Disclaimers: You know the drill. Drive through. ------------- The Paintings (2/2) Sarah opened her eyes to see... nothing. Darkness. Mist. She reached out into the swirling blackness. "Who are you?" she called. "What do you want from me?" Silence. She turned and saw a figure running away from her. "Wait! No, stop! I won't hurt you! Please come back!" a voice that was not quite her own cried. But the girl ran on, completely afraid of Sarah who was not Sarah. She looked down at her hands as they reached out. <Strange,> she thought, <where did the bandage come from?> Her right hand was bandaged tightly as though it had been... <Burned!> The word screamed into her mind as she, the real Sarah, screamed into the night. ---------- It was the scream that woke her up, a scream her own but not quite her own. Without a thought to anything but her paint and her brush and her canvas, Sarah stumbled into her studio and began again. Her work was feverish, without grace or care. She painted with her eyes closed, unable to bear looking into the person's face as he or she appeared before her. After a bit, Sarah laid down her brush. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes. "Oh my God!" she whispered and reached for the phone. "Agent Mulder?" she said to the sleepy hello that greeted her, "Agent Mulder, this is Sarah Reese. I think you should come over here right away. This... this is important." As she spoke, Sarah watched the painted eyes, her own eyes, stare back at her. ------------ "Sarah?" she heard Agent Mulder's voice call from just outside her studio. "Yeah, I'm in here." Sarah hadn't moved from her stool since she first opened her eyes. She turned her head to look back at the Agent as he entered the room. "Another one, Agent Mulder, but this one... well, just look." She gestured to the painting without looking back at her own terror-stricken face. "That's you," he said, disbelieving. "You noticed." "What happened? How did you paint this?" "I don't know!" Sarah said. "It happened just like the others... except..." "Except what, Sarah?" Mulder asked softly. "The dream was different. I was speaking... but it wasn't quite my voice. And one of my hands was in bandages. Earlier today something really strange happened... It felt as though the iced tea pitcher was burning me, so I dropped it. But when I looked down," she held out her hands, "there was no mark whatsoever." "What a waste of good iced tea," he remarked. "I think all of these questions will be answered when we catch him," he said, serious now. "Of course they will... but it's *if* you catch him." "We will. We'll set a trap for him... here." "Here?" she asked, her voice breathy with fear. "He'll be here, won't he? He'll come here looking for you. He's been using you, Sarah, but now you're getting in his way. That's why you painted yourself." "Wait a second! You mean you're going to use me as bait!?" she cried, jumping up from the stool. "Don't worry! I'll be here, and Scully's going to get the police. Nothing will happen to you, I guarantee it." "That's reassuring," she said sarcastically. "Why don't you go back to sleep, Sarah. You might have another dream. It could be helpful." She sighed. "You wouldn't be so eager if you were the one having these dreams. What're you going to do?" He shrugged. "I'll probably just stay in here." "You're the crazy one! It must be five hundred degrees in here! Come on in the house and you can get some coffee or something. Well, except iced tea... unless you want to lap it off the floor. I'm not sure I cleaned it up this afternoon." -------------- A pot of coffee later, the two were sitting on Sarah's couch fighting sleep despite the caffeine. "I've heard of you, you know," Sarah said with a smile. "Heard of me?" He looked confused. "From whom?" "My brother was this big UFO freak. He read all the literature, studied all the pictures, and tried to go to all the big sites... he was really into it. Those UFO guys, they worship you! Alan was no exception. The great Fox Mulder." She laughed. "He thought your work was equal to King Arthur's seeking the Holy Grail." He laughed, a rare sound from him. "Well I'm honored!" She grinned at him. "Alan would've had a stroke if he knew I was talking to you now." Her smile faded a little. "Do you believe in it too?" "You mean aliens and stuff?" He nodded. "Oh yeah. I mean, how could I not? Not just because of Alan, either. It just, like, makes sense. I used to be pretty into it... never as much as Alan was, though." "You keep referring to him in past tense... does he not believe anymore?" Sarah looked down into her empty coffee mug. "He was killed in a car accident on his way home from one of those UFO sighting spots. He called me the day before all excited because he'd seen one. A real one, too... not some military thing. He was going to have his pictures published in all these major UFO magazines." "Oh," he said softly, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." "No, it's ok. You had no way of knowing." There was a long silence. "Well... I'd better be going to bed. If you need anything, don't hesitate to get it. Make yourself at home." He smiled at her. "Thanks. Goodnight." "Night, Fox." ----------- Try as she might, Sarah could not go to sleep. Every little noise in the house set her nerves on edge. Several times she sat up and turned on the lamp, swearing that someone was in her room. But each time the room was empty. <Stop it!> she thought. <You're just scaring yourself!> Jumping out of bed, she walked to the bathroom. Sarah splashed her face with cold water and stared at her reflection in the mirror. A shadow passed through her line of sight. Sarah whirled around, but still no one was there. She felt cold all over even though the room was warm. Her green eyes were wide as she scanned every shadowy corner of her dark bedroom. <He's coming for you, Sarah,> a voice in her mind whispered as she turned ] back to the sink. "No," she said aloud to her reflection. She turned around to face out into the bedroom. "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but I'm not afraid of you!" Nothing happened, nothing moved, there was no sound but her own frightened breathing. With a sigh she left the bathroom. <NO!> her mind suddenly cried. <Run! Scream! Stop!> Sarah spun around in confusion and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. <It's the painting,> she thought. <It's happening.> "No way," she whispered. "I won't let it happen. Not to me!" She could hear him before she could see him - no, that wasn't it - she could feel him, feel his presence in the room, feel him all around her. She ran for the door, the darkness crushing her, his presence slowing her down, her heart hammering in her chest. Sarah opened her mouth to scream as she ran - scream for Fox, for Agent Scully, for the police outside, for a miracle, but before the sound could emerge, before the breath could escape her terrified lungs, he grabbed her. One arm snaked around her waist, squeezing the scream from her in a gasp, and the other hand clamped down over her mouth like a vise. "Don't scream. I hate loud noises," he whispered roughly into her ear. Sarah kicked and struggled, but the big man was too strong for her. She whimpered behind his hand, all her fears from the past few weeks coming to the surface. The painting was going to come true after all. Fox was sitting in her living room, cops surrounded her house and she was going to die anyway. He threw her down on the bed, never moving his hand from her mouth. He pulled a straight razor from somewhere and brushed it gently over her throat, almost like a caress. He studied her face carefully. "I watch you, pretty painter. You didn't even know, did you? I've watched you every day." He leaned in close. "I will miss watching you, Sarah. My Sarah. " Sarah stared at him with wide, terror filled eyes. He was playing with her, but to what purpose? As if to answer her unspoken question, he made a small cut along her collar bone, and she struggled against him with everything she had. Her knee came up and caught him in the stomach. He let out an involuntary yelp that made Sarah's heart soar with hope. If only it was loud enough! "Damn you!" the man cried. He pushed the razor to her throat, sliding it across again. "Don't you know that I love you? Why can't you just understand? I sent you the dreams, my Sarah. I sent you the dreams so you could paint! I wanted you to tell me what to do. I did it all for you, my Sarah. Why couldn't you just do it?" he whispered fiercely. "Why couldn't you just paint them like I told you? Why did you paint you? I don't want to, but I'll kill you. I'm going to kill you. I have to kill you. No more pictures from you, little painter." A small trickle of blood seeped from the cut the razor had already made. "Freeze! Federal Agent! I'm armed," a voice cried from the doorway. The man didn't even flinch, but raised his blade, about to slice Sarah's throat. BANG! BANG! The shots were so loud they left Sarah's head buzzing. The man slumped over on top of her, blood flowing from the wounds in his chest. It was all she could do not to scream. She pushed the man's limp form away and jumped up. "Sarah, are you ok?" Mulder asked, rushing over to her. No answer. "His hand, Fox," she whispered. "Look." She pointed to the bandaged member. "How much you wanna bet it's a nasty burn?" he said dryly. She looked up at Mulder, her green eyes misty. "You saved my life. Thank you." Before he could answer, Scully, followed by several cops, burst into the room, weapons drawn. "Mulder, everything alright? I heard gunshots." "Everything's just fine, Scully. It's over." "What happened?" she asked, surveying the scene. "I'm not quite sure," Sarah said numbly. "I knew he was here, I could feel his presence. By the time I realized what it was, though, it was too late. He grabbed me and threw me down on the bed..." she trailed off. "I heard a yell," Mulder told Scully. Sarah smiled slightly. "I kneed him. He cut me," she pointed to the small wound on her collar bone, "so I kneed him in the stomach." She looked up at the Agents. "He said he sent me the dreams. He said he wanted me to tell him what to do. How is that possible? I just..." she trailed off and ran her fingers through her long red hair and said, "I really need to get out of here. Can I answer all these questions later?" Mulder slipped his arm around her waist. "Come on, we'll take you to a hotel. You can get some sleep." She smiled gratefully. "Thank you. I need it." With a final glance at the dead body on her bed, Sarah allowed Mulder to lead her away. End