Part 3 ***** Mission Inn San Diego, California "Just what are you hoping to find?" Scully gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, concentrating on answering Fowley's question in a civil manner. "I'm trying to find out what happened to Mulder," she told the older woman. She was proud of the controlled way she spoke, but then couldn't help adding in a much quieter voice, "Which should be obvious even for you." Fowley heard her, but was smart enough not to say anything in retaliation. After all, she was still a bit miffed that Mulder had left last night without her, but had called to let Scully know what he was doing. Her apparent anger was enough to make Scully quite sure Mulder hadn't spent any extracurricular time with Fowley last night before he left. Scully couldn't help but be incredibly relieved by this thought. "I know Mulder's notes on this case backwards and forwards, Agent Scully," Diana finally told her. "If there was an answer in there, I would know it." Scully had to admit to herself that the other agent was probably right, but she continued to search not just the X- File on the Carhart house, but several of Mulder's hand written notes that had been completed during this trip. She, Fowley and Nick were ensconced in Mulder's motel room, having met there after darkness had prevented any more searching along the rough terrain along the shore behind the Carhart house. Nick was on the phone with the local Search and Rescue, who were planning to do their own search in the morning. Scully was sure they wouldn't find anything. Mulder was in that house, but she had no idea where or why she knew this. She was praying that Mulder, through his notes, would be able to tell her. She slapped her hand down on the desk in frustration. "Damn it! Mulder, where the hell are you?" She looked up and felt her face flush as she realized that not only was Fowley glowering at her, but also that Nick had finished his phone call and was eyeing her with a touch of surprise and amusement. She took a deep breath, then had a flash of a memory from a past case, a case when she and Mulder had still been on the X-Files. She and Mulder had been packing at the end of a case. Mulder had been caught on the phone with the local DA, so Scully had finished first and had ended up waiting rather impatiently for him to finish in his motel room. He had tried to pack as he talked, and Scully was sure her exaggerated toe tapping and glances at her watch hadn't helped; he had looked on the verge of laughing the whole time. She had noticed with only vague curiosity the small pad of yellow paper he had tucked into a pocket of his suitcase; she had never seen him write on it before. After he had hung up and put on his coat, they had grabbed their stuff and headed out, and Scully forgot about it. Until now. "Where's his suitcase?" she asked as she jumped up from the desk, not really expecting and answer and not really needing one, either. Mulder always left his suitcase in the motel closet. She opened the folding door and pulled the black case out, throwing it on the bed. She opened it and reached for the zipper holding the top pocket closed. She reached inside and pulled out the notepad with a triumphant "Ha!" Diana's expression changed from annoyed to one of surprise, and Nick raised his eyebrows in curiosity. "What's that?" he asked. "Mulder's notes," Scully said as she carried the pad over to the desk. "I think." She perused the writing on the paper in front of her, glad she had long ago gotten used to Mulder's chicken scratches. Granted, he could write beautifully when he tried, but he rarely tried. An amused curl formed on her lips as she sped through what was more or less a journal of sorts. Nothing too private, Scully knew, but his personal views on the people and places Mulder had experienced on cases. Stuff the FBI didn't need to know about. Out of respect for his privacy, Scully tried to avoid her name, but it was present and she couldn't avoid it completely, especially when she came to one particular part: "Scully had no idea how hot she looked in that skirt, but all the men (not to mention some of the women) in the station house noticed... including me. Wonder if she would get suspicious if I suggested she wear that one more often." Again, she felt her face heat, glancing at her two companions almost guiltily. "What?" Diana asked. "What does he say?" "Nothing," Scully mumbled. "Its just psychologist Mulder at work, people watching and writing about it." Yet, she continued to flip through the pages, searching for the name Carhart or any mention of San Diego. Halfway through, she found it. "Here's something about the Carhart house." Quickly, she read through it, and then repeated it to the others. It was a legend of some sort, gathered from several people in the area. A legend about a man named Gould and a man called El Halcon. Once finished, Scully looked up at Fowley. "You don't think...?" "That the house itself is holding him captive somehow?" Diana finished for her. "You said you were sure you felt his presence in the Carhart's living room. Maybe he was there." For the first time, Scully was glad Diana was a believer in the paranormal. Nick wisely stayed silent. "If that's true," Scully asked her. "How do we get him out?" ***** The Next Morning Somewhere in the Carhart House Mulder had no idea how long he stayed in the dungeon deep below the Carhart house. His guide had long ago left him, and nothing had intruded on his silent vigil since then. He wondered why he stayed, knowing there was nothing he could do to replace his soul back into the body it belonged to. He just couldn't leave. He wondered if the other captives had done the same thing, hovering around their mortal bodies, waiting and watching while they died. The man Tony wasn't here, or at least his soul wasn't, but that could have been because he didn't know about the bodies; he may not have had the curiosity necessary to encourage another to lead him down here. It was probably a good thing, Mulder mused, as mid-way through his vigil Tony's body stopped breathing. Mulder stayed, watching the steady up and down movement of his own chest, encouraging the body to stay alive. Stay alive long enough for Scully to find it, he pleaded. Then she'll take care of 'us.' He continued to drift, aware of little but the body on the floor beneath him, until a sudden sharp tug on his consciousness demanded he turn his attention elsewhere. He looked about, expecting to find one of the others in the room with him, but he was still alone. The tug continued, and Mulder realized it was something outside the room that was pulling at him. Carhart, he thought, ordering him back to the others. And yet, the pull was very different than what he had felt from Carhart before. This pull was less painful, but just as insistent. He obeyed, drifting upward toward the living room. He wasn't surprised to find that it was day again, nor was he surprised to find the Carharts in the living room where he had been summoned. He was surprised to see that the Carharts had guests, but even the sight of Scully, Diana and Kresge wasn't enough to coax him out of his deepening depression; they couldn't see or hear him, so why try to make contact? Suddenly, Scully turned to face him, her face pale and her eyes wide. She searched about, obviously not seeing him, but somehow sensing he was there. Or so he hoped. "Mulder?" she whispered, and he immediately felt the same sharp tug that had drawn him from his stupor down in the dungeon. With shock, he realized that it hadn't been Carhart that had called him, but Scully. He drifted close to her, trying to call out to her, but her eyes still searched about uncertainly. "This is ridiculous," Hank Carhart said. Scully turned toward him, but her posture indicated that she hadn't forgotten about Mulder. "Your Agent isn't here," Carhart demanded. "This house isn't haunted or cursed, and your claims are both insulting to us and embarrassing to you!" He paced about the room, passing his wife who was standing stiffly with her arms wrapped around herself. He cast a glare at Mulder, and Mulder felt the strength of his hold, which stopped his movement toward Scully. Instead, Mulder let himself drift back, toward Kresge, who was closer to him. "Mr. Carhart," Diana was arguing. "We would simply like the opportunity to try and contact any spirits that may be in this house. As the owners, you may not even be aware that there are any." Her voice was calm and reasonable, despite her subject matter. "Every house had spirits of some sort living in them, and they are often aware of things that go on around it more than the mortal owners of a house are. They may be able to tell us what happened to Agent Mulder." Mulder would have laughed if he could have, knowing that Diana was trying to bluff Carhart. He continued to move toward Kresge, deliberately allowing himself to drift into the man, wondering what would happen. He felt the intense heat from the man's body, which was shocking against his own lack of warmth, and the bizarre music of a living body's heartbeat. The feeling only lasted a moment before his was forcefully pushed out, the man's own unconscious defenses shaking him free. Mulder was dismayed to see that Kresge's only conscious response was to shiver as if cold. Carhart was arguing with Diana about the existence of ghosts, and Mulder used that man's distraction to head toward Scully again, but just as he started moving toward her again, she moved away. Carhart noticed her movement as well. "Where are you going?" With Carhart's eyes on Scully now, Mulder turned and sped toward Diana. Unlike Kresge, she knew him, understood him. Maybe she would recognize him. With half of his attention on Scully's demand that she be allowed to search the house again, Mulder pushed himself into Diana. He felt her surprise, even thought he felt a brief moment of recognition, and then he was roughly pushed out. Diana looked unsettled, knowing something, or someone, had tried to contact her, but not knowing who or what it was. Mulder wanted to scream his frustration. Scully. He had to get to Scully. She knew he was here. She was the person closest to him. Though he had never told her, she was the only one who had ever seen inside his soul. This very soul that drifted about, lost and alone. She was leaving. She was finishing her argument with Carhart by leaving. He wasn't going to let her search the house. No! he thought. Don't leave! With silent desperation, her rushed toward her. ***** Scully was burning with anger, anger directed at the man who owned this house, the man who knew where Mulder was but wouldn't admit to it. Her anger was overwhelming, and in order to prevent any rash action on her part, she had turned from Carhart and had headed for the front door, giving Nick a glance as she did so. He and Diana could handle the Carharts; Scully was going to have a look outside. Maybe there was a way she could sneak in while the Carharts were occupied with the others. She was reaching for the door handle when the rush of cold air hit her. She turned, expecting to see that someone had opened another door in the house, allowing air to pass through. However, nobody had moved, and even if they had, it was in the mid 90's outside; there was no cold air to be found outside of a freezer. She shivered, and was about to shake off the strange feeling when she felt him. "Mulder?" she whispered. She looked about the room, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then how come she knew he was here? Since she had entered the Carhart house, she had been searching for him, her mind unconsciously calling for him. Twice she had thought she felt him, though she was hard pressed to explain to herself how she could 'feel' someone's presence. Yet, both times she had 'felt' him, she had turned to find nothing. This feeling was similar to that one, but much more powerful. And it was getting stronger. "Dana?" Nick was moving toward her, and Scully suddenly didn't want anyone else near her. Fowley, of all people, recognized this before anyone else did. "Stop," she said, reaching out and grabbing Nick lightly be the arm. "Let her be." She was staring at Scully intently. Nick opened his mouth to ask why, but stopped himself. He took a step back and watched Scully with a worried look on his face. Scully was aware of their actions, but she had no interest in what was going on around her. Right now, her mind was focused on what was going on 'inside' of her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Immediately, visions rushed through her mind, images that were both familiar and strange. People she recognized and some she didn't. Her breathing quickened and she started to panic, and the images slowed suddenly. The chill in her body eased, and a slow heat began to work its way from her chest outward. The image of the basement office appeared, the way it looked before it had burned, and the strange yet comforting feeling it aroused relaxed her. The heat expanded even more until it felt as if someone was standing next to her. No, not just next to her, but so close every part of her touched every part of him, and his familiar scent seemed to envelop her. This time it was her pulse that quickened. 'Where are you?' Joy surrounded her at her non-verbal question, joy that came from him. Then there was a tug on her body, and Scully opened her eyes to see who was touching her. Only nobody was. The Carharts, Diana and Nick were standing in the living room watching her with a mixture of curiosity, fear and anger. She felt the tug again, as if a pair of hands were holding her waist and pulling her toward something. Licking her suddenly dry lips, Scully followed the pull. "Where are you going?" Carhart demanded. "You can't just-" "Yes, she can," Diana told the man forcefully. "Our warrant is still valid." Scully ignored them all and followed the pull. Down the stairs, through the main room of the basement, and over to the far wall, where a floor length mirror reflecting her image sat next to a large bookcase built against the wall. "Behind the bookcase?" she asked softly, knowing she was looking for some kind of door. There was another sharp, almost painful, tug in response. She winced, and immediately the warmth that felt like hands on her waist spread once more to surround her entire body, almost as if he were apologizing, soothing her. She couldn't help but close her eyes and let herself be soothed. Her breasts began to tingle, and heat of another kind began to pulse between her thighs. "Oh, God," she groaned. The sound of footsteps on the stairs behind her caused her to open her eyes as she became aware of her physical surroundings once more. She felt the heat inside her diminish, but it didn't go away. "Mulder?" she asked aloud, embarrassed by the breathless sound of it. "The door?" For a moment, there was no response, then the 'hands' on her waist appeared again, turning her toward the mirror. Scully met her own eyes in the mirror, noticing her flushed face and aroused eyes. She also saw the four people coming up behind her. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the mirror, running her hands along the sides of it, pulling. Her fingers hit what must have been a latch, and the mirror swung away from the wall. A locked door sat behind it. Turning, she glared at Carhart. "Open it." Both Fowley and Nick had their weapons out now, and they were standing behind the Carharts, watching them carefully. Joyce was shivering uncontrollably, and she looked near tears. Hank just met Scully's glare with one of his own. "Fine," Scully answered, then pulled her own gun, and in one quick movement turned and shot off the handle on the door. Joyce's startled scream was met with what felt like a triumphant shout from inside Scully. She kicked in the door, and was met with the horrible stench of death. She rushed inside, the light coming from the basement room allowing her to spot a light switch on the left side of the door. She flipped it on, and then began to follow the steep stairs that the dim light illuminated downward. The others followed carefully. The smell got stronger, and the air grew cold. Mulder's presence faded for a moment, almost as if he had either gotten ahead of her or fallen behind. When it returned, it tugged at her hard again. This time, there was no apology. Scully hurried, finally reaching the bottom of the steps and rounding the corner into the Carhart's very own dungeon. There was more than one body in the room, but Scully was only interested in one. She fell to her knees next to Mulder, relieved to feel his warm skin beneath her fingertips. Her relief was short-lived, however, as she realized he wasn't breathing. ***** Mulder had been almost giddy with relief when he finally made contact with Scully. The fact that she seemed to know what he was thinking while he 'touched' her wasn't any surprise to Mulder; that she allowed herself to believe in the 'touch,' knowing it was him and trusting in that knowledge was a bit of a shock, but a wonderful one. He had immersed himself in her mind just as he had learned to do with the other captives, but upon sensing her panic, he had pulled back slightly, knowing firsthand how overwhelming these unconscious emotions could be. Instead, he had concentrated on directing her, 'pulling' her in the direction of the basement. She had only hesitated for a moment before following. Once at the mirror that hid the doorway to Carhart's secret room, Mulder had stopped, not sure how to show her how to get behind the mirror, especially since he himself didn't know how to manually move it. When Scully had asked about the bookcase, confusion and desperation had caused him to try and pull her hard toward the mirror. He had felt her jump in sudden pain and he had pulled back instantly, remorse flooding him. Unable to apologize, he moved into her again, enveloping himself in the warmth of her body. He had reveled in it for a moment, allowing himself the unnecessary pleasures of her softness and scent. He had felt her warmth turn to heat, he heard her heartbeat quicken along with her breathing, and he had felt the unmistakable feeling of arousal. Her scent changed, and Mulder happily drowned in it. "Oh, God." Scully's voice was dark and rough, and Mulder pushed deeper into her consciousness, ignoring the sound of the others as they came down the stairs. Scully couldn't. He felt her pull back into herself, embarrassment flooding her conscious mind. "Mulder?" she said on a whisper. "The door?" Mulder didn't want to leave this Heaven he had found, this place full of warmth and light and comfort. His soul could happily live here forever. He could spend the rest of eternity giving Scully this pleasure, and finding his own in return. But Scully would have none of it; she wanted him back in the flesh. He couldn't say this displeased him, but it was still hard to pull away from her, taking a less personal hold on her and directing her toward the door. She found it, as he knew she would, and demanded that Carhart open it. The man refused without saying a word. "Fine," Scully said before pulling her weapon and shooting the handle off without hesitation. A feeling of triumph, pride, and continued arousal swirled around him at her action, and as she opened the door, he swept ahead of her. Finding his lifeless body sent him into a panic once again and he rushed back to her, tugging on her hard. She responded by hurrying, and headed straight for his body once she reached the dungeon room. He watched as she checked 'his' pulse, saw her frown at the apparent slowness of it, then called back to the others, "Call 911. And arrest those two." As she positioned his body to begin CPR, Kresge pulled out his cell phone and began to make a call while Diana handcuffed Hank Carhart and read him his rights. Joyce was sobbing in the corner. Mulder floated about the scene, feeling useless and afraid. He watched with a detached horror as Scully lifted the black t-shirt to expose his chest and began to thrust down on it with both hands. Then she would give him two long breaths and start over again. It didn't matter, he thought. Even if she managed to keep his body alive, what use was it with him floating about out here? "Come on, Mulder," Scully demanded as she pumped on his chest, only she wasn't directing her words toward the body beneath her, but to the air about her. To him. "Get back in here." Don't you think I've tried, he silently screamed? I can't. "You can!" she responded, almost as if she heard him. She bent down to breathe into his mouth twice more, then continued on his chest. "Dammit, Mulder. You can!" Frustrated and angry, he began to rush around the room; unaware of the cold he was creating. Diana and Kresge stared about them in awe as their breath began to freeze in the air. "Mulder!" Scully shouted. With a cry of his own, he rushed toward Scully, desperate to feel her warmth one last time. She gasped as she felt him, then with a groan she leaned in to breath into his body once more. Mulder felt the connection of mouths, felt the air, cold and crisp, flow from her body to his, and felt his spirit follow. He started coughing, the sudden, wracking pain in his chest his first indication that something had drastically changed. He shivered, suddenly cold, and felt a warm hand on his brow, brushing back the hair on his forehead. "Mulder?" He opened his eyes at the whisper; afraid of what he might see but knowing he had to look anyway. Scully was looking down at him, her eyes full of unshed tears. "Mulder?" she whispered again. She was talking to him. And not just his soul, but to all of him. "Scully?" His voice was hoarse, his throat dry. But it was his voice. Scully smiled, and a lone tear escaped and slid down her cheek. "Welcome back." ***** The J. Edgar Hoover Building Two weeks later Scully sat silently and watched as Mulder typed away on his computer in front of her. She had found herself doing that a lot lately, just watching him. Ever since they had returned from San Diego and life had returned to 'normal.' The Carharts were awaiting trial, and due to the more than 100 bodies hidden in the catacombs underneath their house, it was a sure bet that they wouldn't see the outside of a prison for a long time to come. The strange fact that some of the bodies dated from almost 150 years ago caused some to wonder if a cult of some kind had used that house as a base for all these years. The other strange fact that nobody could figure out how the people had died caused many to blame the 'ghosts' of the house for the murders. Nick Kresge didn't care how old the bodies were or how they had died; he simply knew the Carharts, who were not talking, were to blame. The only person who knew the whole truth other than the Carharts wasn't talking either. Mulder had been strangely quiet about the whole incident. In his official report, he had admitted to breaking into the house late at night (for which he had received another reprimand on his file), then remembered nothing until Scully woke him in the basement dungeon more than a day later. Scully knew he was lying and couldn't understand why. However, she wasn't about to verbalize her own theory as to what happened to him because she wasn't sure she believed it herself. Mulder's only request before leaving was to insure that the Carhart house was taken from its owners and sold. The City of San Diego was anxious to get their hands on it, thinking not only of the great historical value of the house, but the money they could make on it thanks to its 'haunted' past. When Mulder heard this, he had said quietly, "It's not haunted anymore. The curse has been broken." Remembering Mulder's personal notes about the house, Scully recalled how the El Halcon's curse would only last if the house stayed in the possession of the original owner. Mulder's silence on the subject worried Scully. Normally, any encounter with the paranormal was enough to set him off on a full description of the incident, as well as a detailed report. Why he wasn't talking now, Scully didn't know. Unless he truly didn't remember anything. "You okay?" Scully jumped guiltily as she realized Mulder had stopped typing and had turned to face her, his expression curious. "Fine," she told him, looking down to shuffle some papers on her desk. "Just wondering if you had any plans for tonight." Now where the hell had that come from? She glanced up in time to see his eyes widen. "Plans?" "It's Friday, Mulder." "Do I ever have plans on Friday?" he countered. "Outside of a date with my VCR, of course." Scully felt her face heat, but she didn't look away from his evil smirk. "Then let's go somewhere," she said. His silence these past two weeks had extended beyond the subject of the Carharts; he had been far too quiet all the time, and Scully missed the hyperactive, workaholic partner she knew. "Somewhere fun." Mulder cocked his head, looking at her as if she had grown horns. "What is this?" he asked. "A conspiracy?" "What do you mean?" "Diana asked me out last night," he told her, his back stiffening as if bracing himself for a physical blow. "All she wanted to do was get me to talk about what happened in San Diego." Scully controlled the anger that flowed through her at the knowledge that he had gone out with Fowley. "Did you tell her what she wanted to know?" "I didn't tell her anything," he told her softly. "There's nothing to tell." Scully looked at him in silence for a while. "So you wouldn't tell me if I asked you?" He paused. "Like I said, there's nothing to tell." She took a deep breath and looked away, trying not to let his words hurt. It was obvious from his behavior that he remembered what had happened, but wasn't willing to share... even with her. Nodding sharply, she again rearranged her papers. "So what you're saying is you don't want to go out tonight." "I didn't say that," Mulder argued. "I just don't want it to turn into an interrogation. I want to have fun." Scully couldn't stop the little demon on her shoulder from asking, "Did you have fun last night?" "Are you kidding?" Mulder laughed. He leaned in and whispered, "Diana doesn't know how to have fun." "And we do?" Scully asked, thinking of their lack of a personal life. "I think we could figure it out," he said quietly. "We're good at that. Figuring out stuff. Together." Scully met his intense gaze with her own. "But no questions about San Diego?" "Why do you need to ask?" he queried. "You already know what happened." His eyes never left hers, and for a moment, Scully could almost swear she 'felt' him. She shivered, not from cold or fear, but from something far more powerful. She licked her lips and shivered once more as she saw his eyes lower to watch the action. Then they met hers again, this time flashing fire. Clearing her throat, suddenly aware of the dozen or so other curious people in the room, she asked, "You're not bringing Fowley tonight, are you?" She tried to inject a teasing note into her voice, but her throat was too dry. "As long as you don't bring Kresge," he replied, his voice rough. "Deal." He smiled and turned back to his computer. "Then it's a date." He spoke aloud, obviously not caring who heard. Scully smiled and went back to her own work, her face only a little warm. She didn't care who heard either. THE END Creeping up the blind side, shinning up the wall stealing through the dark of night Climbing through a window, stepping to the floor checking to the left and the right Picking up the pieces, putting them away something doesn't feel quite right Help me someone, let me out of here then out of the dark was suddenly heard welcome to the Home by the Sea Coming out the woodwork, through the open door pushing from above and below shadows without substance, in the shape of men round and down and sideways they go adrift without direction, eyes that hold despair then as one they sigh and they moan Help us someone, let us out of here living here so long undisturbed dreaming of the time we were free so many years ago before the time when we first heard welcome to the Home by the Sea Sit down Sit down as we relive out lives in what we tell you Images of sorrow, pictures of delight things that go to make up a life endless days of summer longer nights of gloom waiting for the morning light scenes of unimportance like photos in a frame things that go to make up a life Help us someone, let us out of here living here so long undisturbed dreaming of the time we were free so many years ago before the time when we first heard welcome to the Home by the Sea Sit down Sit down as we relive out lives in what we tell you let us relive out lives in what we tell you Sit down sit down 'cause you won't get away so with us you will stay for the rest of your days. So sit down As we relive out lives in what we tell you Let us relive out lives in what we tell you