Disclaimers: Agents Mulder and Scully aren't mine; I'm just borrowing them. ----------------- The Paintings (1/2) Sarah Reese threw down her brush in frustration. "What is going on here?!" she cried aloud to the half-finished seascape before her. "Sarah?" a voice behind her asked. "Are you ok?" She turned to find her boyfriend staring at her with a puzzled look. "Oh, Daniel, I don't know! Things have just been so strange lately." "Strange in what way?" "Well.... You know that dream I've been having for the past week or so?" "You mean that really weird one about the... ummm... person?" "Yes, that one. Well, ever since I started having it, I haven't been able to paint worth anything!" Daniel studied the seascape. "I don't know, this looks pretty good to me." "I painted this before the dreams started!" "Oh... I guess that's something." There was a long pause. "What if you paint the dream?" "What?" she asked. "Paint the dream. Like when you get a song stuck in your head, you listen to it to get it unstuck. Maybe painting the dream will get it out of your head." She smiled. "That's a great idea! But what if I can't paint the dream any better than I can paint anything else? And there's not really anything to paint. It's more... feelings than actual images." "Sarah, if anyone can do it you can! Come on, I think this might really help." He leaned over to kiss her. "I have to go to work. See you tonight." "Alright," she said vaguely, "have a good day." She watched him go, then grabbed a fresh canvas and set it up on the easel. Chewing on the end of her brush, she stared at the blank surface. "Paint the dream, eh? Well, here goes nothin!" For the next few hours, Sarah was in another world. It was as if she was watching someone else paint the portrait appearing before her. Her brush moved back and forth rapidly, almost violently, and quite unlike how she usually painted. By the time she finally set down the brush, Sarah was completely exhausted both mentally and physically. Sarah stepped back and studied the painting critically. It was of a black man in his late fifties, balding, with dark brown eyes filled with terror and pain. She stared into those eyes and shivered. Who was this man? What had compelled her so strongly during the painting of him? And, most of all, why had she dreamt of him every night for the last week? The sound of her studio door slamming nearly caused Sarah to jump out of her skin. She hastily covered the painting and turned to face her new visitor. Sarah's breath let out in a rush when she saw Daniel. "Hey, sweetie," he said brightly. "Daniel, you're home early!" "Early? Sarah, it's six thirty." "It is? I didn't realize... you mean I've been... you mean, all day? But it didn't seem like..." she trailed off in confusion. "Sarah, honey, are you alright? You look a little pale. Have a seat." Sarah sat down numbly. "No, it's ok. I'm fine." "Are you sure?" Daniel asked with concern. "Yes, I'm just tired." She smiled weakly. "Ok... whatever you say." Suddenly he noticed the painting. "Is this the dream painting?" "Ummm... yes... but don't look at it." "Why not?" he asked. "Because it's not finished!" she hastily lied. "You know it's bad luck to look at an unfinished painting!" "Oh, of course. I'm going to go make supper. I'll call you when it's done." "Ok," she said with a smile. Once he was gone, Sarah stood and uncovered the painting again. She stared at it for a long, long time. "Who are you?" she whispered. She raised her hand and barely skimmed her fingertips across the man's painted forehead. The picture was so lifelike! She had never been a good portrait painter; how had she managed this? With a sigh, she threw the sheet over it again and joined Daniel in the kitchen. -------------- Sarah sat straight up in bed, her green eyes round with fear. She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead and took several deep breaths. "Sarah," Daniel said sleepily, "are you ok?" "Yeah, Danny, just another nightmare," she whispered. "The same one? Damn, I thought things were ok. You hadn't had one since you painted that picture." "It's only been one night. And I got a different... I don't know, feeling from this one." She jumped out of bed and pulled on a robe. "Where are you going?" "I have to paint this." "Sarah, it's four in the morning! Come back to bed." "I can't, Daniel. If I don't paint this now it'll bug me just like the other one did." With a sigh he fell back against the pillows. "Alright, it's your sleep you're losing." Sarah hurried to her studio and set up a fresh canvas. Without so much as a glance at the other dream painting, she began. Just as before she felt like she was in a trance. The brush danced across the canvas seemingly by itself. This one took less time than the first one, and Sarah was soon finished. It was a woman. She was about thirty, very pretty with pale blond hair and dark brown eyes just as disturbing as in the first one. Once again, Sarah had never seen her before. Sarah sighed shakily and sat down on a nearby stool. These dreams and these maniacal painting sessions were scaring her. Why was she suddenly painting photograph quality portraits of people she'd never seen before? She had never been one prone to nightmares. What was causing these now? And they were so strange! All she could ever see was darkness... and then a figure far away in the distance. Fear was the main part of the dream. She could just feel it oozing from everywhere. Fear of what, though? And whose fear was it? Why, when she sat down to paint the dreams, didn't she paint exactly what she saw? Why were these portraits the result? Knowing the answers weren't going to come from the terror-stricken eyes of the woman in the picture, Sarah covered it and shuffled off to bed, too tired to think any more. ---------- The next afternoon Sarah was once again attempting to work on the seascape with no result. Her eyes and her mind were drawn repeatedly to the two shrouded portraits on her large worktable. "Just forget about them, Sarah!" she kept telling herself to no avail. She was quite relieved when her best friend Robby came sailing into the studio. "Hey, Reese!" Robby had always called her by her last name. "What's shakin?" "Not much," she said with a smile. "I'm just beating my head up against a brick wall." "Sounds like fun! Want some company?" "Sure, have a seat. Make you some coffee?" "You're a doll!" He plopped down in one of the chairs at her worktable. "Hey, did you hear about those two murders the other night? Well, one of them was last night, but same difference." "Murders? What murders?" Sarah poured his coffee and joined him at the table. "Here, take a look." He slid the newspaper he had been carrying under his arm across the table to her. The headline read: TWO GRISLY MURDERS STUN PEACEFUL TOWN! Sarah skimmed over the article. "Mutilation? Gross! What kind of sickos would do something like that?" "There's more," Robby said. "Open it up." She did and gasped. Next to the article were two pictures, one of each victim. "Oh God," she whispered. "Reese? What's wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost!" She jumped up out of her chair and uncovered the two portraits. "I think I just did," she whispered. Robby grabbed the newspaper out of her hand. "Reese... Jesus, Sarah, they're the same people. Who are they?" he said in a shaking voice. "I don't know!" she cried. "What do you mean you don't know? You painted them!" "Robb, sit down. I have to tell you something." She told him the whole story of the strange dreams and the painting of the portraits. "I don't know who they are, Robby. That's the thing! I've never seen either of them before. I don't know how their faces got into my head, and I don't know why I felt that I had to paint them. I'm scared, Robby." "It's ok, Reese. I know everything will be just fine. You should go to the police and tell them about this." "What if they think I was involved somehow?" she cried. "They won't! They can't. You were with Lisa and me the night that man was killed, and you were with Daniel last night." "Yes, of course you're right," she said much more calmly. "I should go to the police. Will you give me a ride?" "Yeah, sure, come on. Bring the paintings... but, uh, keep them covered." He left the studio as quickly as possible. --------- "And you say you've never come in contact with either of these people before?" the Detective asked for the millionth time. "Yes, Detective, that's what I'm saying," Sarah answered for the millionth time. "Then how did you know what they looked like well enough to paint them so accurately? Miss Reese, I know you are an excellent artist, but to think that you painted these people almost perfectly without having ever seen them is a bit far fetched." "I know that, sir. I know this all sounds insane, but I've told you all that I know. I have no idea how I knew what these two people looked like, much less why I painted them so well. As I've told you, I am not normally a portrait painter." "Larkin!" another Detective barked from the other side of the room. "Please excuse me for a moment, Miss Reese," the man questioning her said. Sarah sighed a leaned back in her chair. This was getting her no where. Detective Larkin obviously didn't believe her story about the dreams, but then again, who would? She watched Detective Larkin talking to the other man. He nodded several times and kept glancing in her direction. <God, they probably think I'm a lunatic,> she thought. Soon the Detective returned. "Miss Reese, my partner and I were just discussing something. We feel that this case has taken a... special turn with the information you have just presented us, and we need to get some people on it who have more experience in such matters." <Oh great, here come the men with the butterfly nets,> Sarah thought. "It will take a few days to contact these people and get them out here," he continued, "so I would suggest that you not leave town between now and then. I'm sure they will be very interested in talking to you." "So I can go home now?" "Yes, you may go home. But, Miss Reese, if you paint anymore of these little pictures, be sure to inform us, alright?" "Of course," she said with mock sweetness. "We'll be in touch as soon as they arrive. Have a good day." Without another word, Sarah turned and left the station. Robby was waiting for her in the car as she had requested. She got in and leaned her head against the dash. "So, how'd it go?" "They think I'm insane, Robby. He said they're going to call in some people who have more experience in such 'special' situations." "Oh, Reesey, they don't think you're insane! I'm sure they're just talking about, like, investigators or something. You'll be involved in some big thing... it'll be cool!" "Robby, there is nothing cool about this situation!" He sighed. "I know, darlin. I'm just tryin to make you feel better." They sat in silence for a moment before Robby said, "Hey, you want to get some ice cream? That'll make you feel better!" She smiled as brightly as she could. "Sure, that sounds great. You buyin?" "Of course I am! What kind of friend would I be to ask you to have ice cream with me then not pay?" ------------ The little ice cream parlor was surprisingly quiet. "Where is everyone?" Sarah whispered to Robby. "It's the middle of the afternoon in summer. This place should be packed with tourists!" "I don't know. I guess all this stuff has everyone pretty much spooked." Robby ordered for them as Sarah went to find a table. He soon came back with two huge banana splits. "Robby," Sarah exclaimed, "you know I can never eat one of those things by myself!" "Of course I know that! That's why I got it. Don't worry, I'll help." He grinned at her and she couldn't help but grin back. "Ah, there's the Reesey I know! Where the hell you been, chick?" "Hush up and eat your ice cream!" she told him. As they ate, a nervous feeling came over Sarah. She glanced around at the other customers in the shop. In one corner were a couple and two children... obviously tourists. About two tables down was an older couple. There were some various others scattered around: the usual kids, a few other tourists, no one who would cause such a feeling of the creeps. Then Sarah caught sight of a figure she had missed before. He was sitting near the door, hunched over a cup of coffee. Even though she couldn't see his face, Sarah had an intense feeling that she knew this man from somewhere. Her mind groped around, but she couldn't remember where. "Hey, Robby?" "Yeah?" "Who's that guy over there?" She gestured to the table by the door without looking over her shoulder. "What guy over where, Reese?" "The one at that table by the door; he's drinking coffee." "There's no one sitting at that table," Robby told her. "What?" Sarah said, astounded. She turned around and saw that Robby was right. The man was gone. "Damn, that was fast. Where'd he go?" "Reese, there was no one at that table. I'm facing that way. I would've seen someone." "You mean there's been no one sitting there the entire time we've been here?" "Yeah, that's what I mean." "But I saw him!" Sarah insisted. Robby looked at her, puzzled. "Reesey, are you feeling ok?" "Robby, I'm fine! I just know I saw someone sitting at that table!" "Dammit, Reese, there was no one there! Trust me! Now why don't I take you home and so you can lie down for a little while." "I'm not crazy, Robb," she said as they left the ice cream shop. "I know ya aren't, babe. I just think you're tired, you were up painting pretty late last night. You need a little rest is all." "You're right. I was just confused," she said softly. "Exactly! Now let me take you home." "Alright, good idea. I am pretty tired. It's been a big day." ------------- Later that evening Sarah was sitting up in her studio. She was unwilling to go to bed and face the possibility of more dreams, more paintings and, even worse, more murders. Despite valiant efforts, Sarah soon dozed off in her chair. Sitting bolt upright, Sarah automatically reached for her brush. "NO!" she cried, flinging the brush into the darkness of the studio. "NO!" she screamed again. "I won't let you control me! I won't paint anymore of your pictures or dream any more of your dreams!" She paced around the studio to keep herself away from the blank canvas. When that stopped working, she ran into the house and tried to watch TV. Nothing could calm her down. <Another dream means another painting,> she thought. <Painting will bring me peace!> <Another painting means another murder,> Sarah argued with herself. <I don't know that for sure though. What if these murders are just coincidental?> "Dammit!" she yelled aloud, running into the studio. She grabbed a fresh paintbrush and set to work. The painting formed before her much more quickly than the other two had. She watched as a student would watch her mentor, with fascination and a bit of awe. Her green eyes were wide as she studied the finished work. He was about twenty-five, blond with green eyes not unlike her own. <He's probably quite handsome when not absolutely terrified,> she thought. Then something else occurred to her. <What if I destroy the painting? Perhaps then...> Sarah dumped the portrait into the sink and ran to the kitchen to search for a lighter. Back in the studio, she lit it and stood staring down at the young man. "I can't do it," she said aloud. "I don't know why, but I can't do it!" Throwing the lighter aside, Sarah sank down in the chair and began to sob. ---------- Sarah awoke the next morning to the ringing of her doorbell. Standing up and stretching her stiff muscles, she called, "Just a minute!" She opened the door to find a pretty woman and a tall, broad shouldered man both dressed in suits on her stoop. She said in surprise, "May I help you?" "Sarah Reese?" "Yes, I am." "We're sorry to disturb you so early. I'm Agent Fox Mulder and this is Agent Dana Scully. We're with the FBI. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" She looked carefully at their badges and opened the door wider. "Please come in. Have a seat where you can find one. There isn't much call for comfortable chairs in here," she said with a smile. "We'd like to ask you a few questions about your paintings," Agent Scully said. "Ah, you're the 'special' people! I was afraid... well, never mind. Yes, of course I'll answer your questions. Would you like some coffee?" Both Agents nodded and she put on a pot to brew. "So what would you like to know?" "How about you tell us exactly what you told Detective Larkin," Agent Mulder said. Sarah sat down on the stool she used for painting and rested her head in her hand for a moment. She looked up and began. "It started about a week ago. There was this dream... it was so strange, not the normal type of dreams I have. There was a figure far away in the distance... I couldn't tell anything about it. Mostly there was a feeling of fear. I mean pure terror, like a rabbit caught in headlights or something." "What made you decide to 'paint the dreams' as you put it in your statement?" Scully asked. "It was my boyfriend's idea, actually. Ever since I started having the dreams, I hadn't been able to paint anything. Works I had started I just messed up. I couldn't figure it out. So Daniel suggested maybe if I tried painting the dream it would get out of my head." "What happened?" "It frightened me. While I was painting it's like I wasn't painting. I felt like I was watching someone else paint this portrait!" "So tell us about the portraits. How did you know what to paint?" She sighed. "I don't know how I knew. That's the strangest thing. I had never seen either of those people until I saw their pictures in the paper." "How did you react when you saw them?" "I was stunned! My artist's reaction was one of almost pride. I'm not even a portrait painter and I painted them very, very well. Then there was horror. And of course, disbelief." "What do you mean, you're not a portrait painter?" Mulder asked. "Well," she said, standing, "I usually paint landscapes. Look." She opened a cabinet and began pulling out several examples of seascapes and landscapes. "They're beautiful," Scully murmured. "Thank you," Sarah said with a smile. "Ummm... there's something I should probably tell you." "What's that?" "I painted another one last night." "Another one?? When? How? Was it the same dream?" Agent Mulder asked excitedly. "Yes, the same dream. I tried not to! I didn't want to paint it, but it's like I was forced to. Then I tried to destroy it, but I couldn't! Come here and see." The portrait was by the sink where she had left it. The young man's green eyes were just as frightened and just as vivid as she remembered. "And you've never seen this man either?" Scully asked. "No, I-" The ringing of Mulder's cel phone interrupted her. "Mulder," he said. He stared into the painted eyes of the young man in the portrait as he listened. "What's the description?" There was a long pause. "Alright, we're on our way." He hung up. "They've found another victim." He looked closely at Sarah. "A young man, about twenty five with green eyes and blond hair. His body was mutilated like the others." She gasped in horror. "Oh God, no!" Sarah buried her face in her hands and just sat there shaking for a few moments before collecting herself again. "They want me to come to the police station, don't they?" she asked softly without looking up. Mulder glanced at Scully. "Have you told them about this painting?" he asked. "No, I haven't. I haven't had a chance to. I painted it very late last night... and... well, they already think I'm, like, collaborating with the murderer or something. Or else they just think I'm crazy." She looked up at him. "I'm not crazy, Agent Mulder. Things happened just as I told you. Maybe to a certain point I am crazy... but no more so than any other artist." The tall agent knelt down beside her. "I know you aren't crazy, Sarah. I believe you. I think you may have some sort of... psychic ability. The killer, whether he realizes it or not, is channeling through you." Sarah looked at him in disbelief then up at Agent Scully. "Is he for real?" She sighed. "Sadly, yes he is." She smiled at the look her partner shot her. "We'll give you a ride to the police station, Sarah. Don't forget the painting." "Alright," she said, "let me go change my clothes. I'll be right back." She turned and left the studio. "Well, Scully, what do you think?" "I don't know, Mulder. She seems genuinely frightened, and she did go to the police. Her story is kind of hard to believe, though." "So you don't believe she had these dreams then painted the portraits?" "Oh, I believe it. I just think she'd seen these people around town and painted them from memories she didn't even know she had. This town isn't that big, you know." "You think she painted photo quality portraits of someone she had seen once, maybe twice in passing? That's real thin, Scully." "Mulder! You're the one who believes the killer is channeling through her!" He grinned. "The don't call me 'Spooky' for nuthin, Scully." Sarah walked slowly back into the room, tying her long hair in a ponytail as she went. She carefully wrapped the painting in cloth and said, "I guess I'm ready as I'll ever be." ---------- Detective Larkin did not seem happy to see Sarah again. "Miss Reese, another painting I presume," he said, pointing to the bundle under her arm. "Yes, Detective," she said softly. "I painted it last night. I'm sorry I didn't bring it to you right away, but it was very late. I didn't really think... I mean, I hoped..." She sighed and sank down in the chair he offered. The Detective sat opposite her, frowning. "Miss Reese, this is a very serious matter. You could be brought up on charges for withholding information vital to a murder investigation. Is there anything else you'd like to tell us while you're here? For example, how you knew the victims." "I've told you before, I never knew them! Any of them! I don't know how many times I have to say it before I'm believed. Look, are you going to arrest me for something? I honestly don't think you have much of a case against me. Just these pictures... and what would they prove? I'm going home." She stood up and marched toward the door. Mulder caught up with her. "Sarah, wait. You can go home if you want, but if anything else strange happens, call me." He handed her a card. "I hope you aren't offended, Agent Mulder, if I say that I'll be praying I never have to call you." ------------- Once home, Sarah threw herself down on the bed and was quickly asleep. For the first time in weeks, her sleep was completely dreamless. She woke feeling refreshed and better than she had in as long as she could remember. Pulling herself out of bed, Sarah strolled to the kitchen to find something to eat. <When was the last time I ate like a normal person?> she wondered. After fixing a sandwich, she turned back to the refrigerator to get a glass of iced tea. Grabbing the clear glass pitcher, Sarah reached for one of the tall glasses in the cabinet above her head. Suddenly it felt as though the glass was searing the skin of her palm. With a gasp of pain, Sarah dropped the pitcher on the floor where it shattered into evil-looking shards. Shaking, she looked down at her hand. Rather than blistered as she thought it would be, the hand was completely normal looking. Indeed, the sensation of pain had gone away as though it had never been. "Oh God," Sarah whispered, "I am going crazy! I'm a complete nutcase!" She ran from the kitchen and threw herself down on the bed again. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her wild nerves. She reached for the phone as she grabbed Agent Mulder's card from her nightstand. Just as she touched it, the phone rang, nearly giving Sarah a heart attack. "Hello?" she said softly. "Sarah, hey, it's Daniel. Is something wrong?" "No, of course not. I was just taking a nap. The phone startled me." "Oh, sorry, didn't mean to wake you up. I was just wondering if you felt like going out to dinner tonight. See, this old friend of mine from school is in town..." he trailed off hopefully. Sarah closed her eyes for a moment before replying; "I don't think so, Danny. It's been a long day; I'm beat. You go on, though. Have a good time." "Are you sure?" he asked. "Yes, definitely. I'll talk to you later tonight, ok?" "Well, I don't know how late it's going to be." "Then how about you stay at your place tonight and I'll see you tomorrow?" "Ok, that sounds good." He sounded relieved. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." "Bye, Danny. Have fun." "Hey, Sarah?" "Yeah?" "I love you." She smiled. "I love you too." Feeling much more calm and peaceful after the conversation with Daniel, Sarah was soon able to fall asleep again. End Part 1/2