From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:47 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 4a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Four (1/2) * * * * * At six thirty a.m., Mulder rose from where he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. His mind felt heavy, drugged, as though he had just awakened, even though he knew he had not closed his eyes. An aching emptiness filled his chest where his heart should have been, and his stomach was wound into a tight knot, like a rock in his gut. Scully...his mind whispered, and he groaned wretchedly. Moving stiffly, he left the bed and went out into the living room. Clyde was waiting by the door to be taken outside, which Mulder did dutifully. Then he changed out of his wrinkled clothes and showered. Come on, Mulder--snap out of it, his mind prodded him. You're not going to do her a bit of good this way. Under the force of the steaming shower, he began to emerge from his stupor. The vital thing here, Mulder, is to disconnect. You're not allowed to be on the investigation because the emotional attachment may impair your judgment. So let it go. She's not Dana, she's not your wife. She's any of the hundreds of victims you've tried to help over the years, and you're investigating her disappearance, that's all. You let your feelings get in the way and you're dead in the water, man... ...And so is she. The thought sent a surge of panic through him, which he resolutely put down. Showered and shaved, he felt more alert. He began to straighten the apartment, knowing Scully would be mortified, no matter what the circumstances, for his mother and sister to see it looking sloppy. While he cleaned, his mind processed the venues of investigation he would take. He thought of which of the MUFON members he would like to interview, deciding to start with those that were most familiar with Scully. His eidetic memory produced the names and faces of the women he wanted to speak with, and he looked up on his computer those phone numbers that he did not know. He picked up his phone and started dialing. He was in luck. The first two on the list he wanted to reach were roommates. They, to some extent, organized the Allentown, Pennsylvania chapter of MUFON, and had both been present at Betsy Hagopian's house on the day that Scully had shown up. Penny Northern was the first person to have recognized Scully from one of her own abduction experiences. It was there that Scully had learned about the existence of all the other abductees. "Hello, may I please speak with Ms. Northern? Oh. Hello, Ms. Northern. I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI. You may remember me from the time I came with Agent Dana Scully to interview you for our files...Yes. I'm investigating the murders of several MUFON members recently, Ms. Northern, and I was wondering if I might be able to speak with you and Ms. Holloway for a while this afternoon...No, I just need some information...I will drive up to Allentown...Rose's Cafe? All right, Ms. Northern. At two...Thank you for your time...Good-bye." Mulder hung up the phone and sighed. That was two down. He knew without a doubt that it was Scully's name that had gotten him in the door. She was one of their own. They trusted her. He was about to pick up the phone and call a third woman whom had been present that day when the phone rang. In an instant, all his self-lectures on detachment flew out the window as his panicked mind brought forth a million nightmarish possibilities as to who might be on the other end and what news they might bear. God, Mulder, no! Don't even think it! He punched the "talk" button viciously. "Mulder." "Fox, it's Maggie. I'm at the airport and Caroline and Samantha's plane is about to land. We can be at your place in less than an hour." Mulder was about to agree when he realized that right now, his mother and sister's tender concern and sympathy, though appreciated, would be counter-productive to his cause. He loved them both dearly, but it would be far too easy for him to become bogged down in hopelessness with them offering comforting shoulders to lean upon. He needed to be strong right now. "Mrs. Scully, I have to drive into Allentown, Pennsylvania this morning to follow up on a couple of leads and I won't be able to meet you right now. It's a long drive, and I have to leave right away. Would it be all right if you took them back to your place and I'll meet you all there tonight?" As always, if Maggie Scully objected, she gave no sign of it. Understanding filled her voice. "Of course, Fox. But do please call us if you find anything." "I will," he reassured her, thinking not for the first time what a classy lady Margaret Scully was. "Could I ask one more favor of you?" "Yes, Fox?" "Would you mind coming by the apartment to pick up Clyde and keeping him with you for a while? I'm not going to have the time to take care of him, and Scully will kill me if I let him go neglected." There was a hopeful tremor in Maggie Scully's voice as she agreed, and Mulder realized that his ploy had worked. Speaking of Scully as though her safe return was assured had given her terrified mother some comfort. He said good-bye and disconnected. He refused to let himself ponder the idea that some of that same comfort might appeal to him as well. If he were truly detached, he would require no comfort. God knows, Scully would do the same if our places were reversed, Mulder thought. She would analyze and rationalize everything indifferently and be that much more productive for her efforts. If--WHEN--he got Scully home, then he could fall apart and admit how afraid he was. But only then. And she would take him into her arms, and comfort him, and he would comfort her, and they would once again be awed by their desperate need for one another. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:43 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 4b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Four (2/2) * * * * * The drive to Allentown was every bit as long as he had predicted, and fraught with hours of frustrating traffic. Mulder gave silent thanks once again for air conditioners as the July heat threatened to reach record breaking temperatures. He turned off the radio and considered what he might do with the information that Penny Northern and Lottie Holloway might be able to give him. He had to assume that Scully, if she was at all able, would be working on her end trying to get out. She wasn't helpless as the other victims had been. In fact, there were times when she could be diabolically crafty. Providing that the person or persons holding her didn't have her drugged or in some other way incapacitated, she was already formulating various avenues of escape. But he couldn't count on that. Even if she were conscious, she might be held somewhere that even her clever mind couldn't imagine a way out of. Where, Mulder, where? What was he going to do, walk into the diner and ask these women for the names and addresses of all male MUFON members who may or may not be spies? Yeah, Mulder, real smooth. But then, they knew that Scully was definitely one of their own, had known that even before Scully herself had, and that might earn him more cooperation from them. These people stood up for each other, believing in each other even when the rest of the world didn't. They had a bond, and hopefully, Mulder could count on that. The diner that they met in was a suitable shabby, nondescript greasy spoon and the two women were waiting for him in a back booth where it was likely that they would not be disturbed. He gave the waitress his order for coffee, knowing he would never be able to force food into his tense stomach. The women waited for him to begin. "Are you aware," he asked, "of the series of kidnappings and murders that have been taking place involving MUFON members with abduction experiences similar to your own?" The women looked at each other, their posture tense. "Yes," replied Penny Northern. "The most recent one belonged to our chapter here." Scully hadn't told him that. Has she recognized Tina Mueller from her meeting with these people? "Agent Scully has been kidnapped, as of last night," he told them, his tone lacking any inflection whatsoever. He watched them turn pale, and he knew what they must be thinking. It wasn't surprising that one of themselves could be taken, but Agent Scully was a different matter--as though her being an FBI agent should make some sort of a difference, should make her safer, inviolable. If whoever was doing this could get to Scully, they could get to any one of them. "We don't have many leads," Mulder continued, "but we have a working theory that the perpetrator is getting his current information on the abductees of MUFON by possibly posing as a member himself." "So what do you need from us?" the other woman, Lottie Holloway, asked. "I need information on the male contingent of MUFON," he said. "We think that the suspect is male, and probably quite large. He overpowered Agent Scully and she had mace, a gun, and knowledge of unarmed combat. Anything would help-- names, and hopefully addresses if you have them." The women darted quick glances at each other. "What you're asking for is confidential information," Penny Northern replied. "We don't sell each other out. "With all due respect, Ms. Northern, I really don't think you owe this man any loyalty. He may have infiltrated MUFON with a phony story of abduction to garner sympathy and to get at your members. To not give me the information I am requesting could very well condemn Agent Scully, not to mention countless others, to death." The women looked at each other again. Their deliberations didn't take long. These women were survivors. That's why they had made it long enough to share their stories and get their lives back after their abduction experiences. There were countless others whom had cracked and had been institutionalized, or had taken their own lives after the first sketchy memories of their experiences started. These women were a breed apart, and they hadn't survived this long to find themselves at the mercy of a madman. They took Mulder back to their house and turned on a computer. "We keep a database of everyone who comes to us with their stories, so that we can keep track of them, and possibly their disappearances. We actually haven't used it for a while, since there have been so few disappearances over the last several years, but we opened it up again when these abductions started. In here, you will find the names and all the information we have on the members. Go ahead and print out what you think will help your investigation. But please, this information is confidential, so we would appreciate it if no one besides yourself were to see it." Mulder frowned. "That might not be possible," he said. "You see, Agent Scully is my wife, and what I'm doing here is not part of the official investigation. I'm not allowed to work on that. I need to ask your permission to turn these files over to the actual investigating team for them to follow up on. I can assure you that they will be treated with the utmost discretion. Please, we need these files to save my wife." His admission won him their sympathy and respect. Looking at them, Mulder saw that they also felt slightly envious of Dana Scully for having someone who cared when she disappeared. They agreed and left the room, allowing Mulder to work. What he found wasn't encouraging. Though the MUFON male membership wasn't large compared to the female membership, which was over two thousand, there were over a hundred and fifty men who fell within the geographical boundaries of the investigation, varying in size and physical description. Of these, Mulder was able to eliminate nearly a third on the idea that there was simply no way, by the profile given, that the men could have physically overpowered Scully. The rest he printed out and took back with him to D.C., thanking Penny Northern and Lottie Holloway for their time. Another long drive back to D.C. left Mulder with time to consider what he had found. They had to have a more narrow field of suspects than this list of over a hundred men. Intentionally forgetting for the moment that the kidnapper might not even be on the list, he considered what he had to go on. What was in these files that would either qualify or eliminate another suspect? Area had already been decided. All of them lived east of the Mississippi River, and Mulder imagined he could probably, if he wanted to, narrow it down even further to the coastal states. He had severe doubts that the perpetrator would drive all the way in from the west to grab a victim, murder her, dump her, and leave. No, serial killers stuck somewhat remotely close to home, spreading out only enough to make the killings appear random. If they were going to try to cover their tracks at all, that was. Many never searched farther than their own home town for their victims. Opportunity was next. He would have to find some way of ascertaining alibis from all the men on this list when he-- Mulder stopped himself--when the investigating team questioned them. It was a daunting task, and extremely time consuming. There would be those whom they couldn't get in touch with, and those who would not cooperate with them. Scully didn't have that sort of time. What was unusual about any men on the list that he had just read about? There were several that were quite large, which would automatically make them a questioning priority, as they would have the physical power to overcome Scully even at her best. But then again, massive strength wouldn't have been needed if he had the right fighting know-how. A martial arts student? Yes, there were a few of those. They would also become a questioning priority. Five p.m. rolled around and he became caught in rush hour traffic. It would be another two hours, at least, until he got back to D.C., and by then, he would have to wait until tomorrow to get the ball rolling on this list of possible suspects. He dialed Skinner. "It's Mulder," he said. "I spoke with Penny Northern and Lottie Holloway of the Allentown MUFON chapter, and I have a list of profiles of the MUFON male members who might qualify." Skinner replied, "What have you got?" "Well, if we were to prioritize by those that are capable of overpowering Scully when she's fighting back, we have a list of ten who should be the first for questioning, all of them either large of stature or skilled in fighting, martial arts and the like." He read off the names and addresses and points of interest in the profiles. "If you don't mind, I would like for it to be Bartel who questions them. I figure that list there will give us a good start, and the rest we can analyze tonight. I assume you will be at Mrs. Scully's tonight?" Skinner confirmed. "Did forensics turn up anything from the sight?" "They found saliva at the site which showed traces of digestive fluids. Someone had been gagging in that spot not long before or after Dana was taken. It has already been determined that it is not Dana's." "If she got in a good hit or two in the right places, it could be the perpetrator's," Mulder said. "That's what we believe also," Skinner replied. "We will use it for DNA evidence if we need to link a suspect to being at the scene. It's circumstantial for now, but let's hope we get something to back it up with. If we find the suspect, we may be able also to detect pepper gas traces on his clothing and possessions." They spoke for several moments on where they were going to go with the investigation, and then hung up. The lack of answers contained in the conversation left Mulder depressed. He groaned and looked out over the crowded highway. C'mon, Scully, speak to me...Where are you? Scully's voice teased him back. Even if I did believe in telepathy, Mulder, what are the odds that I'm just going to be able to transmit my coordinates to you? He sighed. No such easy solution for him. No, the answers wouldn't just appear to him in a miracle like that. He was going to have to go digging. He was still scanning his brain for other possibilities to investigate when he arrived at Mrs. Scully's house two hours later. His mother and sister emerged from the front door to greet him. Samantha wrapped her arms around him in a comforting hug and whispered, "Oh, Fox, I'm so sorry." "What news do you have?" Mrs. Scully asked, ushering them all inside. Mulder allowed them to drag him by the arms to the sofa and sat down. "I was able to provide Skinner with a couple of possible leads for the investigation, but we have nothing concrete right now. Even with these we may be barking up the wrong tree, but it is the best we have for now." "Fox, isn't there anything more that can be done?" Caroline Mulder asked. He shook his head. "There's nothing to go on, no beginning point from which to follow leads. These appear to be random acts of violence with a single commonality connecting the victims--their abduction experiences, and that is so shaded in mystery that we have no place to begin to look. So we grab the first hunch that comes our way and pray that it is the right one, before time runs out." Samantha Mulder Powell cringed at that. "Fox--" she reached out to him. He pulled back. "Sam, look, I can't let you pity me right now. I need to have full control of my faculties, and I can't get bogged down by hopelessness. Don't try too sympathize with me, please." He felt guilty when he saw a hurt expression cross Samantha's face, but it was soon replaced by a sad smile. He was trying to tell her how she could best help him. Scully, more often than not, was the first to give him a good swift kick in the ass when he needed it, as opposed to a willing listener to a sob story. He was asking Samantha to do that for a while for him. She nodded solemnly at him, accepting his charge, and he offered her the tiniest curve of his lips in lieu of a smile that would have had no sincerity behind it. Caroline disappeared into Maggie's kitchen and returned with a glass of iced tea in her hands and handed it to him. Mulder looked at it and felt tears prick his eyes, but he drank it willingly enough. It was Maggie who noticed that his hand trembled as he did so. "Fox," she said, her tone stern and giving no hint of her own inner turmoil over her daughter, "how long has it been since you have eaten?" "I'm not hungry, Mrs. Scully." "I didn't ask that." "Dinner last night," he muttered grudgingly. He did not want these wonderful, concerned women hovering over him! "You can't do this, Fox," she said firmly. "I know you love Dana, and I know what's happening is tearing your gut out, but you can't possibly think that you'll be of any help to her if you wear yourself out like this. Did you sleep at all last night?" He shook his head reluctantly. "And you drove all the way to Pennsylvania and back like this?" Her tone was sharp with maternal outrage. "Please, Mrs. Scully, don't mother me right now. I have to be strong for Scully." Samantha grabbed his arm. "That's right, you do. And the first thing you are going to do, Fox Mulder, is come with me into the kitchen and eat a sandwich. Maybe two." "Sam, don't, please--" he pleaded. "Fox Mulder, you are being a self-indulgent S.O.B.! Do you really think that you can be strong for Dana if you starve yourself? Now you come with me this instant or I'll know for a fact that all your fine words about standing on your own were just hot air." Mulder heard his mother's horrified gasp. Samantha's words were harsh, but he embraced them. It was the same thing that Scully would have said to him. Mulder yielded to Samantha pulling on his arm and the four went into the kitchen. Samantha, not being one to stand on pretension, availed herself of Mrs. Scully's refrigerator. She prepared two cold-cut sandwiches for him, and hauled out some potato salad and an apple. While he worked on those, she made him a third sandwich, just in case. He was morosely silent through the meal. He told them what he could, but it wasn't much. He forced the food down his throat, knowing he was hungry even though his stomach wanted to reject the offering. He even ate the third sandwich, just to please Samantha. When he was finished, she began to tug on his arm again. "Now, you are going to bed for a while. By the time you get up, Walter Skinner will be here and you two can do whatever it is you do to figure this out, but there is no way that I'm going to allow you to drive home without a couple hours of sleep under your belt." She dragged him out of the kitchen once more, and this time, Caroline and Maggie did not follow. Samantha led him down the hall to the bedroom that he and Scully used whenever visiting Scully's mother overnight, and at the sight of it, another place where he had memories of Scully, he balked. "Sam--I can't--" he looked at the bed, his eyes panicked. "Don't ask me to try to sleep." She walked behind him and grabbed the shoulders of his blazer, pulling it off his arms. "I am asking, Fox, and you will get some sleep, or at least try." She softened her tone a little. "Would Dana let you do this to yourself? Just a little while, if you can. Take off your shoes and lay down. I'll come back in an hour or so to check on you." She was right, Mulder realized. Scully wouldn't let him do this to himself. She would force him into the bed at gun point, if need be, or she would simply lay down beside him-- He closed his eyes tightly. He didn't know which was worse, the wonderful memories he had of her which tormented him with the thought of all that bliss being lost, or the nightmares that he knew awaited him if he closed his eyes. "God, Sam," he whispered, sitting weakly on the edge of the bed. "I feel like I'm in a nightmare I can't wake up from. I hoped, I PRAYED, that I would never feel this way again in my lifetime." Samantha sat beside him, not speaking, waiting for him to continue. "I keep trying to tell myself that it isn't like before. We're not up against an insurmountable force, just a single deranged human being. I've profiled those by the dozens. I can get inside their heads so easily, know what makes them tick, why they do what they do--but I have no explanation for this. How can I face Mrs. Scully and say that I can't find her daughter and bring her home. I can deal with extra terrestrials and nefarious government conspiracies and diseases the like of which could wipe out all of mankind... But I can't get inside the head of this single, clumsy psychopath who has my wife, and know why he has taken her, and where." He shuddered. "If I lose her, Sam," he said wretchedly, "I'll never be able to survive it. She's the best part of me." Two tears slipped down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around him. "You won't lose her, Fox. You won't let her down. Contrary to what you may believe, it's not Dana who gives you your strength. You were strong long before she came to you, or you would not have survived as long as you did. It's not she who gives you the ability to fight, all she did was give you the desire to fight, to win. And now, what you need to do is draw upon that to fight FOR her." He sighed and nodded. "You're right." "I know. Now lay down and close your eyes. Turn off your mind if you have to for a while, but if you're going to be strong for her, you can't have your body sabotaging you. I'll be in the other room if you need me." She pushed him down on the bed and spread the blanket over him. Then she admonished him to close his eyes once more and left. He stared at the ceiling in the half-light of the room for a while, convinced that sleep would never come to him, but slowly, warm, numb darkness beckoned to him and he succumbed. And when the nightmare demons came, he began to wish that he hadn't. * * * * * Samantha closed the door gently behind her and leaned against the wall, her eyes tightly closed against the image of her brother sitting hunched wretchedly on the bed, looking like a little boy lost. It wasn't hard at all to imagine a twelve year old Fox Mulder sitting in that same way, lost and alone in his suffering. Despite the fact that Fox never spoke of it, Samantha had gleaned a pretty good idea of what her brother had gone through when she had been taken all those years ago. She knew of the guilt he had suffered from himself, the resentment from their parents. She knew what a haunted soul those years had wrought. His life HAD been a nightmare from which he could not awaken. Then Dana had come to him, and he had started to heal. The healing had experienced a major back- slide when Dana had been taken from him the first time. Samantha didn't want to know how Fox had made it through those times alone. Sadly, Samantha realized that her brother wasn't the only one feeling pitifully inadequate in the face of these circumstances. He was not alone in his helplessness. Dana had become one of Samantha's closest friends, and Samantha was dealing with her own fear. But more, she was also frustrated by her inability to bring comfort to her brother, whose fears she could not even begin to compare her own to. "Samantha?" Caroline Mulder entered the hallway and saw her standing against the wall. "Preston is on the phone for you." Samantha opened her eyes to realize that she had not even been aware of the phone ringing. She nodded and began to walk away when Caroline stopped her. "How is he--really?" She sighed. "He's beating himself up over something he could not possibly hope to have any control over. Total Fox Mulder pattern behavior." Samantha turned and left, missing the way her mother flinched at her words. Caroline stood alone in the hall, separated by only a door from her son. If guilt was a pattern of behavior for Fox, than it was she who had fashioned that pattern--she and her husband. When Samantha had been taken from them all those years ago, Caroline had retreated, refusing to deal with it. And now, she found herself totally unprepared to deal with this situation as well. And God help her, she did not want Fox to suffer through this alone. She wouldn't do that to him again. She wanted to go to him, to open the door between them and comfort him, telling him all the things that she should have told him twenty six years ago. But Samantha was right. The pattern of behavior had been set a long time ago, sewn together with strong stitches of painful experience. She could not simply waltz into that room and, deciding she didn't like the pattern, rend it apart. In the end, she realized that the best thing that she could do for her son was to be available should he require her. This time, she would not withdraw, leaving him to flounder alone. She was simply allowing him space to come to her, with every intention of being there when she was needed. That would make all the difference in the world between what had happened when Samantha had been taken from them and now. Now, all she could do was hope that Fox could see that difference as well. * * * * * End of Part Four =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:39 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 5a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Five (1/2) * * * * * Darkness surrounded her. Slowly, Scully began to regain consciousness and as she did so, the first thing she was aware of was the absolute stillness around her. There was no light, no sound, no motion that she could detect. The only sensation whatsoever was the throbbing inside her skull. Each effort to move her head only brought more pain, and so eventually, she lay still. Lay. She felt beneath her. She was on a cot of some kind, with a rough, lumpy mattress. It creaked when she tried to move, and didn't feel the sturdiest. She tucked that note in the back of her head for future reference and proceeded to try to piece together what had happened to bring her here. Slowly, it all came back to her--the call in to work, the new series of murders, the drive home, the man behind her, the struggle-- She had been drugged, she realized, accounting for the headache, the weakness, and the odd taste in her painfully dry mouth. Not the chloroform, something stronger. A tensing of her arms proved this to be true, as she felt the slight pain in her upper left arm. She's been injected with something. How long had she been here? The other victims had been heavily drugged prior to death, and it appeared, unconscious at the time of death. Well, here she was, the drugs wearing off, and she was still alive. Why? Suddenly, she realized that she already knew something about her captor--he didn't want his victims to suffer. She didn't have Mulder's gift for understanding the psychosis at work behind crimes, but it was very obvious that these murders were not, indeed, random acts of violence. The perpetrator was not angry, did not hate his victims. He just wanted them dead. The ones that hadn't been drugged had died instant, painless deaths. One had been shot in the head. Another had been strangled outside her home, quickly and cleanly. There had been no bruises or contusions from a struggle on either of them. The others he had held for a while, but he had kept them sedated, unconscious, and they had never known the moment when they died. The two that had been stabbed had their major surface arteries sliced with a scalpel. It was a bloody process, certainly, but not a terribly painful one. The other gunshot victim had been shot in the upper spine and then in several major organs. Paralyzation, if not death, had occurred almost instantly, so that the subsequent gunshots had not been felt. There was a methodical precision to these killings that did not speak of violence. Then why kill? She continued to ponder her captor. What was his reason, if not a personal vendetta against abduction victims? She had not been able to see his face, she remembered. He had been very tall, so tall that her head had only come halfway up his chest. If not, she could have broken his jaw with that head- butt. He was also quite strong. Her left wrist was bruised from his grip on it as he held it away from her body. It was not the sort of strength that was cultivated in a gymnasium, though. No, this was the strength of construction workers and others who did rigorous physical activity day after day. An image flashed into Scully's mind--the brief glimpse of gray covering his body as he reeled back from her blow to his Adam's apple. Loose fitting gray short-sleeved shirt and pants. She's seen the costume a million times, had worn the costume herself. They were hospital scrubs. He worked in a hospital somewhere, probably as an orderly, though that left some questions as to how he got access to prescription drugs or had learned how to inject them. Your run of the mill orderly did not have that sort of access. How had he known about her? She wasn't a member of MUFON. If he was getting his information from them, he wouldn't have known about her. Was he working for someone? Mulder's words came back to haunt her: "Kill all the witnesses, Scully...Dead men tell no tales." That didn't make any sense. She had seen professional assassinations before, had even seen botched attempts at professional assassinations (a thought which sent an unpleasant pang through her.) This was too clumsy to be a professional job. He had barely managed to take her without her giving off some sort of alarm which would have alerted those in the building nearby, and the fact that she had not been able to get to her gun had merely been bad luck on her part. No, if someone had REALLY wanted her dead, there were certainly more efficient ways of doing it. A professional assassin could have shot her with a silenced weapon in the parking lot, and then simply disposed of her body along with her car so that no trace remained. Or, if abduction had been their purpose, they could have sent more than one man after her, to make sure she was subdued quickly and quietly. No, this was the work of an individual, an amateur. But why? What purpose would this one man have in killing off these women with only one thing in common? There she ran out of answers, her moment of insight into the psychopathic mind lost. The throbbing in her head began to abate, and once again she tried to move. The effort brought with it the realization that her hands were bound, not by rope or handcuffs, but by cloth. The rest of her body was unfettered, though. It was difficult sitting up without her hands to push off with, but she accomplished the task by tightening her abdominal muscles and raising her torso. It hurt. She nearly fell back over. Her baby-- With dread, she recalled being slammed belly first against the trunk of her car, it's edge driving into her gut painfully with all the man's weight pressing in on her from behind. Good God, was her baby all right? The drugs, she thought with horror, remembering the varieties that had been found in the other victims. Any or all of them could affect a pregnancy. She felt rage welling up within her. That her own life was at risk seemed almost inconsequential, but he had endangered her baby-- I won't let anything happen to you, little one, she promised silently, touching her belly with her bound hands. She had to form a plan, to buy herself time--time to find her way free, time for Mulder to find her. She groaned. Mulder. He must be worried frantic by now. He'll find you, Scully, she told herself. He'll come for you. The baby. She hadn't gotten to tell him about the baby. Now, he might never know... But she couldn't--WOULDN'T--think like that. However much despair she might feel, she could not be fatalistic about this. She couldn't give up. Her baby needed her. Mulder needed her. If only it weren't so dark in here, she thought. If only she could see where she was, what was surrounding her. She began to reach around with her hands. The walls were cold and rough. Cinder block. They were also slightly damp. She realized that she was underground, accounting for the stale air and the lack of noise and light. She stood and walked the walls, touching them with her hands and taking small, cautious steps around the perimeter of the room. She stepped carefully, making sure nothing was in her path that might trip her, and testing the firmness of the surface beneath her foot before placing any weight upon it. Her hands brushed cobwebs and other things that sent a shudder through her, and she tried to complete the circle around the room as quickly as she could, returning to the familiar cot with a sigh of relief. There had been nothing, no window or door through which she might effect an escape. But there had to be some way in or out. She just had to wait for her captor to show up before she discovered it. What if he didn't show up? She thought with a surge of panic. What if he had brought her down here only to abandon her to die of thirst and hunger? What if she was never found? Stop it, Dana Katherine Scully! Just stop it right now! She lay back down in the darkness, forcing her fears from her mind. Surely leaving her here to die an agonizing death did not gel with what she had already surmised about her captor. He would come. And she would find her way out. It was so utterly still that she could hear the minute ticking of her tiny watch. Her watch! She twisted her bound hands around until her wrists were before her face and one finger of her right hand could touch the watch on her left wrist. She touched the tiny button on the side. Eight p.m., she read, the glow of the light from the watch, minuscule as it was, dispelling some of her fear of the utter darkness. She looked at the date on the watch. It had been almost twenty four hours since she had been taken. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:34 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 5b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Five (2/2) * * * * * A whole day, gone! Then she made several swift, and unpleasant realizations. She hadn't eaten anything in over a day. Her stomach gnawed on itself painfully, and she was becoming aware of an urgent need to urinate. She was also dreadfully thirsty... She sat there staring at the watch for several moments, then she released the little button. If the battery died, she would have nothing with which to combat the darkness. She lay in the dark, extremely uncomfortable. She had to get to a toilet, had to eat, had to feed her baby... She didn't know how or when she fell back asleep, only that she was suddenly jerked to wakefulness by a sound in the utter stillness. From overhead, there was a scratching sound. A glance at her watch told her it was now three hours later than when she had last looked. The scratching noises persisted, and then a blast of fresh, hot air, and sounds. Moonlight streamed in through the opening, its dim glow blinding her momentarily. The sounds that she heard were the sounds of the outdoors at night, insects and birds of all varieties. She looked up at the opening to realize that she was only eight feet from the freedom of the outdoors. Another glow appeared in the rectangle, this one caused by a gas lantern. She had to hide her eyes from its unaccustomed brightness. A few feet away, she saw a ladder touch down upon the floor. When she felt her eyes had adjusted enough, she looked up at the opening again. A man's silhouette filled it. He began to descend the ladder, and Scully, hating herself for the uncontrollable response, cringed. "You're awake," he said dully. "I was hoping you wouldn't be awake for this." His face seemed an evil, leering demon in the dark glow of the lamplight, but his voice was gentle. Eerily gentle. Wistful, almost. She half expected to hear him croon, "Don't be afraid..." but she stomped on the memory and the fear it evoked. That had been another time, another place. "Please," her voice came as a harsh croak from between her dried and cracked lips. "Can I have some water?" "I'm sorry," he said. "You won't need any now. I really had hoped to get this over last night, but I didn't have the time...Just sit still. It will be over in a moment." He set the lantern down and pulled what Scully could see was a syringe from his pocket. "No!" she gasped. "Please, you can't!" "I really am sorry," his voice, that soft, childlike voice, sounded tormented. "I didn't want you to be awake, to suffer or be frightened. But this has to be done..." "Why?" Stay calm, Scully. Reason with him, some unnamed instinct urged. "I have to undo the evil that was done," he said softly, his words stilted. "I can't let it continue. I know it's not your fault--but you did lose. You let them take you and do what they did, and now it has to end, before anything worse can come of it." The speech made her pause. It sounded rehearsed and stilted. The thought occurred to her that she might be able to confuse him into letting her go. He didn't sound so willing to carry through with this as it was. "There are thousands of us," she argued. "You can't kill us all." "Probably not, but there will be others to continue the work when I am stopped. They can eradicate the abominations that were done." Eradicate the abominations. Uncharacteristically big words from someone who seemed so simple. Something wasn't right. "How do you know about the abominations? Were you one of us?" "Please don't ask me any more questions," he pleaded. "Just relax and let me finish this. There are others I have to attend to yet. If you don't struggle, it will all be over in a moment, painlessly." She looked at his mammoth figure in the lanterns glow, noting that he seemed to be all hands and feet, as though he had reached adult size, but not adult proportions. He was strong enough to defeat her if she tried to struggle, but maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to hold off for a while...Maybe she could talk him out of it. "You can't!" she cried with a desperation that was not all acting. "Please--I'm pregnant. I have a child inside me that is innocent in all of this. If you kill me, you'll kill my baby also. I just want a chance for my baby to live--that's all I'm asking." Sorry, little one, she thought. I'll do anything to buy us more time. Her captor backed off, his face working convulsively. She had to be destroyed. Everything in him cried out to see her dead. He HAD to see her dead. But a baby...There was nothing inside him that gave him instructions for a baby. He didn't want to see a little baby dead, didn't have to see a little baby dead. The baby didn't have to be destroyed. "What can I do?" he wailed, torn, and for a moment, Scully thought that he was going to begin to cry. "I can't allow you to live. You have to die." "Why? Who says I have to die?" She demanded, taking control while he was vulnerable and confused. "I just know you have to die." "Then hold me here. Keep me here if you must, until I have my baby. I'm a doctor. I can tell you what to do for the birth. Then you can do what you want with me. Just be sure that my baby is taken back to my husband, please." It wasn't perfect, but at least she would have some more time to figure out how to escape. "I won't give you any trouble," she promised. "My own life doesn't matter, but I will do anything to save my baby. Please." The inner battle being waged within him was frightening to watch as the emotions crossed his face. His features twisted in turmoil, and for a moment, Scully was sure that she had lost. Then he began to approach her. She started to back away, but he grabbed her wrists and began to pull off the strips of cloth that bound them. "All right," he sighed, putting the syringe back in his pocket. "You can live until your baby comes. But if there isn't a baby, if this is a trick--" "It's no trick," she vowed. "I only learned for certain about the baby yesterday." "You'll have to stay here," he warned her, looking around the cell There was a note of relief in his voice, and she realized that he was happy he didn't have to kill her. "I will." "I'll bring you food and water," he said. "But I might not be able to come more than once a day." "It doesn't matter so long as my baby is safe," she said softly, all of a sudden being reminded of her personal needs. "Um, I'll need a bucket, or something..." she said, and he blushed with embarrassment. "I will get one for you," he answered, his eyes sad. He reached out to touch her face, and it was all she could do to keep from jerking away from him. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. I am just glad that you don't fear me like the others would have..." "I fear you," she said frankly. "I fear anyone who has the power of life or death over me. But I will do anything to see my baby safe." "The others weren't like you," he said softly. "They didn't fight, they didn't care. If they had all been like you, they would never have been taken, or needed to be destroyed...THEY would never have gotten away with what they did." Scully looked at him closely. How did he know so much about it? "There might still be justice yet," she said placatingly. "Please, I'm so thirsty." He seemed to jerk suddenly into motion. "I'll be back," he promised, taking up the lantern, but she stopped him. "Could you leave the light? It's so terribly dark in here." He looked around the room as though seeing it for the first time. "I've never spent any time down here...I didn't know...Of course I'll leave the lamp." He went up the ladder and pulled it out behind him, sealing the door overhead as it closed. Scully collapsed on the cot, trembling and aware that she had barely made it through that encounter alive. It was only because she had been able to reason with him that she had survived. Reason with him...the thought of her captor left her perplexed. His obsession with seeing the abduction victims dead seemed so out of place for someone so simple, someone who seemed so determined to do good in his heart. His faith that he was preventing a larger evil by eliminating the abduction victims was too well reasoned out for someone of such limited faculties. And when he had stated his reasons, they had been delivered in a cold monotone that sounded like a recording. Why was he so convinced that this needed to be done, and how could she unconvince him? Was he merely confused, or did he truly believe that the experiments performed upon herself and the others could be harmful to humanity? She shivered at the thought. It doesn't matter. It wasn't my fault. I'm the victim here. I was taken and used against my will, and I won't pay for it with my life. I don't deserve to die for what they did to me. Her captor arrived again an hour later. She had taken the time to thoroughly inspect the cell in which she was being held. It seemed to be a storm cellar or bomb shelter of some kind, but from what she had heard, the noises from the outside, it seemed as though she was in the middle of nowhere. Why would someone just plant a cellar or shelter in the middle of nowhere? How had her captor come across it? Where was it located? How far would she be from civilization if she managed to escape? She had tried the door in the ceiling already. Even standing on the cot, she could only brush it with the tips of her fingers. No, her escape would have to be made at a time when he lowered the ladder. But that meant that he would be present at the time, thus forcing her into a physical confrontation with him. She didn't want that. Such an encounter posed several risks. She could lose, causing him to take away his trust so that she would not get another chance. Or she could anger him and give him reason to kill her then and there. Or she could harm her baby in the struggle... She heard the door above her begin to scrape open on its rusty hinges, and the ladder was lowered into the cell. She suppressed the urge to try to rush him. He was probably expecting such a thing. He had warned her what would happen if this was a trick, and she believed him. He was a little too obsessed to make idle threats. She would have to wait for now, gain his trust before she made her move. But one day, the instant his guard was down, he would come down that ladder to find a surprise waiting for him. He had brought her food and water as promised, in a cooler with an ice pack. There were cold-cut sandwiches with no mayonnaise or anything that could spoil quickly. And tucked neatly beside the ice pack, where they would stay coolest, longest, were several half-pint paper cartons of milk and calcium-fortified orange juice. He had also brought her fresh fruit and several granola snack bars. She felt slightly overwhelmed at this display of generosity. It must have taken time and consideration to put together this selection. "I thought since you're pregnant, you might need the milk," he said softly. "I brought a bucket, too, like you asked. I can take it out every day for you. I'm sorry I can't do better for you, but there is really no place else I can keep you--at least, no place where you wouldn't try to escape." So he was on the lookout for an escape attempt. It would take every ounce of acting ability she possessed, which wasn't a great deal, to make him think that escape was the farthest thing from her mind. She reminded herself that, despite his considerate behavior, he would kill her if she provoked him. The rest of this was the salving of a tortured conscience. Whatever helps you sleep at night, she thought venomously. Just don't turn your back on me for too long. "It's more than I could have hoped for," she replied sweetly, gulping the water down thirstily. He had brought her a gallon jug and paper cups for her to drink from. She unwrapped one of the sandwiches and began to devour it. "Thank you." The words, like the phony smile, caused the food to form a knot in her throat, and despite her hunger, she had to force herself to swallow. "Whatever you may believe," he said quietly, "I don't like what I have to do. But it has to be done. Please try to understand." She was careful not to make any reply. If she argued with him, it could only delay the process of him trusting her. Best just to let him think that she did sympathize. He shuffled around the cell uncomfortably, and Scully began to wish he would just leave so that she could make use of the bucket he had positioned discreetly in the corner. The sanitation implications of this arrangement were becoming painfully obvious to her, with no running water or sewage. It was a gruesome thought. Anything, Scully, she scolded herself. You said you'd do anything for your baby. "Not a very nice place to be for a pregnant lady," he muttered, and she could not tell whether he spoke to her or himself. She was too busy wolfing down her second sandwich. "When I get the chance, I'll bring some cleaning supplies. That way, you can make it nicer. You're going to be here a while. Is there anything else you need tonight?" She shook her head, her mouth full of food. She just wanted him to go, before she lost all dignity before him in her need to relieve herself. "You may not want to leave the lantern running all the time," he said. "You'll run out of kerosene. I've left matches so that you can re-light it whenever you need to. Do you know how to use one?" She did. Her father had taken her camping as a child. He stammered wordlessly a couple times, then decided not to speak at all and was gone. Scully set her sandwich aside and went to the bucket, noting that he had even brought a roll of toilet paper, and alcohol wipes for her hands. Yes, he was certainly considerate. Not at all the type of behavior one would expect from a psychopath. She returned to her sandwich, eating more slowly now that her initial hunger had faded. The walls of the bare cubicle began to close around her as she studied them. How in God's name was she supposed to remain here indefinitely? Anything, Dana. You said anything. Suddenly, she felt very tired. The drugs, probably, added onto fright, and all the changes happening within her body. She lay down wearily, her thoughts turning to Mulder--at home, alone, worried about her... Mulder, her mind called out. Oh, God, Mulder. Don't lose hope. I'll get back to you. I'll bring our baby back to you safe and sound, I promise. Tomorrow, when her captor came, she would start to get answers, start her invasion of his mind and thoughts. When the time came for her to make her move, he would never see it coming. But right now, she desperately needed sleep. She drifted off to thoughts of Mulder and her baby. And miles away, Mulder was waking to thoughts of her. * * * * * End of Part Five =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:29 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 6a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Six (1/2) * * * * * In his dream, Mulder was walking toward the bench that had become a favored spot for Scully and him over the years. But this time, he was alone. He was looking for her, waiting for her, and still she did not come. He began to call out to her, crying her name, but she did not answer, and then, with wakening dread, he looked into the water nearby. All he saw were pale limbs and red hair floating on the water before he woke with a strangled cry. He was in the bedroom at Mrs. Scully's house, the one that he and Scully shared when they visited, he realized, looking around, trembling. In the time since Samantha had forced him to lie down, the sky had become black outside, and some of the day's heat had abated. He looked at the clock and realized that Samantha hadn't kept her promise to wake him in an hour. It was after midnight. The door swung open, and Samantha queried softly, "Fox?" "I'm up," he said, trying to keep his voice level. His heart was still pounding rapidly in his throat somewhere, and he realized that his clothes were damp with perspiration. "I know. I heard you. Are you all right?" "Bad dreams," he shrugged, minimizing his fear. "If a nightmare or two is the worst that I come out of this with, I'll be doing pretty damned good." Samantha smiled tenderly at him, wrapping an arm around him. "Walter Skinner is here," she said. "He's been waiting for you." "Why didn't you wake me?" "He's staying the night," she said. "He said not to bother you, that he would speak to you in the morning if you slept through. Which, I will add, we were all hoping you would do." "Let me get myself together," he said. "I'll be out in a minute." "Don't rush," she replied. "I don't think they heard you. They are all in the family room around the TV, watching the late news. I only heard you because I was coming down the hall to check on you." He groaned. "God, Sam, I don't know if I can survive another day of this. I don't know how I survived three months before. Maybe it was the fact that I didn't know back then just how much she meant to me that kept me from exploding--not that I did that great a job of keeping it together as it was--" "You'll survive, Fox. You have to. When Dana makes it through this, she's going to need you more than ever. You always said that she's the strong one, but I've seen you together, Fox. You make each other strong. It's why you've always worked so well together." Samantha's intentional use of the word "when" did not go unnoticed by her brother. "Thanks, Sam." "Are you ready now?" "Just a minute," he asked, grabbing her arm when she moved to rise. "Sam--you're one of Scully's closest female friends. Did she ever talk to you about our decision on children?" "Not much. She just said that you had figured that the rewards didn't justify the risks involved." "Was she all right with that?" Samantha frowned. "She seemed to be. She was sad, of course. I can't imagine that the decision to NOT have children is an easy one to make. But yeah, she seemed okay with it. Why do you ask?" He shook his head. "Something was bothering her last night, and we didn't have a chance to talk about it. I was just taking a stab at what it might have been." "You'll find out," she reassured him. "Just as soon as you bring Dana home. Now come on, Walter has been waiting up for you." Skinner, it turned out, had worked late that evening with the investigative team, looking at the leads Mulder had provided them with. The team was set to meet with several of the men listed tomorrow. There were even two on the list who had been in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals since their abduction experiences. All there was to do at this point was get alibis from each of them and see if they held up. Mulder produced the printouts he had obtained from Penny Northern that afternoon and handed them over to Skinner. They sat at the coffee table in the living room reading them over and deciding if any should be added to the first batch of possible suspects up for questioning. Mulder paused, realizing that it was the first time he and Skinner had ever worked closely on a case. It wasn't common for the Director of the FBI to involve himself in an investigation like Skinner was doing, but the man had made an exception for Scully. "I want to thank you for giving this you personal attention," Mulder said when he and Skinner finished their work and he began to put away the papers. "I realize it's not something you would do for just anyone, and I think it would mean a lot to Scully if she knew." "I can't do any less, Mulder," Skinner said, his expression serious. "For a number of reasons. If you'll recall, I owe Dana my life." That brought a sad smile to Mulder's face. "So do I, sir," he replied solemnly. "Many times over." Skinner stood and stretched, and Mulder did the same. Samantha and Caroline had both headed off to bed, and Skinner had forced Maggie to retire despite her protests, and now that his work here was finished, Mulder was going to head home. In a distant part of his brain, Mulder wondered how Scully would react to Skinner staying at her mother's house overnight. For her own peace of mind, Scully had refused to learn any more about her mother's relationship with her boss than was absolutely necessary. Skinner made his excuses and disappeared down the hall, leaving Mulder alone to gather up his stuff. He had gotten it all together and was sitting alone for a moment in the living room when Caroline Mulder walked in. She was in her pajamas and bath robe, but she looked as though she hadn't been sleeping yet. "Fox?" she murmured. Mulder turned around to face her. "I thought you were in bed," he said softly. "I wasn't going to wake you to say good-night, since I'll probably see you in the morning anyway." "That's all right," she answered and stared at him for a long moment. What could she say to make this any easier for him? In truth, she felt as though life was replaying this scene one more time in a last ditch effort to give her a chance to get it right. There had been so many times over the years that Fox had come to her needing comforting, feeling helpless over his inability to find Samantha, and she had denied him that, too absorbed in her own sorrow, her own guilt. Now, she had one final chance to give him what he needed... Get it right, Caroline! For once in your life, get it right! She meant to give him sympathy and understanding. What came out, however, was exactly right. "Whatever you do, Fox, please don't even think of blaming yourself for this." There. She'd said it. She'd made certain that he knew she didn't think it was his fault. "Why am I never there when I'm needed most, Mom?" "Oh, Fox, you are always there when you're needed most. I just never realized it before." "I'm just afraid that I will let her down, again. If I can't save her, Mom--" "You listen to me, Fox Mulder," she said sternly. "If you don't want pity, fine. I'm not going to give it. But don't you let me hear you speak as though this is all upon your shoulders. Wanting to be strong for her is one thing, Fox, but you cannot take the blame for every terrible, twisted, tormented act committed by humanity. If--if, by some horrible chance of fate, Dana does not come back to you, you're going to have to carry on, but under no circumstances would Dana want you to feel like you failed her. She knows you better. You're her life's partner, Fox. No matter what happens, you can never disappoint her. Don't attempt to do so by selling yourself short." She embraced him tenderly, drawing him into her arms with all the maternal warmth she had denied him over the years, and suddenly, she realized that she had succeeded. She had, finally, given him exactly what it was that he needed. She felt tears sting her eyes. "I'm going back to bed," she said quietly. "I just needed to say that to you. Are you sure about going home tonight?" "Yeah. I'll be leaving in a minute. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" "All right. Good night, Fox," she murmured, and left as quietly as she had come. Mulder stared around the empty, silent living room, lit only by one low lamp. From the hallway, he could hear muted conversation, muffled by a door, and guessed that Maggie Scully hadn't been asleep yet. Skinner was in there now, bidding her good-night before retiring to the spare bedroom prepared for him. Mulder thought about his mother's words. It seemed he had been feeling guilty about something or another for so long that he didn't know how to function without his guilt. He felt naked without it. But Scully wouldn't want that. She knew in her heart that he hadn't failed her. Why couldn't he know it in his heart as well? Why this agonizing self-doubt? Why not be comforted in the knowledge that he had done all he could rather than search endlessly for reasons why it was his fault? It was perverse. It was masochistic. God, Scully, I need you, he thought, looking out the bay window into the night sky. He sank down onto the window seat, and thought of the magical Christmas a year and a half ago that she had taken the first step and kissed him under the mistletoe above this seat. If she had left it up to him, he would never have had the courage to approach her. He would have shied away from any possible rejection and left good enough alone. She was the brave one, he realized, no matter what Samantha said. She was the one who had the courage to open her heart and mind despite the risk. Without her taking those first steps, Mulder might never have allowed himself to know what it was to feel again. I would do anything for you, Scully, he thought, leaning his head against the wall behind him and closing his eyes. Anything at all if it meant keeping you safe. I'd give my life without a second thought, but you've got to hold on for me. You've got to stay alive until I get there. He opened his eyes. How did he know she was alive? He realized how quickly the thought, the knowledge had entered his mind. At this instant, no matter what rational doubts existed, he knew for a certainty that she was still alive and well, and waiting for her opportunity to come back to him. How can I know that? Because you would know if she were dead, something inside him answered. Because what you and she share transcends the physical and mental, and if she were dead, you would feel your spirit shrivel up and die as well. For the second time that day, he closed his eyes, and his mind whispered, Speak to me, Scully. Tell me where you are and I'll come for you. There was no answer. Yet. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:25 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 6b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Six (2/2) * * * * * The apartment was unearthly quiet when he entered after two that morning. The stillness was unnerving. Despite the hour, he went to the CD player and put in some of his and Scully's favorite music, then lay down on the sofa. If he could sense that she was alive, then perhaps, on some level, he could get a feel for the direction she had been taken in. It took him only a moment of lying there with his eyes closed before he drifted off into sleep, an untormented sleep that, if it contained any dreams at all, they did not wake him. He awoke the next morning with a stiff back, realizing how long it had been since he had slept on a sofa. But his heart did not feel as ravaged as it had the previous morning. The knowledge that Scully was still alive was certain within him. It gave him a measure of peace so that he was able to stand back and look at the situation and put it into perspective. He could think of nothing to do with himself that day but wait and see what the leads he had acquired yesterday turned up, and while the inactivity nearly drive him insane, he forced himself to remain where he was. In the afternoon, Bartel called to report that the first three men off the list had produced bullet-proof alibis. They would be contacting the others off the list to see what they could find. It was then that Mulder realized the source of his despair the previous day. In his heart, he really didn't believe that the suspect would be one that list. He couldn't explain how he knew that, and certainly the list was worth checking out, but he had no faith that anything would come of it. The thought should have sent him spiraling down into a funk again. Instead, he felt calm. He couldn't explain that either. Logically, he knew he had to assume that the perpetrator would follow the same pattern as with the other victims, perhaps even on an accelerated time frame. In that case, Scully had, at most, a couple of days from the time of the kidnapping. Indeed, today, if the previous cases were any indication, she should be dead. But just as he knew that she was alive, he also knew that they still had time to find her. What did you do, Scully? He asked silently. How did you buy yourself more time? At any rate, no matter how much time remained for them, he couldn't sit around each day waiting for things to happen. Even though he knew the investigating team had already done so, he questioned the other residents of their apartment building to see if they could recall anything suspicious. One woman on the ground floor claimed to recall having heard something from the parking lot about the same time that Scully was taken, but that she had thought it was simply a strange noise from the TV and hadn't gone to investigate. Others said that a car which they had never seen before or since had pulled out of the parking lot just as they had pulled in. Mulder had to restrain himself from jumping with excitement at that news, but his elation quickly faded when they described the car as a dark sedan. A dark sedan. That would only fit about seventy percent of the cars in Washington D.C.. Disgusted, he returned home to wait. Skinner had ordered him to stay out of the office for the time being, and had threatened him with dire consequences if he didn't comply. Over the years, Mulder and Skinner had reached a certain understanding in their working relationship. Skinner meant business, and Mulder complied lest he find himself on an enforced leave of absence. After that first night at Mrs. Scully's house, Mulder's optimism was nothing short of astounding to those who knew him and his morose moods. It shocked everyone and yet no one had the courage to suggest to him that he might be entertaining false hopes. As the leads on the investigation dwindled through the first week, Mulder's confident insistence that Scully was okay for the time being was the only thing that kept hope alive. Mulder began to make calls. He started with Byers and Langley and Frohike at THE LONE GUNMAN. He told them about the situation, not that they weren't already well aware of it, and asked them to put out feelers for anyone with suspicious knowledge within or without MUFON. Of course, at THE LONE GUNMAN, everyone had suspicious knowledge, so Mulder wasn't quite sure what he expected them to produce. Sometimes, even to this day, their resources surprised him. He left the task of comforting Frohike, who had worn a black armband to Mulder and Scully's wedding and now claimed to be waiting for the day of Scully's inevitable widowhood to make his move, up to Byers and Langley. From there, he moved on to the MUFON members that he and Scully had records on, all along the east coast. From them, he requested that they keep their ears open for any strange behavior at the gatherings of MUFON members. They thought that they might have had a break in the case when one woman reported a man in her New England chapter that was getting more and more upset by the bad rap that aliens were getting from the supposed "abductees." The man was angered to the point of near-violence several times claiming that the monsters responsible for the abductions were not aliens, that the aliens were kind and benevolent and only on earth to help and observe. A check of the man's alibis quickly disproved any ideas that he might have been responsible for any of the kidnappings or murders. Mulder knew the man had no idea how close he was to the truth about the abductions, but he made a note to some day introduce this guy to a few of the "kind, benevolent" aliens that he had encountered along the way. Well into the second week, Mulder began to have doubts about his own certainty that Scully was okay. How on earth could she have bought herself that much time? What if you're wrong, Mulder? His inner voice taunted him. What if you've tricked yourself into believing a fool's dream? Mulder stubbornly attempted to squash the doubts as the second week faded into the third, despite his rising panic. I would know if she were dead, his heart insisted. It would hit me about two seconds before the knowledge that there is absolutely no way I can live without her. The nightmares returned as his confidence faded, more vivid than the ones that he'd had over at Mrs. Scully's house. Visions of holding his wife's cold, stiff body left him sobbing into his pillow in the night. His efforts at eating and sleeping were less than heroic, and it was only at the stubborn insistence of the other women in his life that he remembered such basic things as to shower and shave. When Byers and company came up empty handed, he grew frantic. Maggie, Caroline, and Samantha visited him at his apartment each day, providing him with meals when he neglected to eat, and gently strong-arming him into the bed when he looked to be on the verge of collapse. They did not point out the growing shadows beneath his eyes or the wrinkled condition of his clothing. Instead, they did what they could to make things easier for him without being overtly maternal. When he remembered to, he told them how deeply he appreciated their efforts. It was Mrs. Scully who was the first to break down. Samantha and Caroline had gone to get groceries for Mulder, knowing he would never take the time or remember to do so for himself when he was so desperately searching for clues to lead him to Scully. Mrs. Scully had asked them to leave her behind with Mulder, and they had complied. He sat at his computer, going over files he had on purported abductees and MUFON for what seemed to be the zillionth time, praying each time that he did so that something would appear that he had missed before. Margaret stood staring out the picture window at Scully's car, sitting innocently enough in its parking spot. The she turned to him with tears in her eyes. "Fox," she whispered, "It's been so long..." It was the first she had spoken of the matter to him besides her daily requests for whatever information had been turned up, Mulder looked at her, surprised. In his own pain, it had been easy to forget hers, and knowing her, she had probably not wanted to burden him. He turned from him computer, truly seeing her for the first time since she had walked though his door that morning. He had been quite stubborn in his insistence that he needed to remain near the apartment in case word of Scully should arrive, and they had indulged him, turning the Mulder/Scully residence into their waiting headquarters. He noticed how pale and gaunt Margaret Scully appeared, and he felt guilty for having ignored what she must be feeling. Sympathy filled his heart, and some of the wild look left his eyes. "I know, Mrs. Scully," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "But we can't give up hope. Scully, wherever she is, is still alive." "How can you be so sure?" she asked tearfully. "I just am. I would know if she died. And I think that you would, too." She nodded, wiping her eyes. "I just seems so futile. How can someone just disappear like this, without a trace?" It wouldn't be the first time, he wanted to reply, but he refrained, not wanting to trudge up painful memories to add onto her suffering. It was bad enough already that he often found himself reaching up to finger Scully's tiny gold cross only to realize that this time, it was not around his neck. He shook his head helplessly. "She was gone longer than this before," he answered instead, "and she still came out all right. Whatever happens, she'll find a way to return home. She'll fight. I know she will." What if she can't fight hard enough? The unspoken question hung in the air between them like something palpable. Mulder winced. Mercifully, the telephone chose that moment to ring, and Mulder answered it gratefully. "Mulder/Scully residence." "Hello, this is Denise from Dr. Belton's office. May I please speak with Dana Scully?" Pain shot through Mulder's heart. "I'm sorry," he answered with composure that he did not feel, "she isn't here right now. This is her husband. May I take a message for her?" "Yes, please. I was just calling to confirm her appointment for her prenatal check-up tomorrow morning, scheduled for nine- thirty. Will Ms. Scully be able to make it?" Mulder felt the room begin to spin and he sat down. Hard. "I'm sorry," he replied, his voice strangled as suddenly his collar began to feel too tight. He began to jerk at it violently. "She is out of town indefinitely, and she won't be able to make it. When she is able to, however, I'm sure she will call and reschedule." "Thank you," the woman named Denise replied. Her cheer seemed to smother Mulder. "Please remind her as soon as you can that she needs to reschedule. Early prenatal care is very important to a healthy pregnancy." "I'll do that," he answered, his voice barely a whisper. "Thank you, sir. You have pleasant day." Numbly, he hit the "off" button of the cordless phone and let it fall from his fingers. He realized that he was shaking. "Fox?" Mrs. Scully's eyes were wide and fearful as they watched him. "What is it? What's the matter?" He buried his face in his hands, raking his fingers through his hair. "That was Scully's doctor's office," he said softly, looking up at her. She sat weakly beside him on the sofa. "What did they want?" He hesitated. "Scully is pregnant." She turned pale. "Oh, my God. Since when?" "I don't know," he shook his head. "They were just calling to confirm an appointment she made for a prenatal check-up tomorrow." "You didn't know she was pregnant?" Mrs. Scully asked, her voice sharp with confusion. "I think--I think that she was planning to tell me that night. She had been acting strangely all day, and she had told me that when she got home that night, she had something she wanted to talk to me about. But, no. I didn't know." "Oh, my baby girl..." Mrs. Scully's voice trembled. "She's all alone out there, and pregnant..." Mulder reached out and took her hand. Clenching it tightly. Oh, Scully, he thought desperately. Why didn't you tell me? * * * * * End of Part Six ===========================================================================