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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. Summary - Truths lurk in a dark place. Our friends descend and delve. Notes and Acknowledgments at the beginning of 1/9 More notes and thank-yous at the end of 9/9. She's lost track of how long she's been watching him sleep. The boy's tall, muscular body covers the narrow bed almost completely, his large, square hands lying quietly against the white sheet. His hands are scarred and stained. They look incredibly cruel. It's not hard to imagine them killing an insect for fun, torturing a dog, striking a woman. It's more of a stretch to imagine them crushing the life out of someone as strong as Stephen. But Yekaterina wants to believe. She reaches out and runs her fingers over the red- brown skin of his forehead, trailing them back into his long, dark hair. She studies his face, notes the high cheekbones and prominent, hawk-like nose. He looks just like the women in room three. He's in pain. His brows knit together as he stirs on the pillow, tongue slipping fitfully along the full lower lip, eyelids hovering just on the edge of wakefulness. Yekaterina picks up the hastily scribbled chart from the bedside table. He took a bullet in the lower part of his back. They've had him in surgery to correct internal bleeding. The bullet shattered one of the lower vertebrae. Possible paralysis. Yekaterina wonders how much pain Stephen suffered when he was dying. She can't get his face out of her head; keeps seeing his pale blue eyes and his smile, remembering his bewildering gentleness. She had never experienced compassion or tenderness until they became friends, and even after she understood that he was not trying to trick her, that he actually was as kind as he seemed, she had been unable to trust herself to that gentleness. It simply seemed far too good to be true. Now she wishes she had allowed herself to love him more. The boy moans, very softly. His eyes open briefly, then squeeze shut against the light. Hatred is eating her insides like acid. Yekaterina fights to stay calm. "I feel like a third wheel," Wallace comments, grinning. He leans in the open door. "Whatcha waiting for, anyway? That kid's never gonna wake up." "You don't know shit, Wallace," Yekaterina snaps. "Think they'd waste time and supplies if they didn't mean to save him? He's going to recover." She spits the words out like rancid meat. "Well, okay. Suppose he does. Why are you hanging around? Waiting to thank him or something?" "Will you just...*go somewhere*, please?" Yekaterina spins on her heel and stalks threateningly toward him. "This is none of your business." "You think just cause your father runs this place you're everybody's damn boss," Wallace counters, taking a step back, his sardonic expression unchanged. "You're not my fucking boss, okay? Birch is my boss, and Birch said guard the prisoner. So it *is* my business...I should make *you* leave." "You know what? I've kicked your ass before and I can kick it again." Yekaterina takes another step forward, glaring up at him, pulling her jacket off and balling her fist. Wallace takes another step back. "Damn, woman. You're really pissed, aren't you? If I didn't know you better I'd think you were in love with Stephen or something..." Yekaterina's arm shoots out. Her fingers lock onto Wallace's collar and seize a handful of fabric. She jerks his face toward her own. "Leave," she growls. She releases him. He jerks a freshly rolled cigarette from behind his ear and stabs it between his lips. Their eyes lock. After a long pause, Wallace drops his gaze to the floor. "Mr. Birch went to a lot of trouble to get him here, you know," he mutters. "Brought him up from Desert View on the back of a mule. Came in through the lower access and got lost twice. He wouldn't do all that without a damn good reason." "That doesn't have anything to do with this." "Look. I didn't know you were gonna get like this, Kat, or I wouldn'tve told you anything. You know Birch'll kick my ass if anything happens on my watch." "So you're gonna get your ass kicked, one way or the other." "Yeah. Listen, Yekaterina..." "You owe me. I'll take the blame like before, okay? Birch can't touch me. You'll be safe." Wallace reddens. "You're never gonna let me forget about that, are you?" "Not likely, man. Not if I need something. And I need this. Now." "Jesus, you're not actually going to..." "Shut up. Just close the door." ~~~~ The tunnel winds into the earth, its pitch steep and steady. Mulder has to stoop in order to keep walking. He raises the lantern, lips pursing as he studies the images carved into the walls and ceiling of the passage: animals and birds, human figures bearing jars and ceremonial items, strange symbols in procession, growing more elaborate and colorful the further they travel. "Do those pictures tell you anything?" Dana passes her forearm across her face, wiping away dust and sweat. The air is stagnant, so thick and stale she can taste it. "They relate to each other. They tell a story. I think we're moving toward some kind of ceremonial chamber, possibly a tomb." Ben's voice floats toward them from the darkness just ahead. "Will, bring the light over here. Looks like a dead end - SHIT!" Mulder lunges forward. "Ben!" The sound of gravel and debris clattering down an incline mixes with a steady stream of curses as Ben plunges down some unknown slope. There is an ominous silence. "Ben! What happened? You all right?" They bring the light forward. The passage has widened slightly, arriving at a kind of shelf, from which a steep set of narrow stairs descends. Ben is at the bottom of those stairs, picking himself up and rubbing his backside. "Hey man, wait for the light next time," Mulder calls down. "Fuck you, Will. I was standing right next to you." Ben straightens up and peers into the gloom. "Damn," he remarks. "There's nothing down here. Just a pit." Dana follows Mulder down the precipitous stairway, her hand on his shoulder, the sharp incline forcing them to turn to one side as they descend. They find themselves in a tall, square vestibule; she gasps as the lantern light slowly climbs its walls. It is covered in arcane pictures and symbols, vividly colored and perfectly preserved in the bone-dry air of the ancient dwelling. The stairs appear to be the only way out. "Could this be it?" Dana wonders aloud. "What do you think could have been in this room, to justify such an elaborate entrance?" "This can't be the end of the line," Mulder says. He sweeps the lantern along the forward wall. "This is an entryway." "Well, where's the way out then?" Ben asks. "Or the way in, or whatever." "It's right here." Mulder stares fixedly at something near the floor. Dana and Ben lean down for a closer look. "Here's how we get in." At the bottom of a wall is a small, square portal, so tight it looks like it was designed for a child. "That's it?" Dana cannot suppress a shudder at the thought of sticking her head inside that hole. "That's it," Mulder answers. He drops to his knees and sprawls on the floor, pushing the lantern into the recess, plunging the chamber into darkness. "There's fresh air blowing in." "Maybe it's just a vent, Will." Ben shifts nervously beside her. It is comforting to realize that he doesn't want to crawl into the portal any more than she does. "No." Mulder pulls the lantern back out of the hole and shines it up onto the wall above it. "See the ornamentation? That's no vent. Sorry." He looks up at them from the floor. "If I can fit through this then both of you can, too." Dana swallows dust and panic. "Okay." "Or I can do this alone." "Hell, no." Ben squats down beside his friend, looking grim. "But you can go first. I don't have a problem with that." Mulder smiles. "All right, then. Scully?" "Go ahead." Mulder puts the lantern back inside the portal and, stretching full-length on the floor, shoves his head and shoulders in behind it. Dana and Ben watch as he disappears into the hole, boots digging into the rock to push himself through. "The people who built this place, whoever they were," Ben murmurs, "it's a cinch they weren't nearly as big as Will is..." Dana wraps her fingers around Ben's forearm. "Oh god, Ben. Don't even say it." For several minutes they can hear the sound of Mulder dragging his body through the passage, his labored breathing amplified by the stone in the narrow tunnel. Then, silence. Dana holds her breath. "Come on, Mulder," she mutters. "It's not too bad." His voice bounces down the portal, the journey reducing its tone and character to a hollow, ghostly echo. "Scully. You next." Ben's sighs. "Have fun." Dana finds Ben's hand and gives it a squeeze. She stoops and inspects the portal. The lantern glows on the other side. It looks very far away. "Try to keep your mouth closed, Scully. Fewer surprises that way." "Thanks for the warning." Dana flattens herself against the stone floor and sticks her head inside the hole. Her respiratory system is instantly overwhelmed by the shifting dust. Her nostrils fill with a cloying odor. It's the same foul stench that she has smelled, however faintly, ever since their arrival in this place. Now it's sickeningly clear that the source of the odor is somewhere on the other side of the passage. Her heart pounds. She wishes she didn't know that smell so well. She fits through the portal easily, the walls just brushing her shoulders. She digs her toes into the floor and presses her forearms down hard, wriggling to move herself forward. She tries to keep her breathing steady and slow, tries not to think about the heaviness of earth and time pressing on the hand- hewn bricks above her, clamps her mouth shut against flying dust and trailing spider webs, keeping her eyes fixed on the light ahead. Tries to hear nothing but Mulder's voice, gentle and reassuring, leading her forward. "You're almost done, Scully. Just a few more feet." She finds herself reaching for his outstretched hand. He pulls her out of the tunnel and into fresher air. "Alone at last," he jokes dryly, wrapping his arms around her. "Amazing what we have to go through just to get a little privacy." Dana coughs to clear the dust from her throat and melts against his body. The air is cold and surprisingly damp. She buries her nose in his shirt to escape the awful smell. "Everything all right over there?" Ben's voice sounds disturbingly small and distant. Mulder holds Dana fiercely for a long, long moment. Then he releases her and bends toward the portal, pushing the lantern back inside. "Your turn, Ben," he calls. Dana finds Mulder's hand in the darkness. She shivers and suppresses the urge to scream. Meanwhile He stabs at the intercom with a wiry finger. "Birch. Birch, goddammit, I know you can hear me." After several long, annoying minutes, the intercom crackles and Birch's voice seeps toward him, sounding at once attentive and maddeningly unconcerned. "Yes sir. I'm here. What can I do for you?" "The patient. You were supposed to report an hour ago." "There was nothing to report, sir. I'm with Parenti now. Would you like me to put him on?" "What do *you* think?" He pulls his sweater tighter around his bony shoulders, shivering as he crosses the ancient stone room, the intercom clamped as close to his failing ear as he can manage. He slumps into his armchair and puts his feet up near the heating unit, pressing his body into the worn upholstery, trying to shut out the cold. One of the wires from the intercom hangs up on the back of his chair. He jerks it free with a muttered curse. "Parenti here." "Parenti, you senile old prick, I left very specific instructions. Why haven't you been in touch?" "You said you wanted a report when we were certain of his condition. We're not certain of his condition yet." "Well what's your best guess, then? Will he live?" "Oh, yes. He'll live, undoubtedly. Fields thinks he won't walk again. I'm not sure myself." "Walking is not the issue. He's not going to need to walk. All I need is a living specimen." "Well you've got that." "Good. And which one is it? The older one?" The speaker goes dead. He smacks it against the arm of his chair in frustration. The intercom crackles to life again. "Birch. Answer me. Did you bring the older one as we agreed?" "Birch here, sir. No, it's the younger one." "What?" He leans forward in his chair, rising painfully to his feet. "I thought we agreed that the older one was the better choice." "The older one was less...attainable, sir." "I can't remember. How old is this one? Is he sufficiently mature?" "He's mature. He'll do." "All right, then." "Sir, there's more news. You're going to be very pleased." "That would be a welcome change. Go ahead." "I've had radio communication from base camp. The Original is on his way." A few minutes later, in the Central Chamber They stand shoulder to shoulder, swathed in blackness and total silence. Mulder raises the lantern and takes a step forward. The feeble yellow light circles his body and dissipates, swirling away into empty space like water running down a drain. The meager breeze is chilly, damp, and fetid. Dana shudders, frozen in place. "This room is huge, isn't it?" she whispers. "So it would seem," Mulder answers, sounding nervous for the first time since they entered the cavern. "We need more light," Ben observes, in a hush. "You gonna crawl back through that hole and get it?" Mulder takes two steps forward. Dana and Ben follow. Risking a few steps forward is infinitely preferable to being left behind in the dark. Mulder moves forward again, reaching out with the lantern. Dana and Ben shadow him, sticking close to the light. "Lions and tigers and bears, huh?" Mulder's voice is tight and dry. "At least Dorothy could see where she was going." Dana seizes hold of Mulder's shoulder with her right hand and reaches back for Ben with her left. "I'm trying to move in the direction of the draft." Mulder takes a few more steps, veering slightly to the left. "There's bound to be a passage." "There are lots of passages, Mulder," Dana whispers, horror slowly filling her insides. "Lots of them. Some I think we'd really better avoid." "Then tell me, Scully. Try to remember. Which way do we need to go?" Dana's breath comes quick and shallow. Quick and shallow like a dying bird. She closes her eyes. Gentle hands stroke her hair. "Scully, you all right?" "Stay near the wall," she gasps, "and go toward that smell. As long as it keeps getting stronger, we're headed in the right direction." ~~~~ The door swings shut with a matter-of-fact click. Yekaterina stares fixedly at the body on the bed. Over the years she's learned, both from her father and the Project, that no matter how weak it may appear, the human body will fight with every available ounce of strength for the privilege of continuing to live. And this kid is big. Even in his condition she knows he won't give in easily. She watches his eyelids fluttering. It's now or never, she thinks, grimly. There are restraints hanging off of the sides of the bed. Sometimes they need them, when a mother won't cooperate. Yekaterina seizes hold of one of the boy's hands and begins buckling the restraint around his wrist. His eyes fly open. The restrained arm pulls instinctively against the strap. Yekaterina rushes to the other side of the bed. His head turns in her direction as she buckles down his other wrist. His eyes are bewildered, full of fog and fear. He jerks against the restraint, breath quickening. Yekaterina picks up a spare pillow from the end of the bed and holds it tightly with both hands. "You killed a man yesterday," she hisses, hovering over him. "He was a friend of mine." His eyes go wide as he realizes what she's doing. "You've got it wrong," he murmurs, wincing as he tries to raise his head. "I didn't kill anybody." Yekaterina closes her eyes wearily. Why is it, she thinks, that they always say what they think I want to hear? She reaches down and hits the tab that lowers the guard rail on the bed. It bangs down with a metallic crunch. "You're talking about Stephen, right?" he asks her, desperately, in a weak, raspy voice. "Birch left him in the desert. I don't know if he was already dead or if they killed him on purpose..." She stops. "Tricky motherfucker. You'd say anything to save yourself." She takes a step closer. His chest begins to heave. "Why would I kill him? I didn't even know him." She raises the pillow, suspending it over his face. He stares up in horror, struggling to break free. "I'm not lying, I swear it. Ask them, they'll tell you..." She flings the pillow aside and presses her lips against his. His lips clamp shut against the assault. She thrusts her fingers into his mouth, prying his lips apart and plunging her tongue inside. Within moments, his body goes rigid; a stifled wailing noise boils up from the depths of his throat; he trembles in pain. Oh my god, I was right, she thinks. Just like Papa. She takes hold of his mind and begins sifting memories and emotions, feeling them quickly and letting the drop, like sand running through her fingers. He's angry and wrathful; she sees that instantly. He's afraid of dying. He wants to go home. She sees a beautiful dark-haired woman who he misses terribly, a tall, quiet man who he both admires and resents... The tall man is familiar. That's odd. She can't imagine why, but she's certain she's seen this man many times before. She searches for Stephen, but finds no hint of him. The boy's mind is open. He has nothing to hide. She pulls away, wiping her mouth on her forearm. "Tell me what you know, and make it quick." "About what, goddammit?" he gasps, writhing in pain on the bed. "Shit, who are you? Why did you do that?" "If you don't want me to do it again you'll tell me everything you know about how Stephen died." "He was hurt. My father tried to help him. Birch left him behind, in the desert near the Labs." "Your father. He's the tall man. Quiet, with dark hair. You don't like him very much." He blinks back tears. "How the hell did you know that?" She bends down and frees his left wrist. "And you. Who are you? Why are you here?" "I don't know why I'm here. I don't even know where this is." She crosses to the other side of the bed and swiftly unbuckles his
right wrist. "It's hell, kid," she tells him. "And my
father is the fucking devil." Outside the Cavern Just after Dusk Sam keeps walking, though he can't see the trail. He walks as he walked the night he followed his mother. Step after step in the clustering darkness. He has a light in his pack but he knows he doesn't need it. He knows the spirit will light his way. An old man walks on the trail ahead of him, dressed in an old-fashioned suit and tie. He doesn't seem to notice that his polished shoes are completely wrong for the terrain. He walks without stumbling, like the rocks and dirt are a well-tended lawn. Sam has been following him for about two hours, ever since arriving at the place where the rivers meet. He had been squatting on the sandy riverbank, filling his canteen and wondering desperately which way to walk next, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He dropped his canteen and reached for his rifle, but when he turned he found no one behind him. He had been walking since first light. He had eaten very little. He figured he imagined the whole thing. A few minutes later he had been climbing up from the river, headed back toward the trail, when he looked up and saw a familiar form standing in front of him. Sam hadn't laid eyes on Miles Solomon for years, but he knew Elise's father; knew he hadn't been well, that he didn't get out much anymore. He had accepted the old man's presence with a grateful heart. Miles Solomon didn't speak. He just started walking. Sam's legs were numb and his head was light but he started walking, too. The old man still hasn't said a word. He hasn't even looked back. Suddenly, Solomon stops on the trail before him. He turns. Pale blue light, like a river from his eyes. Sam's head is hollow as a drum. Blood roars in his ears. Firelight. He finds himself sitting in a massive armchair, thick carpeting under his feet. Sam starts, looking around, recognizing the heavy mantelpiece and rich furnishings. Riverbend. He stares down at his hands. Translucent flesh. Dark age spots. Twisted, yellow fingernails. "Mr. Solomon." Sam's head jerks to the right. He looks over his shoulder. A man in a fancy suit is touching his arm. "Yes." His voice - like a rusted hinge opening. "They've arrived." "Show her to the blue room. The doctor is waiting for her there." Sam feels himself rising. Turning to greet her. Maia follows the butler through the room like an obedient child, head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor. He lifts a speckled hand in greeting. "Maia. Brave girl. Thanks for helping us again." She looks toward him for a moment. Her tears sparkle in the firelight. "Oh my god, Sam. Sam!" Sam stops walking. "Sam, oh my god, Will said you were coming. Sam, can you hear me? What's the matter, are you all right?" Kaya's arms around him. Matt, grasping his hand. Sam covers his face with his hands and sinks to his knees. At that moment, inside the Central Chamber
"Mulder, listen." Dana tightens her grip on Mulder's arm. He freezes. A high-pitched squeak shrills through the empty space around them. "What the hell was that?" Mulder whispers. Within moments the squeak is followed by a metallic slam. "I can't believe it," Ben murmurs, "a door in a place like this." Mulder snuffs the lantern. "Against the wall," he whispers. Far away on the other side of the enormous room they hear quick, determined footsteps. A weak fluorescent lantern flickers into view. They press themselves back into the blackness, hoping it will hide them. A young woman passes close enough to their hiding place that Dana can see her clearly. She is tall, fair-skinned, dressed in jeans, a faded t-shirt, an old nylon jacket. Her expression is bitter. Dark energy surrounds her person. As she sweeps past them Dana suppresses a gasp, filled with the urge to take another step back, even with a solid rock wall behind her. The young woman marches off into the darkness, suspended in a circle of pale, blue-white light. Within a few moments they hear another door opening and closing. Then silence and dark rule the chamber again. "Oh my god," Dana murmurs. "I know her." "I know her, too" Mulder whispers. Dana takes a deep breath, dismayed, wiping tears from her face. "I don't know how I know this, but I think her name is Katya. How do I know that, Mulder? God, how do I know that?" End 5 of 9
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