Title: Morphea
Author: Mortis
E-mail: fanficcorner@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Category: UST, X-File
Classification: XA
Spoilers: Vague reference to Triangle
Summary: When Scully receives an antique locket, strange and
frightening things begin to happen
Disclaimer: Unfortunately the characters do not belong to me;
Chris Carter and 1013 Productions have that privilege.
Scully's apartment
Saturday, 7:30 a.m.
The phone shrilled on her night stand as she pulled the pillow over her
head and growled, "Dammit! My one day to sleep in." She uncovered and
grabbed the portable handset from its base. "Yeah. Scully," she said
with all the irritability that she felt.
"Dana, honey, it's mom," came Maggie Scully's hesitant voice. "I woke
you, didn't I?" she asked sounding genuinely sorry for it.
"It's okay, Mom," Scully said, feeling bad for being so bitchy. She
rarely had time to spend with her mother and since the deaths of her
dad and Missy, she felt keenly guilty for it. "What's up?" she asked
stretching her toes out toward the end of the bed and rolling over to
sit up.
"Well," Maggie began, "I was just going shopping. Nothing special,
just a few antique shops, and I thought that since you had the day off,
you might like to join me…"
Maggie's voice sounded so lonely. Dana winced. When was the last time
she'd been out to see her? Far too long, she was sure. "Yeah, sure,
Mom," she conceded as cheerfully as she could muster given her
exhaustion and the early hour, "give me an hour to get ready?"
"Great!" she could hear the relief in her mom's voice, "I'll pick you
up in an hour and we can grab some breakfast."
"Sounds great, Mom," she said with another tired stretch of her arms,
"see you then." She hung up the phone and shuffled into the kitchen to
fix herself a short pot of coffee. She opened the front door and
retrieved the morning paper, tossing it on the dining room table for
later perusal. She poured herself a cup of the coffee and drank it
down as quickly as the scalding temperature would allow.
After showering and putting on a scant bit of makeup she parked herself
at her dining room table with another cup of coffee and the morning
paper to pass the time. Maggie arrived in short order and soon they
were off.
Maggie chattered on about nothing in particular. Her mood was light
and cheerful and before long Dana caught it too. Both women were soon
laughing and genuinely enjoying each other's company.
After they'd enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, Maggie brought them to a
little out of the way antique shop. The sign above the door read
simply, "Antiques". Scully picked her way carefully through the narrow
aisles that wound through everything from fine old furniture to oddly
shaped bottles of colored glass.
Off to one side of the path, a glass case caught her attention and she
wandered over to it glancing at the ancient treasures within. It
contained a beautiful spyglass of the type used by mariners from
another time and a lovely silver locket etched with a lighthouse.
Scully smiled as she lifted the lid of the case and fingered the small,
but ornate locket. It looked so delicate and timeless. She felt
compelled to pick it up, as if it were somehow calling to her with a
sad, soft pleading. It glittered playfully as she gazed at it.
The locket was a silver oval a little bigger than a quarter, hung on a
long, heavy silver chain. She flipped the small latch and found a
picture within it. A man stared out with a sober expression rendered
in sepia tones. His dress put his time somewhere in the late
nineteenth century and there was something in his gaze that seemed very
sad.
Maggie moved to stand beside her and gently touched her shoulder, "Did
you find something?" Dana nearly jumped right out of her skin. She
laughed at herself and showed her mother the locket that she held in
her hand, surprised that she could have been caught so completely
unaware. "Oh, Dana! It's beautiful," Maggie opined.
The proprietress, an woman who seemed older than anything in the shop,
approached the two women in a soft rustle of skirts that gave Scully a
cold chill. The sound reminded her of insects scurrying through dead
leaves, and she shivered. "That's a very nice piece," she rasped in a
harsh, rusty contralto. Scully shivered. She couldn't put her finger
on what it was, but the old woman gave her the creeps.
"What are you asking for this?" Maggie asked pulling out her wallet.
"Mom, you shouldn't," Scully protested weakly, while secretly hoping
that she would.
"It isn't for sale," the old woman croaked. "It's free to the right
person. Do you like it, my dear?" she inquired with a knowing wink.
"It's looking for the right woman."
Scully looked longingly at the trinket. The old woman made her
uncomfortable, but she felt somehow drawn to the thing. "Why give it
away?" she asked trying to mask the suspicion that was creeping up the
back of her neck so as not to appear rude.
"It's been waiting for the right person," she said in a hushed,
confidential tone, "for a woman strong enough to wear it." She took
the locket from Scully's hand and stared deep into her eyes. Scully
felt something penetrate her very mind and instinctively revolted
against it, pushed it forcefully away. With that, the old woman issued
a cackle that turned to a dry cough. She stood back and slipping the
chain over Scully's head and around her neck said, "Take it, my dear,
it's yours."
Scully accepted it hesitantly, her hand fluttered to it. She felt an
odd tingle there and toyed with it unconsciously as she aimlessly
followed her mother through the rest of her shopping, lost in thoughts
of the mysterious sad man in the picture.
Maggie suggested lunch and Scully realized that half the day had flown
past. She agreed and they enjoyed a pleasant meal together catching up
on the family news. Scully had a wonderful time, but was strangely
pricked by an inexplicable sadness. Perhaps she was just more acutely
aware of the family she didn't have, her inability to add the exploits
of her children to the conversation.
Scully stood at her doorstep and waved goodbye to her mother. She set
her packages down long enough to unlock her door and then deposited
them on the dining room table on her way to the kitchen. She poured
herself a glass of iced tea, and returning to the dining room, sat down
to examine her treasures.
First out of the bag was a small music box with an exquisitely carved
lid. She wound the key at the back of the box and opened it. Grieg's
Hall of the Mountain King tinkled merrily making Scully smile. She'd
always loved the tune for it's mischievous tone. It reminded her of
sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve with
Missy to check out their gifts in advance of the morning opening
ritual.
The music box was joined by several other items from the bag; a set of
six silver napkin rings, a matching set of silver salt and pepper
shakers, a pair of silver candlesticks and half a dozen creamy white
linen napkins. They featured an ornate "S" embroidered in a paler
white thread in the lower right-hand corner. She smiled again, they
were very elegant. She supposed that she may have overindulged herself
a bit more than was prudent on a G-woman's salary, but after the gift
of the locket, she felt that it was the right thing to do. To justify
the expense, she resolved to invite Mulder for dinner soon, and folded
the napkins carefully putting them in the sideboard drawer.
Her fingers moved to the locket. It sparkled and glittered against her
palm. She flicked the tiny door open and rediscovered the man. He
gazed at her from across the years with an imploring melancholy. He
seemed so lonely.
Scully realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks. Perhaps she
was only projecting her own loneliness. She thought about her life,
about her inability to have children. She had become so inaccessible
that she no longer held out any hope for a serious, intimate
relationship with Mulder or anyone else for that matter. She had
thought that she and Mulder were headed toward a much more physical
relationship, but that hadn't happened the way she'd thought either.
An unconscious frown creased her brow, passing like a dark cloud over
the sun. He was her best friend, that was true, but he obviously
didn't feel about her the way she felt about him. She wondered at what
point she'd become a nun.
"Come to me," the locket seemed to whisper.
Her mind drifted through a mist. She saw a desolate lighthouse
surrounded by sea in all directions. The man in the picture stood on
the stone walkway with his hand outstretched and a smile on his face,
beckoning her to come to him. A short wrought iron fence was the only
thing between her and the vastness of the ocean. The waves lapped
against the side of the artificial island upon which the lighthouse had
been built – a caisson, if she wasn't mistaken. The sound of the water
and the smell of the salt air flooded her senses.
The man took her hand and somehow she knew his name was Sean. He
presented her with a small, daintily wrapped box. She didn't know him,
but he was somehow familiar. She delicately tore the wrapping from the
box and inside she found the locket. He fastened it at the nape of
her neck with a soft kiss there that both shocked her and stirred her
passions.
She was herself, and yet she was another woman. She looked down at
herself, startled to find she was wearing long skirts that flowed from
her tightly cinched waist. Her hands emerged from lace cuffs. Sean
offered his arm and she took it, walking with him around the rampart.
He was completely charming and attentive. She found that she was taken
with him.
He led her inside the lighthouse, showing her around. She didn't know
how she knew, but she was certain that this was to be her new home.
The first floor was taken up with a large kitchen and an equally large
parlor. He led her into the latter and seated her by a cozy fireplace.
She held a glass of brandy he'd poured for her. She didn't like it,
but sipped it delicately anyway, for some inexplicable reason wanting
desperately to please him. The liquid set fire to her insides as it
slid down her throat to her stomach, making her feel giddy and light-
headed. Sean leaned over, taking her chin in his hand, and kissed her.
She suddenly realized that she was married to this man who was a
complete stranger to her. Her stomach tightened with nervousness, she
knew what was expected of her.
He took hold of her trembling shoulders and began to undress her. He
planted soft kisses as he uncovered her. She shivered in both fear and
longing. He caressed her as he moved his lips over her face and
shoulders. When she was down to her last petticoat, he scooped her
into his arms and carried her to a narrow set of stairs that
disappeared into darkness. Scully clung to him, her arms around his
neck and her face buried against his shoulder, fearful that he might
drop her or stumble and fall on the thin steps.
He came, at last, to a heavy wooden door on the second floor. He
grasped and twisted the wrought-iron handle with the hand that was
supporting her legs and pushed it open with his booted foot. The door
swung open to reveal a nicely appointed if somewhat masculine bedroom.
He placed her gently on the bed and began to remove his own clothing
while she watched with the unabashed eye of a 21st century woman. His
chest was well formed and smooth offering her a marvelous view of the
distinctly cut muscles there. His legs were also quite muscular – from
climbing the mountain of a stairs daily, she assumed. He gently
lowered himself onto the bed next to her. He covered her with his body
and his kisses became hotter and more insistent. She responded in kind
and soon the heat between them leapt into flame.
The shrilling of the phone snapped her back to herself. She shook her
head and dropped the locket where it nestled into her cleavage. She
was panting as she grabbed the handset. "Hello?" she asked, suddenly
very tired.
"Scully, it's me," came Mulder's voice through the small speaker.
"Mulder!" she gasped, suddenly straightening. She felt like she had
when Ahab had caught her making out with Robert Raines in his car
after her high school prom. "What's up?" she inquired, trying to sound
nonchalant.
"Did I catch you at a bad time?" he asked, his voice filled with
concern. "You sound out of breath."
"No, no," she covered, her cheeks flaming in the now darkness of her
dining room. "I was just taking a little nap. The phone startled me,
that's all," she lied, tracing circles through the ring of condensation
left by the now melted glass of iced tea.
"Scully, I was going through some of our old files and I stumbled
across…," Mulder began.
Scully cut him off a great deal more forcefully than she'd intended.
"Mulder, it's Saturday night. Don't you have anything better to do on
a Saturday night than peruse old files?"
Mulder's stunned silence made her immediately regret her words. "I'm
sorry, Mulder," she said more gently. "That didn't come out quite
right. I had an unplanned early morning and I'm just not myself. I'm
just over-tired. Can we talk about this in the morning?" she asked
softly.
Mulder started to press for more detail, but something in her voice
stopped him. He knew that it would be useless to push her and would
likely only make her angry. He was worried, but kept his own counsel
for the time being saying only, "Sure, Scully. I'm sorry I disturbed
you. It'll keep until Monday."
Scully cringed. She had lashed out in her exhaustion and wounded her
best friend. "How about dinner tomorrow?" she asked extending an olive
branch, "I'll cook. Let me make it up to you."
Mulder hesitated a moment, then gratefully accepted the invitation.
Not only was it an opportunity for a most rare home-cooked meal, but
spending time with her was at the top of a short list of life's little
pleasures. After obtaining her promise to call him if she needed
anything, he hung up, still nursing an uneasy feeling.
J. Edgar Hoover Bldg.
Monday morning
10:20 am
Scully practically ran down the hallway to the elevator, heels sounding
a rapid-fire staccato that marked her progress. She had never before
in her life been late for anything that hadn't been prearranged weeks
in advance. She took a guilty look at her watch as the elevator doors
slid open. She stepped inside and descended to the office she shared
with Mulder. She didn't bother trying to sneak in as it was his phone
call that had roused her from her dreams an hour earlier.
Mulder glanced at his watch and regarded her with playful eyes, about
to tease her for the late hour. He searched his recollection for
another time she'd ever been late, and found none. He took a better
look at his pretty partner. Her eyes had bluish circles forming
beneath them and she looked tired. "Scully, you okay?" he asked
gently, his mischief quickly turning to concern.
"I'm fine, Mulder," came her standard dismissive reply, "I just
overslept. I didn't sleep well last night."
She turned her attention toward his desk and the pile of files that
rested upon it, effectively putting a halt to any further inquiry.
Picking one up, she drew him into an explanation of the files he'd dug
up on Saturday, something she'd steadfastly, albeit gently, refused to
discuss over dinner last night. He took the bait and they spent the
rest of the morning pouring over accounts of crop circles, cattle
mutilations and strange disappearances that Mulder insisted were
linked, while Scully listened halfheartedly. In truth, her mind was a
million miles away in a lonely lighthouse.
Scully had been able to think of nothing but Sean since she first saw
his sepia image in the locket. She had sleepwalked through dinner with
Mulder the night before and had eaten little. Mulder's rambling
commentary had become a backdrop to her private thoughts and she'd
drifted among them until Mulder had stopped talking and simply sat
silent as he waited for her attention. She was certain that she'd hurt
his feelings and she'd apologized profusely for tuning him out. They'd
spent the rest of the meal chatting about nothing in particular after
Scully had forbidden "shop talk" and she made a concerted effort to pay
better attention. Still, he must have sensed her preoccupation and had
politely called it an early night.
She had seen him to the door with more assurances that she was
perfectly fine. She confessed to being tired and told him that she
would likely go to bed early. After gently closing the door behind
him, she'd headed to the kitchen and rinsed the dinner dishes, leaving
them sitting in the sink to be dealt with in the morning. Then she'd
headed to bed where she'd lain consumed with thoughts of being alone
for the rest of her life, arguing with herself that an imaginary lover
was better than nothing at all.
At some point, she must have fallen asleep because she spent the rest
of the night dreaming of him. She had unleashed her pent up passions
and would likely still be in her dream world if Mulder hadn't called.
She blushed now as she remembered the wanton abandon with which she'd
surrendered herself to it. She was vaguely aware that Mulder was
talking, but she simply could not make herself concentrate on his
words.
After Scully's stomach growled loudly for the fourth time, Mulder
suggested that they take a break and grab some lunch. She followed
docilely as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevator.
He chattered on about inconsequentials, trying repeatedly to draw her
into conversation, but was rewarded with no more than the occasional
"uh-huh" from Scully. He suspected that she was not really paying
attention to a word he was saying. "So how about it, Scully? You
wanna help me build a rocket and go to moon?" he said without changing
his tone. When he was rewarded with a distracted "mmm…" he knew he was
right.
They finally came to the diner where they ate lunch at least three days
out of five. It wasn't crowded due to the fact that the lunch rush had
come and gone an hour and a half ago. They took a table toward the
back in a quiet corner and ordered their food without even glancing at
the menu as soon as the waitress appeared. Scully stared past him and
fingered her necklace, nodding occasionally at comments that he made.
He was torn between anger at being ignored and a deep-seated worry over
her apparent inability to concentrate. He didn't fool himself that she
hung on his every word, but she usually listened quite attentively.
"Scully," he said. "Scully!" he repeated a bit more forcefully.
"Hmm?" she responded blinking owlishly and looking at him for the first
time all day.
"Scully, what's going on?" he asked with worry shining in his hazel
eyes, "You've been oblivious all day." He really did care about her,
in his own way, just not in the way she wanted.
Her emotions nearly overwhelmed her. She looked away quickly and bit
her lip to keep the tears from rising. How could she explain to him
the devastating isolation she was feeling when she didn't understand it
herself? How could she tell him that a sense of overwhelming
loneliness was catalyzed by his presence, the very sight of him?
Rather than burden him with her emotional indigence, she simply
shrugged and said in a soft voice, "Mulder, I – I'm sorry. I'll be
okay. I just need some rest."
"Maybe you should see a doctor?" he suggested, apprehension evident in
his expression. Since her recovery from the cancer, every sniffle had
elicited that same advice, delivered with the same angst-filled gaze.
"Mulder, I am a doctor," she smirked.
Her half-assed smile went a long way toward alleviating some of his
anxieties. He did his best to figuratively climb inside her head, to
penetrate that barrier that she automatically threw up in front of him
every time he tried to get close to her feelings. He reached across
the table and laid his hand atop hers, patting it gently. "If you want
to talk about it, Scully," he said gently trying to capture her eyes,
"I'll be here. Any time. Any time at all."
A single tear broke through and slid silently down her cheek as she
rested her other hand atop his. "Thank you," she said simply, saying a
silent prayer that her voice didn't betray the thousands of other tears
dammed up behind it. She looked away, drawing a curtain over the
windows of her soul, lest he see the anguish concealed behind them.
They finished their meal in relative silence. Scully had drifted back
into herself and Mulder knew that any attempt to force her into
conversation would be less than pointless. As they left, he tossed a
couple of bucks onto the table and flashed his winning smile to their
waitress whose answering smile and wink left no question that she would
gladly help him to get over the pretty redhead that she was sure just
had dumped him.
They headed back toward the J. Edgar Hoover Building. The wind had
picked up and the sun had concealed itself behind gathering clouds,
turning a bright, but brisk morning into a cold and uninviting
afternoon. It seemed ironically in keeping with both their moods.
They came to the intersection where they had to cross the street.
Mulder stopped to wait as the red hand was illuminated in the universal
"do not cross" warning. Scully moved as if in a trance, staring
blankly ahead, almost unblinking, as she came to the edge of the
sidewalk.
He first became aware of the truck by feeling its rumbling rather than
hearing it. The driver was gearing up, attempting to make the light
before it changed. The engine growled, low and dangerous. The
changing amber light glinted off the grill giving the illusion of
hungry chrome teeth. Suddenly, time dilated, setting everything into a
queer sort of slow motion.
Mulder watched in horror as Scully's foot left the curb. The screech
of the brakes began as her heel struck the asphalt. Mulder's voice
froze in his throat as he saw that her eyes were locked on the other
side of the street in a frighteningly vacant stare. The milliseconds
clicked off in the lower right-hand corner of his awareness like the
time clock in a playoff game.
As her other foot followed, carrying her nearly beyond his reach, he
saw a light go on behind her eyes, the light of surprised recognition.
She smiled and he followed her gaze. What he saw made him gasp. A man
stood there, beneath the crossing signal. He beckoned her like a
friend with his arm outstretched, but his mouth was drawn in a hard,
malevolent smile that made Mulder shiver.
In the back of his consciousness, he heard the continued keening of
metal on metal as the driver endeavored to stop his rig. The sound
stretched out for an eternity as he saw her reach out, as if to take
the hand of the stranger across the street. He regained his senses and
willed his body to move.
"Scully!" he yelled as he reached out and caught the back of her long
coat. He pulled with all his strength, yanking her off her feet and
pulling her backwards into his arms. Time resumed its normal course
and the truck thundered past with a loud blast of its horn as it ran
the red light.
He fought to retain control as he turned her to face him. "Scully, my
God! Are you all right?" he asked as he ran his hands over her arms to
reassure himself that she had no broken bones and to find some sign of
consciousness behind her eyes. The adrenaline that coursed through his
veins left him and he suddenly began to shake. His fright quickly
turned to anger. He turned to find the man, to give him a piece of his
mind about enticing Scully into traffic, but he was gone.
Scully stared wide-eyed, but gone was the vacant stare that had
frightened him so badly. She seemed to be in shock. "I – I'm okay,"
she stammered. Mulder wondered with some irritation if she was going
to mention the man she nearly killed herself to join.
"Scully," Mulder said sternly, "I really think you should take the rest
of the day off. I'll square it with Skinner. Go home and get some
sleep." He expected a fight and prepared himself for the debate he was
sure was coming. He was nearly dumbfounded when she readily agreed.
"You're right, Mulder," she conceded, "I think I'll do just that."
They resumed their journey to the J. Edgar Hoover Building with Mulder
keeping close to her, his hand hovering near her waist ready to pull
her back should she decide to throw herself into traffic again. She
said nothing, but occasionally shook her head as if trying to clear it
of cobwebs. They arrived in short order and went straight to the
parking garage.
Scully was anxious to get home and Mulder insisted on driving her.
After nearly being flattened by a truck, Scully realized that driving
was probably not a very good idea and gratefully accepted the offer.
She knew that in her present state, she would almost certainly kill
herself or someone else if she drove anywhere.
She climbed docilely into the car as he opened the passenger side door
and held it for her. She didn't care if it did make her a bad
feminist, she appreciated the gallant gesture, and she quietly thanked
him. Mulder slid behind the wheel and they were off.
Scully remained withdrawn and introspective. This in turn, made
Mulder's mood surly. They didn't speak for the entire drive; Scully
was lost in her own little world and Mulder sulked silently that he
didn't seem to be included in it. He was her partner, damn it! Why
wouldn't she take him into her confidence?
He had accepted that she didn't love him long ago, when from his
hospital bed, he'd professed his love for her and been met with a roll
of her eyes and an exasperated expletive. But he felt that they were
much closer than this and it hurt him to feel that she was
intentionally shutting him out. She should be able to tell him if
she'd met someone….
He gulped as the thought stuck in his craw. That would explain her
behavior: the mooning looks, the deep sighs, that constant fiddling
with her necklace… He looked across at Scully, sure enough she sat
staring blankly out the window fondling the damned thing. He, whoever
"he" was, must have given it to her. With that thought, he realized
that they had reached her apartment.
He efficiently slid the car into a vacant spot in front and moved to
shut off the engine. Scully reached over and took his hand gently in
her own. "Thanks for the ride, Mulder," she said with a sad smile.
She patted his hand softly and moved to open her door.
"Would you like me to walk up with you?" he asked, his anger cooling as
the worry set in. He was jealous and he had no right to be. He
couldn't, however, just turn off his feelings for her and was still
very concerned.
"That's okay," she said softly, "I'll be fine. I'm going straight to
bed." She smiled in reassurance and he felt slightly mollified. At
least she didn't have to cross the street to get there.
She got out and he watched her make her way up the steps to her
building. As she pulled the door open and went inside with a small
wave, he pulled away from the curb. He was still deeply worried about
her, but he had to respect her wish to be alone. He headed back to the
office, where he would tell Skinner that she wasn't feeling well and
had gone home. He suspected that he wouldn't get much work done.
*~*~*
Scully heaved a sigh as she leaned against the bolted door. She
carefully placed her briefcase and purse next to the sofa and headed
straight for her room. She stripped off her suit and hung it carefully
in the closet. She took the locket from around her neck and placed it
gently on the dresser. She pulled her favorite white cotton muscle
shirt and clean underwear out of the drawer and carried them with her
as she turned off the ringers on her phones, turned the volume down on
her answering machine and finally pushed the button turning off her
cell phone as well. She intended to have a little "me" time, starting
right now. She was officially unavailable.
She made her way lazily to the bathroom where she turned on the hot tap
and let it run until the steam began to fill the room. She put the
stopper in the tub and went to fetch the Chardonnay that was left over
from her dinner with Mulder. When she'd returned with the bottle and a
glass, she lit all the candles that were in the bathroom and slid into
the bubbles up to her chin.
Her mind immediately began to drift, her taut muscles eased, and for
the first time in days, she relaxed. Without opening her eyes, she
sipped at the wine, feeling its glow radiate throughout her body as it
hit her nearly empty stomach. She had picked at both dinner last night
and lunch today and soon her head was swimming pleasantly. She let her
thoughts wander as they willed and soon her musings settled on Mulder.
She imagined him lying in her bed wearing nothing but a smile, her
hands smoothing up his calves, his thighs and over his tight buttocks
on route to his broad shoulders and back again. With a sensuous growl
and a quick flip he reversed their positions putting her on her
stomach. He poured warm scented oil in his hands and smoothed it
across her thighs, kneading the muscles, pausing lovingly on her behind
before flipping her again. The warm oil drizzled across her belly and
up between her breasts, her nipples crinkling as his rough hands slid
over the flesh, lingering here and there. She was peaking, moaning her
pleasure. The sound of her own voice made her subliminally aware she
was dreaming, but the hands continued stroking and kneading. Her inner
muscles contracted, cresting in wave after wave of pleasure, "Mmm
Mulder."
Without warning, the hands slid to her ankles and yanked, hauling her
legs straight up and submerging her upper body. Her surprised gasp was
a terrible mistake and she flailed her arms, splashing half the now
tepid water onto the floor, struggling to sit up. She managed to right
herself and coughed violently, gagging on the water that had gone down
her windpipe. She scrambled out of the tub grabbing a towel off the
rack to cover herself. She flipped on the light with a slap at the
wall, but there was no one in the room. She must have drifted off and
slid into the tub during her… dream.
Her heart slowly returned to its normal rhythm even as her cheeks
colored. That had been some dream. Still shaking, she finished drying
herself and dressed for bed. She was obviously much more exhausted
than she had realized. She pulled back the covers, and climbed into
bed. The sheets were chilly against her bare arms and legs and she
pulled the soft down comforter closer around her to make a little
cocoon of warmth. Her breathing evened and lengthened, and soon she
was dead to the world.
*~*~*
Scully roamed the lighthouse. It was dark and she was alone. The
sounds of lapping water echoed throughout the hollow tower that
contained the steps to a tiny room at the top that housed the gigantic
light. During the daylight hours, a small catwalk outside that room
offered a spectacular panorama of the sea. The darkness, however,
negated any appeal worth the long and treacherous ascent. She
investigated the small landing that amounted to the base of the "attic
stairs" in her new home. The space contained nothing of any real
interest so she wandered back into the living quarters.
She found herself in a large semi-circular room. A baby grand piano
graced one side of the arc and reflected darkly on the highly polished
wood floor. The curve was decorated with windows and gilded mirrors.
The windows were blackened by the night, but the mirrors and gilt
reflected the light from the small fireplace opposite the piano.
Scully imagined dancing on the elegant floor under the glittering
chandelier. The flat wall was mirrored as well and contained the
hidden door to the upward stairs. Another door, also concealed behind
the mirrors, led to the lower floors of the living quarters. She
grasped the inconspicuous handle and moved through the latter door to
wander through the rest of the home.
The stairs opened up on a hallway lined with four doors. There was a
single window at the end that let in light during the day, but now it
was lit by a lantern that hung from a sconce on the wall. Scully
removed the light and carried it out before her as she continued her
tour. One door led into the bedroom to which her "husband" had taken
her. The door next to it led to another bedroom, but the two doors
across the hallway led to an enormous library.
The walls were lined with filled bookcases. Two wing chairs and a
small sofa were arranged in the center of the room. The only
interruption in the books was the occasional window. A small fireplace
burned merrily in corner, mirroring the placement of the one in the
ballroom. Scully's mouth fairly watered. There had to be over a
thousand books. She hardly ever had the chance to sit and read despite
the fact that it was one of her favorite hobbies.
She left the room and continued down to the main floor, carrying the
lantern with her still. She had seen no sign of Sean yet, and some
hidden part of her was glad of it. The stair opened onto the parlor
room. The furnishings were opulent by any standards. She made her way
to the enormous kitchen and prowled through the pantry. There was
barely any food stored in it. Supplies came by ferry once a week, and
by the state of the cupboard, she hoped that it was due soon.
Scully stepped out onto the stone deck of the caisson. The wind caught
her hair and skirts and tossed them playfully. She shivered and
retreated back inside to retrieve the heavy cloak that hung beside the
door. Pulling the large hood over her head, she began to stroll along
the 10ft. wide cobbled walk. The stars were so numerous and starkly
visible against the black velvet backdrop of the night sky that she
stopped breathing for a moment, in awe of their beauty. The lights of
the city never allowed her such a magnificent glimpse of them. There
was ample moonlight by which to see, so she left her lantern in a niche
beside the door. A small garden had been planted at one end of the
circular artificial island although the plants were dead and brown due
to the season. The tower was enormous at its base and the stroll was a
fairly long one. At the opposite end of the arc from the garden was a
huge cistern for collecting rain water that was pumped into the living
quarters' kitchen and two bathrooms.
Scully continued her stroll until she'd come full circle to her
abandoned lantern. Apart from the beautiful view of the stars, there
wasn't much there to occupy her. Picking up the lantern, she retreated
into the warmth of the house. She hung her cloak on its peg and headed
back for the library.
She pulled the door to the stairs open and nearly jumped out of her
skin. There in the doorway stood Sean. His eyes were wild and he
smelled of whiskey. He reached out and grabbed her, holding her
tightly against his chest. "Where were you?!" he demanded, spinning
her roughly to face him.
"I – I went for a walk," she stammered, shocked by the vehemence of his
reaction.
"You must never walk the ramparts alone!" he scolded. "If you were to
fall…"
Scully pulled free of his grip, rising to her full height in her
indignation. "I am quite capable of maintaining my footing on a 10ft.
wide walkway. Am I to assume that you expect me to ask your permission
to go for a walk?"
He reasserted and tightened his grip on her arm, hurting her. "I am
your husband and you will obey me without question. Do you understand
me?" he said in a deceptively soft tone.
Something in that whispered statement frightened her. Or perhaps it
was the complete lack of a conscious presence behind his eyes as he
said it. Scully immediately reversed her tack, dropped her defiant
eyes and said faintly, "I'm sorry, sir. I did not mean to displease
you."
Sean's countenance relaxed and the life returned to his eyes. "It is
my duty to protect you," he said roughly. "Come, it's time to retire.
I've tended the light and Captain Morgan is due at first light." He
offered her his arm, which she took reluctantly, and led her up the
stairs to the bedroom that was next to the one she had assumed was
theirs. "This is your room," he said with what sounded like dismissal.
"Good night."
"Good night," she said curtly and retreated into the room. She heard
him enter the adjacent room and close the door with a bang. There was
no lock, much to her chagrin, but his behavior suggested that he wanted
nothing more than sleep anyway. Still, she would have been much more
comfortable with a deadbolt to slide into place.
Donning a sea foam green negligee that she found in the old-fashioned
wardrobe, she nestled into the deep feather mattress. Some time later,
unable to sleep, she quietly opened the door and padded barefoot across
the hall to the library. The door squeaked as she entered and she
stopped in her tracks, suddenly afraid that he would burst from his
chamber and scold her for leaving her room. But no sound followed, so
she continued in to browse the immense selection. She found a copy of
Moby Dick and with a delighted smile, carried it back to her room. She
finally fell asleep with the book on her chest.
Several hours later, Scully was awakened by a pianissimo creak of the
floor boards. Her eyes snapped open to find Sean looming over the foot
of her bed. She sat bolt upright with a shocked gasp. He stood stock
still, just leering at her.
In that instant, Scully knew that he had not gone to bed as she
assumed, but rather had been polishing off the better half of a bottle
of whiskey. She could smell the reek of it from three feet away, that
being the distance from his face to hers. Her blood ran cold as she
saw his empty eyes. He tottered and swayed, looking rather like a
young willow in a gusty breeze. He staggered as he undid his fly. His
erect member sprang free as he bellowed, "I lust, woman! Relieve me!"
and grabbed for her.
Scully scrambled out of the bed. "I most certainly will not!" she
spat, moving toward the door, her voice full of outrage. "You're
drunk," she said, her voice filled with disgust and contempt, "get
out!"
In an instant, he leapt around the bed and closed the distance between
them. His hand clamped painfully around her upper arm. He dragged her
in for a sloppy kiss, his teeth grinding bruisingly into her lips.
Scully jerked her head back, yanked her arm free. His eyes flared.
"Never do that again!" he exclaimed in a slurred growl and slapped her
hard across the cheek.
Scully woke with a scream of fear, anger and indignation. The receding
dream frightened her, scratched at something in her subconscious,
giving her an irrational sense of dread beyond terror. Her heart began
to slow and her breathing gradually returned to normal as she tried to
analyze the images. She thought that the erotic imaginings of the
other afternoon had stemmed from her loneliness and possibly a
subconscious wish to make Mulder jealous; but the horrifying images of
domestic abuse were no fantasy of hers.
Something tugged at her hair. She reached up and swatted at her head.
Feeling something tangled there, she clamped her fingers on it and
pulled back the locket. "What the hell?!" she whispered to the empty
air. A sinister chuckle issued from very close in the darkness,
shooting a chill up her spine that bordered on panic.
She rolled over and fell from the bed, smacking her elbow sharply on
the night stand. The nerve screamed and pain flew up her arm,
paralyzing her fingers. "Dammit!" she swore. She scrabbled to her
feet, flipping on the lamp next to her bed though it illuminated
nothing unusual. She grabbed a pair lounge pants and tugged them on
with trembling hands as she moved through the entire apartment turning
on all the lights in her wake.
She glanced at the clock. 2:30 a.m. She picked up the phone, but set
it back in it's cradle when she saw the message light blinking on her
answering machine. She returned the volume to its usual position and
pressed the button. "Scully, it's me," came Mulder's voice. "Pick
up." A long period of silence, then, "Call me." Beep.
A knock at the door made her jump and issue a hypersonic squeak that
only the neighborhood dogs actually heard. She grabbed her gun off the
hall table where she'd laid it earlier, her heart pounding. "Who's
there?" she demanded, her voice sounding scared and shrill in her own
ears.
"Scully, it's me," came his muffled reply.
She threw open the door and flew into his arms. "Jesus, Mulder! Am I
glad to see you!"
Mulder stood stunned for a moment with his arms delightfully full of
woman. He sighed a breath of relief that she was alive and surrendered
to the embrace, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting gesture.
He stroked her hair, "It's okay, I'm here. What happened? You look
like you've seen a ghost." He stroked her hair and recited baseball
stats in his head to keep his body from reacting inadvertently to
Scully's which was pressed so closely to him.
As if reading his stifled reaction, Scully gently pulled away and
gestured for him to come inside. She suddenly realized how she was
dressed as his eyes slid over her, with what – hunger? in them. She
wore only the thin cotton muscle shirt that fit her form snugly and she
was sure that her nipples were visible beneath it. "What happened to
your arm?" he asked pointing at her bicep.
Scully followed the terminus of his finger and found that there was a
dark bruise forming in the unmistakable outline of fingers on her upper
arm. His eyes had settled on her face and he brought that finger up to
her chin, gently turning her head to more closely examine her cheek.
Her hand fluttered to the spot on her face that throbbed with heat
where she'd been slapped in her dream.
"Excuse me a minute," she murmured as she retreated toward her bedroom
to retrieve a long-sleeved flannel shirt which she put on over her
skimpy t-shirt.
"That's a pretty nasty bruise," he persisted following her into her
bedroom, "and your cheek, how did that happen?" He paused as if
looking for the right words, "Scully, are you okay? Please, tell me
what's going on," he implored her.
"It's nothing, Mulder. Really," she said with a faint smile, trying to
assuage his evident fear and her own. "I just had a bad dream. I hit
my arm when I fell out of bed. I'm fine."
Mulder's eyes narrowed, obviously not mollified by her explanation, but
he let it go for the time being. He wouldn't get her to open up to him
by antagonizing her. The words burned in his mouth, but he would not
spit them out for fear of appearing to be a jealous idiot. However,
her recent behavior, the hand-shaped bruise on her arm and the red mark
on her cheek all begged the question. "Was she seeing someone? Had he
done this to her?"
She turned to him with a look that sent a clear warning. She wanted
his company, but she had no intention of letting him in on why. He
backed up and let her pass through the bedroom door. Her soft
invitation to join her for a cup of herbal tea and a silent nod toward
the sofa was the only indication that she didn't intend to throw him
out forthwith. He sat where indicated and instinctively reached for
the remote.
She'd obviously had a bad scare, but what had frightened her, she
didn't seem willing to share. He would bide his time and wait for her
to make the first move. She'd always been pretty closed off, but
lately she'd put up a wall more impenetrable than anything at Ft. Knox.
The part that really hurt was that she had just begun to expose to him
the intricate layers of woman within her - agent, doctor, friend; then
just as he'd seen the faintest possibility of lover upon reaching the
innermost stratum, she'd closed the door in his face.
Scully headed for the kitchen. She busied herself with the motions of
putting on the kettle and making tea, but her mind was a million miles
away, again. She knew that Mulder wanted an explanation for her
bizarre behavior of late, and she felt that he deserved one, but she
just couldn't bring herself to admit that she believed she'd
experienced some sort of ghost. Not even to herself. There had to be
some logical, rational explanation for what she'd experienced and right
now, stress and her repressed feelings for Mulder were likely
candidates in her mind.
Their last case had been a very depressing one for her. A series of
young women, all in perfect health and with bright futures had
mysteriously committed suicide, drowning themselves with no apparent
reason. The only thing that she had found that they had in common,
besides their manner of death, was that their families had begun to
grasp at the paranormal for an explanation to the inexplicable. In her
investigations of these deaths, she'd seen many similarities to
herself. Each had been in her 30's, professionally successful,
unmarried, childless and lived alone without any serious emotional
attachments, not even pets. It had drawn her attention to her own
situation and what she'd found had been sorely lacking.
She wanted to tell Mulder, in the worst way, what was bothering her but
she knew that he already blamed himself for her abduction and all the
resulting complications that had arisen from it. He felt personally
responsible for the fact that she would likely never be able to have
children of her own. How much worse would it be for him if she
confessed that she had fallen in love with him and that the unborn
children she mourned were his?
Mulder loved her, that she knew. He had lain his life on the line for
her many times in their years together on the X-files. He would again
in a heartbeat. Of that, she also had no doubt. Yes, it was love of a
sort, but what she felt was obviously unrequited and her depth of
feeling for him he did not need to know about. One more thing for him
to feel responsible for and powerless to change. The last thing that
she wanted was for him to feel obliged to return her feelings out of
some displaced sense of guilt. No, she wouldn't go there. God! Was
she really so needy? She scolded herself sternly.
She dropped the silver ball into the pot and poured the hot water over
it to let it begin steeping as she arranged the other tea things on a
tray. She snagged a tin of butter cookies from the cupboard. The part
of her brain that maintained her thighs protested. She didn't usually
eat in the middle of the night, but she justified the calories by
deciding that it was tea time in Essex and tossed them on the tray
without looking at a clock and doing the math. After putting on as
cheery a countenance as she thought he'd believe, she joined Mulder in
the living room.
She served him and herself cups of chamomile tea with mint and sugar.
Mulder had turned on the television and found an old monster movie on
TBS. She sat back and they spent time together, not talking but being
comfortable in the silence, grateful for the other's presence until
Scully finally found a fitful sleep on the sofa with her feet in
Mulder's lap, his fingers unconsciously massaging her instep.
Mulder flipped through the channels out of idle habit without even
paying attention to anything on the screen. Instead, he thought about
Scully. He had completely distrusted her when she'd first walked into
his office nearly 7 years ago. She had seemed so young and fresh, been
so beautiful that she'd taken his breath away. So beautiful, in fact,
that he'd been certain that she'd been sent to seduce him away from the
X-files; to serve as a distraction while they made more and more
evidence vanish like a bad dream. He had believed her a mole, like
Diana had been.
He still refused to admit to Scully that he'd known Diana was working
against him from the beginning and yet still had managed to fall prey
to her machinations. As he'd worked with Scully, seen first hand her
depth and strength of character day after day, her refusal to
compromise her principals. Then one morning he woke up and realized
that he was helplessly and hopelessly in love with her. She was the
truth by which all other truths were measured and in a world where he
couldn't put his faith in the veracity of his own mother, she had
earned his trust.
She'd come into the living room, then, carrying the loaded tea tray.
He'd gratefully accepted the cup of alleged tea (it tasted like mildly
flavored hot water to him) and sat holding it in his hands enjoying the
warmth on his fingers. When she'd put her feet in his lap without
speaking a word, he had relaxed, set the tea on the table and forgotten
it. With his warm hands he'd begun to massage her feet with firm but
gentle strokes. He thought at one point he'd actually heard her moan,
but when he looked he saw that she was sleeping peacefully with the tea
cup sat balanced precariously on her stomach with her sleeping fingers
curled loosely around it. Mulder gently reached over and took it from
her hand which fell limp to her belly. He slumped down on the sofa
finding cushioning for his head so that he could see the TV screen
comfortably and continued to absently fondle her foot and ankle while
marginally watching The Brain That Wouldn't Die for the umpteenth time.
He smiled as the mad doctor tried to explain to his brainy fiancé,
whose head he'd severed in a car crash and managed to keep alive (and
talking no less) through the use of a shower cap covered with lots of
tubing and a lasagna pan full of some mysterious fluid that the only
reason he was going to all the sleazy strip clubs was to find her the
perfect replacement body which he would, naturally select. It was so
sexist, he knew that Scully would just hate it.
*~*~*
He knew he was dreaming. Scully stood on a stage before him bathed in
blue light. She wore a very provocative leather and lace number as she
hooked her left knee around a very slippery looking pole. The
suggestive gyrations against it could only have come from his
imagination. She danced over to him and straddled his lap stimulating
him to new heights. Even as his mind generated sexual heat, his body
shivered in the real world. An icy cold penetrated the depths of his
consciousness and threatened to pull him against his will from his
fantasy.
He didn't snap to consciousness, but rather surfaced slowly like a deep
sea diver rising through the murky depths of the ocean in stages. He
opened his eyes, squinting against the flicker of the television, a
kinetic infomercial that replaced the movie. His breath fogged in the
unnatural chill that had pervaded the room and hung motionless in the
air around him like smoke. Without moving his head, he felt for
Scully's foot that had rested in his lap and not finding it, cut his
eyes in her direction.
Mulder's heart hiccupped even as he gasped. Scully's unconscious body
hovered, evidently unsupported, a couple of feet above the couch that
had held them both in slumber. Only she seemed to be wearing very old-
fashioned clothes, the long skirts of a bygone era. As he watched in
horror, she began to change. Her skin took on a pallid aspect and a
dark-bluish tinge ringed her ashen lips and the tender flesh
surrounding her open, staring, milky eyes.
Mulder felt his panic and gorge rising. As he inhaled to either scream
or vomit, he honestly hadn't decided which, his eyes were drawn across
the room to a figure that stood silently against the wall. It was a
man dressed in dungarees and a black, wool pea coat and watch cap.
Mulder gaped as he realized it was the same man he'd seen across the
street that Scully had seemed eerily drawn toward. His face wore a
malevolent snarl, and although his lips never moved, Mulder distinctly
heard "mine" uttered in a forceful, masculine growl.
The scream won out. "Scully!?!" he bellowed.
Her body dropped back to the sofa. She gasped and went rigid, waking
abruptly as she landed. Mulder yelped and doubled over as her heel
came down hard into his crotch, once again fighting the urge to throw
up. As Scully realized what her foot had impacted and scrambled to sit
up, he swore he heard a satisfied chuckle retreating like cockroaches
from a kitchen light.
*~*~*
The dream fled as adrenaline flooded through her body. Scully's eyes
flew open, she'd been falling. Her surroundings filtered in, her feet
in Mulder's lap, Mulder curled half-fetal in quiet suffering. Oh, God,
had she kicked him?! "Oh Mulder, I'm so sorry! I - I must have been
dreaming," she gasped struggling to sit up, her arm wrapping
protectively around his shoulders. Deep concern radiated from her now
crystal clear eyes even as embarrassment glowed in her brightly flushed
cheeks.
"I'm fine," he muttered around the pit of pain that centered itself
deep within his abdomen. "Scully," he blurted in his next breath, "did
you see?" Even as the words fogged out of his mouth into the rapidly
warming room, he saw the confusion and embarrassment in her eyes. She
believed she was dreaming. She had, yet again, seen nothing, and would
rationalize his experience, and her own, as nothing more than vivid
dreams brought on by the late snack.
Despite the rude awakening, Scully actually felt somewhat rested.
Apart from the slight ache in her neck from sleeping on the sofa, she
felt better than she had all weekend. With her feet in Mulder's lap,
she'd been able to achieve a deep sleep that she hadn't known for a
while. She tilted her head slowly side to side stretching out the taut
muscles in her neck, then bent her chin to her chest feeling the sinews
release some of their tension down her back and between her shoulder
blades. A slow head roll produced a symphony of crackles and pops that
were punctuated by an unconscious "ahhh" of relief.
The VCR's clock changed to 5:47am, the blink drawing Mulder's eye. "I
have to get ready for work," he sighed. It almost sounded like an
apology. "You mind if I borrow your shower? Not all of us have weeks
of paid leave," he grinned, breaking the now awkward silence that had
settled between them.
"Not at all." She released the tense breath she'd been holding and
smiled in response. "I'll make some coffee." Grateful for something
to do, Scully busied herself in the kitchen. She soon heard the shower
running and Mulder's most likely unconscious humming. She pulled out a
couple of bagels, carelessly slicing with the blade toward her hand.
She plopped the four halves into the wide slotted toaster and pushed
down the lever. She held her hands over the glowing filaments to warm
them. Odd, was it really that cold?
Her thoughts drifted toward the melancholy as she watched the white
flesh of the bagel slowly turn a golden brown. The sudden pop of the
machine as it ejected the slices and turned off made Scully jump,
shaking her abruptly from her stupor. The peculiar sadness that had
claimed her all week nestled quietly in the back of her mind as she
wrapped the toasted bagels in a cloth napkin and placed them in a bread
basket. She placed a small crock of cream cheese on the kitchen table
next to it and poured coffee into two mugs.
Just then, Mulder padded into the room. He wore the same jeans and t-
shirt he'd arrived in, but his hair was wet and combed. He smelled
delicious, trailing the clean scent of soap and Scully's vanilla
scented shampoo. He sat down and they ate in relative quiet.
A honk sounded outside the window. Mulder shoveled the last bite of
bagel into his mouth and downed the last of his now tepid coffee as he
rose to leave. "That's my cab," he announced, "I drove your car over
last night so you wouldn't be stranded. Thanks again for breakfast,"
he smiled politely, "I'll call and check on you later. Take it easy
for a couple of days, okay? Get some rest." His brows were knitted in
concern.
Scully nodded reassuringly, "I will." She smiled, but it was a sad
smile. "I may drive out to the beach later."
Mulder blanched. "The beach?" he repeated remembering his vision of
her dead.
"Yeah, well the ocean anyway," she replied. "There's a spot out by
Chincoteague that I like to go to when I want to get away."
"Well, be careful. Okay?"
"I will," she promised as he backed down the hall and hit the stairs at
a trot. "Not that it matters," she muttered fatalistically as she
silently closed the door.
*~*~*
Scully mucked around the house, cleaning as she went, and while this
usually did wonders to improve her mood, nothing seemed to put a dent
in the blue funk she found herself sliding further and further into.
She thought about a hot bubble bath, but opted instead for a quick hot
shower. As she stumbled through her bedroom stripping off the grubbies
she'd worn to clean the house, her foot came down on something hard
that caused her to quickly pull back her foot. The locket lay on the
carpet where she must have dropped it after her nightmare. She picked
it up by two fingers almost as if she expected it to be hot and dropped
it into her jewelry chest closing the lid securely.
After bathing perfunctorily, she blew her hair dry without styling it
and slipped into a pair of jeans, a soft, well-worn sweatshirt and a
pair of comfortable old deck shoes. She didn't bother with make-up,
but grabbed her navy blue pea coat from the closet and tossed it on the
bed as she searched for the matching watch cap, both gifts from Ahab
years ago. Once the sought after cap had been found, Scully shrugged
into the coat and stuffing her identification into her back jeans
pocket, grabbed her keys and headed out the door.
The day was overcast and chill, despite the late spring date. She
pulled the cap over her ears as she unlocked her car, which Mulder had
thoughtfully parked right in front of her building. The trick to
finding good parking was to look for it in the middle of the night,
apparently. She pulled away from the curb and moved on auto-pilot into
traffic toward Georgetown but stayed on highway 13 down the eastern
coast of Virginia until she reached a secluded stretch of beach between
Chincoteague and Accomac a couple of hours later.
She got out of the car, locked it and took off walking down the beach.
The sand gently sucked at her shoes as she walked and the ocean breeze
played with the strands of her hair that peeked out from beneath the
cap. She found an outcropping of rock and sat down listening to the
sounds of the ocean. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on the
relaxing, almost hypnotic whoosh of the water lapping against the rocks
where she rested. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled the scent of the
sea, that curious mixture of salt, seaweed and fish. There was,
however, something putrid and rotting that lingered subtly beneath it.
She opened her eyes looking for a large fish that might have washed up
or a bird, a gull perhaps, that had fallen to its death nearby but she
spotted nothing.
Just as she was about to decide that it was only her imagination, a
curious ripple in the water caught her eye. Scully turned her head
toward the motion. Slowly and inexorably it emerged from the waves,
walking up the incline of the beach from the sea. A female figure,
judging from the soaking long skirts that she wore. Her hair hung in
ropes from her head, festooned with seaweed and dripping water. Her
eye sockets were dark and deeply sunken, but the faint motion of
squirming things belied that they were empty. She trudged up to the
beach one agonizing, horrifying step after another. Her skin was gray
and glistening, it looked slimy and Scully felt sure that she would
vomit, if she could just inhale.
The monstrous figure approached relentlessly, her arms uplifted,
seeming to reach for Scully who stood paralyzed with fear and
disbelief. Bony hands reached out and clasped her shoulders. Scully
let out a blood-curdling scream as she felt cold fingers tighten their
grip.
*~*~*
"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Easy there lady, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The
hapless patrolman's words started Scully. He stood about two feet from
her with his hands held up in a "don't shoot" gesture of surrender.
"I'm sorry, lady. I didn't mean to scare you," he said cautiously,
placating as though he addressed a mental patient. "I thought you saw
me coming. You were looking right at me." His eyes narrowed, "You
ain't on something are you?"
Scully's bravado came to the rescue. "Of course, not. I'm sorry," she
blustered, completely embarrassed. "I just closed my eyes a moment ago
to listen to the water and I must have drifted off. You startled me."
The patrolman looked dubious, "I 'spect that'll happen from time to
time." He watched her warily, looking like he expected her to bolt.
"Is there some reason that you came out here?" Scully asked hoping to
change the subject and prove she wasn't stoned out of her mind.
"Yeah," he said visibly relaxing as he regained his sense of purpose,
"I came out to warn you that when the tide comes in, this little beach
gets awful deep without much warning. Your car is below the high tide
mark. You need to move it."
"Oh," Scully said simply, "Sorry. I'll head out now. Thanks." She
walked quickly past him paying careful attention to her footing. The
last thing she wanted was to stumble and have him run her in for
suspicion of public intoxication. She climbed into her car again,
surprised to notice that half the day had waned without her awareness,
and headed north.
Her stomach rumbled as a discreet sign nailed to a fencepost extolled
the praises of Rose's Cafe and reminded her that she hadn't eaten since
her bagel with Mulder early that morning. She disengaged her
subconscious auto pilot and began to actively search for the Rt. 175
exit to Chincoteague. Before long, she found herself in a booth at a
very small restaurant with a really good bowl of clam chowder and a
small glossy pamphlet advertising some of the local attractions.
There was a very old lighthouse nearby. The Assateague Lighthouse.
She couldn't completely suppress the juvenile giggle that came with the
landmark's name. It was situated amidst the Chincoteague National
Wildlife Refuge. She tucked the paper in her purse, and after
finishing her meal, headed across the highway to the Chincoteague Motor
Inn.
It was getting dark and something inexplicably drew her curiosity
toward the lighthouse. She would stay the night and take the tour in
the morning. Having begun her little impromptu holiday, she heaved a
relaxed sigh as she grabbed her ever present overnight bag from the
trunk and let herself into her room.
*~*~*
Mulder puttered around the office 'til noon before taking a two-hour
lunch. Scully's behavior had baffled him for the past several days.
At first he'd imagined that she'd found a lover, but now, after what
he'd experienced in her apartment this morning, he knew that something
supernatural was afoot. He hadn't even bothered to mention what he'd
seen to her, knowing full well that she would find a "rational
explanation" from her lexicon of the same. He could just hear her
retort, "Mulder, there's no such thing as ghosts."
Well, he knew what he had seen and it had been no dream. Scully had
been hovering three feet above him, the dark blue bruising between his
thighs was proof of that, but how could he explain the old-fashioned
way she seemed to be dressed, her lifeless body? Something niggled at
the back of his mind, a light began to flicker there. He pulled a half
dozen of the files that he and Scully had investigated recently, all
questionable suicides. Something drew him to the photos that
documented the scene where the bodies had been found. He sat there,
pouring over all of them in turn.
A glance at his watch brought a shock. It was after 8pm. He seemed to
remember Skinner sticking his head in and asking if he planned to work
late, but he could hardly believe that it had been so long since it
happened. Maybe he was just too close to the forest to see the trees.
He needed a break and sustenance. Grabbing his jacket from the back of
his chair, he shoved the files into his briefcase and left, setting the
door to lock automatically behind him as it shut. He heard the bolt
fall into place as he reached the elevator and made for the parking
garage and home.
On the way to his apartment, he stopped at the Kwikee Mart and picked
up a six-pack of Heineken and a couple of microwave TV dinner burritos
that would have made Scully give him "that look". He added a couple of
bags of sunflower seeds and pulled out his wallet. The college kid
behind the counter never even looked up from his skin magazine as he
scanned the items, punched the keys that totaled Mulder's items and
stuffed them into a plastic bag.
Mulder stifled the pithy comment that leapt to his lips and headed home
for the evening, once there, he tossed the frozen food in the microwave
without bothering to remove it from the cardboard box. He retrieved
the files that had so intrigued him earlier, spread them out on the
coffee table and stripped to his shorts plopping down on the sofa
before them. He lay the pictures, paper-clipped to their respective
folders, out on the table where he could see them all together. The
microwave beeped and he ambled his way to the kitchen.
He tossed the scorched box on a plate and grabbed a frosty, heavy glass
mug from the freezer, pouring one of the Heinekens into it and carried
the lot back to his sofa HQ. He wolfed down the burritos quickly,
mechanically, his attention never deviating from the pictures on the
coffee table. He drained the mug twice was working on his third when
something hit him quick and brilliant as summer lightening. What did
these women have in common?
Well, for one, they all died by drowning. He set his mug on the table,
carelessly setting it on one of the photos as he stared relentlessly at
another and another. As he reached for the half empty beer, something
at the bottom of the amber liquid caught his attention. Magnified by
the heavy glass base of the mug was a locket clutched in the dead
woman's hand.
Mulder nearly drowned himself as he gasped with a mouthful of beer.
Coughing and sputtering, he bounded for his desk and the magnifying
glass therein, in his haste, upsetting his empty plate and discarded
burrito box forgotten next to him on the sofa, bringing it clattering
noisily to the floor. He didn't care.
Bringing the photos to the desk, he examined each of them carefully
under the bright halogen desk lamp that Scully had given him when his
old one had been shattered by an attempted assassin's bullet. Sure
enough, in each of the photos, the victim had a locket either in her
hand or nearby. He couldn't make out much detail, but the coincidence
that they all committed suicide while clasping a locket made Mulder's
hair stand on end and sent a deathly chill through his soul.
Digging further through the files, he found a list of property
catalogued at each scene. Described in unsettling detail in each of
those reports was Scully's new locket. The one she'd been fondling the
day she nearly killed herself by waltzing into traffic.
His pulse sped to keep up with the whirring of his mind. Grabbing the
phone, he hit the speed dial before looking at his watch to see what
time it was. Frohike's sleep-slurred voice finally picked up on the
fourth ring. "This better be good," he grumbled.
"It's me," Mulder said without preamble. "I need Langley to find
something for me."
"And this scavenger hunt couldn't have waited two more hours until
morning?" he grouched.
"Come on, Fro," Mulder said seriously, "Scully could be in really deep
shit and I need your help."
That got his attention. "Sure, Mulder," he said, reaching for a pen.
The other two Gunmen joined him in the main room wearing pajamas and
looks of deep concern. "What can we do to help?"
"I need a search of all accidental and suicide drownings with female
victims in their thirties that makes mention of a locket found with the
body. Call me as soon as you turn up anything, okay?" Mulder was
already getting dressed, hopping on one foot while he held the phone
between his chin and shoulder and tried to put a shoe on the other.
"I'm driving down to Richmond, but you should be able to reach me on
the cell. Thanks, man, I owe you."
"We're doing it for Scully, punk-ass," Frohike responded with a smile.
"We'll get with you as soon as we find anything." Replacing the phone
and turning to his nearly frantic colleagues, "Come on, you guys, we've
got work to do."
*~*~*
J. Edgar Hoover Bldg.
Basement Office, 8:00 a.m.
Mulder grimaced as he drained the last of the now tepid coffee from his
mug. The past two hours had been spent doing more research into the
cases. In retrospect, it seemed obvious. The link had been there but
no one had made the connection. All of the victims had become
despondent "over night" in the words of one victim's mother. After
carefully rereading the reports with new eyes, he picked up the phone
and began making calls. Now that he knew what questions to ask, the
knot began to unravel and what he learned scared him half to death.
Out of the six victims that Mulder had identified, more than half of
their family members remembered the locket. A sudden terrible light
had gone on in their minds at the mention of the locket, when
associated with his question, "when did you first notice that your
daughter seemed despondent?"
The results of his questions had led to an antique shop near Deal
Island. Perhaps the effects of his sleepless night were catching up to
him, but he felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding as he stood in
front of the building where a sign stating "antiques" hung overhead.
As the sun disappeared, ducking momentarily behind a looming cloud, and
a cool breeze suddenly made him shiver, Mulder went inside looking for
a "creepy looking woman three days older than God."
A bell sounded as the door opened and closed behind him. He scanned
the room, conscious of the bulk of his weapon under his jacket, but saw
no one as he advanced cautiously inside. The entire place seemed to be
filled with the dull glints of tarnished treasures and possessed of a
musty sort of smell. Motes of dust hung motionless in the air, glowing
in the light that fought to stream in through the grimy windows.
A subtle rustling sent a chill racing up his neck and confirmed that he
wasn't alone. He turned slowly, resisting the urge to reach for his
gun, and found an ancient-looking woman standing in a doorway to his
left. "I've been expecting you," she croaked, "come with me."
"I think you may have me confused with someone else," Mulder began,
baffled. "I'm Fox Mulder with the FBI." He offered his hand and she
took it, her grip surprisingly firm for such a wraithlike being.
"Yes, Mr. Mulder," she laughed in her dry, deep-throated cackle, "I
told you I was expecting you." Her visage abruptly sobered. "I know
you've come about the locket. Please follow me," she repeated, "we
haven't much time."
Mulder followed her down a narrow hallway and into a room that seemed
as much tomb as parlor. It was stuffed full of antiques, books, and
bric-a-brac that made it seem as if the world had stopped in 1900, and
probably hadn't been dusted since, either. She showed him a well-worn
wing chair and indicated that he should sit down. He did and she took
its mate on the other side of a small table.
"Before we continue this, Mr. Mulder, you must promise to keep an open
mind," she rasped.
"I always keep an open mind, Miss…?" Mulder settled into the chair,
prepared to hear her out.
"Murphy. Millicent Murphy," she said in answer to his question. "Do
you believe in ghosts, Mr. Mulder? I want to tell you a story. Her
story. The story of the locket." With that, she began her tale.
*~*~*
"My sister and I were born in 1864 near the end of the Civil War when
women had no rights to speak of. Our father had betrothed both of us
in our teens to men his own age, that being a common practice of the
time. But before Cecilia married, Papa found himself in a financial
bind brought on by his habitual gambling and owed a favor to his
creditor, a lonely lighthouse keeper named Sean O'Malley. As payment
for that debt, he promised him my sister.
Cecilia soon found herself on the lonely lighthouse married to a man
she didn't even know. She would write to me every day. At first she
was sad and lonely, frightened to be away from home, from Papa and from
me. Then she seemed quite happy for a while. But before long, Sean
began to drink and with no warning and no cause would become angry and
violent. He was always sorry after he beat her, but it got easier
every time he did it and the occurrences more frequent as time passed.
He was an insanely jealous man. He accused her of having an affair
with the captain of the supply ferry and beat her, calling her a liar,
when she denied it. She had no way to leave and wrote to me in
despair, frightened for her very life, until one day, the letters just
stopped.
Papa and I immediately alerted the Coast Guard and the area was
searched. Sean swore that Cecilia had run away with Captain Morgan,
the man who brought their supplies once a week, but the good captain
denied having seen her at all since he received her last letters for
posting. Since her body was never recovered, we were unable to bring
an inquest against O'Malley, but I knew in my heart that he'd killed
her.
Then one day, about a year later, I received another letter. This one
was from Sean. The tenor of the letter was very different. He
confessed that he had fought with Cecilia after a night of drinking and
pushed her over the railing into the sea. Even as he pushed, he
claimed, he'd regretted his action and made a desperate grab for her as
she fell. He brought back only the locket, which he'd given her as a
wedding gift, in his grasp. Her body was lost in the waves almost
instantly, swept out to sea.
Of course, Papa and I went with the Coast Guard again to the
lighthouse. There we found Sean's body hanging from the parlor
chandelier, the locket clasped tightly in his rigored hand. His
journals were taken into custody and upon their examination, it was
plain that he had begun to have delusions. He believed that Cecilia
had come back to wreak her vengeance upon him and he wrote that she
haunted him day and night. It was unanimously agreed that Sean
O'Malley had killed my twin sister in a drunken rage, then gone mad
from grief, guilt and drink, finally taking his own life.
I received the locket with the rest of Cecilia's personal effects and
put it away in my jewel box. I, like everyone else, believed that
Sean's conscience had driven him mad and I didn't even entertain the
thought that my sister was still dwelling on this plane of existence.
I was to learn how wrong I was. I was also to learn that she wasn't
alone on that plane.
I don't pretend to know how or why, Agent Mulder, but my sister's
spirit – tied to my own by whatever means – continues to exist in that
locket along with her tormentor. She needs a strong woman to help her
to escape it. If she does not, she will remain tied to it along with
whoever possesses the locket.
I never intended for anyone to get hurt, Mr. Mulder. I only wanted to
release my sister's soul from its eternal torment – and my own." With
that, she fell silent, waiting for his response.
Mulder didn't speak for a moment. It never occurred to him to
disbelieve her. Only one question formed on his lips, "What can I do
to help her?"
"You can do nothing, Mr. Mulder," she said shaking her head sadly.
"That's the catch. It's entirely up to her."
*~*~*
Chincoteague Motor Inn
8:30 pm
Scully deposited her overnight bag on the shabby wing chair that graced
one corner of the room. It wasn't fancy accommodations, but the room
was clean, if chilled. A combination heater and air conditioner was
situated beneath the draped picture window, whose only view was the
parking lot. Neither was turned on, however, owing to the daytime
temperatures common at this time of year. She reached out turning on
the heat and began unpacking.
She flipped on the TV but found nothing even remotely engaging. After
she had her things hung in the closet niche, she looked for something
to occupy herself. She hadn't brought a book, not originally planning
to take a holiday, and she wasn't interested in sleeping so early. It
wasn't even completely dark yet.
She decided that a short walk sounded pleasant. Behind the motel was a
road, across which was the water. A simple beach beckoned her to
thread her toes through the sand, to sit quietly and listen to the surf
lap at the shore. She grabbed her coat and a flashlight from her car
and headed out behind the motel for a walk on the beach.
The setting sun was already behind the building by the time she got
close to the water, giving a deeper chill to the already cool evening.
She pulled the coat over her shoulders and walked along the firmly
packed sand, albeit in her shoes rather than the barefoot fantasy she
had imagined.
The ocean breeze threatened to dislodge the coat so she stuck her arms
through the sleeves to wear it properly, sticking her hands in the
pockets out of idle habit. Her hat was tucked into one of them and her
fingers squeezed around it feeling the scratchy wool. Her other hand
encountered something cold, small and hard. Curious as to what it
could be, she fished it out of the pocket of her pea coat. Her
startled scream was lost to the waves of the incoming tide as she
recognized the locket which she distinctly remembered securing in her
jewelry chest at home.
It seemed to glitter menacingly and she found her consciousness pulled
inexplicably toward it. She focused on it exclusively. The ocean, the
beach, everything seemed to disappear as the locket expanded its
presence to take up her entire peripheral vision. The panic rose and
she felt as if she were falling into a bottomless abyss as the
blackness rose on all sides of her, leaving only a small patch of
dappled stars above her head that was quickly swallowed up as well.
"Welcome back," someone whispered as she surrendered herself to an
eerie calm.
"We will defeat you," answered a quiet, feminine voice, not her own.
"On one plane or another, Sean O'Malley, we shall have our freedom from
you!"
*~*~*
The automatic door exploded open as Mulder burst through them. He
glared about like a basilisk looking for some individual that seemed to
be in charge. "I need some help here," he shouted, holding his
identification high in the air. He stalked toward the nurse's station
in long purposeful strides. "Do you know where they've taken Agent
Dana Scully? I was told that she was here."
"Are you Agent Mulder?" The nurse rose from her chair at his approach.
Seeing his nod she gestured, "follow me. I'm Rosario Degas, Dr. Ian
Lerner is with Ms. Scully right now. We found your name and phone
number with her FBI identification. It listed you as her emergency
contact." All this was said on the move as she moved ahead of him
pushing through the slow opening automatic doors like a linebacker
clearing a path for his quarterback. "Agent Scully was transported
in full arrest after being pulled from the water at Toms Cove the
victim of an apparent drowning. We have a witness that said she saw
Ms. Scully simply walk into the water and when she never reemerged, the
woman used her cell phone to call 911. Do you know of any reason that
Dana might want to commit suicide?"
Mulder was near panic. "I'll need to talk to the witness. Scully
would never have tried to kill herself."
"Well," Ms. Degas continued, "I don't know how it happened, only that
she's in critical condition. Emergency medical technicians were able
to get a normal sinus rhythm, but had to intubate her. She's on a
respirator. So far, she hasn't regained consciousness. I have to tell
you, Agent Mulder, it is very possible that she never will again." She
spoke those last words with a look of such deep compassion and sorrow,
that for a moment, Mulder was frightened.
"Well," he said, setting his jaw as if sheer will could bring her back,
"I'm not willing to give up on her yet."
*~*~*
Scully was on the wide walkway of the lighthouse. Dark clouds roiled
overhead and the sea churned violently throwing salty spray stinging
into her face. What the hell was going on here?!
"We haven't much time," came an eerily familiar voice from behind her.
Scully spun around. "Who are you?" Her feet shuffled backward,
propelled by sheer adrenaline and her back struck the cold iron
railing.
"I am Cecilia," the woman answered. She seemed so sad, and something
about her was unnervingly recognizable.
"How did I… What do you want from me?" Scully's voice was rimmed in
panic. She was certain that these "experiences" she'd been having were
dreams, but she knew she wasn't sleeping and yet here she was. What
had she been doing? Where had she been?
"I need your help, Dana," Cecilia said with her hands spread out before
her, whether in supplication or a simple gesture of non-aggression,
Scully couldn't tell. "We all need your help."
Scully's blood ran cold at her last statement. "All?" Her eyes
narrowed and her heart filled with dread.
She gestured and there, behind her stood a number of other women, all
mute and in various states of putrefaction, staring at her with
silently pleading eyes. "He has trapped us here," Cecilia told her,
"and your soul has been imprisoned here as well."
Scully surveyed the ghastly assemblage and gasped as she recognized
several of the women as the alleged suicides from Mulder's and her last
case. She didn't like where her next thought led her for a number of
reasons, not the least of which was that none of this was real in the
first place. Still something about this peculiar woman scratched at
her memory.
"Are you suggesting that I'm dead?" she scoffed.
"I'm suggesting," she responded mysteriously, "that it is within your
power to save yourself – and us all."
"What do I have to do?" Scully asked suspiciously.
"You have to believe."
*~*~*
Mulder pulled his chair close to the bed. His face creased in worry.
Scully lay in the bed, her skin pale against the white sheets. Her
lips had the faintest bluish hue between the tape that held the
respirator's tube steadily in place. Clicks and hums of the machine
matched up with the regular rise and fall of her chest.
Her eyes had been half-open, refusing to stay completely shut, but
still unseeing. Mulder had blinked back tears as an ICU nurse had come
into the room and secured pieces of gauze and silk tape over them to
insure that they remained closed. This was done to prevent damage in
the absence of natural blinking, but it bothered Mulder. The useless
trivia of coins placed on the eyes of the dead as payment of Charon's
fare pounded on his consciousness and did its best to push him to the
brink of panic.
He pulled a hard wooden-seated chair over to the side of the bed and
took Scully's thin pale hand in both his own. He spoke to her in
hushed reassuring tones telling her that she would be alright, that the
very survival of his spirit depended on it. He brought her cold
fingers to his lips, brushing her knuckles with them, gently trying to
exhale his warmth into them. Finally he just lay his head lightly on
the crisp white sheet beside her hip staring at their clasped hands,
praying to a God in which he'd never believed. Begging humbly to
please spare Scully by whatever means necessary even if the cost had to
be his own life.
A soft swishing and a subtle change in air pressure gave notice that he
was no longer alone in the room with her. He recognized Maggie
Scully's soft whimper before he ever saw her. He rose, pushing the
chair noisily backwards to clear a spot for her at her daughter's
bedside. Again, he thought morosely. He watched as Maggie wept and
spoke to Scully, brushing her hair away from her face with gentle
fingers on her forehead. He slipped a comforting arm around her
shoulder and muttered comforting sounds; the vigil had begun.
*~*~*
The others were gone, but Cecilia remained. She led the way to the
first floor parlor, holding the door for Scully as though she were an
honored guest and this was all quite real. Scully followed, albeit
reluctantly.
"Please, Dana," Cecilia began, "sit and be comfortable. I have much to
tell you." She indicated a wing chair covered in a blue floral print.
Scully relaxed into it and Cecilia took its mate next to her. Cecilia
took a deep breath and began, "I know you are a skeptic, but you have
to believe what I am about to tell you. The consequences will be not
only your life, but your immortal soul as well." She paused to see
what impact her words had effected and to let them soak in a bit.
Cecilia continued. She held out a locket identical to the one that
Scully had been given by the old woman that day she'd gone shopping
with her mother, "I don't know where Sean got the locket. He gave it
to me on our wedding day. When you first came here, he gave it to you,
do you remember?"
Scully's eyes narrowed. "How could you know about that?" she asked,
unconsciously acceding that she did indeed remember the incident, "It
was only a dream."
"No, Dana," Cecilia insisted, "not a dream, but a seduction – first
mine, then yours. You were enticed here by a madman, but it's the
locket that keeps you captive. I don't understand how, but what
happens here has consequence and effect in the material world. It is
imperative that you understand that this is not just a dream. Right
now, your physical body is in mortal jeopardy, and your spirit is
caught between the material and the spiritual. Failure to believe will
damn you to an eternity here, with us."
"Just what are you asking me to believe?" Scully asked in a tone that
conveyed, without a doubt, her unwillingness to do that.
"Let me tell you what I know," Cecilia began, "and then you can decide
for yourself."
"I was in my early twenties when I found myself here on this
lightship." Cecilia looked around indicating the familiar
surroundings. "My father had run up a gambling debt and in a
'gentlemen's' agreement, I was bartered in payment of that debt. Of
course, in those days, being only a woman, I had absolutely no
recourse. I was packed up and shipped here all the while being told
that at twenty-five I should be grateful that anyone would have such an
old maid." Here she smiled bitterly, tears rising in her hazel eyes.
Cecilia excused herself as she rose and crossed to an old oak pedestal
table, and returned with a lovely linen handkerchief embroidered with a
delicate "C" incorporated into a rose in one corner of the lace-lined
square. She sniffled, and dried her eyes with it. She continued tell
of how she'd come to be in the lighthouse with a husband who'd become a
madman, all the while crumpling and straightening the cloth
unconsciously nervous gesture, occasionally dabbing at her eyes when
the emotions overcame her. Scully tuned back into her tale.
"…his drinking had become intolerable by then. He became increasingly
brutal with the beatings as time passed. He always apologized
afterward," Cecilia said softly, her voice just above a whisper, "and
somehow, I always believed that he meant it.
Sean had been holed up in the tower all day, drinking from the bottle
of whiskey he thought was hidden up there inside the workings of the
light. I had been bored to tears and, being all on my own, had decided
to take a walk along the ramparts. He found me on the stone causeway
and thundered at the top of his voice, chastising me for not informing
him of my whereabouts.
I'd had enough. I lashed out at him, calling him a drunken tyrant. He
hit me in the mouth with his fist, as opposed to the usual open hand,
then shook me for a while, rather like an old-fashioned rag doll,
finally throwing me quite forcefully to the ground. I landed in a heap
at the bottom of the railing, but the impetus carried me toward the
precipitous edge and the sea beyond it.
He must have realized what he'd done then, because his eyes widened in
terror and he lunged toward me. Suddenly there was nothing but empty
space under me and I felt my heart galumph in sudden, albeit short-
lived, terror as my body began its brief plummet to the water below. I
heard him bellow my name and felt burning pain at my neck as the
locket's chain went taut, then snapped.
I don't have any idea exactly what happened next, but I felt myself
being caught somehow, pulled with the locket even as I perceived my
body disappearing beneath the dark and violent waves below. I was, at
that moment, made captive in this hellish landscape. I watched as he
began to pack up my things into my trunks and throw them over into the
churning water below.
I was incensed as he told Captain Morgan that I had flagged down a
passing freighter and run away with its handsome skipper all the while
implying that he was the damaged party! It was then I discovered that
in my anger I could affect things in the material world.
I broke things, pushing them off shelves. Once in a while I could
throw something. I railed at him while he slept and discovered that he
could hear me in his dreams. Only, in his coward's heart, I was the
one with all the power. Sean's mind finally broke and in his dreams I
became my own avenging angel. Eaten up with guilt, he strung a rope
over the parlor chandelier, there," Cecilia lifted a thin hand and
pointed to the ceiling, "and hanged himself. I thought that I had been
victorious! I had made him pay with his life for taking mine."
Cecilia visibly paled and Scully suddenly knew from where she
recognized this melancholy woman. Suddenly she imagined her half
rotted and festooned with sea weed. "You came to me on the beach,"
Scully muttered quietly, half to herself. "You were trying to get me
here then?"
"No, Dana. I wasn't trying to get you here." Cecilia shook her head
sadly, "I was trying to get the locket from you before Sean pulled you
in, too. Now, we are both inside, but you still have a chance to live.
Your body still lives. All you have to do now, is find the way out."
"And just where might I find that map," Scully snapped.
"Inside the locket," Cecilia answered serenely.
*~*~*
The nurses were in and out every half hour or so, copying down the blue
numbers that glowed on the monitors over the head of Scully's bed. The
numbers didn't change nor did their expressions as they noted them in
small notebooks to be entered into the computer data base later.
"Have you eaten, Fox?" Maggie's soft voice reached his consciousness
at the same time her soft touch on his shoulder did.
"I, uh, I honestly don't remember the last time I ate," he confessed
wondering what compelled him to admit it to her.
She smiled at him and patted his head as though he were a child. "I'm
going down for a cup of soup. You need to join me." It was a left-
handed invitation and Mulder found that he had acquiesced before he
knew what had happened. He shot a worried look back toward the bed
where Scully lay motionless as she had for the past three days since
her transfer from Chincoteague to St. Katherine's Hospital in D.C.
"Fox, the nurses are about to bathe her. She'll be fine without us for
an hour." Mulder felt oddly guilty to have her mother reassuring him.
"Of course she will," he agreed putting on the brave face that he knew
in his heart Maggie needed to see. She did actually seem to visibly
relax as soon as she saw his attempt at a smile. Mulder offered his
arm and she took it with a grateful squeeze and did her best to return
his brave smile. They spoke to the desk clerk as they passed her
telling her that they would be no further than the cafeteria and walked
down the hall to the elevator in search of nourishment for their bodies
and diversion from their worries.
After stale vending machine sandwiches and two equally distasteful cups
of machine brewed coffee, Mulder and Maggie made their way back
upstairs to Dana's bedside. Both of them waved to the desk clerk in
passing, checking in after a fashion. Mulder held the door open for
Maggie and then pulled up the only chair in the room, with seemingly no
effort, offering it to her. It was a large reclining chair that
nonetheless managed to be uncomfortable, but Maggie was grateful for it
and told him so with a profoundly sad smile. "I'm glad you're here,"
she said simply. Mulder put his hand on her shoulder. The gentle
squeeze silently signaling the reassurances that he couldn't find the
words to express verbally.
The door whooshed open to admit the nurse who had been assigned to care
for Scully that shift, her thick rubber soles making a soft squishing
sound as she walked across the room. She went through the number
recording dance and started to leave. "Oh," she said, "I just
remembered. I meant to give this to you earlier." She reached into
her pocket and retrieved a small plastic bag containing a couple of
small items. "These things were with Dana when the EMTs found her,"
she said softly, "they were sent with her when she was transferred."
Maggie took the bag from the nurse. She noted that it was filled with
Dana's FBI identification wallet and the locket that she had acquired
the last day they had seen each other, the day that they had gone
shopping together. Tears threatened to choke her words, but she
continued anyway, "Fox, would you mind taking care of these things for
Dana until she gets better?"
"Of course not, Mrs. Scully," Mulder said softly noting her resolute
use of the word "until" rather than "if". He envied her ability to
believe that no matter how bad the situation, her child would not –
could not – die. "I'll just hang on to this for her," he said with a
faint smile of encouragement that he excavated with great effort from
the depths of his despairing soul.
"Thank you, Fox," Maggie said with tears in her eyes, "I knew I could
depend on you." She squared her shoulders in a motion that reminded
him so distinctly of Scully that he had to smile. Now he knew just
where Scully got that iron will and dogged determination of hers.
Maggie continued, "I'm going home for a shower and a change of clothes.
You'll stay with her until I get back?"
"I'll be right here," he promised her. Maggie stood on her tiptoes to
initiate a warm hug which Mulder returned with a genuine smile.
"I won't be long," Maggie said as she released him and moved out the
door wiping a stubborn tear that refused to stay dammed.
Mulder took a seat close to Scully's bedside. He reached up and
carefully took her pale, cold hand in his own. Clear plastic tubing
delivered fluids and medications into her veins to keep her hydrated
and nourished. The doctor who had seen Scully when she'd been admitted
couldn't figure out why she wasn't awake but had hinted at brain damage
due to lack of oxygen for too long before CPR had been initiated. The
brain scans, however, didn't show that all too familiar "black hole"
that he'd heard Scully talk about in brain dead patients, so he chose
to believe that she would recover.
He had placed the bag containing her ID and the locket in the pocket of
his jacket. Pulling it out he removed her things from the plastic
baggie. Her ID wallet was wet and had a faintly moldy smell. Mulder
removed her ID card and lay the wallet open on the bedside table to dry
out. He held the locket in his hand, the chain a tangled mess. He
began to worry the knot, trying to loosen it and somehow managing to
create a new snag for every one he unraveled. He became totally
immersed in the thing as he wrestled with it almost feverishly.
Finally the knot yielded to his ministrations and he turned his
attention to the small silver locket that dangled from the chain.
He flicked it open. Staring out from it's center was what was left of
a man's face. It was the same face he'd seen across the street and in
Scully's apartment. Finally all the pieces began to fall into place.
He pulled at a tattered edge of the picture where it had come loose
from it's mooring in the locket. The ancient photo fluttered down,
disintegrating before it ever hit the floor, completely unnoticed by
Mulder who stared at the tarnished mess beneath it. Something winked
at him from the corner of his eye and he turned his full attention once
again. Yes, there was something there alright. He rubbed hard with
his index finger and was rewarded by a lighter streak across the
surface of the locket. He grabbed a washcloth from the bedside table
left over from Scully's "bath" and rubbed in earnest until he found
several lines of text in an unfamiliar language: In e fuori sul
braccio della Morte. La distruzione è versione. He didn't have a clue
what it meant, but he knew where he might find out.
Mulder's contemplation of the inscription was interrupted by the swish
of the door. He didn't turn around, but by the fresh, warm scent of
soap and powder, he knew that Maggie was back. How long had he been
playing with that damned locket?! He snuck a glance at the clock that
ticked silently on the wall to the left of Scully's bed. Over two
hours had passed since Maggie left for her shower and he had sat down
and begun messing with the locket.
"Has there been any change?" Maggie asked not really expecting any.
Mulder shook his head sadly.
Maggie nodded her resigned understanding. "Why don't you take a break
now, Fox?" she asked. "I'll be here with her 'til morning. Get some
rest."
Mulder started to protest, but decided that now that Maggie was back
would be a good time to investigate that inscription. He couldn't put
his finger on it, but something about that locket set his teeth on
edge. Almost as if he could feel the evil emanating from it. "If
you're sure that you're okay," he said to her, ready to stay if she
should change her mind.
"Yes, Fox," she said sadly, "I've done this before. But I've learned
to let Someone else take care of it." She smiled and he believed her.
Giving her a quick hug Mulder murmured into the crook of her arm, "You
have my cell number if anything changes."
"I'll call you first," she promised and lightly kissed the top of his
head. "Get some rest," she said in her best "scolding mom" voice and
released him giving him a gentle push toward the door.
"Yes, Ma'am," Mulder said with a smile that he really meant. He shoved
the necklace into the pocket of his jacket and removed the wet ID
wallet from the table to the other pocket and left Scully in the
competent hands of her mother.
*~*~*
After several seconds of the lock routine he was admitted to the lair
of three of the few men on earth he really trusted. "How is she,
Mulder?" was his greeting from Frohike with a chorus of "Yeah, how is
she?" from Langley. Byers was nowhere to be seen.
"She's still unconscious," Mulder conceded as they solemnly shook their
heads in concert. "What did you find on the drownings," he asked
Langley effectively changing the subject.
"Well," Langley began, "I found at least a dozen drownings dating back
to the middle 1800s that mention a locket, but the cases are pretty
sketchy."
"What does anybody make of this?" Mulder asked, as he displayed the
inside of the locket for the three of them as they inspected the
inscription. In e fuori sul braccio della Morte. La distruzione è
versione.
"Well, it isn't Spanish," Frohike volunteered.
"Half a second," Langley interrupted as his fingers flew efficiently
over the key board. "Well, according to BabelFish, it's Italian. The
translation is: In and out on the arm of Death. Destruction is
release." He cast a confused look at Mulder, "Does that make any sense
to you?"
Mulder blanched, "It might."
Frohike had moved to different computer. "You aren't going to believe
this," he said pulling Mulder and Langley's attention from the cryptic
inscription.
"Believe what?" Langley asked peeved to have his moment of glory cut
short.
Frohike turned his monitor so that the other two could see the full
screen picture of the locket that Mulder held in his hand. A thumbnail
picture within the larger one showed it to be a close up of a large
painting depicting a smoky looking beauty in ancient dress wearing the
exact locket. Some one was offering a small fortune in Lira for the
piece of jewelry. "I plugged that phrase in and it hit on this," he
explained with a shrug. He didn't tell them that he was looking for a
translator program, but Langley had beaten him to it. He decided
instead to look smug as if he'd meant to find what he'd found.
Mulder's tongue was hanging on his foot and that was payment enough for
Frohike.
"Apparently this thing is 17th century," he advised reading the
description in the bid. "I'll do some more research on this if you
like."
Mulder nodded, suddenly very tired. He took a spot on one of the ratty
couches and drifted into a fitful sleep filled with visions of Scully
dead, drowned and bloated.
He had no idea how long he'd been out. The room had no windows,
naturally, so he had no light to estimate the time. Frohike sat
clicking away on the keyboard, but this time, there was no sign of
Langley. The smell of boiling macaroni wafted in from a small room
that Mulder knew contained a hot plate – their version of a kitchen.
"What do you have for me, Fro?" he asked startling the poor little man
half to death.
"Dammit, Mulder!" he groused, "Why don't you wear a bell or something?"
"It's on my list of things to do," Mulder teased him with a smile. He
was glad of the rest, he'd obviously needed it, and truth be told, he
felt better for it. "Well?" he asked, renewing his inquiry.
"I've been in contact with the people looking for this locket. They've
got some pretty weird beliefs, Mulder. They believe that the locket
has powers." Frohike looked pinched and pale. "They claim that it's a
portal, sort of like an airlock between life and death."
"If she's in there, Fro, I've got to get her out," Mulder made a
dangerous leap of logic and set his jaw, "I have to destroy it."
*~*~*
They had discussed the inscription for hours it seemed. "What does it
mean?" Scully asked, wretchedly tired of the games.
"I can't tell you that, Dana," Cecilia said holding her hands out
before her. "I'm honestly not sure what it means, but I can tell you
that your survival depends on your finding out. You must believe in
your ability to decipher it's meaning. Every one of the souls you saw
tried to figure it out, as did I," she looked at her hands, momentarily
lost in remembering. "I will say this, I believe that the last line
refers to the locket, and that the release is to be ours."
"You mean that if the locket is destroyed, we'll be freed?" Scully
asked forgetting to be skeptical for a moment knowing that if Mulder
found it, he would be likely to figure out its properties much quicker
than had she. If she could get him some sort of message, tell him to
obliterate the thing…
"Released in death, Dana," Cecilia said, interrupting Scully's
thoughts, shaking her head sadly, "I don't know what would happen to
you, but it's likely that you would be never be able to find your way
back to the other world. Each of us 'came in on the arm of Death', but
he hasn't offered to escort any of us out."
The only sound was the crashing of the waves against the caisson and
the howling of the wind as it echoed a faint screaming sound through
the tower as Scully took in her words. A sudden cold permeated the
parlor and Cecilia looked frightened. "There's something else you
should know about, Dana. We're not alone here."
Cecilia's last words sent a chill racing through Scully that penetrated
on a visceral level. "What do you mean?" she asked not sure she really
wanted to know.
"There is something malevolent here. It feeds on those that come."
"You look untouched," Scully observed tartly, "as opposed to your
friends out there."
"The presence uses Sean to hunt souls for it. Sean fears me. He died
consumed by the madness of guilt, I believe that is why he cannot
pursue me as he has the others - as he will you," with those words,
Cecilia began to slowly fade. "Remember, Dana, he is prisoner here as
well, but he's quite mad. You have the power to defeat him. Use it
without fear, believing completely that you will be successful. God
help you and us all." With that, she faded completely leaving Scully
alone with her trepidations.
*~*~*
Scully's body lay motionless on stiff white sheets. The breathing tube
had been removed when it had been determined that she was able to
breathe on her own, but she was still unconscious, a fact her doctor
couldn't explain. She had brain activity. Her EEG was fluctuating
oddly, but nothing that could account for her comatose state.
Mulder sat holding her hand. "Scully, you gotta tell me what to do,"
he said softly into her hair as he rested his head on the pillow next
to her. "You have to come back to me. Who's going to tell me how
crazy my theories are, huh?"
A soft "ahem" behind him alerted him to Skinner's presence. Without
looking he raised his head so that his mouth was no longer in Scully's
ear and said, "There's been no change, sir."
"I spoke to the nurse at the desk," he responded in as soft a gruff as
he could manage. "That also means that there's no change for the
worse, Mulder. When did you last eat?" he asked knowing his agent's
tendency to forget to tend his body's most basic needs when Agent
Scully's well-being was concerned.
"I had lunch with Mrs. Scully yesterday," he replied in a tone that
implied that really should be enough. "I'm fine. I don't want to be
gone when she wakes up."
"I thought that might be your answer," Skinner replied as he pulled two
plain brown bags from behind his back. The oil slick on the bottoms
indicated something fast and probably not too nutritious, but likely
very tasty. Mulder discovered that he was touched by the big man's
concern and efforts to watch over him even has he held vigil over
Scully. "I stopped by Big Al's on the way over. I got you a
cheeseburger and fries, I hope that's okay with you." The last
sentence was said with the subtly indirect understanding that if Mulder
refused to eat it, he would have it anyway, force-fed by Skinner.
"Yes, sir," Mulder said with a magnanimous grin. "It's just fine.
Thank you."
Skinner retrieved another chair from a deserted seating area halfway
down the hall from Scully's room and pulled it up next to the
uncomfortable 60's recliner that had held Mulder since relieving a
puffy-eyed Maggie Scully at 6:30 that morning. They spread out the
modest repast on Scully's tray table situated between them and began to
eat and talk.
Mulder told Skinner all his concerns and beliefs about the locket and
its effects on Scully. While Skinner didn't scoff outright, he did
imply that he thought that Mulder might be a cowboy or two shy a posse.
He eventually went home, leaving Mulder to contemplate his actions
alone. For Skinner, it had been a question of belief in the
supernatural, something he was not yet prepared to do. But for Mulder,
the question was not whether or not to believe, but one of whether he
would be effectively killing her by destroying it.
*~*~*
Scully stood all alone in middle of the parlor. The sound of her heart
pounding in her ears drowned out the echoing sounds of the violently
crashing waves that surrounded the lighthouse. A convulsive shiver
brought to her attention that the air in the room was becoming frigid.
She looked down at herself to find that she was once again dressed in
old-fashioned clothing. She wore a thin cotton camisole and a single
petticoat separated by a whale bone corset around her mid-section. How
she came to be in the parlor in her underwear eluded her, but she knew
she was uncomfortable in the extreme.
Footsteps, heavy and loud, rang out from the iron rungs of the stairs
that led to the light at the top. Sean's voice boomed, reverberating
within the walls of the tower. He was singing a particularly vulgar
song at the top of his lungs, bursts of maniacal laughter or incoherent
shouting separating the verses, undeniable evidence of the level of his
intoxication.
The sudden deadening of the echo indicated his emergence from the tower
and increasing proximity. The room continued to grow colder with every
tromp of his boots until Scully noticed that the gilded mirror over the
fireplace was crazed with crystalline fractals of frost covering the
surface of the glass. It was then that fear won out over skepticism.
Real or imagined, this was scaring the hell out of her.
Scully looked around and found a cloak hanging near the door. She
slipped into it as Sean's footsteps stomped across the upstairs hallway
toward the stairs that would soon bring him down to the parlor where
she stood. She wanted to flee the room with all her heart, but
realized with a sinking dread that she simply had nowhere to go. It
took every ounce of restraint in her being to keep from running out the
door onto the wide ramparts of the caisson as his footsteps got closer
and the room grew colder.
The door burst open to reveal Sean's large frame. He swayed in the
doorway and Scully suddenly wished she'd run outside. As she turned,
his eyes swept the room, rheumy and unfocused, found her and locked on
with undisguised malice. He moved toward her in deceptively quick,
agile steps and grabbed the fleshy part of her right arm, hauling her
backward toward him. "Where are you going?!" he bellowed accusingly.
"I wasn't going anywhere. Where would I go? I got cold and put on the
cloak," Scully said trying to keep her voice calm and pulling gently
against his grip which was closing like a vice. "Please, you're
hurting me." She lowered her eyes in an attempt to appear non-
threatening and properly chastened. But the cold, dead stare of his
own orbs told Scully that she was about to suffer a fate worse than
death if she didn't get the hell out of there and quickly. His left
hand flew toward the back of her head, clamping onto a handful of her
hair and yanked, pulling her head backward and her face up. The whites
of her eyes shown like a terrified animal as he clamped his mouth over
hers in some nightmarish semblance of a kiss.
The air was suddenly thick with the scent of death. Scully started to
gag as she felt something clawing at her soul somewhere deep within
her. She could feel her vitality beginning to drain. A rush of pure
adrenaline born from her terror and sheer instinct to survive animated
her body, moving her leg and elbow in unison to deliver two powerful
blows. One landed hard on the outside of his knee joint, the other
unerringly targeted his groin. Sean roared in pain and fury, the sound
an inhuman shriek, and forsaking his grip on her, collapsed to the
floor doubled over in apparent agony.
Scully took advantage of her freedom and ran. She didn't fancy a fight
with him on the rampart with the icy sea spraying in blinding torrents.
Spotting the door from which he had emerged, she sprinted to it and up
the stairs.
When she finally reached the stairs that led to the top room of the
tower where the light itself was housed, Scully slammed the heavy
wooden door and threw the metal bolt. The tower had been built with
many battlement windows placed throughout its ascent, these provided
the only light by which to navigate the iron metallic spiral to the
tiny room at top of the lighthouse and, hopefully, a radio with which
to call for help. She didn't know if any of this was real, but the
pain she'd felt when he'd slapped her in what she'd believed to be a
dream was real enough, as was the throbbing in the back of her head
where he'd done his best to rip her hair out by the root just now. She
didn't think it was too much to hope for a radio.
Scully heaved a great sigh. Looking up at the seemingly endless spiral
of steps Scully mused that perhaps she should have gone running with
Mulder more often and hoped that her stamina was up to the climb. Even
with the door bolted, she knew that it would only slow him down. She
placed her small foot securely on the first riser and began her ascent,
praying for all she was worth that she'd find something up there to
offer her some help.
About 20 steps up she heard the first rattling of the door and a loud,
incoherent curse. It was followed by a much louder, heavier sounding
crash and Scully knew that the door wouldn't last through much more of
that. She hastened her pace while paying careful attention to her
footsteps. The steps were wide on the outside, but dwindled to very
narrow points on the inside of the spiral making for a treacherous
climb when combined with her haste and the long petticoat that seemed
to grab at her legs as she attempted to run.
The door exploded inward and Scully looked down through the steps. A
blood-curdling shriek rose up through the tower and the very walls
seemed to shiver in response to it. She gasped as she saw the icy fog
beginning to swirl up the steps toward her. Shedding the cloak, she
grabbed the hem of her petticoat and pulling it up and free of her
feet, renewed her efforts, this time praying for a sturdier door to be
among the things that might be helpful up there.
Scully's legs began to burn and her lungs were heaving in their efforts
to keep up with her adrenaline powered climb. Her feet felt like lead
as she hit the top step and narrow landing. She didn't know what the
top room of the lighthouse was called, but she was dismayed to see only
an open space in the ceiling at the top of a short set of metal rungs
rather than a room with a sturdy door.
The mist was nearly at her feet and Sean's heavy pounding footsteps not
far behind. She scrambled up the ladder, the hem of her petticoat
hiked up and clutched in her teeth to free both her feet and her hands.
She finally reached the last rung as found herself in a circular room
that was quite a bit larger than she'd expected. She also found a
trapdoor of sorts that she quickly swung shut and secured with the thin
hasp that served as a lock. Cold vapor began to seep up through the
cracks and with it, the scent of carrion. Hard bangs soon followed and
the door began to bow with the force of Sean's blows. Scully backed up
blindly from the door, bumping into the large lens that reflected the
brilliant light in an effort to put distance between herself and the
ingress.
She scooted around the circular mounting coming to a desk that graced
the back wall. As the trapdoor sounded looser and looser in its
moorings, Scully dragged the drawers free searching for something to
use as a weapon, a letter opener or something like it would be good.
The third drawer yielded better than she'd hoped for. A Smith & Wesson
.38 caliber pistol dropped with a solid thud to the floor amidst a
mountain of paper litter that had been contained with it in the drawer.
She dropped on top of it as the little trapdoor gave way giving Sean
and the cold fog entrance to the tiny tower room.
Sean stalked around the room retracing Scully's steps, coming to an
abrupt halt as he saw her standing with the gun in her hand pointed at
his head, her feet planted firmly in a firing stance. "Stop where you
are!" she shouted warning, "I'm armed and I will shoot you if you make
me."
His lip curled in an arrogant sneer. "I'm supposed to be afraid of a
woman?!" he spat incredulously, "I doubt you even know how it works."
He scoffed and took a menacing step toward her.
Scully's finger twitched and she fired all six shots in quick
succession hitting him full in the chest with each one. Sean's body
convulsed and jerked, staggering backwards with the force of each
projectile, finally falling against the open door that lead out to the
narrow catwalk that surrounded the room outside. He sank slowly to the
floor with a look of sheer amazement in his eyes, as if even with his
dying breath he couldn't believe that he had been felled by such a
small and delicate creature.
The icy vapor rose up then, condensing and contracting. Features began
to take shape as it rose higher and higher, eventually achieving
vaguely human form. The figure's mouth was open in a gaping soundless
scream and its eyes glowed green with an unholy fire.
Sean's body began to stir as the holes she'd only just put in him began
to close. "In and out on the arm of Death," Scully muttered softly as
she ran toward the open door and the catwalk outside. Sean had just
recovered his feet as she plowed into him, her impetus sufficient to
carry them both over the short railing and plummeting into the
turbulent sea below.
*~*~*
The steady rhythm of the heart monitor had set a cadence in Mulder's
subconscious. It's hypnotic tones had lulled him into a light,
restless sleep filled with disturbing vignettes featuring Scully's
torture and death and his own complete inability to help her. He
twitched faintly, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on Scully's,
whose hand he hadn't released for longer than a few minutes in four
days.
Something was pulling him up through the miasma of dreams where he
hovered just outside consciousness Scully's voice called to him from
the dream, "Help me, Mulder!" Even as he struggled to get to her, to
stay with her, he was being carried away, upward toward consciousness.
Mulder's eyes flew open as he heard Scully gasp, "…release!"
The monitors' alarms all sounded at once, a long, shrill beep. The
blue line that had represented Scully's regular heartbeat now
fluctuated wildly, the peaks and valleys erratic and much too fast.
"No! Scully!" he screamed as he realized what was happening. "Oh,
shit! Scully?!"
The door burst open admitting several nurses and a crash cart. "She's
in V-fib!" Scully's doctor was hot on their heels, directing the
action as the others proceeded to pull equipment and vials from the
cart. A gloved woman ripped open plastic packages, one of which,
contained the largest needle Mulder had ever seen. He felt himself
pushed roughly aside, but offered no resistance. He moved flat against
the back wall, wanting to do nothing that might interfere with their
attempt to resuscitate her. "Clear!" someone shouted.
One of the scrubs-clad team, a young woman, approached him. "Mr.
Mulder, we need you to wait outside," she said moving him gently, but
firmly, out of the room. He offered no protest, knowing that it would
do him less than no good. "We'll update you as soon as we can," she
promised. She squeezed his shoulder sympathetically, turning to re-
enter Scully's room and the controlled chaos therein.
Mulder paced for a moment in the hallway. He thought about what he
knew what he had to do. His fingers closed convulsively around the
locket that rested in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out, studying
it, and it seemed to tingle in his palm. A sudden frisson passed
through him leaving a sense of disorientation and a shadow of panic in
its wake, along with a nauseating certainty that he didn't have much
time to make up his mind.
He had debated with Skinner about whether or not he should destroy the
locket. While Skinner had never conceded that the locket was an inter-
dimensional gateway, he had taken the position in favor of preservation
of the locket. His argument had centered around the premise that if
Scully had been transported to another dimension by it, then she would
most certainly require it to return. He had also pointed out, with a
wry twist of his lips, that when Scully woke up, she would most likely
kill Mulder if he ruined her new necklace.
He smiled at that memory. Skinner hardly ever deviated from the
starched, professional façade that he projected in his role as
Assistant Director of the FBI. But every now and again, the real
Walter Skinner's sense of humor lanced through in the form of a smart-
assed aside and a disarmingly cocky smile. In a strange way, Mulder
felt favored by the well-intentioned jibe and the assumption of "when
Scully woke up" not "if Scully woke up" was a welcome one.
Mulder had been convinced that the only way to bring Scully back into
this dimension was to destroy the passage between it and the one in
which she might currently be. It seemed so logical to assume that if
he destroyed the doorway, her consciousness would be returned
automatically to her body.
Now, it seemed as though her body might be dying, and he didn't know if
there was any way to return her soul to it, nor indeed if it was
actually separated at all. Regardless, he was certain that he didn't
want her soul trapped anywhere if she had no corporeal form in this
world to which she could ever return. Better that her soul be released
into oblivion than to wander restless for eternity. The point, it
would seem, was fast becoming moot as precious minutes ticked by.
The chill returned and he could almost feel it in his bones. Something
he couldn't explain urged him vehemently to destroy that locket!
Mulder made up his mind. He turned and jogged toward the elevator and
headed for the sub-basement in search of an incinerator. He didn't
know why he knew, but he was certain one was down there. If this thing
could be destroyed, that should do it.
*~*~*
Scully found herself not in icy water, but in what appeared to be a
hospital room – St. Katherine's, according to the linen. Her pale body
lay on a bed surrounded by people. She recognized immediately the
deadly rhythm of her EKG and what was being done to her body, but for
some strange reason that she couldn't explain even to herself, she was
unconcerned by the brutal resuscitation being effected on her corporeal
self.
As she stared at herself lying there, ostensibly dead, she realized
that she was not alone. A male figure crouched in one corner of the
room, cowering and babbling incoherently. Scully recognized her
erstwhile adversary, who didn't look at all fierce at the moment.
He looked up with lost and terrified eyes, seemingly too senseless to
speak, and for an instant, she felt almost sorry for him. She could
see him desperately searching for some familiar thing upon which he
could seize, the unmistakable abject panic at finding himself in a
world that was totally alien to him. But then he found something
recognizable - he found Scully.
Sean's eyes locked on with a gaze as unerring, malicious and relentless
as a heat-seeking missile. Drawing strength from her familiarity, he
issued an insane and animalistic growl as he dragged himself slowly to
his feet.
Scully took a step back as he stalked toward her. He still intended to
take her back for the thing that dominated him in the locket. She
tried to pick up one of the enormous needles from the crash cart to use
as a weapon, dismayed as her hand passed right through it. She made a
desperate rush for the door passing, unhindered, through it and out
into the hallway beyond it. Her breath caught in her chest as she saw
Mulder.
He was pacing back and forth in front of her door looking forlorn and
conflicted. In his open hand, rested the locket. Scully reached for
it, but as with the syringe and the door, her fingers passed right
through it.
"Mulder!" she shouted, but he didn't seem to hear her. She reached out
to grasp his shoulders roughly, intending to shake him into awareness
of her. When her hands encountered no resistance, she stumbled forward
into him and felt herself pass through him. The experience nearly
overwhelmed her.
For just an instant, she was a part of him. Suddenly many things about
the enigma called Fox Mulder were crystal clear as she merged with him
utterly, albeit temporarily. She couldn't read his mind, per se, but
his strong feelings and intimate thoughts were palpable. Scully
smiled. If she ever got back to her body, there were going to be some
very interesting changes between them.
Suddenly, Sean emerged through the wall. His eyes flashed malevolent
fire as he acquired his target once again. "You will feed my Master,"
he snarled.
Scully thought quickly. There had to be a way to help Mulder, to let
him know he was right about the locket. Once again, she merged with
him, overlapping her body with his. "The incinerator, Mulder! You
have to destroy that locket!" she thought as powerfully as she could in
his head. Without a word, he suddenly turned, separating their
contact, and headed for the elevator. As they parted, Sean lunged at
Scully. She bolted for the stairs, passing through the heavy metal
door as though it weren't there. She hit the steps running, bounding
down them three at a time, with Sean hot on her heels. Scully stumbled
slightly as she fairly flew down the first two flights.
Suddenly, she was seized with an idea, Mulder's influence, no doubt.
If ghost she was, then traditionally, that state came with certain
abilities. She had already experienced some of them. She focused her
resolve and jumped at the next landing. The notion worked and she
plunged right through the floor, through several levels in fact. She
willed herself to stop and her feet came to rest on the cold cement of
the final sub-basement floor. She couldn't see or hear Sean, but she
could sense him and knew that it wouldn't take him long to figure out
what had happened to her and that he could follow in the same fashion.
Once again, Scully invoked her spirit and took flight through the
labyrinth of hallways toward the place where she knew St. Katherine's
maintained an incinerator for dealing with bio-hazardous materials.
She had done her OR rotation here and, as a plebian medical student,
had been given the intentionally unpleasant task of taking the surgical
waste to be destroyed. Scully had visualized the incinerator's
location when she had overlapped Mulder, now she soared through the
corridors searching for him, hoping for the chance to merge with him
once again.
The intensity of his emotions where she was concerned had been a shock
to her. Even more surprising had been the nature of those feelings.
Scully had known for quite some time that Mulder loved her. She had
always assumed that it was a familial sort of love, a subconscious
transference of his feelings for the lost Samantha. But the jumble of
emotions and thoughts that Scully had found in Mulder's head concerning
her had been anything but "brotherly". She also realized, for the
first time, that he believed she was aware of these feelings and that
she did not return them. If she could have blushed in her ethereal
state, she would have. As it was, her spirit felt warmed.
Scully was shaken from her reverie by the sight of Mulder wandering
through the hallway looking lost and confused, like a waking
sleepwalker. Once again, she overlapped him, subtly guiding him toward
the room containing the incineration unit. Once they arrived in the
room, Mulder opened the door to the furnace and stood staring,
contemplating, into the flames and searing heat contained within.
Scully was quickly swept up in his thoughts of her, both poignant and
pornographic.
A sound at the back of the room attracted Scully's attention. Sean's
translucent visage glared back at her, seemingly from the very depths
of hell. Her mental gasp must have made it through the barrier of the
unreal to Mulder's conscious mind, because he looked up as if searching
for the source.
Mulder's heart suddenly skipped a beat as he saw the dim outline of a
man leaning against the back wall. His thoughts at the sight of this
semi-transparent man shocked Scully almost as much as Sean's sudden
appearance. Mulder recognized him! His immediate mental recall of the
scene in her apartment when she had planted her heel so firmly and
painfully in his crotch was as exact as an instant replay.
As soon as Mulder began to focus more intently on Sean's shadow form,
Scully felt herself being pushed out of his mind, an unconscious
eviction, as his consciousness began to assert itself. Soon she found
herself standing, insubstantially, beside her partner and friend,
observing but unable to affect him or to make him aware of her.
"What have you done with her?" he accused through gritted teeth.
With Mulder's words and concentration, Sean began to coalesce into a
seemingly solid being. "I've trapped her in that locket," Sean lied
cannily, "If you destroy it, you will trap her there forever."
"Mulder! Don't believe him!" Scully shouted. "I'm not in there! I'll
never be free if you don't!"
Mulder's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you," he said flatly.
Sean's features hardened and he lunged at Mulder, startling both Mulder
and Scully who stood very close to him. The madman clamped his hand
around Scully's wrist and hauled her off balance into him, making her
his instant captive. Mulder's eyes went wide with shock and surprise,
"Scully!?" he gasped and looked right at her.
He could see her! The sudden dissipation of Mulder's bravado made it
abundantly clear that he was completely aware of her and now fearful
for her safety, believing Sean to have the advantage of a hostage.
Scully suddenly realized what Sean had done. When he had seized her,
he had made her visible as well, making it appear as if he had pulled
her out of thin air, or from the locket in his hand. It lent apparent
weight to his claim to have Scully within his control. Scully's heart
sank as the blood drained from Mulder's face and the balance of power
seemed to shift.
Scully knew that she had to act fast. She feigned her acquiescence to
Sean's control, pretending to be intimidated in the hope of lulling him
into a sense of complacent confidence. It worked and he relaxed his
hold on her wrist. Scully took advantage of the situation and wrenched
herself from his grip, shoving against his chest at the same time. He
lost his balance and she was free. Sean howled his fury, drawing back
his hand to strike her. She was apparently still visible to Mulder,
whose face went stony with his anger. "Scully," he whispered as he
threw the locket into the flames.
The howl turned to a shriek of terror as the metal began to liquefy. A
dark vortex began to form within the heat pulling Sean's figure toward
it. He fought to keep from being pulled in, but slid inexorably toward
the great maw of the furnace. In a vain effort to save himself, he
threw his arms around Scully's waist in a craven embrace.
Scully also fought to keep from being pulled in, kicking at Sean as he
clung to her, but the force proved too great. Mulder watched in
horror as the pair was dragged, screaming, into the flames and the
bubbling silver within them.
*~*~*
Mulder sprinted toward the elevator, fear creeping up his spine. He
wasn't sure what it was that he had expected to happen, but that sure
as hell wasn't it. An icy dread settled over his heart as the floors
dinged past at a snail's pace. He exploded out of the doors almost
before they finished opening on the floor where Scully's room was
situated.
He ran for her door, pulling up short as he reached it and saw the
crash cart sitting outside the room against the wall. The sense of
foreboding was thick as he forced himself to look inside. A nurse's
assistant was cleaning up the aftermath of the code, disposing of used
syringes and plastic tubing in a red container through a jagged one-way
aperture at its top. "I'm sorry," she said softly as Mulder entered
the room, "we did everything possible."
Mulder's heart dropped through the floor and he sank onto the bed next
to Scully, burying his face against her stomach. "Oh, God, Scully, I'm
so sorry," came his choked sob. The flesh of her stomach was still
warm and he imagined that he felt movement there. "I let you down
again," he lamented. "There were so many things I wanted to tell you,
how much you mean to me." Appearances be damned, Mulder wept. He
wrapped his arms around her waist and held tight, unwilling to let her
go.
A shuddering inhalation had his head snapping to attention, along with
the little nurse's assistant. Scully's eyes suddenly flew open and the
heart monitor began to flutter. She gasped and exhaled strongly. An
icy blast of air fogged out of her open mouth, dissipating as it
reached the far wall. Suddenly the room was filled with stunned
medical professionals and bustling with activity. Mulder began to
laugh uncontrollably and bit hysterically at her familiar chorus of
"I'm fine." He wondered if they believed it any more than he did.
Once again he found himself being forced out into the hallway where he
paced like a caged animal before the door. After a short time, the
nurse's assistant emerged from Scully's room. "We can't begin to
explain it," she said with a broad smile, "but she's alive and
conscious and asking for you." Mulder didn't wait for a formal
invitation. He brushed past the young woman, not intending to be rude,
but eager to return to Scully's side.
She sat up, her blue eyes locking on his own hazel orbs as soon as he
walked into the room. "Jesus! Scully, I thought I'd lost you," he
choked. He reached her bedside and touched her hand tentatively, tears
of joy and relief in his eyes.
Mulder sat gently on the bed next to her. Scully reached out with a
trembling hand, cupping his chin in it, turning his face up to look in
her eyes. Her deeper understanding of his feelings shining in her
gaze. With a sly smile filled with secret knowledge, she said, "I
think you owe me a necklace."
Fin~