on
their way
out the door. "What?"
she demanded, when Mulder
didn't get
to the point.
"I
thought, if you want, since you're still in the area, if
you're not
too tired or anything, that maybe you would want
to get
pizza and a video tonight.
Something with no
redeeming
social value."
Scully
froze, suddenly choked, and the bakery noises faded to
a dull
buzz. She blinked furiously to
keep the tears away.
She wanted
to find Mulder and wrap herself around him. Every
so often,
he said the exact right thing.
"Scully?"
"Yeah,"
she said, ducking her head so her face hid behind a
curtain of
hair. "That sounds
good."
"Yeah?"
he repeated, brightening.
"Just come over when
you're
done there. I've got to run out
for a bit, so just
let
yourself in, okay? I'll be back in
an hour."
Scully
hung up with Mulder and tucked her hair back behind
her ear as
she faced Clark again. "I'm
sorry for the
interruption,"
she said. "The answer is
yes. Whatever I
need to
do, I'll do it."
He nodded,
and his gaze slid to her phone, which she had
placed
next to her plate. "I met
Agent Mulder last night,
and
Savioshy says good things about him.
How long have you
two been
together?"
"We've
been partners for over six years."
She tucked the
phone
away.
"And
the other?"
Scully
narrowed her eyes at him and reached for her water.
"Does
it matter?"
"Not to
me." He leaned across the
table. "But what I am
saying,
Dana, is the questions only get tougher from here on
out."
XxX
Mulder's
shadowed apartment was draped in thistledown quiet,
the
windows shut tight from the swishing cars outside. It
smelled
like dust and clean laundry.
Scully slipped her off
her shoes
by the door and crossed the room without turning on
the
light. On the coffee table, she
could just make out a
note in
Mulder's scrawl: Back soon -- M.
Sore and
tired, she took her gun out of its holster and sank
into the
sofa. The well-worn leather
cradled her bones and
she felt
some of the day's tension ebb away.
As an
afterthought,
she pulled the old Indian blanket around her,
closing
her eyes and inhaling deeply. His
fish tank burbled
a gentle
song near her head. Scully slept.
XxX
He crept
in the door before knowing she was asleep, walking
soft the
way one did in the wake of tragedy, and squinted in
the
direction of his couch. Scully lay
half-hidden by a
cliff of
blankets. The plastic bags rustled
as he stepped
closer, so
he hushed them up in the kitchen before returning
to where
she slept. Her mouth slightly
parted, one arm flung
free of
the blanket, Scully looked like she'd passed out
hard. He stroked her hip and she snuggled
deeper into his
sofa.
Mulder sat
down in the nearest chair, feet on the table, and
that's
when he noticed the gun. He turned
on a lamp. The
revolver
lay with its butt facing Scully, mere inches from
her hand,
close enough to dream it. He
stretched for it
slowly,
stomach muscles clenching as he reached over his
toes. The barrel glinted at his fingertips.
Scully sat
bolt upright, eyes wide with horror.
Mulder
froze. "Scully?"
"They're
coming again," she told him.
"Who's
coming?" In answer, she
clawed the whole blanket into
lap. He moved to the couch. "Scully? Who's coming?"
She looked
confused. He could see the pulse
thrumming at her
neck. "Mulder?"
"It's
me." He stroked the back of
her head. "What
happened?
You okay?"
"I
don't remember," she said.
"It was a dream."
She was
shaking so he drew her against him, smoothing his
hand over
the sharp planes of her back.
"It's all right now,
Scully."
Her voice
quivered into his neck. "It
must have been a
dream."
XxXxXxX
The dream is meant to link her
abduction to what’s just happened to her, and also to foreshadow the bit
of mytharc stuff that’s on the horizon.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Three
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
There’s
a TV cooking guru who has a rule: never buy a tool for the kitchen that has
only one use. I have a similar philosophy when it comes to writing. If I can, I
try to make it so each scene advances the story or characterization in more
than one way. In the following scene, we see that Mulder is not keeping his promise
to Scully to leave things alone. That adds tension, but it’s not really
what the scene is about. It’s main point is to show how easily Mulder can
identify with the rapist and how uncomfortable that makes him. It’s also
to highlight the fact that Scully has essentially claimed the experience for
herself and has not allowed Mulder to air feelings on the subject. In a sense,
she is forcing him to deal with the rape behind her back.
The scene also lays the groundwork
for later insights Mulder will have into the case.
Just after
sunset on the third day, right about the time it
happened,
Mulder went back to the parking lot.
He already
felt a
little guilty, slinking down the narrow alley to the
back, but
no one was there to witness his transgression.
Even the
back door to Ming©ˆs kitchen was shut up tight.
Mulder
stood at the mouth of the alley and surveyed the
lonely
yellow street lamp, the rusted dumpster, and the
cracked,
weed-infested pavement. The smell
of wet dirt
wafted
from the dense thicket of trees and bushes. He
imagined
her car back where it had been, glinting in the
shadows,
and prickles broke out across his skin.
The dark
trees waved from across the lot, beckoning him, and
Mulder
pushed into their leafy fold.
Branches snapped and
rebounded,
slapping his arms and face. Mulder
switched on
his
flashlight and the beam quivered across the roof of
leaves. He turned, breathing hard, and peered
out through a
break in
the vegetation. It was a perfect
view of Scully©ˆs
spot.
Mulder
shone the light at the soft ground; had he stood here?
She would
have been only five feet away, lit well, talking on
the phone
while she juggled the food. Mulder
could call up
the
picture easily. He had seen her
this way a million times
-- knew how
her voice would sound bouncing off the far brick
walls,
heard the low jangle of her keys, felt the hot surge
of lust
when she bent over in front of him.
Bile
roiled up from his stomach, and Mulder staggered back,
swallowing
convulsively. He had not been sick
at a crime
scene
since he was twenty-five years old; she would never
forgive
him if he did it here. Gulping in
air, he steadied
himself
against a tree. He cast the light
around as he
calmed. Crumpled Dunkin©ˆ Donuts cups
mixed with dead leaves
and other
random garbage. He found a rusted
bike wheel and a
wet
sock. Cigarette butts littered the
makeshift path
between
the weeds. Mulder followed the
trail out, his heart
still
pounding. This was the way he had
gone after it
happened.
Mulder
stumbled along over roots and saplings until he
reached
the back of the thicket, where a sagging chain-link
fence
separated it from yet another parking lot. A jagged
hole
provided a way through to the other side.
Mulder
emerged as
if from the jungle, wild and sweaty, his
flashlight
clutched like a weapon. He looked
left and right,
chasing a
phantom, and slowly made his way between the parked
cars. Loose bits of gravel crunched under his
sneakers. He
could hear
the street traffic on the other side of the
buildings,
but there was not a soul in sight.
Mulder
tapped the hood of the nearest car.
He would have
parked
here, he thought, and began looking around. The lot
was
similar to the one behind Ming©ˆs, with only one narrow
entrance/exit. Mulder followed it out to the bright
street
and
whizzing cars. He saw no sign to
indicate the
availability
of parking in the rear, suggesting that the
rapist
must either be familiar with the area or have scoped
it out
ahead of time. How easy it would
have been to just
disappear
into the crowd.
A group of
college-aged kids jostled past him, pushing each
other
around and laughing. One bumped
Mulder, and Mulder
reflexively
grabbed the kid©ˆs arm.
They stared at each
other,
while the friends©ˆ laughter died away.
Were you
here? Mulder wanted to ask. Did you see him?
The boy
grinned at Mulder and shrugged free.
"Sorry, man.
Didn©ˆt
see you standing there.
Sorry."
Mulder
stood, shell-shocked, as they drifted down the street.
Cars rushed
past and vibrated the sidewalk beneath him.
Nearby, a
shaggy black dog that had been tied to a lamppost
lifted his
huge head from the ground and looked up at Mulder
with wet
eyes. Mulder sighed, glanced
around one last time,
and walked
back down the alley to the crumbling lot.
Back in
the trees, it was quiet enough that he heard his own
breathing. He shrugged one shoulder to wipe the
trickle of
sweat that
slid down his neck. The jittery
beam from his
flashlight
gave an otherworldly, underwater feeling to the
dark
tunnel.
He stopped
again where the man had stood and peered through
the
leaves. His phone rang. Startled, Mulder thrashed in
the bushes
and dropped his flashlight.
"Shit!" He left
it
lying
there as he fumbled for his phone.
Scully's name
appeared
on the screen.
"It's
me," she said.
"Hey,
Scully," he answered, sounding too cheery by half. He
winced at
himself and dialed it back down.
"I was, um, just
thinking
about you." He began carefully working his way
through the
bramble to retrieve his flashlight.
"Where
are you, Mulder? I tried your
apartment and you
weren't
there."
Mulder
halted in an awkward half-bent position.
"Uh, no. I
went out
for..." A branch caught him
across the cheek. "I
went out
for a run. Just cooling down
now. Is everything
okay?"
"Fine. I just wanted to let you know that I
won't be at work
tomorrow
morning until after eleven. I have
a doctor's
appointment."
He stood
up. "You're working
tomorrow?"
"Is
there some reason I shouldn't?"
"I,
uh, I just wasn't sure if you were, that's all."
"I'll
be in before lunch." Her tone
had the ring of finality
to
it. "See you then,
okay?"
"Scully--"
"What?"
He
sighed. "Take as much time as
you need."
"Before
lunch," she repeated.
"I'll bring sandwiches."
She
paused. "Good night, Mulder."
"Night." He punched the "end" button
and fetched his
flashlight,
switching it off as he climbed out of the bushes.
Just as he
emerged from the trees, the back door to Ming's
opened and
Jun ran out with a bag of garbage.
He gasped when
he saw
Mulder move in the shadows.
"It's
okay," Mulder called across the lot.
"It's just me."
But Jun
said nothing. He threw the sack
into the dumpster
and
hurried back inside, shutting the door tight behind him.
Jun’s fear also has two
meanings: to reinforce the Mulder/rapist connection, and to show the rippling
aftermath of such a violent crime. Scully’s not the only one who’s
had her safety shattered.
XxXxX
The story
did not get easier with repeated telling, so Scully
kept the
details of her attack to a minimum when she went to
her
regular doctor for the follow-up exam.
"Healing nicely,"
was the
pronouncement, but Dr. Putney also urged her to talk
to a woman
named Evelyn Wheeler in mental health services who
specialized
in rape trauma. "I called
over there," Dr.
Putney
said, "and she's free right now if you'd like to meet
her. No commitment necessary."
Scully
took an internal inventory. The
tears had left her
withered. She felt coiled and tense, her body
ready for an
attack
that had already happened, and a heavy sadness had
lodged in
her ribs like oatmeal.
Can't hurt
to go one time, Scully reasoned, since she had
gotten all
of her other parts examined by experts.
Now she
could
check the box marked "not crazy" and get on with her
life.
"Okay,"
she said. "I'll meet
her."
Dr.
Wheeler's office was in the building across the street,
in a suite
she apparently shared with other mental health
professionals. Scully could hear but not see the
receptionist,
who was hidden behind closed mottled glass.
She looked
around at the other people in the room -- two
women and
one elderly man -- but no one would make eye
contact. Scully finally noticed a row of names
with buzzers
next to
them, and she hit the one marked "Evelyn Wheeler."
Scully
waited there in the too-cold lavender room with its
silk
plants and unpadded chairs, listening to the sound of
the others
flipping through their magazines.
Strains of
piped-in
classical music wafted from the ceiling.
Scully
checked
her watch three times in two minutes.
In between,
she
wondered about the other patients.
They didn't look
particularly
troubled.
They're
probably worried that I'm the crazy one, she thought.
She stood
up, prepared to leave, and they all looked at her.
Scully
grabbed her purse.
Just then,
the door to the inner offices opened and a woman
with
smooth white hair and a long purple skirt came out.
"Dana
Scully?"
The other
patients were still watching.
"Yes," Scully
admitted.
"I'm
Evelyn Wheeler. Won't you come
in?" She had smooth
skin for
someone with such white hair, and thin black
eyebrows. Scully gripped her purse with both
hands and
walked
across the room.
Dr.
Wheeler led her down the hall to an office lined with
mahogany
bookshelves. Green Venetian blinds
barely held back
the strong
summer sun, and a large Oriental rug covered the
floor. There were two loveseats, an armchair
and a beanbag.
Scully
noted that, like herself, Dr. Wheeler did not seem to
own a
proper desk.
"Sit
where you like," Dr. Wheeler said as she selected the
armchair. Scully picked the loveseat that
allowed her to
face the
door. Dr. Wheeler reached for a
mug and sipped from
it. "So," she said. "Welcome. Linda Putney mentioned that
she'd told
you a little about me, but I'm happy to answer any
questions
you might have."
Dr. Wheeler is less of a character
and more of a plot device, which I sort of regret. At the same time, I
didn’t want the story to be Scully Goes to Therapy. It’s not that I
don’t believe therapy is helpful, but it was never meant to be the focus
of the story. StL was intended as a tale about the M/S partnership (on both
levels) and what happened to it after the rape. Still, Dr. Wheeler puts out some
information I very much wanted to have in the story, namely that every person
reacts differently to trauma.
When the
woman paused and waited, Scully cleared her throat
and tried
to think of something. "I
don't know. I don't
know that
I even need to be here."
"What
made you decide to come?"
"Dr.
Putney recommended you. She said
you'd helped a lot of
women, and
I thought maybe I should just come and see..."
"See
what?"
Scully
hesitated. "Well, I thought
it was usual to speak to
a
counselor afterward."
"Many
women do, but not all."
Scully's
head snapped up. "And they're
all right?"
Dr.
Wheeler smiled gently.
"Contrary to what the Lifetime
network
would like you to believe, yes.
There is no
predetermined
recipe for healing. How are you
holding up,
generally?"
"Okay,
I think." Scully took a deep
breath. "I mean, I'll
live. I'm going back to work today."
"Dr.
Putney said you're an FBI agent?"
Scully
nodded even as the sting of the news broadcast came
back to
her. She looked at her lap. "The cops think I
should
have been able to stop him."
"What
do you think?"
Scully
thought a long time, trying to imagine anything she
could have
done differently. "He had a
knife to my throat.
I wasn't
armed. I think--I think if I had
resisted he truly
would have
killed me."
"But
still you feel guilty?"
"I
feel..." Scully searched for
the words. "I feel like I
let
everyone down. Even myself."
"I
see." Dr. Wheeler ducked her
head, trying to meet
Scully's
eyes. "Would it surprise you
to learn that's
normal?"
"No. I've worked rape cases. Everyone always thinks they
should
have been able to stop it from happening.
It doesn't
make the
reality any easier to accept."
"I
think it may go deeper than that."
Dr. Wheeler set her
mug
aside. "Let me ask you
something: did you know about
rape in
high school?"
"Of
course."
"Junior
high? Elementary school?"
"Yes. I had an older cousin who was raped
when I was eight.
I can
still remember my mother and my aunt talking about it
on the
phone."
"Do
you remember what your mother said?"
Scully
thought. "That Allison would
never be the same
again." The power of the words hit her as she
said them
aloud.
"And
how is Allison doing today?"
"She's
married with three kids. Happy, as
far as I know."
Dr.
Wheeler nodded and sat forward in her chair. "Rape is
such a
horrible thing, and such a horribly common thing, that
we start
warning our girls early: 'Watch
out at night!
Check the
back seat of your car! Don't go
anywhere alone!'
It's not
bad advice as it goes. Certainly
one should always
take
precautions. But I've found that
it also has the
peculiar
effect of creating a generation of women who feel
like part
of their mission in life is not to get raped. If
it does
happen, they feel like they've failed.
All that
training
was for nothing! And then, like
your mom said,
there is
the sense that life will never be the same."
"Won't
it?" Scully's voice was rough
with tears.
"Maybe
not. But maybe it will be. And it will certainly be
good
again."
They
talked for a while longer, and Scully decided that, at
the
moment, she did not need regular meetings, but she took
Dr.
Wheeler's card in case she wanted an appointment in the
future. As Dr. Wheeler walked her back down the
hall she
said,
"I also facilitate a group discussion on Wednesday
nights at
eight. You're welcome to join us
any time."
Scully had
a flash of the MUFON women and their haunted eyes.
"No,"
she said quickly. "Thank you
all the same."
XxX
Monday
morning the basement was so quiet that the dust
particles
sat suspended motionless in the air, visible to
Mulder
only because of the piercing sunbeam that split the
office in
two. He looked beyond the light to
Scully©ˆs
shadowed
corner, to her silent table and the fat textbooks
with
brains on the cover that lined the shelf above. The
wall clock
read after eleven; she was fifteen minutes late.
Mulder
shifted, chair squeaking, and forced his attention
back to
the folders on his desk. The clock
ticked as the
words
blurred in front of him.
When the
phone rang, he jumped on it.
"Mulder," he said, and
held his
breath for her voice on the other end.
Instead,
there was
a strange pause, followed by Skinner:
"Agent
Mulder, I©ˆd like to see you in my office."
"Sir?"
"At
your convenience."
Mulder
sent the chair rolling backward as he lurched to his
feet. Skinner never wanted to see him at his
convenience.
In the
elevator, he tried to imagine the possible reasons for
his
summons, but kept coming up blank.
The last time Skinner
had
sounded that strangled on the phone, Mulder had
accidentally
exploded a water main in downtown Philadelphia.
But that
conversation had not been at his convenience and had
definitely
involved a lot more expletives.
"Come,"
Skinner called when he knocked. Mulder entered and
found
Skinner not at his desk, but squinting out the window.
He glanced
once at Mulder and then returned his attention to
the
outside. Mulder caressed the brass
tacks at the edge of
his usual
chair but did not sit down.
Skinner sighed. "I've
been
debating for an hour whether to even have this
conversation
with you."
"Oh,
a debate. I'm afraid I left my
rebuttal notes at home."
Skinner
did not turn around from the window.
"Agent Scully
didn't
come in this morning."
"That's
right. I believe she had an
appointment. If you
want to
talk to her, I can--"
"You
read the newspaper, Agent Mulder?
Watch the news?"
Mulder
stopped fidgeting with the chair, suddenly afraid
where this
was leading. "Sure," he said at length, "I follow
the
news."
Skinner
nodded as if to himself.
"There's a serial rapist
loose in
the area. He hit again this
weekend."
"I,
uh, I'd heard that, yes."
"Sources
say it was an FBI agent who was attacked.
I was
down in
the bullpen earlier, and they were speculating who it
might have
been."
Mulder's
heart broke a little more. He
could keep her in the
basement
with him today, he thought, and maybe by tomorrow
everyone
would have forgotten. "I
wouldn't think that it's
anyone's
business who it was," he said stiffly.
"And
I agree." Skinner turned
around at last, his forehead
creased. "I didn't think too much of it
myself until I saw
this." He reached over and pulled the
newspaper from his
desk. "Ming's restaurant. It's where the woman... where she
was
attacked."
Mulder
felt Skinner watching him as he took the newspaper.
He had
memorized the story that morning, of course, but he
made a
show of looking it over again.
"So?" He tossed
the
paper back
on Skinner's desk.
"Isn't
that down in your neighborhood, Agent Mulder?"
"What,
you think I'm a suspect?"
Skinner
scowled. "For Chrissake,
Mulder."
Mulder
tapped his fingers lightly on the smooth wood of
Skinner's
desk and looked at the floor. "I
wasn't there," he
said
quietly. He risked looking up at
Skinner again, and the
AD
narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, searching Mulder for
the
truth. When he got it, Skinner
blew out a long breath
and
scratched the back of his head.
"Well,
then," he said gruffly, "if you weren't there, you
couldn't
know anything, could you?" He
tossed the newspaper
in the
garbage can by Mulder's leg.
"No,
sir."
Skinner
took his seat and began shuffling papers.
"That will
be all,
Agent." Mulder started toward the door, when Skinner
stopped
him. "Mulder?"
Mulder
turned.
"Is
she in yet?"
The clock
said Scully was now half an hour past due. Mulder
bit his
lip. "No, Sir. Not yet."
"When
she gets here, tell her--"
"Tell
her what?"
Skinner
dropped his chin. "Her report
on the Speigelmen
case: it was a good job. The Director was extremely
pleased."
Mulder's
hand tightened on the door handle.
"I'll tell her."
He left
then, past the secretary and down the hall, and in
the
elevator, he remembered, finally, to breathe.
This scene I also put in for a
bunch of reasons, though I am not sure how successful they all were. The scene
is from Mulder’s POV, and he’s getting a chance to feel some of
*his* privacy ripped away, if only by proxy. It’s also another chance to
show a couple of good, honest men who are still completely tongue-tied on the
subject. And, even though Scully is not there, you can almost imagine her
humiliation if she knew such a conversation were taking place. It also advances
the plot: Scully’s secret is not going to be safe for long.
XxXxX
When he
got back to the basement, Mulder found Scully seated
at her
table, chewing thoughtfully on a tuna sandwich as she
read some
journal article spread out in front of her.
"You're
back," he blurted, and she looked up.
"Hi,"
she said, in that easy open way she did when it was
just the
two of them in the basement. "I got you roast beef.
I hope
that's okay."
He didn't
make a move toward the sandwich on his desk. "I
thought
you were supposed to be here ages ago."
"It
took longer than I thought."
This bit
of information derailed him a moment.
"Everything..." The shiny dentist tools came back to
him and
he
stopped. He didn't have the
vocabulary for this
conversation. "Everything okay?"
"Fine." Scully resumed reading and
chewing. He looked at
her, with
her pressed suit and her perfect, smooth hair, and
felt
stupid for having worried. His
cheeks flushed hot.
"You
could have called," he told her as he went to his desk.
She
blinked at him, not answering.
"When you were late," he
clarified.
"I
wasn't that late."
He
shrugged and didn't look at her.
Self-righteous anger was
the first
familiar emotion he'd had in three days, and he
wasn't
about to let it go that easily.
"Mulder,"
she said, sounding annoyed, "I was a half-hour
late."
"Forty-five
minutes." Which, as he
recalled, was more than
late
enough. He tore open the paper
around his sandwich.
Scully let
him rustle for a minute before saying anything.
"You
were just upstairs?" she asked.
"With
Skinner." Go ahead, he
thought, ask me why.
"What
did he want?"
Her tight
little words punctured the balloon in his chest.
Mulder
leaned back in his seat, swiveling until he faced her.
"He
said..." Mulder stopped,
searched for words, and then
shook his
head. "It was nothing. Just paperwork."
She held
his gaze for a minute longer.
"Glad I missed it
then,"
she said at last. She went back to
reading, her head
bowed,
while Mulder chewed the lie in his mouth and swallowed
it down
with a side of roast beef.
XxX
One of the
curious things about the Hoover building was its
placement
of women's restrooms. It had
been constructed
during a
time when no one could fathom females running around
with guns,
and the amount of space allocated for women's
bathrooms
reflected this fact. They had been
added later, an
afterthought,
and thus tended to appear not with their male
counterparts
but around odd corners or down long halls. The
basement
did not have a women's restroom at all.
Once, out
of
desperation, she had ducked into the tiny room Mulder used
and found
a lone urinal and a stall with no paper in it.
Never
again.
The idea for this scene was again
to highlight the male/female disparity on intimate things such as bathrooms.
Also to poke at Scully some more about not catching the guy, as well as
foreshadow the eventual release of her name as victim number 10.
The main
floor's facilities were large and bright, with a
high
ceiling. Someone had ordered them
new porcelain sinks
just a few
months before. Women's voices
bounced hard and
echoed
hollow off the walls. Scully
couldn't help but hear.
"Do
you think it was really an *agent*, though? Probably it
was just
someone from accounting and they blew it up on the
news."
"Guess
we'll find out if they catch the guy.
They try to
keep the
names secret at a rape trial, but you know it will
come out
eventually ú especially in this joint."
Scully
leaned her forehead on the cold door.
Her neighbor
flushed
the toilet and shouted over the noise.
"The woman
who got
attacked week before last was shopping at the grocery
near
me. My sister won't go there
anymore."
"I
don't blame her. Ten women and
they don't even have a
suspect."
"I'm
not worried. I've got this baby
right here. Any guy
tries to
get the drop on me, and he'll be eating the end of
my
gun."
"God,
Lena. You're so butch."
"Laugh
if you want. Women know he's
coming now. One of
these days
he's going to pick the wrong one."
They left,
door sliding shut into blessed silence.
Scully
shuddered
and pressed clammy palms to her face.
Her stomach
quivered. You're okay, she told herself over and
over.
You're
okay.
Then she
turned around and threw up.
XxXxX
That first
night back, he asked her if he could walk her to
her car,
and she said no. He did not ask
again. Mulder
found
himself locking doors he hadn't before, eyeing every
moving
shadow. Once, when he had come
home late at night,
something
had rattled the bushes near his door, and Mrs.
Korloff's
tabby "Mittens" had ended up staring down the
business
end of Mulder's SIG. Mittens had
calmly licked her
paw while
he lowered his shaking arms.
XxXxX
This bit, Mulder’s fantasy,
was one of the reasons I wrote the novel. Non-consensual sex or angry sex is a
common fantasy, and everyone knows fantasies are harmless. But what must it
feel like to have those thoughts about someone who was just brutalized? I tried
to use this bit to illustrate Mulder’s confusion. It comes out of nowhere
on purpose, to try to make the reader as discombobulated as he is. Some readers
thought it went too far.
In his
fantasy, Scully always wore the navy skirt with the
side slit
and her blouse unbuttoned halfway down to her
waist. She was round and young, the way she'd
looked when
the
fantasy was first born, with pinky white skin and full
lips that
loved to tell him he was wrong.
That was how it
started,
too -- in the basement, arguing.
"God, Mulder,"
she'd say,
and it would sound so sexual despite the haughty
look on
her face. "God, Mulder,
that's ridiculous!"
Anger made
him hot. Hot to grab her, shake
her. "You know
I'm
right." The details were
never important. It could have
been a
hundred different cases or none of them at all. All
that mattered
was that he was right and she was wrong and for
once he
wanted to hear her say it. He
pushed closer,
crowding
her up against the wall. "Say
it, Scully. Admit
it."
"No." Her nostrils flared, breasts swelling
with each shaky
breath;
her arms came up between them in self-defense.
"I
want to hear it. 'You were right,
Mulder.'"
"Stop
it!" She struggled and his
chair crashed to the
ground. No one was around to hear. Sometimes, she tried to
slap him,
and he'd grab her wrist, feel her pulse pounding.
She was
angry too. He felt her anger like
a current, a force
warring
with his own, and he battled her back against the
wall. His erection poked at the front of his
pants as he
pinned her
arms above her head.
"I'll
make you," he breathed in her face.
"No."
The word
fired him, sizzling nerve endings, and he put his
hot mouth
on her neck. She hissed in his ear
as her body
went
rigid. Twisting, panting, she
tried to break free but
he held
her tight to the wall. His knee
wriggled between her
legs. He kissed her mouth and felt her sharp
little teeth.
Her tongue
tried to push his away, sliding wetly, and her
deep moan
vibrated his ears. He opened her
blouse and
fondled
her breasts while they kissed.
Scully pulled away,
gasping, her
neck arched and her eyes narrowed to dangerous
slits.
"Had
enough?" he said as his hand found her naked knee. Her
leg jerked
into his touch but she did not reply.
He kept her
pinned as
he raised her skirt, letting the fabric scrape
against
the tender skin on her thighs as he pulled it to her
waist. Mulder lowered his face down to hers,
smelled her
breath and
her powdered skin. "I
think," he said against her
swollen
mouth, "you want it."
"No,"
she whispered, but her eyes glittered.
She gripped his
thigh with
her leg. He felt the heat of her
through their
clothes. Rocking her against him, he took her
mouth again
and set up
a matching rhythm with his tongue until she was
shaking
with raw need. His leg came away
wet, her eyes
clenched
shut as his hands tugged her underwear off. He
stroked
the dark, humid place between her thighs.
She bit
her lip
and held her breath when he carefully pushed one
finger
inside. He thrust it slowly in and
out as Scully
turned her
head away, lashes swept down across her cheeks as
she fought
what he was doing to her.
Proper,
buttoned-up Scully, with her skirt up around her
waist and
her legs spread for him right in the office, but
still he
wanted to push her further.
He wanted to push her
all the way. With fumbling fingers, he yanked down
his
zipper and
took out his cock. It trailed
along her thigh,
and Scully
dragged open her eyes to look at him, challenge
still
glinting in her gaze. He let down
her arms and lifted
her from
under her ass instead. His penis
slipped between
her
thighs, teasing them both as Scully nails pricked him
through
his dress shirt.
They
stared at one other, breathing hard. Do it, he willed
her
silently. She glared at him.
Do it.
At last,
her hand slipped down between them and put him
inside. Mulder bared his teeth as his cock
pushed in slow
and
deep. "Now," he told
her. "You'll come."
She
snorted as if he was telling her about lights in the sky,
and he
answered with a forceful thrust that made her gasp.
Her eyes
slid closed as he began moving inside her. She
panted but
would not look at him. C'mon, he
thought. Come.
If nothing
else, he could convince her of this.
Mulder
fucked her
slow and steady until she leaned her head back on
the
wall. Her mouth parted and he
could feel the tension
coiling in
her. "Yeah," he told
her, speeding up, and she
shook her
head.
Sweat
trickled between his shoulder blades.
His muscles
bulged and
burned. All the while, she milked
his cock with
steady
clenches. He was going to make her
come.
"C'mon,
Scully," he yelled at her, thrusting roughly. She
answered
with a protesting wail and he redoubled his efforts.
Her legs
locked. Her hands clawed in his
hair.
"No
no no..."
"Yes!"
She cried
out again, going rigid in his arms.
The back of
her head
clonked against the wall and he felt the ripples on
his
cock. Victorious, he put his teeth
to her collarbone and
screwed
his eyes shut against the impending wave.
He jerked
inside her
again and again and again, spent.
It was
just a fantasy. He had others.
But even
now, after everything, it still made him hard.
XxX
By
Thursday, Scully had caught up on her backlog of email,
read and
photocopied six journal articles, and reviewed her
notes on
the Spiegelman case in the event that she had to
testify in
court. Mulder was writing an
article on Donnie
Pfaster
for Criminal Psychology, though he was careful to
keep the
photographs hidden on his desk.
"Hey,
Scully," he said, turning his chair to look at her. He
had his
glasses on and his shirtsleeves rolled up. "How do
you spell
'conscience' again?"
She smiled
fondly. The man with the most
overdeveloped
superego
in the world still couldn't spell its name.
Somehow,
she restrained herself from going over and ruffling
his
hair.
"C-O-N-S-C-I-E-N-C-E," she told him.
We all have those words we can
never remember how to spell. For me, it’s permanent, assistance, etc. But
Mulder’s word here also echoes the last scene.
"Thanks." He turned around again, and she sat
back and
contemplated
his hunched shoulders.
"Mulder,"
she asked eventually, "are we ever going to leave
the office
again?"
"Hmm? Oh, sure. It's just been a busy week for paperwork."
He
couldn't quite look her in the eye as he spoke. Scully
sighed,
got up from her chair, and went to lean against his
desk.
"It's
okay, you know." She tried to
catch his eyes. "I'm
ready to
work. I want to work."
"Of
course, Scully." He smiled at
her. "I never thought
otherwise. I just haven't found the right case is
all."
Oh,
god. It was the Mulder-Scully
version of the "It's not
you, it's
me" speech. She picked up a
stack of folders
marked
"X." "What about
this one?" she said, pulling off the
top
folder. He grabbed it from her.
"Witness
recanted," he said. "The
sea nymph turned out to be
a
frolicking golden retriever named Sven."
"I
see." Scully pulled out the
next file and flipped it
open. "A troop of boy scouts disappears
into a giant
sinkhole
in Acadia national park?"
"In
1943," Mulder said, taking the file away. "It hardly
seems
pressing."
"Okay,
then," Scully said as she tried the next folder in the
pile. "A pet psychic in Baltimore? Mulder--"
"She
interviews animals that witnessed crimes, Scully. I
talked to a
guy at the Baltimore PD who said they busted a
guy for
murder after this woman got a parakeet to give them
the
killer's description."
"Fine." She held her tongue and handed him back
the folder.
"It's
an X-file, it's local, and it's not sixty years old. I
say we
check it out."
Mulder sat
up straight. "Scully, I have
this manuscript to
write
and--" He was cut off by his
phone ringing. "Mulder,"
he
said. Scully watched him openly
for signs of a juicy
case. "Yeah, this is he. Uh-huh. Yeah. When did
this
happen?" He sat up and began jotting down some
notes. "You
say you
talked to the police already?
Uh-huh. Okay. Yes, I
have an
idea of where to start."
Scully
folded her arms and waited for him to hang up the
phone. "Well?" she asked as he
rocked back in his chair.
"That
was Chet Appleby from Beabout, Texas.
He says his
sister was
abducted by a UFO cult and the local cops won't do
anything
about it."
Scully's
internal organs did "The Wave" but she managed not
to show
it. "MUFON?"
"Maybe. Seems a little radical for them."
"We
should check it out."
He tilted
his head, studying her. She held
his gaze. At
last, he
snapped forward and put his feet on the floor.
"I'll
book the tickets," he said, excitement creeping into
his voice.
Scully
went back to her desk and picked up a journal, already
mentally
packing as she listened to him plan their future.
XxXxXxX
End
chapter three.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Four
XxXxXxXxXxX
Asleep
against the side of the plane, Scully had been
shifting
like sand since take-off, so it took him longer than
usual to
notice her distress. She yelped,
twitching under
the
blanket, and Mulder lowered the journal he'd been
reading. It did not occur to him right away to
wake her. He
stared at
the fine tremor of her hand, the wrinkle of her
brow. The painful, private vision held him
captive. She'd
been
pulled away again, back to that awful place, and this
was as
close as he was ever going to get.
The magazine pages
crinkled
in his grip.
Scully let
out a small, choked sob, and the sound jolted him
from his
stasis. He reached out and stroked
her cheek with
his
fingers, surprised to find her skin damp.
"Scully," he
murmured,
leaning towards her. "Wake
up."
She shot
bolt upright, gulping in air, one hand stretched
outward as
if to steady herself. The blanket
slipped to the
floor.
"Easy,"
he told her as she twisted in her seat, looking
wildly
around the plane. "You're
okay."
She let
out a long breath. "What time
is it?"
"Uh,
almost five. We'll be landing
soon."
She groped
for her blanket, ducking away from him, and he
leaned
back to watch her struggle in the narrow space between
the
seats. When she surfaced with
pinkened cheeks and hair
askew, he
detected a faint quiver as she placed the cover
primly
across her knees and settled back in her chair.
"Stop
looking at me like that." She
smoothed her hair behind
her ears
with both hands.
He didn't
turn his head away. "Like
what?"
"I'm
fine, Mulder." When he didn't
say anything, she looked
at him,
defiant. "I am. It's just a dream."
The strong
sun coming in the windows showed the tear stains
on her
cheeks. He reached out and traced
one trail. "I just
want to
know that you're okay."
"I
said I was."
"Okay,"
he said gently, agreeing with her.
This only seemed
to make
her more upset.
"I
don't know what you want me to say, Mulder. You've
already
decided that I'm not okay, and I don't know how to
prove
otherwise. I know you think it's
horrible. I know
that. But women--" She stopped and
started over. "It
happens
every day all over the world, and women just go on.
I think
it's all you can do."
He looked
at her for a long moment.
"You don't have to prove
anything
to me, Scully."
"Quit
waiting for me to fall apart."
"I'm
not."
She glared
at him, and then jerked a magazine free from the
pouch in
front of her and flipped it open.
Dismissed, Mulder
turned
away and sighed. He wondered if he
had any Tylenol in
his
carryon. Scully angrily turned
pages to his right.
Mulder
closed his eyes.
"It
happened," she said after some time.
"But it doesn't
have to
mean everything."
He still
didn't look at her. "No. But it doesn't mean
nothing,
either."
Scully did
not reply. She went back to
reading, turning her
pages
quietly now giving him his answer louder than words
ever
could.
A storm
brewing over Houston rocked their plane as it made
its
descent into the clouds. Harried
flight attendants took
their
seats early, and the passengers gripped their armrests
as the
plane bumped and pitched. At last,
the pilot brought
them down
safely, to scattered applause, and Mulder watched
Scully
release her breath. They fetched
their bags with
everyone
else, picked up their rental car, and drove off
under the
dark, rolling sky.
Beabout,
Texas, was a three-hour drive from the city, but
Mulder and
Scully stopped for dinner after two.
Their
choices
right off the exit consisted of fast food, the dining
room of
the Palmer Inn, and a Bar & Grill with three
motorcycles
parked out front.
"Inn?"
Mulder asked, and jerked his thumb at the drive-thru
burger
joint. "Or out?"
Scully
squinted out the windshield at the Bar & Grill. "I
could
really use a beer," she said, and so she and Mulder
joined the
motorcycle brigade.
Inside,
the place was dark but not as smoky as he had
expected. The low-ceilinged room was divided
between a
dining
room filled with black-lacquered furniture and a bar
with a
dozen or so stools, most of which were occupied.
Baseball
played on the TV, and Mulder answered its siren call
while
Scully saw about a table.
"Mulder,
come on," she called.
"Yeah,
just a sec." He watched as
The Big Unit struck out
the batter
swinging. Ambling back across, he
paused at the
refrigerator-sized
jukebox. There was some room for
dancing,
but no one
was on the floor. Mulder rattled
the change in
his pocket
but did not make a selection.
Scully already had
her menu
and water glass in front of her.
He took his seat
and
scanned the beer list.
Their
waiter let them sit there for a good five minutes
before he
showed up, scratchpad in hand.
"You know what you
want?"
Mulder did
a double take. Bald head. Wire-rimmed glasses.
The man
was in his mid-forties and could have been Skinner's
long-lost brother.
"Mulder?"
Scully prompted him.
He ordered
a burger and a pint of Guinness.
"Scully...
Scully..." He leaned across the table as the
Skinner wannabe
walked
away. Scully was busy rummaging
though her purse and
did not
look up. "Scully!"
"What?"
"Does
our waiter remind you of anyone?"
She
stopped rummaging and looked in the direction the waiter
had
gone. "No. Why?"
"C'mon. When he asked what I was having, I
wanted to say 'a
stack of
302s, medium rare.'"
She pulled
out a tissue and used it to wipe her fork. "What
are you
talking about, Mulder?"
He leaned
back in his seat, exasperated.
"Just look closer
when he
comes back. You'll see."
The man
returned with the beer. "Here
you go," he said, low
and
gruff. Mulder looked meaningfully
at Scully, who looked
confused. Then her eyes widened.
"Mulder!"
she said as the waiter walked away.
"See? Skinner in an apron!"
She
laughed and sneaked another look across the room. "God,
Mulder. I feel... I feel..."
"Yes?"
he asked, deepening his voice.
"Like
I've been caught out past curfew by my father."
Mulder did
his best Skinner impression.
"Agent Scully, could
I please
see you in my kitchen? I have some
questions about
the
Speigelman barbecue report."
"Stop,"
she said, but she was still smiling.
"Behave." He
grinned
and nudged her under the table.
"The
victim was a small ground fowl weighing about six
pounds. Head and feet were removed, possibly to
avoid
identification--"
"Mulder!"
When the
man returned with their food, Scully wouldn't look
at him or
Mulder. She kept her eyes focused
in front of her
as the
waiter put her burger down.
"Medium?" he asked, and
Scully
answered with a tiny nod.
Her mouth twitched but she
did not
break.
"Yes,
thank you," she managed.
Mulder could practically hear
her
swallow "Sir." He
grinned and she kicked him under the
table. The waiter did not crack a smile.
"Well
done," he said as he set Mulder's food down. He pulled
a ketchup
bottle out of his apron pocket, put it on the table
between
them, and went on his way. Scully
began silent,
mirthful
convulsions as soon as the waiter's back was turned.
Mulder
leaned across the table and egged her on in a barely-
controlled
whisper.
"Well
done," he said. "Words I
never thought I would hear
from that
mouth."
Scully
leaned forward. "Mulder,
you're terrible."
"Ah,"
he said, "now *that* would be more typical."
She shook
her head as she tapped the end of the ketchup
bottle. "Skinner must like you more than
you think if he
authorized
this trip."
Mulder
sobered, remembering his conversation with Skinner
about
their latest 302. Skinner had
spent much longer
looking at
the file than the scant information required while
Mulder
stood in front of him awaiting judgment.
"Texas,"
he'd said
at last. "That's pretty far
away."
"Maybe
that's a good thing," Mulder had answered, and Skinner
had signed
off without another word.
"We've
pursued cases on less," he told Scully now.
"Yes,
and that is why -- to borrow your analogy -- in
Skinner's
eyes, we will always be 'medium rare.'"
"I
prefer just 'rare,'" he said, and that earned him another
smile.
As they
ate, the volume went up on the jukebox.
The Stones
wailed
about the Devil, and a few people gathered around to
study other
selections. Dire Straits did the
"Walk of Life';
Fleetwood
Mac would never break the chain.
The lights dimmed
and some
more people got up to dance, including one youngster
in a
cowboy hat who just made circles around the floor.
Couples
paired off, heat rising in the room from the sudden
increase
in bodies. Mulder felt the tingle
of beer in his
veins. He
eyed Scully across the table, but she was watching
the
shadowed twist of dancers.
"It's
a marvelous night for a moon dance," Van Morrison sang,
vibrating
the air with invitation. Mulder
looked at Scully
again.
"Scully?"
"Hmm?" She turned her attention to him. He wiped his palms
on his
pants.
"You,
um, want to?" he asked as he jerked his head towards
the
makeshift dance floor.
"Oh!" She blinked and then looked back at the
dancers.
"Mulder,
we can't."
He wiggled
in his seat. "Speak for
yourself, G-woman."
Scully
gave him a wistful look and shook her head. "Mulder,
no. Who knows if we might end up having to
question one of
those
people tomorrow?"
His pulse
slackened, losing the beat, and he leaned back in
his
chair. "Yeah," he said
eventually, "Yeah, I guess you're
right."
"It's
a marvelous night to make romance," Van Morrison
crooned.
Scully set
her napkin on her plate, the sign that she was
ready to
go. "It's your turn to
pay," she said. "Make
sure
to get the
receipt this time."
Mulder dug
out his credit card. Just
remember, he thought,
that I
asked.
XxX
The road
to rural Beabout was a straight shot through the
middle of
absolutely nothing. Electricity
gathered in the
air,
quivering the trees as they flashed by in the glare of
the
Taurus's headlights. If either had believed in the power
of omens,
they might have turned back:
thunder cracked open
the sky,
releasing a torrential downpour, just as Mulder
drove over
a nail in the road and shot out their rear right
tire. He cursed as the car wobbled to the
side of the road.
Scully
already had the dome light on and was digging in the
glove
compartment.
"There
might be a number in here to call for assistance."
"Yeah,
I'm sure they're going to hurry out to help us in this
mess." Rain beat down against the roof. "We'll be out here
all
night. I'll just change the damn
thing and be done with
it."
"Mulder,
it's pitch black and pouring."
"So
come hold the umbrella and the flashlight."
This was
how they ended up stopped along a muddy shoulder,
crouched
by their grimy car as rain blew sideways under
Scully's
umbrella. Mulder changed the tire
in less than
fifteen
minutes, but it was long enough for their clothes to
stick like
second skin. Despite his
experiences wrestling in
bile and
being digested by a giant fungus, walking around in
wet
underwear still ranked in Mulder's top five most
uncomfortable
sensations. Bow-legged, he trooped
back to the
car and
ignored the water that oozed from his shoe as he
stepped on
the accelerator again. Scully
blotted
ineffectually
at her neck with a Dairy Queen napkin.
At the
motel, they both stumbled into the room on the first
floor. Ownership could be decided later. First, there were
towels. Scully tossed him two large ones and
disappeared
with her
bag into the bathroom. Mulder
stripped off his wet
clothes,
rubbed the terry cloth over his clammy skin, and put
on some
dry sweats. Behind the closed
door, Scully's hair
dryer
whirred to life. Mulder sat on the
hard mattress and
began
toweling off his naked feet.
Scully
emerged a few minutes later dressed in white pajamas,
the damp
ends of her red hair tickling her shoulders. Behind
her, he
could see pantyhose dangling from the shower bar and
figured
this meant Scully had staked out her territory. She
fixed him
with her serious Dr. Scully look.
"Mulder, you're
still
wet."
It was
true. Water trickled down behind
his ear. "I'm dry
where it
counts," he replied, and picked up the towel to rub
his head.
"Here,"
she said, and fetched her blow dryer from the
bathroom. She plugged it in the wall and
stretched the
curly-Q
cord across the room. Standing
between his legs, she
switched
the dryer on and went to work on his hair.
The shock
of hot air tightened his scalp and warmed the tips
of his
ears. Scully's lips parted as she
concentrated. When
she
assessed her progress by running small, strong fingers
through
his hair, it was all he could do not to squirm with
pleasure. She leaned forward, and he could see
down her
pajama top
to the feathered shadow between her breasts. She
smelled
like satin and powder and rain.
At last,
she switched off the dryer.
"Better," she
pronounced
as the roar still rang in his ears.
She rested
her hand
on his head and smiled a little.
"Better,"
he agreed. "Thank
you." She didn't move away,
so
he
tentatively stroked her hip through her pajamas. Her
fingers
toyed in his hair as they stared at one another.
Scully's
eyes darkened, the color of his fantasy, but his
arousal
mixed with fear. It can't be, he
thought. Not this
soon.
"Scully-"
"Shhh." Her hand slid down so that her fingers
stilled his
lips. She caressed his cheek with her thumb,
and his protest
died
away. Scully leaned down so their
mouths brushed, their
first real
kiss since it happened, and Mulder had to grab her
waist to
keep from trembling. He was a
Japanese lantern, lit
up and
warm inside but fragile at the skin.
She kissed him
lingeringly,
her full mouth persuading his into a gentle
dance. The wet ends of her hair tickled his
face and he was
lost.
Mulder
held her with both hands, stroking her back as she
pressed
even closer. Her tongue was in his
mouth and her
hand did a
slow rub across his shoulder.
Just a
little more, he thought through the haze.
I can still
stop.
He touched
his tongue to hers and was rewarded with a muffled
snort
against his cheek. She tasted the
same, like warm
mint. He felt a corresponding flare of heat
in his pants.
Scully
wiggled closer, bumping the bed as she tried to feel
him, but
Mulder kept her away from his erection.
He didn't
want her
to feel obligated in any way.
Scully
broke the kiss, breathless.
"Mulder," she said
against
his hairline. "I have to tell
you something."
His hands
roamed her back. "It's okay,
Scully." He could
stop with
kissing. He could.
"We...
we have to use a condom."
Mulder
tensed. "What?"
She had
stiffened too, but she gripped him tight.
"Just to
be
safe. The first tests came back
clean, but I have to
repeat the
one for HIV at least one more time to be sure. I
know it's
not ideal, but until I know that everything's okay,
I don't want
to put you at any risk."
His mind
was still absorbing this new information, but his
first
instinct was to soothe her.
"Shh, Scully," he said,
hugging
her. "It's all right. It's not a big deal. We can
pick some
up later."
She kissed
his head. "I have. I mean I did."
"Already?"
She pulled
back and searched his face.
"Is that okay?"
Truthfully,
he was a little unnerved. In
between the bouts
of tears
and the nightmares, she had been shopping for
condoms? "Um, of course. Of course it's okay." He kissed
her
collarbone and felt her heart pounding.
"Good." She relaxed some in his arms. Her hands stroked his
ribs and
her lips found his again. Mulder
held her close and
kissed her
with all the reassurance he could muster.
I love
you, Scully. I'm so sorry this happened to you,
Scully.
But Scully
didn't want comfort. She wanted
him on his back
on the
bed. Mulder ignored his anxiety
and went along,
allowing
her to push him down and crawl up next to him. She
sighed
into his mouth, pointed little tongue making it hard
for him to
think. One silky leg slipped
between his.
"Scully,"
he said when he could talk, "are you sure?" He
stroked
the hair off her face. "It's
not too soon?"
She
frowned. "I'm fine,
Mulder."
His skin
rippled from head to toe as she rubbed her thigh on
his
leg. Okay, he thought, if she is
fine then it must be
all
right. He kissed her forehead, her
eye, her nose, but
Scully
took his head between her hands and guided him back to
her
mouth. While they kissed, she
stroked his ears until he
was
humming into her mouth.
His heart
thudded erratically, excited the way it sometimes
was just
before he threw up, but his erection strained
against
his cotton sweatpants. He felt
dizzy, out of
control. Scully was grinding her lower body
against him.
"Mulder,
please," she whispered.
He bore
down on her, tried to give her what she wanted.
Scully
tugged his shirt over his head, and he cooperated.
The sudden
cool air made goose bumps break out across his
back. Touch her, his brain commanded, and
somehow he worked
his hand
beneath her top to her breasts.
Soft, familiar and
new at the
same time, Mulder's tension eased a bit as he
caressed
one swollen peak. She was hot,
hard; she wanted
this. He could give it to her.
He focused
on the tender nipple between his fingers.
Scully
panted,
squirming beneath him. She reached
into his pants
and he
jerked his hips back as if burned.
"Mulder?"
He kissed
her again, slow and deep. Her legs
wrapped around
him. When she pulled her mouth from his and
looked up at
him, her
face was flushed, lips parted and red.
Her eyes had
gone from
blue to black. He had her pinned
with his full
weight.
*I can
make you.*
"Mulder,"
she said again, pleading this time.
He couldn't
breathe. He saw her trapped with her legs
spread, eyes dark
with
fear. Gasping, he rolled off her
and scrambled from the
bed. Scully sat up.
"Mulder,
what's wrong?"
"I
can't," he said shaking his head.
Her expression went
from
puzzled to bruised.
"Oh." She hugged herself.
"No,
it's not like that. It's
not."
"You
don't have to explain, Mulder."
She got up from the bed
and headed
for the bathroom. Horror and panic
chased each
other
around in his head.
"It's
not you, Scully. Wait,
listen."
"Mulder,
I said it was fine," she said over her shoulder. He
watched
her gather up her wet clothes.
"I
just think about what happened to you, and even though I
know this
is different, I just--"
He broke
off as she pushed by him with her clothes still
dripping
on the carpet.
"Where
are you going?"
"To
my room." Her voice was tight
and controlled.
"This
is your room." He walked to
her, touched her arms from
behind,
but she shrugged him off and continued packing
viciously.
"No,
this is your room," she told him.
"Please
don't go. Not like this. I--I... We can try again."
She shot
him a look that chilled his spine.
Her suitcase
refastened,
she grabbed the other room key and walked to the
door. Mulder felt like a toad. He'd hurt her, and now she
was going
out in the dark, rainy night wearing just her
pajamas.
"Scully,"
he said, his voice thick as he blocked her exit.
"Please
let me explain."
She looked
at the floor. "You have. You're not ready. It's
fine,
Mulder. Really. Just let me go."
He
slumped. "At least let me be
the one to go. You can stay
here."
"I
don't want to stay another minute in this room," she
whispered. Mulder stepped aside. What could he say to that?
Rain swept
in when she opened the door. He
stood at the
threshold,
getting wet all over again as he watched her march
down the
path to the stairs. He stood there
even after he
heard the
upstairs door slam. When at last
he shut himself
again
inside the dull, quiet room, there was no one there to
dry his
tears.
As horrible as this must have been for Scully, my sympathies
are with Mulder in this scene.
She's totally not reading him but he gamely presses on, doing his best
to suppress his own feelings in deference to hers. Then he gets slapped for it, and feels terrible to
boot. Poor Mulder!
XxXxXxXxX
XxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Five
XxXxXxXxXxX
She was
too mortified even to cry. Scully
spent the night
curled in
a ball under the starched motel sheet, blinking in
the
darkness. She hugged the pillow
and tried to squeeze
away the
sound of Mulder's rejection. Of
course he would be
disgusted. Another man had forced her down on the
ground and
shoved his
way inside her. She was disgusted
when she
thought
about it.
So she
didn't. Think about it.
But Mulder
would never be able to follow suit; he thought
about
everything, all the time, perseverated on injustices
great and
small. And now, when he looked at
her, he only
thought
about one thing. As long as he
remembered, so would
she.
Scully hid
in her bed while the dawn crept up to her window,
brightening
the cracks. By six she could no
longer deny the
sun. She dragged her stiff body from beneath
the sheets and
dressed
tiredly with just the light from the bathroom. A
quick look
at her cell phone told her she'd received three
new
messages during the night. She
left the room without
listening
to a single one.
Outside,
muggy morning air promised a scorcher of a day.
Already
the rain puddles were evaporating back into the sky.
It was
still quiet, road traffic infrequent and birds
flitting
in the trees. Scully squinted as she walked down the
stairs to
the lower level. At the bottom,
the sight of
Mulder's
door stopped her in her tracks.
She would have to
pass in
front of it to get to the lobby, where coffee
awaited. Her anxious heart buried itself between
her ribs,
but her
head throbbed for caffeine.
Caffeine won out.
Scully
held her breath, kept her head down, and marched past
room 134
without a backward glance.
Their
motel fee included a continental breakfast, which was
self-served
in the alcove next to the check-in desk, right
between
the pay phone and a rack of tourist pamphlets.
Scully
skipped the lackluster pastries and poured herself a
Styrofoam
cup's worth of black coffee. She
got approximately
five
minutes of silence before a round, bland-faced couple
and their
three young children entered to raid the donuts.
Scully
shifted to stand near the front desk, where the young
woman with
a ponytail gave her a wide, friendly smile.
"Hello,"
she said. "Is the coffee all
right for you this
morning?"
Scully
raised her eyebrows as she sipped.
"Yes, it's fine.
Thank
you."
"Y'all
down for the Garden Grove square dance competition?"
Scully
managed to swallow the coffee without choking. "Uh,
no."
"Oh." The smile didn't fade. "Folks come from all over this
time of
year, and I just assumed when the two of you checked
in last
night together that's what you were here for.
Leastways,
that's true for most of our couples."
"No,
we're here to see--" Scully
searched her memory for the
man
supposedly in charge of the UFO cult. "Jared Rentham. Do
you know
him?"
The smile
faltered and then reappeared.
"Jared? Sure,
everyone
around here knows him. He runs
that group out at
the old
army compound. I see him every now
and then at the
farmer's
market buying corn. My mom said
that he moved here
from New
Orleans, that he used to be a fortune teller there."
She
lowered her voice and leaned toward Scully. "His wife
was
murdered. That's why he came out
here."
"Do
you know how she died?"
The girl
looked to make sure the vacationing family wasn't
listening. "I heard she burned to
death."
"What
about Tina Appleby? Do you know
her?"
"Never
met her. Saw her in the papers, though, when she
joined up
with Jared's group. Her family
wasn't too happy
about it,
on account of Tina had two little kids."
"Why
did Tina join?"
The girl
again cast a look over at the family before
answering. "Jared, he believes in UFOs. He says that the
aliens
come and take people for experiments, and that the
government
knows about it but doesn't protect people.
Supposedly..." She stopped and fiddled with the cord
coming
out of the
computer keyboard.
"Supposedly
what?"
The girl
sighed. "I don't know if I
believe it, but some
folks say
he can tell by looking at you whether you've been
tested by
the aliens."
"Excuse
me?"
She
pointed at the sky. "You
know, probed...or whatever."
The hairs
stood up on the back of Scully's neck, right about
where
she'd been probed, and the coffee sloshed in her cup.
"And
Tina, uh, she'd been tested?"
"That's
what the paper said." The
girl shrugged. "But it
also said
she's failed out of AA three times, so who can know
for sure if
it's true? Jared looks harmless
enough to me,
but I
don't go out of my way to talk to him, if you know what
I
mean. My boyfriend Jimmy's a cop,
and he told me Jared
checked
out okay, but then he said to stay away from him just
the
same. So I do. Maybe Jared's not dangerous or
anything,
but he
sure is crazy."
"What
makes you say that?"
The girl
rolled her eyes. "He believes
in aliens, doesn't
he?"
As if on
cue, the front bell tinkled and Mulder came through
the
door. He stopped, feet still on
the mat, and all heads
except
Scully's turned to stare. She
looked at her cup.
"Good
morning," the girl behind the counter said. "Help
yourself
to coffee and pastries right over there."
"Yeah,
thanks," Mulder said. Scully
could feel him looking
at her,
felt herself shrinking inside. She
watched his
shadow
move towards her across the floor until it disappeared
into her
own. Mulder breathed down on
her. "Morning," he
murmured,
and she nodded to her coffee. She
wasn't sure how
this was
going to work if she could never look him in the
eyes
again. "I called you last
night," he told her, his
voice
still low.
"Did
you?"
"I
left you messages."
"I
haven't checked." She took a
deep breath and met his
gaze. There were dark smudges under his eyes,
and she could
see a nick
on his jaw where he had cut himself shaving.
Mulder
studied her a minute before nodding sadly.
"Okay. Scully, I just wanted to
say--" The vacationing
family
trooped out behind him, forcing Mulder to crowd closer
to
Scully. He bumped her and she
jerked back against the
counter. "Sorry," he said, reaching
out a hand to steady
her.
"Mulder,
please." She squeezed from
between him and the
counter. "I can't do this now."
"Of
course not," he said quickly, and she felt her cheeks
warm. The girl behind the counter listened in
with the
deliberate
casualness of a seasoned gossip.
Scully
cleared her throat. "Mulder,
this is..." She stopped
when she
realized she didn't know the girl's name.
"Sharon
Loeing," the girl filled in for her.
"Ms.
Loeing was telling me what she knew about Jared
Rentham,"
Scully explained.
It took
Mulder a minute to focus enough to respond.
"Rentham,"
he said, turning to the girl at last.
"Right.
You know
him?"
"Oh,
not really. Just passing on what
all I've heard."
"It
seems that Mr. Rentham is running a retreat of sorts for
alien
abductees," Scully said.
"This was the reason for Tina
Appleby's
involvement."
"She
was abducted? Her brother didn't
mention that part."
"Maybe
because it didn't really happen," Scully countered.
"From
what I've heard, it's Jared Rentham who determines
whether
someone had been abducted or not.
Tina Appleby was a
single
mother with two kids and a history of alcohol abuse.
It
wouldn't surprise me to find that Jared Rentham takes
advantage
of people who are down on their luck and sways them
into
joining his... organization."
"Wait,
you're saying he picks the women and not the other way
around?"
"Supposedly,"
Scully said, "he can tell by looking at you if
you were
abducted."
"Oh." Mulder stared hard at Scully. She refused to blink.
So far,
she hadn't heard any evidence that Jared Rentham was
anything
other than a charlatan who preyed on vulnerable
people.
"I
suppose the only way to know is to find Tina and ask her,"
Mulder
said.
Sharon
Loeing's eyes widened. "Y'all
are going out to the
compound?"
"You
know of a reason why we shouldn't?" Scully asked.
"Well,
it's just they don't welcome many visitors. There's
barbed wire
around the whole property."
Mulder
looked speculatively at Scully.
"Somehow, I think
he'll let
us in."
I wasn't sure what to do as far as a case in this
story. I toyed with the idea of
setting it firmly within a season and pretending this happened behind the
scenes on various episodes, but decided that wouldn't work. I didn't want a huge investigation, but
I wanted to give them something to do.
Fourteen chapters of weeping and arguing just isn't very interesting.
*g* So I opted for mytharc, which I thought would complement the Scully
violation storyline. As it turned
out, I got to use it more for Mulder.
Who knew???
XxXxXxX
They
stopped at Chet Appleby's first.
In the car
on the way, Scully looked out the window the whole
time so
Mulder would not be tempted to start up a
conversation. The landscape mirrored her feelings --
flat
and empty
-- and Mulder wisely kept his mouth shut.
She
heard him
working over a seed between his teeth, a sure sign
that his
brain was marking double time. Scully
clutched the
file
folders on her lap and studied the passing bramble.
"Worried
he'll recognize you?" Mulder asked at length.
"Appleby?"
"No,
Rentham."
She turned
in her seat. "Mulder, don't
tell me you believe
that
story."
"I
don't know. I'm wondering if you
believe it."
"I
can't believe you even have to ask."
"Right. It would be a neat trick, though, don't
you think?
If it's
true." He paused. "Of course, you might not be the
best
person to test his apparent ability."
"What
does that mean?"
He
shrugged. "I've known you for
seven years, Scully, and I
still
can't tell one thing just by looking at you."
"I
see. So if you don't find what
you're hoping for in Jared
Rentham,
it's my fault."
"I
didn't say that."
"What,
then?"
He glanced
at her. "Scully, you're not
always the easiest
person to
read," he answered mildly.
"This can't come as a
surprise."
It
did. Hurt burst inside her like a
balloon. She blinked
back hot
tears and returned to staring out the window. I
don't get
you, he might have said, the one person she'd
thought
had understood.
"I
don't know what to tell you," she managed at last.
"I
know," said Mulder sadly.
"I think that's the problem."
He turned
the car off the main road into Chet Appleby's
neighborhood,
where the grass went from dry and unkempt to
green and
manicured. Evenly spaced
white houses lined the
wide
street, while the sun beat down on the treeless ground.
Appleby's
house turned out to be the one with the bluebird
mailbox
and a tricycle parked in the drive.
Mulder and
Scully did not speak to each other upon approach.
Scully
lifted the brass knocker as Mulder peeked in the
column of
windows that framed the front door.
Appleby
answered
promptly and ushered them into a spotless living
room that
still bore vacuum tracks on the beige carpet. He
was a
nebbish of a man, with too-short hair and a white,
short-sleeved
button down shirt. He moved a
floppy stuffed
dog off
the armchair before he sat down.
"I
never wanted kids," he said. "Myra
didn't either. But it
was either
take in Tina's daughters or have them put into
foster
care, and we couldn't abide that.
We kept thinking
that Tina
would come to her senses and want them back. As
you might
have guessed from our phone call earlier, it hasn't
turned out
that way."
Please welcome Chet "Mr. Exposition" Appleby to
today's game!
Not the prettiest way to get information out, alas. But sometimes you have to grin and bear
it.
"How
long has Tina been gone?" Mulder asked from his seat on
the floral
sofa.
"Eight
months now. Tina met Rentham at
the grocery and she
moved out
to the compound that night. She
dropped her kids
off here
and that was that. I've talked to
the Sheriff's
office
almost every week since Tina took up with that
horrible
man, but they keep telling me there is nothing they
can
do. She's not being held against
her will. Brainwashed,
maybe, but
they don't use force to get her to stay."
"Have
you talked to Tina at all since she joined the group?"
Scully
asked.
"She
sends letters, sometimes with a few dollars to help out
with the
children. I can barely bring
myself to read them
because
they are all full of UFO crap."
"I'd
like to see them, if you have them," Mulder said.
"Of
course." He rose and went to the
desk in the corner,
where he
retrieved a small bundle of envelopes.
Mulder
started
reading while Scully asked more questions.
"Did
Tina tell you why she decided to join Jared Rentham's
group?"
He pursed
thin lips and brushed invisible lint from his
pants. "Tina's had a problem with alcohol
off and on for ten
years now,
but about six years ago was the lowest point.
This was
before she had the kids and before Dan died. I give
that man
credit for turning her around when none of us could.
If he was
alive today, Tina would never have fallen into
Rentham's
hands. Anyway, around that time,
it wasn't unusual
for us to
go weeks without hearing from Tina.
When she did
show up,
usually it was asking for money."
"Says
here that Tina remembers being abducted from a local
farm,"
Mulder said, looking at the letters.
Appleby
nodded wearily. "That's what
Rentham told her. More
likely she
just blacked out for a day."
Scully
looked at Mulder, but his attention had returned to
Tina's
letters. "Mr. Appleby,"
she said, "I'm not sure what
you hope
to get out of our involvement. The
Sheriff is
absolutely
correct that we can't forcibly remove Tina from
Rentham's
compound. If he hasn't broken any
laws, if she is
there
peaceably, then our hands are tied."
"Talk
to him," pleaded Appleby.
"See for yourself what kind
of monster
he is. If Tina were thinking
clearly, she would
want to be
home, with her daughters. She was
just getting
her life
back and that man came and took it from her again."
"But--"
"If
you can prove he's a fraud, she might listen to you.
Please."
Mulder
stood up. "We'll talk to
him. Agent Scully's right,
though: we can't make you any promises about
your sister."
Appleby
bit his lip. "If she just
knew how much the girls
needed
her..."
"We'll
see what we can do," Mulder assured him. Scully had a
hard time
looking the desperate man in the eye, knowing that
they were
probably not going to be able to give him what he
wanted.
"You're
going now?" Appleby asked.
"Let me go with you."
"I
don't think that's such a good idea," Mulder said.
"Please. The compound is difficult to find, but
I know how
to get
there. I'll wait in the car if you
like."
Mulder
sighed and relented. "You do
exactly what we say."
"Oh,
thank you. Let me just get my
things and telephone Myra
to tell
her where I'll be."
He left
the room and Scully nodded at the letters still in
Mulder's
hand. "Well?" she asked.
"She
says Rentham has seen the aliens, that they killed his
wife. He says they're coming back."
"Terrific. Does he give a date and location?"
"No,
but Tina does. The date she was
abducted: August 9,
1994."
Two days
after Duane Barry and Skyland mountain.
Scully felt
like she
was back playing tug-of-war with Bill and his big
friends,
heels sliding into the mud pit even as she held on
for dear
life. She swallowed with
effort. "And you think
this means
we were riding around in a spaceship together?"
she asked
Mulder, more sharply than she intended.
He looked
down at her with compassionate eyes.
"I don't know
what it
means, Scully, but here may be one chance to find
out."
Nononono. She screwed her eyes shut and gripped
the back of
Appleby's
armchair.
"Scully? Are you okay?"
"I'm
ready," Appleby announced as he returned to the room.
Scully
sucked in a breath and released the chair. "Then
let's
go."
XxX
Appleby
sat in the back, twisting his wedding band around his
finger and
giving directions to Mulder. As
promised, finding
the
compound involved a number of tricky turns down unmarked
roads.
Thirty minutes later, Mulder rolled the car to a stop
in front
of a high fence topped with barbed wire.
"That sure
as hell
isn't to keep any aliens out," Mulder muttered.
"Rentham
says it's to keep out the nonbelievers," Appleby
replied. "So we can't distract the others
from their
'work.'"
All three
got out of the car, and when Mulder saw Appleby was
following
them, he stopped. "I thought
you were going to
wait in
the car."
Appleby's
small face took on a look of determination. "If
Rentham
doesn't want me there, I will.
Otherwise, I feel I
have the
right to be present."
Mulder
looked at Scully, who shrugged.
"We do the talking,"
he warned
Appleby.
"Absolutely."
They
walked up the dirt road to the gate, where a camera
tracked
their arrival. Mulder hit the
buzzer on the
intercom. "FBI," he said when
asked. "We're here to talk to
Jared
Rentham."
"Mr.
Rentham is not available," came the crackling reply.
"He's
there," hissed Appleby over Mulder's shoulder. "I know
he
is."
"We've
come a long way," Mulder said into the speaker. "If
we could
just talk to Mr. Rentham for a few minutes."
"I'm
sorry, but Mr. Rentham--" The
voice broke off, and they
heard
nothing for several long seconds.
When the speaker
came back
on, the voice had changed to a deep, mellow tone.
"Welcome
to Sanctuary House, agents. Do
come in." The door
gave a
long buzz, and Mulder pushed it open.
Inside was a
small
courtyard with the same dusty dirt floor, but it
contained
several small trees whose delicate branches
suggested
they might have originated in Asia.
There was a
stone
birdbath, and two long benches that faced one another.
Everything
was quiet. They walked up the
flagstone path to
the main
building -- a short, wide structure built with aging
concrete.
Scully
almost expected to be met by a bald man in a flowing
robe. She was half right. Jared Rentham emerged from a door
at the end
of the entry hall wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt
with a
Celtic clan symbol on the front.
He had a long face
with a
long, thin nose to match, and when he got closer,
Scully saw
he wasn't quite bald -- there was a ring of pale,
fine hair
circling his head just above his ears.
Scully hung
back a bit
as he approached. "Agents," he said. "Welcome
again. I am Jared Rentham, and I'll be happy
to answer any
questions
you might have."
"What
have you done with my sister?" Appleby demanded.
Mulder
elbowed him.
"I'm
Fox Mulder, and this is my partner, Dana Scully. You
may
already know Chet Appleby."
"By
reputation only," Rentham demurred. He offered his hand
to
Appleby, who refused it, and then shook Mulder and
Scully's
hands in turn. When Scully tried
to pull away,
Rentham
held on. "I noticed you
outside," he said, fingers
tracing
lightly over the skin of her wrist.
"Have we met
before?"
"No,
I don't think so."
"I
could swear it." His eyes
crinkled at the corners as he
tried to
place her. "Oh!" he said
suddenly, and Scully felt
a spark
against her hand. She jerked
free. Rentham smiled
at
her. "You've been among
them," he said. "You
will
understand
how important our work is."
"What
the hell is he talking about?" Appleby asked
suspiciously. Mulder moved himself between Rentham
and
Scully.
"Just
what sort of 'work' do you do here, Mr. Rentham?"
"Information
gathering, mainly," he said, his eyes still on
Scully. Her breathing grew shallow, sweat
breaking out
across the
back of her neck. She let Mulder
take the lead.
"Information
about what?"
"Them." He nodded at Scully. "If you need explanation, your
partner
can fill you in."
"I
don't know what you're talking about," Scully whispered.
Rentham
made a tsk-tsk sound at the back of his throat.
"Denying
it won't stop them. You have to understand
what
happened
to you in order to fight."
"What
is this?" Appleby began
backing away. "What the hell
is he
talking about, she's one of them?"
"Calm
down, Mr. Appleby," Mulder said.
"We're asking the
questions,
okay?"
"No,
it's not okay! I want to see my
sister, and I want to
see her
now." He was shaking from
head to toe. Mulder gave
the high
sign to Scully, and she agreed:
time to get Appleby
off the
premises.
"Why
don't we go outside for a minute," she suggested,
touching
his arm. Appleby shook her off.
"Get
away from me! I don't know what
your connection is to
this
place, but just stay the hell away.
Bring me my
sister,"
he hollered at Rentham. "I
want to see her NOW!"
"I'm
afraid that's not possible," Rentham said.
"I say
it is." Appleby pulled out a
gun and aimed it at
Rentham. "Take me to Tina."
Scully's
pulse tripped over itself.
Mulder's jaw tensed, his
eyes gone
black. "Hold on a second,
Chet," he said. "Let's
work this
out."
"I
want to see Tina. I want her to
come home with me." The
gun
wavered in the air, three feet from Scully. Rentham was
the only
one who did not look worried.
"I
can take you to her," he said, "but she won't leave. I
have
explained before that everyone who is here stays here
willingly. I exert no force. We have no weapons." He eyed
Appleby's
trembling gun. "Your sister
is happy here. I
believe
she's told you before that she does not wish to
leave."
"You
did this to her!" Appleby sobbed. "It was you!"
"I
did nothing to Tina," Rentham answered calmly. "It was
Them."
The shot
split Scully's head open; at least that's how it
felt. Her ears hurt and the terrible noise
reverberated in
her
skull. When she opened her eyes,
she saw Rentham lying
dead on
the ground. She didn't even need
to take his pulse.
Appleby's
shot had gone through Rentham's left eye and blown
apart his
brain. Her mouth hung open
in horror so long the
back of
her throat dried out. When at last
the noise
cleared,
she became aware of wracking sobs from behind her.
She turned
and saw Mulder restraining Appleby.
"She's
free now," he said over and over.
"She can go home."
XxXxX
At the
Sheriff's station, they were alone in a room with the
woman who
had caused more heartache than Helen of Troy. Tina
Appleby
was small like her brother but rounder and less edgy.
Where Chet
had vibrated with anger, Tina wept quietly at the
interrogation
table, dabbing her eyes with a wrinkled
Kleenex. "What will we do now?" she
asked of Mulder and
Scully. "Jared was the one who brought us
together. He was
the one
who knew what was happening. He
said if we didn't
prepare
for Them to return, we would end up a slave race.
Chet
didn't understand. He didn't see
that I was doing this
for my
children and for their children's children."
"When
did you first meet Jared Rentham?" Mulder asked.
Scully,
still rattled, leaned against the wall near the
corner. She looked at this woman with her bad
dye job and
chewed-off
fingernails. This is not me, she
thought.
"He
was really friendly-like," Tina was saying. "Asked me
about my
baby, Charlene, and told me I seemed real familiar.
I had seen
him before. Everyone said he was
kind of a freak,
but when
you talked to him, it was like... like talking to
God. He could see right inside me. He knew right away that
I'd been
through a tough time, what with Dan getting sick and
passing
on, but when he mentioned the lights from the Hartman
farm, I
just felt a chill go through me.
I'd never told
anyone
about that night before."
"Which
night?" Mulder asked. Scully
folded her arms.
"About
six years ago, before I knew Dan or anything like
that. I--I was drinking a lot back then. Me and Rudy
Hartman
were down at Jimmy Z's bar until around closing,
hitting the
Jack and Cokes pretty good. When
Jimmy kicked us
out, Rudy
said he had a six-pack back at his place, if I
wanted to
go back with him. I said
sure. We drank and
fooled
around a bit, you know. I don't
remember much after
that,
except I think I went outside to get some air. I
remember
looking up at the stars and thinking they were
brighter
than I'd ever seen before, like when the sun glints
off the
water. Then the lights started
moving. I felt
myself
being lifted in the air. The next
thing I know--"
she broke
off and looked at her lap.
"The
next thing you know, what?"
Mulder prodded.
"I
know this sounds stupid. But I was
on a train." Scully
felt a
chill go through her. She backed further into the
wall.
"I don't know how I knew this. Maybe someone told me.
Maybe I
heard the whistle, I don't know.
But I was on this
table,
under a sheet, and I didn't have any clothes on. The
whole room
kind of glowed with this eerie blue light. I
wasn't
tied down but I couldn't move my arms or legs. Men in
masks,
like surgeons, came in and out.
Sometimes they would
talk to me
but usually not. I was so cold
that I couldn't
feel my
toes."
"What
did these men want with you?" Mulder asked.
"I
don't know. They hooked me up to
machines and poked me
with cold
metal instruments. I
couldn't speak to ask what
was going
on, but I don't remember being very afraid at the
time."
"How
long were you on this train?"
She
sniffled. "I couldn't
say. It felt like forever but
also not
long at all. I can't describe
it. But I remember
this one
man, an Asian man, who came in near the end. He was
gentler
than the others. He stroked my
cheek and he talked
to
me."
"What
did he say?" Mulder asked, leaning forward.
"It
makes no sense," Tina replied. "It was like a saying or
something."
"What?"
She took a
deep breath. "He said, 'Even
the smallest ant--"
"--can
destroy the dam," Scully finished with her in a
murmur. Only when Mulder turned did she realize
she'd spoken
aloud.
"Yeah,
that's right," Tina agreed.
"Scully?"
Mulder asked, looking at her with concern.
She felt
the floor shift under her, the room suddenly
airless. "I'll be back," she said,
heading for the door.
She
barreled through it to the cool, dark corridor on the
other side. Gulping air, she went to the rest room
and
washed
cold water over her enflamed skin.
Her hands still
trembled
when she held them out in front of her, so she paced
the length
of the room slowly, talking herself down.
You're
okay. It's all right. Just get control and go back
in there.
Her phone
made her jump when it rang.
"Scully," she said
crisply,
hiding her weak limbs with a sharp voice.
"Dana,
this is Chris Clark with the DA's office."
She let
out a long breath. "Mr.
Clark, of course. What can
I do for
you?"
"I
have some potentially good news.
Detective Savioshy
arrested a
suspect this evening. He's in
custody as we
speak."
XxXxX
Keywords: None.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Six
XxXxXxXxXxX
When
Scully fled the interrogation room, Mulder did not
follow. Tina Appleby was there, still talking,
and on the
other side
of the one-way mirror Sheriff Seaver watched her
and Mulder
equally, waiting for a satisfactory explanation as
to why
Jared Rentham had ended up decorating Sanctuary House
with his
brains on Mulder's watch.
"This is not how we do
things
around here, son," had been Seaver's words on the
topic. "What the hell did you bring Chet
on up there for,
anyway?"
Mulder
forced his attention back to Tina's narrative. "Damned
if I
know," she was saying.
"I could have been gone two
weeks or
two hours. Rudy said he woke up
and I was just
gone."
Mulder
glanced at the door and made a humming noise in his
throat. Scully didn't reappear.
Tina
continued, "I came to in the park across the street from
my
apartment. My legs were all
wobbly, like when you've been
on a boat
drinking, and I couldn't remember much at first."
Mulder
turned his attention back to her, really seeing her
for the
first time since they had brought her down to the
station. Her nails were down to the quick but
still she
chewed at
them. She wore baggy pants and an
over-sized T-
shirt that
hid most of her body. No
makeup. Tears streaked
her round,
smooth face, and she hunched in her chair as
though she
were the guilty criminal. Wet,
haunted eyes
looked
around the room, everywhere at once.
Fuck,
Mulder thought.
He raised
his fist as though to slam it on the table, but
caught the
fear in Tina's eyes and brought it down gently
instead. "Excuse me," he said.
He
threaded his way through the narrow hall, dodging
officers,
feeling sweaty and cold at the same time.
Adrenaline
was wearing off. He could find her
in the ladies'
bathroom,
he knew, but he stopped outside without knocking.
Leaning
his head on the door, he closed his eyes and let his
ragged
breath steam the peeling paint.
Scully was
more like him than most people knew.
She, too,
carried
her pain forward, refusing to diminish it by letting
go. But whereas he waved his around like a
red flag in front
of the
bull, Scully scrunched hers into a silent, heavy mass.
He ran
head-forward while she ran straight away, but really,
they were
chasing the same thing. Mulder
found this thought
both
unsettling and oddly comforting.
The door jerked
open and he righted himself, blinking as
Scully
appeared in front of him. Like
Tina, her face had
been wiped
clean, but her hair was combed and her eyes were
clear. "Mulder," she said with a
frown. "What's going on?
Where's
Tina Appleby?"
"Still
in interrogation." He noticed
she had her cellular
phone in
her hand. "Everything
okay?"
"I
have to go back to D.C. Savioshy
needs me for a lineup."
He leaned
in, pulse spiking again.
"They got the guy?"
"Apparently
red-handed." She looked at
his chest as she
spoke. "They arrested him in a parking
lot with a knife."
"That's
great, Scully," he said, and then realized how that
had
sounded. "I mean, I'm glad
they got him."
"Yeah." She hesitated, smoothing her jacket
with her palms.
"Anyway,
I have to get back as soon as possible.
They want
to do the
lineup before he's arraigned."
"You're
leaving now?"
"My
flight's in four hours."
"What
about Tina Appleby?"
"What
about her, Mulder? We came out
here to investigate her
brother's
claim that she had been abducted by Jared Rentham.
Clearly,
there was no abduction; she was with him of her own
volition. As for any cult that Rentham may or may
not have
been
involved in, well, it seems rather moot now, doesn't
it?"
"Because
he's dead." It came out as an
accusation, against
whom he
wasn't sure.
"And
that's..." Scully
stumbled. "Unfortunate. But it
doesn't
change the fact that our involvement in this case is
finished. Rentham's dead. Chet Appleby is in jail, and Tina
Appleby is
a free woman. What more do you
hope to accomplish
here?"
"Her
story, Scully, didn't it sound familiar?"
"Actually,
it sounded fragmented and incoherent.
I'll grant
you that
there were elements in her narrative that we've
heard
before."
"And
that doesn't mean anything to you?"
"What
do you want it to mean, Mulder?
Suppose you're right.
Let's just
agree for the sake of argument that everything
Tina
Appleby said was true: that she
was abducted by
extraterrestrials,
experimented on by men on a train, and
returned
some uncertain amount of time later.
How does this
help
us? What have we learned?"
"You're
saying you believe her."
"I'm
saying it doesn't make a difference whether I believe
her."
He shook
his head. "How can you think
that?" he asked
softly,
searching her face.
Scully
looked at the floor for a long minute before
answering. "She's a victim, Mulder. She's confused; she's
scared. Tina Appleby has no more insight into
what happened
to her or
who is behind it than the cows in the field from
which she
vanished."
"But
you agreed," he said, "that we've heard this story
before."
"Yes. And where has it gotten us?" When he didn't answer,
she
sighed. "Take her statement,
Mulder. Tell her we'll try
our
best. Then tell her--"
"What?"
"Tell
her to get on with her life."
She walked away, heels
clicking
briskly, not waiting for him to follow.
This bit is one of the Mulder/Scully exchanges I think came
out exactly the way I intended.
They are talking about Tina, of course, but also about Scully. Every step Mulder takes toward action,
Scully shuts him down.
XxXxX
Even at
two in the morning, Scully's plane faced delays.
They sat
at the gate endlessly while the airport cleared an
obstruction
from the runway. Scully pinched
the bridge of
her nose
between her fingers and was glad for the stillness.
She
hunkered down in the shadows at the rear of the cabin,
away from
the others. Her clothes smelled of
cigarette
smoke, of
desperation and dead things. The explosive gunshot
still
echoed in her head, but when she closed her eyes it was
Tina
Appleby's pale face she saw.
Too tired
to read, too wired to sleep, Scully dug out her
cell
phone, intending to switch it off for the duration of
the
flight. Mulder's unread messages
glowed back at her from
the tiny
screen. Scully selected the button
to play them and
hesitantly
put the phone to her ear. The
first message was
brief:
"Hey,
Scully, it's me. I know it's late,
but call me if you
get this,
okay?"
He sounded
more tired by the second one.
"I guess your phone
must be
off. I feel terrible about what
happened, Scully.
Please
call me."
Scully's
eyes welled from the day's unrelenting tension. She
covered
her mouth with her hand as Mulder's final message
played. "I know you're not answering. I just wanted to
say..." Silence stretched for several
seconds. "I thought I
could
handle it, but I guess it's obvious by now that I
couldn't.
I kept thinking about what happened, what you must
have been
through."
She
flashed on parking lot, the hard ground, the man shoving
himself
inside her. It took her breath
away.
"I'm
sorry about everything," Mulder finished hoarsely.
"It's
my fault, and I'm so sorry."
Scully
gulped in air as she snapped the phone shut. Fuck
you, she
thought, tears escaping the corner of her eyes. What
the fuck
have you got to be sorry about?
The
captain told them to turn off all electronic devices as
the plane
started rolling toward the runway.
Soon the roar
of the
engines obliterated everything, Scully thrown back
against
the seat under their power as she was lifted away,
away, the
world disappearing beneath the clouds.
XxXxX
Scully had
consumed two cups of coffee, stared the print off
the
newspaper, and dissected out the rims of the Styrofoam
cups using
just her thumbnail when at last Detective Savioshy
came
through the door again.
"Sorry to keep you waiting so
long,"
he said as he wedged himself into the small,
windowless
room. "The kid's family hired
an expensive lawyer
who's been
busting our chops all afternoon.
We should be set
to go in
just a few minutes."
"That's
what ADA Clark said two hours ago."
The
conference table wobbled as Savioshy lowered himself onto
one
corner. "Bellamy -- that's
the lawyer -- has been
questioning
every step of the lineup, from the lighting to
the people
who get to be in the observation room.
But the
delay is
really for your benefit."
"How
do you mean?"
"They
want you to get nervous while you wait, maybe even
change
your mind. It's happened before.
Witnesses get a
little too
much time to think about things, and they get
spooked."
"I
don't spook that easily," Scully told him.
"No,
ma'am, I don't imagine you do."
He smiled and shoved
off from
the table. Scully took a deep
breath.
"But
I didn't see much," she said.
"It was dark and he had
the
stocking over his face. I don't
know how much help I can
be."
"You're
here," he said. "That
counts for a lot. Just go in,
take a
look, and tell us if anyone stands out."
"But
you have enough to hold him without me, right?"
"Caught
the sonofabitch red-handed," Savioshy said. "He
ain't
going nowhere. Just sit tight for another few minutes,
okay?"
He left,
closing the door behind him, and a few minutes
later,
Christopher Clark stuck his head in the room. "Dana,
thanks for
waiting. We're ready for you
now."
Scully
stood and wiped her hands on her hips.
She hadn't,
until that
very moment, considered the fact that the man from
the
parking lot was in the same building with her. Barely a
man. A kid. He had a family, Savioshy had said. Parents
who had
probably kissed his little cheeks and bought him
footy
pajamas, and who now disbelieved their son could hide
with a
knife in the bushes or rape ten unsuspecting women.
Outside
the door to the viewing room, Scully halted. Clark
touched
his hand to the small of her back.
"You okay?"
She
nodded, determined. "Let's do
it."
Clark
opened the door for her, and Scully stepped inside a
small,
tense room filled with grim people.
Savioshy stood
near the
one-way mirror. He had one of his
younger officers
with him
as well. Lining the back wall were
two women and
one man,
all dressed in suits.
"Agent
Scully, this is Armand Davis from the King County DA's
office,"
Clark said of the first man.
"He's just here to
observe in
case they end up trying some of the cases up
there."
Scully
could have guessed his role from the grateful look in
his
eyes. "Pleased to meet you,
Agent Scully," he said.
"Thank
you for coming." She wondered
if any of the King's
County
victims had decided to testify.
"And
this," Clark continued, "is Nora Bellamy."
The
rapist's lawyer stepped forward on high heels that
rivaled
Scully's own. She was older, with
papery skin and a
mess of hair
that was somewhere between blonde and gray. It
had been
pinned on top her head but was threatening to break
free. She had the look of someone who had
been around the
block and
then moved in: this was her turf
and she knew it.
"Ms.
Scully," she said, her voice pitched low and Southern,
"it's
lovely to meet you. Thank you for
your patience this
afternoon." She gave Scully's hand a quick, firm
shake.
"This
is my associate, Fiona Hamill."
Nora knows Scully's title but doesn't use it. The intimidation has begun!
"If
you'll just come over here to the window," Clark said,
"we'll
bring them in."
Scully
allowed him to lead her over to where Savioshy stood
with his
hand already poised at the intercom.
The room on
the other
side of the glass was well lit and empty.
"Send
'em
in," Savioshy said into the speaker.
Scully
braced herself on the hard wooden ledge as the door
opened and
a line of young men paraded in front of her. Her
heart beat
high in her throat. The men
stopped on their
marks,
facing forward, and seemed to stare right through the
glass. All white and dark-haired, they wore
jeans and T-
shirts and
harmless, blank expressions.
"Take
your time," Savioshy said gently.
Scully
nodded without looking at him. Her
eyes were glued to
the five
men on the other side of the window, seeing all of
them and
none of them at the same time. She
couldn't focus.
A dark eye
here; a big shoulder there. Her
gaze raced up and
down the
men like fingers over piano keys.
Which one? Which
one? She felt the pressure of the room
bearing down on her.
"Can
they turn?" she whispered, buying time.
"Face
right," Savioshy said through the speaker. The sound
of heavy
feet on the floor echoed back as they complied.
Four's
chin seemed too pointed. Five
wasn't tall enough? Or
maybe her
memory was wrong.
Put
stockings on their heads, she wanted to say. Then I'd
know for
sure.
The mashed
angry features from her dreams were not visible in
the light
of day. If her rapist was one of
the men in the
other
room, she could have passed him on the street and never
known.
"I
think we've got our answer," Nora Bellamy said shortly.
"Give
her time," Savioshy shot back.
"No,"
Scully replied, shaking her head.
She shuddered with
her drawn
breath. "I can't tell. I'm sorry."
"Thank
you for your time, Ms. Scully.
Clark, I'll be in
touch." Bellamy flashed a smile and disappeared
with her
associate
out the door.
"That's
it," Savioshy said wearily into the speaker. The men
filed
through the exit and the lights went out on the other
side.
"I'm
sorry," Scully repeated, and Savioshy waved her off.
"You
tried. That's all that
counts. We knew going in it was
a long
shot. If you'll excuse me, I have
to make sure his
ass goes
back to jail and not out the front door."
"He
won't be freed?" Scully asked Clark.
"Not
yet. But I am sure Bellamy will
ask for bail on
Monday."
"But
he was arrested with the knife and mask," Scully said.
"Surely
that counts for something."
"It
does. But he wasn't arrested in
the process of
committing
a crime. We have no
witnesses. Bellamy will
argue that
he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong
time."
"And
that will work?"
"I'll
do everything I can to see that it doesn't." He
touched
her arm. "You okay for a
minute? I want to catch
her before
she leaves."
"Sure,
sure."
She jerked
at the hard slap of the door, left alone in the
shadowed
room. Darkness yawned where the
men had stood, and
she began
to feel him watching her from the black void, felt
a creeping sense of danger she had missed
at the time. She
stared at
the window, saw her own pale features reflected
there, and
backed up slowly until she hit the far wall. He'd
been
inside her and she didn't even know his face. Shaking,
she held
her hands out in front of her, palms up, and began
sinking
down to the floor. It was
real. It happened. It
could
never be undone.
"Dana?" Clark reappeared, and instantly he was
at her side.
"My
God, are you okay?"
"Yes,"
she said, struggling to her feet.
He took her arm and
helped her
up. "I'm sorry."
"It's
okay. Take it easy. I'm the one who's sorry. We
shouldn't
have left you alone like that."
"No." She swiped at her watery eyes. "I've done lineups
before. It's all right."
He fumbled
a wadded up tissue at her.
"Do you want some
water? Maybe some place to sit?"
"No,
no. I'm fine. It's just been a long day." She
sniffed,
hiding herself behind the tissue.
"Yeah,"
he said softly. She saw him look
at the door.
"You're
sure there's nothing I can get for you?
No one I can
call?"
"Really,
no."
"What
about Mulder?"
She folded
the tissue in half and in half again before
answering. "Mulder's still in Texas."
"Oh,
right. Your case." She felt him studying her. "Would
I be
correct in assuming it's a rough one?"
"You
could say that." Less than
twenty-four hours ago, she'd
been
wearing Jared Rentham's blood spatter in her hair.
Mulder
hadn't called all day. She had no
idea when he
planned to
return.
"We
owe you a greater debt, then," Clark said, "for leaving
your work
to come help us with this."
"I
wasn't any help."
"You
were. You showed up. That's more than some of the
other
women have done."
Scully
looked up. "Did any of them
ID him?"
"Not
yet. But we are just beginning to
mount our case.
Savioshy
pulled his computer, his date book - they even took
his car
down to the CS labs."
Scully
asked the one question she had wanted to ask since his
call
yesterday evening: "How did
you catch him?"
"Savioshy's
taskforce has been running with the idea that
this guy
was a college student at a university with religious
affiliation,
most probably a Christian college.
They've been
contacting
these schools and asking them about their recently
reported
sexual assaults. Saint Joseph's
University in
Philadelphia
kicked out the name Gregory Watts.
Watts had a
complaint
filed against him for rape by a fellow student, but
she later
withdrew the allegation. Turned
out this guy Watts
lives down
here during the summer months. His
parents have a
house in
Fairfax. A little more digging,
and we found out
that the
Philly PD has a couple of unsolved rape cases from
this past
fall that bear an uncanny resemblance to the
attacks in
the DC area. Savioshy went to find
Watts, saw him
leave the
house, and followed him."
"To a
parking lot," Scully said.
That much she knew already.
"That's
right. When he saw Watts put the
stocking cap on, he
busted his
ass right then."
Scully
nodded, letting it sink in.
"So he's definitely the
guy."
"Oh,
he's the guy, all right. And we
will put him away for a
long, long
time. I promise you."
She
chuffed and he looked at her curiously.
"I've made that
promise
myself over the years," Scully told him. "The victim
looks to
you for assurance. They want to
believe in
justice."
"You
don't?"
"Does
that shock you?" she asked, meeting his eyes. He
stared at
her unblinking.
"Nothing
shocks me. But I don't believe
you."
"You
don't know me," she countered.
"I
know that you're here," he said.
"That has to mean
something."
She smiled
a bit. "Yes, well, I do
believe in prisons," she
said, and
he smiled with her.
"Fair
enough."
They stood
there awkwardly for a moment until Scully tried to
walk past
him toward the door. "I
should get going," she
said.
"Oh,
of course." He shifted at the
same time she did and
ended up
blocking her path again.
"Sorry," he said, but he
didn't
move further. She looked up at
him, expectant. "Have
dinner
with me."
Scully had
not thought of food all day. Her
fridge probably
held a
carton of expired low-fat milk and a few limp
vegetables. And now he was asking her out? "Oh, no. I
couldn't."
"Not
like that," he cut her off swiftly.
"I mean, you've
been here
all afternoon. You must be
starving. You said
Mulder
wasn't around, so I just figured..."
"You
figured what?" Her guard was
still up.
"Maybe
you would like some company."
"I'm
fine."
"Of
course you are." She hugged
her arms close to her chest,
and he
said nothing for a moment.
"Okay, it's me. I hate
eating in
restaurants alone." She gave
him a look of
disbelief. "It's true. The waitresses, they come over and
want to
talk."
"Oh,
I'm sure that must be so painful for you," she said, but
she was
beginning to smile again.
"I
end up with three bread baskets."
He patted his middle.
"Please,
you'd be doing my waistline a favor."
It was
either this or go home to her silent apartment.
Still, she
hesitated. "I don't
know..."
"We
don't have to talk about the case," he said gently.
"What
will we talk about?"
He
considered. "Our misspent
youth tipping cows in Farmer
Mcgillicuddy's
pasture."
"I
don't believe I've ever tipped a single cow."
"Oh." He heaved a dramatic sigh as he pulled
the door open
for her. "Looks like I'll have to start the
conversation
then."
Chris Clark took a lot of grief for his attention to Scully,
but at this point he's not trying to woo her. He's a man buried in his work and probably lonelier than
he'd like to admit. Also, he's
grateful to Scully for her help, and he feels sorry for what happened to
her. But he figures she's taken.
XxXxX
Mulder
came of age skulking in the basement with a
flashlight,
so the bunker-style rooms beneath Sanctuary House
felt
instantly familiar. He hadn't
realized, however, how
accustomed
he'd grown to the second lance of light that
usually
played along side his. It seemed
too dark without
her.
Dust and
lack of sleep had dried his eyes.
He walked alone
down the
hall until he reached the record room, where earlier
he had
spread Jared Rentham's files across the floor.
Computer
printouts from an old dot-matrix printer told each
person's
story. Where possible, Rentham had
photographed the
site of
the abduction. Mulder had
spent the afternoon
staring at
cornfields, duck ponds, stretches of empty
highway,
and, in the case of one Emmett Lincoln, a Wal-Mart
parking
lot.
He
remembered Skyland Mountain, with its clean pine air and
sharp
white stars, the way the wind had stolen breath from
his body
and whisked it into the night.
This is the way the
world
ends, they'd told him: one small redhead at a time.
Rentham
had included photographs of the abductees as well -
black and
white close-ups of unsmiling faces, young and old.
They reminded
Mulder of growing up in Massachusetts
surrounded
by images of Revolutionary War soldiers, who had
fought the
enemy with nothing more than grim determination
and a
musket from the basement. We've
seen you now, their
eyes
seemed to say. Just try to take us
again.
This was
his biggest worry for her, that all the denial
equaled
unpreparedness, that she would never see them coming.
Mulder
leaned back against the hard wall, his spine scraping
the
concrete as he rubbed his tired eyes.
Until then he
would keep
looking for the both of them.
XxXxX
They ended
up sharing a bottle of Chianti and a giant thin-
crust
pizza topped with proscuitto, capers, olives and fresh
mozzarella. The candle was fake but the food was
delicious.
"I
begin to understand why the city is in a budget crisis,"
Scully
said, "if you take all your witnesses out to dinner."
"Yes,
thanks to the tax cuts, the Tiramisu is out. The best
I can
offer is one of those mints at the door."
She smiled
and shook her head. "I'll remember
this at
election
time."
"Actually,"
he said, "I confess my motives were not entirely
pure."
Scully
felt her stomach lurch.
"Oh?" she managed.
"Savioshy
told me a little bit about the kind of work you do.
Now, the
man can spin a fish story like you wouldn't believe,
but he
swore up and down this was the God's honest truth:
you
investigate aliens?"
Scully put
down her wine glass. "Reports
of extraterrestrial
activity,
yes. Among other things. The X-Files division
handles a
wide variety of cases."
"Division? How many agents are assigned to this
kind of
work?"
"Just--just
two."
"Oh,"
he said, and Scully squirmed inwardly at the
implication. She knew it was a cliche to most
people, male
and female
partners falling into bed together, but it was the
most
unconventional relationship of her life.
She wasn't
about to
justify it to this man. "So
these reports," he
asked,
"is there anything to them?
Are we truly not alone?"
You've
been among them, Rentham had said.
She could still
feel the
slide of his cold fingers over her skin.
"I've
seen things I can't explain any other way," she said,
watching
for Chris's reaction. If there
were a trial, he
would hear
all the gory details. He stopped
with his fork
halfway to
his mouth.
"Really?" She nodded. "Huh," he said, and put the fork
down.
"That's
it?"
"Well,
you know how I was telling you about Farmer
Mcgillicuddy's
field? One night I was out there
with some
friends of
mine, back in high school this was, and we were
just hanging
and drinking beer when all of a sudden this
light flew
over us. It was bright blue, not
white like the
stars, and
it disappeared down behind the mountains.
As it
passed
over us, all our hair stood up on end."
She raised
her eyebrows. "And you think
it was a UFO?"
"Like
you said, I can't explain it any other way." He
smiled. "I don't usually tell that story
to most of my
dinner
dates."
"What
do you tell them?" she asked, grasping for a change of
subject.
"Oh,
um." He looked chagrined. "The word 'usually' implies
a certain
amount of frequency, doesn't it?
Well, let's see.
The last
time I was out with a woman I spent the entire
evening
regaling her with my lawyerly prowess.
She was
polite
enough to listen the whole time, but when I called her
for a
second date she declined, saying she thought perhaps I
had too
much of myself invested in my work right now."
"Ouch,"
Scully said.
"Yeah,
but she was right." He
finished off his wine.
"I
guess that's good for me, then."
"Yes."
He smiled at her again.
"Unlike that poor woman,
you're
stuck with me for a while."
"How
soon until trial, do you think?"
"Months." He leaned back in his seat with a
sigh. "Bellamy
does not
move quickly, but a lot will depend on whether she
fights us
on our decision to try the cases jointly."
"Is
that likely?"
He took
his time in answering. "I
would make a motion to
sever, if
I were her. We don't have the same
level of
evidence
against Watts in every case."
"I
see."
"Hey,
don't worry about it, okay?"
He scooted in his chair
until his
knees bumped her under the table.
"That's my
problem,
if and when it happens."
Instead of
one rape, he'd gotten ten by proxy.
She wondered
how many
he had already lived through.
"So you still
believe,
then," she said, "in justice."
He drummed
his fingers on the tablecloth and looked at her.
"Have
you got a bit more time?"
"Why?"
"I
want to show you something."
He took
her out of the city, over dark hills and vales, where
a pregnant
moon hung low in the sky. Thick
summer trees
waved in
the wind, and the air from the open windows grew
cool and
sweet. He turned off the main road
into blackness
and rolled
the car to a stop on some grass.
"Here we are,"
he
announced. The slam of their car
door broke the perfect
silence.
"And
where is that, exactly?"
Scully squinted at her murky
surroundings. They were in the middle of nowhere, as
far as
she could
tell. Her heart sped up, and she
held her bag with
the gun in
it a little bit closer.
You're
fine, she told herself, but she jerked a bit when
Clark
spoke.
"This
way. Watch your step." He led her down a path through
the trees
to a clearing with some sort of building on it.
His keys
jangled in the darkness. "I
only rent half of it,"
he said as
she followed him closer. "The
rest belongs to the
guy whose
farm it's on."
He
unlocked the door and hit the lights.
Scully blinked as
her eyes
adjusted. "It's a
greenhouse."
"Yeah,
come on inside." He rubbed
his hands together and
moved aside
so she could enter.
The
concrete floor was wet beneath her feet. Cautiously, she
ducked a
seven-foot plant with great hanging leaves. Exotic
tangles of
greenery stretched from floor to ceiling; beds of
riotous
color spread over the tables, flowers split open like
the
sun. Beautiful, yes, but Scully
felt a little like a bug
before the
Venus Flytrap. She stood hunched
in, careful not
to touch
anything. Chris sucked in a deep
breath and smiled
at her.
"All
the oxygen concentrated in here," he said. "Gives me a
rush."
Scully
breathed a bit deeper, taking in the primal scent of
dirt and
water and life. She forced a smile
even though she
hadn't the
slightest clue what she was doing there.
"It's--
quite
something."
"Let
me give you the tour." He
disappeared behind a sweep of
fern and
she hurried to keep up. "This
one here," he said,
"is
an Apache Plume." The
bush-like plant had long stems
with pink,
feathered ends. "It's
actually a member of the
rose
family, if you can believe it, but the name comes from
the fact
that the plumes look like old Apache war bonnets.
Go ahead
-- touch."
"I
have a black thumb," she warned him, and he smiled.
"Really,
it's okay. You won't hurt it,
see?" Tentatively,
Scully
reached out and stroked the downy tufts.
They tickled
like a
laugh through her fingers.
"These
are a kind of salvia," he told her as they moved down
the narrow
aisle. Scully stooped to admire
the delicate
indigo
flowers.
"They
look sort of like wind chimes."
"Oh,
check this one out," he said, waving a new stem at her
from
farther down the row. It was long
and sleek, with a
giant
teardrop-shaped bud at the end.
She could see from the
buds that
had bloomed already that it would become a medusa-
like
flower -- a cloud of green snakes with tiny purple
heads. "This one always reminds me of
'Aliens'" Chris said
as he
twisted the fat bud around so she could see the other
side. Sure enough, it had split at the
stomach and the
snakes
were starting to pop out.
Scully smiled and shook
her head.
Bugs, on one visit, got dragged to the nursery so I could
bone up on plants. *g* I think it was she who remarked about the resemblance to
aliens.
"You
are very strange, you know that?"
He
shrugged and let the flower bounce back into position.
"You
know how I told you about my dad, how we argued law all
the
time?" She nodded. "Well, we made a lot of
noise. Mom
let us
raise the roof because she spent all her time out in
the yard
taking care of her garden."
"Ahh,"
Scully said. She fingered the
pouched blossom on a
pocket
book plant. "So that's where
you get it from."
"In a
way." He leaned against the
table, folding his arms so
his dress
shirt stretched across his chest.
"Mom got sick
when I was
in high school. Cancer. She was too sick during
treatment
to keep up with the garden. Dad
was spending sixty
hours a
week at work, and it fell on me to help her out."
"I'm
sorry."
"Yeah,"
he said softly. "I miss her,
but she sure taught me
well." He smiled. "Some of these plants belonged to her."
"Really?" Scully looked at the surrounding jungle
with new
eyes.
"Yeah. The small Japanese Maple over there in
the corner is
one. Oh, and this too." He showed her a bucket full of
branches
with strange red flowers drooping from them.
"Feel,"
he suggested.
"Oh." Scully marveled as she rubbed the
velvety flower
between
her finger and thumb. "What
is that?"
"Like
it? It's called Kangaroo
Paw."
"It's
fabulous." She gave him her
first genuine smile in
days. "Thank you for showing me all
this."
"Happy
to." He bopped her on the arm
with a lily.
"But
I don't understand what it has to do with justice," she
said.
"Nothing. Sometimes it just helps to dig around
in the
dirt."
He waggled his eyebrows at her until she laughed.
"C'mere. I need some help transferring these
seedlings."
Chris was
already rolling up his sleeves, expecting her to
follow.
"I
can't," she protested.
"I'm, um, I'm not good with living
things."
He grinned
and handed her a clump of dirt with a tiny, tender
green
sprout. "Here," he
said. "Start small."
XxXxXxX
In his
black motel room, the clock glowed nine fifty-two --
nearly
eleven back in DC. Mulder lay on
the bed with his arm
across his
eyes and the phone to his ear. Two
thousand miles
away in
Scully's apartment, hers rang on and on, unanswered.
XxXxX
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Seven
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
A pair of
sedatives got her through the night, but Scully
awoke on
Monday morning with her hair mashed to her cheek and
eyes that
wouldn't quite open. She made
coffee by motor
memory
alone and stumbled to the front door to pick up her
paper. She brought it to the kitchen table,
where she sat
with her
cup and her uneaten bagel, hoping she could find the
energy to
put on some clothes. Hot tails of
steam rose from
her coffee
as she focused bleary eyes on the headlines.
President
in China. Bombing in Israel. Rapist Arraigned
Today.
The story
was beneath the fold, a single column running
alongside
the teasers for the stories in other sections.
Scully
flattened it with her palm and squinted at the tiny
print. She was not wearing her glasses.
"St.
Joseph's University student Gregory Alan Watts will be
arraigned
in Arlington County Court today on charges of rape
and assault. Police are now saying they believe
Watts is
responsible
for a vicious series of rapes committed over the
past year
throughout three counties in the greater D.C. area.
Watts, 20,
is thought to be responsible for at least ten
attacks,
including one assault against an agent in the
Federal
Bureau of Investigation."
It
continued recapping the crimes.
Savioshy was quoted as
saying,
"Our investigation of Gregory Watts is ongoing." And
later: "We got the guy, all right."
On page
sixteen there was a photo, maybe taken on his college
campus. Gregory Watts smiled big for the
camera. Scully
stared at
him until a lump rose in her throat.
Number two,
she
thought. He had been number two in
the lineup.
Near the
end of the article, there was a quote from Chris
Clark. "I think the detectives on this
case have done a
marvelous
job. Watts has been caught. He will be tried, and
he will be
found guilty. The women of the city can finally
feel safe
again."
In her
bathrobe, with her cold hands around a coffee cup,
Scully
considered his words. She supposed
for other women it
might be
true.
XxXxX
Mulder
arrived at the office extra early, wearing his
favorite
suit. A fine layer of dust had
settled over
everything
in just the few days they had been gone. Cracking
the door
was like breaking into a mummy's tomb.
Back with
his files,
sitting in his chair, Mulder waited to feel
comfortable
again. He ran his fingers over the
printouts
from Texas
like a blind man reading Braille.
Every few
seconds he
glanced up, hummed a little anxious sound, and
expected
her to come through the door.
He would
say nothing first, he decided. He
would wait to see
how she
played it, and he would just follow her lead. Maybe
the Scully
power of denial could work to his advantage and it
would be
like Nothing Ever Happened.
He jerked
upright when her heels sounded in the hallway. It
wasn't
until he felt the flood of relief that he realized he
had been
worried that she might not show at all.
She stopped
just inside
the door, holding her briefcase in one hand and a
small,
feathery potted plant in the other.
He leaned way
back in
his chair.
"Good
morning," he blurted.
"Nice plant."
"It's
an asparagus fern," she replied, moving into the room.
"I'm
hoping not to kill it."
"And
you brought it here?" he asked with a smile. "Where
even the
bugs crawl down to die?"
She stood
on tiptoe to set the fern on top of a tall file
cabinet
near the windows. "I thought it might add a little
color." Task finished, she dusted off her hands
and cocked
her head
at him. "When did you get
back?"
The plants are a running thread through the story from here
on out. You could take Chris's
overture of a tiny new plant as a budding *cough* relationship (whatever kind
it may be), but here you can see Chris is dead in the water: Scully brings the
plant straight to Mulder. *g*
"Late
last night."
"I
see. You brought Rentham's files
with you?" Her voice
was steady
but she was still standing ten feet away.
"Yes." He shifted some around on his desk to
illustrate.
"Most
of the data are straightforward, but Rentham kept his
own
handwritten notes in the personnel files.
He used some
sort of
initial code that I can't decipher yet.
I think
maybe he
was trying to find a pattern among the abductions.
This woman
here has a M23SCC-NK next to her name, and the
numbers
32.3 and 90.2. This other woman
has the same NK, but
the other
letters are different."
Scully
inched closer, eyeing the files.
"Do either of them
have children?"
"Um." He pawed through to find the
appropriate notes. "No."
"Could
stand for 'no kids.' Like DINKs --
double income, no
kids."
"Huh." Mulder shuffled some more papers until
he found the
records
Rentham kept on Tina Appleby.
"You may be onto
something,
Scully. Tina Appleby's code
doesn't have the NK
included."
"What
does it say?"
She was
close enough now that he could feel her breathing.
Shoulder-to-shoulder,
they stood over the mess of papers
blanketing
his desk. Mulder moved slowly, as
if he might
frighten
her away. "Uh, Rentham wrote
F3C, and the numbers
29.9 and
95.6."
"We
should enter all of them into a computer," she said, not
looking at
him. "Easier to see a pattern
that way."
"Yeah,
that's what I was thinking."
She touched
the photograph of Tina Appleby.
"How is she
doing?"
"She'll
live." Mulder looked down at
the top of her head,
where her
slightly crooked part was the only sign that
anything
was amiss. "How are you
doing?"
Scully
nodded to herself. "I'll live."
Neither of
them spoke for a long minute.
"I wasn't sure
you'd come
back," he said at last.
"I
wasn't sure either," she answered baldly, and his heart
stopped. She met his gaze and held it.
"But--but
you did," he pointed out. She
nodded. Don't ask,
he
thought, but couldn't stop himself.
Mulder always asked
questions
he didn't really want the answers to.
"Why?"
Her
shoulders rose and fell with a long breath. "It turns
out,"
she said with some disgust, "that I still believe in
justice."
She scooped up a sheaf of papers, handed them to
him, and
switched on the computer.
"You dictate," she said.
"I'll
enter."
XxXxX
Now that
she had his face, the memory changed.
Under the
mask, she
saw his dark, bushy eyebrows, prominent cheekbones,
and flared
nostrils. She felt his hot breath
on her face,
felt his
fingers bite into her skin as he ripped off her
underwear. She could see him now, see him doing
these
things,
this boy with big hands and charming smile.
Scully
peeled herself from the back of the elevator and began
walking
briskly through the parking garage of the Hoover
building. Just as inside, they had stuck her and
Mulder as
far away
from everyone else as possible. The strange gray-
green
light of the parking lot never changed; like a casino,
it was
always removed from time, neither day nor night.
Mulder was
gone. So were most people. Scully picked up her
pace.
Her car
chirped, a sharp, electronic echo that rattled her
nerves
even as she welcomed the familiar sound.
She reached
the door
and yanked it open with trembling fingers. Tossing
her
briefcase in haphazardly, Scully scrambled in after it
and yanked
the door behind her. She leaned
back and closed
her eyes
as her breathing returned to normal.
The phone
rang. Scully started her car even
as she dug out
the phone
to answer it. She wasn't hanging
around in the
empty lot
any longer than necessary.
"Scully," she said.
Her
headlights lit up the grimy wall in front of her.
"Dana,
it's Chris." He sounded more
subdued than usual. "I
hope I
haven't caught you at a bad time."
"I
was just heading home."
He
sighed. "I'm sure you know we
were in court this
afternoon
with Gregory Watts. I'm afraid it
didn't go as
expected."
"What?" Scully halted the car on the exit
ramp. Chris did
not say
anything for a few seconds.
"What happened?"
"Watts
made bail, Dana. The judge let him
go."
XxXxXxX
Mulder
threw open all his windows, blinds rattling as the
restless
air swirled inside. A front was
coming through, not
rain but
wind, whipping up the trees and charging the air
with
electricity. Dressed in black,
Mulder paced his living
room like
the famed panther. He felt the
wind moving in him,
urging him
out onto the dark streets below.
He wanted to get
out, away,
to take his anger and run it into the sea.
Mulder
grabbed his keys from the end table and yanked open
his
door. Scully stood in the hall,
hugging herself.
"Scully? What's going on?" He reached for her and she
backed
away. "How long have you been
standing here?"
"They
let him go, Mulder."
"What?" All the energy rushed out of him.
"Watts. He made bail."
"Come
in," he said, holding the door for her. "Tell me."
She
brushed past him and went to stand in the middle of his
breezy
living room. "He knows where
I live. He took my
wallet
with my license and my address, and now he's back on
the
streets."
"You
can stay here," he said immediately.
The door slammed
shut in
the wind.
"I
don't want to stay here! I am not
the prisoner! I want
him gone,
in jail, where I don't have to look at him or think
about
him. God, I am so tired of
thinking about him."
Mulder had
seen the picture too. He tried not
to think about
it because
when he did, it made him want to hit his fist
against a wall
until it was a bloody pulp.
Scully's
voice became rough with emotion.
"It's like he's in
me, like I
can't get away even when I'm asleep.
He has my
thoughts,
my feelings, my whole body tied up inside and it's
like I
can't even breathe."
"Scully..." He stretched out a hand to her, but she
inhaled
sharply
before he could touch her.
"You
ever just fuck someone, Mulder?"
"What?" His heart hurt.
"You
know, a one night stand. You meet
someone at a party,
or a bar,
and you just fuck them. Just sex,
no
consequences." She stared at him hard, but he could
see her
trying to
contain her trembling.
"Um,
I guess I found there are always consequences."
"But
you've done it," she said steadily.
He answered with a
short
nod. "And it's just sex. A person
doesn't own you just
because
you have sex with them. It doesn't
change your life
forever." Her words grew increasingly desperate.
"Scully,
he didn't have sex with you. He
raped you."
"I
know that!" she cried, covering her face with her hands.
"Don't
you think I know that? I just... I
don't understand
why it has
to be this hard."
He laid a
hand on her shoulder, and this time she did not
pull
away. Hunched and tense, she let
him pull her against
him, her
hands still over her face. He tucked
her into his
empty
places. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his chin atop her
head.
"How
could this happen?" she whispered brokenly, and he
tightened
his arms around her.
"Why
the hell did they let him go?"
"They
never found the items he took: the
jewelry, the
wallets,
the clothes. Savioshy searched his
parents' home
and they
searched his dorm at the university as well.
Nothing."
"He's
got them stashed somewhere. They
just have to keep
looking."
She
nodded, relaxing a little. She
laid her cheek against
his
heart. "Maybe--maybe now that
he's been released, he'll
lead them
to it."
"Sure." Mulder tried to sound encouraging as he
rubbed her
back. The wind slapped his blinds against the
windows and
Scully
shuddered. "Cold?"
She shook
her head. "I'm just so
tired."
"You
should lie down," he said.
"Get some rest."
Her voice
quavered moist and hot against his shirt.
"I need
to go
home."
"But
not tonight." She leaned back to look at him and he
nodded to
show he meant it. His apartment
felt chilled
clean,
renewed, ready to offer peace. The
night air tickled
them both
as Scully smoothed her fingers over his breastbone.
"One
night," she whispered, and he tucked a lock of hair
behind her
ear. "Since I'm already
here."
He took
her to his bedroom, where he did not even turn on the
lights. They undressed by the light of the
street lamp
slanting
through his blinds, turning Scully into a
beautifully
curved zebra before his eyes. She
plucked his T-
shirt from
the floor where he discarded it and pulled it over
her
head. He watched in admiration as
she slid her bra out
through
one armhole.
She
visited the bathroom while he shook out the sheets,
lifting
them high into the cool summer air.
He climbed in
and
listened to the sounds of Scully moving around in his
apartment. The floor creaked a different song for
her; the
tap ran a
steady stream rather than the full blast he always
used. He
opened his eyes again when he felt the mattress
shift
under her weight.
Mulder
rolled to his side to look at her in black and white.
"Find
everything you need?"
The pillow
scratched with her nod.
"Thank you," she said,
reaching
over for his hand.
"For
what it's worth," he told her softly, "I didn't think it
would be
this hard either."
Her eyes
slid shut as she held his hand between her breasts.
"One
day," she murmured, "it'll be over."
"Yes." He felt the steady beat of her heart
and the tide of
her
breathing against his hand. Her
jaw slackened, mouth
parting
slightly as she found sleep. He
gave her a few tiny
fingertip
caresses before extricating his hand to adjust the
sheets up
over her waist.
Mulder lay
down again so his position mirrored hers.
He
pretty
much dwarfed her, legs stretching far beyond her toes,
large
hairy arm heavy and awkward next to her fine, delicate
bones. She nearly disappeared in the hulking
shadow of his
shoulder.
In his
whole life, he had never felt so small.
XxX
He woke to
shadow puppets around his room, as the wind had
picked up
again, Mother Nature putting on a show across his
bare
walls. Scully had hunkered down
against him, submerged
completely
under the blankets with his arm trapped over her
head. It was she who'd awoken him, he
realized as she
twitched
again. Her knee jerked against his
crotch.
Mulder
sucked in a painful breath and pulled away. She
clawed his
chest. "Scully," he
said, searching for her under
the
covers. "Wake up." She fought him tooth and nail,
panting
like a trapped animal and crying out as he pinned her
down. "Wake up!" he said, and her
eyes shot open. He had
her legs
immobilized with his knees and both arms trapped
above her
head.
"Help,"
she said, her eyes wild.
"It's
okay," he told her.
"It's just a dream."
"Mulder?" She went limp in his grasp and he let
her up
immediately.
"It's
okay now," he said.
"It's all right."
Her whole body
started to
shake, from cold or fright he did not know.
Mulder
gathered her against him again and tucked the covers
around
them. Her teeth chattered but she
was not crying.
"Sorry,"
she said as she slipped cold arms around his chest.
He kissed
the sweat from her brow.
"Scully,"
he murmured near her ear. "What do you dream?"
She had
never told him everything that had happened that
night. What few details he knew he'd gleaned
from news
reports.
"He's
on top of me," she said, voice small against his chest,
"and
I can't get up." Mulder
stiffened and clutched her
tighter. Details were bad. He didn't need details.
"Shhh,"
he said, stroking her back as much to soothe himself
as to calm
her. "You're safe now. You okay? You want some
water?"
"I'm
all right. I didn't mean to hurt
you." She touched her
lips to
the scratch across his chest.
"It's
nothing," he told her as he lifted the damp hair from
her
neck. "You forget I've been
mauled by a beast woman."
She
laughed gently into his neck and hugged him close.
Mulder
nuzzled her, extending her smile.
He felt connected
to her
again, as though they had a shared experience among
all her
private pain. He wanted to taste
her, feel her,
bring her
inside all his senses so they would never be
separate
again.
Scully
seemed to want the same thing. She
tucked her leg
between
his, cuddling closer.
"Scully," he murmured, filled
with love.
"Mmm?"
He kissed
her forehead and then her check.
She answered with
a soft
sigh that tickled his face. Her
hand crept up and
combed
through his hair over the back of his neck until he
tingled
from head to toe. He touched his
lips to hers
tentatively,
almost an apology for the last time they had
lain
together like this. She froze for
an instant, gripping
his hair,
and he gentled her with kisses until she relaxed
into the
pillow again. "It's
okay," he breathed against her
mouth.
"Mulder,"
she whispered back, stroking the side of his face.
"You
don't have to--"
He kissed
her again, mouth soft and persuasive as he reached
back to
run his hand along her naked thigh.
Her leg came up
and over
his, holding him in place. He
hummed to her,
letting her
know it was all right, caressing her with splayed
fingers
until her skin quivered under his hand.
He felt
himself expanding, hardening in the cradle of her
thighs as
they kissed. Scully drew her
fingers over the
bumps of
his spine and pulled her mouth from his.
"We
can't,"
she said in a tight whisper, even as her hips pressed
for closer
contact. He stroked her from
breast to hip and
kissed her
nose.
"Nothing
you don't want."
"No,
it's not that. I--I don't have
protection."
"Oh."
He settled more fully against her and her lips parted
at the
pressure. "It's okay, I've
got it covered."
Surprise
colored her features, and she sounded uncertain.
"You
do?"
"Yes,
after you said we needed it. I
thought just in case--"
He broke
off as she hugged him fiercely.
"What?"
"I'm
so glad."
He held
her tightly and pressed his face into her clean-
smelling
hair. "I want you," he
told her. "Always." She
nodded but
continued to burrow into him, as if she couldn't
quite
speak. He rubbed her head messily
and placed
occasional
kisses on her shoulder, her arm, her temple. At
last she
squeezed him one final time and brought her face
back to
his. They kissed lingeringly,
limbs and tongues
sliding
together in tandem. Mulder's toes
curled as she
stroked
his ears.
Gently, he
worked his hand between their bodies, brushing the
tender
skin of her inner thighs. She
pushed her hips against
his
fingers, sending his hand higher between her legs.
Mulder
watched her face as he touched her, but her expression
gave
nothing away; she had her head thrown back deep in the
pillow,
eyes closed, her breath coming in shallow pants.
Mulder
caressed her softly through her underwear for a minute
or two
before she wriggled away. She
yanked down the
offending
garment and tossed it over the edge of the bed.
Scully lay
back down, still dressed in his T-shirt, with her
legs
spread slightly and her fingers digging into the
mattress,
as though she were bracing herself for some
unpleasant
task. Mulder hesitated, and when
he didn't
immediately
climb back on top of her, Scully tensed visibly.
"You're
stopping?"
"No,"
he told her. "No." He reached up and touched the
smooth
curve of her cheek. "Not if
you don't want."
She shook
her head against his hand, and Mulder took a deep
breath. The mattress bounced a bit as he moved
up the bed
and
stretched his hand to the bedside drawer.
Scully lay
still as
stone beneath him. He fumbled to
get the box open
one-handed,
and the foil packet felt unfamiliar between his
fingers.
*You can
do this* he coached himself even as his erection
began to
fade.
He peeked
down at Scully, who was looking back at him with
wide,
apprehensive eyes. She hadn't made
a move to remove
his
boxers, and he knew it was because she was afraid of what
she might
find if she tried.
"Is
it okay?" she asked in a small voice, her gaze skittering
away from
his. Mulder sagged back down on
the bed, palming
the condom
as he rolled to face her. Scully
stared at the
ceiling.
"Come
here," he said, urging her back against him. She was
stiff but
not resistant, like a life-sized action figure
fresh from
the box. "Like this," he
whispered against her
face as he
ran his fingers through her hair.
Facing her, on
their
sides, he didn't feel so oppressive.
He stroked her
and kissed
her until her arms wound around him again. Her
knee
rested on his leg, and he welcomed it with slow caresses
down the
back of her thigh.
Scully
stroked her fingers along the hollows of his ribs and
lifted her
face for his kiss. The space
between them grew
warm and
close. His brain fuzzed out again
as his dick came
back on
line. He rubbed against her, felt
her sharp intake
of breath
against his face. "Mulder,
now," she whispered to
his
chin. He kissed her swiftly and
pulled away.
His
erection bobbed as his underwear joined hers on the
floor. Mulder's hands shook, Scully watching
while he tried
to open
the slim packet. He felt about
sixteen years old.
"It's
so dark. I can't see where I'm
supposed to tear."
"Let
me try."
He heard
it rip neatly, her trim little nails getting the job
done in
nothing flat. Mulder lay facing
her again and bit
his
lip. Scully fingered the opened
packet as she stared as
his
penis. For a moment he thought she
might finish the task
herself. Wordlessly, she handed him the
condom. She curled
into a
ball and watched him sheathe his cock.
"Okay,"
he said, trying to sound confident.
He scooted
closer to
her and she put her arms around him, hugging him
convulsively. He kissed her neck. "All right?" She nodded
and raised
her leg over his hips so he could slip his penis
between
her thighs. They both jerked at
the initial contact.
"Tell
me if this is okay."
"It's
okay."
They held
their breath as he eased his way inside her. Ah,
Mulder
thought, relaxing. There. He smiled into her hair
and
nuzzled her affectionately. Scully
started to shake.
"Scully?" He tried to pull back but she clutched
him tight.
"Scully,
what is it?"
She
answered with a high, keening sob, and horror flooded
through
him.
This whole scene is from Mulder's POV pretty much because of
this one moment when Scully starts to sob. If you're in her head, you have some idea that it's
coming. This way the reader gets
to experience some of Mulder's complete confusion and helplessness. It's not his fault; he's done
everything right, but it's still not enough.
"Scully,
talk to me. What is it?" He brushed sticky hair
off from
her face but she would not let go.
She held him
inside her
with all her strength.
"Don't
leave," she choked out between awful sobs. "Please
don't
leave me."
"No,
I'm right here." He rocked
her back and forth, holding
her as
tightly as he could while she seized and shuddered in
his arms.
"Please,"
she said again. Mulder was
helpless against the
tide,
reassuring her with lips and hands that he was real and
solid and
not going anywhere. His erection
softened and
started to
slip out of her, setting off a fresh round of
wracking
tears.
"I'm
here, I'm here, Scully." He
repeated the words until he
was
hoarse, until he was crying himself from the sheer force
of her
anguish. "I'm right
here."
But Scully
cried on, wrapped around every inch of him, and
yet
somehow unable to hear.
XxXxXxX
Keywords: None.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Eight
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Pain,
Scully remembered the minute she opened her eyes, was
the one
sensation you couldn't sleep through, the reason cuts
and
bruises in dreams never hurt. The
sharp twinges in her
lower
belly woke her just as the sky was lightening outside
Mulder's
window. Mulder lay on his back
next to her, one arm
flung over
his head, still deeply asleep. She
eased from the
covers
without waking him and shivered her way into the
living
room, where she retrieved her purse.
Her pupils
contracted in the bright bathroom light.
She set
the purse
on the sink and frowned into the mirror. Shadows
smudged
the tired skin under her eyes; her hair was matted on
one side
and stuck up on the other, and she had wrinkled
Mulder's
T-shirt with her tossing and turning overnight.
Scully
examined this other woman with a clinical, detached
eye: she
looked small and terrorized, a victim.
That woman
had been
raped. It would never be untrue.
Scully
tore her attention from the mirror and fumbled with
her
purse. The tampon lay at the
bottom. She took it out,
put it in,
cleaned herself up and washed down a pair of
ibuprofen
with Mulder's metallic-tasting water.
She thought
about how
easy it was now to swallow pills and make
everything
go away.
The cold
porcelain sink touched her belly.
Scully looked
down at
the hard edge, moved closer to it, watched it press
deeper and
deeper into her flesh until the pain made her gasp
-- a
shocked, breathy sound that flooded the tiny bathroom.
No
VD. No pregnancy. That left AIDS still spinning on the
Russian
roulette wheel. Even as the attack
receded into the
distance,
her life was still not her own.
She
splashed water on her face, letting the cold drops
trickle
into her dry eyes. She combed her
hair with short,
angry
strokes. Mulder's towels hung
uneven behind her; his
razor, his
crumpled toothpaste tube, and his toothbrush -- a
giant
spray of bent bristles -- lay on the plastic shelf
above the
sink. Scully put her own
toiletries back in her
purse.
On her way
out, she straightened the towels and turned off
the lights
behind her.
XxXxX
Mulder
awoke on a long inhale, eyes popping open, breath held
in, as he
froze and listened to his shadowed apartment. He
didn't
have to call her name to know she was gone. His time
with
Scully was defined as much by her absence as her
presence,
certain stillness that settled within him each time
she
disappeared.
He
released, let go, fingers flexing on the cool sheets. The
pillow
held the shape of her head. He
remembered watching
her wake
up the morning after they had first made love, tense
and
waiting for her to bolt, only to have her smile and
stroke his
cheek. Then she had hidden her
face in the pillow
and giggled
while he'd pinned her down and nibbled at her
ear.
This
morning he was left with only gray walls and the echo of
her tears.
Mulder put
bare feet to the floor and leaned his head into
his
hands. He felt cheated, robbed; he
wanted to howl like
an
animal. Scully cried and he wanted
to scream, to tear
down
buildings, to show the world what a terrible thing had
happened. Aren't you angry? He wanted to yell at her.
Don't you
want him dead? Mulder's fingers
curled with
impotent
rage.
Trial was
too good for men like Watts, too civilized an
answer to
such a savage crime. Jungle
warfare. Mulder
wanted
blood. He wanted to hide in the
bushes and watch his
prey sweat
in the summer heat. Watts would
never see it
coming. He would turn around and Mulder would
be on him with
a gun,
with a knife, with his bare hands ready to rip him
limb from
limb. This is how it felt, you son
of a bitch,
Mulder
would say. He heard the shot, felt
the bones crack in
his hands,
saw the blood running on the ground.
Justice,
merciful and swift.
Mulder's rightfully angry here, and he's still looking for a
way to fix things. He wants
revenge, but he also wants Scully back to normal. He doesn't hurt in the same way she does. Intellectually he knows it will take
time for her to recover, but emotionally he can't help feeling there's a way to
hurry the process along.
Plus, he feels somewhat like a gauntlet has been thrown
down. The rapist is out there, and
Mulder has the skills to put him away for good. Instead he's left feeling useless.
XxX
He looked
up the address not intending to do anything with
it. He just wanted to know. Watts had a name now, and a
face, but
Mulder wasn't satisfied. He wanted
to know where
he lived,
how to get to him. Just as an
insurance policy.
Eleven
Plumtree Lane, the computer spit out; a sweet
fairytale
place with big, white houses and monsters hiding
inside. Watts would be there, eating toast and
eggs in his
mother's
kitchen like nothing had ever happened.
SUSPECTED
RAPIST FREED, Mulder's paper said, though it was
not
front-page news. They had called
his victims to tell
them. Who would tell all the other women in
the city?
Mulder
left the house late with his hair still wet and his
tie in his
hand. When the car engine roared
to life with an
angry
snarl, Mulder jerked the shift into gear.
He cruised
the
streets and watched the cars and people and trees flow
by; they
seemed curiously unreal, computer generated, like he
could hit
a button and make them all snap to black.
His car
became
part of this videogame world, on a track he had to
follow,
where the end was predetermined.
All Mulder could do
was grip
the wheel and hold on tight.
XxXxX
Arriving
late herself, Scully paused and frowned at the
locked
office door. In seven years of
basement-level
investigation,
she'd had to use her X-Files key perhaps four
times. Mulder was always there first.
She pushed
open the door, flicked on the lights, and stood
alone at
the center of the quiet room. She
looked at the
disarray
on his desk, as she had looked on the tangle of
bedcovers
of his bed earlier that morning.
Heat colored her
cheeks as
she remembered her breakdown and the things she had
said to
him. Not even when she had been
dying had she ever
begged him
like that. Scully hugged
herself. Surely he must
fear she
was losing her mind.
She
sniffed twice and took a deep breath.
Mulder wasn't
here, but
the work always was. She could
handle that. She
could hold
Rentham's files in her hands and enter the cold,
hard facts
of their lives without giving anything more away.
She could
sit in Mulder's chair and wait for him to come wary
through
the door, show him she could hold up her end.
Scully
would zig. Mulder would zag. He said occult; she
said
occlusion. This was how it ever
was, how it ever shall
be, world
without end.
Because,
deep down, they always feared the same thing.
I think Mulder and Scully are fundamentally more alike than
they are different. Neither one is
especially good at saying what they feel.
They both value truth and loyalty above all things, and they tend to
shut the other one out when they are hurting.
Amen.
XxXxX
Eleven
Plumtree Lane was a corner lot, slate gray two-story
colonial
with white shutters and two chimneys.
Mulder parked
across the
street, absently worrying a seed between his teeth
as he
studied his subject. The house
revealed no secrets:
windows
shut, curtains drawn. Thick green
grass coated the
front
yard, probably reborn every spring by someone named
Pedro, and
cheery pink and white petunias lined the front
path. The driveway had been redone recently
in fresh black
asphalt. Either no one was home or the cars were
all put
away in
the garage.
The
backyard showed a deck with a barbecue.
No swing set, no
toys;
little Greggy was a big boy now.
But Mulder saw the
remnants
of his childhood hidden among the branches of the
towering
old oak: a tree house, barely
visible behind a
waterfall
of thick leaves, perfect for a young voyeur who
loved to
hide and watch.
Mulder
stared, almost trance-like, chewing and waiting. He
imagined
driving his car right through the front door. He'd
come for
noise, for release; the house just sat in stone
silence,
mocking him.
A sharp
rap on his passenger-side window jolted Mulder from
his
stupor. He turned to see Detective
Savioshy peering in
with an
unfriendly frown. "Agent
Mulder," he said as he
opened the
door. "Mind if I join
you?"
Mulder
sighed and tossed away a seed.
"I was just leaving."
"That's
not what my boys tell me."
The leather seats of the
Taurus
creaked as Savioshy settled his considerable weight
into a
chair used to holding Scully.
"Your
boys?"
"They're
on mower detail today."
Savioshy pointed two houses
down where
a lawn crew worked in the morning sun.
Upon
closer
inspection, Mulder could see that a couple of the men
were more
interested in the Watts residence than in the house
in front
of them. "Meyer gave me a
call a little bit ago and
said you
looked like you'd settled in for good."
"Meyer
should worry about his own job."
"That's
good advice," Savioshy agreed readily, and Mulder
glared at
him.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning
your office is quite a ways away from here."
Mulder
shrugged. "So I took the scenic route in."
"There's
nothing for you to see here."
Mulder squinted out
at the
house again, and Savioshy sighed.
"Go home, Agent
Mulder. We're handling this, I promise
you."
"Are
you?" Mulder turned around in his seat again.
"I
caught the guy."
"Yeah,
and now look where he is."
"I'm
not any happier about that than you are," Savioshy shot
back. "But it's out of our hands."
Mulder's
hands, wrapped around the wheel, felt more than
capable. "They let him go," he said
slowly, "because the
prima
fascia evidence was not sufficient to support remand.
The DA
makes his case with your evidence, Detective."
"And
that's why I'm here," Savioshy replied steadily. "Why
are you
here? This is still my case,
Mulder. It's still an
open
investigation, and we will nail this bastard's balls to
the
wall. I hate like hell that he's
out. As a man, as a
father, it
makes me sick. But as a detective,
I know it
gives me
another shot at him. He led me to
the goods once,
and just
maybe he'll do it again."
"You
mean his--" Mulder choked on
the word. "His
trophies."
Savioshy
gave a short, grim nod. "The nail in his coffin."
Mulder
clenched his hands and looked down at the steering
wheel. "Could work," he admitted
after a minute.
"Not
with your ass parked out front watching the joint, it
won't."
"Okay,
okay. You've made your
point."
The
leather groaned and released as Savioshy got out. He
leaned
back inside the car, half draped over the door. "Give
my regards
to Agent Scully."
"I
don't think it's your regards she's after."
Savioshy's
puffy cheeks tightened with a grimace.
He nodded.
"Just
the same, you stay out of this.
The last thing this
case needs
is the two of you deciding to administer a little
back alley
justice."
"Scully
doesn't even know I'm here!"
"Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of." Savioshy patted Mulder's
doorframe
a few times. "Good-bye, Agent
Mulder. You have a
good day
at work, okay?" The car shook
when he slammed the
door shut,
shuddering around Mulder.
He started
the engine and idled a moment longer, one last
look at
the house. The curtain in the top
window closed
quickly,
winking at him, and Mulder revved the engine to a
threatening
roar.
You can't
hide forever, you sonofabitch, he thought, and the
tires
peeled away.
XxXxX
Scully was
so certain it was Mulder on the other end that she
answered
her cell phone without glancing at the caller ID.
"Mulder,
where are you?"
"Dana?"
"Oh,
Chris." Scully deflated a bit
in her chair. She
pinched
the beginnings of a headache between her eyes. "What
can I do
for you?"
"I'm
sorry to bother you at work like this, but we just got a
court date
for the preliminary hearing, and I need to go over
your
statement with you ASAP."
"Now?" Scully glanced at the wall clock again
and wondered
one more
time where the hell Mulder had gone.
"Later
today would be fine. You could
drop by after work?"
Scully
eyed the precarious stacks of folders on Mulder's
desk. She did not really have a time called
"after work."
"Okay,"
she said. "I'll be
there."
Just as
she snapped off her phone, Mulder strolled through
the door,
chewing gum, with his jacket slung over one
shoulder. "Hey," he offered.
"Mulder,
it's almost noon."
"Is
it?"
"Where
have you been?"
"The
dentist."
No one
left the dentist's office chewing gum.
Scully leaned
back in
Mulder's chair and folded her arms.
"Mulder?"
"Hmm?" He stopped chewing and looked right at
her, eyes wide
and
guileless. Clearly he did not
expect her to call him on
it. She opened her mouth and shut it
again. "What?" he
asked.
"I,
uh..." Her pulse went liquid
as she accepted the lie; it
was easier
not to know. She sat forward. "I finished
entering
the data from Rentham's files."
I think if she admitted it to herself, Scully would know
exactly where Mulder had been.
Part of her wants him to do it so she won't have to.
"Great." He came around the desk and leaned one
arm on the
chair
behind her. The hair stood up on
the back of her neck.
"Anything
jump out at you?"
Scully
cleared her throat and tried to focus.
"Not from the
numbers. But looking through all these files,
Mulder, you've
got to
think Rentham had help gathering the data. He's got
over a
thousand folders here, and we found only twenty-seven
people
living inside the compound. Where
did he get all this
other
information?"
"We
know there are underground networks and sources for
people who
have experienced alien abduction."
"Exactly. And at this point, I'd say we know them
all. How
come we'd
never heard of this guy before?"
The phone
rang and Mulder held up one finger at her.
"Mulder,"
he said after he'd palmed the receiver.
"Hi,
Sheriff. Yeah, I was just talking about the case
with Agent
Scully
now. Uh-huh. What? When?" He
stood up from the
corner of
the desk, and Scully swiveled her chair around so
she could
see his face. He shook his head at
her questioning
look. "Yeah, I got that. What do you mean 'gone'? Uh-huh.
What about
Tina Appleby -- did you talk to her?
Okay, how
about the
others?" He listened for a
minute and then ran a
hand
through his hair. "No, I
don't know. Yes. Yes. Yeah,
you do
that." He hung up the phone
with a slam.
"What?"
Scully asked.
"Jared
Rentham's body disappeared from the morgue sometime
over the
weekend. The ME was backed up, and
when he went to
do the
full autopsy this morning he found Rentham was gone."
"Gone,"
Scully repeated, and Mulder made a disappearing
"poof"
gesture with his hands.
"Just
like that. The Sheriff says Tina
Appleby is missing,
too. All the members of Rentham's compound
have apparently
vanished
into thin air."
"Mulder,
that's -- What is the Sheriff thinking, that the
members of
Rentham's group somehow absconded with the body?"
"Don't
know. Security cameras were no
help, but the Sheriff
is going
to send us a copy anyway. In the
meantime, no one
saw
anything; no one knows anything."
Scully
flipped open the closest file and let it fall shut
again. "So it's back to Texas?"
"Maybe." He did not sound any more enthused
about the
prospect. "I get the feeling the Sheriff
won't be making
this case
his top priority. As far as
they're concerned, the
investigation
is over. The cult has disbanded,
Rentham is
dead, and
his killer is locked away in jail."
"Without
a body, Chet Appleby's trial might be more
difficult."
"Sheriff
isn't too worried," Mulder informed her darkly.
"Apparently
they've got two federal agents as witnesses to
the
murder."
Scully
lifted her eyebrows in answer and tossed her pen onto
the desk. "Mulder," she said, staring at
the reams of files
in front
of her. "*Have* we ever run
across Rentham before?"
"In
person? No way."
"Maybe
just a photo?"
Mulder
looked thoughtful. "I don't
think so. Bony head,
large eyes
-- I think would have remembered this guy,
wouldn't
you?"
"I
guess."
"What,
you know him?" She had his
full attention now. He
locked
eyes with her as she searched her memory one more
time. Rentham's thin nose. Rentham's cool hand on hers.
His calm,
deadened voice.
"No,"
she said abruptly. "Of course
not."
"You
know," Mulder said as he moved some files aside so he
could sit
near her on the desk. "I
think you might be onto
something,
Scully. Rentham is the place to
start, not Texas.
Why take
the body? It doesn't help
Chet."
Scully
sighed. "Maybe the members of
Sanctuary House got
tired of
waiting to bury him."
"Maybe. Or maybe someone didn't want that
autopsy done."
"Why?"
Scully spread her hands.
"Like you said, Mulder,
there
isn't any dispute about the cause of death in this
case."
"It
isn't Rentham's death I'm interested in," he said,
getting to
his feet again. "It's his
life."
Scully
protested as he pushed between her and the computer.
"Jared
Rentham was a failed fortune teller from New Orleans."
"And
what else? That's the
question." Mulder started
typing,
hunting and pecking around his tie as he leaned down
over the
keyboard. A minute later, he
tilted the screen so
she could
see it. "Check it out,
Scully: Jared Rentham was
seventy-one
years old."
"So
he's Dick Clark." Scully
rubbed her temples again. "So
what?"
Mulder hit
some more keys. "Make that
Dr. Rentham," he said.
"He
graduated from Harvard medical school in 1956."
"License?"
Scully asked, putting her hands down.
"None. Doesn't look like he practiced
anywhere."
"So
what did he do for almost fifty years?
Shuffle Tarot
cards?"
"I
don't know," Mulder said as he straightened again. "But I
think we
should head to New Orleans and check it out." He
reached
for the phone. "Skinner will
sign off, no question -
- we can
be down there before sunset."
"Mulder,
wait." He halted in mid-dial.
"I can't."
"Scully,
I know we haven't agreed on certain aspects of this
case,
but--"
"Preliminary
hearings start next week. Chris needs
me to go
over my
statement."
"Chris?"
"ADA
Clark.
"Oh." The phone hung limp in his hand. "Of course you can't
go,
then." Sitting behind stacks
and stacks of possible
victims,
Scully felt guilt hiss out of her like air from a
punctured
tire.
"Maybe
I can reschedule."
"No,
Scully. No." The tenderness in his voice clawed at
her. For seven years, Mulder had marched
them all over the
globe with
never a backward glance to make sure she was
following. Melissa had died. Her father. Scully had not
missed a
moment of work. To put herself
first now, after
everything,
and for Mulder to let that happen... "We'll both
go
tomorrow," he said, putting the phone aside. "That's soon
enough. Today we can just chase it down from
here."
"Mulder,
no." She stood up. "You go now and I'll just catch
a later
flight. It's not a problem."
He
shrugged and started sorting through the folders again.
"So
we both go later. There's plenty
of work to do here."
"And
I'll do it. You go on ahead."
He looked
up, meeting her gaze for a second.
"Scully," he
said
softly, shaking his head. "I
can't."
It was the
same aching tone he had used the night before,
when she
had clung to him, choking on her own life, when she
had cried
and crumbled and... begged him not to leave her.
The lump
in her throat sprung up again as her fingers curled
around the
back of the chair.
"Mulder," she began.
"It's
one night," he said to the floor.
"And
then one night becomes two, becomes ten.
Where does it
stop?"
"He's
out there, Scully. You said it
yourself."
"Yes,
and that's exactly where I want to leave him. Out
there,
away from me. If I let him in
here, let him affect my
work, let
him affect *your* work -- then, Mulder -- he's
never
going away."
Mulder's
mouth twitched downward.
"What if he walks, have
you
thought about that?"
"What
if he does?" she parroted back.
"You're
saying you wouldn't care?"
"Of
course I'd care! But that's not
the issue."
"I
think it is. I think until they
get this animal off the
streets,
in a cage where he belongs, you can't be too
careful."
"Mulder--"
"You
know what he's thinking now, Scully?
Because I do." He
slapped
the folders down viciously.
"I've lived inside a
dozen
others like him, and let me tell you, the view from in
there is
one you don't forget. Watts isn't
sorry for you.
He *hates*
you."
"I--I
know that," she whispered.
"No." Mulder shook his head resolutely. "You don't know. He
hates you,
Scully, hates you and all the others for bringing
the law down
on him and tearing apart his perfect little
life. He's thinking maybe if he'd killed you,
things would
be better
for him right now. And he's
restless. He hasn't
been able
to prowl the way he likes, hasn't found release.
He's stuck
in his momma's house with the white lace curtains
and no new
victims and he's been reliving his old conquests."
"Mulder,
please."
"No!" He hit the desk with his fist, making
her jump. "You
need to
hear this, Scully. You need to
know so you can
protect
yourself." But he wouldn't
look at her.
"I
can protect myself!"
"No,
apparently you can't!"
She
stiffened as if struck, and so did he, horror spreading
over his
features as they stared at one another.
His mouth
opened and
closed several times.
"Scully, I didn't mean--"
he
started, but she held up both hands.
"Don't."
"I
didn't mean it."
He'd
ripped the band-aid off her giant wound. "Yes, you did,"
she
replied, smarting over every inch of her skin.
"No,
not like that. I'm sorry. I--I just don't want
anything
to happen to you."
"Well,
it's too late for that, now, isn't it." He had no
good
answer to that one, and so he remained silent. She
shuddered,
defeated. "Go to New Orleans,
Mulder. Please,
just
go."
He nodded
slowly, gathering his jacket and things like a
shell-shocked
solider. Scully did not move a
muscle as he
walked
with heavy steps towards the door.
He halted at the
frame,
half-turning over his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I
can't stop hating him for this."
Scully
said nothing, letting him go even as her eyes grew hot
and
liquid. She looked up at the
ceiling, vision blurred,
and
listened to the sound of his footsteps fade down the
hall.
This scene was a lot harder to write. It still feels a bit uneven to me, but
the gist of it is right.
XxXxX
At five,
Scully arrived at Chris's office just as the
secretary
was leaving for the day.
"Have a seat," the woman
told her
with a kind smile. "He's just
finishing up another
meeting
right now, but he should be right with you."
The
waiting area boasted a coffee machine, a bright sunny
window, a
green leather couch and two wingback chairs with a
table of
magazines between them. Scully
selected one of the
chairs and
a three-week old issue of Time, which she set on
her lap
but did not read. She left smudgy
fingerprints all
along the
shiny blue cover as the minutes ticked past in
total
silence. At last, she heard a door
open down the hall
and Chris
Clark's baritone echoed off the walls.
"My
nephew did the same thing when he was four," he was
saying. "My sister didn't find the frog
until she went to do
the
laundry."
A woman's
laugh answered, and a moment later both she and
Chris
entered the waiting area.
"Dana, hi," Chris said.
"Thank
you for coming down."
Scully
nodded in reply. She hung back,
waiting for the woman
to leave,
but Chris jerked his head to indicate she should
join
them. Scully smoothed her skirt
and crossed the room.
"Dana
Scully, this is Gloria Raymond."
Scully
hesitated. There was only one
reason to introduce
them. She forced herself to look at this
other woman, who
smiled and
extended her hand. She gave
Scully's hand a hard
shake. "Hi," she said. "Call me Glory."
"Glory,"
Scully repeated. "It's nice
to meet you." Maybe it
was
Chris's gardening influence, but the name Glory made
Scully
think of morning glories. The
woman vaguely resembled
a flower,
too, with wisps of teased blond hair flowing out
from
around her face and bright cherry lips in the center.
"Chris
said it's just us two so far," Glory remarked.
"Everyone
else is still scared. Me, I did a
dance in my
kitchen
when I heard they caught him. I
say bring it on, and
let's fry
the bastard."
"Not
likely," Chris cautioned.
"Think prison -- for a good
long time."
Glory
shrugged. "That works. I've heard what they do to
guys in
prison, and it couldn't happen to a nicer fella." She
looked
Scully from head to toe.
"Killer shoes," she said.
"'Course
they would do me in but good, seeing as how I stand
on my feet
eight hours at a time. You work in
the city?"
"Uh,
yes. I do."
"Me
too! Willoughby's restaurant on
Sixth Street. If you're
ever in
the neighborhood, stop by and say hi.
Dinner's on
the
house."
"Thank
you," Scully managed.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"I
mean it." Glory grabbed her
hand again and squeezed.
Scully
tensed at the unexpected touch, pasting on a smile.
"We've
got to stick together through this, right?"
"Right." Glory searched her face, as if trying
to determine
whether
Scully truly felt the solidarity, and her expression
softened.
"We'll
be okay," Glory said firmly, backing it up with a
short
nod. "You'll see."
Speechless,
Scully nodded with her. Chris put
an arm to
Glory's
back. "Thanks for your help
today. I really
appreciate
it."
"No
problem. I'd best be picking up
the kids now. Call me
if
anything changes, okay?"
"You
know I will."
"Good
luck," Glory told Scully.
"I'm sure I'll see you again
soon." She grinned and waved as she left. Scully lifted her
eyebrows
and waved back.
"Wow,"
she said when the other woman had gone.
"She's, um,
quite
something."
"I
call her 'Hurricane Gloria'," Chris said. "She's been
just
absolutely terrific about everything since day one."
"Have
you known her long?" Scully asked as they walked the
hall to
his office. Chris understood the
real question
immediately.
"Glory
was attacked last summer," he said.
"She's been
waiting a
long time for this day to get here."
He opened his
office
door and let her enter first.
"Welcome to the den of
entropy."
His office
held a large desk with a computer monitor on it,
which was
decorated with a dozen post-it notes.
Stacks of
papers
spread across the rest of the surface.
Behind, there
were
floor-to-ceiling bookcases, with books flopping over
every
which way. There were two low-back
metal armchairs in
front of
the desk, and a small couch in the corner. Chris
steered
her towards the couch.
"I
expected more greenery in here," Scully said as she sank
into the
leather.
"I
wish. This room gets so little
light that only my rubber
plant has
thrived." Chris nodded at the five-foot potted
plant with
the large shiny leaves. "He's
straight out of a
Steven
Segal movie."
Scully
gave him a questioning look.
"Hard
to kill."
"Ah." Another time, she might have smiled at
the joke.
Instead
she just leaned back against the cushions and rubbed
her eyes.
"Hard
day?" Chris asked as he sat next to her.
"You
could say that."
"I
have just the cure," he said, and she rolled her head to
look at
him.
"I'm
not really up for more gardening."
His knees
cracked as he rose. "I'm
thinking malt, not
mulch." He went to a cabinet near the desk and
withdrew a
bottle of
scotch. "Clock says it's
officially after hours,"
he
said. "What do you say?"
She nodded
and he poured them each a glass.
He returned with
the liquor
in hand and a yellow legal pad tucked under his
arm. Scully sipped as he repositioned
himself next to her on
the
couch. "It's good," she
said, letting the warm fire
trickle
down her throat.
"Dad
gave me the bottle when I graduated law school."
"Mmm." Scully leaned her head back again,
cradling the drink
on her
thigh. "That's nice. For graduation, my father gave
me the
cold shoulder."
"You
went to law school?" he asked, curious, and she snorted.
"Med
school."
"You're
kidding. And he wasn't over the
moon?"
"Oh,
no. The doctor part was just fine;
it was the FBI he
couldn't
stand." She stared at the
particleboard ceiling.
"Some
days I can't stand it either."
"What
was his beef with the FBI?"
Scully
gave a short, dark laugh.
"Too dangerous. I
might
get
hurt!" She glanced at Chris
to see if he was
appreciating
the irony, but he just looked uncomfortable.
Scully
took a liberal swallow of the expensive booze before
sitting
up. "Listen," she said,
"I've got an eleven p.m.
flight to
New Orleans, so let's just do what we have to do
and get
out of here, okay?"
Chris set
the pad down and folded his hands.
"I'm sorry
you've had
such a tough day. We can do this
tomorrow or
Thursday
if that would be easier."
She shook
her head and drank some more.
"I'm here," she
said. "What do you need?"
He
produced a folder very similar to the ones she had been
sifting
through all day on Mulder's desk.
This one had her
name typed
neatly on the label. "I have
a copy of your
statement
to the police. I'd like to go over
it with you now
and make
sure there isn't anything you left out, or anything
you might
have remembered in the meantime."
"Fine,"
she said wearily, and Chris picked up the pen. For
nearly an
hour they went over the details of what she had
said, and
he explained to her the next few steps.
"The
earliest we'd be at trial would be August, but Bellamy
will
probably delay as much as possible.
September or
October is
more likely."
Heavy with
alcohol, Scully took a minute to process.
Months
away, she
concluded with a sigh. She
stretched out and put
the glass
on the coffee table. "Will I
have to testify?"
"I'd
say it's likely. We are proceeding
on all counts right
now, even
without the victims' testimony, but the case is
definitely
stronger with your input."
"My
input," Scully repeated dully.
"Right."
Chris
leaned back next to her, shifting the weight of the
sofa so
that their shoulders touched.
"I know it's hard," he
said
gently. "You're doing great
so far."
She nodded
without looking at him.
"Mulder thinks," she
said,
taking a deep breath, "that it will all be over when
Watts goes
to prison."
"What
do you think?"
She shrugged. "For him, maybe it will
be."
Chris's
voice was soft near her ear.
"What about for you?"
Her
shoulder rose and fell again, and she focused on her
hands. "For me, it is over. It happened. It's done.
Everything
else is just...details."
He appeared
to think about this for a minute.
"I can see
that, I
guess, if I squint real hard. I
spend my life on
those
details."
"Well,
that's the difference between you and me," she told
him as she
sat up. "I refuse to spend my
life there."
XxXxXxX
The scotch
wore off before she even reached Reagan National,
so Scully
had another drink in the dark airport bar. She
wore her
work suit buttoned and her leave-me-the-fuck-alone
expression,
and the rogue businessmen kept right on moving.
When her
phone rang, she fished it out and stared at the
glowing
little screen.
Mulder.
She
snapped it on just before the voicemail would have kicked
in. "What?" she demanded.
"Forget
New Orleans, Scully," he told her, sounding as hollow
as she
felt. "The Sheriff just
called from Texas. Tina
Appleby is
dead."
XxXxXxXxX
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Nine
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
They
stationed a uniformed cop outside the autopsy bay while
Scully
examined Tina Appleby's body.
"Sorry, Ma'am," the
young man
said when Scully told him that his presence was not
required. "But it's after hours and they had
a body go
missing
earlier this week. I've got to
keep an eye on
things."
Yes,
Scully thought, because I am likely to smuggle out a
corpse for
recreational use.
She slipped
on some scrubs, tied her hair back, and went to
work. Face up and nude on the exam table,
Tina Appleby
appeared
denser, flatter, with tangled hair and colorless
lips. Scully noted stretch marks on Tina's
belly as she
snapped
the first pictures, and a jagged scar across her left
knee. Under "cause of death," the
local corner had written:
drowning. Tina had been found in the creek behind
Rudy
Hartman's
farm, just a hundred yards away from the spot she
claimed
the aliens had first found her.
Scully
documented some bruising on Tina's shins and her right
cheek. Her fingernails had been eaten down to
the quick, but
Tina May
Appleby wore glittery red nail polish on each of her
ten
toes. Scully remembered twelve
year-old Melissa shutting
their
bedroom door and triumphantly revealing a bottle of
nail color
their father would have called, "Hooker Red."
"He'll
kill us," she'd told Melissa breathlessly, even as her
sister
twisted the cap off with glee.
"We'll
do our feet, silly. Dad will never
know."
They had
huddled in the closet to do the application, Melissa
shaky but
Dana's hand steady under pressure even then. All
week at
school, Melissa had traded her shoes for sandals once
they'd
cleared the house, but Scully had kept her illicit
feet
hidden under thick socks and tennis shoes, wiggling her
toes in
secret while Mrs. Teleman droned on about fractions.
Scully
stared at Tina's naked feet, camera still in her limp
grasp, and
felt a tinge of sympathy she had not managed for
the woman
in life. She finished the
photographs and began
careful
external study of the body.
"Probable proximal cause
of
death," the corner had noted, "alcohol."
He had
smelled it, and so did Scully.
Blood tests would no
doubt
confirm that Tina Appleby had consumed an unhealthy
amount of
alcohol before she'd died. Thus
far, Scully saw
nothing to
indicate Tina's death was anything other than an
unfortunate
accident. She rolled the woman
over on her side
to get a
good look at her back. No
abrasions, no broken
skin.
Scully was
about to roll her over again when something made
her stop.
*Even the smallest ant can destroy the dam.*
Scully
left Tina slumped on her side and moved so that she
could get
at the woman's neck. Her own
breathing echoed in
her ears
as she lifted Tina's heavy mess of hair aside and
exposed
the tiny scar at Tina's nape.
Biting her
lip, Scully prodded at the wound with one gloved
finger. The chip was still there, just under
the skin.
Maybe Tina
hadn't known of its existence? But
Jared Rentham,
psychic
from the stars, he would have known.
Wouldn't he?
XxXxX
This conversation wasn't planned initially, but Mulder's
relationship to the case turned out to be more compelling than Scully's this
time around.
Mulder had
creek mud caking his shoes and mosquito bites the
size of
walnuts on his arms. He was still
wearing
yesterday's
suit when he went to visit Chet Appleby in
prison. Appleby had shrunk a size in just one
week, all the
fight
drained out of him, and he picked up the phone slowly
to speak
with Mulder on the other side of the glass.
"Why
have you come here?"
"They
told you about Tina?" Mulder asked.
Chet closed his
eyes.
"I
gave up my life and it still wasn't enough. That...animal
had to
come out from the grave and snatch Tina just one more
time." He shook his head sadly. "I should have done it
months
ago. Maybe then she'd still be
alive."
"What
makes you think Jared Rentham had anything to do with
Tina's
death?" Mulder asked, and Chet leveled him with a flat
look.
"They
told me where they found her, back of the old Hartman
place. Tina'd given up on that cock-and-bull
story about the
abduction
until Rentham got ahold of her. He
dragged her
back to
that farm sure enough as if he'd put a gun to her
head."
"Rentham
wasn't the one with the gun," Mulder couldn't resist
pointing
out, still angry at being used.
"You were."
Mulder's angry, yes, but he's also testing out the revenge
logic. It makes a certain kind of sense to him now but he can't quite admit it.
"If
it were your sister, you'd have done the same thing."
Appleby
pushed his glasses up on his nose.
Mulder
heard the shot again, saw Rentham crumpled on the
ground. He shook off the image and stared at
the pale face
on the
other side of the barrier.
"Someone stole the body,"
Mulder
said into his phone. "Did you
hear?"
"Figures,"
Appleby replied with disgust. He
squinted at
Mulder.
"Any suspects?"
"I
came to ask you about that."
"Hell
if I know. Ask those cult members
of his."
"No
one can find them. It seems they
all left town." Mulder
watched
Appleby's reaction, but the other man didn't blink.
"Or
maybe they're all dead, like Tina."
"Can
you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Tina?"
"Besides
the man who ruined her life?
No."
"Well,
I think you pretty much crossed Rentham off the
suspect
list," Mulder said, and Appleby gave a tense shrug.
Something
about the way his gaze dropped made Mulder ask,
"What's
that supposed to mean?"
"They
haven't got a body now, have they?"
Mulder sat
forward. "You think he's
alive?"
Appleby
leaned forward too. "Mr.
Mulder," he said very
seriously,
"you can't shoot the devil and expect him just to
disappear."
XxXxXxX
The muggy
night air clung like thick perfume.
Mulder wiped
the sweat
from his collarbone with a handkerchief as he
checked in
at the fleabag motel. "Room
thirteen," the man
told
him. "Right next to the lady
agent."
Mulder
accepted the big plastic key chain with a weary nod
and
trudged out into the damp heat again.
With the bugs and
the
humidity and the dead bodies, Hell had come to Earth and
parked its
trailer square on Texas. Mulder
calculated the
sole
advantage: they were over one
thousand miles away from
Washington
D.C. and Gregory Watts.
He halted,
key dangling in his hand, and stared at the row of
doors. Was Scully in room twelve or
fourteen? The light in
twelve was
on so he decided to take a chance.
Scully
answered without a word. He hadn't
seen her since
their
blowup in the office, and he wasn't quite sure what to
say to her
now. Sorry would just be a
lie.
She stared
up at him, unsmiling, and then went back and laid
on the
bed. Her air conditioner was going
full-blast.
Mulder
took the fact that she did not slam the door in his
face as a
sign to come in, and shut the door behind him.
"Don't
get too comfortable," Scully said, eyes closed, and
Mulder
halted with his ass hovering just above the armchair.
"We're
not staying."
"What
do you mean?"
She sighed
and opened her eyes to look at him.
"Tina Appleby
drowned,
Mulder. Natural causes. There is nothing more to
investigate
here."
Mulder
sat. "I talked to Chet
Appleby tonight."
"And?"
"He
seems to think Jared Rentham might be alive."
Scully
raised herself up to glare at him.
"Don't tell me
you're
actually entertaining this fantasy."
Mulder said
nothing. "Mulder, Rentham is dead. You and I both saw him
take a
bullet to the head, and I ended up wearing his brains
all over
my shirt."
"That's
right," Mulder said, becoming more animated. "You
did."
Scully
looked wary at his excitement.
"What?"
"Done
your dry cleaning yet, Scully?"
"Mulder--"
"The
body disappeared before anyone ran tests."
"Body,"
Scully said, swinging her legs over the bed. "So we
both agree
what we're dealing with here, right?"
Mulder
rubbed his eyes. "I don't
know what we're dealing
with. That's why I want to run the
tests. Something has
been off
about this case from the beginning.
I think when we
figure out
what Jared Rentham was really doing at Sanctuary
House, we
might have a chance at understanding what the hell
is going
on here."
"Did
you find out anything in New Orleans?"
"Yeah,"
Mulder said into his hands. He
slouched backwards
with a
sigh. "Jared Rentham was a
lousy fortune teller. He
could
barely make his rent."
"Mulder." Scully's voice was soft, sad. He looked at her.
"Let's
just go home."
The
resignation in her tone scared him. "Scully, about
yesterday--"
She stood
up abruptly, cutting him off.
"You know, you've
never
asked me about that night," she said as she walked to
the
dresser. "Not once."
"I
didn't think you wanted me to ask."
She looked
back at him in the mirror, removing one of her
earrings. "Here's your chance, Mulder."
He thought
for a long, silent minute. "I
don't know what to
say."
"How
about the question you've been wanting to ask all this
time?"
He shook
his head faintly.
"Come
on," she goaded. She put both
hands on the dresser and
narrowed
her eyes at him in the mirror.
"Ask it. I know you
want
to. I've seen it on your
face."
"You
tell me, then," he replied quietly.
"I
want to hear you say it."
Mulder
shifted. "You're going to
have to tell me first
because I
don't know what you want me to say."
"How
did this happen?" she said, whirling. Mulder's throat
went
dry. "That's it, isn't
it? That's what you want to
know?"
"Things
happen." His voice came out
hoarse.
"Not
like this," she said, advancing on him. "Not to me.
I
carry a
gun. I enforce the law. I've had the same hand-to-
hand
combat training that you've had."
"You
weren't carrying," he said, avoiding her eyes as he
offered up
the excuse. He'd said it to
himself a million
times
already.
"No,
I wasn't. I was alone and unarmed
and I just let him do
it to
me. That's what you think, isn't
it?"
Her words
started the movie in his head again:
Scully on the
parking
lot pavement. Watts sweating on
top of her.
Mulder
squeezed his eyes shut to make the picture go away.
"Scully,"
he said. "What do you want
from me?"
"The
truth!"
Mulder
lurched to his feet. "I don't
know the truth! I
don't know
anything, Scully. You're up,
you're down, and I
don't have
one fucking clue what to say anymore.
I want to
help. I do." She shook her head, denying him. "Yes," he
told her
fiercely. "I do, Scully, but
I feel like I just get
it wrong
every single time I open my mouth.
I can't feel sad
for
you. I can't feel angry for
you."
"I
don't want you to feel anything for me!"
Mulder
shut up. Her fury didn't fire him
the way it usually
did. He didn't have the energy to
fight. "It's too late for
that,"
he told her softly.
She
wrapped her arms around her chest and her eyes grew
watery. "What do you want from me,
Mulder? Maybe that's the
real question."
"I
want--" He swallowed. "I want what you want."
"And
what is that?"
"For
things to be okay again."
"For
*me* to be okay again."
He wasn't
sure whether he was supposed to agree with that or
not. "I love you," he said, but it
felt like a guilty
confession,
like he'd been caught stealing cookies before
dinner.
"You
hate him," she said.
"You hate what happened."
"Yes."
"And
that's what I feel. When you look
at me, when you touch
me, that's
what I feel."
Mulder
looked down at his hands, suddenly poison. "I don't
hate you,
Scully."
"No." She hugged herself tighter. "But maybe it's close
enough."
Probably the toughest scene to write in the whole fic. Much pulled out hair. It still reads somewhat awkward to me,
but at some point I had to keep going or I was just never going to finish. Again, I think some reader took this as
Mulder being a jerk, or that Scully's anger is justified. I don't see it that way. She's not really angry at him,
even. She's angry at herself and
she's *afraid* he might agree with her.
XxXxXxX
Back on
his home turf, Mulder puttered around the office and
ignored
the clock on the wall. Scully had
not been in yet
that
morning, and it was nearly noon.
Mulder hoped
Savioshy's
men hadn't run out of yard work to do in Watt's
neighborhood.
When the
phone rang, Mulder lunged to answer it.
"Mulder,"
he said,
half leaning over his desk, expectant.
"Agent
Mulder?" came the unfamiliar voice on the other end.
"This
is Chris Clark from the DA's office.
I'm trying to
reach
Agent Scully."
"Oh." Mulder glanced around again, as if he
might have
somehow
overlooked her in the room.
"She's not here at the
moment."
"I
tried her cell number and got no reply.
Do you know how I
might get
in touch with her?"
Mulder
figured her phone was off for his benefit. "Uh, no, I
don't know
where she is right now, but I can take a message
if you
want." Even if Scully wasn't
going to clue him in on
what was
happening with the case, maybe ADA Clark had looser
lips. But no.
"Just
tell her I called."
"About
the case?"
"She
can reach me at the office for the next few hours.
Thanks."
He hung up
before Mulder could say anything further.
Mulder
stared at
the receiver a moment, dial tone still buzzing, and
wondered what
the newest development was. The
case had
dropped
from the papers over the last few days, but at least
there had
not been any new attacks. Savioshy
must be doing
something
right. Mulder shook his head and
replaced the
phone.
He noticed
Scully's fern drooping on top of the file cabinet,
so he
lifted it down to water it. The
green wisps tickled
his hand
as the plant hungrily absorbed its drink. Watching
it, Mulder
forgot the door, and thus startled when Scully
breezed
through a minute later carrying her briefcase and
what
looked like a rolled up poster.
Mulder feared she had a
new motto
to paste over "I want to believe."
She
stopped, eyeing him with the plant, but did not demand
that he
unhand her foliage. "It needed water," he explained
for want
of something better to say. Scully
shrugged and
took the
giant piece of paper over to her table.
"I
solved part of Rentham's code," she said.
"Really?" Curiosity overcame awkwardness and he
joined her
at the
table as she spread out the poster she had brought; it
turned out
to be a US map.
"Part
of the numbers denote longitude and latitude," she
explained. "The coordinates appear roughly to
correspond
with the
locations of the reported abductions.
I marked as
many as I
could."
The code is a dropped thread in the story. Since it's the XF, this is not the
worst sin a writer could commit, but it's not a part of the story I am proud
of.
"That's
where you've been this morning?"
She
nodded, not really looking at him.
"The files on your
desk
haven't been added yet, of course.
I can do that this
afternoon."
Just then,
he remembered the phone call.
"ADA Clark called
here
looking for you a little while ago," Mulder said. "He
mentioned
he tried your cell."
Scully's
cheeks colored. "Did he say
what he wanted?" she
asked as
she fussed with the map.
"No. I assume it's about your
case." He waited for her to
seize the
opening, but Scully merely pulled out her cell
phone and
dialed. Mulder couldn't help
noticing that she
already knew
the number. She turned her back to
him,
wandering
over to the window to make her call.
"Hi,
Chris? It's Dana Scully," he
heard her say. There was
a pause as
she listened. "Oh. Sure, that's possible. How
soon do
you... Yes, I can be there this afternoon. See you
then." She snapped off the phone and turned to
Mulder with a
deep
breath.
"Got
to run?" he asked, still lingering by her map.
"Shouldn't
take long." She began
gathering her things as if
she were
alone in the room. Mulder hung back,
tongue large
and
useless in his mouth.
"Scully,"
he began, and she looked up at him, a casual,
careless
glance. I don't care what you
think of me, the look
said. Go to hell.
"Hmm?"
"I
just want you to know I think it's great that you're doing
this."
"So
glad to have your approval."
She hefted her briefcase
and
started out.
"No,"
he said, blocking her path.
"I mean, it must be hard,
putting
yourself out there for a trial like this."
She
stopped and gave a half-shrug. "Anyone in my situation
would."
He
encircled her wrist with his hand.
"No, Scully," he told
her in a
low voice. "Most
wouldn't."
She looked
down at where he held her, his thumb running
lightly
over the band of skin beneath the cuff.
When she
raised her
head, her expression had softened into a small,
wistful
smile. "I've got to go,"
she whispered.
"Yeah." He squeezed her. "But hurry back."
XxXxXxX
During
work hours, Chris Clark's office building was crammed
with
people. They answered ringing
phones. They pushed past
Scully in
the hall. One man was yelling,
"I sent it to him
last
week!" In the waiting room,
there was standing room
only, and
a toddler was ripping pages from a magazine in the
middle of
the pandemonium.
"I'm
here to see Chris Clark," Scully said, and the secretary
on the
phone waved her away. Scully sized
up the waiting
area,
trying to imagine where she could fit, but Chris
appeared
from down the hallway.
"Dana,
thanks for coming over so quickly.
The place is a
total zoo
right now, I know. Come on down to
my office where
we can
talk."
He shut
out the noise with his heavy door and gestured for
her to sit
again on the small sofa. Unlike
their previous
meeting,
he seemed tense and harried.
"Ignore that," he said
grimly
when his phone rang. But neither
of them could speak
over the
repeated trills. Chris made an
annoyed huff and
went to
his desk to shut up the phone.
"Voice mail will get
it."
The
leather creaked as Scully shifted uncomfortably. "If
this is a
bad time..."
"No,
no," he replied in a rush as he returned to the seating
area. He pulled over one of the arm chairs
with him, taking
his seat
in that instead of on the couch next to her. "I'm
glad
you're here. Today has just been
crazy busy." He forced
a smile at
her, which she awkwardly returned.
"Okay,"
she said, taking a breath.
"What's going on?"
He thinned
his lips, hesitating. "The
motion to separate was
successful,"
he said at last. "Bellamy is
going to make us
try Watts
on each count individually."
"That
will take some time."
"Yes." He hesitated again. "But that's not all. You
remember
how I indicated to you that we don't have the same
amount of
evidence against him for each attack?" He waited
for
Scully's nod. "The judge
ruled that the M.O. Watts used
is not
unique enough to tie the cases together, especially
since the
detectives did not find the stolen items in Watts'
possession. That means we can't use evidence from
one attack
as
evidence in another. Without that
connection, we simply
don't have
enough evidence to pursue some of the cases
individually."
Her heart
slammed against her ribs, making her jerk in her
seat. "Meaning?" she asked, though
she could have guessed
the answer
from his face.
"We
can't prosecute your case at this time," he told her
softly. "I'm sorry."
This was another twist I'd planned from the start, because
it IS something that happens so often in cases like these. They get the guy, but not for your
crime. I wondered what that would
feel like, whether it would be the same kind of justice, and what it would feel
like to Scully, who's had justice delayed for her so many times before. Such a banal crime and she STILL can't
get someone to answer to her for it.
"But
the rape kit--"
"Says
that you were raped. No one is
denying that. But
there was
no semen found and no hairs -- nothing that would
conclusively
prove that Gregory Watts was your attacker."
Scully sat
stone-still. Her voice was little
more than a
whisper. "So he gets away with it?"
"No." Emphatic, Chris sat forward in his
chair. "No, I
promise
you that is not going to happen.
We have matching
semen
samples in two of the cases and hair from three others.
Watts will
be prosecuted, and he will go to prison."
"But
not for me."
"No,"
he admitted with some reluctance.
"I'm sorry."
Scully
nodded, feeling the ice begin to crack beneath her.
She
blinked rapidly and stood up.
"So we're done here, then.
I won't
take up any more of your time."
"Dana,
please." He stood up as well,
blocking her path to
the
door. "We can talk about
this."
"Can
we?" She fixed him with a
hard stare. "Can I sit here
and tell
you every horrible, degrading detail again? Is that
going to
change everything?"
"I
don't blame you for being angry."
"I'm
not angry. I'm merely--" She swallowed with
difficulty. "Disappointed."
Chris's
face fell. "It's not totally
over," he said. "If we
get new
evidence..."
"Please
spare me the Hail Mary pep talk.
I've seen this play
out a
hundred times before, and so have you.
We both know
the
ending."
"He
will pay," Chris said as Scully pushed past him. "Dana--
" She stopped with her hand on the knob.
"I'll
be sure to read about it in the papers," she said, and
opened the
door back into chaos and confusion.
XxX
Mulder
tacked her map to the wall of the office.
Where
Scully had
made delicate pencil marks to indicate the
location
of each alleged abduction, Mulder thrust in a
pushpin. Scully only hypothesized; he
committed. He marked
off the Xs
corresponding to the people who had lived inside
Sanctuary
House with red pins, and for the others he used
blue. The reds formed a narrow band across
the southern
United
States.
"Hey,
Scully," he said as she returned.
"Check this out. It
looks like
Rentham was targeting abductees from a particular
area."
"Great,"
she answered dully, not even bothering to look at
his
work. She walked to her table and
lowered herself into
the
high-backed chair.
"I
called a couple of MUFON groups down there," he continued,
but Scully
did not seem to be paying much attention.
"You
were
right, Scully. Just like us,
they've never heard of
him. So where was he getting all his
information?"
"I
don't know, Mulder. He's
dead. At this point it hardly
matters."
"Of
course it matters. C'mon Scully,
even you have to admit
there's
something strange going on here, with the giant
database
of abductees we found in his basement, Rentham's
body
disappearing, and then the Sanctuary House members all
vanishing
overnight."
"I
don't have to admit anything," she snapped.
"Um." He ducked his head, jostling loose
pushpins around in
his
palm. "Okay."
Scully
sighed and leaned her head into her hands. "Whatever
you want,
Mulder, okay? If you think this
case is still
worth pursuing,
then by all means, let's pursue it.
But
Rentham is
dead. Tina Appleby is dead. The pattern of
abductions,
while interesting, is meaningless without either
Rentham or
the victims available to answer questions. I just
don't know
where you expect us to go from here."
Mulder
advanced another step, still jiggling the tacks. "I
was
thinking of going back to New Orleans and looking into
Miriam
Rentham's death some more."
"Fine,"
Scully said, "When do you want to leave?"
"You're
through with Chris Clark for the time being? Because
we can
work around--"
"Oh,
no. We're through."
"Oh. Well, anytime you need time off--"
"It's
over, Mulder, okay? They're not
going forward with my
case."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Lack
of evidence. They can prove
Gregory Watts is a rapist.
They just
can't prove he is my rapist."
"Ten
women, same M.O."
"Not
admissible. They severed the
cases. Clark is going
forward
with five of them, and the rest are on hold."
"On
hold?"
"Indefinitely." She sighed again and seemed to drag
herself
back to
the work in front of her. "I
don't know why I ever
expected
anything different."
"Scully--"
"No. Mulder. I do *not* want to talk about this." She
pushed
back her chair and stood up.
"I'll be back in a
minute and
we can figure out New Orleans."
He stood,
head bowed, in the center of the room as her heels
echoed
down the hall. Only when she was
totally gone did he
swallow
his scream and hurl the tacks against the wall.
XxXxX
Night came
thick and steamy. Mulder's air
conditioning
rattled
the walls, but the old building could not pump enough
cold to
really make it worth the while.
Mulder tried a cool
shower
instead. Afterward, he slipped on
just a pair of
boxers and
headed to the living room with his wet hair spiked
and a
towel around his neck. He drowned
his sorrow in iced
tea while
the evening news flickered on the TV screen.
Mulder
propped large, bare feet on his coffee table.
"In
local news tonight, a judge agreed with Nora Bellamy that
there is
not enough evidence to link 20 year old college
student
Gregory Watts to all ten rape cases. The camera
shifted to
outside the courthouse where Bellamy stood with
Watts at
her side.
"Of
course Judge Walker agreed," she was saying. "Greg has
been made
a scapegoat so that Arlington and Kings County
police
officers don't look as inept as they truly are. Greg
is not a
rapist. He is an honor student
with no history of
violence
whatsoever. My heart goes out to
those women who
have been
hurt, but stringing up my client is not the answer.
Greg is as
much a victim here as they are."
"Oh,
for fuck's sake," Mulder said, sitting up. "Hold your
client/attorney
meetings in a dark parking lot, and we'll see
how you
feel about poor little Greggy then."
The camera
turned on Watts then. He looked
about fifteen
years old,
with his wide eyes and slicked-down hair parted in
the
middle. "I just want to say
thanks to Nora for helping
me, and to
my mom and dad for standing by me through this
mess. I didn't hurt those women, but I hope
they catch who
did really
soon. Thanks."
Most
people would have missed it, but Mulder had spent years
inside the
box with sociopaths. Gregory Watts tried for
solemn
innocence, but at the very last minute, the corners of
his mouth
twitched up in a smile. He was
ready to get away
with it.
Rage flew
through Mulder like lightning to a rod.
"You
sonofabitch. You goddamn sonofa--"
Mulder
stormed through his apartment, pulling on clothes,
simmering his
anger. When he was done, Watts
wasn't going to
be
smiling. He would never smile
again.
Mulder
grabbed his keys and gun and went back to Plumtree
Lane.
XxXxX
In the
black of night even the loveliest neighborhood took on
a seedy
appearance with houses fading to gray and restless
teenagers
roaming the block. Mulder circled
once, searching
for
Savioshy's men, and concluded that surveillance had been
abandoned. The black hate grew stronger. You can rape ten
women, but
don't abuse the department's overtime.
Mulder
parked in the shadows and hunched down in the seat.
Light
shone from several windows in the Watts family home.
He
considered ringing the bell and holding a gun to the head
of the
first person who answered. Do you
know what kind of
monster
your son is?
He sat for
some time, SIG heavy in his hand, watching the
door. Watts hadn't been able to visit his
stash or stage a
strike in
over a week. He was probably
inside pacing the
floor and
sweating. As if on cue, the
curtain on the top
floor
moved. Mulder slouched again, his
pulse racing. Not
five
minutes later the front door opened and Watts trotted
across the
front lawn. He jangled keys to the
Ford Explorer,
a spring
in his step, and soon the roar of the large engine
filled the
quiet night.
Mulder
held his breath as Watts drove right past.
Hunting
time.
He started
his car and followed.
XxXxX
Mulder gave the law a chance. Now he's doing things his way. But the real trigger is Scully giving up. It releases him from his promise, in a way, because she's relinquished control of the situation.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Ten
XxXxXxXxXxX
There were
things he would never say aloud.
One time
at Oxford, stone cold sober, he'd climbed a tower
and
thought about stepping off the top just to see what would
happen. Not suicide, no. Just for a split-second he'd
believed
that he could fly.
The dirty
names he had called his mother inside his head,
because
his father had left and she had stayed to take the
blame. Sometimes Mulder thought she looked at
him and knew
everything
anyway.
He had
hoped on and off for years that Samantha would be
dead. Mulder and all the king's horses
couldn't put her back
together
again, that bright-eyed button girl who would be
forever
turning cartwheels in the sky.
Sometimes
he just wanted someone else to be the hero.
There's a bit of martyr in both Mulder and Scully, I think;
it's one of the other ways in which they are alike.
XxXxX
They
rolled through the streets at a leisurely pace, always
within the
speed limit. Mulder would have
thought Watts was
out
cruising, but the car in front of him made a series of
complicated
turns that suggested Watts knew where he was
going. Mulder followed the demon eyes of
Watts' taillights
through
dark, tree-lined suburban streets and right out of
town.
Ten rapes
and Watts had not committed a single one in his own
backyard.
As they
drove, Mulder found himself sizing up potential
targets. The strip mall at the center of town
was too
bright,
too exposed. Watts didn't even
slow down. A rinky-
dink
second-run movie theater had a parking lot with trees at
the back,
but too many cars had crammed in together, and
everyone
would pour out from the theater at once.
The Wal-
Mart was
closed, its oceanic lot shadowed and bare. They
continued
on out from town, and Mulder spotted the white
gleam of a
Mom-and-Pop variety. Small
lot. Many trees. No
one
around. Bingo, he thought, and in
front of him Watts
pulled an
illegal U-turn and pulled into the lot.
Pulse
pounding, Mulder stopped his car by the curb and
proceeded
back on foot. He cut behind a
narrow apartment
building
and through the wooded area to the rear of the
store,
where he could see Watts' Explorer parked nearby.
Watts was
still inside sitting at the wheel.
C'mon,
whip it out, Mulder urged him silently.
I dare you.
Watts just
sat there not doing much of anything for a good
five
minutes. Leaves bobbed and waved
in front of Mulder as
he watched
behind the branches. He wondered
what he would do
if Watts
tried to crawl in there with him.
Another
car drove up and parked on the other side of the lot.
Both Watts
and Mulder watched a heavy-set man get out,
scratch
himself, and go inside. A minute
later, Watts did
the
same. He jangled his keys again as
he walked, whistling.
Mulder
rested his finger on the trigger.
The man
lumbered out again with a six-pack in his hand, just
as another
car was pulling into the drive.
This one held two
young
women, both slim and sporting matching ponytails. They
wore tank
tops and shorts and giggled to one another as they
got out of
the car. The man with the beer
stopped to watch
them walk
away. He got into his car, old
engine coming
sluggishly
to life, and backed out onto the street.
Mulder
slipped out from the trees, sweat on his brow. He
switched
his pocket light on and sneaked up alongside Watts'
Explorer,
all the while keeping one eye in the direction of
the
variety store. Mulder did a quick
check of the front
seat: empty. No knife, no stocking cap. Maybe Watts
already
had them with him.
This scene is meant to parallel what happened to Scully in a
number of ways. Mulder is stalking
Watts the same way Watts stalked Scully.
It has the effect of making Watts feel like prey but it also casts
Mulder in the role of predator, one of the running themes of this fic.
At the
sound of the girls' voices, Mulder thrashed into the
woods
again. He kept his breath low and
even as the young
women
returned to the parking lot.
"I don't
want to go to Amy's party," one was complaining as
her
companion paused to light up a cigarette.
"Bobby is
going to
be there, and I just don't know if I can face him
yet."
"Half
an hour, Em. Please?"
Mulder
missed her reply because a third shadow appeared
across the
parking lot, stretching long behind the girls.
The leaves
quivered with Mulder's sharp exhale. Watts ghosted
around the
corner, hunched shoulders, mouth parted. Backlit
in the
glow of the neon sign, he looked large and menacing.
The girls
didn't seem aware he was there.
"If
he's there with Keely," the one was saying as they
reached
their car. "I am *not*
staying."
Mulder
moved closer to the edge of the woods, coiled to
strike. Watts advanced towards the girls.
"Fine,
okay? If she's there we won't
stay." They opened
their car
doors and got inside. Mulder held
his breath as
their
engine roared to life. They peeled
out of the
driveway,
nearly backing over Watts in the process.
Watts
clenched
his hands and watched them drive away.
In the
bushes, Mulder's heart rate receded.
Now what?
Watts
ambled back to his car with his head down, keys still
loose in
his hand. He seemed to hesitate at
the door and
scanned
the woods in front of him. Mulder
froze.
This was
it.
They were
just six feet apart, Mulder invisible, his prey
carved
from the shadows by artificial light.
He looked at
Watts'
hands, imagined them holding a knife to Scully's
throat,
saw him forcing her down in the dirt and prying her
legs
apart.
Oblivious,
Watts began opening his car door. He was getting
away. A hundred times defeated, Mulder wasn't
going to let
this one
go. Watts was easy meat.
His heart
thrumming, he slipped from the trees and approached
the man
from behind as Watts inserted his key into the lock.
It clicked
in place just as Mulder cocked his trigger and
placed the
barrel on the back of Watts' head.
"Move
and I'll kill you. Isn't that how
it goes?"
Watts held
up his hands without turning around.
"I've got a
hundred bucks
in my wallet, man. It's all
yours."
"I
don't want your fucking money."
The gun barrel held
steady at
the base of Watts' skull. He
thought of Chet
Appleby,
how easy it was for him to pull the trigger.
Adrenaline
surged again. "I want you down on your knees.
Now."
Quivering,
Watts did as requested. "Who
are you? What do
you want
from me?"
"I'm
the man who comes out of the bushes and changes your
life
forever. You know all about that,
don't you Greg? You
know about
the man in the bushes?"
"I
don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure
you do. Your lawyer can fancy talk
for the press all
she wants,
but you and I know the truth, don't we.
We both
know what
you are."
"You're
crazy."
Mulder
licked his lips.
"Maybe," he said softly, nudging
Watts'
head with the gun again. Watts
flinched. "You want
to test
that theory, Greggy? You want to
test it right now?"
"What
do you want, man? Just tell
me!"
"I
want the trophies."
"Wh-what?"
"You
know exactly what I mean. The
things you stole from
them, you
sonofabitch. I want to know where
you hid your
stash."
Watts
turned his head to get a look at Mulder.
"Who the fuck
are
you?"
"Did
I say you could move?" Mulder
brought his foot down
hard on
the back of Watts' leg. "Your
souvenirs, Greg. The
wallets,
the underwear. I want it all. Now."
Watts
didn't say anything for a few seconds.
Mulder kept
glancing
at the street to make sure no one else was turning
into the
parking lot.
"Now,"
he ordered again. "Or we can
do this the hard way."
"You
a cop?" Watts asked, sounding less worried all of a
sudden. "Is that it? You boys can't get me on honest
charges so
you're pulling this John Wayne bullshit instead?"
"Shut
up."
"You
must be a cop. They're the only
ones who know what's
missing. Unless..." He looked over his shoulder again.
"You
happen to know one of those bitches."
Mulder
planted his boot square in the middle of Watts' back,
sending
him forward against the SUV as the wind knocked out
of
him. "You have three seconds
to tell me."
Watts
coughed. "Was she the blonde
at the video store?"
The gun
shook as Mulder restrained himself.
"Tell me," he
gritted
out. Let the bastard string his
own noose.
"Maybe
the skinny Hispanic chick?
Oh. No, wait." The
funny,
twitching smile appeared on his face.
"You've got to
be
FBI."
"Maybe
I am. What's that to you?"
Watts
shrugged. "I read in the paper that one of those
bitches
was an FBI woman. You know the one
I'm talking
about?"
Mulder
heard Scully's sobs, felt her curled around him. "No.
You tell
me."
"Would
if I could." He sighed. "She must have really wanted
it,
though, or she'd have put up a fight."
Mulder
howled inside. "How do you
know she didn't?"
"Papers
say she didn't get the guy. That's
enough for me. I
think she
liked it."
Mulder
shoved the gun at him again.
"You talk big, but I
know what
you are. You used to wet your bed
all the time,
didn't
you? Couldn't leave mommy's house
for the night
because
then everyone would know."
"You
leave my mother out of this."
"Can't
make it with girls. You probably
stutter when they
try to
talk to you. But they do the
stuttering when you pull
out the
knife, don't they? Then you can
show them who's in
charge."
"Hey,
I am always in charge!"
"Not
right now." Mulder was
breathing hard. "Are
you?" He
grazed
Watts' head with the gun barrel again.
"One bullet,
and it's
all over but the crying."
"You
wouldn't," Greg said, but he sounded unsure.
"Think
of it this way -- I'd be sparing you the trials. Your
mother
would never know the truth about her dirty, dirty
boy."
"You
can't shoot me."
"I
can." Mulder found he meant
it. His finger hovered over
the
trigger. He would shoot. He would kill. He'd done it
before and
this was no different. He bit his
lip so hard he
tasted
blood. Watts' hands were
shaking. "I can," Mulder
repeated.
It would
be over. He would be free. Scully would...
Would...
"I
can," he said, determined.
The gun wavered in his hand.
Scully
crying. Rentham bleeding on the
floor. Chet in
prison
with his sad, pale face.
*You'd
have done the same thing if it were your sister.*
Headlights
suddenly flooded the parking lot, and Mulder
jerked his
arm back down by his side.
"Get up," he told
Watts as
an old Honda rolled to a stop where the girls had
parked.
"I'll
sue you," Watts said, defiant.
There was blood on his
lip.
"Good
luck with that." Mulder wiped
his mouth with his arm.
"I'll
get off and sue the whole damn legal system from the
chief on
down. You bastards have the wrong
guy."
"You'd
better run on home now, Greggy."
Mulder still had the
gun in
hand. "Momma will be
wondering where you are."
Greg
glowered and said nothing as he climbed into the SUV.
"You'll
be hearing from my attorney," he said through the
open
window. Mulder said nothing. His heart was still
slamming
against his chest at the thought of what he'd almost
done.
"You'll
be hearing from the district attorney," he said as
Watts
started the engine. "The
stuff is out there, and we
will find
it."
Safe in
his car, Watts' casual shrug returned.
"Good luck
with
that," he said, tossing Mulder's words back at him. The
weird
little smile spread over his face.
"And be sure and
tell Agent
Scully I said 'hi.'"
The tires
screeched in reverse, leaving dust in Mulder's
sweaty
face. He stared, still reeling,
gun hanging in his
hand,
until Watts' taillights vanished from sight. Then
Mulder
faded into the brush again, back the way he had come.
XxXxX
The shrill
ringing phone made Scully sit straight up in bed.
It was
dark, and sticky hair hung down over her face. She
groped
blindly for the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Dana? It's Chris Clark. I know it's late, but we have a
problem." He sounded stressed and angry.
This bit I also knew I wanted in here at some point. It's less of an issue than I had
originally intended it to be, but I wanted Scully to be caught between the ADA
and Mulder over how to deal with the case.
Scully
squinted at the clock, which read two thirty-seven in
the
morning. "What is it?"
she asked as she switched on her
light.
"Your
boyfriend is ruining my case."
"Excuse
me?"
"Mulder. He attacked Gregory Watts tonight in a
parking
lot."
Scully's
stomach lurched forward. "He
what?"
"Bellamy
rousted Savioshy at home and gave him quite an
earful. They want to press charges against
Mulder for
assault. Dana, I understand where the guy is
coming from,
but this
could mean serious trouble come trial."
Scully
sagged back against the pillows and closed her eyes.
"I'll
talk to Mulder."
"Yes,
do that. Explain to him this is
not helping anyone,
least of
all not your case."
"I
thought you said I don't have a case," Scully snapped.
"Well,
Mulder playing night stalker vigilante isn't the way
to go
about getting one."
"You
think I put him up to it?"
Chris
sighed. "I don't care whose
idea it was. I just want
it to
never happen again."
"Not
to mess up your case. I've got
it."
"You
know what I mean."
"Yes,
I think I do."
"Dana..." Chris's tone softened. "I'd like to pop the guy
too. I would. But if we're going to put him away, we've got
to play by
the rules. All of us."
The rules
aren't getting it done for me, Scully thought. She
wondered
how badly Mulder had bloodied Watts.
"I
said I'll talk to him," she told Chris.
"I
suggest you try the County Jail.
Savioshy booked him an
hour
ago."
XxXxX
County was
a small jail, dating back to the early 1900s, and
Scully had
the credentials to get inside. Though it had been
renovated
several times over the last century, it still
boasted
the same heavy stone frame and sliding iron bars.
The
concrete floor looked relatively new, but one of the
overhead
fluorescent lights flickered in and out at a
seizure-inducing
rate. Lazy ceiling fans stirred
the humid
air.
In the
first holding cell, a drunk lay on a bench and mangled
the
Miranda warning. "You have the right to remain silent,"
he told
the ceiling. "If you give up
that right a lawyer
will be
given to you."
This is based on an old episode of "Cops" I saw
many years ago, in which a drunk guy phoned the cops on himself and then
started reciting the Miranda warning -- garbled as it was -- when they
appeared. Funny stuff. *g*
Mulder sat
on his bench in the next cell with his head in his
hands. He looked up as Scully and the guard
approached, and
they
stared at each other through the bars while the man
unlocked
Mulder's door.
"You've
got fifteen minutes," he told her. Scully entered the
cell and
the guard drew the bars shut behind her.
She merely
folded her
arms and stood there.
Mulder
rubbed one hand over his stubbly face and neck. "I
take it
you heard."
"Mulder." She shook her head. "I don't even know where to
start."
"Then
don't."
"What
the hell were you thinking?"
He pushed
to his feet. "They'd called
off surveillance. Did
anyone
tell you? Yeah, that's what I
thought. Watts was
footloose
and fancy free tonight, Scully, and you know the
first
place he went? A parking lot. A dark parking lot with
plenty of
trees."
Scully
ignored the clammy chill that spread over her back.
"Where
you assaulted him."
Mulder
held her gaze, angry, but she did not back down.
"What
if he'd been going to your place?" Mulder asked. "What
then?"
"Then
I would have called the cops," she said. "Like you
should
have if you anticipated trouble."
"He
knew your name."
Scully
swallowed. "What?"
"He
knows your name, Scully. He said
to tell you 'hi.'"
She backed
up until she felt the bars hit her from behind.
"My
license," she whispered.
"If
we had that, we could prove Watts is the one. That's why
I followed
him, and *that's* why I questioned him."
"Did
he tell you anything?" she asked, holding her breath for
the
answer.
Some of
the fight left Mulder.
"No," he admitted finally,
turning
away. "Nothing we could use
in court."
"Mulder,
you're going to be the one in court.
You could lose
your job
over this!"
"Yeah,
well maybe it'd be worth it," he said, turning on her
again.
She stared
at him. "Fabulous," she
said flatly. "And where
would that
leave me?"
Mulder
looked at the floor. "I did
this for you."
"The
hell you did. You did this for
yourself, Mulder. You
did it to
make you feel better. You've
wanted to go after
Watts from
the beginning. The fact that he
was back out
there
again was driving you crazy!"
Scully's not really on the mark here, but neither is
Mulder. He did to it for himself,
though not in the way that Scully thinks.
Mulder is trying to exorcise the strange feelings he has about Scully's
rape, to prove to himself that he's not at all like Watts. Getting Watts off the street is almost
incidental.
"Watts
attacks ten women and they just let him go to do it
again. Savioshy wasn't doing anything to stop
him. The DA
wasn't
doing anything to stop him.
Someone had to do
something!"
"And
that someone had to be you."
She covered her face with
her hands
and sighed. "Mulder, if this
case gets thrown out
now..."
"It
won't," he said steadily.
"If
it does..." She dropped her hands.
"I don't know what to
say,
Mulder. You go out and do this
tremendously foolish,
dangerous
thing, risking your life, your career, putting the
whole case
on the line for a few minutes of vigilantism, and
then you
stand here and say it's all for me.
Am I supposed
to be
grateful?"
Mulder
didn't answer right away. "I hoped you'd be relieved,"
he said at
length.
Scully
chuffed. "You're in jail,
Mulder. What about this
picture am
I supposed to find especially reassuring?"
"I
didn't plan this part," he admitted.
He sat down again on
the low
metal bench, knees forced up around his ribs.
"You
assaulted him, and what, you thought he wouldn't press
charges?"
Mulder
gave her a long, hard look, and Scully realized with a
jolt that
the original plan hadn't allowed Watts to press
charges. Watts was supposed to be dead. "You're kidding,"
she
breathed, and he looked away.
"Mulder..."
"Tell
me you haven't thought it."
Scully
said nothing. Mulder heaved a
sigh.
"Anyway,"
he said, "I didn't do go through with it.
Obviously."
Scully
searched him wordlessly.
"Why?" she asked at last.
His gaze
flickered over her.
"You."
She felt
her eyes well up, and she shook her head.
"And when
they fire
you, Mulder, and lock you up in prison for five
years, is
that going to be because of me, too?"
"Scully..." He stood again and reached for her just
as the
guard
reappeared.
"Time's
up."
Scully
sniffed and wiped at both eyes.
"I'll get you out of
here,
Mulder," she said without looking at him. The heavy
iron door
slid open to let her out, and the guard clanked it
shut when
she was free. Mulder came up and
wrapped both
hands
around the bars.
"Scully,
I'm sorry."
"Time's
up," the guard said again, and led her away.
XxXxX
Her
favorite reporter, Sabrina Kimbrough, led the charge:
"I'm
here outside the sixth district county courthouse this
morning,
where once again accused rapist Gregory Watts is the
order of
the day. This time Watts'
interests are represented
on the
other side of the table. We've
learned that Watts has
filed
charges against FBI agent Fox Mulder for assault with a
deadly
weapon. Watts claims that Agent
Mulder attacked him
in a
parking lot late Friday night and threatened him with a
gun. Watts, who has been charged with four rapes
in the area
and
suspected of at least six more, maintains his innocence
and states
that Agent Mulder's attack was completely
unprovoked. The police have not commented as to
motive, but
a source
inside the courthouse told WRC that Agent Mulder is
a close
associate of the FBI agent who was raped."
Scully
stood in front of the TV, unable to look away.
There was
a shot of Watts, wearing a Sunday school suit and
looking
like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
"He came
from
behind me," he told the camera.
"All I felt was the gun
barrel
against my head. He said if I
didn't do what he
wanted, he
would kill me."
Scully
grabbed the remote and shut off the TV.
She was
shaking
from head to toe.
*Do
everything I say, or I will kill you right here.*
At that
moment, she wished Mulder had pulled the trigger.
XxXxXxX
Scully
knew before she reached the office that it was empty.
The hall
was dark, everything still, no sounds of Mulder
wrestling
the slide projector or playing dartboard on the
ceiling. He would be at home right now,
polishing his shoes
for
court. Scully scraped the key in
the lock and entered
the
office.
She
blinked as the lights came on, illuminating the mess of
Rentham's
files that they had strewn from one end of the room
to the
other. With a heavy heart and slow
feet, Scully made
her way to
her table and set her briefcase down on the only
spare
rectangle of space. She surveyed
the stacks of
folders,
the wall of file cabinets and the many trophy photos
Mulder had
tacked up behind his desk. She
tried to imagine
what she
would do with it all, if it became hers alone.
The phone
rang.
It was
Skinner on the other end, with a tone that suggested
someone
had wound his BVDs too tight. "Agent Scully, could I
see you
upstairs in my office, please?"
She
considered saying "no."
"Right now?" she asked instead.
"If
it's convenient," he replied, with an edge that indicated
it had
better be.
In the
elevator on the way up she met two male agents, only
one of
whom she vaguely recognized from her days in the
bullpen. Pendelton? Pembleton? He
was staring at her, so
she
acknowledged him with a short nod.
He nodded back.
Scully
looked at the floor, but out of the corner of her eye
she saw
Pendelton/Pembleton elbow his colleague.
That's the
one, he seemed to say. Scully felt
her cheeks
burn hot.
"I
did it for you," Mulder had said, and now the whole world
knew it.
The
elevator halted for her stop but Scully didn't get out
when the
doors slid open. "You guys
have a question?" she
asked,
facing them. Pembleton's friend
coughed. Pembleton
went
gray. Scully took a step closer,
forcing them back
against
the wall. "Something you want
to ask me?"
"N-no,"
Pembleton managed. His companion
focused his
attention
on the ceiling.
"Really? Because you can go ahead and
ask." They shook
their
heads vehemently.
"No,
no. Sorry."
"Yeah,"
Scully said with disgust, dismissing them. "I didn't
think
so." She hit the button to
stop the doors from closing
and
stalked off down the hall.
Kim wished
her good morning, but Scully didn't reply. She
walked
past her and opened Skinner's door.
"You wanted to
see
me?"
He said
nothing but beckoned her inside.
The slits in the
blinds
behind him cast a striped pattern across Skinner and
his desk,
reminding Scully of jail. From the
deep crease on
the AD's
forehead, she had the distinct feeling that Skinner
was having
similar thoughts.
"Agent
Scully," he said when she had sat.
She raised her
eyebrows
when he did not continue. His
chair hissed as he
leaned
back again, frowning some more.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm
fine, sir."
He
nodded. "I hadn't said
anything before, but I want you to
know the
Bureau has resources available to you if you need
them. Counselors, legal advisors, whatever
you need, we can
get
it."
"That
won't be necessary." She sat
stiffly, expressionless.
He nodded
some more. "You're, uh, not
the first woman here
to face
this situation."
"And
what situation is that, sir?"
Violated in a parking
lot,
rejected by the justice system, partner in jail...
Skinner
looked even more uncomfortable, if that were
possible,
and adjusted his glasses. "I
just wanted you to
know,"
he said. "I regret not saying
something sooner."
Scully
looked at her lap and said nothing.
Skinner
cleared his throat and continued.
"Mulder has been
temporarily
relieved of his duties," he said, and Scully's
head
snapped up. Skinner pursed his
lips. "Suspended
without
pay pending trial."
"What
happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'?"
"You're
saying he's innocent?"
Skinner squinted at her.
Scully
didn't reply, and he sat forward with a long sigh.
"He's
charged with a serious offense, one that the Bureau is
forced not
to take lightly."
"Because
it made the papers," Scully said bitterly.
"Because
we can't have agents going around stalking people
and
assaulting them in public!"
"I
saw Watts on television this morning, and he looked all
right to
me."
"Mulder
was out of line. You know
it."
"Maybe
I understand his reasons."
Skinner
shook his head. "I think
everyone understands his
reasons. That doesn't make them right."
"Today's
just a preliminary hearing," Scully said. "It could
take weeks
or even months to come to trial.
What am I
supposed
to do in the meantime? The X-Files
office isn't
exactly
overstaffed."
"That's
the other thing I wanted to talk to you about,"
Skinner
said, folding his hands. "We
can't get another agent
full
time. I've already asked. I might be able to file for
some
part-time help, but I can't guarantee how reliable it
would
be."
"Great."
"There
is another option," he said, and Scully looked at him.
He handed
her the morning paper, and tapped the small
photograph
under the fold. "Henry Eames struck a deal last
night to
keep him off the injection table for the six
homicides
in Atlanta. There were at least
ten others, he
claims,
and he's willing to say where the bodies are buried.
The
Atlanta field office has requested a fulltime pathologist
to aide in
the investigation."
"You
want me to go to Atlanta?"
"They
asked for our best. Your record
more than qualifies."
His
compliment barely registered.
"If Mulder is suspended
and I'm in
Atlanta, what would happen to the X-Files?"
"Nothing. The office would simply be closed until
your
return."
Scully
imagined a sign on the door:
"Gone Grave Digging."
"We
fought so hard to get the X-Files back.
I--I can't just
leave."
"It
wouldn't be permanent."
"Sir,
if this is some way to punish Mulder..."
"It's
not a punishment. It's an
opportunity for you to..."
He
gestured expansively. "Get
away. For a while."
Oh. So that's how it was. "I see."
"It's
your choice, obviously," he hurried to point out. "No
one is
trying to force you to leave. This
assignment just
happened
to come across my desk at a time when I thought you
might like
a change of scenery. If I'm wrong,
please just
tell
me." Scully said
nothing. Skinner waited a beat and
then
sighed. "Take the day to
think about it."
In the
hall on her way out, Scully kept her head down,
thoughts
blurred as she returned to the basement on
autopilot. A pair of agents near the drinking
fountain
stopped
talking as she walked past. They
said nothing but
tracked
her progress all the way to the elevator. She could
feel their
eyes on her back as she waited. At
last the ding
signaled
the elevator's arrival, and Scully escaped to the
blissfully
empty car.
Down in
the basement, the phone was ringing again. Mulder,
she
thought, rushing to answer.
"Hello?"
"Hello,
is this Dana Scully?"
"This
is," Scully said, cautious.
She recognized the woman's
voice but
couldn't place it.
"Ms.
Scully, my name is Sabrina Kimbrough and I work for WRC.
I was
hoping I could talk with you about Gregory Watts and
Fox
Mulder."
"No."
"Please,
I won't take up much of your time."
"No
comment," Scully said, and slammed the phone down as if
it had
suddenly morphed into a snake.
Shaken, she lowered
herself
into Mulder's chair and disappeared behind Mulder's
orphaned files. When the phone rang again, she yanked
out
the cord
with such violence that small plastic parts
skittered
across the room.
Scully put
her head down on the desk, where a wall of silent
victims
masked her tears.
XxXxX
Afternoon
sun pounded the courthouse pavement, settling like
lead on
Mulder's dark suit. Cars glinted
around him in the
treeless
parking lot. Mulder tugged his tie loose as his
lawyer,
Stan Serrano, imparted some last words of advice.
"The
injunction bars you from going within one mile of Greg
Watts, his
home or his family, Mulder, I strongly suggest you
not tempt
Judge Owens on this. He'll have
your ass in jail
again so
fast your head will spin. Stay *away* from Watts."
"But
what if I'm out shopping for nylon stockings and we just
happen to
run into each other?"
Probably my favorite Mulder line in the whole story.
Serrano
did not crack a smile. "Shop
online. I mean it,
Mulder. Your only chance of coming out of this
unscathed is
to keep
your nose clean from now until the trial."
Mulder
pulled out his handkerchief and waved it at Serrano.
"Message
received, okay?" he said before wiping the sweat
from his
brow.
Serrano
hefted his briefcase. "Go
home. Don't watch the
news
because it'll just make your blood boil.
I'll be in
touch."
Mulder
bade Serrano a half-hearted goodbye and climbed into
the
inferno that was his car.
"Yow," he said, jerking his
hand back
from the steering wheel. He turned
over the engine
and set
the A/C. to blast. For several
minutes, he just sat
there,
eyes closed, letting the air stream over him as he
replayed
the hearing in his head.
"Not
guilty," he had said when asked, because that was what
Serrano
had advised. In their meeting
beforehand, Mulder had
wondered
about the likelihood of that defense.
"But I am
guilty."
"Watts
doesn't have more than a tiny cut on his lip," Serrano
had
replied. "He was an accused
rapist loose in a dark
parking
lot, stalking a potential victim.
We'll argue your
actions
were not only justified, but that they probably saved
some woman
from a brutal rape that night."
Justified,
Mulder thought now. That's damned
straight.
The rest
of the world could see he had a right to his anger.
Why
couldn't Scully?
He
reversed the car and maneuvered out onto the road. He
drove it
faster than he ought, curving hard left and right as
the mirage
puddles kept appearing and evaporating up ahead.
If I'd
found his stash, he thought, it would have been worth
it.
Mulder
cruised back roads and city streets, staying away from
the
highway that would take him to Plumtree Lane if he let
it. Stay away, they had told him, but that
only applied to
his
body. Mulder didn't need to see
Greg Watts to follow
him.
He drove
to the drugstore where Watts had attacked the first
victim. He drove past the Wal-Mart, the
all-night Wendy's
Restaurant,
and the Store 24. He visited
Ming's parking lot
and
recalled his time in the bushes.
Each new crime scene
gave him
another adjective to add to his list.
Careful
(there was always an easy exit)
Methodical
(all scenes resembled one another)
Dutiful
(Watts didn't drag his dirty laundry home; he kept
his nasty
sexual crimes away from Mommy and Daddy)
Extremely
angry at women (Watts researched the sites but not
the
victims; he hated all the women equally)
Voyeuristic
(each hiding spot would have allowed extended,
perhaps
frequent, surveillance of potential targets)
Mulder
walked Watts' steps and thought his thoughts. He
imagined
the lust, the hate, the power, felt the anger
sweating
through his every pore. But there
was shame, too.
Dirty
Greg, hiding in the bushes with his bulging erection.
They made
him feel small, worthless. It was
their fault he
had to
hide.
He would
make them pay.
Mulder's
chest was tight, his hands clenched around the wheel
as he
drove through sprawling Virginia neighborhoods. Greg
didn't
live here, but he might have. The
lawns sparkled.
The houses
gleamed. Expensive swing sets in
the yard were
two
stories tall.
The tires
screeched as Mulder jerked to a halt in the middle
of the
road. He dug out his phone and
dialed Savioshy at the
station.
"It's
Mulder," he said when Savioshy answered. "I know where
Watts hid
his stuff."
I knew Mulder had to redeem his reckless actions by finding
the stash, but I wasn't sure where to put it. I went back to the parts I had written earlier and figured
out a place. People sometimes ask
how I can make things up as I go along, and the key is always that I take my
later cues from the stuff I've already written. I figure out what follows logically, and write that.
XxXxXxX
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Eleven
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
They
looked like overgrown boys playing hooky on the dusty
ball
field, shirtsleeves rolled up, squinting in the summer
sun. Mulder waited by home plate with a
battered baseball in
his
hand. He tossed it into the air
and caught it as
Savioshy
made his way across the field.
From the street
behind the
chain link fence, two uniformed cops in sunglasses
got out of
their squad car to watch the showdown.
"I
would have met you at Watts' place," Mulder said when
Savioshy
came to a stop along the first baseline.
"But
thanks to
you, I'm not allowed within a square mile."
"No,
that's thanks to you."
Savioshy squinted as Mulder
tossed the
ball again. "After the stunt
you pulled Friday
night, I
probably shouldn't even be talking to you."
"So
why are you?"
Savioshy
shrugged. "You worked all
those years with the
Bureau,
chasing some pretty weird shit, and they haven't
fired your
ass yet. I figure there's got to
be a reason."
Mulder
threw the baseball to him.
"You play ball as a kid?"
"Sure,"
Savioshy said, inspecting the worn stitching.
"Didn't
everybody?"
"Fly
kites? Climb trees?"
"Yeah,
I suppose," Savioshy replied with a touch of
impatience. "What's that got to do with
Watts?"
"When
was the last time you did any of that stuff?"
"Huh?"
"You
know, tossed the ball around, or built a fort in your
living
room?"
Savioshy
looked at him like he was high.
"Mulder, I don't
know what
you're getting at here, but--"
"The
tree house," Mulder told him.
"In Watts' backyard. He's
been too
old for that thing for over ten years now but it
hasn't
been torn down. It has meaning for
him somehow. Ten
to one
that's where you'll find his stash."
Savioshy
threw the ball back. "The
tree house, huh?"
Mulder
nodded. "Probably hidden, but
it's there."
"We'll
check it out," Savioshy said, already starting to jog
away. "Thanks," he called over his
shoulder.
"Let
me know!" Mulder yelled after him, and Savioshy waved an
arm in the
air to show he'd heard. Mulder
watched through
the
backstop as both he and the uniformed cops went roaring
away.
Mulder
pulled his arm back and flung the ball as hard as he
could into
the outfield, shielding his eyes to watch it arc
and fall
under the sun. It landed beyond
the imaginary
centerfielder
on a patch of brown grass. Mulder
kicked home
plate with
his dress shoe and then went to warm the home
team's
bench. And he waited.
XxXxX
The shrill
ring of her telephone greeted her as she walked in
the
door. Scully made no move to
answer it, but approached
the phone
table as if it were a dangerous animal.
The red
light on
her machine flickered madly. She
stared at it,
transfixed,
until the ringing stopped.
Quickly, she
unplugged
it before the noise could start again.
Then she
went and
did the same thing in the bedroom.
Late
afternoon light bathed her room, yellowing the walls and
lengthening
shadows across the carpet. Scully
pulled her
suitcase
from the closet and bounced it open on top of the
bed. It
smelled like dust and airplanes and backwater
mutants. She sprayed it with Lysol and went to
stare at her
rack of
suits for a while.
Ten years
ago, it would have been a dream assignment, heading
up an FBI
forensic team, solving cold cases under a national
spotlight. Now it was a punishment she felt
obligated to
accept.
She kept
thinking it was over, that the worst had happened,
but
somehow her life was still sliding away from her, an
avalanche
under her feet.
Numb, she
stood in front of her closet, unable to make even
the
smallest decision. At last she
grabbed the first three
suits from
the rack and shoved them in her suitcase.
She
could sort
it all out later, away from everything.
Shoes,
shirts,
nylons -- she packed in a flurry, hardly noting what
she threw
into her luggage.
Wait. She stopped, surveying her work. Something was
missing.
Scully
went back to the closet in search of her white blouse,
the one
she took everywhere because it matched everything and
she didn't
have to think about it. She
muttered a curse when
she saw
the empty hanger and remembered where the blouse had
gone. Crossing the room, she fished it out of
the garbage.
The flecks
of Rentham's blood had dried to brown.
Scully
fingered
the silky edge and considered the piles of folders
back at
the office. Whatever those people
had been seeking,
Rentham
hadn't been able to deliver it.
She went to shove
the blouse
into the trash again, but hesitated at the last
second.
Scully
took the blouse to the kitchen and wrapped it in a
plastic
sack, figuring she could drop it by the lab on her
way out of
town. It was as much of a goodbye
note as Mulder
was going
to get from her.
Maybe this
way, he would have some answers.
XxXxX
Mulder
took the steps to her apartment two at a time.
Pounding
on the door with the fleshy part of his fist, he
crowded
near the knob, eager to enter.
"Scully? Scully,
it's
me."
The door
opened and Scully appeared, looking annoyed.
"Mulder,
what is it?"
"I
tried calling you but you weren't answering your phone,"
he said as
he pushed inside. Scully stepped
back, palms up.
"Mulder,
this really isn't a good--"
"We
found the stuff," he told her, and her eyes grew round.
He nodded
for emphasis. "Yeah, we
did. Watts had it stashed
in the old
tree house at his parents' house.
It's all there,
Scully. All of it."
She shook
her head faintly. "I don't
understand. You were
supposed
to stay away from Watts, Mulder."
"I
did! Savioshy and his men went
in. I just told them
where to
look."
She stared
at him, and he smiled a bit, pleased he'd been
able to do
this one small thing for her.
There would
certainly
be a trial now. Scully would get
her day in court.
He nodded
some more, still smiling at this welcome piece of
good
fortune.
"How
did you know where to look?" Scully asked, and his smile
faded.
"Uh,
it was a guess, really. A
hunch."
"You
called Savioshy in on a hunch?"
"A
strong hunch."
"Uh
huh." She narrowed her eyes
at him, and Mulder knew he'd
been
caught profiling again.
The
adrenaline from the hunt, the tension from waiting, it
had all
been worth it when he had gotten Savioshy's terse
call. "We have the stuff."
Mulder had
seen it, too, briefly at the station as they'd
brought it
in and tagged it all as evidence:
the wallets,
the
licenses, the rainbow of women's underwear. Mulder had
looked,
but he hadn't known which pair was hers.
"The
cops never would have found his stash," he told her now.
"They
were all giving up. Savioshy,
Clark... even--" He
stopped
and her head snapped up.
"Even
what?"
He looked
at her hard for a second.
"He'll go to trial on
all
counts, Scully. Isn't that what
you wanted?"
Scully's
face fell, and she absently stroked the back of her
sofa. "None of this is what I
wanted," she said at last.
"Well,
then tell me what it is you want, because I sure as
hell can't
guess anymore."
"No
one asked to you guess! No wait, I
did ask something of
you,
Mulder. I asked you to leave this
alone, but that was
the one
thing you couldn't seem to do."
"So
you'd rather I sat on my hands and did nothing. You'd
rather he
just walked. Jesus, Scully. The cops were
practically
turning cartwheels when we brought the stuff in.
Your
friend Clark was over the moon.
They're even talking
about ways
to drop the charges against me. I
thought you'd
be happy
that the cases can go forward."
"Oh,
I am," she said, hugging herself.
"I'll be happy right
up until
tomorrow morning when the papers come out with this
latest
riveting installment: FBI hero Fox
Mulder defies law,
charges to
his partner's rescue. Maybe I
should call Sabrina
right now
and offer her the exclusive."
"I am
sorry for that, Scully. I am. But I think the greater
good
outweighs a little uncomfortable publicity here, don't
you?" She said nothing. Mulder gathered his words
carefully. "You're not the only one this
happened to.
Scully,
there were nine other victims hidden in that tree
house."
"And
the men in their lives, where were they?
I didn't see
them
hunting Watts."
"Scully,"
he said, and waited until she looked at him. "I am
here to
tell you unequivocally: they would
if they could."
She
searched his face, and he let her, let her see the truth
in the new
lines around his mouth, the sweat on his collar,
the
fatigue in his eyes. She nodded,
resigned. "Maybe
you're
right," she said. "But
thanks to you, they don't have
to."
"Thanks,"
he repeated ironically. This was
some thanks he
was
getting.
"Yes,"
she said with more conviction. "Thanks." She
shuddered
and squeezed the sofa back.
"You're right. What
you did,
it was right. You're--you're a
good man, Mulder."
He gave
her a wry smile. "Why does
that sound like an
epitaph?"
Her eyes
had watered but she worked to return his smile.
"There
are worse ways to sum up a life."
"Certainly
mine," he said, and took a step forward. "Just
think of
your other possibilities, Scully.
Fox Mulder: man
who never
organized his computer desktop.
Or, Fox Mulder:
man who
held the record for consecutive hours of grade B
movie
viewing. Fox Mulder: man who could
burn water in a
pan."
He stood
just inches in front of her now. She was focused
intently
on his shirt buttons. "No," she said, "it would
probably
read, 'Fox Mulder: man who regretted sticking his
finger in
that goo.'"
His laugh
caught in his throat.
"Yes," he said, taking her
by the
shoulders, "it probably will."
He rubbed her up and
down until
she softened. She did not resist
when he pulled
her to
him, but neither did she hug him back.
He put his
lips to
her hair.
"It'll
be okay, Scully. You'll see. By next week the papers
will
have--" He stopped short when he saw the suitcase
sitting in
the living room. "You're
going somewhere?"
She
stiffened again under his hands, and he pushed her back a
bit so he
could see her face. She kept her
lashes lowered,
but the
down-turned mouth, the slumped shoulders, and the
heavy
silence were all too familiar. He
dropped his hands
away from
her. "Let me guess:
Utah?"
"Atlanta." She looked at him. "It's just temporary."
"How
long?"
"Not
that long."
"How
long?"
"Six
weeks to three months."
"I
see," he said. "And
what? You were just planning to
drop
me a
postcard with a peach on it?
'Toured the Coke Museum,
Mulder! Wish you were here'?"
Scully
glared at him. "Yes, I could have sent it care of the
county
jail."
Mulder
glared back at her for a second before taking a deep
breath and
running both hands through his hair.
"Okay, fine.
I suppose
I deserved that."
Some readers were unhappy that Scully left rather than stay
to work things out with Mulder.
Scully's good at avoiding confrontation, though, and I think the move
makes sense for her. She's doing
it as much for him as for her. She
sees him behaving recklessly because of her and she's doing what she can to
stop it.
"No,"
she sighed. "Look, Mulder, I
realize this is
unexpected,
but I didn't know myself that I was going until a
few hours
ago. It wasn't my idea."
He
straightened at the news.
"Then don't go."
"What? I--I can't."
"You
can't," he repeated, as if it would make sense when he
said it.
"I
already said I'd go, but more than that, I want to. I
have
to."
"Scully--"
"Mulder,
I swore I wouldn't let what happened to me affect my
life, but
it's *become* my life. Worse yet,
it's become
yours." Her chin lifted in challenge, daring
him to deny it.
He scuffed
his toe along the floorboard.
"It'll
be different now. The case is
closed. The charges
against me
will certainly be reduced, if not outright
dismissed,
and Watts is a slam-dunk at trial."
She was
shaking her head even as he argued.
Finally, he just
stopped,
deflating. "I am going for a lot of reasons. But
mainly...
I look at you," she whispered in a small voice,
"and
it's like I can't even see you any more.
There's just
too much
in the way."
His heart
broke. "I'm right here,
Scully. I've always been
*right
here*."
"I
know that." She swiped at her
eyes. "I'm not blaming
you. I'm not."
"Then
tell me what to do. Whatever you
need, I'll do it."
He was the
Red Queen, running as fast as he could just to
stay in
place. Everything he'd been
working so hard to save,
it had
been lost all along. He just
hadn't noticed.
"I
need to go to Atlanta," she said, drawing herself up. "I
need to
help find those girls. I need to
think about
something
other than my life for a while."
"What
about... what about the X-Files?"
It sounded slightly
less
pathetic than, "What about me?" but he figured after
seven
years together, her answer would apply equally to both.
Scully
gave him a sad smile and went to her bedroom. When
she
returned, she was carrying something wrapped in a plastic
trash bag. She placed it in his hands.
"The
truth is still out there, Mulder."
A horn honked
outside,
and Scully turned toward the window.
"That's my
taxi."
As she
gathered her things and they walked to the door,
Mulder
scrambled frantically for something, anything, to halt
the
slide. Don't leave me, she'd said,
and now she was the
one
disappearing down the hall. She
stopped at the end,
window
ablaze with light behind her, and turned back to him.
"Mulder?"
"Yeah,
I'm coming."
Outside,
the taxi driver shut her suitcase in the trunk with
a very
final-sounding slam. He climbed back behind the wheel
while
Scully lingered at the rear door.
Mulder cradled his
trash
sack.
"So,
don't call you, you'll call me?" he joked.
She took a
step forward. "Two months," she said. "Maybe
less."
"What
happens then?" The words felt
tight in his throat.
"Fall,"
she said, managing a wobbly smile, and she touched
his cheek.
Mulder
hated fall. Hated to watch the
leaves die and the
darkness
creep in. Under the orange summer
sun, it felt a
million
years away. He took her hand and
squeezed it hard.
"October,"
he said, "a month for monsters, madness and Fox
Mulder."
This year
he'd be forty, half his life gone, and that was if
he were
lucky.
"It's
a date," Scully replied, squeezing him back. She got
into the
taxi then, and he stood with exhaust curled around
his feet,
watching as she grew smaller and smaller in the
distance.
Scully
escaped to a new shiny life, and Mulder was left
holding
the bag.
XxXxX
They found
the first one, Emily Randall, buried in a field
behind an
abandoned factory, right where Henry Eames said he
had left
her. Low gray clouds hung in the
sky, threatening
rain, and
periodic wind gusts blew the grasses flat. No one
said much
of anything. The factory looked on
with its broken
window
gap-toothed smile as men and women in uniform
reclaimed
Emily's bones.
Thirteen
when she'd died, she would have been twenty-six now,
in the
ground as long as she'd been above it.
Scully
stood and watched the bones come up.
They would go to
her now,
laid out on a shiny metal coffin under the bright
lights of
the big city. Scully's job was to
do what Emily's
parents no
longer could: identify their little girl.
She
thought of herself at thirteen, with braces and glasses,
riding her
bike all afternoon and hunkering down under the
covers
with a flashlight and a book every night, and for the
first time
in many weeks, Scully felt grateful for her life.
For the
first time, she realized she was still breathing.
The morgue
was her oyster, and she was in control. Six other
agents did
exactly as she asked, and none of them whispered
when her
back was turned. Scully worked harder than all of
them, up
to her elbows in tiny bones that all told the same
sad
story.
She filled
herself with their lives and forgot about her own.
XxXxX
Stan
Serrano was puffed up like a skinny peacock inside his
gray
suit. "Glad you came to your
senses, Adleman," he said
as the
prosecuting attorney signed off on all charges against
Mulder. Mulder had spruced up for the occasion,
looking like
a
law-abiding citizen with his new haircut and buffed shoes.
Adelman
made a sweeping signature.
"Don't thank me," he told
Serrano
even as he glared at Mulder. "I think it happened
just like
Watts said. I think your client
went off half-
cocked and
attacked an unarmed man in a parking lot.
But I
can't
*prove* he did it, not when my complainant in this case
is about
to go down for serial rape."
Mulder
clenched his clasped hands but said nothing. "You say
nothing,"
Serrano had commanded before the meeting.
Mulder
figured
the order left little room for interpretation.
"Between
you, me and the lamppost," Serrano said, "your
victim is
a viper. He should watch himself
or someone else
might
decide to take a crack at him."
"Off
the record, I might agree. On the
record, I remind
Agent
Mulder that the restraining order against him still
stands. He is not to go within one mile of
Gregory Watts,
Watts' family,
or his residence."
Both men
looked at Mulder, who sat forward.
"Is this the
part where
I say, 'I do'?"
Serrano
swung his briefcase up onto the edge of Adelman's
desk and
began collecting the paperwork.
"He agrees."
And so
Mulder slipped through the cracks once again. He had
been in
and out of jail more often than a two-bit hooker, but
the
justice system never managed to hold him.
Privately,
Mulder
suspected that this was because justice recognized him
as a
fellow naïf, running around with his blindfold and his
scales,
expecting that the truth would win out in the end.
In the
hall, Serrano clamped him on the shoulder. "Your life
is your
own again, Agent Mulder. Stay out
of dark parking
lots for a
while, eh?"
He was not
going to jail, but he didn't have his job back and
Scully was
living in another state. If this
was his life,
Mulder did
not recognize it.
"Thanks," he told Serrano, as
he shook
his hand. "I appreciate
it."
Serrano
strolled off whistling, and Mulder shook his head.
It was
four-thirty in the afternoon.
If he hurried, he
could make
the Avengers rerun on at five.
"Mulder!"
He turned
at the sound of his name and saw Christopher Clark
coming
down the hallway. Mulder rocked
back on one heel,
smoothing
his tie over his stomach as he waited for the other
man to
catch up. Clark stopped, a bit
winded, and slapped a
folder
against Mulder's back.
"Heard
you were in the building," he said.
"How did it go
with
Adelman?"
"All
charges dismissed."
Clark
stuck out his hand to Mulder.
"Fantastic news," he
said as
Mulder shook it. "But I can't
say I'm surprised.
Bob wasn't
relishing the idea of taking this one to trial.
He'd tell
the story, and twelve men and women would wish
they'd
been the one to bloody Watts' lip."
Mulder
spread his hands and looked at them.
"I'd line them
all up to
take turns."
"Listen,
I said this to Dana already, but I wanted to tell
you
too: I'm sorry for going off on
you before about this
whole
thing with Watts. If I'd been in your
position..." He
shook his
head.
"You
talked to Scully?" Mulder
shifted. "Um, recently?"
"Yeah,
we spoke last week. She's going to
testify at the
trial in
September."
"Oh. Right, of course." Mulder had not talked to Scully
since she
had left for Atlanta. He'd
glimpsed her on CNN
once, shot
with a telephoto lens from far away as she had
worked the
crime scene in her FBI windbreaker.
POLICE LINE -
- DO NOT
CROSS, it had said in front of her, and Mulder was
heeding
the advice. He had not called.
If she
couldn't see him any more, it was a fair bet that she
wouldn't
be able to hear him either.
Clark was
still standing there, so Mulder kept talking.
"How's
that going?" he asked.
"The trial?"
"So
far, so good. Bellamy sure has
been quiet since you guys
found all
the stolen property Watts had stashed away. I
expect
Greg Watts will leave prison an old man, if he ever
gets out
at all." He slapped Mulder
with the folder again.
"I've
got to run. Good to see you,
Mulder. I'll make sure
to save
you a front row seat, huh? We can
watch the bastard
go down
together."
Mulder
nodded and waved because Clark was already walking
down the
hall. He didn't bother to explain.
The
restraining order would keep him far away from any trial.
XxXxX
God
clapping his erasers, Sister Mary Caroline used to say
when it
thundered, and He was smacking the clouds together
with extra
force as Scully made the hundred-meter dash from
her car to
the hotel. The ground rumbled and
water fell in
sheets, soaking
her blouse to her skin.
Inside her
room, the A/C evaporated the warmth from the rain
and sent
her shivering into the bathroom for a thick white
towel. She blotted her wet hair and wiped the
moisture from
her
face. Her makeup looked like something
from the "The
Texas
Chainsaw Mascara," and her bra stood out in stark
relief
against her now transparent blouse.
She had it
halfway
unbuttoned when her phone rang.
"Dana,
it's Chris," came the voice on the other end. "I
didn't
catch you at a bad time, did I?"
"No,
no." Scully lay back with her towel against the pillows.
"I
just got in."
"I
saw on the news that you guys found another girl today."
Tamara
Jenkins, aged fourteen. Her mother
had called her
home from
a friend's house for dinner eleven years ago and
never seen
her again. Eames had broken both
of Tamara's legs
before
he'd crushed her skull. The
shattered bones waited
for Scully
back at the lab.
Scully
pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers.
"Yes,
although we haven't made a conclusive ID as yet. Her
parents
were there when we raised the body.
I don't think
they had
seen each other in three years before today."
"How
are you holding up?"
Scully's
eyes snapped open.
"Fine. This is what I
was
trained to
do."
"Of
course," Chris said, backpedaling.
"I just meant that it
seems like
a rough case, all those dead children."
"They've
been dead a long time." There
was a hard silence on
his
end. "I've shocked you,"
she said.
"No,
no," he replied, perhaps too quickly.
"You
cry for all the victims in your cases?"
"Not
all." He paused. "Some."
Scully
raised her knees to her chest and took a deep breath.
"The
part with the parents, it never gets easier, but that's
not why
I'm here. This wasn't my
case. I didn't search for
the girls,
never hoped to find them alive, never had to meet
their
killer. I just give them a
name."
"Closure,"
he said.
"Of a
sort." She leaned back
against the pillows again.
"But
I'm sure that's not what you called to talk to me
about."
"Actually,
in a way, it is. The trial is
getting closer, and
I'll need
to go over your testimony in person.
Any chance
you'll be
back up this way soon?"
"Oh." Scully looked at the rain against her
window, as if
the
outside would provide some answers.
She hadn't allowed
herself to
think about going back. "Uh,
I won't be finished
here for
at least another three weeks. I
could come up
sooner if
it were really necessary... as soon as this
Friday?" Her heart sped up and she held her breath
for his
answer.
"Friday
would be great. We could meet in
the afternoon and
you'd be
home in time for dinner. Hey,
you'll never guess
who I ran
into today in the hallway:
Mulder."
"Oh?" Mulder was another thing she hadn't
allowed herself to
think
about.
"Adelman
dropped all the charges against him in the assault
on
Watts. He's free and clear
now."
"That's...
that's really good news." She
gripped the
receiver
tighter. He would get his job
back, the files; he
would be
expecting her return.
"Yeah,
it is. Everything's falling into
place now, Dana.
You'll
see." She could hear him
smile. "I'll see you
Friday,
then. Around two?"
"Two
is fine."
She hung
up and wandered back into the bright bathroom, where
she stared
at her disheveled appearance. Her
life was
mending
itself in her absence, she thought.
Soon she
would have to see if it still fit.
XxXxX
Mulder
unlocked the door to the X-Files office, and it opened
with an
extended creak. Stacks of files
lay just where he
had left
them. Scully's map was spread out
on her table as
though she
would be returning at any moment.
Dust had piled
up the way
it always did in government buildings cooled by
industrial
fans.
He crossed
the room and pulled Scully's plant down from the
top of the
file cabinet. Limp, feathered
branches hung over
the sides,
tinged brown at the ends. Mulder
bit his lip and
held it
out at arm's length for study.
"Sorry, buddy," he
said at
last, "everything dries out in the basement."
The plant's dead!
Mulder and Scully's relationship is in trouble! Oh, the drama of it all! *g*
He pitched
it into the garbage for two points just as his
phone
rang.
"Mulder,"
he said, reclaiming his chair.
"Agent
Mulder, this is Len Sturvis from the lab.
I have
those
results you asked about this morning."
Rentham's
shirt. Right. Mulder sat up. "Yeah?"
"Agent
Mulder, I think you might want to come take a look for
yourself. I've never seen anything like
this."
XxXxXxX
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Twelve
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Mulder
stalked the basement halls of Sanctuary House with
Sheriff
Seaver on his heels. Their
flashlight beams crossed
as they
walked. "Explain to me again
what the heck we're
doing back
here?" the Sheriff asked.
"We're
looking for evidence."
"Evidence
of what?"
"Alien
activity," Mulder said as he entered the room that had
contained
Rentham's files. The Sheriff
stopped in the door.
"You
expect to find a UFO parked out back, Agent Mulder? Or
how's
about ET hiding in the closet?"
Mulder barely
listened. The jokes he'd heard
before. He
opened one
empty file cabinet after another, slamming them
shut again
when he saw there was nothing inside.
The
Sheriff leaned against the doorjamb.
"Only aliens we got
around
these parts are the wetbacks. You
want to chase them,
be my
guest, but Jared Rentham was as white as they come."
Mulder
pushed past him back into the hall.
He went to the
next room,
the one that had been Rentham's personal quarters.
There was
a bed, a dresser, a desk, and not much else.
Mulder
rifled through the drawers as the Sheriff looked on.
"I'm
beginning to think you're crazier than he was."
"He
wasn't crazy," Mulder said without halting his search.
"He
was a hybrid."
"A
what?"
"Half
human, half alien."
"Pshaw. That's bullshit. Jared Rentham was a pissant little
faggot who
thought he saw lights in the sky. Chet Appleby did
the world
a favor when he shot him in the head."
Mulder did
not answer. He started feeling his
way across the
wall,
looking for loose bricks. Plaster
crumbled under his
nimble
fingers.
"I
repeat," said the Sheriff, "I don't know what you're
really
expecting to find here. No one has
seen hide nor hair
of Rentham
since his body went missing from the morgue."
"Medical
records," Mulder said, pushing on another loose
brick. "If he was conducting tests on
these people, there
would be
evidence of it somewhere."
"What
tests?"
The brick
came out, and Mulder stuck his hand through the
dark
opening. His fingers brushed
against what felt like a
short
stack of folders. He dragged them
out.
"What
the hell is that?" the Sheriff demanded, coming into
the room
at last.
The top
one was the file Mulder really wanted:
Miriam
Rentham,
his dead wife. Underneath, there
were records on
all the
women who had lived at Sanctuary House.
"You
sonofabitch," Mulder whispered.
"These people weren't
your
rapturous followers. They were
your lab rats."
XxXxX
They used
a stark conference room instead of Clark's homey
office. He sat at the head of the long table,
legal pad in
front of
him, while Scully sat to his right in a swiveling
chair. The blinds were mostly drawn over the
large windows
to prevent
the late afternoon sun from blinding her, but
Scully
felt the glare all the same. Clark
was prepping her
for
questions that Nora Bellamy might ask.
"And
that's when you called 911 from your cellular phone, is
that
right?"
"Yes,"
she said, fighting the urge to rub her head. They had
been at
this for three hours.
"What
happened next?"
She took a
breath. "Two officers arrived
about five minutes
after I
made the call. One stayed with me
while the other
entered
the wooded area in pursuit of my attacker."
"Whom
he never found, is that correct?"
"No
one was arrested that night, no."
"You
participated in a police lineup some days afterward, did
you
not? A group that included my
client?"
"Yes."
"And
did you identify him as your assailant?"
"No."
"Why
is that?"
Scully
paused. "I never saw his
face. The night I was
attacked,
I mean. He wore a mask."
"Your
assailant wore a mask the whole time?"
"Yes."
"Ms.
Scully, why didn't you tell the 911 operator you'd been
raped?"
Her mouth
went dry and she clutched the arms of her chair.
"What?"
"When
you called you made no assertion that you'd been raped.
Why is
that?"
"He
held a knife to my throat, pinned me down and raped me.
All three
are covered under the definition of 'assault.'" Her
words
became more clipped as she continued. "I didn't mention
the knife
either, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen."
"Hey,
easy." He leaned toward
her. "I'm still on your side
here."
"I
know." She forced the word
out: "Sorry."
"Yeah,"
he acknowledged softly. He drummed
his pen on the
pad. "It's getting late, and we've been
shut in here for
ages. Why don't we stop for now?"
Her heart
sank at the words "for now."
"You mean there's
more?"
"Fraid
so. Bellamy's tough. We need to be
ready for her."
He started
gathering his papers. "But
we're done for the
day. You're doing great so far, Dana."
"Yeah,"
she said, lifting her fingers from the chair and
letting
them fall again.
"Great."
"No,
I mean it. I wish all my witnesses
were as collected
and
articulate as you."
"I've
testified before," she replied.
He looked
at her. "Not like this."
"No." She looked at her lap. "I suppose not."
He reached
over and squeezed her hand.
"You're going to do
just
fine."
Scully
relaxed back in her seat, exhaling away some of the
tension of
the past few hours. "I will
just be relieved when
it's
over."
"On
that point, we agree." He
smiled and they both rose.
"Are
you headed out now? Do you time
for a drink or maybe a
bite to
eat? Somehow I missed lunch
today."
"I--" Mulder's apartment was only a few miles
away. She
could feel
it radiating out to her like a homing signal. She
imagined
him drawing her in with a smile, imagined sitting
with him
on his low flat sofa as they talked about plants
that lived
to be a thousand years old and whether leprechauns
brought
good luck or bad. "I'd love
to," she said to Chris.
"But
I have somewhere I have to be."
XxX
Scully
knocked and bit her lip while she waited.
No
footfalls
came from the other side. She
rapped again and
then used
her key to enter. His apartment
was warm and
stale, no
windows open and the A/C had been off for quite
some
time. The fish tank burbled in one
corner but otherwise
the room
stood still.
Scully
walked in slowly, stopping to touch his wall, his coat
rack, his
smooth dining room table. The Washington
Post
spread out
in front of the couch was dated three days ago.
His
leather couch heaved a sigh as she sat down. She stroked
the
scratchy Indian blanket and wondered where he'd gone.
There had
been no excited late night phone call this time, no
slideshow
of desiccated corpses or lights in the sky. She
did not
know whether to be dejected or relieved.
Her
stomach rumbled.
Scully
leaned way back against the couch and stared at the
cracks in
Mulder's ceiling. If she were
lucky, he would have
a Hot
Pocket frozen to the floor of his freezer. She dug out
her phone.
"Hi,
Chris?" she said a moment later.
"It's Dana Scully.
Are you
still interested in that drink?"
XxX
They took
thick gourmet sandwiches and a bottle of cheap wine
to his greenhouse,
where they ate sitting on over-turned
crates
with their bounty spread out on a towel in front of
them. "You're sure this is okay?"
he asked as he poured more
wine into
plastic cups. "We could
always go somewhere more
respectable."
Some folks were upset about Chris hitting on a recent rape
victim, but this scene is probably as close as he ever gets to a romantic
overture and it's been about four months now since her attack. It's not like she just got out of the
hospital with fresh bruises. *g*
Chris is lonely, and he's a workaholic. For some reason, Scully seems interested in spending time
with him, so he's more than willing to go along.
"This
is fine." She looked around
at the shoots and stalks,
the
hanging flowered vines, and the baby green leaves now at
eye-level. "Are these the same ones we
planted last time?"
she asked
with surprise.
"Yeah,
can you believe it? They change a
lot in a few short
weeks." He smiled and reached out to touch his
glass to
hers.
"To growth."
"To growth,"
she agreed. After a sip or two of
wine, she
asked,
"So is this a working visit, or are we just here to
admire the
scenery?"
"Depends." He gave her a lecherous grin.
"On?"
"If
you feel like getting dirty."
Scully
felt her face warm. "Just
what did you have in mind?"
"Those
gladioli by the door need to be repotted.
Really,
they
needed it two weeks ago, but I haven't had much of a
chance to
get down here lately."
He kept
his words light, but Scully noticed for the first
time the
tired lines around his eyes. The weight of the case
wore so
heavily on her, she sometimes forgot it was not hers
alone. "We shouldn't keep them waiting,
then," she said,
taking a
final swig of wine. Dusting the
crumbs off her
pants, she
began rolling up her sleeves.
"You'd better lead.
They'll
scream if they see it's just me coming at them."
Chris
laughed and stood also.
"Plant horror movies? 'It Came
From the
FBI!'"
"Yes,
well, Mulder and I nearly got eaten by a plant last
year. These days I look at even my mother's
geraniums with
new
suspicion."
He handed
her terracotta pot. "You're
joking."
"About
the geraniums? Yes. About the other? Sadly not.
Here's a
tip: if you ever visit North
Carolina, don't order
anything
with mushrooms."
He laughed
and asked her more about it, and over dirt and
flowers
she told him about some of their colorful cases.
Chris put
big band music on the radio, Sinatra belting out
the
occasional tune as they talked and worked. Scully's
tension
drained away with each clump of dirt she packed into
the
pots. She left her fingerprints in
the dirt and fluffed
up the
leaves. Chris shared some of his
trial stories and
told her
more about growing up with a southern lawyer father.
"Instead
of grace, he used to give opening arguments at
dinner: why the turkey should be spared."
Scully
smiled at the right places and focused on the plants.
She let
his chatter fill her up like tiny bubbles.
"All
of Me" came on the radio, and Chris brushed the soil off
his hands. "I love this song," he
said. "We must dance."
"I'm
covered in dirt."
"So
am I," he said, taking her hands.
"Who cares?"
Rigid and
self-conscious, Scully let him twirl her around in
the narrow
aisle. He hummed along with the
song and pulled
her to him
again. His hand was warm at her
waist. Scully
gamely
followed as he led them past a hibiscus plant. He
kept
smiling and humming and pretty soon she had no choice
but to
smile too.
"I
don't know that anyone has told you this," she said, "but
you are a
just little bit crazy."
He grinned
and dipped her. "Ever seen
the movie?" he asked.
"All
of Me?"
"No."
"Oh,
you should. It's quite funny. Steve Martin and Lily
Tomlin
trapped in one body." The
song changed then, to an
instrumental
version of "Strangers in the Night." Chris
slowed. "I feel that way sometimes. Like two people trapped
in one
body."
"How
do you mean?"
He gave a
half shrug. "I love what I
do. I wouldn't trade
it for the
world. But in some ways, this is
never how I
pictured
my life would turn out -- forty years old and still
living
alone in an apartment. By the time
he was my age, my
dad had a
wife, two kids and a mortgage.
Me? I have a cat
and an
excellent deal on renter's insurance."
"You
have a cat?"
"Rusty. He probably weighs as much as you
do. I have to
work sixty
hours a week just to keep him in Kibble."
She
smiled. "I hope he's properly
appreciative."
"No,
he still feels entitled to play hockey off my bedroom
door with
his toys every morning. Despite
intensive
training,
he has yet to grasp the concept of 'Saturday.'"
"Probably
a lost cause by this point," she agreed, and he
squeezed
her hand. He was staring down at
her, and she felt
her ears
warm. "What?" she asked.
He said
nothing for a moment, still swaying them gently back
and forth,
and then he shook his head.
"You know, it's
probably
not my place to say this, but Mulder is a fool."
Her chest
tightened. "Excuse me?"
"Not
to want to see you tonight."
When she said nothing, he
continued,
"I mean, I assume that's the reason for my good
fortune
here, right?"
"Mulder's
away."
"Oh,
on a case?"
She had no
answer. Scully stopped dancing,
and Chris sighed.
"I'm
sorry. Forget I said
anything," he said.
She tucked
her hair behind her ear. "No,
it's okay," she
replied,
when it obviously wasn't.
Chris
leaned against the closest table.
"When I was in
college,
my girlfriend was raped." She
looked at him, and he
nodded. "Yeah. Sherry. It was
finals week, and she wanted
to go to
this party, but I had a history exam in the morning.
I said go
without me. This guy we both sort
of knew, Rob, he
brought
her drinks and hit on her. Sherry
said no. When she
went
outside for a smoke, he followed her out there and raped
her."
"What
happened?"
"Sherry
told me and I went and beat the shit out of him." He
shrugged. "She never reported it. I begged her to, but she
said
no. We broke up after that. Sherry, well... she had a
hard time,
and I'm ashamed to say I didn't handle the whole
thing very
well. I dumped her right before
Spring Break."
Scully
wrapped her arms around herself.
"So this is what?
Penance?"
"No." He stood. "No, never that."
"Then
what?"
"I
just wanted to say I have some idea what it's like, and if
Mulder is
being a dick right now, it's certainly not your
fault."
She shook
her head. "You don't
understand."
He
hesitated and then held up his hands.
"No, you're right.
You're
right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have butted my nose in
where it
doesn't belong. Forgive me?"
She
nodded, mute. They stood there
awkwardly for another
minute,
and then she drew a deep breath.
"I think you should
take me
home."
"Yeah,"
he said quietly.
She hung
back, stroking one velvety leaf while he gathered up
their
picnic in silence. Neither of them
said much in the
car on the
way home.
"Well,"
he said when they reached her apartment.
"Here we
are."
Scully
looked at her hands in her lap.
"It's not Mulder
who's the
problem," she said.
"It's me."
"What
do you mean?"
She shook
her head, not looking at him, tears in her eyes.
"You
can't blame him. No one can blame
him."
"Dana..." He rubbed her arm gently. "No one is assigning
blame."
She looked
at him, lips pursed to still their trembling.
"He's
a good person. Through everything,
that is one thing I
am still
so sure of."
"I
believe you." He smiled
sadly. "And I'm sorry if I
upset
you. It's the last thing I ever wanted to
do."
"No. I know." She sniffed, settling back. She took a
breath and
forced herself to give him a smile.
"You're a
good
person too."
He touched
her cheek. "So are you. Don't forget that,
okay?"
"You
don't even know me," she said ruefully.
"I
know enough."
She
searched his face.
"Chris," she said.
"You keep asking
me to
dinner. You keep taking me
out. Why?"
He
shrugged. "You keep saying
yes."
XxXxXxXxX
Mulder
walked the lonely streets of New Orleans.
On a
Tuesday
night, away from raucous Bourbon Street, the city was
heavy,
silent, and dark under a clouded sky.
The pavement
was wet
but there was no rain, just impossibly humid air. He
could
smell the Mississippi.
A film of
sweat formed on the back of his neck as he walked
out of the
main city, past the cemeteries to where Miriam
Rentham
had died. Lit herself on fire, the
police report had
stated,
but now Mulder had a better idea of what had happened
that
December night over four years ago.
Memories of the
Ruskin Dam
flooded back, charred flesh and stark terror as
he'd run
through the bodies. There had been
over a hundred
people
there. Why, he wanted to know, had
Miriam died alone?
The
occasional passerby eyed him with suspicion. Mulder
didn't
know whether that was due to his out-of-town dress or
the gun
that bulged at his back. Each one
stared at him a
moment and
then retreated into the shadows before Mulder
could say
a word. He felt them out there,
though, still
watching. It was a crawling feeling that rippled
his skin
and made
him quicken his step.
Mulder
stopped at a street corner and squinted down the road
in either
direction. Scully teased him
sometimes about his
navigational
intuition, but the truth was he never knew how
he felt
until first she offered her opinion.
Without her, he
was lost.
He took a
few tentative steps up one way, plunged in
darkness. Something rustled in the alley. Mulder reversed
direction
swiftly and began walking up the road the other
way. He passed doorstep after doorstep,
until a hand shot
out and
pressed a knife to his ribs.
"Wandered
a bit far from home, have you," said a low voice
behind his
ear.
"My
wallet is in my back pocket," Mulder said, and the voice
laughed.
"You
think I want your money, Agent Mulder?
You think a few
bills
could help me out?"
The
creeping feeling intensified.
"Rentham," Mulder said,
identifying
his assailant at last.
The knife
pressed in. "You don't sound
surprised."
"I've
known your kind before."
"You
know nothing of my kind."
"I
know you're a collaborator, a willing slave to an alien
race."
The flat
of the knife slid along his ribs.
"You know
nothing,"
Rentham repeated softly.
"Even after all these
years." Mulder jerked, and Rentham
laughed. "That's right.
I know
you. I know you and your
partner."
"What
do you know about Scully?"
"I
know..." He paused. "I know she's not here to save
you."
"You
leave her alone."
"Oh,
spare me the grand gestures, Agent Mulder. I have no
interest
in your partner. You either, for
that matter, but
the
problem is you won't seem to return the favor."
"You
hunted those women, you lied to them and took them in
just to
further your own monstrous agenda. If you know me as
well as
you claim, I think you'll understand my continued
interest."
"Fox
Mulder, always looking in the wrong places for answers,"
Rentham
said with disgust. "You can't
split the lark to get
the
music."
"What
the hell is that supposed to mean?"
A car
roared past, headlights illuminating their dark stage.
Rentham
shoved him forward to the next opening between the
buildings. "The gun," he said, breathing
hard. "Give it
now."
Mulder
handed back his weapon. The knife
eased away.
Slowly,
Mulder turned and faced his opponent.
He was bald
and white
as remembered, but there was a puckered scar over
his left
eye. Below the scar, the pale eye
no longer saw.
It sat fat
and blank in the socket as its mate sized up
Mulder
from head to toe.
"You're
more trouble than you looked," he said.
"You're
less dead than you looked."
Half of
Rentham's mouth lifted in a wry twist.
"Ah, were it
but
true."
"Those
women at Sanctuary House," Mulder said, "what were you
doing to
them?"
"Exactly
what I said: rescuing them from a
terrible fate."
"Which
fate? Yours?"
Rentham
looked at the ground and shook his head.
"Everything
you think
you know is wrong."
"So
enlighten me."
"We're
more alike than you believe."
"I am
nothing like you."
"You
hope so, don't you?" Rentham
smiled. "I never
misrepresented
myself to those women. I was only
trying to
help
them."
"They're
all missing now. Tina Appleby is
dead. What do you
have to
say about that?"
"Not
my doing."
Mulder
snorted. "Convenient."
"The
truth often is."
"What
do you know about the truth?"
His million dollar
question.
Rentham
did not say anything for a stretch.
"I loved my
work,"
he began at last. "As you
do. I fought as you do. I
believed
as you do."
"Your
DNA says otherwise."
Rentham
continued as if Mulder had not spoken.
"I served my
time. Miriam hers. But they wouldn't let us go. Let's just
say I
gambled everything and lost. Make
no mistake, Agent
Mulder,
you're following a dead man. And
if you don't back
off,
you'll end up just as dead."
If Rentham
meant to kill him, Mulder figured he would have
been dead
already. "Who?"
"You
know them. They killed
Miriam. They probably killed
all the
other women too. My filxes are
gone, all of them. My
whole
life..."
"Who?"
Mulder said more harshly. After
seven fucking years,
he wanted
a name.
"You
know them," Rentham said again.
"They're the ones who
took
Scully."
Mulder
rushed him, knocking the gun to the ground and pinning
Rentham up
against the building. Rentham
sputtered and
coughed. "What do you know about
Scully?" Mulder demanded.
Blood
roared in his ears. "Answer
me, you sonofabitch!"
"Let
me... let me go." He coughed
again and blood appeared
at the
corner of his mouth. Mulder just
crushed him tighter.
"I...
I can't help you. No one
can."
"She
knew you," Mulder accused.
"You were there."
"Doesn't
matter." He shook his head weakly. "All the data,
lost..."
Mulder
relented a little. He stared at
Rentham as the other
man's head
lolled back against the brick.
"Not all," he
said. Rentham's good eye glittered as he
waited. "I found
the ones
hidden in your room," Mulder said finally.
Rentham
seized up with a sudden, fierce energy, startling
Mulder and
upsetting his balance. "You
have my files? You
have them
here?"
"Not
on me," Mulder said, stating the obvious.
"They're
mine. I want them back." Rentham did a slow
advance. "You don't have the knowledge
required to interpret
them
anyway."
"But
you could give it to me."
Rentham
hesitated. "What are you
proposing?"
"I'll
give you the originals back," Mulder said. "You'll
tell me
what they mean." His heart
pounded. "And you'll
tell me
what they did to Scully."
Rentham
shook his head. "You don't
want to know."
"You'll
tell me," Mulder said.
"Or there is no deal."
He had
come full circle, bargain for Scully again.
"What
if I told you she would hate you for it?" Rentham said.
"What
then?"
Mulder
said nothing. Eventually Rentham
sighed. "Meet me at
Miriam's
grave in two hours. You know where
it is?" Mulder
nodded. He'd been before. "Good. Bring the files, all of
them." Rentham looked Mulder over one last
time. "I'll tell
you
whatever you want to know."
This scene illustrates the parallels between Scully's
abduction and her rape at Watts' hands.
In each case, Mulder is willing to go out on a limb to get answers for
her no matter what the consequences are.
In each case, Scully's denial puts others at risk.
XxXxX
Mulder sat
on a crypt with the files in his lap.
His eyes
had long
ago adjusted to the dark, but still he could make
out only
vague shapes. The moon hid behind
thick, rolling
clouds. Trees wafted around him, night
creatures singing
their
song, and Mulder clutched his bounty closer. He chewed
his nail.
"What
if she would hate you for it?" Rentham had asked.
I'd never
tell her, Mulder thought. But it
didn't ease his
mind.
After what
seemed like ages, Mulder heard someone coming
through
the cemetery. A flashlight came on
about twenty
yards
away, and Mulder stood. The light
shone in his eyes
but did
not advance farther.
"I
brought the files," Mulder said, and something hit him
from
behind.
All went
dark.
Ah, a time-honored X-Files tradition!
XxXxX
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter
Thirteen
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Mulder
opened his eyes to a boxed particleboard ceiling and a
dull
throbbing at the back of his head.
His shoulder ached,
and his
left knee felt like someone had taken a lead pipe to
it. He derived some comfort from the fact
that, at least
this time,
there were no tubes coming out of him or machines
turning
his vital signs into electronic song.
He gave
his fingers and toes an experimental wiggle, and then
turned his
head to look for the bathroom. The
sight of
Scully
stopped him cold.
She sat in
a chair a few feet away, dressed in tennis shoes
and
civilian clothes. There was a
magazine in her lap and
she didn't
look like she had slept recently.
She gave him an
uncertain
smile but did not say anything, so he did not say
anything
either.
A month
without talking to her, it was as long as they'd gone
without
speaking since her abduction, but he found he wasn't
quite
ready to break the silence. The
days without her had
been long
but predictable; the minute she spoke, his world
would go
topsy-turvy again.
"I'll
admit," she said as she closed the magazine, "I've
wondered
on occasion who would win the contest between you
and a
brick wall, Mulder, but I never expected you to go out
and
perform the experiment."
"Bricks?"
he said.
"They
dug chunks of one out of your skull.
You don't
remember?"
He shook
his head and regretted it. "I
know there was a CAT
scan."
"Which
was clear, thankfully." Her
brow wrinkled. "How are
you
feeling?"
He closed
his eyes and sunk further into the pillow. "Let's
just say,
for the record, that the wall won."
"Mulder...
what happened?"
Rentham's
words echoed inside his pain-filled skull: *what if
she hates
you for it?*
"Brick
meets head. Brick dents head in
several places. It
was a
brief yet torrid affair, Scully. I
think you've got
the whole
tragic story."
"Mulder,
they brought you in half-conscious from a cemetery.
The police
have been waiting to talk to you."
"The
police." He rubbed a hand
over his eyes. "Tell them I
don't
remember anything."
"Is
that the truth?" When he did
not answer, she leaned
forward. "Mulder?"
He looked
at her. "Rentham's
alive."
Scully
seemed less surprised than he would have predicted.
Her eyes
narrowed. "You're saying
Jared Rentham did this to
you?"
"Brick
from behind, Scully. I don't know
who did this to
me."
She was
silent for a minute, picking at the corner of her
magazine. "How did you find him?"
"I
didn't. He found me."
Scully
swallowed visibly. "What did
he want?"
"He
wanted his files back." The
originals had vanished with
Mulder's
attacker, of course, but Mulder had made copies
ahead of
time. He had learned a thing or
two in seven years.
"What
files?" Scully asked.
He could
answer, he thought, could continue their volley as
though
they were back in the office discussing other people's
lives
instead of in a hospital room avoiding their own.
Providence
alone had stopped him from making the deal. He
wasn't
sure that was enough.
"Why
did you come here, Scully?"
"What
do you mean? They called and told
me you were hurt."
"Well,
you can see now that I'm fine.
It's just mild
concussion
and they'll let me out soon. There
was no need
for you to
leave Atlanta and come all the way here."
She stared
at him. "Why, Mulder? Were you afraid what I'd
find?"
For a
split second, he feared she knew everything. "No," he
said at
last, his voice hollow. "There's
nothing here any
more."
XxX
They
released him with a prescription for painkillers and a
warning to
take it easy. Scully drove him in
silence back to
his motel,
a run-down walk up with no parking lot and a drunk
asleep on
the sidewalk by the front door.
Paint peeled from
the walls
in the narrow, humid stairway. The
effort of
climbing
made Mulder's pulse pound, throbbing inside his
skull. He trudged up the stairs to his room
with Scully
trailing
after him.
At the
door, he dug out his key and turned it in the lock.
It caught
for a second before the tumblers slid into place,
and when
Mulder opened the door he found out why.
His room
had been
tossed from top to bottom.
Mulder
stood and stared. He felt Scully
behind him, waiting.
"Mulder?"
He bit
back a curse and flung his keys on the bed. "They got
the
files," he said as he stepped into the room. Scully
paused at
the threshold to survey the mess.
"Who
did this, Mulder?"
He lowered
himself to the mattress and flung one arm over his
eyes. "Does it matter?"
He heard
the door close and the sounds of Scully righting a
chair. "Mulder, I'm worried about
you. I'm worried what
you've
gotten yourself into here."
"It's
just another routine day on the X-Files," he replied
from under
his arm. "Things that go bump
on the head and
files that
disappear in the night."
"We
could get a fingerprint team in here, maybe they--"
He waved
her off.
"Well,
then what? You didn't even mention
Rentham to the
police."
He raised
his arm and gave her a pointed look.
She sighed.
"Send
them after a dead man? It would
just be a waste of
time,"
he said. "Either Rentham
clocked me himself or the
men after
him finally caught up. I doubt
whoever it was
stuck
around after the fact for another round of cat and
mouse."
"So
what are you going to do?"
She sat in the chair,
surrounded
by strewn pieces of his clothing.
"Get
some sleep. Get a plane. Go home."
"I'll
go with you."
"That's
not necessary."
She
frowned. "Mulder, I won't
leave you one thousand miles
from home
with a head injury."
So that's
all it takes, he thought wearily.
A head injury
and a few
hundred miles.
"You're
off the hook this time, okay, Scully?
I made the
mess and
I'll clean it up."
Scully
said nothing for a moment.
"Why do I get the feeling
that I've
been cut from the team?" she said finally.
Mulder
just shrugged.
"If
you want to punish me, fine. But
don't do it at the
expense of
your health."
"I'm
not punishing you, Scully."
God, he was tired. Too
tired to
fight. "Really," he
added when she looked dubious.
She
crossed her arms. "I'm just
giving you what you wanted."
Hurt
flashed across her features.
"That's not fair."
"My
return ticket says Washington, Scully.
What does yours
say?"
"I--I
don't have a return ticket."
He looked at her,
expectant,
and her chin stuck out.
"Mulder, you know I have
to finish
out my term in Atlanta."
He smiled
sadly. "And that's what I'm
trying to tell you,
Scully. I won't stand in your way."
It was important to me that Scully get to live with the
consequences of her actions, too.
She wanted space and Mulder was going to give it to her. He had tried the best he could to be
there for her, and it wasn't enough.
Not his fault, really, but it was Scully's choice to leave and he wasn't
about to beg her to come back. I
suspect, as much as he probably missed her, it was somewhat of a relief for him
to have some distance too. Love is
grand, but it's also messy.
Sometimes you just want a break from the roller coaster.
XxXxX
In her
dream, he was on top of her, his breath on her face
and his
long legs mingling with hers. She
wound around him,
hot,
needy, and urged him inside. His
harsh pants rasped
near her
ear as he thrust again and again.
The headboard
pressed
against the top of her head. The
sheets grew damp
with their
efforts.
She
gripped his strong arms. His teeth
bared. She could
feel it
building, coming.
Mulder
Mulder Mulder.
Scully
jerked herself awake, sweaty and disoriented in her
hotel
bed. Her heart was pounding, and
her body throbbed in
rhythm. She curled herself tight around the
pillow to try to
stop the
ache. Phantom Mulder teased her
senses, so close
she could
almost smell him.
Scully
shuddered and hid in her blankets.
Guilt. Shame.
Need. They twisted inside her like the sheets
around her
legs. She hugged the pillow closer, trying to
squeeze
everything
away. Tears burned her eyes.
Mulder,
she thought.
XxX
It was
late September before she came home again for good,
just two
days before the trial was set to begin.
Her
apartment
smelled foreign, stagnant air settling heavily over
possessions
she had not touched in weeks.
Scully set her
suitcase
down in the living room and took her stack of mail
to the
kitchen table.
The sight
of her plants gave her pause.
All three
of her pitiful pots sat in her kitchen sink,
soaking
their feet in an inch of water.
Scully walked over
and rubbed
a leaf between her fingers, smiling down at them.
In her
hurry to leave, she'd forgotten all about her plants,
but Mulder
obviously had not. "He's
better for you than I
am,"
she told them.
The plants again!
Chris has a whole greenhouse of luscious flowers, but Mulder takes care
of the plants that really matter: Scully's.
She poured
herself a glass of water and sat down to
contemplate
her mail. Bills, bills, and more
bills. Even
when she
wasn't living it, her life was expensive.
She
fished a
letter from her travel agency out of the mess and
slit the
end.
"Dear
Ms. Scully:
This is to
remind you of your scheduled itinerary from
October
13-14 of 2001."
Scully let
the paper fall aside as she slumped in her chair.
Mulder's
birthday present, she remembered.
She had made the
reservations
months ago on a whim, after the first time they
had slept
together. It seemed like another
lifetime.
These
days, she would be lucky if he agreed to go across the
street
with her, let alone across the country.
She bit
her lip and peeked at the letter again.
There was a
cancellation
number posted at the bottom.
Scully took the
letter to
the kitchen counter, where her phone sat.
She
picked up
the receiver and leaned her hip against the counter
as she
dialed. Just as it rang through,
she noticed the
plants
again.
"Sullivan
Travel, this is Linda speaking.
How may I help
you?"
"Sorry,"
Scully said. "Wrong
number."
She hit
the "off" button and pressed the phone to her middle.
A few
minutes later she dialed another number instead.
XxXxXxX
Scully sat
in the easy chair and tried to make up her mind
what to do
with her hands. She put them first
on her knee,
then at
her sides, before folding them tightly in her lap.
No reason
to be nervous, she thought. It's
just your whole
life on
the line.
Across the
oriental rug, Dr. Wheeler gave her a relaxed
smile. "It's good to see you again,
Dana. How are you
doing?"
Scully had
been programmed since birth that there was only
one
acceptable answer to this question:
"I'm fine."
"I
see in the papers that the trial is set to start
tomorrow."
"Yes,
but I won't be testifying for at least two days."
"How
do you feel about that? About
testifying."
Scully
took a deep breath. "To be
truthful, I haven't
thought
about it much. I don't expect it
will be an
enjoyable
experience, but I am looking forward to having it
over
with. Watts will be there. I've thought about that
aspect. I haven't been in the same room with
him since...
since it
happened."
"What
have you thought about when you thought of seeing him?"
Scully
shook her head, unable to verbalize the constricting
feeling
inside her. Dr. Wheeler looked
thoughtful.
"Afraid?"
she asked. "Nervous?"
"Not
afraid, no. I know he can't hurt
me physically. He
can't even
talk to me."
Dr.
Wheeler shifted in her seat.
"You say he can't hurt you
'physically.' Is there another way he can hurt
you?"
"I
don't know what you mean."
"Let's
put it this way: you're coming
into the courtroom,
you're
ready to take the stand, and you see Watts sitting at
the
defense table. What do you think
at that moment?"
Scully
tried to visualize the encounter.
"I think... I can't
believe
it's him. I can't believe
that..."
"That
what?"
Scully
swallowed. "That he raped
me." She opened her eyes
but kept
her gaze trained on her lap.
"I guess part of me
still
can't believe it's real."
This idea gets repeated a number of times too. Rape inducts you into this unpleasant
club, and forever after all those statistics (1 in 4 women will be the victim
of a rape or intended rape during her lifetime) apply to you. In big or small ways, it changes you
forever.
"And
the trial, that would make it real for you?"
"I
don't know. Maybe. I don't know why that should be.
I've said
the words out loud in front of doctors, in front of
cops and
lawyers. There's not really anyone
left to tell."
"No?"
"Well,
there's Mulder." She had
never told him the details,
and he had
never asked. She wondered if he
would come to the
trial.
"Mulder...
he is your partner at the FBI?"
Scully
nodded and picked imaginary lint off her pants.
"We've
been seeing each other outside of work," she said.
"I
see. Since before the rape?"
"Yes." Scully paused. "I don't know what's going to
happen
now,
though. We haven't talked much
lately."
"Why
is that?"
Scully
shrugged. "It just got so
hard," she said in a small
voice.
"What
got hard?"
Not
Mulder's dick, Scully thought suddenly.
Her heart
squeezed
inside her chest. "I don't
understand," she said,
"why,
if rape is about power and not sex, it should interfere
with your
sex life."
Evelyn's
forehead wrinkled. "My word,
whoever told you
that?"
It was
Scully's turn to be confused.
"All the books say the
same
thing... rape is a crime about power, not sex. It's
about
forcing your will on someone and controlling them."
"Well,
yes. All that is true. But it's also about sex."
Scully was
almost relieved. If this were
true, there was a
possibility
she was normal. "You're the
first person to say
that,"
she told Evelyn. "I think
these days it's a somewhat
radical
viewpoint."
This idea was one of the reasons I wrote the story. It was discussed in the reading I had
done over the winter, and I really wanted it represented in the story because I
think it's true. Rape is about
power, but it's also about sex. To
claim it's not strips the victim of some of her feelings and also prevents us
from really understanding the crime.
"I've
always been a radical."
Evelyn smiled. "But in
this,
I speak
only the truth." Scully
hesitated, afraid to
believe. Evelyn leaned forward. "Look, Dana," she said
bluntly,
"the man didn't hold you up and make you do his
laundry,
did he? He didn't make you wash
his car or mow his
lawn. He raped you."
The words
fell like bricks on her chest.
"He--he raped me,"
she
repeated, feeling lightheaded.
"The
books, the movies, the after-school programs and the
academics
-- they can't tell you why this happened to you.
They can't
tell you what will make it better."
Her throat
ached. "Who can?"
"That's
the hard part," Evelyn said with regret. "The part
you have
to figure out alone."
XxXxX
The day of
the trial, Scully dressed with extra care, as
though a
pressed suit and perfect makeup would ward off Nora
Bellamy. She very deliberately did not turn on
the morning
news. Passing on breakfast, Scully forced a
half-cup of
coffee
into her balled up stomach before driving to the
courthouse.
Thankfully,
the real action was inside and so no reporters
mobbed her
on the front steps. A court
official showed her
to a
private lobby where she could wait until it was time to
testify. There were benches on all four walls,
sparsely
populated. One man with slicked-back hair and
wingtip shoes
paced the
floor. In the corner, under a
window, someone
waved at
Scully. She squinted and
recognized the woman she
had met at
Chris's office, Glory.
Scully
answered with a weak wave, but the woman kept
beckoning. Head down, Scully propelled herself in
Glory's
direction.
Glory serves as some comic relief, but she also serves as a
hopeful sign of the future. Her
rape is about a year and a half old at this point, she's mostly okay
again. Life goes on.
"Dana,
hi! I wondered if I'd see you here
today." She moved
her huge
purse so Scully could sit.
"Are you nervous? You
must have
been here a hundred times, huh.
The only other
time I've
been to court was when I was seventeen and trying
to get out
of a speeding ticket. Which one of
us do you
think
they'll call first?"
"Uh,
I'm not sure," Scully said.
"No
offense, but I hope it's me. I've
got butterflies
dancing
with clogs in my stomach."
Scully hid
a smile. "I think the
anticipation is the worst
part."
"Maybe,"
Glory said, not sounding convinced.
"That Bellamy
lady
scares the crap out of me. I saw
her in the ladies'
room
earlier, and I swear she was putting on her makeup with
a blow
torch."
Scully
coughed as Glory rummaged through her purse. "Gum?"
Glory said
a minute later, offering a stick.
"No,
thank you."
Glory
chewed in silence for a minute. "You got family here
today?"
Scully
shook her head. She had asked her
mother please not
to
come. Mulder... she tried not to
get her hopes up one way
or the
other.
I had planned out scenes involving Maggie Scully and Scully
for the story, but ultimately they didn't seem to fit. The fic was about the M/S partnership
in the aftermath, and I wanted to keep it as clean as possible.
"My
mom took off work," Glory said.
"Like I was in the
school
play or something. It's a good
thing they frisk you
at the
door for weapons, though, because otherwise she might
have been
packing."
The court
official reappeared and called Scully's name.
Glory
hugged her purse on her lap.
"Looks like you won the
coin
toss," she said. "Good
luck."
"Thanks." Scully considered a moment. "Good luck to you,
too."
She
smoothed her skirt down and followed the woman to the
courtroom. It wasn't as large as she had imagined
it would
be for a
trial of this magnitude. All was
quiet as Scully
entered
the room. Greg Watts kept his eyes
on the table in
front of
him. Chris gave her a quick smile
as she took the
stand. Her mouth was dry but she didn't want
to reach for
the water
and make it obvious she was nervous.
She looked
but she
did not see Mulder among the spectators.
Chris
wished her good morning. He then
led her matter-of-
factly
through the events in Ming's parking lot, neither
oozing
sympathy nor playing up the horror.
It was easier
than she
had expected to say the words.
After an hour or so,
he had no
more questions.
Scully
tensed in her seat as he turned the floor over to Nora
Bellamy.
Bellamy
had had her hair done for the occasion, Scully
noticed as
the woman rose and crossed the floor.
She smiled
at Scully
but her eyes focused in like a cat's on its prey.
"Agent
Scully, how are you doing? Would
you like some
water?"
"No,
thank you. I'm fine."
"How
long have you worked at the FBI?"
"Twelve
years," Scully replied.
"Almost thirteen."
"What
sort of training do you have to complete to be an FBI
field
agent?"
"There
are many courses, covering everything from federal law
to
ballistics."
"Any
defense training?"
"Yes,
some."
"How
did you perform in these defense classes?"
"Well
enough to pass."
Bellamy
smiled again. "In the course
of your work, have you
ever had
to disarm a criminal who was larger than you are?"
"Yes."
"Ever
use your self defense knowledge to immobilize one of
these
attackers?"
"Objection,"
Chris said. "Agent Scully's
work history is not
material
to this case. She wasn't working
the night of June
eleventh."
"Sustained,"
the judge agreed.
Bellamy
did not miss a beat. "You
never saw the face of the
man who
attacked you, is that correct?"
"Not
very well, no. He wore a stocking
mask."
"In
fact, my client participated in a police lineup after
your
attack and you failed to identify him.
Isn't that
right?"
"Yes."
"There
was no hair, no fibers, and no semen recovered at the
hospital. What do you make of that?"
"I
don't make anything of it.
Sometimes they just get
lucky."
"Interesting
choice of words," Bellamy observed.
"Lucky.
Let's talk
about your luck for a second, shall we?
This
summer
wasn't your first trip to the hospital this year, was
it?"
"No."
"In
fact, you've been to the emergency room seven times in
the last
two years alone. Isn't that
true?"
"That
sounds about right."
"Many
of these visits have been the result of alleged violent
attacks on
you by another individual."
"Objection,"
Chris said again. "Agent
Scully's medical
records
are not at issue here."
"Goes
to credibility, Your Honor," Bellamy countered. "I'll
confine my
questions to the legal aspects of Agent Scully's
many
victimizations."
"Objection!"
Chris said.
"Over-ruled,"
the Judge answered. "But
you've got a short
leash
here, Counselor. Step
wisely."
Bellamy
nodded and turned back to Scully.
"Last year," she
said,
"you were involved in an incident just a few blocks
away from
Ming's restaurant, were you not? A
death in your
partner's
apartment building?"
"Yes."
"You
were attacked, isn't that right?"
Scully
kept her voice level despite the fact that she could
see where
the conversation was heading.
"Yes, that's right."
"By
whom?"
"That
has never been determined."
"Oh,
the individual got away?"
Scully did
her best not to squirm. "He
was never
apprehended,
no."
"Huh,"
Bellamy said, as if stymied. Then
she regrouped.
"Isn't
it true that the local police recorded that you had no
injuries
from this alleged attack despite being covered in
blood?"
"Yes,
that's true."
"Care
to explain how that happened?"
"I
can't explain."
Bellamy
crossed for her notes. "I
have the statements you
and your
partner gave to Detective Savioshy immediately
afterward. You both mention some sort of
phantom...?"
The jury
looked puzzled as Bellamy's question hung in the
air. Scully shifted. "It was one theory."
"A
theory you believed in?"
All the
heads turned back to look at Scully.
"As I said,
that
investigation was never completed.
My assailant was
never
identified."
"I
see. What about the time you ended
up half-burned to
death on a
dam in Pennsylvania? Was it an
imaginary attacker
who did
that one, too?"
"I--I
don't remember much about that incident."
"I
heard it was some sort of mass suicide by a UFO cult,"
Bellamy
said. "Is that true?"
"No,"
Scully said definitively. "It
was not a cult."
"But
the UFOs...?"
"I
told you," Scully said, struggling to remain calm. "I
don't
remember."
"But
you remember it's not a cult."
Bellamy
continued on that way for some time, hammering away
at every
public -- and some private -- aspect of Scully's
life,
making her seem like a chronic victim who was a few
fries
short of a Happy Meal. Scully
figured by the time she
was
finished the jury would vote that was Watts innocent and
was Scully
guilty by reason of insanity.
When at
last Bellamy exhausted her questions, Chris got to
his feet
for the redirect.
"Agent
Scully, on the night of June eleventh, was it an
invisible
man who attacked you?"
"No,
it wasn't."
"Was
it an alien?"
"No."
"I
show you again People's exhibits F and G, which were among
the
property recovered from Gregory Watts' home. Is this
your
wallet?"
"Yes."
"Are
these your underwear?"
Scully
didn't waver. The jury was silent
and still. "Yes,"
she said.
"I
have no more questions, Your Honor."
I can't imagine what it would really be like to put the
X-Files on trial, but I expect it would be ugly. We know from their position in the basement that the very
idea makes people either ridicule them or dismiss them or both.
XxXxX
They broke
for lunch with the conclusion of her testimony.
Chris
looked a little shaken but he put on a smile as she
approached. "You came through that just
great," he said.
"Nora
was left with nothing but smoke and mirrors. Her
client is
guilty as sin, and she knows it."
His smile
faltered. "That's some kind of work you do
there at the
FBI."
"I
told you my job was unusual."
"Yeah,
but I had this vision of you inspecting places like
Roswell
for fallen UFOs. This sounds, uh,
rather darker."
She
shrugged. "Pays the
rent," she said lightly.
As they
walked to the door, she cast one last glance around
for
Mulder. Despite everything, she
had harbored hope that
he would
be there. But he wasn't, and the men
and women
looking
back at her viewed her with vague distaste, as if her
craziness
might be catching. She was glad to
escape to the
freer
hallway.
"Heading
out?" Chris asked. "I'll
walk you."
She noted
he did not ask her to lunch. They
walked out into
the
afternoon sunshine, where he guided her skillfully past
the hungry
reporters. "No comment, no
comment, no comment."
When they
reached the cluster of trees by the edge of the
property,
they stopped. Breathless, Scully
pushed back her
hair. "Really," Chris said,
"You did a fine job. Thank
you."
Scully was
not listening. She had noticed a
familiar figure
across the
street, loping toward them from the distance. He
noticed
her watching and stopped to wave.
Scully smiled
broadly.
"Dana?"
Chris touched her arm. "I've
got to run. Will you
be all
right?"
"Yes,"
Scully said, still focused across the street. "I
believe I
will."
"Great. I'll catch up with you later,
then."
Some folks were surprised that Chris "gave up" so
quickly, but these were also the people who saw him as pursuing her much more
strongly than I ever did. He was
interested in a vague sort of way, and I think if she had encouraged him, he
might have made a more obvious move.
But most of the fic, she was very clearly with Mulder, and Chris
respected that. And here it's
hinted that he's more uncomfortable with her job than he thought, now that he
has some of the details.
He
disappeared, and Scully waited for the traffic to clear
before
crossing the street to Mulder. She
kept going until
she stood
just inches in front of him. They
smiled stupidly
at one
another.
"Here,"
he said, handing her a giant purple daisy. "I heard
you're
into flora these days."
She
twirled the stem like it was a pinwheel.
"You came," she
said.
"I
promised I'd be here." He
cast a furtive look up the
street. "If Bellamy spots me, though, it's
back to the chain
gang for
me. You want to go somewhere? Get something to
eat?"
She linked
her arm through his.
"No," she said.
"Let's just
go
home."
XxXxX
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Fourteen
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
They sat on Mulder's couch
talking as the hour grew late and
the sunshine dissolved in a
sepia melt across the walls.
Scully tucked her legs under
her skirt, nyloned toes sticking
out as Mulder lounged against
the other end of the sofa. The
Indian summer breeze wafted in
through the open windows.
Mulder served iced tea in tall
glasses.
He told her a little bit more
about his adventure in New
Orleans: "Rentham said the men in charge
didn't want to let
him go. I think... I think they may have
murdered his wife."
"Did he explain what his
role was in the testing?" She
waited, tense, remembering the
tingle of Rentham's hand on
hers.
Mulder hesitated just a
beat. "No. He didn't have a
chance."
Later, she told him about seven
little girls whom she had
reassembled like jigsaw
puzzles: "Eames said he gave
up the
bodies so he will have a clean
conscience. Mulder, I don't
know how you could ever relieve
the weight of all those
bones."
"At least now their
families can have peace," he said.
"That's something."
"I guess," she said,
trying to believe it. "I saw
some of
the families at the burial
sites, Mulder. They looked
anything but peaceful."
"Peace will come
later," he replied, and she wondered if he
still saw Samantha every time
he looked up at the stars.
At dusk, Mulder fetched another
round of tea from the kitchen
and returned with a silver bowl
full of pretzels. He set the
bowl between them and propped
his feet on the coffee table.
"So," he said. "How did it go today?"
"Okay."
"Yeah?"
"Well, the X-files have
always made for good courtroom
drama."
He winced. "I was worried about that."
"Don't," she said
easily. "It wasn't that
bad. Bellamy can
mock me all she likes, but in
the end, the evidence will
speak for itself." She paused. "That's thanks to you."
Mulder looked embarrassed as he
studied the ice cubes in his
glass. "I'm just sorry I couldn't have
been there."
The words needled at her,
making her flush, and she searched
herself to figure out why they
bothered her so much. Mulder
was just being kind.
"I'm sorry about
that," he mumbled again, and she had her
answer: since the rape, Mulder had been
apologizing to her
almost every time he opened his
mouth.
It's finally dawning on Scully that Mulder might have issues
about the rape that are not related to her.
"Mulder..." She shifted so her position mirrored
his,
shoulder-to-shoulder with their
feet on the table. "You know
what happened to me wasn't your
fault, right?"
"I know that," he
said too quickly.
"Because I would hate for
you to think that."
"I don't." She watched him sideways while he
swallowed
several gulps of tea. It occurred to her that, in four
months, she had never once
asked him how he felt about what
had happened. The thought that she could ask him now,
and
worse, that he might answer
her, made her pulse spike.
Her
arms and legs became rubbery.
"Mulder, what do you
think?"
He froze with the glass at his
lips. "Huh?"
"About what
happened." She steeled
herself. "About the
rape."
"I think it's horrible,
Scully. You know I would give
anything to change what
happened to you."
"Yes, but I mean aside
from that."
Mulder looked at her as though
she were laying a trap. "I
don't know what you mean,"
he said carefully.
Her heart slammed against her
ribs like one of those caged
nightclub dancing girls. "You can tell me the truth,"
she said.
"Really. I know the images you must have. I know it must
be-" She faltered. "Off-putting.
I can understand that, I
can."
"What? God, Scully. No." He
set down his tea and faced
her.
"Mulder, please. You don't have to protect my feelings
on
this. I know we're supposed to be enlightened and modern
about the whole ordeal, but
truly, it's *not* just like being
mugged or carjacked or whatever
else, and I would prefer we
just acknowledge that out
loud."
"Scully, you've got it all
wrong."
"Texas," she said,
and shut him up fast. They stared
at each
other a moment, and then Scully
took a deep breath. "I don't
blame you, Mulder. If you feel weird, I think that's
normal."
He ducked his head. "You're wrong," he said
again. "I don't
associate you with what
happened, Scully. I'm not...
put
off. Quite the opposite."
The opposite. She turned her drink around and around
between
her hands and considered his
words. If he wasn't put off, he
was... turned on?
As realization dawned, she
looked over at him. He seemed
like he was wishing the couch
would suck him in like a sofa
bed. "Mulder?"
"It's, uh, not like
that," he said in a rush.
"No." He
shook his head
emphatically. "I hate what
happened to you.
I hate it so much I can't
breathe when I think about it. But
I went there, Scully. I stood where he stood, and god help
me, when I think about what
happened I associate with *him*."
"You're not him,
Mulder."
"I'm not even talking
profiler, here, Scully." He
looked at
her, dark eyes intense, his
mouth set in a straight line.
She forced herself to
listen. "I mean, I know what
it's like
to watch you and want you. I know *exactly* what that guy
was thinking when he was
looking at you from the bushes.
Seven years, god, the
frustration -- sometimes I thought
about just reaching out and...
and..." He grabbed weakly at
the air with both hands.
"Taking me?"
Mulder's hands fell. "Yes."
"Well," she
said. "Me too."
He blinked. "What?"
"You think you have the
market cornered on sexual
frustration, Mulder?" She smiled. "There was one time you
came into my motel room after a
shower and you flopped down
on the bed all damp and, well,
naked."
"I was never in your motel
room naked."
"Near enough. I wanted to rip the towel right off of
you."
"It's not the same,"
he protested. "Scully, I
wanted to do
you up against the filing
cabinet whether you wanted it or
not."
"I think we've established
by now that I did want it,
Mulder."
"You don't
understand," he said, sounding miserable.
She stopped teasing.
"Explain it to me," she said as she
rubbed his arm. "Because I'm not hearing anything
so far
that would give me reason to
doubt your good character."
Mulder would not look at
her. "Well, for one thing,
I've had
this fantasy." Haltingly, he told her of an explicit
scenario that started with an
argument in the basement and
moved to forceful sex up
against the wall. "You said
no," he
told her quietly. "I didn't even care."
She leaned her cheek on his
shoulder and hugged his arm.
"It's a fantasy," she
told him. "Fantasies aren't
real. You
know they're not."
"But after
everything--"
"Mulder, I'm not afraid of
you." She squeezed him
again.
"I'm not afraid of your
fantasy, either."
"It doesn't make you
sick?"
"No. It makes me want to get a file cabinet
for my bedroom."
He looked at her, and she
smiled and cupped the side of his
face. Her thumb grazed over his stubbly cheek. "Mulder,
you're nothing like Gregory
Watts. You never will be."
Mulder knew this intellectually, but I think he just needed
to hear her say it.
"No," he murmured,
looking into her eyes. He covered
her
hand with his own. The corner of his mouth twitched. "You
wanted to rip off my towel,
huh, Scully?"
"More than
once." They leaned foreheads
together.
"Whenever I flopped on
your bed, I always thought you wanted
to shoot me."
"More than once."
He laughed and hugged her
tight.
XxXxX
The day of the verdict, Scully
went back to court. Once
again, Glory waved to her from
the gallery. "Saved you a
seat," she said as Scully
approached. "Hey, this is my
mom.
Mom, this is the FBI agent I
was telling you about."
Glory's mom had tight jeans and
long red fingernails. Her
hair was tinted blonde like her
daughter's. "Pleased to meet
you," she said, giving
Scully's arm a good workout.
"I came
to watch the bastard fry."
"I'm afraid that's not
going to be an option," Scully said as
they sat.
Glory rolled her eyes. "I keep telling her that. Maybe
she'll listen to you."
"Well, it ought to be an
option," her mother retorted.
"At
the very least they ought to
take his pants down and fry his
little--"
"Mom!" Glory slouched in her seat. "I apologize for my
mother."
"Not necessary,"
Scully said. She leaned across
Glory to her
mother. "I quite agree."
The room quieted a bit as the
judge entered. Scully could
only see the back of Watts's
head at the defense table, but
the slump of his shoulders
suggested that he was not
optimistic about the
outcome. Nora Bellamy was
uncharacteristically subdued as
the jury filed into the room.
The judge read the verdict and
handed it back to be read
aloud. Glory grabbed her mother with one hand
and Scully
with the other. Scully squeezed back.
The foreman read the
verdict: "We find Gregory
Thomas Watts
guilty of ten counts of
forcible rape," he said, and both
Scully and Glory let out a
breath. Scully barely heard as
the jury found Watts guilty on
a slew of lesser charges.
"We did it," Glory
whispered. Scully nodded.
Behind the defense table, Greg
Watts's parents looked quietly
devastated. Scully wondered if it was because they
had lost
the case, or whether they
finally realized they had raised a
monster.
To bring a child into this
world, she thought, and have him
go forth and do evil.
Mrs. Watts put her hands over
her face and wept.
XxXxX
On the first morning of his
forty-first year, Mulder awoke
and considered his brave new
world. Forty, he thought, and
feeling fine. He headed to the living with his
toothbrush
still sticking out of his mouth
and stopped in front of the
fish tank. Woodward and Bernstein swam to the top,
eager for
their breakfast. "Morning, boys," he said
around the
toothbrush. "I'm forty today." They did not pause from
their eating.
Mulder was about to start
coffee when he noticed something on
the floor by his front
door. It was an envelope.
Mulder looked around the room
for anyone who might have put
it there, and then ambled over
to pick it up. There was no
writing on the front. Shadowy informants sometimes slipped
him newspaper clippings or
phone numbers this way, but this
felt a bit heavier. Maybe they had gone all out for his
birthday at "Conspiracies
R Us."
Mulder lifted the flap and
found an airline ticket inside.
To Las Vegas. With his name on it. Still with the
toothbrush in his mouth, he
yanked open his front door and
peered down the hallway. It was empty. He was in the
process of checking the flight
information on the ticket when
his phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Happy birthday,"
Scully said from the other end.
"Scully, you're not going
to believe what I found under my
door this morning. Some stranger just slipped me a ticket
to
Vegas."
"What a coincidence,"
she replied, deadpan. "I seem
to have
a ticket for that exact same
flight."
"Really? But how do you know which
flight..." He paused.
"Scully?"
"Howdy, stranger,"
she said, sounding pleased.
He smiled and looked down at
the ticket again. "Why
Vegas?"
"I figured our luck was
due for a change."
XxXxX
They touched down in bright
Vegas sunshine, desert dry and
warm in the early fall. They could have been anybody, in
their casual clothes and dark
shades, but they weren't. They
were Mulder and Scully,
embarking on a tentative foray into
happiness in a town where the
lights in the sky came courtesy
of the casinos and the only
alien around was Wayne Newton.
I write about two kinds of places, mainly: fictional ones
that don't exist and real places I have been. The first kind means I can make up whatever details I want,
and the second allows me to use experiences I've gathered in my travels. Finally, I got to send M and S to
Vegas. They had better luck than I
did. Hrmph.
Scully checked them into the
Bellagio hotel, which featured a
marble desk that stretched for
about a mile. A huge skylight
covered with stained-glass
flowers decorated the ceiling, and
the air conditioning wafted the
fragrant smell of the indoor
garden throughout the lobby.
Their room was done in peach
and tan fabric, with thick
carpet and a view that looked
out over the front of the
hotel. Mulder grinned when the fountains shot
up thirty feet
in the air.
"I could do the backstroke
in this tub," Scully called from
the bathroom, and Mulder walked
over hoping for a different
kind of water show. But alas, she was just fixing her hair.
He met her gaze in the
mirror. "Well, Mulder,"
she said.
"We're here. What do you want to see first?"
He grinned. "Everything."
XxXxX
Scully knew she had made the
right choice as they walked
along the strip and Mulder pointed
out one spectacle after
another like a little kid in
neon candy store. She mocked a
woman wearing a T-shirt that
read, "Kisses: 25 cents," and so
Mulder promptly bought her
one. She promised never to wear
it. In revenge, she purchased him a baseball cap that had
giant hands attached, which one
could clap together by
pulling on a string. Sadly, he wore it immediately.
They wandered in and out of
casinos, admiring the lions at
MGM and the faux volcano at the
Mirage. Mulder won ten
dollars at video poker.
"I know just what to do
with it, too," he said as they walked
on. The sun had disappeared and Vegas flickered to life.
"What?" Scully asked,
fearing another shirt.
"That." He pointed at the enormous roller
coaster that
encircled the New York, New
York casino.
"Okay," Scully
said. "Have fun!"
"Scully..." He tugged on her hand. "It's Vegas. Live a
little!"
"Life, yes," she
agreed. "That's my concern
here, and I
would like to hang on to
mine." The track looked
impossibly
narrow, and at least part of
the ride was spent upside down.
"It's my birthday,"
he said.
Scully hesitated. "I don't know..."
He grinned, knowing he had her,
and tugged her hand again.
"Come on, Scully. I want to hear you scream."
In line, she eyed the cars
hurtling past while Mulder rubbed
his hands together with
glee. "You know, studies show
that
roller coasters are like the
ultimate dating tool," he said.
"Horror movies aren't bad
either."
"As long as we aren't
mixing the two," she said, still
watching the plummeting coaster
warily.
"Fear promotes
attraction. The brain takes the
intense
emotion and interprets it as
lust."
Scully figured this explained
some things about her life over
the past seven years.
Probably
my favorite Scully line in the whole fic.
At last it was their turn to
climb on board. "I hate
you,"
Scully said clearly as the car
started forward. The wind
tangled her hair.
"See?" Mulder
yelled. "Intense
emotion! It's working
already!"
Anything else he said was lost
in her scream as they hit the
first drop. Scully gripped the rails and shut her
eyes. She
heard the metal wheels rattling
along the tracks, the wind in
her ears, and beside her,
Mulder laughing the whole time.
XxX
They cleaned up for
dinner. Because it was his
birthday, not
hers, Mulder did not wear a
suit and tie. He dressed in dark
pants and a crisp white shirt
open at the collar. Because it
was his birthday, not hers,
Scully wore a short, skin-tight
black dress with no back and
her three-inch spike heels.
His warm hand grazed down her
bare spine as they walked to
dinner, and Scully
tingled. "Hungry?" he
asked.
"I think I left my stomach
back on top of the Empire State
Building."
Mulder, it turned out, had no
such problems. He put away a
starting course of crab-stuffed
mushrooms, a steak as big as
his head, three glasses of
wine, and over half of the
breadbasket. Scully had a spinach salad with sugared
pecans
and crumbled bleu cheese, and a
nice piece of fish. She did,
however, manage to keep pace
with him on the wine.
"Is this the part where
the waiters sing 'Happy Birthday'?"
he asked, leaning across the
table as one of the tuxedoed
wait-staff whisked their dinner
plates away.
Scully regarded him over her
wine glass. "If you wanted a
birthday serenade, Mulder, you
should have picked a
restaurant with a clown on the
outside."
"I'll settle for a
birthday dance then," he said, and held
out his hand.
Scully glanced at the dance
floor and listened to the
stringed music being piped in;
it did not sound too fast.
She guessed she could manage
the mix of music, high heels and
alcohol, at least for one
dance. Mulder's strong hand caught
hers and helped her to her
feet. She followed him in silence
across floor.
The found a shadowed corner for
themselves, and his palm once
again pressed against her bare
back. She placed her hand
lightly over his bicep and
tried not to flush. "Thank
for
this," he murmured as they
swayed.
"It's just a dance,
Mulder."
"No, the whole trip. I don't know what I did to deserve it,
after everything that's
happened, but I'm grateful
nonetheless."
"Mulder-"
"Just listen for a sec,
okay, Scully? I know these last
four
months have been absolute hell
for you, and I know I didn't
always do everything I could to
make them easier. The fact
that despite it all, despite
the big mess we've made, you'd
still want to be here with me,
tonight..." He grinned.
"Dressed in that
outfit..."
"Mulder."
"It means the world,"
he said, sobering. "So thank
you."
Scully blinked rapidly and
managed a wobbly smile.
"Mulder,"
she said, "the fact that
you still want to be here, with me,
tonight, after everything that
happened, is *exactly* what
you've done to deserve
this."
He pulled her closer, and she
kissed his neck. "So thank
you," she whispered.
XxX
The door to their room swung
open, and Mulder and Scully
stumbled in, still attached at
the mouth. Mulder did not so
much carry her across the
threshold as drag her there, with
her shoes scraping the carpet
the whole way. She backed him
up against the wall, climbing
him like he was her own
personal jungle gym. Mulder's hand found its way under her
dress to her ass to help her
out.
She felt his arm muscles, hard
under his shirt, supporting
her like she was nothing. His fingers splayed over her ribs,
and she hugged his waist with
her knees. Kissing. God,
she'd missed kissing him. He smelled like cotton, like skin,
like sweat. He tasted like wine.
Scully ran her hands through his
hair, feeling his warm scalp
and the tender skin behind his
ears. Mulder made agreeable
noises against her mouth and
kept her busy with his tongue.
Breathless, she broke away and
pressed tiny kisses along his
throat. Mulder hugged her. Scully leaned back to smile at
him, and found him staring back
at her with huge dark eyes.
He was smiling, yes, but he
also looked a little bit scared.
She placed her palms on the
wall behind him. He licked his
lips.
"Mulder," she said
softly, "you know we don't have to do
anything you don't want to
do."
"That's supposed to be my
line."
She pushed some hair back from
his forehead and smiled. "You
can say it too, if you
want."
He thrust his hips at her. "Does that feel like I want to
stop?"
No, thank God. Scully grazed her lips along his cheek,
his
jaw. She remembered things could change. "Just... no
pressure," she said into
his neck. He rubbed the back of
her
head.
"No pressure," he
agreed. They held each other for a
long
minute, and then Scully eased
herself to the floor. She took
his hand and led him in the
direction of the giant bed. He
stood close, his breathing
shallow, while she slipped off her
sandals. When she was done, she stretched up and
took his
face in her hands, bringing him
down to her mouth for another
lingering kiss.
"Happy birthday,
Mulder," she murmured as they rested their
foreheads together. His fingertips glided over her
shoulders
and down her arms. Her nerve endings sparked like the
Vegas
lights. They stood there, her arms loose around
his waist,
his hands stroking her. She placed her ear over his heart
and listened to the erratic
beat.
He nudged the straps of her
dress down. "I am dying to
know
what you're wearing under this
thing," he whispered into her
hair.
"Not a whole lot."
"So I am
discovering." His thumbs slid
up her ribs and
glided over the swell of her
breasts. Scully tugged his
shirt free from his pants and
giddily devoured the naked skin
underneath.
He kissed her.
Scully's heart picked up speed
with each article of clothing
that they lost. Mulder stood mostly naked before her,
erection obvious through his
boxers. She was half afraid to
touch it for fear of scaring it
away. His hand reached
around her ass again, fingers
toying with the edge of her
underwear. She could feel the tension in him.
"Mulder?"
"I, uh, I brought the
condoms," he said.
"They're in my
bag."
She kissed his chest. "It's okay."
"Yeah?"
It did not make for the most
romantic chitchat, but she owed
him the full truth. "Watts had to give a blood sample
for
the DNA test before trial, and
they tested it for HIV. He's
clean."
"Scully, that's
great." Mulder hugged
her. "Really great."
"Yeah," she said from
where she was smushed against him.
"So
lose the boxers, G-man."
"Yes, ma'am." And so Mulder took off his
clothes. Scully
followed suit and joined him on
the down-turned covers. He
gathered her into his arms for
some more kissing, his thigh
slipping lazily between
hers. Her body felt hot and heavy
with desire.
She touched the smooth skin
over his hips and the long plane
of his back. Mulder put a couple of inches between
them so
he could stroke between her
thighs. She jerked at the first
contact.
"Okay?" he asked,
somewhat worried.
"Yes," she hissed
between gritted teeth. It was all
she
could do not to thrust down on
his hand. She closed her
eyes. She could feel him watching her as he worked, her
nipples hardening. Her breath came high and fast.
"Scully," he said, a
whispered word over her mouth. She
grabbed him and kissed him
hard.
More, more, more, she thought,
dizzy and hot and almost,
almost there. Mulder worked a couple of fingers in
and out
of her, his thumb on her clit
and his tongue in her mouth.
He was in her and on her and
everywhere and she never wanted
to leave him again.
"Oh!" she gasped as
the waves started. She clutched
him
tight, arm around his neck as
she arched up from the bed.
Mulder said something in her
hair but she didn't understand
him. "Oh," she sighed again a minute later, breathing
hard
as the world came back into
focus. Mulder lay half on top of
her, kissing her temple. His erection poked her belly. She
stretched to kiss his
lips. "Mmmm," she said,
figuring that
covered everything she was
feeling right then.
Mulder chuckled. "Liked that, did you?"
"'S not even my
birthday," she replied, hugging him.
Mulder was quiet. "Well, at least this way you won't
be
disappointed, no matter
what," he said at last.
Scully drew back and looked in
his eyes. "Mulder," she
said,
toying with his hair, "you
have *never* disappointed me.
Never."
He smiled like he didn't quite
believe her.
"Never," she
repeated, rolling him on top of her. She
stroked his brow, his arms, his
chest. He smiled down at
her.
"So, Scully, when people
ask me if I got lucky in Las
Vegas..."
"Well,
Mulder..." She smiled. "Let's just say luck is lady
tonight."
He held his breath as he pushed
inside her. When he was
fully in, they both
relaxed. "Good?" he
asked, still
anxious.
"Very." She ran her hands up and down his
back. They kissed
as he began to move. Scully caught his rhythm and lay back,
enjoying the thick feel of him
sliding in and out. Mulder's
breathing accelerated. He got that faraway look in his eye
that made her feel powerful and
tender all at once.
"Scully?" he said
uncertainly.
"I love you," she
said near his ear, and he was lost.
XxXxX
At the end of October, Gregory
Watts was sentenced to ninety
years in prison. That night, snuggled against Mulder on
his
couch, Scully watched Watts on
the news. He looked blank
with terror, as if he might
just pass out in the courtroom as
the judge passed sentence, as
if the enormity of the
situation had dawned on him at
last.
"He's just sorry he got
caught," Mulder said. "I
hope they
throw away the key."
The judge had a few words about
how vile the crimes were.
Scully did not need to listen
to that part; she had lived it.
She eased away from Mulder.
"The food will be ready by
now," she said. "I'll go
get it."
They were trying a new Indian
place on the other side of
town. Mulder caught her hand and squeezed. "Scully, I can
go. You stay here and relax."
"No," she said
firmly. She gave him a quick kiss
and stood.
"You set the table. I'll be back in a few."
She grabbed her purse, her
keys, and her glasses, humming to
herself as she went out the
door.
This time, she took her gun.
I knew the last line from the first paragraph, which is
pretty usual for me. I make a lot
of things up as I go, but I generally have a very definite ending image or bit
of dialogue that I am aiming for.
This one follows the rule: end where you started, and it also shows how
Scully has changed. She's fine,
but she will never be quite the
same again.
XxXxX
This was the toughest fic I've written to date, largely
because Mulder and Scully spend so much of the fic with a chasm between
them. It's emotionally draining to
write. Ultimately, though, I think
I accomplished most of what I set out to do, which was write a rape story that
was about more than just a rape, with minimal crying and bathos, and a 3-D role
for Mulder.
I got a small stack of hate mail for my efforts, including
one person who thought I should be raped so that I would know this is a subject
no one should write about. I wrote back then and I still feel that it does more
harm than good to stay, "Don't write about rape." This says to rape victims, "What
happened to you is so horrible we can't even talk about it." That's a terrible message, in my
opinion.
So much has happened to Scully, people say. Why must we rape her too? It's a fair point. But I do think it's interesting that no
one has ever written to complain when I've had her tied up and brutalized by a
serial killer. Apparently,
violence is okay as long as it's not sexual. Hmmm.
A good friend made an interesting observation around the
time that I first posted StL.
"If you have thousands of people writing thousands of
Scullys," she said, "then by odds alone some of them are bound to get
raped."
So while I totally understand the folks who don't like to
read these kinds of fics (they sure aren't a barrel of fun), me, I make myself
look. I take the experience of
these Scullys and Mulders -- and
all the other people who never were -- out into the world where the real
perpetrators and victims live, always among us.
~End~