Diametrically Opposed by mountainphile ************ Chapter 8 ************ Hocking, Ohio March 14, 2001 3:10 pm Scully felt power behind the love that stood before her, unwavering after five years. Passage of time was irrelevant; Mulder was handed a mere ninety-six hours and had succeeded in traveling three-quarters of the globe and a snow-white wilderness to find her. He'd broken her icy prison, injected the antidote, chafed her to consciousness, and hurried her all the way out to frosty air, freedom, and theoretical safety. That a brother and sister would bide half a decade for the right window of opportunity in a Midwestern university town seemed just as credible. The two Toskalas pulled their toughness and composure into place and awaited her decision. Perhaps the fate of a young coed named Amanda hung somewhere in the balance. Scully, her mouth tight, turned toward them. "Okay, I'll help you -- but I accept the conditions under protest and subject to further negotiation." "We'll see about that," said Tusk. But his eyes shone and he turned to the rest of his little army with a thumbs-up. Now that she understood the connection between Cricket and her brother, she wondered what glue bound the others so closely to them. At his gesture a tremor went through the group, akin to electricity. Scully noted shy grins and limbs that grew restless in anticipation, like a team of sled huskies eager to hit the trail. Tusk briefed his troops. "Meet Dana, folks. Outside of Hocking she's an FBI agent who deals with far-fetched cases and the paranormal. Isn't that what you do, you and your partner?" His head swung to look at her. "Look into 'X' files no one else wants to bother with?" "What's your plan?" she said coldly. He gave her demand grudging assent. "Not too far from here there's a tunnel entrance. Abandoned for decades, refurbished by us. Follow it underground to where it forks. One direction goes to the graveyard, where deliveries and pickups happen. We saw the first one this year a few nights ago. March tenth." "The night Amanda Carmichael disappeared," she said slowly. "Big surprise? Welcome to the surreal. After delivery, victims are hauled down to the labs." "Located where?" She felt an uneasy familiarity speaking so easily about such things, as though it should be Mulder standing before her and not this tattooed muscle man. "In the other direction, below the complex itself. Every institution in the country, old or new, has a system of underground tunnels. That's where we'll end up, after doing recon. To get my brother out of there." "When?" "Soon, when the time's right. Cricket'll let us know." Scully flashed a look at the girl's porcupine head and surly bearing. An improbable barometer. "What about the missing student?" "If she's in sight we'll bring her out too." He made Amanda sound like an afterthought, a benign appendix to be retrieved at their convenience should they discover her in the midst of their invasion. She shook her head. "It's your conjecture she's even in the same location. How do you propose to accomplish this... rescue? The people you're dealing with don't turn their backs on the inevitable. They have no conscience or compassion, and certainly no mercy. Are you armed?" "Trick question, right?" "No, logical necessity. You may encounter resistance. What then?" "I'd say our chances just improved tremendously." He moved into her space again, head lowered toward her like a straining bull. "You have a gun. You're a trained agent and doctor," he continued, ignoring her disclaimer, "which is a big plus for our side. There's only so much I can do on my own when we take the occasional hit." "Something wrong with the local hospital?" "When you're injured storming the castle and they monitor the ER with cameras, goons and guns, hell yeah. Just ask Needlenose. Dude," he ordered, "let's see it." The man with the thin nose complied, shucking off one sleeve of his parka and yanking down the loose shirt neckband underneath. He stood motionless, waiting for Scully's inspection. "Fucking barb wire got me first," he complained, "before I could bite it back with the clippers." Across the back of his shoulder she saw the three-inch slice. The closure wasn't ER quality, but looked clean and well sewn considering the damage. "Not bad," she observed, speaking of the workmanship. "We do what's necessary. Now we have you." Tusk's gravelly voice loomed behind her. It was close, too close, his musky breath near enough to ruffle her hair and warm the rims of her ears. She turned to meet the front of his coat, lapels eye- level, and looked up squarely into his face. "Then I'd appreciate hearing the whole story behind your purpose here. Right from the beginning. It would be proper briefing and a courtesy to me." He hedged. "What's your hurry?" "'Quid pro quo'." She flung the words back, putting several feet of distance between them. "If you want my cooperation I need to know the whole truth. That includes everything, including your brother's involvement." ************ Dave Hostetler answered Mulder's call with a voice smooth as silk, a far cry from the panicked call of an hour before. "I apologize for losing it back there," he said. "Paranoia from too little sleep, I guess. Were you able to catch the parents before they got on the road?" Scully's number remained unresponsive, aggravating his uneasiness over her whereabouts considering their unsatisfactory parting at Wilson Hall, not to mention her past exploits. Topping it off, Hostetler's new demeanor was a hard sell. "We talked," said Mulder brusquely, steering his thoughts back on track, "and it was enlightening." "You know, I had the feeling they were holding something back from me when I spoke with them. Especially the mother." "Maybe she was just following the advice she was given." The Dean gave no response. "Someone," said Mulder, "told her to clam up for the cops and press corp. Who could make it sound enough of a threat that Linda Carmichael would keep her mouth shut about pertinent evidence? You? Or the same people who called you in this morning?" "What evidence? About Amanda?" Mulder directed a sarcastic smile out the car window. "Lest we forget the purpose of this investigation." "I don't understand what you mean by a threat. We both know the restrictions I'm under for whatever reason. But if Mrs. Carmichael held anything back, that's news to me. I did what they both asked -- and believe me, they were frantic over their daughter's disappearance. I called the LIFE number and arranged Ms. Nightingale's involvement. I even addressed my own concerns and brought you in, set up the meetings -- " "And then fed your superiors what they wanted to hear. You're one hell of a multi-tasker, Hostetler, you know that? Ping- pong must be your game because cloak-and-dagger obviously isn't. As for threats --" "Were you serious about me being in danger?" "I'll let you know when you're ready to drop the bullshit. In the meantime, I have a fence to mend." ************ After casing the streets he finally spotted Willow's tall silhouette inside the University bookstore, several blocks from where they'd parted company. Her face was partially obscured by a poster taped behind the plate glass window, but that shock of long hair and dark draping garments could belong to no one else. He tapped the glass with a knuckle, smiled in apology when her head tilted to the side of the obstruction. No startle in her gaze, eye-level with his, but her lips curled and she nodded as she turned away to join him outside. "Well, well," she began, buttoning her coat against the cold. "Is that all out of your system now?" He dismissed the thought that he could in all likelihood ask her the same question, fearful that such indelicacy might be read without his knowledge. "Don't tell me you knew where I went." "It doesn't take psychic ability to figure it out," she said with disdain, bringing color to his face. "You had an opportunity to speak with Amanda's parents directly and you took it. By the way, thank you for leaving the ten, which more than covered our tab. Shall we sit and talk?" Across the street benches dotted the College Green. They chose one near a Civil War Memorial statue, where opposing brick walkways met and intersected, forming a definitive 'X' in the grass. Fitting, he thought, considering what burdened his mind, but where to begin... "Here," said Willow, adjusting herself so she faced him and their knees touched. She placed a hand over his fingers, surprisingly warm since she wore no gloves, pulling them to rest closer to her, on his thigh. Her grip was tight and her gaze sincere. Warmth emanated from her flesh into his and he felt his guard slip. "Something's troubling you and I want to know what it is. It didn't start with your visit to the Carmichaels, but only exacerbated it, that much I feel. I'm sensing again that it has to do with someone who's precious to you. Perhaps the same female person you were thinking of earlier today? Young... and a family member?" He blinked and looked away, but allowed her touch to remain. "I'd rather not discuss it," he said. "Then why seek me out again?" "We have a missing girl to find." "Yes," she said sagely, "which is an old story for you, isn't it? In your line of work you're always searching for that missing piece of the puzzle, the evasive key that opens the door. The final solution." "I want only the truth." "Then ask the questions that disturb you now. I know something weighs heavy on your heart." He turned his head to see whether the sincerity he heard was real or imagined. Willow's gaze met him, liquid and tender, and she squeezed his hand. "I bet you say that to all the FBI agents you're partnered with," he deadpanned, delaying the unavoidable. "No, this is a first for me. I tend to work alone or with a scientific crew. Usually it involves a poltergeist, strange lights and noises in a room where a murder's occurred, or a family whose child senses a supernatural presence somewhere in the house. I never imagined that an agent from the FBI would have such sensitivity. Or such a talent as you do." "What talent is that?" She smiled. "Don't denigrate your abilities. You sense the unnatural, the extraordinary. Your logic and profiling ability show your connection to another plane of reasoning. You refuse to exist within the proverbial box. Reality has shown you otherwise. Life lessons." "Right. Sometimes no cheese exists and the box is only in someone else's mind," he joked, but her words struck a vulnerable place within him. Gently, he extricated his hand and clasped both between his knees, looking out at the late afternoon with a sense of loss. Soft tendrils of anguish made him chew his lower lip as he stalled. Ironic, he thought, that this case could stir his emotions to such a pitch, but he only blamed the passage of time and decades of secret turbulence. "I'm pondering a theory," he began, "about Amanda Carmichael's disappearance." He took a cleansing breath and chanced a peek at Willow's face, which showed only compassion and rapt attention. "I'm listening." "Have you had any experience with a phenomenon known as a 'walk-in'?" She made a noise. He thought at first she mocked his question until he saw the moistness in her eyes and the ripple of emotion she sought to control. A quick pat on his arm and she collected herself with a sigh. "You are indeed a surprise, Agent Mulder. Yes," she whispered, taking a small sniff, "I have great familiarity with what you call a 'walk-in,' though the term isn't entirely accurate, in my mind. Probably one-half of all the children who go missing in any given year and are never found have experienced such a rescue. I prefer to call it a 'translation,' almost in the biblical sense. They're removed to a place of safety by benevolent beings that have mercy on them, who want to spare them indescribable torment in this life." "They're dead." She hesitated. "I believe they transcend to another plane of existence. Not life as you and I know it... but survivors." "Your experiences," he muttered. "Tell me." "A child living near Parkersburg, West Virginia disappeared about fifteen years ago. Seven years of age, a little girl not prone to wandering. Vanished! After the official police investigation turned up nothing, they and the family called me in. I was given one of her toys to hold -- a doll, I think -- and was able to follow her aura to an old trailer in the woods nearly two miles away. The man living there, if you pardon my candor, was a drunk and inbred pedophile who wanted nothing more than to perform unspeakable atrocities on that child. I felt her presence in his home, so strong I could scarcely breathe. Of course police interrogated him. Roughly, I might add, as rural law enforcement does while defending its womankind. They dug up the yard outside the trailer as well. But his story held firm that he hadn't harmed her and he had no idea whatsoever where she'd gone. As it turned out I was the only one who believed him." "What happened?" "He was released because there was no tangible evidence to hold him, though I knew he was grossly guilty of intent. The child was never found. Nor shall they ever find her," she murmured. "She was one of the fortunate ones, spared more than her share of hell on earth. Rescued at the crucial moment of horror by the benevolence of supernatural beings." "Her fate's still hypothetical if there's no verification." She smiled, eyes swimming. "You haven't allowed me to finish, Agent Mulder. While the pervert was being interrogated, I crouched down at the spot where the child's aura lingered on in that trailer. That's when she appeared to me." His heart pounded and he lifted a hand to rub his mouth. "Describe it." "She looked exactly like the picture her parents gave to me. The same sweet smile, laughing eyes. But an apparition I could see, cloud-like and vaporous. I felt transported to another place." "What about touch?" "No, I didn't think to reach out to her. She's the one who touched me. No words, just her tiny hand on my arm, then my hair, stroking it. Solid and real as life. I sensed she wanted me to communicate to her parents that she was in a place of safety, though forever apart from them. She was the first. After that, I was privileged to see more, at other times." "All children?" "No. Several were young adults. One was a pregnant woman in her early twenties. I also saw her unborn child that time. Most unusual, that one. However, not something even people who believe in ghosts and the paranormal are apt to accept as authentic or true." She gave a sad chuckle to break the lingering silence between them. Waiting, he felt, for reciprocation she knew might be forthcoming by the nature of his earlier question. Angling his head, he ceased chewing his lip and stared into her eyes. "I've seen someone like that. A whole damn convocation, in fact." "Recently?" He scoffed and rubbed his face. "Time is relative. It was last year, during another missing persons investigation." "You saw a child?" "I saw children playing, a whole crowd of them. And," he swallowed, "I saw 'her.'" "The missing child?" He nodded his head. "Yes, but not just any child. It was... Samantha." With a look of serenity, Willow smiled. "So that's her name. Thank you for trusting me with that. I sensed three syllables, something very feminine, yet strong. Samantha is your younger sister, is she not?" "Yes," he rasped, "but unlike you I have reservations about the whole experience. That it really happened the way I remember it -- or if it was her at all." ************ Tusk and his cohorts were methodical about preparation, Scully soon discovered. As afternoon ripened into evening he directed the two vehicles down a narrow dirt road into a densely forested ravine. "Welcome to the homestead," he announced while the rest of his crew tumbled out and headed into the ranch-style house. Wood sided, it was shadowed by old forest growth and the gloom of a setting sun, small windows set low and designed to elude reflecting rays. A camouflaged hideout, by the look of it. Inside, she cast around her, impressed by the tumult when she observed they all moved with purpose. Well-furnished, the rooms held stale odors of incense, cigarette smoke, and sandalwood-scented candle. She heard a toilet flush behind her and took the opportunity to use the small but clean bathroom after Cricket's exit. "Better get in while the seat's still down," advised the girl, jerking her head toward the activity in the other rooms. "It's a real sausage fest around here, lemme tell you." "No other women?" "Not for this," was the girl's tart answer. "Everybody takes water," Tusk ordered loudly when Scully emerged, thrusting a plastic bottle of Aquafina into her hand. "Dana, you want food? Anybody else hungry? Now's the time, people." Most of the men had already converged on the kitchen in a whirlwind, but Scully shook her head. Refrigerator doors creaked, cupboards slammed, tap water ran with a rough hiss, the toilet flushed in quick succession. Tusk appeared without warning at her elbow, beaming his approval. He pointed back toward the ruckus. "Before you get the idea they're all a bunch of undisciplined loons, let me tell you a little bit about them and what they do on a vad," he offered, guiding her into what looked like the TV room. "On a what?" "Vad. Old D&D term for invader or infiltrator. MIT geeks coined it to describe computer hacking. You do any kind of unauthorized urban exploration -- tunnels, abandoned buildings, drainages, elevator shafts, basements -- you're a 'Vadder.' "But now we're down to real business. Mason's my lieutenant. In my absence or if something happens to me he's head honcho in charge of decision-making. He did a stint at the university's physical plant and knows structure, tunnel conditions, and logistics. Does all the asbestos and biohazard testing for us. Most important, he knows how I think." "I'll have to take your word for that." "Make you uncomfortable?" Scully ignored both the question and his grin. "What else?" "Take Mole over there." The man, hearing his name, glanced up quickly and then continued rifling through a cardboard box on the table. "My scout and eager beaver. Thrives on exploration. Locks, motion detectors, security devices -- he can disarm anything designed to keep trespassers out. Funny thing about Mole, though: show him a pit or a hole to nose around in, you'll think he's in heaven. But lock him up in a dark closet and after five minutes he'd be psycho with a load in his pants." "Dude, you got that right," the younger man said with conviction, rocking restlessly on the balls of his feet as he worked. "Needlenose and Footer are latecomers, but they're reliable. Footer is Mole's little brother, by the way. Needlenose is just good with tools and his hands, so I let Mason ride herd on him." "And Cricket?" "A roamer, helps where she can. Fearless, when somebody's not pulling a gun on her. I depend more on her instincts and inner radar, since her investment's as big as mine is." "Speaking of which, I haven't heard that story yet," Scully reminded him. "Tomorrow. Let some of the excitement die down. Tonight we do recon and give you a short tour. One step at a time, Dana." Her name in his mouth and the perceived condescension grated on her nerves. As they finished in the kitchen and bathroom the men filtered out to congregate at Mole's table, poking among the items he'd grouped there. Cricket motioned Scully over beside her. "Pick up your AMEX," she said. "You got pockets?" "I'll handle it," said Tusk, intervening. "And she doesn't mean a literal credit card," he clarified for Scully. "AMEX is your top four 'Don't Leave Home Without It' gear. Flashlight and the extra batteries are self-explanatory. Gloves protect against fiberglass-coated pipe or any funky caustic shit you might come across. A knife for scraping, cutting, popping latches open, you name it." "I understand the drill." "Not as many steam pipes or major obstructions, like under the university, but it's still a rough tunnel. We won't go as far as the fork, maybe a few hundred yards. Stick close and don't do any James Bonding on your own until you get a feel for it. Just simple common sense for someone with your experience." "So how long will this take?" Tusk's eyes slowly searched her face, lingering on each feature. "Not too terribly long," he answered, his voice soft. "Nervous about the dark?" "Of course not." She felt his eyes stray over her, evaluating her attire from head to foot, where they stopped. He stared and his forehead puckered in sudden concern. "Cricket! You got an extra pair of Vans? Bring 'em over here now." "Hey! You're asking a hell of a lot, you know that?" Flicking her cigarette ash, the girl appeared bearing a near- new pair of sneakers in one hand and malice in her eye. "These get trashed even a little bit and we've got major problems here." "High heels just won't cut it on this expo," Tusk said to Scully, enjoying her discomfiture. "Lucky thing my sister has spares -- and you've got those tiny little feet." She eyed the snazzy footwear critically, resenting the imposition and pressure he exerted. Then bowing to the inevitable, she bent down to unzip the expensive leather boots. "Don't think you're the first to ever tell me that," she snapped. To her astonishment the shoes fit perfectly. Nor was the irony of it lost upon her as she gathered her equipment and followed the others out to the car. *********** Super 8 Motel, Hocking 10:13 pm It appeared the home fires might be burning, or so Scully hoped. Bluish muted flashes in her motel window signaled that she would not be alone this night. She glanced around the motel parking lot, cheery red and blue neon flickering from the pizza place nearby. Any one of the cars scattered here could be Mulder's rental. How long had it been, she wondered, since he'd claimed his envelope from the front desk and set up camp in her room, clicking the remote so the channels hitched and advanced with splashes of light against her curtains? Hindsight told her she should have immediately called him on her way back into town. Checking her cell she'd discovered four, no, five messages from Mulder. Yet the impact of what she'd seen and learned today stayed her hand on the drive to the motel. Her phone lay tucked in a pocket while her eyes had wandered many times from the road ahead toward the glittering heavens. This night she came back harboring secrets, the old sin of nondisclosure. An issue of negativity between them, it might rear its head as a sore spot. Positive or negative, how would it be perceived this time? With his bent toward Jungian philosophy, Mulder might identify her maverick behavior as a classic tug-of-war between opposites and equivalents, reacting in a sudden outpouring of energy. Like two poles of a battery sparking juice or the violent splitting of an atom. Outside room one-twenty-three she smoothed back her hair with slim fingers and gave her clothing cursory perusal. Clean enough to pass muster. She sighed, squared her shoulders. If there were to be repercussions, she'd find out soon enough. Sliding the key card she pushed the door open to another flash of light as the channel switched. A familiar sight greeted her: Mulder lounging on her bedspread against the pillows, shirtsleeves rolled and one arm propping his head. Shoes and socks discarded, tie gone, lower lip jutting toward the TV screen, the room's only illumination. "Hey there," she said with nonchalance, tossing the leather over his suit coat on the chair. She drank in the sight of him, then flicked on the entry light in afterthought. "The prodigal returns. I was beginning to think you'd gotten a better offer somewhere else." "I had a lead to check out." "You said that earlier. Must've been some lead." He swung his gaze toward her, still thumbing the remote. "You're phone's been off most of the day." "I know." In a moment he was up, a smooth roll to his feet and a short stride toward her. His shirtfront pressed her breasts and she felt his arms surround her, hands against her sides. Fingertips skimmed her ribs, appraising the sites of her most recent injuries. "Suppose you needed backup?" "I had my weapon." She replayed the two o'clock scene in her mind, the flash of light and Cricket's stare of shock. Tusk's quick move to intervene... "I missed you. Where'd you go today?" "I told you all I can right now without... betraying a confidence. It concerns the case. Mulder, I'm sorry, but that's all I can say. Please understand." Dangerous words. Similar to those she'd said before, in another place and time. No, it wasn't her imagination at all when his breath stilled and his arms relaxed around her. She knew he was pondering the implications of her refusal, weighing her silence against his pride, possessiveness, and his own unquenchable zeal. Would they be found wanting? Or would he accept her conditions as valid, and move forward? His heart beat under her cheek, a steady thump. She found herself longing for his acceptance, support, and tenderness after the physical exertion and stress of this day. She returned the hug. "Mulder, I was okay. Really. Probably a lot more secure than you've been this afternoon." "I spoke with her parents, Scully." She pulled back to look at his face. Reflective, but not sulky, he appeared to be mulling the day's events as he was wont to do, sharing what struck home. "I thought the Carmichaels were off-limits," she said in surprise. "They are, Hostetler arranged it on the sly. I wanted you with me to hear what they said, to give me another perspective. You missed an important window." The veiled accusation made her pull away, but she covered by bending over to unzip and remove her boots. "Not all of which was my choice, Mulder. I was cut out of the first meeting after busting my ass to make it from DC on time, and then was practically run out of the second. Or have you forgotten?" "Speaking of asses --" She straightened and pushed the boots and thin socks away. "What?" she demanded, bristling. "You have mud on yours. Looks like mud. Hold still." Curious as always, he ran inquisitive fingers over her backside, brushing off the offending dirt with hard little flicks. It felt too much like chastisement, a symbolic spanking, and she huffed with irritation. "By the way, I ran a background check on your new associate this afternoon," she said, facing him. His brows lifted. "Don't worry, there's nothing overtly objectionable to spoil the investigative karma you've got going with Willow. In other words, no cause for concern." "I have one. A big one." "What?" "I don't have a quiet place to sleep." She closed her eyes briefly to mask her surprise and relief. "That's a shame. And here I thought you were reveling in wild campus life over on the East Green." "It sucks big time, Scully. No beer parties or frats. Not even one decent panty raid and the snack machines were all cashed." "Dire." "Makes a man long for some of life's simple pleasures." Was it her imagination, but did she detect entreaty in his voice? Sharing his warmth, he insinuated his body against hers, so close that their thighs and bellies pressed together. Questioningly her hand rose to cup his scratchy jaw. "Are you requesting your own personal panty raid?" He hummed concurrence, a tiny smile curving his mouth. "What are you saying, Mulder? That you want to alter prior arrangements and come sleep here, in my bed?" "Isn't that what you want?" "I -- I'd like for us to be together, like before. With no restrictions this time," she added, planting a tender kiss on his mouth. His reciprocation was instantaneous, hands framing her face, prolonging the melding of their lips and tongues. "Lo and behold, the ban's been lifted," he breathed. "Why the change of heart?" "It's Day Four. And it wasn't fair to you. Or to me." He smiled, squinting down at her, bringing color to her cheeks. "Ah, there's the rub. You go off in a snit and come back a horny wild woman. Must've been quite a day." "Mulder!" It was a rebuke wrought of affection, born from shared life experience and deep understanding between them. When he mimicked her name in answer, the syllables soft and seductive, peace enveloped her and they sank to the bed. She inhaled the scent of his skin, as familiar to her as her own, and his hair, burying her nose in its dark thickness. Memories ticked through her mind, of the years spent bonding with him before she could trust herself to acknowledge the special union they shared in an honest, decidedly personal way. He cleared his throat, licked her taste from his lips. "You know, we still need to talk." "Later. Not now," she whispered, stroking his neck and velvety earlobe. "We both need this first." He groaned agreement, nuzzled his big nose against her front, nipping with his teeth. Already she felt his fingers working the bra clasp, seeking her breasts. Together they lofted the clothing over her head, exposing her skin to the cool dimness of the room. With a groan of pleasure he tipped his head to claim a nipple, swirling it with his tongue, the alternating tease and hard suction sending sparks of arousal throughout her body. "Day four," he murmured, coming up for air. "Wanna know what happens?" "Only if you don't go reaching for the Gideon over there." Chuckling softly, he craned to take her mouth again. A slow zipping sensation down her belly, and the unerring creep of his fingers into her clothing, fanning the hidden flame between her legs. So close, then closer, the brush and fiery flutter of his fingertips. She waited, shivering under his caresses. "It means lights in the sky, Scully. Illumination, separation of light from darkness." Hovering lights in the night. Glowing lights, malevolent, beams searching... "And the sun, the greater light, to rule the day." She closed her eyes, pushing errant thoughts and her slacks away at the same time, helped Mulder fumble his pants down to his ankles. Shirt and boxers followed, flung away, his swollen cock hot and branding her palm. "What else?" "The lesser light, the moon, to rule the night," he huffed in breathy monotone while he eased her panties down and her knees apart, exposing her labia, exploiting her willingness and vulnerability. Feathery nuzzles along her inner thighs and he was there -- yes, right there. Mouth on her slick flesh, massaging the petal-like layers with his tongue, circling around to flick and toy with her clitoris. Her head fell back and she panted into the air above them. "Oh, God..." "More?" "I, um... yes!" "Cave of the moon. That's what they call this little tunnel, Scully." She felt a finger slip inside, exerting sweet pressure against its tender inner walls. The hot melting tingle built to a crescendo and she clenched her muscles to stall the inexorable explosion of pleasure. At least there was one thing they could do in tandem today. Don't think, just feel. Make it happen. "Please. Now," she gasped and spread her legs into a straddle around his waist, shoving her wetness against him in desperation. His hands gripped her hips, thrusting his hard length deep. Obliterating the void between them, dispelling any sense of division or parity. She cried out and succumbed to his forceful timeless rhythm, following him into the night. ************ Mole grinned at Tusk, teeth gleaming unevenly in the smoky yellow light of the porch. "Goin' like gangbusters. Couldn't see anything with the curtains closed, but what we heard --" He shook his head in awe. "Man!" Footer nodded. "Mega sex romp, dude. Definitely the same guy the pizza chick said she saw waiting around since dinnertime." All three, cigarettes red-tipped in the low light, turned toward the sound behind them. Cricket leaned against the door, bed hair like a pincushion, eyes drowsy from broken sleep. She yawned and rubbed her nose on a forearm, her breath cottony in the chill air. "You guys been messing around the Super 8?" Snickers and winks among the men. "They were just doing a little recon for me. Checking out my boundaries," explained Tusk. "Yeah, sure. Right." They guffawed at Cricket's expression of unbelief, her nose wrinkled when she turned away. She tugged at the rumpled shirt that had slipped from one bony shoulder. "Sheesh, can't you pigs ever give it a rest?" "So sue me for having a dick," Tusk called after her. "I happen to think she's hot." His cronies laughed again. "Don't do anything to fuck this up, bro. I mean it." She waved him off in disgust, disappearing into the house and slamming the door. "Just needed to know what my boundaries are," repeated Tusk, this time quieter, with soberness, as he blew a slow cloud of smoke and watched it rise into the night sky. "Now I do." ************ End of Chapter 8 Continued in Chapter 9