Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Date: Tue, 11 May 1999 08:11:44 GMT Subject: A Lover's Touch - Second Post Attempt Title: A Lover's Touch Author: bodeker@inav.net Classification: MSR - it could be classified as an alternate universe. Rating: Definately NC-17 - so please, don't read this if you are not of proper age. Summary: Mulder and Scully go to the MidWest to investigate a series of deaths and are drawn into a lifestyle not of their own. This is Chapter One of a completed story that is going through final edits and will be posted as chapters. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not my characters, nor is the X- Files my series. I respect and admire the intense characterization. No insult or infringment is intended. Notes: This is just a story, a second posting because my server died as I tried to post it the first time, so please excuse any hiccups. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and I voice mine through my stories and post them for others enjoyment. If you enjoy them, please let me know. If you don't, please delete it off your view list and skip over my writing. Please don't contact me. And, as always, thank you to Dee and Sherry, my editors. A Lover's Touch: Chapter One Throughout my life I have believed in possibilities which some consider ludicrous and others impossible. I believe that the impossible is plausible and nothing should be taken for granted in this world. During my years of study at Oxford, earning my degrees in both psychology and criminal behavior, I was also fascinated by the study of legends, the occult, and urban myths. When I joined the FBI and began to profile for them, I was trained to focus my mind into someone's demented world, one which parallels our reality, but one that the same rules do not apply. Within a short measure of time, I need to master their world, come to understand its rules, and the significance of actions taken. If I choose not to sacrifice my own mind to this world, not to understand the delirium and insanity that often accompany such radical crimes, the case will remain unsolved, and the murderer free to kill again. The world of the criminal always has a key with which to enter. It may or may not have a key with which to exit. Due to my abilities and training over the past years, I have almost come to openly welcome the look of madness. I find it comforting in a way that is difficult to explain. I understand it, and I can see how madness consumes not only the mind but the body, and alters, inevitably, irreversibly, the physical world around it. Some of the most significant events of my life have occurred under the guise of madness. That is why when I opened the file from Hampshire, Iowa I was not surprised, or revolted, but was merely curious, wondering what type of person would do what had been done. My mind was already through the door, wandering through both familiar and unfamiliar landscapes, looking for that key. Before finishing the case file I was already at work, my mind was already searching the vastness of the killer's mind, seeking details and clues to the killer's identity that others would miss. The slant of the tourniquet, perhaps the color of the makeup on the victim's faces. I glanced at the letter from the town sheriff. It was brief, stating that there had been other mysterious deaths, that had formerly been ruled suicides. In light of recent events however, it had been decided to request a profile from the FBI due to certain evidence which would seem to indicate the work of a serial killer. Upon contacting the FBI, he had been referred to Agent Scully and I. I reviewed the case files, looking over Coroner's reports, crime scene photos, obituaries and death certificates. The sheriff sent copies of the obituaries, stapled to photos of each victim prior to death. Two things interested me. Each victim was a single, attractive, woman. Each victim's eulogy was read by a Miss Anna Saint John. Miss Anna Saint John runs the local psychic clinic, as advertised on the back of two of the obituaries. A preliminary background check had been done on Hampshire, Iowa township which revealed it to have a population of a mere 200, supporting no doctors, hospitals, or churches. How then, I wondered, could it support a psychic, and why would that psychic be so involved within the community that she was called on to read the eulogy for every victim? That was something I had to find out. My nightmares are back. Not that they really ever left. Now they are dark and mysterious, not revealing themselves to me. I'm used to that. I wake up with the sense of being hunted. I'm used to that, too. But with these nightmares there is something indescribable that haunts me through my waking hours. I run at the track to escape the dreams. I run until the wind comes hard to me, forcing me to stop, sweat dripping from my hair onto the pavement. And still I dream. Last night, the dream was different. I dreamt that I woke up to a beautiful blond woman, standing in my apartment. She was dressed in renaissance-styled clothing with a gold circlet on her forehead and woven into her thick curls. A black velvet cloak covered her, flowing down her slender body. "Fox." She said simply in a lilting Irish accent. "It's time for you to awaken." "I am awake." I pinched the bridge of my nose and then looked back up. Nope, still there. She laughed softly, looking down at her hands. "No. It's time for you to become who you need to be. . . who you are meant to be." "I agree. My assistant director doesn't see it that way, though." I answered, standing up. My clothes were still damp from my workout and clinging to my back., and I tugged on my shirt, annoyed. She shook her head slightly. "I knew you'd be difficult, but after watching you for all these years, I thought you would be more open to what is required of you. You need to solve the case in Hampshire." "I'm aware of that." Damn, now I was starting to itch. I should have taken a shower. How the hell did she get in here? I glanced at the door. No forced entry. I must be asleep. "Your destiny depends on your speed and ability to mold your strengths and talents into what your people require of you. " Her deep voice was calm with an inner strength. Her eyes were warm, welcoming. Maybe that was why I didn't reach for my Glock. "My people?" "Give me your hand and it will all become clear." I looked at her, trying to figure out her mind. How did she get in here. Why? What did she think she could accomplish? What fantasy was she playing in her mind - or causing me to play in mine? At this point, and with little success, I tried to convince myself that I was only dreaming. That was the only explanation for the extravagant costume and jewelry she was wearing, not to mention magically appearing in my apartment. "Agent Mulder, you will chase aliens, clones, and other creatures which defy explanation, yet you hesitate to touch my hand?" Good point. She held out a graceful hand, fingers spread, showing me the small palm of her hand. I wiped my hand off on my shorts and placed my hand against hers. At first there was a feeling of coolness, and I looked at her to see her sedately smiling at me. I raised my eyebrows in an expectant gesture. "Now." she whispers. I felt as if I had been thrown across the room, but I hadn't moved. I was not strong enough to stand anymore, but I couldn't break the bond between my hand and hers. She lowered herself slowly, matching my dizzy descent, and over me as I collapsed on the floor . "Feel, Agent Mulder. Feel what you need to, what you have been closed away from your whole life. Feel the Clan's life blood pouring into your own troubled soul. Search well within yourself and know now the full extent of your capabilities, and your talents, for your world and your clan need you. I was lost in a turbulent sea of my own emotions and memories. Every sound, every image was magnified and amplified beyond my limits to perceive. I was overwhelmed and confused by the feelings overtaking me. I closed my eyes and groaned, letting my head list to one side. Oh God Scully no they didn't take you too...oh God please don't let her die. Why Samantha? Why not me? My doctoral dissertation at Oxford, standing in front of my graduate committee... ...please God let Scully live... Scully's look at me as I hand her the cross back... Her small slim body in my arms... There is more...someone is crying, someone is in pain.... Somewhere, someone is in love, anxiously anticipating their first date... Excitement mingled in their breath...Someone is angry...betrayed. They are hitting a punching bag...Scully is home alone, reading a book, the television on but muted. She wants me to call. I'll call Scully, I promise I will... My mother's isolation from me, not wanting to believe what has happened in her life, why Samantha was taken from her... My eyes snapped open and I was being held by her. Scared shitless, I scrambled to get away from her, sweat again dripping from my brow. I kept backing up until I hit a wall. I anchored my back against it, eyeing this mysterious woman. "What have you done to me?" I demanded, my voice shaking. Every muscle and nerve in my body was vibrating and every sense overloaded. My body reverberated with other people's emotions. I hated it. "I've Awakened you." her slender hands unfastened the clasp of her cloak. Her gown of royal blue with a lighter blue underdress, is was laced with gold. "You are an empath, born and bred. Up until this time, you have been using only a small portion of your dormant abilities to profile criminals. I have now released those powers. " She sat on the couch, relaxing into the black leather. "It's difficult and disorienting at first. You are sensing things you never thought you could. " "Psychic abilities?" "No." she held up a finger for emphasis. "Empathic abilities. A striking difference. Psychics can sense people's destinies, know their thoughts, their actions, know everything and anything about that person. Empaths can sense emotions. The know what truly drives a person. They see beyond the walls and the shields around the human soul and absorb its very essence." My breath was slowing down, but my pulse was still rapid, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. "Why me?" "Why do you have brown hair? Why hazel eyes?" She shrugged, then smoothed a hand across the soft leather of the couch. "The women of our Clan are almost always empathic; men only sometimes are. The men of our Clans who are not empathic rely on their mates to give them their strength. Men who are empathic lead their people with the aid of their mate. Whether it is a matter of genetics, or a matter of fate, I can't say." Her gaze pierced mine. She smiled again and began to laugh. "I forget that this is all new for you, and there is so much to accomplish in a short time. Traditionally, in our culture, male empaths are trained year upon year, from birth on. Thankfully you've had some training." "I've had none. I don't even know what these Clans are you are talking about. I'm Jewish." "Jewish, Celtic, same thing." She dismissed my ancient religious heritage with an airy wave or her hand and stood, turning to look at some pictures on the wall. "Your psychology training, your doctorate, your profiling for the FBI. How many profilers are there of your caliber in the Bureau, Agent Mulder? You are the shining star, the legend. Did you ever wonder why?" "It's a gift, I responded with a certain amount of sarcasm." She looked at me over her shoulder. "Aye, a gift. Your empathic gift, lying dormant all these years. Now it's been awakened, your senses have been heightened, and your ability to get into another person's mind has grown beyond your comprehension. Now it's time for you to train." I stood slowly with my back still against the wall. My muscles were aching. "Normally, as I said, you would have years to practice this ability. But you need to leave for Hampshire in the morning, and I need you at peak performance quite soon. I need to give you the training overnight." "I've never been particularly good at all-night cram sessions." "I doubt that. You have an eidetic memory. Besides, she said somewhat waspishly, you've never had me for a teacher." She was searching the folds of her cape, moving yard upon yard of fabric. "Ah, there you are." She whispered to herself and lifted her long skirt. There, tied to her calf, was a dagger, a thick blade with a sharp point. "The dirk has been in my family for many . . . years." I had the sense she was going to name a somewhat longer period of time, but stopped herself. She smiled, laying the dirk flat in her hands and extending it for me to touch. I lifted it, the solid metal heavy in my hands felt cool and resilient. I offered it back to her, and she took it in her right hand, pointing the blade down. "It will be yours, soon. But not now." She looked up suddenly, a grin widening her mouth. "You still doubt, don't you. Maybe this will convince you." Her arms extended and there was a flash. I blinked for only for a moment, but when I looked at her again she was wearing casual jeans and a sweater. "I must be dreaming", I thought to myself.. "No, you're not." She sighed and pushed up her sleeve. Her arm was covered in pale freckles, melding into her fair skin. She moved closer to me and I noticed the pale dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She reminded me of a blond Amy Irving. Her smile was endearing. Well, when I dream, at least I dream of beautiful women. Considering the odd creatures that frequently populate my waking hours, this is not necessarily a given. I wished I could calm down. It felt as though all of my hairs were standing upright due to some electrical current. A shiver ran down my spine, as I closed my eyes and trembled with it. When I opened them I saw her move the dirk quickly to slice her arm lengthwise. Blood welled up in the wound and quickly began to drip down her arm. She grabbed my hand and pulled my arm towards her. I yanked it back just as quickly. Her gaze burned into mine as she pulled me toward her again. I didn't fight her this time, but kept looking into her eyes, haunted by what I saw there. She did not cut me, as I expected. Instead, allowed her blood to trail onto my skin, where it slid along the smooth surface, rivulets forming through the hairs. Then, it simply disappeared. I blinked and looked more closely. Her wound was already healing. Her blood, spilt onto me, was snaking into my skin, dissolving into me. I held my arm, amazed, watching the blood disappear. She pushed the sleeve of her sweater down, and slid the dirk into a sheath at her waist. The blood was gone. Heat was flowing into me, radiating from the arm which caught her blood. The turbulent emotions storming within my soul were calming. The noises were growing softer, the light was gentler, and the sensations were not so overwhelming. It was as though rather than pounding at piano keys, I had acquired the skill of a classical pianist. Tentatively, testing out the calm after the storm, I slowly walked to the window and looked into the night. There was a couple, fighting on the street. She was angry, consumed by his betrayal. He was repentant. He was trying to open his heart to her. A lust for another woman had overtaken him, but he was in love with her. He was confused, she was in pain. I lifted my eyes to my mysterious guest. As my blood flows through you, your abilities to control your gift will multiply." She reached for my hand and held it in her slender grasp. "You will feel everything now, from the world around you. There will be no more mysteries of nature barred from you. You, and the earth, are one." She followed my gaze out the window, a wistful smile echoing the pain in her eyes. "All the horrors," she whispered dryly, "all the joys, every emotion and blessing and nightmare of human nature will be an open book for you to sense and feel.. You can use this as a tool, Agent Mulder, to help your fellow man. You can use the abilities I have given you as a tool, to control the images and sensations presented to you by the outside world." She turned her head to me, a single tear trickling down her cheek. "I blessed my people, so long ago. I don't know why they stray. Why this hatred and pain exists. But I ache for my children." I was silent, thinking about what had happened. Everything seemed surreal. I could allow myself to feel or not to feel now, and I tested this with the couple I had observed. I felt her pain, and then shut it off. I sipped at his anxiety, poured it into my soul, and then shut it off. They didn't even sense that I was not only observing them, but understanding and feeling their innermost passions and pains. Oblivious. I looked back at her. Her hands were against the cool glass, and she rested her head against the pane, eyes closed. Like a caged animal. "Our greatest fight is yet to come, my young one." she murmurs. "There's so much for you to learn and so little time. I should have seen this coming; I could have prepared you earlier. You need to go to Hampshire, search there for the less than obvious." "That's just what I intend to do." I leaned against the wall, facing her. "So who is committing the murders? How do I stop them?" Again, the pained smile, and she slowly turned away from me, and walked to the desk, slowly rustling papers. "I can't tell you. I can't change destinies or fates, reveal things which will alter the time flow or pattern of history. I can only even the odds, and that's what I have just done." "By "awakening" me with your blood?" "Awakening you early, yes." She nodded, listlessly, still looking through the papers. "My blood helps stabilize you. You lack control from being awakened to early. My blood will solve that problem." "What about my sister, my father...Can you tell me . . ." She held up her hand, cutting me off. "I can't tell you Fox, though I wish I could. Men have done horrible things to you, causing you pain no man should have to suffer. Hopefully, your new abilities will enable you to find her. But if I revealed her past and present to you, the future would be unalterably changed. I can't." she finished apologetically. She looked back to the desk and picked up a newspaper clipping. "Anna Saint John. You've already noticed her. Good." She laid the scrap of paper back down and reached for her cloak. "Remember this advice Agent Mulder, and master it well. The empath's world is one of emotion and hidden feelings, of recognizing desires and temptations which call to the very core of our being. There is no hiding from a strong empath. You are one. In fact, you are one of the strongest empaths existing at this time. "An empath moves and works in a world of dreams, a world not unlike our own reality, but one which can be manipulated more easily, changed by our whim and fancy. It is in this world, Agent Mulder, that hearts can be bonded and warnings given. Wars can be both won and lost because of the world of dreams Agent Mulder. " She tugged on her cloak, pulling her hair out from the dark folds. "Protect your life, protect your world, protect your loves. And start from this moment on, my young one, because just as I know of your strengths and the hunt you are about to pursue, so do others." She lifted her head and fastened the jeweled clasp. "And they have had far more training than you." "Who are you?" I whispered, my eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Oh, you'll see me again." she chuckled and lifted her hood over her head. "And you'll know me then. Names, my friend, are irrelevant. Emotions never are." Her face suddenly became shadowed within the hood, and her body became outlined in a blackness which seemed to consume all light in the room. Then there was only a void of light where she once stood, nothingness. Then my apartment wall slowly faded back, and I could see my desk again through the spot where she had stood just seconds before. . I stood, unmoving, for a time, trying to process what had just happened. I was awake. I had come to that miserable conclusion. She was real. The things that I was feeling were also real. The dread with which I was now anticipating this next case was daunting. I was also curious. While hunting a killer has never become commonplace or boring for me, this case had already added a new twist. . . and we hadn't really started yet, I thought miserably . With a sigh I got myself a glass of ice water and ran a hand through my damp hair. I glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty. My muscles were in knots and I smelled like sweat socks that have stayed under my couch far too long. I put my hand behind my neck and stretched it, hearing the vertebrae pop. I ambled down the hall to the bathroom, wanting a hot shower to soothe the aches away. I cranked on the water and drained my glass, then tugged off my shirt and pushed my shorts down. I stretched, naked, enjoying the sensation of air on my skin. I got into the steamy stream and let it pour over me. Samantha. Are you still alive? Scully. I groaned, knowing I would never sleep. I was excited, the sensations I was experiencing were similar to those of a child on Christmas Eve. What are my capabilities?, I wondered. What can I do? What can I expect? How can I use them? Can I use them to find Samantha? Can I use them to explain what happened to Scully? Scully. I paused, soap in hand suddenly consumed by thoughts of my tiny, red- headed colleague. The sacrifices she has made for me, the feel of her petite body is in my arms on those rare occasions when I've had some excuse, legitimate or otherwise, to hold her, the scent of her hair. As I thought of her I got hard. It's unavoidable, has been for quite some time. Dreams. There was no way I would sleep that night, I thought, much less dream. If the dream-world was to be my home as an empath's, I would have to get a forwarding address, because I've never had much luck at sleeping. I shut off the water and shook myself, and then ducked out of the shower. I toweled my hair roughly, and dried my skin, and then wandered to my closet for a pair of sweats. I opened my window, wanting the cool night air to flow over me as I lay down. I lay with my head on my hands, on my back, looking up at the lights dancing on my ceiling. Scully. I'm began to ache and throb. I could almost smell her. It felt as though there was something I could do, something that I wanted desperately to do, but it was eluding me. I closed my eyes and imagined her, the way she smiles at me in the office, the way her red hair glistens in the sunlight, blowing on the breeze. I pictured Scully curled up in her chair, a soft afghan over her legs, reading a novel. Glasses were perched on her nose, as her fingers absently rubbed her temple and hair with her free hand. The cordless phone laid by her. She wanted me to call. A bright flash surged throughout the room, and moments later a growl of thunder rumbled through, rattling the window. The electric scent of the oncoming storm was carried to me by the stirring breeze. I took a deep breath and willed my body to relax, to ignore its needs and desires and the pulsing of my sex. To accept the loneliness that is so much a part of my life. Again a flash of light through my closed eyelids. I imagined Scully in her chair. Then, suddenly, there was darkness. Not the flat, two dimensional darkness which you normally see when you close your eyes, but a deep void, a physical place. I was still aware of my body on the bed, but I was also in this deepening, ever darkening void which seemed to stretch out infinitely in front of me. Deep lights began to flow through the darkness, sliding by me, lighting the vastness of it all, and then sliding away. I can control this place. The thought came to me, foreign, but I knew it to be the truth. The dream-world is the realm of the empath, my mysterious guide told me. I know I am not sleeping. But others are, and that's the key. Others are. Scully. It stands to reason that my passion for her would bring her first and foremost to my mind. Her slender body nestled into mine, the way it would be, curled up in her large brass bed, dwarfed by the thick rich down comforter which tops it. Her copper hued hair would be a sharp contrast against her pale skin and the paler sheets. Dark eyelashes closed in peaceful slumber. I could see her. She lay asleep before me. Or, I thought, my fantasy life has swung into overdrive. I wanted her to wake up. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to make love to her in a field, surrounded by daisies and roses and thick wildflowers, with a gentle breeze in the cool spring air. I wanted the sun to warm her skin and make it glow, spreading its light on my love for her, making the sweat I draw from her glisten on her skin. Then, I was in that field. Daisies, coneflowers, wildflowers of every bright color I could have imagined were waist-high and thick around me. The flowing field looked like a child's crayon box. Magentas, lavender, rich purple and deep green, yellows and burnished oranges ripened by sun. The blossoms swayed in the gentle breeze. A stream trickled nearby. I began to walk, realizing my chest was bare, my skin being warmed by the sun. I followed the music of water, and walked to a grove of trees lining the stream. As the path widened to a grassy clearing surrounded by tall trees and thick flowers, I saw Scully sitting on a large white blanket, wearing a pale green sundress with buttons from top to bottom. Small buttons which drive a man's mind crazy with thoughts of unbuttoning them. She had unbuttoned them generously at her breast and up her legs, showing a lot of her pale, perfect skin. Her legs were smooth, strong, shapely. I could see the cleavage of her breasts pushing up through the opening vee of the undone buttons. God help me. I blinked, my groin immediately aching and throbbing, and I hadn't even studied the sultry look in those blue eyes and the way her lush mouth was swollen and the color of crushed rose petals. "Mulder." her voice was husky, and she extended her hand to me, pulling me down to the blanket with her. "I've been waiting for you." I swallowed hard as I sat next to her. I was trying to stop myself from lunging at her like an animal in rut. She smelled like jasmine and roses and woman -- intoxicating, sensual woman. "Here." she handed me a glass of a rich Merlot, and then smiled at me. I took a drink, not knowing where to begin. What does one do when he is fully conscious in a dream of his own making? "I need you Dana." It came out as a hoarse croak. She looked down for a moment and when she looked up there was a tear trickling a delicate path down her cheek. Shit. I've made her cry. "I love you Mulder." Hello. I blinked harder and wondered if I could make people feel what I wanted them to in my dreams. No, that wasn't it. I could feel her love pouring into me, intoxicating me more than the damn wine ever could. Her faith and trust in me were overwhelming, her passion all consuming. I wanted to unleash the furies that beating within her, beating there for me. I set the wine glass down and moved to her, my large hand sliding into her hair, grasping it in back, drawing her to me. My lips claimed hers in a kiss, and I lowered her onto the blanket. Her soft, bare skin pressed against my chest through the thin fabric of the dress. Her lips yielded to mine, allowing frenzied domination and sweet torture. She tasted of an earthy heaven, of spice and wine and sunshine. I groaned and lowered myself more fully onto her, settling in, allowing my desire to take full rein. Her small hands snaked up my bare back, up the path of my spine, weaving into my hair. She pulled at my hair, trying to deepen the kiss even further, and a frustrated little groan came from her. I chuckled, knowing that frustration, and I was pleased I could make her so wanton, give so much pleasure. I rolled over, bending my knees up and leaning her against my thighs. She reached for me, but I pushed her back, and slid my hands down, slowly, to the bodice of the sundress. I began the murderous task of unbuttoning them, one by one. With each button I released, I caressed a little bit of her bared skin with one finger. My eyes never left hers. I wanted her to see the passion that lives there, what she does to me, how she can transform me into something almost primal. As I slid the straps off her shoulders she ground her sex into my hard erection, the movement sending waves of pleasure through me. A sound that was almost a deep growl came from within me, and she arched her back in response to the pleasure the pressure my erection was giving her. I grasped her hips, pressing her onto me again, and was rewarded with a whimper. She was ready for me, beyond ready. I could smell her scent, s the heady musky smell of her need. It only further sent me over the edge. She sat, half naked, on my groin, and I reached up to caress her breasts. She gasped softly as I began rubbing my knuckles against her hard nipples, and then cupped her perfect fullness in my hands. Her skin felt cool even though her face was flushed. I pulled her to me, lowering one nipple into my mouth, sucking the taut skin so it rubbed against my tongue. Gently, I grazed it with my teeth, alternately nipping and then licking in soft apology. Her hands were woven in my hair, and she pulled me against her. She was openly moaning now and whispering. Her love and desire poured into me in a delicious mixture. My little partner has kept a lot of emotions bottled up inside. I rubbed my face in the valley between her breasts and then began on her other nipple. My hands traced her spine, and then the outline of her hips down to her thighs. I lightly caressed the inside of her thighs, teasing her, and was rewarded with a small, startled scream. I chuckled again, reveling in her passion for me. Through my delirious haze of passion and arousal, I felt proud of her, proud that she could respond to me so openly, giving me the gift of her uninhibited response. I know Scully does not drop her defenses easily, and for a long time I didn't dare to dream that this would ever happen. I rolled her onto her back, and her passion dazed eyes opened slightly more to look into mine. Her lips were swollen from my kisses, her hair tousled around her shoulders. I lifted her hips and pulled the sundress off, leaving it in a tangle at our feet. I propped myself up on my elbow and leaned on my side to see her, to take in her beauty. She was not wearing underpants. Not only that, she was glistening with moisture for me. Oh God Dana, are you trying to kill me? I looked up quickly to see her smiling as her secret was revealed. I smiled back, lowering my head to kiss her, to taste her once again, as my free hand began to lightly caress her belly and trace her thighs. Lightly, so lightly I had to keep telling myself that. I wanted to tickle her with my touch, drive her crazy, make her beg. She was becoming restless. I thanked God I had my jeans on because I would have been inside her in a heartbeat, the way her hips were bucking against the light pressure of my hand. Her hands were touching my chest, nails lightly grazing t my nipples, tugging at my shoulders for more pressure and more contact. In time, Dana. In time. My hand moved between her legs then, and she came undone. "Mulder." she moaned, as I put one of my fingers inside her. So tight, so hot and wet. I groaned as I imagined her around me, pulsing with me, pulling me even deeper as I slid a second finger inside her. Not yet. I lowered my head to kiss her neck, biting her skin. My thumb found the sensitive fold at top, as I am still stroked into her, still giving her pressure, still rubbing, wetly, against her. She bucked against my hand, restlessly searching for her release. Her pulse was rapid beneath my lips, and I could taste the salt of her sweat. "Mulder please." she whimpered, arching against my hand. "It's okay, I love you." I murmured, nuzzling her neck. I leaned back on my elbow, grasping her hands with mine. "You're safe, Dana. You can let go because I've got you. You're mine. It's okay." Her blue eyes stared into mine, hanging on my words. They gave her the assurance she needed, because suddenly she was lost in a powerful orgasm, and I was plunging into her even harder, trying to match the pressure she demanded from me. She throbbed around my fingers, clenching her thighs around my hand As wetness poured from her, her scent thick in the air. I was so lost in her, in watching her come, that I forgot about the tight throbbing in my own groin. "Mulder I love you." she screamed, and I kept rubbing her, gently, softly, as she whimpered through her aftermath. She turned to me, and I held her against me, rocking her. I rolled over and lay with her on my chest, stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head. After a time she turned her head to smile at me. "I love you. I wish I could tell you that at work." "There could always be a first." "I hope this isn't a dream." She whispered. "I want this to be real." My heart was suddenly in my throat. "You dream about this?" Was all I managed to croak. She nodded. "So many times I think I am going to go crazy. I dream about making love to you, about you loving me, and then I wake up and feel so empty. I tell myself it was nothing more than imagination and hormones." I shook my head. "No, Dana, never. I'll always love you." She smiled and kissed me. At first the kiss mirrored her sweet love, and then slowly, it took a turn, and her hand was pressing at my crotch. "Scully don't." I gasped, but she was intent. Before I could reach down to stop her, my jeans were undone and her hot hand was grasping me and I was thrusting against her palm. "Oh Jesus Scully." I mumbled, my eyes closing. She pulled down my pants and tugged them off my feet roughly. As she started to come back up, I grasped her and rolled on top of her, finding her mouth with mine. The tip of my sex was resting against her hot, moist cleft and it was driving me crazy. She hips ground against mind in ways which are probably illegal in 48 states , demonstrating moves which I was quite sure I had never seen in any of my flicks. Or Frohike's, come to think of it. Her passion as startling in its intensity, and I loved every moment of it. I could no longer stand it and I pushed slowly into her. She was tiny and tight and the friction brought about an almost unbearable intensity. She arched her back as I pressed into her fully, her interior muscles clenching me, not wanting me to move. I did. I thrust in and out, finding our rhythm, testing her endurance. She was already close to release. Her half-lidded eyes looked into mine with raw desire, and consumed my soul in the way only she can. Scully is my hero, my savior. She is the only thing which will satisfy the appetite and desires she has cultivated within me. "Mulder." she whimpered, and then her back arched involuntarily as her hips slammed into mine. "Oh God , Mulder. The last part was a scream, with her nails raking the taut muscles in my back. It was my undoing, and I grabbed her waist with one encircling arm and thrust into her with everything I had. I tried to feed my cravings, let the desires fuel themselves to burnout. I bit and kissed her neck, tasting her sweat and tears. "Oh God Dana." I whispered against her skin, the intensity of my orgasm sweeping through me. "You're mine." I growled, my voice barely sounding human. I shuddered as I stiffened against her, feeling her grow even hotter from what I was pouring into her. She whimpered in satisfied acceptance, as if that was the only thing which would soothe her needs. "I love you Scully." I whispered against her skin, exhausted. I was totally relaxed, totally at peace, totally in love with this woman I held in my arms. "Don't ever leave me." She chuckles faintly. "I'll never leave you Mulder. Never." The next morning I woke to brilliant sunshine streaming in through my windows. For the first time in days I had slept soundly through the night. As I sat up, rubbing my hands through my hair, the dream came back to me, and I looked at the bed in puzzlement. No wet spot. Well, I guess it's possible to have an incredibly erotic dream without any emission. It was suspicious, though. It bothered me and the dream nagged at the back of my mind. Mostly because I wondered if it was a dream, at all. I groaned, my muscles achy from heavy sleep, and stretched, trying to work out all the kinks. Kinks. Humph. If that dream was real, Dana certainly had a few kinks in her closet along with some skeletons. An hour later I walked into the downstairs office. Scully was not in yet, I couldn't sense her within the building. I unlocked the office door and slid into my chair behind my desk, putting my briefcase on top of the desk and picked up the phone. I asked the travel agent for the Bureau to get two reservations to Hampshire, Iowa, please. Immediately. Won't that get the goat of my little partner? ************************************ It all started out as a good morning. Not just an ordinary good morning, but a spectacular morning. The kind of morning when you wake up and stretch, and you feel happy, sexy, and alive, all at once. Little did I know. I got ready for work as usual, unable to explain the satisfied feeling that consumed me. I rubbed scented lotion into my skin, savoring the smooth, creamy texture. I put a dab of my favorite, exotic perfume on. Normally, I wear it only for evenings spent out. Why not? I thought to myself, it will keep them on their toes at the Bureau. I carefully applied my makeup, lining my eyes and examining my blush to make sure that it was evenly applied. As I headed out of the house, pulling my briefcase over my shoulder, I saw a jewelry box sitting on my dining room table. I stopped and looked at it. It was a set of twisted gold, wide-band hoop earrings from my mother. I hadn't any occasion to wear them, I normally chose small, conservative accessories when going to work. But today... Today... I walked over to the box and plucked it off the dining room table. I put the earrings on as I sat at a stoplight, heading to work.. Heading to Mulder. I sighed as I wondered what new case he was going to find for us now. His search for the truth had become frantic and stressful of late, keeping up an exhausting pace. It was only a matter of time before... Before what? I shift my car into gear and turn left. What would happen, where was this going, this frantic need and desire? What was its purpose? I didn't know. Mulder had embarked on a search of every possible paranormal case lately. It didn't have to do with abductions, or his sister Samantha. In fact, lately he had been assisting with criminal profiling for some serial murders. It concerned me. He let me know what he intended to do, so he wasn't pulling away. I was with him through every case. Why would it bother me if he pulled away? I frowned, as I pulled into the secure parking lot, showed my badge, and drove to my parking spot. Why? Because he is my partner, the person I depend on to save my life during times of trouble. That's why. I turned off the car and reached for my briefcase, but then paused. A warm flush came over me as I remembered Mulder, tenderly holding me in the hospital, nuzzling my hair. I remembered Mulder, sitting near my bedside, crying. I count on him with not only my life, but with the very essence that makes me Dana Scully. I grabbed my briefcase and headed to the elevators. ************************************** I've been running Scully ragged lately, that much I have to admit. Trying to keep myself challenged, deep into work, so that I don't think about how sweet she smells, how warm her eyes are when she looks at me. It hasn't worked. Lately just the whiff of Formalin is enough to get me aroused. Especially when it's clinging to her hair. As I hung up the phone, the door opened and I looked up to see Scully there, in the doorway. "Scully!" I shouted, rather too exuberantly I will admit, but damn, she looks good. It made me smile. She was almost glowing. There was something different about her. Something sensual and, extremely feminine. A radiant beauty from within. Then it hit me. It was the dream. She looked like a well-loved woman who had been sensually ravaged beyond all comprehension. She looked satisfied, sated, pleasantly exhausted. And I did that to her. A certain sense of smugness was growing within me. Call it male pride. Call it ego. But after years of wondering whether this woman desired me even one fraction as much as I desire her, I finally have at least one answer, and it's the right one. And as Scully dubiously looked at me and reviewed the file on her desk with barely concealed sarcasm, I couldn't help grinning like the village idiot. She loves me. I can't believe that this woman, this incredible woman, loves me. She glanced up at me when she thought I wasn't looking. Well, I wasn't, actually, but I could still feel her. And the walls lowered just little bit. Her love for me poured through her soul, into mine, and then, as I turned, the walls went up again, and she is busied herself reviewing the folder. I had no idea what Hampshire, Iowa, is like. Never been there. But if I could manage to get Scully to myself for a while, it was going to be the most romantic place on earth. Despite the venomous look she shot my way as she put on her coat to go back home and pack. I had faith that it would all work out. I grabbed my briefcase and went to pick up the tickets. I felt like a teenage boy on his prom night. *************************************** "Scully!" My mind was not ready for his enthusiastic greeting. I hesitated in the doorway for a moment, eyeing Mulder. He was smiling, standing by his desk. I proceeded to mine, and put my briefcase on it. As I shrugged off my coat, I kept looking at him. He was still grinning excitedly, giving me a clue as to what a boyish Mulder looked like on Christmas morning. "What is it Mulder?" "A case, Scully." Mulder gestured with the manila file folder he was holding, "One I've been waiting for, for quite some time." That peaked my interest. Perhaps that folder contained some information about Samantha, or some irrefutable evidence of alien conspiracies. Something in that folder was going to make our lives easier, or make us dead. What from the way he was holding it, it must be the proverbial Holy Grail. I reached my hand out to him, taking a small step towards him, "Let me see." As he handed me the folder, he said, "I can't believe it. It's finally happened. Irrefutable proof." I was puzzled as I quickly reviewed the case contents. This was just a case involving purported psychic activity connected to some fortune teller/charlatan who may have some involvement in with some serial killings. I looked up, one eyebrow raised skeptically. Mulder continued his enthusiastic ranting. I interrupted him to say, "Mulder, all this case involves is..." "A woman who read the eulogies for all six murder victims. A woman, who by vocation, is a self-proclaimed psychic, in a town that doesn't have a large enough population to have a resident physician." His eyes rested on me, focusing with a kind of dark, dangerous intensity unique to Mulder. An intensity which I have come to expect, admire, and love. Love? I stopped to think, but Mulder's continued comments distracted me. "Begs the question, doesn't it?" "Why are we standing here having this discussion on a Friday morning when there are real serial killers to catch?" The folder was still in my outstretched hand. I had barely glanced at it - not that my partner's continual rantings were going to let me get much reading done. "No." Mulder pout. "Just think Scully, if this woman is what I think she is, she can answer all our questions." "If this woman is what I think she is, she deserves ten to twenty in the local penitentiary." My head was beginning to throb with the start of a headache. That blissful mood had somehow paled, and was fading. "I'll book a flight. Go home and pack your bags Scully. I'll pick you up in a couple of hours." Fading fast. "Mulder, I am not going to run off just to ask a purported psychic for her version of past or future events. There no scientific basis for . . ." "Of course not. You're going to investigate a murder. Possibly the work of serial killer." Mulder gave me an incredulous, yet almost playful look, "Jeez, Scully, what do you take me for? You know I'm strictly business." My eyes rolled as I picked up my briefcase. It felt ten pounds heavier than when I just walked into the building. I waved absently as he said goodbye to me, and I heard the door click closed in the emptiness of the hall outside. ************************************** Scully and I arrived late at the airport, of course, and proceeded to jog down the concourse to our flight. By the time we are comfortably in our seats, with our luggage hopefully in the cargo area, Scully was sleeping soundly in the seat next to me. She was curled up in her seat, using a pillow to cushion her head. I looked at her once more, and then balanced my briefcase on my cramped knees, trying to reach the case files. "Sir, here's the book you requested." A soft voice interrupted my concentration on the case file photos, and I opened my mouth to deny making any such request. That is, until it was laid in my briefcase. The jarring yellow and black cover grabbed my attention, and the sprawling title read, "Empathic Abilities for Dummies". Startled, I glanced up to see my mysterious blond visitor there, smiling, dressed as a flight attendant. "What, no book-on-tape version available?" I quipped dryly. She set three tapes down in my briefcase. "Thought you might ask." The seat next to me was vacant, and she gestured with her hand. "May I?" "Absolutely." She sat demurely, crossing her legs at the ankle. She was now back to jeans and a sweater, her hair knotted at the nape of her neck. She is wearing a very scholarly pair of wire-rimmed glasses. How the hell does she do that I wondered. "Now, where were we?" "Do you do that often?" "What?" "Pop in and out of outfits. It's somewhat distracting." "Oh." She paused for a moment, "It's second nature to me, but if it bothers you, I'll try to refrain." "Please do." I heard a soft sound from Scully, and glanced at her. "And how am I supposed to explain you, should she wake up? Or will you merely pop into nothingness, leaving me talking to myself like a lunatic?" "Nothing that wouldn't be expected from you, Agent Mulder." she quipped. As she chuckled, and noticed that I was not chiming in, she sighed. "She isn't going to wake up. I can guarantee that. Or, shall I say, you did. Nice work last night." A hot blush began to creep up the back of my neck. "Pardon me?" She shook her head. "Don't be embarrassed. You were good. I'd love to have you seduce me any time." She drifted off into her own thoughts for a moment, and then smiled again. "Right. Back to business." I continued to stare at her for a moment, and then looked at the book she was opening. "You'll find everything you need to know in here. You need to read the whole book by tomorrow morning." "What happens tomorrow morning?" She stared at me. Oh. Right. Continuation of the future, fate of the world and all that." I nod. "This book would only be..." "Evening the odds." She finishes. "Right." I looked at the first chapter and murmured, "Chapter One: Getting to know your master and master your abilities." She nodded and didn't seem daunted when I stared at her somewhat coldly. "My master." "Yes." "And that would be . . . you." "No." "Then who?" "You'll find out." "Listen to this: your master is someone who either has awakened your empathic abilities or knows you to guide your actions and reactions in appropriate ways. You are the one who awakened me. No one knows me well enough - except Scully - to be my master. So who then?" I raised my eyebrows in curiosity at her. Her eyes snapped with irritation. "You enjoy making this difficult for me, don't you?" "Innate quality of mine." "So I see." She took the book from my hand and looked at it for a moment. "Oh, you simply misread it." She handed it back to me and I looked at the page again. It read: "Your master is someone who either has awakened your empathic abilities or knows you well enough to guide your actions and reactions in appropriate ways - unless your name is Fox Mulder. Then your master will be named at a future date." "Oh, that is so funny." I muttered, lifting my eyes to the seat next to me. She was gone. I frowned and got the highlighter out of my bag. It was going to be a long flight. My guidance counselor, GC - as I believe I will dub her in absence of a name - was correct in that Scully was asleep for not only the two hour flight to Chicago O'Hare, but also on the commuter flight to the Regional Airport in Iowa. I had ample time to review the detailing of empaths and their abilities. Empaths are as GC described. People with the ability to feel, sense, and observe other people's emotions, traumas, and pasts. However, specific details such as exact thoughts and occurrences are not available to most empaths. For example, I may be able to sense that a woman has faced trauma in the past, perhaps even a rape, but I could not tell you if she had been bound, gagged, held at knife-point or knocked unconscious. I may, however, be able to tell you what the perpetrator smelled like. Go figure. I read through the chapters, complete with little warning signs, highlights, and score markings. Scully sleep was restless during the last leg of our journey, and I glanced at her, curled up into a ball. I took off my suit coat and covered her with it, tucking it under her chin. It seemed to settle her down. Empaths do move about in the world of dreams. Dreams are seen as raw and unleashed emotions, and a well trained empath can manipulate this world, creating the scenery, events, and sensations which are to occur. Normally it takes years of training for a mature empath to project him or herself into a person's dream. With my GC's help, it would seem that I was a couple of years ahead. By controlling a person's dreams, it is thought that their waking hours can be controlled as well.. You can subtly mold and change that person into who you want them to be. Empaths also can absorb feelings from nature. It is written that oceans, rivers, grasses, and trees all have life forces and an ability to convey needs, fears, and emotions to an empath. I hadn't noticed that yet. But the book explained that it sometimes takes year of training to master this ability. Chapter Five. The Bonding Ceremony. I bit into a sunflower seed, splitting the salty hull. Now we're getting somewhere, I thought. The book states that a male empaths occurs less frequently than female empaths (so I've been told, I thought wryly). At the time of birth, it is decided who the male empath will bond with. He will have some choice in the matter; rarely is it merely a political move. His mate is to be one who matches his every strength with a wisdom and compassion, matches his every weakness with her resolve and strength. She is to stand by him, eternally. There is no divorce, there is no separation. When empaths bond, it is through life and death. The two are to be as one. Emotionally, spiritually and physically joined. When this happens, then the bonding ceremony needs to take place. At this point, the male will feel an overwhelming urge to bond with his mate. The female may or may not wish this. I grabbed another handful of sunflower seeds, took a drink of water and then put a couple in my mouth. I have always been fascinated by rituals and the occult. The dark side of both appeals to the profiler in me. The bonding ceremony takes place in accordance with the rites and rituals of the Celtic Clan. Nine couples will be in attendance. A guardian will be in attendance, in spirit. (Guardian? I circle that word) The dance will begin, and during the dance the man will lift the woman to the altar. They entwine their right hands, fingers interlaced. The witnesses tie a silken rope around the arms of the couple, and the man makes his vow and pledge that through time and all eternity he will love her. A female witness, chosen by the couple, will then pierce the hands of the lovers with a ceremonial dagger, allowing their blood to mingle and be absorbed by each other. Ouch! I looked up as I thought about this, spitting the sunflower seeds in a cup. I studied my hand as an afterthought. Imagine being stabbed through my flesh. How would it feel? Would it be pain, or pleasure? Would the bonded couple be enraptured to the point of ecstasy? Or would it be pain suffered for a more worthy cause? What would be the ramifications be afterwards, of knowingly suffering that trauma for someone? How would that affect your relationship? With a deep breath I continued reading. Fingers are also pierced, allowing the couple to taste each other's blood. I can almost taste the metallic tang of blood on my tongue, mixing with the scent of the blood on my hand. , I could imagine the look that would be in Scully's eyes...Would she do it for me? Would she sacrifice so much of herself for me? What drives women to allow this? Merely love? Or is it a greater need, a more ravenous hunger which would gnaw at her soul like a rabid animal? Would Scully do this for me? I glanced at my sleeping partner. Totally at peace. With this ceremony, the male's strength is passed on to the woman, making her to be his true equal. They will share abilities, strengths, and fears as one. No longer two separate entities, they become halves of the same whole. A word of warning: should the couple be ready to bond, and choose not to, this goes against nature and the elements. They will destroy each other, and their love for one another. Hatred will flow where love once stood. Pretty grim warning. My stomach flopped and I looked up to see the plane starting its descent . I closed up my briefcase, shoving it underneath the chair in front of me. Scully was starting to wake, and gave me a bashful smile as her eyes opened and she stretched. She straightened herself and looked out the window at Iowa. I spit the remainder of the sunflower seeds into one hand and studied Scully quietly. Would I ever have my hand pierced for her? I supposed you could say she pierced my heart the first time I saw her. I knew that if there was one woman in all the world, it would be her. ********************************* Iowa. I could not believe that Mulder was taking us to Iowa. Hampshire, Iowa. I idly wondered if the town was named after the Hampshire pig, vice versa. I quickly decided I really didn't care. The town is comprised of a local feed co-op, a building that serves as the local grocery, butcher shop, restaurant and bar, and a gas station. There is also a beauty shop. Oh, and I forgot to inventory the psychic, who, it turned out, lives in a white clapboard house with black shutters (with little hearts carved in the middle) and a white picket fence enclosing a large expanse of lawn. Outside are cheery flower boxes full of petunias, snapdragons, and geraniums. A cacophony of color, beautiful and bright. There is a feeling of peace and a calm serenity here, on a level which is hard to describe. A gentle spring breeze ruffled my hair as Mulder and I approached the front verandah. I tucked a stray red lock behind my ear, looking down quickly as I reach into my coat pocket for my badge. Mulder raised his hand, ready to ring the doorbell, but the door opened, rattling the glass storm door. I looked up to see a beautiful young woman standing there, holding a glass of what appeared to be ice tea. Her smile was genuine as she opened the storm door. I moved out of the way. "Agents Mulder and Scully, I'm Anna St. John. I've been expecting you." My hand was still fumbling for my badge as she said, "Agent Scully, truly, there is no need to show your credential. Please, come in." Mulder gave me an almost smug look, complete with raised eyebrows, as we followed her into the house. He then followed the woman, and I followed him. I was greeted with the smell of recent baking, maybe a cobbler or a pie. As my eyes adjusted to the dimming sunset light within, I noticed a large, curving stairwell on the right side of the hall, open to the foyer, the banister polished and intricately carved. The floor is hardwood, a beautiful inlaid design forms a border toward the walls, and it gleams with polish in the sunlight. Everything about the house was quaint, antique, and perfect. We walked a short ways down the large hallway to a sitting room off the left side. A bay window captured the magenta hued sunset, the beams kissed the trees. A lacy pattern was shadowed through the room, swayed by the breeze. I sat on the comfortable sofa, the pale blue color matching the color of the small flowers on the wallpaper. "Is there anything I can get for you?", she asked. She headed back to the hall, waiting to get us something to drink. "Water, please." I said smoothly, still eyeing both Mulder and the room. There was something about this place. Something I couldn't identify. It was as though a feeling echoed through me and over my body, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from. "Yes, please." Mulder agreed, still standing. Anna left quietly, and he turned his gaze to me, again raising his eyebrows, "So, what do you think Scully? Pretty interesting, eh?" "Pretty interesting that the local sheriff warned one of our suspects that we were coming? Yes." I smiled and nodded. "Pretty interesting that I am going to spend my weekend in a town where "Spin the Cow" seems to be the local pastime? No." "Scully." Mulder admonished, but I saw the smile before he looked away. I smiled too, once his back was turned. "So what do you think of the town so far?" "Not much to think yet, Mulder." I heard a soft rustling as Anna approached with two tall glasses ice water, a slice of lemon is attached to each rim. I accepted mine with murmured thanks, and was slightly surprised by the weight of the glass. Water had already condensed around the outside, moistening my hands. "You've been expecting us?" I asked, watching Anna for a reaction. Her back was to me as she handed Mulder his water. She turned to me, and looked at me with lovely forest green eyes. Even though the light was dim, it was as though her eyes were filled with an energy all their own. "Yes." Anna sat in an overstuffed wing chair, her legs crossed at the knee. Her bare feet brushed up against the colored gauze of her skirt. Her hair hung in thick ebony ringlets, clinging to the back of her neck and her forehead. "Sheriff Voelker said that some FBI personnel would be coming to investigate the deaths." She took a drink of her tea, and then rubbed the sweat off the glass with her hand. Those green eyes look directly at Mulder. "So, do you believe that the deaths are, in fact, murders?" "I don't know what to believe.." Mulder began, clearing his throat. I began to roll my eyes. There are times when Mulder is too predictable. "We've only started our investigation, Anna. Do you believe the deaths were murders?" Anna looked directly into my eyes, quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, and said softly, "I believe that the deaths are not timely, they were rushed, manipulated by someone. I suppose you could call that murder." "Manipulated? How?" Mulder's curiosity, among other attributes, was aroused. He, too, leaned forward, his tie brushing up against his water glass. He brushed it back absently. Anna shrugged, but I sense that the answer was within her. She just wasn't ready to discuss it. I kept looking at her, as the light dimmed from the setting sun dimmed further. The magenta hue was gone now, and the gray shadows of night were slowly creeping into the room. Anna stood and moved, glided it seemed, over to a beautiful tiffany lamp. It was as tall as she, with amber, blue and aquamarine colored glass. A touch of deep pink. The light warmed the room, adding life to the colors of the wall, the furniture, to her cheeks. She licked her lips quickly, and replied, "I mean to say, that if it was suicide, I do not believe that these individuals consciously chose suicide. If it was murder, and they were acquiescent, there was a reason." "Drugs?" I asked, but a growing feeling in the pit of my stomach already knew the answer. That's why we were there. Why we were not only spending the entire weekend in Iowa, but the reason why we stopped here first, before the hotel, before the examination of the bodies, before the visits to the crime scene. This is why we were at the local psychic's house. Oh dear God. I began to rub my temple, an insistent throbbing beginning to nag at me. Anna smiled, looking down, "No. I believe that whoever, or whatever led them to death, drove them to it by invading their dreams, and controlling their consciousness.." She sat once again in a large, overstuffed chair. This time, she crossed her legs in her lap and nestled in. "But I do not know why the victims were chosen. What the connection is." Because I can... It was an odd thought, an unfamiliar thought. A thought which I could swear was not my own. It had almost been like the voice of someone else speaking inside my head. The pounding of my headache was harder, more insistent. Rhythmic. Absently, I looked at the floor, and then closed my eyes as my hand began to rub my forehead, gently at first, and then harder. What was wrong with me? I suddenly heard Mulder say, "Can you recommend a good hotel for the night?" I groaned to myself. Mulder, you told me you took care of the damn reservations! I despaired as to what type of motel we were going to wind up in. The town was not large enough to have a hotel sleazy enough to meet Mulder's standards, so we would probably be find ourselves booked in something next to the local slaughterhouse. "We took the liberty of making reservations for you at the local bed and breakfast." Anna stood and touched me gently. Her hand was warm, and a feeling of comfort seemed to wash over me. Perhaps the strength of her convictions, her belief. I looked up and smiled weakly. I stood up slowly, the pounding in my brain matching that of my pulse. I followed Mulder towards the door, as Anna gave him directions on the way out. Thankfully, it sounded like the hotel was not far. I climbed into the car and closed my eyes, my head throbbing. My first priority was to take some Motrin. The second was be to review the case files for patterns of abnormal behavior.