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The Four Corners Cycle Feedback- Cherished and answered: Spookey247@msn.com Summary - Truths lurk in a dark place. Our friends descend and delve. Thanks and Dedication - To Amanda, for beta, great ideas, web-mistressing, virtual hand-holding, and believing I could finish this when I really, really didn't. Hey A, GODDESS, you. <g> Suggested Listening: Radiohead "Kid A" over and over and over and over Author's Notes: This is the last in a series of four stories I started posting in April. If you haven't read the other three, they can be found on my website: We could say this tale takes place in an Alternate Universe, or we could pretend everything after TINH and DeadAlive didn't happen. Either way, whatever. Choose one. <g> There's lots of Native American imagery in this story. I just want to say that the words, symbols, and locations found here were carefully researched and used with respect. Whatever liberties I've taken are meant harmlessly. My understanding of some concepts is bound to be incomplete. I apologize in advance for my oversights and welcome any feedback that might gently teach me something new. More notes and thank-yous at the end of 9/9. Yekaterina's Kiss He is buried alive in a dark, empty place; afraid to move for fear the night will swallow him. Hands pressed over his ears, he tries to become as small as he feels. You've always wanted me to be a man, he thinks, but I'm not. I never will be. She's calling his name, but he doesn't want to answer. He doesn't want to answer because he doesn't want to see. He cannot bear to look at her belly: taut and distended; bloated beyond reason. He listens to her wailing in the chamber below. She needs him now. She pleads. She cries. But he has no intention of going to her. Screams and whispers. Screams and whispers. Screams fly like buzzards, streaking up from the depths. They seize the soft pink core of his heart, rending and shredding, gobbling and gulping. Screams summon the darkness. The darkness takes form. It shrieks like a devil and whisks him away. Suddenly, solid ground. A river rushes past his toes. The water is as black and treacherous as their lies. His father's voice whispers in his head. You can cross, son, he sings softly. Fly. Fly over. Meet me on the other side. What about Mama? Screams and whispers. Screams and whispers. Her screams scurry across the stone like rats. They swarm around his boots and climb up his legs. They crawl inside his shirt, nest in his hair, feed voraciously from his mouth and his eyes. "Turn around," she begs, desperately. "Look what they've done." He moves backward into the blackness. "It's too dark," he gasps. "I can't see. Where are you?" "I'm here, baby," she whispers. "Mama's right here." His foot sinks almost imperceptibly, slides forward slightly. Something is oozing out from under his boot. Brittle with terror, he forces himself to look down. Her head is small and delicate, poking up from the rocky floor like a newly sprouted melon. Lidless eyes stare up at him, trembling on the tiny sphere, fragile as a pair of robin's eggs. Her belly has blown wide open. He drops to his knees in the midst of what remains: smooth brown shoulders, ruined breasts with ragged pink nipples, disembodied legs that lie askew, cast off like an old pair of trousers. Her flesh pools around him. Bone. Meat. Blood. "Mama, oh god," he cries. "Oh god, Mama." Lidless eyes stare up at him accusingly. Her moist, red-velvet mouth hangs open. Spectral arms thrust two tiny creatures toward him, dangling like newborn kittens from spattered, bony hands. "You have to take them, son," she whispers. "Keep them for your father." Early Afternoon June 6, 2036 Desert View, Arizona
"I think the last time I saw anything that looked like this I might have been watching 'Bonanza'." Mulder stretches his legs, kicking a pile of coiled rope out of his way. "No, Scully," he deadpans. "I think it was the Brady Bunch. They came here, you know. It was a two-parter." She laughs. "Mulder, of all the things you could choose to remember...that is just, well, disturbing." The trading post seems to be sinking into the desert. It is a gray-brown building with an Old West design that was obviously built to impress tourists, decades ago. The plastic sign dangling in the front window says, "open" in faded rust-brown letters. Nearby, a teenage boy slouches in a rocking chair, his body imitating the crippled sag of the front porch. He stares at them dully as Ben pulls the truck into the parking lot. Ben gets out of the truck, stretching his long arms toward the sky and yawning. "Damn," he says. "This place has seen better days, hasn't it? Want me to go in and ask about that van we found, Will?" "No, that's okay. I'll go." Mulder reaches up impulsively and smoothes Dana's hair, brushing his lips against her ear. "Come inside with me," he murmurs. ~~~~ The boy on the porch stands up as they climb the front steps. Dana judges him to be about Kaya's age. He drags a thin hand down the front of his t-shirt, pulling the dirty fabric tight over his malnourished frame. He crams his hand into the pocket of his jeans. "We're out of gas," he mutters. The words slip sluggishly under the cleft upper lip, dropping, leaden, before they have a chance to be heard. "Excuse me?" Mulder says, stepping closer. The boy takes a quick step back, flinching slightly. Dana puts her hand on Mulder's arm. "He said they don't have any gas," she says, quietly. "Oh." Mulder moves closer to the boy, watching him intently. "We're not here for gas." The boy stares out at the parking lot, mouth dropping open. Dana follows his gaze. Kaya and Matthew have gotten out of the truck. Kaya is unwrapping her dark hair from its scarf, re-wrapping the fabric around her head and smiling at something Matthew is telling her. Mulder watches the lanky youth watching his daughter. "We were hoping you might have some kerosene for sale." The boy takes a step back, swallowing nervously and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He gives a vague nod, jerking his head in the direction of the door to indicate they should follow him inside. "Ben," Mulder calls. "Hand the kerosene can up here, will you?" As the screen door slams behind them, Dana's nose wrinkles automatically at the stench of unwashed dishes and untended animals. The boy reaches under the cracked linoleum counter and takes out a small key. "Kerosene's in back. You got goods?" he asks, speaking with difficulty. Mulder reaches into the hip pocket of his jeans and retrieves a well-worn, brown-paper sack. He sets it on the counter. "I've got a little tobacco. How much will you give me for that?" The boy's lips stretch toward his oversized ears in the semblance of a smile, revealing the tips of yellowed front teeth. "Give ya quarter gallon for it." "Make it three-eighths and you've got a deal." Without another word, the paper sack disappears into the boy's pocket. He picks up the kerosene can. "Hey," Mulder says quickly, taking advantage of their clerk's momentary goodwill, "We passed a white van, parked, maybe broken down, by the side of West Road about ten miles back. Has anyone come through here in the last day or so? Possibly a group of men?" The boy frowns, shaking his head. "I'm looking for my son. He might have been with them. He would have been just a little older than you. Tall. Very dark. Long hair." The boy's eyes widen slightly. He crams his free hand back into his pocket. Mulder takes a step forward. "He has a snake tattooed in blue, on his forearm, right here. It's easy to see." The boy shakes his head again, harder this time. "I ain't seen nobody, Mister." He disappears into the back of the store. "That kid's a bad liar," Mulder mutters. He puts both hands on the yellowed counter-top and presses back against the linoleum with a sigh, dropping his head to his chest. "Maybe he's just afraid of strangers, Mulder," Dana says, gently. She trails her fingers down his spine. "It doesn't seem like they get many visitors here." He pushes away from the counter, spinning toward her impatiently and crossing his arms over his chest as he props himself against it. "Yeah, but...that van, it's just a few miles away from here, and the trailhead Stephen showed me is just past that watchtower outside. There's no way they wouldn't have come through here. And that kid..." His voice trails off and he bites his lip. "What about him, Mulder?" "I've seen him before. I know him. I just can't remember why." Dana leans against the counter next to Mulder. She rests her head on his shoulder. He shifts, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her back, pulling her closer. "Mulder," she says in a low voice. "Yeah?" "This morning..." His voice softens. "Yeah?" "I just...I keep thinking," she says, feeling inexplicably shy and hesitant. "Was that real? Did we just..." "Yes, we did." He lifts her hand, planting a kiss in the center of her palm. "I was...god, I feel so funny saying this..." "Go ahead." "I left my body, Mulder." "I'll take that as a compliment." She smiles. "The experience was so...authentic. I flew over a canyon. I was told something... It's all fuzzy. It's hard to remember." "You were shown the confluence of two rivers and told you'd find our daughter there." She looks up at him, bewildered. "Was that a vision you put in my head, Mulder?" "No. You went there on your own. I went along for the ride." "How? I mean, I'm getting used to the idea that *you* can, um, see things...but... " Mulder's arm tightens around her. "It's not easy to explain, Scully," he says, carefully. "Because of what we've been exposed to, you and I are, well...we're wired up differently than other people. Our brains are different, our body chemistry is different. The experience you had this morning was just the beginning. You're going to find yourself seeing things, drawn to places and situations..." He waves his free hand toward the back room of the store, smiling wryly. "You'll feel like you know people, without knowing why." "Mulder, I don't understand any of this, and I really need to." He takes a long, slow breath and lets it out again, turning toward her and cupping her face gently. "Understanding is something that's going to take time, Scully. I'm still trying to make sense of it myself. The one thing I know for sure is that people like us are capable of making contact with the minds of others...it's not telepathy, per se. It's not that literal. It's more of a kind of profound identification. A kind of...consummate intimacy." "But Mulder, sometimes I hear your voice in my head. I know you've put thoughts and images there on purpose. How can you say that's not telepathy?" "It's different for people like us, Scully. When you meet the survivors from the Labs, you'll see that." "People like us? You're telling me I can do this, too?" He nods. "Where you've been, the state they kept you in, you probably weren't aware of it happening. But you can learn to use it, Scully. To direct the energy when you need to. It just takes practice." Dana thinks back to her conversation with Kaya this morning. "The psychic ability...it's because we've been changed somehow, isn't it? It's because there's a part of us that's not human any more." Not human anymore. Dana can't believe she's saying the words so calmly. Mulder's answer is equally matter-of-fact. He strokes the back of her hand as he speaks. "That's a hard one, Scully, but the answer is yes, in a sense. As I understand it, everyone has alien genes. They've been here as long as we have. It's kind of an ancient symbiosis. People like you and I have had those genes switched on, in a way. We're what the Colonists wanted the Consortium to create, what they needed to take over the earth: genetic hybrids. Human bodies, already perfectly suited for life on this planet, carrying alien genes, used to perpetuate an alien bloodline. It's why my sister was taken, the thing my father died for." "But Mulder...there was an invasion. The bees, the virus, the people dying..." "Yes. The invasion started exactly the way we were afraid it would, Scully, but we couldn't see the whole picture. Now the nature of the invasion is changing. At first I couldn't understand, but lately I've begun to see..." His voice falls to a murmur. "Scully, the real Colonists..." He falters. She urges him on, gently. "The real Colonists, Mulder?" "People like us will give birth to them." Suddenly, Dana understands why the Hopi Elders were so afraid. She wraps both arms around Mulder's waist and lays her head on his chest. They hold each other silently. "Mulder?" "Hm?" "How are you going to explain our marriage to your family and friends?" His body stiffens. He pulls back from her, twining his fingers in her hair, eyes searching her face intensely. "Who have you been talking to?" he murmurs. "Kaya," Dana answers. The corners of his mouth turn downward; his eyes darken. "What did she tell you?" "Mulder, please," Dana says quickly, smoothing her fingers over his furrowed brow, "This has been so hard for her. She's confused and hurt. She doesn't understand. She told me about the restrictions because she was worried. She thought I ought to know." "There was no point in her telling you that. I've abided by those restrictions for years, but only because it didn't matter one way or the other to me. I didn't have you. Now that I do, I can't acknowledge those rules anymore. They're pointless, anyway. They just stave off the inevitable." "But those are the rules in your community, Mulder. And we've broken them. How are we going to handle that?" "I don't know." He releases her and paces restlessly toward the back of the store. "It doesn't matter. We'll figure something out. Where's that goddamn kid with our kerosene?" It's been a good ten minutes. The boy has not returned. "Okay. He's not only lying, he's trying to rip us off." Mulder heads behind the counter and flings open the door to the back of the store. Dana follows him as he moves swiftly through the doorway. "Hey, kid. Where's my..." He stops short. The boy sits on a cot near the door, his back against the wall and his knees drawn to his chest. He starts. He stares at them intently. Mulder sighs impatiently. "Wanna tell me why you're hiding back here?" The kerosene can sits on the floor near a bedside table. Mulder picks it up and shakes it. It is still empty. "Mister, I..." Tears spring into the boy's eyes. His cheek twitches steadily, as if someone is jerking it with an invisible thread. "Tell me the truth." Mulder takes a step forward. The boy flinches. "I know you saw the boy I described to you. Are they still around here somewhere?" "Mulder, take it easy," Dana cautions. "Was he alright?" Mulder asks, stooping to look the boy straight in the eye and lowering his voice slightly. "I need to know." Dana's gaze sweeps over the room. The level of squalor is unbelievable. Animal hair and bits of trash cover the floor. Piles of cast-off junk fill every corner. The boy's bedding looks as if it has never been washed, and every surface in the room is smothered in dust. It's so dirty she wants to wash her hands and she hasn't even touched anything. Someone has traced a picture in the dirt on the top of the bedside table. She leans closer. It's the crude outline of an automobile. Inside the lines there are three letters. Dana puts her hand on Mulder's arm. "Mulder." Turning toward the spot where she's pointing, he stands quietly for a moment, looking at his son's name in the dust. He reaches down slowly and wipes the name away. Then he turns back to the boy abruptly, seizing him by the front of the shirt and hauling him to his feet. "You better start talking, kid," he says with deadly calm. "Or I'm going to have to hurt you." "It wasn't me!" the boy wails. "I didn't do it!" "Didn't do what?" Mulder asks, giving him a hard shake. "It wasn't me that killed him. I swear it wasn't me!" Mid-Afternoon South Road near the Western Labs
The smoke is still visible, a dense gray cloud hovering in the canyon just beyond the turn-off. Sam stares down into the haze. It's hard to believe anyone would waste good explosives on a place like that, he thinks. He's seen all he needs to see. There's no point in going down there. He turns to his companion, a kid called James. James lives at Riverbend; Will's friend Elise took him in after his father died. Sam has known James for a long time. He sees him all over the place: at all the big dances in Second Mesa, hanging out in the parking lot of the exchange in Tuba City. James is really Dru's friend, though, one of hisparty buddies, someone who has a tendency to pull up in the yard and honk without getting out of the car. Sam can't figure what Will must have been thinking; it's totally weird that he trusted James to deliver his message. Will has never thought much of James. At one time he even tried telling Dru to stay away from him. "Dude," Sam says, quietly, his stomach in a knot. "This sucks. Let's go." "Yeah," James answers, wistfully. "Hard to believe, ain't it? I'm really gonna miss that place." They get back into James' truck, an old, green Chevy Blazer. The words "Riverbend Estate" were once emblazoned on the doors, now the gold paint has faded to a dull, patchy brown. James sits for a minutewith the motor running, staring down at the smoke rising up the red canyon walls. "I wish I'd've seen the muthafucker go up, though. I bet that was pretty." ~~~~ One of the wheels of the Blazer slams into a pothole and James nearly loses control of the truck. He lets out a long string of curses. "Goddamn holes," he mutters. "Sorry, man. Getting so damn many of 'em these days I can't keep track of 'em all." "It's okay, man. Don't sweat it." "Where'd you stash the little guys, Sam? When I didn't see Kaya toting 'em I figured they must be hanging on your leg instead." "I left them with a friend of Will's in town. You know, Wynn, the blacksmith." "Oh yeah? Shee-it. That bitch is tough. I don't know who to feel sorry for." "Well, they like her better'n me, anyway." James laughs. "Shit, they oughta come live with Elise. They'd be glad for you then, boy. They'd think you was sweet as their Granny." Sam shifts in his seat, rubbing his stomach. He's been feeling like he swallowed a bag of rocks all day. He figures it's because he slept so bad last night; laying awake worrying about where everyone had gone, with his brothers taking up all the room in the bed. Then, when he finally got to sleep, he had that dream. It was a relief to leave the twins with Wynn this afternoon. He knows they'll be fine there, well taken care of. The food is good and there's fire to play with, in the shop. They probably won't want to come home. Now the only thing that seems important is to get to his father. Something's wrong. Something's bad, bad wrong. "Hey Jimmy, did Will have any idea how far into the Canyon they were headed?" "I don't know, man. I wasn't there when they was talking about going. All I know is Elise calls me and Will says, 'Go tell this to Sam.' So I did. He went to find brutha Dru is all I know." "Why the fuck does he think Dru's gone off into the Canyon?" "How should I know? I heard from Matty he got the word from chasing down a dead guy, but more'n likely that was a load. It'd be like Matt to tell me some big fat lie so I could go around telling it to people and end up looking like a dumb shit. He's probably laughing his ass off right now." "Damn, Jimmy, c'mon. I don't think Matt would joke about something like that." Sam's not laughing, that's for sure. End 1 of 9
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