Title: Revenge
Author: Lovesfox
E-mail: Lovesfox@rogers.com (Feed me, please)
Web site: http://www.geocities.com/kim_djd/index.html
Rating: NC-17 (violence, consensual M/S sex and strong
language)
Category: Implied UST then MSR, Angst, Story/X-File
Classification: XRA
Spoilers: Not really, but up to mid-S7
Archive: As long as my name and everything stays attached
Summary: An old case of Mulder's resurfaces seeking revenge
Disclaimer: Alas, not mine. They belong to Chris Carter and
1013 Productions
Dedication: To true friendship, through thick and thin.
Thanks, T.
Warning: This story contains some scenes of violence, a rape
attempt, implied character death, references to
incest, and graphic sex.
Revenge Part 10 of 29
by Lovesfox
Leesburg Police Department
Leesburg, VA
Sunday
9:20 am
Elliot's voice. It sounded so normal, so rational. Yet Mulder
knew Elliot Andercott was not rational, or normal. He was a
psychotic bastard who was going to kill the most important person
in his life.
Only Scully didn't know that she was the most important person in
his life, because he had never told her. Not after trying once
before and being rebuffed by her because she thought he was still
affected by his ordeal in the Bermuda Triangle. He vowed to himself
that when he saw her again, he was going to tell her.
For he was going to see her again.
Elliot was not going to kill her. Not if he could help it. He took
a deep breath, centering himself. He had to stall Elliot somehow,
buy some time until they could find out where he had Scully. He
chose his words carefully, hoping that talking about the man's dead
sister would not anger him, but instead let him feel they were
connected.
"Elliot, we need to talk. I know today is an important day for you,
but don't do anything rash. We can work something out. Why don't
we meet, and we'll talk about Elizabeth?"
Mulder gripped the phone tightly when Elliot replied that he had
already done something rash. Dread swept through his body. What
did he mean? Had he already killed Scully? He felt that odd
feeling again, where time seemed to slow, and his senses were super
heightened. He could hear every one of his heartbeats, could feel
each brush of his eyelashes against his cheeks as he blinked.
Throat tight with fear, he managed to choke out, "What do you mean,
Elliot?"
And heard, "Dana is being anointed in the flames, Mulder."
Flames. Fear, thick and hot, piled on top of the dread. Not fire.
Oh, Jesus Christ, was he going to burn her to death? "ELLIOT, WHAT
HAVE YOU DONE?" He couldn't help it, he screamed the words. The
hand holding the phone was slippery with sweat, and his other hand
gripped the edge of the table, helping him stay upright, his knees
wanting to fold. His eyes were wild, shooting around the conference
room, seeing everyone staring at him.
Skinner, who had not left his side since the call came in, seemed to
sense he was losing control and reached out to grip him by the upper
arm, offering support.
"I think you know what I've done, Mulder," Elliot said, his voice
sneering to Mulder's ear. "You'd better hurry, even though it's
too late."
CLICK.
"FUCK!!!" he screamed. He slammed the cell phone down on the table,
pulling free of Skinner's grasp, and whirled to face the AD. "Where
are the car keys?" he almost spit the words out "He's set the
hospital on fire." As he spoke the words, he knew he was absolutely
and horrifyingly correct. He grabbed Skinner's arm this time, and
began to pull the AD towards the door.
His screaming had obviously alarmed somebody in the police
department, for Sergeant Baker had rushed in, just in time to hear
Mulder's last statement. Mulder stopped and stared at the Sergeant,
who had a puzzled look on his face.
"The old mental hospital?" the Sergeant repeated. "That's why it
closed down a few years back, because of the fire."
"How do we get there?" Mulder barked. He listened carefully as
Baker gave the directions.
Mulder's other cell phone rang then, and he grabbed it up, pressing
send and barking out, "What is it?" He brushed past Sergeant Baker,
sensing Skinner right behind him. "What have you got?"
Dimly he heard Skinner yelling, "Sergeant Baker, put in a 9-1-1 call
to the fire department. Tell them there's a fire at the mental
hospital!"
Frohike's excited voice babbled, confirming what Mulder had already
deduced, "Mulder, Elizabeth Andercott died in a fire at the Leesburg
Mental Hospital, four years ago today." He gasped in a breath and
then continued, "There wasn't enough remains left to bury her,
that's why there's just a memorial stone at the cemetery. The
inscription on it reads, Elizabeth Megan Andercott, beloved sister,
anointed in the flames."
Anointed in the flames. Elliot's words again. They sent a shiver
down his spine. He was trying not to think of how very afraid of
fire he was. Yet he would brave the hottest of hells to go after
Scully.
And if she did not survive, he would let them consume him too.
"Got it!" Mulder panted out as he took the stairs down two at a
time. He ended the call and stuffed the phone in his inner pocket,
racing through the police station and out the door. He went to
Skinner's car and yanked on the driver's side door.
Skinner was there suddenly, barking, "I'll drive." He pushed
Mulder towards the front of the car, and Mulder scrambled around
and opening the passenger door and climbed in. He was aware of
other agents running out of the station as well, heading to Bureau
issued sedans.
Skinner started the car, slammed it into drive and whipped out of
the parking lot. The AD's voice was terse, "Put the bubble on."
Mulder was stunned for a moment, and had trouble processing the
order. He couldn't stop picturing flames shooting from an unknown
building, thick smoke rising to the sky. Scully's face, in a circle
of fire. Finally he clued in, and reached behind him in the floor
well, grabbing the plastic red bubble light. He slammed it on the
dashboard in front of him, fingers struggling to turn it on.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. The thought kept running in his head.
Elliot's voice, pleasure-filled. Getting off on his revenge. He
made another vow. I will kill you for this, Elliot. His thoughts
turned back to Scully again. If ever he wanted her to hear them,
it was now.
Hang on, Scully, I'm coming. Please, please, hang on.
"Faster!" he hissed at Skinner. The AD shot him one tense look,
and jerked his head in a semblance of a nod. The car surged
forward, and began to weave in and out of the traffic, which
fortunately was fairly light, being a Sunday morning. Behind them,
he could hear sirens, and he turned his body slightly to look out
the back window. He could make out the Bureau sedans, and Leesburg
Police cruisers following them. He did not know where the Fire
Department was located, but he hoped and prayed to every God
possible that they were on their way as well.
In moments he and Skinner were out of the city proper, and
barreling down the two-lane country road towards the closed
Leesburg Mental Hospital.
***
Leesburg Mental Hospital
Leesburg, VA
Sunday
9:30 am
The fumes from the gasoline were nauseating. Scully tried to
breathe shallowly through her mouth, to avoid inhaling it too
deeply into her lungs. The drug had taken affect as well. Her
limbs were heavy, her mind slightly fuzzy, and that, combined
with the fumes, was very overwhelming. She could feel a headache
building, but knew a headache would soon be the least of her
worries. For there was another smell seeping into the room.
One of smoke, and fire.
Oh God, he had started the fire. No, no, no, no, no. Oh God,
no.
Her nose twitched and she unintentionally sniffled. That action
in turn caused her to suck in a huge whiff of the gasoline and
smoke-tinged air. It made her chest feel heavy too, and clogged,
and her body was wracked by a painful cough. This left her
breathless, and she was forced to take in more of the smoke as she
struggled to find air.
It was a vicious cycle, and she tried desperately to regulate her
breaths, her head now pounding, and swimming dizzily. Her throat
ached, and her eyes were starting to burn.
She was hot, and trickles of sweat were starting to run down her
forehead and the sides of her face. She did not know if it was
her panicked imaginings of the fire beneath her, or actual flames
licking at the floor. She yanked her legs towards her chest,
tugging at the rope that bound her to the cot, knowing it was
futile. The rope had not given any of the other times she had
tried throughout the night, and it would not give now. She was
trapped, and she was going to die.
Hot tears filled her eyes, and she squeezed them tightly shut.
She began to picture the faces of the people she loved and
respected. The people she would never see again.
Mulder appeared first. He was always first in her life, even if
he was not aware of it. Whenever she was hurt or scared, or
lonely, or a dozen other things, she thought of Mulder. Knew
that just to hear his voice was often enough to keep her
nightmares at bay. Or that, with one small touch of his hand,
she would be comforted. Soothed. Eased.
She would see something, a picture or funny commercial, and wonder
what he would think of it. Or hear a joke, and want to share it
with him. Why had she never told him this? Her inborn sense of
privacy, of never sharing her inner feelings, of feeling the need
to protect herself from rejection, had prevented her from letting
her tell him just how she felt.
And now she would never have that chance. I am so sorry, Mulder.
I love you so very, very much.
She was so afraid of what he would do after she died. She knew
Mulder's sense of guilt, which was burdened enormously
regarding her already, would be even more so because of Elliot
Andercott. She had tried many times in the past to help relieve
him of that guilt, but he wore it almost like a badge of dishonor.
One he could not, would not, remove.
Mulder's image faded slowly, to be replaced by one of her mother.
There was always a sense of peace when in her presence. A memory
of home as a child, safe and protected. Her mother's brown eyes
were gentle and loving. Scully knew they would turn sad and
haunted when she learned of her remaining daughter's death. Oh,
Mom, I have brought you so much pain. She hoped that Bill and
Charles would be there to see her through it.
The faces began to flicker.
Bill, Tara, Matthew. Bill's gruff protectiveness, often resented,
but accepted out of love. Tara, and her sweetness as she cuddled
her child. Matthew, his chubby cheeks and his eyes alight with
smiles.
To never watch her nephew as he grew, to see a child grow, only
as an aunt, and never as a mother. It had always hurt to see
Matthew, born as she had lost Emily. Yet she loved him for being
the child of her brother, and for just being him.
Flickering faster.
Charles. Seen so rarely, but kept in her thoughts and prayers.
Skinner. A contradiction she had long puzzled over. Stern
authority, a strong sense of duty and honor, and a willingness to
risk it all for the sake of her and Mulder.
Even the Lone Gunmen. Byers and his shy, sweet smile. Langly
and his grungy hair. Frohike and his leer.
It was getting harder to breath. She coughed again, and her eyes
sprang open with the force. She blinked rapidly, for the room
was filling with heavy, black smoke. What was the first rule of
fire? Get down to the ground. With the last of her rapidly
dwindling energy, she began to rock her body back and forth on
the cot. It began to move a little, tipping slightly. She heaved
herself to the edge and rocked harder, coughing with the strain.
One last heave, and the cot tipped over. She fell to the floor
with a thud, the air whooshing out of her lungs. The cot landed
half on top of her, and she could not find the strength to kick it
off. Her cheek was against the floor, which was not as hot as she
had thought it would be. The position was painful, pressing all
her weight on her bound hands. She managed to roll to her side,
and the cot slipped a little ways off of her.
Her lungs were burning now, and it was too much effort to try and
clear them. Little coughs puffed out, interspersed with ragged
gasps for air. She was losing the will to fight. She was so
tired, and her head and body ached unbearably. Her eyes were
heavy, and she allowed them to slip shut.
New faces filled her head now. She smiled faintly when she
recognized Ahab in his starched white dress uniform. Daddy?
He was smiling at her. And beside him was Missy, in a long,
flowery skirt and pretty sweater. Oh, Missy, I miss you so
much. Missy was smiling too, and holding the hand of a little
girl.
Emily...
Her daughter's chubby cheeks were dimpled with her smile, wide
as it could be. Her free hand was outstretched, reaching
towards Scully. Scully weakly lifted her bound hands, trying to
grasp Emily's hand.
Oh, baby, Mommy's here.
For just a second she thought she heard Mulder's voice, telling
her to please hold on, and her eyes fluttered open, her head
lifting slightly, hoping to see him standing there before her.
There was only thick smoke. She closed her eyes again, head
falling back to the floor.
I'm sorry, Mulder. I can't hold on anymore.
Blackness overtook her.
***
Skinner's Car
En route to Leesburg Mental Hospital
Leesburg, VA
Sunday
9:35 am
Mulder cursed as Skinner was forced to ease up on the gas pedal
due to the road. It was not a major traffic route or highway,
and therefore was not smooth or straight. It followed the
contours of the countryside, dipping and rising with each hill
and valley.
He knew they couldn't be far away because they had been driving
for almost 15 minutes. Sergeant Baker had said twenty minutes,
but Mulder knew that was while following the speed limit, which
was 30 miles an hour. Skinner had kept the car almost steadily
at 50 miles an hour.
Yet he had not spotted any buildings.
He scanned both sides of the road again, and felt his heart stop.
There was black smoke billowing up in the air on the passenger
side, a few miles ahead of them. "Jesus, I see smoke!" he cried,
pointing with one finger. They were coming out of a small valley,
just beginning the upward climb.
At Mulder's words, Skinner hissed in a breath, and Mulder felt
the surge in the car as he pressed the pedal to the floor. The
moment they crested the top, Mulder could see the hospital grounds.
Part of the structure was in ruins, but there was a relatively
large part at the back that seemed unscathed. It was from there
that the smoke was escaping. Mulder could also see flames
shooting out of some of the windows in the lower part of the wing.
How in the hell was he going to find Scully? She could be
anywhere. He had had a brief hope that the call had just been
Elliot tormenting him further, but after seeing the smoke, and
now the flames, he knew it was real. Scully was going to burn
to death unless he could find her.
Everything Elliot had done seemed to mirror what had happened to
Elizabeth. Mulder knew Elliot would try and recreate things as
closely as possible. With the wing she had been staying in
destroyed, he would try and duplicate it as best he could with
the other wing.
Mulder dug for his phone and quickly dialed the Lone Gunmen. He
spoke over Frohike's greeting, "Frohike, I need to know more about
how Elizabeth died. Elliot is going to kill Scully the same way.
Do you have the hospital report on it?" He braced his free hand
on the dash as the car barreled down another hill, and kept the
phone pressed tightly to his ear to be able to hear over the
roaring of the engine.
At Frohike's assent, he continued, "Where was she in when it
happened?"
Mumbles as Frohike read through the reports. "She was in the
maximum security wing, which was completely destroyed. In her
room on the second floor, room 224."
"Can you call up a floor plan of the hospital?" he asked next.
"Working..." Sounds of keyboard typing, and then, "Ah-ha! Got it,
what do you need?"
"In the part that's left, that wasn't destroyed by fire, is it
similar to the wing she was in?" His words were rushed for he
could see the car was approaching the turn for the hospital. He
could also see that the smoke trailing from the building was
getting thicker. The fire was escalating. He would have to go
inside immediately. His stomach knotted, and his body was clammy
with fear.
"Yeah, an almost identical layout. There is a room 224 on the
second floor, and just like the other wing, it is two rooms down
from being over a large supply room, which is where the fire that
destroyed the hospital originated."
"Thanks." He paused for the merest of seconds. This could very
well be the last time he spoke to Frohike. They had never been
big on expressing their feelings about their friendship, and he
didn't think he could now. He resorted to a casualness that was
as far from the truth as possible. "If I don't see you again
Frohike, it's been a slice."
"That it has, Mulder." Softly and sadly spoken.
Mulder disconnected the call as Skinner swung into the driveway
without slowing down. The back tires spun, and the car fishtailed
a little before straightening. They flew along the poorly
maintained surface, car bouncing and jouncing through potholes.
Skinner brought the car to a screeching halt about forty feet
away from the building. Mulder was out of the car almost before
it had stopped moving, running full tilt towards the burning
edifice.
The crescendo of sirens filled his ears, nearly drowning out the
sound of Skinner yelling his name. He continued on, feeling the
waves of heat rolling past him.
His eyes were scanning the entire building even as he ran, and
he could see the worst of the flames through a propped open door.
He wondered if that was the supply room. He slowed a bit, lifting
one hand up to wipe at his eyes, which were watering from the
smoke hanging thickly in the air.
He heard his name again, and looked back to see Skinner racing
towards him. He also saw that the sedans and cruisers had already
arrived, and were parking all around Skinner's vehicle. Newer
sirens joined the sounds, and he could see way beyond the cruisers
that the fire trucks and ambulance were coming now. Still too
far away.
"Mulder, stop! You can't go in there!" Skinner was yelling.
But he had to. No matter his fear. Scully was in there. And he
had to get her out.
There was no way he could enter through the propped open door;
flames were coming out of it now. To the left of it was a bank
of windows, which surprisingly had not yet exploded from the heat
and pressure inside.
Mulder dashed over, spying a pile of rubble beneath them. He
grabbed a large piece of wood and began smashing at the glass.
Skinner was at his side in seconds, yanking on his arm to pull
him back. The AD had his free arm up in protective gesture over
his head, flinching from the heat.
"Mulder, get the hell away from here!" he screamed in Mulder's
ear. "This place could blow. The fire trucks are almost here."
He yanked on Mulder's arm again.
Mulder turned and bared his teeth at Skinner. "Scully's in
there! I have to go in and find her!" He pulled free of Skinner's
grasp and began smashing the glass again. Finally most of it was
gone. He grabbed at the smaller pieces still stuck in the frame,
heedless of the cuts and burns that were being inflicted on his
hands.
Skinner's hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
"Mulder, it's too dangerous! Get the hell away from here!" He
tried to pull Mulder away.
Mulder yanked free again, and when Skinner made to grab him
once more, he balled his hand into a fist and decked Skinner,
sending him flying backwards. Mulder didn't even wait to see if
Skinner was all right, he immediately turned back to the window
and dove inside.
***
9:45 am
Stunned, shocked, and in more than a little pain, Skinner took
several seconds to gather his wits and struggle to his feet.
His entire face hurt, particularly his jaw, and his head spun
sickeningly for a moment. He blinked stinging eyes and then
stared in horror at the broken window - the empty, broken window.
The window Mulder had gone through into the burning building.
To look for Scully.
"Mulder!" he yelled, even as he knew it was useless. He staggered
closer, one hand holding his head, trying to peer through the
intense smoke. A wave of heat forced him back a few steps, and he
almost fell from the dizziness that swamped his body.
Hands grabbed his shoulders then, supporting him, and began pulling
him further away from the building. Hands belonging to one of the
agents that had followed he and Mulder. He hadn't even heard anyone
approach, so intent was he on trying to see Mulder. Other figures,
firefighters in full gear, ran past him, yelling instructions and
dragging hoses.
"I have two agents in there!" Skinner bellowed at them, pulling
free of the restraining hands to turn back and stumble towards the
burning building again. "There are two Federal agents inside!" he
yelled again, reaching out to snag the arm of a passing firefighter.
The fireman stopped, lifting the visor of his helmet, and yelled
back, "What?"
"There are two Federal agents inside the building!" he screamed
in the firefighter's face, jabbing one finger emphatically in the
direction of the burning hospital. "And possibly the man wanted
on charges of kidnapping a Federal agent."
"Hang on, sir!" the fireman yelled back. He turned away from
Skinner, facing towards a group of men standing by one of the fire
trucks, and waved his arm over his head. "Chief!" he yelled.
"Over here! This guy knows something!"
Two of the men broke free from the group and ran towards Skinner
and the fireman, ducking their bodies as they made their way
through the heat and smoke. The taller of the two, whom Skinner
noted as the man came closer, had on a fire coat with 'CHIEF'
written on one breast, as well as a helmet, the visor pushed
upwards. "What is it, Thompson?" he barked, eyes scanning Skinner's
face with intense curiosity and a hint of suspicion.
Skinner spoke before Thompson could answer. "I'm Assistant
Director Walter Skinner with the FBI. Two of my agents are
inside that building! There is a possibility a wanted man may be
inside as well." He fumbled in his inner pocket for his ID badge,
pulling it out with effort, and showed it to the Chief.
The Chief's face deepened into a frown as he looked from Skinner's
badge to the red mark on the Skinner's face and then to the
building, which was rapidly being overtaken by flames. "Get going,
Thompson!" he yelled, and turned back to Skinner. He grabbed
Skinner's arm and pulled him back towards the relative safety of
the fire trucks, parked several feet away. Skinner saw other
firefighters, working frantically to hook up the hoses and get the
water pumping to douse the flames. "Now what the hell is going on?"
he said, once he had Skinner seated on the bumper of one of the
trucks. He turned away briefly, and yelled out, "I need a paramedic
here!"
Skinner had to blink his eyes rapidly as he looked up at the Chief;
the smoke was still thick even this far away from the building.
He gave a brief summation of the events. "A Federal agent was
kidnapped and we traced her location to this hospital. The fire
was deliberately set, we believe to cause her death, and another
agent went inside to try and find her."
The Chief had turned away to look at the fire again, yet Skinner
could still hear the man's muttered curses. His skin crawled with
panic at the tone implicit in those words. Skinner knew
instinctively the Chief did not think they would be able to find
anyone inside the building. He found himself suddenly praying
urgently to God that Mulder would find Scully and bring her out.
Alive.
"Paramedic!" the Chief yelled again. "Where the hell are the
paramedics?"
Finally two uniformed men came running over from the direction of
the ambulance. One carried what looked like a toolbox, with the
caduceus symbol emblazoned on its sides. They came to a stop before
Skinner, and the other man began to examine Skinner's head. As
the paramedic flashed a light in his eyes, Skinner could make out
the figure of the Chief heading towards the burning wing.
Find her, Mulder. Hurry.
***
9:45 am
Mulder hit the ground with a thud, groaning loudly, and managed
to roll to his feet. The smoke was thicker, blacker, inside the
room, and he blinked stinging eyes, straining to see more than a
foot in front of his face. It was not easy. He glanced over his
sshoulder and just barely made out the window he had dived through
behind him. At least he was facing the right direction. He made
sure to take slow shallow breaths in order not to inhale the smoke
too deeply and fought the nearly overwhelming urge to cough.
He took cautious steps forward, sweeping his hands out in front of
him to search for objects that he might bump into. He prodded
carefully with each foot before placing it on the ground, knowing
if he fell he would lose all sense of bearing.
After what seemed like forever, his hands brushed a smooth surface.
He was fairly certain it was the wall. He shuffled slowly to the
right, and a few steps later, his hand encountered only air. The
doorway. He stepped out into what he thought was the hallway, and
looked to his right. The flames were intense, shooting through the
black smoke, crawling towards him, and he knew that was where the
fire had been started. His heart began to thud painfully in his
chest, and despite the heat, he was chilled from the inside.
Fire, got to get out, fire, it burns, getoutgetoutGETOUT!
Mulder crouched where he stood, his fear nearly numbing his brain.
He shut his eyes tightly, arms coming up to wrap around his own
body, to protect himself from the flames. A moan escaped his lips,
and it was that sound that brought him to his senses, pulled him
from the nightmarish hell of being trapped in a fire. He shivered
and exhaled slowly through his mouth, shaking off the fear. He could
not let himself think about the fire. He had to keep moving. He had
to find Scully.
Scully.
Jesus, she had been in here far longer than he, and he was already
having trouble breathing, still feeling the intense need to cough,
but choking it back. He knew smoke inhalation could kill her before
the flames ever reached her body.
This knowledge steeled his resolve, and he again began moving
forward. He wished there had been some way to see a floor plan of
the hospital. How the hell was he going to get to the stairs?
Behind him there was a thunderous noise and the sounds of shattering
glass, and he instinctively ducked, arms coming up over his head.
Mulder realized the remaining windows had exploded from the heat, as
the others a few rooms over already had. He had a brief thought of
Skinner, lying on the ground outside, and hoped the AD had gotten
clear before the windows had exploded.
Resolutely he pushed the thought away. He had no room for concern
about anyone other than Scully. He straightened from his protective
stance and continued on. The smoke obscured everything, his vision
useless, and he could rely only on his other senses. Hands
outstretched before him, he moved slowly and blindly forward.
It was a miracle, really, that he found the stairs at all.
His foot bumped into something first. The bottom step? He swung
his arms about until his left hand encountered the hard plastic of
the railing. It was hot to the touch, but he forced himself to grip
it tightly, to use it to guide himself up the stairs. He felt a
fierce grin form on his face. He had found them.
Going upward was awkward, not able to see, and he was also not able
to move as fast as he would have liked. He wanted to take the
stairs two, three, at a time, to race up them and find Scully, but
he knew he had to tread carefully. If he fell, he might not be able
to get up again, and she would be lost. Forever.
It was such a surprise when his foot did not find the next step,
trudging relentlessly upward as he was, that Mulder tripped and
fell to the ground when he reached the top of the staircase. His
knees smacked painfully onto the hard, tiled floor moments before
his palms caught the rest of his weight and stopped him from falling
flat on his face. He grunted with the impact when his hands
connected with the floor.
He gave himself a few seconds to recover and then raised his head,
peering into the smoke, which was not quite as thick as it was
downstairs, although it was close. The smoke was actually much
denser higher up, towards the ceiling, and he decided it was better
to remain on his hands and knees. It was even a little easier to
breathe down this low.
He crawled forward, through a doorway, and came out into what seemed
to be a corridor. He could make out what looked like more doorways
all along the corridor. Hospital rooms, he thought. He squinted,
and could just see a rectangular shape, like a plaque, a few feet
off the ground on the wall beside the door nearest to him on the
left-hand side. A room number?
Mulder moved over to it and came up on his knees to squint at the
plaque. It was a room number. Room 228. His heart sped up.
Frohike had said Elizabeth Andercott had been in room 224. Elliot
was recreating her death, so he needed to go two rooms down. His
palms made an audible slapping noise when they hit the ground and
he sped forward, arms and legs pumping furiously.
He passed one doorway, glancing only cursorily inside. Moved on,
reached the second. Smelled gasoline, felt its moisture slick his
palms, soak into the knees of his jeans. Bastard, he thought. The
bastard had poured gasoline around this room, the one Scully had to
be in, to insure it would go up in flames. His rage caused him to
gasp in air, thick with the odors of smoke and gasoline. He coughed
furiously, his lungs burning, and felt his eyes watering heavily.
"Scully?" he choked out, and crawled in the room. Blinking rapidly,
he could barely make out an over-turned cot. There was something
under it.
It looked like a body. Scully? Oh, Jesus. His heart stopped as
he caught sight of a hint of red, and a pale white face, the eyes
closed. "Scully!" he cried.
She did not move.
***
9:50 am
Mulder surged forward and shoved the cot off of Scully, crying her
name again and again. She still did not respond. He managed to
turn her onto her back, only then seeing that her feet had been
tied to the leg of the cot, and that her hands were bound as well.
BASTARD, his mind screamed.
She remained limp, lifeless.
With one shaking hand he pushed the strands of red hair that
covered her face away, fingertips hovering over her nose and lips.
He saw that her lips were slightly blue. He hoped desperately to
feel a puff of air against his fingers as a sign that she was still
breathing.
He could feel nothing.
"Scully!" he shouted. "Wake up, damn it! Don't do this to me!"
His hands slid to her shoulders, and he shook her roughly, trying
to force a response. "Scully!" Her head lolled from side to side
with the motion, but she still did not respond.
Little sounds escaped his mouth as he continued to shake her, grunts
and moans, the occasional plea. "Scully, please." No movement, no
sound. Her expressive blue eyes did not open, no protests from her
rosebud lips, no gasp of breath. "Please!"
Finally he stopped, shoulders hunching with his grief. He had been
too late. A sob escaped him, and another, and he felt the scalding
wetness of his tears roll down his cheeks.
Too late, too late, his mind screamed. Why hadn't he figured it out
sooner? He should have come to the hospital the moment he had
thought about it. He had known it was important to Elliot; he just
hadn't made the connection fast enough. And now she was dead. He
did not want to live without her. Could not imagine a life without
her beside him, challenging him, encouraging him.
"I love you, Scully," he said, his voice hoarse. He stared down at
her beautiful, pale face, surrounded by the fiery halo of her hair.
"I love you so much, and I am sorry I never told you."
He made up his mind. He was going to lay down beside her, curl his
body around hers, and let the flames take them both.
Mulder's hands slid away from her shoulders as he leaned down to
press his lips against hers one last time. One palm accidentally
brushed her breast, and he swore he felt her chest rise slightly.
"Scully?" he whispered hopefully. He bent closer, staring
unblinking at her still form. It happened again, her chest just
barely rose. He lifted his hand, which was shaking now from a
combination of fear and adrenalin, and felt for the pulse at her
neck. He was rewarded with the merest of flutters against his
fingertips.
She was still alive. He was not too late.
Yet.
His relief at feeling her pulse beating against his fingertips had
him exalting in joy, yelling his thanks out loud. This action
caused him to inhale a large lungful of smoke, and he coughed
violently, bending over with the force. His eyes were stinging
furiously as well, and he looked up to see that the smoke was
getting thicker. He even thought he could almost hear the flames
approaching.
Mulder burst into action. He dug into the pocket of his jeans,
pulling out his trusty Swiss Army knife, a gift from Scully a couple
of years ago. He thanked her for it again in his mind, and opened
it up to the blade. It was difficult, and he nicked himself several
times in the process, but he managed to saw through the rope tied to
the cot. There was no time to worry about the ropes around her
wrists and ankles; he had to get them out of the building.
Bracing himself, he scooped her up in his arms and stood. She felt
as frail as a child. He staggered a bit before finding his balance,
woozy from the smoke and gasoline fumes, and managed to get her over
his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He glanced once at the small
window in the room, seeing its narrowness. He hesitated
infinitesimally, would he waste precious time trying to break
through the glass? What if it were durable Plexiglas? This had
been a mental hospital, security had to have been tight to prevent
escape.
That decided, he stumbled forward, through the thickening smoke
into the hallway. Going back the way he came was out of the
question, he could no longer see down towards the door he had
crawled through. There had to be another fire exit at the other
end of the hallway.
Either that, or they were doomed.
As he carried Scully towards what he hoped was their escape, his
leg and arm muscles trembled with the strain. He had hardly slept
in the past week, nor eaten properly, and the lack of both, combined
with smoke inhalation and exertion, was taking its toll. He nearly
fell several times, bumping into the wall a few times as well, but
he never once lost hold of Scully. His hands clutched her tighter.
He was terrified she would stop breathing, had already stopped
breathing, but was afraid to stop to check. They had to get out.
Scully did not make a sound, nor did she move in the least. He
was eerily reminded of a similar journey he had made carrying Scully
through the bowels of a spaceship in Antarctica, and he shivered as
the memory ghosted through his brain.
Suddenly his eyes hazily caught the bright red of the EXIT sign just
ahead of them, maybe ten feet. His heart began thumping painfully
and he whispered, "Scully, we're almost there."
The sight renewed his strength, and he moved faster, his breath
panting harshly, noisily, in his ears. He wanted desperately to
cough, but fought the urge. He staggered on, and then he was
hitting the door, shoving it open. They almost fell again, as they
burst into the stairwell, and he fought to keep his balance. He
blinked, the stairs were blurring in front of him. His head spun
and black spots danced before his eyes.
Scully's weight seemed heavier; nearly dragging him down, and he
stiffened his legs, shifting her more securely on his shoulders.
The first step seemed to take forever for his foot to hit, and his
knees threatened to crumple again. "Hang on, baby, we're almost
there," he said, only vaguely aware he was speaking. "Just hang
on, baby."
He realized then that there was no smoke in the stairwell, but
forced himself to take small, measured breaths, still wanting to
cough desperately. He staggered on, down each cement step, until
he hit the landing. He paused for a second; blinking back the
spots that threatened again, before continuing on down the rest.
Freedom, and safety, was only steps away.
Finally he cleared the stairs, his feet hitting the cement landing.
A few more steps to the door and then they were outside. His
momentum carried them forward, and then they were falling to the
ground.
Mulder tried his best to take the brunt of the fall, but they both
hit hard. He tightened his arms on Scully, not wanting to ever let
go, hearing shouts and a cacophony of sirens somewhere in the haze
of his mind.
"We made it, Scully," he whispered, and closed his eyes.
***
10:00 am
Skinner irritably pushed the blanket one of the paramedics had
draped over his shoulders off, and got up from his perch on the
bumper of the fire truck.
They had given him a thorough going over, despite his
protestations that he was fine, and finally come to the conclusion
that he really was all right. Barring the lurid bruise beginning
to stain his left cheek. Regardless of that conclusion, the lead
paramedic had recommended he stay seated and out of harm's way,
and left his companion to sit with Skinner.
The other paramedic, a young man named Danny, said nervously, "Sir,
I think you should stay here."
Skinner shot him a look, one that would have had the agents under
his command scurrying, and gritted out, "I'm fine." He stalked a
few feet away and stared at the fire that was desperately being
fought by the Leesburg Fire Department. The muscle in his jaw
ticked wildly as his eyes scanned the building, looking for any
sign of Mulder. Or Scully.
He was still in a little shock over Mulder's actions. Not really
because of the punch, he knew Mulder was desperate and would do
anything to find Scully, including striking his superior, or
anyone who was a hindrance to him. What had stunned him was the
agent diving into a burning building to search for her. Such
selflessness and risk of life, despite the obvious affection
between Mulder and Scully, and the declaration of love he had
witnessed in the warehouse.
A hand touched his elbow then, and he turned his head to the
side to see Agent Powell standing beside him. The SAC had a
troubled frown on his face, and his tie was askew.
Skinner wondered idly to himself if the man was worried about
possible disciplinary action regarding the events of the morning.
Typical ladder climber, he sneered in his mind.
"I have my men searching in a five mile radius of the hospital
grounds," the SAC said. "There's been no sign of anything or
anyone, other than some tire tracks near the door. We weren't
able to get plaster cast impressions yet, the fire fighters
warned my agents away from the building. We did manage to put
up a few markers, hopefully they won't be destroyed by people
trampling on them."
Skinner nodded absently. Tire impressions would not help them
find Elliot Andercott. If the man was not burning to death in
the building as they spoke, he was long gone. Having ditched
the white van, he had more than likely stolen another vehicle
for his use, and his first move after getting away from the
area would bbe to ditch that car as well, and steal another one.
Powell's muttered imprecation startled him from his thoughts.
"Oh, shit, it's the press."
Skinner whipped his head around, and sure enough, the media
circus was arriving. Vans displaying TV and radio station call
signs, followed by several vehicles of different makes and
models were barreling down the gravel road towards them. He
felt a twinge in his stomach. He had never been able to deal
correctly with reporters and the like.
"Can you handle that?" he barked at Powell, jutting his chin
towards the encroaching masses.
Powell nodded. "We're on it," he replied, and strode away,
yelling, "Sergeant Baker! Daniels, get over here!"
Skinner turned back to the fire, pushing all thoughts of the
media aside. The hoses were going full force now, battling the
blaze, but the air was still thick with smoke. The heat was
intense as well, causing rivulets of sweat to roll down his face
and neck.
The action was directly in front of him, and he never knew what
it was that made him turn his head to the left.
Just in time to see two figures burst out of a fire exit door
and collapse on the ground. He had an impression of a body slung
over the shoulders of another, and then his eyes caught a flash
of red hair.
Scully's hair.
Jesus Christ. Mulder had found Scully. His heart rate
accelerated dramatically, and he was running towards them even
as he was yelling, "Over there! It's them!" Each step of his
feet pounding on the grass sent bullets of pain through his skull,
and his lungs felt like they were working overtime to help him
breath in the smoke-filled air.
Despite being the first to actually spot Mulder and Scully, two
of the firefighters had reached them when he got there. He was
out of breath, and forced to bend over slightly, his hands on his
knees to get air into his challenged lungs. He did not take his
eyes off of them, however, watching anxiously as one of the
firefighters pried Mulder's arms from around Scully.
Skinner heard Mulder mutter weakly, saying Scully's name
desperately, but she did not make a sound. Her face was like the
palest of china, and he winced when he saw that her lips were blue.
It wasn't until the other firefighter dragged her free of Mulder
that Skinner also saw that her hands and feet were tightly bound
with rope.
Things moved rather quickly then. The paramedics had joined
them, he didn't know when; they were just there, carting oxygen
and other equipment, swarming over Mulder and Scully. Skinner
heard Mulder's voice again, asking if Scully was all right, and
he made his way to Mulder's side, out of the way of the paramedics
working on him.
The agent's face and clothes were streaked with grime from the
fire, and his eyes were red-rimmed and brimming with tears.
Mulder struggled to rise, his breath coming in little pants, still
asking about Scully.
His hands batted away the oxygen mask one of the paramedics was
trying to settle over his face. He was also trying to shift his
body so that he could see Scully.
Skinner pressed a hand onto Mulder's shoulder, helping the
paramedics keep him down, and shifted his own body to block
Mulder's view. "Mulder, relax, let them help you. Scully is being
taken care of," Skinner said soothingly. He flicked a glance toward
Scully, and saw that she was being looked over by paramedics and
firefighters. He watched in horror as they began performing CPR on
her, and swallowed the huge lump in his throat.
"She's okay, Mulder," he lied, knowing she was not, and felt the
tenseness in Mulder's body ease slightly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of Powell's agents
approach. He angled his chin at the man and barked, "What?"
"SAC Powell wants to know if Agent Mulder saw the suspect inside,"
the agent replied, moving to a crouch beside Skinner.
Skinner had not even thought of Elliot Andercott. His concern had
been solely on Mulder and Scully. He bent down to Mulder, shaking
his shoulder lightly to get his attention. "Mulder, did you see
Andercott?" he asked. He watched as Mulder's eyes rolled towards
him, his lips pulling into a frown as he tried to focus on what
Skinner had asked. Skinner repeated his question. "Was Andercott
in the building, Mulder?"
Skinner watched as comprehension dawned in Mulder's eyes, and then
the agent shook his head, coughing harshly beneath the oxygen mask
from the effort the motion had cause him, his face scrunching up in
pain.
Skinner patted Mulder's shoulder and turned back to the other
agent. "Apparently not. That doesn't mean he isn't in there, but
I'm betting he fled the scene after starting the fire. Have Powell
put out another state-wide APB."
The agent nodded and took off. Skinner watched for a moment and
then turned his attention back to Mulder. The agent had closed his
eyes again, and the paramedics were tending his hands. Skinner
winced when he saw the condition of them. Red, and raw looking,
with a myriad of cuts, and what looked like burns as well.
However, Skinner was confident that Mulder would make a full
recovery.
He was far more alarmed about the condition of Scully.
***
end Part 10 of 29
Text file Source (historic): geocities.com/kim_djd
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