"Pain Lies on a Riverside" by Live, from Mental Jewelry

Phillips wishes that he had spent last night at home instead of staying at work and catching a couple of hours of intermittent sleep on the couch in his office. He hasn't spoken to his family in days, always coming home too late and leaving too early. His wife no longer waits up for him and doesn't awaken when he kisses her sleeping form. His boy and girl, seven-year-old twins, no longer quarrel over whose bed he gets to sit on while telling a bedtime story. He is becoming a shadow even before his death.

It is rather fitting, considering that he is about to confront a ghost. He is not a soldier, he hardly knows what to do with the weapon which Scully pulls out of the glove compartment and thrusts at him. He doubts that he will be much help to her. But he needs to understand what pushes a man, a man just like him, to turn into a killer. And only Jason Hart can answer this question.

Perhaps, he has a lesson to learn from him. Perhaps, he can crush the seeds of hatred that are already blossoming in his own heart, if he can only see the living embodiment of their growth.

The woman beside him pushes on the gas, again, and glides the car like an arrow between other vehicles on the highway. Except for a laconic phone call to Skinner, "Fort Marlene, now," she hasn't uttered a word, and Phillips is thankful for her silence. He concentrates on finding the strength to witness more pain, more deaths.

The day is still young.

Scully pulls to a harsh stop beside two lonely cars in front of the abandoned building. He runs after her towards the entrance, through the badly lit halls, while awkwardly trying to fit the gun into his back pocket. By the time he catches up to her, he is already out of breath, and at first he doesn't hear the low moan that comes from an open doorway to their right. Scully wavers, as if terrified of what she will find behind door number one, then readies her gun and enters.

Phillips looks over her shoulder into the room and knows that Dr. Jason Hart has no lessons left to teach him. That the man they're hunting has no heart left to spare, that the disease which should have killed him a long time ago has eaten through his core, transforming him into a monster, a carcass made of bones and flesh that only appears human on the outside.

Bloodstains, black like ink, seem to cover the floor and walls of the gray room. At first, Phillips would almost like to believe that the man who lies on the bed in the corner is dead; it would be easier to bear. But the bloody figure moans again, and Phillips recognizes Alex Krycek, a man he never particularly liked or respected. And he also remembers the reason why he wanted to become a medic – to alleviate the suffering of anyone in need, to stop the pain in its tracks by any available means, be it surgery or morphine.

Scully staggers backward. "This is...this is the room I've seen before."

He pushes her into the hall, gently. "I'll try to help him. You need to find the others."

She closes her eyes, as if trying to forget what they've found, and visibly collects herself. "Thank you," she whispers gratefully and walks away, never turning around.

Phillips returns to the bloodstained room and kneels beside Krycek. As his fingers wander over the broken body, assessing the injuries, he wishes he had brought his medical bag with him. The ever-present package of Valium in his breast pocket will not help today.

"Water," Krycek whispers hoarsely.

Two green eyes, wide open and burning with pain, look across the room at the sink. The doctor is dismayed to find him awake, but obeys and brings back a paper cup with water that smells weakly of rust and decay. Krycek seems to faint right after he stops drinking, and Phillips is startled when fingers covered in black tracks of blood clutch his hand.

"Help me stand."

"You're delirious," the doctor shakes his head. "You should remain immobile until we're able to get a medical unit in here."

Krycek grimaces. "It's hard...to talk...just help me," he emphasizes. "Please."

"What's so important?" Phillips tries to subdue his patient. "What is it you need to do?"

The undamaged part of the young man's face smiles. "I need to see Hart die."

Phillips searches for arguments to rebuff the statement and comes up short. He grasps the injured man around the waist and pulls him to the sitting position, then practically holds him upright. Krycek sways but somehow holds steady.

"Ready?" the doctor asks, and sees a nod in return. "Let's go."

Phillips isn't sure when the moment comes in which the ache of the man in his arms seeps into him. He only wishes that he had spent last night at home.

Back to Fire Eaters index

Look at Soundtrack