Title: Self Torment 01/03
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 for language, graphic violence, and disturbing imagery
Category: SAR - character exploration
Spoilers: none
Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship; budding MSR
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes! Please!
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc.
They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny,
Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit
from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor
and have nothing material they can profit from.
Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den
Http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113
Summary: Mulder is in torment as he continues to
drop into Priest's mind. The search accelerates
as the stakes are raised.
Part of the Self Serial. Series in order is:
Self Lost
Self Unknown
Self Revealed
Self Torment
Self Complete
Self Revealed 01/03
She was just getting out of the shower when the cell
rang. "Scully."
"Hey."
"Hey, yourself." She couldn't help the smile that
crossed her face. "You sound better."
Mulder glanced at the big man in the next seat, engrossed
in the data scrolling by on his laptop. "Yeah, well,
what can I say?" He swallowed hard, then laughed
a little self-consciously. "I, uh, slept some, then
when I woke up, Ski -- uh, Walter was there." The
big man looked up at his name, smiled, and went back
to his work.
"You had another dream?"
Mulder could hear the concern in her voice. "No, not
really. I just woke up. Walter fed me Kung Pao chicken,
then we watched movies the rest of the night."
The plane went through a cloud and the phone crackled.
"Look, Scully, these phones are iffy at best. Tell
me what you found."
"The mother was killed. The body was too far gone for
me to get an immediate match on the paralyzing agent,
but I sent tissue samples off for a tox screen. The
knife wounds were consistent with the other bodies I
looked at, and the eyes were burned out." He could
hear her frown through the phone. "I'd like to know
what he's using for that."
"Oh, that. A branch. He heats it red hot, then burns
the eyes." He was thinking -- why had Priest come out
now? And why his mother?
"Mulder!" The sound of his name was loud enough that
Skinner looked up again.
"What?" He shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you
yelling?"
"Because you didn't answer the first three times I
called you."
Mulder shook himself, and smiled self-consciously as
Skinner studied him.
"Uh, well, never mind that, Scully. We're on the
way up. Be there in a few. What I really wanted to
tell you was that we found his hole. There's property
in Hyde Park." He rattled off an address. "We're
going to check it out." The phone was crackling
hard, so he raised his voice. "We'll meet you
at the precinct, OK?" The static was intense now.
"Scully, you hear me? OK?" He took the phone from
his ear, hit it on his hand, and then listened.
Nothing. "Damn," he sighed.
"What?" Skinner asked, still studying him.
"Phone died."
"She get the word? Meet us at the precinct?"
Mulder nodded slowly. "Yeah -- she'll meet us."
****************************************
Crackle, crackle. "... property in Hyde Park."
She jotted the address he read onto a pad. Crackle,
crackle. "... check it out." Crackle, crackle.
"... meet you ..." Scully shook her head. The line
had gone dead. Well, if they wanted to meet there,
she'd have to get a car and get going. The phone
had died before Mulder gave her a time.
**********************************************
It was about 80 miles away, but with New York traffic,
it had taken her nearly 2 hours. She drove down the
quiet country road, houses miles apart. She was
intent on the rural mailboxes, watching for addresses
as she let her gaze drift over the snow-covered woods
and down to the sleepy Hudson river, running placidly
beneath its blanket of white. It was beautiful. The
ugly gray grime of snow in the city was a gorgeous,
tranquil white here. It covered the ground, inches
deep, and the stillness was absolute. Even the sound
of her car was muffled in the surrounding silence.
She passed yet another house, large and stately,
set back from the road. Smoke rolled from the
chimney and she could just imagine the family inside,
curled up snug before the fire, good books all around.
Or perhaps mom and dad were reading, while the kids
watched a movie or played video games. Whichever,
it was a peaceful domestic scene that entered her
mind -- miles away from the images the reason for
her visit brought to mind.
She drove on several more miles and spotted another
mailbox. Slowing to read the post, she stopped when
she realized she was there, and turned in. Mulder
hadn't said anything to indicate that he thought Priest
would be here, but there was no point in taking chances.
She looked around, noted the lack of other vehicles
or tracks, and parked. Before she climbed out, she
pulled her weapon, checked it, and stuck it back in
the holster -- safety off.
She walked slowly up to the porch, snow crunching beneath
her shoes. Her feet were already getting cold and she
wished she'd worn her boots instead. There was a sound
to her right and she turned, arm automatically digging
beneath her coat for her weapon. As she pulled the
gun up and sighted, she began to laugh. Lucky you,
she thought as she stared at the gray rabbit scurrying
into the woods. She stood there a moment more,
second-guessing her decision not to wait for Mulder and
Skinner, then shrugged and turned back to the door.
Mulder would have said something if meeting here would
put her at risk.
She knocked on the door and waited. Knocked again.
Waited. Finally, she reached out and tried the knob.
It turned effortlessly beneath her fingers, opening
into a wood-floored entry with staircase in front of
her. To her left was a dining room; to the right, a
great room. A hall beside the staircase ran back to
the kitchen. Closing the door behind her, she moved
forward down the hall.
It didn't seem that anyone was home. She still needed
to check the upstairs, but with just the one staircase,
if Priest was here, he wasn't coming down without her
hearing him. She was standing in the kitchen, staring
out at the snow and wondering when Mulder would get
there when she felt it. Just a small pinch, like a bug
bite, but it was enough. And she realized as she slid
to the floor, she'd shown very poor judgement in not
waiting for backup.
**********************************************
"What do you mean, she's not here?" Mulder reached
out and grabbed Nowak, ready to shake him. "Where
the hell is she?"
Nowak pushed away from Mulder, staring hard at the
irate man before him. "She called and asked for a
car this morning. Said she was meeting you."
"Time," Skinner demanded. "What time?"
"Shit, I don't know. Early -- 8:00, 8:30?"
"Fuck!" Mulder exploded. "She's gone to the house."
He recited the address to Nowak. "How far? How
long?" he demanded.
"Hyde Park? A couple hours on a Saturday."
"Two hours?" Mulder began to count out loud. "If
she left when I called, at 8:30, she would have gotten
there about 10:30. We got in to LaGuardia at 9:20,
got here at 10:15. We lost another hour upstairs
with that dickhead Captain of yours ..." He trailed
off, then dug frantically for his cell. Pulled it
out, dialed, listened, then hung up in disgust. "She's
either out of range or it's turned off." He stared
at Skinner. "We need to go. Now."
"I can get a helicopter..." Skinner began.
"By the time you arrange it, we'd be almost there.
Let's just get moving."
Skinner nodded and moved. Nowak followed, phone to
ear. "I'm calling the locals up there -- get them
to go on out and see what's up." He tagged a couple
of others as they moved out. "We'll follow you."
It was a long drive. The lights and sirens of their
police escort cut some time off, but not enough. The
call had come in only 30 minutes into the drive -- there
was no sign of Scully or her vehicle at the house. But
there was blood. Mulder had been in an absolute panic
ever since. It was after 1:00 when they finally roared
into the drive of the house that was in Priest's
grandmother's name. The driveway was crammed with
police vehicles; any hope of tracks from another
car obliterated in the crush of helpers.
Mulder bounded out of the vehicle and up the stairs
to the porch. He was met by a big black man wearing
a sheriff's uniform. The man held out his hand; Scully's
Sig lay nestled there.
Mulder turned to Skinner, eyes wide with horror. The
older man reached out to steady his agent, but Mulder's
legs were giving way. He slid down, down, down, knees
connecting with the porch, and began to shake.
"Walter," he whispered, his voice haunted. "He's got
her." He closed his eyes and shuddered. "That bastard
has got Scully."
"You don't know that, Mulder." Skinner gripped the
younger man's arms.
"Don't I?" Mulder swore bitterly as he took a deep
breath and climbed to his feet. He was unsteady, and
Skinner kept a hand on his arm. Mulder moved into
the house, walking through the door and down the hall
into the kitchen. There was a small spot of blood
on the counter edge, and another small pool on the
floor.
Mulder stared, then groaned agonizingly. "She was
here, just standing here looking out the window. She
checked the house -- downstairs. She didn't think
she needed to go up, because she thought she would
hear if someone was coming down. She thought it
was safe -- she thought we would be here." He
turned guilt-ridden eyes to Skinner, shivering as
he shifted. "She thought we would be here ..."
"Mulder, stop," Skinner ordered. "We'll find her."
Mulder's eyes glazed over, losing focus, and the shivering
intensified. As Skinner watched, the color leached from
his skin.
"What the hell is happening to him?" Nowak asked. "Is
he sick?"
"Shhh," Skinner murmured. "See if you can find me a
couple of blankets. And if anyone has any coffee,
grab it. I'm gonna need it in a few."
Mulder was muttering under his breath, and Skinner
strained to hear. "Down, down down. She's down now.
Got her. Thought they were so hot -- big FBI --
but I've got *her.*" His foot kicked out connecting
with the cabinet above the pool of blood. Two more
vicious kicks followed. Skinner wrapped both arms
around Mulder and pulled him back. Mulder settled,
but Skinner didn't release him. "Hurt. Hurt her.
Make him pay. He left me. Sick. He's well now --
he can come back. Work to do." Mulder's foot kicked
out again -- harmlessly this time as Skinner had him
far enough away there was nothing to connect with.
"Mulder, you have to stop this." Skinner was trying
to remember what Scully had done, what she had said,
the only other time he had witnessed this ... ability
of Mulder's. She'd touched him, and she'd spoken to
him. And she tried to keep him warm. He looked over
his shoulder for Nowak. Where the hell was the man
with the blankets? For now, Skinner released his
agent long enough to shed his coat and wrap it around
the younger man, rubbing his arms as he did so.
"We'll find her, Mulder."
Mulder stood staring at the blood. "He wanted to
kill her -- was longing to -- but her eyes weren't
right. Too blue -- too much color. Hurt her instead."
His foot kicked again, and then again. "Make her
pay."
"Mulder, stop." Skinner didn't know if he should be
giving orders or making gentle requests. He was over
his head here, and didn't know what to do.
"Blankets." Nowak appeared in the door, shoving through
the crowd of cops that had gathered to stare at Mulder.
"Coffee, too." He put a large cardboard cup on the
counter. "He do this a lot?"
"Not now." Skinner waved the man silent. "Can you
get rid of this crowd?"
Behind him, he could hear Nowak pushing people back,
and the sound of feet shuffling, the door swinging
open, the porch creaking as the NYPD detective cleared
the house. None of which really mattered as his
attention was still focused on his agent.
He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Mulder.
The man was like ice. He stood motionless in the
kitchen, cheek twitching, eyes closed, occasionally
muttering under his breath. His skin had taken on an
unhealthy pallor, and his brow was furrowed as if
his head ached.
Skinner held his wrist, feeling for the pulse. It
was faint and slow. "Mulder, please," he begged in
frustration. "I don't know what to do here. Wake
up, or come back, or something. Just -- stop this."
He stroked the man's back, rubbing hard up and down
his arms to maintain circulation. "We need you,
Mulder. Need you here, with us. Scully needs you."
Mulder didn't move. If anything, his skin grew colder,
his heart beat slowed. Skinner glanced over his shoulder.
The house was clear. God bless Nowak -- he'd gotten
all the gawkers out. Not knowing what else to do,
Skinner reached out and enfolded Mulder in his arms,
pulling him in tight against his chest. His agent was
loose -- which surprised him considering how the man
was shivering. He had expected him to be strung
tighter than a bow, but he stood passive -- cold and
passive -- within his embrace. "Mulder, we're
going to find her," he whispered to the younger man.
He didn't know how long he stood like that, Mulder's
shivering body wrapped in blankets and held tight to
his own. He murmured reassurances, repeated the same
words over and over. "We'll find her, Mulder."
He felt it first -- a tightening in Mulder's back.
The other man began to stiffen, and Skinner released
him instantly, stepping back. The man looked awful.
His skin was still far too pale, and as Skinner watched,
he closed his eyes and winced, then opened them and
looked around. He focused slowly, haunted eyes coming
to rest on Skinner's face. "C-c-cold," he said simply.
Skinner passed him the coffee.
Mulder held it for a moment, then took a swallow and
grimaced. "Too much sugar."
"Sugar's probably good for you right now," he said
gruffly. He reached out and maneuvered Mulder to
the table. "Sit," he said, gently pressing the man
into a chair. "And drink it." He studied the younger
man as he complied. His skin was regaining some of its
color. The shivering was slowing. He still seemed to
have a headache, because his hand kept coming up to
rub his temples. But his eyes were clear and focused,
and he seemed fully present in the current reality.
"So, Mulder -- you OK?"
The man nodded.
"Priest was here?"
"Yeah." Mulder lay his head on the table, coffee
cup gripped loosely in one hand. "He was here.
He was waiting, waiting for her. He heard the car."
"But he didn't kill her." Skinner turned as steps
came down the hall.
"Everything all right in here?" Nowak asked. "I got
everyone waiting outside. You need anything?"
"Aspirin," Skinner said shortly. "Tylenol, Advil,
whatever." He turned and looked at the detective.
"Thanks for running interference. We'll be done
here shortly."
"I'd heard your boy here was good. Even saw him
in action myself -- the way he got out of the
ward and followed that bastard was incredible."
Nowak sighed, and pushed his hand through his hair.
"Had no idea it took such a toll on 'im, though."
He studied Mulder a moment longer, then said, "I'll
bring the aspirin in a minute." The look he gave
Skinner contained nothing but sympathy. "Take as
long as you need. I'll keep those guys out there."
"Mulder?" Skinner touched his agent's shoulder. "You
still with me?"
"Yeah," came the weary response. "He's not gonna kill
her." Mulder looked up, pain etched across his face.
"He'll beat her, rough her up, but he won't kill her."
"How do you know?"
Mulder shrugged. "He doesn't want, Scully. He wants
me. He thought he had a partner and he's come to like
the idea."
Nowak appeared again. "He looked like he could use
double." He laid two paper packets of Tylenol on the
counter then went back out.
"Thanks." Skinner reached out and took them, then
rummaged till he found a glass and filled it with
water. He opened the packets, then took the four
pills and water to Mulder. "Here. Take this for your
headache."
Mulder looked up in surprise. "How ... How'd you
know my head hurts?"
"You're not the only detective in the room. You keep
closing your eyes and rubbing your temples. I studied
the evidence, examined the clues, and voila! I have
concluded your head hurts." Skinner laughed at Mulder's
scowl.
"Very funny." His words were scornful, but he swallowed
the pills obediently.
"Anything else you can tell us, Mulder?"
"Yeah. Priest wants us to think he went back to the
city. That's where he's done his best work. But he
won't. He's around here somewhere -- he'll have
figured we might find this place. He'll have somewhere
close to run to. And he's gonna be slow right now.
He's got Scully and he wants to keep her and keep her
alive."
Skinner couldn't help himself. "How do you know this,
Mulder?"
The other man shrugged. "It's what I'd do." He
shuddered, and lowered his head. "I'd just go a little
farther."
"Whaddaya mean?"
"My visions are always worse." He looked up, a sickly
smile on his face. "See, I'd rape her, too, 'cause it
would humiliate her, crush her spirit -- at least for
a while. It would keep me in control."
*********************************************
He was pacing back and forth, muttering. Scully came
to, her limbs still heavy from the drug he'd zapped
her with, but she could feel her mobility coming back.
She lay still, not wanting to attract his attention.
She could taste blood in her mouth, and one eye felt
swollen and puffy. Her ribs hurt and she was willing
to bet it was from the swift application of a foot
against them. The back of her head hurt, and her hair
felt stiff against her neck.
"Can do this can do this can do this can do this ..."
The monotonous chant went on and on and on. Periodically,
Priest looked at her and she forced herself to remain
motionless. When he was distracted, she practiced
wiggling her toes and fingers, yearning for a good
stretch and rub as the pins and needles attacked her.
Priest continued his chant, then turned and stalked
into the kitchen. She could hear him moving around,
cupboards opening and closing. She risked shaking
her arms, stretched up, then bent and began to rub her
aching calves. Priest was humming now, calmer. She
heard the sound of an electric can opener and had to
stifle a nervous laugh. He was going to eat before
he killed her.
She climbed to her feet, still shaky but her arms and
legs were coming back to her control. Her gun was gone.
Her hand came up of its own accord, touching the sticky
place on the back of her head. She drew it back and
looked. Blood. Another look around and she realized
this wasn't the same house. Nothing was the same. A
look out the window and she knew she'd been out for some
time. It was dark now.
She scanned for another weapon as she weighed her
choices. He'd immobilized her once -- it was a miracle
she wasn't dead. Should she try and take him on by
herself? She glanced at the kitchen. He was standing
by the stove, still humming, as he stirred the contents
of a pot. The scent of fragrant beef stew wafted her
way and her stomach rumbled. She froze, waiting for
him to turn. Surely he had heard that. When he didn't
move, she decided, better to live and fight another
day than risk going down under this madman. They'd
found him once -- they could find him again. She
opened the front door a crack and slipped out.
Her car was wrecked. He'd apparently taken his initial
anger out on the Ford while she had been immobilized.
She breathed a sigh of relief -- at least that anger
hadn't been directed at her. She'd been there as
Mulder had struggled to recover from the fallout of
Priest's anger. She looked around -- no sign of any
other vehicle. Behind her, she heard Priest screaming
as he returned to the living room and realized she was
gone. She took off, racing for the woods.
It was dark, darker here in the heavy woods. She could
only hope that the fallen limbs, jutting rocks, and
other debris would help hide her own frantic tracks.
She skidded down into a prickly bush. She could hear
Priest close behind, feel the flash of light on her
back. She didn't dare stop or look back. Her breathing
came in spastic gasps. Branches grabbed at her.
Twigs slapped her in the face. She stumbled, did a
little dance and kept from falling. She tried to
keep quiet, but the snaps and cracks were explosions
she couldn't prevent. She couldn't even see her feet
in the inky black. Even the sky had disappeared.
She'd headed out, not sure which direction to go. He'd
moved her and she didn't know where, but she didn't
think it was far. She needed to find the road, or
another house. She stopped to catch her breath, leaning
against a tree. She couldn't breathe; her ribs hurt
and each breath was painful. Her teeth chattered in
the frigid winter air. Her heart exploded against
her chest. She wiped at her face and discovered more
blood, as well as tears.
Well, she scolded herself, that won't help, and it's
not even making you feel better. Save the good cry
for after the bad guy is down.
Then she heard it. In the black silence she heard
branches snapping, snow crunching. The sounds came
from behind her, close and getting closer. She looked
around, seeing nothing in the heavy blanket of night.
No place to hide, no place to lay in wait and ambush
the son of a bitch that was trying to kill her.
She took off, running recklessly, tripping over stumps
and smashing through a thicket. A twig swiped at her
cheek and ripped at her ear. The sting brought fresh
tears. Then suddenly she felt the ground rip out from
under her. A steep decline forced her to grab on to
a branch, a rock, anything to keep from sliding down.
Below, she saw the glint of water. The hill was steep,
covered with broken limbs and dead stumps protruding
through the icy snow. She'd never make it down to the
river this way. The woods were too thick, the ridge
too steep. The cracking of branches was even closer
now. Priest was coming.
She looked around frantically. She could just make
out a clearing to her right. She climbed over the
rocks blocking her path, hanging on to tree roots
with both hands as she threaded her way across. It
wasn't much of a clearing. Instead, it looked like
an old horse trail, a path worn into the woods but
now overgrown with spindly branches, alien arms with
long, fingers waving at her. Mulder would just love
her imagery. As far as she could see, the path went
all the way down to the river, with a few sharp turns.
It looked dangerous, steep and narrow, and clogged
with heaps of snow. The snow would make it next to
impossible to climb down without sliding. It was
crazy to even consider it.
A crack close behind made her jump. She crouched
in the snow, shivering. She hadn't thought to grab
her coat when she ran out of the house; she hadn't
anticipated having to make this mad dash for her
life through the freezing woods. She stared into
the dark. She could just see the shadow that crawled
down the ridge, clinging to rocks and exposed roots.
His back was to her, as if he considered her no threat
at all. She weighed again the possibility of an
ambush. Could she take him? A rock, or maybe a
heavy branch? She could hide ... She shook her head.
She was good, she knew that. But so was Priest. And
he had 10 inches and a hundred or more pounds on her.
If she didn't take him down with one blow, she was
bound to come out the loser.
She eyed the steep, really steep path, then glanced
frantically over her shoulder as another twig snapped
and the shadow edged closer. Priest would be here
soon. She had to decide. Taking a deep breath, she
set off down the trail.
End part 01/03
Self Torment 02/03
Skinner led the way out of the house with Mulder
following. The afternoon sun glinted blindingly
off the snow-covered yard. The AD looked back as
Mulder groaned and threw up his arm to cover his
eyes. "Bright, eh?" he murmured. He looked out
at the cops, huddled together in groups. The local
PD in one group, Sheriff's department together on
the left side of the drive, and Nowak's people,
standing beside their vehicles. Conversations stopped
when Mulder appeared, and Skinner got a first hand
feel for what his agent had gone through for all
those years in VCS. He turned in time to see Mulder
visibly pull a shell around himself. He stood up
straighter, blanked his face, and arrogance suddenly
seemed to seep from his pores. The transformation
was striking, but Skinner now saw it for what it
was -- protection.
Nowak approached alone, and Mulder relaxed marginally.
"Hey, man, you ok?" There was genuine concern on
the detective's face. He stopped at the bottom of the
steps to the porch, followed Mulder's gaze to the
staring officers in the yard, and shrugged. "Ignore
those idiots. They wouldn't recognize genius if it
bit them on the butt."
Mulder snorted and started to reply, but Skinner cut
him off. "We need a base. Priest is still in the
area."
"That so?" Nowak narrowed his eyes and looked at
Mulder in admiration. "Someday, you'll have to tell
me how you do that, friend."
"You wouldn't want to know." Mulder winced as he
spoke and his rigid posture began to slip as he
swayed slightly.
Skinner reached out, grabbed Mulder's arm and looked
at Nowak. "Look, Frank, Mulder needs to rest." Even
as he spoke, the younger man had shaken off his attempt
at help and was still forcing himself to stand upright
in front of the prying eyes that watched his every
move. "We need someplace we can work from -- not
Hyde Park PD."
"Way ahead of you on that one." Nowak turned,
gesturing for the FBI men to follow. "I thought
you might need to rest, Mulder. Booked a room in
a local hotel. We can get a few more rooms, set up
a command post." He looked worriedly at Mulder
as he stumbled, but withheld any offer of help.
Skinner had also refrained from reaching out,
allowing the younger man to make it to the car
under his own power. "Town cops and Dutchess
County Sheriff's gonna want in on this."
"By all means, we'll keep them informed." Skinner
watched Mulder slide into the car, then climbed behind
the steering wheel. "But can we talk about that
later? Let's just get to the hotel."
Nowak nodded, pushed Skinner's door shut and stepped
briskly to his own car. In seconds, they were moving,
NYPD in the lead, the FBI next, and the locals following
in the rear. Mulder allowed himself to slump in
the seat now, one arm thrown up across his closed
eyes as he leaned against the door. "Just a little
longer, Mulder," Skinner murmured. "Nowak got a hotel."
"I'm ok," Mulder replied. "We've gotta find Scully.
Priest will have another bolt hole -- probably a vacant
house in the area. Check with realtors -- see what's
vacant and for sale. It could just be a place that's
empty now -- people on vacation or something. The
locals may be able to help with that." He pulled
himself erect, turned to look at Skinner. "He won't
kill her now, but if he doesn't get what he wants
soon, all bets are off."
"And what does he want, Mulder?"
"Me."
********************************************
Scully watched her shirt drift downstream, wondering
if it would be enough. The bright white gleamed in
the moonlight. She shivered in her bra, crouched in the
cattails along the river bank. She had to get moving
or she would freeze to death.
She was feeling better -- more confident. It looked
like she was going to get away and cheat that bastard
of yet another kill. She only now realized she had
lost a shoe in the rough tumble down the steep hill.
Her ankle hurt. It was swollen, nearly twice the size
of the other one, and she touched it gingerly, trying
to determine if it was a break or just a bad sprain.
There was a sound from the hill and she glanced back.
Priest was coming down the ridge, spiderwebbing his
way calmly down, stretching and gripping rocks and
branches. He was moving quickly, and with more control
than she'd maintained on her frantic plunge down the
narrow path.
Priest came to the water's edge. He stared at her
shirt, bobbing in the water as it drifted downstream.
Hopefully he believed she'd tumbled in; she'd tossed a
branch in to make a splash as she'd launched the
shirt. He had to believe she was gone. She wasn't
going to be able to run on her ankle now.
Priest stood calmly staring at the shirt. He didn't
seem as crazed right now. Perhaps the mad dash through
the snowy woods had taken the edge off. Scully burrowed
down farther into the snow. The wind coming off the
water brought more wet cold with it. Her teeth threatened
to chatter, and she clenched them to keep quiet. Shivers
crawled over her body. She hugged her knees to her
chest and watched and waited. As soon as Priest
disappeared, she would set out for the road, for the
house. It would be hard going, cold and dark her
enemies, but it was better than facing Priest.
Finally Priest looked as if he was giving up. He
stared out at the water, shrugged, and then pulled
his coat more tightly around him. Then he turned and
started walking directly toward her.
******************************************
It was the biggest battle of his career -- getting
Mulder to lay down. They'd gotten to the hotel, set
up a command post in one room, and then he'd tried
to get Mulder to go into the adjoining room and lay
down.
He'd sent for computers, techs, additional agents,
liaisons to the local community. He'd been successful
there, but getting Mulder to lay down was still a no
go. The man paced, back and forth, before the window,
staring unseeingly out over the snow.
The computers arrived, along with a tech team to
set them up and get them on line. The room seemed
small with the techies moving equipment and furniture,
cops popping in and out, and phones ringing. The hotel
manager hovered as if this were the most exciting
thing that had ever happened in his life. And it
probably was.
At 4:00, Skinner forced Mulder to stop his frenetic
pacing long enough to swallow more Tylenol. One
look at the pain etched on his face, the stiff way
he held himself, and Skinner knew he was suffering.
He reached out and touched Mulder's forehead, earning
himself a dirty look and a quick push awa. But he
had been able to reassure himself that if the man
was in pain, and exhausted, at least he wasn't shivering
with that dreadful cold that encompassed him when he
was profiling.
At Mulder's insistence, the search had been expanded
to include all the neighboring townships up and down
and around the Hudson. There were representatives of
at least 10 little town police departments with more
arriving all the time. And there was the ever-present
Dutchess County Sheriff and NYPD. While Research ran
listings through MLS, the locals worked on compiling
a list of people who had notified them they would be
out of town -- a quaint little tradition that still
existed in the small towns of America.
As the sun began to set, Mulder stopped pacing,
standing silently to watch as darkness descended.
Skinner moved to stand beside him, trying to offer
his support without words. Mulder muttered, "He'll
keep her in the dark -- try to keep her disoriented
and confused. In a basement -- he likes to be below
ground."
"We'll find her." He patted Mulder's shoulder, an
ineffective gesture if ever there was one, and tried
again to get the man to go sleep -- to rest -- to
give himself some time to recover from whatever he
had experienced back at the house. He hadn't been
surprised when Mulder brushed him off and went back
to his pacing.
They were looking for a house, vacant, with a basement,
and fairly close to the house in Hyde Park. Mulder
had said that Priest wouldn't risk driving long with
Scully in the car. He'd be more nervous because he'd
be driving her car -- an official NYPD unmarked. An
hour away, at most. They'd marked off a circle of 60
miles -- an enormous area to search -- but they were
working their way through the listings methodically.
Anything with close neighbors was eliminated.
Anything without a basement was eliminated.
Anything where the people were due home soon was
eliminated.
That was how it worked. Just keep eliminating
things and eventually, the answer would appear.
He could only hope it would appear soon enough to
save Scully before Priest decided her eyes weren't
all that blue after all. Skinner shook his head.
What they hell had possessed her to go into the
house alone?
At 9:00, he insisted that Mulder sit. He'd ordered
food, but the younger man had refused to eat. Skinner
had settled for getting him off his feet before he
fell down. He tried to get him to sleep -- or at
least go to the adjoining room and lay down, and Mulder
just snorted.
"I don't think so, Walter." Mulder waved a hand,
encompassing the general commotion of people walking
in and out, conversations being held in quiet voices,
keys clicking softly as new search queries were
entered into computers. "There's a bit too many
people around for me to risk sleeping." He fixed
Skinner with a firm look. "You know what it can be
like."
Skinner nodded. "I understand. I do know. But,
Mulder ..." He reached out to touch his agent's
arm, then stopped and scanned the busy room. No
one was paying them any attention, so he rested a
hand on Mulder's shoulder. "You are two steps from
falling down. You need to rest."
Mulder shrugged. "I'll rest when we find Scully."
****************************************
She had drifted off to sleep -- something she would
have thought was impossible if it hadn't happened.
He'd tied her to something rough - a four by four
perhaps -- and the wood dug into her bare back.
She had been tied kneeling, her legs extending behind
the post and ankles tied together. The injured ankle
throbbed. Her hands were tied behind the post and
connected to her ankles as well. It was awkward and
more than a little uncomfortable, but she was sure
that had been Priest's intention.
It was his presence that woke her -- not a sound
or a touch -- just his presence. It was as if
something dark and foul had entered the space and
stood -- waiting. She shifted slightly, lifting her
head to stare up at him. Every movement hurt --
her neck was stiff from the unnatural position she'd
slept in. Her knees ached -- they'd been rubbed raw
from the hard-packed dirt she knelt on, and her muscles
screamed from being held in the same position for so
long. There was dried blood in her hair and on her
face, and her chest and back were criss-crossed with
welts gathered in her frantic race through the woods.
Beneath the welts her fair skin had turned dark --
bruised blossomed up and down her side and across
her chest.
It was damp and dank where she was. No sign of sun
or moon to tell her what time it was. Even day and
night were denied here. She was hungry, but couldn't
count on that to clue her to the time. The slight
light from the lantern he carried cast just enough
illumination that she was able to inventory her aches
and injuries. And the fact that she still hurt told
her she hadn't been out more than a day -- long enough
to grow cold and stiff and sore, but not long enough
for the pain in her head to recede.
"Don't look at me," he commanded and she dropped her
eyes immediately. Her breath caught in her chest. As
she looked down, she could seen the black and blue of
vivid bruises on her left rib cage, and she thought
she remembered several harsh kicks in that area when
she first went down.
He placed the lantern on the floor by the wall and
began pacing. Long legs and powerful strides carried
him the length of the room in only eight steps.
"What do you want, Fenton?" she asked quietly. She
was careful to keep her eyes down, glancing at him
only through half-lowered lids.
"Hush! he ordered as he whipped around and stared at
her downcast head. "You will not speak to me." he
resumed pacing, his boots loud and angry sounding,
even against the dirt floor. She tried to look around,
see where she was, but aside from the dirt floor, and
dirt walls, she could make out no features. There
seemed to be an entrance to her left -- the one Priest
had used to enter this space. There was a smaller
opening across from her, leading into a blackness.
To the right of this opening was a table with a single
wooden chair.
"What do I want? What do I want?" He reached the
far wall and slammed it with his fist, then rotated
and moved across the room, catching her throat in
his hand. She struggled to keep her eyes from meeting
his as he jerked her head upward. Finally, she closed
them. Blindness seemed preferable to allowing Fenton
Priest to see something unacceptable in her eyes.
"I don't want to have to Work alone anymore. I want
help. And company. I want someone who understands."
He released her and she dropped her head, only to
have it rocked backward as he slapped her across her
cheek. "I want my brother back!"
"He's not your brother," she whispered. Her lip was
bleeding again, and she'd bitten her tongue. She
fought the urge to hack, and settled for spitting
the blood from her mouth.
"He understands me. He understands about the Work."
Priest stepped to the table, pulled out the chair
and sat. He turned to look at her, and she quickly
dropped her head again. "If you keep looking at me,"
he said, "I'll have to kill you anyway."
"And if I don't look? You'll let me go?"
"He'll come," Priest said. "He'll come for you.
I've been watching -- waiting till he could come."
She struggled against her bonds, shifting her weight
from one knee to the other. She was out of her element
here. Mulder was the one with the psychological
insight into Priest. She could dissect a body, tease
the truth from tissue and bone, but she was never
very good with living people. Getting inside someone
else's head was something she'd never been able to
do; it was something she'd never wanted to do.
Priest was staring into the darkness, muttering under
his breath. Scully risked an upward glance, studying
him as he rocked in the chair. He'd lost interest in
her and was focused on something internal -- lost
in his madness.
She had to get out of this. For his own twisted reasons,
Priest hadn't killed her and apparently wasn't going
to right away. But he'd already beaten her, and she
had no doubt he'd do so again. The strike against
her cheek, and her strangled cry, seemed to have amused
him.
Mulder would be searching. She knew that he would
figure out where she was, come and get her. She needed
to stay alive, stay aware, so that when he came she
would be ready. But Priest wanted Mulder -- not to
kill him or even to hurt him, but to twist him into
a mirror of his own warped self. And Mulder, her
poor, damaged Mulder, he would go willingly with Priest,
do anything this madman demanded, if only it would
buy her safety.
She had to get free, one way or the other. Mulder
had lost too much already. She'd learned, slowly,
what he had gone through when she was missing for
all those months. She'd seen the pain in his face
when he tried to be brave while she fought cancer.
His love had revealed itself in a hundred different
ways over the years they had been together. And
always, he was willing to take the loss, suffer the
torment, live the pain, to save her. Well, not this
time. She was not going to let him sell his soul
for her.
"I want my brother back."
She looked up without thinking, then quickly dropped
her head again and spoke without thinking. "He's
not your brother," she repeated. "He hunts things
like you. He can see inside your mind and he'll find
you and squash you like a bug."
"Do you want to make me mad?" Priest stood,
gripping the chair in both hands and advancing on her.
"I don't think you want to make me mad..."
"You need to let me go." Her voice was quiet but
forceful. "You need to let me go and then you need
to run. You'll never survive if you wait for him.
He won't allow it."
"You. Will. Be. Quiet." He shook the chair in
her direction. "I can't think when you talk."
He fixed her with a steely stare. "You will be
quiet, or I will break this chair over your head
and beat you with the pieces."
He dropped the chair before her, sat and took her
chin in his hand. With the other hand, he reached
out and roughly rubbed the blood that marred her
face. Through her lashes, she watched as his eyes
lit up and a mask of anticipation slid across his
face.
"Of course, I could do that anyway. He'd still come."
End part 02/03
Self Torment 03/03
They'd worked through the night, Mulder refusing or
unable to sleep. He'd spent hours looking at listings
for houses within the prescribed radius, but nothing
had jumped out at him so far. When his eyes couldn't
bear to stare at the screen any longer, he'd rise and
pace, or stand by the window and stare at the moonlit
snow. Skinner had continued to coordinate the locals;
they were out doing drive-bys of every possible house
where they knew the owners were absent. No sign of
Scully's car at any of them, and aside from one petty
thief caught in the act in Staatsburg, there had been
no sign of activity.
As more and more potential locations were identified,
the numbers of involved law enforcement people swelled.
The original command post room was rapidly outgrown
and about 3:00 in the morning Skinner began shifting
operations to a meeting room down the hall.
The room had quieted through the rest of the night as
the command post expanded into the new room. By dawn,
the original room held only a couple of computers, a
young FBI agent Skinner was using as a runner, Nowak,
Skinner and Mulder. Nowak had been allowed to stay
because he had consistently shown nothing but concern
and admiration for Mulder, his abilities, and the toll
they took on him.
"Mulder," Skinner said quietly, moving to stand beside
his agent as he stared out the window once more. "You
have to go and rest." He studied the younger man, noting
the slump of shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes.
When he walked, there was just the slightest hint of a
limp from the knee that had been damaged three months
earlier. "Please, go and lay down. If you can't sleep,
at least get off your feet for a while."
Mulder shook his head. "I have to be here, Walter. I
can't sleep. And not just because ..." His voice
trailed off, leaving the thought unspoken as he tuned
and looked at Skinner. "I have to look at the
possibles -- I don't know how, but I'll know it when
I see it." Moving from the window, he started back
to the computer. "I have to go -- when we find it."
Skinner reached out and stopped him, one hand holding
Mulder's arm until the younger man stood still. "I
understand that. I just want you to get off your
feet; lay down for a while. Take some more Tylenol,
maybe something a little stronger." He eyed the man
critically. "I can tell you knee hurts; what else
is causing you pain?"
Mulder shrugged off the hold, but didn't move. "I'm
all right." He met Skinner's eyes. "The focus has
to be on Scully. I don't know how long Priest will
wait for me to come."
"You're convinced that's what he wants? For you to
join him?"
Mulder nodded. "At first, Priest was killing from
some sort of twisted sense of self-preservation --
he killed bad people, people who were perceived as
evil. It didn't take him long to expand that into
people who weren't necessarily bad, just non-
contributing members of society -- the homeless, the
mentally ill, the rejects of society who had found
homes in the underground." Mulder closed his eyes
and shuddered.
At Skinner's look of concern, Mulder shook his head.
"Nah - I'm not spazzin' out. Just thinking out loud."
Skinner still placed his hand against Mulder's forehead,
and then pushed up his shirt sleeve to touch his arm.
"You're not cold?"
"No," Mulder said shortly, tolerating Skinner's concern
with thinly veiled patience.
"All right, then." Skinner pushed Mulder back gently
until his legs were against the bed. "Get off your
feet and go on."
Mulder frowned but sat. "He still took bad people when
he was up top. Or at least he did until he made the
mistake with Jackson." At Skinner's puzzled look, he
clarified. "The man who was fighting with his wife."
"I know who Jackson was." Skinner waved the explanation
away. "What was the mistake?"
"Priest killed a good guy." Mulder lifted a hand and
ran it through his hair, then massaged his forehead.
"Tylenol, Mulder, and I'm not taking 'no' for an
answer." Skinner went into the bathroom and returned
with pills and water. At Mulder's reluctance, he
threatened, "I'll get someone in here to force-feed
you if you insist, and if I have to go to that much
trouble, I'm going to include a sedative." He held
them out, ignoring Mulder's petulant frown, and smiled
approvingly when Mulder swallowed.
"Killing Jackson seemed to release Priest from the
last vestiges of his conscience -- he was free to
pursue anyone and everyone." Mulder blinked. "It
also cut him loose from his ritual. The lights, the
noise, the elaborate set up. He took that nurse and
we never saw her again. Her body wasn't even in the
Sanctuary."
"So -- he's got another place he kills?"
Mulder nodded. "Probably more than one. And he doesn't
necessarily feel constrained to limit his hunting to
the evil and the rejects."
"But the nurse is the only one he's taken that wasn't
a reject or a bad person." Skinner paused, removing
his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Can't
we attribute the nurse to self-preservation?"
"I don't think so." Mulder leaned back on the bed,
kicking off his shoes. "I can't tell you exactly
why, but I think he's crossed a line now -- anyone
is fair game."
"But not Scully?"
Mulder's brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't
think so -- at least not right away. He's going to
want to keep her, use her to trade for me."
"And you know this -- how?"
Mulder shrugged. "It's what I'd do. And I'd ..."
"Stop." Skinner's voice was almost harsh, and he reached
out and gripped Mulder's arm. "You will not torment
yourself with what you would do." He loosened his
grip, his touch now just a gentle reminder that
someone cared. "*You* would not do any of the things
that Priest has done. And the fact that you have
this -- ability -- to, uh, understand his motives,
and use that understanding to track him -- that does
*not* in any way, make you like him."
Mulder was silent for a moment, considering. At last,
he nodded. "Yeah, well -- thanks." He shifted
uncomfortably, then said, "Anyway, he won't kill her
right away. He probably won't hurt her at first either."
Mulder winced. "But he'll realize -- probably sooner
rather than later -- that I'll trade for Scully,
regardless of her condition. He may beat her, or,
uh ..." His mind skittered away from the unspoken
concenpt. "He may hurt her. And he may eventually
realize that I won't know if she's dead or alive -- and
dead is a lot easier than alive."
Skinner was silent, going over Mulder's evaluation of
the situation. "You're sure of the area to search?"
Mulder shrugged. "I thought I was." He got up and
headed back to the computer. "I thought we'd have
found more viable options by now. Everything that's
come up is too close to neighbors. He won't risk
that. And it'll have been vacant for a while."
"We'll find it, Mulder. How many places can there
be that meet your criteria?"
Mulder stared at the laptop screen, then reached out
and slammed it shut. "But will it be soon enough?"
Skinner started to touch him again, to squeeze his
shoulder in a gesture of support, but Mulder waved
him off and stood. "I'm going to take a shower --
change."
"I think that's a good idea."
"You'll come get me if we get a hit?"
"Count on it."
Mulder nodded and grabbed his bag, heading into the
bathroom and closing the door behind him.
Skinner stood staring at the closed door for a moment
longer. For once he wasn't worried that Mulder would
take off on his own. He was more concerned the man would
collapse from sheer exhaustion before they got a hit.
But, until there was a hit, and a place to starte looking,
Mulder would stay right here -- right where he had the
only chance of finding Scully. He rolled his shoulders,
both hands coming up to knead the muscles knotted there.
He needed to work out some of his own tension. He'd go
check in at the main command room, and then see if the
hotel had a gym.
******************************************
Mulder came out of the shower only marginally refreshed,
but still feeling better. He pulled on clean jeans, and
towel dried his hair. With hair still damp and the
towel draped round his neck and over his bare chest, he
exited the bathroom. He was surprised to see the room was
empty, but moved straight to the computer and began to
review the possibles that had come up during his shower.
He was scrolling down the pitifully short list, growing
more worried with each negative hit, when the computer
chirped. He had mail. A quick review of the note
from Byers showed that the boys had found the bolt hole.
An large old house on the river -- it was on the
register of historic landmarks and had been used by
smugglers over 100 years ago. Most recently it had
owned by a Colombian drug cartel and used for drug
smuggling and gun running. There were extensive
underground storage rooms, and several tunnels that
led down to the river. It hadn't shown up on any of
the lists because it was currently the property of
the United States Government -- taken in the raid
that shut down this particular arm of the drug cartel.
Mulder smiled. It had taken some slick work to dig
this up.
He looked around for Skinner, puzzled that the AD
wasn't there waiting, then shook his head and finished
dressing. It was a quick trip to the meeting room.
He checked in with the rest of the team and was told
Skinner was working out in the gym.
Conscience warred with practicality for about 2 seconds,
and then Mulder had the keys to a car and was gone.
*********************************************
She was loose when she came to again. He'd released
her once before, then gloried in chasing her down. Her
injured ankle hobbled her more securely than any bond,
and he had easily caught her, tackling her to the ground.
She'd fought with the strength of a captured animal, and
had begun to get the better of him -- he was larger
but she had pure rage and some very specific hand-to-hand
training on her side. She'd had him down, was straddling
him and beating his head against the floor, when she
felt the prick of his needle and the paralysis slowly
slid over her. Now, when she came to again, she was
battered, bloody, and bruised. But she was, nonetheless,
free of restraints.
She rolled from her back to her knees, fighting dizziness
and knelt there, head hanging down as she tried to
pull herself together and get to her feet. Standing was
problematic; the ankle was still swollen almost twice
it's normal size. Not broken, but very severely sprained.
The lantern sputtered as she slowly pulled herself up,
clutching the wall for balance. She looked around,
then grabbed the lantern and began moving. It was slow
progress, and she frequently had to rest. She used the
walls for support as she made her way back through the
entry that Priest had used. It was some network of
caverns, one room after another with smaller alcoves
off to the sides.
As she limped through the tunnels, she watched for
Priest, stopping to listen carefully every few steps.
The alcoves would make possible hiding places, but she
didn't want to hide -- she wanted to get out.
The fifth 'room' she came to had a wooden floor and
real walls. It also had a trap door in the ceiling.
Unfortunately, there was no ladder leading up and out
so she was still trapped. She shone the light about
looking for anything that might provide a way out.
She smelled something, and wiped her bloody nose
then sniffed the air again. It was the scent of
blood. That unmistakable coppery smell floated in
the air. It was too heavy to come from her -- she
had grown accustomed to her own smell. This was
something else -- something new. She took the lantern
and made a circuit of the room, the odor intensifying
before she saw the cause. In the far corner, hidden
in the shadows was a body -- the body of a young
woman.
She appeared to be sleeping, crumpled on the floor,
lying on her side, her arm flung over her face. As
Scully held the light up, the girl was bathed in
color, red on the walls and floor shouting their
message of death.
"Oh, God!" The cry was instinctive. He'd found
someone else. She didn't approach right away --
she wanted to put she knew it wouldn't do any good.
She'd seen enough death to know it when she saw it.
There was nothing she could do for this girl except
mourn. Somehow, she knew that Priest had taken this
woman because he needed to kill -- and he didn't want
to kill her yet.
She took some time to reflect -- still trying vainly
to understand what motivated this monster, Priest.
Minutes later, much saddened at her inability to
prevent this death, she went to the girl. She stayed
there with her, touching her gently. Her emotions
pushed away the intellectual part of her brain that
screamed to stay away, don't mess with the evidence,
let someone else piece this atrocity together. She
was too close. But something wouldn't let her leave,
wouldn't let her just walk away from this woman -- this
innocent woman who had died for no other reason than
Priest's need to kill conflicting with his need to keep
her alive.
She was tired, and in so much pain. And she was scared.
Where was Mulder? Why hadn't they found Priest yet?
If Priest wanted Mulder, wouldn't he have a left a
trail? She stayed there, huddled on the floor, an
emotional wreck who couldn't stop the tears, thinking
that it should have been her. And then feeling guilty
because she knew it would devastate Mulder if it had
been her -- if it still turned out to be her. He'd
never forgive himself, never get over it, if he didn't
save her. God damn him! Her tears were rapidly turning
to anger. Why did Mulder always have to set himself
up to be the savior? Why did he have to torture himself
when he couldn't save the world? And where did that
pig-headed SOB get off thinking he was responsible for
her being here? She'd gotten into this jam on her
own and she was damn well going to get out.
A slight cough from behind caused her to whirl
around and claw her way to her feet. Priest was standing
below the trap door, a rope ladder dangling behind
him. "Some of that self-pity turning into rage, Agent
Scully?"
Without thinking, she launched herself at him, startling
herself as much as she startled him. She caught him
mid-chest and he tumbled backward, the small syringe
he'd had concealed in his right hand skittering across
the floor boards. Score one for pissed-off woman power,
she thought as she tried to get an arm around his neck.
But he was bigger -- taller and heavier -- and that
translated to stronger. In a fight with someone her
own size, male or female, she was always equal to the
task and usually came out ahead. But when size entered
the equation, unless the person had no skill in fighting
at all, well, size mattered.
He rolled his knees up, kicked out and she went flying
across the room. Without his syringe, he'd lost some
of his confidence and he opted to retreat, shimmying
up the rope ladder. But she was right on his tail,
following every step of the way. By the time he was
out, she was at the opening, and she reached out,
sweeping his legs from under him, laughing as he fell
heavily. It bought her enough time to make it the rest
of the way into the house.
The door opened in a bedroom, and as she watched, Priest
leapt over the bed, scrambling for something on the
dresser. With a new syringe in hand, he circled around
toward her. She jumped on the bed, lunging for the end
in a mad attempt to slide by Priest, but she knew it
wasn't soon enough, she wasn't close enough, and then
Priest fell on her as she scrambled for the door and
a chance to flee to safety.
As she fell off the end of the bed, she twisted around,
and a knee slammed into her back. The blow drove
the wind out of her lungs, her face slammed into the
uncarpeted floor. She was trying to breathe, trying
to scream, pushing herself up on her knees, grunting,
crawling toward the open doorway of the bedroom, a
crab-like painful movement.
Not gonna make it, not gonna make it. The defeatist
words were an unbidden chant in her head, even as she
continued her struggle to crawl out of the room and
away from Priest. He was advancing on her now, the
slow steady steps of a predator who knows it's caught
its prey.
She was in the hall now, just barely, and Priest
seemed to be enjoying her slow-motion flight to
freedom. He stayed far enough away to keep her
moving, but close enough to keep the terror in
her throat. As she dragged herself forward, she had
the wildest thought that the front door was opening,
crashing when powerful hands caught her. She kicked
and gasped for air as Priest flipped her over to
face him. His face loomed over hers -- shadowed
in the darkened hall. She slammer her right arm
straight up into his face, the blow glancing off
a cheekbone.
Priest flinched, and raised his arm both to block
her blows and to strike. Scully's skin tightened
painfully, waiting for the blow, and her head was
slammed back against the wall. The light dimmed
as she fought for consciousness -- her eyes watered,
and the air was split by a mighty roar. Priest was
suddenly gone, almost as if he'd reached the bottom
of a bungee cord and was springing upward on the
elastic band. There was an arm around his neck.
Scully watched, stunned, trying to breathe, the
breaths coming ragged and weak. She struggled to
sit up against the wall, and then pushed herself
away from Priest -- and the man who was struggling
with him.
Mulder!
Her eyes were still watering -- her vision was murky
at best.
It was Mulder.
But --
Where the hell was his backup?
End Self Torment
Story continues in Self Complete -- coming soon!
(
geocities.com/daydreamersden)