From: Laura Bontrager Date: Sun, 01 Nov 1998 14:50:37 -0600 (CST) Subject: Fresh Wounds, Part One Title: Fresh Wounds Part One: Dearth of Crucifixions Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@harding.edu< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. Summary:: X-File, MS-R/UST Mulder attempts to explain away certain events that Scully believe to be instances where God is 'speaking, but no one is listening.' Hint::::Dearth means lack of, or for want of ~~@~~@~~ F R E S H W O U N D S ~~@~~@~~ Dearth of Crucifixions ~~@~~@~~ "The world is sick," said the Voice, "for dearth of crucifixions. . .I tremble for a world that has no crucifixions." --Hermann Hagedon, "The Bomb That Fell On America" ~~@~~@~~ The man was old. HIs hair fell in scraggly rags of maggot-infested shanks along his shoulders, the smell of rotting flesh rippling from him in heat drenched waves. His eyes were curiously bright, shining as if by some horrid inner light in which only he could see the coming destruction of the age, and he looked forward to it with a disproportionate eagerness. His hands were knobby and callused, huge cankerous bones that looked like the gnarled bark of an oak tree, twisted beyond possibility. The man was old. That didn't stop him though. When Mara saw him coming up behind her, she was surprised, and turned quickly to meet him, bringing her hands before her face and bracing for the impact. His body slammed into her and she collapsed beneath his weight, squirming even as his withered hands struggled to hold her down. His fingers probed into her mouth and she gagged on the taste of garbage and rot; he spat in her eyes and she whimpered, kicking her legs savagely as adrenalin coursed through her. Mara felt the instant when he gained the advantage, felt it come right upon her like a tidal wave. His hands suddenly firmed around her throat, his body grew strong, his eyes glowed with hellish intent, and she knew she would not make it. She cast out for a God that had never listened to her, pleaded with the demon man before her, and then blacked out. ~~~~ Mulder was rubbing his hand along the desk when she walked in, his attention focused intently upon the case folder in front of him. She stalked in close behind him, managing to glance at the papers sheathed there before he snapped it shut and glanced up at her. "Scully." "Mulder." He nodded and she turned to the chair set out in front of his desk, dropping her briefcase and coat over by her own little section, then waited. He was troubled on this, she could see the far away look in his face that told her she would not be seen for the rest of this case. Whenever he became passionate about a crusade, Dana Scully could look forward to being second best. Unless the case concerned her directly, she got relegated to the back burner. It was something she was used to by now. "We have a case," he said softly, but his eyes didn't glow with that sense of wonder. "You going to fill me in?" He nodded slowly. "This is pretty awful, Scully." She remained cool, calm, her eyes piercing into him, reminding him that she could handle it, no matter how 'awful' the crime, how distorted her view of humanity became. She was a professional. He nodded, acknowledging her claims with his silence and his surrender. "There's been a death. . ." He handed her the file as if to speak of such horror would acquaint him with it. She opened the folder and immediately felt her stomach clench, her breakfast rise threateningly fast. The first page was a photograph taken of the scene. A woman, blood crusted to her breasts and stomach and arms, hung from a crude, rough wooden cross, her eyes wide to the pain, to the indignity, and her head slumped onto an arm pinned upon the beam by thick, steel spikes. Her feet were crossed and nailed to the upright beam, a mangled mess of gory flesh and bone and ravaged muscle. And at her feet, sprawled in reverent bowed positions, were seven children. She closed her eyes, bit down on the inside of her mouth until the bitter taste of blood coated her tongue. The image would not leave her, would not be banished from her senses. The brutal death of the woman, the humble deaths of the children, the eyes open wide and staring, staring. Her hands were shaking, trembling as she once again turned to the picture, unwilling to let the horror go. This was her job, she was called out to catch the beast that had done such a thing, catch him and make sure he received just punishment for such atroscious crimes. She wasn't too sure there could be a just punishment. Mulder had given her time. But now he had to speak. "Did you notice the writing?" "Huh?" Startled by his sudden words, shaken from the trance she seemed to be caught in, Scully glanced up at him, her face so sickened, her features so sorrowed, that she seemed to be one of those children, knowing of her fate. It took him a moment to find his words. "The writing." She glanced back down to the photo, looking at it now as a crime scene or peice of evidence to be studied, to be poured over for some kind of understanding. There it was. "Suffer the children," she said aloud, her brow frowning, her lips moving softly. It was written on what looked like to be a piece of white computer paper, which was nailed to the top of the cross, just above the woman's head. She licked her lips, not liking the scene it presented, more as an investigator rather than a woman, or a human being. In all the pictures and paintings she had seen in Mass, in the church, this was the most prevalant. Jesus, in the throes of death, nailed to the cross, and above his head, the slip of paper reading, "king of the Jews." He looked intently at her. "You. . .know what it means?" he asked. She nodded. "Maybe. There's a verse in the Bible where Jesus says something like this, 'Suffer the children to come unto me.'" "Oh?" "Hm, why? Did you think of something different?" "I just that it meant he was targetting children. . .that he wanted the children to suffer." Scully's eyebrows rose. "Oh. Well since the scene has clear Biblical references, I would have to say it's alluding to the verse I mentioned." He nodded. "I'd have to agree. So, then, what or who is this person targetting?" "Are the victimes related in anyway?" "Not that's been found so far. Also, the coroner found that the cause of death for the woman is asphyxiation, however, he's not sure at what point." "What do you mean?" "In the report you'll see that there were bruises on her neck and back, making the Medical Examiner think she might have been strangled, however, crucifixion also causes death by asphyxiation." While he spoke, Scully could feel it. The start of a long, maddening journey into the world of a killer. She could feel herself poised on the edge, waiting for the moment when Mulder's wild theories and her own scientific research would bring the entire picture into focus. And then, together, they would step off. She just hoped that by that time, Mulder would be in synch with her, would be *seeing* her again. ~~~~ The warehouse was musty from being closed up for so long, the dirt tracked through so many times from police and FBI and forensics. She stood there, watching the Mulder scour the walls with his eyes bright, his fingers touching the blood stains, the markers where evidence was found. The man was not trying to hide his identity at all - fingerprints were found, hairs, fibers, everything. He was sloppy; he wasn't doing this for fun, but for a purpose that he thought would be rewarded later. Mulder knew this just from the essence of the place, from the facts, the evidence, the feelings generated behind the murders. He sighed once, felt himself slip further into this new killer, this man who felt free from the law. This was it. No turning back now. ~~~~ The old man felt it in him again. The call of something More than him. "Greater is he that is in me. . ." he whispered, and his words made the woman in front of him flinch in dire expectation. She wrenched her head towards him, eyes wide and frightened, nostrils flared as she tried to breathe enough air to keep her conscious. The duct tape was tight, ripping the skin of her mouth as she writhed on the floor of the house, the carpet smelling of dogs and cats. She blinked away tears and watched the man creep closer, his eyes like fire. She gasped and closed her eyes tightly. ~~~~ The old man knew this thing was here. He could feel the presence with the help of his power. They were here, they were hunting him. They were waiting, waiting, waiting. He would go to them, he would find them first and they would not understand the power nor fathom the effects of it. The old man slipped the ratty coat from his shoulders, the blood crusted over already, then stepped through the bodies of the tiny babies, the small ones. He smiled and gazed into their sightless eyes for a long moment before heading outside. He knew what he had to do. Hunt the hunters. ~~~~ Scully was in the motel room, brushing her teeth by the sink, when it happened. The mirror swung wildly away from her, the floor tilted on its side, and the air around her seemed to pressing down on her from all directions. She clutched at the sink, felt her knees give way before her, and tumbled to the floor, lost in a dizzying spiral of blackness. ~~~~ Mulder rubbed his neck, irritated, and knocked once more on her door, shivering in the cold air outside. Getting frustrated, he twisted the knob, surprised when it opened easily under his fingers. Tensing, he drew his gun and slipped inside her darkened room. Her clothes were laid out on the bed, soft silk pajamas, and the lamp on the nightstand was clicked on to a dim glow. He licked his lips and sidled to the bathroom, checking behind him every other second. A light was on in the bathroom, trickling out to the rest of the room, spilling over his form like an embrace. He paused for a moment when she came into view. Slumped to the floor, curled in on herself like a baby in the womb, Scully shivered fiercely and breathed in heaving gasps, about three inches off the floor. Mulder rushed over to her, reached out to touch her, but found himself thrown back, slammed into the bathtub with a heavy shocking force. Dazed, he crawled back over to her, his vision shifting and blurring as he fought with unconsciousness. She was jerking as if caught in energy, her eyes tightly closed and her hands offered up beseechingly to the sky. She looked like she was praying, in an enraptured state of communion with something greater and more powerful than herself. He was afraid. He reached for her again, and as soon as he felt the great rushing, surging energy prepare to launch him backwards again, she dropped to the floor. Mulder quickly checked her pulse, then gatehred her in his arms, attempting to warm up her frozen body. He carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the comforter, then wrapped a blanket tightly around her body, rubbing his hands along her arms and legs to get her circulation going. As the image of her body rising from the floor started to fade, he wondered what had made him barge in to her motel room in the first place. He usually gave her space, let her have some time to think by herself before they started a case. In fact, it was sort of an unspoken rule that they retire early, sleep a bit longer, and wait to talk about the case until breakfast the next morning. What had made him feel it was absolutely necessary to talk to her that instant? As he sat there, huddled up against the side of her bed, keeping his body near to give her some warmth, he couldn't remember what had made him feel it was so important to bother her. But he was glad he had. Mulder checked her pulse once more and found it steady, her heart in a normal, slow rhythm, her skin turning pink again and not the pasty white it had been after her encounter. Suddenly her eyes opened. He smiled and smoothed the skin along her cheek, glad she was coming around. "Are you all right, Scully?" She gazed deep into his eyes, slipping right past to his soul. "God," she whispered and licked her lips painfully. "What?" "It was God. . .I have to help. . ." Her eyes slipped shut once more, and she fell into a deep, healing sleep. Mulder gaped. ~~~~ end part one Title: Fresh Wounds Part Two: Branded Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@harding.edu< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are the property of CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. ~~@~~@~~ F R E S H W O U N D S ~~@~~@~~ Branded ~~@~~@~~ "From now on, let no one make trouble for me; for I carry the marks of Jesus branded on my body." --Galations 6:17 ~~@~~@~~ The world was all cold white, with frozen icicles dripping from her eyelids, crusting at her lashes and making it hard to open her eyes. She moved away from the chill, and into a spot where it was melting away. Her head burrowed further into the warmth and she breathed in the smells of sleep and earth. She began to remember things. The whiteness of the light, the chill that seemed to take her whole body into numbness, yet did not make her cold. She sighed. It hadn't made her cold at all. Just seemed to freeze everything into paralysis, make her stop moving and breathing and living. It had called out to her as she had fallen, cradled her close and laid her upon the floor so that she wouldn't hurt herself, and then whispered to her what she had to do. It had apologized too. Apologized for being so foreign, for having to tell her in this way. But it had been her own stubborness that had kept her from believing it before, from seeing the angel of God for what it really was. Yet now, it had come to her, come in a form that had left lasting proof of its existence. Upon her body she felt the brands, felt the burned remains of fingers melted into her skin as proof, as concrete evidence that no one could refute. She sighed. She knew, she knew. She had to help him. Help him in the name of God. ~~~~ When she woke up, Mulder was peering intently into her eyes, smoothing away her hair with a single, soft finger that she felt more intensely than any feeling she had ever had in her life. He was worried and she opened her mouth to speak, but instead let out a ragged breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Seeing her better, he helped her to sit up, cradling her gently against him with a soft touch. "Scully?" She nodded. "I"m okay, Mulder." He shook his head and licked his lips. "Who hurt you?" "No one hurt me." She wanted to tell him, she really did, but he never understood it when the angel talked to her, never understood when God told her she had to protect people. She had protected Kevin Kryder, she had saved him like God had told her too, she had been there just at the right moment. She wouldn't wait that long ever again. And the four girls, the four half angels whose Daddy had come back for them, she had saved them from the devil, saved them from the Prince of Lies just as he had been about to snatch them away. She knew what she had to do. "Scully, you have burn marks on your arm. . .they look like fingers. . ." His voice was tightly controlled, but she could tell he was on the edge. "I'm fine. I just got dizzy." "Scully." She snarled and turned on him, her eyes curiously bright. "I'm. Fine." He backed away, stumbling from her bed as her eyes burned his soul. There came a rotting smell suddenly drafting in through the window, the decay of thousands of bodies and millions of souls as they waited. . .waited. He shook his head and backed out of her room, not sure why fear had suddenly clutched him, not sure why he couldn't find his *Scully* in the woman on the bed. He went back to his room and laid down on the bed and waited for something to come to him. And prayed it wasn't her. ~~~~ The old man licked his lips as clumps of mottled flesh fell from his face. It took so much energy to do that, and to slip into their minds. . .to create such an elaborate labyrinth of circular logic based upon their emotions and experiences. . . . It took so much. He fell upon the dirty alleyway and felt sleep steal over him. His hands curled under him and he put his new creation to sleep as well, wishing to keep her from changing back with the influence of the other. She wanted so badly to believe, all he'd had to do was give her something she *could* believe. Simple. . . tiring. He let himself go. ~~~~ Mulder had visions. He couldn't escape them. They crawled upon him as he lay there and held him captive in a kind of half-conscious state that neither rested nor dreamed. They were rememberances that shifted into instructions. He shivered and closed his eyes, making them that much clearer. A hospital, dark and lit by only candles, the body of a possessed boy cowering on the bed. Men, with wrinkles of wisdom and beards of grey, sprinkled holy water over the boy, holding him down as he writhed under the minstrations. He was helping, pushing down the boy's legs, holding him tightly at the waist and looking into his eyes helplessly even as the men told him not to. He tore his gaze from the demon's and squeezed his eyes sight, shuddering. He knew this. It was a case they had, a case Scully hadn't wanted to believe was possible, until everything had happened, and even then, she hadn't said a thing. What could she say? The men, as he had left, had spoken to him. Be careful. . .It knows you. . . He shuddered again, felt the burn of those eyes before he had turned his head, felt the burn of Scully's eyes as he had tried to help her. On the bed, the demon howled and thrashed mercilessly, breaking arms against the hold of the men, buckling the child's body with the force of it's fury. He looked up and the face morphed. . . slid into the softness of Dana Scully, but with an animalistic edge that frightened him. She snarled and bit into his wrists, but he held her down, held her tightly with every last bit of strength in him so that the holy water fell in great big drops upon her cheeks, sizzling as it touched. She writhed, twisted into unnatural positions, then lay still. He wasn't going to be faked out by some demon. . . When he didn't let go, she suddenly lurhced forward, managing to catch her teeth on his fingers, drawing blood. It spurted out, and he knew that blood from his finger wasn't supposed to squirt like that, but the pain was too intense and his whole finger was on fire and he couldn't do anything but hold her down. . . that was his existence. . .hold her down. Hold her. . . And something told him, told him directly into his head what he was supposed to do, what he had to do for her. He lifted his hands, letting the men hold her tightly, and touched her face. She immediately stilled, and her face relaxed and her eyes opened to be the sweet sweet blue of Scully. She panted, eyes focused solely on him. "Mulder. . .Mulder. . .Help me. . ." He was startled and drew away. She flashed back into fire and he fell from his bed, broken from the trance. He stood, the vision hanging from him in misty clouds of bitter memories, and slipped back outside, breathing in the creation. He knew what he had to do. He knew. ~~~~ She was asleep. She looked demonic even in sleep, hair wild about her face which was contorted into a grimace of either pain or perverted pleasure. He crept in close to her, sliding up next to her bed, hoping not to wake her, or the thing that resided in her. He touched her hand, felt the fever flashing through her skin. He knew what was going on, knew that he had to help her. Taking a deep breath, he drew in very close to her, finding strength in the hope that this would be gone from her as soon as she was helped. She was sleeping quietly, deeply, her face twisted and deranged. This was not his Scully. He placed his hands on either side of her face, cradling it with a strong immediate force that knocked him back on his knees. He rested his forehead to her chin and breathed in the scent of her body, gagging as the stench of decay and rot assualted him. He closed his eyes tightly and hitched in his breath, waiting. She was supposed to get better now, supposed to be healed of the thing inside her. But she slept on, oblivious to his hands that now seemed burned to her face. He wanted to scream, but was afraid of waking her before he could help. Wasn't he supposed to help her? Wasn't that why he had been forced into her room before, wasn't that why the visions had overtaken him? He felt a jolt, felt his unblelief blossom into a faith that, although temporary, allowed him to save her. A cool touch swelled through him like living waters, cresting around his temples and flooding through his body until it poured from his fingertips like oil and wine to annoint her body with healing touch. She sighed and slumped down into a deeper, tranquil sleep. He sat amazed, holding her face between his hands, letting his fingers run along her cheeks, down her nose, along her eyelids, through her hair, and across her forehead. He had healed her. Healed her with this newfound ability to have faith. Faith that whatever had led him here had been right, had been some kind of divine guidance no matter how much he disregarded that notion. He had the faith of her beliefs for once, and that had saved her this time. She slept peacefully, her face looking even younger than before, her lips parted slightly along his fingers, and her fingers curled along his biceps. He hadn't noticed that. She had clucthed him during the . . .the transformation. Reached out for him. He smiled and kissed her cheek, then slipped down the side of the bed, leaning heavily against it, his hands still along her body. She was cool, a kind of relieved chill after the sweat of fever. She did not stir and he let her sleep, wondering what exactly would happen when she woke, what exactly had even happened. . . He fell against the bed and closed his eyes. ~~~~ end part two Title: Fresh Wounds Part Three of Five: Witnesses Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@harding.edu< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. ~~@~~@~~ F R E S H W O U N D S ~~@~~@~~ Witnesses ~~@~~@~~ "And I will grant my two witnesses authority to prophesy for 1260 days, wearing sackcloth. . And if anyone wants to harm them, fire pours from their mouth and consumes their foes; anyone who wants to harm them must be killed in this manner. They have authority to shut the sky, so that no rain may fall during the days of their prophesying, and they have authority over the waters to turn them into blood, and to strike the earth with every kind of plague, as often as they desire." --Revelation 11: 3-6 ~~@~~@~~ She woke to ants crawling around inside her stomach, tickling and biting and clawing her with fire and acid. She pushed off from the bed and collapsed on the floor as her limbs refused to move, finding that she was weak and sweaty, fevered and burning inside but clammy and cold on her skin. She raised her body up from the floor, arms locked at the elbow, and dragged herself forward, licking her lips as she slowly, agonizingly crept toward the bathroom. She had to throw-up. In a kind of embarassed panic, she yanked herself across the floor, whimpering as the bile rose in her throat. She swallowed and swallowed the suddenly thick saliva, and hunched forward, barely able to move. She would *not* throw-up on the floor. She would not. She did. Crying in frustration, she collapsed beside her vomit, face turned away to keep the smell from making her even sicker. She saw Mulder, asleep beside her bed, looking just as exhausted as she felt. She shivered and closed her eyes. Not today, not today. There had been something inside her. . . something horrid slithering through her mind. She vomitted again and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, hoping to keep it down. Mulder had helped. . .somehow he had taken it away. She shook her head again, clamping down hard on her lips to keep the bile from rising. She managed to move halfway to the bathroom before her arms gave out. She curled up there and fell back asleep. ~~~~ When she came to this time, she was in the bed again and the throw-up was gone, cleaned spotlessly from the carpet with a thick smelling astringent. Clorox. She doubled over and closed her eyes, silently chanting to herself that this time, she would not throw-up. "You need help, Scully?" She opened her eyes and saw Mulder there; his presence had the effect of making her stomach calm a bit. She would not throw-up. He pushed her hair back from her face, then his fingers seemed to trace along her forehead. She frowned at him. "What did you do?" He blinked. "I don't quite know. . .Something had you. . ." She nodded and closed her eyes to ride out another wave of nausea. "We have marks." She opened her eyes and glanced over at him. He was right, a kind of brand along his forehead, like a scar. "I have that too?" He traced her skin again and she realized that the marks probably matched. "What from?" "That's where I touched you. . .made it come out." She shivered. "I feel sick." He nodded. "You look sick." "I had a dream," she said slowly. "I dreamed I had to . . .to *help* him kill. I dreamed that was the only right thing to do." He scooted closer to her on the bed. "I had a dream too. That you were possessed and I had to touch you to make it go away." She frowned. "Possessed?" "I think it was a demon, Scully. I think. . .I can't believe I'm going to say this, but. . .I think it was God who told me -" "Mulder. . .you don't believe-" "No, I guess I didn't. But I had faith that it would save you, that you could be all right again and it worked. It was God, Scully. There's nothing else that could have saved you. So much power. . .so much power." She shivered. "In the Bible, God put a mark on Cain's forehead after he killed his brother." He glanced up at her forehead quickly and then sighed. "I don't know about all that." "Are we supposed to do something?" "Catch the man doing this." "What if. . .what if it's a demon, Mulder?" He closed his eyes then shook his head. "This is all so crazy. This doesn't happen, Scully. I don't know what's going on anymore." "I think it's clear what we have to do. We have to do our jobs, Mulder. Do just exactly what we know to do. There's a reason that we got this case, and there's a reason why . . .why we're here. We just have to find him. . .or it." "We've dealt with this before. . .we can do it again." She nodded, but she felt sick still. Standing on now steady legs, she started for the bathroom. "We'll go as soon as I take a shower." she said, and closed the door behind her. He wondered if she could get possessed again. ~~~~ They were silent in the car, very quiet. A call had come while she showered, a police officer said they'd found more bodies, another crucifixion. She shivered as she remembered Mulder's face when he told her. In her towel, cold and dripping water all along the motel carpet, he had told her, his face blank, nuetral, unemotional. And then the fear had creeped down to his eyes and taken hold there and his voice had wavered as he spoke and she had felt it then. The presence. The thing that had been in her all that time, been in her mind. . . But it hadn't tried again and she had made Mulder stay right by the bed as she had changed, his back turned, but his body still protecting her. He was protecting her. She didn't like that at all, but she liked the demon in her even less. "I feel weird," he said suddenly. "How do you mean?" she answered, shifting. He looked over at her and then back to the road, quickly. Taking no chances. "I feel changed and on the edge, as if I know something's going to happen and it's not going to make any sense at all to me." She turned to him with a bit of a smile. "Now you know what I feel like at the beginning of every X-File." He gave her a grin of relief. "But you know what I mean?" She nodded. "I guess. I feel like when we get there, it's not just going to be the normal routine." "Yeah, I don't suppose you'll be going off to the autopsy. . ." She shivered and looked out at the downcast sky. "I wish it would go ahead and rain. . .it's so dreary with just black clouds." As her words escaped into the air, the clouds shook over them and lightning illuminated their small car, rain suddenly falling in sheets. He lifted his eyebrow. "I guess your wish is God's command." She shivered and watched the rain streak down the sides of the car, then spiral off into the sudden darkness. "Can you see to drive?" she asked, peering out at the storm intensely. He frowned and slid forward and hunched over in the seat until his nose pressed against the steering wheel. She glanced back out to the storm and then to his squinting, troubled face. "Pull over, Mulder. Pull over." she said. He clicked on his turn signal and rolled to a stop on the edge of the two-lane highway, sighing. "I guess they'll just have to wait." he said and turned his head to watch the rain slip down the window. ~~~~ The old man sniffed the air. Blood. Rain. It was nice, soothing, soft like the touch of angels' wings. . .or demons' breath. All those police officers. . .all those men. Not quite five thousand, but they were all fed. . . The old man let his tongue swipe across his lips, hungered now for the freshness of life. So much blood, and in the middle again. . .the cross. Another crucifixion. He smiled, grieving for a world that had no crucifixions. Grieving that they had not come in time. ~~~~ The car swished to a stop on the pavement outside the warehouse, it's tires losing a bit of traction in the slick lot. "It's quiet. . ." he muttered. They jumped from the silver Ford, making up for the lost hour sitting out in the rain, waiting for the sky to clear. Scully ran into Mulder when he crossed the threshold and simply stopped. "Mulder-" "Oh, God, they're all dead." She slipped around his shocked form and into the room. They were. All dead. "The . . .police. . .they *called* you." He nodded and sniffed the air. "It's fresh. . .maybe ten minutes. . ." She wanted to sink to the floor, but it was spattered with blood and brains. "If we had come right away. . .Mulder, if you hadn't pulled over because of the storm. . ." She let her gaze travel over the remains. The police officers, medical examiners, forensics experts, reporters, anyone. . . all positioned in groups of five or ten, their mouths open and eyes closed, fingers entwined over their stomachs. "What did he do? How could he have killed them all?" Mulder walked over to one of the groups of five and bent forward, holding his breath as he examined the bodies. "Looks. . .strange. Like they just bled everywhere. . .from their mouths especially." "Maybe he had some kind of posion gas? Causing severe hemorrhages?" she guessed, slipping in closer. Her gun was drawn and she was stepping carefully, eyes constantly alert. Watching her, he cursed his idiocy and pulled his own weapon, standing again to cover her. She bent down next to the bodies and shook her head. "All I can think is that he rigged the room to be one huge gas chamber, slammed the door shut when all of them were in here, and then killed them. . ." "But Scully, how is it that all of them were inside? Especially the reporters? This is a crime scene." She shook her head. "Maybe he lured them in. . .I don't know." He was thinking demon and she was trying deperately to come up with something different. It was weird, because she was usually the one to believe in the spiritual things, the cases that she chalked up to God and his miracles. Now he had that belief. It was old, familiar, yet strange territory. He normally was the believer. . .but she was the believer when it came to God. He shivered and looked up. "Another crucifixion, Scully. A woman again." She nodded. "I guess we need to call in the police. . .again." He frowned. "I wonder if anyone's left. . ." "It's a big city, Mulder. . ." He nodded and moved to make the call, pulling out his cell phone. She suddenly gasped and he turned around, facing her, waiting, frightened. She pointed to the beams of the cross. "You give them something to eat," she quoted, staring at the words written on the paper above the cross. "What does that mean?" She shivered, and glanced back to the men, all clustered around in groups of five and ten, their mouths opened and fingers laced over their stomachs like contentment after Thanksgiving meal. "In the Bible. . .Jesus fed the five thousand from five loaves and two fish. That's what he told his disciples. . .you feed them." "What is he doing then? Recreating famous scenes from the life of Jesus?" She looked back at him. "I . . I guess so?" He frowned. "There has to be something more than that. I bet that when you autopsy them, they'll have full stomachs, too." She rubbed her eyes and motioned to the phone in his hand. "Call now." He nodded and dialed. She wracked her brain to think of what this could possibly mean. . .what the stories of Jesus had to do with a demon. She felt sick. ~~~~ They were sitting in his motel room because it felt safer. She was perched on the table, balanced between the wall and his chair. He was sitting close to her, his hand splayed along her thigh, rubbing it unconsciously as he thought. "Let me pick your brain, Scully. You have all the Bible stories up there." She nodded, almost driven to distraction by his fingers along her muscle. "Are there any stories about someone coming after Jesus that would do the same things, the same miracles and signs, and yet be really a servant of the Devil." She was shaking her head before she thought it through, and then she paused, suddenly remembering. "Well, this one man was possessed by demons named Legion, because there were so many. And Jesus called them out of him and into swine which ran off the cliff." He shook his head. "I don't think this is some kind of revenge. I think it's more of a role playing. Someone or something thinks they're evil out there." "There's the antiChrist." "What's that?" "A false teacher I think, hold on." Getting up from the table, she ran to the dresser drawer and pulled out a Gideon Bible, smiling as she came back with it clutched tightly in her hands. "This could be helpful." She flipped through the pages, trying to remember all those Catholic lessons she'd had in church, wondering when it was that she'd forgotten them. "Um, it's in one of the letters. I think one of St. John's, cause he was into that kind of thing. Wrote Revelation and the really weird first part of the Book of St. John." He jumped up and got his laptop out, then started it up. "I bet they have a concordance online somewhere." She smiled and crowded him on the bed, watching as the screen lit up and he clicked on Netscape. It took a little under twenty minutes to find that the word 'antiChrist' had four references, all by John. "Okay, 1 John 2:18, 2:22, and 4:3. Also, 2 John verse 7." "Yeah, 2 John only has one chapter," she explained, seeing his confusion. They glanced through the Bible. She sucked in her breath and looked up at him. "This is pretty clear. Listen, "Who is the liar but the one who denies that Jesus is the Christ? This is the antichrist, the one who denies the Father and the Son." "Is that what this thing is doing? Denying God?" "I don't know. Maybe mocking Him, but this seems to indicate the antichrist is one who believes at first and then says he doesn't." He took the Bible from her and read it himself, then sat there thinking for a moment. "Doesn't it say somewhere that God cast the Devil from heaven, something along the lines of-" "Wait, yeah. In Revelation." Scully began flipping to the back, but she paused and glanced up at him with a certain measure of fear and awe. "Wait, look at this." She pointed out a verse in Revelation, and he read it aloud. "We have marked the servants of God with a seal on their foreheads." He paled and glanced back up to her, seeing the scar in white relief to the freckles along her forehead. "We've been marked. . ." he whispered. She glanced up at him and then back to the Bible, its brown pebbled cover looking innocent and hopeful. "Are we supposed to be doing something more than what we are?" he asked, looking more to the white patch of skin that traced her hairline than her eyes. "I don't know. . .I haven't ever been . . . I've never. . ." She stopped and closed her eyes. She had to deal with facts, not theories and strange things. "Go back to what you said before. About the devil being cast down." "Okay, well. . .This verse about the antichrist is talking about those people who left the church, right? And how they 'did not belong to us.' Well, that's kind of like the devil, right? The devil knows of God and yet denies God, therefore, isn't he the antichrist?" She sighed. "I don't know. . .I don't understand any of this. I never have." Picking up the Bible again, she began flipping through it, reading the passages about the antichrist, thinking on what it was saying. "Mulder, in this, it talks about discerning truth from lies, about knowing the spirit of truth and searching for the truth in all things. And doing that makes you a child of God, while condoning and teaching lies makes you the antichrist." He nodded but wasn't sure where she was headed with that. "Well, isn't that you? Searching for the truth. . .while others feed you lies that keep you confused?" "I don't really see how this has anything to do with my sister, Scully." She stiffened. "I meant in general, Mulder. You search for the truth in everything." He sighed and rubbed her back, wishing to smooth her ruffled feathers. "I know. I see your point. But who is this guy and what the hell is trying to say to us?" She buried her head in the covers and sighed, slumping into the warmth of his arms and the bed. He smoothed his hands along her spine, then kneaded his knuckles into the stiff muscles, working his thumbs into her back with the force of the day's tension. She let out a little groan and sighed. "I don't want to think about this anymore." He nodded and pushed her up to the bed, shoving the covers down and letting her crawl in. "I don't want you alone, Scully." She nodded, looking back to the door and her room. "I don't want to be alone either." He pulled the bedspread up to her chin and tucked her in, then kissed the scar running faintly along her hairline. "Good night Scully," he whispered and settled down into the chair opposite the bed. He heard her sigh once more, then the sound of the Bible as it hit the floor. It echoed ominously in the dark of the room. He felt awful nightmares coming. ~~~~ end part three Title: Fresh Wounds Part Four of Five: Breath Of Life Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@harding.edu< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. ~~@~~@~~ F R E S H W O U N D S ~~@~~@~~ Breath Of Life ~~@~~@~~ "But after three and a half days, the breath of life from God entered them and they stood on their feet, and those who saw them were terrified. . .The second woe has passed. The third woe is coming very soon." --Revelation 11: 11-14 ~~@~~@~~ He could see her there, trapped in the grip of the old man, her eyes closing as she gave in to the blackness. The decaying skin fell from his brittle folds like leperous snow, and his crazy grin made Mulder want to throw up. He ran forward, shoving away the man, taking Scully back into this arms and pulling her from the madman. But blood already stained her clothes and the wounds were deep and fresh along her hands and feet. As she bled, Mulder frantically tried to help her, tried to find something that would make it stop. She began to slip away, her heartbeat grew slow and irregular, her eyes slipped shut. He panicked and shook her body, the fear clutching him tight, tight, like a snake. And then he woke, tangled in the blanket, shaking his pillow and sobbing. Scully was there, holding his hands away from him, pulling him into her embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, and he tumbled into her sweet depths, drowning in her grace. "It could have been us, Scully." She shook her head and sat down next to him, pulling his arm around her. "No, no. God saved us, Mulder." He shivered. It was hard to trust in something so remote, someone so intangible. "But next time? Will he let you die, Scully? He lets millions of people die each day, what makes us so special?" "I don't know Mulder, and I can't even begin to explain it, but we have a job do to here, and we have to bring this killer to justice. No matter *what* he might be or do." Mulder nodded, and found that she was beside him in the chair, squeezed in tight for such a small space. "What are you doing?" he said, and stood up, bringing her with him. She gaped at him, then dropped her eyes, thinking he was angry, maybe even embarassed. "There's no room in this chair, Scully." He took her hand and led her back to the bed, then crawled in beside her, making himself comfortable. She smiled and closed her eyes. "Just don't hog the covers Mulder." He held up the blanket. "I brought my own." "Sleep, then. No more bad dreams." He curled around the outline of her body, not touching, but close enough for her to feel his breath along the top of her head. It was somehow comforting to know he was there. She fell back asleep. ~~~~ The next morning, there was no question what had to be done. She couldn't be sure whether or not the answer had come to her in a dream, or if she just knew, but they had to go back to the warehouse, to where the policemen were killed, to where the woman had been hanged on the cross. Mulder drove carefully and no thunderstorms stopped them, no rain to keep them away. As the car came closer, she had this thought: I'm going to die today. And it did not frighten her. ~~~~ The warehouse was old, falling down amidst the memories of another life, of roaring times. It had three stories, and one huge main room that soared to the skies like a temple of Diana, or the tower of Babylon. The different floors were locked and closed off, but the main room was stained red with the blood of the innocents. The old man licked his lips and glanced around. He could feel his Hunters closing in, drawn to the place by a mixture of good and evil intent. He knew he would win. It was written thus: "The beast that comes up from the bottomless pit will make war on them and conquer them and kill them, and their dead bodies will lie in the street of the great city. . ." Conquer them. The old man licked his flaking lips again and sat down to wait, knowing that they were coming, that they would come to him, that they would die. It was all a matter of timing. ~~~~ Mulder parked in the empty lot, watching Scully's face as she rose from the seat with grace and dignity, to meet her death. He knew for certain that death was here, waiting for them, but he also knew that they would be taking the demon with them. The demon. Strange even now, and he couldn't quite call it that to himself, or else it would seem wrong. It was somehow more than that, as if it were the essence of all that was evil, the root of all destruction. A beast. He walked slowly up to the entrance and took Scully's hand in his, deep breaths stealing through his lungs. Scully turned to him and smiled once, but it was stretched thin, as if she didn't really have anything to smile about. She didn't either. He led her forward, pushing his way through the doors of the warehouse and into the main room. And there it was, rotting, falling away, a disgusting lump of flesh and disease. He felt sick, felt bile rise in his throat and he turned to the side, gagging on the nothing he had for breakfast. Scully was instantly beside him, touching his forehead with a cool palm, making the scar along his brow tingle with the rush of electricity. He looked up at her and saw that her forehead glowed, just as he was sure his did too, and that her eyes were dark orbs of space against the luminous of her face. She kissed his lips lightly and he straightened up, finding his strength again. The old man, decaying even as he sat there, stretched out his hand to them, and twisted his fingers. Mulder gasped, bent forward, doubling up around his stomach. Scully was collapsing next to him, and he reached out through his intense pain to catch hold of her. They fell together and Mulder looked over at the man, saw that his face was peeling away in layers now, as he used energy. The old man's fingers were twisting around inside his gut, slicing through his stomach and shredding his intestines. Mulder began vomitting and Scully curled around him, making low pitched noises that hurt him just as badly as the wrenching. He reached out and took her tightly in his arms, burying his face in her hair, shoving down the urge to throw-up, and breathing in the radiance of her. She screamed once and fainted in his arms, the pain of the contact too intense. Mulder then felt the same shredding along his nerves, the same nails digging trenches in his skin like pick axes in ruts. He felt his body writhe, but he was already falling far away, into the blackness Scully had forged ahead. The old man was now nothing more than a husk, with an arm twisted and rotting, the maggots crawling along his eye sockets. Mulder lost himself to the darkness. To the darkness and the death waiting. ~~~~ In the stillness of the warehouse, two bodies remained, clutching each other tightly, faces twisted in silent screams. A breath of wind scuttled across the floor, coming from the open doors of the main room, then escaped through the open windows. An invisible hand smoothed the lines of horror from them, took their hands and laid them still upon their chests. A cool breeze began lifting the woman's hair from her eyes, tousled the man's locks into a ruffled nest. A shuddering went through the room and the pile of mud and dirt and maggots toppled to the floor, nothing more than ashes and dust. The man took a faint breath and the wind was still. Then a gargled half-scream floated from his lips like an afterthought and he went quiet, breath dancing along his lungs, shooting into the room. The woman remained silent, still, pale. The breath of wind rustled her body, lifted her almost from the ground, impaled her with its chill mark of winter. She shuddered, coughed. Breathed. The wind settled her in the man's stiff, warm arms. And then everything grew still again. ~~~~ Mulder opened his eyes. Wished he hadn't. Red hair encirled him, her breath skirting the edges of his nose and grazing his lips like a faint kiss of wind. He felt her chest rise and fall, felt her move slowly in his arms. He supposed he ought to call the police, the paramedics, someone. But no strength was in him. He laid his head back to the floor and rested, eyes closed. Maybe today wasn't the day for them to die. ~~~~ end part four Title: Fresh Wounds Part Five of Five: Morning Star Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@harding.edu< see part one for other ~~@~~@~~ Morning Star ~~@~~@~~ "To anyone who conquers I will also give the morning star." --Revelation 2:28 ~~@~~@~~ She was propped beside the window when he came in, watching the sun rise and the dark night disappear. Mulder paused, giving himself time to catch his breah after stumbling from his hospital bed, and also to allow his eyes to soak in her sight. She was weak too, he could tell, and her face was slack with fatigue and hunger. Neither of them had the stomach to eat anything. He slipped up beside her and she turned slowly to him, her eyes resting on his form. "Mulder," she said softly, and nodded to the sun making its way toward the sky. He glanced outside, soaking in the warmth and tenderness of the morning. She took his hand and kissed it softly. "We've been given another day, Mulder. More days than we can count. I'm not wasting them." He glanced back down to her fire hair, to the way her eyes were shining despite the hunger, the memories, the fear. Taking the morning in stride, he bent down and kissed her softly. She rose like the sun into him, dazzling white and bright, and he was grateful simply for the gift of her. Scully. ~~~~ end all adios RM ~~~~~~~~~~ "In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven." --Matthew 5:16 ~~~~~~~~~~ http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Shire/5007/ Come check out my web page ~~~~~~~~~~